#oh and PURPLE PANSIES

[harrylights]

.

[phoradendron]

Some results of my earlier adventures with natural dyes. These are dyed with blue elderberry; I had read how red and black elderberry are not very light- or colorfast, but I dyed these two or three months ago and they are doing well! Could be chance, but maybe blue elderberry is more colorfast?

I want to try changing the PH in the future for more colors. These are alum mordanted wool embroidery thread, one is undyed the other is white. In the first photo, the fibers that were originally white are on the top, undyed on the bottom, and the one weirdo off to the side was white and went in late when I decided there was more room in the jar.

No heat added to the dye bath to keep the colors brighter. I prepared it by crushing the berries, adding just enough water to cover the plant matter, leaving them overnight, crushing again and straining out the plant matter, then left the mordanted fibers in for three days; very simple. Washed thoroughly, dried in the window lol.

The white fibers became a sort of soft raspberry color, the undyed became a sort of rose gold. The weirdo is a sort of Pepto Bismal color? To be poetic

[fagdykebassboy]

i have finally decided what my first tattoo is going to be :3

[evergone]

Hypocrite

Theodore Nott x Reader

Warnings: 18+ content (sex), swearing

Description: The reader is embarrassed by the hickies Theo left on her, but she's not one to speak.

Merlin, you were pissed. Or, maybe — maybe you were embarrassed. Afterall, there were purple and yellow bruises all over your breasts and along your collarbone and up the sides and back of your neck. Despite your best efforts, your makeup hadn’t covered them all, and the collar of your blouse kept smearing the foundation and exposing more of them to the entire student body. A student body who couldn’t stop talking about you.

“Trip down the stairs did you, Y/n?” Pansy teased.

“Our very own Slytherin slut,” Daphne laughed fondly.

“By the name of Salazar,” Blaise breathed heavily at the sight of them.

You could only sigh in frustration, your head in your palms, “Guys, stop, please. Everyone and their mothers are giving me shit about it, you don’t need to join in.”

You weren’t lying. In Defense Against the Dark Arts, Snape had practically burnt a hole through your neck, and then, in Transfiguration, McGonagall had quietly asked if you needed to step out to touch up your makeup. The worst, however, was Potions with Slughorn. His opinion of you since the beginning of the year had been purely positive since your family were fairly wealthy and you achieved some of the highest grades in his class. When he saw the hickeys all over you, though, his bulbous nose had turned up in disgust and he made a most unpleasant grunt of disproval. You were sure you had made his blacklist.

“This warrants murder,” said Pansy.

“It does, doesn’t it?” You asked, “I am so fucking mad at him for this.”

Oh, but you could hardly speak.

You and Theo (your boyfriend and hickey-giver) both received invitations to a party that was held the night before, and despite knowing you had school the next day, you went. Once you were about ten drinks in, you were completed sloshed, and when you were completely sloshed, you got horny.

Though the crowd of party-goers stood between yourself and Theo, you could still see every part of him. He was just standing there, chatting with Blaise and Draco, a can of cheap beer held lazily in his right hand while his left was barely touching his hip. He was so, so hot. You bit your lip sexily then made your way over to him and wrapped your arms around his waist, kissing the back of his white shirt, and leaving stains of red lipstick all over it.

“Hey, Y/n, baby,” he hummed, happy from all the drinks he’d downed in the three hours prior, “What’s up?”

“Teddyyy,” you mused and stared up at him as he looked over his shoulder at you, “I want sex.”

Blaise and Draco snickered and Theo shot them a glare. After that, you can imagine what happened. Lots of moaning, groaning, grunting, panting. Enough snogging to last you both a lifetime, but not really because there was no such thing as “enough snogging,” and love making that lasted well past the rise of the sun that peeked through the window to Theo’s dorm room and illuminated every gorgeous curve of your body.

While Theo was the kind of sexual partner to want to leave marks all over you — not because he was the jealous type, just the prideful type, he liked everyone to see that he’d won you — you were the kind of sexual partner who liked it rough. You liked to feel his dick more or less pounding against your womb, so close that it almost warranted a trip to Madame Pomfrey. You liked when he thrusted into you fast, but not sloppy, always obeying your comments of ‘faster, Theo’ and ‘honey, please, I need it faster.’ But he couldn’t obey too much, you were very particular about that. He had to make you feel good, but he still had to be in control. It was always best if he gave in to every third or fourth demand, so that you had to beg for it. But the best part about rough sex with Theo? Well, it was what made you such a hypocrite.

“Mate,” Draco gaped at Theo’s back in the locker rooms before quidditch practice, “Did you get into a fight with a werewolf or something?”

Theo frowned in confusion, “What are you talking about?”

Draco motioned for Theo to move into view of the mirror and when he got a good look at his reflection he joined in the gaping. Long, red lines ran down his back like the British army at the Battle of Balaclava. He had become a canvas and you had painted him with your claws. He ought to have them clipped, Merlin’s beard.

The scratches were mostly up and down (go figure), but there were are couple that ran horizontally which Theo couldn’t place the origin of. You had torn him apart, you freak.

And that’s when you stormed into the locker room. Pucey had squealed, that was the first sign that you had entered. The second was the smart-ass warning that escaped Draco’s mouth ( “Look what the cat dragged in… or maybe she herself is the cat,” he said.

“She is the cat’s mother,” you responded, annoyed, and kicked him in the shin.

“My point still stands,” he laughed painfully).

Your hands were covering your eyes so as to not expose yourself to the privates of the entire Slytherin Quidditch team, and Theo thought you looked like a total dork in the cutest way. A pout had settled on your lips to make up for the fact that your frown was also hidden behind your hands.

“Theodore Nott!” You huffed and the locker room broke out into a chorus of ‘ooh’s, “Shut up, all of you — Theodore, look at what you’ve done to my neck.”

“I can’t really see behind your hands, lovey,” said Theo and you swore you could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Use your imagination then, I’m sure you remember what you did to me last night — Oh, aren’t you all so mature,” you hissed as the boys erupted into laughter like little children.

You felt Theo’s hands settle on your hipbones as if they were arm rests. He pulled you in until your nose hit his chest and removed your hands from your face. So safe you were in his presence that you couldn’t see any of the other boys around you. With his big eyes that were more ocean-coloured than sky, he stared down at you, and flashed his brilliantly white grin.

“You aren’t much better, you know?” He said with a tone of question in his voice and continued to talk when he realised you didn’t know what he was talking about, “My back?”

He turned for you and upon seeing the mess you had evidently made on his back, you shut your mouth.

“Even?” Asked Theo.

“Even,” you nodded.

[theostrophywife]

heaven and back.

pairing: mattheo riddle x reader x theodore nott.

song inspiration: heaven and back by chase atlantic.

author's note: poly! matty and theo just hits different. the teamwork that these two would put in. whew baby that's a one way ticket to st. mungo's. these men break backs, not hearts 😏

You were good at playing games. 

As a matter of fact, Mattheo and Theodore would argue that you were a little too good. 

After all, you met your boyfriends during one of Malfoy’s infamous game nights in which you swindled Mattheo and Theodore out of a few hundred galleons during a tense round of magical poker. Ever since that fateful night in fourth year, the three of you became inseparable. Thanks to your slyness, the first Saturday of every month was deemed sacred to your fellow Slytherins. Game nights were reserved for drinking and debauchery, which just so happened to be your specialty.

Though the entirety of Hogwarts coveted an invitation to the longstanding tradition, very few were allowed a glimpse into the inner workings of the serpent’s nest. Tonight, the guest of honor was none other than the Gryffindor golden girl—Hermione Granger. She and Draco only started dating a month ago, but anyone with eyes could see that Malfoy was quite smitten. Before Hermione, Draco had never invited a significant other to game night. 

You were determined to give Hermione a warm Slytherin welcome. Hence the special potion you brewed just for the occasion. 

With a smirk, you produced the potion from your back pocket. The liquid sloshed around in the glass vial, the iridescent purple mixture flecked with specks of glitter. 

“I know that look.” Theo remarked, pulling you into his lap. “What sort of trouble are you brewing, dolcezza?” 

Mattheo chuckled and nestled against his shoulder. “Don’t act like you don’t like it, Teddy. You know we both benefit from her mischief. Isn’t that right, princess?” 

You smiled, ruffling Mattheo’s curls. “You’re absolutely right, Matty. Tonight, everyone will reap the rewards of my tricks. I concocted a special little potion that’ll make game night a little more interesting.”

Pansy raised a perfectly groomed brow. “What exactly does this little concoction of yours do, Y/N? The last time I drank something you brewed, I ended up streaking through the quidditch pitch.” 

“As I recall, I was right beside you, Pans.” Your friend chuckled, nodding in confirmation. “Consider this a social lubricant. It takes the edge off, makes you feel a little warm and fuzzy inside. It’s the perfect balance between feeling tipsy and high. Lowers those pesky inhibitions.” 

Draco scoffed. “If this group lowers their inhibitions any further, we’d all be expelled.” 

“That’s why we have you, Dray. What good is the Malfoy fortune if it can’t bail us out of sticky situations?”

“Need I remind you that the last sticky situation almost ended with Enzo in the infirmary after Mattheo and Theo convinced him to race backwards on their brooms.”

Hermione watched the back and forth exchange, absorbing the interaction with a small smile. 

“Draco’s exaggerating, of course. Anyone would’ve missed the whomping willow in the dark.” The Golden Girl chuckled as you sent her a conspiratory wink, causing Draco to sigh in exasperation. “Besides, Berkshire had fun. Didn’t you, Enz?”

“Oh, loads. I had a blast pulling twigs from my arse for two hours straight afterwards.” 

“See? You’re not talking us into taking another one of your poisons, Y/N.”

Enzo shook his head. “Speak for yourself, cousin. I’m definitely in.”

The rest of your friends expressed their agreement. Even Blaise, who would never dream of drinking anything besides the finest vintage, was eager to participate. Mostly to see the others make a fool of themselves, which was perfectly fine by you.

Draco rolled his silver eyes. “Fine. You lot are going to end up talking me into it, anyways.”

“What about you, Hermione? Would you like a sip as well?”

Her warm, honey brown eyes darted around the room. Draco clasped her hand in his, squeezing gently. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, love. I’m only agreeing because I don't want to have to take care of these heathens.”

You nodded empathically. “No pressure, Hermione. You can say no if you’d like, but I am rather proud of my little concoction and it would be an absolute honor if the golden girl partook in our debauchery. After all, you’re dating Draco. You might as well get used to it now.”

A mischievous grin pulled at Hermione’s lips. She shrugged nonchalantly, her curls cascading over her shoulder. “Why the bloody hell not?” 

“That’s the spirit, Granger!” cheered Pansy. 

You smirked in response and slithered out of your boyfriend’s lap. Both Mattheo and Theo watched intently as you crawled across the plush ornate rug, slowly making your way towards the Gryffindor. Hermione sucked in a breath, her cheeks blossoming into a pretty blush. Her hands, which were laid in her lap in the most prim and proper way, twitched when you knelt before her on the sofa. 

Behind you, Mattheo mumbled something into Theo’s ear. When you glanced over your shoulder, your boyfriends were staring directly at you, anticipating your next move. You responded with an innocent smile before turning back to Hermione. 

With  a sly smile, you held her honey eyed gaze and tapped her bottom lip. “Open up, love.” 

Hermione swallowed thickly before parting her lips. You gently cradled her jaw before tipping the vial into her mouth, pouring a generous amount of potion for the golden girl. She looked up at you expectantly, her lashes fluttering ever so slightly. 

You rewarded her with a cheeky wink. “Good girl, Granger. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” 

She shook her head, the flush on her cheeks mimicking her house colors as you wiped a droplet of liquid off of her lips with your thumb. Beside her, Draco sighed. “For Salazar’s sake, stop putting the moves on my girlfriend.” 

“What’s the matter, Dray? Are you scared I’ll steal Hermione away from you?” 

“You can hardly blame me. You’re a shameless flirt, Y/N.” 

You placed a hand over your heart, feigning offense. “Why, I’d never dream of flirting with your lady. You know how jealous my boys get.” 

Your boyfriends shook their heads, clearly amused at your attempt to rile Draco up. Truly, your friend made it too easy. You chuckled as the blonde glared at you. “Come on, Malfoy. It’s your turn. Maybe the potion will loosen you up, yeah?” 

Draco rolled his eyes, but allowed you to pour the potion into his mouth. You moved down the line, doing the same for Pansy, Blaise, and Enzo. The latter grinned as you ruffled his hair. After Enzo, the only ones remaining were Theo and Mattheo. 

“Come here, cara mia.” Theo said, beckoning you with two fingers. “Mattheo and I are waiting.” 

“I saved the best for last, boys.” 

Mattheo smirked as he pulled you into his lap. You settled against him, making yourself right at home. He kissed the side of your neck, smiling against your skin. “Go on, then. Don’t leave Theo hanging.” 

You nodded, body heating as Mattheo rubbed your thighs. Theo raised a brow, his watercolor eyes settling over you. Licking your lips, you couldn’t help but let your gaze wander. Your boyfriend looked rather casual in his emerald jumper and dark jeans, but there was something about the way that Theo carried himself that exuded sex appeal. The cocky smirk on his handsome face told you that he was well aware of the effect he had on you.

Theo cocked his head towards you and opened his mouth. You tipped the vial past his lips, admiring how plush and pouty they looked. Lust darkened your boyfriend’s watercolor eyes as he watched you through hooded lids. The potion dribbled off his chin, making you giggle. 

“Oops, I spilled.” You licked the remnants off, lapping up the liquid all the way to the corner of his lips. Mattheo’s fingers dug into your hips as you finished off your little show with a kiss. 

Theo grabbed the back of your head and deepened the kiss. He didn’t take kindly to being teased. Never one to shy away from public displays of affection, Theo groaned softly and slid his tongue into your mouth, giving you a filthy open-mouthed kiss before pulling away and winking. 

Across the room, Hermione flushed, her lips parting ever so slightly. “Oh,” she whispered softly. 

Mattheo chuckled, his laughter caressing your skin as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck. He turned you over in his lap and tapped his lips. “Me next, princess.” 

“Open wide, Matty.” 

“Funny. Usually I’m the one saying that to you.” 

Your friends groaned at the suggestive comment, but you only grinned in response. Mattheo parted his lips eagerly, not once breaking eye contact as he swallowed the potion. The intensity of his big, brown eyes made your hands shake, causing you to spill a few drops on your fingers. Your boyfriend took your middle and pointer finger into his mouth and sucked them clean. 

You gasped in surprise. Mattheo chuckled darkly, catching the vial before it slipped out of your fingers. Behind you, Theo tugged at your hair and titled your head back. 

“Your turn now, mi amor.” Mattheo drawled, his voice a seductive song in your ears. He lowered his voice, so only you could hear his next statement. “Be a good girl and swallow.” 

The eager nod made both of your boyfriends smirk. Theo gathered your hair in one hand, fisting your locks into a makeshift ponytail while Mattheo poured the last of the potion into your mouth. The liquid was strong and sweet, trailing down your throat and warming your body with a pleasant heat. 

“That’s my girl,” Mattheo said. Theo raised a brow, which made the curly headed boy laugh. “That’s our girl.” 

“Better,” Theo remarked before pulling you against him. 

You settled into his lap, watching the rest of your friends start a game of poker. As always, Draco was way too competitive. Blaise was hustling the hell out of him, but the blonde didn’t seem to notice. Pansy wrapped her arms around her boyfriend’s shoulders, leaning in every so often to whisper things in his ear that made him smile. 

Enzo reclined back on the couch, an endearing smile pulling at his lips as he took small sips of his firewhiskey. From his glazed eyes, you could tell that the potion was hitting him the hardest. 

Mattheo rested his head on your lap, tugging at your hand in a silent request to play with his curls. You obliged happily, scratching at his scalp and twirling his bouncy locks between your fingers. Every so often, he’d lean in and show you his cards, asking for advice. 

As the night progressed, the potion took its effects, loosening both lips and limbs. Theo’s long legs bracketed you from either side, the intoxicating scent of petrichor and cigarette smoke clinging onto him like your own personal drug. Mattheo stared lovingly up at you as you continued playing with his hair. 

When you looked up, you met Hermione’s inquiring gaze. She was leaned up against Draco, who kept an arm around her waist, absentmindedly drawing circles underneath her sweater. 

She cocked her head, a question forming in her brilliant mind. “So, how exactly does it work?” 

You leaned back against Theo’s chest, a playful smirk curving against your lips. “How does what work, love?” 

“Having…two boyfriends.” 

“You mean, being poly?” 

“Poly,” Hermione said, testing out the word. There wasn’t a hint of judgment in her expression, just plain curiosity. Apparently, the Gryffindor girl’s innate hunger for knowledge extended to the intricacies of your relationship. “If you don’t mind me asking. How exactly does a poly relationship work?” 

You shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s like every other relationship,” you started, glancing at your two favorite people in the world. Mattheo and Theo smiled back. “We go on dates, we argue about stupid things, then we kiss and make up. Except sometimes the boys like to gang up on me.” 

Theo chuckled. “I reckon ganging up against you is the most fun that we have, dolcezza.” 

“I’d have to agree with Teddy,” Mattheo interjected as he grinned up at you. “We give teamwork a whole new meaning. Don’t we, princess?” 

“See,” you said, waving your arms between your boyfriends. “These sassy men will be the death of me.” 

Theo wrapped his arms around you, nuzzling against your neck. “You love us though.” 

“That I do,” you replied with a smile. 

“Do any of you ever get jealous?” asked Hermione. 

Theo nodded. “Of course, it’s a natural part of every relationship, but we have ways of working it out.” Your boyfriend smiled and kissed your cheek. “We just make sure no one feels left out.” He leaned down to place a kiss on Mattheo’s forehead too.

Hermione hummed. “That sounds rather nice, actually.” 

“I wouldn’t call it nice,” Mattheo countered with a sly smile. “Y/N can get a little feisty sometimes. You should’ve seen what she did to Lavender for touching my shoulder last week.” 

Theo nodded in agreement. “It’s nothing compared to the fight she had with Cho after she tried asking me out. Poor girl thought that polyamory equates to having an open relationship. As if I’d ever need anyone else besides Y/N and Mattheo.” 

“So polyamory doesn’t translate to opening your relationship to others,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “I’m learning so much.” 

Mattheo confirmed her statement with a nod. “Yes, we’re all very committed to one another. It’s only Y/N and Theo for me.” 

“While we all adore your wonderful little trio,” Draco cut in. You could tell by the tension in his shoulders that he would definitely not be open to sharing the golden girl with anyone else. “I think it’s time to call it a night.” 

You chuckled. “Such a party pooper, Malfoy. Don’t worry, Granger’s just asking for education purposes. Aren’t you, Mione?” 

“I know what you’re doing, Y/N. You’re devious, you know that?” 

Theo smirked at his oldest friend. “Don’t be jealous cause she has more game than you, Dray.” 

“After all, that’s how she got us. Right, princess?” 

Draco sighed exasperatedly. You rolled your eyes fondly before saying goodbye to everyone. Pulling Hermione into a hug, you winked behind her back as Draco glared at you. 

“Thank you for indulging me,” Hermione said softly. “I feel thoroughly educated now.” 

“No problem, Mione.” 

You kissed her cheek before wrapping Draco into a hug as well. “Stay sharp, Dray. You’ll have to work harder to keep up with this one. Granger’s way out of your league.” 

Draco smiled. “I’m well aware.” 

Later that night as you laid in bed sandwiched between Mattheo and Theo, you felt the potion reach its peak. You giggled into Theo’s neck, squealing as Mattheo pressed his cold feet against your legs. The three of you were chatting about your day like you usually did, but thanks to the potion, one of you always got sidetracked, leading into cuddles and kisses mid sentence.

Matty spooned you from behind, his possessive grip snaked around your waist like a vice. “I’m not going to lie, watching you crawl towards Granger tonight did something to me.” 

“That’s her game, mio amato. You know she loves to tease.” 

You turned over to face him, an amused smirk toying at your lips. “I thought you liked my little games, Teddy. At least your lower half did. I could feel you pressing against me all night.” 

Theo smirked, grinding his erection against your thigh. “Can you blame me? You knew exactly what you were doing. Admit it, cara mia. You weren’t cozying up to Hermione just to get under Draco’s skin. You were doing it to rile us up too.” 

“It worked. I’ve been hard as fuck all night. The way you teased Granger had me thinking vile thoughts.” 

“So I’m not enough for you, Matty?” You jested, pouting your bottom lip at your boyfriend. “You want Draco’s girl too?” 

Within the blink of an eye, you were pinned underneath Mattheo with your arms raised above your head as your boyfriend glared down at you. “No. If anything, you’re the one flirting with Granger like Theo and I aren’t enough to handle already. Maybe we should remind you who you belong to.” 

You hummed in agreement, biting back a smile. “Hmm, maybe you’re right, querido. I’m not opposed to a little refresher.” 

Theo shook his head in disbelief. “Fucking hell, bella. You just want to be railed until you cry, don’t you? Such a little brat. You could’ve just asked for what you wanted.”

You batted your lashes in response. “But it’s so much more fun this way.” 

As retaliation, Mattheo flipped you over on all fours. With a smirk, he leaned back on the headboard and pushed down his gray heathered sweatpants as Theo crawled behind you. He gave no warning as he bunched up your nightdress, pressing a filthy kiss against your clothed sex. You were dripping for him, coating his lips with your taste as he pushed your head down on Mattheo’s lap. You groaned as Mattheo pumped himself between slender fingers, tapping the tip of his cock against your lips. He bucked into your mouth just as Theo plunged his tongue between your folds. 

“What was that, principessa?” Theo hummed against your aching cunt. “Matty and I can’t hear you over all that moaning.” 

Mattheo laughed meanly as he gathered your hair in his fist, thrusting down your throat with a choked moan. “Put that smart mouth to work, sweetheart.” He thrust in lazily, barely giving you his tip. “Spit on it.” 

Glancing up at him through your lashes, you spit on Mattheo’s cock and watched as his head lolled against the headboard. “Teddy? Wanna give me a hand, pretty boy?”

With wide eyes, you gasped as Theo leaned over and pumped Mattheo in his hand before lining up his length against your lips. Theo kissed your cheek before shoving your head down to take inch after inch. Once Mattheo slid all the way in, he pulled out just to slam back in forcefully. You could feel Mattheo hitting the back of your throat, activating your gag reflex while he smirked in satisfaction. 

“Gonna shut the fuck up and take my cock like a good little slut, aren’t you?” 

You nodded, tears forming in your eyes as Mattheo continued to fuck your throat. As if that weren’t enough, Theo flicked his tongue on your clit and feasted on you from behind like a starved man. He took his sweet time, sloppily making out with your pussy and lapping up your arousal before slipping a finger inside, pumping you as you gagged on Mattheo’s cock. You groaned as Theo pried your legs apart, his intense gaze never leaving your face as he kissed the inside of your thighs. Hooking your right leg over his shoulder, Theo began licking and teasing, his tongue flicking through your folds with expert precision. He sucked hard, lapping your juices up with fervent devotion. 

The potion increased the sensations tenfold, intensifying your pleasure as you bucked against Theo’s face. It seems that your less than innocent academic pursuit had truly paid off because both Theo and Mattheo seemed to be affected just as much. The current of the concoction surged through all three of you, slamming you with wave after wave of heady desire. It felt better than drunk sex or fucking while you were high. This was just unbridled lust and want, flooding you with the need to be nothing but an obedient fuck toy for your favorite boys. 

Mascara streaked down your cheeks as you cried out for more, fisting the sheets as your boyfriends occupied both of your needy holes. The cries of pleasure were muffled around Mattheo’s cock. Your boyfriend’s breathing grew ragged and his grip grew tighter, his abs rippling as he shot hot ribbons down your throat. 

“Good girl. So fucking beautiful, swallowing every drop of my cum like a perfect little whore. You’re flawless, Y/N.”

Theo made quick work of you afterwards. Warmth spread from your core, hot tendrils snaking all over your body as he pushed you to your first orgasm of the night. When Theo crooked his middle and pointer finger inside your gummy walls, you squirted into his mouth with a cry. Despite your cries of pleasure, Theo showed no signs of stopping. His cool breath fanned over your sensitive sex and you whimpered at his ravenous appetite, squirming away from Theo’s tongue. Displeased, Theo flipped you onto your back and dragged you towards him by the ankles. 

“I’m not done with you, tesoro.” 

Your boyfriend growled and glanced at Mattheo. “Hold her down,” Theo commanded, his pretty eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’re done when I say you’re done. Sit back, look pretty, and let me eat your pussy until you’re sobbing. I’ll make you feel so good, bella. Surely you have another one in you, don’t you, Y/N?” 

You nodded, still reeling from the aftershock of your orgasm. Mattheo placed you on his lap, prying your lips open with his fingers. “Theo asked you a question, princess. Use your words.” 

Theo smirked. “Give her a minute. I think I’ve fucked her so dumb with my mouth and fingers that she can’t even form a sentence.” 

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Mattheo said with a chuckle. He caressed your jaw, pressing kisses against your shoulder. “Don’t you want to cum again, sweetheart? Either way, you don’t really have a choice. Theo’s going to feast on you no matter what you say. You know he hates being teased.”

“I can take it,” you said in a shaky voice. “I’ll be good, I promise. I just want to make you both proud.” 

Theo smiled, revealing the dimples you loved so much. “I know you do, Y/N. We’re not stopping until you’ve soaked the sheets. Now come on, be a good girl and sit on my face.”

You swallowed thickly as Theo switched places with you, laying back on Mattheo’s lap while bringing your hips forward. Steadying yourself on Mattheo’s shoulder, you slowly lowered onto Theo’s face. You grinded against him slowly at first, minding your sensitive sex, but it wasn’t long before you were bucking into his mouth, riding his face like you’d ride his cock.

There was no other word to describe Theo but feral. He gorged himself on you, poking and prodding your wet cunt with his tongue and fingers until your head fell onto Mattheo’s neck, gasping against his skin while Theo’s fingers dug into your hips. You groaned as Mattheo kissed you roughly, whimpering at the overwhelming pressure already building in your core. 

As your moans and screams grew louder and louder, Mattheo gagged your mouth with his fingers, shoving his middle and pointer finger past your lips in an attempt to muffle the noise. 

“Are you trying to wake the whole castle up, princess?” 

“Let her,” Theo said, chuckling darkly as he wrapped his lips around your clit. “Let the whole castle hear what a desperate little slut she is for us.” 

You groaned as Theo picked up the pace, fucking you with his tongue until you were coming undone in his mouth. The second orgasm was an out of body experience. Stars exploded behind your eyes as you came with a cry. You could’ve sworn that you went to heaven and back.

As you collapsed backwards into Theo’s arms, your boyfriend grabbed you by the throat and kissed you. The taste of you lingered on his tongue and your eyes rolled back as Theo’s lips claimed yours. He chuckled when you chased his kisses. 

“Don’t be greedy, pretty girl. Matty wants a taste too.” 

Your lips parted in surprise as Theo grabbed the back of Mattheo’s head and kissed him hard, his tongue flicking over his bottom lip and they both groaned. Theo smiled into the kiss, savoring the taste. He patted Mattheo’s cheek before pulling you into his lap. 

“Such a good girl for us, aren’t you?” Theo cooed, caressing your cheek and rewarding you with neck kisses. “I love when you ride my face. You’re fucking perfect. I’m so proud of you, pretty girl.” 

“Don’t go all soft now, cariño.” Mattheo teased, licking away the remnants of you from the corner of his mouth. “We’re only getting started. We haven’t even fucked her yet.” 

Theo smiled down at you, wiping away the mascara streaks clinging to your cheeks. “Then by all means. Finish the job you started, Matty.”

“I intend to,” Mattheo replied as he loomed over you.

With a wink, Theo spread your legs apart and presented your sopping wet cunt to Mattheo like a present. He reached down and rubbed his middle and pointer finger against your clit, holding your hips in place as you arched off the bed. 

“Look at that. Pretty little pussy’s all nice and wet for us,” Theo said with a chuckle. “You’re so eager, aren’t you? So insatiable, dolcezza. Maybe Mattheo and I should give you a double dose. Fuck you at the same time.” 

“Yes,” you breathed, mewling as Theo continued rubbing lazy circles against your clit. “Please, please, I need it.” 

“Just a cockhungry little slut. You’re fucking greedy, mi amor. Begging for both of our cocks. Don’t worry, baby. We’ll give you what you want. Fill you up like you need.” 

You whimpered in response as Mattheo manhandled you, pushing your face into the pillows while he lifted your perky arse in the air. He kneaded your ass, rubbing his cock along your folds. When you grinded against him for more, Mattheo’s palm landed on your right cheek with a hard smack. As you looked behind you, Theo winked before slapping your left cheek. The sting of his palm burned against your skin, making your eyes water. 

“What’s the matter, bella? I thought you wanted to play.”

“I do,” you breathed, gripping the sheets. “Please, Teddy. I need more. Spank me harder.” 

“Dirty girl,” Theo said fondly. “Ask and you shall receive.” 

As his palm came down on your ass over and over again, you gasped for breath, chasing air while Mattheo lined himself up at your entrance. Theo leaned down to kiss the handprints on your arse, biting softly and embedding his mark onto your skin before mirroring Mattheo’s actions. Theo teased against your puckering hole and nodded at the curly headed boy beside him. 

He placed a soft kiss on Mattheo’s lips. “Ready?” 

“As I’ll ever be,” Mattheo responded with a grin. 

You braced yourself to take both of them, gripping the sheets while they filled you simultaneously. It was a tight fit and you could feel both of your boyfriends stretching your walls.

“Such a good girl,” Theo groaned, moving slowly so you could adjust to his girth. “Letting Matty and I stretch you wide open. Fuck, I love being inside of you. It feels like fucking heaven, tesoro.”

Mattheo groaned in agreement. “Your pussy’s so wet. Does it turn you on to be ruined like this?” You cried in pleasure, mewling as Mattheo took Theo’s hand and placed it on your lower abdomen. “Feel that, mi corazón. Can you feel me fuck her deep, rearranging her insides?” 

“Merda, you two are going to be the death of me.” Theo said, his dead eyes rolling back. “Fuck me, I could cum just watching Matty move inside of you, Y/N.” 

As the two of them moved in sync, you gasped and panted, tears streaming down your cheeks from the overstimulation. There were so many sensations all at once, overloading your senses, making you writhe and whimper while your boyfriends ruined you. Mattheo tilted your chin, praises dripping from his lips, sweat slicked skin glimmering a pretty golden shade in the dim light. 

The hard planes of his abdominal muscles rippled while he fucked you from behind, grasping at the base of your throat until you were gasping for air. “Who’s pussy is this?” Mattheo growled into your ear, his curls tickling your cheek while he released a ragged breath. “Who do you belong to, Y/N?” 

“You and Theo,” you breathed. “Only you and Theo.” 

Theo smiled at your answer, lacing your fingers together. “That’s right, principessa. You’re ours to love, to fuck, to worship. Don’t forget that.” 

“Oh gods,” you moaned, gripping Theo’s hand while wrapping your fingers around the hand that Mattheo had around your neck. “I’m yours and you’re both mine.” 

“Damn fucking right,” Mattheo said with a sharp thrust. 

As Mattheo’s breathing grew more ragged, you and Theo both knew that he would succumb first. Theo fisted Mattheo’s curls in one hand and pulled him in for a filthy kiss, swallowing the cry that left his lips as he came inside of you. The sensation of him filling you up was too much to handle and the orgasm rocked your body, making your limbs seize as that familiar white hot heat blinded your senses. 

Theo was the last to cum, pulling out of your sensitive hole so that Mattheo could wrap his lips around his cock. His endurance was rewarded with vulgar noises as Mattheo gripped his hips in place and sucked him dry.

When your third and final orgasm ran its course, you found yourself laying flat on your back, blinking back up at the ceiling as you regained control of your senses. Through the haze, you blinked and found Theo and Mattheo fussing over you, casting a cleansing spell and wiping your damp forehead with a clean cloth. With a smile, they both leaned in and kissed your cheeks before tucking you safely between them. You hummed, placing a gentle kiss on both of their foreheads. 

“You know you two are all I need, right?” 

Your boyfriends both nodded, curling against you. “Of course, mi corazón.” 

“You’re all we need too, cuore mio.”

Taglist: @annaisabookworm @marina468 @yaraasthings  @the0doreslover @bubybubsters @moony-artemis  @natasha887 @lucyysthings @criesinlies  @bunnymallowo @niktwazny303 @letmedownslows  @siriuslyalovergirl @wordsarelife @clairesjointshurt  @daydreamingabthar @therealallisonspear @athenalikethegoddess @clairesjointshurt @vixzwrites @elle4404 @dramaticals @slut4riddle @berryzxx @finalgirllx @peterpan-neverfails @jayybugg @ashisabitgay @goldenmagnolias @atadoddinnit @rafesmuse @thames-fig @theeslutintheroom @bunnymallowo @athenapotter @dracosmalfxy @moonflowersandsparkles @unlikelysadgirl @txzii @cruxxio

[deeseelovez]

dress

draco malfoy x slytherin!reader (can be read as any size or skin color)

Summary: you are wearing a short dress, and nobody can take their eyes off you, which makes your boyfriend, Draco Malfoy, really jealous.

Warnings: smut. innocent! reader. possessive draco. daddy kink. dom!draco. jealous draco. they kind of start doing stuff in public that is very short-lived. thigh riding.

~~

Slytherin's common room is bussing with music from the party; they celebrate the win against Gryffindor. Draco Malfoy had caught the golden snitch, and his girlfriend, Y/n, could not have been more proud of him.

"You have to wear this, Y/n/n," Pansy says, pulling out a dress.

It's short, a purple color, and it perfectly covered her curves. She was showing off her cleavage, and her ass looked incredible.

"Are you sure? It's a bit short?" She says, trying it put down.

"Trust me, Draco will go feral."

"Like a cat?"

"Just trust me, would ya?" Pansy smirks and zips up the dress for her.

Draco's already downstairs with his friend, he was chugging down a drink with Blaise and Theo with everyone else dancing around them.

"Whoa," Blaise says, his eyes set on the stairs, "Draco, look." She says pointing at Y/n who is looking around the room.

"Bloody hell," Theo whispers, looking her up and down, and Draco's eyes are wide as he stares at her in the dress.

Draco thought she looked beautiful, she is beautiful but as he looks beside him as his best mates were gawking at his girlfriend, he felt a very familar feeling creeping up his back.

"Love!" Y/n shouts going over to Draco; she wraps her arms around his neck as she does, and the dress hikes up, showing off the red lacy thong she had on, "You did so good at your game." She giggles.

"Thank ya, darling." He says, looking her up and down.

"Do ya like it?" She says, doing a twirl.

"You always look beautiful," He assures her; he moves his hands to pull the skirt down a little.

"I want to dance," She says, going to the dance floor with Pansy.

Pansy smiles and the two girls start dancing together, soon a pair of boys were dancing with them. Y/n thought nothing of it, thinking they were just being friendly. She danced with the boy who was named Marty, they were just innocently dancing until she felt his hands on her hips, moving them.

"Whoa," She says, moving away from him.

"What you've got a boyfriend?"

"As a matter of fact, she does." Draco says coming out of no where, it arm going around his girlfriend waist, protectively.

"Oh, sorry-"

"Just fuck off." Draco says, turning around facing his girlfriend. He had a stern look on his face, "Are you trying to get my attention?"

"I was just dancing when-"

"Trying to get me jealous? Wearing a short dress where I can see your ass, trying to get every guy in here hard?"

"What?" Y/n looks up at Draco, confusion in her eyes, "I didn't mean to do any of that." Her voice starts to whine, and her eyes look to the side, Draco put his fingers under her chin.

"Baby, no whining. You've got all my attention now." Draco says, leading her to the loveseat and they sit together.

"Daddy, am I in trouble?" She asks, she straddles him as she sits.

"Not if you do as I say." Y/n feels a shiver go down her spin as Draco's fingers played with the edge of her skirt.

"I'll do anything, Drac. I want to be your good girl." She leans forward and whispers into his ear.

"Everyone thinks you're so innocent," Draco says, he moves to where her crotch was connecting to his thigh, "I'm the only one knows how much of a dirty slut you are."

"Only for you," She says, Draco's hands start to slightly move her hips.

"Then be a good dirty slut, and cum on my thigh-"

"Daddy there are peo-"

"Call it your punishment then for wearing such a little skirt."

"You make feel good-" She whimpers

"Nobody else can make you feel this way-" The touch feeling of his pants and soft fabric of her silk panties made a certain feeling go up her spine.

A moan comes from her mouth, "Quite, those noises are for my ears only." He says looking at her with those pale blue eyes and she nods.

She moves her hips along with the slow rythem he was putting her in, and she could feel the delsious feeling of an orgam bubbling inside of her.

"I'm going to cum," She whispers, and Draco moves his thigh, and moves thigh up and down, "Oh, Merlin." She whispers and Draco heart the familiar high pitched noise but this time Y/n had closed her mouth leaving it muffled but he wanted to hear that sound over again, he wanted to hear it, he wanted everyone to hear it and for everyone to know it was him who made her make that noise.

"Fuck, you're going to be the death of me. Let's get you into bed, baby."

"Please.' She says, as they go up the stairs ot the dorm, Draco stops her and pushes her againest the wall.

"You're going to be a good slave, tonight, right? Cum as many times as I want you too, maybe. then you'll remember that I own you, right?"

~~~

should I finish this?

[crackishincorrecthp]

Hermione: What's the craziest thing you've ever done as a child? Ron: Once I asked Fred and George to help them with their products...I ended up in St. Mungus. I won't elaborate Ginny: I can confirm that Draco: Well, once I refused to go home for months because one of my father's peacocks somehow got into my bedroom and woke me up by trying to kill me...I told my father it was either me or the peacock and then ran to the floo to Pansy's house and refused to leave until my father agreed to at least put some wards in my bedroom to avoid that happening again Hermione: Ron: Ginny: Harry: Luna: Blaise: Pansy: Yeah, I can confirm that really happened Hermione: Alright, let's just move on... Luna: Well, my thing was that I used my art materials to dye my dad's hair a really bright purple while he was asleep Ginny: I stole one of the brooms and decided to fly by myself...I fell, but I was okay though, only a broken arm. Blaise: I helped my mother out on something...I won't really elaborate, but it was something crazy Pansy: I kidnapped a fucking baby Kappa and thought my parents wouldn't notice Harry: Well, I killed a basilisk and survived to it biting me because of Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix and once I ended up in my Muggle school's roof...Oh, and let's not forget that I killed our DADA professor Hermione: It was self defense, so it doesn't really count, Harry Ron: Yeah, mate Ginny: Don't blame yourself for that, Harry Luna: And I'm pretty sure Gin told me that Ron told her that you told him and Hermione that the old Voldy was possessing your professor Pansy: Blaise: Draco: Draco: Okay, but...Can we focus on the "I killed a basilisk" part? 'Cause that's kinda hot, not gonna lie

[shoukiko]

How the TF2 Mercs would react to you wanting to paint their nails <3

a/n: I hope you guys will appreciate this, TF2 holds a special place in my heart, I've loved it for years so doing this makes me all giddy inside. If you have ay requests, please message me! I do CoD and TF2!! Enjoy! <3

Scout

Would be like "I ain't into that type of things, Toots."

After some convincing would let you paint his thumb and only his thumb.

Perhaps he sees you all happy while doing it and says it's okay for just *one more* finger.

Square nails, I don't make the rules.

Which then turns into his whole hand.

Shows it off to the team because YOU were the one who did it and they should be jealous.

"TAKE A FUCKIN GANDER YA BUNCH OF PANSIES"

Would pick off the nail polish as a habit during briefings or when he's not paying attention.

Feels bad coming back to you with his awful manicure.

"Don't be such a stick in the mud, at least you get to hold my hand." Dick

Medic

Would love to have you paint his nails, but he thinks it would cause issues during his procedures

Ya know, cuz he doesn't wear gloves....for whatever reason

"Please.... :(" "Oh... Meine Taube.. How can I ever say no to you?"

100% Short round nails. Maybe not slender/skinny fingers, but they're def on the thinner side.

Ends up forcing himself to wear gloves just so they won't get ruined.

He thinks your careful and skilled hands are very attractive and "intriguing" as you paint them.

He's weird like that, You love it.

He loves you....maybe too much....He'd probably cut your hands off if you said yes.

He's the type to ask lol

Spy

No

No again

Stop asking

He wears gloves anyways, why do you want to so bad?

He doesn't have time for these silly games!!!!

"Mon canard, Please. This is too immature for me" "So you're saying you don't love me?" *Smug look*

You win

He has very nice nails by the way. Perfect nails, perfect slender hands.

He doesn't really say much, but you can tell from his eyes he enjoys such an intimate moment.

He tells noone and shows noone, but he likes to be in his room jsut looking at them, thinking of you.

Would do yours if you asked....nicely

Pyro

I mean this is obviously a yes.

The gloves are off before you finish your sentence.

Scarred hands, maybe missing a nail on a finger, but that's okay.

Picks the colors, they want pink. Lotta pink.

Get's excited when you bring up stickers.

Rocks a pink and purple manicure with a flower sticker on their missing nail.

Becomes a weekly thing, your little spa day. :)

Heavy

Skeptical, but why not? Couldn't hurt.

Lot of surface area, dudes hands are bigger than your face.

He finds it amusing that your hands are so small compared to his.

He's letting you paint his nails, but he'd like some dark colors.

Maybe not black, more like blue or maybe red occasionally/

"One sticker?" "No sticker, thank you" "Okay one sticker" "...Okay, for you"

Sniper

"If it'll make ya happy, doll."

Falls asleep as you paint them.

Rough hands, tan lines from his gloves, he has dirty finger nails :Gross:

You throw in some....cleaning... just cuz you care.

I love this man so much, but oh my god I just know he's musty.

You give him plain black nails, one white nail on his ring fingers

You don't do his thumb, you notice the big bruise under his nail, idk what those are called.

I looked it up it's called Garand Thumb (It's so canon)

You fight with him because you wanna know of it's like a hematoma or not (Gross I know, but I'd do it)

Engineer

Well it's not something he'd find himself doing on his own, would probably think it's silly until he met you.

"As long as I don't look all frou frou after, I'm fine with anything Darlin' "

AAAA TALK TO ME LIKE THAT

Thick fingies, like fat hands a bit, slightly rough because of how much he works. Only slightly because he still wears gloves.

I like to think his hands are covered in oil/dirt most of the time, He does wash them, but he's just always workin on something.

Would wash them before you paint them though. Lovely little you can't be getting your perfect hands dirty.

He wants yellow, give him yellow nails. Like sunshine yellow, like his hat.

He thinks it's "Just lovely lookin' "

Demoman

You don't ask, you just paint them while he's passed out drunk.

You give him rainbow nails, Glitter top coat. You're so mean

Surprisingly soft hands, Big and thick, very soft. My goodness you're even jealous by how nice they are.

He even has the perfect nails for painting. What doesnt this man have?

Oh wait

He's PISSED when he wakes up.

Probably calls it gay (But like....worse)

Sees you sad because of how he reacted.

Slumps in his chair, "They're 'right...."

Grows to like them (more like live with them)

Maybe in like 2 weeks to see hims again, they're still painted, just a bit withered away.

He loves em

Soldier

"DO I LOOK LIKE SOME SORT OF PANSY TO YOU, MAGGOT???"

You offer to do them in the colors of the American flag

He accepts obviously

You do it standing up cause he is just...there. Stiff as a board.

Wide nails, Rough knuckles, calluses.

When you're done he salutes you.

"Well done, Maggot. Now I won't have to kill you." Sure buddy

I hope you guys liked it!!

[somesecretpie]

Weather Woman (Short Story)

Forty-seven dead. Bodies near unrecognizable. An eyewitness, Ms. Self, said the weather was to blame but Susan knew it was anything but that. This was homicide. Divine intervention. 

“My poor poor little pansies,” she said, peering over their wilted corpses. It had officially been a whole year since Susan’s county had any rainfall. Several months ago, the town began issuing fines to anyone who dared to water their lawn. Susan did not find this to be much of an issue—she continued to keep her garden green as suburbia withered and died around her, until she ran into a small problem. 

Susan ran out of money.

From all the fines she was paying. 

She reentered her home, morning paper in one hand, and her weekly subscription to “Martha Stewart Living” in the other. Her house was a wondrous temple of correct furniture and appropriate color palettes, bowls of plastic fruit at the center of each faux-mahogany table. Photographs of a happy family arranged in a symmetrical pattern (Not her own, though; they were stock images.) She would have absolute perfection, were it not for that scorched eyesore that marked her entryway garden. 

Susan poured her morning coffee, popped a bagel in the toaster, and turned on the weather channel for her district. That was the only thing she watched now: The weather. Mr. John Sunday in front of his green screen, with his little yellow bowtie, and his eyes the color of the unchanging sky. He looked quite unremarkable for a man that disseminated such important information to the public, but looks can be deceiving. One does not look at a perfect egg and see themselves contracting salmonella.

“Please, John, some rain for my pansies,” Susan whispered into her morning coffee. She turned up the volume and his pleasant voice filled the living room. 

“Good morning, Marin County! It’s gonna be nothing but blue skies this week. Perfect weather for going on a nice long walk. And enjoying all that mother nature has to offer—“

Susan threw her bagel at the television in a fit of anger. Then promptly cleaned it off the floor and swept it into the wastebin. 

What did she do to deserve these never-ending blue skies? I’m a nice woman, aren’t I? she lamented. Don’t I deserve purple pansies? Don’t I deserve a little rain?

There was something malicious and secret behind John’s blue eyes.  Something he knew that she did not. She could not bear to look at them! 

She shut off the TV. 

Her heart beat madly in her chest. What ever would Susan do? Refill her bed of flowers with desert cacti and succulents? No, wrong color palette. Take out a loan to continue watering her plants? Now that would be ridiculous…

The weather was to blame—but Susan had a poor understanding of it. What went on up there in the sky? Who, exactly, could she send a strongly worded email to?

That same morning, Susan Kelvin decided she would take out a loan after all, but not to water her plants. Instead, she would go back to her local community college to study meteorology. She was quite sure that most of her coursework was merely propaganda from Big Weather, but she needed that associate's degree so she could learn that secret that lurked behind the eyes of Mr. John Sunday. So she could join his ranks. So she could become a Weather Woman.

Susan applied to the local television network with high hopes. The fate of her future rested on their acceptance. She snuggled into bed that same night of her application and dreamed of fresh purple pansies dotting the corners of her deep green lawn. But...something was terribly wrong!

Susan gasped for breath and opened her eyes. Strong hands grasped her arms, the fabric of a bag over her face—she was being kidnapped! Oh this is going to work horribly with my schedule! thought Susan. She began to protest but a harsh voice shushed her to silence. She was shoved into a car.

After an hour or so of stumbling around, the bag was lifted, and Susan blinked rapidly. She was in a musty room lit by candles. Deactivated cameras hung on racks against the wall, and a circle of sharply dressed bodies surrounded her, their shadows bending and stretching in the flickering light.

“Welcome,” someone said. “You have been called before our chapter because of your personal obsession with the weather. And from our understanding, your qualifications may permit that obsession to become...something more.”

Susan struggled to get her bearings. In front of her was, if she was not mistaken, sliced tofu arranged into an occult symbol.

“Your name is Susan Kelvin and you have a degree in meteorology from Marin County Community College, is this correct?”

“Yes,” Susan confirmed.

“You live alone, your parents are deceased, and you have no friends or loved ones. Is this also correct?”

“Who are you people?”

Susan then noticed that she recognized the woman sitting on her left—it was Ms. Rivers from channel eight. A proper weatherwoman, straightened and carefully sculpted black hair, with a stormy gray pantsuit that tastefully contrasted against her dark complexion. And to her right was that weatherman from channel seven what’s-his-face (his appearance was not noteworthy). And at the very front, at the head of the body of bodies, the man who had been speaking to her was none other than Mr. John Sunday in his yellow bow tie.

“What interest do you have in becoming a Weather Woman, Ms. Susan Kelvin?”

“I…um…”

They waited patiently for her answer. It suddenly occurred to Susan that this was probably a job interview. She straightened her back and folded her hands in front of her. 

“I believe I could bring a lot of value and a unique perspective to the weather conversation,” Susan said. “It has affected me personally…My district hasn’t had any rain in over a month.”

“I’m sorry,” John said. “That must be terrible for you.”

“What are you apologizing for? You can’t control the weather.”

John Sunday leaned forward, and his blue eyes flashed a deep dark red. “Oh but we can.”

“Can what?”

“We control the weather, Susan.”

Susan narrowed her eyes. “That is completely absurd. You’re all a bunch of wierdo people who kidnapped me and I’m...I’m going to tell the authorities!”

“No one will believe you,” whispered Rivers. 

Susan glared at everyone, but the weather people held still, not a trace of doubt of their ability. But surely the truth about the weather would not be so…uncomplicated. Surely the unseen forces that murdered her flowers would not have human faces. 

“I don’t believe you,” Susan said plainly. “But I do need this job so that I can pay off my student loans–” 

“The forecasters bear a burden.” John ignored her question. The speech was likely rehearsed. “To be a forecaster is self-sacrifice! To be a forecaster is to be a champion of the greater good! Does that describe you, Susan Kelvin?”

She hesitated. 

Champion is rather vague. It can have multiple meanings.

She thought of her beautifully decorated house. 

Oh, but I am certainly good.

She thought of her neighbors and their inferior sense of style.

And I am certainly greater! 

Slowly, Susan nodded her head. 

The weather people muttered amongst themselves enthusiastically, like children, until silenced by John. 

“Excellent,” he said. “Very good. Then, on behalf of the California chapter of forecasters, the masters of the weather, we welcome you. Thank you, Great Mother.”

“Thank you, Great Mother.” the weatherpeople said in tandem. 

Someone clapped twice, and the overhead lamps blasted light everywhere. 

“You’ll be shadowing Rivers tomorrow at eight. Look sharp,” John said dramatically, but without the candlelight defining his cheekbones, it was quite hard to take him seriously. 

The next day, Susan arrived at exactly eight o’ clock, wearing her best suit, and hair pulled back in a tight bun. She found Rivers, on set, eating conservatively from a bag of soynuts. 

“Oh hey! It’s you,” the weatherwoman said. “Sorry about all that cult stuff. John can be so dramatic.”

Susan smiled in relief, but quickly hid it away. “That is an understatement,” she muttered. “Will there be any more kidnappings?”

“Only for your monthly status report,” she said, “But give me your number and I can text you before it happens.”

Susan did so hesitantly, and kept staring at her phone after the fact. She had one whole contact now. How quaint. 

That day, Susan was supposed to examine the cue cards, inspect the camera crews, and stare intently at the weatherwoman, noting every minute thing she did. Rivers delivered her forecast with a smile. Blue skies again. 

“That’s disappointing,” Susan said to her over lunch. “I was hoping for some rain in my district.”

“John already has the weather planned out for the next few weeks,” Rivers said stiffly. “So sorry.”

Susan did not laugh. “This again? Tell me you do not believe this “controlling the weather” nonsense! You are not wizards!”

“Did you not see our occult symbols?”

Susan swatted at the air. “Meaningless shapes.”

“And what about John’s flashing red eyes?”

Susan’s voice lowered to a whisper, “Now, I don’t know about that…But he should see a medical professional.”

Rivers rolled her eyes and left to prepare for her evening forecast. When it was  done and there were no more cue cards to read from, she very quickly told the audience, in a joking manner, that there would be isolated showers over their recording studio from exactly five fifty PM to five fifty one PM. She then strut off the stage with a smirk. 

“Well, that’s an oddly specific forecast—“ 

The weather woman grabbed her by the wrist and led her all the way to the back-door exit with the recycling and the parking lot. 

“Check your phone,” Rivers said. 

Susan did not see why she should, there would be no messages. This was because she only had one contact, you see. But as she held her phone in her hand, a large raindrop splattered on the screen. Then another. And now rain was pouring from the sky, dripping down her hair and suit. Susan’s jaw dropped. She had not felt rain in so long. It was five-fifty. And by five fifty-one, the clouds departed as if swept away by a large broom. The sunlight stung her face. 

Rivers smiled at her. 

So they really did control the weather. 

This revelation posed a great many questions. Like, why did the public not know about this? And why did the weathercasters have these powers? And why had Susan studied for two years to become a meteorologist when she could just pulled forecasts out of her asshole? Susan frowned. Now that she thought about it, it was rather odd that her meterology courses mostly consisted of specifications for ritual sacrifice and obedience lessons. Susan had simply thought it was “one of those things” about academia. 

“Well, Rivers…”

“Yes, Susan?”

“I suppose this whole “forecasting” thing is...it’s fun, isn’t it?”

“Fun doesn’t do it justice!” Rivers said, through a handful of soynuts. “Just knowing how much power there is behind your every word. So long the camera is rolling, there is nothing stopping you from doing anything you damn well please!” Rivers laughed heartily, but kept her eyes trained on Susan. “Except your conscience, of course!”

“Oh, yes,” Susan said. “Ha ha!”

Fun doesn’t do it justice…It had been a while since Susan Kelvin had fun. She tried to remember when that was. 

Oh, yes, of course!

It had been two weeks ago. Susan had just gotten home from work after a rough day, shoulders drooping, hair ruffled, when she looked down on her front porch and saw a beetle. The bug was turned on its back, legs flailing weakly in the air. There was nothing nearby for grasping, nothing but hot sunburned concrete. This bug had no way of righting itself yet it struggled still. Susan sat down and watched this bug. She watched it until it stopped moving. Until it returned to its natural state. Nonexistence. That had been fun, Susan remembered fondly. I am eager to have fun again. 

After two days of shadowing Rivers, Susan was given her own partition of airtime over her district and a weekly forecast by her fellow weatherpeople. She delivered the forecast exactly as instructed. Blue skies. 

“Pretty good for a first-time,” Rivers said. “Although, you were a bit stiff. Trying showing more emotion, more body language, you know?” She placed her fingers on her own cheekbones, pressing them upward. “Remember to smile.”

Susan didn’t know why she hadn’t. Perhaps she wasn’t having fun yet. She spent the rest of that evening practicing smiling in the mirror. She read Martha Stewart, baked a five-cheese lasagna exactly per the instructions, and smiled upon removing it from the oven like Martha Stewart did in the picture. She smiled until she did it without thinking, baring her teeth even in bed, as she dreamed of purple pansies. 

The next day, she delivered her forecast so well that even John himself gave her a flamboyant “Well done!” And Susan smiled at them as they congratulated her—but still she was not having fun. 

All this power and I never get to do anything worthwhile. Susan sighed. I could fix my front lawn if only John would let me.

Later at the meeting, Susan tried to articulate her feelings. 

“We could be doing so much more, John. We could be helping the needy, like those poor people of Marin County who’s front lawns have been destroyed by the California heat!”

The weather people muttered undecidedly. Susan recognized her experiences were not universal, and acted accordingly, “Or what about people affected by hurricanes! Or wildfires, droughts, what about them, John! All those poor people we could help with our power—“

“Our power is a gift, you fool!” John snapped. 

Susan raised an eyebrow. “A gift?”

“From Zietzebala,” said Rivers. “Our Great Mother Earth. She has gifted us with this forecasting power in exchange for our obedience as well as a few…sacrifices.”

“Ah.” Susan looked down. “And I suppose they have to be virgins too, don’t they. I’m still friends on facebook with a lot of men I went to highschool with who are probably–”  

“No! Dammit, no! I meant, like, recycle. Plant a tree!” John looked exasperated. “Sometimes we sacrifice a tofurky, but we’ve never really gone farther than that.”

“Maybe we should,” muttered Rivers.

John turned sharply to look at her. “Don’t think I don’t know about that little stunt you pulled yesterday,” he said with a voice like acid. “Isolated showers? Over our studio? You know how important the schedule is–”

“I’m sorry.” Rivers said. She did not appear sorry. “It will not happen again.”

“It had better not.”

John left the room in a huff.

Once he was safely out of earshot, Susan asked “What did you mean by that?”

Rivers sighed. “I know what you mean about wanting to help. About all the good we could do. Climate change has already killed millions…and the death toll will continue to rise.”

Susan thought of her dead flowers and trembled. 

“Don’t feel bad, Rivers,” she said. “It’s not your fault.”

“No but it is literally our fault we control the weather Susan.“

“Oh right.”

Susan had forgotten. 

Rivers began crushing the snacks in her hand. “The horrible thing is–I could fix it all. I have an incredibly detailed plan to fix the environment that, when I placed it on the alter to Zietzebala, turned into a swarm of doves! So I know she approves!”

Rivers glared. “But her pact is with John. And John has a bad heart.”

Susan nodded. “Truly a wicked man.”

“No, he literally has a bad heart. Arrhythmia.” Rivers hit twice against her chest. “I’m next in line for leadership if ever something terrible happens to him, just so you know.” She looked askance, placing her hand on Susan’s. “Do with that information what you will, Susan.”

Several things flashed through her mind at once. She saw Rivers dressed in the fanciful robes of climate cult leader. Rivers telling her how beautiful her lawn was. River’s soft, well-manicured hands holding hers, not just now, but over and over again in the future. Rivers could be more than her singular phone contact. Susan’s cheeks grew hot and she withdrew.

“Susan?”

She collected herself, pouring another class of ceremonial non-alcoholic wine. She raised it in a toast. “Here’s to hoping John drops dead!” 

Rivers laughed, “Oh Susan, you’re so funny.”

Ms. Susan Kelvin squeezed her incredibly soft hand. “And when you’re head forecaster, you’ll give my district some water, won’t you? Because we are…coworkers?”

Ms. Rivers seemed confused for a half-second, then replied. “Of course! We will help everyone, which includes you!” 

“But not me specifically?”

“Not you specifically, no.”

“Oh.”

Susan looked away. 

Rivers offered her a soynut, but Susan refused it. 

***

Next morning, Susan awoke with a start. She had a good feeling about today, that good feeling had apparently kicked her out of bed at an hour earlier than usual. What to do with the spare time?

She clapped her hands together. I know! I will go out for breakfast!

So Susan drove her little car down to her neighborhood Denny’s, avoiding all the dead beetles in the parking lot with her new high heels. She squeezed herself into a cozy booth. A nice table all to herself. 

A waitress approached. 

“Brown toast, and two eggs please.”

“Will that be sunny-side up, ma’am?”

“No no,” Susan turned from the window. Blue skies. With a twinge of bitterness she clarified, “I like my eggs over easy.”

“Sure thing!” The waitress jotted it down. “Sorry for assuming, most people like ‘em sunny—.”

“Well I like them over easy,” Susan said with a smile. 

Susan tapped her heel as she waited, sipping some lemon water. A tingling feeling ran up her leg, like a bug was crawling. She quickly ran her hand up and down her smooth leg, but it was nothing. Nothing. 

Moments later a steaming hot plate arrived. The toast was cut into triangles (the only adequate shape), but the eggs. Oh, the eggs. They were sunny. Side. UP. 

Susan stormed out of the establishment without paying, and sped to her job, positively seething. 

She did her broadcast as normal, except for one teensy addition as follows: 

“Lastly, you’ll be seeing a horrific category five hurricane over in Marin county with wind speeds of about one hundred twenty miles an hour. It will be localized entirely within this area.” Susan pointed with her pointing stick to the map, on which she’d drawn a red circle around that one particular Denny’s.” Susan smiled. “That will be all!”

They cut to commercial break. 

No one approached Susan for a full five minutes. Then John appeared, apparently having powerwalked from the adjoining broadcast room.

“Susan, what the hell–”

“It was a joke!”

John looked flabbergasted. 

Susan made a silly face. 

“A…joke?” 

“Yes.”

He shook his head. “Susan…you need to be really fucking careful with “jokes” when you’re on camera…You’re not in training anymore. Everything you say will happen no matter how ridiculous.”

Susan smiled slightly. That was exactly what she hoped.

John put a firm hand on her shoulder. “Look here, when the commercial ends, you are going to tell everyone that was a “joke”. You are going to tell everyone that there will be no category five hurricane at that particular Denny’s. Okay?”

“Okay, John.”

He backed away as the camera man counted down. Susan straightened her collar.

“Good evening, Citizens of Marin county. I have something to tell you all about that Category Five hurricane I mentioned earlier.”

Susan thought about reversing her decision. But why should she? That Denny’s had tried to poison her. She was doing God’s work. 

She cleared her throat. “That hurricane is going to have hail. So so much hail.” John was pulling at his hair.  

“And that’s not all. Susan looked directly at the camera, “Mr. John Sunday is going to die at exactly six forty-seven PM, and nothing that anyone does, not any doctor, not any ambulance, not any priest will be able to stop it.”

John Sunday ran onto the set, jumping over the rolling chairs and camera crew, reaching for her microphone. 

“And the power to this station will go off NOW.”

Darkness fell. Susan tried to run, but John tackled her to the ground. He pulled the microphone from her face and shouted into it, “No! No that will not happen, actually, that will not happen. Susan is wrong!” 

But the cameras were not running.

“You’re too late, John.”

John clutched his face.

“What time is it?”

It was six forty-six. 

There was terror in his eyes, “That wasn’t even weather related!” he stammered. “You will be fired for this!”

“Who is going to fire me, John?”

John took out his cellphone with a shaking hand and dialed 911. Susan heard it ringing, a steady pulse in his hand. But what John really needed was a steady pulse in his heart. He fell over in agony, and Susan bent over his writhing body. She watched until it stopped. Until it returned to it’s natural state. Nonexistence. Now she was having fun. Susan took his yellow bow tie (it was a clip-on.)

She ran through the crowd of concerned onlookers, off to her car to beat the rush-hour traffic. She heard sirens in the distance, a wailing chorus. Approaching. She clutched the wheel until her knuckles turned white.

Susan saw the siren was that of an ambulance and sighed. Pity that it wouldn’t help anything. What was done was done. 

That night, Susan made tea before sleeping, listening to the soft rain against her window as it cooled, with one of Martha Stewart's Living magazines resting on her lap. It was all very calming. She tucked herself into bed at exactly nine-thirty, as she did every night, and slept as she had always slept. 

But in her dreams, something was wrong. 

Something was terribly wrong.

Susan always dreamed about being in her house, but now she was on a pedestal. On all sides of her, a dark abyss stretched down into infinity. 

Instead of her carpet, the ground was teeming with worms. 

Instead of the whistling of her teakettle, she heard an ominous wind, delivering muffled shrieks and cries.

Susan tapped her foot on the wormy ground. Well, this is boring! she thought.

But no sooner did her mind form that thought than the wind began to pick up. 

Howling now. 

And from the sky of inclement weather came a flash of blinding lightning. Susan opened her eyes and who should stand before her but...

“Martha Stewart!” Susan struggled to speak. “I am your biggest fan, I’ve—I’ve read every issue of your magazine, I read your blog—I try so hard to be just like you!”

The woman answered in a booming voice that was far too deep, “But you are not like me, Susan. You are a hollow vessel. You are a parody of human being.”

“You’re not...really Martha Stewart, are you?”

The woman bared her teeth. “I’m afraid not. I am merely taking a form that you can understand.”

Susan had a feeling she knew who it was. “Are you... Great Mother?”

“The one and only!” Zietzebala winked. 

Susan looked her up and down. That dress was actually quite unfashionable now that she really looked at it. In hindsight it was obvious this was not Martha Stewart. Susan sighed soberly. Yes, not even a literal goddess can replicate such perfection.

Susan spoke to her in her usual condescending manner. “Why have you come to me like this...in a dream?”

“Isn’t it obvious why I’m here?” Not-Martha-Stewart said softly. “John Sunday is dead.”

Susan began to sweat. She adjusted her bow tie—no that was John’s bow tie, now she had drawn attention to it!

 With the intention of discreteness, and complete failure of that which was intended, Susan removed the article and hurled it into the abyss. Not even a full second later, the bow tie had reappeared. 

Again, Susan tossed it. 

Again, it reappeared. 

Again, she tossed it. 

Bow tie back again!

Again, she tossed it—

“This is who you are now, Susan!” shouted Zietzebala. Crackling thunder leapt from her perfect face-framing bob-cut of yellow hair. “This is your burden.” 

But the yellow of the bow tie didn’t even go with the current color palette of her outfit! Susan stood helplessly, in her persistently unfashionable clothing, staring into the eyes of this unearthly creature. And for the first time in her perfect life, Susan feared for her immortal soul. 

“Great Mother, I am so sorry,” she said tearfully, “But you must let me explain myself! He was preventing me from doing my job as a forecaster, so I had to kill him. I had to!”

Not-Martha-Stewart's eyes flashed red. “Don’t take all the credit, my child. I killed him. You merely allowed me to.”

Susan stopped pretending to look upset. “Oh. So we are on the same page?”

“Not exactly.” 

The Great Mother began to circle her, her high heels striking the writhing ground. “John is dead because he thought he could worship two gods at once.”

“He cheated on you?”

“With money.” Zietzebala shook her head. “John was too soft, much like the tofu he insists on sending me…He was unwilling to make the sacrifices I demand. But are you?”

The goddess was getting too close for comfort. 

“That…depends…what they are?”

“I want blood, Susan.”

She had figured. 

“Rivers has a two hundred page plan on how to save the environment. You are instrumental to that plan, Susan Kelvin. Because you are unlike any human I have ever known.” Her eyes glimmered like starlight. “You are…completely empty.”

Susan frowned. She felt strange. She felt used.

“I must go now–”

“Wait,” Susan stopped her. “While you’re here, can I ask you some questions about the nature of the universe? I’ve had a sudden stroke of curiosity.”

Zietzebala sighed. “Ok. I’ll give you three.”

“Objectively speaking, is the “Farmhouse style” or “Riverside cottage” style superior for a home kitchen?”

“That depends on the context, Susan.”

“Why are all the flowers in the magazines prettier than mine?”

“Because of the drought, Susan.”

She paused. Her last question��What shall it be?

After putting some thought into it, Susan decided to ask, “Is there life after death?”

Zietzebala smirked playfully. “Oh, I think you already know the answer.”

“Do I?”               

“Haven't you ever thought there was a bug on your leg, and upon looking, found there was no bug?”

Susan squinted. “What of it?”

The Goddess leaned in closely. “Ghost bugs.”

Susan shuddered, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. Susan grabbed onto the front of the goddess’s coat. 

“Wait, I have one more question.”

“I said I’d give you three.”

“Please, just one more!” Susan demanded. “Are there other gods?”

“You already know the answer.”

Susan scoffed. “I’m…not sure that I do!”

Zietzebala turned from her, staring into the abyss. “It is time for you to wake up, Susan. Remember all that I have told you. Collaborate with Rivers. Eliminate everyone she tells you to.”

“What?”

“Be the good that Martha Stewart wants you to be–or there will be consequences!”

With that, she clapped twice and disappeared in a puff of smoke that smelled like cedar and pumpkin-scented candles. 

Susan sat up from her bed abruptly and jerked her head to the side. Six o’ clock. I must get ready for work!

Susan hurriedly bread her hands, popped her soap in the toaster, ironed the carpet, and tore down Main Street. In her urgency, she went two miles above the speed limit. 

Seeds of doubts sprouted worries in her mind. Do I really have what it takes to be an eco-terrorist? Susan fancied herself the very image of perfection. Was she not? She who kept her lawn so neatly trimmed? Who’s china was so neatly kept? Susan breathed rapidly. She who ravaged a Denny’s…

Destruction. 

Peace. 

Order. 

Susan whirled into the parking lot of the recording studio, blew past everyone without a word, avoiding inquisitive eyes, avoiding accusatory fingers, planting her ass firmly in her little red rolling chair. She took a deep breath. Be the good…that Martha Stewart wants you to be. 

Rivers ran up on stage, grabbed Susan’s face and kissed her passionately. Susan stumbled backwards, bracing herself against the desk. This was NOT an appropriate workplace activity. But Susan could not help herself. She returned the expression, kissing Rivers hungrily, barely noticing the notecards that had been pressed into her hand. 

“We’re on in five!”

Rivers pulled away and Susan gasped for breath. “Read these exactly as they are written Susan,” Rivers said. 

Susan dared not look down at the paper in her hand. What horrible dreadful things would be written on them?

Television static buzzed in her head. Someone was counting down. 

The cameras trained on her. 

“Now we will go live to Susan Kelvin with the weather!” The news reporter  eyed Susan from her screen. “And I see you are wearing John Sunday’s signature yellow bow tie.”

Susan leaned forward slowly. 

“That I am, Fiona. I have worn it to pay my respects—God rest his soul.”

“It’s kind of weird that you were able to forecast his death in such perfect detail.”

Susan paused. 

“Yes well…he had a heart condition. So it was only a matter of time really. 

“Of course.”

Susan exhaled deeply, and looked down. 

Written on the notecards were not the names of oil barons to kill. Not golf courses to destroy. Not death, not destruction. Written on the card was simply the words “rain for everyone”

The television static grew purple.

Rain for everyone. 

It was insulting.

“...Susan?”

Her eyes met Rivers. She was grinning ear to ear. 

Rain for everyone.

Susan’s whole body shook as she began to deliver her forecast, “A cloud… will appear.”

The room melted away, only Rivers remained. 

“Right over my house. A cloud will appear and it will rain. And it will never stop raining.”

Rivers smile twisted into a look of abject horror. 

“And my pansies will respond to the rain. They will be the brightest purple. They will be the envy of all you disgusting animals.” Susan hadn’t noticed but she was screaming every word.

The ground beneath the recording studio quaked from thunder. The contract had been broken, wrath was eminent. 

“I AM NOT EMPTY! I AM FULL OF PANSIES! I AM FULL OF RAIN.” 

Flowers began sprouting from Susan’s ears, nose and eyes. Water poured from her mouth onto the floor. Choking on rain, Susan finished her forecast.

“And that…just about…wraps it up. Ba–ck…to you!”

A bolt of lightning shot down from the heavens, miraculously cutting through the walls of the recording studio, striking Susan. She fell from the stage. Shortly after, more bolts came and the recording studio violently burst into flames.

Forty-seven dead. Bodies near unrecognizable. Eyewitnesses said that the weather was to blame but Ms. Rivers knew that it was anything but that. Homicide. Divine intervention.

Rivers stood alone in the parking lot, charred bow tie in one hand, and in the other, a flash drive that contained the cure for the goddess of earth. The only god. “Damn you.” Her fingers closed around the yellow cloth. The weather was about to get so much worse.

But for now, rain fell in sheets from the sky above Susan Kelvin's house, with no sign of stopping. Her pansy grew taller than cornstalks, stretching upwards, garishly purple. But Susan would never see them. Susan Kelvin was gone. 

Though, some say that on hot summer days when the sky is endless blue, at the back of your neighborhood Denny’s, you can feel her.

Crawling on your leg.  

[hp-hcs]

(Fine, I’ll do it my damn self: part 1 of my silly lil mlm stories <3)

Gay Awakening (Chapter One) — smitten! mattheo riddle x male! reader

TWs: tobacco & alcohol use, internalized homophobia, homophobic slurs (once)

hella ooc mattheo. congrats, ur his gay awakening, and he’s an absolutely smitten lil gay mess for you but yk he’s trying

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Hey, dude. Who’s that?” Theodore asked, bumping Mattheo’s arm to get his attention, then pointing his fork in your direction. You were sitting at the very end of the table’s bench, wearing an oversized black muggle hoodie with your green tie loose and haphazardly slung around your neck. You were animatedly talking with, out of all people, a Hufflepuff. The Hufflepuff girl sitting at the Slytherin table either seemed to be completely unaware of the looks she was receiving, or she was steadfastly ignoring them. Your laugh cut through the room, the Hufflepuff cracking up with you.

“American transfer students,” Malfoy sneered. “They clearly don’t know the rules yet.”

“Oh, shut up, Draco,” Pansy rolled her eyes, resting her chin on her hand and looking at the Hufflepuff for a moment too long.

Draco scoffed, clearly offended. “Whatever. They’re probably faggots anyway.”

Pansy whirled around with a furious expression. Mattheo himself flinched slightly at the slur, which caused Blaise to look at him questioningly. Once Mattheo had waved Blaise’s unspoken question off, Zabini shrugged, leaning over and muttering in his ear, “Ten galleons says she brings up Potter.”

“-and everyone knows that you have a crush on Harry Motherfucking Potter, so maybe you should take your bigotry and shove it right up your-”

“Pansy?” you questioned, awkwardly standing across from her. “Here, ‘m supposed t’ give this to you.”

You leaned across the table to drop a folded up note in front of her, allowing Mattheo to catch a faint whiff of your cologne. You looked back down at the floor shyly, hurrying back to your spot at the end of the table.

“He’s hot,” Theo shrugged, taking a bite of his toast. “I call dibs.”

“You can’t call dibs on the guy who just asked Pansy out, dipshit.”

“Actually, it’s a note from the ‘puff,” Pansy interjected, twisting her wrist around to show off the neat cursive written in a purple glitter gel pen. “She wants to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend, dipshit.”

“Yeah, dipshit,” Mattheo teased Theodore. “Plus, I think Malfoy already called dibs on him, so tough luck.”

Theo blew a raspberry at him, only a slight distraction from where Mattheo’s comment had fueled another Pansy-rant and left Draco sinking low in his seat as if he wanted to disappear.

~~~

“Alright, Zabini, you’re up. What classic novel is a satirical adaptation of R. M. Ballantyne’s The Coral Island?”

“Why the fuck would I know that, Berkshire?”

“Blaise forfeits! Sudden death round is down to just us, Riddle,” Theo crowed excitedly, watching as the score quill of the charmed muggle trivia game scratched Blaise’s name off of the paper score sheet, drawing a condescending frowny face next to it.

Enzo laughed, flipping over the little hourglass timer. “If anyone can answer in the next thirty seconds, they automatically win the game.”

“No idea,” Mattheo shrugged. Theodore spun his rings around on his fingers before shrugging too.

“The Lord of the Flies,” your quiet voice pipes up. The game players all look over in your direction from where you’ve just entered the common room—coming back from the library, it looked like, if the stack of books in your hands explained anything.

“What?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow and sneering.

“The Lord of the Flies,” you repeated. “William Golding. Fantastic book.”

Malfoy huffed. “And who are you, exactly?”

“Y/n L/n,” you introduced yourself, nodding politely in their direction before wordlessly disappearing up the dorm room stairs.

Mattheo stared after you alongside his friends, none of them immediately noticing the charmed quill writing your name down on the score card as the winner.

~~~

“C’n I bum a smoke?” your sleepy voice called softly from behind Mattheo. He turned around from his spot on the otherwise unoccupied balcony to see you rubbing your eyes, a fuzzy green blanket draped around your shoulders. He cleared his throat and nodded, fishing a fresh cigarette out of the pack and holding it out to you. His heart rate stuttered for a moment when your fingers brushed against his.

“Thanks,” you muttered, using a wandless incantation to light it. Mattheo leaned back against the railing, taking a drag from his half-finished cigarette and blowing the smoke out thoughtfully.

“Why’re you up? It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

Maybe it was his well-meaning-but-patronizing phrasing or the confidence-imbued late night cigarette, but you clicked your tongue once and said in a short, clipped tone, “Oh, shut the fuck up, you hypocrite.”

Mattheo barked out a surprised laugh, choking on his lungful of smoke and falling into a coughing fit.

“Language, L/n,” he teased.

“English, Riddle,” you snickered back.

He grinned at you, blushing a nice pink color as you both smoked in a comfortable silence for a moment.

“My roommate brought some girl back from the party he went to,” you say after a while. “Didn’t want to deal with all that.”

“Ah,” Mattheo nodded slowly. “Boys seem to lose all of their brain cells as soon as they come within a ten-foot radius of a hot girl.”

You snort. “Not all of us.”

“Yeah?” he questioned, in a way he hoped came off as nonchalant, even though he was internally freaking out. “No lucky lady piquing your interest?”

“This may shock you, but believe it or not, I’m not actually into girls at all,” you snort again, dropping the cigarette butt and grinding it into the ground with the toe of your sneaker.

“Really?” he asked in a high voice before loudly clearing his throat. “I mean- really? That’s cool. Uh, m-me too.”

“Yeah?” you glanced up at him curiously. “Huh. I wouldn’t’a guessed.”

“Can I kiss you, Y/n?” Mattheo blurted out, immediately snapping his mouth shut and mentally facepalming.

“Sure,” you shrugged.

“Huh?”

“I said sure.”

The poor boy was frozen in place, gaping at you. Taking pity on him, you made the first move—tugging on his tie to pull him down to your level.

His hand found the back of your neck, gripping it while kissing you softly—much more gently than you would’ve expected.

When you broke apart, he looked like he’d just been enlightened. Like he might've actually shouted eureka! and run off.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “I’ve never kissed a guy before- holy shit.” He laughs freely, cupping your face to kiss you again.

“So what now, Archimedes?” At his confused expression you elaborated, “Muggle reference, sorry.”

He nodded slowly, his fingers automatically winding their way into the hair at the nape of your neck. “Well… you could sleep with me tonight,” he offered after a moment. “Y’know, so you don’t have to deal with your roommate.”

“Oh, um, I’m not really that type of guy, Mattheo…” you trailed off.

“Oh!” His eyes widened in panic. “I didn’t mean to imply- I mean, not that I wouldn’t love- I meant we could just literally sleep in the same bed!”

You giggled, a bit relieved. “I’d like that.”

He took a deep breath, smiling hesitantly at you. “No funny business, promise. All at your discretion.”

He held out his hand to you, and you took it immediately, leaning into his side.

“So about that fight between Malfoy and Pansy…”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Chapter Two

[vodika-vibes]

Hey! Congratulations on the followers! I love your fics! I've just refound tumblr and have been obsessed with TBB and TCW .

May I please have a pansy and a purple lilac with TBB Tech and a F!reader?

Tiny Dancer

Summary: You own a dance studio on a small mid-rim world, which has started to have some severe electrical problems. Luckily, Tech is your neighbor and he's happy to help.

Pairing: TBB Tech x F!Reader

Word Count: 1120

Prompts: Pansy - You occupy my thoughts; Purple Lilac - first love

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: So, this is my first time writing Tech, so I hope I did him justice. And if I didn't, please let me know so I can do better next time. But! Welcome back to Tumblr and our little corner filled with Clones!

Once upon a time, before the war, you would travel from planet to planet, learning different dances from different people across the galaxy.

And, though you don’t like to brag, you like to think that you’re something of an expert in most forms of dancing. 

But when the War started, you were forced to find a safe planet to live on. Which is how you ended up here. On some mid-rim planet, running a dance studio for anyone who wants to learn.

Sure, the war is over, but with the Empire…

Well, it’s just not safe to travel anymore. 

Still, you like to think that you’re making the best of it. Or, well, you hope you are, in any event.

“You have no idea how grateful I am for this, Tech.” You say brightly to the tall man who’s standing on a ladder with his head half in your ceiling, “I would hate for someone to get hurt because of poor wiring. And the electrician I spoke to was so dismissive-”

“I am happy to help,” Tech says as he pulls his head out of the ceiling to look at you, “So far, however, I am not seeing any problems.”

Concern crosses your face, “Oh, but I saw-”

“I believe you.” He sits on the top of the ladder, “Is there another electrical panel somewhere?”

“Um…” You think back to what the previous owner said to you when you purchased the building, “The basement, I think.”

“Then we can look there next.” He climbs down the ladder, and snaps it closed before he leans it against one of the padded walls, “After you.”

You lead Tech through the studio, until you get to the basement door. You quickly unlock it, and then have to use your whole body weight to pull it open, “Sorry.” You say as you stumble back into him, “The door has always done that.”

Tech steadies you with a hand on your shoulder, “I can fix that.” He offers.

You beam at him, “Oh! Can you really? That would be wonderful!”

He stares at you for a moment, and then averts his gaze with a cough, “Yes, well. We should deal with the electrical problem first.”

“When you’re right, you’re right.” You reply with a bubbly laugh, before you turn and flip the lightswitch, and lead him down the concrete steps, “Sorry for the mess. I mostly use this as storage. And the previous owner left a bunch of junk behind when he moved out. I kind of hoped that a member of his family would come to claim it, but no dice.”

You step off the stairs, and push a stack of boxes out of the way, to make room for Tech.

“How much of this belongs to you?” Tech asks, as he pushes several boxes out of the way as well.

“Less than a quarter.” You admit with a sigh, “But I don’t want to just throw it all away, it’s not mine. Oh, the electrical box is on the back wall, I think.”

Tech sighs softly when he sees the stacks of boxes blocking his path to the electrical box, and you duck your head with a mumbled apology. “If I had known that physical labor was involved, I would have brought Wrecker.”

You giggle, “Sorry. But I do appreciate you doing this for me. I kind of expected you to tell me to kriff off.”

He shoots you an odd look, “You really think that?”

You shrug, “You’re a nice guy, Tech, but most people don’t exactly like having their freetime claimed by other people.” You grin at him, “I wouldn’t have minded if you said no, but I’m so glad you said yes.”

Tech releases a quiet laugh, “I do not think anyone can say no to you, least of all me.”

“Least of all?”

“Sorry?”

“You said ‘least of all’,” You clarify, “Why least of all?”

“Oh.” He glances at you out of the corner of his eyes, even as he slides boxes and old mats out of the way, “Because I think about you all the time. And I am pretty sure that I am in love with you. Though I am still trying to figure that out.”

You fumble with the small box you’re carrying, and only manage to not drop it because you set it on another box, “What?”

“Did you not think it was strange that I am always eager to help you?”

You stare at him, “No! I thought you just liked helping people!”

“I like helping you, specifically. You have never been bothered by my rambling.” Tech replies, “Even my own brothers tell me to shut up from time to time, but you never have.”

“Honestly, Tech, I didn’t think I was your type.” You admit sheepishly, “So I kind of slotted you in the ‘look but don’t touch’ column.”

“Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know if you noticed,” You say dryly, “But I’m a bit…flighty.”

“I noticed that, yes.”

“And, like, super scatterbrained. And not all that smart-”

“Do you want to know the first good memory I have of this planet?” Tech interrupts you.

“-uh…sure?”

“The summer dance festival.” Tech says, turning to watch you, “You were wearing this sheer material that reminded me of the ocean, and you were dancing to some type of music that I have never heard before-”

“I remember that. I was the opening act for the little ones.” You say with a small smile.

“It was the most beautiful thing that I have ever seen in my life,”

“I…really?”

“I think about that more than I should.” Tech admits, not the least bit ashamed.

You press your hands against your burning cheeks, “Oh.”

“If I have made you uncomfortable-”

“No! No! Not at all!” You blurt, and then you giggle, “I’m actually really, really happy.”

Tech pauses, “Happy enough to go on a date with me?”

You beam at him, “I’d really like that!”

A small smile crosses his face, “Then we can work out the details when we are finished here.” His smile grows when he hears you giggling even more.

“Alright! Then we should probably get to work moving the boxes.” You add as you force yourself to get your giggles under control. And then you grin, and quickly dart to his side and press a quick kiss to his cheek, before you pull away, “I have a box cart thing upstairs, let me go grab it!”And as you dart up the stairs, you see Tech press his hand against his cheek, where you just kissed him, and a bubbly giggle slips from your lips. This is the best day ever.

[innocent-cat]

Ok but. Percy’s idea of romance is most definitely from his parents. Traditional romance, courtly love and chivalry. Him sending flowers to reader as a secret admirer and her not getting it at all because they’re all single flowers that are very different. Until she drags Keyleth into it and they do some research. Look up “Victorian Language of Flowers” for inspo.

“Undying love” “true beauty” and all kinds of sweet meanings behind each flower. He’d get Keyleth to help because she’s a romantic and number 1 shipper.

HEY guess whose back xx

Percival de Rolo x Reader

Warnings - cussing lol, sharp objects????

"Victorian ways of loving.", Percy x Reader

.·:*¨༺༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺༻

(A/N - very thankful thank you to leopard for giving me the silly little flower sites for this!!!)

Recently, you had gained a secret admirer. Overall? Weird. But.. entertainment wise? The most interesting mystery you've put yourself up to in a while.

Of course, it wasn't just you who was "solving" the case of a seemingly allergy-less admirer, it was Keyleth helping you. Knowing she worked so well with plants, who else was there really to go to?

Every time you received a new flower on your windowsill, your doorstep, or handed to you by someone on the street, you giddily sped-walk to the druid's ivied library she hung around daily.

"You'll never guess what I got this time, Keyleth. A single violet."

"..That's not a violet."

Taking the delicate flower from your hand, she rotates it clockwise and counter, careful not to touch the petals. She smiles. Still looking at the flower, she speaks;

"This is an Iris flower. Isn't she so gorgeous? Whoever gave you this, has to be thinking into something a little more than just flowers. I mean, I've personally never seen someone just give less than a bouquet of flowers to a special someone, have you?"

She shakes her ideas off onto you, still analyzing the flower. You lean against the table she was just sitting at, and watched her explore the library with the Iris.

"Where you going?"

"To get a book on Victorian flowers, of course. I remember my mom telling me something about Victorian flower meanings being something heavily carried throughout the years."

You followed Keyleth on her heels, sticking close to her and watching her actions. Her finger glides against the cloth covers of books, as she whispers, 'Victorian flowers, Victorian flowers, Victoriannn..' She lets out a small gasp, and leans the book out of it's place.

"Here it is! C'mon. Let's sit."

Sitting down, she heaves a sigh.

"So. Tell me all about those flowers you've been getting." She raises her eyebrows, flipping through the pages of the book, the scent of aged paper wafting faintly into your nose. She flipped, occasionally turning back for the table of contents.

"Well.. there've been a few. The first time I got one from them? It were these yellow little pansies. It was wrapped with a thin purple ribbon. I bit the stem, it was a little sour."

"Why would- Iris! Well, reads here that your little lover here is trying to say they think you're smart, and they put faith in you. Isn't that just so romantic?" Keyleth smiles, reading the words with her fingers.

"Well- what about the pansies?" You scoot closer to Keyleth, eyeing the book next to her.

"Hey, while I find flowers, why don't you keep telling me about the little expressions of romance you received?"

"Oh! You know what? There was this pair of flowers I got three days ago. Cute little white and pink daisies. It had a lively sense to it."

You listened to Keyleth flip through pages, double checking the contents, book marking pages with her fingers. You watched her read the page numbers to herself.

"Okay, pansies and daises right here! Lets read?" She turned a smile to you, bringing the book to the middle of the two of you. She points, she reads.

'Pansies. A flower commonly traded between secret lovers, but evolved into a flower that expresses to the receiver that the giver has been thinking of them.' She stops.

She reads again.

'Daisies. A flower that belongs to the 'Aster' branch. With a variety of colors, they were used to express differentiating terms. Most commonly for romance, white and pink were used. The white flowers expressed true, and pure love. The pink daises were often associated and linked to gentleness, romance, and love.'

Keyleth lets in a sharp breath. She had read all that in one go, and you didn't blame her for needing air.

"Isn't that so cute? Agh! You guys would be so cute together."

"We don't even know whose giving me these, Keyleth. What if it's like- some super betrayal from some random guy who hates us?"

"Uhm. It wont." Keyleth shined a toothy grin to you, and turned back to her book, to the contents.

"Well.. two days ago I got a bush heliotrope. It had a note in it. I think I remember it saying something about the sun. Super weird and poetic."

Keyleth leans forward, sitting her head up on her hand.

"Why don't you go get that for me, then? I don't think that's a flower in here.." She frowned.

"Yeah! Of course." You pushed your chair back, pushing yourself up with the table.

You frizz Keyleth's hair before continuing out the library. You open the beautiful spruce door, clicking it behind you. You sped-walk, trying your best to not make Keyleth wait for you for too long. It was sweet of her to help you with your romantic predicament.

You make a sharp turn into a hall, and you walk directly into a wall. You yelped in shock, stumbling backwards with the unexpected change of interior.

Before you fall flat on your ass, you're wrist is caught by another hand, and you're pulled up.

"Oh- I'm so sorry. I didn't notice you. Are you hurt?"

It was Percy. Oh how humiliating. Your small little fun crush on the man grew during your ventures with him, and you couldn't help to be stunned at the inconvenience of the moment.

You took his body language in. His face was tucked with guilt and concern for you. His hand gracing your face, cupping it. He brushes his thumb upon your cheek softly.

"Yeah. Thanks. I would have fell if you didn't catch me. I genuinely thought you were a wall for a few moments." You changed your stance, releasing his hand. You tucked one hand under the other, crossing your arms under your chest.

"Wait, you thought the keep had just- suddenly changed so you walked into a wall?" You watched his face dissolve from concern to a humored smile.

You turn your face, studying the wall that was to your left, and not in front of you. You hear him emit a small laugh, so pure and gratifying you couldn't help but smile too. You fought it, but you smiled.

You feel his other hand drop to your waist. You felt the hem of your shirt slightly lift, your sensitive skin jumping at the cold mechanical hand.

"Hey, don't be like that. Not the nicest thing to not look at someone talking to you, is it?" His hand that rest on your face turned you to look at him.

You looked back up to him, ruffled by his confident move. Mouth slightly ajar, your hand moves to his face. You drift closer to him.

Both of your eyes closed.

"Now.. as much as I enjoy your company, de Rolo the third, I'm afraid I have something to do."

You let go of his face, you pull away. You walk down the hall, your hand outlining his arm, and picking his hand up with your's, letting go when you're out of his reach.

You walk up the stairs, and close your door and listen to it creak shut, slowly. It clicks. You slide against it.

"Oh my god."

You deeply inhale, knowing you wasted the opportunity of kissing the Noble who lingered in your dreams. You stand, fixing your dragged hair, and open the nightstand next to your bed.

Shuffling through pens, papers, feathers, beads, knife sharpener, switch blade, nail filer, and other trinkets you kept roughly tossed in the drawer, you find the note you received with the flowers.

Your hands softly traced the neatly and delicately assorted letter as you read;

'My love,

You are the beaming sun that I turn to like heliotrope. Without you as my stream of light, I would be lost. You as my guide, I require no assurance that all will turn peacefully. Even with my name that of which is untold, I stand with you devoted, infatuated, and confidently regardless to your obliviously and curiosity. Please, allow all the flowers I send to sink to your heart and be remembered, kept, and admired for all your prosperous life.

Sincerely,

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ PFvMKdR |||'

Although romantic, the sign off was tragically confusing. You smiled, and tucked the note into your pocket. You rush down the stairs, jogging to the library.

You open the door slowly, and crack it enough to not make noise.

You could hear Percy and Keyleth talking, and you couldn't help but eavesdrop.

You snaked yourself around the libary, reaching a shelf that covered you, and was close enough to hear what they were saying.

"Percy. I won't be making orchids, or any flower in that matter, if they aren't to actually express yourself. No more notes!"

Keylath bantered Percy, complaining of how shy he was.

"Okay. If you make me these orchids, I'll.. tell them I love them."

"Yes!" Keyleth cheered, swiping the pot filled with moss, bark, and dried root. She worked her magic, and out came the loveliest orchid branch anyone could ever lay their eyes on. If only they were to be received by you instead of whomever the gunslinger showed interest in.

"Thank you Keyleth. I'll forever be in your debt."

"Pay me back by being super romantic."

Keyleth raised her voice as she watched the noble walk away, and exit through the door.

You rose, and walked back to the table, smiling at keyleth.

"Guess who got the little paper back super duper fast?"

"Aw, thanks. Lemme read."

After reading the note sighs. not having a clue what to do with the meaning.

"Hey, do you have any idea what that little sign off means?"

Keyleth lets out a knowing laugh. "Yeah. I bet they could be the initials of somebody."

"No one could possibly have initials that long, Kiki."

She picked a ink felt pen up from the table, spelling out the name.

"P - Percival. F - Fredrickstein. v - von. M - Musel. K - Klossowski. d - de. R- Rolo. See those little lines? Those stand for 'the third'."

You watched her map out the name on the love letter. You turned to her, waiting for her to say something more.

"What are you waiting for? I didn't make a bunch of flowers for nothing!" She laughed, and pulled you up from the chair, dragging you to the door, and shoving you out.

Before she closes the door, she peaks her head out.

"Oh, and make sure to not tell Percy I told you. He'd kill me." She let out a tired, and oddly terrified laugh.

The door slams. At least someone's eager?

You treaded slowly through the hall, your steps swift and quiet. You listened carefully for Percy throughout the keep Vox Machina collectively lived in. It wasn't late at night, so everyone was still up.(Not like it being late would stop any of them from being awake..) Regardless of this, everyone walked in their own distinctive way, and if they didn't, the weight of their steps revealed who was walking.

Eventually you heard the door to the yard of the keep open and shut. You assumed it was Percy, and it was best never to doubt some things.

You ran after the sound, opening the keep yard door when you reached it, and softly shutting it behind you.

You turned, softly taking in the scenery. It was sunset. The sky was a soft glow of pink and orange, and the sun was kissing goodbye. You smiled.

Shaking your head, you return your thoughts back to Percy. Or.. you could let his 'super romantic' confession play out on his own terms?

Nah.

You walked through the yard, your feet rustling against the short and soft blades of grass. You spot Percy, pacing back and fourth, with a pot of Orchid Branches set on the bench beside him. The pot was a beautiful off white, with golden rims, a matching design of pink flowers bloomed on the center.

You walked towards him timidly, debating if you should turn back on your heels and go to sleep.

"Hey."

too late.

Percy stops pacing, his eyes locking on your's when he hears you.

"Hi."

You take a seat on the old bench, patting the seat beside you. Percy accepts the direction, and sits beside you. He sits on the opposite side of you, eschew from touching you.

You scoot closer to him, leaning into his side.

"Who are the flowers for, lover boy?"

You spoke softly and teasingly to him, head leant on his shoulder, inner arm hold his inner arm.

"They're.. they're for you."

"Did Keyleth tell you what they mean yet?"

You hummed curiously.

"Rare and delicate beauty. That's exactly what you are to me."

There was a moment of unmoving silence between the two of you. Not awkward silence, or a gross silence, but quiet.

It was a moment of knowing peace between the two of you. The truth of who your bouquet arranger is, and Percy gaining the sense of acceptance and wellfare sitting next to you.

"That's nice of you, Percy." You tenderly spoke again, interlocking your fingers with his. You used your free hand to circle small shapes into his hand.

"And so were all your other flowers. They were very gorgeous, Percy."

Percy rested his head against your's.

"Thank you."

The two of you leaned into each other in the warm weather, watching the sun kiss you goodbye.

[slutforslytherin]

girls just want to have fun

warnings: kissing , slight choking , kinda fingering(above underwear) , swearing , smoking , underage drinking , weird men / underage girls / based in baby on netflix. but they are hp characters.

summary: y/n = you + best friend pansy (ludo) skip a halloween party to go to a hookers club pansy’s been going to for awhile. you arrive and get flooded with compliments but one boy catches your eye.

-

“I dont know pans” , i sigh in front of my begging friends body. “Please y/n you will have so much fun , plus who wants to go to a stupid school party” she giggles holding my hands tight , i think about it for a few seconds deciding it wouldn’t be as bad as i thought.

“whatever then this better be fun” i point in her now red face , she jumps up happily scolding my waist into a tight hug “i wont disappoint” she winks in my direction as i put on a slight smile.

Rummaging through clothes i find the perfect dress , stops just below my thigh covers up just enough of my body revealing certain body parts to make people crazy “pans whatchu think” i give a small twirl as her eyes trail around my body “sexyyy” she circled me poking my back causing me to squirm “you look sexy to” i wink biting my lip slightly as the sight of her in a beautiful red dress hugged her body perfectly.

“Pansy we are leaving now , see you later” pansy’s mum knocked on the door walking away with a gentle sigh. which was the perfect time , i pulled out a cigarette from my velvety purse along with a lighter reading ‘cry babies do it best’ ,. i light the cigarette which is placed between my lips taking a gentle drag inhaling the strong smoke before handing it over to pansy.

After a while we check the time reading ‘7:36’ , the party came around at like 8:15 so we rushed. Grabbing each of our purses burning the remainder of the cigarette and walking out the door “you exited” she asked sitting in the drivers seat of her car , me following behind in the passenger.

“i guess you could say that” i teased leaning my head into my hands “oh yeah guess who’s there” she said my eyebrow slightly raising “Theodore nottt and his puppets” my jaw drops eyes opening wide “what the fuck seriously” i questioned since there the popular boys who wouldn’t be seen dead with hookers.

She giggles as she pulls up outside a large building three big men standing outside in suits and tuxedos grinning at beautiful ladies walking beyond them in small dresses hardly covering there body “i wont have to fuck no old grandads will i” i joke hoping for a good answer “only if you want” she winks grabbing my hand as we run towards the entrance.

“fiore” pansy nods my eyes meet with a beautiful man standing in front slowly shaking pansy’s tiny hands “pansy evening, nice seeing you again” he smiles “this is” he pointed in my direction slowly grabbing my hand “im y/n , its nice to meet you” i gave a shy smile as he placed a gently peck on my knuckle.

small pecks of blush creep on my cheeks as he holds both of our lower backs to lead us in , we took small footsteps in our tall red heels him in the middle posh black shoes placed on his feet “here we are ladies enjoy” he winks giving my back a small push as i get greeted with loud music flashing purple lights and small smiles.

“grrr” men whisper in our ears as we walk through wine glass in my hand sipping and licking as pansy plays fiore’s tie “hey check it out” pansy nudges my arm as i look over and see theodore sitting beside matteo and draco sipping on cool white whiskey admiring my body by the looks of it “is he looking at me” i turn around facing pansy “hes walking towards you” she winks pushing me back as my back falls into his chest.

“So a whore huh” he spoke “excuse me” i took slight offence as he held his hands up in a surrender motion “kidding , why are you here princess” he teased my body holding onto my waist digging his longer finger nails into my hip “pansy invited me , and you” i questioned , theodore has been a good friend of mine ever since primary school but we kinda drifted away since we got older “matteo invited me , like a year ago haven’t stop coming since” he ate a olive out of his drink as music played gently.

“why are you here y/n , a sweet innocent girl like you being flirtatious with older men hm” he put a strand of hair behind my ear as my eyes look down. I felt his hand creep to my throat gently tugging “i uh i didn’t fancy going to the school party so” as i tried to finish his lips connected with mind.

Our tongues played with each others top and bottom lip until he slipped it into my mouth , “mm” is all i managed to get out as his fingers swam beneath my dress.

His finger going over my covered clit

causing a small whimper to escape into his burning mouth. i grinded upon his two fingers as his hand had a tight grip on my throat squeezing ever so often “fuck” i moaned into his mouth gaining a small smirk “feel good cara mia hm” he kisses my temple as i felt a knot in my stomach “m’so close” i bit my lip bruising it as my legs shake.

I seriously just came on THEODORE NOTT’S fingers at a party? oh my , he continued rubbing my clit until it throbbed begging for him to let go “i i came theo” i put my head in his neck as he removed his fingers “hm take that as a warning bella come back here again it will be a punishment” he winked.

my body left shaking in the middle of a dance floor as he sits back down with his friends acting like nothing happened.

-

AWFUL I KNOW STAWP

[gay-for-the-snz]

Baggage (M, cold, pt. 1/2)

So I decided I wanted to do something self indulgent, so here we are! rewinding back in time a bit--a decade, in fact!--to explore what brought him to the west coast, and his initial few days there, meeting coworkers and trying to decide who he wants to be with a fresh start

First chapter POV comes from his boss, second will come from him. Slight CW for the fact that the Captain definitely views him as like...basically a kid, and addresses him as such, including in narration, but he is 19 here and of age, so dw about it

⁂

The baggage claim of an airport is not the most exciting way he could be spending his Sunday morning--in the wee hours, no less--but the travel cup of coffee he'd hastily made in those bleary moments before making the drive is starting to seep into him enough to actually take effect. Bill's instructions for picking the whelp up had been exceedingly vague of who he was looking for--nothing more than that he was tall, long haired, and "impossible to miss." Scanning the crowd of people as they filter in and then back out, he's starting to doubt that this is necessarily the case. The flow of people has slowed enough that he doubts there can be that many left to make it here. Only a few lonely suitcases remain on the carousel, and they're rapidly being picked up.

He's rechecking the flight information when a figure awkwardly makes its way to grab the last suitcase, and--

Oh. Well, perhaps he owes Bill an apology. He is impossible to miss.

He's a gangling youth, easily six foot but probably a few inches above, with a braid that hangs down past his ass and the same awkward disposition he'd ascribe to a newborn fawn.

"You're Elliott?"

"Uh--yes! I mean--yes, that's me. You're Mr. Addington?" He extends a hand to shake, a bracelet of tattooed pansies encircling his wrist.

"You can call me 'Captain'."

"Oh! Right, I'll, uh--I'll do that." He doesn't really look at him, avoiding eye contact like the plague. It doesn't do anything to make the black eye less noticeable, but he supposes he can't fault him for trying. It looks like a nasty one, shades of deep blues and purples ringed by the greens and yellows of healing that's already on its way out.

He opts to tactfully leave it alone for now. He's had a long flight, and a stranger grilling him about what on earth happened that's making him pick up stakes and move cross country with a couple day's notice likely isn't the way he's going to earn his trust. He gets the distinct sense that he's going to have to coax him out like luring one of the warehouse cats out of hiding to take it to the vet.

"Well!" He startles at the sudden transition. "Is that everything, or are we still waiting on any bags?"

"This is it."

He keeps his expression carefully neutral as he takes in the sight before him, this bedraggled kid who's got a black eye and nothing to him but two suitcases. It's sad. More than that, it's actually heartbreaking. "Alright. Did you eat anything on the plane? I'm thinking about stopping somewhere on the way back, getting a little breakfast, if you're not opposed to stopping."

"I wouldn't stop you if you wanted to get yourself something."

It doesn't escape his notice that he hasn't answered the question. That beanpole probably weighs a hundred thirty soaking wet. He's going to feed him, whether he asks for something or not. "Good! There's a diner close to home that should be just about open by the time we get there."

He takes one of the suitcases, despite the fact that he was very much not asked to, and drags it a few feet before hefting it up to avoid the broken wheel that doesn't seem to actually turn. "Come on, then, let's see if I remember where I parked."

"Oh, are you--"

"You can relax, that was a joke. I'm not so old yet that I'm going to lose my car at the airport." Hopefully. He hasn't done it in awhile. It helps that he wasn't flying this time, just picking someone up, well before dawn's bothered to crack.

By the time they actually make it out to where he's parked, he's beginning to half worry that he actually did lose track of it, but relief washes over him at the sight of the old pick-up. She's a beat up old thing, but she's beautiful to him.

"She ain't the prettiest, but she's reliable. More than I can say for my ex-wife!" Shockingly, the joke doesn't land. He just shrugs. Worth a shot to break the tension. "Hop in, we'll be out of here soon."

Elliott is, if nothing else, compliant. Not much of a talker, but he looks dead on his feet, and sinks against the door as soon as he's buckled.

"We've got about an hour and a half drive, so feel free to close your eyes. Not much to see at this time of day--a new coast is great in the daylight, but all we'll be passing for awhile are headlights and highway." And he could probably use the sleep.

"Oh, no, it's fine. If I, uhm, sleep now I don't think I'll get any sleep tonight. I wanna see what I can see." He scratches at the back of his neck, and straightens his posture somewhat, like he can't be caught being tired.

"Suit yourself." The radio is playing something soft in the background, static blurring the sound of Creedence with a commercial for something he can't make out. He gives it a few minutes before he leans over, offers him a cigarette. "You smoke?"

"Uh, no, sir."

"Good! Don't start." He strikes the lighter, then gestures with it towards the cigarette already in his mouth. "Mind if I do?"

"It's your truck, and you're already doing me a huge favor."

He throws it in the center console for later. "Speaking of!" Elliott winces. "Bill doesn't usually stick his neck out for anyone--he must be awfully fond of you."

"Oh! Well, that's nice of him. I don't think that I really, uh, have earned it, though."

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen, sir."

"Nineteen! I remember being nineteen. Long time ago, mind you--I was probably nineteen before your parents were even born."

"Maybe..."

He's striking out hard, here. Usually it's a bit easier to get someone talking. "Well, whether you think he's a good judge of character or not, Bill thinks pretty highly of you to call me up and tell me that he's cashing in a favor like this. Said he had a real good kid that needed out of Virginia in a hurry. Said that you're a good worker." When Elliott doesn't respond, he just continues the conversation anyway. "Now he uh, didn't tell me where you're gonna be staying. You've sorted that out, I trust?"

"I don't need any help with that."

"So where is it?" He stares out the window, doesn't even attempt to glance back towards him. "That's what I thought, yeah. Alright, well, you're gonna be with me at least tonight until we've got you sorted out."

"I can't ask you to do that."

"Then it's a good thing you're not asking. I'm telling you." If he's got anything to say to that, he keeps it to himself, but he's clearly not thrilled by the prospect. He takes to braiding one of the locks of hair that frames his face, clearly an old hand at this the way his fingers deftly run through the motions.

There's few enough cars on the interstate at this hour that he feels comfortable letting his gaze linger on him in his peripheral, paying more attention to the kid in his passenger seat than to the road ahead of him. It's not a good habit, sure, but it's a calculated risk, and despite how he looks, he's always been pretty sharp when it comes to figures. The training of being in business, he supposes. It certainly hasn't hurt him.

"You got family out here?"

"No, sir."

"All back in Virginia, then?"

"I...guess, yeah. At least for now."

"Are they planning on falling you out here after you're settled?"

"God, I hope not." He crosses himself instinctively.

"Not a great relationship, I take it?"

"No, sir."

"You don't have to call me 'sir'. But I can sympathize--I've got some family up in Alaska, but not much anymore. Two sisters and a brother, and a host of nieces and nephews, and a couple of great-'s by now, even. No kids of my own, though--not that I'm complaining. I don't think it would've served fatherhood well to be gone most of the time."

"Could we--could we talk about something else?"

"Anything your heart desires."

"I think I might actually try and sleep. You were right--there's not much to see, and I-I'm kind of tired..."

He's squirrely, clearly dodging this topic in particular, but he's got enough sense to let the poor beast alone--for now, at least. He's gonna have to ask him later, both because he wants the gossip, but also because if he has to worry about whatever he's mixed up in, he'd like to know before anything happens. " 'course. You just get yourself a little shut-eye, and I'll wake you when we get there?"

"Thank you..."

He must be exhausted, because it's only a couple of minutes later that he's snoring softly, weirdly curled in on himself in his sweatshirt, arms crossed protectively over his chest and head leaned against the cold window. He doesn't disturb him, just drives in relative silence aside from the radio to let him rest.

⁂

"Hey. Elliott. C'mon, up we get." He waits until he sees him stir to try again. "Wake up. We're here."

Elliott rouses, albeit slowly, and does his best approximation of a stretch in the cramped quarters for someone so tall. "Uhm..." He sniffs, digs a knuckle into the corner of his eyes to clear the vestiges of his nap from them. "Here?"

"Home."

"I thought we were--that you were stopping for breakfast?"

"I drove through somewhere. No point in stopping and getting caught in commuter traffic if we didn't have to." He shakes the paper baggie of McDonald's the same way he might shake a bag of dog treats for a wary pet. "It's just about breakfast time, I'd wager."

It's been breakfast time, the same way they've been here, but what he doesn't know won't hurt him. The two cigarette butts drowned in the remnants of a water bottle are evidence, but there's no saying that he didn't smoke while he was driving. He clearly needed the rest, and is equally clearly someone who would apologize for trying to get it, so he doesn't present him the opportunity to have a reason to.

"Oh." In the daylight, he looks positively ghastly, the shadows under both eyes nearly the same shade as the bruising surrounding the one. He looks like he wants to say something more, but he doesn't get much further than to sniff and awkwardly get out of the car, stretch for all he's worth in the driveway.

"You're hungry, I'm sure?"

"I don't really feel like it."

"But?"

"No buts, just that I don't feel like I'm hungry."

It's gonna be pulling teeth to do anything nice for this kid, he can already tell. Well, whatever. He's not known for being shy, nor for being one to back down from a challenge. "Alright. You'll take something for the road, then."

"I don't--"

"It wasn't a question." He just won't give him a choice if he's going to make a bad one.

"Yes, si--uh--Captain."

"Good man! Come on, then, let's get your bags into the house." When he opens the door, he's immediately struck by the reminder that he had not been expecting company, nor has he hosted it in awhile.

It isn't a dump, by any means, but it's definitely a space that one might say "lacks a woman's touch". A collection of pipes and tins of tobacco on one of the shelves. A collection of mugs that haven't made it to the sink just yet, concentrated on the coffee table. The mounted crabs hanging over the mantel.

Elliott stares at it in what he can only describe as a mixture of amusement and repulsion.

"Well, listen, it's not everyone's taste." He carries the suitcase he's taken custody of into the house, gestures broadly towards the house as a whole. "Living room. Kitchen back there, bedrooms to the left, bathroom and laundry room to the right."

"It's very--uh--rustic."

He snorts. "Very diplomatic of you." He seems like a sweetheart, carefully walking on eggshells to be as tactful as he can about his interior design decisions. "You'll be staying in the guest room--it's nothing glamorous, but it's got a queen bed and a closet and electricity, and that's just about all anyone really needs around here." It also has some decor that some might describe as "tacky" or "hideous", but that's neither nor here.

"I still don't--you don't have to do this. I can just find a hotel, you don't have to open your home to me--I mean, I'm a stranger--"

"Anything you find around here is a dump and priced like it's the Ritz. You haven't got a car, and you don't know the town. If you don't want to stay, I'm not going to force you, but I am strongly encouraging you to just stay here." Perhaps he's coming on a bit strong, but there's so little reason to go somewhere else that he finds it difficult to imagine anyone would think it's honestly a good idea. He feels confident that it's merely that he doesn't want to impose--he's already said as much.

"...right. You're--you're right. I'm sorry. Thank you for opening your home to me. I'll--I'll pay for the time I'm here, of course, and help with anything you need. I don't, uh, take up a lot of space--I'm pretty quiet, and I'll probably just keep to myself--"

"We'll talk about this after you've had a chance to actually settle in. For now, go put your stuff down, take a gander at the house. Breakfast will be on the table when you want it."

Elliott doesn't seem entirely relieved, but he does seem to accept the order, and goes to drop his stuff in the room. In the meantime, he starts trying to clean things up somewhat. Gathers the mugs to the kitchen sink, and throws the coats that piled on the couch into the closet, and scoots the pile of newspapers into a slightly more organized pile of newspapers to clear a seat at the table.

It dawns on him that he's been at this for almost half an hour and still hasn't seen him return yet. The house isn't minuscule, but it certainly isn't large enough that he could've gotten lost.

He peers around the corner into the open doorway to the guest room, and is greeted by the sight of Elliott sprawled on the bed, having succeeded in getting as far as taking off his short cowboy boots and laying down to fall asleep, fully clothed, on top of the covers. He's snoring, phone still loosely clutched in one hand where he'd clearly not been anticipating dozing off.

He just leans against the doorway to watch him for a minute, arms crossed over his chest. What did he get himself into here, taking on a stray like this? What did Bill get him into, sending him the kid?

He grabs an old quilt from the armchair in the corner, and awkwardly drapes it over Elliott, covering as much of his frame as he can with it, before he leaves him to sleep if he needs it. A car nap wasn't good enough--it doesn't sound like he really slept at all yesterday, if he's understanding the timeline correctly. If he's sleeping now, it's because he sorely needs it.

He's got things he could be doing, anyway. He hasn't hosted in a long while, and it shows in the fact that his house is very much set up for his use and his alone. He shoves shit into drawers in the bathroom to sort through later when he cares, throws a clean towel and wash cloth on the counter next to the shower, somewhat haphazardly wipes down the bathroom mirror with a little Windex to get it looking a little less grimy.

With that squared away, he turns his attention to the kitchen. Christ, what a mess. He isn't entirely sure how old some of these coffee mugs are, the remnants solidified into a gross sludge in the bottom of the ceramic. Luckily, it's mostly just the mugs, and then a case of tidying things up enough that there's enough space at the table for two, and he can actually see the countertop again, instead of piling it underneath the debris of being a busy man. Newspapers, and mail he hasn't thrown out yet. Keys, and receipts, and coupons. Things he comes in and sets down, and then they never move again until an occasion like this forces his hand to do something about it.

He whistles while he works, some jaunty little tune he only sort of remembers the origins of, and even less of the words to it, but slows down and lapses into silence to strain his ears. When he catches the faint sound of snoring, he takes his cue to slip out onto the front porch.

"...Bill! You sorry sonuvabitch, how're you?"

"I'm assuming you got the kid without any issue?"

"That's what I'm calling about. Now, I've got a whelp that isn't even old enough to drink sleeping in my guest bed, and I don't know a damn thing about him. He hasn't told me anything yet, and neither have you, so I'd say one of you had better start acquainting me with him."

He can hear the long pause on the line, and a deep sigh from Bill. He can picture him ashing his cigarette, taking off his readers. "I don't think it's my story to tell."

"But it's your story to call on me to intervene in? I'm not asking for every dirty detail, but I am asking for the broad strokes of it. He's not involved in anything criminal, so why was it so important he move out of state in such a hurry?"

"Legal trouble, but not his. Suffice it to say, family matters are complicated and he really shouldn't be sticking around to see them get any more complicated than they already are. There was trouble at the courthouse a week ago, and he called me in a panic and asked what he should do. I said I knew someone who owed me a favor and could hire him on until he found something else, and he packed up everything he had and got on that plane yesterday night."

"So I have to worry about someone showing up to my house looking for him?"

"Not unless he breaks out or gets paroled."

"Oy vey." He sits down on the steps with a grunt, letting the cool afternoon wash over him. "I don't suppose that's the source of that shiner, then?"

"He was reluctant to talk about it, but it seems to be the case. Look, Hyatt, I know this is a big ask, but you can trust me: he's a good kid. He's shy, but he's got a good heart, and he'll open up in due time. If he's underperforming, just hold onto him long enough to let him get himself settled with a new job--but I really think you'll take a liking to him."

Something makes him feel like he's getting snookered, but he's already got the damn thing asleep in his bed. He's in it deeper than he'd normally allow himself to be, purely because it's Bill making the call. "You know that I'm only doing this because it's YOU asking?"

Bill laughs, something warm and raucous. "I know. Hey, I never steered you wrong as your business partner."

"What about as my friend?"

"Ehh, we'll call that more often than not that I gave you good advice. And look on the bright side! Now you don't owe me anymore."

"I hope you go out of business tomorrow morning."

"Then I'll just be joining him in the guest room."

He can't help it--he grins. "Alright, well, I'll be calling you if anything happens."

"I'm looking forward to it. Hey, Hy, take it easy. I've gotta run."

He just sits there for a long moment, mulling over the information he's pieced together about his newfound tenant. Whatever his family member--a father? brother? uncle?--is involved in, it got him arrested, and he was so spooked by it that he jumped ship and left the east coast entirely just to avoid the situation.

He doesn't seem the type to get involved in anything shady--and Bill certainly isn't the type to employ anyone that he thinks is involved in anything untoward. He's a shrewd businessman, and fiercely defensive of his business--he would never let anyone work for him if he had reason to believe they were going to be bringing anything into it like that. So whatever the unnamed family was up to, either he wasn't a part of it, or Bill found out too late and the kid was remorseful enough to overrule his instincts not to get involved, and shipped him off this way.

And whatever happened at the courthouse or jail or wherever it happened, ended up with a fistfight, or something of the like. He seems like the last creature on earth to willingly get into a fight. More than anything, he looks like someone who's probably spent more time getting fought than fighting--the homosexuality practically oozes off of him, and rural Virginia doesn't seem like the most...nurturing atmosphere for that sort of thing.

He heaves a sigh, and heads back into the house to make himself something for lunch.

⁂

By the time he sees Elliott again, it's dinnertime. He's just about to go wake him when he sees the disheveled figure shuffle out of the bedroom, hair mussed from sleep and staring at him blearily, the quilt still clutched around his shoulders.

"Weeelllll, good morning there, Sleeping Beauty. You look like you slept well?"

He looks around silently, and he can practically see the gears turning in his mind. He can hear the dial up tones, the blanket lines on his cheek still visible. He slept hard. He brings a hand up from under the blankets to mash the heel of his palm against his eyes to grind the sleep from them. "Uhmb." There's a congested edge to his voice, and he coughs. "I didn't mean to."

"I didn't think you intended to, on top of the covers, in all your clothes."

He gently knuckles at his nose, still bleary-eyed as he shuffles a little further into the room. " 'm sorry. I didn't think that--that--? Hh-! H-hh'dDZzhhyue!"

"Bless y--"

"EedZZhhue!"

"Bless--"

"Heh-! heEHZzhhyue!"

"I'll just wait till you're done."

He teeters on the brink of it, brows pinched together in sneezy limbo for a couple wavering breaths until he ducks down into the quilt again. "heEDDZzhyue! 'DZZHhieww! ...guh! Excuse me."

He snuffles, the sound thick and wet, and he brings a delicate knuckle up to swipe at his nose. It seems a bit pink, now that's getting a good look at him, and the shadows under his eyes from exhaustion haven't really lessened any, despite the fact that he just slept like nine hours. "Bless you. You're feeling alright?"

"I feel fine."

He isn't sure how "fide" he could really be feeling, given the congestion rounding out his consonants into a soft, blunted sound, but he doesn't push it any. "If you're sure." He inclines his head towards the kitchen. "I made stew for dinner--I hope you eat lamb."

"Uh--sometimes. I'm not, uh, strictly vegetarian."

"Well that's a good thing, because this is not a vegetarian household." He softens slightly. "But it's never too late to learn. I could probably do to fit a few more vegetables into my diet."

"You don't have to change anything just for me. I'll eat anything."

"Anything?"

He looks sheepish, fussing with the edge of the quilt. "Uh, almost anything."

"Except?"

He looks like he expects to be shot dead. "Seafood."

Ah. Well. Yes, that would explain why. He glances sideways towards the fridge and freezer, stocked with more seafood than anything else. "I can work with that. I needed to get groceries anyway. As long as you can tolerate that my cooking is not Michelin star worthy."

"Oh, I can--I can cook for myself. You don't have to worry about me, I'm not--uh--you don't really need to do anything for me. Letting me sleep here is already more than enough--and I still need to pay you. How much do you, uh--"

He holds a hand up to stop him. "I was meaning to talk to you about that. I won't charge you rent, but you're going to have to work. Bill said you're a hard worker and that I wouldn't regret hiring you, so I'm going to trust him and give you a chance--but it's not a free ride. You're going to have to earn your job, and your stay here until you've found somewhere else to live."

"Of course! You won't regret it, I swear--I work to work, and I-I do a decent job, I think--"

His eagerness is equal parts endearing and pathetic. "Alright, alright. You don't have to pledge me a life debt, just don't make me have to fire you." He pushes a bowl across the table to the empty seat and gestures to it. "I didn't cook for nothing, so eat up--you must be half starved by now."

"I...don't feel hungry, but I'm sure I am. I'm sure it smells delicious." He looks around the kitchen, and awkwardly tears a paper towel off the roll to gently dab at pink nostrils. The color seems to be creeping in more every time he touches his nose, the pink soft but noticeable against the pallor of his skin. Was he that pale when he saw him earlier?

"Are you sick?"

Elliott seems genuinely taken aback by the question, almost defiant in his immediate rigidity. "I am definitely not."

He quirks a brow. "Is that so?"

"I can't just be a little sniffly, in a dusty guest room?"

"Dusty might be putting it strongly. I clean in there, even if there's no one staying." Well. Definitely not as often as he should. But he doesn't think it's that dusty in there--not enough that he thinks it should really be effecting anything like this, at least.

"I think it's understandable if I'm a little congested when I wake up, especially in a room that's dusty, after traveling all day!"

He can't fight the amused smile at how adamant and offended he seems by the notion that he's sick. "Alright, fine. I'm sure by the end of dinner you'll be feeling right as rain, then?"

It's the first real show of emotion he's gotten out of him that wasn't fawning or exhausted, a strange streak of obstinance. "I'm sure I will!"

Jee-zus. He really is a teen, even if he's an adult. "Good. Eat up, then."

He narrows his eyes at the challenge they've both locked themselves into now, and sits down with more of a dramatic huff than is necessary by a long shot. Once he actually starts eating, it seems like his body realizes how hungry he really is, because he starts shoveling stew like a ravenous beast who hasn't eaten in months.

"You're not a snake. This isn't your one meal for the next two weeks, you can take your time."

He pauses, the spoon halfway between the bowl and his mouth, and stares like a deer in headlights. Color floods his cheeks, matching the shade of pink his nose has deepened to. "Oh." He sniffles, swipes at his nose with the paper towel in his other hand. "Yeah, I just--"

He trails off, eyes narrowing slightly as his brow furrows and damp, pink nostrils flare. He sniffles again, the sound equally unproductive but more urgent than before. His lashes, thick and dark like he's wearing mascara--and, now that he thinks about it, he might actually be--flutter shut as he takes a wavering breath.

"huH-! uuUDDZzhhyue! huUHZzhhyue!" He sneezes twice into the bedraggled paper towel, now pretty well spent and ineffective--but he definitely doesn't seem done. The freckled bridge of his nose is wrinkled in irritation, breath scissoring as he takes uneven gasps towards the next one. "heEDDZHhue! eEZZhhyue! Huh-! huH-!? huUDDJZzhhuuee!"

He actually whimpers a little after that last one, cupped hands having taken the brunt of it, the sodden paper towel that's sitting limply in his palms of no use at all now. He sighs, sniffles, and immediately regrets it, because--

"heEZZHhieww! h-heH-! heEDDZZHHhue! ...guh! Oh my God--excuse me..."

He puts his spoon down, folds his hands on the tabletop. "Elliott."

He snuffles, a little bleary in the aftermath of the fit. "Captain."

"Is it still the dusty guest room?"

He nudges the sink on with his elbow to wash his hands--ugh, Christ, he can see the sheen of moisture on his palms from here--before tearing off a couple of paper towels to blow his nose into at such a soft volume he doesn't realize he's doing it at first.

"It might be."

"Elliott."

"It could still be! I'm sure I'll be fine by morning!"

Why this is the hill he's chosen to die on, he cannot possibly fathom, but it is. Fine. Whatever. "Have it your way."

⁂

He's just laying in his bed, listening to Elliott snore from across the hall. He could get up and close the door. In fact, he should go do that, and close Elliott's, too, while he's at it. But something about that feels too risky.

For who, he doesn't know. He highly doubts he's going to wake to discover that he's been robbed, nor that he isn't going to wake at all because he's been stabbed to death in bed. Nor does he think that Elliott is going to weep and gnash his teeth if he doesn't have the doors open as reassurance and comfort. But he went to bed with the door open, and it's some bizarre comfort to him as well to be able to keep tabs on what his new house guest is doing.

Snoring, mostly.

He's listened to him wake a couple of times, but he hasn't really done anything else, except to roll over and make the bedframe creak ominously, and to cough. Nothing horrid, and certainly nothing annoying, but something that since he's been paying attention, he finds impossible to miss.

He leans over, looks at the clock on the nightstand again, and lays back down with a sigh. At least one of them is getting some sleep tonight.

Eventually, he gets up and moves to the armchair in the living room, puts on some stupid "documentary" about something he's sure is bullshit, and lets the sound of someone whose accreditation includes "foremost psychic folklorist" lull him into sleep.

⁂

The light streaming in through the blinds is what rouses him--and as soon as it does, he is aware of two things. The first: the pain in his back and hip from sleeping in a recliner all night instead of laying in bed. The second: the sound of muffled coughing from the bedroom, chesty and congested.

His hip is barking at him, and he awkwardly gets himself up from the chair to go hobble into his bedroom to grab the bottle of aspirin out of the nightstand drawer. There's nothing to really do for it at this point, but he takes a couple of them to hope that it'll take the edge off of the pain.

He stares at it in his closet, and frowns before relenting and grabbing his cane. He hears the sound of Elliott walking behind him towards the living room, and throws a sweater and some socks onto his bed to get to later when he gets around to getting dressed, and follows him out.

"So about that cold that you definitely don't have..."

Elliott is standing before him, clad in pajama pants and thick socks and a heavy sweatshirt, and garishly cold-ridden. His nose is startlingly red and damp, the shadows beneath his eyes dark as a raccoon's mask. He's breathing through parted lips, chapped from the way he's been having to move around the congestion settled deeply into him. Just looking at him feels like he's going to contract whatever plague he's harboring within him.

"I might--" he interrupts himself to snuffle thickly and wetly, coughs into his elbow, "no, okay, I am sick."

"That much is obvious, but thank you for admitting it." He scratches his beard thoughtfully, mulling over his options here. He could try and spare him having to be out and about like this--and, in so doing, spare everyone else from his cold--but he's already made a commitment to going into work today, and dragging Elliott along with him before he puts him to work tomorrow. "Get dressed after you've eaten--we're going into work--not for a full shift, mind you. Consider it a tour more than anything else. I have to fax a couple documents over to a client, and you could use the familiarity."

"Yes, Captain."

He doesn't look happy, but it's difficult to tell if that's over the prospect of going to work, or if it's because he's being forced out while he's sick, or a combination thereof. It doesn't matter, really--he's sick, but it's a cold. He can't let him shirk any responsibility just because he's caught cold, even if it does look like a nasty one.

"Good man. Eat up and get dressed--we've got business to attend to." He claps him on the shoulder, and leaves him to get himself ready for the upcoming day.

[berrypass-de-murdler]

2-48 The Secret Chamber Secret

I... need to talk to someone 😭 I'm so scared and hopeless

hmm well me and fletch are larping as aureolin and lady violet again today cuz halloween

(warning this episode has some needlessly graphic descriptions don't read before eating)

DON'T READ THE EPISODES WITHOUT READING THE BOOKS!!

VOICE: GOOD JOB. GOOD JOB. YOU SOLVED THE RIGHT MURDER. LOGICO: I hate that!! Why is there a robotic voice in this ANCIENT TOMB?

Pythagoras’ grave tilts upright and opens, revealing a tunnel!

LOGICO: And automation?? What the fuck- IRRATINO: [squeal] THIS IS AMAZING!!

They go creepy-crawly into the deep chamber. The further they go, the bigger it gets! And the more surreal… Irratino is in heaven.

They finally approach the end, discovering puzzles encrypted on the wall, and a broken statue of the Greek God himself. (YES I KNOW PYTHAGORAS WASN’T A GOD STFU)

But before they can reach the door, another puzzle stands in their way! (A murder.)

LOGICO: Gross. There’s nobody even here! How am I supposed to solve a murder with no suspects?

You see Logico, in the real world, homicide detectives don’t generally HAVE their suspects conveniently standing before them. But that’s beside the point. Irratino hears some muffled voices.

IRRATINO: Wait, Logico, listen!

The sound seems to be coming from a crate nearby. The two creep up on it, ready to strike, and throw open the top.

They find Seashell and Sable crammed in there in the worst positions, along with a snake.

LOGICO: OH GOD!  SEASHELL: out please SABLE: [squeaking]

Irratino struggles to pull them out. Seashell is like 7 feet tall, so all his bones crunch as he emerges and he cannot stand.

SEASHELL: I need to be… manually pressed… Logico help me… LOGICO: Absolutely not.

Sable however rolls out with ease once Seashell’s out. She uncurls to reveal an incredible purple velvet gown!

LOGICO: Oh, Sable! Where did you get that? SABLE: I’ve been travelling the world, searching for myself… and I finally found me! When Lady Violet showed me the aristocrat way, I knew I could never go back.

Logico is sad. Now she’s turned into just another one of those.

The snake comes out of the box too.

LOGICO: Were you two kept in there with that as some kind of torture chamber? SNAKE: Naur! That’s racist!

The snake has arms and legs, and is a person. She showcases her Archaeologist Ecru badge, and explains how she only wanted to steal that fresh body, but was kidnapped.

LOGICO: Who were you kidnapped by?? SEASHELL: We didn’t see. They were completely masked… SABLE: I can’t believe my quills are unstable.

Logico already can’t stand this ‘new’ Sable. Regardless of who the kidnapper was, one of these three is the murderer. And Logico doesn’t even need to prove it!

While Logico searches for clues, Ecru tries to force Seashell’s spine back into place, and Sable stands around pampering herself. Ecru throws a lump of dirt at her out of spite.

SABLE: AAH! Why did you do that?! ECRU: Because you’re a pansy. SABLE: Now I have to iron AND cleanse this dress! 

Irratino decides to obtain crucial information through palm readings. 

SABLE: No, don’t touch me! I can’t possibly have any more germs on me… LOGICO: SNAP OUT OF IT, SABLE!

It’s not that weird until Seashell makes it weird because he’s still lying on the ground. And being weird.

SEASHELL: Oh, that tickles… Would you mind punching my hand? IRRATINO: WHAT?

Ecru smashes the fish’s hand between her fists. There’s an awful crunch, like someone stomping on a corn chip.

SEASHELL: Ah, that feels so much better! [he says as his hand turns purple] LOGICO: I can’t take any more of this. You’re the killer! IRRATINO: Logico! You can’t assume that! SEASHELL: No he’s right. IRRATINO: Oh.

There’s not much point to that, and Logico pulls a lever on the wall. The door at the back of the chamber opens… revealing the greatest thing in the entire world!]

LOGICO: Irratino… do you think you can get one of your friends to let me address the Convocation of Countries? IRRATINO: [squee!] YES!

Logico is going to stop the upcoming war! (and P.S. - I don’t think that was really Pythagoras’ grave.)

The end!

me: i hate myself when i draw, I can't draw no matter how hard I try, why do I even bother

murdle2: hmm yes the perfect time to introduce a new character

The power of Goat Lord compels you!

See you next time murdlers!

[saijspellhart]

I'm super eepy and it's like liquid courage rn ngl so I'm in the ask box!! Yippee!!

Anyway: favorite flower and favourite thing to drink? 🥺

HI! Thanks for the ask! It made my day. Love receiving asks.

My favorite flower is the tiny little pansies, i think they are called violas, they are little and purple and gold. But sometimes all purple. They were one of my late mother's favorite flowers. When I was a child she told me they were called "grouchies" because they always look like people making grouchy faces. So I grew up thinking that was the actual name of the flower. If i ever refer to a flower as a grouchy, im really talking about pansies and violas.

As for my favorite drink, oh man. Favorite soda is Diet Pepsi. Not too sweet not too bitter. Just right. Gives me chills when its the first one ive had in a long time and its ice cold from a can.

But i hardly drink soda anymore cause im trying to be healthier. So my next favorite drink would have been coffee. LOVE coffee. Except its terrible for my crohn's disease. So I cannot drink coffee either. I just drool over the scent of it from afar.

So I guess the drink I can actually drink that I love would have to be Chaider. Cinnamon chai + cider with a little creamer. Super yum. Love drinking it in the office when the weather is cold.