#keep the six fandom going!!

[snowsdelulusketches]

While I'm working on major, epic, totally-worth-the-wait, incredible stuff, here's a small (very rushed) doodle of the latter Katherine's!

You can vaguely see the paper sketch and words... Oops. Uh, anyway. This is part of an AU (don't expect anything grand, please) I'm making for these goobers. I still love them, with all my heart.

In case it's hard to tell, it's Katheryn (Howard) looking up at Catherine (Parr) and yapping whilst Parr nods along, very intrigued.

[savethegrishaverse]

Let’s change the game! Trade petition signatures with pals from other fandoms or ask acquaintances to sign as a favor. Let this race to 200,000 signatures be a celebration of how far we've come & a chance to talk about why it's important to save our show! Maybe we could even reach 200k before the billboard goes up on January 2nd? 👀

[cosmicourple]

(guess who!)

hi mysterious anon is back to yap or thirst over neal's poseidon again (but his before the fall/before titanomachy version! his young adult self basically)

first off, he's so fucking cute he genuinely makes me wanna cry. I cried when I first saw him. he's so cute. me before witnessing unspeakable horrors

secondly, I want to IMPREGNATE HIM. he's so fucking cute like GRGRGRH. thinking about him made me sick.

lastly, i want to kiss him all over and treat him gently 🤧🤧🤧 he's so 🤧🤧🤧

I AM SCRATCHING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE U ARE SO RIGHT ABOUT YOUNG! POSEY’ ADAASAAAAAAFRSSSS I LOVE HIM I WANT MORE OF HIIIIIM—-

RrrghtgtaaaASAA— real for the cuteness aggression👏

real for the Me before Unspeakable Horrors👏

& real for the carnal need to breed this small guy>:3333👏👏👏 lmao he was probably still a giant next 2 Humans tho AERHFHY💥

AUGGGGGGG— I am 100% serious when I say the potential of him getting pregnant is right there !!!!!!!! GUYS/gn PLS CMOM’, ONE FIC AT LEAST—-

+ the shenanigans / fluff & crack to be had w/ young ahh Dondon freaking out over his first pregnancy and his siblings trying to comfort / ‘help’ him is way to good 2 pass on 😭 (their probably gonna be more accidental nuisances than help bc I doubt at that point anyone of them, including the girls, has had to deal w/ pregnancy yet prolly haven’t even gotten any of their existing partners knocked up LMAO Zeus and Metis)

[greensaplinggrace]

people will really just throw any tag onto their inflammatory posts. like i promise you that the normal people in this fandom don't want to see your rancid discourse when they look in the tag of the thing they like

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Don't Go Blindly Into the Dark

Summary:

To hide that he can't read, Jan Van Eck has been forcing his son to pretend he's blind since he was eight years old. Wylan is now attending Ketterdam University, and meeting Jesper Fahey may very well be about to change his life. But is he safe to tell Jesper the truth? And what will Jesper say if he does?

Jesper is struggling to weigh up his life in the Barrel and his life at the University of Ketterdam, and there's a good chance that his growing debt is about to make the decision for him. He hasn't attended class consecutively for months, but maybe that will change when his newest project includes partnering up with Wylan Van Eck. But can he really leave the Barrel behind him? And how long can he keep up the pretence of who he thinks Wylan wants him to be?

Tags: @justalunaticfangirl @lunarthecorvus

If anyone else would like to be tagged let me know :)

Content warnings for this chapter: death / dead bodies

AO3 link

Chapter 16 - Kaz

Kaz left Jesper and Inej at the Crow Club with their plan not long after Inej had returned from the Geldstraat, following the busy streets North and along to West Stave. The elusive sun was making its second appearance of the month, a rare occurrence in Ketterdam, but it was ruined by the clouds and mist and growing threat of a storm on the horizon. A far more common occurrence for Ketterdam. Kaz didn’t mind the damp cold air of the slightly greyed quality of the sky today though; what good would sunshine do him?

He crossed Goedmedbridge and approached the White Rose, eyes drifting farther ahead and to the other side of the canal to see the glistening façade of the Menagerie. It wasn’t closed - Kaz wasn’t sure it ever closed, few businesses in the Barrel ever did unless there was no other choice - but the crowds were certainly thinner than usual. Dead girls on your doorstep were bad for business. It might have actually been better to close for a day, to let the rumour mill die down and the suspicion be replaced with intrigue before the doors opened again. But apparently Heleen Van Houden disagreed, and the doors remained open. Or they would have done; the lower floor of the Menagerie didn’t really have doors, as such, but was more of an open courtyard with the rest of the birdcage teetering above it, only the back wall was solid and along it ran the staircases to the upper floors. On the occasional time the building was closed, the doors at the top of the stairs were locked, the girls and anything else of value tucked safely away above them. 

Part of Kaz wondered what had happened to the Leopard over the past week, part of him was pretty sure he knew. He paused for a brief moment as the feathered figure of Heleen appeared in the parlour, letting his eyes follow her across the building. As though she could feel his eyes on her, the Peacock stopped and turned to face him. Kaz doubted she could see him properly from across the canal - he could only she it was her from the extravagant blue silhouette she cut across the image but as she stayed in place looking across the canal for a moment he thought that perhaps she was seeing him a similar way, recognisable as a shadow-clad black suit in the swirling rivers of tourists in colourful capes. He turned away. 

As soon as he stepped into the parlour of the White Rose, the boy behind his desk caught his eye. His white hair was either too long for his face or poorly styled, and it flopped slightly into his colourless eyes so he had to push it out of his way to see anything. Kaz had once asked Nina if the removal of the eye colour actually affected the sight, and ended up with a half hour lecture on something called rod and cone cells that he hadn’t bargained for, but in short the answer was no. 

Kaz wrinkled his nose beneath the stench of the falsely perfume roses hanging above the desk, matching the ones that climbed the front of the building and bloomed somewhere between spirited and drooping in the strangely sized plant pots that seemed to shimmer where they sat between the white sofas, as though someone had trapped the stars in between layers of linoleum. They were incomprehensibly ugly. 

“Mister Brekker,” the boy - Adrian something? - began, as Kaz approached the desk like a run of spilt ink across the white parchment of the space, “Nina is with a client,”

Good. Feliks hadn’t fired her yet, then, unless of course he was just trying to wring every last coin out of her he could before he sent her on her way. 

Nina had shown up in Kaz’s office not long after Inej had left for the Van Eck house, convinced she was about to lose her job. Kaz leaned back in his chair, drumming his gloved fingers along the crow’s head of his cane as he leant it against his knee. 

“Am I missing something here?”

Nina had only frowned, glancing briefly over her shoulder as if the question wasn’t directed at her.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m failing to see what you did wrong,”

She sighed.

“I’m not sure Feliks is going to see it that way, Kaz,” she seemed to drift for a brief moment, “I haven’t seen him yet but… If I’m not careful he might get rid of Elodie too,”

“The girl?”

“I’ve seen it before,” Nina shrugged, “She was the root cause of the problem, wasn’t she? I just-”

Kaz sucked his teeth for a moment.

“You know how much her indenture is?”

“No idea,”

“We’re short staffed on tables at the Club,” he sighed, “If she wants a salaried-”

“She’s twelve, Kaz, you can’t put her in a gambling hall,”

“I worked a bar when I was eleven, Zenik, and it was better than my previous job,”

It had still been shit, mind you, but better than his previous job.

“You were on your second job at eleven?”

“You catch on quick,” he said, not bothering to mention it was actually his third, and when Nina only rolled her eyes: “Well were you at eleven, miss high and mighty?”

“I was in a classroom, Brekker, like a normal person,”

Kaz almost laughed. 

“What year were you born, Nina dear?”

“I - why is that relevant?”

“Well I’d like to have some confirmation, because sometimes you say the kind of shit that convinces me you’ve only just stepped out of your goddamn cradle,”

Now Kaz adjusted his grip on his cane to reposition it - his leg was complaining at the angle and doubtless at the damp hanging in the air as well - as he distractedly caught the edge of a conversation behind him. 

“I’m not here for her,” he said, and when Adrian looked briefly surprised before trying to school his features back to the remarkably blank state he kept them in, as though he were trying to keep his personality as colourless as his Tailored skin, added: “I need to talk to Feliks,”

The boy swallowed.

“About…” he glanced towards the stairs.

Kaz just nodded.

“Where’s the girl?”

“Downstairs,”

He nodded, slowly.

“There’s two people behind me trying to direct your business to the Menagerie,” he turned and began to walk towards the office, “When Nina’s done tell her to find me,”

[captain-space-kin]

What the absolute FUCK did they put in the water this show hiatus, because it is making some parts of this community have the most RANCID vibes I’ve seen in a long time.

I was talking to some friends about this and was wondering if anyone else noticed this? Am I hallucinating?? Did they put toxic gas in the S2P2 leaks??? What is happening????

[angelicsentinel]

Not to yuck anyone's yum here, but I don't see how someone can do meta if they don't even have basic reading comprehension, much less do surface level critical analysis that says anything of substance.

[ksuhi13]

We need more collections where like victims of cataclysms readers are shown in blankets in the state of Schrödinger's cat with swollen empty eyes and a crazy prayer on their lips so that writers see the consequences of their actions and drive Satan away from the typewriter

[ft-rj]

whats with the trend of tagging unreality on rp blogs lately i dont get it at all. it feels like tag clutter and 'rp blog' in bio or even warning in the bio is surely enough but Every Post?

[docholligay]

Do you think authors sometimes don't realize how their, uh, interests creep into their writing? I'm talking about stuff like Robert Jordan's obvious femdom kink, or Anne Rice's preoccupation with inc*st and p*dophilia. Did their editors ever gently ask them if they've ever actually read what they've written?

Firstly, a reminder: This is not tiktok and we just say the words incest and pedophilia here.

Secondly, I don't know if I would call them 'interests' so much as fixations or even concerns. There are monstrous things that people think about, and I think writing is a place to engage with those monstrous things. It doesn't bother me that people engage with those things. I exist somewhere within the whump scale, and I would hope no one would think less of me just because sooner or later I like to rough a good character up a bit, you know? It's fun to torture characters, as a treat!

But, anyway, assuming this question isn't, "Do writers know they're gross when I think they are gross" which I'm going to take the kind road and assume it isn't, but is instead, "Do you think authors are aware of the things they constantly come back to?"

Sometimes. It can be jarring to read your own writing and realize that there are things you CLEARLY are preoccupied with. (mm, I like that word more than concerns). There are things you think about over and over, your run your mind over them and they keep working their way back in. I think this is true of most authors, when you read enough of them. Where you almost want to ask, "So...what's up with that?" or sometimes I read enough of someone's work that I have a PRETTY good idea what's up with that.

I've never read Robert Jordan and I don't intend to start (I think it would bore me this is not a moral stance) and I've really never read Rice's erotica. In erotica especially I think you have all the right in the world to get fucking weird about it! But so, when I was young I read the whole Vampire Chronicles series. I don't remember it perfectly, but there's plenty in it to reveal VERY plainly that Anne Rice has issues with God but deeply believes in God, and Anne Rice has a preoccupation with the idea of what should stay dead, and what it means to become. So, when i found out her daughter died at the age of six, before Rice wrote all of this, and she grew up very very Catholic' I said, 'yeah, that fucking checks out'.

Was Rice herself aware of how those things formed her writing? I think at a certain point probably yes. The character of Claudia is in every way too on the nose for her not to have SOME idea unless she was REAL REAL dense about her own inner workings. But, sometimes I know where something I write about comes from, that doesn't mean I'm interested in sharing it with the class. I would never ever fucking say, 'The reasons I seem to write so much of x as y is that z happened to me years ago' ahaha FUCK THAT NOISE. NYET. RIDE ON, COWBOY.

But I've known some people in fandom works who clearly have something going on and don't seem to realize it. Or they're very good at hiding it. Based on the people I'm talking about I would say it's more a lack of self-knowledge, and I don't even mean that unkindly. I have, in many ways, taken myself down to the studs and rebuilt it all, so I unfortunately am very aware of why I do and write the things I do most of the time. It's extremely annoying not to be able to blame something. I imagine it must be very freeing. But it ain't me, babe.

Anyway, a lot of words to say: Maybe! But that might not stop them from writing it, it might be a useful thing for them to engage with, and you can always just not read it.

Also, we don't censor words here.

[cosmicourple]

I have a HC specific to Neal Illustrator’s design of Zeus (tho def not accurate to her canon haha), the HC being that he’s the spitting image of Rhea.

You’d think Zeus would have got his wide, sometimes unnerving smile or his built-like-a-brick figure from his Fathęr, but, nah.

The wiry don’t know if you’d rlly call Neal! Zeus’s hair that HAGRGSA😭 hair, sculpted figure, scruffy facial hair, over the top expressions, bronze skin, incredible physical power & (almost) effortless show of command / authority r all his ma’s’ genes on display <]!!! (although Rhea has a much less defined body & intimidating presence as her youngest, instead appearing more gentle yet tired looking & with a mum bod hehe *///u///*).

…But of course (and very much unfortunate 4 The Godking) The Harvest Titan’s features & traits lure just below the surface, taking the forms of Zeus’s striking yellow eyes, small canines, horrible / explosive temper, bipolar mood swings (a trait also unfortunately passed down to His other overthrower heirs + some of their children, tho mostly Zeus’s,,,), instability to deal w/ his mental health properly, gruesome cruelty when hacked off & excessive need to not appear weak,,, out of all the things inside of him that remind him of Fàthër, the last one still makes bile rise in his throat,,, he knows he acts like Him sometimes and it makes him want to cry, he doesn’t want to act like Him, he doesn’t want to be like him, he’s sworn over and over that he’ll be BETTER than Him, he has to be—-

I’m giving out angst 2 everybody in this A.U, whether it be trauma, dying, trauma, mental & / or physical health issues, trauma, family issues obviously, more trauma—

[loveanddeepthroat]

Come Home

Pairing - Sylus x f!MC

Summary - Sylus has headed out to deal with some business, leaving you concerned for him as he doesn’t return when he told you he would. Fluff and a bit of angst. Sylus and MC aren’t yet in a relationship.

Word count - 2k

A/N - Hi! This is my first little one shot for LADS, and I hope you enjoy it. I do accept requests and look forward to writing more for this fandom 🖤

It had been hours since you last heard from him.

You tried to tell yourself that you didn’t need to worry. That he was more than capable and has always returned in one piece. That your worry is wasted on him anyway, considering the fact that you weren’t even supposed to like him.

But you felt sick.

It was almost impossible not to be concerned. No matter where he was or what he was doing, he has always been reachable. You’ve tried his phone so many times that the battery eventually gave up on your futile attempts and went to sleep—which is what you should be doing at this hour. 

Mephisto had accompanied him on his outing, Luke and Kieran staying at the base with you under Sylus’s orders. They didn’t seem at all bothered by the fact that it was currently three hours past the time Sylus had told them he’d be back. They know him better than you do, but their constant reassurance did little to soothe the panic starting to show.

“Please,” you practically beg. “I have this awful feeling that something has happened to him. Please go and look for him.”

Kieran groaned at her, tired of having to repeat himself once more. “We already told you.”

“Boss’s orders are non-negotiable,” Luke chimes in from where he’s lounging in an armchair.

“He’d have our heads as soon as we walked out the door.”

You were becoming more irritated each second by their nonchalant attitude. They didn’t even seem to give a shit, and you weren’t currently in the right mindset to delve into why you gave so much of a shit.

He was a criminal. A man who had such questionable intentions and motives that you didn’t even want to know the bare minimum of what he got up to whenever he headed out alone.

If something had happened to him, however, you wanted names.

As poorly as your acquaintance with him had begun, you found him to be more intriguing with every moment spent in his presence. His likes and dislikes, his attentive nature whenever you’re around, the way he chooses a vinyl record based on the type of mood he’s in—even the way he dresses has you analysing his every six feet and two inches of pure, solid muscle.

He wasn’t bad on the eye, especially when he was looking at you. You couldn’t fully figure it out, but there was a very subtle tenderness to his presence when he was around you. Subtle in a way that didn’t overshadow his ability to be the biggest asshole you’d ever met.

“If you keep pacing like that then I’m going to throw up,” Luke complains.

You shoot him a harsh glare. “If you don’t like it then get out and find your boss,” you grit back.

With an exaggerated huff, he pulls himself out of his seat, stretching his arms over his head. You feel a glimmer of hope, only for it to be shot down almost immediately. “I’ll let you know if I pass by him in my dreams,” he teases, walking out of the lounge and towards his own room.

You wanted to drag him back and push him out of the front door, but the man could probably put you to sleep with a snap of his skilled fingers. Instead, you growl angrily as his chuckles sound from the hallway.

Kieran stood up, too, mimicking his twin with his stretching. He paused for a moment, and you waited for his addition to his brother's teasing.

“He’ll be back,” he assured, surprising you. “If he’s not back by morning, we’ll figure something out. Just go to sleep.”

He doesn’t wait for a response from you as he follows after Luke, both of them turning in for the night. Sleep sounded like pure bliss, but you weren’t going to be able to do so.

You couldn’t even sit down, your legs automatically taking you around every single piece of furniture so many times that you were starting to get dizzy. 

“Please come back,” you chanted quietly to yourself quietly, if only to keep your pacing on track and your mind alert. 

“Please come back. Please come back.”

You weren’t sure how long it had been, but as soon as you heard the front door, you bolted for it on unsteady legs.

He came in quietly, which was completely overshadowed by your crashing into things on your way to get a visual on him. You practically fell through the door that led to the entry hall, where he looked only mildly bewildered and wholly amused.

There were no visual signs of any injury, but light blood splatters dotted across his white shirt, indicating an altercation. Mephisto sat happily on his shoulder, cawing as soon as he laid his mysterious little red eyes on you. The damn bird was never too happy whenever you were around.

Sylus raised an eyebrow at you. “Expecting someone?” 

That asshole.

He dropped off the face of the earth for hours, and had the audacity to greet you with sarcasm. 

Before your brain could warn you about the threat of putting your hands on him, you sprang forward, striking his chest with the palm of your hand. Then again. And again.

It was pathetically weak from your exhaustion, and he didn’t so much as blink as you assaulted his blood-spattered shirt. Mephisto, however, took to fighting back immediately, pecking at your hands and screeching.

Sylus shooed him away quickly, and the mechanical crow reluctantly took his leave. He proceeded to just stand there as his winged companion flew away, entirely unbothered by your outburst.

Your movements were quickly faltering, the already feeble slaps to his torso becoming far and few between. Still, he did not move. Did not speak. He was the most feared man in the N109 Zone, and he was letting you lash out on him.

Your hand finally stopped on the lapel of his coat, gripping it for a second to catch your breath. He waited for you to finally take a step back, your arms crossing over your chest immediately so you could fully close in on yourself. You were certain that your little outburst was going to bring some repercussions.

Unable to fight it, your bottom lip started to tremble. You had been walking around that lounge for so long that you had convinced yourself he was not coming back. That the wrong person had finally found him and gotten the better of him.

And you just know what he would’ve said if you indulged him in that speculation. What a silly little thought, sweetie.

He closed the space between you, your head automatically dropping to avoid his crimson gaze. You couldn’t bear it, the anticipation of what he was going to do. Your ass was likely headed back to Linkon on foot.

Warm fingers curled beneath your chin, lifting your gaze back up to his. He was towering over you, but you strangely didn’t feel intimidated. All you could feel was his warmth, and your wave of emotions crashing into their withering barrier.

His face gave nothing away as he studied you, still holding your trembling chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Are you finished?”

He didn’t ask it sarcastically. He was giving you an opening. If you weren’t, he’d allow you to resume until you got it all out of your system.

But you were done, your arms feeling like jelly to the point that crossing them was taking a big effort from you. You nod, feeling wetness pooling in your eyes. This all felt ridiculous. He didn’t owe you phone calls or explanations, you both barely considered each other friends. 

The surprisingly soft pad of his thumb brushed gently across your shaking lip, his eyes following the movement. “I’m sorry.”

In any other circumstance, those two words would have shocked you enough to make you fall over. But you were a little too far on the delusional side of exhaustion, your body running on the fumes of your panic.

Your eyes flicker away, the wetness tipping over the edge and dripping off of your lashes. He turned your drifting head back to him to lock eyes with you again. He never did like it when you broke his gaze.

“Things got a bit out of hand,” he explained quietly, not needing an explanation for why you were so upset. “You shouldn’t worry.”

“I wasn’t,” you lie, earning an amused chuckle from him.

He brushed his knuckle across your cheek to rid you of your tears. “No? Why else would a kitten get her claws out, then? Did Luke and Kieran forget to feed you?”

You scoffed at his teasing, following his lead back into the ease of your strange companionship. “They’re terrible babysitters,” you say, sniffling away the last of your upset. 

He smirked, moving his hand to cup the back of your neck. He pulled you towards him, embracing you gently with a deep inhale. You almost swore he was smelling your hair, but you shut that thought down. It was far too complicated for such a tired mind to dwell over.

It wasn’t the first time you’ve both embraced, but this instance did feel quite different. It felt comforting, rather than nerve wracking. Nobody embraces a man like Sylus without at least a modicum of fear beneath the surface.

“You could have called,” you whispered. “Or…or at least answered my calls.”

He sighed, the blow of breath tickling your hairline. “There isn’t a good signal where I went tonight,” he explains. “I should have mentioned that. I didn’t want to call once I did have service in case you were sleeping. I apologise.”

An overwhelming warmth filled your chest, different to the one emanating off of his body. You look up at him, lifting a hand to his forehead. He humours you by allowing it, his eyes trained on yours as you felt the cool skin beneath the hair falling over his face.

“Are you coming down with something? You’ve apologised to me twice now,” you say, half serious.

He didn’t laugh or tease, his face slipping back into that easy nonchalant expression. “I assure you, I’m not coming down with anything. I could ask you the same thing, though. Since when did you become a worrier, kitten?”

You didn’t know how to answer that. It was something you yourself had to figure out. Caring for him wasn’t on your bingo cards when you first met. If anything, the very first day you met, you’d have been relieved if he hadn’t returned.

“Don’t get used to it,” you murmur, his smirk returning at your half-assed response.

“I’ll try, but I do get attached,” he whispers, tucking your hair behind your ear. He looks as though he’s contemplating something, and it takes a moment before he speaks again. “I’ll get us some better communication devices. Something you can carry around that I can alert you on.”

A slight sense of guilt washed over you. “No, it’s okay. You don’t need to be concerned about my insecurities, I shouldn’t be keeping tabs on you.”

Sylus shook his head, his mind already made up. He taps a finger against your temple. “My concern about what goes on in there is for me to deal with. If some better technology eases your troubles, then it eases mine too.”

There it was. That side of him that kept you so very intrigued and made you feel a sense of…home? He often used words that didn’t m quite mean the same as his intentions, but you could see it in him.

He cares.

He rubs a firm hand up and down your back before turning you around, lightly pushing you away from the front door.

“It’s about time we got some sleep,” he says, barely above a whisper. 

You let him guide you through the halls, his lips dropping to your ear as he whispered again.

“Feel free to monitor me.”

[fiercynn]

on ao3's current fundraiser

apparently it’s time for ao3’s biannual donation drive, which means it’s time for me to remind you all, that regardless of how much you love ao3, you shouldn’t donate to them because they HAVE TOO MUCH MONEY AND NO IDEA WHAT TO DO WITH IT.

we’ve known for years that ao3 – or, more specifically, the organization for transformative works (@transformativeworks on tumblr), or otw, who runs ao3 and other fandom projects – has a lot of money in their “reserves” that they had no plans for. but in 2023, @manogirl and i did some research on this, and now, after looking at their more recent financial statements, i’ve determined that at the beginning of 2024, they had almost $2.8 MILLION US DOLLARS IN SURPLUS.

our full post last year goes over the principles of how we determined this, even though the numbers are for 2023, but the key points still stand (with the updated numbers):

when we say “surplus”, we are not including money that they estimate they need to spend in 2024 for their regular expenses. just the extra that they have no plan for

yes, nonprofits do need to keep some money in reserves for emergencies; typically, nonprofits registered in the u.s. tend to keep enough to cover between six months and two years of their regular operating expenses (meaning, the rough amount they need each month to keep their services going). $2.8 million USD is enough to keep otw running for almost FIVE YEARS WITHOUT NEW DONATIONS

they always overshoot their fundraisers: as i’m posting this, they’ve already raised $104,751.62 USD from their current donation drive, which is over double what they’ve asked for! on day two of the fundraiser!!

no, we are not trying to claim they are embezzling this money or that it is a scam. we believe they are just super incompetent with their money. case in point: that surplus that they have? only earned them $146 USD in interest in 2022, because only about $10,000 USD of their money invested in an interest-bearing account. that’s the interest they earn off of MILLIONS. at the very least they should be using this extra money to generate new revenue – which would also help with their long-term financial security – but they can’t even do that

no, they do not need this money to use if they are sued. you can read more about this in the full post, but essentially, they get most of their legal services donated, and they have not, themselves, said this money is for that purpose

i'm not going to go through my process for determining the updated 2024 numbers because i want to get this post out quickly, and otw actually had not updated the sources i needed to get these numbers until the last couple days (seriously, i've been checking), but you can easily recreate the process that @manogirl and i outlined last year with these documents:

otw’s 2022 audited financial statement, to determine how much money they had at the end of 2022

otw’s 2024 budget spreadsheet, to determine their net income in 2023 and how much they transferred to and from reserves at the beginning of 2024

otw’s 2022 form 990 (also available on propublica), which is a tax document, and shows how much interest they earned in 2022 (search “interest” and you’ll find it in several places)  

also, otw has not been accountable to answering questions about their surplus. typically, they hold a public meeting with their finance committee every year in september or october so people can ask questions directly to their treasurer and other committee members; as you can imagine, after doing this deep dive last summer, i was looking forward to getting some answers at that meeting!

but they cancelled that meeting in 2023, and instead asked people to write to the finance committee through their contact us form online. fun fact: i wrote a one-line message to the finance committee on may 11, 2023 through that form, when @manogirl and i were doing this research, asking them for clarification on how much they have in their reserves. i have still not received a response.

so yeah. please spend your money on people who actually need it, like on mutual aid requests! anyone who wants to share their mutual aid requests, please do so in the replies and i’ll share them out – i didn’t want to link directly to individual requests without permission in case this leads to anyone getting harassed, but i would love to share your requests. to start with, here's operation olive branch and their ongoing spreadsheet sharing palestinian folks who need money to escape genocide.

oh, and if you want to write to otw and tell them why you are not donating, i'm not sure it’ll get any results, but it can’t hurt lol. here's their contact us form – just don’t expect a response! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Don't Go Blindly Into the Dark

Summary:

To hide that he can't read, Jan Van Eck has been forcing his son to pretend he's blind since he was eight years old. Wylan is now attending Ketterdam University, and meeting Jesper Fahey may very well be about to change his life. But is he safe to tell Jesper the truth? And what will Jesper say if he does?

Jesper is struggling to weigh up his life in the Barrel and his life at the University of Ketterdam, and there's a good chance that his growing debt is about to make the decision for him. He hasn't attended class consecutively for months, but maybe that will change when his newest project includes partnering up with Wylan Van Eck. But can he really leave the Barrel behind him? And how long can he keep up the pretence of who he thinks Wylan wants him to be?

Tags: @justalunaticfangirl @lunarthecorvus

If anyone else would like to be tagged let me know :)

Content warnings for this chapter: blood, wounds, death, dead bodies, implied violence, trafficking references

AO3 link

Chapter 28 - Kaz

“Where is it?”

Inej didn’t seem to have heard and Kaz asked again, but she didn’t say anything. Just carried on staring at the edge of his desk between them, arms stiff where she was gripping the chair as though she intended to snap it into pieces beneath her.

Kaz had known Inej was behind him before he heard the window clinking in the mezzanine level of the Crow Club, but he was still taken by surprise when he turned to see her - first of all because he’d heard the window clatter. He already knew something was wrong; the Wraith did not make such loud mistakes. And then he turned and Inej was all but collapsed onto the floor; the rain-slick window ledge behind her - the storm had finally broken not long after Wylan and Jesper both left entirely unhelpfully - was marked by a footprint, distorted where she’d slipped, the window itself left wide open in her wake for the rain to continue falling onto her and onto his carpet, and Inej was clutching to the edge of it with one hand, all of weight in one bent leg, her face ashen and her breathing heavy. Her loose hair was wet from the rain and the front pieces were plastered against her forehead, and the ill-fitting nightclothes that clearly should have hung off her angular shoulders like she’d been draped in a blanket were wet and sticking to her skin. Kaz barely registered what she was wearing before he’d registered the blood soaked into her sleeve cuffs.

He stared at her for a moment, a thousand panics and alarm bells ringing in his head, but when he opened his mouth all that came out was: 

“You’re dripping on my carpet,”

“Oh, well I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience,” Inej just about managed to hiss through gritted teeth.

Kaz might have even smiled if he wasn’t too busy fighting off the need to sigh in relief; she was okay, at least for now. He beckoned Pim to cover for him watching the club floor, and he’d stared at Inej like she’d grown a second head until Kaz tapped the side of his leg with the end of his crows head cane and he turned quickly away to look down over the mezzanine. Kaz set off down the stairs, trusting that Inej would follow and deliberately setting a slow pace, but when he reached the ground floor he glanced back and realised that Inej did not need to be slowed down. She was still halfway up, clinging to the bannister with both hands and leaning almost all of her weight against it. He waited for her to get down, then walked slowly to his office where she all but collapsed over one of his chairs.

“It’ll be fine,” she’d managed, roughly and with her face contorted in pain as she dragged her leg after her to sit down, “Give me a week, maximum, and it’ll be fine,”

Clearly.

Kaz waited but she didn’t say anything more and he thought she might be in some kind of shock; he left some clean clothes on the desk for her and stepped outside. 

“Inej,”

She blinked, finally looking away from the desk and up at Kaz.

“The corpse,” he said, again, “Where is it?”

“The Slat. In my room,”

He studied her for a moment; she was shivering, just slightly, fidgeting with her shirt sleeve, looking up with eyes dark and deep enough to swallow him. Drown him. He’d had trousers in his cabinet that would fit her but had to give her one of his own white button downs for lack of other options, and the sleeve cuffs were sitting deep over her palms even after she’d folded them over. Her shoulders were narrower than his and even though she’d done the shirt up to the very top button it hung off her sharp angles ever so slightly off kilter, and exposed the very edge of her collar bone. Kaz squared his shoulders. He nodded.

“I’ll send someone to move it; we need to get ahead of this before the Black Tips get wise,”

They were already a pestering annoyance at Fifth Harbour, and the new shift pattern was thus far proving Kaz’s suspicions about one of his bouncers correct, he didn’t need a gang war over a dead spider on his hands. They could get Liesbeth’s body to neutral territory, or maybe even another gang’s territory if they were careful enough, and let her rediscovery be someone else’s problem. He watched Inej for a moment more; her gaze had slipped back to the edge of the desk and the nightclothes that she had folded into a slightly messy little pile at the foot of her chair. 

“Do you want to wait here?” he asked, after a moment, “Or go back to the Slat? I can send for Nina to-”

“Can I just…” Inej’s voice faded, “I just want to sit a minute. I…”

There was a long pause.

“I’m tired,”

She looked it. Heavy shadows bracketed her eyes and she barely seemed to be in the room, but instead floating somewhere in between it and the places in her mind. 

“Did you sleep at all?”

“At some point,” she whispered, almost dreamily, as if she couldn’t quite remember it herself, “Afterwards,”

Kaz frowned.

“After she died?”

Inej nodded. 

“How long ago?”

Inej gazed into the distance for a moment, her expression briefly confused.

“What time is it?”

“Nearing nine bells,” said Kaz, glancing at his watch.

Inej nodded.

“Fifteen hours? Fourteen?”

So someone might already know that Liesbeth was missing, then. Dammit. Kaz would have to get ahead of this quickly, on the off chance of there being any intention for the Black Tips to move against the Dregs he needed to make sure they didn’t have any ammunition to point to. He stood up.

“I’ll have someone move it,” he said, again, “Stay here as long as you want,”

She nodded slightly as he walked past her. 

The moment that Kaz stepped out onto the floor of the Crow Club just so happened to be almost exactly the same as the moment in which Nina Zenik burst through the doors at full speed. Her stress may as well have been a visible cloud with crackling sparks flying about for the obviousness of it, and she ran across the room towards him with breathless shouts.

“Inej-”

“Is in my office,” said Kaz coolly, “Not to tell you how to do your own job, Nina dearest, but did it not occur to you to check on her at any point in the last fifteen hours?”

“I didn’t-”

“Fifteen full hours she was sat in there with a corpse, Zenik, I don’t think the half hour you just spent with me justifies having missed that,”

Nina’s cheeks glowed, but he was pretty sure it was more with annoyance towards him than anything else. Kaz sent Juran, a boy who’d joined the Dregs early last year, back to the Slat to retrieve Liesbeth’s body and gave him instructions on where to leave it afterwards, though he would probably need another pair of hands for that, and then he and Nina turned back towards his office. Kaz was hoping that Nina would be able to convince Inej to go back to the Slat so she could lie down and hopefully get some sleep; at least get her to rest and take time to recover. 

“Her leg-”

“The pain will take a few days to subside but the worst is the ligament damage,” said Nina, smoothly, like she was rattling off a shopping list, “It’s her knee; the quickest it could be back to normal alone would be three weeks or so, but-”

“The longest?”

“Eight, probably. But that would be without my input, it shouldn’t take that long now. Hopefully, anyway. If it’s bad she should go to a real Healer,”

Kaz nodded, his mind quickly skipping through any Healers that he knew before he opened the door to his office. 

“Wraith-” he cut off, and held a hand up in front of Nina.

Inej was asleep. She slumped over against the desk, her mass of unkempt dark hair folding over her face, her shoulders moving slowly up and down with her breaths. For a second Kaz and Nina just stood there, and then Nina whispered:

“She should be keeping her leg elevated - and straight, if possible,”

Kaz nodded back to the door and they slipped outside, to fly through the conversation of should we wake her so she can go back to the Slat. They landed on the, possibly slightly strange, plan of moving Inej off her chair to lie on the floor of Kaz’s office. He’d been nervous that they’d wake her but she got no further than gently stirring in Nina’s arms and then flopping her head against the Heartrender’s shoulder. She seemed to murmur something, but Kaz was on the other side of the room and Nina said she’d only groaned. She gently coaxed Inej onto the floor and folded her own jacket up to slip beneath her head, then knelt down and very slowly moved Inej’s leg to straighten it as much as she could without worsening the pain and causing Inej to wake up. Of course Nina would be able to knock her out again if necessary, but she said it would be better for Inej’s natural rhythms if she remained undisturbed. Kaz found a couple more spare shirts from his cupboards to elevate Inej’s knee, and then they slipped out of the room in silence.

Kaz usually locked his office when he left, particularly if there was anything sensitive or valuable around, but with that obviously not being an option he shouted up to Pim on the mezzanine:

“Watch the door. Anyone goes in there they’re a dead man,” 

He nodded, and Kaz turned back just in time to see Nina lowering her raised eyebrow. 

“Stay here,” he told her, “Make sure no-one tries to kill her this time,”

“Where are you going?”

“Send to the Slat if you need me, if I’m not there they’ll be someone there who knows where I am,”

“What are y-?”

Kaz sighed. 

“I have a job to do, and I need someone to find some space at the Slat. I’d hate to have to stick your little Elodie in a cupboard,”

Nina blinked.

“You hired her?”

“Feliks wanted rid of her,” said Kaz, calmly, “I needed servers for the Club,”

“Feliks wanted to sell her, Kaz,”

That was true. And he would’ve gotten a far better price from another house on West Stave than Kaz had agreed to for the kid’s contract. But Feliks happened to have a pretty decent chunk of debt to Haskell, and Kaz happened to know a few things about Feliks that he didn’t want to get out. The conversation had gone briefly and smoothly. Mostly. Until the skiv had suggested Kaz might want to take ‘his’ Suli girl instead, presumably so he could still sell little Elodie and make money from both of them.

Kaz leaned back in his chair.  

“Excuse me?”

“I know it was you who had Haskell buy the Wraith from Heleen Van Houden,” Feliks shrugged, as if this were a normal fucking conversation topic, “I thought maybe you had a taste,”

The conversation went even briefer, and a lot less smoothly, after that. Elodie got a job offer and, as of Anika’s return about twenty minutes ago, she had accepted it. 

Kaz looked at Nina and shrugged.

“Stay with Inej,”

And then he turned and left, his cane clacking heavily against the boards. 

[peachpitfics]

Cruel Summer

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: Following your romp with Benedict Bridgerton in his art studio, he asked your brother for your hand! Now you're on your honeymoon, and you're getting a little bored, posing for him. A lady must find ways to amuse herself!

Length: 2.1k

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Content Warnings: Oral sex (male receiving), Penetrative vaginal sex, unprotected sex, light bondage, food play.

a/n: This is an anonymous request for a continuation of 'Guilty as Sin'.

Bridgerton master list (tag list)

Benedict Bridgerton escorting you to view his artwork, at his private studio, was just the beginning of your story. After sneaking around behind your family’s backs for a small while, Benedict gathered enough courage to ask your eldest brother’s permission for your hand. This seemed strange to the y/l/n family, not one of them had ever seen the two of you together, which showed how much attention was paid to the middle child. Benedict made sure to ask you in the Bridgerton drawing room, just before family tea, for everyone to see. He made such a big to-do, confessing his love to you, before every member of the Bridgerton family in attendance. It felt particularly safe there, amongst people who took interest in who you were as a person.

It was bittersweet to have siblings who offered their time, their attentions, and their hobbies freely. You learned so many new things from each of them, from pall-mall, to sewing, even horse riding.  In six months, you were married and moved into the Bridgerton house for the meantime, until after your honeymoon. You would never outright tell Benedict you did not want to move out, but he felt it, he knew.

“My love” Benedict whispered, shaking your shoulders gently. Honeymooning in Paris was something the two of you had instantly agreed upon. So far, two weeks of sleeping late, making love, and eating copious amounts of divine food was your only concern. Of course, there were a lot of other lovely things Benedict had planned for your honeymoon – river boat rides and romantic dinners, every moment between locations filled with fine bread, wine, and cheese.

“Yes, my love?” You grumbled, rolling away from him, clearly having not had enough sleep.

“You must wake up, it is midafternoon!” Benedict exclaimed with a chesty laugh, rolling you back into him and tickling your sides. You howled with laughter, pushing him away playfully, leaning up to distract him as only you knew how. His lips were warm and wet against your own, seductive, and luscious.

“You must come downstairs! The housekeeper has left us a feast and I wish to paint my gorgeous wife” Benedict slid his hands around your naked body, lifting you out of bed as you groaned.

“Again?!” “My darling, I’ll be painting you until death takes me” Benedict chuffed, sliding sideways between doorways and down the stairs to the sitting room.

“What if death takes me first?” You smirked back, figuring you had him cornered here.

“I have made God promise I am to go first. And even so, I’ll have every detail committed to memory and these paintings and sketches of you now to keep me company” Benedict squeezed you in his arms, he didn’t like to joke about parting ways, in any sense. It was his truest nightmare, his deepest fear.

Benedict set you down in the sitting room and gestured to what he and the house keeping staff had readied. Paint, canvas, a staging area - littered around the room were bowls of fresh fruit, bottles of wine, candles surrounded by plates of cheese, oil, and bread. You relaxed back against his chest, his arms wrapping around you, cupping your breasts sweetly. You giggle a little, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. He nodded to your position for the rest of the day, a chair with the back faced to a very high window, casting a streak of sunlight down upon the spot.

There you sat, for hardly an hour before your mind began to wander, circling Benedict in your mind like a shark in open water. You had learned to become comfortable being nude for long periods of time these days, however Benedict had learned nothing of your persuasion or power when your attentions were dashed. Your movements started slowly, daintily taking your hands to your knees, and spreading your legs wide upon the chair. Resting a little, relaxing your back and cupping your own breasts. Your fingers gently grazing your nipples. But nothing, no attention from your husband. He sat close to his canvas, squinting into the detail of his work, his realm of perception clearly inhibited. With a huff and a light moan, you continued to palm at your own breasts, fingers trapping your nipples in a pulling motion- you decided to pretend Benedict wasn’t here. Suddenly, taking notice, you watched as his brush left the canvas, his mouth hung open a little and he removed his glasses, almost tossing them to the floor.

“What are you doing, darling?” He mumbled, swallowing hard. Your hands ran down your mid-section, over your belly and down your thighs sensually, soft mewls slipped from between your lips. Benedict loved the sounds you made.

“I’m just amusing myself, continue on with your painting my dear” Your replying comment was nonchalant in the best way. Benedict almost looked offended that you would suggest he could go back to painting.

“How do you suppose I paint, while my wife ravages her own body before me?” He blinked at the audacity of you.

“Well, dear one, this is what you have chosen for this afternoon’s activities… Now, you must endure” You smiled, sliding your hand between your legs, dipping your finger in the wet warmth there. Benedict shuddered, wishing any part of him were exchanged with your finger.

If there was anything you had learned about Benedict in the last six or seven months, it was that his desire for you was consistent and all encompassing. Benedict watched on as your fingers circled your clitoris, you moaned and exhaled gently - his paint brush never did return to the canvas. Beads of sweat formed on his brow line, the hot, French summer finally taking its toll in the late afternoon. You reached to the small stool next to you, extracting the tiniest jar of honey. You looked into Benedict’s eyes, holding the jar above your body, dangling your head back and pouring a steady stream of honey over your chest. The sun glistened, reflecting little pools of light off your sticky, sweet skin.

Taking your finger, you swept up your belly from your navel, placing your finger on your tongue in clear view of him, and that was his very last straw. Benedict threw his paintbrush to the ground, thrusting himself up and out of his chair, to march across the room to you.

“What do you think you are doing, wife?” Benedict’s voice rasped, his eyes were so dark, the colour had all but gone.

“Playing, my love” You replied cheekily, sucking another nip of honey off your finger. He all but growled watching your finger slip between your lips, his breath quickening in sheer lust for you.

“Are you punishing me for getting you out of bed?” Benedict’s face was so close now, his nose tip to tip with yours. There was such tension in his jaw, his teeth clenched hard in his fierce need of you. You fluttered your lashes back at him, refusing to answer with your words.

“Do you have even a semblance of an understanding of what you are doing to me? This is unbelievably cruel,” He breathed heavily down on you, desperation flooding his body and adrenaline surging behind, “You can’t begin to imagine the things I want to do to you right now” His stubble gliding across your ear and cheek, making you shudder.

“Show me then,” You challenged, “You are my husband after all”.

Benedict’s hands slowly moved to his shirt, shedding it, and throwing it somewhere behind him. He acted with a sureness and a strength you hadn’t yet experienced, but it was drawing you in. Undoing his pants, Benedict took his hard member into his hands, stroking himself against your chest, lathering it in honey. His other hand wove into your hair, tangling the perfect hold, bringing you forward.

“Oh. Goodness. Seems I’ve made quite a mess of myself… Wife, help me clean it up” He smiled smugly down at you.

 Something feral, untamed, was unleashed inside you, your eyes darkening, “Certainly, my lord”. As your tongue reached out to meet his tip, his head lulled back in pleasure, his hand still wrapped around the base of him. Your lips parted slowly, encasing his first inch, and swirling your tongue around to suck the honey from him. Benedict exhaled headily, his breaths deep, but quick with the slightest grunt mixed in. The way he sounded, even now, made you wetter and wetter.

There was something maliciously keen in Benedict’s eyes as he watched from on high, your pretty mouth sucking all the honey off him and then some. His body gently rocked forward, his hand heaving your head forward, onto him in a more perverse manner. His head hung back in greedy caution, grasping to the very last straws of his gentlemanly nature as you sunk to the base of him, your tongue wriggling slyly underneath.

His fingers grew taut in your hair, reefing you backwards. His laugh was low, both impressed and challenged by your ministrations. In the next moment, Benedict had hauled you up and over his shoulder, he was charging up the stairs, mad with temerity.

Entering the bedroom, he threw you down on the bed, scrambling for any piece of material in reach, he began ripping. Four pieces of silk fabrics in his hands, he loomed over you in profound ownership. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, Benedict taking each wrist and ankle, tying them to each to their respective corner post of the bed.

“There” He stood, hands on his hips, proud of his work, “There’ll be no more of that”. Clearly touching yourself had had a dire effect on Benedict’s work ethic.

Kneeling between your thighs, his naked body unjustly out of reach, Benedict’s supercilious smile sick with goofy dominance. He thumbs over your folds, his finger descending, extorting whines of pleasure you never knew existed within you. Broad strokes of the most painful, unapologetically evil gratification. Benedict’s tongue flicked over his lips hungrily.

“I need you” The words escaped you violently, the thrill of his touch, his charming smile becoming all too much for you. He ignored you and continued another moment or two, reducing you to a begging mess beneath him.

“Shall I oblige you, my marvellous bride?” His grin was jubilant and all knowing, his hands came down on your wrists, pressing them into the bed. Benedict’s brutal, familiar kiss sown into your lips permanently, as he pushed inside of you with surprise.

“Y/n” He groaned, growled with unrepentant lust. Your eyes cast wide, the length of him stretching you mercilessly while he thrust in and out. His villainous face claiming your entire consciousness as he used your body to his pleasure, decadent facial expressions, and damnable sounds he was delivering straight to your right ear.

“You feel unimaginably perfect” Benedict groaned, your moans joining in alongside his.

Hands grasping for silk to hold onto, you longed for your own release, grinding your hips back against Benedict’s. His movements became more ferocious, keeping up with the sounds you were making. Frenetic energy began to move through your body, your ravenous thirst for him finally quenched. Every muscle in your body engaged in vivid contortion, Benedict pressing into you as deeply as he possibly could before his own body found its own powerful release.

Covered in sweat and honey, you laid tangled together for a moment before Benedict recalled your wrists and ankles were tied. He chuckled with giddiness, sitting up to admire his knots.

“You look fantastic like this, perhaps we should do this more often” He suggested sweetly. His thumb caressed the side of your face, your panting, tired body unable to give a response. Benedict littered your face and neck with loving pecks.

“We could be one person and I still would never be close enough to you. No amount of time with you will ever satisfy me. You are the centre of my world” Benedict whispered gently. Every day you were reminded of the intoxicants his poetic mind dabbled into every sweet thing he said to you.

In another instant, Benedict had sprung from the bed, running downstairs. You laughed, thinking he must be returning with some of the food the housekeeper had left strewn about his romantically planned afternoon. Instead, Benedict returned with a new canvas and his implements. Your mouth fell open all on its own, blinking furiously in his direction as he set himself up off the side of the bed.

“If you could just stay there, like that, that’d be great!” Benedict’s grin, excruciatingly exquisite, and concocting. He held himself with such pride in his agendum, cockiness seemed to fill the room in a potent manner.

“BENEDICT!?” You squealed, tugging frantically on his bindings, your laughter filled with rich resolve.

--------------------

tagging: @cringycat24 // @blckbarbiedoll // @freyagallileaevans // @junkie05 // @rosabeetroot // @flamewriterr //

If you'd like to be added to this tag list, please let me know!

[beingsuneone]

I BET You Think About Me

SYNOPSIS: being Theo’s girlfriend is a dream… until you find out why he asked you out in the first place.

FANDOM: Harry Potter

PAIRING(S): Theodore Nott x fem!reader

RATING: PG

CHARACTERS MENTIONED: Enzo, Blaise, Draco, Mattheo, Pansy, Snape

GENRE/AU: Snape’s Daughter!Reader, Asks you out cause of a bet, kind of angsty, kind of fluffy, slytherin!reader

WORD COUNT: 2.6K

WARNINGS: swearing and kissing.

A/N: agh. It’s 3 in the morning. Enjoy. May have a tiny bit of pacing issues but it’s fine

DEDICATIONS: the polls who decided they wanted Theo while I decided I was gonna post Mattheo and Rhysand instead.

CREDITS: n/a

…Six Months Ago….

——————————————————————————

“You can’t do it, Theo.” Draco says plainly. “If she’s anything like her father she won’t be able to feel that kind of emotion.”

Theo shakes his head. “She’s still a girl.”

Mattheo snorts, Enzo sputters. “That’s a bit sexist, Theo.” Enzo says, looking over at Y/n L/n.

She’s Severus Snape’s daughter and completely untouchable. Theo hasn’t seen a single guy going out with her in the whole six years they’d been at hogwarts.

That might be because of her father.

“Draco’s right.” Mattheo says. “She’ll never fall for you.”

“I’m gonna prove you guys wrong and you’re gonna owe me a shit ton of money for it.”

…. One Month Ago ….

——————————————————————————

Mattheo stares at you as you walks away. “Damn, I guess you were right.” Both him and Draco reach for their wallets but Theo waves them off.

“I don’t want it— any of it.” It felt for him wrong to take the money from the bet. Theo had fallen for you just as hard— if not harder— as you’d fallen for him.

Hell, Theo would kiss the ground you walked on if you asked him.

“What do you mean?” Blaise asks incredulously. “You won the bet.”

Theo furrows his eyebrows. “Whatever, I don’t want the money.”

They all stare at him.

One, two, three minutes of silence before Mattheo blurts out: “Oh my god. Theo fell for her.” He starts to laugh, and the other boy's eyes widen.

“Wow. That’s a little bit pathetic, Theo.” Draco teases.

Pansy slides in beside Blaise. “Wow. Famous playboy Theodore Nott fell for someone?” She snickers. “Who?”

Theo deadpans. “What do you mean who?” You are Pansy’s roommate after all, Pansy should better than anybody.

Her face falls. “You don’t mean y/n. do you?” Theo nods and she gives him an exasperated look. “Theo! You literally only dated her to win a bet!”

“Yeah, I know!” He retorts. A beat of silence, then, “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You have to tell her.” Enzo cuts in. “If you truly like her, it isn’t something you can keep secret.”

Theo nods his head absentmindedly. “I know, I know. I’ll tell her soon.”

He didn’t want his new relationship to end before it ever began.

….Present….

——————————————————————————

Today, you woke up late, stubbed your toe on your bed and then spent the ten minutes you had to get ready looking for your damned potions book.

When you’d finally found it, threw on your uniform and got your hair into some sort of presentable, you rushed out your dorm and down the hallways as fast as your feet would take you.

Your class was on the opposite side of Hogwarts and you were already ten minutes late.

In your haste, you aren’t watching for other people in front of you and run straight into someone.

“I’m so sorry!” You exclaim frantically, picking up your books as she picks up hers.

She looks familiar but you don’t know her name.

“No, it’s okay— Oh.” Her faces twists into a scowl when she meets your gaze. “You’re Theo’s ‘Girlfriend’” she airquotes as she says ‘girlfriend’, causing you to narrow your eyes at here.

You furrow your eyebrows. “Uhm, yeah, I am. Why did you say it like that?”

She crosses her arms. “Because you and I both know that he doesn’t actually like you. You’re not his girlfriend.”

“And who, exactly, are you?” You ask, annoyance settling in your chest.

She looks down at you, a cocky expression written on her face. “You should probably just stay away from him, you know that, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Really, he’s going to be mine so I don’t even know what you’re doing.” She waves you off, as if she truly believes this.

You shuffle your books around in your arms and shift your weight into your other leg. “You do know that you’re not his girlfriend, right?”

“Whatever.” She shrugs, and you still don’t know her name. “Doesn’t matter if he calls you his girlfriend, it’s not like you’re a threat anyway.”

What does she mean ‘not a threat’? You feel like that’s a sentence better used to describe her considering, you’re Theo’s actual girlfriend. “What is that supposed to mean?” You ask incredulously but still relatively calm.

She gives you a mock sympathetic expression. “Oh, Sweetheart,” She starts, taunting you with each syllable. “You didn’t really think someone like Theo would settle down for someone like you… do you? I mean, he’s all parties and good times and you’re… well, you can’t even dress yourself properly.”

She looks you up and down, from your half-untucked uniform shirt to your loose tie and your unwrinkled skirt. You’re not usually this messed up. “Clearly, I do, because he did.” You pause, sigh deeply and roll your eyes. “Why am I even entertaining this conversation?” You turn away from her, preparing to tune her out and walk away.

She tuts, shaking her head. “Because you obviously know you mean nothing to him— after all when your relationship starts with a bet, I don’t think it’s ever been super stable.”

This makes you stop and turn back to her. “A bet?” You say it slowly and the words taste awful on your tongue. “What bet?”

She scoffs-laughs and smiles evilly. “Oops, did I say too much?”

Theo chooses this moment to walk up behind the two of your . He slides his hand around my waist, letting it rest there as he stands beside me. “Are you okay? You’re super late.” He asks, looking you over. His eyes flit over to the girl who was talking to you and his nose scrunched. “Why are you talking to Tracey?”

Tracey, that’s her name.

I don’t think he likes her too much.

Tracey opens her mouth to respond but I cut her off and begin dragging Theo away. “I don’t even know, Theo, let’s go.”

I can feel Tracey’s glare until we’re well out of her line of sight.

Jealous.

……

You can’t get Tracey’s words out of your head. You know it was a tactic to rile you up and, you suppose, it worked but you had this horrible feeling that maybe she wasn’t lying.

Asking Theo about it though? That was hard; you didn’t want him to think you didn’t trust him but you also didn’t want to get upset before you knew whether it was true or not.

You decided to ask one or two other people before Theo. Pansy Parkinson, was first. She’s been your friend since first year but she hung out with Theo’s group long before you ever did.

“Hey, Pansy.” You say airily. She looks up at you and smiles.

The bed creaks as you fall down onto it and sigh. “Can I ask you a random question?” You ask, fidgeting with the corner of your blankets.

She looks up at you expectantly but also with a good deal of worry. “Yeah, of course; What’s up?”

She shifts in her spot at the end of her bed, turning her full attention to me.

“Did you ever… I don’t know,” you stop, trying to find the correct words. “Did you ever hear anything about Me, Theo and a bet? While you were, like, hanging out with them.”

Pansy looks down at your fidgeting fingers and then furrows her eyebrows. She thinks about it for a minute, and her face drops so slightly I almost don’t catch it. “Oh, y/n…” she trails off. “He didn’t tell you?”

Every muscle in your body locks up. “He didn’t tell me what?” You don’t think you really want the confirmation now that you know it’s coming.

Pansy stands and then sits down next to you and pulls you into her in a side hug. “When Theo started trying to get with you it was because of a bet.” She stops but you just gesture for her to continue. “… I wasn’t actively apart of this conversation so I only got the gist of it but I was there.”

“What was the bet.” You say, with your eyes hot and your throat restricted. Your tone makes it seem like it wasn’t a question.

“The boys bet him that he couldn’t make the next woman he saw fall in love with him by the end of the year.” She gives your a sad smile. “I guess the next woman was you.”

What. The. Fuck. You’re gonna kill him, because he obviously won that goddamn bet already. You give Pansy a quick squeeze and then stand up. “I need to go talk to him.”

Pansy nods and walks back to her own bed, waving bye as you walk through the door.

Your vision is a bit blurry and your hands are shaking with betrayal and anger as you storm away from the girl’s dorms and right through the common room to the boy’s dorms.

When you reach his door, you knock loudly, despite it being late.

Draco answers. He looks you up and down and then turns his back halfway to you. “Theo, your girlfriend is here.”

Theo appears a moment later, an easy smile and his piercing eyes that you want to love so badly right now. He gently moves you back a bit and steps out of the dorm. “Hey, Baby, what’s up?”

You shudder at the pet name and his face drops. “Oh, I don’t know, Theo.”

He pulls you to the other side of the hall and keeps his hands on your arms, comforting both yourself and him. “What’s wrong? Did somebody do something to you?”

The worry on his face seems so genuine, you almost want to believe the bet was a lie— but you’re not that stupid.

“Yeah, Theo, someone hurt me.” You pause. “It was you and your fucking bet.”

He freezes. “Shit. Who told you about that?”

You don’t want to— no, you can’t look in his eyes. “That girl, Tracey, and then Pansy filled in the finer details.” You’re arms are crossed now and he can’t hold you like he was before. “Is that seriously the only thing you care about right now— actually, obviously it would be because I’m just a bet, right?”

He opens his mouth to speak but you don’t let him. “Actually,” you continue. “I don’t want to hear it— just, have a good life, Theo. I’d say we’re over but I don’t think we really ever started to begin with.”

You walk away before you second-guess yourself and ignore as he calls your name. He doesn’t run after you, which you’re equally glad for and disappointed by.

God, you don’t think your heart has ever hurt this bad.

…..

You haven’t seen Theo in class for the whole week after you ‘broke up’; you’ve seen glimpses of him outside, always smoking, or eating in the Great Hall but it’s like he’s intentionally missing every class you have together.

He probably is.

He shouldn't have that right. You’re the one who gets to avoid him, he doesn’t get to avoid you.

You’re the one who got played like a violin and ended up battered and bruised.

You don’t see him for most of your days, but, when you do— when you look at him, his eyes are always already on you.

As a result the other Slytherin boys glance at you while he stares, because of how intensely he does so. You can feel his eyes burning holes into you at all times.

You try your best to ignore him as you stand to leave the Great Hall.

A boy stops you near the entrance, you think you recognize him. He’s the same year as you, and pretty nice as far as you know. His name is Lucas, you’re pretty sure.

“Hey.” Lucas says warmly. “How are you?”

He’s a bit close, and you’re sort of backed into the wall. You laugh awkwardly. “I’m alright, um, how are you?”

He smiles. “About the same,” he looks behind him and then back at you, same easy-going smile that isn’t easy the way Theo’s is. “Anyways, I was wondering… since you broke up with Nott, maybe you’d wanna go out sometime? With me?”

“She doesn’t.”

Lucas’s shoulders jump at the sound of Theo’s voice and he backs away from you and spins to look at Theo, whose standing there with a dangerous look on his face.

You glare at him. “Maybe I do want to.” It’s a challenge and Theo knows it.

Lucas sputters. “You know, I actually realized I’m busy, so…” he scrambles off after that you’re left with Theo.

You scowl at him. “Theo, what the fuck?”

“He’s not good enough for you.” He shrugs like he knows what’s good enough for you. Mr. Bet-Winner.

Your heart aches in your chest just looking at him. “And how would you know what’s good enough for me, Theo? because you sure as hell weren’t.”

He scowls now. “I treated you like you were a fucking princess, Y/n, all he would’ve done was treat you like a piece of ass.”

You huff. “A princess, Theo? None of it was even real!” You spin to walk away but Theo catches your wrist and pulls you back; he slips his other arm around your waist and pulls you right to his chest. Your faces almost touch.

Your breath hitches like the traitor that it is.

He pulls your hand up to rest on his chest, where his heart beats hard and erratically. “Does this feel fake to you?” Theo’s fingers dig lightly into your waist. “Do you honestly think that all of that— everything we said and did— meant nothing?”

His breath fans across your face.

Your whole body feels like it’s on fire, and he’s the ice bucket that can save you— but your pride and anger are like the fires of hell; irreparable.

“You took a bet to make me fall for you, Theo, and lucky for you, you won it. How much was I worth, huh?”

He replies almost instantly. “I didn’t take any money, Y/n.” Theo breathes deeply and you feel his chest rise and fall, forcing yours to do the same.

“You— what?” You can feel your resolve cracking, the hope leaking through that somehow you were wrong.

“Let me explain the full story.” He waits for you to give him confirmation; you nod and he continues. “Yes, it started with the bet, and yes, I had never planned for it to last. It was cruel and mean, and I’m sorry. But the thing is, I didn’t anticipate that I would end up falling in love with you right back.” The words feel like a kick to the heart.

“But, on the other hand, how could I not? You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and you’re intelligent and funny, you laugh at all my stupid jokes. You love potions more than any other class and you’re really good at it too.” He stops. “Y/n, you’re perfect and I’m so, so sorry I never told you— or, even worse, that I did it in the first place.”

Your heart skips several beats. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Oh.” You’re at a loss for words.

He just looks you over, trying to assess what’s running through your mind like he always does. “Please forgive me, Y/n. I love you so much it hurts.”

You pull away from him and he reluctantly lets go, his shoulders sagging in defeat.

“You’re serious?” You ask quietly. “No bets this time? Nothing you haven’t told me?”

He shakes his head, giving you the saddest, puppy-dog look, unintentionally.

You’re silent for another long moment before, finally, you say: “you love me?”

Theo looks into your eyes. “God, yes.”

“Okay.” You say softly.

He straightens. “Okay, you’ll get back together with me or Okay, I don’t forgive you?”

You hold up one finger and he seems to understand because he pulls you back into him so quickly and presses his lips to mine; you kiss him back, and kind of stand there, kissing, for a long moment. Probably longer than you should’ve.

But you wish he never had to stop.

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