#puzzles that define us

[awaiting-new-management]

I love adding unhinged tags to my fics. Like:

"He is seasoned with autism like a good garlic bread"

[vynnyal]

Of all games why this one

[flecks-of-stardust]

folks who have used neocities before, have any var() functions worked in your CSS sheets? i can't find anything wrong with the code, but neocities says the var() code isn't an accepted parameter, except it should be? the root code is set up properly and all. i'm not sure what's wrong.

[istoppedlurkingforthis]

I need all of you to understand, that I read this. And immediately this is what I saw:

I am choosing to believe this person also longs for the days of the 1995 Point and Click Discworld adventure game. And that it features prominently in their "games I want a remake of because the virtual machine copy i had doesn't work anymore" list too.

the hot new trend is "guard posting"

[solxamber]

Pick Us!

In which you have to choose a club and it looks like everyone wants a piece of you.

Part 2 (Choosing a club)

You were minding your own business, dodging Grim's increasingly creative ways to get you to buy premium tuna, when Crowley swept in with his usual dramatic flair.

“Ah, my dear pupil!” he exclaimed, arms wide like a bad community theater actor. “To better immerse yourself in school life, you must join a club. It’s mandatory!”

Before you could protest or ask any clarifying questions, he disappeared in a swirl of his cape, leaving you standing there with nothing but Grim’s unsympathetic shrug.

Naturally, this information traveled faster than you could process it, because the next thing you knew, Ace was practically dragging you by the arm across campus.

The Basketball Club

“Alright, listen,” Ace began, spinning a basketball on one finger and grinning like he just invented the sport. “You’re obviously joining the basketball club. It’s the best. I’m here, Floyd’s here, and even Jamil’s here, so really, it’s a no-brainer.”

“Is that supposed to sell it?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“Uh, yeah!” he said, tossing the ball toward you. It immediately bounced off your hands and hit the floor. Ace, undeterred, caught it mid-bounce and gave you a wink. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you. I’m, like, super good at this. Just ask him!”

From across the gym, some poor guy—bless his heart—tried to nod in support, but you caught the nervous look he shot Ace instead.

“Okay, sure,” you said, “but isn’t this just an excuse for you to show off?”

“Maybe,” Ace said with zero shame, dribbling the ball dramatically before attempting a layup. The ball bounced off the rim and into Floyd’s waiting hands.

“Shrimpy!” Floyd called, tossing the ball behind his head without looking (and still somehow making the shot). “Join the club. It’ll be fuuuuun.”

You hesitated, because with Floyd, “fun” could mean literally anything. “Define fun,” you said cautiously.

“Simple! You, me, and Ace crushing people in games!” Floyd grinned, leaning closer to you. “And if anyone tries to mess with you, I’ll squish ‘em.”

Ace groaned. “Floyd, you can’t just threaten people into joining.”

“Why not?” Floyd asked, genuinely puzzled.

“Because it’s weird!”

“No, it’s effective,” Floyd countered, shooting you another toothy grin. “C’mon, Shrimpy, you’re already here. I’ll even let you call the plays. Or, you know, not. Whatever.”

“...You’re just bored, aren’t you?”

“Obviously,” Floyd admitted, leaning lazily against the wall. “But hey, if you join, I won’t let Ace hog the ball. Win-win, right?”

And then there was Jamil, who had been sitting silently on the sidelines, observing the chaos with his usual exasperated expression.

“Are they done?” he asked, finally standing and walking over to you.

“I don’t think so,” you replied, watching as Floyd tried to steal the ball from Ace mid-dribble.

Jamil sighed. “Typical.” He glanced at you, his tone cool and measured. “Ignore them. They’re just trying to drag you into their antics.”

“Antics?” Floyd repeated, offended.

“Yeah, Jamil,” Ace added, narrowing his eyes. “What’re you implying?”

“I’m implying you’re both terrible at convincing people,” Jamil said smoothly. He turned back to you. “If you’re interested in joining the club, you’ll actually get something out of it. Physical exercise, teamwork, strategy. And if you stick around, I’ll make sure you’re not stuck with them during practice.”

“Hey!” Ace protested.

Floyd just laughed. “Jamil’s still salty about the last scrimmage.”

“Hardly,” Jamil said, arching an eyebrow. “I’m just pointing out that if you want to learn how to actually play, you’d be better off with me.”

You blinked. “Are you… offering to train me?”

He shrugged, but there was a faint smirk on his face. “If it means saving you from their nonsense, yes.”

All you can do is sigh and say "I'll think about it"

Track and Field Club

You barely made it out of the basketball club’s gym alive when Deuce grabbed your wrist like his life depended on it. His expression was that unique combination of earnest and panicked—classic Deuce.

“Wait, don’t decide yet!” he said, already dragging you down the corridor. “You haven’t even seen the track and field club! You might like it better!”

“Deuce,” you began, trying to keep up without tripping. “I haven’t even—”

“Just come on!”

Before you knew it, you were standing on the edge of the outdoor track, blinking in the sunlight as Deuce shoved you forward like he was presenting a prize to a panel of judges. Jack, in the middle of sprint drills, stopped mid-stride to look over at you. His tail flicked once, and he jogged over with that intimidating mix of focus and curiosity he always had.

“You’re trying to recruit them?” Jack asked, crossing his arms.

Deuce nodded, puffing out his chest like he was making the ultimate sales pitch. “Yeah! Track and field’s way better than basketball. No offense to those guys.”

“I take offense,” you muttered, but neither of them heard.

“Plus,” Deuce continued, “we’ve got variety. Running, jumping, throwing—you can do anything. It’s not just bouncing a ball around, you know?”

Jack nodded in agreement. “It’s good for discipline. Builds strength, endurance, and focus. If you want to improve yourself, this is the place to do it.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, glancing at the track. “And what if I… don’t exactly have focus?”

“That’s fine!” Deuce said, grinning brightly. “We’ll help you! Right, Jack?”

Jack nodded. “Of course. We’ll start with basic drills.” He gave you a once-over, sizing you up. “How’s your stamina?”

“Define… stamina,” you said cautiously, because you had a feeling your answer wasn’t going to impress him.

Jack’s ears twitched, and he leaned slightly closer. “How far can you run without stopping?”

“Uh,” you began, nervously shifting your weight. “To the fridge?”

Jack blinked. “...You’re joking, right?”

Deuce coughed loudly, clapping a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about that! Everyone starts somewhere, right? Besides, they’re here because they want to try something new.”

You stared at Deuce. “I don’t remember saying that.”

“Exactly!” he continued, ignoring you entirely. “Think of how awesome it’d be to have us training you! We’ll get you in the best shape of your life. Right, Jack?”

Jack, who was still mildly horrified by your fridge comment, hesitated. “...Sure.”

Deuce, now fully in salesman mode, gestured to the track like it was some sort of holy land. “And you don’t have to worry about teamwork stuff! You can focus on your personal goals and—”

“Unless you’re in a relay,” Jack interjected.

“Right, but relays are cool!” Deuce added quickly. “Like… team spirit, you know?”

You glanced between the two of them, taking in Jack’s intensity and Deuce’s enthusiasm. They were both staring at you with a mix of hope and determination, and honestly, it was kind of endearing.

“Okay,” you said slowly. “If I join, do I get to skip the first practice?”

“No,” Jack said immediately.

Deuce grinned sheepishly. “But we’ll go easy on you!”

“Jack doesn’t look like he believes that.”

Jack tilted his head, his tail swishing once. “You’ll thank me later.”

“I’m not sure I’ll survive later,” you muttered.

Deuce ignored that, clapping his hands together. “Great! I knew you’d love it here! C’mon, let’s give them a quick demo, Jack!”

Before you could protest, the two of them took off around the track, moving at speeds that made you feel dizzy just watching. Deuce kept glancing back to grin at you, while Jack stayed focused, every stride perfect.

You stood there, bewildered and vaguely impressed, wondering if joining any club was a good idea at all. Still, as Deuce stumbled back toward you, sweaty but grinning like a puppy who just fetched a stick, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Think about it, okay?” he said, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. “We’d love to have you here.”

Jack jogged up beside him, barely winded. “You’ll fit in if you put in the effort.”

“Yeah,” Deuce agreed, nodding earnestly. “So… what do you think?”

You hesitated, glancing at the track, then at them. “…I’ll get back to you.”

Deuce grinned like that was a victory, and Jack just nodded approvingly. As they walked back to their drills, you realized you had yet another club to consider—and these two weren’t going to make it any easier.

Board Game Club

Before you could make your escape—or even fully process the events of the day—your wrist was suddenly seized by Ortho, who zoomed in out of nowhere like a missile with a purpose.

“There you are!” Ortho exclaimed with unsettling cheer. His grip was surprisingly firm for someone who probably didn’t even need to touch you to move you. “Big Brother’s been waiting! Come on!”

“Wait—what? Ortho, where are we—”

“No time for questions!” And just like that, he lifted you into the air like you were a deranged package and he was some kind of express courier. You barely had time to flail before he rocketed off, delivering you with precision to the board game club's headquarters.

You landed with an unceremonious thud, right in front of Idia, who nearly fell out of his chair.

“Ortho!” Idia hissed, his flaming hair flaring. “You can’t just abduct people like that!”

“But you said you wanted them to join!” Ortho chirped. “Mission accomplished!”

Azul, seated calmly at the head of the table, adjusted his glasses and smirked. “Well, well. A delivery service—how efficient. Welcome to the board game club.”

You were still processing the fact that you’d been airmailed when Idia slouched lower in his seat, muttering, “Ugh, so embarrassing. Ortho, seriously…”

“Uh,” you began, brushing yourself off. “Hi?”

Azul gestured grandly to the table in front of him, where an array of meticulously organized board games was displayed like they were ancient treasures. “Here, we focus on strategy, intellect, and the fine art of outwitting your opponent. Unlike other clubs,” he said with a pointed glance at the door, “this one doesn’t require you to break a sweat.”

“That’s actually kind of appealing,” you admitted, still wary.

Idia perked up slightly, his hair flickering a little brighter. “See? I told you it’s cool. I mean, if you like, uh, not running around like some NPC.”

Ortho leaned over, nodding enthusiastically. “And Big Brother’s really good at this stuff! He’s undefeated in our club tournaments!”

“That’s because you’re the only other member who’s not a liability!” Idia blurted, before realizing what he’d just said. “Uh—I mean—you’d totally, like, be an asset. Probably.”

Azul cleared his throat, clearly annoyed at being excluded from the compliment. “Allow me to demonstrate. Why don’t we have a quick match? You against Idia.”

“What?” Idia sat up straight, his hair sparking nervously. “No way! That’s not fair—I can’t just—”

Azul gave him a smile sharp enough to cut glass. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of losing, Idia.”

Idia’s face turned pink. “Fine,” he grumbled, setting up the board. “But don’t blame me if I crush them.”

You sat down reluctantly, realizing too late that this was probably a trap. Idia’s fingers moved at lightning speed as he set up his pieces, muttering calculations under his breath. Ortho leaned over your shoulder, giving you completely useless advice like, “Just believe in yourself!”

To your surprise, you managed to hold your own for the first few turns. Idia glanced up at you, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were reevaluating your existence.

“Huh,” he murmured. “Not bad. For a newbie.”

“Is that a compliment?” you asked, moving your piece cautiously.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he said quickly, his face turning red again.

Azul chuckled from his spot at the table. “See? A game of wits and strategy. Isn’t this far superior to running laps or throwing balls into hoops?”

“Hey!” you said, pointing your game piece at him. “Don’t diss the other clubs. They’re passionate too!”

Azul raised an eyebrow. “Passion doesn’t win battles. Strategy does.”

The game dragged on, and by the end of it, you were completely out of your depth. Idia, on the other hand, looked like he’d just stepped out of an anime boss fight, his hair flaring dramatically as he made his final move.

“Checkmate,” he said, grinning slightly.

“Wrong game, Big Brother,” Ortho corrected.

“Whatever!” Idia snapped, but he didn’t look too upset. “It’s over, okay?”

Azul leaned forward, smirking again. “So, what do you think? Ready to join?”

You leaned back in your chair, your brain fried from trying to keep up. “I… I need to think about it.”

Ortho beamed. “That means they’re considering it! Success!”

Idia muttered something under his breath about “too much pressure” and “why is this so stressful,” but you caught a tiny flicker of a smile as he fiddled with one of the game pieces.

Azul, ever the businessman, handed you a brochure as you left. “Take your time. But remember—intellect always wins.”

You left the board game club feeling like you’d just survived a high-stakes negotiation. And as Ortho cheerfully waved goodbye, you couldn’t help but wonder if all the clubs were this intense.

Film Studies Club

You were rounding a corner, still recovering from your latest club recruitment ambush, when a perfectly manicured hand shot out and grabbed your wrist.

Before you could even yelp, you found yourself being gracefully pulled into the Film Studies Clubroom by none other than Vil Schoenheit. His strides were purposeful, his posture impeccable, and his expression���well, let’s just say it was the definition of I’m doing you a favor, peasant.

“Vil?” you sputtered, barely managing to keep up. “What are you—”

“I need to vet you,” Vil said simply, his voice calm but leaving no room for argument. “The Film Studies Club could use some fresh blood, and you look… adequate.”

“Adequate?” you echoed, mildly offended but too intrigued to argue further.

He led you to the center of the room, gesturing for you to stand under a perfectly angled spotlight. “Don’t misunderstand,” Vil continued, crossing his arms and regarding you with a critical eye. “I’m merely evaluating your potential. Our club requires both talent and diligence—qualities that, if I’m being honest, are rare in this school.”

“Uh, thanks?”

Vil ignored you, pulling out a script and flipping through it like he was deciding your fate. “If you can’t pass the audition, you can still join as a backstage hand,” he said airily. “We’re short on those too.”

“Wow, what an inspiring pitch,” you muttered, but Vil’s sharp gaze silenced you immediately.

“Read this,” he instructed, handing you the script and gesturing for you to begin.

You hesitated, glancing at the lines. “You’re serious? Right now?”

“Do I look like someone who jokes about art?” Vil asked, raising a perfectly sculpted brow.

Point taken.

Clearing your throat, you started reading, trying to put some effort into it. Vil watched you intently, his expression inscrutable. He occasionally tilted his head, as if mentally dissecting every word you spoke, every movement you made.

When you finished, you looked at him expectantly, waiting for his verdict.

Vil tapped his chin, his eyes narrowing. “You’re not hopeless,” he said finally, in a tone that made it sound like a compliment. “Rough around the edges, yes, but I’ve seen worse.”

“Gee, thanks,” you said dryly.

“Don’t be smug. You’ll need work,” Vil continued, ignoring your tone. “But I suppose you have potential.”

“And if I didn’t?”

Vil gave a delicate shrug, his expression cool. “Then you’d still be useful behind the scenes. But consider this your opportunity to elevate yourself. Being part of my club means striving for excellence—no exceptions.”

You couldn’t help but smirk. “Is this really about me, or are you just desperate for members?”

Vil’s eyes narrowed, but there was a flicker of amusement there. “Desperation has nothing to do with it. I’m simply ensuring that my club remains unparalleled. If you happen to benefit from my guidance, so be it.”

“Well, when you put it that way, how can I refuse? I'll think about it.”

Vil’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles. “Smart choice. Now, don’t make me regret it.”

With that, he turned on his heel, leaving you standing there wondering what exactly you’d just signed up for—and if Vil’s idea of “elevating yourself” involved a complete personality overhaul.

Science Club

You barely had time to process Vil's dramatic exit when a familiar voice whispered theatrically, “Ah, my muse! Fate conspires to bring us together!”

Before you could react, Rook Hunt appeared—swooped, really—out of nowhere and expertly whisked you away from the Film Studies Clubroom. It was less like being led and more like being caught mid-flight by an overly enthusiastic bird of prey.

“Rook?!” you yelped as he practically danced you down the hallway. “What is happening?”

“Mon ami,” he declared, his eyes glittering with fervor, “you must see the science club! A world of wonder awaits you!”

“Wait—science?” you echoed, incredulous. “You’re in the science club?”

“Ah, oui! Science is but another stage upon which the beauty of nature and humanity performs its eternal dance! The experiments! The cultivation of life! The creation of culinary masterpieces! All expressions of art, no?”

You weren’t sure if he was describing scientific principles or poetry, but before you could argue, Rook had dragged you into the science clubroom.

The room was a chaotic mix of activities. One corner housed a vibrant garden under grow lights, another had chemistry equipment bubbling away ominously, and a third corner smelled suspiciously like freshly baked bread. Trey Clover stood near a counter, pulling cookies out of an oven as if this were the most normal thing to happen in a science lab.

“Ah, there you are,” Trey greeted, smiling warmly. “Rook said he’d bring someone by. I’m guessing you’re deciding on a club?”

You glanced between Rook, who was already gesturing dramatically at a rack of test tubes, and Trey, who held up a tray of cookies like a peace offering. “I… guess I am?”

“Bien sûr!” Rook exclaimed, sweeping an arm toward the greenery in the corner. “Behold! We grow life itself here! Tomatoes, basil, flowers—anything your heart desires!”

Trey added, “We also bake and cook as part of our activities. It’s a great way to learn about chemistry and make something useful at the same time.”

“And explosions!” Rook chimed in enthusiastically. “Occasionally, there are explosions.”

Trey shot him a look. “Not… intentionally.”

Rook turned back to you, his expression radiant. “Think of the possibilities, mon ami! With science, you can cultivate beauty, create masterpieces, and perhaps even unlock secrets of the universe! And, of course, I am here to guide you—to nurture the artistic soul that dwells within!”

“Also,” Trey added, far more pragmatically, “we’re not picky about what activities you want to try. It’s a flexible club, so you could do a little bit of everything.”

You considered this as Trey handed you a cookie. It was warm and delicious, which admittedly swayed your opinion a little.

“Hmm,” you said thoughtfully, “so I could garden, bake, and blow things up all in one club?”

“Exactly!” Trey said with a smile.

Rook leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a stage whisper. “And think, mon cher—if you hone your talents here, you could support Vil in creating the cinematic beauty he so envisions! Science and art, united in harmony!”

You blinked. “Wait, are you trying to recruit me for this club and help Vil at the same time?”

Rook grinned. “Nature does not limit itself to one purpose, mon ami, and neither do I.”

Trey sighed but didn’t deny it.

“Well, this is definitely… something,” you said, nibbling on the cookie. “I’ll think about it.”

“Ah, a maybe!” Rook clasped his hands together like you’d just promised him your soul. “A victory in itself!”

Before you could say anything else, Rook twirled you toward the door, clearly ready to drag you to your next destination—or possibly just keep talking about “the poetry of chlorophyll” until you gave in.

Pop Music Club

Just as you were beginning to suspect Rook was about to wax poetic about “the lyrical mysteries of yeast fermentation,” a sudden voice interrupted.

“Oh-ho, what’s this?”

Before you could even react, Lilia Vanrouge materialized out of thin air, practically glowing with chaotic energy. “Ah, my dear friend! You’re far too bright a star to waste away on science experiments! Come with me—pop stardom awaits!”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

And just like that, you were swept up in Lilia’s whirlwind. He dragged you down the hallway with a skip in his step and a mischievous laugh, leaving Rook and Trey in his dust.

“Lilia, I can walk, you know!” you said, stumbling to keep up.

“But where’s the drama in that?” Lilia replied, cackling as he pushed open the doors to the Pop Music Clubroom.

Inside, the room was a cacophony of sound and color. Disco lights spun, a half-finished banner reading ‘Next Big Thing!’ hung lopsidedly on the wall, and Kalim was gleefully banging away on a drum like it owed him money. Cater sat cross-legged on the floor, scrolling through his phone and periodically snapping selfies with sparkly filters.

“Oh, hey!” Kalim greeted you, waving so enthusiastically he almost hit himself with the drum stick. “You’re here to join us, right? This club is the best! We have music, dancing, and it’s all just super fun!”

Cater glanced up from his phone, his grin wide and just a little too calculated. “You’d fit right in! Think of all the magicam-worthy moments we could create together. Plus, the followers you’d get? Off the charts.”

“Followers?” you echoed, glancing at Lilia.

“Ah, but of course!” Lilia said, flinging his arms wide as if presenting you to an adoring crowd. “The Pop Music Club isn’t just about music—it’s about presence! Charisma! The ability to captivate a room with a single note or a dazzling smile!”

“It’s also about having a good time!” Kalim added, spinning in a circle for no reason other than sheer joy.

Cater nodded, holding up his phone. “And don’t forget—every moment is a potential viral video. You, me, Lilia, and Kalim as the dream team? We’d own the algorithm.”

You hesitated. “Uh, I don’t even play an instrument.”

“Neither does he!” Lilia said brightly, pointing at some unfortunate bystander.

“Hey!” he protested. “I play the Kalimba!” He promptly tried to play a note, missed the rhythm entirely, and Lilia laughed like it was the funniest thing ever.

“See?” Lilia said, unfazed. “Talent is optional here. All we need is your spirit!”

Cater stood, brushing imaginary dust off his pants. “We also dabble in choreography, so if you’ve got two left feet, don’t worry—we’ll teach you how to make them look intentional.”

“Come on, join us!” Kalim said, grabbing your hands and bouncing up and down like an overexcited puppy. “We could totally use your energy!”

“What energy?” you asked, deadpan. “I’ve been dragged between clubs all day—I barely have any left.”

“Exactly!” Lilia said with a wink. “We’ll channel what’s left into a glorious crescendo of pop music excellence!”

You weren’t sure whether to laugh, cry, or just surrender entirely to the chaos. Lilia’s grin was practically infectious, Kalim’s enthusiasm radiated like the sun, and Cater was already adjusting the angle of his phone to catch you in the best light.

“Well,” you muttered, “at least it sounds… lively.”

“Lively is an understatement,” Cater said, snapping a selfie with you and Lilia in the background. “Hashtag PopStarsInTheMaking! You’re gonna love it here.”

“Let me guess,” you said dryly. “You’re already planning to upload that, aren’t you?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Cater said with a wink.

Lilia clapped his hands, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “So, what do you say? Ready to unleash your inner star?”

“I… will think about it,” you replied, edging toward the door.

“Think fast!” Kalim called after you. “The bass is calling your name!”

You bolted before anyone could shove an instrument into your hands.

Equestrian Club

As you hurried down the hallway, still reeling from the pop music chaos you'd just escaped, you nearly collided with a flash of red.

"Ah, there you are!"

You blinked up at none other than Riddle Rosehearts, who looked as though he'd been scouring the entire school for you. His eyes narrowed, and his voice carried a tone of stern authority mixed with subtle relief.

"I've been looking for you," Riddle said, crossing his arms. "Ace and Deuce mentioned that you’re considering which club to join. As housewarden, it’s my responsibility to ensure you make a proper choice."

You blinked, still processing. "Oh, uh… thanks?"

"Enough dilly-dallying," Riddle said briskly, taking your wrist with surprising firmness. "You're coming with me to the Equestrian Club."

"Wait, what—"

Before you could finish, Riddle had already begun marching you toward the stables. You were half-dragged, half-guided, catching snippets of his lecture along the way about the merits of horseback riding, discipline, and poise.

When you arrived, the warm scent of hay filled the air, and the sound of soft nickering greeted you. The stables were pristine, the horses sleek and well-groomed. Standing nearby were Silver and Sebek, both tending to the horses.

"Riddle, you found them" Silver greeted you with his usual calm demeanor. He gave you a faint smile as he gently brushed a dappled gray mare. "Perfect timing—we were just about to go for a ride."

Sebek, on the other hand, straightened like a soldier at attention, his voice booming. "THEY WILL JOIN US, OF COURSE! IT IS ONLY FITTING FOR AN INDIVIDUAL OF WORTH TO EMBRACE SUCH A NOBLE ART!"

"Sebek, indoor voice," Riddle said sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I AM OUTDOORS!" Sebek retorted, though he did lower his volume slightly.

You glanced nervously at the horses. "Uh, I don’t know if I’m… horse material."

"Nonsense," Riddle said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Riding teaches discipline, focus, and responsibility. It’s the perfect club for fostering growth—and for avoiding unnecessary distractions like some less dignified clubs."

"Pop Music Club?" you guessed.

Riddle sniffed, his expression sour. "Among others."

Silver walked over, still holding the brush, and gave you a reassuring nod. "Don’t worry. The horses are gentle, and we can teach you everything. It’s a peaceful activity once you get used to it."

"Peaceful!" Sebek exclaimed, throwing his arms wide. "It is a pursuit befitting the greatest warriors! EVEN LORD MALLEUS—"

"Sebek," Riddle interrupted, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Focus on the matter at hand."

"Apologies!" Sebek barked, saluting.

Riddle turned back to you, his expression softening just a fraction. "The Equestrian Club isn’t just about riding horses. It’s about elegance, partnership, and understanding. You could benefit greatly from it."

"And the horses are great listeners," Silver added.

"Unlike some humans," Sebek muttered under his breath.

You bit back a laugh as Riddle gave Sebek another glare.

"What do you say?" Riddle asked, stepping aside to let you see one of the horses—a chestnut with a kind, inquisitive gaze. "This is Vorpal. Perhaps a ride would convince you?"

The horse whinnied softly, and for a moment, you considered it. There was something appealing about the tranquility of the stables, the camaraderie of the club members, and the undeniable charm of working with such majestic creatures.

But then you remembered the drum chaos, the science experiments, and Vil’s dramatic vetting process.

"Let me, uh… think about it?" you said, taking a step back.

Riddle sighed, though he looked more exasperated than disappointed. "Very well. But don’t wait too long—indecision is unbecoming."

"Yeah," you mumbled. "Got it."

As you made your escape, you could hear Sebek booming, "RIDING A HORSE WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE!"

You weren’t sure about that, but you were certain that escaping club recruitment was starting to feel like an Olympic sport.

Magift Club

As you staggered away from the stables, thoroughly frazzled by Sebek’s enthusiastic yelling and Riddle’s intense lecture on discipline, you barely had time to catch your breath before—

“Yo, gotcha!”

A pair of hands grabbed your shoulders from behind, and you let out a very undignified yelp. You turned to find Ruggie grinning up at you like a mischievous hyena that had just found its next meal.

“Ruggie! What—?”

“No time for questions, boss,” he said, practically dragging you down the path. “Leona’s orders. He told me to bring ya to the Magift Club.”

“The Magift Club?” you repeated, already sensing disaster.

Ruggie nodded, smirking. “Yup. Let’s go, let’s go!”

“But—wait—I don’t even have magic!” you protested as he hauled you toward the field.

“Details, details,” Ruggie waved off, his grip on your arm firm.

Soon enough, you were dumped unceremoniously on the sidelines of the Magift field. Leona was lounging on the grass under the shade of a tree, looking entirely too comfortable for someone allegedly trying to recruit you. Epel was nearby, aggressively practicing his throws while muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “I’ll show ‘em.”

Leona cracked one eye open lazily as Ruggie dropped you off. “’Bout time,” he drawled.

“Leona,” you said flatly, “why would you want me in the Magift Club? I don't even have magic.”

He yawned, looking entirely unbothered. “Yeah, I know that. You’re still better than the other herbivores running around. You can be the manager.”

“Manager?”

“Yup,” Ruggie chimed in, plopping down next to Leona. “You’d handle all the boring stuff—paperwork, schedules, snacks, makin’ sure Epel doesn’t throw a fit when he gets tackled.”

“I don’t throw fits!” Epel yelled, narrowly missing a hoop with his throw.

Leona smirked. “Sure you don’t.”

You crossed your arms, unconvinced. “Why me, though? You’re telling me I’m the best candidate for this?”

Leona sat up slightly, his sharp eyes locking on yours. “I’m sayin’ you’re the least annoying option. I don’t need some herbivore manager who’s gonna cry every time I take a nap instead of practicing. You’re not useless, so quit whining.”

Ruggie leaned in conspiratorially. “Basically, you’re the only one Leona doesn’t feel like chasing off the field after two days.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like a ringing endorsement.”

Leona shrugged. “Take it or leave it. Makes no difference to me.”

At that moment, Epel ran up, panting slightly from his practice. “C’mon, you should join us!” he urged. “You don’t need magic to be part of the team. And if you ever wanna learn some tricks, I can teach ya!”

Leona gave him a lazy side-eye. “Don’t scare them off.”

“I’m not scarin’ ‘em! I’m convincin’ ‘em!” Epel shot back, glaring at Leona before turning back to you. “Seriously, we could use someone like you. The club’s fun, I promise!”

Ruggie snickered. “Fun’s a stretch. It’s more like… survival of the fittest with a ball involved.”

“And napping,” Leona added with a smirk.

Epel crossed his arms. “Well, maybe if someone practiced instead of nappin’, we’d win more games!”

Leona waved him off with a scoff.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “I don’t know, guys. This sounds like a lot of chaos.”

“Chaos is half the fun,” Ruggie said with a grin. “C’mon, boss, think of all the free food we get during games. And you’d get to boss Leona around as the manager. Ain’t that worth it?”

Leona snorted. “Good luck with that.”

You glanced at the trio—Epel brimming with determination, Ruggie radiating mischief, and Leona looking like he didn’t care but also somehow cared just enough to try. It was… weirdly tempting, in its own way.

“I’ll… think about it,” you said finally.

“Fair enough,” Leona said, already reclining again. “Don’t take too long, though. We’ve got a game next week, and I’m not filling out paperwork.”

Ruggie winked. “Don’t worry, you’ll come around. Everyone does.”

As you left the field, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just been almost recruited into something much more taxing than a simple club.

Mountain Lovers Club

Before you could escape the Magift field and all its potential paperwork, you took a sharp turn—only to smack right into what felt like a wall of polite menace. A soft, knowing chuckle sounded above you.

“Oh dear, do be careful,” came Jade Leech’s unmistakably smooth voice.

You took a step back, already dreading the conversation. “Jade,” you said warily, “what are you doing here?”

His sharp smile grew ever so slightly. “Waiting for you, of course. Word travels fast, and I’ve heard you’re in the market for a club.”

“Oh no,” you muttered. “You’re not here to—”

Before you could finish, he was already guiding you away, his hand light on your arm but unyielding, like a vice hidden under a silk glove.

“Come now,” he said, his tone as polite as ever, “I simply must show you the Mountain Lovers Club.”

“The what now?” you asked, bewildered.

“The Mountain Lovers Club,” he repeated, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“And… who else is in this club?”

“Why, just me.”

You stopped in your tracks. “It’s just you?”

“Yes.” Jade smiled serenely, as if this were not a glaring red flag. “I am the founder, leader, and sole member. But with your arrival, that could very well change.”

You blinked at him, unsure if you’d misheard. “Wait, so you’ve been running a one-person club this whole time?”

“Indeed.” His expression didn’t falter in the slightest. “The Mountain Lovers Club is dedicated to the appreciation of all things mountainous. Hiking through beautiful terrain, foraging for wild plants, observing unique ecosystems, and—on occasion—befriending the local fauna.”

“Befriending?”

“Examining, petting, observing closely…” His eyes gleamed. “Perhaps all three.”

You shook your head, trying to process. “So… why me?”

Jade clasped his hands together, the picture of poised enthusiasm. “You strike me as someone who appreciates unique experiences. The Mountain Lovers Club offers a chance to explore the great outdoors, expand your horizons, and develop a deeper appreciation for nature’s wonders.”

“And by ‘great outdoors,’ you mean mountains?”

“Precisely.”

“And it’s just you?”

“For now,” he said, his tone warm but his gaze uncomfortably intense. “But every great journey begins with a single step. Yours could be joining this club.”

You gave a nervous laugh. “Uh… I don’t think hiking through mountains is really my thing.”

“Ah, but how do you know unless you try?” Jade’s smile widened. “Besides, I’ll be there to guide you every step of the way. No need to worry about getting lost… or encountering anything unexpected.”

The way he said “unexpected” made you want to run for the hills (ironic, given the circumstances).

“Look, I appreciate the offer, but—”

“I insist,” he cut in smoothly, his tone polite but with a note of finality. “At least allow me to show you the club’s activities. Perhaps a short hike this weekend? I’ve already prepared a route.”

You stared at him. “You’ve already…?”

“Of course.” His gaze was calm, calculating. “Preparation is key. I’ve even packed a lunch.”

You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Jade, I—”

He tilted his head, his smile remaining perfectly composed. “Surely you wouldn’t refuse without at least giving it a chance? I’ve put so much thought into this.”

“Why do I feel like I don’t have a choice?” you muttered.

Jade’s smile was razor-sharp and utterly unrepentant. “Because you don’t.”

You sighed in defeat. “Fine. One hike.”

“Excellent,” he said, his tone soft and victorious. “I’ll see you this Saturday at dawn.”

“Dawn?!”

“Oh yes,” he said, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. “The mountains are at their most beautiful in the early morning light. You’ll love it.”

As he sauntered away, leaving you to process your fate, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just agreed to something far more treacherous than a simple hike.

Gargoyle Research Society

The moment you finally reached Ramshackle Dorm, exhausted from the whirlwind of club-hopping and increasingly bizarre sales pitches, you let out a long sigh of relief. The day had been nothing short of chaotic, and all you wanted was to collapse onto your creaky old bed and forget the words “club activities” ever existed.

But just as your hand touched the doorknob, a familiar voice, deep and regal, called out from the shadows.

“Child of man.”

You jumped slightly, spinning around to see none other than Malleus Draconia emerging from beneath the pale light of the moon, his presence as imposing and enigmatic as always. He stood by one of Ramshackle’s crumbling stone walls, his expression calm but his eyes bright with an unreadable intensity.

“Oh, Malleus,” you said, your voice tinged with weariness but also a touch of warmth. “Didn’t see you there.”

He tilted his head ever so slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “I was merely admiring the architecture of your dorm. It has a certain… wistful charm.”

You smiled faintly. “I guess that’s one way to put it.”

Then, with the sort of graceful confidence only Malleus could manage, he stepped closer, his presence looming but never threatening. “I have heard,” he began, his tone soft and deliberate, “that you have been seeking a club to join.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “How did you—”

“The winds carry whispers,” he said cryptically.

“Right,” you muttered, deciding not to question it.

Malleus folded his hands neatly in front of him, looking every bit the picture of regal sincerity. “If you have not yet made your decision… I would like to invite you to join my club.”

Your brain, still reeling from Jade’s mountain escapades and Leona’s managerial demands, stalled for a moment. “Your… club?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice brimming with quiet pride. “The Gargoyle Research Society.”

“The… what now?”

“The Gargoyle Research Society,” he repeated, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I am both its founder and sole member.”

Of course, he was.

Malleus seemed oblivious to your stunned silence as he continued, his expression softening into something almost earnest. “The society is dedicated to the appreciation and study of gargoyles. We explore the campus, observing their intricate designs and marveling at their history. There is so much beauty in their silent watch over us.”

You blinked. “So… you just walk around and look at gargoyles?”

“Precisely,” he said, his tone unironically enthusiastic.

“And… that’s it?”

Malleus nodded solemnly. “Indeed. It is a noble pursuit, one that nurtures both the mind and the spirit.”

For a moment, you were at a loss for words. Of all the clubs you’d encountered today, this might just take the crown for most niche.

Malleus, however, seemed utterly earnest. His eyes bore into yours, his expression sincere and unguarded. “I understand if this does not align with your current interests,” he said, his voice softening. “But should you ever feel the call of the gargoyles… know that you are always welcome.”

There was something so genuine in his tone, so quietly hopeful, that you felt a pang of guilt for even thinking about brushing him off. You sighed, offering him a tired but sincere smile. “You know what? I’ll definitely consider it.”

Malleus’s eyes lit up, his calm demeanor giving way to a flicker of pure joy. “Truly?”

“Truly,” you said, nodding.

“Then I shall look forward to the day you join me,” he said, his voice as soft as a promise.

With that, he gave you a small, graceful bow before disappearing back into the night, leaving you to wonder how you’d managed to end the day not only agreeing to a potential club but also feeling oddly flattered by the idea of studying gargoyles.

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “What a day…”

Masterlist

Part 2: Choosing a club

a/n: it completely slipped my mind that ortho is in film studies sorry :(

[yueebby]

happy wife, happy life  — gojo satoru

synopsis. not fawning over his wife may prove to be harder than gojo thought.

contents. fluff, gojo is so whipped for his wife and everyone is tired (whats new), ooc gojo?

notes. this was pure self indulgence. i wanted to slander and coddle gojo all at once and this was it teehee :3

the first thing you hear when you stand up to leave the staff meeting is a wolf whistle.

“looking good,” satoru looks you up and down. you roll your eyes playfully, your husband’s behavior is not foreign to you. he taps your upper thigh, dangerously close to your butt as you take your leave. however, the others in the room don't take kindly to the action.

“highly inappropriate behavior gojo,” utahime mutters under her breath from across the table. beside her, nanami is giving your husband a hard stare. 

satoru pays no mind to them though, smiling up at you as you walk out of the room. you shake your head when he continuously blows a series of kisses. he ignores your rejection, opting to mouth crude comments instead.

the moment the door shuts, the strongest sorcerer immediately deflates, disinterested in whatever matters the rest had to discuss about. 

“i don’t know how she puts up with you,” utahime takes a long sip out of her cup of tea. beside her, shoko snorts.

“probably for his body.” shoko is not unfamiliar with satoru’s antics, having witnessed it since his rowdy school days. she applauds him for coming far with you, but it was still fun to tease him.

gojo crosses his arms, emitting a disgruntled sound. “and my golden personality?”

nanami sighs, “ieiri’s conclusion is most likely right.”

the limitless user wiggles his finger playfully. “nanamin, how scandalous of you to fantasize about my body! i’m a married man y’know~” 

nanami looks like he has eaten something sour. unlike you, nanami’s attitude towards gojo has not softened as the years passed.

“i’m surprised she’s still with you.” utahime snickers. “she’s a sensible woman and you’re–” 

satoru frowns at her statement.  he’d never thought about how you felt about his behavior. perhaps that was his fatal flaw. gojo satoru had a nasty streak of negligence. and the last time he failed to notice someone dear to him —   

“well i’m glad she ended up choosing me, yeah?” his frown is quickly covered up by the wide smirk on his face. he leans back on his chair that’s starting to feel less comfortable by the second. the chair creaks under the weight of his body. honestly, how old are these old wooden things? “as much as i’d like to keep chatting about my lovely wife, i’d like to get this meeting over with so i can see her again.”

the rest of the meeting ensues as usual.

“sensei has been weird… right?” itadori offers his hand after knocking megumi down during a sparring match. the black haired boy grunts as he is pulled up.

“if by weird, you mean normal.” megumi glances back at you and gojo who are watching intently at the first and second years practicing close combat on the training field. it was a bit peculiar to see satoru not throw himself all over you. gojo without pda is like a jigsaw puzzle missing its most essential piece, leaving the overall picture incomplete and lacking the electrifying energy that defines his existence. 

“i feel like i should be happy, but it’s unsettling to see him not initiating some misconduct. do you think they’re fighting?” nobara is panting on the grassy floor. she raises her hand in surrender when maki leaps in to take her head off with a spear.

maki retracts her blade, turning back to observe you and gojo, “nah, gojo would fold at her command.” 

“salmon.”

from across the training field, you turn to your husband nervously, “why are they staring at us?”

satoru hums, his blindfolded gaze focuses on the field in front of you, “hm, maybe they’re admiring their very beautiful [name] sensei.” the blindfolded man pauses. compliments should still be okay– right? satoru can’t imagine a life without lavishing you with love, yet he will content himself with gently sprinkling you with affection. 

you smack his shoulder playfully. to your surprise, your husband doesn’t reciprocate with some form of physical affection. you tilt your head, perplexed. 

quickly dismissing it, you yell at your students to continue their training.

you don’t notice the way satoru clenches his fists, keeping his eyes trained anywhere but you.

the next time satoru is tempted by your presence is when he comes back home after a mission. it was a walk in the park, but the heavy stack of paperwork that followed it had depleted his energy. all he wanted was to snuggle in bed with his wife, selfishly keeping you all to himself.

and you’re not making it easier to resist with the way you warmly greet him with a smile in nothing but a small cotton tee and those tiny pajama shorts. eyes up, eyes up, eyes up, satoru mentally chants.

he thinks he might actually die.

“toru!” you abandon the book you had been reading to pay your husband taxes (kisses that satoru demands he must have). “you’re home awfully late.”

“mission… paperwork,” his clipped response is mumbled as he hurries past you and to your shared bathroom, avoiding your touch. satoru silently prays to the heavens that you don’t notice his suspicious efforts as he makes his way to take a much needed ice cold shower.

you stand in your spot in confusion, letting your husband go. slowly, you start to connect the pieces of satoru’s strange behavior from his refusal to touch you to his sudden responsible disposition. gojo satoru never does paperwork– not unless you bribe him with a dozen kisses. speaking of kisses, you don’t even remember the last time he had demanded one. something was definitely wrong. 

without missing a beat, you quickly follow your lover’s trail into the bathroom.

to your delight, your husband had failed to lock the door. in the hush of your silence, you can hear the subtle rustle of satoru's garments.

his sky blue eyes go wide when he sees you walk through the door.

“toru… is there something wrong?” your voice is careful. 

the white haired man in front of you nervously laughs as he covers his bare chest, “geez, ask me out to dinner first.” 

“gojo satoru.”

your husband winces at his full name being used, but he puts on another mask. a faux smile plays on his lips as he shrugs. “i don’t know what you mean, gojo.” 

your heart drops at his insistence to shut you out, but you stand your ground. with sheer determination, you walk up to your husband, closing the gap between the two of you. you cup his cheek with a hand while you start to lean closer, your lips nearly brushing.

satoru shuts his eyes, inhaling a deep breath to regain composure. he even sucks in his lips, making him look utterly ridiculous. despite the dangerous allure of your proximity, he resolves to stand firm.

"you won’t even kiss me anymore! satoru, this is absurd. what's happening?" you distance yourself, seeking answers.

despite his towering stature, a snort escapes you as satoru resembles a mere child when mumbling something under his breath.

"come on, use your big boy words."

"i don't want to drive you away," he avoids making eye contact now that his blindfold is off. "i know i can be a bit overwhelming at times."

upon hearing his excuse, you snort loudly, “seriously?”

“seriously.”

“i can’t believe i married such an idiot.” you huff, wrapping your arms around his neck.

satoru pouts, “you’re breaking my heart wifey.”

your lips softly kiss the corner of his mouth. like it was muscle memory, satoru’s lips chase yours even after you pull away. you smile.

“for such a genius, you really are stupid ‘toru.” you flick his forehead. he whines and you know it didn’t hurt, yet you entertain him by leaning up to kiss his injury. “believe it or not, i married you for reasons beyond your pretty face and body.”

“you think i’m pretty?” his eyes shine bright as they lovingly gaze into yours. you take one hand to cup his cheek. he nuzzles his face into it.

“of course you’d say that.” you laugh softly. “but honestly, i’m offended that you thought i would ever be annoyed by your affections. might i remind you that we have been madly in love since our youth? i found myself captivated by your ability to love effortlessly, and the way you hopelessly pined for me for years? i knew i was a goner. that… and your bank accoun–”

satoru kisses you with an intensity that leaves you feeling blissfully lightheaded. lost in the haze of the moment, he showers the rest of your face with tender, wet kisses, and you stand there, surrendering to the sweet assault.

upon withdrawing, satoru wears a broad grin. "i was an idiot today, wasn't i?" you nod, breathless. "how about i make it up to you tonight?" he proposes, drawing you close. you are all too familiar with that feral grin adorning his face.

[skinnytrips]

Should’nt I be real? You deserve to be here and to be alive. I know it’s stressful on you right now, I promise living on your own it should be less stressful and much easier to work on some things. It’s wrong for Alex to call his friend (who you know to be very biased towards loving sex) to see if you’re unreasonable, that’s not really fair. Everything learns stuff from their experiences and you shouldn’t hate yourself for what you’ve had to go through. He doesn’t want to live with Me He isn’t worth your time or pain. You deserve to be happier. I’m not worth his time or his pin But that’s his own fault for refusing to acknowledge that maybe, for us, he’d have to change something. We’ve changed a lot for him (even though he doesn’t see it, which is another fucked thing, I see that you try and I understand the blocks of why you struggle) What if I have to change? You can’t really get rid of what you’re uncomfortable with, that’s very unhealthy for you without trying to work through it in a more natural, safe environment. That home is too stressful to process anything. I don’t belong in this world, so many people are so affectionate and I can’t really be okay with it. You belong in this world, there’s lots of people uncomfortable with affection and sex in video games, shows, and all. With the discomfort. Some people would agree with us and some wirh him, but it’s important to be on your own side. Leaving everything won’t help you feel any better, but know that leaving where you’re comfortable would help. But I still see your side Does that mean anything? What if you only see my side because you’re stuck with me, wouldn’t you think I’m crazy too? Or over reactive? Ridiculous? No, I see your side to understand. I know if I don’t understand, I need to, because there’s always a logical, reasonable reason for stuff like this. You really don’t deserve this trauma or the fighting. Nobody pities you Sometimes people don’t understand, someone would feel bad for us, I do know that. It doesn’t matter if nobody around us feels bad for us ◦ Are we required the empathy/sympathy to feel like pain isn’t going to be abrupt, interruptive, or as if the dizzying of derealization and the blur of time, is reliant on our actions that isn’t able to be as clear? ◦ Do you feel I’ve failed my exteriors? As SEVEN display, I didn’t want to be a perceptive receptive problematic sum, due to disliking the heartache, the emotional pressure, the feeelong of being watched ◦ Or am I bloody? Is it all makeup at this point? Meaning in particular, do I sound minuscule, or is this something relative, related, or understood in ways I don’t quite understand? Vae

[little-jana]

"Unspoken Understanding"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x f!reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: reader is deaf, insecurities, minor talk of work discrimination, use of y/n

Words: 1.6k

Summary: Spencer learns something new about the the reader and his reaction is not what you expected.

Request: @lucreziaq2001 - Hope you like it 🧡

It had been a long case in Seattle — one that left everyone on edge and emotionally drained. But at least now it was over, and the team had decided to decompress together before heading to the airport. The cozy restaurant Derek picked was warm and lively, with the smell of freshly baked bread and the low hum of conversation filling the air. You were sitting next to Spencer in the booth, his shoulder just brushing yours, as the team unwound around you.

Over the past few months, you and Spencer had grown close. It had started with quiet conversations in the bullpen, him recommending books and you teasing him about his endless trivia. Gradually, coffee dates turned into real dates, and now there was something unspoken between the two of you — a tender connection neither of you had defined yet but that you both knew was there.

You watched him now, the way his hands gestured as he explained something to Emily and JJ about probability theory. His passion always made you smile. But your focus was broken by the vibration of your phone on the table.

You glanced down at the screen, your expression shifting when you saw the name. It was someone from home — someone you couldn’t ignore.

“Sorry,” you murmured, leaning toward Spencer briefly. “I have to take this. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Of course,” he said, his eyes soft as he watched you leave.

You slipped outside, the cool evening air hitting your face as you found a quiet corner near the entrance. With practiced ease, you answered the call and began signing. The conversation flowed smoothly, your hands moving quickly and gracefully to convey your thoughts. It was a short call — less than five minutes — but when you hung up, you sighed softly, glancing up at the stars to clear your mind before heading back inside.

Unbeknownst to you, Spencer had seen the entire exchange. He’d excused himself to grab a glass of water, and through the large front windows of the restaurant, he’d caught sight of you outside. At first, he’d just smiled, watching you pace as you spoke. But then his expression shifted when he realized you weren’t speaking. You were signing.

He stopped in his tracks, his mind racing as he watched you. The grace and fluidity of your movements were unmistakable. You were fluent.

Pieces of the puzzle began falling into place. The slight delays in your responses during conversations. The way you always angled yourself to face whoever was speaking. The way your gaze lingered on people’s lips.

Spencer’s breath caught. You were deaf.

It wasn’t something you’d ever mentioned — not in the months you’d worked together, not on any of your dates. And now, watching you, he realized why. You’d hidden it. But why? His chest tightened as he thought of all the possible reasons.

When you came back inside and slid into the booth beside him, you gave him a small smile.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his voice warm and gentle.

“Yeah,” you said, brushing it off. “Just a quick call.”

He nodded, but his mind was still swirling with questions. He didn’t ask any of them, though, not yet. Instead, he silently vowed to approach this with care.

---

A few days later, Spencer he spoke to you at work.

“Hey,” he said uncharacteristically hesitant.

“Hey,” you replied, curious about the look on his face.

“I was wondering,” he began, “if you’d like to grab coffee this weekend. There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

Your stomach tightened at this. “Sure,” you said, trying to sound casual. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing bad,” he said quickly, as if sensing your nerves. “I promise.”

“Okay,” you said, relaxing slightly. “Saturday work?”

“Perfect,” he said.

When Saturday arrived, you found yourself feeling inexplicably anxious. Spencer had never made you feel anything less than safe, but the way he’d spoken had left you wondering if something had shifted.

The café he chose seemed quiet and cozy, with large windows that let in the morning light. He was already there when you arrived, sitting at a corner table with a cup of tea in front of him. He stood when he saw you, smiling warmly.

“Hey,” he said, pulling out your chair for you.

“Hey,” you replied, sitting down and setting your bag on the floor.

For a while, you made small talk, discussing books and work and everything in between. But you could tell he was working up to something, his hands fidgeting slightly with his cup. Finally, he took a deep breath.

“I saw you the other night,” he said.

You blinked, confused. “Saw me?”

“At the restaurant,” he clarified. “When you were on your call outside.”

Your stomach dropped.

“I saw you signing,” he said gently.

You froze, your hands tightening around your cup.

“Yeah,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re deaf,” he said, not as a question but as a statement of understanding.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I am. Since I was a kid.”

He didn’t say anything, and you rushed to fill the silence, your words tumbling out in a rush.

“I didn’t tell anyone at work because I didn’t want it to affect how people saw me,” you said. “I can read lips, and my hearing aids help enough that most people don’t notice. But I’ve seen how some people treat disabilities, and I didn’t want anyone to think I couldn’t do my job. I just... I didn’t want to take that risk.”

Spencer reached out, covering your hand with his. The simple gesture made you pause, your breath hitching.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice steady. “You don’t have to explain. And you don’t have to hide this. Not from me. Not from anyone.”

Tears prickled at your eyes, and you quickly blinked them away.

“You don’t think it’s a liability?” you asked, your voice small.

He shook his head firmly. “No. If anything, it makes me admire you even more. You’ve been doing one of the hardest jobs in the world, and you’ve done it so well that none of us even realized. That’s... incredible.”

Your chest ached with relief and gratitude, and for the first time, you felt like you could breathe.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

---

A week later, Spencer appeared at your desk, looking unusually nervous.

“Hey,” he said, rocking slightly on his heels. “Can I show you something?”

“Of course,” you said, tilting your head curiously.

He took a deep breath, then lifted his hands.

“Hello," he signed, his movements a little stiff but unmistakable. "How are you?"

Your eyes widened, and your heart leapt into your throat.

“You’re learning ASL?” you asked, your voice filled with disbelief.

He nodded, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “I’ve been practicing,” he admitted. “I wanted to be able to talk to you in a way that’s comfortable for you.”

For a moment, you couldn’t speak. The gesture was so thoughtful, so kind, that it left you completely overwhelmed.

“Spence,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” he said simply. “Because I care about you.”

The words hung in the air between you, and all you could do was smile, your heart so full it felt like it might burst.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion.

He smiled back, his hand brushing against yours in a quiet promise. And in that moment, you knew you didn’t have to hide anymore — not from him, not from anyone.

Because Spencer Reid had seen you, truly seen you, and he cared.

[glitter-stained]

Thinking about how some modern comics writers (Tom Taylor) write the batfam and why it doesn't sit right (this post centers around the robins because of their training but some of that reflexion would definitely fit for Barbara and Cass as well.)

The thing with writing a team of people with similar training and strength is you can't take the easy route of "well this one is the smart one! And this one is the flexible one! And this one is the strong one!" .... which is obviously reductive to all of their characters. Obviously, they have interpersonal differences; Dick, being raised as an acrobat, is the most flexible, but that doesn't mean that every single one of these little fuckers doesn't like to bend, twist and somersault to dodge bullets like an annoying worm on a string being flung around in the sky. They're Robins. Obviously, Jason is the bulkiest, but that doesn't mean they don't all go through hardcore conditioning -Tim is only considered "frail" when you put him between Bruce and Jason, this guy would bench-press you any day, come on. (And DC editorial can lie to us about the girls' weights and heights and make them at the limit of ed-territory even though they're doing parkour and hardcore martial arts every day but I know the truth, Steph's strong as hell, homegirl's got bazooka-level guns). Obviously Damian was raised in the League and is proficient in a bunch of martial arts, but they all received training from a bunch of different experts, including, for all of them, the same guy (that they are all so normal and chill about.) Obviously, Tim is the one who used detective work to figure out everyone's identity but you're kidding yourself if you think he's the only intelligent/detective one amongst the robins. Being smart and a detective is a defining part of all of their characterization, and so is being a leader and a strategist. And then of course with that kind of simplified characterization we end up with Steph being "the girl robin" and Damian "the assassin one/stabby one" and Duke "the meta one" (yes this post counts Duke as a Robin. They trained him and also just cause I wanted to. I love him.)

And even if we make an effort and try to dissect it "this one is the detective smart one! And this one is the strategist! and this one is smart in a more techy-way! And this one is the leader! And this one- hey what kind of intelligence do we have left..." obviously doesn't work either. Duke was a exhilarating strategist in WaR already, Jason's strategic work in UTH and detective in Lost Days is thrilling, Damian is a fucking child surgeon (do I need to develop how intelligent that kid is), Dick was the first leader of the Titans and is always doing detective work like, that's an inherent part of his character, Duke was a cute-ass baby doing puzzles and planning to defeat the Riddler himself, Steph literally became Spoiler to stop Cluemaster (girl knows to solve riddles that would make Nygma shit his pants), they've almost all lead a team at some point, etc, etc. All of this is great and cool and a character being great doesn't take away from the skills of another character! Stark contrasts cannot possibly be the only interesting team dynamics, especially since they already have their own teams of contrasting skillset and personalities.

Imo, best robin team-up dynamics is them stepping on eachother's toes with their plans, getting into rapid-fire brainstorming sessions where they're all finishing eachother's sentences, reaching a conclusion and saying it out loud at the same time, one of them having a crazy ass plan and suggesting it to the other and the other saying "i like the way you think" to that person who thinks exactly like them, getting mad at eachother for being stubborn while also being a stubborn little shit, pulling complicated acrobatics together, and just thriving solving a good old complicated mystery with other people who are just as competent and enthusiastic about detective work as them but not a carbon copy, with extremely specific strength and weaknesses and quirks (like Dick's ability to recognise heroin by putting it in his mouth, Damian's uncanny voice imitation ability, etc.)

Of course, this doesn't even begin to touch the family drama, but honestly we get so much family drama angst with no real consequence rn, I'd really love just a robin team-up, relatively low-stakes (aka nothing taking over the city, the world, no past traumas unearthed to haunt them or parental abuse or secret cults etc etc.) Just a very elaborate murder mystery and a good excuse for all the robins to be there and a story that works with their similarities and their potential (both comedic and in terms of plot) rather than erasing it. It would be so much fun!

[jaylalolz]

⌗ ┆𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐑 . . . nicholas chavez

★┊[ fem!reader x nicholas.c ] .ᐟ

SUMMARY, after spotting a stranger staring at her across the club, things swiftly escalated when he brought her in for a dance.

A/N, i lwk hate this but it’s wtv😔 didn’t proof read so lmk if there’s any mistakes AND ik it’s long i’m srry💔

WARNINGS, smuttyyyy

The music in the bar throbbed with a steady pulse, the bass vibrating through the floor. Bodies moved rhythmically under dim neon lights, and the scent of alcohol mixed with the sharp tang of spilled beer. She sat alone at the edge of the bar, fingers tracing the rim of her half-empty glass, feeling a little abandoned. Her friend, who had been so excited for a girls’ night out, had ditched her to hit the dance floor the moment her favorite song came on. Typical.

Her gaze drifted over the crowd, idly watching as people swayed and laughed. She sighed, the sense of isolation creeping in as the noise of the bar seemed to amplify her loneliness. Just as she was about to check her phone for a distraction, she felt a prickling sensation, the kind that told her someone was staring at her.

She looked up, scanning the room, and her eyes locked with his.

He was leaning casually against the far wall, partly obscured by shadows. His features were sharp, confident, framed by messy dark hair that suited him far too well. The man was tall, his broad shoulders relaxed in a leather jacket that looked worn in all the right places. His eyes, though, were what held her captive. Intense, unwavering, like he was studying her. She shifted in her seat, feeling an unexpected warmth rise in her cheeks. Why wasn’t he looking away?

She considered breaking the eye contact, but something kept her gaze locked on his. There was something magnetic about the way he watched her. Not in a creepy, predatory way, but with an intensity that made her feel like the only person in the room.

The bartender interrupted her thoughts, sliding a fresh drink in front of her with a practiced ease.

“I didn’t order this,” she said, puzzled.

The bartender leaned in slightly, his voice low enough to be heard over the music. “The guy in the corner paid for it,” he said, gesturing subtly in the direction of the mysterious stranger.

Her heart skipped a beat. She glanced back toward him, and sure enough, the guy was still looking at her. He lifted his drink slightly, a silent toast in her direction, before taking a slow sip. She hesitated for a moment, unsure what to make of it all, but she wasn’t the type to shy away from something that intrigued her.

“Thanks,” she muttered to the bartender, lifting the glass to her lips and taking a cautious sip. It was good. Better than what she’d been drinking before. She stood up, smoothing her dress and trying to calm the flutter of nerves that had sprung to life in her stomach.

She walked across the room toward him, weaving through the throngs of people until she stood just a few feet away. Up close, he was even more striking, his chiseled features more defined in the low light. He raised an eyebrow, a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“Thanks for the drink,” she said, tilting her glass toward him. “But you didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugged, his voice deep and smooth. “I wanted to. You looked like you could use something better than whatever it was you were drinking.” She laughed softly, relaxing a little. “Was it that obvious?”

He smirked, his gaze never leaving hers. “Just a guess. I also figured you could use some company. Your friend seems… occupied.”

She glanced over at the dance floor where her friend was still lost in the music, completely unaware of the world outside her rhythm. “Yeah, she does that.”

He extended a hand toward an empty chair beside him. “Mind if I join you for a bit?”

She hesitated for only a second before sitting down, feeling the tension in her shoulders ease as they fell into a comfortable conversation. His presence was easy, his humor dry but charming, and before long, she found herself forgetting she had ever felt alone at all.

As they talked, she found herself losing track of time, drawn into the smooth flow of his words and the way his voice rumbled low in his chest. He was sharp, witty, but not in a showy way—more like he spoke with quiet confidence, leaving space for her to fill the conversation. Every now and then, his gaze would flicker down to her lips before meeting her eyes again, and it sent a little thrill through her that she couldn’t quite explain.

At some point, there was a pause in the conversation. He looked at her for a moment, his expression softening.

“You know,” he began, his voice low and sincere, “you’ve got this way about you. It’s hard to put into words, but… you stand out. Even in a place like this.”

Her breath hitched a little at the compliment, unexpected in its simplicity yet so direct. She wasn’t used to being noticed in that way, especially in a crowded bar. “Is that your way of saying I look out of place?” she teased, though her voice was quieter than she intended.

He shook his head, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Not at all. I mean… yeah, you’re different. But in a good way.” His eyes flickered over her, not in a way that felt disrespectful, but appreciative. “You look incredible, and the way you carry yourself… it’s hard not to notice.”

Heat crept into her cheeks again, and she quickly looked down at her drink, swirling it around to avoid holding his gaze too long. “You’re smooth, you know that?” she said, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

“I try,” he replied with a laugh, leaning back a little, his confidence as effortless as ever. “But only when the moment calls for it.”

Before she could think of a reply, he stood up, offering his hand to her. His eyes met hers, playful yet serious all at once. “What do you say we ditch sitting here for a bit? I’ve been wanting to ask you to dance since I saw you across the room.”

She hesitated for a split second, glancing at the crowded dance floor where her friend was still somewhere in the mix of people. Then, she looked back at him, the way he stood there with his hand extended, waiting patiently, his smile just a little crooked but completely genuine.

“I’m not much of a dancer,” she admitted, though the idea of being close to him made her heart race in a way that had nothing to do with her lack of dancing skills.

He shrugged, his smile widening. “I’ll take my chances. Besides, it’s not about being a great dancer—it’s just about having fun.”

The words were enough to make her decision. She slipped her hand into his, feeling the warmth of his touch, and let him lead her toward the dance floor.

The music grew louder as they moved onto the dance floor, the bass pulsing through the crowd. Bodies swayed in sync with the rhythm, and the neon lights cast a soft glow over everything, creating a sense of intimacy despite the chaotic energy of the bar.

He turned to face her, his hand still holding hers, and with a small, easy smile, he pulled her gently into the beat.

At first, their movements were cautious, testing the waters of the moment. She could feel the warmth of his body close to hers as they danced, their steps naturally syncing with the slow, sensual rhythm of the music.

Then, with a confidence that made her stomach flip, he slipped his hands to her waist, his touch firm but not too much.

His fingertips pressed gently against her hips, guiding her movements in time with the beat. She felt the heat of him through her dress, the steady pressure of his hands making it impossible to ignore the way their bodies were starting to move together.

She inhaled sharply, her breath catching as she glanced up at him. His eyes were on hers, dark and focused, but there was a softness there, a silent communication that made the crowded room feel like it was just the two of them.

His grip tightened slightly as their bodies moved closer. Her hands instinctively found their way to his shoulders, steadying herself as they fell deeper into the rhythm. Their bodies pressed together, the space between them disappearing with each beat of the music. He was taller, broader, and as they swayed, she could feel the heat radiating off him, making her heart race.

The closeness felt dangerous in the best way possible—intoxicating, the same way the lights and the liquor had blurred her senses. She let him pull her in tighter, her body fitting against his like it was inevitable.

The song built, the beat dropping harder, and they moved together, the space between them disappearing. His touch was enough, his breath warm against her neck as he leaned in, whispering something she couldn’t make out over the music. It didn’t matter. She just let herself sink into the moment, her mind too fuzzy to question it.

Her heart was racing now, faster than the music, faster than the flashing lights around them. She turned her head slightly, catching a glimpse of him—a sharp jawline, dark eyes that glinted in the low light, lips parted as though he was about to say something else, but he didn’t. He just moved with her, like he had been waiting all night for this moment too.

The room around them felt like it was disappearing, the other dancers fading into the background, the colors swirling around them like they were in their own world. Everything was heightened—the heat of his body, the slick sheen of sweat on her skin, the heavy pulse of the music vibrating through them both.

She tilted her head slightly, catching his gaze again, and the intensity there made her breath hitch. He leaned down, just a little, so his lips were close to her ear, his breath warm against her skin.

"You're a better dancer than you think" he murmured, his voice barely audible over the music but still sending a shiver down her spine.

She smiled, biting her bottom lip as her fingers unconsciously curled into the fabric of his jacket. "Maybe I just needed the right partner."

He leaned down, his breath warm and sweet with liquor, barely brushing her ear as he spoke over the music. “Come with me,” he said, his voice low, cutting through the noise like it was meant only for her.

Her pulse quickened, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she tilted her head up slightly, letting the question hang between them as she studied him—his sharp features softened by the dim, swirling lights, the shadow of a five o’clock stubble catching the glow of the neon. There was a pull there, something magnetic, reckless.

“To the bathroom,” he added, his voice just above a whisper now, as though the words were something illicit, dangerous. His fingers brushed against hers as he said it, not pushing, just offering.

The suggestion was bold, maybe too bold, but it was like the music, the lights, and the drinks had made the room feel less real. Everything was slowed down but intense, like the rest of the world didn’t matter, like there were no consequences.

Her eyes flicked to the back of the club, where the hallway to the bathrooms stretched in dim, shadowy light. A rush of heat surged through her chest. She was buzzed, lightheaded from the alcohol, and she could still feel the lingering heat from where his hands had been, the press of his body on hers. Part of her knew what this was, the kind of night it could become. The other part of her… didn’t care. Not right now.

She raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, teasing the space between them. “Why?” she asked, her voice smooth but playful, challenging him.

His eyes flicked up to meet hers, and for a second, there was something dark and electric in the way he smiled. “Because you want to,” he said simply, his fingers sliding over her wrist, thumb tracing her pulse.

The world felt hazy, but his words rang clear, cutting through the fog of music and alcohol. He was right. She could feel it in the way her skin buzzed, in the wild, impulsive energy that had been building all night.

The bass dropped again, the lights flickering in rhythm, casting them both in a wash of blue and red. She looked over at the hallway, then back at him. Her heart pounded, the music matching its beat.

He didn’t wait for her to respond, not with words anyway. His hand slid down from her wrist, fingers curling lightly around hers, and he tugged her toward the back of the club. It wasn’t forceful—just enough to make her follow, the thrill of it buzzing through her veins as they wove through the crowd. People were everywhere—sweaty, laughing, lost in the music—but they moved around them like ghosts, fading into the background.

The hallway stretched out in front of them, narrow and dimly lit. The bass from the club still pounded through the walls, muffled but insistent, like it was never going to let her go. The door to the bathroom was ahead, half-open, flickering neon lights spilling out from under the frame.

When they reached the door, he pushed it open and stepped aside to let her in first. She hesitated for a split second, her breath catching in her throat, but something about the way he stood there, waiting, watching her with those dark eyes—it pulled her in.

The moment she stepped inside, the world changed. The lights overhead were a deep, glowing red, casting everything in a heavy, almost suffocating warmth. It felt like walking into another dimension, the kind where reality was left behind, and only this moment, this feeling, mattered. The air smelled faintly of something sweet and metallic, the scent mixing with the distant echoes of music from the club.

The first thing she noticed was the mirror—massive, dominating the center of the room. It stretched from one side of the wall to the other, reflecting the blood-red lights in strange, almost surreal angles. In front of the mirror, a long, sleek sink stretched out, polished and pristine, the dark surface reflecting the glowing lights above.

He stepped in behind her, closing the door softly with a click that seemed too loud for the heavy silence of the room. She caught his reflection in the mirror, his eyes locked on her as he moved closer, his body heat seeping into her skin as he came up behind her again. The red light turned his face into something dangerous, casting shadows under his jaw, across his sharp cheekbones.

Her hands found the edge of the sink, fingers curling around it, steadying herself as her reflection stared back at her, bathed in red. The lights made her skin glow in a way that felt almost unreal, and in the reflection, she could see him too, standing just behind her, watching her through the mirror like a predator sizing up its prey.

He leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear, the space between them shrinking until there was none left. His fingers brushed her waist, slow and deliberate, like he was still waiting for her to make the next move. For a moment, the world narrowed down to the feeling of his touch, the throb of the music still pounding faintly through the walls, the glow of the red light bathing them both.

In the mirror, his eyes met hers, dark and intense, filled with a challenge. Neither of them spoke, but the air between them was thick, heavy with the things they weren’t saying. She could feel her pulse in her throat, the tension wrapping around her chest like a coil.

He leaned in even closer, his lips barely grazing her ear as he whispered, “Would you let me do whatever I wanted to you?”

The question lingered in the thick, crimson haze of the room, daring her to answer, to make the next move in a game neither of them wanted to stop playing.

“Yes” she let out.

He caresses her breasts as he runs his hand up her body through her clothes. She could feel a deeply knotted tension finally dissolve just from the contact.

He gave her lower lip a quick swipe with his thumb before forcefully putting two fingers in her mouth. "Suck," he commanded. She ran her tongue over him, taking in his middle and index fingers. Shutting her eyes, she imagined it was an another aspect of him that she would not object to have in her lips.

He plunged his fingers deeper into the back of her throat, suddenly. She lurched forward, saliva pooling in her mouth as she instantly and uncontrollably gagged at the intrusion. He pulled his fingers away so she could see the mess she'd made.

She let out a squeal and as he gave her a slap her ass. "Be quiet." She felt his hand touch her behind once more, but this time he rubbed and caressed it. He felt himself close his eyes for a moment, taking in her lovely, feminine groans. He enjoyed them. For later that night, he knew, those same moans would become screams.

He unzipped her dress carefully till it stopped at the hilt. He removed the sleeves and allowed the flowing fabric to fall to the ground. Then he undid the clasp on her black lace bra and pulled it off her sleek arms, letting it drop to the ground.

Her skin was smooth and immaculate, her curves soft and glistening in the warm light; she was the ideal blank canvas for what he had imagined. His touch sent shivers down her spine as he brushed along her panties. "Bend over and take them off - slowly." She wobbled her hands and hooked her thumbs along the lace fabric. She leaned in and exposed herself to him, exactly as he desired. With all the sensuality she possessed, she carefully pulled them down. As she was doing that, he began removing his belt and pants.

He took hold of her wrists, pinning them to her back. Then he thrusted from behind inside her. Her initial reaction was to lunge upward, but he prevented that from happening. He pinned her wrists to her back with one hand, then used the other to tug her hair, turning her head so she could face the mirror. He put all of his weight on her figure. He gripped her wrists tighter against her back as she moaned louder. She was unable to move or scream. She could just take it.

He was very aggressive. With strength and raw force, every thrust and stroke forced its way inside of her. She sensed waves of pleasure rising deeper and deeper within her as her walls were more tightly closed. Feeling her limbs start to shake, he continued to press her down with enough force to leave bruises.

That only made him apply more pressure to her fragile frame. He reached through her dark hair and tugged at her scalp. He continued at his unrelenting pace without pausing.

He sensed her body starting to weaken. Her respiration was shallow to nonexistent, and her legs were trembling. She banged her hands on the counter in front of the sink as he removed her wrists from her back. Then he slowed down, achingly pulling in and out of her.

"Beg me to fuck you harder." she was incoherent, recovering from her sustained lack of air. "Please... more..."

"Not good enough," he demanded

"Please fuck me harder- please."

At last, he approached her from a new angle and pressed his cock deep into her. With a loud gasp, she held onto the corners of the counter until her knuckles turned white. The thrust was so deep that it burned with a hint of sweet agony.

He repeatedly struck the same area till her face were covered in tears. "Scream louder, angel."

He didn't need to remind her twice as she completely let herself come undone. Her sweet cries of pleasuring and pleasure were mixed with hard thrusts.

"Come for me. Let go."

She lost all feeling and nerves in her body. Once more, he had bound her wrists to her back without flinching. They stayed there, deep and cruel to her broken body. She sobbed until she lost consciousness. She completely fell apart giving way to an overpowering wave of pleasure.

Syncing with her, he matched her movements and again pressed into her tight walls. Once they had shared an intense climax, his deep groans blended with her gentle cries as they both became conscious.

The silence in the bathroom, thick and pulsing with tension, was broken by a sudden, sharp knock on the door. It echoed through the small space, cutting through the haze of red light, the vibration of it jarring. For a second, they both froze, eyes meeting in the mirror, the moment suspended between them.

Another knock, louder this time, impatient. “Yo, hurry up in there!” a voice called from the other side, muffled but clear enough to bring the real world crashing back in.

He straightened up slightly, still close but no longer pressing into her, his fingers loosening their hold on her waist. The spell wasn’t completely broken, but the urgency from outside the door was creeping into the room. She blinked, her eyes shifting away from his reflection, the heat still lingering between them, but now laced with the reality.

[sparsilees]

it’s almost the end of 2024. can we drop this absolutely inane fanonical idea that harry james potter is “oblivious” or “unobservant” or “average”?

fuck your fanon harry. fuck that soggy tissue who doesn’t inspire confidence in others. fuck that lummox who cannot string a sentence together. fuck that hothead who’d lash out in anger and throw punches at every provocation. fuck that namby-pamby who can’t read clues or between the lines or come up with a plan of action. fuck that sheep who can’t function without hermione’s direction. fuck that neanderthal who’s a messy eater, messy writer, messy speaker, and has poor manners.

who the bloody hell is that? that’s not harry james potter. why are you twisting and malforming him into a bloody clown?

why are you undermining the main character of his own series? boy has an abysmal self-esteem, stays quiet and lowkey, bottles up his truest feelings and thoughts (that we as readers are privy to, but not the other characters!), and has a calm and composed mien so you think you too can dismiss his character easily and strip him down to a skeleton of his canon self and instead carve out huge character growth, redemption arcs, and love letters for everyone else?

you wish to evoke sympathy for draco by making lucius out to be an abusive father and crafting a pitiful childhood for draco when they have an affectionate parent-child relationship canonically, but downplay harry’s abuse? you realise that tom riddle, sirius black, james potter, and hermione granger are acknowledged to be the brightest of their generation, yet forget harry potter and tom riddle are two sides of the same coin, even sharing a similar appearance, and reduce harry to a silly caricature? you make harry magically powerful but wrest his smarts away to highlight someone else’s big brain?

you make him out to be a short dork with a shorter fuse and no idea what’s going on around him when harry and tom are both described as woe-ridden orphans—with all that entails from constant hunger to cold sleepless nights to hypervigilance to the forced, quick maturity—but treat tom true to canon as tall, cunning, and clever, then do an about-face to conveniently slap the malnourished, oblivious, and slacker labels on harry to make him as lesser than?

when he picked up the impervious spell simply from having seen hermione perform it once, when his closest friends have difficulty gleaning his thoughts, when his anger is cold and sharp like dumbledore (ootp was a study in ptsd, next!), when he’s just as tall as his father, was just as ill-treated as a house elf, and rightfully brilliant as the son of lily and james potter—the two powerful and talented individuals who once had voldemort trying to recruit them to join his cause?

the sheer disrespect on his name. the sheer mockery of his character. the absolutely mind-boggling erasure of his most defining traits.

who do you think sussed out most of the big clues, and stowed away all the little, random bits of information in his memory bank, to ultimately piece the puzzle together at the final showdown every end of the school year? who realised as a mere firstie that quirrel was the man hagrid blabbed to about fluffy and the dragon egg? who noted that ginny was withdrawn and unlike herself? who had an inkling fleur had taken a fancy to bill? who picked up on what was brewing between ron and hermione before their own selves? who noticed that hermione cast a confundus on cormac mclaggen during the match? who caught on instantly to the change in tense used for the diadem’s existence and confidently tracked it down? who cottoned on to luna’s longtime disappearance from her cold, untouched bed and the layer of dust? who did voldemort consider his equal? who actually has an uncanny sense of intuition? who calls the shots when the trio gets into a pickle? who?

mcgonagall? flitwick? draco? hermione? blaise zabini? no!

excuse harry for that one time he did not look deeply into the mental workings of a grieving girl because he’s not equipped to deal with them, and has in the first place never been taught to process his own emotions properly because he didn’t grow up in a healthy environment, prohibited from expressing his feelings, let alone vulnerability, and voicing his thoughts!

let’s bury this annoyingly stupid narrative for good. go read the books and refresh your perspective. stop doing him dirty. you’ve already butchered sirius black’s character into a pathetic sisspot. and now you want to assassinate harry’s too.

[awaiting-new-management]

There's so much to unpack here

[shy-writer-999]

Summary: Zoro scoffs at the idea of him being submissive in bed. After all, it’s usually him who is railing you so hard you can’t walk. But when you suggest he try it out, he discovers that he likes it more than anticipated. ~2.5k words.

CW: Afab reader, gendered language (“princess” used once), previously established relationship w/Zoro, hand job, “good boy,” begging.

MINORS DNI. NSFW CONTENT.

“Stunning angel, won’t you come spend some time with me?” Sanji practically bowed, grabbing your hand to kiss it. “We could cuddle in bed. I’d make you tea and bring you sweet treats.” You couldn’t deny that he was cute, and the offer was tempting but…

“Sanji, you’re too sweet. No, thank you.” You had a different cuddle session scheduled with Zoro. You ended up in his bed most nights. Sanji knew that was the case but loved to tease and plead anyway.

“My love, I’m sure I can treat you better.”

You smiled at him cheekily and waved a hand. “No, Sanji.”

He did this every once in a while. It would be genuinely creepy if it came from anybody else, but you knew Sanji was a gentleman (albeit a pervert).

Later that night in bed, when you and Zoro were cuddling and relaxing, you recounted your interaction with Sanji.

Zoro got agitated, as you expected. “He said what? God, the shit cook is always trying to get on my nerves. Saying he could treat you better? What does he know about that? He’s probably a submissive little freak in bed, I bet he’s never made a woman orgasm in his life.”

You knew that Zoro and Sanji got each other pressed, annoyed as fuck, and sometimes too testy to be healthy. But the comment from Zoro was a bit weird... Implications about Sanji’s supposed submissiveness aside, the idea of Zoro being submissive flitted across your mind—you’d never seen even an ounce of that from him before. It was kind of hot of think about.

“Oh yeah, Zoro?” You queried, puzzled. “A ‘submissive little freak’? Don’t knock it ‘till you try it.”

He paused for a second, processing your words, and then in an uncharacteristic moment, he turned crimson. He’s not usually one for blushing. “What?”

Resting on Zoro’s broad chest, you lifted your head and brought your lips to his ear. “I said, don’t knock it ‘till you try it. Don’t you want to try it just once?”

Your sultry, suggestive tone sent goosebumps down his spine. He hummed and cracked a wry smile. “Mmmmm. Sure. If that means I get to have my way with you after.”

He was trying to cover up the fact that the idea of you being in control genuinely made him flustered and nervous. It was just different, an idea he’d never imagined before.

Usually, Zoro was the one pushing your head into the covers, calling you nasty names, pulling your hair, spanking your ass, even choking you sometimes, if both of you were in the mood. He loved to fuck you like you’re his little plaything, like you were made for him. As for him being the submissive one, he wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Why not give it a shot?

You kissed one of his flushed cheeks and slid your palm down his pecs and abdomen, down those defined V-marks and his wiry happy trail. Your hand came to rest on his cock through his short, slutty black boxer briefs. He wasn’t fully hard yet, so he was going to need some warming up. That wouldn’t be difficult.

You palmed his cock a bit more and kissed his neck, trailing your lips upwards, swiping them across his jawline and bringing him into already-needy kisses. As you paid his lips and his cock attention, you could feel his cock twitch, growing hard and straining against your fingers.

You grinded your palm over his hard cock and his breath hitched. He was really feeling out of his element now, maybe vulnerable was the right word. His muscles were flexed and tense, like he was holding his breath for something.

You pulled down on the snug elastic of his underwear to grant access to his aching, girthy cock. Lightly wrapping your fingers around his shaft, you could feel his length twitch in your hand.

Zoro wasn’t convinced that he was going to fall apart and beg for more. Usually he just told you to give him more. But you were determined to get him there. Part of the fun was that you knew that he had it in him, but it just needed to be conjured or drawn out.

You started to stroke him slowly and reach your free hand to cradle and massage his balls gently.

Zoro would never turn down a hand job. But he didn’t see what was so submissive about the present moment. Didn’t you ask him if he wanted to try it out? Being submissive? There was nothing new about what was going on.

But he shrugged off his hesitance and melted into your touch. Any time that any part of you touched him, he liked it. As your fist moved lazily up and down his shaft, precum beaded on his tip and his cock throbbed in your hand any time you squeezed his balls. You made sure he was sufficiently worked up before you turned your game on.

Had you edged Zoro before? Not really. It was usually Zoro who did that to you. This would prove to be a great way to start.

You took your hands away from Zoro’s cock and he let out a huff. “Oh, so it’s gonna be like that?” He sounded annoyed. You knew him well enough to tell that this wasn’t annoyance, but veiled desperation.

“Mmmhmmm it’s gonna be like that, and you’re going to have to wait until I say otherwise.”

You gave up touching him and started to kiss him again. His lips were greedy—he wanted more. He cupped one of your cheeks with a large hand and you swatted it off, smiling through the kisses at his innocence and sweet gesture. But right now, you were going to dominate him. Or at least you were going to let him know who was in control.

For the time being, your mindset was that you wanted to do anything you could to get him hot and bothered, except touch his cock. You wanted him to beg for it, basically. In preparation, you peeled off your shirt and bra, sucked on his neck and sighed into his ears.

Grasping one of his wrists, you moved Zoro’s hand to your breast, and he kneaded it, playing with your nipples as you continued to touch his toned abs, pecs, neck, shoulders, anything you could get your hands on. Sure enough, he was getting worked up. He wasn’t used to being played with like this.

“C’monnnn, stop teasing me already. I’m dying over here.” He huffed, annoyed.

“You’re dying? How bad do you want it, Zoro?” Your lips curled into a smile.

“Just touch me already.” His cock was jumping and throbbing now, desperate for your touch. You rubbed his nipples softly, brushing your thumbs over them in small circles, and he squirmed a bit. He was sensitive.

“I am touching you, Zoro.” Pedantically, you spurred him on. If he wanted more then he’d need to try a bit harder than that.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” You could practically hear his eyes rolling through his flat tone.

“Zoro, if you want it so bad, then say please.”

A moment of silent passed, and his cheeks were once again bright red. What about this was flustering him so much?

“Ugh. Fine. Please. Please touch me.” He huffed again, ostensibly annoyed, but you knew that he craved you underneath that guise of being unbothered.

“Alright, just because you asked so nicely.” You kissed his cheek again and your fingers went back to being wrapped around his cock, slowly pulling the precum down his shaft and lubricating it in warm wetness. He let out a quiet moan, a rumble in his chest that was barely audible.

That noise was the prompt you needed—it was time to start praising him. “There you go, baby. Does that feel good?”

He gave another quiet mumble as a response and closed his eyes, throwing his head back in bliss. You gave a nice squeeze to his balls and he gasped, hips bucking up in pleasure.

“Mmmm, Zoro. You’re doing such a good job for me. Just sit there and I’ll make you feel good.”

His hands trailed over to your breasts again, kneading on them. He lifted his neck up to latch around one of your nipples, swirling over your pert bud with his tongue and sucking softly. His hips rocked up slightly into your hand.

“There’s a good boy.”

The filthy words took a second to register in his mind. He froze, mid-suck. What the fuck was that?

But as he paused, you squeezed his shaft tighter and his hips bucked up again of their own accord. He let out a muffled moan on your breast and continued sucking, kneading, worshipping. His cock felt like it was on fire—it throbbed, you clenched his balls tightly, and that dirty talk… he’d never heard anything like it before. It was weird to him. It felt wrong. Good boy??? What?

You said it again, and again, it got him off. “Being such a good boy for me, Zoro.”

Maybe it was the tone of your voice. Maybe it was the coddling, praising adoration, the idea that he was doing something for you, being good for you. In any case, was shocked at how good it felt when you called him that. His cheeks were hot with blush and his hips rolled upwards, trying to fuck your fist harder.

Zoro’s suction increased as he let out another moan into your flesh. It vibrated your sensitive bud, sending a tingle of pleasure outwards from his warm lips.

“You’re being so sweet and good for me, baby. Keep going, just like that.” At the same time, you rubbed your thumb in slow circles over his tip, smudging the precum that was seeping out. You scooped some of it up with your thumb and brought it up to your mouth, sucking your thumb clean. He watched with hungry, reverent eyes.

When you increased the pace of your fingers around his length, he started to seize up. You knew him well enough to tell that he was close.

Right when Zoro was about to cum, right when he started to whimper and pant, you took your hand off his cock.

“Fuccckkk, babe. Please.” He pulled his lips away from your nipple and furrowed his brow in anguish. He looked handsome no matter what, but seeing him like this, in such a different role than he usually took on, really got you going.

“Oh, did you want to cum, Zoro?” You were being deliberately patronizing, frowning like you pitied him, asking like you didn’t already know the answer.

He huffed in annoyance, lapsing back into his usual cocky attitude. “Obviously.”

“Then you have to ask nicely.” Your reached to softly turn his head to yours, holding him by the chin.

“I already did.” Sass trickled back into his tone, like he forgot the dynamic at the moment, like his cock wasn’t throbbing. He pouted a bit, and it made your heart skip a beat. He was so gorgeous it was maddening.

You tutted at him. “Well, if you won’t ask nicely again then I guess I won’t touch you.”

Zoro groaned. Were you really making him beg for it? He was at his limit. He felt like he was going crazy with need, and his cock was so hard he couldn’t think straight. “Please. Fuck, please let me cum.”

“Good job. And what do you want me to call you? When my hand is wrapped around your cock?” Your honeyed tone alone made his stomach turn.

He was dumbfounded. Did he really want that? Should he say it? He was falling apart.

“Zoro. Say it and I’ll let you cum. What do you want me to call you?”

You moved your hand so it was poised over his cock, just an inch or two away. If you just shifted forward the slightest bit, you would touch it. He choked out the answer to your question, and it almost sounded like a sob. He was so desperate for your touch that the precum leaking out of his slit wouldn’t stop, it was running down his shaft in slow, milky droplets.

“C-call me a good boy,” Zoro whined, fully giving into the fantasy and pleasure of being called something that felt so different. “Please.”

You hummed in satisfaction and started to stroke his cock again. At the same time, you leaned over slightly, licking up his neck slowly and nipping at his earlobe. He started to convulse, hips jerking up into your hand quicker.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m close,” Zoro grunted with each thrust of his hips. “’m gonna cum.”

“Cum for me, Zoro. Cum all over your stomach. Be a good boy and cum for me.”

You squeezed his balls harshly and he let out a strangled-sounding, guttural cry. He whined loudly and almost pathetically, completely lost in the haze of pleasure you drew from his cock.

“Fuck, fuck, yes I—fuck—I wanna be good for you.” Zoro was making a mess out of your hands, arching his back and pressing his pelvis up into your hand. His eyes were screwed shut and his brows were bent at the middle.

He was strikingly attractive. His muscles were completely flexed, his jawline was sharp, and his hair was ruffled. The pretty sounds carelessly tumbling from his lips were making you wet—there was just something so objectively erotic and attractive about seeing this man who was usually so hypermasculine and dominant be reduced to incoherent whimpers and puppy-dog eyes.

“Just like that, baby. Tell me what you want to be. Come on, sweetheart.” You prompted Zoro one last time, hoping that having to recite the filthy words back to you would send him over the edge into orgasm. It worked.

Zoro grabbed fistfuls of the sheets and his thighs started to shudder. As he came, he forced the words out of his mouth, writhing under your fingertips and groaning the whole time. “Wanna be—fuck—wanna be your g-good boy, ah—fuhhhccckkk.”

Hot, sticky ropes of cum spurted over his abdomen while you stroked him slowly through the waves of his orgasm. As he came down from his high, you petted his head a bit and kissed all over his face.

When Zoro seemed to rouse from his stupor of pleasure, his cheeks were dusted with traces of pink blush, and he was a bit sheepish. You toweled the cum off his abs and nuzzled back on his chest.

He admitted pretty quickly that he loved it. “Fuck, that was good.”

yall this one had me squeezing my thighs together 🥴🥴🥴 i just want him to know how good he is PHEW!!

here's my masterlist and my october posting schedule!

i'm posting every day until halloween!

finally, trick or treat? (tumblr links)

[arieslost]

falling for you | op81

oscar piastri x fem!reader

summary: you and oscar should be more than just friends, but neither of you realize it until you’re on vacation… and his girlfriend is there, too.

word count: 2,956

warnings: angsty moments

masterlist — join my tag list here!

PART TWO

shoutout to my dream journal- i got this idea from a dream i had in 2021. also disclaimer, i love lily, she’s so sweet. we’re pretending that oscar is dating someone else here ok thanks <33

© arieslost 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

For the first time in your life, you were regretting taking a vacation, and it was all Oscar Piastri’s fault.

Your family and the Piastris had been going on vacation together for as long as you could remember, and you’ve been best friends with Oscar for just as long. He was in the background of every defining moment of your life. He could say the same about you— best friends forever.

And then, like the idiot you are, you went and fell in love with him. You couldn’t exactly pinpoint how, or why, or when; all you knew was that you woke up on the second day of your vacation, walked into the kitchen, saw him pouring himself a bowl of cereal, and it hit you like a damn truck.

“Good morning, sweetie,” your mom says, barely noticing your slightly panicked expression as you realized that you were very much in love with your best friend.

“Morning,” you mumble back, unable to tear your eyes away from Oscar.

He notices you staring at him, your eyes as wide as saucers, and frowns. “You okay? There’s still some of this in the box, I saved it for you.”

Great. Of course he has to be so thoughtful all the time.

“Yeah, ‘m fine. Thanks, Osc.” You squeeze his arm as you pass by. He smiles at you, like he always does when you do that, and you want to die a little.

Especially when his girlfriend enters the room.

It’s the first time either of you have a significant other during your annual vacation time, and while you had aggressively lobbied against it (Oscar obviously had no clue), your parents and his parents had agreed to let her come. You were furious about it for weeks and couldn’t figure out why.

Well, now you know.

You can’t even enjoy your cereal, especially not when she kisses Oscar for everyone to see and then makes direct eye contact with you and smirks when he’s not looking. So, you decide to spend the entire day completely Oscar-less, as much as you wish you could just have him all to yourself like you always do when you’re here.

The thing is, you’ve never liked his girlfriend, obvious reasons aside. Even before Oscar started dating her, you’d never gotten along with her. It was like she had a personal vendetta against you, and always tried her hardest to be touchy with Oscar whenever she saw that you were in her line of sight. The most infuriating part is that literally no one else ever notices her behavior except you. Not even Oscar, your so-called best friend. Normally, you’d go to him to vent about something like this, because he’s always understood you in ways that no one else ever will. Now he’s the last person you can go to.

It sucks. You’re angry at your parents, his parents, and especially him for asking if he could bring her along in the first place.

You end up spending your entire morning and most of the afternoon at the beach. You don’t put on enough sunscreen because there’s no one there to make sure you use the proper amount. You hate getting sunburn, but you’d take that over seeing Oscar with his girlfriend. By the time you get back to the rental, everyone is off doing their own thing. Your parents are putting together a puzzle in the living room. Oscar’s parents have the door to their room shut, and you can hear the TV playing. You don’t have the courage to go looking for Oscar himself– once you see that he’s not in your shared room, you know that he’s either out or in his girlfriend’s room. Either way, you don’t want to know.

That was another thing that makes you wish this vacation never happened: Oscar had been allowed to bring his girlfriend, but the only condition was that the two of them had to sleep in separate rooms. That meant the two of you shared a room like always, but that didn’t mean he didn’t take every possible chance he could to go to hers, meaning you’re alone most of the time.

You might as well just pack up and walk home to save yourself the struggle of five more days.

It doesn’t seem like anyone is around to hear, so you let out a loud, frustrated groan as you flop back onto your bed. You look to your right, past Oscar’s bed, at the flowy curtains hanging in front of the doors that lead to the deck outside. One of the doors is ajar, and the slight breeze makes the curtains flap gently.

“You okay, sweetie?” Of course your mom heard you from all the way down the hall.

“Yeah,” you reply in a way that makes it very obvious that you’re not okay.

“Ah, I know that tone.” Your mom says, crossing the room to sit at the foot of your bed. “You need a boyfriend. You wouldn’t be this mopey if you had someone here with you, too.”

Like Oscar does. “You’re telling me,” you scoff bitterly. “I guess I’ll try a little harder for next year.”

“Well, are there any boys you’re interested in?” She asks, rubbing your leg comfortingly.

“I don’t know,” you mumble, turning your head away from her so she can’t get a perfect view of your face heating up as you think about your best friend.

She hums. “Yeah, I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“It’s Oscar, isn’t it?”

You cover your face with your hands. “Ugh! Leave now, and we can pretend this conversation never happened.”

“Nice try.” Your mom pries your hands away and gives you a look. “I just don’t think it’s the best idea that you like Oscar. He doesn’t exactly have the most stable lifestyle.”

“He doesn’t need stability, he’s rich.” You shoot back. “I don’t even care about that, Mom. I’m not exactly interested in him because of his lifestyle.” You consider not saying it, but you’ll feel better getting it off your chest. “And his girlfriend is a bitch.”

“You’re right,” your mom says, and you can’t believe what you’re hearing. “I hate his girlfriend. I’ve always thought that you’re much better suited for him.”

“No kidding. Known him his whole life, everyone thought we were dating growing up, we’ve gone through just about everything together. I guess that simply doesn’t compare to the girl he’s known for five whole months.” You’re being snarky now, and you can’t find it in you to care. It should be you dating Oscar.

Everyone else seems to think so except him.

Your mom laughs, but in a way that you know that she agrees with you, as childish as you’re being. She continues to rub your leg, and the comforting motion has your eyes drooping. The stress of your newfound feelings and the warmth of the sun on your skin is more than enough to tire you out.

“Nap time?” She asks eventually, and you nod slowly.

“Mhmm.”

“I’ll come wake you up before dinner.” She kisses the top of your head, gets up, and then says something that has you wide awake. “Hey, Oscar. She’s sleeping.”

“Ah, okay. I’ll be quiet.” You hate the calming effect his voice has on you, even though now just looking at him has sent your heart racing.

One of them shuts the door, and shortly after you can feel the bed dipping under Oscar’s weight as he lays down next to you.

“Hey,” he whispers. “Missed you.”

I missed you more. Jerk.

“I know you’re awake,” he continues. “But you don’t have to talk to me.”

Good.

“I guess I deserve the silent treatment.”

Your resolve cracks a little, because he sounds genuinely upset. As much as you want to, you don’t open your eyes, but you do turn around to face him and move closer in the process. You can smell the faint traces of his cologne, and you have to fight a sigh of contentment. Damn him for always making you feel so safe. Besides, you’re a little cold now thanks to the air conditioning.

Your eyes nearly fly open in shock when he wastes no time in pulling you closer so you’re properly cuddled into his side and puts his arm around you. He lets out a breath, like he’s relieved, before he moves around a little and leans his head against yours.

The logical side of you is screaming to quit the sleeping facade and confront him right here and now about this rather intimate behavior, but the side of you that just discovered the strong feelings you harbor for your best friend tells you to just play along and enjoy whatever alone time you have with him. It’s not hard to pick which side to listen to.

The two of you stay this way for so long you start falling asleep again, and it only gets worse when he starts rubbing your back. It starts out very subtle; at first, his fingertips just move up and down along the fabric of your shirt. He stops for a moment, like he’s considering the outcomes of his actions, and then flattens his palm against your back and continues the up and down motion. You bury your head in his chest, mostly to hide the fact that you’re turning red but also because you just want to be closer to him. He hums a little when you do it, and you have to stop yourself from weighing the logistics of whether or not you could get away with kissing him right here and now.

You have to fight the urge to sleep, wanting to soak in every moment of his strange but welcome actions. Maybe this is all just an elaborate dream– either way, you’re not going to sleep through it.

The sound of him sighing again catches your attention, but you’re entirely brought back to reality when he starts moving.

You fully give up. You don’t want him to go, so you say his name quietly and look up at him.

He sits up a little to look back at you, and you reach up to smooth away the crease between his eyebrows with your thumb. “We’re on vacation. You’re supposed to be having fun.”

“So are you.” He points out.

Of course he’s picked up on it.

“It’s complicated.”

“Talk to me,” he encourages, shifting so he can keep you close. His little polite cat smile nearly has you spilling your guts to him about how much you wish you were the one he was kissing in front of everyone.

You press your lips together. “I… I can’t, Osc.”

You always hate his crestfallen expression, but you hate it more when you’re the cause of it.

“You can talk to me about anything, you know that right?”

“I know,” you reassure him. “Just… not this. Anything but this.”

He hums again, but not in the happy way that he did before when you were practically trying to crawl into his skin. This is more like a hum of concentration.

You have a moment of hope, thinking that maybe he’ll just let it go, but you know your best friend better than that. It doesn’t change your shock when he speaks again.

“Okay. I think I know what this is about.”

“I seriously doubt you do.” You can’t help but laugh a little. How could he possibly know about something that you yourself only just discovered?

He gives you a specific look then, a look that you have always despised being on the receiving end of. It’s a look that tells you he’s expecting you to explain yourself and see if he’s right. He usually is right, which only makes it worse.

“No.” You shake your head, starting to try and find a way to get up. “No, Oscar, don’t make me say it.”

He isn’t having it though: his arm stays snug around you, and he puts one of his legs between both of yours, hooking his ankle around yours so you can’t escape.

“Oscar,” you whine. “No fair, with your stupid reflexes.”

He whines your name back in the same exact tone. “Shouldn’t try to get away from me, then.”

You let out a groan of frustration. “I’m not telling you anything.”

Someone walks out into the hallway, and the sound of the footsteps coming towards your room makes the both of you freeze. The two of you are in a rather precarious position, with your limbs tangled and Oscar practically on top of you. Not that you necessarily mind, but if anyone walked in right now, eyebrows would be raised.

Oscar seems to be thinking along the same lines as you, meeting your wide-eyed stare with his own but not making any effort to move away. It clicks in your head at that exact moment, just as it did in the morning when you walked into the kitchen.

He does know.

“How?” You whisper, too wrapped up in your disbelief to even be embarrassed.

“I know you better than anyone,” he whispers back, head whipping towards the closed door when you hear a creak, like someone’s weight is shifting on the floor.

The footsteps recede. You both let out a breath, turning to face each other again. You’re close. Too close. Close enough that you could count his eyelashes if you wanted to.

You remember the last time you were this close to him— you were both 14, playing hide and seek at midnight at a friend’s birthday party. He’d accidentally chosen the same hiding place as you, a desk with a rolling chair in front of it, and you’d been forced to squish together underneath the desk in order to conceal yourselves well enough. You were mad that he chose the same spot as you because it raised the likelihood of being found, and he’d just giggled at you every time you glared at him. You remember how much you loved his giggle, and how you’d wondered what it would be like to kiss his smile.

Well. You really have been in love with him this whole time.

You want nothing more than to crawl under the bed and stay there for the rest of the vacation so you don’t have to look him in the eye. You never want to speak to him again. You want to tell him everything. You want to push him away. You want to hold him closer.

“Tell me I didn’t ruin our friendship.” Is all you can think to say, and Oscar reacts immediately, brushing your hair out of your face and hugging you tightly.

“Honey, you could never ruin this.” He presses his nose into your hair, brushes his lips against your head. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not the one who should be sorry,” you grumble into his chest.

He doesn’t answer, instead choosing to alternate between playing with the ends of your hair and drawing shapes on your shoulder with his fingers. He’s always been affectionate with you, but this is a whole new level, and your overthinking has you worried that you’ll lose it entirely as soon as the two of you have to leave this room and face the reality of the situation. You close your eyes, trying your hardest to soak up every little detail of this moment in the event that you never get another like it.

You know Oscar thinks you’re asleep when, much to your dismay (and maybe his, too), he gets up and gently lays you back against your pillow.

“I really shouldn’t be doing this,” you hear him say, and then you feel his lips press firmly against your temple, his hand leaving the most featherlight touch on your cheek. “I’m sorry, baby.”

The soft material of a blanket covers your body, and the door opens and shuts. Your tears waste no time in soaking into the pillowcase.

You’re regretting this vacation, but it isn’t Oscar’s fault.

He’s not the one who fell in love with the one person he can’t have.

Things change, but not at all in the way you expect. Oscar still throws an arm around you for every picture and hoists you onto his back without hesitation for the obligatory piggyback photo that has been a vacation tradition since forever. His girlfriend still looks at you like you’re the pebble she can’t get out of her shoe, but for every dirty look and intentional display of affection, Oscar is there to make up for it. He goes to the beach with you and makes sure that you apply enough sunscreen, he goes to the amusement park with you even though he hates most of the rides, he takes you to breakfast at the risk of his girlfriend throwing a fit when you get back. She does, but he doesn’t care. He does it every year, and he tells you that he’d be damned if he didn’t keep up with it.

Maybe he pities you. It doesn’t matter. You can live with never even having a chance with the boy you think you’ve always wanted something more with, so long as you can continue to call him your best friend.

He leaves for his next race on the last day of vacation, and his girlfriend goes with him. You support him from home. He calls you every single day.

Oscar has never been able to go more than 24 hours without hearing your voice. He’s never been able to fully express just how much he needs you, and now he has to face the obstacle of breaking up with his girlfriend before he can even try.

note: this fic was low key my personal everest and i changed the ending at the last second because i hate angst. if anyone is interested in a part two, let me know because i’d be happy to write it at some point!

requests are OPEN, and my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation! feel free to pop in!

reblogs are always appreciated <33

beautiful dividers by @/saradika !

tags: @venusacrossthestars @67-angelofthelordme-67 @emails-i-can-send @nelly187 @littlemiss-arabella @notturlover @verstappensrealwife @oliveisunstable @hauntedphotographybookstaco @maddie-bell @hood-jabi @jupiter-je-taime @uzisplanet @akiraquote @average-f1-enjoyer @xo-mya1 @beth-712 @bingewatche @alex15marie @ana2delusional @tomhollandfics @cixrosie @simpluvrs @meko-mt

[legobiwan]

This is such a telling page for Ford. Not only does he detail his social missteps and admit to being lonely in Gravity Falls, despite the scientific wonder of the place, but he also uses what I call "Fordese 2," a scrambled version of the "Fordese 1" code we were first introduced to in Journal 3 to label himself a "six-fingered freak" and to state that "Stanley would have made her laugh." (Her, being the waitress Ford tries out his nerdy science joke on, which goes down like a lead balloon despite the fact that it is legitimately funny, given the right audience).

It's like Bill says. "Ego of a king. The insecurity of a circus freak. And totally isolated..." (Funny enough, Bill could probably turn those exact words on himself, as well.)

Ford so wanted Gravity Falls to be the place where he'd finally fit in, the puzzle to his misshapen puzzle piece.

And as we see in the missing Journal pages from BoB, that was not to be the case. And worst of all? Ford blames it on his hands at first, but the reality is that he says that "Stanley could make her laugh," meaning Ford's "freakishness" (as he would put it) has less to do with his six fingers and much more to do with Ford's personality and the way he interacts with others.

This is actually worse. Fingers, you can fix, if you want to. By the time you're an adult, most people probably wouldn't care. But to Ford, his fingers seem to be more a manifestation of something internal, something he feels is fundamentally broken about him and that's just the absolute worst hell to be stuck in.

So yeah, it's hardly surprising Ford fell so hard for Bill's shenanigans (and you can define "fell so hard" however you want, although that karaoke page in BoB is especially damning). Here's an interdimensional being who not only can guide you to unlocking the secrets of the universe and propel you towards scientific fame and glory (and thus shoving every taunt, invective, side-eye, and eye roll ever hurled at you over the decades down your tormentors' throats) - but he's (on the surface) completely glib about being a freak himself.

For Ford, this must have been like finding a shady, sparkling oasis after thirty years of trawling through the desert (especially after Stanley's "betrayal" - Stanley, who along with Fiddleford, being the only person Ford felt like he could be himself around and still be accepted as a human being).

Now, is Bill trying way too hard to show how much he doesn't care? Uhhh, yeah. Bill has almost the same hangups as Ford. Labeled a freak for a genetic mutation and ostracized by his peers. Has a rare gift in that he can see not only into the third dimension but can see even past that, into possible dimensions and futures, which is a wild skill to have. Compare this with Ford's gigantic science brain and academic overachievement. Same deal. And not only this! Bill, in an attempt to prove what he can do with his "freakishness," to prove his worth and place in the universe - he tries to show off something to the denizens of his dimension (we don't know yet what Bill did), only to end up slaughtering his entire dimension. Ford was a hair's breath away from doing the exact same thing with the portal. Because we know from Journal 3 that part of his motivation is to be famous and get accolades for his work, and that maybe "girls will finally talk to me." (Which, Fordsy, let's be real here - I don't think you're actually into these "girls" for real, but you want the acceptance that comes with fitting in with societal standards, and getting a state-sanctioned girlfriend is exactly the type of thing Ford would want to make himself feel "normal.")

Anyway, the point being that if Ford had succeeded with his initial portal attempt, he would have basically wiped out his own dimension. Just. Like. Bill. And it makes you wonder - yeah, yeah, Bill wanted to party, Bill needed out of the Nightmare Realm, Bill's a psychopath who enjoys destruction.

But honestly? I think part it all was that Bill wanted someone like him. His own puzzle piece. Another monster. A being whose collateral damage in the quest to justify their existence in this universe ends in wholesale slaughter.

And Ford had the capacity to easily fit that mould.

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

Who says I’m sharing that bath with you?

female anatomy for reader (no use of y/n, gender-neutral pronouns)

nsfw, fluffy smut basically word count: 1900~ english is not my first language. if you spot any mistakes (especially grammar ones), any typos/misspelled words, or if you have any advice for me in general: please let me know. reblogs and comments are highly appreciated.

art cr: @arcanescribbles

"Have some mercy on yourself," you mumble, wrapping an arm around his slender waist, and its thinness has you puzzled and somewhat concerned again. He doesn't hesitate. Allows you to place that weary head on his shoulder, to nuzzle into the crook of his neck — a pleasant relief in the guise of your heat, of rhythmic breath tickling his slimline skin.

"You can't work that much,” you remind him, trying to hide your evident worry behind a light-hearted chuckle.

“Have you ever heard of a proper greeting?” Viktor quirks an eyebrow, and his deft hand quickly grabs yours to do a thing that never fails to make your heart shrink: has you melting at the feeling of his dry, warm lips on your knuckles yet again.

“Hug is a proper greeting,” you protest with a slightly offended scoff, burying your nose into the gorgeous mess of his hair — all unkempt strands and a sturdy scent of something pleasant, yet not exactly definable.

“Not when it comes with scolding,” Viktor releases your hand, the touch of his lips lingering on your skin, and he turns around, forcing you to break the embrace for a second — which you do reluctantly. But now you get to face him, and it certainly feels like a much bigger win.

A win and another reason to give him a lecture. Viktor initiates eye contact, runs a hand along the perfect curve of your hips, hoping that his gentle touch is a good enough distraction from his terribly deep eye-bags — so treacherously confirming your concerns about his sleep schedule (or the lack of such, to be precise).

"You've gotten thinner," you state with a sad frown, looking Viktor up and down. "And you need a nap," you continue, tangling two fingers into his hair. "And a bath.”

“I’ve missed you terribly, and that’s the first thing you mention when I finally have you in my arms?” Viktor cooes, staring at you with a guilty smile — your love-sick genius, always exhausted yet so unexplainably handsome in his own special way.

You scoff again, wrapping your arms around his neck and gently pressing him against the desk — a small gesture of care that allows his body better support without the cane.

“Have you eaten today?” you carefully ask, watching his expression closely.

“Maybe,” he grudgingly answers, and his amber eyes are lancing right through you in the dull light of his lab — tired, attentive, pretty.

“I don’t like that answer." Your voice is a sweet purr against his skin, and he winces as you slide a hand down his chest, fixing his vest for him.

“You’re being incredibly annoying today,” he informs you, pressing a quick peck to your lips. A brief one, barely palpable, too fleeting to give you a proper taste. “Perhaps I should appease you.”

“If you want to appease me, a kiss like that won’t do.”

“Demanding, are we?” He quirks an eyebrow, casually sitting down at his desk, squeezing your waist in a playful attempt to pull you onto his lap. But you don’t move an inch. Not until he kisses you properly, at least.

He gets the hint. Gently grabs your chin, pressing your noses together — kissing the right way this time, deep and slow, with his tongue brushing your bottom lip before slipping into your open mouth — it’s almost lewd when that small motion steals a surprised moan out of you. A kiss of a hungry, fervently missing his lover man. Your man.

“Better?” His question is rhetorical at this point. He knows he left you amazed and dizzy once again — your messy breath is giving it all away. But Viktor wouldn’t be Viktor if he hadn’t asked. The incorrigible tease at his best behavior.

“Much better.”

You give him the reassurance he’s been seeking, adding the missing touch to this affectionate gesture by nuzzling into his embrace, and he hums, satisfied with the solace you’ve brought him so easily with the mere power of your presence.

“So… is my darling appeased now?”

“Relatively.” You laugh, and a self-assured smirk plasters smugly across his face. “It won’t save you from having dinner with me tonight though.”

“Is that so? Well, I appreciate the effort, and the fact that you came here just to visit your sick, touch-starved man, but I’m afraid I still have work to do—“

“I’m not here just to visit you,” you cut him off, as one of your hands slips off his neck straight to cup his sharp knee. “I’m here to collect you. I’m stealing you home with me.”

“Oh no.” He cracks an exaggeratedly offended expression, but judging from the still present on his face grin — he’s actually rather pleased with your intentions. “Being abducted definitely doesn’t sound appealing to me at all.”

“That’s right.” You nod, nudging him softly. “I’ll even hold you hostage if that’s what it takes to bathe you and get you into bed.”

“But what a horrific torture!” he pulls away, slamming a hand against his chest with a low giggle — it lands on his sternum with a muffled slap, right where his thudding heart is. “How ever will I survive that?”

“I believe your fate is inevitable, so you better just accept it.”

“How unfortunate,” he murmurs, pulling you closer, and you gasp, allowing him to lay his cheek against your chest. “Can’t wait to end up in that bath with you,” he whispers, and you hitch in breath, your shaky hands stop massaging his scalp.

“Who says I’m sharing that bath with you?” you tease light-heartedly, feeling his grip tighten around your waist.

“Me.” His response is firm and simple, yet still maddening enough for you to go weak in the knees. Apparently, his nap is being delayed again.

***

Bath with Viktor is a death sentence — a long and squirming one, of countless orgasms and moans loud enough to wake up the whole Piltover. You tried, you really did, to talk him out of it, to make him wait until at least after dinner, but he’s stubborn and knows damn well that you can’t resist him. So all your warnings about how he needs some rest first were muffled mercilessly by his tongue buried deep inside you. At this point, you’re not even sure whether he’s really that into devouring you, or if he’s just trying to prove you wrong, to show you that he’s never tired when it comes to eating you out.

He has you sitting on the edge of the bathtub, legs resting on his covered in crescent nail marks shoulders, and you tug, tug, tug on his hair as he tongue-fucks you through yet another insane release. If only he could smile right now, which was obviously impossible in his position, he would definitely give you the most provoking signature smirk. So you mentally thank his passion for giving head, since it’s the one to blame for his inability to destroy you even more with those grins and his witty dirty-talk right now. He has you right where he wants you: with your thighs wrapped tightly around his head, with your slick getting quite literally everywhere — his tongue, his chin, some on his chest, even. And when you slam your head against the wall, light-headed and breathless, he knows it’s time to do a particularly vicious thing — to suck on your abused clit so hard he might as well just suck the damn soul out of you while he’s at it.

Too much. Overwhelmingly so. And those sweat drops forming on his forehead, and the way he digs his wet fingers into the soft flesh of your legs, and the way he laps up so thoroughly—

“Gonna cum.” You gather the last strengths in your possession to mumble an illegible warning and the skillful bastard between your thighs only picks up pace, leaving you wondering how his tongue is still intact after all that frantic motions inside your cunt. But the technique is rather impressive. You stare at him, wide-eyed and with your lower lip bitten. His sinful gaze meets yours with a guttural rattle when you grip a strand of his dark hair so hard your knuckles turn white. You want to tell him how good his mouth feels, how indescribably hot he looks kneeling in the bathtub, how attractive his skin glistens right now, in the warm water. But the words are unnecessary. Your precious cussing as you come undone on his agile tongue is the best existing compliment to him.

So you deliver. He coaxes the third orgasm out of you. Leaves you throbbing, making one of your shaking legs slip off his slick shoulder into the water with a loud splash. He licks the remnants of you tauntingly slow off his swollen lips, watching your every convulsion closely, and he’s so proud of himself that it almost re-turns you on all over again.

“Look at you.” His sultry whisper reminds you that his ability to be a smartass is back.

“Viktor—“ You suffocate, grabbing his shoulder to hold on for dear life, so you don’t fall out of the tub completely. He chuckles, carefully pulling you back into the water, thoughtful as always, like the gentleman he is. Well, if rearranging your guts with that tortuous tongue and thick cock could be considered something gentlemen do, of course.

He tastes like you now. His tongue is somewhat sour, much puffier in comparison to yours, and it’s not that animate anymore — he pushes it into your mouth rather lazily, evidently worn out by the intercourse.

“I thought the purpose of this bath was to get me cleaned, not dirty,” he whispers with a filthy giggle, wiping your slick off his chin. You roll your eyes, admitting that the single thing stopping you from biting him for that joke is a complete lack of energy. Admitting that he’d just one-upped every single man you've slept with before. Once again.

“Oh, fuck you.” You giggle back, nuzzling into his chest, and it feels so gentle — the lust is gone and the only thing left between you two is pure affection; divine, immaculate, expressed through the softness of your body and the sharpness of his.

“I would be a liar if I said it doesn’t sound tempting, but I don’t believe you’re in a state to do that, my love,” Viktor teases, but you don’t talk back. He left you witless. Too fucked out for your own liking and just perfect for his. “Do you think you can make it to the kitchen?” he asks, pointing at your wobbly legs.

“Yeah.” You hesitate for a second, reluctant to get out of the warm bath. “And you?”

“Oh, I’m not hungry.” Viktor shakes his head, and his response dramatically increases your urge to pinch him. That wasn’t the deal!

“No. Not a chance, you’re not skipping dinner again.”

“But I’ve already had dinner. Well. In a way,” he whispers, as the corners of his mouth curl into another insufferable smirk, and it takes a good ten-second uncomfortable pause for you to understand the pun.

“Eating pussy is not an actual meal,” you frown, pulling away.

“And that’s so unfortunate, don’t you think? At least that way, I’d never skip them…”

“Viktor!”