#of course the exact circumstances aren’t the same

[crystallinecardinal]

Something about love and loss and being on the other side of the tragedy idk

[bunnygirllover45]

— THE THRILL OF THE HUNT.

♱ TRIGGER WARNINGS: Johann literally hunts down the reader, Small outburst at the end, and a lot of bullshit talk about hunting because I like it, DEAD DOVE. No violence was used.

Synopsis: You escape from Johann, he has to track you down. WORD COUNT: 1.6k

Johann wasn't exactly the thrill-seeking kind. He always preferred a slow-paced life, not filled with many excitements or tragedies. He wasn’t an adventurous spirit or a fiery soul in search of greater meaning. In his head, the only thing he needed was you.

And maybe that’s why this exact moment made his blood boil with newfound rapture, he could swear for a moment his skin bumped at the feeling of his heart throbbing so quickly against his ribcage. The thrill of the hunt, like his father used to say, made mere men become beasts, some because it was vital for their survival, others because of the rush of power it gave them.

But he couldn’t quite understand it until now. For him, hunts weren’t that exciting. The game was always too easy to track down, the footsteps effortlessly concealed. The gun didn’t feel heavy enough. His breath didn’t quicken at the mere chance of letting his prey slip away; he’ll always find a way to reach them again, after all. Animals have their habits; they’re easy to decipher once you know their true nature.

This is the type of hunt he’s been craving for so long. Johann had to press a hand against his mouth to prevent a low chuckle from escaping. Oh, how right his father was. This was truly trilling to the core, the kind of thrill that made a foreign heat rise towards his head and seep into his very brain tissue.

Humans aren’t like animals, their behavior is a little more erratic, animals can be divided between highly intelligent beings and straight-up dumb ones, but humans? All of them had their quirks, you couldn’t easily guess how prepared someone could be under certain circumstances. “Isn’t that so fucking interesting?” 

Lowering himself to the ground Johann reached to touch the freshly shaped footstep that his precious prey left behind. If they’re leaving such a pretty trail behind they’re expecting me to find them, what a tease.

“You know what kind of animals roam these types of terrains?” His voice was loud enough to carry its sound through the extremely quiet, when the hunt begins, the forest goes quiet, no need to scream. “Bears, moose, sometimes even wolves. Had to detangle a lot of ‘em from traps before, not without properly securing they won’t be able to bite, ‘course.” 

His heavy boots made the rotten wood and debris scattered around the forest soil yield under their weight, no need to change onto more quiet shoes, his bunny wouldn’t be able to hear him coming, surely their heartbeat was the only thing resounding inside their ears. Reaching into his pocket he took out his watch, starting a countdown. “I’ll give you two minutes to gain distance, cover your tracks, you can try hiding if you want, but I wouldn’t recommend staying still, it makes you easier to spot.” 

“Once the two minutes are done I’ll begin searching, I'll make a bird calling each 45 seconds, and once three minutes pass by, I’ll stop making bird callings and hunt in earnest, ‘kay? Just want to make the game easier for you, it isn’t fun if I’m the one with the upper hand all the time even if this is my subject.” 

With a deep sigh, he crouched down again, his hands fidgeting inside his pocket until he found a cigarette, the last one actually. Grabbing his lighter he lit up the tip, taking a slow inhale before letting the smoke escape from his lips. 

His free hand reached to grab the gun he always had with him, it was an old friend of sorts, stuck by his side in all the worst situations, a lot of people meeting their death at the end of this same barrel. Maybe it should have your name, after all, people do name their guns sometimes.

The forest grew more eerily quiet, the sun setting down in the distance while Johann quietly awaited the starting gunshot of the race, he didn’t really need to put the time on his watch, he could already count the time down to the millisecond inside his head. “Forty-eight, forty-nine…” His gloved fingers tapped against his lips, hands tightly clad in leather gloves, perfect for the harsh Austrian winter. 

A part of him wished you didn’t even make the effort to run away, maybe finding you curled up against a rock or a tree just waiting for him to find you was more exciting than actually pursuing you, after all, that meant you truly gave up on the idea of leaving him behind—still, another part of his brain screamed for you to run, so he could find you and make sure you won’t try pulling up bullshit like this again.

Slowly he stood up, the watch making a low beeping sound before he began to walk, settling the gun back onto the strap around his thigh. Holding the cigarette in between his lips he began to prepare the clothes you were going to use once he caught you, after all, little you decided to escape both barefoot and barely dressed, the worst thing in this forest beside him was the cold. Holding the spare jacket he always brought with him inside his bag and a blanket he continued to walk nonchalantly, not even sparing a single stare in any direction that wasn’t just dead front and center. 

Johann's stare drifted onto the floor, a little disappointed that you didn’t take his recommendation into account, there, clear as day, were your pretty little marks for him to follow like a bloodhound. Johann even took the time to carefully make sure he didn’t accidentally step into any of them, not wanting to overshadow the loving tracks you left behind for him with his heavy boots.

He knew very well he was taking all of this too lightly, this was a high gamble where he could lose everything or gain all, but still the elated sense of happiness and bubbling excitement made him more self-confident, too sure you wouldn’t get away too far, and even if you did, he’d stay in the damn forest all the time necessary for you to realize you need to go back onto his loving arms.

Stopping dead in his tracks he turned around as he heard a small sound coming from behind a fallen stump, dead bark peeling off the tree’s corpse. There you are.

And there you were indeed, curled up in a ball, back pressing against the rough bark as you held your arms around your torso, bracing yourself from the harsh winter cold, from the shiver that ran down your shoulders towards your legs or the sight you so pathetically defenseless made him smile, a blush creeping up onto his features.

“You didn’t even run far enough to let me do any bird calls, are you that tired, baby?” He kneeled down in front of you, but as soon as you jolted up in surprise Johann’s hand shot to grab your wrist with unnerving quickness. His dark eyes bore into you, a small smile gracing his lips, but there was no emotion behind that expression of his. “That’s okay, next time I’ll give you some proper equipment, some shoes wouldn’t hurt.” 

His thumb caressed the skin of your wrist, while his other hand threw away the now almost half-smoked cigarette that Johann held in between his lips. Eventually he reached to grab your head in between them, rubbing your cheeks with such tenderness that it could be even soothing in a different situation. “There, you did good. Not good enough to grant you a reward, but you did have me a little scared back there.” His smile widened as he lied through his teeth. You frowned, tired, freezing cold and also breathless, but still with enough energy to try and pry his hand away from your wrist, it was useless, he was latched onto you like a handcuff. “Fuck yo—” Before you could even finish he reached to clasp his free hand onto your mouth, the sudden movement making you stumble backward, head pressing against the tree. “Fuckin’ language.” He whispered between his teeth, staring at you dead in the eyes. “You should be grateful I didn’t put a damn bullet in between those pretty eyes of yours. Runnin’ away from me like that? After all I did for you? I let you away from my sight for just a second and you go jolting away like a fucking rabbit.” 

Taking a deep breath he lowered his head, slowly pushing his hand away from your mouth, his face leaning closer to you, the only warm feeling gracing your warm body being his hot breath against your face. “Sorry ‘bout that.” He pushed your lower lip with his thumb, pressing a soft kiss onto your flesh as some sick and twisted kind of apology.

“I won’t be as lenient next time, ‘kay? You know I care about you a lot, meine Liebe, don’t want you getting hurt.” He forced a smile, leaning his forehead against yours, but again his voice was masked by the thumping sound of your heart against your ears. “Let’s get you back to the car, I’ll get you all warmed up and cozy.” 

You just let him grab you, his hands effortlessly grabbing you and carrying you bridal style as both of you made your way back toward the car, you stole a few glances at Johann’s face, finding a small smile and that darn blush in his cheeks that showed how much he enjoyed himself, maybe a twisted part of him was truly pleased by all of this, even if it just started as a rebellious act of trying to escape from your part.

“Hear that? It’s a White-tailed eagle. Birds of prey, always hunted them with my father as a child.” Suddenly the forest wasn’t so quiet anymore, the hunt has ended.

[bbddbopp]

Stop obsessing over your 3D.

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I’m tired of seeing people endlessly repeat the same negativity on social media, constantly complaining about not seeing their desired results. It’s always the same thing:

“I believe in this, but I still haven’t seen it manifest in my life.”

“I did everything they told me to do, but why aren’t the results showing?”

“I’ve tried so many methods and subliminals, but nothing’s working!”

“I’ve been at this for months/years, and I’m exhausted—when will the results come?”

This is the reason why you don't have your results yet.

Why are you so eager and so dependent on the 3D? Why are you so desperate for the results, as if they hold more power than you? Why are you giving away so much of your energy to outcomes that will come effortlessly—if only you stop complaining and start embodying your power? Why is there such a lack of belief in yourself when you’ve already claimed that you are the creator of your own reality?

You say you’re a master manifester and that you control your reality, but all I see is someone who’s a slave to their circumstances. You’ve let your reality, the 3D, control you—when it should be the other way around.

If you truly believe you're a master manifester, then start acting like one. If you believe you're the only one who can shape your life, then start acting like it. If you truly believe you are the creator of your reality, then START ACTING LIKE IT.

Before your favourite product was being produced and being sold at shops, someone had to thought of it before creating it into their reality. Everything is an idea before it becomes a physical reality. And if you understand this, then why is it hard for you to believe that your desires is coming and as a matter of fact, is already here, present in your reality? It is just waiting for you to realize that it is in fact present in order for it to be physical in your reality. It needs your awareness and your unwavering belief as energy that it could use in order to further materialize itself in your life. You results needs you, not the other way around.

You thinking "oh, it's not working" or "I don't see my desired results" is just going to delay it further. This mindset is the exact reason why you haven’t seen results yet.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨

"To be is to be perceive."

The law of assumptions states it clearly - "whatever you assumed to be the truth is the truth."

If you think or assumed that your results is not here yet, then that is the truth. If you think or assumed it is not working, then it is not working.

So, if you want your results. Then, start assuming the opposite. Start assuming and knowing that your results are here, that everything always works out in your favour - start acknowledging your desires that are already present in your life.

You validate your results, not your results validating you.

And don't just do this a few times before giving up again and telling yourself that it's impossible - you are just going to start the same toxic cycle that just rendered you powerless and miserable. Start detaching from the need to see your results in reality. Start knowing that your results are already here even if you can't see it physically now. When you feel doubt or fear creeping in, address it. Work on your self-concept and affirm against it (or do whatever manifestation techniques that work for you).

Start to truly believe in yourself and your power, because if you don't who else will? Imagine you’re sick and go to the hospital to see a doctor. The doctor gives you a diagnosis, prescribes medication, and everything seems normal. But then, at the end, the doctor suddenly asks, “Is this diagnosis correct? Am I doing the right thing? Did I prescribe the correct medicine?” Would you feel confident going back to that doctor if you got sick again? Of course not!

The same principle applies to your manifestation. If you keep doubting yourself and your manifestation - then your desires are going to doubt you too. Your brain and subconscious are going to doubt you: “Do they really have this, or not? They keep saying they do, but then they backtrack and say they don’t—I guess it's a lie then whenever they said that they already have it.”

So stop complaining that it is not working, etc - and start being; it is time for you to reclaim your power and truly be the creator of your life ✨

¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ 🦋 ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹

[mizading]

Taking Care of Sick JJK Men

╰┈➤ {Characters} : Satoru Gojo, Kento Nanami, Suguru Geto.

╰┈➤ {Warnings} : None

Satoru Gojo:

With a sick Satoru, you’ll be greeted with his sniffles and strong arms clinging to your waist as soon as the sun rises. Little groans and complaints would leave his lips to get your attention. (He’s an attention whore.)

Satoru would whine endlessly about how sick he felt, pleading for you to miraculously make him feel better. A little pout is permanent on Satoru’s face. He’s always excessively moody when he feels sick.

As if his complaints weren't enough, Satoru has no shame, clinging and kissing all over you as if he won't get you ill as well. It’s Satoru’s way of self-soothing when he’s grumpy and feeling under the weather.

No matter how much you complain or push him off, Satoru will come right back, holding you tighter than before. It’s not like he wants to get you sick; he just can't keep his hands to himself to save his life.

Like the big baby he is, Satoru will beg and beg for you to make him homemade soup. Be prepared to spoon it to him if you make some.

Cuddles, cuddles, cuddles. Most of the day will be spent in different cuddling positions. Satoru doesn’t care how hot or sweaty you two eventually get; he refuses to let go. Big spoon or little spoon, he doesn’t care as long as he gets his cuddles.

Despite how high his fever is, Satoru insists on taking at least one bath. Baths with you always soothe him. Telling him no is useless; Satoru always gets what he wants.

Nothing in this world could ever make Satoru happier than sitting in the bath between your legs with you washing and massaging his hair. He loves how delicate you are when you scrub his sick body.

Satoru likes to be sung to softly once back in bed with you. He doesn’t care what you sound like; you sound beautiful to him regardless. Satoru feels safe when he’s able to nuzzle his head into your chest and listen to your gentle voice.

Satoru feels at ease being vulnerable and treated like a human being after spending his entire life being treated as nothing more than the strongest.

Sick days with Satoru aren’t easy, but you’ll do anything and everything for him because he’ll do the exact same and more for you.

Kento Nanami:

Much like Geto, Nanami keeps to himself when he’s sick. He doesn’t believe that it's your responsibility to take care of him, no matter the circumstances.

It’s quite hard to tell when Nanami is sick; he refuses to let a “minor bug” hinder his performance. Unfortunately for Nanami, this “minor bug” forced him to call out of work early.

Nanami shuts you out when he comes home, constantly reminding you to stay away for your own good. You’re stubborn, and of course you weren’t going to let your husband suffer sick alone.

You still respect Nanami’s wishes and manage to keep a small distance between you two while taking care of him simultaneously. When you help Nanami take his work uniform off and pepper his bare back with kisses, he wanted to marry you all over again.

A hot shower with you is a must. All Nanami wants is to hug your body close and let the droplets of hot water patter on you two. A little back massage in the process would melt his poor heart. Nanami knows that he’s not keeping a safe distance, but he can’t seem to care at the moment. He’s more than willing to take days off of work just to care for you if you get sick as well.

Getting Nanami to lay down or sit down is quite hard. He has a hard time giving his body a break. The only way that you can get him to lay down is if you offer him cuddles. At this point, any attempts at keeping distance are thrown out the window.

Nanami becomes extra soft when he’s sick. He’ll spend hours on end laying in bed with his eyes closed, telling you why he loves you. Even after hours of him explaining, he still can’t tell you every reason why you’re the only woman he’ll ever love.

Nanami considers being sick a perfect time to simply catch up and talk. The conversations will range from his high school days to what he thinks happens after death. He might even throw in a random book from his collection to read to you.

Being in such a weak state reminds Nanami that a full life isn’t guaranteed. He’ll bring up his plans for the future with you once he retires. Even if living a full life isn’t guaranteed, he’ll do everything in his power to guarantee a future in Malaysia with you before it’s too late.

Suguru Geto:

Suguru has a bad habit of keeping quiet when he’s sick. He doesn’t want you to risk getting sick yourself while taking care of him. Suguru would much rather suffer in silence if it meant keeping you safe and healthy. This poor boy will hide from you in the house, purposely looking down when you’re near.

You only notice that Suguru is sick when you catch him slugging around the house with a red nose and tired eyes when he thinks you’re gone. That would explain why the full tissue box was almost empty within 2 hours. He’ll refuse to admit that he’s sick, but you know better.

Without question, you immediately come to the rescue, dragging Suguru back to the bed with a thermometer and water bottle in your hand. He knows that he’s been caught and won't be able to keep you from getting sick now.

As much as Suguru doesn’t want you to risk getting sick, he absolutely loves your gentle care. It’ll take a few hours of convincing for Suguru to finally let you care for him without pushing you away. His weak state makes it easier for you to force him to comply.

Due to how soft Suguru's voice naturally is, he loses his voice 9/10 times when he gets sick. It melts your heart to hear him ask for favors in a little whisper. He finds it embarrassing, but you convince him otherwise. Suguru thinks it's so sweet and strange that you find almost everything about him in his sick state cute.

Suguru doesn’t ask for much out of fear of burning you out. He tends to keep to himself. With enough harassment, you’ll eventually get him to tell you his needs. Lucky for him, you always give him what he needs and more without him having to ask. He can’t believe how lucky he is sometimes. What did a man like him do to deserve such an angel?

He wouldn’t dare ask you for affection in the state he’s in, even if he wanted it so so badly. His eyes scanning your body constantly, unfortunately, gave him away. Without hesitation, you'll give Suguru more love than he can handle.

You can’t help but smother Suguru with your affection. You have no concern about getting sick yourself. Your priority is making your baby feel better.

Suguru is an adorable mess when he’s sick. He’ll never take your love and care for granted.

Banner Credits: Cafekitsune

[bookie-bookdust]

How to Defuse a Ravenclaw (Pt. 1)

Seb had been forced to devise a “defuse the Ravenclaw” protocol for when that damn witch lost her shit. Which was a lot, quite frankly. It’d been going as well as one could hope. Destruction was down, and she was able to talk in coherent sentences in under an hour that didn’t involve threatening to Avada him. So when against his better judgement he throws protocol out the window, he’s forced to face one of his own very private rules: Do not think about fucking the Ravenclaw. And fail. Miserably.

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x FMC Rating: Explicit - MDNI Total Word Count (both parts): ~14,500 CWs: Vaginal sex, oral sex, mirror sex, semi-public fingering, orgasm denial, begging, not actually unrequited, porn with plot, crack fic tendencies, theft lol, a lot of fire, the one where Ominis wears stupid hats, Seb is a switch ✨Read it here, ao3 and wattpad (MASTERLIST) 😈You are on: ➡️PART ONE // PART TWO // BONUS: OMINIS PREQUEL

“Natty Onsai has caught the Golden Snitch! Gryffindor wins!” Everett Clopton’s voice roared through the downpour.

The crowd erupted, the stands shaking in shouts and stomping as if they’d collapse with another brutal gust of wind.

“Fuck,” Sebastian said.

“Fuck, indeed.” Ominis sighed. “On a scale of Mandrake to Chinese Fireball, how livid does she look?” He adjusted his stalwart grip on their umbrella. Sebastian didn’t have the heart to tell him it’d only covered a quarter of his side for most of the match.

“Neither. Hungarian Horntail,” Seb grumbled.

“Oh, we’re doomed, aren’t we?”

“Yep. I’ve got her.”  

Seb pushed his soaking hair from his eyes, squinting out at the pitch. While the other players circled, offering handshakes, he spotted a flash of Ravenclaw-blue already off her broom, storming for the tent.

He could kiss his evening in the Restricted Section goodbye. On Quidditch match nights, students were so rowdy, no one noticed when he slipped away. But on Ravenclaw match nights…

She’s going to break my arm again, isn’t she?

“You’ll be good to get back to the castle, yeah?”

“I’m not a lost puppy.” Ominis snapped.

“Of course you’re not.” Seb snorted. “I’ll see you in the dorms.” He patted his friend’s stiff shoulder and rushed out of the stands before the crowd really started to swarm.

The last time she’d lost a match, it’d gone as swimmingly as one could expect. She’d nearly burned down the Undercroft, though he couldn’t judge her for it as he’d lost count of how many times he’d done the same. He almost regretted teaching her so many fire spells fifth year. Ominis had been so livid, Seb was forced to devise a “defuse the Ravenclaw” protocol for when she lost her shit.

Which was a lot, quite frankly.

Failed exams. Snide comments from her many “sworn” foes. Losing Quidditch matches. The list went on.

The massive well of rage she harbored was almost endearing if she wasn’t so destructive, but even saying that would send her into a secondary spiral. Which there was a protocol for that too.

He and Ominis traded off each time one of these events occurred, and it’d been going as well as one could hope. Destruction was down, and she was able to talk in coherent sentences in under an hour that didn’t involve threatening to Avada him. Most of the time, anyway.

He slipped into the empty player tent, and the chill hit him instantly as he was finally free of the rain. His clothes clung to his goosebumps, and he rubbed his arms before remembering there was a wonderful thing called magic for this exact circumstance. He casted a drying charm, and his shoulders loosened.

“I’m looking for a very disgruntled Ravenclaw,” he called out. He was hoping to pluck her from the other players’ grip before she got herself banned.

“STUPID!”

A massive crash made him jump. He followed it, spotting a trail of muddied clothes and Quidditch equipment, stopping short at the showers.

“You good in there?”

The shower silenced. He shifted from foot-to-foot waiting for a sign.

Merlin, please don’t be naked.

He didn’t think he’d be strong enough to deal with her pissed off and naked. His fifth-year self would have fainted at that fantasy, but he’d smothered that idea the moment he’d sent his uncle to an early grave. Girls didn’t like boys who had a mental breakdown, raised the dead, and murdered their family—and still make jokes about it.

She came bursting through the steam, fully clothed, hair dripping wet and fanning around her like a harpy. He barely had time to react before she shoved him, sending him almost careening over a bench.

“Fucking Leander,” she screamed, grabbing her dirty clothes and tossing them in an enchanted hamper. “How many illegal plays before someone kicks him off the pitch? Did you see what he did?”

She tugged up her sweater, and Sebastian nearly popped a blood vessel before he spotted the already purpling bruise against her ribs.

“He rammed the edge of his broom straight into me.” She growled, literally, chucking her helmet into a cubby.

Rule One: Never agree with the Ravenclaw. Keep a neutral stance. Agreeing only encourages violence.

“Well, he is an insufferable dunce.” Sebastian agreed.

Woops.

“Where is that sniveling prick?” She stormed back toward the field.

“Noooo you’re not going back out there.” He caught her by the waist, spinning her around against him. It earned him a smack of wet hair against his cheek. “Come on. Time to go.”

“I just want to talk.” She shimmied in a very distracting way, her ass a bit too close to his cock. He had no choice but to tighten his grip. Truly what an inconvenience it was.

“Sure, you do.” He dragged her back the other way, toward the castle.

“Let go of me.” She bucked before all her weight dropped as she ragdolled.

They tumbled, and he caught them both, hauling her against his side.

“Honestly—” He lugged her with her feet dragging behind them. “My days of carting bodies is over, yet you keep reminding me with this stupid little deadweight trick you do.”

“Shut it.” She hissed.

She was just like hauling a haystack. A pissed off, living haystack currently trying to bite his arm. All that manual labor Solomon had forced him to do in Feldcroft had finally paid off. Who knew it’d be for livid little Ravenclaws?

“We’re going to go cool down,” he huffed.

“I already took a shower.” She kicked her legs, hooking one around his.

He tripped. “Not that.” He pinched her arm, and she yelped.

She wrenched harder, and he flung them outside into the rain.

It hit like slicing knives, and she shrieked, flailing her arms and legs. “Put me down.”

He halted, and the merciless wind shook a tree, a wave of icy water dumping over them.

Fucking hell. He grimaced.

“‘Put me down,’ what?”

She silenced for a moment before thrashing. “I’m not saying please.”

Seb rolled his eyes. In a swift movement, he flipped her, her head hanging inches from a bubbling puddle of mud.

She shrieked. “Fine. Please, please, please!”

“That’s better.” He righted her on her feet and gripped her shoulders. Merlin, she was looking more like a drenched cat by the second. Her blouse was…he tore his gaze away. She’d kill him if he caught her staring.

“We can either fight out here in the downpour and contract some plague, or we can cool down in the nice dry Undercroft. Your choice.”

She glared, bottom lip stuck out in a furious pout. “Fine.”

“Good girl.” He tapped her head, and he drudged ahead.

“Fucker.”

“I heard that.”

***

As soon as the gate to the Undercroft clicked shut, she was off before he could even cast a drying charm.

“Stupid fucking Prewett.” She whipped out her wand. “Confringo!” the crates erupted.

He shielded his eyes at the searing fire, a wave of heat clouding the room. “Just burn us alive. That’s fine.”

“I want to kick in his stupid rectangular head.” She hurled a candelabra into the flames.

Oh shit. “Don’t—”

She hurled a pillow next.

“Salazar’s roasted nuts.” He sighed.

It was a bloodbath. She grabbed anything not nailed down. Soaking hair sticking to her flushed face and neck, her clothes dripping on the stone floor, and there he was entranced by her tits and brassiere through her translucent shirt.

His boots gave an annoying squeak.

If he didn’t look away, he’d have to hurl himself into that fire soon. He sighed, the smoke itching his throat, and he fished out his wand and dried them both.

“My hair.” Her hands flew to her scalp. It puffed up frizzy and big, and her face twisted into another angry pout. She hurled an old bag of gobstones into the fire, and the flames flashed with snapping embers.

Rule Two: Do not, under any circumstances, let the Ravenclaw set anything on fire.

Well, that rule was overrated anyway.

He accio’d multiple homework assignments from her hands, allowed her to hurl a cup and a plate, and nearly had a panic attack when she’d grabbed one of his books.

“Not th—”

She paused, chest still heaving, before setting it back on the table.

At least she has some decency.

“Is that enough?” he asked, coughing. Smoke swiftly filled the Undercroft, and his eyes were beginning to water. “Feel better yet?”

But her eyes shifted, ignoring him as if he wasn’t even there. She clocked something near the couch, storming after it.

“No, no—” He surged after her.

Rule Three: Do not destroy any of Ominis’s personal shit.

He clutched her arm, wrestling her for Ominis’s expensive brim hat. It was the stupidest thing Sebastian had ever seen, and he’d mocked Ominis ruthlessly for trying to wear it, but under no circumstances could it go in the flames.

“Bugger off.” She bared her teeth, using her other hand to dig her nails into his arm.

“Ouch, fuck.” He wrenched it from her grip and raised the hat high above their heads. “If you burn this stupid hat, Ominis might actually crucio us.”

She jumped and didn’t even graze his wrist. “Don’t you have some witch to snog?”

He paused.

Where had that come from?

He took in her glowering face again, nose scrunched, pink lips pulled back as she scraped and scratched at his arm.

A spike of adrenaline coursed through him, his heart thudding.

Don’t.

Rule Four: Do not antagonize the Ravenclaw. You’ve been warned.

But that old fifteen-year-old Seb, the rash, slightly deranged side of him, came hurtling to the surface—filled his head with unsavory thoughts he’d worked so hard to squander. His eyes traced her bouncing form, and his throat tightened.

Rule Five: Do not think about fucking the Ravenclaw

(That was a Sebastian-specific rule that he’d made up. Right now. And he meant it. Get the image out of his head. Dead puppies. Dead Solomon. Smelly Inferi. Mental breakdowns…)

She pitched forward and rubbed her front against him.

Shit. Stop doing that. Those fucking tits.

“Don’t you sound jealous?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

She faltered, glaring daggers at him. “Shut it, nerd.”

Merlin, she was pissed. He licked his lips and grinned.

He tossed the hat across the Undercroft, unsheathing his wand and squelching the fire.

She seethed, fanning the smoke before he cleared that away as well.

“Now what was that about me snogging other witches?”

“Expelliarmus.”

A sharp sting snapped down his arm, and his wand went flying. “Oh, you wicked little witch.”

He should have been pissed, but his cheeks ached he was grinning so wide. She was in for it. He’d poke and prod her, tease her until she was huffing and puffing. He’d drive her absolutely mad.

“I take back my statement.” She straightened her blouse, suddenly very red in the face. “You’d be snogging some dusty old tome.”

Rule Six: Do not take the Ravenclaw’s bait.

He tilted his head back and laughed. “Nasty girl. At least I didn’t get kicked out of Crossed Wands for assaulting a fourth year.”

“I did not—”                                         

“He was in the infirmary for three days.” He arched a brow. “A broken thumb, bruised ribs, no eyebrow—”

“Stupefy.”

The spell spiraled, and it missed him. It bounced off the bookshelf, sending the massive old thing careening forward. He caught it with his shoulder, and books spilled over his head.

Damn, Ominis was going to kill him.

“A little help?” he called over his shoulder.

She glared, arms crossed.

“I’ll tell Poppy where you’ve been hiding that albino thestral—”

The bookcase illuminated in a levitating spell, and it flew from his arms, knocking back against the wall. The books whipped past him, stacking precariously on the shelves.

“That’s better.” He brushed the dust off his shirt. “Good as new.”

“All one percent of it,” she muttered.

They both glanced at the charred remains in the corner. The floor, walls, and ceiling were stained in black, tapestries hanging in pathetic chunks, ash littering the trunk just far enough to go unscathed.

Rule Seven: Don’t shame her for losing her temper, but ensure she knows she’s in the wrong for whatever violent action she took.

“This place is fucked.” He sighed. “Did you at least get all that out? You don’t need to slaughter Prewett anymore?”

She rolled her eyes. “Fuck off.”

“Now come on, grumpy grindylow. Do you need a hug?” He held out his arms.

She snorted, something like a grimace on her face as she pointed her wand at him again. “Keep your mangey hands off me.”

“Is that a smile you’re trying to hide?” He stepped forward.

Her face practically glowed red like Ominis’s wand at this point. There was no way he was imagining it. He’d accidentally tapped into something she’d kept well clutched to her chest.  

He inched even closer, and she stepped back, a panicked expression flashing through her desolate glare as she gave him a onceover.

Merlin’s fucking beard. She was nervous.

Rule Eight: Do not imagine fucking the Ravenclaw.

Again.

“Come on.” He grinned wider, and she stepped back with his every step forward.

She didn’t notice he was backing her into a corner. Not until she thumped against the wall, and she set her jaw.

“They’re not so bad. You hugged me once.”

“I think you mean when I was bleeding out in that spider lair, and you were dragging me out.”

“Same difference.” His hand twitched at his side, hesitating. For something. Anything. Terror in her eyes. A wand at his throat. A knife at his throat. But she only pursed her lips, her big eyes flicking across his face.

Rule Nine: Don’t–

Forget the fucking rules.

He tugged her face-first into his chest.

“Oofffshf!!” She growled into his shirt, arms immediately seeking purchase to push him off. “Ughhhghhghghh.” She punched him in the side, balling up his shirt in her fists.

“Are you always this tense?” He laughed.

She screeched, digging her nails into his forearms.

“I think you’re tighter now actually.”

“Get off.” She fisted his hair.

A jolt rocked through his body, straight to his dick, and he blinked in surprise. Well, he certainly hadn’t known he was into that.

“I’ll let you go when you breathe.”

“I am breathing.” She smacked him in the head.

He grabbed for her hand, and she punched him in the gut.

“Ow!”

“You’re so annoying,” she hissed, this time nailing him square in the chest and worming herself free.

“Fine. That what you want?” He rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, and she stopped, raising an eyebrow. “You want to fight? Then let’s brawl it out the Muggle way.” He held up his fists. “Come on.”

She stared at him wide-eyed, head tilting to the side, and he fought the laugh cracking his serious expression. That Ravenclaw thinking face. It was ridiculous and he loved it.

He leaned forward, giving her a light tap on the cheek, and she lunged.

“You daft, idiotic, ignorant—”

“Low blow.”

“—jerk!” She punched, slapped, and he held her a safe enough distance not to break anything, wincing when she bopped his nose.

He laughed, he couldn’t help it. She looked like a furious puffskein, hair all wild and puffy, the curls untamed showering around her shoulders and down her back.

He caught her waist, and she swung, hitting him right in the throat.

“Fu—” he choked, gripping his neck.

She blanched. “Are you alright?”

“You punched me. In the throat.” He wheezed, trying hard to shake it off. Merlin, she could throw a punch.

She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out, a pathetic hand extended toward him.

Shake it off. You look like an idiot.

Seb cleared his throat, rubbing his neck.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

Note – add a new rule to the protocol: don’t get punched in the throat.

He swallowed, and it ached all the way down. She certainly wasn’t going to get off clean for that one.

“It’s fine.” He scratched out. “You’ll just have to kiss it better.” He tapped at the hollow of his throat.

That concern dropped immediately. Straight to horror. “Absolutely not, you narcissist.”

He grabbed for her.

“Don’t you dare.” She jumped back, batting at his arms.

He caught her forearm, careening her into his chest.

She flailed, smacking his back, clawing at his shirt.

He kept her face pressed hard against him, her frizzy hair tickling his neck. “I’ll let you go when you do it.”

“I’ll bite you,” her muffled voice warned.

Something wet and hot hit his neck, and again, he was violating his newest rule.

“A little drool doesn’t scare me.” He pressed her face harder, gripping her jaw so she couldn’t unhinge her devil teeth and bite him.

“Yerdeadseb,” came her muffles. “Ichantbreeth.”

He snorted. “I can’t understand you. You’ll have to speak more clearly.”

A hand swung around his head, fisting his hair just as her foot hooked around his leg. His back slammed against the wall, steadying them, and he couldn’t help but laugh a bit too loudly between his yelps as she once again went for his knees.

If Ominis were to walk in, there’d be no explaining their compromising position. That thought made his pulse spike.

She kept swinging until her arms slowed, tiring.

“You know what you have to do,” he hummed, easing his grip.

“I hate you,” she grumbled.

But a brush, feathery soft, made contact with his skin.

His whole body lit in goosebumps.

Oh. Fuck.

He wasn’t expecting her to actually do it.

His heart pounded in his ears, the blood quickly heading south. He blinked down at her, but she kept her forehead pressed into his chest.

“There. Let me go.”

He wet his lips. “I didn’t even feel anything.”

By Salazar, he was testing his luck. Dangerously dangling over the edge.

She twitched, breath hitching. He awaited the onslaught of rage. But her soft lips brushed against the hollow of his throat, her breath hot.

He bit down on his lip. Fuck, he had a full out erection now. Solomon’s ghost wouldn’t even be able to stop it.

This was a bad idea. Horrendously bad.  

“Was that so hard?” His voice sounded strangled, and he cleared his throat. His fingers tangled uselessly in her hair.

Let go.

Except he didn’t. He tightened his grip.

She looked up at him, flushed and dazed, and his knees nearly buckled. His other hand dug into her side. A different type of tension built in those violent limbs of hers. Her body shifted forward, pressing those curvy hips against him, against his fucking cock.

She was grinding against it.

His every limb tightened, coiled, desperate.

Don’t fuck the Ravenclaw. Don’t fuck the Ravenclaw.

He bit the inside of his cheek, but his mouth watered, every inch of him demanding he toss her on that couch.

Say something.

“Haven’t killed anyone yet?” Ominis voice rang from the top of the stairs.

They ripped apart.

The Undercroft gate rattled in the awkward silence, and the red of Ominis’s wand highlighted his shadow climbing down the stairs. “Do I smell smoke?”

Sebastian met her eyes. She blinked at him, hand gripping her throat as if she couldn’t speak.

“Just a, um, small fire. Everything’s fine.” Sebastian dug his hands in his pockets to hide his erection.

Ominis stopped in the doorway, holding his wand out to evaluate the room. “Small? The Undercroft is destroyed. Again. Merlin, you two have the impulse control of first years. Who started it?”

Seb scoffed. “It wasn’t me.”

She still didn’t say a word, gaping between the two of them.

“Well?” Ominis turned to her, brow pinched. “Kneazle got your tongue? Out with it.”

“Seb tried to burn your ugly hat,” she blurted.

“What?” he roared.

“How dare you.” Ominis surged after him, and she took that as her escape as she sprinted out of the Undercroft.

“I saved your bloody hat,” he tried saying, but Ominis was already upon him.

“Is respect—” he chucked a quill, “—that much—” a pillow decked Seb right in the face, “—to ask for?”

“You’re letting her get away.” Sebastian rushed after her, but Ominis fisted his sleeve, throwing Seb onto the couch.

“You both need to be reminded that your actions have consequences. Clean it up.” He crossed his arms.

Seb stared helplessly at the closing Undercroft gate. This wasn’t the mess he wanted to clean up. He had another one to deal with now.

“Going to try and send me to Azkaban again if I don’t?”

Ominis’s face burned red—almost purple. “Now.”

***

It’d been the longest week of Sebastian’s life—which was an exaggeration as every week of fifth year felt like the earth would crack itself open and suck him into the soil. But he’d never felt like this…so sweaty all the damn time.

She’d effectively ignored him unless they were in a group conversation, and then she communicated in grunts and nods, keeping her eyes glued to the floor.

And he just kept staring at her. At her mouth, thinking of her soft lips brushing his neck. Imagining her lips in other places. How she’d grinded against him. And the fucking hair pulling. She’d been pinned so pretty against the wall, huffing and frazzled, clawing at him…

“Are you paying attention?” Ominis snapped.

Seb blinked. “Of course I am.”

“I swear not enough oxygen stimulates that brain of yours,” his friend grumbled, shoving their potions homework in Seb’s hands. “We’re nearly finished, and I’d like to get some sleep before the sun rises.”

Sebastian sighed, leaning back in his chair. The candles were burning low in the Undercroft, and he fished out his pocket watch to see the hand flirting with Two.

“Fine. Fine.” Sebastian sighed, dipping his quill, and they plowed through the rest of their group assignment.

Ominis quickly packed his things, abandoning him for their dorms with barely a huff over his shoulder.

Sebastian sighed. He was tired, but he could tell sleep wouldn’t be greeting him any time soon. When this happened, he’d bury himself in his readings, hoping they’d bore him to slumber, but they never did. He’d always get too interested, and then he’d find himself pacing back and forth until the sunrise greeted him.

Except this time, he wasn’t sure if even a book could distract him.

“Damn Ravenclaw.” He sighed.

He grabbed a random book off the shelf, tossing it on the velveteen couch when he spotted a Slytherin scarf on the floor. Ominis must have dropped it. He’d be looking for that in the morning. Sebastian tucked it beside him.

He was deep in his readings when the metal gate to the Undercroft rattled. He didn’t look up, flipping the page. “Forget your scarf?”

When no response came, he lowered his book.

There she was, fiddling with her button-down as she studied him with a strangled sort of expression.

“Oh, hello there.” He gave her what he hoped was an unbothered smile even as his fingers dampened the book pages.

“Evening.” She tucked her hands behind her back.

“How is, um, Quidditch?”

Quidditch?? Excellent, Seb.

She paused, finally dragging her eyes up to meet his. “We’re losing.”

“Such is the way with sports.” He shrugged.

Imelda had once begged him to try out to be a beater. “Those shoulders can’t be wasted, Sallow.” But he’d rather be possessed by another ancient relic before playing Quidditch. Fun to watch, but too infuriating to play.

“How’s Prewett, by the way? Last I heard, he was still alive.”

She narrowed her eyes. “How’s Ominis’s ugly hat?”

“Still intact, no thanks to you.”

She scoffed. “Please, your manhandling warranted me destroying everything in the Undercroft, I think.”

He quirked a brow. “So you’re saying I make you crazy?”

She blinked, mouth opening and shutting.

Got her.

He fought the smirk off his face, flipping the page of his book as if he wasn’t vibrating out of his skin.

“Next time you’re going straight into those flames,” she said.

“I’m burning up already.”

Something flashed across her face, and her chest rose faster than before. “We’ll see about that. Watch your back.”

“For you I will.” He dared to wink, and he sensed the panic in her like a taut string—one he would pluck as many times as she’d let him.

She wasn’t normally like this. Nervous. Quiet. He should have had a plate broken over his head at this point, but her fingers fumbled uselessly with the lowest button of her blouse.

Sebastian wet his lips.

“I was looking for my scarf.” She nodded at the one in his lap.

“This scarf?” he asked, snapping his book shut. “Last time I checked, Ravenclaw’s colors were blue and bronze.”

The button popped open, and he fixated on the action, on that miserable sliver of skin.

“It’s mine.”

“Did you steal it?” He took a better look at the scarf, the worn crest, threads tugged loose from years of rough use.

“So what if I did?”

“Klepto.” He snorted when his jaw slackened. Old gray stitching in the bottom corner caught his eye—only he would recognize it.

“S.S.”

“This is mine.”

Her face turned bright red. “No, it’s not.”

“Did you steal my scarf? I had to buy a new one. Thought I lost it in Hogsmeade.”

“You lent it to me, and I simply forgot to return it.” She turned up her nose.

He laughed. “You little freak. Do you sleep with it or something?”

Her eyes widened. “No. That’s ridiculous.”

Liar.

“Do you nuzzle it and think of me?” he cooed, shaking it back and forth. She watched it like an entranced cat.

She surged toward him, face furious as she yanked on it. “Give it back.”

He held it in a death grip. “No. It’s literally mine.”

“You have another o—.” She tripped on his shoe, careening forward, falling straight into his lap.

He let out an oof, and his arms flew out to catch her. “You scuffed my boot—” The words died in his throat.

She was splayed between his legs, hands fisting his shirt. All of her curves in easy access, a perfect sight for his devouring eyes.

And there was no way of hiding his hardening cock as it pressed against her.

She swallowed, eyes fluttering. “Trying…to…I…”

“Nothing clever to say, Ravenclaw?”

Anger flashed on her face, but it shifted. He knew that look, the glint in her eye, her lips turning up only a breath. She was thinking something absolutely awful. He was about to call her out on it when her lips collided with his.

His brain whirled, a slew of expletives and spells crowding his thoughts. There was nothing about this in his protocol.

Her hands slid over his chest, slipping down and down.

And down.

She palmed him through his slacks.

“F-fuck,” he gasped, and she melted into his mouth.

Any resolve he had flew right out the window. He tugged her tighter against him, but she shoved him back, breaking the kiss.

“That’s not very nice.” He pouted.

“Just shut it for once in your damn life.” She shifted, straddling him, her skirt hiking up.

He gaped at her bare thighs. “Sure. Anything you say.”

Fucking hell. Fifteen-year-old him would have creamed himself by now.

His hands trailed across her soft skin. He squeezed, and she tensed, watching the movement with hungry hooded eyes. He studied her, the twitch of her mouth, how her breathing shifted. She met his eyes before brushing her lips against his.

He didn’t hesitate to deepen the kiss, to let his tongue roam. And the kiss hardened, quickened, desperate and messy. Her fingers abandoned his cock, and they trailed up, her pointer finger briefly tapping at the hollow of his throat when she tugged away from him.

She wove her hand around his tie, and it bit against his throat. He swallowed around it, fingers digging tighter into her thighs.

“Feel good?” She traced his upper lip with her tongue.

He nodded, unable to stop his whimper as he slipped his fingers under her blouse.

“No, no.” She wrenched his head back by his hair, and a growl ripped from his throat. “I think you groped me enough the other day.”

Ah. He quirked a brow, and his dick twitched. She was trying to punish him, was she? His heart thudded in his ears, his dick a leaking mess at the thought.

“So what are you going to do to me then?” he hummed.

Merlin, he was fucked in the head.

She blinked at him, head quirked as if she hadn’t thought this far. Knowing her, she hadn’t.

“Do you need me to take over?” His hands trailed inwards towards the center of her thighs, squeezing, kneading.

She chewed her bottom lip. It bruised red, breaths hitching in the back of her throat as she watched his ministrations.

He matched her breathing, eyes hungry on her face, her legs as they eased further open for him. Because of course they would. She was a keening mess in his lap. His fingers slipped between, curling against the fabric of her underwear.

“You’re fucking soaked,” he moaned, continuing to rub, circling when he found her clit.

She jolted, pulling his hand off, but it was too late. Like a snapped string he was rabid. He needed her. He needed her so fucking bad, he was going to lose his mind.

“Please just let me have a taste.” He dug his fingers into her hips. “I can lay you out on the couch, lick you until you can’t fucking walk…” He wanted to be drenched in her by the time he was done.

“Fuck you,” she choked out.

But he could tell she wanted it. Her pupils were blown, that bottom lip bit to ruins, hips idly rocking against him, grinding harder into his cock.

“You’re more stubborn than I am.” He sulked.

“I’m not stubborn.” A flash of defiance beat in her eyes, and she ripped at his buckle.

He nearly died. Nearly left his body to haunt the Undercroft as she wrenched his zipper down, as she tugged past his underclothes, her hot soft palm gliding straight over him.

He tilted his head back, arching up into her hands. “Merlin’s blue balls.”

She snickered, her own breaths coming in pitchy gasps. She worked him mercilessly, a sickening flick in her wrist as she squeezed just a hair too tight.

“Fuck.” He gasped. He’d helped create this little monster. And to think he had her hurling Unforgivables fifth year when she had this in her. He’d kill Solomon a hundred times over if it ensured it led here every time.

“What was that you were saying about taking over?” She ripped her hand away.

He whined in protest when she spat in her palm, bringing it right back. It glided perfectly wet, smooth. Her skin, her voice, her tits. Merlin, everything. It sent him over the edge.

“Mother fu—” Her free hand tugged harder at his tie, and his words died in his throat, replaced by a whimper.

“Now who can’t talk?” she huffed.

“Shush.” He fisted her hair, pulling her mouth to his.

She mercilessly worked him, and he devoured her mouth, the only thing she’d let him have. He scraped his teeth across that delicious bottom lip. She gasped, tiny moans she couldn’t swallow.

He wanted them all. Louder.

That dizzying sensation built fast, and he was half drunken to chase the release as quickly as possible, but also milk this for as long as possible.

Her thumb brushed over his tip, and he groaned.

Fuck waiting.

His hands dove for her blouse, two buttons popping easily. He tugged her brassiere down, bringing his mouth to her breast. She only worked him harder, hips rocking. His tongue grazed her nipple, and a cry left her throat.

He was so close. So fucking—

Her hands disappeared.

She disappeared off his lap.

“What—”

“This is payback for the other night.” She whipped her hair from her flushed face. “You don’t deserve to finish, you fucker.”

He balked at her, heart still pounding, his sex-addled brain not processing anything besides her body no longer heating his, her hands waving angrily at him instead of being wrapped around his cock.

“Huh?”

“You heard me.” She buttoned her blouse, tugging her shirt back down. “You can sit here and finish yourself.”

She stormed toward the metal gate.

“Wait—” He stumbled to his feet.

But she’d already gone up the stairs.

***

He didn’t want to think about what an idiot he looked like last night. She’d stumbled to her feet, shouting about payback, and he just gaped at her with his dick out.

In fact, he didn’t sleep at all.

After finishing himself as she’d suggested—because, by Salazar, he wasn’t a fucking sociopath—he’d laid flat on his back, staring up at the cracked ceiling with his scarf scrunched in his hand. Wondering if he should have chased her down the hall even if his trousers fell around his ankles.

Now, he burned a hole through her skull in DADA, barely listening to Hecate’s lecture on the ramifications of using the Unforgivables. Been there, done that.

He picked mindlessly at a crack in the desk, running his tongue over his teeth. How did he get that deranged Ravenclaw back into his lap? He was desperate to get even. To have her huffing this time. To fall so out of her mind, she had no choice but to beg.

She leaned her head in her hand, and her hair shifted, spilling from her shoulder down her back. He raked over the dance of her curves, her ass, down to her bouncing leg. She wore these sheer black tights today, and it made him bite the inside of his cheek. He’d seen her wear them countless times—shimmying them off behind a tree after classes, tearing them up from tripping, trying to patch them and making it worse—but now he could only imagine getting on his knees and ripping them open with his teeth.  

Ominis cleared his throat, and Seb glanced at his neighbor. That stupid fucking hat sat on the desk. Seb was tempted to throw it across the room.

Ominis cleared his throat again, tapping the corner of his notes.

“I can hear the drool dripping down your chin.”

Seb rolled his eyes, slumping in his chair. Ominis didn’t know the half of it.

He scribbled a quick response, kicking Ominis under the desk which earned him a tut. With a quick flash of his wand, Ominis traced the note, frowning.

“I seem to have gotten myself in quite the predicament with our Ravenclaw.”

“Did you murder a second cousin this time?”

“Fuck off.”

“You’ve left me no choice but to rule out murder first. What’s happened?”

“She... I need to get her alone.”

“Have you pissed her off again?”

“Something like that.”

“Entice her with something shiny. Like capturing a niffler.”

Shiny?

Sebastian leaned back in his seat, gaze dancing across her again. Her leg stopped bouncing, instead twirling her wand in her hand. She glanced around the room, eyes catching his, and she whipped forward.

Damn Ravenclaw.

Ominis nudged him again, and he glanced at the note.

“It’s a well-known rumor that Hecate keeps interesting items in her desk.”

He raised his brow. Now that was something he could work with.

“When are you going to stop wearing that stupid hat?”

Ominis crumbled the note, stuffing it in his pocket.

Right then. He’d have to drown it in the Black Lake later.

“Professor.” He raised his hand.

Hecate stopped speaking mid-sentence with a glare. She’d have to forgive him; these were clearly dire circumstances. “What, Mr. Sallow?”

“Collect anything interesting recently? I heard you’ve gathered quite the collection of rare magical items.”

Murmurs swept across the room, and the Ravenclaw’s wand stilled in her restless hand.

Hecate huffed. “Clearly I’ve been boring you with the Dark Arts.”

You could never, Professor. He smirked to himself. Ominis kicked him again.

“Well,” Hecate’s expression shifted, a hint of mischief in her pursed lips. “I have actually.” She sidled over to her desk, digging out a small chest and a key from her pocket.

“This is,” she paused, unearthing a ring. The details were lost to distance. “It’s an interesting little relic.”

He raised his brow. Ominis kicked him a third time. If ever a word caused such a damn reaction, it was that one.

“It’s said to assist one in a duel. The wearer can anticipate their opposer’s moves before they act on them. It’s highly unpredictable though, and has been the cause of one too many wizards’ demises. A dangerous thing, to trust the instinct of a magical object over one’s own.”

Funny, Sebastian’s instincts were telling him he needed to fuck the girl sitting in front of him.

Voices raised across the class, and Hecate locked the ring away, dropping the small chest back into one of the drawers of her desk. “You all look as if you’re about to expire anyway.” She sighed. “I’d say we covered enough. Class is dismissed. Get some exercise in those limbs of yours before your next lecture.”

The seventh years packed, Hecate among them as she grabbed her bag and darted out of the room, mumbling under her breath about the attention spans of what were supposed adult witches and wizards.

“Hecate not assigning homework? Well done.” Ominis stood, stretching his arms over his head. “Maybe that one track head of yours can do a bit of good. If only I could say the same for that Potions assignment—”

Seb’s attention snagged on the Ravenclaw, her eyes shifting over the shuffling crowd. Usually she was one of the first to dart of the classroom, but she stayed seated.

“I’ll meet you in Potions,” Sebastian said.

Ominis flipped that ridiculous hat, frowning. “I’m not making any excuses for you this time.”

Seb snatched the hat and hurled it. It sailed over their classmates’ heads, straight into the hall, decking Hobhouse right in the face.

“Honestly—” Ominis seethed, storming out after it.

Seb didn’t hesitate to follow behind him. He slipped into the crowd, easing off to the right just outside of the classroom. When most of the stragglers had made their way to the stairs, he casted disillusionment on himself and circled back inside.

The room was empty.

Damn. That was disappointing. Maybe he’d misjudged her. A rare thing really, but he’d been…distracted recently. Having someone climb into your lap and rub one out did that to you.

The door clicked shut, and he whirled around.

The damn Ravenclaw in question smirked, sauntering across the room with a bounce in her step to Hecate’s desk. She unearthed the same chest, shaking it before plucking a hairpin from her head. She probed the lock, but when nothing happened, she tugged her wand from behind her ear.

“Alohomora.”  

He dropped his spell. “You sure like to use those hands for promiscuous activities.”

She jumped, nearly tossing the box on the floor. “And you figured out how to tuck your dick back in your trousers.”

He blinked, taken aback.

Well, then.

“What would Hecate think?” He clicked his tongue, drumming his fingers on the desk beside him.

She tracked the movement. “Please. Like you weren’t intrigued. It’s everything you like—dueling, unfair advantages...the silly thing is even called a ‘relic.’” She tossed it at him, and he caught it.

The emerald stone hummed in his grip, a dull magic radiating off it. He shrugged, pocketing it. He’d find a way to traumatize Ominis with it later.

“Hey, I found it first.”

“Like my scarf?”

She narrowed her eyes. “You going to tell on me? Earn some house points for once?” She shot him a nasty smile, but that flush crawled up her neck.

There she is.

He couldn’t hide his grin. He also couldn’t hide how his dick pressed uncomfortably tighter the longer he stood in her presence.

“No.” He shrugged. “But you could make it up to me.”

She snorted. “Aw, is poor Sebby Webby a little sensitive after last night?”

The ring heated in his pocket, the clear image of her hurling a basic blast filling his head. He blinked, gaze dropping to her wand, and the telltale spark flared when she raised it.

“Accio.” He casted.

She flew into his arms with a yelp.

Damn, that ring does work.

“Get your hands off me,” she barked.

He shoved her against the closest desk, lifting her onto it.

“You know better than anyone I like you in my debt.” He moved his way behind her, tugging her back against him.

“You and your damn debts.” She wriggled, but she wasn’t fighting—if she had been, he’d be across the room by now upside down against the practice dummies.

His throat tightened.

She wanted this. She wanted it as badly as he did.

“I don’t see you stopping me,” he murmured into her ear, dragging his teeth down her neck. Her chest rose swiftly, fingers splaying on either side of her. “Did you like that last night? Regret not staying?”

She swallowed hard, her mouth pursed shut.

Fucking hell, she was coming undone. He gazed down the gap in her shirt, taking in the swell of her breasts.

“What did you do when you got back to your bed?” he rasped.

“Nothing—”

He hummed, tugging the fabric back and nipping at her shoulder. “I should have given you my scarf. So you could replay what we did and press it between your—”

She bucked, and he tightened his hold, chuckling.

His hand drifted to her neck, squeezing lightly before running across her jaw, her lips. “You’re being awfully quiet. Usually you don’t shut up.”

She sank her teeth into his hand. “That better?”

He snorted. “Keep an eye on the door for me, hm?”

He clawed his hands up her side, dragging them across her shoulders before he cupped her tits. He groaned, kneading harder, and a whine escaped her throat.

“Prick.” She pressed her ass into his cock, and he obliged the movement, dragging his mouth back up her neck, kissing the soft spot behind her ear.

“Are you watching the door?” he hummed, popping open her top buttons. He slipped his hands inside to graze her burning soft skin. 

She nodded.

“Your eyes are closed.” He teased, and his fingers slipped beneath her brassiere. He flicked her nipples, and she moaned louder.

“You’re not very good at this.”

She smacked him in the head. 

He laughed, giving her nipples another tug, rolling between his index and thumb, and her legs spread wider across the desk, her skirt hiking.

“Fuck,” he hummed, freeing a hand as he dragged it down her stomach to her thigh, squeezing the supple skin before inching his way toward her center. 

She whined, rocking her hips against him. With a swift tug, her skirt was at her waist. He grazed her center, rubbing at the tights blocking his entrance.

No time for teeth.

He ripped them open with a swift tug of his hand. 

“These are my good fucking tights,” she scowled.

“Alert the aurors.” He jerked her underwear aside, dragging his fingers across her.

A gasp ripped from her throat, and her head thudded to his shoulder.

Soaking fucking wet.

For him. 

Merlin, he’d cry if these last few days had been another fever dream.

He teased her entrance before dragging his fingers back up and circling her clit. She was a writhing mess, chest rising and falling, pressing further into him. Her hand flew back to the nape of his neck, tugging at his hair.

His eyes fluttered shut, savoring the sting.

“What do you want?” He dragged his mouth to her ear, licking down her neck until he dug his teeth into the meat of her shoulder.

She moaned, tugging at his wrist, forcing his fingers to her entrance. 

“Right there?” He traced his middle finger over the spot, feeling the give, the heat. Fuck, he wished he could fuck her right there. Taste her. Everything. 

She nodded. 

“What if I just…stopped?” he murmured, pressing a kiss in her hair.

She stilled, shaking her head.

“What? You’re not into that?” He inched his fingers back over her clit, higher, further away to rest on her stomach. “You sure were yesterday.”

“I’ll kill you. I swear to Rowena,” she growled.

“You’ve already almost killed me plenty of times.” Seb leaned away completely now, and she visibly sank.  He was enjoying this too much. She deserved it, the vicious little monster. “You’ll have to do better.”

“Fine.” She faced him. She had the biggest pout he’d ever seen, eyes blown wide, hair sticking up. “Please.” She trailed over his cheek, tugging at his hair before letting her fingers dance over his lips. His tongue darted out to meet them. She shuddered, thighs rubbed together. “Pretty please, you damn snake.”

Salazar, this fucking witch.

His cock twitched, and he ran a tense hand over himself. The sweet sensation humming through his limbs. She visibly swallowed at the sight, and he did it again just to watch her squirm.

“Once more. For me, pretty bird,” he hummed.

“Please,” she choked out.

He shoved her back against him, sinking two fingers inside of her. 

“FUCK,” she shouted.

His free hand flew to her mouth. “Shhh, love.” He laughed, pressing his lips to her ear, kissing the helix. “We don’t want everyone hearing us.” 

He didn’t stop pumping, and she whined louder, gasping as she rocked her hips to chase his movements. The desk scraped and squeaked beneath her, and he steadied the leg with his boot.

The heel of his palm grounded into her clit, and she was a careening mess as he increased speed. She kept moaning, louder somehow even with his damn hand over her mouth. He dug his fingers into her cheek. Saliva coated his skin, and he wished it coated his dick, his mouth.

“Shush,” he whispered. “You have to be quiet. Or I’ll have to stop.”

She cried, clenching around his fingers, and he gritted his teeth. He was so hard he saw stars. He was almost terrified he’d come in his trousers.

Her hands came around his neck, bucking wildly. Breaths ragged and hot against his hand. Her chest rose fast as she tightened around him, hips rising off the desk and slamming back down…and she came undone. Her walls convulsed, sucking in his fingers, and he worked her through it, slow and deliberate as she simpered, sinking down his front.

When she finally slackened, he dropped his hand from her mouth. She gasped for breath, spit glistening across her lips.

“Aren’t you grateful I let you finish?” he murmured, pulling his digits from her cunt. 

She glared back at him, face flushed, pupils wide as he sucked his fingers clean.

Better than he imagined. He was doomed. Positively doomed.

“I’m going to push you off a cliff.”

He laughed. “Can’t wait. I’ll make sur—”

She palmed him, and the words garbled in his throat.

“Fuck.” He took an unsteady breath as she squeezed. He steadied himself on the desk. “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“We’re already fifteen minutes late to Potions.”

She jumped to her feet. “Fuck.”

She scrambled for her wand, nearly toppling over when he caught her, casting a cleaning and mending charm on their clothes. 

“I can’t believe you.” She grabbed her bag, storming for the door. “I’m not getting a failing mark because of you.”

“I’ll just make sure to never do that again then. Since it’s such an issue.” He snorted.

“Don’t be funny.” She whirled on him, pointing a threatening finger.  

His eyes fell to the red marks lining her neck. He smirked, about to glamor them when he paused. She could find them for herself after a few hundred people got a good look. Payback, after all.  

Sebastian made a mental note: Rule Ten: Definitely fuck the Ravenclaw.

TAKE ME TO PART TWO ➡️

[lv9su]

K. Bakugo x reader

Reader has a quirk called chaos control. Your quirk and storyline is based off the character shadow from the sonic universe but ofc not the exact same.

PART 2, AFO FINDS YOU AND MANIPULATES YOU.. MEETING THE LEAGUE.

Walking through the cold and dark halls of the lab you spent the most of your life in you tan your fingers across the walls, haunting you with the good and bad memories.

The only things good being the two friends you ever had, the two people who only ever made you feel human. ‘Sonic’ and Yoishi.

‘Sonic’ was forcefully sent for ‘scientific purposes’ by his family a little later on in life, once they’d found out about his ability of speed. Therefore when he was given his name, he decided that was all he went by.

If you were sent a little later one, same as sonic things might’ve been different for you, except it was all you’d ever known. Enough power to destroy the world. Enough power to make you a weapon. But so much, people would’ve been afraid if they knew about you, so instead you were locked away like an animal. But it’s not like you’d known any different, no previous family, or home..

Yoishi and was the only one between him and his brother who made any effort to create a bond between the three of you, making sure you were okay even in your circumstances.

Every step you took reigniting a memory.

One of them being when you were 9 and sonic was 10. It was his second year on the facility. And you finally had a friend, someone like you.

“Catch me if you can softy shadoooow.” he grinned, running in front of you as you air glided centimetres behind him.

“Im closer than you’d think blue blurr!” You shouted, not knowing you both were about to miss a corner and run right into the wall..

The memory made you slightly crack a smile, looking through one of the windows, seeing one of the tables you were sat on, wires attatched to your head, yoichi had just snuck in and made up an excuse about the doctor needing you, ripping off the wires and taking you out to eat the food left for the scientists.

Finding one of the main rooms you stood in front of yours and sonics glass chambers..

“Ah, the ultimate life form. I’ve waited for you my dear.” A voice spoke from behind you, almost slyly.

You blipped in front of the man, he had an unrecognisable face, just a mask connected with a multitude of tubes.

“Who are you.” You demanded more than asked, narrowing your eyes instinctively,

“Oh you don’t remember me Shadow? Or can I call you y/n? ..you’ve been asleep for too long y/n. And I’ve waited for you this whole time.” He replied smoothly taking a step closer to you.

“Doesn’t answer my question. Who are you and what do you want.” You don’t let down your defensive and cold manner. Yet there was something familiar about him.

“Well now I go by all for one. But you knew me before as Shigaraki. My brother was ..fond of you and the speedy little one..” his tone darkened.

“Yoichi? Where is he?!?” You asked, a glimpse of hope flickering, only to be blown out by ‘all for one’s’ next response.

“He died. During the cross fire that very night sonic died too. They took everything from you, from. us.” He lied, manipulated. He killed his brother, of course you never knew that, hearing that yoichi died the same way sonic did itched something in your brain, built up the chaos energy inside you. From working there, he understood your quirk, he knew how powerful it was. The stronger you were, the more afraid people would be of him.

“I’m offering you a chance for revenge? For what they took from us. These heroes aren’t trusted. They’re just the same as the people that took yoichi and sonic away from you. They either just want to use you or dispose of you.” He realised he’d now caught your attention.

“What do you want me to do..?” you asked fiercely, feeling the chaos swirling inside of you.

“Join me.” He lent a hand out to you, once he felt your hand reach out to his he realised he’d successfully caught his prey, just as the cunning predator would.

—

After weeks of being with AFO, thinking you were there for good, he introduced you to “ the league ” since he wouldn’t always be able to accompany you.

After his entrance and beginning introduction, he left with “she is Shadow.” Everyone had their own questions, like

“Why do you have rings on? Or are they bracelets? Either way they’re super cute!!” A girl with blonde hair in space buns, who you later learnt to be toga, complimented.

Or

“Who does your hair? It’s magnificent” a man with a top hat with a yellow feather and a white and black mask asked juggling marbles, you later found to be mr compress.

But finally someone who was more serious.

“So what’s your story ..why are you so dark? Hm?” A tall guy with black spiky hair and purple patches on his body asked you, putting out a cigarette on the wall and sitting on a stool with you while kurogiri made you something to drink.

“I was tested on for years. One day my powers caused an explosion in the lab. People died so they killed the closest people to me and froze me for 50 years.” You eyes low, your voice intense.

“Wait your like 50?” Toga asked, jumping to sit by you.

“No. I’m 16. Like I said, I was frozen in time and space, so I didn’t age at all.” You explained to her.

“Your like a walking time capsule then huh? What was it like 50 years ago?” She grabbed your hands and began squeezing.

“I don’t know, I was stuck in a lab. Didn’t really have much time to sight see.” You brood.

“Your funny I like you. Your so pouty.” She twirled one of the red pieces of your y/h/l, y/h/t hair.

“Ignore her.” ‘Dabi’ raised a glass to his mouth.

“But I get it, the whole lab rat thing. I had a similar situation.” He raised his brows, and looked down at you knowingly. It was almost comforting.

Maybe it wasn’t gonna be so bad after all.

—

Back at UA, none of the pros could find any background about you, but izuku, being one of the wielders of ofa, and being able to speak to yoishi, even briefly, was able to find out about her, it was little but at this point anything helps.

The pros, working with police and being able to check every camera in the city found footage of you being led by afo and thought it was kidnapping. Now they buckled down even harder to save you.

It had only been two weeks, but they knew enough from izuku, and eventually to understand the fully situation principal nezu met with the colonel and got their side of the story.

Bakugo couldn’t stop thinking of you. The thought of someone being stronger, faster. So mysterious and even ..beautiful. He’d never thought about any girl this way before. It even angered himself when he did because the thought of you was uncontrollable, yet you’d only met once.

But little did they know, they’d see you sooner than they thought. Because the league was planning to attack the USJ..

—

TAGLIST:

@sweetlike-sugarplum

@thesimpybitch

@pikachuzhc

@postsarenerverdaily

@mazzbarnes

[circus-clangen]

asking a bunch of cool clangen blogs (yea you) a question cause I’m working on making one right now- How did you find the main plot based on what clangen generated and make it all mysterious and interesting and stuff?

OHH this is so tricky because SO much of the main lore I’ve interpreted from clangen events hasn’t happened yet, and I can’t spoil it…. How about a very vague one: rng gave me a cat in the future that looked VERY similar to an existing cat I had, with a kit that looked VERY similar to a kit that same existing cat also had. Now I admit that the “Oooh secret family member!” Is probably the most common and least mysterious way you can interpret clangen lore, and I myself have had to tone down my own use of it, but that’s just one example!

I’ve also had cats die of non-murder causes, but given circumstances and relationships with another cat, I choose to interpret it as a murder.

My two big pieces of advice for you are this:

1. As you’re making your plot, write down EVERY little thing that happens. Im even talking the randomly generated character statuses that change every time you reload the game. You don’t have to USE everything and in fact you shouldn’t, but sometimes two correlating minor details are all you need to get a good idea going.

2. Clangen isn’t going to magically make you a wonderful storyteller, and your readers aren’t always going to be captivated. When making a mysterious dramatic plot, know that you’ll get better over time. I look back at my old moons and cringe SO hard, because I just didn’t know what I was doing. And don’t get discouraged if your readers dont seem interested in your mysterious plot or don’t notice all of your foreshadowing details! A good mystery cannot be super intense 24/7, or it’s exhausting. If you want a good mystery, take it slow, and trust that it’ll be more rewarding for the people who really care to stumble across your little details months later, than it would be to compromise and water down the storyline.

You’ve got this! It won’t be easy, and writing mystery is in my opinion the hardest thing you CAN write, but just do what you can and what you love and you’ll do just fine!

GENUINELY both work very well for him. Any accent that’s aggressively and nauseatingly city boy American, that’s how he talks

Anon to be so fr I changed it recently but for MONTHS that’s exactly what it was. Gold star 🌟

Aww weird… that’s crazy… it’s a good thing there wasn’t any kind of supernatural occurrence going on the exact instant Tigertoe found out she was pregnant because man that’d be awkward

*checks toaster over strapped to wrist* hm

U right anon

🫲👀🫱

You guys are not ready for the video essay I’m going to make in like 2 years when Circusclan is completely finished. I have a bottle of wine I’m saving

THIS GUY GETS IT!!

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I completely understand and even encourage the Ringstar haters—he’s not a saint—but THISSSS is how I see my boy… he never wanted any of this to happen, and yet it’s his own fault it all did.

Of course—of COURSE he had to let his baby girl live, even though it meant she couldn’t never be anything more than an insect to him for the rest of his life.

Did Goldmasks deal extend to Starclan? Will he even make it to starclan? Something in him knows that surely he cannot… yet something else dreams that maybe his soul and the devoured part of his heart waits for him there. One day, maybe, he’ll peer down through the clouds and once again feel love for his one and only daughter.

[fauxpontchartrain]

I saw your last anon and was wondering if you could go more into detail on your prison abolition stance. It means different things to different people so what exactly would you like to see happen?

Of course! This is gonna be long, so brace yourself, but hopefully a worthy read.

Well, my personal perspective is that prison is inherently traumatic. It is literal slavery. Nobody, no matter what the crime or circumstances that led up to it, petty or huge, should have to endure prison conditions in America. Imagine 24/7 having to be subjected to the brightest fluorescent lights possible, the loudest noises, crammed in a concrete block of a room with 100 or so other people (in general population jails) or at best 4 or 6 others for the entirety of your sentence — which is almost always blown out of proportion for the nature of the crime, or vice versa depending upon your privilege in life (the average white american getting probation or a slap on the wrist for a drug offense, the average black american spending a huge chunk of their lives behind bars for the exact same offense, and me getting away with two weeks in jail for trying to kill a bunch people just because i go to Harvard and my mom’s a cop).

The vast majority of crimes are petty. You can’t stop drug trafficking and addiction with mass incarceration. Encourage people to seek treatment when busted, provide them with the resources they need, and let them decide if or when they choose to get help. If caught redistributing drugs, make getting help mandatory, prosecute them to find the actual manufacturer of said drugs (if it isn’t them) and adequately punish them, then once they’ve completed a setlist of conditions (monitoring, rehab, yada yada), release them. If a woman is shoplifting baby food, you help that woman feed her baby, not throw the child into the OTHER trauma of foster care and the mother in prison for years.

When I was in jail, I shared a cell with an old black woman (we called her Rosa Parks LMFAO) who was in there LONGER THAN I WAS… for trespassing. A class C misdemeanor. She went to the bank to get change, but they were closed, and a manager called the cops on her when she was standing outside too long waiting for the next bus. Two weeks for me for attempted mass murder > two weeks or more for that old woman. What sense does this shit make?

Let’s talk major crimes like mine. These are always committed by someone with some kind of deep mental illness (untreated/undiagnosed) or trauma. They need help. Children aren’t shooting up their schools in troves for no reason. Look at their backgrounds: abusive/neglectful families, poverty, trauma, etc. When it’s easy to cop an AR-15 and we are THE most gun-loaded country for no fucking REASON other than mass paranoia and the delusion of freedom, then why wouldn’t a kid who’s already about to commit suicide with mommy and daddy’s AR collection out on display in the living room NOT see anything to lose in taking as many other motherfuckers out with them? Especially anyone else who wronged them and ridiculed them for their trauma or otherwise? They need help.

Even if they DO go on to kill people, they still deserve a second chance to make amends and face the consequences of their actions. Something drove them to that point, and there was already an infinite amount of failures in more systems than one that let it happen (easy gun access, poor mental health, no social services, bullying that’s unchecked, etc.). That’s why i’m choosing to research gun violence prevention — so that I can become a therapist who specifically focuses on homicidal people and youth, because so many of these so called psychiatrists never believed me when I said I was thinking about hurting people because I simply “don’t look like it.” And guess what? The vast majority of medicine used to treat physical and mental health problems in prisons have been discontinued for use in the general American population. When I was in jail, they put me on drugs to help with my “withdrawals” that caused me to lose sensation in half of my face and would leak out of my nose. That shit is inhumane, and they FORCE you to take it in front of them. If you don’t? Well, beaten or thrown into a suicide watch pad it is.

Throwing people like me in prison, or even people with less severe crimes but still pretty serious, without proper mental health (or any kind) of treatment will only make things WORSE. If we DO get out eventually, all of that trauma i described and WORSE will only follow them forever. That makes people more inclined to commit crimes again, usually even worse ones. This is what feeds the recidivism rate, which in turn feeds into the prison system and therefore modern day slavery as well. Anything “made in America” was made by prison slave labor. For pennies on the hour, sometimes pennies a DAY, when a fucking granola bar on the commissary menu is $50.

I think that the Scandinavian countries have it right. Even Anders Breivik was only given a 21 year sentence for the Norway shooting. If he wasn’t a spoiled and narcissistic brat who thinks he’s tough shit and “too good” to accept help, even HE would’ve had the chance to get out after killing 70~ people in only 21 years if he just completed his measly little conditions (be a better person lmfao). Look at their prisons. Better than a studio apartment in downtown LA for $9mil a month in rent. They get access to things that HELP normal people: games, technology, music, instruments, arts, TV, company, THE ABILITY TO FUCK IN YOUR CELL EVERY NOW AND THEN, EVEN. Do that shit in America and they’ll slap a sex offender charge on your ass just for jacking off in your cell and OFFICIALLY ruin your life forever. And yes, even sex offenders deserve a second chance in life! And look at their crime and recidivism rates (NONE of you racist mfs chime in about the immigration issue…).

My belief is that you have to HELP people like me, my ex, and my other deranged ass friends. Look at HOW and WHY we got to that point, and FIX IT so that the chances of it happening again are LESS. Not doing so only FUELS HUMAN SUFFERING MORE. Okay, let’s say they let child killer here out of jail after all of that shit, they didn’t help me for shit afterwards and y’all SAW THAT. Now imagine if I had snapped again and actually blew up a fucking orphanage in Kentucky or some shit. Who is to BLAME for that, other than the people who knew it happened, did nothing about it, and let it happen again? If your child gets molested by the known pedophile across the street who is on the SOR already, who do you blame for letting that guy back out of prison without ACTUALLY addressing why he did what he did? Even pedophiles need support groups, because let’s face it: NOBODY is out here “slaughtering pedophiles” in troves as people like to think. It’s all just about feeling morally superior in any small way, and it doesn’t get any worse in society than hurting a child somehow. So, why not make sure that Chester the Molester gets mandatory TREATMENT and COUNSELING and UNDERSTANDING of pedophilia, which is, yes, a mental disorder listed in the DSM-5 and therefore worthy of adequate understanding and treatment as any other mental condition.

Probation is another thing that needs reform. But i already rambled enough and i gotta actually answer that other anon who sent that ask in the first place, because they want my opinion on two other things lmao. Thanks for asking me about this, I enjoyed explaining it!

[fanficgirl429]

Returning Home

Prompt: Y/N returns home for Iceman’s funeral and runs into her ex, Bradley Bradshaw. 

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: sex

------

It had been nearly five years since Y/N had stepped foot in Fightertown. It held a lot of good memories but there were also memories that she had tried to erase.

The moment she had learned that Iceman had passed, she dropped what she was doing and booked a flight to her hometown. Ice had helped her father out in more than one way and she couldn’t imagine missing the funeral.

Her return flight was merely hours after the funeral ended- she had decided that she didn’t want to stay any longer than she needed.

Her boyfriend had offered to accompany her but she told him to stay home- she would only be gone for two days. Although he had looked slightly offended, he eventually agreed to stay.

Y/N and her father had just left the wake and after much protesting from her dad, she had agreed to one drink at the Hard Deck.

“Maverick!” Penny called, walking towards the father and daughter duo. “How are you doing?”

She pulled him in for a quick hug before looking over at Y/N. “Y/N! It’s so nice to see you again. Your dad has been sure to keep me up to date on how you have been doing.”

“It’s nice to see you too!” Y/N replied. The last time she had seen Penny was five years ago. At the time she had no idea in just a few years Penny would be dating her dad.

“I wish it was under other circumstances but I’m glad you’re here nonetheless.”

Penny walked behind the bar and handed Maverick his favorite beer. “What can I get you?” she asked Y/N.

“Oh water is fine,” Y/N said. “I want to be conscious for my flight.”

Penny laughed and filled up a clear plastic cup with water. She glanced around the bar, surprised to find that not much had changed. The piano was still in the exact same spot as well as the classic jukebox.

Memories flooded her head as she remembered standing around the piano singing with her friends and trying to find the perfect song to play on the jukebox.

“How’s Jack doing?” Penny asked, referring to Y/N’s boyfriend of just over a year.

“He’s doing good. He just got a huge job promotion yesterday,” Y/N told her, smiling.

“That’s wonderful. Hopefully I can meet him soon.”

Y/N agreed and looked over at her father. “How is Top Gun going?”

“It’s going ok. Some people aren’t too keen on my teaching strategies,” he told her, picking at the label on his bottle.

Y/N nodded all to familiar with her father’s flying antics. “Did I tell you that Bradley is there as well?”

Bradley was Y/N’s ex boyfriend. They had been together for nearly 4 years before she had decided to end things.

Y/N looked over at Maverick, eyes wide. “N-no you didn’t. How is he doing?”

Maverick shrugged. “Well he doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Well you did really hurt him,” Y/N said, taking a sip of her water.

Right after they had broken up, Y/N had learned that her father had pulled Bradley’s papers to stop him from flying. Of course, Bradley had been pissed and stopped talking to Maverick. Her dad had reached out numerous times to him to apologize but Bradley had never responded.

Y/N looked around at the numerous people at the bar. There were a few couples sitting at tables and nursing their drinks. She had learned from her dad that pilots from Top Gun often came to the Hard Deck to blow off some steam. After learning the news about Bradley being back in town, she hoped that he wouldn’t show up.

Y/N looked over at her dad, who had a scowl etched across his face. He was watching a group of young pilots who had just walked in.  

“That’s about half of my class right there,” he said, nodding in the pilot's directions. “If they bother you, let me know.”

Y/N’s eyes wandered over to a tall blonde who was rather good looking. Next to him, stood another pilot- this one all too familiar. Tall, brown hair, brown eyes, and a mustache (that was new). Bradley Bradshaw. Y/N’s ex boyfriend.

Things between the two of them had not ended well. Their relationship had been rocky for a while and after a big argument which resulted in the two of them not speaking for days, Y/N had decided to end it. It was one of the hardest decisions that she had ever had to make. Their lives were going in two different directions and they had both been young.

Bradley’s eyes locked with hers and he gave her a small smile. She smiled back, thoughts racing through her head. Should I go say hi? Should I wait and see if he’ll come over? Maybe he’ll come say hi to my dad as an excuse to come see me?

Minutes ticked by and neither of them made any attempt to talk to each other. Growing restless, Y/N excused herself and walked towards the restroom. She quickly glanced over at Bradley, who was currently talking to a female pilot. A small bit of jealously hit Y/N. Shaking it off, she walked into the bathroom to have a moment to herself.

Y/N took a deep breath before stepping out of the bathroom. Her plan was to pay her tab and then leave and get ready to go home.

Bradley was leaning against the wall, arms folded against his chest, as if waiting for Y/N to come out of the bathroom.

“Y/N, can we talk?” he said.

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” Y/N told him and began to walk away.

His hand gently wrapped around her arm, pulling her back towards him. Her heart skipped a beat from his touch as she looked at him.

“What do you want Bradley?” Y/N asked.

Bradley sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “I-I’m not sure. I just wanted to talk to you.”

Y/N let out a laugh. “It’s been five years, Bradley. You could have just picked up the phone if you wanted to talk that badly.”

“Would you have answered?”

Y/N shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know. I was really angry with you.”

“Clearly. You left town.”

“I had to. I think if I would have seen you again, I would have come running back to you but we were so bad for each other at the time. I think that maybe if we were older and had our lives figured out a bit more we could have made it work.”

Bradley’s eyes went wide at Y/N’s honesty but he knew that she was right. Timing was everything.

“There hasn’t been a day gone by that I haven’t thought about you. I know that it has been years but when I said that you were the one meant for me, I truly meant it. I still think that you’re meant for me,” he told her.

Deep down Y/N knew that he was right. She thought about him at least once a day. The question of did she make the right decision was also constantly on her mind. Sure, she loved Jake but it was different than when she was with Bradley. She thought that maybe it was because Bradley was her first true love but after seeing him now, she knew it was because she was still in love with him.

Slowly reaching out, he laced his fingers with hers and pulled her closer to him. She quickly glanced around to make sure there were no prying eyes. Luckily the bathrooms were in the back and they would be able to hear if anyone was coming down the short hallway.

Y/N wrapped her arms around Bradley’s waist as he hugged her tightly. He was more toned than she remembered but she wasn’t complaining. He still smelled exactly the way that he used to and when he held her, it felt like it was just the two of them.

Slowly, Bradley leaned down and placed his lips against Y/N’s. Together their lips moved in sync, almost as if no time had passed between them. His tongue slipped into her mouth, tangling with hers.

Bradley’s hands moved down to Y/N hips and gently pushed back her so that her back was pressed against the wall. His thumb slipped underneath the hem of her shirt and made slow circles against her hip. Goosebumps rose in their wake as she remembered exactly what Bradley’s touch did to her.

A dull ache began to form between her legs and she squeezed her thighs together, hoping to make it go away but knew that it wouldn’t.

Bradley’s body was pressed up against hers and she could his erection pressing against her stomach. Reaching down, she gently squeezed him through his jeans and he let out a low moan, pulling away from her.

“Fuck Y/N,” Bradley breathed. “I want you so fucking much.”

Without pausing to think about the consequences, Y/N grabbed Bradley’s hand and pulled him towards the womans one person bathroom.

“Are you sure?” Bradley asked, hesitantly.

“Yea.”

When the door was closed and locked behind them, Bradley reached down and pulled Y/N’s t shirt over head, revealing her black lacy bra. She gave herself a silent applause as she was thankful she had chosen her good bra as opposed to her old beat up one.

Bradley eye’s went wide as he started at her in awe of her body. It was better than he had remembered. He pulled her back against him and locked his lips back to hers. This time the kiss was full of need and lust.

HIs fingers toyed with the waistband of her jeans before unbuttoning and unzipping them. He slipped his hand down to her core and ran his fingers along the outside of her underwear before pushing the material aside.

Y/N let out a moan as his fingers found her sensitive spot and began to rub against it. Closing her eyes, Y/N let the sensation take over her body. Her breathing picked up speed as she felt herself reach her climax.

Bradley placed a hand over her mouth as she cried out, reaching her high.

After a moment, Y/N opened her eyes to find Bradley smirking. She playfully hit him in the arm and he let out a laugh.

He leaned down and gave her a quick kiss before unbuttoning his jeans and pulling them down along with his black boxer briefs.

Precum had already formed on his length and Y/  reached out and ran her thumb along the tip. Bradley sucked in a deep breath as she wrapped her hand along his length and slowly moved it up and down.

“I’m gonna come now if you don’t stop,” Bradley warned as he placed a large hand on top of hers. “And I want to come inside of you.”

Y/N removed her hand and reached down and unbuttoned her jeans and slid them down along with her underwear down to her knees.

Bradley placed his hands on her waist and turned her around, facing away from him. She reached out and placed her hands against the wall to steady herself. Bradley ran his length along her core, teasing her.

“Bradley,” Y/N whined as he pressed a finger against her sensitive spot.

Bradley lined himself up with Y/N’s core and slowly pushed into her. She let out a small gasp from the feeling before he pulled out and pushed back into her. He began to move his body slowly against hers.

One his hands gripped her shoulder, well the other one held onto her waist, keeping her steady. Y/N’s hands were still placed against the wall as she kept herself steady.

The small bathroom was filled with the sound of heavy breathing and occasional sounds from the other side of the door, reminding the two of them where they were. Somehow no one had knocked on the door yet.

A knot began to form in Y/N’s stomach as she climbed closer and closer to the edge. Shew knew that Bradley was close because he began to move quicker against her.

WIthin moments, her walls clenched around him as he released into her. The two of them stood still for a moment, catching their breath.

When Y/N was ready, she stood up and Bradley pulled out of her, wrapping his arms around her waist, holding her against him. Her legs were wobbly as she held onto him, not wanting him to let go. It felt right when his arms were wrapped around her but then reality hit.  

Y/N pulled away from Bradley, feeling her face turn a deep shade of red.

“Oh my god,” she said quietly, reaching down and pulling up her underwear and pants.

“Y/N, whats wrong?” Bradley asked.

“I-um-I have a boyfriend,” she told him, scrambling to pull her shirt on.

Bradley stood in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders. “I meant everything that I said earlier. I want to be with you but if you don’t want to be or if you need time, I respect that.”

At this point, Y/N wanted nothing more than to be with Bradley but she hated the thought of letting Jake go, however she knew that she had to. What she had with Bradley was too strong to resist.

“I’ll call you in a few days,” she told him, kissing him quickly before leaving the tiny bathroom.

She was terrified about what was going to happen but also could not wait to see what the future held with Bradley.

[fae-that-rambles]

OMORI AND STORYTELLING THROUGH CHARACTER DESIGN

I’ve been thinking about this for a while and I think it’s a very fun detail to over analyze.

SPOILERS AHEAD‼️‼️‼️

HEADSPACE

Upon first meeting the headspace gang Omori and Basil stand out very sharply. Omori with his lack of color, and Basil with the unique color of his hair and eyes. The two are clear foils; Omori is silent and keeps himself as far from focus as possible- While Basil is the group glue and focus before and after his disappearance.

Through the character designs and personalities, we are primed to connect and focus on Basil rather than Omori. Basil is pastel colored, a pacifist and a lover. Omori’s vacant eyes and silent knife-wielding nature are less inviting. Very often with RPG horrors, silent protagonists are overlooked in favor of supporting cast. Omori actively uses this as an aspect of its story. We’re supposed to focus on Basil- Sunny is supposed to focus on Basil

THE HORROR

This all lends to our first bait and switch- and our first of Basil’s complex role in the narrative.

Basil is our first glimpse into the horror themes of Omori- and this actively betrays the players trust. Again- Basil was our lovable safe character- We are primed to trust him. Then everything goes wrong (Sounds familiar).

The red eyes are obviously unsettling- again, betraying our trust by subverting the innocence of Basil’s appearance.

Furthering this! With Basil’s disappearance arrives Stranger

A shadowed figure resembling Basil leaving bloody footprints- Basil’s design has been completely subverted into something known and comforting- to a Stranger.

Omori and Stranger are an inverse of Omori and Basil’s design foils. Omori is white with black accents and eyes. Stranger is a full black silhouette with glowing white eyes. And they are of course just as much personality foils. Omori is danger and escapism under an innocent mask. Stranger is a frightening and cryptic individual who only aims to help Sunny. The bloody footprints are foreboding and unsettling- But they’re guides helping Sunny.

Adding on to this, Stranger and Omori’s design’s aren’t foils in the way of being opposites- they’re foils in the way of being compliments. They’re reflections of black and white- two sides of the same coin.

REAL WORLD BASIL

The introduction of real world Basil once again subverts previous expectations- I think for both the audience and Sunny. Setup as foils- opposites throughout the entirety of headspace, the Real World Basil and Sunny could not be more similar design wise. Their outfits are near identical; and their pale frail physiques are the same- even down to the height.

Despite everything set up in Headspace- Basil is by far the character most similar to us in Faraway town. As much as Sunny tries to deny it in his mind- he and Basil were heavily shaped by their shared history. They’re not opposites. Both have become reclusive in the days since Mari’s death, they both lost connections with the group, and both are riddled with guilt, fear, and self loathing. Sunny tries so hard to sever his connections to Basil in his mind, they’re in the exact same position.

Through the final fight with Basil, all of Sunny and Basil’s parallels are put to light. Both in the same clothes, living with the same crippling fear of what they both went to together. Both of their Somethings heightening their fear and crippling any rationality. Basil’s weapon- garden shears are an easy parallel to Omori’s knife.

Their only major design difference is their eyes and hair. Sunny’s eyes still their empty black (or sharp red when stressed out) and Basil’s an eerie glowing blue. Even if they’ve developed in the same circumstances, the two have reacted very differently because of their personalities. Sunny avoidant and stoic, Basil desperate and erratic. Once again, the two are complimentary foils. No matter what form Basil takes, he and Sunny are tied together as reflections of one another, and the shared experiences that molded them.

BONUS- HIKKIKOMORI

In the Hikkikomori route you fight Stranger instead of Real life Basil. The Hikkikomori route illustrates a complete refusal from Sunny to acknowledge the truth of the incident, and this means erasing Basil as a person. Destroying every one of these parallels I’ve discussed.

Basil and Stranger lose their depth. Basil is resigned to the picnic basket with Mari and kept out of the way. He’s lost his right to focus and autonomy, rather staying a shallow memory vague enough to protect Sunny’s repression.

Stranger is treated as an enemy. He is solely Omori’s opponent and will be eliminated as such. All of Basil’s complexity wiped away with his death. Leaving that cardboard cutout- Headspace Basil.

Furthermore, the fight with Stranger (obviously) has direct parallels to the final fight with Basil. Basil and Sunny wear their identical clothes and fight as two parallels. Stranger and Omori are black and white enemies, as Omori refuses to acknowledge Basil’s connection and similarities to Sunny. He refuses the complexity Stranger represents.

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #301

Brain Curds are lightly edited daily writing - usually flash fiction and sometimes terrible on purpose.

Any casual observer might have looked at the two men - who, by looks, were both in their late teens or early twenties - and thought they were two friends catching up over coffee. A more astute observer might likewise assume they were on a date. But the truth was far less mundane: they were here to discuss the details of a string of murders.

The dark-haired one with bags under his eyes sat with his bare feet up on the chair, perched like a bird of prey, while the brown-haired preppy looking one - that’s to say, the highest scoring student in all of Kanto, Light Yagami - calmly sipped his drink.

“Yagami-kun. Despite the five percent chance that you are Kira, your intelligence is invaluable. I believe it is only possible to solve this case if we work together.”

“I’m flattered that you would say so, Ryuga. Though I’m fairly confident I could figure it out myself if I had to.”

Ryuga, more commonly known as the great detective, L, tilted his head, uncharacteristically perplexed. “Hm?”

“I’ve solved plenty of tough cases from my bedroom. Although, I haven’t seen any of the evidence for the Kira case yet, so you’ll have to concede that I’m currently at a disadvantage.” Yagami chuckled.

“Oh. Of course.” L rummaged in his pockets and pulled out a stack of polaroids. “These notes were left behind at several crime scenes. The handwriting is different on each one, so we currently believe they were written by the victims themselves. None of them had ever met one another.”

Light shuffled through the pictures, noting that they were numbered on the back. He placed them down in order and studied them carefully.

“Yes! I think I’ve found something.”

“What is it?”

“If you take the first letters of each line from these notes, it spells out a message: Dead by night, cower at the howling of the… woof.’”

“The ‘woof’?”

“That’s what it says.”

L palmed the papers and turned them to face himself. He looked over the third note over and over. “It does say woof. What could this mean?”

“It looks to me like the victims were somehow controlled by Kira and forced to write these notes before they died. There’s no other way these messages could be connected. So…” Yagami shrugged. “Maybe it’s just a typo.”

“How could such a calculated murderer make a typo in a hidden message?”

“We don’t know the exact mechanism by which Kira accomplished this impressive feat, so it would be nothing more than speculation to continue discussing it. I’m going to assume it’s meant to say, ‘wolf’.”

“But the word this letter O comes from is ‘orangutan.’” L twiddled his toes. “Doesn’t that seem very deliberate to you? Why would a death row inmate be thinking about primates?”

Light was quiet for a moment, deep in thought. “‘Lemur’ would fit. Lemurs are primates. Primates like lemurs and orangutans live in zoos - in cages. Just like a death row inmate.”

“So you think this sentence was supposed to say, ‘I am endangered like the poor hopeless lemur.’”

“Lemurs are endangered, aren’t they?”

“You’re really stuck on this typo theory, Light.”

“It’s the only way it makes sense! Unless you think this mastermind, who has evaded police capture for months, somehow doesn’t know how to spell.”

“Hm.” L took a bite of pudding. “I suppose that is as logical of a deduction as I could have hoped for from you, given the circumstances.”

“What circumstances?”

“There is actually a fourth message.” L pulled another polaroid from his pocket and set it down beneath the other three, then turned it to face Light. “If you add this additional note, the hidden message changes: Dead by night, cower at the howling of the woofing dog.”

Light sneered. “How can a dog howl and woof at the same time?”

“Regardless of its merit as a coherent sentence, it does rectify the so-called typo. You didn’t even stop to consider that there could be more evidence that you hadn’t seen.”

Yagami took a deep breath and put on a sugary smile. “I guess I was a little too cocky there, wasn’t I?”

“It takes integrity to admit that. I think you’ll be a valuable addition to the task force. I look forward to working with you. Although…” L played with his bottom lip. “I do admit your suspicion has gone up to ten percent.”

“But why?”

L shrugged. “I don’t know, man, it’s just your vibes.”

Please comment, reblog, like, and follow if you enjoyed - I'd love to know what you think! See you again tomorrow.

[kaigarax]

Conviction

Or This is How to Open Up

Michael Kaiser x Reader

Quote: "Fall in love with someone brave."

It is of the utmost importance, regardless of someone’s age, gender or race, to be excellent in at least one thing. One must not merely excel at this single task but be fundamentally better than anyone else within similar circumstances attempting to accomplish that very same task and in a location relative to yours.

Of course, this entire theory can be ultimately tossed out and entirely forsaken if one does not wish to become important (in any way whatsoever) and hopes to maintain an ordinary life. It should be noted that by choosing to ignore this most radical and sensible piece of advice you are outright denying oneself of all human pleasures that fall into either category of dreams or desires.

This piece is, of course, only one of seven different instructionals to help guide you into a world of excellence. One should hope to not just entertain themselves with these pieces of work but look to apply them into their everyday life. Once again, it should be noted that all pieces should be read and thought on for an optimal absorption of the materials.

Now, without further ado, this is how to open up.

---

What will we do with a drunken sailor?

What will we do with a drunken sailor?

What will we do with a drunken sailor?

Ear-ly in the morning!

Kaiser never cared much for the fanfare that was the life of a pirate. Sure, it made sense that men would want to enjoy themselves after week long journeys upon the perilous sea but overindulgence in anything couldn’t very well be considered healthy.

Way hay and up she rises

Way hay and up she rises

Way hay and up she rises

Ear-ly in the morning!

The voices of the sailors were coming out more as incoherent slurs than intelligent phrases. Another reason to not find much enjoyment in the fanfare.

Shave his belly with a rusty razor

Shave his belly with a rusty razor

Shave his belly with a rusty razor

Ear-ly in the morning!

Now, what Kaiser did enjoy was the feeling of being upon the sea. The exact reason why he stepped forth onto the ocean in the first place. One could even say that the only reason he endured such extravagant fanfare was because the sea felt more like home than any other place he’d ever been before.

And it’s not as though his crew was a nuisance to deal with either.

Most of them were respectable men, like himself. Knew when to keep to themselves and when they needed to interfere. Trained in somewhat of a formal education and were intelligent enough to keep the ship afloat through rough waters.

Way hay and up she rises

Way hay and up she rises

Way hay and up she rises

Ear-ly in the morning!

Other crews, in comparison, were not so appreciated.

Filled to the brim with men that likely couldn’t tell the difference between the ends of a broom. Loud, arrogant and crude. Not that Kaiser wasn’t exactly like those men, but he at least knew when to use his manners. Or whatever semblance of manners he managed to acquire in his time upon the ocean.

Now, the only semblance of enjoyment that Kaiser did get out of sailor fanfare (though he’d never admit it) was the… feminine company. Women, of course, were not allowed on sea unless one wished to incur the wrath of the ocean, but the various women one met on the islands were always a pleasure to meet. Ranging in a variety of complections and appearances but nonetheless beautiful.

This island, in particular, seemed to be teaming with various kinds of women. Many to his liking.

But none handsome enough to tempt him tonight.

Until, of course, his eyes land on you.

You’re a pretty thing, with your hair done up all nice. Not as nice as those fancy women that live in elegant cities but prettier than what the others down here have done. It’s neat but not over the top and Kaiser likes that. Your clothes aren’t as neat as your hair but look to be in a good enough condition. Probably meaning you come from a respectable enough family. Well, maybe not. You are out here tonight.

The most intriguing thing about you though has to be your smile. So calm and relaxed despite being surrounded by the loudest of men gathered here tonight.

There’s a book in your hand with cursive writing on the cover. Kaiser can barely make out the words Hunger Games on the cover. It had never been his cup of tea but he had given it a quick read through when he was young. Curious about what all the hype seemed to be.

Put him in a longboat till his sober

Put him in a longboat till his sober

Put him in a longboat till his sober

Ear-ly in the morning!

When your eyes meet with his across the room he knows for certain that he has to make his way over to you. Maybe even get a dance in amongst the chaos.

Way hay and up she rises

Way hay and up she rises

Way hay and up she rises

Ear-ly in the morning!

Most of them get up to leave as Kaiser makes his way towards you, leaving all seats except for one empty. It’s a man with dark hair and blue eyes sitting beside you who looks to be fading in and out of sleep.

Kaiser takes this opportunity to sit beside you.

Stick him a scupper with a hosepipe bottom

Stick him a scupper with a hosepipe bottom

Stick him a scupper with a hosepipe bottom

Ear-ly in the morning!

“What’s a pretty lass like you doing out here with a crew of no good pirates? Who knows what'll happen to you if there isn’t someone here to keep you safe?”

You laugh, a pretty laugh, “and am I much safer in your company, when you yourself happen to be flying under a black flag?”

Kaiser grins, “hundreds of times, lassie.”

“(Y/n).” You say, “not ‘lassie’, Pirate.”

It’s Kaiser’s turn to laugh. If you’re going to be cheeky then so is he, “privateer.”

“Privateer,” you say the word as if tasting something foreign, “now is that not fascinating. You don’t meet many Privateers this side of the sea. Or at least not many willing to claim the title.”

Kaiser can feel a jab somewhere in that sentence of yours but can’t quite seem to place it. Not while you’re looking up at him with such pretty eyes.

“Michale Kaiser,” he holds a hand out for you to shake.

You stare at his hand, your eyes sparkling with amusement, “And which do you prefer? Your surname or occupation?”

He leans back, “whichever the lassie prefers.”

“Privateer it is.”

Way hay and up she rises

Way hay and up she rises

Way hay and up she rises

Ear-ly in the morning!

Your voice is delicate, as all ladies' voices tend to be, but loud enough to not be drowned out by the singing of drunken pirates. And Kaiser quite likes that. Likes how you lean forward when he speaks and keep your eyes on him as if you aren’t afraid of the danger he might bring despite your words saying otherwise.

That’s what we do with a drunken sailor

That’s what we do with a drunken sailor

That’s what we do with a drunken sailor

Ear-ly in the morning!

“How’d a sweet thing like you end up here in the first place? This ain’t no place a nobleman sends his daughter.” Kaiser asks.

“What gave me away?”

“Your words. Ain’t nobody on this side of the sea speaks that posh.”

You smile, “old habits die hard, I presume.”

“That still doesn't explain how ya got here.”

“It’s a trade secret, Privateer. You’re going to have to give me a secret of yours if you’re hoping for a secret of mine.”

“I’m an open book,” Kaiser answers, “everyone seems to know my secrets before me.”

“A Privateer and a reader.”

He grins, “And is that enough to impress ya?”

“Well you’re certainly unlike any other man I’ve met upon the seven seas.”

Take to the seas and set your sails.

Take to the sails to set your dreams.

And pray your life be filled with glee.

The loud and drunk pirates seemed to have finally ended their boisterous song about waking up drunk in the morning and have begun singing songs about dreams. The tune is mostly incoherent with various pirates attempting to silence the rest of the crowd as they step up to sing their solos.

I have a dream unlike any others.

Though maybe it’s just like yours.

Your eyes seem to sparkle at the newest song, despite that the words seem to be made up on the fly.

Amusement and joy.

It’s a pretty look, at least on your face.

I have a dream to learn to fly.

Though I’m burly and stuck to the ground.

Any dream can come true if you have enough pounds.

“Have you ever fallen in love?”

“What?” Kaiser asks.

Your amused expression seems to grow as you lean in towards Kaiser, “have you ever been in love?”

What a strange thing you’ve chosen to ask. Love has never been Kaiser’s strong suite. In fact, sometimes he doubts that he’s ever even been loved in the first place. A life on the seas has never been one meant for love.

“Why?” Kaiser shakes his head, “have you?”

“No,” you smile, “but it’s a pretty thought, ain’t it.”

“Yeah,” Kaiser agrees, “it is.”

I have a dream to play piano.

And sing like a soprano.

If only it didn’t make me so bored!

A large and burly man makes his way up to the two of you and Kaiser sits up in his seat. You don’t seem to be as worried as Kaiser as you lean back and begin to clap your hands along to this beat-less song.

The burly man stands right in front of you, “Ey, (Y/n), does this pretty boy sing?”

Kaiser’s eyes dart between the two of you, surprised at how familiar the pirate is with you and even more surprised at how you respond. Your name sounds familiar. Reminds him of something he knows he shouldn’t have forgotten. He doesn't have time to ponder on it for very long though as you throw him from the pan and into the fire.

You smile, “this pretty boy’s a Privateer.”

“Now he’s gotta sing!” The Pirate exclaims, calling the attention of the crowd.

The room’s chatter is suddenly halted, the eyes of everyone in the room turned to him. The band’s playing fills the silence but the lack of talking feels deafening. The only thing keeping Kaiser from running out the room (aside from his pride) are your bright eyes looking up at him, eagerly waiting to see what he might do next.

“Sing!”

The crowd seems to close in.

“Sing!”

A man brandishes a gun from the corner of the room.

“Sing!”

Kaiser sighs, before bellowing something out.

I have a dream to make it big.

Make my name infamous across the sea.

And have money?

Now, he isn’t all too sure what he belts out, nor is he certain it’s all that good but it seems to amuse the loud band of pirates gathered around her today. He knows he sings something about money and wanting to earn enough, which may not seem to be the best thing on the surface but they’re pirates. As if they’d care that much anyways.

And even if they did care it’s not as if their reactions would matter much to Kaiser anyways.

Well they might’ve mattered if he hadn’t seen the brilliant look in your eyes. Saw the way your entire face seems to light up and the gentle smile you send his way.

Then, in a very un-lady-like way, you jump up to the top of the table, surprising Kaiser with how easy it seems for you. You’re dressed in a short and simple blue dress. The blue looks a little faded but its colour is still vibrant enough to capture the attention of the entire room. Your attention, on the other hand, seems to be entirely on Kaiser.

It makes his heart skip a beat.

When you begin singing it feels as though everything around them has stopped. That everyone has halted their actions (even breathing) in an attempt to commit your voice to memory. Your voice is the clearest one Kaiser’s ever heard. Dreamy and enchanting. He’d most certainly claim you to be a siren if not for the fact that you’re standing here in front of them with two legs. Though the argument could be made otherwise.

I have a dream.

I have a dream.

I want to see this world from bow to stern.

Your dream, to see this world, it’s not exactly earth shattering or as awe inspiring as your singing itself (and if anything it’s a little cliche) but Kaiser’s heart warms at that. It feels genuine. So different from his own words.

And maybe then I’ll find my earn.

Amongst the chaos in this world.

Where even children can have their lives twirled.

This melody less song suddenly has ground. The other singers attempt to repeat some semblance of what you’ve managed to create but none come even close. A young girl, perhaps a barmaid, makes her way to you, her eyes gleaming.

“Are you a Princess?” She asks.

You laugh, “in another life.”

“Marigold,” the burly pirate laughs, “this little lassie here ain’t no princess. She’s a Pirate through and through.”

The young girl’s (and Kaiser’s) mouths drop.

“Captain (Y/n) of the Dream Pirates.”

You are everything a pirate is not. You’re a lady. Delicate and gentle. Warm and polite. So unlike the loud and burly men gathered here tonight. How you even ended up with these folk is already mind scratching enough and now to hear that you aren’t just a lady that’s been swept up in their mess but rather a Pirate Captain.

Actually, he takes that back.

The Dream Pirates, while a stupid name seems to fit you well. You are, in every sense of the word, a dream.

A wonder.

A marvel.

“Cat got your tongue, Privateer?” You ask, your eyes sparkling.

Kaiser grins, “you have a loose thread on your dress, Lassie.”

“Do I?” You look down to the blue thread Kaiser pointed to. “Huh, I suppose I do.”

“And how do you plan to thank me?”

You lean down and pull it loose before dropping down and grabbing Kaiser’s hand. You wrap the blue string around his hand before tying it around his wrist. You smile, “as a token of my appreciation.”

Fall in love with someone brave.

[bookie-bookdust]

How to Defuse a Ravenclaw

Excited to finally share this monstrosity I've been working on: a smutty deranged porn with plot about Seb and MC. Part One is up.

Sebastian had been forced to devise a “defuse the Ravenclaw” protocol for when that damn witch lost her shit. Which was a lot, quite frankly. It’d been going as well as one could hope. Destruction was down, and she was able to talk in coherent sentences in under an hour that didn’t involve threatening to Avada him. So when against his better judgement he throws protocol out the window, he’s forced to face one of his own very private rules: Do not think about fucking the Ravenclaw. And fail. Miserably.

Rating: Explicit/ MDNI/ If you’re under 18 then you need to go ask your mom if you can read this. I don’t make the rules. Word Count: ~8k Full fic available at ao3 and Wattpad Preview below:

“Natty Onsai has caught the Golden Snitch! Gryffindor wins!” Everett Clopton’s voice roared through the downpour.

The crowd erupted, the stands shaking in shouts and stomping as if they’d collapse with another brutal gust of wind.

“Fuck,” Sebastian said.

“Fuck, indeed.” Ominis sighed. “On a scale of Mandrake to Chinese Fireball, how livid does she look?” He adjusted his stalwart grip on their umbrella. Sebastian didn’t have the heart to tell him it’d only covered a quarter of his side for most of the match.

“Neither. Hungarian Horntail,” Seb grumbled.

“Oh, we’re doomed, aren’t we?”

“Yep. I’ve got her.”  

Seb pushed his soaking hair from his eyes, squinting out at the pitch. While the other players circled, offering handshakes, he spotted a flash of Ravenclaw-blue already off her broom, storming for the tent.

He could kiss his evening in the Restricted Section goodbye. On Quidditch match nights, students were so rowdy, no one noticed when he slipped away. But on Ravenclaw match nights…

She’s going to break my arm again, isn’t she?

“You’ll be good to get back to the castle, yeah?”

“I’m not a lost puppy.” Ominis snapped.

“Of course you’re not.” Seb snorted. “I’ll see you in the dorms.” He patted his friend’s stiff shoulder and rushed out of the stands before the crowd really started to swarm.

The last time she’d lost a match, it’d gone as swimmingly as one could expect. She’d nearly burned down the Undercroft, though he couldn’t judge her for it as he’d lost count of how many times he’d done the same. He almost regretted teaching her so many fire spells fifth year. Ominis had been so livid, Seb was forced to devise a “defuse the Ravenclaw” protocol for when she lost her shit.

Which was a lot, quite frankly.

Failed exams. Snide comments from her many “sworn” foes. Losing Quidditch matches. The list went on.

The massive well of rage she harbored was almost endearing if she wasn’t so destructive, but even saying that would send her into a secondary spiral. Which there was a protocol for that too.

He and Ominis traded off each time one of these events occurred, and it’d been going as well as one could hope. Destruction was down, and she was able to talk in coherent sentences in under an hour that didn’t involve threatening to Avada him. Most of the time, anyway.

He slipped into the empty player tent, and the chill hit him instantly as he was finally free of the rain. His clothes clung to his goosebumps, and he rubbed his arms before remembering there was a wonderful thing called magic for this exact circumstance. He casted a drying charm, and his shoulders loosened.

“I’m looking for a very disgruntled Ravenclaw,” he called out. He was hoping to pluck her from the other players’ grip before she got herself banned.

“STUPID!”

A massive crash made him jump. He followed it, spotting a trail of muddied clothes and Quidditch equipment, stopping short at the showers.

“You good in there?”

The shower silenced. He shifted from foot-to-foot waiting for a sign.

Merlin, please don’t be naked.

He didn’t think he’d be strong enough to deal with her pissed off and naked. His fifth-year self would have fainted at that fantasy, but he’d smothered that idea the moment he’d sent his uncle to an early grave. Girls didn’t like boys who had a mental breakdown, raised the dead, and murdered their family—and still make jokes about it.

She came bursting through the steam, fully clothed, hair dripping wet and fanning around her like a harpy. He barely had time to react before she shoved him, sending him almost careening over a bench.

“Fucking Leander,” she screamed, grabbing her dirty clothes and tossing them in an enchanted hamper. “How many illegal plays before someone kicks him off the pitch? Did you see what he did?”

She tugged up her sweater, and Sebastian nearly popped a blood vessel before he spotted the already purpling bruise against her ribs.

“He rammed the edge of his broom straight into me.” She growled, literally, chucking her helmet into a cubby.

Rule One: Never agree with the Ravenclaw. Keep a neutral stance. Agreeing only encourages violence.

“Well, he is an insufferable dunce.” Sebastian agreed.

Woops.

“Where is that sniveling prick?” She stormed back toward the field.

“Noooo you’re not going back out there.” He caught her by the waist, spinning her around against him. It earned him a smack of wet hair against his cheek. “Come on. Time to go.”

“I just want to talk.” She shimmied in a very distracting way, her ass a bit too close to his cock. He had no choice but to tighten his grip. Truly what an inconvenience it was.

“Sure, you do.” He dragged her back the other way, toward the castle.

“Let go of me.” She bucked before all her weight dropped as she ragdolled.

They tumbled, and he caught them both, hauling her against his side.

“Honestly—” He lugged her with her feet dragging behind them. “My days of carting bodies is over, yet you keep reminding me with this stupid little deadweight trick you do.”

“Shut it.” She hissed.

She was just like hauling a haystack. A pissed off, living haystack currently trying to bite his arm. All that manual labor Solomon had forced him to do in Feldcroft had finally paid off. Who knew it’d be for livid little Ravenclaws?

“We’re going to go cool down,” he huffed.

“I already took a shower.” She kicked her legs, hooking one around his.

He tripped. “Not that.” He pinched her arm, and she yelped.

She wrenched harder, and he flung them outside into the rain.

It hit like slicing knives, and she shrieked, flailing her arms and legs. “Put me down.”

He halted, and the merciless wind shook a tree, a wave of icy water dumping over them.

Fucking hell. He grimaced.

“‘Put me down,’ what?”

She silenced for a moment before thrashing. “I’m not saying please.”

Seb rolled his eyes. In a swift movement, he flipped her, her head hanging inches from a bubbling puddle of mud.

She shrieked. “Fine. Please, please, please!”

“That’s better.” He righted her on her feet and gripped her shoulders. Merlin, she was looking more like a drenched cat by the second. Her blouse was…he tore his gaze away. She’d kill him if he caught her staring.

“We can either fight out here in the downpour and contract some plague, or we can cool down in the nice dry Undercroft. Your choice.”

She glared, bottom lip stuck out in a furious pout. “Fine.”

“Good girl.” He tapped her head, and he drudged ahead.

“Fucker.”

“I heard that.”

Read the entire part one monstrosity at ao3 and wattpad byeeeeeeee

[gray-gray-gray-gray]

On Distinguishing Voices from Alters

“Hearing voices” is a phenomenon that’s widely recognized to be an auditory hallucination and a part of a psychotic condition. However, research shows that people with DID/OSDD also hear the voices of their alters in a similar way to auditory hallucinations. As someone with a complex dissociative disorder and unspecified psychosis myself, I have found it hard to sometimes distinguish between the two - I find myself always asking, “Is this an alter, or are these the voices?” I believe the easiest way to reliably distinguish between the two, at least for myself, is familiarizing myself with the characteristics of each.

Of course, it is to be said that alters can influence the body and control it while voices cannot. If they can switch and control the body, then it’s a part. But what about experiencing alters as voices when they aren’t in control? How do you tell that what you’re hearing is actually an alter, especially if you struggle with hearing voices as a part of your psychosis? Especially-especially if you hear them both originating from the same space (both being inside the head, for example.)

The main idea in treatment for alters is that you have to accept and integrate them, while for voices you have to ignore them to make them go away. However, I find the latter to be ineffective for myself, preferring to accept and talk to the voices as well. Ignoring them often results in them only escalating in emotion and our ‘conversation’ then becomes an argument, while by responding to them we can have a pleasant conversation. Even if the way I treat both parts and voices are largely similar, voices are not actually real people inside my body that I’m talking to, so entirely conflating the two is dangerous.

I’d like to present a sequence of questions inspired mainly by the Maastricht Hearing Voices Interview (MHVI) and my own observations of my voices and alters. It’s intended to aid one in reflecting on the characteristics of their voices whether they be alters or purely hallucinations. If you want to use this for distinguishing voices and alters, I would recommend thinking of these questions and recording the answers to them when you hear a voice, and comparing the differences in answers between different voices and indicating whether you think/know if it’s an alter or a voice, to familiarize yourself with the characteristics of each and hopefully illuminate differences between them for yourself.

#1: General Characteristics of the Voice

Do you know the age, gender, and name of the voice(s)? Did the voice itself tell you these characteristics, or are you assuming them based on the sound of the voice?

Do you recognize the voice? Is it the voice of a person you know in real life, or a fictional character? Is it the voice of someone you already know is an alter? Is the voice consistently the same voice, or does it change? Do you not recognize the voice at all?

How frequently do you hear this voice? When you hear this voice, how long does it last for (duration of hearing the voice)?

Is there a time of day or certain situation that this voice seems to always talk during? Are there any other triggers for the voices?

Do you hear one voice at a time, or multiple voices speaking at the same time? If the latter, do they speak over each other or take turns?

What tone does the voice speak to you in? Is it kind, aggressive or angry, sad, condescending, etc? Is this tone consistent and characteristic of the voice, or does the voice’s tone tend to change?

What do the voices actually say to you? What were the situations that they were saying them in? Try to aim for exact words and whole sentences.

#2: History and Origin

When did the voice(s) first appear? What circumstances were you in when they first appeared (were you stressed, etc.)? 

What significant childhood/developmental events do you think could be related to the development of hearing voices? Did you go through any significant traumas or losses that impacted you emotionally?

How do you personally think this voice developed? Do you think it was from stress, or from something else?

Why do you think you are hearing voices? What do you think their goal or purpose is? What is your theory on where they originate from?

Have you received any treatment or support for these voices? How effective was it?

#3: Communication/Working with the Voice(s)

In what ways do the voices relate to each other, and you? Do you ever find yourself agreeing or disagreeing with the voice? What do the voices seem to think of each other or you? How do you relate to the voices?

How do you communicate with the voices, literally? Do you talk to them out loud or in your head? How do you talk to them, in the sense of your tone? Are you rude or nice to them, etc.?

How do the voices impact your daily life? Do they have a negative or positive impact? Do they impede on your ability to get things done or pay attention? 

What do the voices do for you? Do they give you advice and guidance, command you, punish you, or threaten you? 

How do you already cope with the experience of hearing voices? Are these coping mechanisms cognitive, behavioral, or physiological?

I’m now going to answer some of these questions for myself, to hopefully give an example for how these questions can be used. For me, personally, I find category 1 to be most useful in distinguishing whether it is a voice or an alter, and categories 2 and 3 to be more for coping with and understanding the voices/alters. However, I understand that this may differ for other people. Please keep in mind that I am NOT saying the distinctions I make between my alters and voices apply to everyone, only that I am making the distinctions as an example for how the distinctions can be made.

My Personal Experiences With #1

Overall, the quickest way I can tell that it’s a voice and not an alter is that if I recognize the voice. However, I don’t mean I recognize the alter’s voice, but rather that if the voice is of someone I know in real life or in fiction, I can know it’s a voice since I don’t have any alters that share the voices of people, fictional or not, to my knowledge. When I don’t recognize the voice as someone I know, it then becomes more complicated.

In general, if I can estimate or assume the age, gender or name of a voice, I probably recognize the voice as someone I know in the first place. When I hear a voice I don’t recognize, I can’t estimate age, name, or gender (unless they name themselves as one of my known alters). When I hear a voice I don’t recognize, it’s usually a deep and vague-sounding voice that I can’t exactly place. This deep and vague-sounding voice often is just that, a voice, and not an alter. Ina way, I’ve come to recognize the voice that I don’t recognize like that.

For me, alters tend to respond directly to things as if they were people, while voices just say things randomly. And, while the duration of how long I hear the voice wildly varies with alters, there is a direct correlation between my stress level and how frequently and long I hear voices for.

When I hear an alter’s voice, usually, there is a ‘want’ behind it that triggers it. It may be that they want to front/switch with me, that they want to play a game, that they don’t want me to eat a particular food I’m making and instead want me to eat something that’s more to their taste, that they want to respond to a text in a certain way, etc. It can be anything really. If there’s a want behind it, and identity with likes and dislikes and opinions and beliefs of their own, it’s likely an alter. If it’s randomly appearing, it’s more likely just a voice.

Usually, my alters tend to take turns with each other when speaking. If one of them cuts the other off, the other will stop speaking entirely. However, especially when I’m stressed, the voices have no qualms with speaking over each other freely.

Generally, my alters will all have their distinct tones to them, while voices either are paranoid and demeaning or have no distinct tone. The same applies to what they actually say. For example, one of my alters is very cheery and outgoing, and will typically respond in a tone that is characteristic of the average teenage girl. If I’m doing something that that alter doesn’t like, there’s a distinct whine in their voice that always reminds me of them. Another alter will typically speak in a kind, compassionate, caring, and communicative tone, even if they’re scolding me/another alter. Another alter has a distinct ‘edge’ and masculinity to their tone, another has a distinct childlike whine, another has a distinct darkness and quietness, another has a distinct compassionate grace. The majority of my voices do not have these distinct tones to them, and if they do, it’s that vague and deep voice I described earlier saying paranoid things into my ear. As for what they actually say, it corresponds directly to their tones: the voices who have no tones to them will say random things, while the alter with the childlike whine will say childlike things, and the alter that’s cheery and outgoing will say cheery and outgoing things, etc.

And that’s my experience in distinguishing voices and alters, based on their characteristics/category 1. Even though this makes it seem like there are a lot of differences between the two, often there are times where I genuinely can’t tell the difference. Due to the presence of alters, this often forces me to respond to the voice as if it were an alter or not respond to it at all, just in case (because my way of responding to voices is often fantastical and silly/not grounded in reality). However, by familiarizing myself with the characteristics that apply mostly to my voices and mostly to my alters, I can at least somewhat reliably tell them apart.

[archauthorship]

Cookie for your Thoughts

Never agree to a deal unseen. She knew that rule, had always followed it. In her line of work it was essential for survival. But this… she hadn’t seen. The figure had seemed harmless, standing outside her apartment building. He offered her a clearly home baked cookie and it seemed rude to refuse the obvious gesture of goodwill.

She didn’t see the toothy grin. Not until she was swallowing the last bite did she glance back at his face. The mask of humanity had slipped. Teeth like a predator’s slipped past his lips and his eyes widened in delight. Eyes that were slitted like a cat and glittered with silver light.

She practically fled inside, but a soft chuckle seemed to follow her. “Don’t be afraid, little morsel… we will have plenty of time to get familiar.”

When she awoke the next morning, she managed to convince herself that it had just been a dream. So when she emerged from her bedroom to get coffee and breakfast to find her table already set for two, panic immediately surged.

“Now now, no need for that,” the voice came from behind her. The figure was taller than she remembered, with delicate features, perfectly coiffed hair, and a warm smile–that pointedly hid any teeth. He took her arm and led her to the table as though it was a high-society meal instead of a home invasion.

Even more shocking to her, she went along with it without a second thought. I’m still dreaming… or… its shock… what is happening!?”

He sat across from her, with that same warm smile on his face. “I’m going to answer a few questions before you try to ask any, they are the usual ones and it just saves so much time.” Of course the instant he said that, a million questions bubbled into her throat. Only to die unvoiced as he lifted a finger as though to press it to her lips, “ah, ah, your turn is next.”

He lifted a delicate porcelain teacup and took a sip, where did that come from? I don’t have a tea set. “To start with the obvious, I am one of the Fair Folk, and you placed yourself in my debt when you accepted my ‘gift’. You are right! That IS unfair!” His grin broadened to become toothy and inhuman once more, “my people never play fair if we can help it.” The moment passed and he was genial and warm once more as he continued, “but this IS a deal, and you aren’t entirely in the red by it. I put power in that simple cookie, and now that power is yours as long as we continue our deal.”

He paused to stare at her unblinking as though waiting for something. “What… What kind of power?” He chuckled, the sound surprisingly nice out of the inhuman creature.

“Sticking to the usual script so far, you’ll do nicely, human.” “Mar…” she started to give her name and caught herself. She wasn’t exactly well read on fantasy or folklore… but fairies stealing names was a pretty well-known thing even to her. “Call me, Sabueso.” An old colleague had given her the nickname, and she hoped it would be helpful here.

The figure across from her laughed brightly and clapped his slender hands, “OH! Off script already! You are a clever one!” His grin became somewhat more predatory, “yes, morsel, guard your name well, names hold power. Yours is safe for now, and I rather like this nickname.” He sat back with a very pleased expression, “to answer your previous question, the exact nature will depend on you… but if I had to guess, you will have power over others. The power to convince, to cajole, even control should the circumstances be right.” He looked straight at her as he spoke, and couldn’t miss the realization of ambitions that ran through her.

“You are a barrister… No, you call yourselves lawyers now? You already understand how valuable my power can be to you I’m sure.”

She nodded dumbly, still not convinced she wasn’t dreaming, “so… what are the ‘terms’ its obvious you are getting something from me in all this.”

He nodded, expression once more predatory, “indeed, Sabueso. I get you. Exactly what that means… well that is something up to my decision. I’ve had servants that turned out quite dull in the end, and I do so hate being bored.” The inhuman menace that rolled off him made her shiver uncontrollably. In an instant though, it was gone, replaced by a chipper grin and childish giggle. “But somehow I don’t think that will be your fate… you’ve already surprised me once and impressed me twice. I’ll let you in on a little secret, free of charge even! All of my kin are ageless, and the greatest enemy of all is boredom. Novelty and surprise are the most valuable things you can offer. I tell you this because quite frankly, I think you could be quite impressive with a good ‘coach’... and I’d rather have an impressive servant than a boring snack!”

He finished his sentence with an extremely toothy grin that left absolutely no doubts as to what kind of snack he was referring.

She sat quietly for several minutes, looking at the strange figure before her. Could she be dreaming? Or perhaps hallucinating? I don’t believe in fairies… wait isn’t that from Peter Pan? 

“What… what if I don’t believe you… This feels like a dream!” His expression became a mask of exaggerated boredom, “ugh… back on script.” A dark tone entered his voice, like an angry parent that would not accept ‘no’ for an answer, “slap yourself in the face!” Her mouth opened to snap a retort, but was closed by her own open hand. “Again, harder!” She wasn’t sure which stung harder, her face or hand. “Stop!”

Boredom was replaced by cold fury in a moment, “Stop? STOP?! You will stop, breathing that is!” Panic seized her as she realized that no matter what she did, she could not fill her lungs. “First rule, human! You will NEVER try to issue an order or demand to ME. You are my servant, we are not partners, and certainly not equals.” Her vision was beginning to cloud, and she tried to beg, to apologize, anything. “Breathe.”

She complied gratefully, gasping and coughing as air rushed back into her lungs. Her ‘master’ was back to grinning and cheer, sitting at the table and eating breakfast as though nothing was happening.

“So, any other questions?”

She looked at him with a thread of honest terror wrapping around her. This is real… and he could kill me with a WORD… just demonstrated it, and… what else does he want?

She sat up, took a sip of the tea in front of her and narrowed her eyes. He obviously wants me to keep talking, but he already told me he wants to be surprised… so… don’t do the normal human response. Don’t do the human thing, be el Sabueso.

“You obviously didn’t come after me at random, what do you want me to do with your power?” She had been off balance, unsure, and fearful the entire conversation. She was still afraid of course, but now it was the kind of fear that sharpened focus and drove her to excel.

His eyebrows raised, “An interesting theory… what if I told you it was just chance?” Her brows furrowed and she focused on him. He was clearly a consummate manipulator, and his emotions were fickle and mercurial, but she thought she could see something genuine hiding. “There’s half a million people living here, many lead far more interesting lives. Many are more beautiful, more clever, or just more funny. But you didn’t go after them… You picked me, I’m a lawyer, but more than that… I think you know what I used to do.”

His eyes narrowed, so did hers. “I was a fixer, I found loopholes, ways OUT of deals.” He didn’t react, but one of her eyebrows raised. “Hmm… I don’t want to be insulting, but in what folklore I do know… fae are always making deals and bargains with each other… and power is usually pretty one sided.” He still had zero reactions, which was both concerning and felt like confirmation. The thread of fear tightened to feel almost as strangling as his command from early, but she continued. “You… wanted… not an ally, but someone outside that could… manipulate the situation.” Still not a single reaction, not even a finger moved. She felt like she was picking a lock blindfolded, and suddenly a pin clicked into place. “You can’t… I bet that no one who isn’t involved in the bargain can discuss it, even admit it exists… You demonstrated your power over ME and I just ate a cookie. So… I need to find a loophole in a magical contract that no one else can read, and get you out from underneath someone even more powerful than you, who can and probably would kill you for even trying… that about the sum of it?”

His eyes were once again slitted like a cat, studying her intensely. Her own gaze was nearly a match, meeting his unblinking one without letting her fear show.

He stood slowly, and a satisfied smile grew on his face. “Enjoy your meal, ‘el Sabueso’. It isn’t magic, but I have had a few centuries to perfect my recipes!”

[beantothemax]

(Behold. Four braincell au travel banter. No angst here :)))

“Similar Experiences”

Ritsu: “Defeating the Devil called Poverty” huh? Nice dream.

Partitio: Yeah. I heard of towns running dry but when no amount of stories could prepare me for when Orerush ran dry. It hit us all hard. Saw a lot of people lose their jobs and every day was a struggle to put Leaves on the table.

Ritsu: I hear you. I came from a poor family back in Ku. My mother died due to health complications and my father for a while was the main source of income. He died however to corrupt soldiers and soon I became my sister’s primary caretaker. If it weren’t for Hikari I believe I would still be at Ku struggling to feed Mikka.

Partitio: Looks like Poverty tried to kill the both of us.

Ritsu: Indeed. Unfortunately for it, we’re still here. I have no doubt that you’ll be able to bring riches to all families suffering under Poverty Partitio.

Partitio: Ehehe. Thank ye kindly Ritsu. I have no doubt that you’ll be able to lift up the lower class when you get back to Ku.

Ritsu: Hah. Let us hope so.

————————————

“Math Problems”

Rai Mei: Professor Vanstein, you are a mathematics professor correct?

Osvald: I used to be.

Rai Mei: But you still are an expert at mathematics.

Osvald: Of course. Just because I was imprisoned doesn’t mean my knowledge dulled.

Rai Mei: Excellent. I came to ask you for advice on a particular math problem I am having trouble on.

Osvald: Oh? Go on then.

Rai Mei: Well, suppose there is someone who is trying to flip off their spear onto the enemy. What would be the exact mathematics to do it?

Osvald: Well first that would depend on the height of both the spear and person, the person’s weight, the height of the enemy, and the height the person is flying. Do you have all those factors?

Rai Mei: …Not exactly.

Osvald: Ah. That makes it harder then. If you don’t mind, may I ask why you are interested in this problem?

Rai Mei: …It may be because I myself want to do this technique. I have tried doing it in the past but I often ended up missing or accidentally stabbing myself.

Osvald: …

Rai Mei: …

Rai Mei: Apologies I shouldn’t have asked you-

Osvald: Well it would be easier if you demonstrate this trick yourself. Provided without a spear first to collect the proper data without you stabbing yourself.

Rai Mei: !!!

Rai Mei: Of course Professor Vanstein! I’ll get started right away!

————————————

“Lonely”

Ochette: Mr Kazan are you lonely?

Kazan: Excuse me?

Ochette: Are you lonely? ‘Cause you smell lonely most of the time. That and sad. Kind of like how Temenos smells.

Kazan: Ah. Well not to worry Ochette. I assure you that I am a lot less lonely than I am before. But Ochette why-

Ochette: That’s good to hear! I don’t like the idea of you getting lonely! You’re super smart and clever! The idea that no one wants to be your friend is weird.

Kazan: …

Ochette: Mr Kazan are you okay? You’re crying.

Kazan: I- I’m just fine Ochette. Something just caught in my eye.

————————————

“Siblings”

Ritsu: Kazan do you have any siblings?

Kazan: Oh? What brought this question on?

Ritsu: Well it’s just that you, Castti, and Osvald are usually the people to make sure we aren’t doing anything stupid. Well…until it’s you, me, and Rai Mei. Then Hikari is the one doing it.

Agnea: Yeah Kazan! You kind of radiate an older brother aura. Sort of like Ritsu!

Kazan: Do I? Well…I do have a younger sister.

Ritsu: And why haven’t we ever hear of this younger sister? I would have loved to meet her.

Kazan: That would be sue to me sending her away to get away from the wars of Ku. I didn’t want my sister to experience that.

Ritsu: …That makes sense. I probably would have done the same if I had enough money to do so.

Agnea: If Pala ever had to grow up in an environment like that I probably would do what you did. It isn’t the best solution but it’s the only thing you could do in those circumstances.

Ritsu: Do you still write to each other?

Kazan: Of course. It is, however hard to keep in touch with her moving out and about. Her job requires her to travel.

Agnea: Well, as long as you still keep in touch I think your bond will be strong as always. You’re a good brother Kazan.

Ritsu: Indeed. Perhaps when Ku is at peace, you can invite her over. I’m sure Mikka would be thrilled to meet her.

Agnea: Oh and if you don’t mind I want to invite Pala along! Fair warning though, she probably will go and flirt with your sisters if she thinks they’re pretty and ask them to be her wives!

Kazan: That sounds splendid. I’ll keep that in mind.

————————————

“Unit of Benkei”

Hikari: How many Benkeis do you think this Steam Engine would be? I have heard it was a powerful source but at the same time, Benkei is also powerful.

Ritsu: Hikari what the fuck are you talking about.

Kazan: Well I believe that its power would be at least 5 Benkeis. We’ve seen it in action. It’s only reasonable that 5 Benkeis would be the equivalent power.

Ritsu: Kazan????

Rai Mei: Hm. I actually think it would be 10 Benkeis. What we are seeing here is only industrialization for every day uses. If we go bigger then we surely will see incredible pieces of work that surpasses the strength of 10 Benkeis!

Ritsu: Rai Mei!!!????

Hikari: Surpassing 10 whole Benkeis!?

Kazan: Surpassing 10 whole Benkeis…

Rai Mei: Surpassing 10 whole Benkeis!!!

Ritsu: I hope all of you know that if Ku soldiers are in town, I’m turning the three of you in just because of this conversation.

————————————

“Assurance”

Ritsu: Hikari, what was that back there in the Arena?

Hikari: Pardon?

Ritsu: Back in the arena, when you fought Zeto. You went and zoned out like you did in battles and started fighting like you were possessed.

Ritsu: It looked like you were going to kill him.

Hikari: Ah…

Hikari: There is an explanation for that but I’m afraid it’s quite difficult to explain and unbelievable. I don’t believe it’s a good time to tell you now sue to current circumstances.

Ritsu: That’s fine.

Ritsu: Just know that whatever it is, it won’t change the fact that you are my friend. I would still follow you no matter what you tell us.

Hikari: …Thank you Ritsu.

————————————

“Had we not met.”

Ori: I offer this gift of blood. May the flames turn cold and dark.

Kazan: There’s no need for that Ori.

Ori: I- Brother!? What are you doing here? Don’t you need to quench the flames at-

Kazan: I don’t think we need to do this anymore.

Ori: What do you mean?

Kazan: I mean we shouldn’t quench the Flames. We should let the world see another Dawn.

Ori: What!? But didn’t- Didn’t you say that the world was sick? Didn’t we see what the world did to what little we have? Didn’t we see what the world fought for? Oboro didn’t we see it all!?

Oboro: …We did. And I’m not saying I don’t think the world is perfect. It still is a cruel and unsightly world but it surprisingly isn’t all of that.

Oboro: There are people who unexpectedly try to make this world better. Who fight for a better tomorrow and try to genuinely make it better. Not because of fame, power, or wealth, but because it’s the right thing to do.

Oboro: Over my journey I found many people who are better than I thought them to be. Some of them were as evil as I thought but most were not what I first assumed.

Oboro: Most were just trying to get by in their own way. Trying to be better, to get through the day.

Ori: But- But we got this far! We can’t just stop now! Not when we’re so close!

Oboro: Ori I’m sorry but I don’t think this is the best solution anymore.

Ori: No. No that’s bullshit. You’re not my brother. You’re just- You’re just something that replaced him!

Oboro: Ori. Don’t do anything rash.

Ori: I offer this gift of blood! May the flames turn cold and dark and may darkness entomb the world!

Oboro: ORI-

KIWI THANK YOU FOR PUTTING MY DUMB IDEAS INTO TRAVEL BANTER FORM I LOVE THESE

RAI MEI ASKING OSVALD ABOUT THE MATHEMATICS OF DOING A KICKFLIPNIFF OF HER SOEAR….. she’s nothing if not dedicated

ritsu just being completely out of the loop while the other three all use Benkei as a unit of measurement like it’s completely normal is amazing I love love love this. surpassing ten whole benkeis!!!!

BDBSGGXG GC love agnea warning kazan that pala will try and flirt with ori the first chance she gets.

love kazan crying after ochette says one (1) nice thing to her. he’s just like me fr

oh. oh ok just read the last banter and. I’m sad now. ori saying that oboro isn’t her brother anymore… if you’ll excuse me I need to go cry in a pillow