#no its way too early to learn this information

[stars-n-spice]

HELLO?!

Saw that the Batchers had new heights and had to confirm for myself and tell me why the fuck Wrecker got 4 more inches.

That man is nearly two feet taller than me.

God, it's way too fucking early to have this informative oh my gods.

[sophiamcdougall]

I am never going to complain about Greek Duolingo again

I mean, I am. But still.

So, as some of you know, my family has been coming to this tiny Greek seaside village for several years. Just over a week ago I came out here with my mum, under the impression that early September, after the height of the summer heat, would be a good time to have a holiday. ANYWAY Storm Daniel had other ideas about that. Locally things are improving (I'm actually really pissed off about the disaster-porn tone of most English-language media coverage, but that's another post). The power is back on, there's running water most of the time, and though the latter is not drinkable, a truck from the government came and handled out free bottled water yesterday. But we are currently kind of stuck. Can't do tourist things. Can't go home. There aren't any local flights out until Saturday and the road to Thessaloniki is still closed.

So this evening, feeling kind of aimless and depressed, I go down to the nearest beach with a couple of binbags and start cleaning up in an effort to at least do something positive. I always try to do this at least once out here and obviously, after the storm, there's a lot more plastic and rubbish than usual.

At some point I find this large, round bit of metal - some kind of machinery part, I think -- that's too big for the bag, so I take it to the bins on its own, leaving the rubbish bag on the beach. And when I come back for it, something among the stones beside it moves.

Specifically, it pulls its head sharply inside its shell

So, meanwhile I've been trying to learn some Greek with the help of Duolingo.

I currently have a 33-day streak and... I have questions. Shouldn't I be able to use the past or future tenses by now? Shouldn't I be able to say "x is like y"? I can't do those things. But one thing I absolutely can say all day long is έχω μια χελώνα : I have a turtle.

This is far from the limit of Duolingo Greek's turtle-related content. "An obsession with turtles" is my mother's characterisation. I can inform you that the turtle is not a bird, and, improbably, that the turtle is drinking milk. I can introduce you to a turtle in company with a horse and an elephant. As far as Duolingo is concerned, it really is turtles all the way down.

Now this, you may be able to see, is not a turtle. It has claws rather than flippers. It is a tortoise. I know there are wild tortoises in Greece: my aunt once rescued a pair of them shagging in the middle of the road -- but that was up in the mountains. I've even seen one myself, but it was also on a road and very dead.

I am 95% certain they don't belong on beaches. There's nothing for it to eat, except, unfortunately, a lot of plastic. Even if it gets off the beach it will immediately find itself on a road where it could get hit by a car. I'm pretty sure it must have been washed down by the floodwater and has been just sitting there, dazed, ever since.

Now obviously the first thing I want to do on encountering this unusual animal is to go and tell my mummy, so I do. The tortoise immediately brightens her day. She agrees that the tortoise is not happy on the beach and needs to be taken somewhere safe. it gets surprisingly wriggly when picked up so we put it in a carrier bag with some grapes and cucumber and go looking for somewhere to rehome it.

We find a path leading up between the houses towards a likely-looking field, but before we get very far a dog in a yard goes berserk and a man's head pops over a fence and demands to know what we're doing. He does this in English, as evidently we're just that obviously tourists.

"I found a tortoise on the beach!" I explain. "We want to find somewhere to put it."

"A what," he asks.

"It's like a, you know," I begin and then to my astonishment I find myself saying... "μια χελώνα"

"Oh! A turtle!" he says.

"But from the land. δεν είναι χελώνα", [it is not a turtle,] I say, as I am worried he will tell me to put it back near the sea where I found it. As it turns out it actually IS a χελώνα, Greek does not distinguish between turtles and tortoises, but I don't know that; I can't even name the days of the week or identify any colours other than pink yet, give me a break.

The man's entire demeanour changes and thaws. He does not worry about my turtle-that-is-not-a-turtle conundrum. He knows where οι χελώνες come from and where η χελώνα μας belongs. He leads us through a gate into a courtyard area.

"[somethingsomething] μια χελώνα," he explains to the assembled onlookers, of whom there are, suddenly, a surprising number.

"ΜΙΑ ΧΕΛΩΝΑ!!!" crows the throng of delighted small children, who are, suddenly, everywhere.

"μια χελώνα!" I agree, accepting that at least for current purposes, that is what it is.

"Μπορούμε να δούμε τη χελώνα σας; [can we see your turtle?]" asks an adorable little girl, shyly, and I understand??

The children fucking love looking at the χελώνα and showing it to them is kind of magical?

I finally put the tortoise down on the grass of this wild area off to the side of the courtyard, and marvel aloud that it is weird that I barely know any Greek except how to say μια χελώνα.

"I think she will soon run off," a kind lady called Aspasia assures me, seeing I remain slightly anxious about its fate. "I don't know why I'm saying 'she'. I suppose because χελώνα is feminine in Greek."

"Yes! I know that!" I exclaim, thrilled.

"Well done!" she says. And also she asks if we are OK for drinking water after the storm and if we need any help with anything and is just generally incredibly lovely and now we know more of the neighbours!

So "μια χελώνα" has just become, by a long way, my most-used and most understood and all-around most conversationally successful phrase in Greek. So I guess I have to admit I was wrong to doubt Duolingo's wisdom: it is correct to be obsessed with turtles. And I concede that prior to learning how to count to ten or to distinguish right from left, the simple ability to yell the word TURTLE over and over again is, it turns out, a crucial element of the responsible traveller's social skills.

(I am pretty fluent in Italian and turtles haven't come up in conversation even once?)

[kittykatinabag]

My instincts for shady workplaces are as sharp as ever.

[lure-of-writing]

His little sister: Did you plan on telling?

Summary: Azriel learns of your sparring incident with Cassian and this is his point of view of the day in question.

Word count: 2.8k

Warning: probably some misspelled words

Note: Ya'll I love this back and forth between Az's and readers pov. What do you think? But things are starting to get more intense 😬😧

Ever since the night Azriel had returned with you from the summer court he was for the lack of better wording intentionally been avoiding you. It's not like he wanted to ignore you, gods no. If anything he wanted to be near you as much as possible. Rhysand never explicitly told him to stay away from you but with the intensity level of your antics increasing and the protectiveness level of your brother also increasing Azriel decided it would be the best idea so steer clear of you for at least a little while. Even though the two of you live in the same house with Nesta and Cassian he made it a point to be out of the house before you woke up and only return once he was sure you would be fast asleep. 

Avoiding you wasn’t as hard of a task as one would think it would be since you tended to just roam around the house looking for something to pique your interest until you inevitably got bored and repeated the process. Not only did your free roaming habits help Azriel avoid you but he was still the spymaster of the night court and had his own duties and responsibilities to tend to. He had been gone for a week when he returned in the hours of the early morning. The sun still hadn’t begun to peak its ways over the horizon when his feet touched down on the roof. As wired as Azriel still felt from his flight back home, his body was tired. He decided to get some rest for a few hours before flying down to the river house to relay the information he obtained to Rhysand. 

When he woke, the sun had finally started to bless the city of Velaris with its light and warmth. Reluctantly he began to get ready for what he was sure to be a very long day. He knew that today Cassian and himself were supposed to demonstrate fighting techniques for Nesta and the other girls but Cassian would have to figure something else out. Never did he think Cassian's new plan of action would be leaving an imprint of his fist on your face otherwise he would have shown up. 

Azriel waited for his shadows to report back to him that you had made your way up and onto the roof to begin stretching with Nesta before he also made his way up to the roof so he could fly down to meet Rhysand. The goal was just to not get caught, which shouldn’t be too hard considering that he was a shadowsinger and very good at leaving places without being noticed. Just as he arrived at the top stairs leading to the unofficial training area that was the roof of the house of wind Cassian was talking about the importance of different fighting techniques. 

Azirel knew that he should leave before you caught sight of him and then marched your away over to him demanding to know why he was ignoring you, ensuring that you made a big scene before all the Valkyries in training. He was sure that wouldn’t end well for him. The only answer that he could possibly give you is “Sorry, I’ve been busy.”  which if he was being completely truthful was one hundred percent bullshit considering the fact that he's never been too busy for anything involving you. There have been times where he has been sleep deprived and littered with cuts and bruises and covered and blood and gods knows what and he still made time for you. He was sure that you were his fatal flaw. 

His daydream was abruptly ended at the sound of your laughter. He didn’t need his superior hearing to know that you were teasing his brother. He could tell just from your body language. The tilted head, bouncy shoulders, wide smile and loose body posture that told him that you were poking fun at the general. Azriel swore he could read you better then he could read any book. He watched for just a moment longer as the two of you got into the fighting stance and began to circle each other while throwing out a few fake jabs to get ready for the real deal. As much as he wanted to stay and see you kick Cassian's ass and put him into place he also really needed to speak with Rhys so with one last look he shot off into the sky and towards his high lord and lady. 

Azriel had just sat down in one of the overly large and plush chairs that decorated Rhysands office while beginning to retell the events of his latest quote unquote “adventure” as you would call it when Rhysands eyes clouded over. Someone was speaking to him mind to mind. If he had to guess, it would probably be his wife. Gods knows he did not want to know what they were talking about. A beat of silence filled the room before Rhys spoke. “It’s Cass. He wants me to go to the house.” The high lord rolls his eyes before going completely still. “What is it?” There hasn’t been many times in Azriels long history of knowing Rhysand where he got that look of dread on his face to say it was concerning was an understatement. 

“It y/n” Those were all he needed to hear before both males were up on their feet in a split second and racing to the front door to launch themselves in the sky. If rhysand ever asked why he was so quick to react he would say it was because you were his friend and rhys little sister and most importantly family. And family shows up for family. Luckily Rhysand was too preoccupied with getting out of the house to notice the sheer look of concern mixed with panic on his friend's face. 

There has been many times when Azriel had been faced with things that should have made his heart race and it didn’t. There were also times when he had faced things and it did make his heart race, but nothing could make his heart racing like knowing something had happened to you but not knowing what. It truly made his stomach churn and he felt like he just might throw up. And as the spymaster he has seen and done things that would make any normal fae sick to their stomach, but not once did he ever feel that way. His love for you was so overwhelming that even not knowing if you were ok could almost bring him to his knees. 

The less than five minute flight to the house of wind had never felt as long as it did in that moment. He could hear the beating of both rhysand and his wings and they propelled them to Cassian's waiting figure. As soon as both males were close enough they could see Cassian pacing back and forth and Nesta cradling your head while you laid on the ground. If Azriels heart wasn’t racing before then it sure was now. Once both him and Rhys had landed it knew Rhysand was questioning Cassian as to why his baby sister was laying on the ground looking as dazed as ever. But he couldn’t find it in himself to tear his eyes away from your body. A few moments passed before Rhysand was moving towards you and both he and Cassian followed. Finally he was able to pull his eyes away from where you laid to look at his other brother with an eyebrow raised in a silent way of asking what happened. Cassian's pained shake of his head and lack of verbal or physical response was definitely starting to concern him. 

As soon as Nesta removed her hand Azriel knew why Cassian didn’t answer him. The reason you were laid out flat on the ground not responding was because of Cassian. The rational part of Azriel knew his brother never meant to do his to you. He would never hurt any female let alone the one he considered a little sister who he helped raise. But the irrational part of him, the part of him that was your mate, wanted to beat Cassian to a pulp for ever thinking it was a good idea to use you for his demonstration. His eyes never left your quickly darkening bruise that was starting to blossom across your face while his mind ran through all the ways he would like to repay the favor to his brother. It took a few deep breaths for him to decide that duking it out with Cassian would look suspicious to not only Rhys but to literally everyone there so instead he focused on controlling his mind numbing anger he felt not only towards his brother but the situation he put you in. Plus somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that Cassian would have to deal with Rhysand and that wouldn't be pretty either. 

After pushing his very primal anger to the side he began to as gently as he possibly could, pull you into his arm. Azriel, just like Rhysand, has been on the other side of a punch Cassian can throw and just how much damage it can inflict. Whether or not he was trying to. Azriel could see the start of just how much damage you had been dealt with the fresh red, purple and dots of red where the force of the impact had popped the blood vessels in your face. The condition of your face was enough to warrant a visit to the inner circles healer. Hell getting punched by either one of the three males was reason enough to pay a visit to Madja. Once he had explained to Nesta just where he was taking you he was gentle when launching into the sky. Not wanting to cause you more pain then you were already experiencing. 

The flight to Madja’s clinic was a short enough one but every few seconds he couldn't help but look down at your face and evaluate the mark left on your face. It made him want to cry. He would never forgive himself for not showing up to training this morning. Even though you may not know that he was your mate. He did. And the day he found out, the moment he found out that he was your mate he swore that he would never let anything bad happen to you. Even if that meant sacrificing his life for yours. For you he would do anything without question. If you asked him to burn down the world he would and at the end he would deliver you the ashes pressed into a diamond just to make you happy. So knowing that his choice to skip training his morning was the direct result of the concussion rattling around your head and the very badly picked colors of the autumn court decorating your cheek made him disgusted with himself. 

The bell above the door of the healers clinic jingled as the Illyrian made his way inside. Usually the old fae was tucked away in some room helping with another patient but this time she was sat at the counter working with an apprentice when he entered. “Y/n?” The calm voice was coated in concern. She made her way over to where he stood in the middle of the room giving you a quick once over before beckoning for him to follow her into a room. As soon as he set you on the bed Madja was looking you over for any other injuries. “What happened to her?” As the inner circles healer Madja was used to fixing up the three males even sometimes Morrigan and occasionally Feyre but never had you become a patient of hers. “She was sparring with Cassian.” The shadowsinger didn’t need to say anything else for the fae understood exactly what that meant. 

Madja was in the middle of giving Azriel different tonics and potions that would help with the injury you had sustained when Rhysand walked through the doors. “Where is she?” the high lord cut a sharp look to his brother. “She's in the room resting. The apprentice is watching over her.” Azriel watched as Rhysands eyes moved from him to the healer. “And is she ok?” Madja gave a slight nod “She will definitely have a gnarly bruise for some time and a concussion but she will live. You should be thankful that Cassian didn’t put more power behind that hit otherwise we might not be having this conversation.” Madja picked up one of the tonic bottles and gave it a little shake. “But as I was saying before you came storming in here.” After all these years Azriel knew Madja was used to the theatrics of the inner circle and that's why she paid the high lord no mind when he barged in. For her it was just another normal day. 

Azriel stayed while Madja explained what each medicine did, how much to give and how often to give it. Just in case Rhys wasn’t able to do it. Not like that would happen but just in case. He stayed in the front of the clinic while Rhysand went to collect his sister. Eventually the three of you emerged into the streets of Velaris. One was holding your body and one was holding a bag of vials. He was the latter. Azriel hated the thought of Rhysand walking through the streets of Velaris with you in your current state but he also knew that winnowing would not be a good idea. So both males began the walk to Feyre and Rhysand’s house. Not a single word was said the whole walk home. Azriel pushed open the wide doors for Rhysand to fix through when Feyre appeared before him “How is she?” for a minute he didn’t respond instead he watched as Rhys walked up the stairs and turned down the hallway leading to his personal room. After Rhysand was out of his sight did he hold up the bag he was holding. “Madja said she will be fine, just in a lot of pain.” His lady let out a big breath of relief. 

Rhysand still wasn’t down from his room when he was finished explaining each tonic to Feyre along with how and when to give them so reluctantly he made his exit. That was not before sending his shadows to check on you. “She's still asleep. Comfort in bed. Resting. Rhys is looking over her.” Madja had given you something for the pain and in turn it put you to sleep. There wasn’t anything he could do. Rhysand would never let him close enough to care for you. Once when you were still a child you had accident cut yourself playing with a dagger Rhysand had specifically told you not to touch and when you eventually did get hurt Rhys was the one to tend to you, not allowing either him nor Cassian to care for you. Even when he was supposed to be training. You could have a paper cut and Rhysand would not let anyone other than himself look over you. You are his baby sister after all. That job belongs to him. 

Azriel knew that Rhys would keep you at the river house until you were ok enough to be flown back to the house of wind. In those few days Azriel fought of the temptation to fight Cassian every time the two males made eye contact and spent the other time looking for a mission to get away from his brother. Azriel had a feeling the murderous feelings wouldn’t subside until he knew you were one hundred percent better. So being sent out on a mission with Cassian was the last thing he wanted. 

They were currently sitting by a fire when Cassian broke the silence “So when did you plan on telling us that you were y/n’s mate?” Azriel felt himself choking on the water he had been attempting to drink mere seconds ago. “What?” his coughing fit was still ongoing when he managed to squeak out the one word. “I may not be the smartest one in the group but it doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out.” Azriel swore he knew gave any indication that he was your mate to anyone. Hell he barely acknowledged it himself. “I am not y/n’s mate.” Cassian's laugh rang out into the open woods before echoing into the distance. “Sure you're not that why every time you looked at me for the past week almost, you looked like you wanted to kill me. I could tell you were avoiding me. I mean you're less than happy to be here with me.” the general took a big bite of his badly cooked dinner, not even bothering to eat it before speaking again. “You can deny it all you want but I would know because that’s the same way I was with Rhys when I had just an inkling Nes was my mate.”

Taglist:

@kemillyfreitas @lana08 @willowpains @username199945 @tothestarsandwhateverend

@kylaisra @lilah-asteria @nickishadow139 @br0klynbby @blacktreacle22

@amysangel

[moonsandmobilityaids]

Muggle Pills

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: The boys learn what your pills do. Warnings: Mentions of seizures, depression and suicidal thoughts Series Masterlist

You sit cross-legged on the plush carpet of your bedroom floor, a small pile of pill boxes scattered around you. Your fingers move with practiced ease as you sort the pills into their respective compartments in a weekly divider—Monday through Sunday, morning, noon, and night.

It's a routine task, one that offers a strange sense of solace amidst the chaos of everything else. Plus, it saves you from the struggle of prying open blister packs every day.

Around you, the Marauders lounge about as if this were any other lazy afternoon. Sirius flips idly through a Quidditch magazine, his brows furrowing at an article about the latest racing broom. James lies sprawled out across your bed, tossing a Quaffle up and down while he debates strategy. Remus sits quietly in a corner, engrossed in a book, a sliver of sunlight illuminating the dust motes dancing around him. Your room has become their second home, just as comfortable and familiar as their dormitory.

They've grown accustomed to these quiet moments together, each occupied with their own thoughts or interests. And yet today, something shifts. A question hangs in the air, unspoken but palpable.

James is the first to break the silence, his voice cutting through the soft hum of activity. "Y/N?" He pauses, catching himself before the words tumble out unchecked. His gaze flickers over to where you sit, still dividing your medication for the week ahead. "Why... why do you take all those? Like, on top of the potions?"

For a moment, time seems to stretch thin, the seconds elongating as you weigh your answer. They've seen you like this before—pills in hand, water glass nearby—but never asked. Not until now. Something about the directness of the question gives you pause, but then you realize: they deserve to know. Especially now, when lines have blurred and friendships have blossomed into something more intimate, more profound.

"Right," you begin, letting out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. Your fingers trace the edge of the first pill box—a small, round tablet that's more crucial to your daily life than any potion or spell could ever be. "This one is for my blood pressure."

James, Sirius and Remus lean in closer, their attention rapt despite the seemingly mundane topic. The significance isn't lost on them; every detail about you feels important now, woven into the fabric of their care.

"It's always been too low," you explain, eyes downcast as if you're sharing some great secret. Perhaps it is, in its own way. An admission of frailty, of the battle you wage within your body each day. "If I don't take this, I get dizzy... faint sometimes."

A flicker of understanding passes across James's face, then Sirius's. They've seen you like that before, pale and unsteady in the corridors during your early years at Hogwarts. At the time, they'd chalked it up to nerves or fatigue—anything but a chronic condition. But now...

"Wait," Sirius says, his voice rough with concern. "Are those fainting spells why you had to go back to the hospital wing so often?"

You nod, a hint of relief washing over you. It's easier than you thought it would be, opening up about this part of your life. Maybe because they listen without judgement, accepting each revelation as another piece of the puzzle that is you.

"Yes. That was before I started taking this," you say, tapping the pill box lightly.

Sirius leans back slightly, processing this new information with a furrowed brow. He opens his mouth to speak again, but Remus beats him to it.

"Do you still feel like you might pass out even with the medication?" His tone is gentle yet probing, respectful of your boundaries but curious all the same.

"Sometimes." You shrug, trying to downplay the gravity of what living with such unpredictability means. "But it's better than before."

Remus nods, storing away this tidbit of knowledge like he does with everything else. He understands, perhaps better than anyone, what it means to navigate the world with a body that doesn't quite cooperate. And while your experiences are vastly different, there's a silent kinship in shared struggle—a bond forged through resilience and endurance.

"Next is this one." Your fingers move to a different compartment, closing around another pill. "It's for my heart rate."

Their brows furrow almost in unison, confusion etching lines across their young faces. You suppose it must be strange for them, hearing about the inner workings of your body when all they've ever known are charms and potions, Quidditch injuries and common colds.

"But isn't that connected to your blood pressure?" James asks, his forehead creased as he tries to make sense of it all.

"In a way, yes," you explain, appreciating his attempt to understand. "But while the first medication helps raise my blood pressure, this one keeps my resting heart rate from getting too high."

"That doesn't sound pleasant," Sirius chimes in, leaning back against the couch with a sigh. Although he's always been more comfortable with banter than serious conversations, there's an earnestness in his expression that speaks volumes about how much he cares.

"It's not something I feel most of the time," you admit, setting the second pill aside. "I don't really notice unless I forget to take it or if I'm especially stressed out. But without it, my heart behaves like I'm running even when I'm sitting still."

You let the implication hang in the air, a testament to the silent battles waged beneath your skin. A hush falls over the room, punctuated only by the occasional crackle of the fire. The boys exchange glances, each processing your revelation in their own way. From the corner of your eye, you see James run a hand through his already messy hair, a gesture betraying his unease.

"I remember once," you begin again, your voice barely above a whisper, "I got a concussion in school, no big deal but headed the A&E to be checked out, and I ended up being admitted because my heart rate was over 180 beats per minute and wouldn't come down. They were so alarmed, kept asking me if I felt okay..."

The memory is vivid, etched into your mind with sharp clarity. The steady beep of monitors, the worried faces of doctors—reminders of just how fragile human bodies can be.

"And did you?" Sirius interrupts, his grey eyes reflecting the flickering flames.

"Did I what?"

"Feel okay? Or were you..." He trails off, unable to finish the sentence. It's clear to see why; the notion of such turmoil within you, unbeknownst to them until now, is unsettling to say the least.

"I mean, my head was killing me but otherwise, I felt fine," you state, "but that doesn't mean it's safe to ignore."

There's a pause as they digest your words, the gravity of what you're sharing settling heavy in the silence. Remus shifts slightly beside you, his gaze thoughtful. As ever, he seems to carry an understanding beyond his years—a quiet wisdom born from living in the shadows.

"When we were in the hospital wing together in first and second year—you know, after the full moon and your... episodes," he begins cautiously, mindful of the delicate territory he's treading on. "Was this part of it? Your heart thing?"

You shake your head, offering him a small smile. "While I did have the heart rate as a problem, that's not why I was there."

Remus nods slowly, absorbing this new information. His brow furrows, not in judgement but in concern—a silent question lingering behind his amber eyes. How much more is there to learn?

"Right," you say, moving on to the next pill. It's a small orange capsule and looks innocuous enough, but its role is no less vital than the others. "This one's for my epilepsy."

"Epilepsy?" James blurts out, his eyes widening at the revelation.

The room goes quiet, save for the crackling of the fire in the background. Sirius and James exchange glances, their expressions mirroring the unease that hangs in the air.

You nod, acknowledging his surprise with a wry smile. "It helps prevent seizures. But it's not foolproof. I regularly have atonic seizures still, they only last a few seconds and nothing needs to be done with those. I don't really have big ones anymore, but when I get sick or stressed—or before I got my implant, when I had my period—I can still have them."

"How long have you..." James starts, then clears his throat, struggling to find the right words. "How long have you had epilepsy?"

"Basically my whole life," you answer simply. "But it's mostly managed now. The stress of exams and assignments can trigger the big seizures sometimes, but most people don't notice."

Sirius frowns, running a hand through his hair. "Have you had any since getting with us?"

"I mean, I've had little ones but not any big ones." You reach over to squeeze his hand reassuringly before letting go. "But during last year, I did have several because of the stress of OWLs."

His grip tightens around yours, concern etched into every line of his face. It's strange, seeing Sirius so unguarded, his usual bravado replaced by raw vulnerability. But then again, nothing about this situation is ordinary.

"You never told us," James says quietly, meeting your gaze with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt. He's not accusing, merely stating a fact—one that seems unthinkable given how close you all are.

"I didn't want to worry you, you were just my friends then," you admit, looking down at your hands. "Besides, you three were so focused on your own exams. You wouldn't have noticed even if you tried."

There's truth to your words, but they do little to ease the guilt that flashes across James's features, and Sirius remains silent, his grey eyes clouded with thought. Both boys are processing this new information, trying to reconcile the image of you—a force of nature, unbowed despite everything—with the reality of your condition.

Remus, who has been listening silently, finally speaks up. "I remember... those nights in the hospital wing when we were younger. I'd be in there because of the full moon, you'd be there because of a seizure…"

"Or worse," you say, almost to yourself. "To be honest, I was also there because no one trusted that I wouldn't try to kill myself, and no healer or doctor would give an 11-year-old birth control for their PMDD. I got the implant at 14, and the seizures went away with my period, as did the temptation to kill myself."

James blinks, stunned into silence. "I never knew any of this," he says at last, his voice barely above a whisper.

"By the time we became proper friends, I already had the implant. There was no reason to tell you about something that was no longer a problem." You give him a reassuring smile.

James nods slowly, although the concern has not entirely left his eyes. Sirius, too, seems pensive as he stares into the fireplace, blowing out a slow breath. Only Remus appears unchanged, his expression calm and thoughtful, as if the revelations were expected.

"Right," you say, taking a deep breath as you reach for the final pill box, a small white container that holds a different kind of lifeline. "This one's my antidepressant."

The change in atmosphere is almost palpable as James and Sirius stiffen beside you. Remus, ever the stoic observer, merely watches.

"Is that... because of everything else?" asks Sirius tentatively, his grey eyes searching yours for answers. You can tell he's treading carefully now, aware that this conversation has ventured into territory far more delicate than any duel or prank gone wrong.

"Yeah," you reply, letting out a long exhale. "It helps manage the lows, but it's not foolproof. Nothing really is."

James's thumb brushes over the back of your hand, tracing patterns there as if trying to will away the pain etched between your words. He doesn't speak, but his silence carries its own weight, heavy with understanding.

"You're not always..." James starts, then stops, uncertain how to phrase his question without sounding insensitive.

"Depressed?" you finish for him, offering a wry smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. "Not always, no. But when I am... well, let's just say it's better for everyone involved that I have these."

Your fingers tap against the pill bottle, the sound echoing lightly through the room.

A moment passes before Sirius breaks the silence. "And do they work? The pills, I mean." There's a hopeful note to his voice, laced with a quiet desperation that mirrors the way his eyes never leave your face.

"For the most part," you admit. "But like I said, they're not perfect. They help keep things under control, but they don't make my symptoms go away entirely. And some days are harder than others."

You pause, considering how best to explain what living with depression feels like—the relentless heaviness that often threatens to pull you under despite the medication designed to keep you afloat.

"It's like walking through a storm," you say finally. "Most days, the meds are like a good coat—they keep the worst of the rain off. But sometimes the storm gets too strong, and all the coat can do is stop you from getting completely soaked."

"Merlin," James breathes, running a hand through his hair as he processes your words. "Have you been dealing with all this since..."

"Birth?" you supply, nodding once. "Pretty much, yeah."

"Since you were a baby?" Sirius asks, his voice rough with disbelief. "How long have you been taking all these pills?"

"I was little when I was put on the epilepsy meds," you admit, "but the others were added as new conditions developed."

"And what happens if you forget to take one?" James's tone is gentle, but there's an underlying urgency that betrays his worry. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"Well, missing a dose here and there isn't the end of the world, usually." You shrug, trying to make light of it, though the truth is more complex. "But if I go too long without them... Let's just say it can lead to some serious complications."

Remus watches you, his gaze steady and thoughtful. "It must be exhausting," he says quietly, "keeping track of all this, making sure you're always taking the right thing at the right time. Especially with the potions you use for your pain."

"It's a lot," you agree, not seeing any point in denying it. "But the alternative..." Your voice trails off as you picture yourself without the medication: the pain, the fatigue, the despair. "Let's just say I'm grateful for muggle and wizarding medicine, even if it doesn't fix everything."

The words hang heavy in the air, a quiet echo of your confession ringing in the stillness of the room. The boys sit with straight spines and furrowed brows, each processing what you've just shared in their own way. For a moment, no one speaks, the silence filled only by the crackling fire and the soft patter of rain against the window.

The world of pills and doctors is foreign to them, so far removed from the magical healing they know. They are warriors in their own right, but this is a battle they do not understand, cannot see. It's in the lines that etch deeper into Sirius' forehead, the way his fists clench at his sides—not with anger towards you, but with a burning frustration for an enemy he cannot confront.

"I can't believe we didn't know," James finally breaks the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. It's not an accusation, merely a statement laced with self-reproach. But there's no need for you to respond; the truth of it hangs in the air around you. How could they have known? You've become a master at concealing the extent of your pain, hiding behind masks of normalcy even when your body screamed otherwise.

Sirius shifts slightly, and his voice is quiet when he finally breaks the silence, a note of confusion threading through the words.

"Why didn't you say something before?" It's not an accusation, just a question born from concern and a hint of hurt. Sirius has never liked being left in the dark, especially when it comes to those he cares about.

"I didn't want to worry you," your voice barely rises above a whisper, carrying with it a weight that sinks into the silence of the room. "And knowing doesn't change anything." You glance at them, each face mirroring the gravity of your confession. "It's not like any of you can fix it."

James looks as if he wants to argue, to insist that there must be something they can do. But he remains silent, understanding—for now—the boundaries you've put in place. Relief briefly washes over you, even as you see the frustration flicker in his hazel eyes. James has always been a man of action, someone who leaps forward to shield those he loves from harm. To know there's a wound he can't mend must feel like salt on an open cut.

"I don't need you to fix it," you say gently, guessing his thoughts. "I just need you to understand."

Remus nods, his face softening as he speaks for the first time in a while. "And we do," he says quietly, his voice calm and reassuring. "Or at least, we're starting to."

There's a pause as the four of you absorb this shared understanding, a quiet acknowledgement that hangs in the air like a promise. You can almost feel the shift in the room, tangible and real, a subtle strengthening of the bonds between you. They may not fully comprehend your reality, but they're reaching out, trying to bridge the gap. And for now, at least, it's enough.

The fire dances in the hearth, painting the room with flickering shadows and bathing you all in its comforting glow. For a moment, everything else falls away, leaving only the crackling flames, the soft murmur of conversation, and the sense of peace that seems to settle over the world outside.

You finish sorting your pills into their designated compartments, the rhythm of the task grounding you. The lid of the weekly pill organizer closes with a satisfying click, a small victory against the chaos that often threatens to consume you. It’s a simple act, but in these uncertain times, even the smallest semblance of control is a lifeline.

James, ever the man of action even in stillness, shifts on the bed, leaning closer. His voice is a low rumble, steady and sure. "You know we're here, right?" It's not just a question—it's a tether, a lifeline thrown out to you in the darkness. And it's a promise, one that James Potter has every intention of keeping.

Sirius doesn't let himself be left behind, his own hand reaching out to touch yours lightly. There's something almost reverent in the gesture, as if he's afraid you'll shatter at a heavier touch. "We're not going anywhere." The words hang in the air, solidifying into a pact made of iron will and unyielding loyalty. His grey eyes are hard with resolve, the decision made long before the words had even left his lips: He will stay by your side, through this and whatever comes next.

Remus doesn't say anything more, but the silence that stretches between you is far from empty. His gaze never wavers, each exhale a testament to the quiet vigil he keeps. He understands, perhaps better than anyone, the battles waged in silence, the wars fought within oneself. And though he doesn't speak, his presence is a constant reassurance—there, always there, offering strength when yours threatens to wane.

[erinkeifer]

The Informant

[Anakin Skywalker x Padawan!Fem Reader]

Masterlist | Wattpad | AO3

Summary: So, Anakin found out that you informed on him and Padmé at the Temple, leading to the end of his romance? Oh, your mistake. Just wait until he barges into your quarters to settle the score fairly.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI | brutal smut | hate sex | angst | mirror sex | slapping | reader's serious injury during sex (head smashed against the mirror) | blood | PiV unprotected | hair pulling | cursing | degradation | dom!Anakin | sub!Reader | reader is toxic af | no comfort | no aftercare Author note: Yes, I haven't written many warnings before, but I consider this story to be one of my favorites that I've written. I've edited it many times - today I'm sharing it in a completely different form than it was meant to be, and it was supposed to be much darker. However, I don't want any content drama- I'm coming back after a long break and I want peace, so I assure you that every brutal move described in this story is motivated by immense sexual frustration on BOTH sides.

Word Count: 3,5k

Anakin stood behind the corner when you were selling him. He was there, gazing at your face, which seemed to be proud of itself and could barely restrain its foolish grin because you thought you were executing a perfect plan. "General… Unfortunately, they were there again, together… I want the best for Master Skywalker, and I can't help but be concerned that perhaps he puts… THOSE feelings above the gravity of the mission..." you spoke to Kenobi with that artificially emphasized solemnity from beneath which protruded the most insidious idea. Anakin clenched his fists, struggling to listen to your report deliberately designed to undermine him. He didn't know you had seen him with Padme. You didn't know he had seen you when you were informing. For a while, you were entangled in blissful ignorance, but soon everything was about to end in the worst possible way. ................................................................................................................. Weeks had passed since that incident, weeks during which Anakin ceased to be himself towards you - yet he had no intention of telling you why. In the first days, your training sessions became more intense - when you fell, he wouldn't lend you a hand, and when you took a hit too hard, he had no intention of apologizing, and your days didn't end with a smile he used to give you. You were sure that maybe he had worse days, perhaps the Council was giving him a hard time… There was also another option that you considered, and although you couldn't say it out loud - you counted on it the most. Troubles with Padmé.

Your unhealthy desire to take the place of that woman overshadowed your common sense, and you convinced yourself of it day by day, implementing increasingly risky and far-reaching ideas into your life. Your latest one was soon to show its effects- it was about to explode when early this morning, you learned that the senator you despised had left the Order's gates. The relationship between Anakin and Padmé had come to an end, and you were glowing.

On that day, you didn't encounter Anakin in the Temple. Your usual training took place with Kenobi instead, and although the older Jedi tried not to convey any negative emotions that day, you felt a crisis atmosphere in the air. You didn't know the details and were unsure of what exactly was happening. In the morning, you questioned your friendly, usually well-informed guards if they knew where your Master might be, but each person you asked seemed to have the same rehearsed version they were allowed to share. Were the details crucial to you? Probably not, as the only thing that mattered to you was to sense the right moment to implement your next plan. A plan titled: a caring, concerned Padawan who gets what she wants.

As you returned to your quarters in the evening, the corridors seemed darker than usual. With no significant missions left for the day, you had lingered a bit too long in the cantina, and it would be a lie to say that during your time there, you hadn't thought about Anakin. Where he was, what he was doing, what he was feeling… But what did his feelings truly mean to you, when your hands reached for the knife that, though invisible, stabbed Anakin straight in the heart? You didn't know yourself, but ironically, you were certain that the pain that would accompany your achievement would be swept under the rug. At this hour, you passed no one in the corridors- the atmosphere was so chilly that you instinctively quickened your pace to reach your quarters as soon as possible, to freshen up and forget all the tension. The doors, which you always had to unlock first, turned out to be unlocked- you probably forgot to do so the last time you left your place, and knowing your absent-mindedness well, you didn't dwell on it too much, simply closing them behind you and shedding your outerwear without hesitation as you made your way to the bathroom.

Though you felt like you were shining, you weren't shining at all. When you looked at your reflection in the mirror, you focused on the dark circles under your tired eyes, and your hair was a mess. So, you reached for the comb and painstakingly untangled each strand of your hair, helping yourself with your fingers. Finally feeling that your hair was suitable for a neat ponytail, you grabbed the nearest hair tie within your reach and tied your hair back enough so it wouldn't bother you while washing your face. The first splash of water was a relief for your face, but before the water reached the temperature you expected, the clogged sink managed to fill halfway with water. However, this didn't stop you from finally being able to apply your favorite cleansing gel to your face and wash away the dirt from the whole day. Sudden pain. Sudden pain stole your senses as you bent down under the running water. Instinctively, you grabbed onto the porcelain countertop when you choked on the water - not from a single drop, not from a stream accidentally spraying into your nostrils. Your face submerged in the water standing in the sink, and there was a hand on your neck that didn't belong to you.

For a moment, you felt like you were in nightmares, which, although rare, when they did occur, manifested in their most intense form. You thought someone or something was using the Force on you, but the touch squeezing your throat was real. Desperately, you gasped for air as the mysterious hand impulsively pulled your face out of the water, and when your lashes were finally free of water, the answer to all your questions was found in the mirror. "M-master…?" you mumbled with a muffled voice, feeling water rushing into your sinuses. Anakin stood behind you, his face practically devoid of any emotion, which probably scared you the most in this picture. His eyes, with dilated pupils that seemed darker than ever, stared at your reflection in the mirror lifelessly and without a hint of empathy. "What do you want to happen next?" he asked in a cold, hoarse voice. "Master, I think I don't underst…" "I'm asking clearly. What do you want to happen next?" he interrupted, sensing that you were playing dumb by responding this way to his words. "I… I… Really…" you started to stammer, lowering your gaze from his reflection in the mirror, but he was quicker to interrupt you again. You felt the strong grip of his second, mechanical hand on your shoulder as he turned you towards him, so that you leaned back against the sink, and your face, though much lower due to your difference in height, was inches away from his face.

"You know what happened. No one had to tell you. You know she's gone, and you know who's behind it." he continued, his hand that was previously on your throat now gripping your chin. "Master, I really don't…" you began, wincing in pain as his hand tightened almost to the point of bruising on your chin. "You damn well know who… And I damn well know who… All I want is to hear it from you." he added through gritted teeth, and at that moment, you felt a hatred unlike any you had ever felt before - not even when facing the worst, hostile scum on missions.

"I… I…"

"Exactly. You. You. And if something had tempted me earlier… I would have been done with you long ago, but I decided to wait, maybe nothing would happen, and I'd ruin your life…" Skywalker continued with deadly seriousness, and you realized how utterly hopeless your situation was.

"Anakin… I didn't want to! I didn't want it to happen this way! I…" you could have continued shouting, if Anakin's finger hadn't found its way in a silencing gesture over your lips.

"This way… Funny. Funny, because you did. You wanted it to happen, but according to your delusional script." Anakin spoke, and you preferred to stay silent. You listened and wished the ground would swallow you whole, most of all, terrified by the realization that everything he said was true.

"And you know, delusional scripts of filthy bitches like you rarely come true, don't they?" he continued, holding onto his terrifyingly serious tone.

Overwhelmed by shock, all you could manage was a numb nod of disapproval - you couldn't squeeze out a single word, and Anakin didn't even expect you to. "Let's consider, though… How it would look in your little, stupid head…" he added after a moment, lowering his hand from your chin, leaving your delicate skin reddened from the strong grip. "Assuming I didn't see or hear what you did in the council, and I lived in blissful ignorance… You'd now play the hero and pretend in front of me that you have shreds of humanity left in you and want what's best for me, wouldn't you?"

"But… I didn't say that I…"

"And you didn't have to. Just thinking it was enough, wasn't it?" Anakin folded his arms across his chest as he spoke these words, and you would be inclined to admit that beneath his controlled demeanor, he seemed on the verge of exploding at any moment. You wanted to run away, but you couldn't. You wanted to defend yourself, but you had nothing to defend yourself with. You wanted to speak, but you had no words. "It's nice to ponder like this… 'What if'… But we're here and now, and you still haven't answered my first question..." Anakin continued, and upon hearing the mention of the question, you raised your gaze to look at him. "What do you want to happen next?"

Skywalker left you in complete emptiness, posing the question once again. You felt so depleted that you had no idea what to expect - from him, from yourself, from everything. Your heart rate quickened with each moment of silence, and this time, Anakin seemed genuinely eager for your response. "Oh, don't bother. Especially since I know very well what you want to happen next." Barely had you processed your Master's words in your mind when two strong hands grabbed you at hip level and turned your figure back towards the mirror. You leaned against the porcelain sink with your front while he stood behind you, just inches from your back, his gaze fixed on your figure in the mirror wild and filled with hatred. "Do you know you've hurt me?" he asked after another moment of silence, placing his both large hands on either side of you, enclosing you. "And you know it's going to hurt?" he added shortly after, not giving you time to respond, assuming you knew well what you had done.

"I know." you answered with a trembling voice, not really aware of which of the two questions you subconsciously answered to him. "Good." he replied with a terrifyingly calm voice, then you heard the clinking of the belt from behind, sending shivers down your spine. "Bend over." he growled, and you did as he commanded, trying to sneak glances at him in the mirror opposite. "Give me that." he added after a moment, pointing towards the bandage scissors lying closer within your reach, and you obediently handed them to him. Anakin snatched the scissors from your trembling hand and without further hesitation, swiftly cut your thin jumpsuit at the waistline with one quick motion, without considering whether it would injure your skin. You hissed sharply as you felt the blunt blade irritating your skin, and just a few seconds later, a shallow, bleeding cut on your skin could be seen from the hole.

He had no interest in bothering with the zipper on your jumpsuit when he had a sharp tool at his disposal. The material split precisely at the cut, allowing him to tear it further and rip it around the circumference, so Skywalker didn't wait any longer. He yanked on the exposed fabric, and when he could afford it, he began to pull down the lower part of your torn jumpsuit. "You fuckin' slut…" he muttered when he saw that the part of the material he was pulling down revealed your bare ass without any underwear. You had your head bowed down, but upon hearing his words and being aware of what was happening, you smiled to yourself at the corner of your mouth. Your overly confident, slutty smile quickly vanished from your face as you opened your mouth in shock when Anakin entered you without warning - so quickly and desperately that part of the carelessly pulled-down fabric of your jumpsuit irritated his balls as he tried to bottom out. "Fuck…" he muttered through clenched teeth as you let out a long, dull moan. From his throat emanated a range of sounds that you had never heard before - even before he fully filled you, his breath was heavy and distinctly audible, but it was only now that you could hear the frustration pouring out of his vocal cords. His gaze in the mirror, aiming straight into your eyes, was both humiliating and arousing. You wanted it, and you couldn't hide it. If anyone was to destroy you after the failure of your plans, it was him - Anakin Skywalker. The man who was currently destroying you in the way you had dreamed of. "Anakin!" you yelled, your voice growing increasingly breathless by the second as he began to rhythmically pound into you. "What do you want? Should I go harder??" he grunted, gripping your hips tightly, occasionally tugging down on the shreds of your jumpsuit material that bunched up from his movements in frustration. He initiated it sloppily and desperately - without any preparation, standing behind you in his black robes, his cock protruding from the unbuttoned fly, teasing you with every dangling stride. Hopelessly, you nodded in agreement to his words, slowly allowing yourself to be completely consumed by the sensation he was giving you, but your lack of a clear response only fueled his frustration further. "Stop nodding and speak. I want to hear it." he demanded in a louder tone, his teeth almost constantly clenched. "I want… I want it harder…" you mumbled, unaware that you had just revealed to Anakin what he feared most - pleasure from what he was doing to you. He didn't want pleasure - he wanted a lesson that you would remember for the rest of your life - a lesson that would engrave into your mind that those who live by the sword, die by the sword. "You want it harder, you'll fucking get it harder." he whispered gruffly into your ear just before he began to thrust into you with all his length. With each forceful thrust, his partially exposed lower abdomen collided with the tattered fabric of your jumpsuit top, and with each deep penetration and withdrawal, you screamed in ecstasy. He wanted to see how he filled you inch by inch, so at one point, he hiked up part of his robe and looked down, proud of depriving you of your sanity.

"You fucking wanted this, huh? You fucking wanted this!" he grunted, instinctively quickening his movements, causing your body to arch to the point where the torn seams of your jumpsuit began to give way. When your eyes met again in the mirror, Skywalker couldn't resist and grabbed your tied-up hair with one of his hands that wasn't occupied with your hips. As you felt the intense tug, something inside you snapped – you didn't want to fight Anakin, but instinctively, you raised one of your hands, previously resting on the sink, and without knowing where you were aiming, you struck him in the neck.

"Whoa… woah… What? Don't like that anymore? What were you trying to do? Go on!" he paused his movements for a moment, holding onto the spot where you hit him for a few seconds before slowly continuing, leaving you completely disoriented and unsure how to explain. "Come on, slap me! Slap me!" he continued in a terrifyingly excited tone, and the slower he made his movements, waiting for your reaction, the more he motivated you to fulfill his demand. You swung your open hand towards his face, but from the angle you were in, you couldn't do it with force, and your hand barely touched and grazed his cheek.

"I said slap me, not grab me! Come on, try again, show me what you've go..." he interrupted as you made a second attempt, managing to slap him with an open hand to the face in the manner he expected. Initially, he fell silent in surprise, then let out a psychopathic laugh.

"Was that so hard, bitch?" he muttered through laughter, not giving you a chance to respond, completely disconnecting you from your senses as he began to fuck you with a speed your body couldn't handle. You bounced off him like a lifeless ragdoll as he used you like a fleshlight. Your babbling and moans were pathetic and unintelligible- clearly showcasing to Anakin how empty-headed you were at that moment, and he seemed newly recharged, ready to drain every last bit of energy from you. Both of you screamed, the mirror fogging up from your aggressive breaths, and your hands trembled, struggling to find stability on the porcelain sink. You saw sweat flooding him, his curly locks sticking to his forehead, framing his wild eyes, whose beautiful blue irises were barely noticeable with his dilated pupils. You saw the trace of your small handprint on his cheek, but the more aggressive thrusts you took, the blurrier your vision became.

"An… Anakin… I'm gonna… I'm gonna…" Sudden impact. A sudden impact momentarily cut you off from the world, and you began to see stars. Not from a spectacular orgasm, not from pleasure. His mechanical hand pushed the back of your head towards the mirror as your forehead shattered it into pieces, creating a spiderweb of glass adorned with your fresh blood. Perhaps both of you were shocked at that moment, so Anakin slowed his movements, but he had no intention of stopping, wide-eyed as he saw you disoriented and bloodied in the reflection of the shattered mirror. Seeing yourself, you felt like screaming, but you felt a hybrid of physical pain and the beginnings of an orgasm that robbed you of your voice. While adrenaline surged in Anakin to a dangerous level, he began to tremble. He began to pulse inside you, feeling on the brink of his own orgasm even amidst the awareness that he might have seriously injured you.

"M-master… I think… I think I'm bleeding." he heard your words as if through a fog, hearing only the buzzing in his own head signaling that he was about to climax. Your elbows buckled beneath you as his weight involuntarily pressed down on your body, and Anakin began to gasp chaotically with his head on your shoulder as his movements became erratic, and his warm seed filled you from within. You groaned with him, unsure if it was from pain or from finding yourself on the edge but not even attempting to explain it to yourself. Skywalker froze inside you for a moment, still pulsating, fearing that if he pulled out, his unstable trembling knees would give way under him, so he breathed warm breaths on your neck, unable to utter a word.

As soon as he pulled out, and you lost the support on his silhouette, you slid down, banging your knees against the cabinet under the sink and landed half-sitting on the floor. You saw Anakin tripled, looking up at him with tears-filled eyes as he stood, his hands trembling against the edges of the sink, and gazed at you with a hint of fear in his eyes. But as Padme returned to his mind, fear subsided, and he saw a successful revenge. He saw a conquest that wanted to be conquered, and he achieved it in the most unexpected way - unexpected even for himself.

"Anakin…" you whispered with a broken voice, smudging the blood flowing down your eyebrow with the tip of your finger, and he just watched, at a loss for words.

"It hurts… Can you…"

"I warned you it would hurt." he interrupted with a hoarse, dark voice as he fastened his belt and adjusted his clothes, clearly preparing to leave. Initially, he intended to leave without a word, took a few steps, casting a final glance at the shattered mirror, but paused at the door upon hearing your sobs.

"Grab a towel when you go to the Med Bay. Nobody wants a mess." he uttered in a cold tone without even making eye contact with you, then tossed you one hanging on the nearest hanger.

"Tomorrow morning, you're expected at training. I don't care what condition you're in. Alive or barely alive." he added before disappearing and slamming the door behind him, leaving you alone with your worries. You sat there, wounded and exhausted. Bruised and broken. Your Master - Anakin Skywalker - destroyed you, and you'll thank him for it.

[covid-safer-hotties]

Back in early 2020, the news of the strange illness causing terrible pneumonias in China saddened me, but I believed I was safe in Canada. Within weeks, there was a reckoning: thousands were dying on my doorstep, too.

Directors of an independent living residence at the start of the pandemic asked me to become the residence’s COVID-19 advisor. They had no qualified medical staff, despite supporting elderly residents. Back in those early days, anyone with a medical qualification was commandeered to help in any way they could.

Confronted with the task of providing guidance to the nonmedical staff taking care of these residents, I decided to learn everything I could about the pandemic. At that time, about 1,000 papers were being published every month detailing research into every aspect of the coronavirus. Of course, I couldn’t read all of them, but I read as many as I could and built a breadth and depth of evidenced-based knowledge about SARS-CoV-2 and COVID-19. I wrote up the protocols and during my tenure as COVID-19 Advisor for this residence, we kept COVID out.

As a family physician seeing COVID-19 in my practice, I came to recognize that so many of my colleagues and patients had no idea how to keep themselves safe from the coronavirus, nor were they aware of its long-term risks. I saw the need to take action and effect change, which ultimately led me to becoming an advocate for Long COVID awareness.

I started the medical education company Kojala Medical, aiming to provide evidenced-based information about medical issues in a form patients could understand and reliably trust. I wanted a credible, trustworthy site to which I could refer my patients, colleagues, friends and family. We started with a focus on COVID-19 and have now expanded to Long COVID, with the site longcovidtheanswers.com.

I first learned about Long COVID in 2020 through publicity raised by the Body Politic COVID-19 support group, then became more alarmed as I read scientific articles about the disease.

Aside from the official death toll of over 7 million from COVID-19, Long COVID has emerged from the pandemic as the single biggest disaster to afflict humanity, yet very few people who are not sick with Long COVID are aware of it, want to know about it, believe in it, or even acknowledge that it’s happening. Sadly, many in the medical profession fall within that group of non and disbelievers.

This is bizarre, especially because of the impact of the disease. One recent review estimates more than 400 million global cases of Long COVID. I am furious that not enough is being done to alleviate this suffering. The injustice of yet another neglected and marginalized chronic illness that disproportionately affects women.

So, rather than sitting around waiting for ‘someone’ or ‘body’ to do something, I decided to act.

For me, medicine is fundamentally about aiding people to get as well as possible from any sickness they have — and even more importantly, preventing people from getting sick in the first place. In both of these regards, we are failing people with Long COVID dismally.

Long COVID is not the flu, it is a multisystem debilitating infection associated chronic condition. Developing Long COVID can be disabling and life-changing. Recovery remains low — and some manifestations like heart disease, dysautonomia, and myalgic encephalomyelitis (ME) may last a lifetime.

This is a terrifying situation to be in when, as a global community, we have chosen to act as though the pandemic is over and repeatedly expose ourselves to SARS-CoV-2, a grade 3 biohazard, with little to no protection.

As I read more and more research papers about Long COVID and looked at the inaction of global governments and my own profession, I feared that we were sleepwalking into a global mass disabling event unnecessarily, since we have many technologies available to prevent this.

Infection-associated chronic conditions do not have an established medical speciality, and are rarely taught in medical school. With the medical profession disengaged, people with Long COVID have been left to find answers for themselves.

My work aims to build on support groups, which have helped establish caring communities for people with Long COVID, but have also paved the way for us as scientists and medics to change the way we conduct research in a more patient-focused way. Nevertheless, they don’t entirely fulfill the need for evidence-based information about the disease in a readable format for nonmedical individuals.

I saw a huge need for a comprehensive website that would be of use to all people with Long COVID, their caregivers, the scientists researching the disease, and the multidisciplinary team of healthcare professionals that would be needed to rehabilitate them. Our organization believes that Long COVID The Answers meets those requirements.

There is also a pressing need to train medical professionals so that they will acknowledge Long COVID and feel confident about diagnosing and managing it. Inspired by an interview with Dr. Ric Arsenaeau, an expert in managing complex chronic diseases, my team and I created a podcast series: so that medical providers can receive continuing professional development/educational credits from watching this series.

The podcast series features a range of experts, including people with Long COVID, doctors, scientists, educators, and medical clinicians. Some of these experts also serve on our advisory board, overlooking and participating in the project.

Our site aims to raise awareness about the dangers of continuously exposing ourselves to a perilous virus with no thought of what it will cost us and our children.

This will mobilize the people of the world to demand that their leaders properly provide safe spaces for us all to prevent us from ever getting infected in the first place.

We need to mandate our governments to access all the mitigating technologies that we have in our roster, not only vaccination. The best way of managing Long COVID is to prevent people getting infected with SARS-CoV-2 in the first place!

We need national and international indoor clean air acts – to protect us from emerging pathogens.

For people with Long COVID, awareness will bring an educated and mobilized medical profession, governmental resources, financial and sociological support, and money for research — to facilitate treatments and, hopefully, a cure.

These are the main reasons why I jump out of bed in the morning with gusto, focus, and determination, and why I’ve poured all my money and my time into educating people about Long COVID.

Dr. Funmi Okunola is a British Family Physician who lives and works in Vancouver, Canada. She is the President and CEO of Kojala Medical, a digital medical education company behind COVID-19 The Answers and Long COVID The Answers.

[todayisawthewhxlewxrld]

!"are we still friends?" kiss w/ inumaki!

prompt// heartbeat getting faster with every passing second, their hands on your waist, one coming up to your jaw, whispering your name softly, before just going for it. coming absolutely undone as your hand reaches to tug on their hair (prompt from @jasminesfury)

pairing// toge inumaki x gn!reader

word count// 1.8k

contents// jujutsu high is a college, inumaki communicates through sticky notes, inumaki uses his cursed technique to get what he wants, ooc inumaki ?

notes// these kissing prompts r too good not to use sorry not sorry! also yes him using his cursed technique was inspired by that one anon... also any information i say about a character's likes? or like favorite food, i get from jjk fandom wiki dont come for me if its not right ok baiiii <3

You and Inumaki are best friends— or were. Right now, he’s not quite sure where the two of you stand considering how you’ve been acting towards him lately. He and, quite frankly, anyone with eyes could see how uninterested you were acting toward him. You avoided his touch, kept conversations short, avoided eye contact, hell, you tried to avoid him all together—you were ignoring him. It wasn’t like you were doing it on purpose, though! …Okay, you definitely were, but you also definitely had a good reason to. The whole reason this started was because of last week.

You and Inumaki are best friends; you’d obviously take any chance you could to hang out with him, and you thought that was the only reason why—because he’s your best friend—but that day you quickly learned that was not the case. You and Inumaki sat under a tree in a random park. When the weather was nice and your schedules aligned, the two of you would often have picnics together. On these picnics, you two had this unspoken agreement of bringing each other food; he’d bring you what you liked or what he thought you’d like, and you’d do the same for him. You watch him intently as he places all the food he got for you near you, and you smile when he’s finished and is staring at you patiently, waiting for you to do the same.

You ignore his gaze and what he wants, instead tilting your head at him and asking, “What’s your favorite food?”

Inumaki’s face drops, and a pout replaces his previous faint smile as he pulls out a sticky note pad and scribbles, “Are you joking?”

You commit to the bit. “No, I’m serious! What’s your favorite food?”

You watch him fervently rip that note off to write on another one, “Wait, you seriously don’t know?”

The way he’s staring at you makes you relent. “Just humor me for a second Inumaki?” you plead with a soft smile, reassuring him that it’ll be worth it.

He stares at you curiously before nodding and writing, “Tuna mayo onigiri.”

You hum with a nod. “Right, thought so,” you say. “Guess what I have!”

Inumaki’s eyes light up as he excitedly taps his finger against the words he just wrote. His reaction doesn’t take you by surprise; you’ve seen him react like this plenty of times before. It’s what you love about him—how excited and happy he gets about things and isn’t afraid to show it—but something is different. The sun is shining on his face perfectly; it gleams off his eyes, and the way the wind slowly blows past and the trees and flowers behind him sway softly with his hair has you completely mesmerized. So mesmerized, in fact, that Inumaki had to practically shove the notepad in your face for you to even realize you were staring.

You shake your head as if shaking yourself out of your trance, silently acknowledging to yourself that it was odd, but you digress. “Sorry! But yes, I do have that for you!”

He drops the notepad and holds out his hand expectingly, and you giggle as you place the onigiri in his hand. He bows his head slightly at you to say thank you before he digs in, and you smile warmly at him.

“I’ve been trying to get it for you the past few picnics, but they were always out,” you say, frowning. “But today I went early, and they actually had some!”

He acknowledges you with a glance, and your heart skips a beat just from the brief moment that your eyes meet. You try to ignore it, though. You try to ignore how you can’t keep your eyes off him, the butterflies in your stomach, and how warm you feel. Maybe you’re getting sick? Yeah, that must be it. You don’t know how long you got distracted by simply admiring him, but by the time you came back to reality, he was done with his food and writing something on his sticky notes.

He holds up the notepad, asking, “Are you okay?”

You scoff slightly. “Of course I’m okay.”

He frowns at you before scribbling, “You haven’t touched any of your food.”

You look down at the food before returning your gaze to him and awkwardly smiling. “Ah yeah, just not all that hungry, Inumaki...”

You watch him study your face quickly before writing, "Are you sick?” He doesn't give you time to reply before placing the back of his hand on your forehead, and if you weren't already flustered before, you most definitely are now. You're too shocked by his actions to say anything, but it doesn’t matter when he's already scribbling a new sentence. “You feel warm.”

“I'm sure it's nothing, Inumaki,” you try to reassure.

He hands you a sticky note that says, “We should get you back to your dorm and stop for medicine on the way,” before beginning to pack up the left-over food.

You roll your eyes and place your hand over his to stop him, and the way he looks up at you has your brain going blank, so much so that he has to shoot you a questionable look in order for you to realize what you were doing.

You quickly remove your hand from his and clear your throat. “It’s fine, I promise. I probably just have to sleep it off, okay?”

Inumaki doesn't bother writing anything down and instead just stares at you blankly.

“If I'm still ‘sick’ by tomorrow, we can go get medicine, okay?”

He nods, ultimately accepting that answer, but he wishes he didn't because tomorrow never came. You didn't die, obviously, but you might as well have. You started ignoring him the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that, and... you get the point.

Inumaki has no idea what he did; he tried to ‘talk’ to you the best he could. He’d leave you sticky notes, and you would hardly acknowledge them or him. Did he do something wrong? He knows most people found him intimidating at first because of his cursed technique and were hesitant around him, but you never were, so why are you acting like it now? Maybe he came off too strongly; maybe you got suffocated being his only friend—well, not his only friend, but his closest friend; maybe you just had enough. Inumaki told himself he was just going to let whatever happens happen, but he couldn’t. So he said he'd find you after class and corner you if he really had to; you’re already ignoring him; what's the worst that could happen after that? But he couldn’t wait till after class tomorrow; he couldn't sleep; he just laid in bed anxiously, which is why he now finds himself standing at your door. He doesn’t think twice about knocking; he wants—no, he needs—to know why you're ignoring him.

You're surprised to see him there, and his twisted-up face makes your heart drop. You're not sure if he's worried, angry, or both.

“Inumaki, hey.” You’re afraid to look at him for too long, fearful that he’ll look back and figure out your feelings for him, so you leave the door open and start walking away. “Come in.”

He does so, shutting the door behind him. You’re a few feet away from him, so he tries to close the distance between you two, only for you to take the same number of steps back. Inumaki frowns and pulls out his sticky notes.

“Are we still friends?”

No, because you’d rather be more—if it isn't obvious by now, the entire reason you’ve been ignoring him is because you've finally realized how deeply in love with him you are.

You avoid his gaze and zero in on your floor instead, nervously laughing. “Of course, Inumaki, why wouldn't we be?”

You hear him scribble something down before the sticky pad shows up in your field of vision. “You’ve been ignoring me.”

You push his hand out of your vision. "No, I haven't.”

You hear more scribbling before one of his hands grabs your chin and lifts your head up to face him. Your eyes fluttered at the action, and you hope to god he didn't notice. He shakes the notepad in his other hand to draw your attention to it. “Yes, you have.”

You can't lie to him when it's like he's staring straight into your soul. “Okay, fine, maybe.”

Though you wish you did when his face drops and he slowly lets go of your jaw to write, “Why?”

You take a step back, and he takes one forward. “It doesn’t matter.”

He frowns and shakes his notepad slightly as if to emphasize his point, “Yes, it does.”

“It doesn't because I'm gonna stop ignoring you, okay?”

“But why were you ignoring me?” he scribbles frantically.

You sigh. “Just drop it, Inumaki, please?”

He shakes his head.

“Inumaki, just forget about it, and we can go back to normal, okay?”

He narrows his eyes at you and writes, “Just tell me! I won't get mad; I just want to know why.”

“Inumaki, seriously drop it,” you say as you turn to walk away, but you don't get far before you hear a clatter of Inumaki’s things hitting the floor, and he grabs your wrist, pulling you into him. He has your wrist to his chest, and your other hand is instinctively pressing against him, while his other hand is on your waist. You grow flustered by how you two are body-to-body, with no space to be found between the two of you, and you look at him wide-eyed, both of your breathing becoming heavier with each passing second. You're about to push yourself off of him or tell him to let go of you, but any thought of doing something vanishes the minute you see him start to open his mouth.

“Tell me,” he says softly yet firmly.

You can't even attempt to fight against his command as the words "I like you" pour out of your mouth against your will.

The minute the words leave your mouth, you go wide-eyed in shock from your confession, and from how he used his technique on you, he’s equally as wide-eyed. You try to yank your wrist free from his hold, but he has an iron grip on you no matter how hard you struggle.

You begin to murmur nervously, your voice trembling with embarrassment, "Inumaki-"

But your sentence is quickly cut short when he leans in. He hesitates for a moment before just going for it and kissing you. You don't kiss back at first in shock, but once you grasp what's going on, you quickly melt into the kiss, practically turning into liquid with the way your legs try to give out on you. You quickly tangle your free hand in his hair; he releases his grip on your wrist and places that hand on your waist as well, while you cradle his face with your newly freed hand. You two stand there kissing and holding each other for what seems like forever before he finally pulls away, both of you nearly panting.

“So, uh, does this mean we’re not friends or-“

© LITTLEXBIMBO

[mavrintarou]

Lord Gojo Satoru [2]

Fare warning, this is straight up just filthy smut. Gojo is just daddy...

Warning: tooth-rotting fluff & smut, Gojo is going to make your panties wet.

Part one Part three

.

Satoru knew he was shameless.

He knew once he had a taste of his Y/n, his control would collapse to his urges and pleasure.

He had to make his wedding date sooner than later because he promised Y/n, that after that first night, he would not touch her again until their wedding night as a married couple. With the snap of his fingers, Satoru was able to make his wedding ceremony take place the following week.

It has been two months since Y/n officially became Lady Gojo. Satoru insisted on having a lavish wedding ceremony for the entire country to know he had married his first love.

The moment Satoru finally got alone time with his wife, he didn’t waste a second to strip her. He was going mad the days before his wedding, keeping himself locked in his office and occupied. He had even left the Gojo compound to restrain himself the days before, almost caving into his last remaining sanity.

“Gojo Satoru,” Y/n murmured breathlessly from a heated kiss, “from here on you are forbidden from leaving my side for more than twelve hours…”

Satoru came to realize that he wasn’t the only one losing his mind. Y/n maintained her composure far more effectively than he did, but she, too, was reaching her breaking point.

The corner of his lips curved upward into a grin, hearing her demand. “I’ll do even better, I won’t ever be away from you for no more than two hours.”

Satoru erupted into laughter at her expression, a blend of surprise and horror.

“You’re kidding, right?” Y/n laughed.

She learned soon enough that he was true to his words.

. .

Y/n didn’t think she would ever get used to her new role. Just when she thought she could get away with lifting her plate, she would be scolded. Any attempts to assist, she would quickly be reminded to leave it to the servants to handle it.

Staring out the window, Y/n sighed softly. Breathing in the fresh cool morning air, she tightened her haori as a sudden breeze sent chills down her arms.

This was the first morning she woke up alone. Satoru’s spot beside her was empty and cold. She is suddenly reminded the night before of him informing her that he will have to leave early in the morning for a meeting and will be back in the afternoon.

“What’s wrong?” Y/n asked softly. Just seconds ago, they’d just climaxed together yet he was looking down at her with an expression couldn’t decipher.

As if caught red-handed, Satoru quickly changed his expression and smiled down at her before kissing her quickly. He sat up and released his hold on her legs. As usual, he would massage her thighs and then her calves with his large hands.

Satoru was firm on their love-making positions, strictly only with Y/n on her back. He did not want to strain her leg, hurting her in any way.

Y/n was no expert in lovemaking but she was not a fool. She has heard of the many positions of coupling. She had tried to voice herself but would only lose her words when Satoru distracts her with his mouth and before she knew it, she would be on her back and at his mercy.

After giving her legs a thorough massage, he would massage her belly. Rubbing his thumbs in an upward motion. His theory, with a mischievous grin, is that it would help his seed flow upward to her womb and take its place.

“I have to go to a dumb meeting in the morning. I’ll be gone before the sun can rise,” his thumbs would trace over her protruding hip bones. “You need to eat more, my love.”

“It is not dumb meetings, S’Toru. They are important and you have to be kind to them.” Every time he would return from a meeting, he would rant about how pointless and stupid those meetings and discussions were. “And all I do every day is eat, I have gained weight, can’t you tell when you carry me?”

He shook his head, “you’re still light as a feather in my arms. I can carry you with one arm, that’s how light you are.” Slowly, he lifted her right leg, and pressed a kiss to her scar before maneuvering her to her side, all while he was still lodged inside her. He laid behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist. “I have something to show you tomorrow, therefore I had to push this meeting earlier so I can make it back in time.” He nuzzled the back of her head, breathing in the scent of hers, or the shampoo she uses. His lips trail to her earlobe and with a teasing tone, “so don’t be alarmed if you wake up alone and feel empty…”

His laugh mixed with her loud gasp, and he tightened his arms around her, locking her in place as she tried to escape from him.

Satoru knew she enjoyed being plugged by his cock through the night. It has become a routine. When he would withdraw in the morning, he would wait to hear her soft gasp of feeling empty and then followed by watching his cum seep from her pussy.

Even if what he said was true, Y/n turned to bury her face into her pillow, embarrassed to the highest capacity.

All the squirming and squeezing had him groaning seconds later, “stop, stop, stop… you’re making me hard again…”

“My Lady! Lady Gojo!”

Y/n’s attention snaps back to reality as she gazes at her frantic maid, who enters the room with wide, alert eyes. “What happened? Is something wrong?”

. .

Satoru expressed his irritation and impatience by clicking his tongue. The carriage he was traveling in moved at its maximum speed, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that opting for a horse would have been a quicker way to get home.

He received the unexpected news just when he wrapped up the meeting.

Racine, his private man, appeared before him. Satoru maintained his composure, and demanded, “what is it?”

Racine cut straight to the point, informing that a basket appeared before the main gates, and inside was a baby. They do not know who is responsible for leaving the baby and are searching.

“He has… same eyes as yours, color-wise.”

“I don’t give a damn about what color his eyes are? Is Y/n… is she –” Satoru choked on his words as his mind began to panic.

“Yes, my Lady was the only one who could calm the child.”

Cursing under his breath for the nth time, he groaned. He felt a disconcerting sensation, prompting him to order an increased security surveillance during his absence.

However, a perplexing basket containing a child managed to evade detection and reach the gates.

All that was on his mind was Y/n.

He was determined to prevent any misunderstanding, ensuring she didn’t entertain the idea, even briefly, that the child could be his. He will move heaven and hell to prove his innocence that she is the only woman he has ever made love to.  

And she is the only woman he wants and needs children with.

Y/n will be the only woman who will receive his seed and bear their children.

Satoru let out a frustrated groan, of all times, he had to have an erection. It was all just from thinking about Y/n, pregnant, with his child.

It was a conversation he had been putting off for a while. He was selfish, not even asking for permission if having a child was something Y/n wanted.

Yet, he had been creaming her womb with his seed day and night.

But Satoru couldn’t push the tiny concern that had been lingering in the back of his head the last couple of weeks. It is going on to three months of being married, yet there were no signs of Y/n with child.

He was a coward and did not have the heart to ask her to see his physician. He kept an eye on her monthly cycle, noticing she had not had one since he brought her home. His physician assured him that not every woman’s cycle comes monthly, though it should, not all women share the same pattern and when the time comes, he will thoroughly evaluate Lady Gojo.

Angry and frustrated, Satoru tugged his hakama pants down enough to pull his cock free. Much to his physique, his cock was long, he never realized how long it was until making love to his sweet wife. When she struggled at first to take his whole cock.

“Ah…” he groaned, shifting himself into a comfortable position before fisting his cock with his right hand. Slowly stroking it, he imagined Y/n’s pussy wrapped around it.

Imagined Y/n above him, riding him. Her hips rolled slowly, teasing and driving him insane, yet he would be at her mercy. He would gladly be at her mercy at any time.

He wasn’t blind to Y/n’s latest advance to switch up their coupling. He couldn’t help but chuckle at her being assertive, wanting to take charge.

Satoru would never deny her, but he would deny her of hurting herself, straining herself to give him pleasure. She didn’t need to, he would gladly give her pleasure, give them both pleasure. She just needed to allow him to take care of her. She didn’t owe him anything.

His hips began moving up and down as if thrusting into her. He tightens his hand around his cock, trying his best to imagine how tight she felt.

Sitting up quickly, he groaned deeply as the tip of his cock shot out creamy white fluids across the carriage.

. .

Y/n stared at the sleeping infant in her arms. She had to be about five months old.

She remembers hurrying as fast as she could towards the crowd of servants. She didn’t need to see to know what they were surrounding. She can hear the cries of a baby.

Y/n finally caught sight of what her maid and servants were looking at.

A basket with a baby inside.

It stared back at her with the same eyes as Satoru.

Instantly, the baby stopped crying once it saw Y/n.

“He is so cute!” a voice cooed.

“Are you sure it’s a boy?” another voice countered.

Y/n finally snapped out of her daze and cleared her throat, “please, hand me the baby.” She handed her cane to Sumiko and carefully accepted the wrapped bundle that looked utterly confused and scared. “Hi baby,” she cooed, “what – how did… whose baby is this?”

Everyone looked just as confused as she was.

“Lord Gojo is on his way,” Sumiko informed, “a messenger was sent to him.”

Y/n nodded, “everyone, please continue your work.” She looked at Sumiko, “let us go to the living room and wait for Satoru.”

It was thirty minutes later when she knew Satoru had arrived.

“Please, tell him to come in quietly,” Y/n whispered to Sumiko.

Nodding her head, she disappeared for a second before returning behind Satoru.

“Leave us,” he ordered Sumiko, “take… this baby too.”

Sumiko hurried and gently took the baby from Y/n and exited the room.

 “Y/n.”

Y/n smiled at her husband who appeared a bit disheveled with tousled hair and a slightly unkempt outfit. “What is it, my love?”

The sound of her sweet voice had the power to dispel his anxiety completely. Crossing the room, he knelt in front of her, resting his head on her lap.

Y/n threaded her fingers through his hair, brushing it, and waited patiently for him to be ready to speak to her.

“What was it?” Y/n asked when she heard him mumble incoherently. She lifted his head, cupping his cheeks, “what did you say?”

“I love you.”

She rubbed his cheekbones, “I love you too.” She paused, “tell me, what is bothering you?”

“It is not my child,” he exclaimed, his eyes tightening with apprehension, exposing the internal conflict of anxiety and fear.  

Y/n was taken aback by his sudden outburst. Immediately, she needed to calm her frantic husband. “Satoru,” she called his name softly, “I did not believe for a second that she is your child.”

“She?”

Y/n nodded, “the baby is a girl.”

He frowned, Racine said it was a boy. He shook his head, that was the least of his worries. “It is not my child though,” he repeated, “I have ordered a search on the mother of this child or whoever dared drop her at the gates.”

Y/n wiped the wrinkles on his forehead away. “She is innocent, Satoru.”

He leaned into her palm, “how – how can you be so… calm? Are you not… do you not have any questions for me?”

Y/n shook her head, “I don’t have any reason to act up? I’m just as confused as you and everyone else is.” She patted the spot beside her, “sit up here.”

Like an obedient child, he got off the ground and sat beside her, pulling her onto his lap. He pulled her close, feeling relaxed as her head rested against his chest. “Whatever question you may have, ask… any questions…”

She lifted her head and the expression she had sped up his heart. “Can we keep her for the time being?”

Satoru sighed softly, he could never say no to her. “Yes, she can stay for the time being.”

Her face lit up excitedly, and he was thrown off when her arms wrapped around his neck. She kissed his cheek, thanking him.

Taking a deep breath, he found the courage to ask, “do you want… a baby?”

Y/n pulled away to look into his beautiful eyes. “I do, is that not what you have been trying to achieve?”

He reached to brush her loose strands of hair aside. “I want a baby with you, many babies if possible but I will take as many as we are blessed with.” His eyes connected with hers, “I have been selfish and did not ask for your permission to see if you will be all right to carry and birth my children?”

Y/n closed her eyes for a few seconds before opening them, and she smiled. “I allow you… and give you permission, my Gojo Satoru, to be selfish and take all you want from me. I, as your wife, will give you all that I can give, so please take it.” She cupped his cheek, “as long as you allow and give me permission to do the same in return.”

“Yes, in a heartbeat. Be selfish with me, take, take, take… take everything from me. My life is yours.” He nuzzled into her palm, “be greedy with me, you only have to ask and I will give… I will give you everything you ask for, my love.”

Satoru’s eyes snapped open when he heard her giggle and slowly found her eyes. She shifted in his lap and he groaned when he felt her press against his crotch. “Then, will you let me ride you right now?” She rocked her hips, back and forth. “Please, Satoru…”

“Your – you’re leg…” he protest, grunting as his cock is straining against its confinement.

“My leg is fine… I promise… I’m not hurting at all…” she trailed her lips down his neck, nipping against his pulse.

He was not used to this side of her. She is doing everything he has done to her…

He reached to undo her kimono, pushing off the many layers until she was finally naked, “ride me as you wish.”

Her hand squeezed his, “let – let’s go to our room…”

“I can’t wait now,” he reached for her hand and rested it on his hard bulge. “You did this, exciting me like this…”

Her hand tugged his strap holding his hakama pants before reaching inside to wrap her small hand around his cock. He didn’t need to look down to know the tip of his cock was oozing cum.

With his help, she aligned herself over his cock and settle down. She let out a series of moans and whimpers. “Wait – wait a second…” He felt deeper in this position.

“As long as you need,” Satoru assured, his voice wavering. His nails dug into his thigh to prevent him from flipping her over and taking over.

“Ahh…” he choked when Y/n began bouncing a little on his lap. She gradually increased her moment, her tits bouncing along. “Fuck… yes… this is… this is amazing…”

“To – touch me… touch me too,” Y/n begged, reaching for his hands. She placed one on her chest and one by her clit. “Only you…” Her eyes rolled back when his thumb found her puffy clit, rolling it with pressure. “Yes!...”

While one hand massaged her tit, his mouth found her other side, suckling her rosy, red nipple. He imagined how large her tits would be when she would be pregnant, filled with milk.

Stimulated in various ways, it didn’t take long before Y/n reached her climax with Satoru following shortly.

“Ah… I – I feel like I’m leaking…” looking between their bodies, Satoru’s lap is smeared with their cum that has spilled. The adrenaline rush she felt was much different from their soft lovemaking. “I… I think I like this…”

“Like what?” Satoru asked confused.

“Riding you.”

. . .

E/n: he has turned her into a monster lol

>>> @queenelleee @mfreedomstuff @erintaro @callmeraider @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wolffmaiden @cloud-lyy @tartagl @buttercupbitches

[blues824]

Hashira with a s/o that worships them with love, but it's sadly not returned to the reader! And the reader gets Hanahaki Disease, dying or falling out of love with hashira and fell for someone else, or even having their feelings finally returned!

Major angst, Hashira falling out of love with fellow Hashira Reader. Reader is gender-neutral, and a family member of Kagaya Ubuyashiki. 

First time writing for Hanahaki AU!

Gyomei Himejima

With his dedication to honoring and worshiping the gods, he simply had no time for you. Your love was the most expendable option to him. He knew that he would be dishonoring his master by doing this, but surely he would understand. So, he started becoming disinterested.

Then, one day, you were bedridden with fever and a cough. Your uncle had put you on house-arrest, making sure that you weren’t hurt. However, through your 5th coughing fit, bloodied petals had fallen from your throat and out of your mouth.

Kagaya looked at the napkin, and he realized that it might be the curse that was placed upon his family. You were his late sibling’s child and you still had the family name, so the curse was acting upon you. He had told one of his daughters to go get Gyomei, and he realized what had happened.

Upon hearing your wheezing, he felt horrible. He was the reason you were dying, and he couldn’t do anything about it. He had fallen out of love with you. All he could do was pray that you fall in love with someone else. 

But, your condition was continuously getting worse. Out of moral obligation, he sticks by your side. He feels like the shittiest piece of shit in all of Japan. So, as you lay there dying, he prays and prays for your healing. However, his feelings about you remained as they are, and you eventually passed away.

Mitsuri Kanroji

As loving as she usually was, she only had eyes for Obanai. Hence, you were kind of left in the dust with your own feelings. She didn’t mean to, as she didn’t know you loved her in that way. Her obliviousness led to your demise… how fitting.

Mitsuri didn’t understand what was going on when she heard that you were coughing up petals, she had never heard of Hanahaki disease. She just thought that it might be the master’s family’s curse carrying out its job, and that made her sad.

Since you were a dear friend to her, she often accompanied Shinobu at your bedside. After all, she wants all of her friends to not be lonely when they’re dying, as she believes that is the saddest way to die. She tries her best to keep you comfortable, an early form of palliative care.

She didn’t think the bloodied flower petals were disgusting. It wasn’t like you could control it, after all. If only the Love Hashira knew that it was her fault. She didn’t love you back, and that’s why you were lying in bed and throwing up flowers.

Eventually, it got to a point where you were too weak, and you were constantly choking on the flowers that you were coughing up. She understood that you were going to die, so she stayed by you at every single moment she could. The tears she shed as you were fading away fell onto your hand because she was holding it so you wouldn’t feel alone as you passed on.

Giyu Tomioka

He believed that if he learned not to get attached to anyone, he wouldn’t get hurt anymore. Thus, he shut off all of his emotions, including love. No surgery needed for this one, folks. You were fine with not having your feelings returned, but you were over-exerting yourself by always making sure that Giyu was alright.

When you had contracted the disease, the Water Hashira was by your bedside within moments of his master telling him. Even though he turned off his emotions, he still did care about you. He noticed all your efforts and appreciated them.

But, he saw the bloodied petals and knew immediately what it was. There were tales and legends of this disease, and he would kill the person who did this to you. However, you refused to give up any information, meaning you still held back your feelings from him. 

You were rapidly coughing up more and more petals while getting weaker and weaker. You could barely lift your finger without Giyu’s help. Mans had to refrain himself from snapping at Shinobu for touching you or causing you any sort of discomfort.

Unfortunately, you never got a kiss or even a confession, so your state deteriorated by a lot at a rapid pace until you were on your last breaths. Once your eyes started closing, Tomioka knew that it was over. What he didn’t expect was for his crying to end up in him coughing. He held his hand to his mouth, and saw that a petal had fallen.

Tengen Uzui

His family tradition strictly called for three spouses, and those positions have already been taken. He makes sure to spend time with all three of his wives while also balancing training time, so there was little room to hang out with his friends, including you.

Once Ubuyashiki had learned about the Hanahaki disease you had unfortunately contracted from your unrequited love, he had informed the other Hashira that you were out for the count. Tengen was worried, but he thought that you would be alright eventually.

He visited once, and you were coughing up flowers left and right. That wasn’t normal at all. Maybe you wouldn’t be okay. From that point on, he and his wives visited you almost everyday. Whenever he was on a mission, Hinatsuru, Makio, and Suma were there to help Shinobu.

But, since your feelings for the Sound Hashira weren’t reciprocated, you just got worse and worse. Eventually, you couldn’t even sit up. It was evident that it would take a full-blown miracle for you to recover, but that was a long shot.

So, the four of them spent as much time as they could with you. This wasn’t a very flamboyant situation that you have found yourself in, huh? No matter, since he would make sure that you would be honored until the end of time.

Sanemi Shinazugawa

The last time he loved somebody, they were taken away from him. So, he saw no point in pursuing love again. It just causes distraction and can make you act irrationally whenever your loved one is in danger. However, that greatly affected you, since you loved Sanemi.

Then, one day, you were training with him when it suddenly got very difficult to maintain your breathing technique. The Wind Hashira thought you were being weak and dramatic until he saw you coughing up literal flower petals with splatters of blood here and there.

Out of pure worry, he picked you up into his arms and carried you to your uncle, who had you lay in bed for days on end. Sanemi would visit you as much as he could, feeling like shit for thinking you were fine and just faking it at the beginning.

As a week passes, your breaths become raspy. You were on the brink of death, and it was easy to see. Shinazugawa doesn’t know much about being soft and sappy and crap like that, but what he does know is that he does care about you. He doesn’t like it when you are coughing up and choking on petals.

But, as we all know, this fic does not have any happy endings. Sanemi is scared, but he doesn’t know what he has to do, and you don’t tell him. Being a Hashira with the Ubuyashiki name meant that the probability of you living past 30 was exceedingly low. So, either way you would have died soon. That meant there was no point in confessions. But, your fellow Hashira cried seeing life fade from your eyes.

Shinobu Kocho

She has no time; trying to keep her anger within her as she is a Hashira as well as a doctor was a full-time job already. However, she thought you were such a great friend. You understood her struggle, and you would often accompany her on her missions.

During one of these missions, you had doubled over in pain and coughs. The Insect Hashira rushed to your side to pat your back to get the phlegm out, but all that came out were bloody petals. She let out an audible gasp, but she sent her crow to Kagaya to tell him what had happened.

Once you both returned, you were immediately taken in by your uncle and put to bed for days. Shinobu became your doctor, and she did so much research about the topic. She didn’t want to pry into your personal life, so she thought that the surgery to get it removed might be a good alternative.

However, you knew the cost of getting the surgery. Not only was it a risky procedure, but you would lose your ability to feel emotions. So, you refused. She was getting frustrated to the point of yelling at you for not going with the surgery, but you knew that she just didn’t want to lose you.

So, she resigned to your fate. You were going to die, and there was nothing she could do about it (or so you told her). She started a palliative care plan for you, trying to make you comfortable during your last moments. But, she was out of the room getting you some tea when you drew your final breath.

Kyojuro Rengoku

He was just completely oblivious to your love. He saw you as a comrade and a co-worker, and nothing more. But, you told yourself that you were fine with where things were at. It wasn’t like it was causing you any physical ailments, after all.

Surprise! You contracted Hanahaki Disease, and you coughed up petals in the kitchen of the Ubuyashiki home. One of your cousins saw and escorted you to your room so that you could rest. Your uncle had informed the Hashiras that you were ill, and Kyojuro was worried.

The Flame Hashira ran to your bedside, where you were coughing up bloody flower petals. Mans went from worried to scared in 5 seconds, and it made him kind of nauseous.  This made you feel bad, thinking he was disgusted by you, and he had to assure you that it wasn’t you.

There was one time where you were in a coughing fit, and he was there to softly rub your back to offer you some sense of comfort, but it did little to help. He often tried to distract you from the painful sickness by telling you stories of his little brother, but again, it didn’t do much to help.

As much as he wished and prayed, nothing could be done if your feelings for him weren’t returned. Kyojuro didn’t want to lose his friend. But, you were getting weaker and weaker, and he was just glad to have been able to say his final goodbyes. He was the one who buried you.

Obanai Iguro

He only had eyes for Mitsuri, so again you were left in the dust with your feelings. To be fair, you were his first friend when he joined the Hashiras, and you acted as a wingman whenever Obanai got worried about his chances with the Love Hashira.

Unfortunately for you, this obviously meant that he did not feel the same way about you. He loved you as a friend, and it broke your heart every single time he asked you for advice, but you sucked it up and dealt with it because that’s what friends do.

That was, until you were bedridden and coughing up petals. If you looked at the Snake Hashira, you wouldn’t know that he was worried. However, Kaburamaru was often laying upon your stomach trying to comfort you when it hurt the most (both physically and emotionally).

Obanai was by your bedside whenever he could be. You were his friend, as much as he was hesitant to admit it, and that meant he cared about you. He froze up whenever you started coughing and he grabbed the bucket to catch the petals.

Every time he had to wipe the blood from your lips, a nagging feeling of dread crawled through him. You were nearing your end. With your final breaths, you wished him well in him courting Mitsuri. What a fitting end, huh?

Muichiro Tokito

He is oblivious to everything, so if you thought he would notice how you follow him everywhere and go cloud-gazing with him every time he asks, you are sorely mistaken. But you just chalked it up to it being a little quirk of his rather than a blatant disinterest in you.

Now, when you first started coughing up petals, you tried to hide it as a common cold. However, no common cold had you bedridden for days on end, and even Muichiro noticed that his companion was usually gone.

When his master had informed him that you had a deadly (but not contagious) disease, he immediately went to visit you in your room at the Ubuyashiki residence. He snapped back to reality in 2 seconds flat as he saw how serious this was.

The Mist Hashira spends most of his time by your side. He tries his hardest to not zone out as he wants to grasp every single word you utter. For all he knew, you could be dying the next day and he wanted to make sure that he could pass your stories on.

What he thought would eventually come true. It came to a point where you couldn’t even speak without coughing. In your last moments, Muichiro made sure that you were as comfortable as could be given the circumstances. The anger he already harbored increased as you let out your final breath.

[see-arcane]

I am almost fine with people saying he has one brain cell, because I have seen dozens of people make the worse claim that he is "an arrogant, smug, proud of his rationality Victorian who laughs at the locals for their superstitions."

It is such a prevalent assesment that it's now considered a core character trait of his. When today's entry indicates nothing of the sort.

UH OH, YOU’VE ACTIVATED MY TANGENT CARD

(Text Brick Incoming)

Jonathan’s fundamental flaw at this stage does involve looking down on or viewing the locals and their traditions as quaint/idolatrous/ridiculous et al. He uses poor terminology too, owing to the Doylist reason of his author’s knowledge and biases, while the Watsonian reason is easy enough to read as Jonathan 1) Having to rely solely on biased/incomplete knowledge from his homeland’s writings on the place and 2) What I think is him trying to overcompensate as a trained reflex

I’ve always pictured Jonathan and Mina as having not only a lower social and monetary standing, but possibly a hindrance of race. (Case in point, I suspect a certain unique prop Jonathan brandishes later on is something he inherited, not something picked up by happenstance.)

That said—they are poor, they are not the idealized picture of the fair English Citizen…but they are both polite, charming, hardworking, and masters of ~making friends~ as a defense mechanism. And I’d bet money that included relying on what few positive nods their peers allowed.

“You’re so nice! So industrious! Your physiognomy really counters your origins! And you are wise enough to look down on those silly foreigners, aren’t you? Of course you are! You’re one of the good ones.”

Now, regardless of what headcanon is landed on as far as race/ethnicity/other backgrounds go, those last points are key. Because they go towards Being a Good Englishman/woman. Being wiser than to buy into fretting non-English superstitions. Knowing to ogle the people of other lands like curiosities in a zoo. Judging people by their face or the shape of their skull. This is the Norm. This is Good of the Victorian Englishman Abroad.

And we see Jonathan hold to all these stereotypes…to a degree. But we see within these same early entries that his instincts and general good nature chafe against that social training. He’s too much himself to do entirely as a Proper Englishman should.

He went out of his way to study all the limited info he had access to, incomplete or half-informed as it was. He delighted in learning everything he could of the places and people as he traveled, wanting to embrace and be educated on the land. And even when a lifetime of advising against it, of insistence upon derision, tried to take over when the crucifix was offered? He still accepted it. He still wears it even when the old woman departs, whether or not he believes in its importance.

And, vitally, his instincts are very Very awake to the fact that Something is Off. A Proper Englishman (and many an oblivious or stubborn dad in a ghostly horror movie) would shrug this unease off at once. But Jonathan doesn’t. He remains on Dracula’s route only because he has no other choice. All he does is mention quietly that he hopes Mina gets his diary if he happens to die on this journey.

Imagine that. Bracing for and acknowledging the sense that You Might Die on This Little Business Trip and just…having to go along with it. Because what will you tell your boss otherwise? What will you tell your fiancée?

These aren’t the concerns of a well-off stuffy snob of a man. It’s the resignation of someone who understands they live on the lowest rung of the ladder and that they will risk losing what little progress they’ve made if they dare to turn back.

As for sneering at the locals’ superstitions, period, consider: How likely would anyone really be to suddenly believe in monsters after coming out of the background Jonathan has? What could possibly have convinced him of the reality of the situation OTHER THAN SEEING IT IN PERSON? (Note, a key plot point for certain other characters later!)

The point of his being unable to take the supernatural aspect at face value is that, well, Why Would Anyone Immediately Jump to a Supernatural Conclusion in His Place?

What possible context does he have here!? Maybe he should have read Dracula first, ha ha—

Oh wait. He can’t do that. Why?

Because this man has never read Dracula BECAUSE HE IS LIVING AND WRITING THE BOOK DRACULA!!

Anyway.

tl;dr: I am very tired of both the Stuffy Victorian Snobprick and Oblivious Idiotbaby takes on my good friend Jonathan Harker

[kayleighwinchester]

Five Things You Know About Dean Winchester - and One You Don't: II

(( Here we go, all! The second installment of Five Things You Know About Dean Winchester - and One You Don't! Sickeningly fluffy, for this one! As with most of these so far, much love to @artyandink for suggesting and running the Jensen-a-thon, and thank you so much for all of the love on part 1!)) Dean Winchester was a mystery. 

It was one you were slowly unraveling bit by bit, visit by visit; he would climb in your window every month or so, stay a few days, and disappear again by the end of the week – but slowly, you were learning about him, about who he was, beyond the charismatic smile and easy, confident attitude.

.*

You learned quickly how much touch meant to Dean.

It was like he couldn’t get enough of even the simplest contact. You saw it in even the simplest things – how he seemed to melt into every hug, how he leaned into each kiss, treating all contact like he was a man starved. 

He’d arrived far earlier than usual this time, coming through your window in the early morning; you didn’t want to know what, exactly, your neighbors had to be thinking when he scaled the tree beside the house to your bedroom window in broad daylight. 

You had only woken up about a half an hour before, and had yet to move out of your bed - you were still stretched out like a starfish under the covers, groggy and content, eyes half-following some trashy reality TV show that you, truly, couldn’t care less about. He’d given you that brilliant, million dollar smile of his as he toed his way out of his boots, folded his jacket and placed it in its usual spot on your dresser, and plopped down on the edge of your bed, as if he belonged there. 

“Mornin’, Sweetheart.” 

You didn’t reply – not at first. No, the first thing you had the energy to do was roll over, arms snaking slowly around his middle, your words muffled by his tee-shirt as you offered a mumbled, “Too early.” into his side. You could feel him shake slightly with silent laughter, his hand running down your back briefly. 

“What can I say? Wanted to see my favorite girl. Didn’t even get a motel this time.” 

You let out a small noise of acknowledgement, arms tightening around him. It wasn’t a particularly comfortable position to lay in, even you had to admit that, and, a bit reluctantly, you released your grip, sitting up and scrubbing a hand over your face. “Where were you this time?” You asked. Sitting up fully didn’t last long – only long enough for you to stretch, before you were slouching forward again, your forehead pressing against his shoulder.

His voice still held that barely-contained laughter as he spoke once more. “Chicago. ‘Least it wasn’t a bad drive.” 

You hummed out another soft little sound, letting your eyes drop closed for a moment longer, before you spoke up. “Did you get breakfast on the way?” The last time you’d looked at your alarm clock, it had been just barely seven – it was a good enough excuse, you supposed, to try to stick to the healthy habits you’d been struggling to keep; breakfast was the most important meal of the day, or something like that.

“Nah. Bit burnt out on McDonald’s, ‘n I didn’t wanna stop for real.” He turned slightly, resting his cheek on the top of your head. 

“I can make something.” You offered, finally forcing yourself to sit up once more, quickly turning your face upwards to steal a brief, light kiss. You never got tired of it, the way his eyes sparkled, the way his lips curled up into a smile every time.

“You sure?” He asked, watching you fumble your way out of bed, his eyes lingering on the tiny pajama shorts you wore, before they darted back up to yours. “You don’t have to get up, y’know – I can wait,” 

You shook your head. “I’m trying to actually start eating breakfast,” You informed him, “so I was gonna have to get up sooner or later.” You weren’t sure that helped your case much – he still looked a bit guilty, but pushed himself up off of the bed anyway. 

He followed you like a shadow, only breaking away once you entered the kitchen; you made a bee-line for the fridge, and he stopped in front of the crappy little coffee maker you’d picked up at a resale shop. It wasn’t the first morning you’d spent together, and there was at least a loose routine to it, though you were typically practically falling asleep at the table as he got the coffee going.

For a time, you worked in companionable silence – once the coffee was started, he leaned his weight against the counter, just following you with his eyes. You’d just started on the pancakes, a pan of bacon on the other burner, eggs on the third, when he moved forward, his arms winding around your waist, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder.

“Thank you.” He barely more than mumbled it, his voice giving you the distinct impression that he was far more tired than he’d let on. You opened your mouth to speak, but he continued. “‘N not just for the food.”

He was taller than you – you couldn’t imagine the way he was standing was particularly comfortable for his neck or back – but he nonetheless nuzzled his face into the curve of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. You weren’t sure you’d ever felt him so relaxed – there was no tension in the way he was standing, his hold around you loose and lazy, his breathing even and his heartbeat steady and calm against your back. 

“You better not fall asleep on me,” You warned halfheartedly, though you instinctively leaned your head against his, even if your newfound positions made flipping the pancakes and keeping the bacon from burning a bit more difficult than was strictly necessary. 

“Not going to.” He said simply, pressing a lazy kiss beneath your ear, before he straightened up slightly, though his arms didn’t leave your waist, as if he couldn’t bring himself to lose that contact, his thumbs moving in lazy circles on your sides over your sleep shirt. 

He finally reluctantly pried himself away when the coffee maker let out a chime – one that was beginning to sound a little old, a little like you’d be needing to invest in a new one soon. As you plated the pancakes, bacon, and eggs, moving them over to the table, he busied himself with the coffee – yours with a generous amount of sugar and flavored creamer, and his black – before he settled into his usual seat beside you at the table, his leg just barely brushing yours. 

You’d barely gotten the first pancake onto your plate before he spoke up, the bottle of creamer held in his hand like he fully expected it to bite him. “‘S this any good?” He asked, studying the label intently.

“I mean, I like it.” You offered, continuing to plate up your own breakfast.

A beat, and then, as if he fully expected something – laughter, maybe – he asked, “Mind if I try it?” You glanced up again, startled to find that he genuinely did look a bit like he expected you to say no, or maybe tease him for it. 

“Go ahead,” You encouraged. 

He studied you for a moment longer, before adding a splash of creamer to his coffee, taking a drink. His expression lightened a bit, but there was a certain forced gruffness to his voice as he offered, “‘S alright, I guess.” You pretended not to notice as he added a bit more. You couldn’t, however, not notice the way his free hand settled on your leg, just above your knee, as he ate, his fingers occasionally gently squeezing – and it was only a few moments before he offered, “Really, Y/N, thanks.” He paused for a moment, before he added, “This’s… Nice.” His expression screamed that there were probably a million other words he could have used, but even that one spoke volumes.

Breakfast was a quiet affair, generally, with neither of you being particularly fond of mornings, and this time was no different; the longer he sat there, the more you could see the exhaustion creeping onto his face, the way his eyes began to gloss over just a little, the way his shoulders slumped. If he really had driven all the way from Chicago, presumably through the night, one cup of coffee wasn’t going to be a miracle cure. 

He tailed you like a lost puppy as you cleared the table, and as you gave the dishes a quick rinse off, intending to leave them for later, his arms snaked around your waist once more, his chin resting against the crown of your head. You didn’t have to look up to know his eyes were probably rapidly closing. Still, you’d known him long enough to know his stubborn nature, so you gently offered, “It’s still a little early for me,” A glance at the clock on the stove read just past eight, which certainly was a few hours earlier than you typically tended to get up. “I could use a couple more hours of sleep.”

You could practically feel him sag against you in relief. “I could pro’lly snag a couple hours.” He said – his tone, which attempted to imply that it was a ‘maybe’ and not a ‘definitely’, certainly screamed that he could do with more than just a couple.

This time, his hands never left you fully as he followed you back up the stairs – first his hand resting on your back, then, as you made your way back into your room, his fingers found yours, the contact only breaking for a moment as he fumbled his way out of his jeans, finding a pair of sweats he’d left behind the last time, tucked carefully into the top drawer of your dresser alongside other bits and pieces of clothing he’d forgotten – or maybe left on purpose. 

You lifted the covers as he padded back over to the bed, flopping down beside you with a quiet groan that he couldn’t quite muffle – he always treated your bed like it was the most comfortable thing he’d ever had the pleasure of sleeping on. He rolled over, his arms snaking around you and pulling you close, his lips pressing to your forehead. His breathing had already evened out, soft and slow against your skin.

It was practically instinct, the way your hand moved up to comb through his hair, and you could feel his lips twitch into the faintest sleepy smile, and the words he mumbled against your forehead practically made your heart stop. "Love you, Sweetheart."

(( Tag List? Maybe?: @keanuispunk ))

[killerlookz]

i hope this doesn’t put any pressure on you because its not meant to at all but can u give us a preview of anything in your drafts 🥲

yes! absolutely i can <3 here's an extra long preview bc i haven't published anything in a hot min:

preview of the heartbeat!au "honeymoon phase" fic:

warnings: rpf below, do not proceed if you dont fw that but this is in rpf tags so why were you even here to begin with

The light of your phone sears into your eyes, a start contrast from the dark of your bedroom. By now your circadian rhythm undoubtedly in deep disarray. However bad you knew staying up way into the early hours of the morning was, you couldn't seem to rip yourself from the distraction of the blue light, perfectly coded algorithms keeping your anxieties at bay.

For the last week of your life your usual peaceful sleep had been ripped through by horrific nightmares, leading you to prefer to just skip sleeping all together. Of course, you knew that wasn't exactly possible, but maybe if you could just avoid falling asleep until the sun came up you could finally be freed of those dreaded night terrors.

The mattress dips beside you, a groan falling from Joost's lips, peacefully asleep next to you. It had been hours since you had said goodnight to each other, since he kissed you with the promise that you two would soon would be deep in slumber. You hadn't bothered to tell him about your nightmare issue, it had felt so childish. You had only been together for a few months now, your relationship seeming far too fresh to deal out what you had deemed "embarrassing" information. Besides, what was he to do about that? It wasn't like he had the power to change the workings of your subconscious mind.

The comforter slips from Joost's shoulders as he shuffles in his sleep, rolling from one side to another, now facing you. You finally pull yourself from your endless scrolling, turning your head to get a look at Joost. He's illuminated just right by the sliver moonlight that peaks through your curtains. The corners of your mouth peak in a slight smile, a rush a warmth running through you as your eyes finally settle on him.

You couldn't believe your luck with him, desperate for friends outside of your classmates after making the leap of faith to transfer schools and move to a different country for your final year of university. You'd been working as a waitress in Amsterdam, which, all things considered wasn't an ideal position for you, given your less than stellar Dutch, but locals were usually sympathetic to your situation, and tourists hardly spoke Dutch anyway. The day you had met Joost had started as what you had postulated to be the worst shift of your life. Hungover during a rush that seemed to last for hours, constantly seated with the most impossible to please customers. Once you were out of the weeds you had been seated with what you were promised to be your last table of the night, trying your best to suppress a groan and an eye roll as you walked up to the table, your eyes immediately falling to Joost, who had been there with what you would eventually learn were his closest friends.

You had thought you known the type, unruly hair, and scattered tattoos, dressed head-to-toe in Supreme, a cocky smile pressed to his lips. Attractive no doubt, but a type. The type that was undoubtably too interested in the Soundcloud rap scene, probably attempting to make it in that space too as a cheap rip-off of Lil Peep. The type to blow all his money on what streams his mediocre raps did get on box-logo shirts and supreme branded underwear. You could already hear the surface-level introspection of his lyrics, writing about how sad and heartbroken he'd been left by all the girls in his life when in reality he was nothing more than a fuckboy with a shitty nail polish job.

Being young and living in a city you had seen the type before, served the type more than a handful of times since you had started your job. They were always the same, traveled in large groups, like that was their "entourage", usually loud, demanding, and obnoxious, thinking their 2,000 Soundcloud streams, hundred dollar T-shirts and knock-off designer shoes made them a celebrity. They'd flirt with you and act aghast when you dared not to flirt back with them.

You had thought you known the type. But when you had gone up to begin helping his table, your previous perceptions had immediately been shattered- immediately becoming even more attractive upon your realization that he wasn't the worst. There was a quiet flirting underneath his goofy- yet reserved demeanor, the type of flirting you didn't mind and eventually reciprocated when he'd become a regular.

It was apparent that you had gotten the fuckboy thing all wrong. When he had finally got the courage to ask you out he hadn't even seen particularly in a hurry to sleep with you, though that wouldn't stop you from giving it up that night.

As Joost softly snores from beside you, you can't help but want nothing more than to be fitted snuggly between his arms, head pressed to his chest- listening to his heartbeat as you fall into a deep, peaceful sleep. But your current aversion to sleeping aside, you can't bring yourself to potentially wake him to do so.

You take your eyes from him, focusing back on the harsh light that burns into your retinas, continuing your scrolling, barely distracted by another long groan leaving Joost's lips.

"Ga slapen," (go to sleep) His voice surprises you, slow and thick with sleep- you hadn't expected him to be awake.

"Hmm?" You hum, pretending to not have heard him, you set your phone down on the bedside table and focus your attention to Joost.

"Hoe lat is het?" (What time is it?) He yawns, struggling to open his eyes.

You don't want to answer, knowing he'll question you on why you're up so late.

"Go back to sleep," You coo, hoping he'll be tired enough to listen without any resistance. You reach out a hand, slowly carding your fingers through his hair. You lift some pieces that had gotten stuck to his forehead with sweat, Joost was the type to overheat in his sleep, furiously kicking the blankets off of the two of you in the middle of the night, or perhaps worse rolling over onto you while he slept, causing you to suffocate in his humid body heat.

"Nhn, nhn." He tuts, his eyes finally opening entirely, "Je kan niet zomaar (You can't just)- Nhn, You can't just rub my head back to sleep." English finally coming back to him as he sits himself up against the pillows, his head now at your shoulder height in your upright position.

"I tried," A small smile pokes at your lips.

"Why are you awake?" His questioning isn't interrogative, still clearly very sleepy as he nuzzles his head into the pillow, "What time is it?" He asks again.

"I don't know," You mumble, your voice dipping out, answering more-so the latter question.

"You can't lie to me," Joost presses his forehead to your arm, snuggling in to you. How true that was. It surprised you how fast he was able to learn you- the subtleties of your mannerisms, able to pick up on your true emotions from the smallest tells.

"It's late," You simply respond, "I'll go to bed soon." Trying to avoid any further questioning.

"Not soon," Joost whines, his voice stifled by where his lips touch your skin. He throws an arm around the front of you, "Now."

You can't do much besides sigh in response, fidgeting under the comforter to sink down to his level. Your face is right in front of Joost's now, the warmth of his slow breaths ghosting over your skin.

"Sleep now," Joost tightens the arm he had slung around you, using it to pull you closer to him. He's unbearably warm, but you melt into him anyway, turning on your side to press your chest into his.

"I can't."

"Not tired?" Joost asks, "Why not?"

"So tired."

"Then sleep." Joost puckers his lips, barely stretching out his head to press a kiss to your forehead. It's so simple to him just sleep, if only it was that easy for you.

"Can't Joost."

"Why not?" He asks again, pushing harder this time.

"Dunno," You hum, pausing for a moment trying to formulate the least embarrassing way to describe your situation, "Bad dreams I guess, I dunno." You speak quickly, hoping maybe he won't catch all of it, the processes of his brain slowed by sleep.

Joost suddenly becomes more aware, more awake, like you've said some sort of sleeper phrase to activate something in him.

"Could have just told me that, schatje." He coos, it's reassuring, and you suddenly feel so stupid for holding that in. "Could have told me that before I feel asleep without you."

"Seemed stupid." You sigh, pushing your face further into the pillow.

"Not stupid." Joost assures, "What are they about?"

"Don't know. Just- bad."

"I'm sorry." Joost frowns. You feel the arm that he holds around you sneak under the comforter, coming to snake around your torso, his hand pushing into your back to press your body closer to him. The front of your T-shirt no longer just grazing the bare skin of his chest, but rather the two of you have molded into each other. "What can I do?" His lips now pressed against your shoulder from this closer position.

"Nothing,"

"No?" He places a small kiss to your shoulder through the fabric of your shirt.

"Not unless you can go into my brain and control my subconscious and make me dream of like puppies and rainbows." You follow with a dry laughter, any real humor stifled by your exhaustion.

"Mmm, if I could I would liefje."

[rascalentertainments]

Wish Granted Magic System ✨✨✨

Given that we're two chapters away from the halfway point of the story, its about to time I delve into the magic system of this AU.

So magic in this AU is powered through emotion. The more a person feels a certain emotion, the more it affects the magic they use daily. Let's start off with...

Magnifico and Amaya's Magic: 🐺🐍✨

Both of them have studied magic for years, together and apart. However, they still developed their own techniques to use it.

• Magnifico's magic is fueled by negativity and hate. (its a bit obvious, lol) He's been searching for a way to have ultimate power for years. And each time he's failed, that disappointment has fueled him. The angrier he is towards somebody or someone, the stronger it is. He learned to harness and control magic since his early 20's, and while it was substantial for the time, his desire to have more kept growing and growing until it became impossible to ignore. So much so that when he destroys his own home by accident, he's completely blind to his own destruction and blames the books for not giving him enough information. So he turns to dark magic.

•Dark magic gave Mags the boost he needed, but its still not enough. The more he becomes paranoid losing his power, and the more he gained power, he became more spiteful towards non-magic users. As Magnifico got older, his powers were solely used selfishly, under the guise of it helping others to get whatcha wants. Mags' magic is incredibly destructive when its not controlled, which is why Amaya keeps him in check. He could easily kill anyone with a snap of his fingers, or crushing a person's wish. He completely ignores the face that its slowly making him sick as well.

•Mags' magic specifically works well in deception, especially when it comes to stealing people's wishes, which is the polar opposite of Star's magic. And Star's magic terrifies him in a way. Mags uses magic on these performances during the Wish ceremonies to deceive people into thinking giving their wishes to him is a great thing. Its kind of like a parlor trick to hide the truth. However, mo matter how much he magic uses, its nothing compared to a star's. In fact, when Asha's father details his perceived connection to the stars, and how he feels they give him the power and inspiration to help others in his life, that's when the king got the idea to catch the magic of a star itself. He could finally achieve ultimate power! But he had to get rid of that damn philosopher first and make it look like an accident....

•Amaya's magic works with manipulation, both mental and physical. While she doesn't use her powers to the extent of her husband, she does aid him through the use of her potions. As a shout-out to Yzma, she keeps a collection of various potions in a large cabinet, and uses them when creating concoctions to give him the power boost to take a star from the skies. The other kinds deal with changing one living thing into another. Most of them were also animal experimentations, either to change unsavoury animals into ones she desired, or even changing their natural habits an entirely animal's, making said animal like other creatures.

• The Queen has always used her words of persuasion to get what she wanted. In most cases, she used her magic to make her words influence the minds of others. Amaya uses this to put the people at ease when they asked too many questions or started to worry about their wishes. She even used this on visiting royals from other countries, so that they didn't see or hear anything connected to the people's misfortune or rumors of the two being evil. This is why she was able to get into Star's head in chapter 6. She paid close attention to the pair's behavior around each other, and seeing part of herself and Magnifico in the two wanting to protect each other, she turned it against him. Adding a little bit of magic to it, he was completely influenced by her words.

•Amaya has used magic on Sabor, but not to harm him. (Sometimes she did heal him if he was sick or injured) Only so she could use him as a sort of watchdog, keeping an eye on any suspicious activity or possible traitors. (Which Sabor fully accepted) She created the "Sight Beyond Sight" type of spell so she could see what Sabor sees when he returns. This is how she trusted him to find the Hamlet without raising suspicion.

Star/Cosmo's magic 🌟😁

This fun ball of energy is indeed powerful, just as Magnifico feared, but he can't exactly do everything he wants. He has limits, which is mostly by his own imagination and a dash of classic Disney magic.

• Star's magic is fueled by all his emotions, but mostly joy. It can change depending on his emotions. When he's happy, all his magic reflects it. Joyful magic works on Disney classic energy, so talking animals, moving furniture, shape shifting into various creatures and even his human form are all homages to the past films. He can't turn into different people, so this form he usually is in is it. Mostly because he's had a wish to be a human on Earth for so long, he just took his astral look and applied human characteristics to it. Its also rear unusual for a star nomad to get attached to one place instead moving from place to place. As for other emotions, he feels them like the fairies from Peter Pan: one at a time. When he's sad, he's miserable. When he's angry, its absolute fury. But the longer he stays on Earth, they start to get more complex dealing with humans, since we can feel several emotions at once. Which is also why its a slow process for him to realize his love for Asha is different from his love for Earth.

•Like the rest of the star nomads, he has flight and its powered by thinking happy thoughts. That's incredibly easy for him, so it's why he can fly so high and quickly. However, he starts to slow down after Magnifico stabs him and takes a little of his power in chapter 7. He's only just a little faster than a human, and it kind of bothers him not being able to move as quickly. And he starts getting used to walking, which is unusual for a star nomad to do instead of flying.

• Star's shapeshifting can be done as long as he can clearly think of the animal he wants. He's seen animals from all over the world, but the catch is that he can't perfectly replicate one. He's always yellow with a white tuft of hair so he doesn't blend in with other animals. Plus Star can add or exaggerate different features as well. He can't turn into extinct animals like dinosaurs because he's never seen them.

There will be another post explaining more about the star nomads and how their different from "royal stars". It'll also come up later to explain why Star isn't a prince like most other Disney male leads. Its really the only insecurity he has.

And more art is coming, plus the Royal redesigns! Then I'll get started on chapter 9. 😉

Thanks for reading!

@oh-shtars @signed-sapphire @chillwildwave @your-ne1ghbor

@tumblingdownthefoxden @ishadow246 @annymation @kenihewa

@natsuki208 @uva124 @cocoapowderpictures @emptyblog7

@lazytitans-world

[thought--bubble]

Superior

Aemond (Dark Canon Era) X (Arryn Wife Reader)

Warnings below

Word Count: 2532

Aemond (Canon Era Masterlist)

Full Masterlist

Based on THIS request

Warnings:: Misogyny, Dub con heavy on the Dub.

You had actually thought it a perfect match. When you had heard you were to marry the prince.

Prince Aemond was smart, handsome, and loyal, all the things you thought would make a wonderful husband, and he was a wonderful husband. He was not incredibly warm, but he was kind enough. Treated you well, and in this world, a husband that treated you well was, in fact, a wonderful husband.

You were grateful for the match and the connection to the royal family. You were proud to be part of the royal family, especially at this juncture. Knowing you will be a Targaryen during the rule of the first sovereign queen of the 7 kingdoms made you feel like you were a part of the future. A part of a new order. Where women would be seen as leaders and figure heads instead of simple broodmares.

That was the belief anyway.

Until the day that your illusions came crashing down around you, like shards of glass from broken mirrors, hitting the floor and bouncing back up, nicking your skin in a thousand small cuts.

You were shocked when your maids didn't show up in the morning to help you dress. It was very peculiar. Your maids had come from the vale with you. They knew your schedule like they knew their own, and they were never late.

With concern, you move to open the door to your chambers to ask someone to send for your maids. You couldn't wait any longer. The fact that they hadn't turned up meant that something was out of sorts.

Your shock nearly doubled as you found that your door wouldn't open. You pushed and pushed, screamed, and yelled pounded on the door. To no avail. You could feel the stress and panic work its way into every inch of your body. Something was very, very wrong, and your mind began to race with possibilities.

Was the castle being raided? Were you under attack? The king has been so weak for so long. Had someone finally decided to take this opportunity and bring down the house of the dragon? You instincually bring your hand to your stomach. You had missed your moon blood recently. It was still too early to be sure, but you felt like you knew there was a little prince or princess growing in there, and it was your duty to keep them safe.

You waited hours, pacing before the hearth, returning to the door again, attempting to open it, or scream loud enough for someone to hear you. You had even begun to contemplate a way to escape out the window just before the door finally opened and your husband walked in.

"Aemond!" You ran to his arms and checked him over for signs of injury. "Are we under attack?" Your eyes scan his chiseled figures and the pale skin of his neck. There are no injuries to be seen. There are no signs of battle.

"Dear wife, King Viserys has died." He states matter of factly. As much as this would shock the average person. You were not surprised by the indifference your husband displayed at the mention of his father's death. You had learned pretty early on that there was no love lost between the two.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Lord husband." You shift uneasily from foot to foot trying to surmise in your head why the death of the King would leave you locked in your room. "Was it an assassination? Are we in danger?" The only thing you could think of was that Aemond was trying to keep you safe as they once again secured the castle.

Aemond chuckles. "An assassination? Who would waste gold paying an assassin to kill a walking corpse? No, thankfully, the stranger finally came and took him."

"I just assumed," You started. Niw even more confused.

Aemond quickly grips your chin. "I know, this is complicated for you," he coos in a condescending tone.

You pull back from his grasp, irritated at his tone. "No, it is not. What is confusing is why I was locked in my chambers all morning. No chamber maids and no information! If we were not under attack and the king died peacefully in his sleep, then why was I locked in my chambers?"

Aemond clicks his tongue and looks down at you with his one eye. "Preparations had to be made"

You squint your eyes at him. Thisnanswer did not cure your confusion. "So.... I had to be locked in my rooms so you could prepare a funeral?" Your mind was awash with confusion.

"No. We had to prepare the coronation." You stop cold and close your eyes. You had heard the hushed whispers, and the fact that Rhanyera had visited only once the entire time you were married to Aemond had given some weight to those whispers. Yet you didn't want to believe it.

"Rhanyera's coronation?" You ask the question, although you already know the answer. You always wondered if they were going to fight over the throne once the time came, yet you never imagined they would simply snatch it.

Aemond pinches the bridge of his nose clearly annoyed. "No, dear wife. The rightful King has been coronated this day"

"The rightful king? You mean the usurper!" You feel the heat rise to your cheeks. This was wrong. You knew that he knew this was wrong. The king had been quite clear with his intention of passing his throne to Rhanyera.

"My dear kind father had a change of heart on his deathbed." He spits back at you, his words laced with venom.

You scoff and shake your head. The thought that the king would simply change his mind at the last moment was an absurdity. How could the hightowers possibly think that anyone in the realm would believe it?

" You know what it is that your father truly wanted, Aemond! You are a man of honor and duty!" You push against his chest, and he quickly wraps his large cold hands tightly around your wrists.

Aemond looks at you with a smirk on his face, fueling your rage. "My father was a terrible father and an even worse king. He was weak and stupid. Blind to the reality of the situation."

You feel a tightening in your chest as your rage bubbles up. "Oh? And what's that? What's the reality of the situation?"

"The reality is that Rhanyera is a whore, and a liar and is not fit to rule" Aemond grips your wrists tighter beckoning you to challenge him further.

"That is your kin!" You shout in horror at the words he is using to describe his own sister.

"That bitch and her brood of bastards are no kin of mine!" He pushes you back hands still tightly clamped around your wrists.

"Aemond! That's - "

He cuts you off with a snarl pushing you further into the bedchamber.

"You would do well to mind your tone when you speak to me."

"Aemond, stop!" You try to pry your wrists from his grip as he continues to push you back more forcefully. Your feet move quickly in an attempt to keep up with his pace.

When he gets you to the bed, he shoves you down hard upon it.

"You should spend less time worrying about who sits the iron throne and more time on your back as is your place"

He places his knee between your legs pushing them apart.

"Is this how you would want your mother to be treated? Heleana?" You know how much his mother and sister mean to him. How could he think of women this way and still love them so?

"My mother bore the king three sons. My sister bore Aegon two sons. They have done their duty. They understand that their place is behind a man. They are loved and respected for it." He reaches down and grips your throat. It's not hard enough to cut off your breathing but hard enough to keep you in place.

"A bitch can be tamed, something I have yet to do with my own wife it seems." You tug at his hand trying to pry it from your throat. The initial shock of his demeanor was worn off and quickly replaced with a need for self-preservation.

He chuckles lightly and releases you, instead grazing your bottom lip with his thumb.

"I would like you to leave. I wish to sleep alone tonight!" You nearly shout as you scramble back on the bed thinking the matter settled.

"No." Aemond crawls onto the bed with you tugging you up against him by the waist.

"No? I wish NOT for your company tonight. " You arch your back in an attempt to put some distance between you. You want nothing more than to be far away from this man that you are beginning to realize is a complete stranger to you.

"You have a duty to fulfill." The playful lilt in his voice causes your stomach to plummet. He isn't going to leave, is he?

Aemond kisses up the side of your throat. "And you will fulfill it, won't you love?" The condescension in his voice elicits a cringe from you.

"I will not. Not today. " You gently shove him from you, once again attempting to put some distance between you.

"Oh, but you will, my love." he grips your waist tighter and pulls you back to him, pressing the full length of his body against yours.

"You are my wife, and the wife of Aemond Targaryen will be a good wife." He kisses your cheekbone just beneath your eye. The gesture would seem so sweet, so intimate if not for the aggression it is coupled with.

"Aemond, let me go. I wish to rest." As you struggle against his grip, he chuckles and squeezes you tighter.

"You do realize sweet wife that you are not the one who makes such decisions? It is I your lord and husband who makes decisions such as these." He gently bites the base of your chin while pushing his entire body up against you.

You could feel his hardening manhood pressed up against your thigh and attempt to shove him off. You decide here and now that you will fight him with everything you have.

"You have yet to serve your purpose, dear wife." This is the last thing he says before flipping you on your back and crawling over you.

You spit in his face, your rage hitting a boiling point. "Do not presume to tell me what my purpose is. You are not but a second son. You have no purpose."

Aemond's one eye goes dark, but he lets you go, and you scramble back up the bed, finally able to procure the distance you were looking for.

"Leave" you demand with conviction while you try to mask the trembling of your body.

"No." He replies quietly while he continues to simply sit at the end of the bed. You can feel heat pooling in your cheeks. The way he is looking at you. The way he is practically lounging at the end of the bed, seemingly unbothered by his actions. All of it is driving you into a fit of fury.

You seeth internally as he continues to sit and look back at you, a half smirk on his face, and to make matters worse, he starts to palm at himself over his breeches, never breaking eye contact.

Your breath hitches at the sight, and you avert your eyes, battling with yourself to control your breathing. The one thing Aemond knew about you, really knew, was how very attracted to him you are.

As you look away toward the stone wall, counting to three in-between each inhale you hear hits boots thump against the floor.

With more determination than ever, you focus on the wall and your breathing.

"Maybe..... mayhaps...... we could......solve our differences another way?"

You attempt to ignore him. He removes his breeches and then moves toward you, gripping your hand and pulling you towards him.

Before you could say anything, he was on you. His lips pressed against yours harshly. At first, you attempted to resist pushing your hands against his shoulders as he pressed himself tighter to you.

The heat traveling up your body and the tingling sensation that flitted across the tips of your fingers had you give in to your desires.

You kiss him back fiercely. Your lips clashed as your tongue swirled around his. If you were going to fuck him, you were going to fuck him like you hated him, because in this moment you did.

Aemond pulled at your dress, tearing the front of it, too impatient to properly unlace you. As soon as he had it off he ran his hands over your trembling form.

He felt for every curve and every dip along your frame. Taking pleasure in the feel of your soft skin beneath his calloused fingertips.

Your body responds to his touch, a trail of fire left in the wake of his hands along your skin.

"You do know how to be a good wife" He growled in between kisses or bites you could hardly tell the difference anymore.

"Oh, be quiet!" You roll him onto his back and mount him, taking his arms, effectively pinning him to the bed.

Armond grunts in surprise before starting to chuckle. "What are you doing?" His voice is low, his one eye locked on yours.

"Just be quiet and serve your purpose," you bark back, pushing down his small clothes.

His breathing is ragged as you slowly slide down onto his cock. "What purpose is that?" he manages to say between labored breaths.

You roll your hips, applying just the right amount of pressure to your bud to build up your pleasure.

You close your eyes and continue your movements. Making it a point not to reapond. The room is quiet, save for your ragged breaths and quiet moans.

Aemond moves to lift his arms from the bed, but you hold them in place. Hastening your movements panting louder as the knot in your stomach pulls tighter. This act is for you and your pleasure.

"You did not answer," Aemond grunts between moans.

You smile down at him, rolling your hips. You run your tongue over the front of your teeth, but once again, do not respond.

You dig your fingernails into the skin of his arms as you lean forward to give yourself the leverage you need to bring yourself maximum pleasure.

"You are already serving your purpose, Lord husband." You chuckle as you bring your hips down upon his with more pressure.

He closes his eye as he groans. "What purpose is that?"

Your breathing stops as you reach your climax, your body clenching around his. Pulling his orgasm from him almost forcefully.

His head falls back, and his body arches. A long groan escapes his lips, and as he lays beneath you catching his breath, you wrap your hand around his throat.

"Oh?" He chuckles.

"Your purpose? You on your back. Guess I tamed my bitch."

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@targaryen-dynasty

[kaidatheghostdragon]

That trope where danny and jason meet during jason's six months dead? That, but with good fenton parents.

Jason is either the same age or a year or two younger than danny (between danny'and ellie's age). The fentons know danny is a ghost and have already adopted ellie. Team phantom includes the entire fenton family and valerie (and obv sam and tucker), maybe even valerie's dad.

Vlad is either reformed (post agit with teen dan?), blackmailed into submission, ran out of town, or "dealt with." The giw have been run out of town, and may or may not still exist somewhere licking their wounds. Peaceful ghosts are openly welcomed in the town, which is phantom's haunt, the fentons plus red huntress deal with the troublemakers, and the phantom siblings handle the biggest threats. May or may not be an everyone knows au.

Anyways, danny runs into the ghost of robin and is all, holy shit, a teen vigilante died, and immediately drags robin home to get all the overbearing comfort and love the fenton family can provide.

Somehow, that transformed into the fentons adopting the ghost of robin as one of their own. Jason even starts going to caspar high. Everyone knows that jason is a ghost of a kid who died too young and may be considered an honorary phantom, only team phantom knows that he's robin, and may have learned a concerning amount about batman from jason, depending on how open he is.

The joker disappears a month after jason joins the fentons and the fenton parents have solid alibis to prove they werent involved (having access to phantom's ghost allies is a large boon).

After six months of living (excuse the term) with the fentons, its as if jason has always been part of the family. So his sudden disappearance is a shock. Its treated as a ghostnapping, and the fentons are quick to use the boomerang to track him down.

They find a near-catatonic, but very much living, jason either wandering gotham, or just as he's being carted off by talia. If the latter, wrecking the league of assassins probably becomes an entire team phantom affair.

Jason is brought back home, and between the fentons and frostbite, they find a way to treat jason, learning that his living body is developing into a halfa in a similar slow manner that vlad did, but with jason's ghost core already fully developed.

That's four different halfas created in four different ways (five for five if teen dan exists), plus the increasingly liminal population of amity park, and the human members of team phantom so strongly liminal that they all have protocores and will probably become halfas when they die.

At this point, the story can go multiple directions.

If the fentons wrecked the league of assassins, either they discovered damian or talia dropped him off with bruce a few years early, when tim is just starting out as robin. If the fentons have damian, serious discussions about informing bruce of his biokid ensue, and the fact that theyve also adopted his undead son will inevitably come up and whether jason wants to deal with that mess of emotions.

If damian is dropped off with bruce, bruce is gonna hear stories of an orange man that can bust through walls, his teal assassin wife, their fiery daughter, and pair/trio of loyal white haired pit demons (assuming jason's ghost is white haired, and whether or not he's well enough to join), that wrecked ra's shit and sealed away the pits. He *will* investigate. Also, damian and tim will probably have to be kept separated, probably by having tim patrol with dick while bruce wrangles the feral child. This is smack dab in the middle of the worst period of the batfams social dynamics, but otoh, damian being younger will ultimately be better for him as he'll probably be deprogrammed a lot easier.

If the fentons never cross paths with the loa, another avenue is still open with the giw. If they've been run out of amity, but the anti ecto acts still exist, the justice league still have a chance to encounter them. Perhaps after amity ran the giw out, a formal complaint was filed to the justice league (they finally broke through the giw's blackout), but it was labelled a non-emergency (because the complaint described how the town couldnt get the message out until *after* they dealt with the problem) and was never investigated for being labelled a low priority. Baby robin tim found the file while exploring the bat computer and asked bruce about it, kicking off an investigation.

On the flipside, the giw try to convince the justice league that hostile entities have taken control of a small midwestern city, maybe the league is convinced right up until batman comes face to face with jason and is willing to hear him out.

If none of the above, jason could start talking about how he wants to return home to help crime alley, and the fentons support him all the way. You could even have jason still become red hood the crime lord, minus the family drama and joker ultimatum, and the training he would have gotten from the league is covered by ghost hunting, halfa powers, and the fenton parents' ecclectic skillset. Cue gotham being slowly invaded by team phantom as each child in turn goes to gotham U for college to be near and support jason.

Or jason is perfectly happy to stay in amity forever, but jazz goes to gotham U for its psychology program. She tries to keep her head low, but batman at this point runs a background check on every psychology major in gotham U (maybe bruce wayne funded a reform of the program - the reason why its now lauded as one of the best in the nation - to try to prevent more rogues being created.) Jazz pings a few warning criteria because her parents match a handful of mad scientist traits, so batman is now doing a full investigation on her family and finds a picture of jason.

Ignoring all of that, maybe jason keeps tabs on batman and is extremely upset that he's taken on another robin after the last one died. He's emotionally stable enough, and the fentons emotionally competent enough, to get him to talk and work through his emotions, but everyone agrees a wellness check for the new robin is in order. They go to gotham and confront batman, realize he's an emotional mess and that tim forced his way into the role and decide that the bats are all fentons now, no batman, you cannot escape. Assimilation is inevitable. We *will* get you to work through your grief and make you a better vigilante because of it. And tim has been abandoned by his parents and is living alone? That wont do. We're going to assume for your benefit that you were too grief-stricken to notice bruce, but you will not be making any more oversights like that under our watch.

There are probably a dozen other directions this could go, but mostly i just wanted to provide some prompts/ideas with ghost/halfa jason as a fenton. I need more fluffy fenton dynamics and jason fluff.