#save me [insert any one here]... save me..... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sunnami · 5 months ago

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❝watch me, don't touch me, love me, don't hurt me.❞

[title is from ive's accendio. gif not mine.] summary. you are the fop of the wizarding society, known for your shallowness and careless display of wealth, but as hogwarts faces another threat, the marauders and lily, find themselves drawn to you and the secrets hidden under your facade. (harry just wants to know what is going on.)

pairing/s. marauders x reader. (james potter/lily evans/remus lupin/sirius black/reader.)

wc. 24.1k.

tags. enemies to lovers, angst, hurt but the comfort is later, fluff(ish), i try slow burn for the first time (it hurts.), this is highly self-indulgent idgaf, set during goblet of fire but i decide what goes, voldemort isn't the only character who can revive from the dead, BITCH. OH, LMAO I FORGOT, THIS IS FOR THE DILF AND MILF LOVERS SDKJFHSF they're married, but remus and sirius keep their name for legal and plot reasons. adult marauders and adult reader! and i was careful this time to not use any specific pronouns or gendered terms so everyone can enjoy the pain!! every1 is hurting 2nite. proofread kind of, so we die like. . . harry potter?

cws. here we go... canon-typical violence, vivid description of injuries, pain, and blood, emotional abuse, trauma, self-destructive tendencies, minor character death (non-canon), pureblood society practices, voldemort is his own warning, brief mention of war, brief scene with abducted children, panic attacks, depictions of mental illness, suic!dal thoughts, bellatrix lestrange is also her own warning, morally-grey reader.

a/n: this is inspired by my most favorite finnick odair fic EVER! obviously, i won't ever reach that level of greatness, but i've had this idea in my head ever since i read that story. sometimes, i just want to cry at night to feel something, LMFAO. halfway through writing this story, i got insecure, so thank you to this eye-opening comment on reddit that i found that will forever change how i look at reader inserts: “for me, a reader should be faceless, but not soulless.”

to my dearest friends and readers, i hope you enjoy this world that i've written for you ueueue. (the next and final part is fluffier, i promise.) will upload to ao3 soon!

act i. dear god, please save the little man.

“RITA, DARLING, do get your wretched little quill for this one. I heard from a wee birdie that Vittoria Zabini was spotted in Rome, and not just wearing last season’s designer collection, but on her honeymoon, of all things! Can you believe it, dearest? If I remember correctly, this must be husband number five now.”

Like a wingless canary in a gilded cage, you are forced once again to sing for red-lipped witches and their grating laughter, and for wizards with their fat bellies, graying hair, and leering eyes. How kind of Narcissa Malfoy to host these decrepit creatures in her manor garden—and thrust the role of main attraction onto you. There you are, lonesome badger, dressed in the finest tulle for everyone to ogle at. A ballerina in a music box, turning, and turning, and turning.

(When will your cursed lullaby finally end?)

Isadora Bulstrode cackles. “Gold-digging wench must be at it again.”

As predicted, Rita Skeeter greedily whips out her Quick-Quotes Quill. The bloodthirsty journalist preys hungrily at your every word—and you’re more than willing to satiate the irritable, little pest. “Riveting.” She pushes her glasses upwards with a quirk of her lips. “We may have tomorrow’s front page in our hands.”

Lavinia Nott brings the teacup to her mouth, her gaze slicing towards you. “Do tell us more. Where ever do you get your information from?”

You hide a coy smile behind the fine porcelain. “Why, Lavinia dearest, if I reveal my secret now, I might have to kill you!” The drove of ladies giggle amongst themselves as Lavinia sips her tea impassively. You play these people like a fiddle, and they’re none the wiser. But even vile women have to play their parts in the cruel world forged by mad men. Yours happens to be the most ill-fated of them all.

“A shame you decided not to pursue the same path as your mother, but that is alright—not every one is fit to work.” The Selwyn matron raises her brow, offering you a tight-lipped smirk.

“Oh, Elinor, my love, I’m surprised you’d even suggest such a horrible thing!” Your grin grows wicked and wider. You know perfectly what the wizarding society thinks of you: the orphaned heir, the shallow socialite who only cares for gallivanting about in pureblooded extravaganzas. A status you’ve so carefully fashioned; utterly beloved and adored by these people, flowers falling at your feet with so much as a whisper from your lips.

Your gaze drifts to a familiar crowd of people to the side. It’s the pack of lions and The-Boy-Who-Lived. There they are, the marauding bunch and their displays of loyalty and whatnot; hideously coordinated outfits, but capturing the world’s attention constantly and effortlessly.

How repulsive.

In spite of that, you are intrigued. They are the section that plays out of tune in the orchestra you have been conducting for years.

And so you bid your goodbyes to the witches; they fawn and beg for you to stay for an hour more. You pout your lips and say with faux sympathy, hand flying to your chest. “Oh, don’t worry, my dears! I’ll be back soon enough after greeting some of the other guests. You lovely ladies might tire of me if I stay for too long.”

Melina Traverse brushes you off. “We could never! You know you’re like family to us, pet!”

With a delighted gasp, you say, “Don’t tell Narcissa, but you’ve always been my favorite Slytherin.” The venom flows endlessly from your lips. You owe your life to only a handful of people. Narcissa Malfoy, who raised you when your mother no longer could, is one of them. Finally, you’re able to sneak away from their freshly manicured talons as they tittle-tattle amongst themselves.

Once your back is turned to the rest of them, you roll your eyes until your head begins hurting.

What a bunch of insufferable fools.

Still, the show curtains are wide open and the sun is yet to set. You have another audience that is awaiting your next number.

“Oh, my, my, my! Is it truly the Chosen One in our midst?” You approach the horrid family of Gryffindors—nearly doubling over in laughter at the speed with which their faces fall at the sight of you. How refreshing, you think to yourself. It’s been so long since you’ve seen people who wore their hearts on their sleeves. “Cissa and I didn’t think you’d even respond to our invitation—but this is just brilliant! Lily, darling! How long has it been? That dress looks utterly divine! Is that Charmeuse silk? The purple simply brings out the color in your eyes! And your skin, my love! Just glowing! Tell me—have you been trying those snail facials? I hear they’re all the rage nowadays.”

Sirius grimaces, cheeks turning ashen. “Bloody hell, I’m going to need a drink for this. A strong one, too.”

“You’re at a garden party, Sirius darling,” you remind in jest, flamboyantly motioning to the grazing table. “The elves are serving Darjeeling, jasmine, chamomile, berry blends, spiced orange, silver needle, and my personal favorite, chocolate mint!” There are strings of lights wrapped around the tree branches; floating lanterns and the hydrangeas creeping on the stone walls. You put a hand over your heart, smiling knavishly. “From the Malfoy family, to yours, we sincerely hope you enjoy your brunch.”

Lily deeply inhales as she intertwines her fingers with James’s, a polite smile on her face—an odd pang in your heart at the show of solidarity. (She questions how sincere can a Malfoy really be.) “Y-Yes, well, it’s so good to see you, too. We’re grateful for the invitation, especially since it’s for a rather honorable cause.”

Ah, pure-hearted creatures really do get on your nerves. Lion hearts; words dripping in honey, limitless bravado. You’ve changed your mind, you’re sick of it all. A flash of vindictive glee crosses your face as you abruptly grab her hand, wrenching it away from her husband’s. “We just knew you’d see it that way! You probably see yourself in those Muggle children, eh?”

Lily recoils, as if struck by hot iron, shoulders tensing; slowly, she peels away her hand from yours, long lashes blinking away her shock. “You and Narcissa must be raising a lot of money, then.” She eyes the marble fountain adorned in white roses, the harmonizing gnomes nearby, self-playing harps, and the scrutinizing stares from afar. “I never knew you cared so much about Muggle children.”

“Well, I suppose it must be done for all the pudgy-cheeked brats in the world,” You callously wave away her words with a sigh. Unbeknownst to most, all the charity proceeds come from your own Gringotts account. That is the one real thing left in your miserable life. “As staff at Hogwarts, the children must come first, wouldn’t you agree, Lily flower?”

“Quite,” replies Lily, lips firmly pursed.

James enters the fray, hand snaking around Lily’s waist; jaw taut, seeming to regret ever entering the snake den. “Have you met our son, Harry, already?” He turns to the fourteen-year-old at his left side, gently patting Harry’s back with a crooked smile. “Haz, this is an old classmate of ours.” James gestures to you, and you offer the Potter spawn an amused smile as he blinks owlishly at you. The poor thing has gone frigid from the wintry cold, despite the summer sun overhead and blooming coneflowers; and you wonder if he must have run into Draco and Lucius before coming to the garden.

So this is the child the Dark Lord failed to kill, you muse. You only wish that you could have seen that monster fall to the ground lifelessly, defeated by an infant and his courageous parents. How fitting for men like Lucius Malfoy to follow in his footsteps; the blind leading the blind. Your grin stretches from ear to ear as you take his hand in yours. Clearly, he’s never held a girl’s hand before, as he limply shakes your hand, awkwardly spluttering his greetings. “What an honor it is to finally meet the savior of the wizarding world.”

“Why, you look just like James when he was younger, always strutting around the corridors.” Your eyes drift to the lightning scar on his forehead, a testament to his and Lily’s survival against the killing curse. “And such clear-cut emerald eyes; truly your mother’s son. Tell me, Harry dearest, you must be quite the heartbreaker at Hogwarts.”

His doe-eyes harden, and your brow quirks in curiosity. (So the littlest lion can growl, after all.) “Oh. . . not really.” His hand hangs back at his side, fists coiling. The robins chirp merrily as they fly by, his parents carefully watching the scene unfold; water endlessly splashing in the fountain. Harry’s voice deepens as he continues, “I couldn’t be. My friends and I barely have time for anything else. There always seems to be something going on at the castle, apparently.”

“How interesting—Elsie!” You bark at the quivering house elf as Harry stumbles on his words. “Get Mister Potter and his company a plate of macarons—serve them our finest tea, as well.”

Harry winces as the elf apparates at once. “There’s r-really no need for—”

Your gaze, sharp as a knife, slices to him, as the corners of your painted lips bend contemptuously. “Have you heard the news, dearheart?”

Harry looks to his father before shrugging. “I don’t think so.”

“If Mister Lupin here has so graciously informed you,” you begin tantalizingly, eyes cutting to the rugged werewolf at Lily’s side; his back stiffening at the mention of his name, “Otherwise, keep this between you and me, Harry darling. Hogwarts will be hosting a rather important event this year—and I do love a good party—so you must have noticed the rise in appearances from the Ministry.” You gesture to the top Aurors at the DMLE towering over Harry, Sirius and James. “More than that,” you continue with a sly cant to your voice. “There will be a few new additions to Hogwarts’ staff. Among them, of course—is yours truly!”

“And to do what, exactly?” Sirius blurts out incredulously.

“Be a teacher, of course!” you feign ignorance, bashfully furrowing your brows. “Why else?”

“Brilliant!” Sirius chuckles scornfully. “So, the children will be learning about French designers and frilly dresses then, I presume?

“Is that truly all you think of me?” you ask, gasping melodramatically as you circle the rim of your empty teacup.

“You want to know what I think? Or what everyone thought behind your back at Hogwarts?” Sirius scoffs with a cock of his head. “You’ve always been the belle of the ball, no bloody doubt about that. But I’ve always wondered if there was anything more to your head than just air.”

He runs a hand through his dark curls, lips twisting into a sneer. “But I reckon nothing has changed since then. You’re just the same insufferable, vapid wench as you’ve always been.”

“Sirius. . .” Remus quietly calls. “That’s enough.”

Your expression falters—but your mask cannot afford even a moment of rest. A jarring note in the lullaby plays as the ceramic ballerina stops turning. You let the minutes pass by fleetingly; it seems the self-playing chordophones have changed their tune, as well. You watch as the canary diamonds in your bracelet glint against the sunlight. (You are growing tired of the blinding show lights, unrelenting crowd, and never-ending play. Where is the reprieve, you wonder, for the tormented primadonna and her aching soul?)

The strings are now dipped in blood as your tears polish the stage. Your joints have twisted, bent, and danced. You wonder, how long must it be until you are rid of the starring role?

You muster a coy smile, fluttering your lashes at the heir of the most noble and ancient House. “Such crude language, Mister Black,” you say, albeit your voice has gone mellow; nails drumming against the table surface as the guests mingle with one another. The unbearably dull conversations buzz in your ear. You notice Draco and Astoria Greengrass heading for the glasshouse. You consider stealing her lace parasol and whacking Sirius with it, and the thought fills you with immense joy.

Unfortunately, they are your guests, and you are nothing if not the most polite host. “Perhaps, I am not the only one who hasn’t grown out of their immature habits,” you say, eyeing his shoulder-length hair, spiky ear piercings, and leather jacket. That damned leather jacket of his. It irks you that he and his kind can show insolence freely without bearing any repercussions. (But you’d die before you ever feel envy for a man like Sirius Black.) The sun fades behind the clouds, and your mask slips perfectly into place once more.

“What is it that happened again? Between you and Severus Snape in sixth-year?” You tap your chin pensively, taking cruel satisfaction in the stutter in Sirius’s breath and Remus’s parted lips, ever stupefied. You gaze fiendishly at Remus. “Oh, silly me, I’ve gone off topic. Well, anyhow, I just wanted to say, I believe the students are in rather good hands this year. I just hope Dumbledore doesn’t accidentally let an infected beast roam the halls of Hogwarts.”

Your eyes flash impishly. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mister Lupin?”

Lily curls her lip viciously. “Just what exactly—?”

“Elsie has returned, master.” The house elf bows her head just as the antique bistro table is circled with macarons, cucumber sandwiches, miniature cocktail buns, and slices of pound cake. Lily retracts her hand, grinding her jaw as she swallows the words in her throat.

“You may go, Elsie, thank you.” With a guileful smirk, you levitate the teapot towards James and Harry, dutifully filling their cups; steam soon arising from the Chinese porcelain. You nod at the group. “It’s jasmine pearl,” you explain haughtily. “Carefully handcrafted tea from harvested leaves and flowers. Such exquisiteness that you won’t be able to find anywhere else.”

“Do enjoy your tea; Cissa and I made sure to spare no expense for our guests.” The teapot carefully lands back on the table. The sinfonietta ends, and so does your time with this particular audience. What misfortune, that you won’t receive your flowers for today’s performance. You pivot on your heels, flinging them a lukewarm goodbye. “Do excuse me, for I must tend to the new arrivals. I believe I see Missus Parkinson over there by the koi pond. Cissa might have my head if I neglect my responsibilities.”

You turn your head, tossing a wink at Lily. “Today, after all, is for the children.”

Alas, it is not Persephone Parkinson you head towards.

You briefly exchange tepid pleasantries with Lavinia Greengrass before walking past the koi pond to the edges of the garden, far beyond prying eyes and ears. There, like a brooding Dementor drifting through a frozen lake, waits your true target. Sadly, it is only a dour-faced professor, a long time confrère of yours, to be precise. There are only a handful of people to whom you are indebted. Severus Tobias Snape is one of those few.

With a flick of your wand, you covertly cast the silencing charm upon the elusive spot Severus had chosen. There is no need for these edacious vultures to prey on your conversation. They are better off with their tête-à-têtes and syrupy pikelets. You drown out the chamber orchestra’s symphony, the clinking of champagne glasses, the rustling leaves and ringing wind chimes. “Severus darling,” you say liltingly, feet shuffling to his side as you playfully ghost your palm against his nape. He barely spares you a glance as a breeze courses through the rippling lake water. “You’re missing out on the festivities, you know.”

“Have you finally finished tormenting Narcissa’s visitors?” he drawls, at long last acknowledging your presence and sharply raising a brow at your saccharine-sweet smile.

“Why, I’d never dare to do such a thing,” you reply with a theatrical sway of your head. “I simply conversed with the ladies and had a delightful run-in with your old flame, Lily. Do you remember her, my sweet? Ghastly red hair, pale skin, and, oh, those green eyes. It must be infuriating to look like that,” you rattle away to the only entity willing to listen to you in his company: the wind.

“Spare me,” he drones, lips curved impatiently.

You moue. “Ever the bore, you are, Severus. Shall I fetch you a platter of brandy snaps?”

“Shall I sit around while I wait?” Snape’s lips contort into a sour grimace, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “The Dark Lord himself might even find time to rise from his grave.”

“Severus dear, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to tell me something.” You eye him slyly, mouth tipping into a smirk as a dragonfly hovers by the waterline, avidly stalked by the dwarf frog on a lily pad. “So,” you pry, “did you have something important to tell me? I promised Mister Goyle I’d have a drink with him.”

The frog splashes into the lake, and the dragonfly flutters away without a care. Severus clandestinely slips a piece of paper into your palm as he swivels around, dark cloak billowing. “Ensure that nothing traces back to you,” he snarls. “Clearly I do know better, Severus.” You toy with the paper between your fingers, a sense of exhilaration running up your spine. “Not to worry,” you say with a clipped smile, a serpentine glare in your eyes, “I always do as I am told.”

(Severus, not for the first time in his life, wonders if the Sorting Hat made a mistake when it sorted you into Hufflepuff.)

act ii. tonight, let’s start the masquerade.

THE NIGHT GROWS weary, and so do the alleys of Knockturn; neglected as your hooded figure navigates through the brick road, only the caged owls and flickering stars to notice your presence. You fainly traipse amongst the shadows, a moment of surrender from the spotlight and malignant eyes; a brief interlude in the performance. Past the hanging doll heads in the windows of Borgin & Burkes, you find a lonely shop. Inside the locket of your ring, lies a slip of paper that had been given to you earlier this afternoon. Well, Severus, you think to yourself, idly twisting the ring on your finger, let’s see where you sent me to this time.

And so, the stage actor calls for a costume change. “Alohomora.”

With one last glance at the dimly-lit passage, you enter the boutique. The brass shop bell accompanies your entrance, but no owner appears to greet you—and if there was, well, you have quite a unique way of saying hello. Your fingers feather across the dusty bookshelves, eyes raking through the broken staircase, the faint scent of ginger, rosemary, and mugwort pervades the room; a shattered crystal ball sits in the center of the shop desk, ripped paintings on the wall. A grimace pulls at your lips as you come across a familiar ivory mask. A Death Eater mask—it’s warm to touch; recently worn, perchance. You bury the strong urge to set it on fire.

There’s a shift in the air, a creak in the floorboards—in an instant, you whip your wand out from its leather holster.

“Reveal yourself,” you whisper curtly.

To the naked eye, there is only one intruder in the dingy parlor. To you, however, there is an obscure silhouette of a stranger covered by a glimmering veil. You hold onto your wand resolutely. If it was an enemy, you’d be blown into the walls by now. “This isn’t an ensemble stage, you know,” you chuff impatiently, “I’m not fond of sharing the spotlight with lineless extras.”

The disillusionment charm slowly unveils, and you wait unblinking, until you see a familiar face standing before you. Mid-length curly hair that falls over gray, dagger-like eyes, the irksome scent of tobacco, and a frightening similarity to his elder brother.

There are exactly five people you’d risk your life for, and right now, you’re digging the tip of your wand into their neck.

“Mister Regulus Black,” you greet with a playful edge to your voice, eyes narrowing. “Severus didn’t mention we’d be running into each other tonight.”

“That’s because I didn’t tell Sev I’d be here,” says Regulus, dimples poking out as he swats your wand away from his throat. “I might go mad if I have to stay inside for another bloody week, there’s only so many times I can re-read Good Omens—and by the way, did anyone ever tell you how dramatic you are? Lineless extras, really?”

You hide a fond smile with a roll of your eyes, whirling around to browse the glass cabinets and leather journals on the table, returning to the task at hand. “And so you thought going outside and risking someone seeing you in the open was a good idea? Reggie darling, I often think about the possibility of Walburga dropping you on the head as an infant.”

Regulus shoves his hands inside his trouser pockets as he hovers over your shoulders like a lost, overgrown duckling. “Wasn’t it Cissa’s soirée today? Did you jinx the statues like I told you to?”

“Who do you think I am?” you say haughtily, pausing in your search to half-heartedly glare at him. And after a moment’s pause, you jerk your shoulder and coyly respond with a side-smirk, “Of course I did. The young Mister Flint nearly screamed his head off.” You hum reminiscently, “truthfully, it’s been quite a while since I heard Draco laugh like that these days. For breakfast, I hear about the Granger girl, and then for lunch, I hear about the Weasley children, and for dinner, it’s an hour-long spiel on the famed Harry Potter.”

Regulus chortles in amusement as he hops onto the shop counter, kicking back his chunky boots. “And, then? Did you see my brother?”

“Oh, darling, I did more than that,” you mutter offhandedly, leafing through the paraphernalias and foul-smelling potion flasks.

“How was he? Is he doing well? Merlin, I think it’s been so long since I saw his face.” There’s a lapse of silence between you and Regulus. A lizard scurries across the room, chasing after a line of ants. The younger wizard taints the quietude with a long, frustrated sigh. “Sorry, I just. . .” He slumps his shoulders in resignation. “I wouldn’t have to ask so many questions if. . . if I could just. . .”

“I don’t understand why I have to hide from my own family.” With a jagged whisper, he says, “I feel like I’m losing my mind. Like I can’t believe that I’m really here, I don’t even know if I exist sometimes.”

You grimace as you turn to look at him, hand flinching as if wanting to reach out to him. Instead, you avert your gaze and continue scouring the room. “It’s for—”

“My own good, I know,” Regulus blows a strand of hair away from his forehead. He jumps off the counter with a hardened stare. You glance at his back as he bends to pick at the marks on the floor. At times like this, you remember how small and young Regulus had been when you found him moribund from lake inferis. What a cruel price to pay in exchange for his survival, you think.

For Regulus Black has to remain dead to the wizarding world, stuck in an interminable masquerade, waiting until the hour is up for his performance.

All the world’s a stage, and for the best of the actors and actresses, it seems the production never ends.

“How long do you think it’s going to stay like this? For you, me, Sev? For Cissa?” As he stands on his toes to inspect the top of a dusty cupboard, Regulus veers his head to peek at your expression, frowning when he finds none. (You’ve no answers for him, after all; the entirety of your life was spent wondering that exact same question. All you know is that the show must go on until the audience tires of the starving artist.) “Never mind, let’s just focus on finding whatever you were trying to find here.” He walks past his reflection in the vintage carved mirror. “What are we looking for, anyway?”

You wish to offer solace to a cherished friend, but duties are meant to be fulfilled. For now, to do what is right must come first. Your fingers slither up the side of a bookcase, a wooden ladder resting against the shelves. The mahogany is freshly varnished, the stench of glue is prominent, and deep scratches indent the floor. It’s an empty treasure cove, barely anything displayed on the racks. You grit your teeth as you realize it’s been well-maintained compared to the obsolete state of the room. “Here,” you rasp, abruptly snapping your head to look back at him.

He furrows his brow. “What?”

You beckon him to the corner of the room from where you stand, wooden planks creaking as you push at the bookcase. “Help me with this, Regulus. There could be something behind it.” You clench your jaw as you lean your weight onto the cabinet frame.

“Why don’t we just, I don’t know,” Regulus cocks his head as he waves his wand in the air. “Use magic?” he offers discreetly, as though divulging a century-old secret. “I suggest Bombarda for maximum efficiency.”

You stare at him vacantly. “Regulus dearheart, I hold a stupendous amount of tolerance for you, but there is absolutely no way we are drawing attention to ourselves via explosion spells in the dead of the night.”

He grins boyishly before ushering you away. “Alright, alright, I was only taking the mickey out of you.” Soon after, Regulus deftly mutters a levitation charm, his wand steadfast as the bookcase slowly detaches from the floor. You take a couple of steps backward, lips pursed as you observe Regulus concentrate on his work.

You note to yourself to have a conversation about Regulus’s restlessness with Severus. It could pose a liability and pull the curtains on the entire pasquinade. “Careful,” you keep a tight watch on Regulus’s pinched brows, his hovering wand, and the steadily moving bookshelf.

“Like taking jelly slugs from a first-year,” he says flippantly, beaming at you as his dark curls sweep over his eyes.

You give him an exasperated scowl before side-stepping his quip as you descry a faint outline of a door in the plastered wall. You feel a rumble in the ground, muffled noises behind the shrouded entrance. “Ready your wand, Regulus,” you say grimly, hand reaching for the doorknob, looking back in time to catch his smirk fade into a distant expression, “I believe what awaits won’t be as simple as that.”

A grave tenor disquiets the room, your free hand already grasping for your wand. Regulus stands at your side, nodding as you take a sharp breath. He offers his back to you, in spite of the looming danger. (A sadistic part of you finds comfort in his presence tonight, but neither of you can truly share the burdens of your harrowing façades. Tomorrow, you play the lone star once more; and he, the dead brother and son. But today, you must simply share the stage.)

You twist the knob until a click pierces the heavy silence.

You wait with a bated breath, expecting creatures and spells to come hurling in your direction. The room ahead is enshrouded with darkness. You share a terse nod with Regulus as a ball of light appears at the tip of your wands. Regulus moves to take a step forward, but you block him with your arm. “I’ll go first,” you say breathily, curtly glancing at the Death Eater Mask. “It could be cursed the moment we step inside.” Regulus presses his lips into a white line, clearly unhappy with your decision, but relents nonetheless.

Rough, travertine flooring begins where the woodwork ends; a gust of wind howls into the dark chamber. Wordlessly, you call for your patronus to investigate inside; thin, silvery wisps floating in the air, its light hauntingly beautiful against the unilluminated dungeon. You hear heavy chains dragging across the ground and the harmony of timid footfalls. A drop of water falls onto the cracked stone. Regulus grinds down on his jaw as he readies his wand.

After an eternity of waiting, you snap your wand to set the torches alight.

A pronounced chill runs up your spine; a stutter in your breath. You nearly stagger at the sight unveiled before you. If you had been a weaker wizard, you’d have dropped your wand already. “This. . .” you say hoarsely, eyes wide, blood simmering in your veins.

Children.

Little ones as young as ten-years-old, barely coming up to your stomach, staring up at you with bloodshot eyes. Their skinny arms are covered in grime and wear pathetic rags for clothes. Moss grows in every corner of the room. Emaciated mattresses on metal beds. “Bloody hell,” Regulus growls, chest heaving. “What the fuck?”

“It’s a prison,” you whisper, horrified. There must be more than twelve children standing before you. Bile rises to your throat. You worry about your wand breaking in half, but the overwhelming sense of dread traps you in position.

“Are. . . are you with the bad men?” A brave, young girl with owlish eyes protectively steps forward in front of her companions. “No,” you answer gently, bending down on one knee to meet her eyes. You were neither good, or bad, but there is no magic on earth that would make you harm these children.

Regulus calls your name. “They’re Muggles,” he hisses angrily. “I don’t sense any magic from any of them.” He exhales in frustration. “What the hell are they doing with Muggle children?”

You grind down on your teeth, nearly dizzy with anger. You forgo a response to Regulus in favor of clasping your cloak around the trembling child. Soon after, you blanket the room in a warming charm. “Tend to their wounds,” you say sharply. “I’ll see what I can do about the chains.” And you will do something about those shackles, if it’s the last thing you do. “We’re going to get you out of here, I promise,” you tell the girl, stolid as you pat her head.

Except, the brass bell rings once more and everyone stiffens in alert. The children begin whimpering amongst themselves. Slow, deliberate footsteps reverberate from the shop into the icy-cold room. The hairs on the back of your neck rise.

“Move out of the way!” you yell, veins straining against your neck, just as you’re blown into the stone walls.

Regulus screams out your name, but you barely hear anything over the ringing in your ears; through blurring vision, you see the children and Regulus unharmed. Relief floods through you as you sluggishly rise from the floor. There’s a large crater in the wall from the impact; luckily, the tethers to the chains were demolished, as well. “Get them to the safehouse,” you order, blood trickling from your lips. You hardly feel your arms and legs; there’s an ache in the back of your head, your spine feels as though it’s been snapped in half. You’re definitely going to feel this tomorrow. Regulus hesitates to leave, hands laid on the shoulders of the children as he glowers at the newcomer. “Now!” you bellow gutturally.

A muscle ticks in Regulus’s jaw, but as he finally apparates with as many children as he can, you finally stop holding your breath. “It’s okay,” you reassure the wee boys clinging onto each other for comfort, limping to their side. “I’m rather strong, you know. Stronger than any of the bad men.”

In every duel, you allow yourself to be hit only once—driven by your inhuman desire to feel something other than the emptiness of your unbroken charade.

(And for years, you have waited for anyone to say these two specific words: Avada Kedavra.)

“Go,” you instruct gently, brushing away the tendrils of hair from the little boy’s forehead. “Hide and wait until my companion comes for you.”

“And as for the ill-mannered invader,” you crane your head towards the entrance of the chamber, eyes raking over the tall figure’s bloodthirsty stance and flittering cloak. There’s a lack of silver mask, but you know well the stench of foreboding decay and malignity. At the speed of light, you aim your wand, “Confringo!”

You watch with a spiteful grin as the stranger is blasted across the room. The walls and ceilings threaten to crumble, and you can only hope that Severus won’t be too cross with you in the morning. You point your wand at the uninvited guest’s heart. Nothing will trace back to you, that much you are certain of.

After all, no one would suspect a vapid, insufferable boulevardier to be the greatest spy of the wizarding world.

A firebird caws in the distance.

And, scene.

act iii. where’s your soul? where’s your dream? do you think you’re alive?

“APPEARANCES ARE OF utmost importance.” You stand in the front of the Great Hall, sun rays streaming through the large, stained windows, wooden tables pushed to the walls; accoutered in a black velvet capelet with gold trimmings and vintage dragonhide boots. The sleeves of your blouse are lined with handwoven, gothic lace; trousers made of the finest yellow satin. It is a testament to your House—the cete of badgers. (You seize everyone’s attention—whether the two Aurors in the corner like it or not.)

After a descanting introduction, you are given center stage before the students of Gryffindor and Slytherin. With a swing in your step and a wrest in your voice, you continue, “That is why the Headmaster, Dumbledore himself, invited me to personally facilitate this year’s Tri-Wizard Tournament. As hosts of the event, excellence is expected of us. Professor McGonagall has graciously allowed me to take charge of your lessons, particularly in the art of dancing.” Your eyes gleam as you offer the young fourth-years a graceful reverence. “And our first lesson begins straight away.”

The crowd of students transfigure into a sea of curious eyes and flabbergasted whispers. You derisively watch the chaos unfold with an amused grin. Yet, you’re not the least bit worried. You’ve charmed even a flock of Dementors before, the creatures having been drawn to your voice, ostentatious stature, and the dark depths of your soul; like a bee to a field of flowers. A class full of awkward teenagers should be more than easy for you.

“Now, now, children,” you clap your hands as you make your way to the heart of the room, leaving a trail of softening murmurs. “The Yule Ball is a revered tradition, an exhibit of togetherness that has lasted for hundreds years.” You lift your nose up in the air as the girls look at one another, barely able to hide their giddy smiles and discreet glances across the hall. “As such, it is my venerable duty to oversee your etiquette in and out of the ballroom.”

(Sirius rolls his eyes from where he sits besides James.)

“Mister Filch, if you please.” With a flutter of your lashes and a poised smile, you beckon for the school caretaker who flounders to the gramophone. You wink at the young miss Pansy Parkinson who stares up at you in awe. Soon thereafter, you hear the soft melody of Léo Delibes’s Valse. Coppélia, you simper to yourself—a story close to your heart. (You’ve always found a winsome irony in a marionette like you dancing to the enamel-eyed girl’s song.)

“A dance, while enjoyable by one’s lonesome, is best savored with a partner,” you begin vivaciously, eyeing the gentlemen in particular. “Your date for the night must be aware that you’ve chosen them out of your own volition and undue necessity.” Your stare drifts to the coterie of young Gryffindors, tittering mischievously. “Shall we have a demonstration from the House of courage and splendor?”

“No one?” You raise a brow curiously when you’re met with silence and averted gazes. You then utter the scariest phrase a professor could say to their students: “I’ll choose the lucky student myself.”

You survey the pack of lion cubs, drifting through the tuffs of flashing red hair; gangly boys raucously kicking and pushing at each other to volunteer for your teach-in on ballroom dancing. You flash the students a vexatious grin. “Mister Harry Potter?” you call out to the ashen-faced boy with your hand outstretched. “Why don’t we let the Chosen One set an example to his peers?”

Hollers and cheers break out across the hall; not withholding the mirthful giggles of the doves on the other side of the room, wonderstruck by his green eyes and lightning scar. You motion for Harry to join you on the pseudo dance floor. The Weasley twins take delight in clapping and wisecracking into his ears until Harry reluctantly rises to his feet, a blooming shade of red on his neck and cheeks.

“As you approach your partner with the grace of a majestic stag,” you acclaim to the class whilst Harry approaches you with a wry grin and hands shoved inside his robe pockets, “And not a newborn foal.” You place your hand in his, “You may now invite your lady to dance.”

“Or your beau,” you add spiritedly, eyes gleaming as Harry chokes on his saliva.

You pat his back as the music comes to a sweet-sounding crescendo. “Dancing is about connection,” you turn to the students with a stern gaze. “If your posture crumbles, there goes your confidence, as well. At all times, you must maintain eye contact,” you say sharply as you tilt Harry’s chin and correct the arch of his arms. “Remember, it’s not ballroom if there’s no trust. Lean onto one another, and then. . .” You lay your palm onto his shoulder. “The feet should follow the music.”

Unfortunately, Harry runs on two left feet and both persistently evade the music. On the umpteenth time he stumbles on your shoes, he’s appraised by snickers and low whistles from either side of the hall. The Weasley twins in particular seem thrilled by Harry’s flailing arms and bewildered expression. Along with the two Aurors who’ve skipped their aurorly duties to patrol the castle in favor of heckling their ward. “You’re doing it wrong, James!” shouts Sirius through cupped hands, shoulders shaking in laughter.

“Why don’t you try it, Padfoot?” Harry retorts back to him; thick hair flopping over his eyes as he grates his teeth. You’re given no warning as Harry extracts himself from your grip and stalks over to where Sirius and James sit comfortably.

You blink, dumbfounded. “Harry dearest, I don’t believe that is necessary—!”

“Go on then,” says Harry, jerking his head. “Show us all how to do it.”

To the side, Ron guffaws into his fist, brought nearly to tears. (Earlier he was apprehensive about the class. “We’ve got a whole new professor just for twirling around and all that girlish stuff?” he had asked in disbelief before entering the Great Hall.

“Shut your mouth, Weasley,” growls Draco Malfoy as he shoves past Harry and Hermione to head inside the hall.)

Sirius grins roguishly, having the gall to bat his eyes in confusion. “Who? Me?” He chuckles before forcibly slapping James’s back with the flat of his palm. “No, no. The honor should go to the debonair of his time.” Trenchant eyes flicker with mischief. “Have at it, James. How will the children ever learn without a proper demonstration?”

“Go on, Sir Prongs!” exclaims one of the red-headed twins. “Show us how it’s done!”

Alarmingly, the bespectacled man resigns to his fate, a deafening ovation as he shrugs his robes off, generously revealing his broad shoulders in a tight, black turtleneck; a leather wand holster across his chest; long legs framed by pleated trousers. You bite down on your tongue as James draws closer to you, a hint of a smirk on his lips. With an unerring arch of his back, he holds out his hand for you to take, “May I have this dance?”

Your breath stutters—if only for a moment. One cannot deny that James Potter is deviously more appealing to the eye than the dance partners you’ve had during Narcissa’s galas. Perfectly-carved cheekbones and golden hoops dangling from his ears; bright, hazel eyes girdled by rectangular glasses. “Well,” you say, pursing your lips as you slip your palm into his. “If you must.”

In contrast to his son, James needs little-to-no guidance from you. You’d have assumed that much, considering that both James and Sirius grew up in pure-blood customs. The warmth of his hand on your back is scalding. He spins you along to the song’s aria; the two of you gliding effortlessly through the soapstone floors. Any more closer to him and you’d be able to hear his heartbeat. “There will be lifts, turns, and dips during a waltz,” you inform the class as you demonstrate a twirl vine. “You will rise and you will fall together with your partner. Understand?”

James chuckles at the wistful sighs and horrified groans that erupt through the Great Hall. “You’re good with the children, you know,” he remarks cheekily as he gently lowers you to the ground, hand steadfast on your waist. You hear his unsaid words clearly: Sirius thought you’d be downright rubbish at it.

“Well, Mister Potter,” you say breathlessly, clasping your arms around his neck once more. “To some of the students here, frilly dresses and French designers are their entire world.” Your chin all but perched atop James’s shoulders; the scent of his famed Sleekeazy potion and vetiver—dew on fresh grass on a warm sunny day—fills your senses. You cast a sniffy glare in Sirius’s way, to which he responds with a raised brow.

“Bit shallow, isn’t it?” he murmurs, chest rumbling and his breath hot on your ear.

You scoff. “One could argue the same for a young Seeker who’s been given their first ever broom.”

James Potter has the nerve to smile at you. And as you move to extricate yourself from his hold, James mindlessly lets his hand fall from your waist to your hip—incidentally, where you’ve been nursing a heavy fracture. Sore bruises from chasing vampires the night prior as you were out hunting allies of the Dark Lord from the first wizarding war. Although you had drowned yourself in pain relief elixirs, it seems you’re more sensitive and hurt than you thought.

Even statues of white gold chip and fade over time—you’re reminded of this fact quite painfully. You roughly push James away from you, hissing in pain as you cradle the left side of your hip. Memories of crimson-stained teeth and rotten, pale skin flash before your eyes. You remember the stench of blood, and the feel of their nails slashing into your thighs. But most of all, you remember their ear-piercing shrieks just before you drive the stake into their chests, one by one, until you have left a graveyard of vampires in the outskirts of an abandoned mansion.

James furrows his brow immediately as you cave in on yourself. (Even Sirius surges to his feet.) “What’s wrong?”

Occlude! Occlude—you must occlude immediately!

With a sharp inhale, you close off your emotions for anyone else to see. “It is nothing of your concern, Mister Potter,” you respond blankly, as though your soul is locked far away. “I do believe we’re done here.” You step further away from him. Your attention shifts to the students as you fold your hands behind your back, lips curling into a virulent smile. The weight of your mask is comforting; you’ve forgotten how to breathe without it. “Now, let’s have the students pair up and practice what they’ve learned so far. I’ll have no patience for dilly-dallying and nescience on my watch. You’ll dance until I tell you to stop. You’ll practice until the soles of your feet are sore and raw.”

That, after all, is how you learned.

The class goes by accordingly; you maintain a distance from Sirius and James, turning a blind eye to their burdensome sympathy. (Gryffindors and their bleeding hearts—it always unnerves you how easily the avowed Marauders get deep under your skin.) You nip at the students’ heels, righting their poor footwork; looping the music until you are certain they’d hear it in their nightmares. To your surprise, the round-cheeked Neville Longbottom takes all your instructions in stride. From the moment that you allow Filch to lift the tonearm, the students practically fall to the floor, heaving; some forsaking their long robes and tying their hair in flimsy ponytails.

As the students retreat from the Great Hall, you slink away into the crowd of Slytherins, desperate to avoid a particular duo of Aurors—no doubt ready to probe you with questions. A numbing panic claws at your chest; black spots swallowing your vision. Emotions—how putrid. The students’ discordant chatter overwhelms your hearing, more than the ringing in your ears. The unyielding, outré stone walls feel like they’re closing in on you. Still, you keep your head above the water, enduring every staggered breath. You must.

What’s wrong?

The question echoes in your head.

Ha!

You scream inwardly, if they only knew!

While you had been expecting either James or Sirius to ambush you, you do not expect to see Draco Malfoy shouting your name as you flee down an empty corridor.

The miniature Lucius Malfoy stands before you, grimacing as he clenches his fists tightly. “Are. . .” Draco’s expression contorts morosely. “Are you alright? Theo and I were worried that the blood traitor upset you.” he spits his concern as if it were acid. Little snakes and their keen eyes.

“Mind your language, Draco,” you reply cuttingly, eyes flashing as you lift your chin. And for his question, one that you’ve been asked numerous times over the years, you have only ever had one answer. Despite the scars on your back, the tremors in your hands, the aching of your heart, and the endless bruises on your limbs, you tell him: “And do not ask what is not needed to be.”

“You’re hurt, aren’t you?” he presses further, mouth pinched. “Don’t treat me like a dim-witted child because I’m not!”

A hand lays on his shoulder, and to your chagrin, Severus makes his appearance, lips downturned and his gaze filled with subdued apathy. Your day is about to get worse. “Perhaps, it is best if you leave this discussion to the adults, Draco.” Snape drones, leaving no room for debate. He tightens his grip on the younger wizard. “I will not be inconvenienced to explain to Minerva as to why you were dawdling in the corridors.”

In true Malfoy fashion, Draco sneers in disdain. He rips himself out of Snape’s grasp with a scoff. As he storms past you, you sigh and pat his side.

When Draco disappears into the corner, you release a deep breath as you prepare for the onslaught to come. “Just get it over with, Severus,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, the pounding in your head growing more unbearable by the second.

You see his nostrils flare as Severus turns to glare at you. “I wonder,” he says through gritted teeth. “If you are actually capable of following direct orders—of using that near-empty brain of yours!” His upper lip curls back into a snarl, as he scours the empty hallway for any prowling ears. “Your stunt made it to the Daily Prophet. You were asked to proceed tactfully, were you not?”

You lean against the wall, rubbing at the temples of your head. “And I’ve done my part. Every last one of them—dead by my hands. A problem you failed to deal with for the last two months. That I settled last night. Remind me why you’re still chittering into my ear, Severus darling?”

“Do not play coy with me,” he replies brusquely. “I’ve heard the students tattling about it as though it were the most interesting event in their pathetic, insolent lives. The Embris Mansion burnt down to the ground. There are talks of a vigilante, a good-for-nothing do-gooder. You got sloppy!”

“And if I did—so what?” You retaliate, chest heaving as you step into his face. Truthfully, this isn’t the first time you’ve had this conversation with him. Over the years you have left some sort of mark on your work. Not a phoenix, but a firecrest. Wings outstretched in flames. All eyes are on the ungovernable hero, the Firebird—and never on you, the foppy socialite. “Would it be so perverse to want even a slither of recognition, Severus?”

“Do not forget your duty,” he taunts venomously, the cords in his neck going rigid. “To the greater good you so earnestly fight for. Your duty to your mother.”

“Do not talk about her!” you all but shout, magic sizzling in the air around you.

“Then see to it that there are no more mistakes going forward!” Severus juts his chin, baring his teeth in contempt.

After a few long moments, he continues with a resigned exhale, dragging his palm down his face—as though you are the perplexing one. “This. . . Moody has developed a habit of emptying my cupboards.”

“And why, pray tell,” you retort gruffly, “should I care for this oh-so special cupboard of yours?”

“It contains ingredients for Polyjuice potions!” he proclaims angrily. “Get to the bottom of this. I’ll not have a blithering fool like Pettigrew get to the students again. Do what you must, I have no interest in understanding the workings of your mind—as long as you do not draw unnecessary attention to yourself.”

The sound of footfalls break you apart as Severus nimbly lifts the Notice-Me-Not charm he had cast earlier. Within seconds, you find Remus Lupin rounding the corner. He’s dressed in his usual baggy, gray jumper; jaw clean-shaved, and pinkish scars against his skin. A well-loved quilted coat over his shoulders—handmade by Lily, you presume. You notice the mismatched otter socks peeking from his loafers. Remus saunters down the hallway with tired eyes and a feeble smile as he stops right in front of you and Severus. He has a rather tall frame, slender even, despite his hunched shoulders.

“Snape,” Remus nods to him, gaze flickering back and forth as he attempts to discern what had transpired—well, you’re certainly in no rush to tattle and cry into his arms.

“Professor,” he says to you, an ever curious smile on his face. “You’re looking quite peaky. Is something the matter?”

“I am most certainly sound and fine, Mister Lupin,” you respond, irritated, as you wobble on your feet. You are at your wit’s end—how bothersome of it all. “Should you not be on your way to your next class, Professor?” you bite tiredly.

Remus shrugs, hazel-eyes crinkling in amusement. “Mad-Eye is taking over my next class. I thought it would be good for the students to learn from a veteran Auror. I’m sure he has much more experience to offer than me.”

You scowl, his humility smothering you painfully. “Well, I’ve no interest in dragging my feet around. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have a prior engagement with my cat and I’m afraid I’ve left her alone for too long.”

And as fate would have it, when you make haste for your quarters, you falter in your steps; lurching as your vision goes blurry. Your breath snags in your throat as Remus catches you by the waist. “Perhaps, we should get you to Lily,” offers Remus as he sets you upright, brows pinched worriedly, ignoring Snape’s eye roll in the background.

“I said I was fine!” You blurt out, cradling the front of your head as you sway backwards; now seeing two Lupins and two Snapes. “Merlin, are all Gryffindors this bloody meddlesome? Must I repeat myself? I am fine—!”

Turns out, you are not fine.

The last thing you see before losing consciousness is a pair of brown eyes with flecks of gold, more beautiful than any full moon you’ve ever seen.

—

You wake up to a dry, sore throat; the bitter scent of infirmary disinfectant—a Muggle’s touch, no doubt—and concoctions of various healing potions. Your head is still pounding, but somewhat bearable. The room is small, privy to only teachers, you conclude—although, it is the very first time you have ended up in the infirmary. Remus Lupin would feel your wrath, you’d make sure of it. Your back stings as though it were doused in Dittany recently. As you nearly break the flower vase in an attempt to reach for the empty glass, the door creaks open—and in comes Lily Potter with her husbands.

“Am I in hell?” you eye them bitterly.

“No,” says the youngest matron, dressed in her own version of the nurse’s uniform. Red vest over her white blouse, and a long, plaid skirt with pockets. Soft red hair tied back with a pink ribbon. Albeit, her expression is anything but sweet and delicate. “But you’re in my office, which means you are now under my care—therefore I’d like you to explain why you have vampire toxins in your blood.”

“And I would like to return to my quarters now, please,” you respond haughtily, referring to the private bedroom professors were offered in the castle. “I’ve nothing to explain to someone who administers the diagnostic charm on my person without explicit permission to do so!” you exclaim, releasing a shuddery breath as your head throbs agonizingly.

“You will listen to me—seven hours ago you were this close to paralysis!” Lily shouts right back, eyes glaring defiantly—she may have adhered to you in Malfoy’s territory, but no power holds more authority than an acclaimed healer over a patient. “If you had been a Muggle, you’d be dead ten times over.”

“Well, now that we’ve established that I’m alive and well, I suppose we have no more pleasantries to exchange, Lily darling.” You tear the flimsy blanket from your legs, grimacing at the bandages covering your skin.

“Not before you tell us where those bruises came from,” Sirius demands, voice low and knife-like eyes on you.

“Must have been the Nargles,” you reply sarcastically. No one would care for a bonny doll ripping apart at the seams and gathering dust on a child’s shelf. “They’re quite frisky this time of the year, didn’t you know? My good friend Xenophilius wrote about those creatures a long time ago. Good read, I’d say.”

“Are you capable of taking anything seriously?” cuts Sirius with a snarl, tendrils of hair curling around his face; hints of tattoos peeking out from his leather jacket. Vermillion satin shirt clashing against his pale skin. The lingering smell of lit cigars only reminds you of Regulus, and so you tear your gaze away from Sirius.

“Sirius, let’s not scare her off now, love,” Remus admonishes, softly resting his palm at the back of Sirius’s neck, before he stares at you with honey-dripping eyes. You have a desperate need to run away. They’re an uncharted danger that you aren’t familiar with navigating—and you figure young Harry wouldn’t appreciate you treating his parents like a rabid vampire. “We just want to know what happened, you looked worse for wear when we brought you to Lily and Madam Pomfrey,” Remus placates, treating you like a crow with its wing snapped in half.

You sneer. “If I am not dead, then these wounds hardly matter to me.”

Lily gasps, a sound so soft only the wind could have possibly heard it. “How could you say that?” she asks, hand flying to her lips. “Of course it matters, you had lost so much blood while we tried to get the toxins flushed from your system.” She stares at the puncture mark on your arm, before peering over at Sirius. “We nearly couldn’t find a match to your blood type. Sirius. . . Well, he’s a universal donor and he didn’t even hesitate in giving you his—”

“Giving me what?” you echo lowly. “What did Sirius give me, Lily?”

“Blood,” Lily says firmly. “He gave you his blood so you could live.”

“How dare you?” you seethe, chest rapidly rising; digging your nails firmly into your palms as you stare furiously at Lily. “You had no right!” You scream until your throat is sore; your magic overflowing until it shatters the nearby vase of butterfly weeds.

Rage tunnels your vision; heart hammering against your ribcage as you move to carelessly rip at the bandages over your wounds. “You had no right! You had no fucking right! I would have never done the same for you! Get out! Get out!”

“Get out!” You hurl the glass at the wall across from you, narrowly avoiding Sirius’s head; anguish tears itself from your voice and you barely notice James flinch from the intensely flickering lights.

“You think I’d be grateful?” you scoff, a burning heat spreading across your chest. “You think I’d be indebted to any of you after this? Is that what you wanted? What a fucking joke!” You laugh irately as you gasp for air. “I’d rather die!”

When you run out of items to throw at them—pillows, shards of glass, and crumpled flower stems—you sit on the bed, shoulders violently shaking as you cough yourself sick.

“I. . .” Lily begins, swallowing the lump wedged in her throat. “I understand. . . But I am the castle’s nurse, as long as you are under Hogwarts’ protection, I am keeping you alive no matter what.”

“I don’t bloody care,” you snide.

Her eyes flash to James. “We’ll leave you to rest, then.”

You stay silent, vacantly staring at the reddened welts on your hands. It’s not until you feel James’s arms around you and his chin hovering above your head that you realize you’ve stopped shivering. “I’m sorry,” is all that James whispers into your ear as he lays you to sleep with an inaudible charm. The chill of his magic is the last thing you feel before your eyes flutter to a close.

—

You wake up in the infirmary once more. This time, you lay stiff on the mattress, absentmindedly gazing at the plain ceiling; your chest falling and rising ever-so slowly. The stink of a Calming Draught is painstakingly familiar. A low humming sound tells you that you aren’t alone—but you barely flinch from their presence, too tired to do anything but close your eyes. “Some boys kiss me, some boys hug me. . . . something. . . they’re okay,” murmurs one Sirius Black, tapping on his thigh as he rests his back on the rustic chair.

If Sirius wants an encore, he’d have to drag the fight out of you. You’re utterly drained from your emotional palaver earlier. “Didn’t know you were into Muggle songs, Black,” you chortle bemusedly.

Sirius halts in his singing as a forceful silence falls over the room—you distinctly hear the moment Sirius’s hand drops to his thigh, most likely taken aback by the sound of your hoarse voice. You feel the weight of his eyes on your bandaged arms and legs. A few seconds pass before he responds, his words but a faint breath. “After today, I believe that there is much to be uncovered for the both of us.”

You don’t bother replying—you’d have Obliviated them instantly if it wasn’t illegal to use on Aurors.

“We know it was you,” says Sirius out of the blue—your blood turns icy-cold on command, wondering if he’s figured out about the wizard behind the Firebird. “On the first day of term, someone had left a basket of freshly-brewed Wolfsbane potions enough to last him for the entire year,” he explains further, leaning his elbows on his knees as he stares at you unwaveringly. “I almost didn’t believe it, but a Marauder has his ways.”

(His son with an invisibility cloak and a handy, enchanted parchment.)

“Thank you,” he says, guttural with emotions. “It means more to Remus than you think.”

“Your gratitude is misplaced, unfortunately,” you rasp, coiling your fists tightly, stubbornly intent on avoiding his eyes—not wanting to get caught in the storm within. You exhale with a ragged sigh. Severus was right, you had been sloppy. And this is what carelessness leads to. “Don’t delude yourself, Mister Black, I couldn’t care less what happens to you or your family.”

Sirius chuckles, like he’d expected such a response from you. “Well, do what you’d like with my gratitude, I don’t care, just know that you have it,” he says, rising from his seat. “It’s past midnight, by the way. Lily’s left you some dinner in case you woke up hungry.”

Your eyes drift to the nightstand. There’s a steaming bowl of spinach rice with mushrooms, and a plate of honey cinnamon bars. But your gaze lingers on the bouquet of snapdragons and orchids placed in a ceramic vase.

“She believes home-cooked meals help the patients heal faster,” Sirius tells you, carefully observing your reaction—but there’s none to be found. He purses his lips into a thin, white line.

As he makes his way to leave, Sirius pauses, hand resting on the doorframe. “You know,” he begins quietly. “The thing about magic—it can fool the best of us into thinking we’re indestructible. But, you’re not as inhumane as you’d like us to think.” Sirius veers his head to look back at you. “Take that mask of yours off sometimes, yeah? You’d see the rest of the world clearly if you did.”

That is all you hear from him before the door clicks shut, and you’re left alone with your thoughts.

How arrogant.

How very Gryffindor of him.

You push the flower vase closer to the edge of the bedside table, indignantly eyeing the watercolor art. The room reeks of Lily’s kindness. Lions and their constant need to see the goodness in everyone. Take off your mask? You’d give your entire Gringotts account to wear the kind of rose-colored lenses they have—they’re more pestilent than you realized. No matter, it’s high-time you reintroduced yourself to the Marauders, anyway.

If you take off your mask, they would find nothing but a barren soul.

—

It seems your newfound parasites have forgotten who you truly are—but you have no qualms in reminding them why exactly you’re called the pureblood society’s darling.

For the week or so, the Daily Prophet features you out in luxurious restaurants, a new partner each night hanging off your arm. International Quidditch players, foreign models, esteemed opera singers, and even Muggle celebrities. Men and women are captured in moving photographs, avidly fawning over you.

You’ve missed three classes in favor of shopping in France; Flooing back to Hogwarts, stinking of bordeaux and rosa centifolia. Painite gems nestled around your neck, glittery sapphires lining your wrists. On more than one occasion, you’ve seen McGonagall lift her chin in distaste at your behavior.

“Well, that’s certainly a speedy recovery,” says Lily one afternoon as the owls take the Great Hall by storm. Rita Skeeter’s new article about you is plastered on the front page, apparently you’ve gotten into a catfight with an Italian seamstress. She risks a glimpse of you from the other side of the long table, laughing away with Professor Sinistra. The sound is scraping against her ears, yet Lily can’t help but feel disappointed.

Your desk is littered with mails from admirers, invitations to galas and fundraisers. The students can’t help but notice this fact as they’re brought to the dance floor each morning. (Each day, you rewind Coppélia’s song—her wishes, and her pain—but you plan to ignore the ballad until blood trickles from your ears.)

“Mumma’s just about ready to send her a Howler,” you hear Ginevra Weasley saying in passing after class. The young red-haired girl nearly bumps into Hermione’s shoulder as Ginny dips her head low, prattling excitedly, “Called the Professor a tart, even.”

Hermione stops walking, scrunching her nose. “Really?”

“Yes, yes,” Ginny nods. “But enough about all that—have you seen the news this morning?”

Hermione looks up, lips wrinkled in thought. “The one about the Professor being seen in Muggle London? I thought that was rather stale for a headline.”

“Not that one,” Ginny says exasperatedly, rolling her eyes. “The article about the Firebird. Remember what happened during the World Cup? When You-Know-Who’s followers came and raided the entire campsite?”

“That would be pretty hard to forget, Gin,” Hermione replies softly.

“Well, the Firebird’s gone and hunted a few of them,” Ginny tells her, eyes brimming with awe. “Found their hideout and left them half-dead for the Ministry to find. No Malfoy, though, which is a bloody shame.”

At your desk, you sip your jasmine pearl tea with a knowing smirk.

On the first of October, your previous Head of House invites you to the greenhouse for an overdue get-together. Naturally, you greet Pomona Sprout with gift baskets overflowing with glacé treats, packets of tea, scented candles, and dried berries. She huffs in fond exasperation before instructing you to grab a pair of cotton earmuffs and gardening gloves. And, well, you don’t mind playing the part of a slap happy third-year under her gentle care. It’s a role you enjoy more so than others.

“You’ve been worrying me these days, dear,” Professor Sprout tells you earnestly as she wrestles with the Flitterblooms. Hoo-hoo chicks flutter around in their cage while the uprooted baby Mandragoras screech nearby. You feel the weight of her gaze, much like a knitted blanket draped over your shoulders on a cold, autumn noon. “The other staff have been expressing their. . . concern, as well.”

You busy yourself with planting the Wiggentree in its pot, allowing only a moment to raise your walls of Occlumency. You know that she couldn’t possibly be a threat, but you would not allow someone else to expose you bare for others to see. (You loathe the thought of Sirius’s blood flowing through your veins.)

You know that concern is shallow at best, forged from fear of the students being influenced by your frivolous escapades.

At your silence, Sprout continues on, “We always tell the children that their Houses will be like their second family during their time at Hogwarts.” You hear her draw in a long breath, gingerly placing the flitter tentacles on the ground. “I hope you understand that the same is true for the professors. We take care of each other, substitute teacher or not.” Pomona’s hand is leaden on your shoulder. “After all, you were our student before anything else. The Sorting Hat gave you to me, and what a darling blessing you have been, even until today. When I look at you now, I see the same young first-year student who was afraid of everything and afraid to come out of their shell—but do not forget, I will always be on my children’s side no matter what.”

How poignant that the first person who truly welcomed you to Hogwarts, is one of the only people who can see through you despite your protective barriers.

And so, the puppet show begins—like a lifeless ragdoll, you peel the deer-leather gloves off your hands, blinking away any hints of emotion. You stand tall before Pomona, dusting flecks of soil off your dovetail skirt. “No one has been on my side. Not then, not now,” you say as you snobbishly arrange the brim of your sunhat. “But do not be mistaken, Pomona. I have been fine on my own and a change still remains to be seen.”

In another life, you would have happily embraced her comfort and affection—but the fate of a lonely starlet is cruel. You’ve made your bed of thorns and wilted roses, and there you shall lay when there is no one left but yourself.

“Today was lovely, Pomona, thank you.” It is one truth you’ve permitted yourself to offer—a shred of humanity in exchange for her kindness. The dirt beneath your nail beds is real; so is the ache in your back and the sweat dripping from the side of your head to your chin. But you cannot feel any more than that—you forbid yourself. The Mandrakes fall silent, and you bid your goodbyes to the professor.

The sunlight on your skin is real as you step outside, and so is the sound of clamoring students heading for the greenhouse. Sixth-year students from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw hurry down the hill. Their unrestrained laughter and carefree smiles are real. And so is the unwashed blood on your hands; the killing curses that have fallen so easily from your lips, and the ghosts that haunt you as the moon arises. Perhaps, you could withstand it all if it means the children would live through a real future without the sins of people like you.

(But why is it that every time you distance yourself. . . there always seems to be someone calling out to you?)

Cedric Diggory, your godson, yells for you with a grin that stretches from ear-to-ear. You watch as his yellow scarf swings with each hasty step he takes. Cedric crosses the gap between you in under a minute, strands of wavy, brown hair sweeping over his glimmering eyes. It’s an unsolved mystery as to how you and him were sorted in the same House.

“Your shirt is wrinkled, Cedric,” you tut, straightening his tie. “Do you go riding Hippogriffs in your spare time?”

Cedric chuckles wholeheartedly. “Father told me to tell you that you’ve been invited this weekend for a dinner at Hogsmeade,” he says, cocking his head as a cheeky simper erupts across his face. “That is, if you aren’t busy.”

You raise a brow—sly little badger, he was. Harrumphing uppishly, you swivel to turn your back to him and say, “Tell your father that I’m choosing the venue, lest he chooses some primitive pub in the village.” You draw out the distance between you and Cedric, tossing your parting words into the chilly breeze, “Tell him I’m paying for everything, too.”

His hearty laughter cuts through the hillside as you make your way back to the castle. Thinking you have the last word, you don’t expect him to yell once more:

“I’m going to enter the tournament this year!”

You’re certainly taken by surprise, but you don’t slow your pace. An imperious smirk tugs at your lips—well, at least you know where you’re placing your bets.

A day before the esteemed guests are set to arrive, you run into Sirius and James—much to your annoyance. It’s just your luck that the evening prior you were hunting down a known member of Greyback’s pack. You played a little cat-and-wolf deep in the depths of a forest, hungrily isolating him from the rest of its family. Though this lycan was unturned, you walk away with claw marks on your back. Still, you hope that Greyback licks his wounds and feels the burden of this particular loss. However, you feel that dealing with James and Sirius will be much more difficult than bringing a werewolf to its knees.

After all, this is the first time you come face-to-face with them, nearly a month after your incident in the infirmary.

“Auror Black, Auror Potter,” you say liltingly, the rhinestone tassel clinking in your hair as you swirl to face them with a devious leer. “What can I do for you today?”

Sirius scoffs in disbelief. “So it’s like that, then? Like nothing ever happened?”

“Partying around, missing your bloody classes, parading all over the castle like you’re better than everyone else. We thought you changed. You know, I actually thought there could be something real to you under all that,” he punctuates his words with a harsh laugh, sneering at your blinding jewelry. “Guess we were the fools, eh?”

James stares at Sirius, a grim expression flashing across his face, before he shakes his head. “It just doesn’t make sense. What we saw at the infirmary—that’s not something anyone forgets.” He gazes at you with grief in his eyes. “It’s like you’re two different people.”

“It’s disappointing, really,” Sirius bites, his lips curling into a snarl.

They’ve made it all too easy for you.

“What are you so frustrated for, darlings?” you say in faux sympathy, stalking towards them as you tap at your chin; a sickly-sweet pout on your lips. “What were you hoping for? For all of us to become friends? We’re not children anymore, my loves!” you exclaim histrionically. “Did you actually fall for my little trick at the infirmary? The care parcel I left your husband? Didn’t you know my mother drafted the anti-werewolf bill?”

Sirius staggers.

“The real me?” you giggle incredulously. “What you see is what you get, dearest—don’t go searching for what doesn’t exist. It’s not my fault you fall so easily for a pretty face.” You tilt your head, fluttering your eyes as you drag your nail up James’s chin. “Not every damsel is in distress, you know.”

Your eyes slice towards Sirius with a coy smile. “Maybe if you had followed your head more often than your naive, little lion hearts—you wouldn’t have driven Regulus to his death.”

James recoils away from your touch just as Sirius flinches, eyes flashing with anger—Sirius digs his nails into his palms, chest heaving as he stares at you in disgust. You expect another stab in the chest from him, and so you lift your head up high, daring him to say another word. (You hope they stopped trying after this—that they would leave you alone to rot in your stage of lies and dutiful sacrifice.) But you don’t plan for James to step forward, shielding Sirius away from your gaze.

“You are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen,” says James, words dripping in sincere revulsion. “Can’t believe I thought anything less than that.”

You smile widely, despite the tightening sensation in your chest. “Are we done here now, gentlemen?”

They would learn—this is who you are beneath your masks and pretenses.

The thirtieth of October brings about a cold you’ve never felt before. As you await the arrival of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students, the outside corridors are teeming with students, eyes hungry with anticipation. You lean against the wall, exhausted physically and mentally, hugging your worn-out shawl closer to your shoulders.

The skies are exceptionally gray today—you’ve had to drag yourself out of bed earlier this morning, limbs heavy as lead. The teacup in your grasp is scalding to the touch—you find that nothing hurts more than the ache in your heart. The children are particularly rowdy at the moment—each time you close your eyes, you see the hatred in James and Sirius’s eyes.

Has loneliness ever felt so suffocating before?

When winged horses make their way from the heavens, the clamoring grows louder—yet all you hear are their words.

‘You are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen.’

‘I actually thought there could be something real to you under all that.’

You would not weep—not for yourself, and not certainly for them.

Sometimes, you wondered if you were hurting too much to even be considered alive. Did your marked flesh even count as skin anymore? Worthy to be cherished with gentle touches and tender lips? How much more did you have to do until the guillotine finally fell?

When does duty end? And when does life begin?

Madame Maxine and her drove of Veelas descend from their carriage; awestruck gasps and intrigued murmurs echoing along the corridor. When the Beauxbatons Headmaster comes to stand before you, you instinctively sink into the role of a diplomatic host—that is, after all, why Dumbledore hired you. With a nod of your head and a pleasing smile, you greet the first of your guests to arrive.

“What a relief that you made it safely to Hogwarts, Madame Maxime,” you tell her in a saccharine-sweet tone. “If you please, Mister Filch here will guide you to the dormitories where you’ll be staying while Hagrid will take care of your horses.”

You want to go to sleep already.

Finally, as a large ship emerges from the Great Lake—a sense of relief floods through you. Only one more person to greet and you’ll finally be able to return to your quarters, welcoming feast be damned—you’ve done your part for today. Igor Karkaroff and his students make their presence known; imposing statures and foreboding glares. The castle nearly crumbles from Viktor Krum’s entrance, Hogwarts’ Quidditch players eager to catch a glimpse of the prodigal Seeker—well, you could care less about such a barbaric sport.

Karkaroff presents you a slimy leer as he presses a kiss to the back of your palm—the dig of his long nails into your skin is a pleasant feeling, to your surprise. “Dumbledore did not inform me we would be greeted by such beauty. We would have arrived earlier, otherwise.”

You miss your cat.

(Sirius’s eyes roll all the way to the back of his head when you giggle and melt in Karkaroff’s wretched compliments.)

You want to die.

—

Chaos erupts the next day. The Goblet of Fire has chosen a fourth champion—Harry Potter himself. No one is more enraged than his mother, Lily. The Aurors on duty, James and Sirius, struggle to contain the students’ horror and verbal lashings. Some have taken to accusing James himself of putting Harry’s name in the goblet in the name of family prestige—predictably, it’s Draco and Pansy who lead that revolt. But you don’t expect for Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan to be swayed by the baseless gossip. So there’s a crack in the pride’s loyalty to one another, you surmise to yourself.

Like a Niffler drawn to shiny objects, you follow the Headmasters and professors into a room, away from all the ruckus.

“Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?” the wise Professor Dumbledore asks calmly.

The atmosphere is beyond wintry—you note the biting criticisms in their eyes, particular between Fleur and Madame Maxime. Lily hides Harry from their scrutiny, proud and unyielding despite being shorter than the Beauxbaton champion. Across the room, you find Severus and Remus engaged in a muted, albeit wound up argument.

Everyone looks to the morose Bartemius Crouch Sr., awaiting his decision with a bated breath. You sympathize with the man—for a fleeting moment—for if looks could kill, Sirius’s tempestuous glare would have dragged him six feet under.

“We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament.”

Your blood runs cold.

Ludo Bagman appears to be pleased with his colleague’s decision—you see no reason why he shouldn’t be, he’s only ever put his odds in the thrill of the game. “Well, Barty knows the rule book back to front!”

Dimwitted fool.

You scoff. “In a room full of Headmasters and Ministry leaders, surely one of you can find a way to unbind young Potter’s name from the tournament.”

“Err. . .” Ludo’s gaze flickers from Dumbledore to Crouch Sr. Madame Maxime and Karkaroff nod emphatically in agreement, forcing him into a corner with a ragged chuckle. “There’s nothing to be done, the Goblet of Fire has gone out.”

“Do you or do you not have a wand, Mister Bagman?” you reply, piqued; crossing your arms over your chest. “If the rules were written by a wizard, surely it can be unwritten by a wizard. Teaching an Unforgivable to a first-year would be more difficult than that.” “It is not as simple as that, Professor!” Bagman cries. “But you are welcome to try a hand at it.”

“So we just let a child run to his death, then?” you seethe, nostrils flaring. “I never knew the Ministry was teeming with incompetent men. Shall I steal your job from under your nose, Ludo dear?”

(Harry’s brows pinch in confusion. He does not expect for you to care so much.)

“He’s got to compete. They’ve all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?” says Alastor Moody as he limps across the room, flask in his hand. You fall silent, an unnerving chill slithering down your spine. Something about this man did not sit right with you. You pull the sleeves of your blouse further down your arms.

“Maybe someone’s hoping Potter is going to die for it,” Moody growls in response to Fleur. “Over my dead body!” James snarls, veins rigid against the column of his throat, eyes simmering in anger.

“Yes, yes, Potter, we all know you’d die for your son,” Moody remarks offhandedly, taking a large gulp of the liquor in his flask.

“It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it,” Dumbledore counters in an attempt to placate the tense atmosphere. Lily’s sharp sob engulfs the outraged clamors of the two other Headmasters. “Both Cedric and Harry have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do. . . .”

The glass sculpture of a long-haired mermaid shatters into fragmented pieces as you bump into the table; just about ready to flee before you do anything rash like point your wand at Crouch Sr. himself. Before you exit the room, you catch sight of Cedric’s eyes—worry and uncertainty pooling within his gaze. You slam the door hard enough until the wood splinters.

Harry Potter is imprisoned by his fate as the Chosen One—and it seems time has imprisoned everyone at Hogwarts, yourself included.

The first task for the tournament arrives defiantly, without care for Harry and his loved ones. You have only been to the Quidditch field twice—today happens to be the second time. Everyone is bundled in their wooliest sweaters and warmest jackets; although, Hermione did have her portable bluebell flames. You stare at it with envy.

“Oi! Professor, over here!” One freckled Weasley twin—Fred, you guess—beckons for you to sit by their swarm of red and gold. He pushes Ron away to make room for you beside Minerva.

“Thank you, Mister Weasley,” you say quietly, sniffles falling from your frost-bitten nose.

It’s quite odd—you’d have expected to be sitting with Professor Sprout and Amos, amongst your sett of badgers. But it’s not half-bad. You don’t erupt in flames when Minerva holds onto you, shrieking, as Fleur narrowly avoids her dragon, awoken from its trance. You don’t particularly mind either, when the Weasley twins bump their chests and holler into Ginerva’s ear when it’s time for Viktor Krum to face the Chinese Fireball.

“We got a traitor here!” George snickers when you flinch and yelp for Cedric as he fights shy of the Short Snout’s fire, and cheering breathlessly when he eventually captures the golden egg. You glare at George mirthfully, wondering where your fight and heat has gone.

“Please excuse me for a moment,” you say, rising to your feet as the judges mull over their scores for Cedric. “Minerva,” you nod to her, and she offers you a hint of a wrinkly smile. (McGonagall thinks that if anyone can talk back in the face of a Ministry chairman in defense of her students, then perhaps she’s misjudged a professor or two.)

Your cheeks grow numb from the cold as you cross the swarm of Beauxbatons students, past the flock of Ravenclaws. Harry’s match is underscored by the deafening cheers; the stands rumbling from the yells for his name. You’re nearing the territory of yellow banners and black insignias, trumpets blowing into your ears, when the clamor and hurrahs turn into terrified gasps; students rushing back from the edge. You don’t understand the fuss until you look back at the arena.

Harry’s dragon has broken free from its chains.

You join Professor Sprout and Severus in herding the students away from danger—spotting James and Sirius across the arena, hastily reinforcing the protective barriers around the stands, uttermost precision in their wandwork. While Harry dances a life-threatening waltz, you hurriedly clear out the space closest to the banisters. Your breath hitches as the Hungarian Horntail wreaks havoc below, inducing quakes and showers of fire.

But more frightening than any dragon, you hear the bloodcurdling scream of a student.

“Daphne!”

The Greengrass heiress, Astoria, cries vehemently as Draco holds her back from rushing to the front of the stands.

You scour the area frantically—there, only a few feet away from you, lies a fear-stricken Daphne Greengrass, staring right into the eyes of the Horntail. Its teeth bare, growls like thunderstorms, and the rising scent of embers and ashes.

“Daphne, get away from there!”

You hardly hesitate—you run to her, desperation pushing at your legs, terror holding your heart captive. As the dragon screeches in preparation to breathe fire, the nearest Aurors miles away—each gasp for air is torn from your throat. In a blink of an eye, you grab Daphne into your arms and shield her from the Horntail. The crowd bellows in fright—you close your eyes, preparing for even the most excruciating of pain.

But there is nothing.

Just you, Daphne, the Hungarian—and Remus who’s pointed his wand at the onslaught of flames, redirecting it up into the sky as Harry grabs the Horntail’s attention, now zipping freely on his broom.

Remus looks back at the both of you in relief, drawing his wand back in his pocket. “Are you alright?” he asks you first, a weary tenderness in his eyes.

You tear your gaze away from him, checking on Daphne instead; cupping her pale cheeks and wiping the tears from her eyes. “Are you alright, Daphne? What do you feel? Come, darling, let’s get you to Madam Pomfrey—can you stand? Here, put your arm around my shoulder.”

“T–Thank you, Professor,” stammers Daphne as Astoria rushes to her, the pair of sisters blubbering and crying. The blonde-haired girl nods to you and Remus, “Both of you. I–I don’t know how I’ll repay such kindness.”

“Don’t worry, Daphne,” says Remus, smiling as he offers her a lemon-flavored treat.

He steps back to make way for Lily to fuss over Daphne, his eyes straying to you, oozing with sincerity as he rubs his handkerchief to your cheek. He grins at you and your heart skips a beat. “My kindness is freely given.”

Has kindness ever felt so real before?

act iv. you wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum where they raised me.

“THE CHILDREN ARE terrified, Missus Fawley. Just last week, we had another incident. All the windows in the kitchen—shattered! The little ones couldn’t sleep for days.”

You hear the orphanage matron’s voice behind the bedroom door. You’re allowed but a moment of playing with your ragged, plush animals, before the matron comes barging inside. (How rude, you think to yourself. Hasn’t she ever heard of knocking before?) Although, unlike all the other times, she has a lady right on her tail. This woman is much taller than Sister Thompson, certainly more beautiful-looking, too. Not that you have anything against Sister Thompson’s wrinkly face and foul smile.

No, this woman walks with her head held up high, dressed in a burgundy leather coat that clearly costs more than the thin rag you call a shirt. This must be Mrs. Fawley, then. Her black heels click against the rusty, wooden floor; you watch impassively as she bends down to your eye level. She takes you by surprise when she grabs ahold of your chin, slowly turning your head from side to side.

“So this is the child,” Mrs. Fawley muses, red lips quirked. Haunting blue eyes stare back at you; hair dark as ebony falling to her waist. “You may leave, Sister Thompson. I would like to get to know my future ward.”

The matron widens her eyes. “Missus Fawley, I strongly advise against—!”

“You misunderstand me, Sister Thompson,” says Fawley, a sharp edge to her voice. “That was not a request.”

A strange sense of victory fills you when Sister Thompson bows her head in response, tossing you just one sour glare before exiting the room. The rickety door clicks shut and Mrs. Fawley returns her attention to you with a low hum, eyes raking over your form once more. You wonder what she’s thinking about; wondering if it’s the vast difference between her neatly-pressed clothing and your rumpled dress shirt. Many have visited the orphanage before, but none have spared you a second glance, not with Sister Thompson scaring them all away. (You suppose there is no appeal in adopting a child with temperamental issues who can make other girls’ noses bleed.)

“Show me,” Fawley commands, breaking the quietude; her voice stern, yet hypnotic. Much like the first notes of a pied piper’s song. For a few moments, you don’t understand what she’s asking for, until realization dawns upon you. You drop the plush toy’s limbs—seconds later, the teddy bear waves its hand as though it’s gained a soul. If this had been a wooden doll with a long nose, it would be saying: ‘I’m a real boy!’

Fawley chuckles, leaning back with a pleased look. Your head falls to the side in confusion—when you had shown this little trick to Daisy Anne and Annaliese, they’d begun to throw stones at you, screaming and saying that you were a witch. You don’t try to play with the other children anymore after that. Rather than being afraid, Missus Fawley seems to be happy with you. “My name is Agatha Fawley, special adviser to the Wizengamot, daughter of the Sacred Twenty-Eight,” she tells you, and you don’t have a lick of comprehension. “What do you know about witches and wizards, darling?” “I don’t know, maybe. . .” You scrunch your nose, making the stuffed elephant twirl the bear with just a glance—Fawley tilts your chin upwards, demanding your utmost attention. “That they aren’t real? Or if they are, they should be burnt at the stake?”

Agatha Fawley hisses, a low sound that sends shivers down your spine. You wonder if you’ve angered her. The toys fall back to the floor lifelessly. “Damned Muggles—! Is that what they teach these days?” She shakes her head. “No, never mind. What matters is what happens from now on.” “Are you going to adopt me?” you dare to ask, gaze falling to the floor, heart hammering against its confinements.

“I will,” she affirms and your eyes grow wide, breath stuttering in your throat. “But if we are to become family—there is one thing you must do for me.”

“Anything!” You all but scream in her ear, a plea for her to take you away from the orphanage; far, far away from hurtful words and a room that echoes your loneliness back to you.

“Never lower your eyes.” She smiles, teeth bared into a snarl, reminiscent of a prowling fox. “You are magic, my darling. And I will be your mother. No one on this earth can make you kneel in surrender.”

You believe her.

You believe her with all your heart.

But, you would learn that even monsters can call themselves ‘mother’ and embrace you with open arms.

The Fawley Manor is large—larger than the orphanage, and that was a place you couldn’t fully explore due to its largeness. There must be a thousand rooms, as far as the eyes can see. It’s like a princess castle coming to life—akin to the ones you’ve read about in storybooks. Missus Fawley’s home nearly touches the sky. There are tall trees, wide grassfields, and glimmering lakes. You gasp and cover your eyes with your hands as the chauffeur drives past the marble sculpture of naked ladies. (“Think of them as Goddesses bare to the mortal eye, dearest,” says Fawley when you yelp and sink into the leather seats.) Then, the family butler, maids, and chef come to greet you, all smiling at the new addition to the manor.

You meet Elsie, the house elf—your first real encounter with magic. Well, besides Missus Fawley turning paper into crystalline butterflies in the car. Elsie is a tiny, wrinkly creature who wears five different-colored knitted hats atop her head. She can’t seem to stop shuddering while speaking, too, as if drenched in cold, invisible water. But you look into her big eyes and you decide to be her friend forever.

“Get settled into your room, and then we’ll have you acquainted with the rest of the staff,” Fawley says after she ushers you into a room—a bedroom just for you, where you won’t have to listen to anyone else’s snoring or fight to the death for a blanket on a cold winter storm. The bed is bouncy and soft, not unlike the cardboard they’d given you at the orphanage. Your shelves are stocked with toys and books.

Then, you remember that in exchange for all this, you must do your best in school. That is one thing you aren’t looking forward to.

But, how bad could a school be if it’s filled with magic?

You happily imagine smelly trolls, dashing unicorns, talking ghosts, and floating crayons.

For your first week in the manor, you enjoy glazed desserts, fluffy pillows, and silken clothing—and on your second week, you are reminded of your duty to the family you’ve been brought into. Something bigger than studying in a faraway magic castle. Missus Fawley introduces you to her long line of ancestors. You stumble on your footing as the portraits shuffle around and gaze upon you with curiosity, some with a more heated glare than others. They call you a funny term as you walk past. Mudblood. But, Fawley tells you not to worry. You are now her child before anything else.

The family crest is chiseled with gold; you squint your eyes to make sense of the inscription: Virtus in Arduis.

“Virtue in hardships,” Agatha explains in her dulcet tone. As you featherly trace the emblem with your fingers, Fawley leans down to your height, clearing her throat; her expression impossible for you to read. “I brought you to this family because I saw potential in you. I sensed great magic from your person. But we all have our duties. Magic gives, and magic will take.”

“The wizarding world is in grave danger,” she tells you firmly, gripping the curve of your jaw with an intensity that frightens you. “Will you help me fight for the greater good?”

You blink.

You just got here and now you have to fight for a world that you never even knew that existed?

“Greater good?” you echo in disbelief. “F-Fight? Fight who? I’ve never even fought in my life! Making Daisy Anne’s nose bleed w-was just an accident!”

“I will be with you every step of the way,” she vows fiercely, the tips of her nails digging into your cheeks. “Tell me, do you understand? You will do what is right without any recognition at all. Think of it as a performance, my love. And I’m preparing you for your role in this world starting now.”

The ingénue in this act you have to play involves studying endlessly, practicing your wand work until Fawley is satisfied, and familiarizing yourself with every shelf in the library from dawn until dusk. You don’t understand why you must memorize every charm and every incantation—but Missus Fawley reminds you that you are bound to her and your responsibilities. You don’t want to go back to the orphanage, cold and alone—so, you acquaint yourself with parchments and quills, swallowing the discomfort when the nib harshly rubs your skin raw.

On your tenth birthday, Missus Fawley gifts you with a closet overflowing with chiffon, taffeta, and organza. Lace parasols, pretty shoes, and wide-brimmed sun hats. The chef surprises you with a three-layered cake, the constellation icing charmed to flicker like real stars in the night. It’s the best birthday you’ve ever had. For the first time, you feel like your life is actually celebrated.

The next day, your adoptive mother says with utmost exigency, “This time next year, you shall be off to Hogwarts, but that means your debut in society is drawing near. The wizarding world will officially acknowledge you as my child.”

“When that happens, vultures will flock to you as though you were a corpse.” Her eyes flash dangerously. “And you will become one, unless you learn how to fend for yourself. The most ruthless of us all can be adorned in pearls and dressed in ball gowns. Appearance is everything in this world—do not let them see that you are afraid.”

And so, you don’t tell her that she’s petrified you to the bone.

“As the sole heir to my fortune and properties, you must understand how to navigate, not only the wizarding world, but this treacherous domain, as well.” Missus Fawley straightens your back, harshly tapping you once more to spread your legs at a more acceptable distance. “To be envied by all—the perfect host must always be ready to receive their guests with attention and politeness.”

When you wince, or move to massage your sore muscles, she barks at you, “You must always be composed, even in near-death. If you crumble—if you let even a single person know what you’re truly feeling, all this will be for naught.”

The burden of her words is heavier than the textbooks she shoves in your hold.

“Control them before they can control you,” Fawley explains as the seamstress measures your waist and arms. “Exert your influence in a conversation. Not only in words, but your stature. Present yourself accordingly. Jewelry and clothing can be your armor when you cannot draw your wand.”

You grumble under your breath when the seamstress accidentally pokes you with a needle for the nth time.

“Smile when flattered, giggle when offered a dance, and curtsy when greeted.” Fawley glares daggers at you when you hiss in pain. “But most of all, do not let any of those cretins know that you are fully aware of the power you wield over them. Anyone can be a puppeteer if they want to be. You’ll just be the greatest of them all.”

(But even a master of puppets has someone pulling their strings from behind the curtains.)

Elsie stays up with you each night, carefully pouring ice-cold water over your head, and playing with the floating bubbles to distract you from the ache in your legs and arms. “Elsie will give Master her hat!” the young elf says one evening, pulling the topmost beanie from her head and laying it on yours. She tells you a bedtime story before tucking you beneath the covers of your queen-sized bed. You fall asleep to the sound of grasshoppers chirping and portraits murmuring to one another.

Then, you get your first taste of a pureblood skirmish. Missus Fawley had taken you to Diagon Alley, months away from the first of September—a letter in your hand with all the materials a first-year would need for their classes. Safe to say, you’re more than excited. (“Oh, mother, look!” you exclaim, pointing to the various shops—and also remembering the rule of calling Agatha mother out in public. “A sweet shop! Fortescue’s ice cream parlor! Mother, can we go there? Please, please, please!”) Fawley smiles at your wide-eyed wonder, your hand in hers—today is a special one, she decides. You’re allowed a bit of fun. Especially since you’ve shown unfathomable progress in your studies.

You get your very first wand at Ollivanders—and now this world of grumpy goblins and jumping chocolate frogs becomes even more real. You hardly let go of your wand, a tingle of exhilaration running through you each time you brush your fingers against the finely-carved wood. Even Missus Fawley is pleased with the wand that chooses you. Later, you’ll be given three hours to practice your charms again, but you find that you don’t mind—not when you’ve learned that you can now read books under the covers when Elsie turns the lights off.

As you exit the shop, breathless and flushed with a hunger to explore more of this world you’ve been given access to, you and Fawley run into one of her friends. This must be one of the scary people she’s warned you about. Sharp cheekbones, unfriendly gray eyes, and a stern demeanor. You immediately suck in a breath and school your face just as Agatha has taught you.

“Walburga!” Fawley greets with a lovely smile, but you notice that it doesn’t reach her eyes, not like when she smiles at you for growing another inch taller. She brings her hand onto your shoulder. “What a pleasant surprise, my dear.” She peers at the two young boys hiding behind her, much like you were doing now. “Oh, my! Is it that time already? I’d forgotten young Sirius was set to go to Hogwarts this year. You must be overjoyed.”

Walburga is a tall lady, taller than Agatha, even. She hums, lips quirked, chin held up high. “Fawley,” Walburga responds, rather displeased. “Talking my ear off, as usual.” Her trenchant eyes land on you and her smile curves into a sneer. “And who might this little one be?”

You risk a glance at Missus Fawley before offering the other woman a sweet, half-curtsy. “Madam Black, how do you do?” you smile at her, gaily revealing your name and the gap in your front teeth—the two boys snicker and your eyes instantly narrow into a glare.

Walburga stares you down harshly. “How adorable.” Her eyes slice to the two boys behind her. “Sirius, Regulus, introduce yourselves.”

Missus Fawley laughs, a grating sound—much like warning bells—as her eyes flash dangerously at her, hand tightening on your collarbone. “What a relief to know that Sirius will at least have one friend already before they arrive at the castle.”

“But—oh, dear, look at the time.” Agatha quickly casts the Tempus charm before looking at you aghast, eyes wide as saucers, mouth parted dramatically. “I promised the Daily Prophet a photoshoot today! It is my thirty-first birthday soon, after all. I’d give you tips on how to capture this look, but, Walburga, it seems you’re embodying the housewife fashion perfectly.”

“Ta-ta!” She plants two, airy kisses on Walburga’s cheeks before waving the three goodbye.

“That,” Fawley whispers into your ear as she snuggles the side of your face. “—is exactly how to do it.”

You collapse in your bed that night, wondering just what you’ve gotten yourself into and what kind of world you’re about to live in.

How confusing.

All this time, you thought that Missus Fawley had been preparing you for an intense entrance exam. Why else would she make you study twenty-five hours a day and eight days a week? But as it turns out, all you had to do was sit on a chair and have Professor McGonagall put a talking hat on your head.

“Hufflepuff!” the Sorting Hat proclaims, and the table of yellow and black welcomes you with open arms. You sit next to a boy named Amos Diggory. Later in the night, you’ll share a dormitory with a kind girl named Amelia Bones.

(Hogwarts is the best!)

The holidays arrive in the blink of an eye and you find yourself standing at the steps of the manor once more. Agatha Fawley waits for you by the door, engulfing you instantly in a hug that shields you from the falling snowflakes and biting winds. Hot cocoa with marshmallows and gingerbread cookies await you in the grand dining room; you even get a crotchety greeting from Isolde Fawley the Third’s portrait. Elsie crumples to the floor and sobs at your arrival.

“So you were sorted there,” Fawley mutters to herself, a worried expression contorting her face. The fireplace crackles as a winter storm rages outside the manor. You lay on her lap as she absentmindedly pats your head. Stories of your first few months at Hogwarts fall from your lips without pause. “This would go smoother if you had been sorted in Slytherin, however; but no matter—it’s not what I expected, but we can make do. The Diggorys and Bones’ are purebloods, so maybe not all hope is lost. But you need to get more acquainted with the Greengrasses and the Malfoys, Druella Black’s daughters as well.”

You hide your frown against her legs. You really liked Amos and Susan, Bellatrix was just downright mean to everyone, even calling this one girl, Lily, a Mudblood, too. But if mother wanted you to try, you might, but only once. If Bellatrix didn’t want to be your friend, then there’s no helping that unhinged witch. (At least the Prewett twins’ pranks were funny. Bellatrix once snuck inside the Ravenclaw tower to leave a dead pig’s head in the girls’ dormitory just because.)

On the twenty-fifth of December, Agatha Fawley throws a gala just for you—masqued as a fundraiser for Muggle children in need. (None of the families cared about them, you would realize later on.) The ground nearly rumbles from the number of guests she’s invited. From your bedroom window, you spot a few familiar faces. Sirius Black, who stands out from the crowd like a pale bean sprout; his cousin, Bellatrix, who’s already taken to yelling at the staff; Lucius Malfoy, the Flints, and the Parkinsons. Your head goes dizzy.

As long as you don’t trip during your entrance, everything should be fine, right? Right?

(You one-hundred percent trip in front of everyone as you descend the stairs. The sound of James Potter and Sirius Black’s laughter haunts you.)

But other than that, the Yule event goes by smoothly. You don’t fall flat on your face when greeting Cygnus Black and Druella Black née Rosier, and mother is thoroughly satisfied when you smile in the face of Walburga Black and Abraxas Malfoy. You stay in the corner after welcoming your guests, sitting in your chair like an abstract painting forbidden to touch; whilst the Prewett twins and James teased Elsie until she cried from anxiety. Sirius also goes out of his way to congratulate you for growing all your teeth in.

You don’t understand why Mother is so scared of these people.

But you’ll understand virtue in hardships soon enough when you receive your first tutoring in ballroom dancing. Instead of sapphire earrings or a trip to France, Missus Fawley has a different gift in mind for your fifteenth birthday. She surprises you with a tutor—you’re bewildered at first, arguing that you’ve consistently been at the top of your class. (“Madam Hawthorne is not here for your academics, my darling,” Fawley explains with her red-lips stretched in a foreboding smile. “Dance is a beneficial skill for any host to have. You’ll practice until your footwork is perfect. You will dance until I say you can stop. And when your feet are aching and bleeding, you will keep dancing.”)

Each night for your summer holiday, you go to bed, sobbing into your pillows, body trembling from Madam Hawthorne’s cane.

Everything changes on the eve of your sixteenth birthday.

Like all the years before, Missus Fawley invites the entirety of the pureblood society to the manor.

You stay with Narcissa and Andromeda, gently placating their concerns when they ask about your unnatural quietness—truthfully, you could no longer breathe in the flounced dress you’ve been forced to wear; the sides of your feet raw from constantly practicing with Madam Hawthorne, head aching from the lights and obnoxious perfumes; stomach gurgling. Bags under your eyes from revising endlessly for your N.E.W.T.S.

Eyes drooping and neck craning from exhaustion, you don’t at all expect for James Potter to emerge from the crowd; wavy, brown hair sweeping over his glasses, wine-colored suit melting into his dark skin. He holds out his hand to you with a boyish grin. “May I have this dance?”

You blink, frozen solid for a few moments until Narcissa softly nudges your side. “Y-Yes, if you must,” you splutter, placing your palm in his.

He leads you to the dance floor as the orchestra plays a song perfect for a waltz along a flower field; your eyes glued to his back. The chandelier hangs overhead as James settles your arms around his neck in one swift motion. You almost step on his feet, spluttering your gratitude when he steadies you by the waist, the heat of his hands permeating your layers of clothing.

“Isn’t it odd that the birthday celebrant wasn’t dancing all this time?” he says, pulling you in for a twirl.

“I assume the others were all too afraid to deal with my mother,” you reply timidly. “She’s quite overprotective, you see.”

“Who? That tall lady over there by Missus Black who’s currently glaring at me?” James chuckles into your ear as you step closer to hear his heartbeat. “She couldn’t possibly terrify me.”

“Lily says thank you, by the way.”

“Oh? For what?”

“Letting her copy off your Defense Against the Dark Arts essay—she’s downright shite at the subject. Don’t tell her I said that, though.”

You laugh along with him, and you find that you could rest in his arms forever.

But, as your dance with him comes to an end, so does your wistful reverie.

When most of the guests have left the scene, and when the lights have dimmed, Mother presents to you her real gift—your debut in the wizarding society. She leads you to a room, one where you’ve never ventured before. It’s deep past the cellars, where cobwebs and dust bunnies grow. (Before you enter, Narcissa grips your hand firmly, a look of dread and urgency in her eyes. “Be brave,” is all that she says, encasing you in her arms.)

In this dark room, you see Abraxas and his wife, Walburga, Cygnus, the Notts, the Goyles, and more people you recognize, all dressed in their finest black cloaks—as though it were a funeral instead of a birthday. In the center of it all, is your mother, Agatha, with a man kneeling in front of her.

“What is this?” you ask in alarm, frantically searching for answers. The man struggles against his rope, binds, screams and pleas muffled by the cloth shoved in his mouth. The sight of his bruises makes you all but retch. “Mother, what is going on?”

Walburga is the first to step forward, her lips painted blood-red against her ashen skin, curving into an edacious smile. She cradles the back of your head to her chest. “My lovely dear, it has been the utmost privilege watching you grow. Your mother is certainly proud of you, we all are. Tonight, just as our sons and daughters before you, we offer you our blessing on this very special day.”

“You know of the Unforgivables, right, my child?” Her voice is a sweet, ruthless cadence in your ear; her touch, like worms crawling on your skin as she places your wand in your hand. You bite down on your tongue, swallowing each breath as the walls threaten to cave in on you. Your fingers forcibly shake in terror and you worry that you might snap your wand in half if you aren’t careful. “The Cruciatus, the Imperius, and—?”

“The killing curse,” you breathe out, ever-so stiff in her hold. You watch as Abraxas kicks the man to the ground; you dig your nails deep into your palm to keep from flinching.

“That’s right, little one,” says Walburga, tracing your jaw with a morbid sense of satisfaction. She holds your chin in place as Abraxas tears the cloth from the man’s mouth. It’s worse now. You hear his desperate begging and his guttural cries for help. “Muggles,” she spits the word out like venom. “Look at them. They’re filthy. Infecting our blood with theirs.”

“Kill him,” Walburga says, a delicate whisper, as though she had asked for a cup of tea. “Kill him and you’ll have proved your worth to us.”

“No! No, please!” The man struggles against Abraxas’s arms. “Please! I have a family! A c-child!”

You stagger backwards, nearly losing your grip on your wand. You look to your mother for help. “I—!”

“Kill him, pet!” Bellatrix cackles from across the room, teeth bared viciously, eagerly beckoning for you to come forward. “Make sure you mean it! Otherwise it won’t hurt!”

“You know the words,” says Walburga, lifting your pliable arm—a puppeteer controlling its ragdoll. “Say it.”

The man before you is real. He’s a real person with a real family anxiously waiting for him to come home. His children worried sick for their father. How can they just stand there and expect you to kill him? “Mother, please—I can’t. I w-wont.” Your breathing grows labored, hot tears pricking your eyes; the man screams and yells, and the sound echoes ceaselessly in your ears. “I don’t. . . I don’t understand.”

Agatha Fawley closes her eyes, and you understand perfectly.

Each sob wrecks your body and the tears endlessly flow from your ears, you hiccup and shiver; blood pooling from the bite in your tongue. “I can’t do this—please!”

“You will.”

You close your eyes just as a flash of unforgiving green shoots from your wand. “Avada Kedavra!”

The man falls limp to the floor, and so does your wand. Walburga coos and drowns you in a sea of shallow praises, the men offer their congratulations, but all you hear is the sound of a lifeless body dropping to the ground.

A man who you just killed by your wand, in your home.

That night, the four walls of your bedroom bear witness to your anguish—you cry until you throw up on the floor, body lurching and quivering on the freezing red oak.

“Do you get it now?” says Agatha as she enters your room, the faintest of sunlight streaming through the windows. She bends down and cups your face in her palms. “This is your world from now on.”

You rip her hands away from you, gritting your teeth. “I don’t want to live in your world—not anymore! I don’t care about all this! Magic, wealth, and all these things mean nothing if I have to kill innocent people! You’re a monster!”

“Good.” Fawley’s voice is cold as she stands up, lifting her chin as her eyes glaze impassively. “That means you’re ready for your next lesson.”

“Didn’t you hear me? I said I was done!” you retort, sore from crying.

“Don’t you see?” says Fawley, pausing underneath the door frame, gaze ruthlessly slicing towards you. “We will destroy them from the inside out. Walburga, Abraxas, Tom Riddle. All of them, one by one. That is our true duty.”

As she turns to leave, she adds coldly, “Ready yourself. I’ll be teaching you Occlumency during your summer break.” Then she slams the door shut, leaving you all alone in your room.

When you return to school after the winter holidays, you’re forced to pretend that you hadn’t taken the life of an innocent Muggle.

‘Do not let them see you are afraid.’

“Unfortunately, flaming red hair and hand-me-down robes will not complement my dress—it’s crimson taffeta, you see, handcrafted only by the finest tailors in Italy,” you say dismissively to the ragtag of Gryffindors before you, Vittoria Zabini and Isadora Bulstrode giggling at your side. The Prewett boy visibly wilts and you almost give in—almost. But everyone must play their part in this world. You know that if you show a sliver of weakness, Vittoria and Isadora will be happy enough to report to their mothers—vying for the pedestal you’ve been put on by their parents.

For the final blow, you scrunch your nose in disgust, slamming your Divination textbook close. “Can you even afford anywhere in Hogsmeade for a date, Prewett?”

(Walburga would Avada you herself if she caught you in such a place with such a wizard. You’re more terrified of what she might ask you to do to Gideon—someone she deems as a blood traitor. You refuse to utter another Unforgivable. You just won’t.)

“Oh, you cruel wench!” Marlene McKinnon steps forward and before anyone could take another breath, she slaps you in the face. And, finally, you feel something other than the guilt of taking someone’s life.

Your cheek stings from the impact, your ears ringing with the sound of your friends asking if you’re alright and Dorcas Meadowes roaring about how you deserved it—well, you’re not about to disagree. You move your jaw about, cradling the side of your face as you sigh impassively—oh, it’s nothing compared to the etiquette lessons of Agatha Fawley. “My mother will certainly hear about this, McKinnon.”

“You and your mother can kiss my arse!” she shrieks, eyes ablaze.

“Gideon didn’t deserve that, and you know it,” Lily argues fervidly, eyes sickle-shaped as she looks back at the Prewett twin’s dejected expression. “How could you even say that?”

“How could I not, Lily darling?” you reply off-handedly with a roll of your eyes.

Lily flinches. In her gaze, all you see looking back at you is the Muggle father who had cried out relentlessly for one last glimpse of his children. She stares at the badger emblem on your cloak with disdain, and you with a great deal of pity. “You are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen.”

She has the softest voice you’ve ever heard, but it hurts you all the same.

You’ve scrubbed your skin raw in the bath, hoping that you’d wash the feel of your sins off your hands—it’s all for naught. Agatha might be a monster in your eyes, but you’re the fool that played right into her act.

You get to your feet, meeting her eye-to-eye. In a low whisper, lips close to her ear, you say, “There are far worse creatures out there, Evans. You’re lucky you’ve been born only a Muggleborn.”

Fortunate that she won’t ever have to play the role that you’ve been forced to. You feel an overwhelming envy towards her—effortless beauty, pure and untainted hands, a kind heart that draws in every one and every person. Compared to her, you must be a dirtied, black swan in a lake that’s only meant for white swans like Lily Evans.

And she will have more charming princes and truehearted fairies on her side than you could ever hope to gain.

“Say another word and I will tear your hair from that pretty head of yours,” Marlene snarls, pushing Lily behind her.

Oh, how easy they make it for you.

You smile in delight. “So you think I’m pretty?”

Marlene lunges.

(You are so tired of it all.)

Every night of your summer holiday, you spend it writhing on the floor, Agatha’s lessons on Occlumency taking its toll. She grows harsher, stricter, and more apathetic than the sun beating down on the manor windows. (“Again!” Fawley demands as you collapse to the ground, drenched in sweat and your head numb from her probing. “Do you think the Dark Lord will be lenient with you? Get up! We’re going again! If you want this to end, you will endure this without error!”)

While your peers are out swimming in lakes and racing around in Quidditch brooms, you’re stuck within the confinements of your home. But you are not that naive, you’ve seen the headlines of the Daily Prophet. A coalition known as Death Eaters have begun making their mark on the wizarding society. There are rumors of a great, sinister power rising. People go missing everyday, and you worry that this might be the world that your mother has been preparing you for all this time.

But why you? Why must you carry this burden all alone? Who will pick up the pieces of your battered soul when the weight of your burden crushes you entirely?

There are times when you wish you never left the orphanage at all.

A week into your summer break, you find out that your mother is dying. Violent coughing, dizzy spells, jaundiced skin, her eyes bloodshot, and the healer frequenting her bedroom quarters. You’re not allowed inside, of course, but you can hear her feeble voice and the doctor’s stern orders.

You also learn that she’s absolutely insane—but that is a fact you’ve come to terms with years ago. One night, during dinner, you’d let it slip that you have your suspicions of a classmate being inflicted with a lycan’s curse. Agatha Fawley reacts just about as one would expect her to.

“A werewolf? In Hogwarts?” Fawley staggers to her office, the tower of neatly-piled documents and research reports from the Ministry now fluttering to the floor. “No, no, no. . .” she utters to herself, panic seeping within her skin. It’s the most frazzled you have ever seen the great Agatha Fawley. You stare at her unraveling from the threshold of the room, unsure of what to do. “Dumbledore has gone mad! That old loon! What was he thinking? Sheltering a beast within the castle!”

“Don’t worry, my dear,” says Agatha as she reaches for you, a ghastly smile on her face and a near-empty look in her eyes. Your brows pinch together in confusion—you hadn’t been worried about that student at all. “I’ll have that monster out of the castle in no time. The Ministry will have no choice but to listen to me.”

“That’s it,” she mutters, haphazardly grabbing for her feather quill and blank parchment. “Perhaps a law to forbid werewolves from ever integrating into society. School, house properties—can you imagine if they manage to infiltrate the Ministry? Everything I’ve worked so hard for!”

“Mother?” you call out hesitantly, crossing the distance, hand outstretched as Fawley slips on her footing, a muttered profanity under her breath. The woman before you is unrecognizable, a sallow casing of a moribund soul. “Mother, please, Remus is no threat to the castle,” you plead, ripping her hand away from the quill. “You can’t do this!”

“Do not tell me what I can or cannot do!” Agatha seethes through her teeth, chest heaving as she glowers at you. “Everything I have done, I have done for you! Yet, you still continue to fight me? I should have left you in that orphanage to rot while I had the chance!”

“Well then, why didn’t you?” you scream, pushing her away as the words force themselves out of your throat. “Maybe that Muggle father would have still been alive if you did! Maybe I wouldn’t have to suffer so much! To hell with you and your duty!”

Fawley laughs to herself, a weak and feeble sound. At first, you think it’s in response to you, but then you watch her drag her palm down her face, unblinking when her fingers appear to be drenched in blood. You take a step forward and there’s crimson trickling down her nose, a pallid contrast against her skin. “Ha,” she chuckles once more, keeling over to the ground as she stares up at the ceiling, blood on her flesh. “Merlin, what have I done? I–I’ve gone too far—even the Gods cannot save me.”

The despair in her voice is confounding. “Come here, my love,” she croaks from the floor, reaching out to you with bloodstained hands. Reluctantly, you sink to her side, gnawing on your lower lip as she cups your face in her palms—how many times have you been in this position before? “I’m sorry,” she sobs, shoulders trembling. “Oh, my darling, I am so sorry. I’m afraid I’ve doomed the both of us.” She traces the frame of your jaw and cheekbones. “My child, my beautiful child. What have I done? Will you forgive me?”

You realize that this must be the consequence of living in a constant lie. To be an imitation of a human person, with no room for grief, rage, fear, hope or even a semblance of love. You stay silent, drowning in the arms of your adoptive mother. “I am to die soon,” says Agatha with utmost finality, eyes boring into yours. “But you are better than me. Braver. Far stronger than I have ever been. I know this must be the heaviest burden a child can carry, but you must understand that the fate of this world is at stake. I am so sorry, my love, but I must leave this duty to you.”

She lets her head hang limply. “I-I am tired, as well. I’ve pushed away everyone and anyone for this. To do what is right, to endure what is hard—that is what I’ve lived by all these years.”

“And so must you.” Agatha has been mourning all this time, but not for her life.

You hate her.

You hate her with all your heart.

But even monsters need a heart to breathe.

A month passes by in a blur, and you are now set to meet the ill-famed Tom Riddle. You know that he was a student of Professor Dumbledore; that Narcissa is extremely terrified of him, and that Lucius Malfoy idolizes him to a fault. (“This is the moment I have been preparing you for all these years,” your mother tells you, shields of Occlumency glimmering in her deep blue eyes. “Do not let him in no matter what.”) Soon thereafter, Missus Fawley apparates the both of you to the Malfoy manor.

The dining room is bleak, befitting of a Malfoy; curtains drawn, fireplace idly crackling, and hushed murmurs upon your arrival. All eyes are on you, and you’re lucky to have dressed in your Sunday best. At the head of the table, you see Tom Riddle, with Abraxas and Cyprian Nott sitting on each side. You hear something large slithering across the polished floors—your breath hitches at the sight of a monstrous serpent curling around Tom Riddle’s chair. The glass chandelier chimes overhead and you wish it would fall from where he sits on his shrewd throne.

(You find Regulus Black sitting beside Narcissa, cheeks flushed, body quivering as his skin pales to a deathly color; holding onto his left arm for dear life. And, your heart just physically breaks. You don’t understand why this is the world you must live in.)

“Come here, my dear,” Tom Riddle hisses, urging you forward with a serpentine leer in his eyes. You feel like a circus lion forced to perform its tricks.

Tom Riddle is handsome—you notice begrudgingly. A menacing kind of beauty that entices the weak and preys on the vulnerable. (You would not be one of his victims, you vow, raising your own walls against him.) His gaze drills into your own—instantly, you feel his magic snaking around in your head, searching for hidden truths. The sensation is staggering, dizzying, and you’re nearly brought to your knees. You clench your jaw at his Legilimency—obstinate bastard.

“This one is lasting longer than your son, Abraxas.” Riddle chuckles, his finger tracing the curve of your jaw, as Abraxas forces a smile. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he leaves your mind. You release the breath you’ve been holding for the last thirty seconds. He finds none of your secrets, and you suppress a vindictive grin. Riddle glances at your mother. “How fascinating.”

You wonder if his intrigue will keep you alive for another day or bring you closer to your death.

“My Lord,” you greet windedly as you press a kiss to the cold signet of his ring. “What an honor to stand before you today. Although, I could have done with a more polite greeting from you.”

Bellatrix snarls at you in warning. “Do not speak to the Dark Lord that way, you insolent brat!”

“Enough, Bella,” Tom rasps, flicking her concern away, barely so much as sparing her a glance. “I’ve no need for a little girl to come to my defense.” She visibly wilts at his dismissive words and you almost feel pity for her—almost. Then, you remember this is the man who treats the Cruciatus curse like a treat to give away freely to children—now, you pity Bellatrix fully. The curly-haired girl twitches at the sight of him toying with his wand, Nagini’s forked tongue flicking in anticipation.

“Tell me, my dear,” says Riddle, trailing his gaze down to your arm. “Has your mother arranged a marriage for you yet? Much like our dear Cissa here.”

You grow frigid in his hold. “Not at all, my Lord. Mother thought it best if I focused on my studies before anything else.”

Tom hums in thought, eventually releasing you from his clutches. “I see. . . Then, have you considered other ways of pledging your allegiance to our cause?”

Instinctively, you hide your left arm from his sight. “My Lord,” you begin, wondering how much longer you can address him as such without throwing up in his lap. “The only reason there isn’t much backlash to your. . . merciful endeavors is because Mother and I have ensured that the Daily Prophet’s eyes are elsewhere. The Ministry is blindsided, and no one expects a mondaine darling to be under your influence,” you say, desperation pouring from each word.

You don’t want to carry his Mark. Not ever. You can endure it—you can endure it all so long as you aren’t eternally condemned to his name.

“Take that away, and you’ll face significant repercussions,” you threaten boldly. “I promise you that. They look away because of me.”

For every village and family terrorized, you had shifted the public’s attention to your facetious behavior. Throwing galas left and right, appearing out in public with various partners—you had done it all to bury the looming war. Rita Skeeter is at your beck and call. For every attack, your face is plastered on the front page. For every cry for help, the Ministry is busy dealing with trivial matters that your mother has proposed—such as anti-werewolf bills.

And Voldemort would never notice that you’ve been thieving covert information from right under his nose and delivering it anonymously to a rising organization known as the Order of the Phoenix.

(You’re also not pleased that they share similarities to your non de plume, the Firebird, but you suppose that is the least of your worries.)

If Molly Weasley comes across a sealed letter on the steps of Grimmauld Place, with complete details and addresses of Death Eater hiding places, it is no one’s business but the Order’s—and yours.

For every life taken, you remember that Muggle father in your mother’s cellar. It may not be today, it may not be tomorrow—but you’ll dismantle the pureblood society yourself. All of them, one by one.

Tom Riddle smiles, and you realize that no one threatens him and gets away with it unscathed.

A day before you’re set to return to Hogwarts for your seventh-year, the Malfoy Manor is pervaded by your gut-wrenching screams.

There you are, little Firebird with your wings clipped, writhing on the floor of Lucius Malfoy’s guest room—the Cruciatus curse surging through your veins like molten lava threatening to burn you from the inside out. You hear Narcissa and Missus Fawley’s voices blend into a cacophony of panic. They’re shouting for various things: warm towels, bandages, essence of Dittany, and water. Regulus’s hold on you is tight, near-suffocating, even.

But you don’t feel anything other than the mutilated flesh of your arm.

You scream, cry, and scream again—you feel his magic over and over again. Branding you. The ink blends into your skin—but it’s not your skin anymore. A part of you now will always belong to him.

Bile rises to your throat.

Tears fall from your eyes.

(How cold is the floor? You don’t even care anymore.)

And, the worst part is that no one can see it. Riddle charmed it perfectly to coalesce against your skin tone. But you see it. You see the skull and the stupid, wriggling snake. You see Tom Riddle’s monstrous glee as he drives his wand into your arm—Abraxas and Lucius holding you down as you thrash and flail. Your only reprieve was your mother was there, cradling your head to her chest, blocking out their malignant laughter. (You can’t believe you never noticed, but your mother had been branded, too.)

“I’ll. . . kill him,” you say to yourself, blood and saliva trickling from your lips. If it is the last thing you’ll ever do, you will have Voldemort’s head on a silver platter.

“Don’t be foolish,” Narcissa scolds, tipping your mouth upwards to swallow the drops of Dittany. “None of us have the power to do that. We just have to make do with the life that we’re given.”

“I promise. . . you,” you gurgle through the searing pain, gasping for air, clawing at her arms. “I’ll destroy them all.”

You pass out in her arms.

When you awake, you’re on a train to Hogwarts, left arm bandaged and hidden under the sleeve of your school robes.

You don’t bother attending your classes—seeing no more purpose in Transfiguration and Herbology when you’re just a pawn in someone’s, everyone’s plans, apparently. The professors express their concern when you no longer turn in your homework or assigned projects. Once again, you barely see the need to. Your meals during breakfast, lunch, and dinner go untouched. You stay away from Narcissa, Vittoria, Isadora, Lucius, and Regulus. Your only friends, Amos and Amelia, stay away from you, too, having seen news of your promiscuity in the Daily Prophet. You scoff internally—you’ve never even had your first kiss yet. But even that seems like a distant dream.

You are tired.

How much longer do you have to play this part? How much more of yourself do you have to give?

You’re only seventeen—how can you even hope to defeat Voldemort like this?

The castle walls have dulled, and you drift through the corridors like a wearisome ghost. The once colorful world that you have been brought into now pales in the face of curses, spilt blood, and the Mark on your arm. You wonder what would happen—if you just run away now.

Why should you be the one to bear the burdens of this duty thrust upon you? Why do people like James Potter and Sirius Black find loyalty and a real family within Hogwarts, and there is no one willing to fight for you?

Perhaps, you have no one else to blame but yourself.

Rita Skeeter publishes her article on the growing rift between you and Vittoria Zabini—claiming that you had stolen her beau from her.

You toss the newspaper into the fire.

Some nights, you don’t bother returning to the Hufflepuff dormitories anymore. You know what they think. You know what they say behind your back.

For the third time this week, you find yourself at the top of the Astronomy Tower, legs dangling from the edge of the window, eyes blankly staring at the horizon—if you run towards there, you wonder how long it will take before they find you. The cold nips at your cheeks, but you barely feel anything other than a gnawing emptiness.

Your gaze falls to the ground below, thirty, fifty meters from where you sit.

Maybe. . .

If you move a few inches forward. . .

If you just fly.

You’d be free.

“Oh, I didn’t know this window was occupied.” You loosely turn your head to find Remus Lupin standing before you with a crooked grin, hands shoved in his pockets as he awkwardly shuffles one foot over the other. He raises his arms up in surrender. “I guess I’ll. . . find somewhere else to brood.”

I don’t care.

Go away.

I want to die.

If I disappear, would you care? Would anyone?

You rest your head back on the windowsill, hugging your legs to your chest.

Starlings chirp and fly past you—how liberating it must be, to soar in the skies. But all you can do is watch enviously. Powerless, little songbird with no more lullabies to sing and no more wings to fly with.

You let your weight shift over the window.

Maybe if you fall, you could see what it’s like to fly.

“H-Hey! Don’t—!” Remus quickly snatches your hand and pulls you into his embrace—the both of you tumbling to the floor. You feel his chest heaving, arms trembling around you, and the sound of his rapid heartbeat. His eyes are wide as he looks over your face for any injuries. “Why would you do that? Are you mad?”

You sigh.

Maybe tomorrow, then.

“Oi!” Remus pokes your shoulder. “Don’t just ignore me! You scared the piss out of me, you know? Bloody hell.” His shoulders slump in relief, and he takes another peek at you—just to make sure you’re still in front of him. “A-Are you okay?” he asks softly, afraid to spook you further away. “Do you want to talk about it or anything?”

You shrug. “Nothing to talk about.”

His gaze flickers from you to the window ledge. “I think that’s a big something to talk about, honestly. B-But I get it. Really. No judgment.”

An unwilling chortle escapes past your lips. Remus Lupin and his marauding bunch of lions would never understand the burden you have to carry each day for the rest of your life.

Remus scratches the back of his head with a wolfish grin. “Hey. . . listen. We don’t know each other all that well—so this is going to sound terribly weird. But would you like a hug?”

He opens his arms wide enough for you to fit—and you stare at him in horror. “C’mon, then. It really seems like you need it. And honestly, I kind of need it, too, especially after a scare like that.”

You stay silent.

He shakes his hands, beckoning you forward, golden hair flopping over his eyes. “I don’t bite. Promise. One hug and we’ll go on pretending like we don’t know each other tomorrow. Marauder’s honor.”

“I haven’t done anything to deserve your kindness,” you say with a prominent sneer—certainly not kindness from him. It must be another prank of theirs. You wait for Peter Pettigrew and Sirius to jump out and spray you with garlic juice.

Remus smiles. “I think you’ll find that my kindness is freely given.”

You nibble on your bruised lip.

Could you really?

Maybe just this once.

You’re only human, magic as you are.

You take one step forward.

Then another.

Another.

Until you fall right into his arms, and you inhale the scent of honey, milk raspberry chocolate, and cedarwood. The warmth of his arms around you is real. His voice is real. He whispers cruel words into your ear, “You’re alright, love. Let it out. I’m here.” You burrow your head deep in the crook of his neck. The sound of his heartbeat is real. He tightens his hold around you, and the ground underneath feels real. For a few moments, you don’t feel like you’re floating away into oblivion.

Maybe you’d stay alive—for a few more days.

To do what is right.

To endure.

Perhaps, tomorrow will be easier—if such kindness is real, maybe you’re allowed to seek it for yourself every now and then.

But your nightmare doesn’t end when you’re awake—it takes you by the throat when you find yourself summoned to the Malfoy Manor on Hallow’s Eve.

You’re not the only one caught by surprise. One by one, Tom Riddle’s followers apparate into the dining room, stumbling inside with a bewildered expression. Their Dark Lord has called for them in the dead of night—it must be for something important. You stiffen, sinking into Lucius’s shadow. You search for your mother but she doesn’t appear to be anywhere in the room. Someone brushes their hands against yours—Narcissa. She stands by your side, face impassive, her pupils frantically trying to make sense of the situation.

Then, Tom Riddle finally apparates into the room, startling you for a fraction of a second. Not far behind is Abraxas, Cyprian, the Lestranges, Bellatrix, and finally—

Your mother.

Fawley looks worse for wear, her skin sinking into her bones, clothes tattered, and her face littered with bruises. Bellatrix drags her across the floor, hair wrapped around her hands.

You move to stop Bellatrix, anger blinding your vision—Narcissa tightens her grip on your wrist, subtly shaking her head. You rip your hand away from her.

“We have found a traitor in our midst!” Bellatrix cackles, throwing your mother to the ground—your fists clench, swallowing each lump in your throat with rage blinding your vision. “I caught the bitch helping the McKinnons escape!”

“No,” you whisper, dread knocking you backwards—it just isn’t possible. The two of you had always been careful. Bellatrix hits her again, and you have to restrain yourself from marching forward and cursing her from where she stands.

One moment of weakness, that is all Tom Riddle needs. He finds you in the crowd with ease. The crowd of Death Eaters part like the red sea, and you steel yourself with Occlumency before you are sharply pulled forward, the mark on your left arm blistering as though a hundred needles are driving into your skin repeatedly.

“If the mother is a blood traitor, the child is sure to follow!” Bellatrix hisses, spit flying into the floor, her eyes gleaming with maniacal glee.

Voldemort cruelly holds your jaw in his hand, nails digging into your flesh, threatening to break through your bones. “Is this true?” he asks, drawing blood from your skin. “Tell me!”

“No!” you cry out, kicking and punching to get away from his hold. “It’s not—let me go! That is my mother! You’re hurting her! She’s sick!”

“That,” Riddle’s eyes flash with hostility, breath hot on your skin, “is a betrayer to our cause.”

“She’s not!” you scream.

“How did she find out, then?” Voldemort flings you to the ground—immediately, you rush to your mother, gathering her in your arms. Tom Riddle cocks his head and you’re blasted into the walls—you feel his Legilimency trying to force its way in, exploiting your pain and shock. But you won’t let him in. He’ll have to pry your memories from your cold, dead body.

The pain is searing—you’re being torn apart from limb to limb. Your mark is burning, head throbbing from a concussion, and still fighting against Riddle’s magic. Through your blurry haze, you see Lucius holding Narcissa back from running to you. “We’re not traitors!” you cry out desperately, crawling pathetically to your mother’s listless body. “I swear!”

Voldemort sneers just before he points his wand at your mother. “Crucio!”

“No! No! Stop it! Please! Please, stop it!” you beg on the ground as your mother helplessly writhes on the floor, the Cruciatus curse reducing the once austere Agatha Fawley to a whimpering mess. “You’re killing her!”

Tom snarls, “Good.”

Bellatrix digs her claws into your neck, her laughter resounding throughout the manor—you swallow the sobs down your throat as she drives her wand into your flesh. “Your mummy over there is done for. But you—our precious jewel, you can still prove your loyalty to our Dark Lord.”

She puts your wand and closes your fist over the wood—your eyes grow wide as you thrash in her hold, screaming as she forces you to look at Fawley. “Kill her. And you may live.”

“Just say it,” Bellatrix whispers in your ear. “Two little words. You’ve already done this before, pet—the second time should be easy enough!”

“No!” you knock your head back into her nose, slipping away as her hold loosens and she screams profanities at you—but to your misfortune, Voldemort captures you, like a defenseless bunny running into a starving snake.

“Mum, wake up, please!”

You cry out helplessly, sobbing as Voldemort forces you to watch the life gradually fade away from her blue eyes. Her magic envelops you—and you remember warm holidays spent by the fire, Muggle storybooks before bed, surprising you with breakfast in bed for your birthdays. It’s a warm feeling, a stark contrast to Tom Riddle’s invasive magic. Her voice echoes in your head one last time.

“Thank you for showing me what love feels like, if not for a moment. I am sorry I could not show it as a proper mother would.”

“Kill her!” Voldemort rages into your ear.

You watch as Fawley’s eyes drift to a close, an act of resignation. “It’s okay, my darling,” she whispers tiredly. “I. . . can rest now.”

For the second time in your life, you point your wand at someone’s heart—this time, it’s your mother’s.

“What are you waiting for?” Bellatrix asks, twitching menacingly. “Kill her! Before I do it myself!”

There’s a faint smile on her face.

“I’m. . . sorry.”

Those are Agatha Fawley’s last words before you take away her life.

The incantation falls so delicately from your lips, an act of mercy for the woman you once called your mother and your greatest tormentor.

But your eyes are on one person and one person only.

Tom Riddle.

“Avada Kedavra!”

He will know your pain.

Not today, not tomorrow.

But you’ll destroy them all, one by one.

a/n: THERE IS KISSING IN THE NEXT SCENE I PROMISE.... AND TRUST MY LILY LOVERS WE WILL GET OUR REDEMPTION ARC SKDJHFGKJH and sirius lovers too,, but yall are well-fed every day so.. next part has the yule ball, likee,, there's no way THAT becomes angsty.. if you saw a plot-hole, no you didn't just CRY and enjoy sdhgsdf... come tell me what you thought!! (if you have any constructive criticisms, just come to my dms BUT PLS BE VERY GENTLE.... oh and don't hesitate to tell me if i accidentally wrote anything super specific like height, skin color, etc.!!) i promise to better in the final part!!!! (there's only two parts to this fic.) I LOVE YEW I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS STORY AAAAAAAAAAAA

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obsessivevoidkitten · 1 year ago

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Between A Rock And A Hard Place

Male Yandere Human-like Golem x Gender Neutral Human Reader (CW: Noncon, huge dick, golem man, magic, fatal violence towards bandits, spit used as lube, general yandere behavior) Word Count: 1.8k (Sorry this took forever, was originally going to be a drabble and then kinda got away from me, hope you all enjoy huge dick golem man.)

The small town that you lived in, Somnheim, had been victim to a swathe of horrible luck. Raided by bandits, packs of beasts killing livestock, and enemy soldiers scavenging what they could. Finally the town had enough and sent for a practitioner of the magic arts to aid them in the defense of their village.

This was you.

They didn’t have much but they offered a home and food for your services. You figured you could help them and have a quiet place to conduct your research away from the prying eyes of the council, who liked to hold newer mages under their thumb. It would also just be something nice you could do for your fellow humans, and these folks clearly needed the help.

You didn’t want to stay in this place forever though, so your solution would have to be one that would last long after you were gone.

Given your expertise in summoning and animating the logical choice was a good, old fashioned, golem. A pentagram, some select incense, clay flesh molded to a slate skeleton and imbued with an amethyst heart carrying an artificial soul, some runes carved in, and a scroll inserted that would have him follow his purpose and give him personality.

Then just add in a spell that turned the humanoid clay man into something more human so as not to frighten the villagers too badly and make him able to experience a near human existence.

The ritual was a complete success. Of course it was. You were you after all, young but talented and more importantly utterly dedicated to your craft.

Somnheim now had a mighty protector. An artificial man over 9 feet tall, with huge bulging muscles, shaggy brown hair, stoic brown eyes that gave nothing away, and glowing green runes on his arms and legs. The spell that made him human-like was more than just visual, it gave him nearly all the functions of a human male, he’d be as durable and strong as the hardest metal, never age, and of course he was certainly infertile.

Not one for creative names, you named him Slate.

Eventually bandits came by and decided they would stock up in Somnheim before going on to bigger and better loot.

They did not live to regret that decision.

Slate simply rolled a massive boulder down the hill they approached from and flattened all but a couple. Those he took care of quickly with magically precise throws of average sized stones.

Over the months any threat he couldn’t flatten with a boulder or smack with a stone he would pop open with his mighty fists.

By the end of his first year as the village’s guardian he was beloved by every single townsperson. Even the tiny children, who would climb on him and put flowers in his shaggy hair as he smiled and watched, had no fear of him.

You had enjoyed your time there, but eventually it was time for a change of scenery. You wanted to do more field research and you had saved enough money up with side projects to be able to fund a trip to the other side of the country near The Great Forest.

The villagers were grateful and sad to see you go, but they were much more interested in Slate than you.

But when you packed your bags to leave behind your wattle and daub dwelling once and for all you found yourself blocked by Slate.

He uttered one word in that deep, almost monotone, voice of his.

“No.”

“What do you mean no? I have to leave.” You tried to squeeze past him but he was not having it.

“I must protect the village… Your presence here makes the village safer… I might need repairs… or reinforcements… And you also tasked me with keeping you safe…”

You fudged the wording. You, breather of life into stone, weaver of clay, and creator of souls, messed up the wording.

He picked you up like a box of luggage and sat you on a chair in your makeshift study before going over to the heaviest bookshelf, picking it up, and placing it in front of the only door so you couldn’t escape.

“I’ll move it when I need to leave… then I will put a rock outside to keep you here…”

And that became your life. A literal prisoner in your own home.

Your magical abilities were useless in this situation, you were not a battlemage that could explode a wall, you couldn’t teleport, you bent earth.

Of course you tried to tunnel your way out by making a hole under your bed, but Slate had walked in and caught you red handed. He had confiscated and locked away all your magical supplies and texts unless you needed them to repair him you were not getting them back.

Slate was tentative enough of your physical needs, bringing you food and water and taking you outside like some sort of pet for sunlight, fresh air, and exercise. You had tried to run away but of course he had inhuman speed. And the villagers refused to help. What if Slate refused to save them if they did that?

It was a fair concern, he was made to protect the village and not villagers, he may even see them as a threat if they assisted you. You were on your own.

Though you were healthy enough physically your mental condition was deteriorating rapidly. How could you not be? Being trapped in the same building, even with trips outside, was awful. The villagers only looked at you with pity if they looked at you at all, and no one would even talk to you anymore.

It got to the point where you barely eat, refused to go outside, and spent all your time laying in bed.

Slate was failing the magical directives that governed his personality and behavior. You were clearly not safe, he was convinced that you would die if this continued, and honestly you likely would… eventually…

But the golem was not incapable of learning. He observed the other humans to find out what he could add to your life to bring you back to your usual self.

One night, when he was sitting in front of the house watching the humans passing by and holding hands, he came to the conclusion that humans had families, they lived together in their dwellings and they loved each other. They coupled together and mated.

Up until this point Slate had only been directed by simple emotion and the unyielding parchment that had imbued him with his goals. But now his task demanded something more of him, it demanded a much more complex emotion. The magic in him allowed this evolution, and now he was much more dangerous because he loved you. But it wasn’t just love he felt for the first time, it was lust.

Slate’s expression became one of someone thinking about the one who they adored infinitely, an expression of a man thinking about the person he wanted to have writhing in pleasure beneath him, even his normally green runes and brown eyes took on an amorous pink glow.

When you heard the boulder blocking the door shift and then heard the bookshelf take its place as what was blocking your way out as Slate came lumbering in with his heavy steps you didn’t even glance up.

Not until he stood in front of you and you noticed his strange pink glow replacing his green one did you stir.

You sat up in bed and when you saw the strange way his normally near emotionless eyes were staring at you, and glowing, you scooted away.

“I know what you need now! I am so sorry for not realizing sooner…” He said in a surprisingly soothing tone, a stark departure from his normally deep monotone.

“What do yo-”

Your words were forgotten as he took off his shirt and pants revealing a sweaty body and a frighteningly large cock.

“You need a partner to be happy, like the other humans, and you need to mate!”

He sounded very eager.

“No! Uh… I don’t need to… mate. I need to lea-” he put a large finger over your lips and shushed you before gripping your pants and peeling them and your underwear away from you carefully.

There was no dissuading him from his chosen course of action, he would make you happy and keep you safe no matter what!

It’s what you needed.

Slate leaned forward and spit all over your hole, thoroughly lubing it with his spit, before pressing his big cock into your hole.

It was so large that you let out a whimper of pain at first, but he was somehow knowledgeable enough about sex to know he needed to let you adjust to the size rather than just ramming himself in.

You gasped and writhed but he held you still with his massive hands running up and down your sides as he slowly pulled you down on his prick.

Slate was in complete heaven, he had never really known much pleasure of any kind, let alone the type that came with burying his cock in someone he was now completely obsessed with.

He had no idea his dick could be used for this at all, but now that he did he would certainly be doing this everyday, maybe even a couple times a day! The perfect blend of heat and softness was amazing.

As he began to thrust slowly, with a blissed out expression as he stared up at nothing with drool coming out of his mouth, you couldn’t help but moan in pleasure as his cock caressed your depths perfectly.

Hearing your breathy moans snapped him back to reality. You were finally happy again~

The treatment was working! That settled it, he would do this every single day no matter what!

Carefully gripping your sides a bit more firmly he moved your entire body back and forth on his cock. You couldn’t help it, your whole body twitched with the force of a massive orgasm. The sensation of your body spasming around his previously virgin dick caused him to slam in deep and cum hard.

He pulled you close, holding your head into his muscular chest as he panted, his dick still firmly impaling your limp body. You hadn’t been eating much and this serious fucking had taken a lot out of you.

Slate cleaned the two of you up, bathing you gently before taking advantage of your compliant state by spoon feeding you some dinner he had brought from a town person.

Mating with you made you so pleasured and too tired to resist him when he took care of you, he almost couldn’t wait until you had enough energy to do it again, his cock strained in his pants with anticipation.

#yandere teratophilia #yandere monster #monster boyfriend #gender neutral reader #yandere boyfriend #male yandere x gn reader #yandere terato #my ocs #yandere x reader #male yandere #My OC Slate

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all-the-fish · 10 months ago

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Oh, you know, just the usual internet browsing experience in the year of 2024

Some links and explanations since I figured it might be useful to some people, and writing down stuff is nice.

First of all, get Firefox. Yes, it has apps for Android/iOS too. It allows more extensions and customization (except the iOS version), it tracks less, the company has a less shitty attitude about things. Currently all the other alternatives are variations of Chromium, which means no matter how degoogled they supposedly are, Google has almost a monopoly on web browsing and that's not great. Basically they can introduce extremely user unfriendly updates and there's nothing forcing them to not do it, and nowhere for people to escape to. Current examples of their suggested updates are disabling/severly limiting adblocks in June 2024, and this great suggestion to force sites to verify "web environment integrity" ("oh you don't run a version of chromium we approve, such as the one that runs working adblocks? no web for you.").

uBlockOrigin - barely needs any explanation but yes, it works. You can whitelist whatever you want to support through displaying ads. You can also easily "adblock" site elements that annoy you. "Please log in" notice that won't go away? Important news tm sidebar that gives you sensory overload? Bye.

Dark Reader - a site you use has no dark mode? Now it has. Fairly customizable, also has some basic options for visually impaired people.

SponsorBlock for YouTube - highlights/skips (you choose) sponsored bits in the videos based on user submissions, and a few other things people often skip ("pls like and subscribe!"). A bit more controversial than normal adblock since the creators get some decent money from this, but also a lot of the big sponsors are kinda scummy and offer inferior product for superior price (or try to sell you a star jpg land ownership in Scotland to become a lord), so hearing an ad for that for the 20th time is kinda annoying. But also some creators make their sponsored segments hilarious.

Privacy Badger (and Ghostery I suppose) - I'm not actually sure how needed these are with uBlock and Firefox set to block any tracking it can, but that's basically what it does. Find someone more educated on this topic than me for more info.

Https Everywhere - I... can't actually find the extension anymore, also Firefox has this as an option in its settings now, so this is probably obsolete, whoops.

Facebook Container - also comes with Firefox by default I think. Keeps FB from snooping around outside of FB. It does that a lot, even if you don't have an account.

WebP / Avif image converter - have you ever saved an image and then discovered you can't view it, because it's WebP/Avif? You can now save it as a jpg.

YouTube Search Fixer - have you noticed that youtube search has been even worse than usual lately, with inserting all those unrelated videos into your search results? This fixes that. Also has an option to force shorts to play in the normal video window.

Consent-O-Matic - automatically rejects cookies/gdpr consent forms. While automated, you might still get a second or two of flashing popups being yeeted.

XKit Rewritten - current most up to date "variation "fork" of XKit I think? Has settings in extension settings instead of an extra tumblr button. As long as you get over the new dash layout current tumblr is kinda fine tbh, so this isn't as important as in the past, but still nice. I mostly use it to hide some visual bloat and mark posts on the dash I've already seen.

YouTube NonStop - do you want to punch youtube every time it pauses a video to check if you're still there? This saves your fists.

uBlacklist - blacklists sites from your search results. Obviously has a lot of different uses, but I use it to hide ai generated stuff from image search results. Here's a site list for that.

Redirect AMP to HTML - redirects links from their amp version to the normal version. Amp link is a version of a site made faster and more accessible for phones by Bing/Google. Good in theory, but lets search engines prefer some pages to others (that don't have an amp version), and afaik takes traffic from the original page too. Here's some more reading about why it's an issue, I don't think I can make a good tl;dr on this.

Also since I used this in the tags, here's some reading about enshittification and why the current mainstream internet/services kinda suck.

#modern internet is great #enshittification #internet browsing #idk how to tag this #but i hope it will help someone #personal #question mark

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loafgeto · 1 year ago

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ᝬ 𝗥𝗢𝗢𝗠𝗠𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗦 ⤵︎

toji fushiguro x fem!reader

synopsis: you’re getting your first apartment with your own money, but there has been a complication with the housing and you were accidentally roomed with a stranger.

cw: fem!reader, 18+ mdni, explicit language, age gap (reader is 22, while toji is 30), she/her pronouns, big dick toji, masturbation, teasing, dirty talk, size kink, fingering, squirting, orgasming, unprotected sex, oral sex (m. receiving), slight breast play, pet names (pretty/good girl, sweetheart, princess). if i miss anything lmk. NOT proofread, ignore typos

wc: 6.4k (DIDNT KNOW I WROTE THIS MUCH LMFAOO)

a/n: uh if you guys see me use “princess” so much then like don’t mind me cuz i love the pet name and toji seems to suit saying it too. anyways, contemplating on what to write next 😟

After graduating university and acquiring your dream job, you were finally able to buy your own apartment with your savings from countless overworking shifts and paychecks. To say the least, all of the exhaustion and frustration was definitely worth it.

Today was the day you’d get your keys, and officially move in your things. The apartment consisted of a single bedroom, one bathroom, a kitchen and a personal laundry area— all suitable for one person. When you first toured the building, you instantly fell in love and knew it was going to be your place of living for a while. So, you signed the paperwork and officially got the place.

You arrived at your apartment that afternoon, the feeling of excitement flowing through your veins. The neighborhood was relatively welcoming and safe, and there were many amenities surrounding the area, making it easily accessible.

As you were walking to the main office to retrieve your keys, your attention was primarily directed to the nature around you, along with the lively kids running around at the playground and other residents walking by, greeting you with smiles and quick hellos.

After settling in, you planned to get yourself a pet— whether it be a dog or cat, or both. You wanted some company at least.

When you arrived at the main office, you were greeted by a timid young man. “Hello there! Good afternoon. How may I help you today?” he questions when you approach the desk.

“Hello! I’m here to pick up my keys to my apartment. I just moved into the neighborhood,” you reply with a smile.

“Of course, may I have your name?” the male continues to inquire and you give him your information before he goes into the back. He returns shortly afterwards with a key and a piece of paper. “Here are your keys! If you have any concerns or questions please come back here.”

“Thank you so much,” you give the young man a final smile before you took the keys into your own hands. You were way beyond excited now and quickly left the main office to return to your car which was parked right by your apartment.

The movers would arrive that evening, so you were able to use some hours to adjust to the new place— or even buy some groceries since you already had a fridge installed— or figure out how to decorate the entire apartment. There were many options for you to choose, but you decided to pick whenever you got there.

At the same time, you couldn’t help but wonder who your neighbors would be. Would they be welcoming and respectful? Or rude and impolite? Even if they weren’t the best people, you’d hope to at least get on their good side so there’d be no issues.

You arrived at your apartment’s door minutes later, thrilled to unlock it and step inside, getting a whiff of the new life ahead of you. APARTMENT D, 404. Inserting the keys into the key hole, you twist and unlock the door before pushing the door open.

Of course, this apartment was only suitable for at least one person and if a couple were to move in together, they’d have to work together on the space. So, is someone going to tell you why a man is standing right ahead of you— drenched in shower water and only in a towel that’s wrapped around his hips?

Your mouth dropped, eyes observing how defined and muscular his entire body was, but that wasn’t the point. Clearly, you stepped into the wrong apartment. Right?

“O-Oh- I’m so sorry! I think I accidentally went into the wrong apartment!” you could feel blood rush to your cheeks due to embarrassment and you quickly avoid gazes with him. You were confused, you knew this was your apartment— your keys, the slip and signed papers could prove it all.

So why—

“You’re Y/n?” the male questions, clearly unaffected by the situation.

“Huh? Oh- yeah! Yes, I’m Y/n!” you reply, giving him a nod as you finally turn to him. Gosh, what is happening? “I-I’m so sorry once again, I probably got my keys mixed up or something—“

“You didn’t,” the male intervenes, now approaching closer to you.

“Excuse me?”

“We’re goin’ to be roommates for a while, until they get the housing shit sorted out. You heard, didn’t you?” he questions, tilting his head, as if you were already aware of this situation.

“Huh? Roommates?” your eyes widen, mouth dropping once again. From what you can recall, no one and nothing has mentioned about you getting a roommate— let alone it being a guy!

“Oh, guess not then,” the male awkwardly rubs the back of his neck with his hand, finally understanding that you had no knowledge about this whatsoever. “Let’s introduce each other first then. Toji Fushiguro, nice to meet you, sweetheart. We’ll be roommates for a week or so.”

“Wh-What? Okay, I did not pay and sign the papers for this!” you raise your voice and Toji only shrugs.

“Complain to them. Not me.”

And you did. After Toji dressed himself in proper clothes, you dragged him with you back to the main office. It was natural for someone to be infuriated and confused with this matter, but you couldn’t believe it was happening to you.

You always check your messages and emails, even from accounts you barely ever use, and you swore you never detected anything that would relate to having a complete stranger living with you in your new apartment. There were no letters or calls from the management of the apartment complex either, so you were still confused on why this was happening.

“We’re very sorry for the inconvenience, miss Y/n and mister Toji,” the manager who you called just moments ago bows his head down, apologizing to you. “There was several problems with the housing situation and we are trying to sort it out. There are several movers who have this problem so please don’t worry about being the only ones!”

“That’s not that I’m concerned about here,” you reply, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Y-Yes, of course. Please, we are still situating the problem and are doing the best we can. Please allow us a week and a half or so to solve the issue. We will report back to you both by then. We hope you understand,” the manager continues, keeping his head lowered.

You were about to reply when Toji presses a hand on your shoulder, intervening the conversation. “She understands. Thank you for your time,” he says, beginning to dismiss the two of you out before you could even utter anything.

“Hey! Don’t you think you’re being too calm with the situation?!” you stop and turn to him as he removes his hand away from your shoulder when you both step outside.

Toji shrugs, not returning a glance as he kept walking forward. “Don’t you think you’re being too dramatic over this? You heard them, they’re sorting it out. It’s just gonna be a week, sweetheart. If you got a problem, stay somewhere else until then.”

“What?!” your eyes follow him before your legs moved to catch up to his side. “First of all— don’t call me sweetheart. Second, of course I’m going to be pissed about this because I did not pay for this! Third, I have no where else to go and I can’t just crash at a friend’s with all of my things?!”

“Mistakes happen,” Toji says, now looking at you. “And well, if you have no where else to go— then deal with it, for a week. Sweetheart.”

Toji smiles before heading back to the apartment, leaving you even more infuriated. No matter what, you’re going to avoid this man until he finally gets moved somewhere else.

Or so you thought.

After your movers brought in your things, Toji made you pile your boxes into a corner for the time being— since there was no need to decorate the place at the moment. You figured and complied, not wanting to argue with this man.

For some reason, your mattress didn’t end up arriving with the rest of your belongings, so you had to sleep on your futon— beside of Toji’s. Of course, you wanted to sleep in the farthest corner away from him, but he insisted he wasn’t going to do anything.

Toji kept to himself, rarely trying to make some sort of conversation with you, but it wasn’t like you were complaining. He normally spent his attention on his phone, as if he was messaging someone or whatever. He’d randomly laugh or say something when it’d be quiet, catching you off guard.

You never said anything and plugged your earbuds into your ear, trying to avoid him at all cost. Closing your eyes, you just told yourself over and over again that this was only for a week or so. And then soon, you’ll never have to encounter him as much anymore.

As night fell, you suddenly felt the urge to eat. You had completely forgotten about grocery shopping and there wasn’t any open stores you could go to. You figured a quick stop at the convenience store would help, and decided to go there instead for something to eat.

You slip on your jacket and grab your wallet and phone. You hadn’t realize Toji was in the kitchen, doing something until you stepped in, watching as he was waiting for the pot of water to boil.

Toji noticed you from the corner of his eyes, and he turns, giving you a placid expression. “What?”

“Oh.. nothing. I’m just going to the convenience store since there’s no food for me here,” you reply to him before walking past him to the front door.

“Want me to come with?” Toji’s offer slightly appalls you and you turn back around to face him as you slip on your shoes. You’re uncertain, and Toji could notice that. “It’s late, wouldn’t want a young woman like you to get hurt, y’know.”

“It’s.. fine,” you say, with a little grin before turning back around, fondling with your keys. “Besides, you already seen occupied yourself.”

Toji didn’t respond for a moment, and when you were about to turn around again, he was suddenly behind you. Surprised, you nearly had a heart attack because how swift he was getting ready to accompany you out.

“Let’s go,” Toji says, already dressed in a jacket with shoes on. You give him a blank stare, but you didn’t say anything as you both exit the apartment.

Toji stood behind of you as you both walked to the nearest convenience store down the street. It was silent between the two of you— the only noise being distant cars, crickets chirping, and the soft sounds of your footsteps. Not only that, it was quite cooler in the night, which made you cuddle yourself beneath your jacket.

You didn’t once turn around to look at Toji, and even if you wanted to, you didn’t want to seem weird for just looking at him and not saying anything. He’d probably expected you to start a conversation or even inquire why you were randomly looking at him. You were overthinking at that moment, but for a fact, you were sort of glad Toji accompanied you.

The two of you arrived at the convenience store shortly enough and you went to grab a basket for your items. You figured Toji would do the same and go separate directions, but you quickly noticed that he was following you around instead.

You figured this could be a time to start a conversation. “Well. Is there anything you want? You can just put it in the basket and I can buy it for you,” you say, offering as a reward of gratitude since he had accompanied you.

“Nah. I’m fine,” Toji declines.

“Are you sure?” you repeat, and he nods his head, assuring you that he didn’t necessarily need anything to eat.

But even if Toji said he didn’t want anything, you decided to get him something. You found yourself getting a lot of food due to that and you felt slightly embarrassed, thinking that Toji probably thought you were odd for getting that much food for a night.

After paying the items and walking back to the apartment, you just couldn’t help but begin to feel curious about Toji— even after planning to deliberately avoid him the entire week or so. He was just an individual that you’ve never necessarily encountered before.

You didn’t know what made him stand out from other people, but there was definitely something about him. And so, you decide to start a conversation again.

“So. Toji,” you say, turning your head around since he was walking behind you again. His eyes raise to meet yours and he tilts his head. “Since we are going to be living with each other for a week.. shouldn’t we get to know each other.”

“Thought you hated me,” Toji smiles.

“What? No! I never said that! Yes, I was rude to you earlier but I was just upset at the housing situation since I didn’t expect it.. or even heard about it until today,” you sigh, feeling blood rush to your cheeks. “Well. Anyways. Let’s start with the basics— how old are you or whatever.”

“Hm,” Toji hums, eyes observing your face. “I’m 30”

“Oh, wow. You’re 8 years older than me,” you reply, nodding your head. Well, you honestly thought he was younger, but the age made sense due to his appearance. His built was great too. “I’m 22.”

“Fresh out of college, huh?”

“Yes.. technically. Almost been half a year since I graduated,” you nod your head. Okay, this conversation was going better than expected. “Did you go to university, Toji?”

“Nah. Waste of time and money. I left from home when I was 18,” Toji answers and your eyes slightly widen from the unexpected response. Well, you definitely didn’t think of that possibility at all.

“Oh..” you nod, wondering what to inquire next before it became silently awkward again.

“What did you study in college?” Toji then asked.

“I studied in business! It’s a common major but it’ll get me around. I found a good job during my third year of college and took an internship. And after graduating, they officially hired me,” you reply to his question, giving him a smile. Toji didn’t seem like a bad person at all.

“Young ones like you make me regret not going to college,” Toji chuckles softly as he was now walking next to you.

“Well, you can still go to college. There’s no age limit at all. You’re still young too, you know. I met some people in their late 40’s who are attending university,” you comment, hoping that would give him some consideration if he actually still wanted to attend.

Toji only gives you a glance before turning his head to look ahead. “I’ll think about it.”

The two of you finally arrived back at the apartment. You felt extremely relieved about the conversation you just had with Toji and figured you could actually end up being friends with him.

From that moment, the two of you detected another couple as you both approached the door leading to the apartment. They lived next door, the woman was patiently waiting for her partner to open the door as they spoke.

“Oh! This couple must be our new neighbors, dear!” the woman says and gently taps her husband’s shoulder, causing him to look in the direction of you and Toji.

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you both,” you and Toji bow your heads. “And we’re not—“

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both! We heard we were getting new neighbors but I wasn’t sure when we would be able to properly meet,” the man quickly spoke before you could add that you and Toji weren’t a couple.

“Yes, yes. It’s nice to know that we aren’t the only couples living here— since this apartment complex is a single room and the rest are two person or above friendly,” the woman giggles. “Oh! How about we have a dinner tonight?!”

“Thank you but we—“ you start again, but Toji interrupts.

“I apologize, not tonight. We still have a lot of things to unpack. Maybe another night,” Toji says, placing a hand on your shoulder before pulling you close. “Plus, she’s very tired and we wouldn’t want to bother the two of you.”

“Oh dear, no, it’s fine! Another time then,” the woman nods with a reassuring smile.

“Well then, we can talk about dinner plans whenever,” her husband says before opening the door to their home.

After chatting a few more times and introducing each other with names, the woman gives you and Toji one last smile. “By the way, the walls here are very thin. Try not to get a noise complaint from the single person’s living around here!”

And then, she gives you two a wave before following her husband inside. You and Toji remain silent, processing what she meant, until it hit you.

You quickly went into the apartment without saying anything to Toji and he follows behind, closing the door as you placed the bag of food on the kitchen counter.

“Anyways. Let’s eat!” you say, turning to Toji who appears absolutely unaffected by what just happened. He gives you a look before you add on. “Oh, I bought enough food for the two of us, so you might as well eat some with me.”

There was a table in the small room you and Toji shared, so the two of you gathered there. You begin assembling the food across the table as Toji sat across from you.

“Oh, so that’s why you bought a lot,” Toji comments.

“Of course. I wouldn’t want you to just watch me eat everything if you’re hungry. That’d be rude,” you reply, placing a set of chopsticks ahead of him. “And besides, take it as a thank you for accompanying me to the convenience store.”

“If you insist,” Toji says with a smile as he lifts the chopsticks in his hands.

The two of you began eating, in silence once again. There really wasn’t much to inquire about, and even if there was, you don’t want to pry into Toji’s personal space too much.

And eventually, the quick dinner ended and the two of you cleaned up the table and threw any trash and store leftovers. You figured it was a good start to living with Toji for a week, and maybe there would be better options tomorrow.

While Toji was in the bathroom, you were sitting on your futon in the corner and had your back against the wall. You were scrolling through your phone, whether it be from messages to posts on social media, you were just bored and wasn’t feeling tired at all.

You changed into a shirt and sleeping shorts before wrapping a warm blanket around your body. You remained on your phone for a while, until you began hearing noises from the other side of the wall your back was against.

From what you could gather, it was the couple you and Toji met earlier. They seemed to be talking and moving around, muffled noises would follow after. You figured they must be rearranging something, since you recalled to the woman saying how thin the wall was.

You began hearing shuffling noises right by you, as if their bed was directly next to the wall on the other side. You blink several times, beginning to avoid what they were doing.

After several moments, you began hearing soft moans of the woman, which caught you off guard and flustered. The lewd noises were consistent, and she kept saying her husband’s name with such affection. They were fucking, literally, right by the other side of the wall.

You remain flustered, as you continued listening to them. You could’ve honestly just put in your earbuds and blast loud music to avoid listening further, but you couldn’t stop yourself. It was slowly turning you on.

The imagination of having your neighbors being able to hear you and someone fucking turned you on. You were completely lost in your thoughts as your breathing became heavier and you slipped one hand down between your thighs.

You pressed your ear against the wall, hearing the moans and grunts become louder by the minute. You bite your lower up, refraining from making any noise as you push your hands beneath your short and under your panties.

Your middle finger began rubbing circles against your clit, before gliding down your folds that were beginning to become soaked with your arousal. Fuck. This was a very risky situation, given the fact that Toji was still around and could leave the bathroom any moment.

But by then, you didn’t even think about him. You kept your attention on pleasuring yourself and the sex on the other side of the wall. Honestly, you wanted nothing more but to be fucked just like that. After you previous relationship, you hadn’t gotten with anyone and it’s been at least over a year.

You push two of your fingers into your dripping cunt, curling them up and moving them in and out. You started to let out low moans while biting down your lip, refraining them to be louder. Shit.. you’d never thought you could be turned on like this.

Pushing your thighs further apart, you sink your fingers deeper into your pussy, your arousal beginning to stick on your knuckles as you thrust them in and out. You take them out, rubbing your clit once again with your wet fingers before pushing them back in your hole.

Your neighbors continued to fuck, the woman’s moans bouncing off the walls and resonating your quiet room. But it all came to a stop when you heard the bathroom door opening, causing you to panic and quickly pull your hands away.

You were so close to being caught.

Toji walks into the room, towel over his shoulder as his eyes directed to you. He was slightly confused, noticing how flustered you were. “You okay there?” he questions.

“I-I’m fine,” you stutter, realizing that the neighbor’s noises were still very much detectable.

Toji definitely heard them already, but he hadn’t address it yet. The room fell silent as the neighbors moans begin to become heard once again, and the awkwardness between you and Toji arose.

“They’re not too loud,” Toji finally comments with a sly grin.

“You think?” you raise a brow, keeping your eyes away from his. Your body was beginning to become hotter, mostly due to the embarrassment of almost being caught.

“Why are you so flustered?” Toji inquired as he starts walking closer to you.

“I’m not! I’m just— surprised!” you try to make some sort of excuse as you kept avoiding his gaze. Toji stood ahead of you before kneeling down to your level. You clear your throat, turning your head slightly and locking eyes with him.

Toji’s grin becomes wider. “You turned on or something?”

“Excuse me? I’m-“ you start but Toji was quick to hush you by leaning closer to your face, one of his hands pressing against the wall beside of your face.

“Come on. Listen to them. Aren’t you imagining and wishing it was happening to you instead?” Toji starts to tease you, his smile becoming more mischievous as your face grows even more timid.

“Please.. stop..” you turn your head away from him. It didn’t help that Toji was so close to you. It was true, you were still turned on, but you definitely didn’t want to admit it.

“Well, we’re going to be listening to them all night then,” Toji says, about to turn away when you grab his hand. He looks at you, quite surprised with your actions but he didn’t stop you. He only chuckles before leaning closer to your face again. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Can’t use words to admit that you’re turned on?”

You only shake your head, glancing at him several times and then at another direction. It was embarrassing, but Toji found it amusing.

“No need to be embarrassed,” Toji says, grasping his hand around your wrist and pulls you towards him. You were surprised but didn’t restrain as Toji presses you down on your futon. “Normally I’d get paid to do this. But you’ll be an exception.”

“People pay you to fuck them?”

“Some of the time. I follow the request of anyone in order to get money. It’s how I was able to get one of these apartments in the first place,” Toji snickers, laying beside of you and removing the blanket from your body. “So, you wanna do this, pretty girl?”

“Y-Yes..” you nod, looking up at him.

Cute, Toji smiles before hovering his body over you. From the very moment you two met, he noticed how small you were compared to him. He’d imagine you being so afraid of him putting his cock in you, but he’d assure you that it would fit. Seeing how you were when it came to sex caused Toji to be slightly amused— since he never expected to get to this point with you.

“Ever slept with a man 5 plus years older than you before?” Toji inquires, slipping his hand between your thigh. He starts rubbing your inner thigh, close to your pelvic area, which makes you tremble.

“N-No.. not at all. My first time,” you reply, nearly squirming at Toji’s cold hands against your skin.

“Yeah?” Toji smiles, using his hands to slide off your shorts, and eventually your soaked panties. You felt embarrassed, trying to cover yourself up once Toji tosses the materials away. But he push your legs apart with his strength and aligns his body between them. “God, you’re so wet. Gonna fuck this pussy and make you scream even louder.”

“T-Toji..” you whine, covering your face with your hands.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you sweetheart,” Toji chuckles, noting how impatient you are.

Toji glides the tip of his middle finger against your wet entrance, making you squirm. He pushes two fingers into your pussy and presses his thumb against your clit. The feeling of his long and thick fingers thrust inside you made you reach an instant ecstasy you’ve never felt before.

Your moans started to drop from your mouth even more as Toji drives his finger deeper into your pussy, creating squelching noises. He smirks, rubbing circles against your clit with his thumb before he secretly inserts another finger.

“F-Fuck, Toji!” you gasp, feeling the third finger slip in. His fingers were so long and big. Comparing to yours, he’d be able to wrap your hands in his.

“I like how you say my name, princess,” Toji whispers, leaning in close to press a kiss on your forehead. “Come on, keep saying it.”

“Toji.. Toji..” you slowly chant through your moans as he starts pumping his fingers in and out of you faster.

You’ve never had three fingers in you before, it was very much a new and different experience, but you fucking loved it. Toji curls his fingers, rubbing against your g-spot and making you reach closer to your orgasm.

His fingers kept pleasuring you in ways you’ve never thought you’d experience again, yet even better. Toji uses his other hand to hold your face, making you look at him as he fucks you with his fingers and making you moan his name out.

“Toji—“ you moan out, using one hand to grip his hand on your face. “Gonna c-cum..”

“Already?” Toji hums, maintaining the pace of his fingers pumping into your pussy. He slips one out, being able to thrust the two in and out faster. Your lewd noises start permeating the room, along with the wet noises of your pussy.

“Fuck, yes, Toji! I’m cu—“ you holler out, throwing your head back as you squirted immediately after. Your body trembles as you came all over your futon and fall back down against the ground.

“Not bad, sweetheart,” Toji comments as he slips his fingers out and into his mouth, getting the taste of you.

You don’t say anything besides watch him. You’re catching your breath, hands still slightly covering your flustered expression, until Toji reaches for his sweatpants. He was definitely hard now, from his way his cock was poking out.

“Damn. Never been this hard before,” Toji grunts as he pushes his pants down, his cock leaping up instantly. Your eyes observe in awe, and you give him a slight concerning expression.

“T-Toji.. it’s not gonna fit..” you say as Toji starts pumping his hard cock that was already leaking with pre-cum.

“I’ll make it fit.”

Toji gives you a smile before pressing the tip of his cock at your entrance. He moves his cock up and down against your folds, soaking the tip with your arousal and teasing your clit. Not only was he a bigger man, but his dick was too. You’ve only ever seen something like that in pornography, but being able to see it in person was appalling.

“Ready, princess?” Toji asks as he lifts his gaze to you.

You give him a nod and Toji instantly pushes his cock into you, making you squirm as you felt his dick stretch you out. “S-shit. So big, Toji..” you comment, both hands grabbing his biceps.

“Fuck- see that? Your pussy is already taking me so good,” Toji grunts before thrusting his entire length into you, earning more moans from your mouth. He starts moving his hips, using both hands to guide your legs further apart and starts thrusting faster.

The feeling of his big cock rubbing against the walls of your pussy was already driving you insane. Toji felt you clench him tightly as he thrusted, which makes him smirk, seeing how addicted you were already becoming to him.

Toji then pulls away and lifts one of your legs over his shoulder, before pounding his cock right back into your dripping cunt. Your moans were escalating at that point, his name falling out of your mouth like a music note, and you both knew anyone around could hear how good he was fucking you.

“Toji- fuck yes, just like that!” you cry out, feeling the tip of his cock kiss your womb.

“Shit, princess. Everyone in this neighborhood is gonna know my name now,” Toji grunts again, thrusting his cock deeper into you before using a finger to rub your clit.

Your fingers curve against the skin of his biceps and your nails dig into his flesh, creating your nail marks on his skin as he pounded you. The sound of your moans and his grunts along with the wet slapping sounds began resonating the room, and your mind started becoming foggy.

Toji removes one of your hands from his biceps and presses it down on your lower stomach. “You feel that? You feel how deep I am inside of you?” Toji inquires, placing his hand over yours and you give him a nod.

“Yes- Toji. So fucking deep, keep going,” you beg, seeing water in your eyes due to the amount of pleasure this man was giving to you. “Want you to kiss me, Toji.”

Toji doesn’t hesitate and leans down, pressing his lips against yours while guiding both of your legs to wrap around his waist as he continues thrusting into you. One of your hands reach up to grasp his hair and tug him closer to you while your tongues start pressing against each others and your moans were falling into his mouth.

The welled tears finally began streaming down the sides of your face and Toji wipes them away while still kissing you. He pulls away, lifting you up with him. “Face the wall,” he commands and you listen, getting on your knees and pressing your hands against the wall when facing it.

Toji aligns himself behind of you, completely towering over you. He loved how small you were compared to him. He grabs the side of your hips, pushing them back against his before slamming his cock right back into you.

“O-Oh, fuckk,” you moan, feeling his dick penetrate you so deep and rubbing against your g-spot perfectly.

You clench around his cock again, making him groan as he starts thrusting. Your forehead presses against the cold sensation of the wall and you’re moaning even louder than before. Toji slides one hand beneath the shirt you’re still wearing and pushes your bra to the side to grope your breast.

“Such nice tits you have princess,” Toji mumbles in your ear before kissing your neck several times.

You’re crying again while uncontrollably moaning and screaming his name, begging for him to fuck you faster, rougher, and touch you more. His thick cock gliding against the walls of your pussy was making you reach your next orgasm and Toji could tell that you were close.

Toji’s hips slams against your ass to the point that you believed it would leave a mark later. He leans forward, using one hand to grab your neck and pull your head back. Your eyes meet his and you both share a quick kiss.

“‘m gonna cum again!” you cry out, eyes shutting as you were finally close to cumming.

“Yeah? You gonna cum on my cock like a good girl?” Toji murmurs, kissing the side of your face before returning his hand to the side of your hips. He rocks his hips faster, pounding so fucking deep into you that your body is railing against the wall.

“Toji—“ you moan out his name as you came all over him and your body nearly drops to the ground as you heavily breathe for air.

Toji grunts, feeling your cum all over him as he slips his cock out. He was still quite hard, due to not cumming and he too finds himself catching for air. You turn around, giving him a look to indicate that you weren’t done and it caught Toji by surprise.

Your mouth ended up finding its way to Toji’s cock and you began pumping him with your two hands. Toji groans, looking down at you as your tongue began swirling around the swollen tip of this throbbing dick. Imagining how your small mouth was going to take his cock was appealing to him, and he desperately wanted to shove himself down your throat.

Your mouth latches on the tip of his cock as you’re uncertain whether or not to take his entire length into your mouth, but you wanted to try. You start sucking and licking your tongue all around the tip, while pumping the rest of his length with your hand.

“F-Fuck,” Toji stammers as you look up into his eyes. “Gotta feel your entire mouth around me, princess.”

You begin pushing your face forward, making his cock sink deeper into your mouth until his tip smacked your throat. He was nearly halfway in your mouth, but you swore you couldn’t take him any further.

Toji groans as you start bobbing your head slowly, feeling his hand grasp your hair. His dick twitches inside your mouth, causing you to moan. You return one hand to pump his cock as your mouth moved up and down, your saliva covering his entire length.

“Your mouth’s so fucking good,” Toji compliments, watching your every movement. He’d never thought someone could take his cock so sensually. “Such a pretty girl.”

You squirm as you return your mouth around his tip, sucking and licking it before pushing your head back down. Toji grits his teeth, admiring how good you’re taking his cock and making him reach close to his orgasm.

“You’re gonna make me cum, princess,” Toji whines, the hand grasping your hair tightening as he gently rocks his hips.

Hearing that, you start moving and bobbing your head faster, sucking and licking his entire cock as wet and your lewd noises spilled from your mouth. You pump his cock several times again, enjoying the moans he was making.

Toji groans, pushing your head slightly for his cock to enter deeper into your mouth. You wince, surprised by this and shut your eyes as he initially begins guiding your head on his cock.

“Shit. I’m cumming now,” Toji says, throwing his head back slightly as he shoots his cum deep into your mouth and you moan, feeling the warm liquid hit your throat.

Toji could feel and watches as you swallow his cum, making a slight face afterwards to which he chuckles. You pull your head away from his cock, a small string of saliva connected from your tongue to the tip of his dick being seen before disconnecting. You were exhausted and nearly slumped over, but Toji caught you by placing his hands on your shoulders.

“You did good,” Toji says, lifting your face up with his hand before kissing you, to which you returned. The kiss was more passionate and gentle, and you couldn’t believe you were craving more from him.

But because of this, you both knew that there was no need for the other to move out.

—

The next morning, you woke up feeling numb and immediately recalled to the events of that night as your eyes opened to see that Toji was no longer beside of you. After cleaning up, you and Toji ended up sleeping on his futon, since yours was drenched in cum.

You sense blood rushing to your cheeks as the events start replaying in your head and your heart couldn’t stop racing. You were in Toji’s clothes instead of yours and you could whiff the distinct smell of his scent.

Pushing yourself up from the futon, you remove the covers from your body and walked towards the kitchen. When arriving by the entrance to the kitchen, you notice Toji standing by the door, his back facing you.

He was talking to someone, but the conversation was muffled, so you couldn’t detect anything they were saying. After a moment, Toji closes the door and turns around, eyes meeting yours instantly.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Toji says, holding a small piece of paper and appearing unaffected by whatever was written on it.

“What’s that? And who was that at the door?” you inquire, raising a brow as Toji approaches you.

“Seems like we got a noise complaint,” Toji snickers, showing you the paper he was given and allowed you to briefly glance over it before crumpling it up and tossing it to the side.

Toji snakes an arm around you, his hand cupping your ass and pulling you close. Your lips immediately crashed against his and you both share a sloppy kiss before pulling away.

“Guess we should be louder tonight then.”

LOAF4U. thank you for reading! please do not copy my work or publish in another media without my permission.

#loaf4u #18+ minors dni #toji smut #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #jjk toji #toji x you #jujutsu toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji x y/n #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen one shot #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #anime smut

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nihilistem · 1 year ago

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adhd study affirmations + tips to stray from discouragement by a stem student with adhd.

you’re not always going to be consistent. you’re not always going to be motivated. you’re not always going to be efficient. and that is okay.

edit : thank you so much to whoever blazed this post. It means the world to me.

and the fact that you even got this far is an accomplishment in and of itself. In this line of work, people aren’t always the kindest to neurodivergent people especially since our symptoms can often hinder our performance academically.

if you’re good to go after reading the above, I’ve also made a post regarding adhd study tips that I haven’t seen anywhere else. (Part 2 is here!) But, if you’re burned out like me, feel free to keep reading.

honestly, these might serve a bit more as reminders because they’re kinda simple but even I needed this, so, here we go.

do not seek advice from anyone neurotypical unless it genuinely helps you. I cannot tell you the amount of time and tears I could have saved if I just considered the fact that just because popular self-improvement tips or study techniques didn’t work for me, it doesn’t mean I’m stupid or useless. It simply means our brains isn’t motivated by the same things neurotypical ones are, and therefore a lot of popular self-improvement videos or study tips aren’t going to work for you because 90% of the time, they’re not designed to work for neurodivergent people. So if you’d like to seek help in this area, look for tips and videos that ARE for neurodivergent people.

you might experience burnout a lot more than others. again, that is fine. if this doesn’t apply to you, great! Feel free to skip to the next tip/affirmation. If this does apply to you, read this carefully; if you’ve had any sort of streak in studying right now, chances are you know at least a portion of your studies were led purely on interest, curiosity or even novelty, as these are what keep us engaged in our studies. Knowing this, it is natural for you to experience burnout more frequently than others due to the possible hyperfixations that have been forming around your work. If you get burned out, please remember to take a break for a day and make sure it is efficient. Like your studies, your breaks are the key to having efficient study sessions in the future. So please treat yourself, especially if you’ve been working extra hard!

do not admire studious fictional characters unless it genuinely helps you or they too are neurodivergent. I know this technically could have been thrown in with tip number 1 but I felt like this tip alone is so important, because nowadays I see a lot of study tips with the title, ‘how to study like (insert studious fictional character here)’ and when I look at the post it kinda repeats the same few study tips I see all the time like ‘stay organized’ or ‘time block your day’ and I feel like admiring fictional characters who do things that don’t work for you can be damaging for your mental health, because we’re already told by neurotypical people all around us that we’re slow or lazy just because we don’t do things the way they do, and I think idolizing neurotypical people that make us feel bad at the end of the day just further promotes that kind of toxic thinking.

expect that a routine/schedule/technique that has been working for a while now may not continue to work in the future. things will always have to be new for us to be interested or engaged, that being said, if you expect this in the future you won’t be frustrated with yourself because you already had this in mind. It doesn’t mean you’re not smart. It doesn’t mean you’re lazy. It doesn’t mean you’re useless. It just means that you’ve done what you could, and now it’s time to move on to another routine/schedule/technique.

keep doing the things you love alongside work. I find that because our symptoms may cause us to fall behind on our studies, we tend to neglect our other needs as human beings just to make up for the fact that we simply do not learn or pick things up the same way neurotypical people do. Your hobbies and interests need to be part of your day, just as your studies do, even if you may take longer to learn things or remember important concepts in your studies. Neglecting your hobbies or interests can lead to even more frequent burn outs and even a relapse in depression and anxiety, so please take care of yourself and recognize that you need and deserve these things just as much as anyone else.

regularly discover what works for you on your own. here’s the thing; neurodivergent or not, no two brains work the same. Of course it is good to try out advice or tips you find online because they’re backed up by experience, but they’re backed up by that person’s experience with working with their own brain. So naturally, you need to find what works with your brain. Be open to trying everything, even the tips that are discouraged like listening to lyrical music while studying. That was the only way I learnt that this tip actually does help me at times, even when many people have said that it negatively affects your focus.

that’s all I have right now guys, I think I’m experiencing burn out or probably falling back into depression again so more than anything this also served as a reminder for me, but I really hope it also helped you guys nonetheless.

As always, tell me if you guys would like more posts like these and I’ll be happy to make more <33 please take care of yourself guys, and remember that your studies is just one aspect of your life. There are other aspects that need your care and attention too.

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flamingpudding · 7 months ago

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I had a crack idea that I was thinking of so you know in Dan is Klarion au I was imagining a au based off of that one where all of Danny's children are Klarion is like the robin thing for Batman it started off with Danielle when nabu insulted Danny as the Ghost King and Balance

Ever since Ellie decided that she needed to get back in blood so she made the chaotic antihero Klarion and and her suppose it familiar 'cat' Teekl the way to help out her mother and mess with Dr Fate/Nabu Teekl is actually a bear with an illusion on that makes him look like a cat in the human's eyes

Whatever since the anti-hero Klarion in The Phantom family has been passed down each of them giving their own flair to the persona of Klarion with a different animal every time that they had pretending to be a cat

Tell her to finally passed on to Dan it is an honorary sibling thing each of them has their own antihero name once they passed down the title of Klarion

Diana's query and takes after his father's style of dressing and his tickle is a phoenix

First of Thanks for the Ask! Inspirational as always! Helps with my writers block [insert awkward laugh]

Either way because this is split in two asks... you get two version! One focused on how it started and the other on the reveal! Though the might be some little Shorts... Also there is something really funny to me about a giant bear letting Illusionen into a cat... So Enjoy!

(BTW still thinking over the other ask... and working on it don't worry!)

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

Ellie huffed as Danny reprimanded her for her actions. She just huffed crossing her arms. She was just helping Danny. Her mom got a lot on his shoulders and she as the sort of oldest saw that the best. Sure technically Dan was older then her but, he shrunk down to kid level again and now she was the oldest.

Well if she ignored her other brothers but they were only saved recently and still in treatment with Frostbite. So she was the oldest. End of story.

"Ellie you can't just go off like that you know that messing with an Ancient is not-"

"Mom, That Nabu-Guy was being a pain in the a- " - "Ellie!" - "A PAIN, babbling on to much about Order here Order there. How keeping Balance means keeping Order and bla bla bla!" She cut in stopping her mom before he could go on another rant about the Ancients, she needed to treat with respect.

"He doesn't respect you, the Ancient of Balance! You are the literal Symbol of Balance between Life and Death! Aside from being the Ghost King. So of course I had to mess with the one HE mentors!" Ellie added huffing as she crossed her arms.

Danny pinched the bridge of his nose. "Ellie, you created an entire alternate persona!"

"Yea so?"

"You used an illusion spell on Fluffels!"

"And? Any good Anit-Hero needs a Mascot." Ellie shrugged once more looking up at her mom before looking over to Fluffels, her pet ghost grizzly that was pretty much double maybe even tripple her size and the fluffiest ghost grizzly you could find in the entire Ghost Zone, and the cutest.

Danny on the other hand groaned, wondering if he had done anything wrong while raising Danielle. Sure he had been a teen himself but good damit why the hell did Ellie decided messing with the Ancient of Order or rather his mentee was a good idea. "I am calling Jazz! You can explain to her what you were thinking!"

He was definitely to overworked and stressed to deal with Ellies mischievousness right now. Well she did call her alternate persona Klarion, Lord of Chaos. Nope! He was not dealing with this right now, so Danny did the sanest thing he could think of. Turning on his heel and walking away. Where to? Who cares maybe he would check in with his old man Clockwork and see what Ellie had actually been up to, instead of just reading through Nabu's complains.

Ellie on the other hand blinked watching her mom leave before calling after him. "Does that mean I have to stop, being Klarion?"

"Mom?!"

"MOM!"

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

"Well hello my lovely Amadillos! Long time not seen!"

Ellie shouted cheerfully as she twirled into appearing hair styled into a horn like form, black suit and she might have over done it a little with the black eyeliner but hey it was an iconic look wasn't it. She smirked as Fluffles growled which translated into a meow for the mortals before her thank to the illusion spell.

The mortal teen looked up at her surprised as she floated down her hand glowing with red ectoplasm (a color change from her usual green ectoplasm that had taken a while to learn from Pandora). Young Justice was currently transporting something of interest to her. Well of Interest for the Justice League, really but Doctor Fate was involved which meant Nabu was involved, which naturally meant she would get involved. It didn't hurt that she would also get to try to try some new tricks.

"You got something interesting there... and I want that." She grinned. Ellie didn't give them long before she acted using the new tricks she had learned.

"Woah! Hey there, watch the pointy and sharp thowies!" She laughed making a quick shield as she blocked some batarangs and arrows before blinking.

"Hey they look different. Robin, did you change equipment? Did you get a new haircut too?" She asked curious but didn't really receive an answer as they ignored her questions and shouted something about distracting her while the others continue the transportation. Still she bend down to pick one of them up twirling it between her fingers. "What gives didn't they have a different design before?"

In hindsight it was probably not a good idea to just abandon her original goal but Robin was making her curious. And she could always find a different way to mess with Nabu. Her mom had given her an indirect okay years ago anyway.

"Teekl!" She called out and only her eyes could see how Fluffles jumped at the call growling in response as he swatted away some of the more annoying Young Justice kids. To the mortals it probably looked like Teekl was using ectoplasm, or well magic, in their eyes.

She used that change to go up into Robins face smirking widely as she looked at the other more closely, trying to get a read on him. "You are different! You aren't the same Robin I meet before!"

She ducked in time avoid Superboy as she hopped back excited with a new idea for her family.

But first she would have to deal with the little chaos and mischief she was creating.

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

".....and that is how I learned that the Robin title is getting passed down. So I was thinking of doing the same!" Ellie broadly stated looking at all her younger siblings before her. "We all get pretty annoyed with the way Nabu treats Mom so there always has to be a Lord of Chaos to 'balance' Nabu out!"

She grinned at her siblings expecting the same kind of excitement she had and they didn't disappoint. Danny had been there for all of them, even going so far as in to find a way with Clockwork to save some of their lives. So of course they all would jump at the change to mess with the one Ancient that was badmouthing their Mother just because Balance didn't entitle Order the way they wanted.

After all Chaos was needed to Balance Order out.

This was going to be fun...

[Follow up part Linked here]

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acis-arts · 7 months ago

Text

Hello everyoneee, I got super busy recently, but I was still able to do some art and writing in the meantime! Here's all my Cult Leader Designs as well as mentions of the AUs I have!!

Some of these will probably change over time, if I feel like it. I just wanna info dump on my AUs and I also think it's good to post how they currently look instead of waiting for too long.

Down below is the info dump on my AUs:

(Before you start reading: "Kali" is the name of my Lamb)

Lost Crowns AU (/Forgotten Lands of the Old Faith):

This AU was called "Forgotten Lands of the Old Faith" at first, but I refer to it as "Lost Crowns AU" mostly because that name fits too and is shorter.

This is my main AU! In it, the entire story of the game is pretty much unchanged, this AU focuses more on what happens after the events in the game. I haven't finished the game yet and I'm assuming after getting all Bishops, the game is pretty much done. (update because I wrote these notes some days ago: I got Shamura in my cult today so I finished the main story at last)

"A few days after freeing all the Bishops, Kali wakes up and something is missing. The Red Crown is gone, all Crowns are gone. They run to find Narinder and the Bishops, but none of them are behind it. Together, all 6 of them try to confront the Mystic Seller next, but upon arriving at the gate they were always situated in, they find nothing."

The Mystic Seller left the Lands of the Old Faith for good and took everything supernatural with them. I haven't thought about a solid reason for that yet, because my main idea behind this is that Kali and the others are now forced to live without all their supernatural powers. They can't perform Rituals, they can't resurrect, they can't summon weapons and none of the Follower necklaces work anymore. The only thing that was left is the immortality of Kali, Narinder and the Bishops. They won't age but the risk of dying permanently is there.

I have no idea if I want to keep this idea or if I want to scrap this, but I also thought about Kali finding a gateway into the lands of the Gods and together with Narinder, they try to find the Mystic Seller to get answers. The reason Narinder comes along is because he's more familiar with that place and Kali would need someone like that. The second reason obviously being that I want to pair them up and have them develop their relationship over this adventure (with a proposal at the end of it perhaps). Third reason: it's fun to have the Bishops take care of the Cult without Kali and Narinder around.

I have so much more stuff for this AU, but this is already so much text. Let's hope I get to post more in the future!

Swap AU:

This is pretty self explanatory and the majority of what I posted on here so far. As a short summary: Narinder is now the Last Cat remaining, becoming the Vessel of Kali as The One Who Waits

No Mercy AU:

This is based on the second save file I have in COTL, on which I'm trying to do an "evil route". In this AU, Kali isn't kind and optimistic, instead becoming a callous, cruel cult leader after receiving the Red Crown. Up until that moment, they were at the bottom of the food chain and upon receiving the power of a God, they were finally the one in control for the first time in their life. They decided to never let go of the Crown and their Powers.

Orange Crown AU:

This AU is pretty much just my close circle and me inserted into Cult of the Lamb. So far my partner and me are inserted as NariLamb and my brother is the Mystic Seller because he looks like them. This one is probably uninteresting to most of you, as you don't know any of us. I won't be posting that much about this and keep it private mostly, but maybe some of you are still interested in the art, so let's see.

As always, Thank you so much for reading up until this point!! I hope you all had a good week!

#art #cotl #cult of the lamb #cotl lamb #cotl narinder #lost crowns au #forgotten lands of the old faith #cotl swap au #swap au #cotl no mercy au #orange crown au

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brittle-doughie · 6 months ago

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yo think we could get the Deliciously Evil Banquet cutscene with Y/N Cookie involved? just thought it would be fun to see after reading your Deal with Ancients story (can’t wait to see more of that btw)

i can just imagine the CoD deliberately setting up the seating so that Y/N is the closest one to them lol

Timeless Kingdom - Deliciously Evil Banquet (Reader Insert)

Never waste good food!

You entered the banquet hall, the sight of Dark Enchantress Cookie herself was enough to put you on edge, her entourage sitting alongside her, their eyes fixed in your direction didn’t help matters…

“Welcome, Y/N Cookie and friends.”

“Dark Enchantress Cookie! We are not going to be swayed by some food!”

Gingerbrave resisted the temptation of the banquet, Custard Cookie III not so much, which irritated Chili Pepper Cookie.

“Come on! Let’s take our seats! The jellies are getting cold!”

“Hey! Aren’t you a little TOO excited?!”

Esterházy interrupted for a brief moment to help with any belongings, of which Custard Cookie accepted real quickly.

“A grand idea! Here, hold my crown and scepter. Try not to get them wrinkled.”

“Very well, sir. As for everyone else...If you would please take your seats?”

You hesitate, but you go to sit down, hopefully as far away from the CoD as possible…before Esterházy stopped you with his hand.

“My apologies, sir/madam. But your seat is actually at the other end of the table, you’ve been specifically requested to sit there.”

This news surprised you and the group, Healer Cookie especially…

“What?!”

“Hehe, yeah! You’re sitting with us, Y/N Cookie. Right next to Dark Enchantress Cookie herself!”

You pondered on running out that door…..

…before sighing in defeat and trudged to the other side of the table. You couldn’t see it, but their eyes were on you as you head over to that empty seat amidst the CoD, Dark Enchantress Cookie patting it invitingly.

“Come, Y/N Cookie. You and your friends are the first Cookies to pass the gates—the first to be PERSONALLY welcomed into my fold. Let us have a heart-to-heart discussion~”

You sit down next to Dark Enchantress Cookie, she’d lean down and whisper in your (nonexistent) ear.

“And I’ve been looking forward to a heart-to-heart with you, Y/N Cookie~”

“Oh! So, like, can we ask you anything? Cause, I've been dying to know!How did you train the Cake Monsters? I want one as well!”

Custard Cookie III’s question made Dark Enchantress lean back into her seat as she softly laughed at the young cookie’s question.

“I wonder, Y/N Cookie. How long will Gingerbrave and the others cloud your mind?”

Not this again with Pomegranate Cookie…you whispered at her to knock it off.

“Did they tell you that there is a different path away from my Master’s embrace? You are being wasted on them, there’s only Dark Enchantress Cookie left for you. There’s only the darkness left for you..!”

“Hey, stop hogging all their attention..!”

You let Licorice and Pomegranate bicker at each other, saved you the trouble of Pomegranate’s rants again.

“Y/N Cookie….! Are you going to play with me soon? I have shroomies I want to share!”

You’ll consider it….Poison Mushroom didn’t do anything majorly wrong in your eyes…yet.

Dark Choco Cookie…he didn’t want to look at you in the eyes, your previous encounters with him must still be fresh in his mind…

“But before we progress any further...I have a question for you, our "esteemed" guests.”

“Do you know the reason why we, Cookies, were created?”

Dark Enchantress Cookie’s question snapped you out of your thoughts, your jam ran cold at the thoughts of your real purpose as a cookie…

Custard and Chili Pepper have their own answers to the question, none of which surprised Dark Enchantress Cookie.

“Nope!”

“Me neither! But I know I was baked with a particular set of skills! Heh!”

“How predictable. Pathetic. And you call yourselves COOKIES! What an absolute waste of perfectly fine dough!”

Dark Enchantress Cookie briefly glanced at you.

“Well, most of you are wastes of fine dough anyway. Although, one of you still shows great promise.”

“Y/N Cookie, do you know the real reason why we, Cookies, were created?

You…..hesitated.

The others were not ready to hear it. What’s meant to be their ultimate fate! It made your eyes dart back and forth in nervousness.

“Don’t be shy, my dear. We’re all listening~”

“Don’t listen to her, Y/N Cookie! She’s trying to lie to you again!”

“I'm wasting my efforts on you all. How selfish of you to have Y/N Cookie witness your crumbs litter this table!”

Did she just threaten to kill them all?!

She was not going to do that-

“STOP! I can no longer stand by and watch you bring destruction and corrupt cookies like Y/N Cookie with your evil!”

“HA! And who might YOU be? What is it that YOU can do to stop ME? You're a dusty, ragged, and unnamed nobody. Nothing but a memory that Y/N Cookie will forget very soon.”

“Yes... I have been hiding for far too long...But the time has come to step out from the shadows.”

“I will sacrifice everything to put an end to your schemes!”

“YOU!”

Pure Vanilla Cookie?!

Actually, that made a whole lot more sense now that you look back on it. Wizard and Gingerbrave was still in shock.

“PURE VANILLA COOKIE?!”

“HOLD MY CANE! Healer Cookie is Pure Vanilla Cookie?!”

“Ah...It seems that an uninvited guest was among us. Have you FINALLY realized how pathetic you are and have come to hand over your Soul Jam and see me rightfully claim Y/N Cookie as mine?”

M-ma’am, you were not property.

“Y/N Cookie will never go with you. I’ve seen their soul and know that it will shine the brightest and will never fall into your hands!”

“Tell me then... How do you plan to stop ME? Did you think your ragged attire and worn expression would win my sympathy?”

“*Tsk* What a waste of a good banquet...Enough of this!”

Dark Enchantress was not happy with the situation, Pomegranate was not happy with the situation as you low-key shifted your chair away from the CoD.

“How dare you ruin my Master's plan! Fate will not be on your side tonight!”

#brittle answers #cookie run x you #cookie run x reader #cr x reader #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #crk x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #cr kingdom

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cupidsanne · 7 months ago

Text

Mike Faist Fluff Alphabet ✢ Headcanons

Mike Faist x Female! Insert Reader

SYNOPSIS! ✦ headcanons based on the ask of these prompts!!

WARNINGS! ✦ None, sfw.

NOTES! ✦ link to template for these are here! no proof reads, lmk if something’s wrong! <3

Mike Faist Masterlist . About Me + Rules .

A — Admiration . . . What Do They Absolutely Adore About You?

One of the things he adores about you is your leniency with everything. Your ability to forgive and be tolerant of certain things is really nice to him, since no one’s perfect and even Mike makes mistakes sometimes. Mike always assumed the worst whenever he messes up something small and thinks you’ll hold it against him, which is so far from the truth. He has to constantly remind himself that you’re not there to belittle him for everything, and it’s okay to tell you things.

B — Body . . . What Is Their Favorite Part Of Your Body?

His favorite part is your smile. You’re a silly person naturally, so a grin is always spread onto your face. He makes you laugh a lot, and you do the same for him. He’s definitely attracted to your happiness. Don’t even be insecure if you’re teeth may be crooked, if your lips look a certain way, ect. he does not care!! Smile all the time!

C — Cuddling . . . How Do They Like To Cuddle?

He prefers to cuddle with you sat up and seated, cause whenever you two do cuddle laying down, he falls asleep. He can’t help it! You’re comforting to be around.

D — Dates . . . What Does Their Ideal Date With You Look Like?

He’s content with anything as long as it’s private. On dates, Mike likes to give his sole attention to you and doesn’t want outside distractions or interruptions. He’s also not too particular with dates, but he does prefer calm ones. Although he doesn’t mind those crazier dates like rock climbing, clubbing, ski-ing ect. he likes ones where he doesn’t have to do much as well. Mike loves having fun, but he’s a homebody too. His ideal dates are picnics at the park, beach, or having a quiet dinner in a cozy restaurant. If your dates mostly consisted of eating inside either (or your shared) homes, he’d be fine with that too.

E — Emotions . . . How Do They Express Emotion Around You?

He’s a honest partner, but he’s not always comfortable with being verbally vulnerable. He doesn’t want to burden you with his issues or thoughts initially, so a lot of the times of when he’s upset, you have to look for any physical cues on him. Similar reasoning from letter A.

F — Family . . . Do They Want One? If They Do, When?

He does, but he isn’t sure when is the right time. With his career and constantly being on the move, he doesn’t know how he’ll want to balance work life and family life. He doesn’t work a office job where he can go in during the day and come back in the evening, he’s an actor! Actors schedules constantly shift and he may be expected to travel. You knew what you were signing up for when you got together with him, so he really wants to leave the decision of a family to you.

He has a great relationship with kids. Because of his energy and kind smile, kids naturally are drawn to him and want to play/hang out with him. He’s polite and super fun, and he’s also good at a lot of things. He’d be a great father, but he underestimates himself.

G — Gifts . . . How Do They Feel About Gift Giving? What Are Their Habits When It Comes To This?

He doesn’t mind giving gifts but it’s not his main love language. He’s the type of person where he likes to save gifts for special occasions so they can feel extra special. Occasionally, he might gift you something small and silly to make you laugh but the meaningful gifts are for certain occasions. He also entirely chooses your gifts for your benefit and wants, not his.

H — Holding Hands . . . When/How Do They Like To Hold Hands?

Mike is not a huge fan of PDA, but he’s not completely against it either. This doesn’t mean he’s not physically affectionate with you at all, cause that’s false!! He’s just not the type of guy to make out with you in public or grab your butt in front of friends… (I find those things corny.) Subtle affection like hand holding is great with him! He doesn’t mind holding your hand as you guys walk, sit down, or talk. He’s a private person, but he’s not gonna keep your relationship a secret.

He likes to interlock fingers! It’s comforting to him and if your walking through somewhere crowded, you won’t feel like you’re slipping away. He doesn’t like those hand holds where it’s him holding your hand and you’re not, or you’re holding is hand and he’s not, he likes to keep it mutual. One parter just holding onto the other feels territorial.

I — Injury . . . How Would They Act If You Got Hurt?

If you slip on the floor and fall, he’s gonna rush over and check on you with a smile cracked on his lips. He’s not doing it to make you embarrassed, he just finds it cute, in a way! If it’s funny, he’ll try to hold it in and make sure you’re recomposed. He doesn’t like to see you hurt at all.

Now, he’s not a monster! If you seriously get injured, he’s gonna be devastated! He’s a responsible person and when put in a panicked situation, he knows how to calm you and/or the area down. Not saying he won’t be stressed or alarmed, but he’s gonna take you to the hospital or doctor to make sure you’re alright.

J — Jokes . . . Do They Like To Joke Around With Or Prank You? How?

He definitely does, no question about it. You two joke around and share many laughs with each other. He doesn’t necessarily prank you crazily, but he does in a small way.

If you’re new here, Mike is a actor. A incredible one, and with being a actor it’s easy for him to tell little lies. Sometimes when he says things, you’re prone to believe it based off his face and tone. For example, he’d do those pranks where it’s “My gosh, [insert a celebrity you like] has just died!” and you’d definitely become hysterical trying to find out if it’s true, the whole time he’s sitting there smiling internally as you’re freaking out. He doesn’t keep it up forever though and always comes clean, you’d complain but you’re not actually hurt. If anything, you reciprocate and pull mini pranks like that on him all the time. Yet, he’s skeptic whenever you try since you’re not as good at pranking him then he is with you.

K — Kisses . . . How Do The Like To Kiss You?

Now, a controversial opinion… He just loves those short kisses! Those kisses where he leans down to kiss you on the lips deeply but fast are his favorite. He likes to see your facial expression afterwards, nine times out of ten you’re grinning from ear to ear. He doesn’t mean pecks where it’s so quick the other partner can’t catch it, but the short regular ones. Despite this, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love those long kisses either.

L — Love . . . How Do They Show They Love You?

Quality time is his favorite way! It sucks because sometimes he has to be away from you for periods of time because of his job, but it’s his favorite way of showing how he loves you. Mike can be anti-social sometimes and does cherish his away time, but quality time together is his love language cause it means he’s sharing his space and extra time for you. When you two are together, it doesn’t feel like a chore or obligation to be around each other. He genuinely enjoys your company, he wouldn’t be with you if he didn’t.

M — Memory . . . Favorite Memory Together?

Meeting your family was one of his favorite memories. You come from a big family and they were all so excited to meet him. Some of them couldn’t believe he was this star who could sing and dance as he was so bashful around everyone! He was super polite and warm to everyone. Your parents are obsessed with him and whenever you try to come around, the first thing they ask is “Where’s Mike? How’s Mike doing?”

When he was first invited to a family get together, he was set on making a good impression, and he sure did! He met and greeted everyone, he played with the kids for a little bit, he help set the table when your mother asked, he even sat down with your dad, uncles, and some other guy relatives and they had a drink and chatted. He came to have a genuine good time with them all, and was glad to hear that they like him so much, cause he was planning on being with you for the long run.

N — Nightmare . . . What Is Their Worst Fear?

Disappointing or not living up to certain expectations. Mike can be very tough on himself and underestimates his abilities. If you listen to any peer, actor, or even directors he has worked with, they all have such uplifting things to say about him. How Mike always goes above and beyond in whatever he does. He doesn’t just do this to please others, but he does it to please himself.

Before his career, it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows for him, so working hard is always the mindset that he lives in. It’s a sense of security for him.

O — Oddity . . . What Is One Quirk They Have?

Most of the time, you can read what he’s thinking or feeling through his eyes. It’s not odd, it’s pretty regular but it’s much more intriguing from him. Mike has heterochromia which means his eyes are two different colors! It’s not something you see often but it’s not uncommon. Not only are they different but he’s naturally handsome as well and as luscious eyelashes to go with his eyes. You’ve learned that whenever he’s listening to something, he might not do the talking but his eyes will.

For example, if you say something totally unexpected, his eyes might widened and he’s gonna blink repeatedly. If you say something funny, he’s gonna chuckle and his eyes will squint. He doesn’t always realize you look in his eyes to read him.

P — Pet Names . . . What Do They Like To Call You?

He likes to keep it simple, he doesn’t do those extra cheesy pet names like “sweetie pie” and “boo boo bear” he can’t stand those!! A good go-to nickname for you is a short “Babe”. If you’re not really into pet names but you do have a nickname that’s known from close friends or loved ones, he can call you that too!

Q — Quality Time . . . How Do They Like To Spend Time With You?

He likes to spend it privately and not too much outside distractions. He wants all his focus on you to let you know that he’s listening and paying attention to you.

R — Rhythm . . . What Song Reminds You Of Them?

“There! I’ve Said it Again” sung by Bobby Vinton!!

I really don’t have any reasoning for it, but this is my selection! Because Mike was into the older movies with Gene Kelly and more, I’d think he’d appreciate that older genre of music too. This is a slow yet lovely song.

S — Secrets . . . How Open Are They With You?

Like stated before, he’s honest with you but it may take some coaxing for him to speak up. He’s good at acting and ignoring something, but after so long he can’t always keep it up, so you’re always bound to find out. As time goes on, he gets better at being more open.

T — Time . . . How Long Does It Take You To Get Together?

Surprisingly, he’s persistent. As much as he’s an over-thinker, he’s not gonna make any decisions he’s gonna regret if he knows he has a chance.

I definitely see you two starting off as friends and slowly falling for each other. It all really depends on the circumstances of how you two crossed paths for how long it takes for you to get together.

U — Upset . . . How Do They Act When You’re Upset?

His first priority is to comfort or calm you down. When upset, you’re not gonna always think rationally and he doesn’t want you to wear yourself out or do anything you’d regret. If there’s a issue, he won’t ultimately take over and help you, but he will assure and offer solutions if you need it. Sometimes, that’s all a person really wants when they’re upset and he realizes that over time.

V — Vaunt . . . What Are They Proud Of? Do They Like To Show You Off?

Despite his humble demeanor, he’s very proud and grateful for how far he’s come into his career. There was a point in his life where he felt like he wasn’t going to get as far as he wanted, yet he’s proven himself wrong.

He doesn’t mind showing you off at all! He loves you and everything you do. The reason he doesn’t have you out there to the public like crazy isn’t because he’s ashamed to be with you, but it’s because he values your privacy and his. Despite this, the instances where you two are put out in the spotlight, he’s making it known that you’re his and he’s yours!

W — Warrior . . . How Do They Feel About You Fighting? Would They Fight For You? Beside You? Ect.

Verbal or Physical, he doesn’t want you fighting at all! Mike likes to keep the peace in situations and feels that fighting isn’t the way to go. Although, he doesn’t want you to get walked over on and allow yourself to be backed into a corner. If we’re speaking about verbal fighting, he wholeheartedly supports you defending yourself and knows you’re an adult and you should be able to handle yourself. He won’t say anything but he will be alongside you to comfort you. Now, if it calls for it, he will defend you with no hesitation. If someone tries to insult/put you down while you’re not there to defend yourself, you bet he’s going to shut that down. So don’t even worry!

X — X-Ray . . . How Well Are They Able To Read You?

In the beginning of your relationship, it was so hard for him. At times he’d read too much and think the worst instead of coming up and communicating with you. Eventually, he’d get the hang of it all and now he can read you like an open book. He’s memorized your quirks and behaviors whenever you’re happy, sad, angry ect. and so have you for him.

Y — Yes . . . How Would They Propose To You?

Now, what some people may not know is that Mike has a pilot’s license! He wanted to make the proposal memorable for you and him, and he was wondering if he should do something totally different then you’d expect! With some coaxing from friends and his half brothers, they encouraged him to propose to you while flying! With some convincing, he pushed for you to join him on flying out. He assured you’d be safe and staged that his half brother couldn’t be his co-pilot and needed to go out because “he didn’t want his skills to get rusty.” You believed him obviously and followed through and as you two drove out in the air, he popped the question on you privately, handing you a ring box as he drove. You cried tears of joy and accepted his proposal.

( ^ should I turn this into a imagine or blurb? 🫣)

Z — Zen . . . What Makes Them Feel Calm?

Knowing that you’re understanding and listening to him always. There’s a different between hearing and listening to someone. Sometimes, he feels invalidated on his wants and expressions therefore he doesn’t always outright admits to when he has a problem with something. You know he doesn’t like to ask for assistance or help, and will do it himself before anything. That’s why, whenever you feel or get a hunch that there’s something off, you immediately ask him if he’s alright or if there’s anything he’d want you to do. He appreciates it so much, and even if he declines your help and controls your worries, it means so much that you’re wondering how he’s feeling. To you, this is the bare minimum but to him, it means a lot.

#mike faist fanfiction #mike faist x female reader #mike faist x reader #mike faist imagine #mike faist x you #mike faist headcanons #mike faist #mike faist x wife reader #art donaldson x reader #we need mike faist now #mike faist x reader fluff

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still-searching-for-something · 6 months ago

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Today was Yom HaShoah, the day that Jews remember the Holocaust. The Holocaust was the industrialized genocide of the European Jewry by Nazi Germany and its collaborators from 1941-1945.

This is a really simple opening statement, but bear with me--I think it gets a lot more... 'yeah, buts' than most people may realize. And I think a good way of illuminating that is to break down the difference between how gentiles and Jews commemorate and remember it.

In my experience, gentiles seem to view the Holocaust as the ultimate example of mankind's barbarity to mankind. Like, the distillation of evil, the most obvious example of dehumanization and bigotry brought to its horrifying and extreme conclusion. They emphasize Nazi Germany's responsibility, elevate the instances of non-Jewish Frenchmen and Poles and Germans who made efforts to save Jewish lives, and generally view Nazi oppression as a catastrophe of whom Jews were one of many victims. And they emphasize the Allied Powers' role in ending it by liberating the camps and invading Germany. Hence why International Holocaust Remembrance Day falls on January 27th, the day Auschwitz was liberated.

But Jews have a different perspective.

We view the Holocaust as the most extreme manifestation of--but far from the conclusion to--mankind's barbarity to Jews. Not to his fellow man, per se, not to some universalized insert minority here slot, but to Jews, particularly and deliberately. The Nazis could never have accomplished their genocide were it not for the two millennia of anti-Jewish hatreds and dehumanization embedded deep in the institutions and political structures of European society. They didn't have to persuade Europe that the Jews were incurably evil, the Europeans already believed that. The Nazis had 99% of their work done before they'd even come to power, work that was done by the the Russian Empire, the Romans, Martin Luther, Christian Passion Plays, the Protocols of the Elders of Zion, the centuries of blood libels, the Fourth Lateran Council, the New Testament, the Spanish Empire, and on and on and on and on. It's as if some people think Hitler just woke up one day, out of the blue, with a total hatred of Jews and managed to use propaganda to convince the previously 100% tolerant Germans to hate Jews, too. Antisemitism did not begin or end with the Holocaust.

The sole responsibility of Nazi Germany in the Holocaust is also just... not true. Vichy France rounded up 13,152 Jews in the Vel' d'Hiv roundup, with not a single German participant, and sent them off to be murdered in Auschwitz. Vichy passed antisemitic legislation without any outside coercion--French Jews were hiding as much from the French police as they were from the Gestapo. France, of course, was the home of the Dreyfus Affair--antisemitism was and is a deep part of French society. And it isn't just France. Ukrainian nationalists participated in the Lviv pogroms, killing maybe around 8,000 Jews, Poles perpetrated the Jedwabne pogrom, and that doesn't even bring in that countries like the US, Switzerland and Ireland and Britain blocked Jewish emigrants, and I could just keep going on, but I think you get the point. Quite simply, six million Jews interspersed throughout Europe don't get murdered if it isn't without the collaboration of--or at minimum, silent assent and indifference--of all of their neighbors. The Nazis were the primary perpetrators of the Holocaust, of course, but almost all of Europe collaborated on some level, too. And this is a history that gets wiped away in favor of the comforting narrative of the Allied Powers bursting into Auschwitz, killing Nazis, and being horrified by what they've found, and then the poor people in the surrounding towns having NO IDEA about what had been going on. I think this narrative is why gentiles have International Holocaust Remembrance Day when Auschwitz was liberated--when they 'came to the rescue'--and why we have Yom HaShoah on the day in the Jewish calendar that the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising began--when we died on our own terms in spite of our murderers.

Think of the tiny, unwritten, centuries old minhagim of small Jewish shetls and towns like Trochenbrod, which were entirely annihilated. The end of the burgeoning Yiddish cinema. Yiddish going from 13 million speakers to 600,000 today. See how many entries in this list of shetls end with "town/city survived, but all/most Jews exterminated." Imagine for a moment, the potential rabbis and scholars and actors and scientists and artists who could have lived, had they survived or been born of Jews did. Three and a half million Polish Jews, to around 15,000 to 20,000 Polish Jews today. Imagine if Thessaloniki were still a majority Jewish city. How many Jews worldwide would be alive today had the Holocaust never happened? I've heard estimations of 32 million, compared to the real life 16 million. To kill such a massive number of people from an already tiny minority group--that has real consequences. The cultural loss for the Jewish people is staggering and beyond human comprehension.

And yet, the Nazis deliberate targeting of us is, in many ways, being pushed aside. Magnus Hirschfeld was gay, yes, and advanced the Institute of Sexology way ahead of its time and yeah, the Nazis were homophobic. But they were homophobic for antisemitic reasons. They viewed his work as Jewish perversions BECAUSE Dr. Hirschfeld was Jewish. In fact, they viewed homosexuality as a creation of the Jews. But so many progressive queer people, especially those who run in antizionist circles, seem to be trying to co-opt the Holocaust as being their trauma, downplaying Hirschfeld's Jewishness and holding the Institute up as proof that queer people were the 'real' victims of the Holocaust, entirely shutting out the millions of Jews, Sinti, Roma, and Slavs who were murdered. You can also see this in anti-mask conservatives comparing masking mandates during the pandemic to anti-Jewish legislation in the Holocaust, or the comparisons of the ongoing war against Hamas as being a 'modern day Holocaust.'

This phenomenon, Holocaust universalization, gets so much pushback from Jews for a reason--it downplays the anti-Jewish character of the Holocaust. It's softcore Holocaust denial. And it's so ridiculous we even have to say that, as the whole point of the Holocaust was to be anti-Jewish, to be the "Final Solution to the Jewish Question." It's 'All Lives Mattering' the Holocaust. Holocaust universalization, and Holocaust inversion--the phenomenon of talking about Jews, Zionists, or Israelis as perpetrating a 'new Holocaust'--minimizes and trivializes the astounding damage and traumas and death and destruction wrought by the Holocaust. It's a polemical lie, so incendiary and so insulting--imagine telling a sexual assault survivor that they're morally no better than their rapist--that the only thing it can be is antisemitic. It is beyond reprehensible to talk like that, but it's so mainstream and acceptable to do it. Activists who say these things need to examine their own rhetoric, because it's dangerous, antisemitic, and adjacent to Holocaust denial. Not a place I think anyone should want to be.

The Holocaust is not a lesson Jews should have learned, an educational seminar, a 'card' Jews play, a choose your own adventure novel, a philosophical meditation on the nature of mankind's evils, or an empty slate upon which to project modern politics, warfare, or your ideology onto.

The Holocaust is, quite simply, the industrialized genocide of the European Jewry by Nazi Germany and its collaborators from 1941-1945. And today was Yom HaShoah, the day we remember that.

#antisemitism #jumblr #leftist antisemitism #left wing antisemitism #right wing antisemitism #jewish #judaism #holocaust #yom hashoah #antizionism #the holocaust is 'events that happened'#it isn't a narrative or a story which is meant to have a point or some moral to it #and it is not--it is NOT--your rhetorical gotcha or talking point to throw in the faces of the group who experienced it #holocaust inversion #holocaust universalization #holocaust denial #jewish traumas need to be treated with dignity and respect not used as a political cudgel against us #i don't think that's an overly complicated or difficult thing to demand

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arieslost · 8 months ago

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act up | op81

summary: you and oscar have been skirting around each other for ages. it ends tonight.

word count: 949

warnings: drinking (we’re back in the club!), suggestive comments/moments

masterlist — join my tag list here!

oscar couldn’t stop staring at you, and he had no one to blame but himself.

well, himself and the empty shot glass in his hand. he’d lost count of how many times he’d tipped the contents of the glass down his throat, and it’s like that saying— a drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts. or however it goes. if oscar were to insert himself in that equation now, he’d be the drunk guy.

the drunk guy who wanted to do nothing but stare at the girl sitting on his lap: you. he couldn’t remember how you got there for the life of him, but hell, he wouldn’t be caught dead complaining about it. it felt good to let his inhibitions go and his anxiety with them, even if all he was doing was sitting there with his arm around your waist, hand resting on your thigh.

you’re waving down the bartender to pour the two of you another round of shots from where you both sit in a booth, and he uses the liquid courage to rest his chin on your shoulder.

“are you trying to make me act up tonight?” he murmurs in your ear.

you press your lips together, tilting your head towards him so you’re practically cheek to cheek. “maybe. got a problem with that?”

“nope.”

he’s surprised at himself for his lack of filter and complete honesty with you; normally he isn’t even able to look anywhere near you without feeling his face getting hot. the same could be said about you, honestly. the boldest you’ve ever been towards him is giving him a kiss on the cheek when he got a podium finish a month ago, and both of you were bright red afterwards even though you both loved it. it didn’t help that lando had, of course, been there to make fun.

“i’m sick of the two of you. oscar, mate, be a man and kiss her for real.” he’d said, laughing as the two of you somehow turned an even deeper shade of red and looked in opposite directions.

“shut up, lando, for fuck’s sake.” oscar grumbled, punching him in the shoulder a little harder than normal.

“ah,” lando had just laughed harder before setting his sights on you. “if he doesn’t grow a pair it’s gonna have to be you.”

“die,” you told him, not being dramatic about it at all.

“i love you guys too. but not as much as you love each other!” he called before being chased out of the room by oscar’s balaclava and your empty water bottle hurtling towards him.

neither of you could endure lando’s teasing sober, especially not oscar, who spent way more time with him. but here he is, so many shots in that he’s lost count, and you on his lap. he’s going to run with it for as long as possible.

the bartender brings over the shots you ordered, and you pick up both.

“don’t cut me off now, i’m almost drunk enough to ask you to come home with me,” oscar says, lips brushing your neck.

he smiles when he feels you shiver, dragging his hand a little further up your thigh. “save it for when we’re sober,” you giggle as his fingers play with the bottom of your shorts.

“i’m not brave enough to say this stuff to you when i’m sober,” he confesses with a sigh.

“you should be. you know i’ll say yes.” you down a shot, and then hold up the other. “you want this?”

he nods. clearly there’s some magic in the shots that finally allows him to be forward with you.

you lift yourself up, much to his dismay, but he relaxes when you simply turn to face him and straddle his hips. “come and get it, then,” you say with a playful smirk, before tipping back the shot and looking at him expectantly.

you don’t swallow. oscar feels like he’s about to explode. he doesn’t waste any time in leaning forward and firmly pressing his lips to yours, knowing that he would never be daring enough to do this sober, as much as he always wants to. your fingers slide into his hair, carding through the long strands like you’ve done it a thousand times. his hands find purchase on your back, pulling you forward, before they slide down to your hips and squeeze. your mouth opens in surprise, but he’s expecting it and opens his mouth as well, allowing the alcohol to pass from yours to his.

you part from each other for a moment, and oscar barely even registers the harsh burn of the alcohol when he swallows, too intent on kissing you until he can’t breathe.

“oscar,” you moan out against his lips, and fuck, you sound so hot that he can only moan back at you, hands traveling down to your ass and grasping it firmly.

you’re pressed so close to him that he can hear the hitch in your breathing when he does so. he moves his attention to your jaw, your neck, your collarbones, wanting to know what places draw out those beautiful sounds from your mouth.

“oscar,” you say again, sounding more insistent, and he reluctantly lets you pull away. “not here.”

you giggle when his eyes light up. “but somewhere else?”

“somewhere else, when we’re sober.”

oscar pouts. “i don’t know if i can do this when i’m sober.”

“then i guess it’s gonna have to be me,” you echo lando’s words from last month with raised brows.

“lando can kiss my ass,” oscar says with a newfound determination. “i will do this when i’m sober.”

you grin. “that’s what I’m hoping for.”

note: the beginning of this was actually written for a fun little passion project of mine and i wanted to turn it into something a bit more. i hope u all enjoyed!

since this is being posted on march 12 it is important for me to say that this is most specially dedicated to @venusacrossthestars. my entire op81 week event is, but three years ago on this day, we met through a discord server, and i am so grateful to still know you today and call you my best friend. i love you bestie <3

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

reblogs are greatly appreciated <33

dividers by @/saradika !

tags (i’m sorry if i couldn’t tag you!): @venusacrossthestars @67-angelofthelordme-67 @emails-i-can-send @nelly187 @cixrosie @fangirl-dot-com @sainzluvrr @imheretoread @mellowarcadefun @yourbane @monsieurbacteria6 @c-losur3 @papayatori @ssprayberrythings @namgification @maih23 @evlkking @witchycarmen @ilovethispookie @maxverstappenfan79 @sya-skies @hauntedphotographybookstaco @bigheartsthings @northpizzasposts @notturlover @riv3rbank @gesfjjsl @oliveisunstable @lily1sposts @sadbut-true0 @lilcowboy0 @alltoowelltaylor @kimis-gloves @superheroreader @alexmarie29 @anedpev @lalalaphie @waitingforsmartpeople @arrowenchantress @zillygoose @its-cat-eyes @gxllumsriddles @fionaschicken @mrsgeorgerussell63 @bre013 @lizzypiastri @blldsnjs @samantha-chicago @homosexualjohnwayne @opheliabluewolff @catbat011 @drivelikeiido @what-is-happening-helpp @decafmickey @tania2748 @steviesscoops @annahowardsworld @nessacarty1 @tswizzleismother @anythingforourmoonsy @meko-mt @solonelystill @tomriddleswhorecruxes @sammykiszkalover @landosgirl

#blurb #op81 week #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri imagine #formula one x reader #formula one imagine #op81 imagine #op81 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader

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hana-no-seiiki · 8 months ago

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hi @sophiethewitch1 delulu voice here with more cat villain

GOD, BUT LIKE CAT VILLAIN WHO’S SECRETLY JASON’S CHILDHOOD FRIEND

Unlike the og idea I had wherein you were mad at him cause of Dick not being your Robin anymore, how about we add a little more something something to it

Cat Villain! Reader who is so ‘friendly’ with every vigilante that it’s off-putting to see you so hostile with him all the time. It’s not even the usual [insert villain name] ‘hostile’ with mostly harmless teasing, it’s just plain harassment.

Like I mention in previous posts (go check them out!) your romance was very much an enemies to lovers sort of thing, but it was moreso Jason being so confused as to why his big bro’s significant other seemed to hate him so much while being relatively forgiving to others.

You may or may not be the reason why he has a rocky relationship with his team members. Sabotaging his relationship with them was a darling pasttime of yours.

I’m actually thinking of a yan! cat villain! reader with the Robins, but I’ll save that for later.

IN ANYCASE- Jason who’s just fed up and confronts you about it. Multiple times actually. Begging you to stop, maybe even beating you up (as if that did his reputation any better).

He gets even more confused when you fussed over him after a brutal fight, mouthing the worst curses known to man while gently taking care of him.

He eventually gets to you pay you back, taking care of your drugged/intoxicated ass.

Your mask is taken off, and

it’s you.

That kid that was always so weak. So vulnerable. Someone who always looked up to him for guidance and protection. The one who’d tug at his sleeves for a hug cause it was too cold.

Jason could feel himself melt within his suit.

No wonder you were mad at him. He practically up and left you.

Your words to him that night only sealed the deal,

“Don’t leave me again, Jay.”

His hand squeezed yours. His breath was warm as he littered kisses all across your neck. This was supposed to feel wrong. You were his brother’s. You belonged to someone else. He wasn’t supposed to enjoy such an intimate moment with you. Hell, you weren’t even sober enough to consent to this.

But he couldn’t let go of you. Neither his morals nor his respect for you and Dick could stop him.

And he would soon make sure that not even death could tear you two apart.

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kaybreezy3000 · 16 days ago

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Inside of You ~A Five Hargreeves / Female reader insert request

(5714 words) Rated Mature for sexually explicit content.

While joining Five for family night at his brother's house, he gives you an unexpected treat to add to the fun, ending the night by leaving you feeling more loved than you ever thought was possible.

Warnings and more summary: Five and Reader are adults, Smutty smut, Cock warming, Dom Five, cocky Five and sweet vulnerable Five, s4 setting-assuming that all that sort of went down only with a twist in brief mention that Five in the end saved the day (because he's the man of course and I can't do it any other way), also Lila and Five never got stuck in the subway-so no worries on triggers for that-pretending that didn't happen, this one's all about you and Five 😉

2 days ago, Anonymous asked:

Hi! Thank you, that other fic was amazing! Can I request maybe a dom five smut where he's really cocky at how quickly he can make the reader cum, maybe with overstimulation and cock warming? Thank you!

Answer: Sure, here you go. 😊😉 TY for the kind words.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Inside of You

“Mommy!!! Daddy! we can’t sleep!”

“Me either!” Grace yelled.

“Bloody hell.” Looking tired, Lila glared at Diego. After finally agreeing on a movie to watch, it had only been quiet for about thirty minutes into the film, and this was the third time a little voice had called out, needing something.

“I’ll take Grace this time, if you take the twins,” Diego grumbled, already getting up. Stomping down the hall towards the kid’s bedrooms like a dad sized Godzilla, he turned back, looking at Five as he said, “I know you two kids are getting serious, or you never would have subjected her to one of our family nights, so I’m going to give you a little piece of advice. Unless you want to be interrupted every five minutes for the rest of your life, put a rubber on it.”

Casually swirling his drink between his legs as he sat there across from you on their couch, Five’s usual mask indifference was the only reply Diego got, but as soon as they were gone, he turned his attention to you, a playful smirk making him look so handsome but also so characteristically smug and dick-ish.

He knew that he didn’t need to wear a rubber with you, but he’d also made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t opposed to somewhere down the road performing the act of breeding with you with the intent of starting a family, not just to get you screaming his name.

All night long, Five had been looking at you like he was up to something, and knowing he was probably up to no good, you decided to stay in your chair on the other side of the room.

He quirked a dark brow at you, and his dimple deepened. Leaning back, his thighs spreading wide, undeterred, Five padded his lap. “Join me?”

A rush of wetness leaked between your legs from just looking at him over there, dressed in his slim-fitted dress shirt with his long silk tie dangling down between his legs.

You knew about the Hargreeves family and their powers and how they’d saved the world multiple times. Everyone knew about them after they averted The Cleanse, but even so, you swore Five’s real power was not in his ability to blink, or time travel, or in how he and a deli full of other versions of him had figured out how to destroy new elemental forces that were set to bring on the end of the world. His gift wasn’t even in his ability to have a cocky answer to everything.

No. All that was true, but Five’s real power was in how easily he could take away your ability to think of anything other than pleasing him, all with nothing but one of his mischievous smiles.

As if drawn to him by a magical force, you stood up, coming his way as you anxiously ran your hands down the front of your skirt to press out the invisible wrinkles.

As soon as you were within arm’s reach, Five reeled you in fast, knocking you off balance, making you land on top of his thighs, straddling him, face to face. The second you were touching him, he nuzzled his face into your neck, inhaling deeply.

“I love when you wear these girly little skirts, and the way you smell,” he whispered as you delighted in the sensation of his lips pressing against your skin, and your bare thighs resting against the softness of his wool dress pants.

Springs, squeaking from two very naughty twins jumping on their beds down the hall, accompanied by the sound of glass smashing, and Diego and Lila simultaneously swearing, your head swung that way.

“Sounds like they might be busy awhile,” Five chuckled as he continued placing slow kisses in a carefully charted line along your throat.

Unable to help yourself, you tilted your head to the side, giving him more skin to work with as your hands ran up his arms, your fingers digging into his shoulders, shaking him a little. Your mouth dropped open. “We really shouldn’t- “

“Shooooosh.” Five laughed, cutting you off as his hand slid up your thigh, moving under your skirt. When his mouth reached your collar bone, he started sucking, making the blood rise to the surface of your skin.

Forgetting any argument you had about why this wasn’t a good idea, a soft moan fell from your lips. The feel of Five’s semi hard cock under you had you craving more friction between your legs, so you began to rock your body against him. The movement got Five growling so cutely in response, but it was the painful points of his teeth biting into you where your neck met your shoulder that made your entire body go completely still.

His firm hand moved further up your leg, blazing a predatory trail of warning along the creamy span of your flesh. Then one of his fingers glided along your underwear, playing along the slightly damped slit splitting the mounds of your arousal.

“So wet for me already, sweetheart. You are too easy,” he mocked, his lips spreading in a wicked smile against your neck.

With that shit, you no longer cared that Five’s brother’s family, all seven of them when you included Lila’s parents, were on the other side of the house. All you could think about was that unbelievably sexy jerk who was laughing at you for wanting to jump his bones.

Five wasn’t wrong. You never could get enough of him. You’d been dating for months, but almost as soon as you’d taken your flirtations past antagonizing each other daily while in passing, and into the more physical joys of getting to know each other, as soon as his hands were on you, a desperation like you’d never experienced before felt like it was going to consume you if you didn’t have him.

“Please, Five,” you moaned.

Giving in, Five’s fingers shifted the thin swath of material covering you to the side, so he could slide his finger up and down your soaking folds. Your breaths soon turned to pants as his thumb found your clit, circling the spot over and over.

Your forehead limply fell to Five’s shoulder. His erection was so hard underneath you, and as pathetic as it was, you were about to beg for him to take you, right there, hard and fast, on someone else’s couch, when you could be walked in on at any second.

To your relief, he seemed to be thinking what you were thinking because his thumb moved away, and just as fast, he was gripping your embarrassingly wet underwear.

“These need to go,” he gently whispered in your ear, just as he tore the small piece of lace from your body.

Your startled yelp was quickly followed by the sound of Five unzipping his trousers and your shocked state was made no better when his cock sprang free.

Knowing Five could blink you both out of there if you couldn’t finish fast enough, you eagerly attempted to rise to mount him, but he stopped you, gripping your hips, so he could forcefully turn you, so you were sitting on his lap, facing away from him. Your sudden change in position momentarily threw you off balance, but as soon as his hands gripped the outside of your thighs and his lips found your neck again, it grounded you to him.

The tips of Five’s fingers dug into your backside, his palms against your thighs as he urged your hips to move. He’d purposefully wedged his cock between your legs from underneath, and the sight of it being long enough to protrude out from between your thighs, making a little tent in the fan of your skirt, had you cursing under your breath.

Reaching around, Five flipped his hand under the frill of your skirt, and started in again, pleasuring you, only this time by pressing the warm tip of his cock against your clit.

From there, you fell into a smooth rhythm, of you doing the moving, and him letting you use him to get off.

You knew this couldn’t go on. You could hear your hosts tell their kids that this was it; we aren’t coming back in here even if Godzilla comes out of your closet!

You were dying to get Five as excited as you, to suck his dick, to have him fuck you properly, anything to have him inside you, but to your dismay, he didn’t seem to want that.

With what he’d been through with being trapped and alone, and being used and abused, over and over, normally all it took was the go ahead from you, and that chocolate haired menace would be slamming his dick inside you, grinning ear to ear, looking every bit the horny young man he was, while also proving he was the old deprived soul he claimed to be.

Five was always a paradox of extremes, but when he was with you in bed, he was like a man possessed, hell bent on making up for lost time. That was what you were used to. Not this…this poorly timed patience.

As soon as you started shifting your body up and down with any real spunk, Five’s hands flew to your hips, forcing you to slow your grinding.

“And they say I’m the one who has no impulse control,” he breathed in your ear, which earned him a frustrated groan. His chuckled laugh rumbled along your back, but again, he gave in, seemingly listening to your silent plea.

Removing his hand between your legs, Five readjusted your position, leaning back into the couch. He gripped your hips and lifted you, so you were hovering over him. After lining you up to his length, he slowly guided your body down.

He let out the sexiest sounding hiss of satisfaction as his slicked length impaled you.

You mewed and thrashed as the thick head of his cock came to a stop when your ass pressed back down in his lap. You couldn’t stay still. “Holy ff-ah-ck, Five!” you quietly stuttered as you moved up a little, only to fall back down when your legs went weak, causing the fullness of his cock to overwhelm you all over again.

Adjusting himself so the angle of his dick wasn’t quite as jarring had you both panting breaths of relief, but your quiet exclamations were still coming out much more panicked sounding than his.

Again, when you tried to move, Five wouldn’t let you, going so far as to wrap his arms around your waist, causing you to have to lean back against him, fully flush.

“Don’t move,” he warned.

You felt helpless, like you were nothing more than an object put there for Five to use as he pleased, and as messed up as that was, that idea and reality of it happening was making you so aroused it hurt.

At the new sounds of Diego and Lila talking in the kitchen, only a room away, and the popping of popcorn, you were so wound up, just waiting for Five to take you over the edge, and end this, that your body started to tremble. You started rolling your hips, but Five’s hands gripped you tighter, insistently keeping you still.

“We tired the little beasts out this time! We’ll be right out,” Diego’s annoyed voice floated from the kitchen.

To that, you tried to get up, but Five held you tight with one arm, the other reaching for the throw blanket hanging over the back of the couch, covering you both like he planned on staying right there, and he confirmed as much when he said, “I think it’s time I give you a lesson in delayed gratification.”

When he shifted to better kiss your cheek, his cock buried snugly, ended up shifting too, and that didn’t help delay anything you were feeling. You let out a little whine from that reminder of how good it felt having Five moving inside you.

Five adjusted your thighs, spreading you wide, and getting even more aggravated, and knowing he wasn’t going to let up on this, you rapidly started bouncing up and down, your breathy moans of exertion bitten back by your teeth studding into your lower lip.

Behind you, Five’s body tensed each time you tried to fuck yourself down on his cock. Thinking you could get him to see the light, you reached back, running your fingers through his hair in way that usually made him turn into a mindless puddle of goo, but to that, he only started in again, peppering kisses to the nap of your neck, like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Letting you do all the work, only not very successfully with the way he had you detained, he moved his hold to your breasts, groping them through your shirt.

“What are you doing!” you huffed at him as you wriggled. He was still refusing to thrust himself up into you, even though you were wildly kicking your heels into his shins like he was a racehorse you were trying to get moving for the win at the finish line.

“I’m enjoying you to the fullest, but I promise I’ll make it worth it if you’re a good girl and you warm my cock until I say you can please me differently,” he calmly explained while dragging the tip of his nose along your hairline.

The feeling of his fingers skimming under your skirt left you burning up in confusion as your skin tickled with the prickle of goosebumps. You could feel the coil inside of you tightening with every second that this denial went on.

Five always felt so fucking amazing, and the things he did to you were, just wow…but holy hell! All he needed to do was…

“Fuck me, Five! Please!” you begged, but he didn’t move, and not being allowed to do more than torment yourself, you defeatedly stopped fighting and flopped back against him.

Of course, that was when he started rocking his hips needily, pounding up into you, doing it hard enough to make the legs of the couch cry out in protest.

Your body strained as waves of arousal washed through you, making it feel like the temperature in the room had just increased by a zillion degrees. Your muscles squeezed around his shaft, trying to make him cum, so you could at least get the satisfaction of milking him dry before they came back.

Not having it, stopping completely, Five said your name in a very strained voice, followed by a hot puff of air blowing past your ear. “I told you to behave, and be my pretty little cockwarmer, and now look what you made me do, you willful little brat.” Five grunted so annoyingly adorably as he proceeded to rock shallow thrusts of his cock into you while you squirmed in his lap.

You were so turned on now as he attempted to punish you in your favorite way, your cries of pleasure rose with each tug and push of his dick. “Daddy, I am sorry. I need it! I need you,” you whimpered.

You gasped as the heels of Five’s shiny black shoes dug into the floor and his dick bottomed out, making it feel like he’d just stabbed you in the stomach.

Pushing his hands into your abdomen, feeling his own cock inside you, tearing you apart, Five’s hips stilled again, making you take it. You felt a pulse of excitement quiver up his length as aching pain filled you, and the breath you’d been holding came out in a flood of fucks.

Five opened his mouth, his warm breath hitting your ear as he started to say something, but he was interrupted by the loud beep of the microwave, and Lila talking about him. “That demented little pervert better not be trying to screw that poor girl on our couch.”

That snapped you out of your daze and both your backs stiffened. The smell of buttery popcorn wafted your way as Diego’s shadow began moving down the hall in your direction.

Your face felt like it was on fire as you moved to get off Five before they caught you, but to your horror, his fingers tightened on your rib cage, digging in so hard that you couldn’t help it when you started laughing uncontrollably.

“Stay put,” he ordered as he attacked you.

You whipped your head around, your eyes wild. “Are you crazy?”

“Yes,” he said, totally straight faced, then he gingerly kissed your shoulder, and removed his hands from under your clothes, just as Diego came around the corner with Lila right behind him.

It was impossible to ignore that Five’s length was still rock hard inside of you. You were frozen like a deer trapped in the headlights, but that asshole just sat there and nonchalantly plucked at the cuff of his shirt sleeve, glancing at his watch, like he was irritated they had taken so long.

You were torn between getting up and putting as much distance between you and him as possible, or proving that he wasn’t the only bat shit crazy one, by staying there to finish what he’d started and making it to where you both were never asked to come over for family night again.

“Sorry. Like I said, kids are-” Diego started, then he paused, eying the blanket wrapped around your laps. He raised his eyebrows to the ceiling. “Well, well, well… You guys look cozy.”

Smiling innocently, Five pulled the blanket around you a little, making it cover a little more of your legs, but it still wasn’t long enough to hide that you were basically sitting not just between his legs, but on his lap.

Giving Five the stink eye, Lila smiled just as fake as him, then sat down in her recliner. “Here,” she said, reaching back, offering you the larger afghan in her hand.

She was way too far away for you to reach it, and not at all thinking, you started to rise, but at the feel of Five’s cock slipping out of you, you quickly sat back down. Your eyes felt like they may have rolled back in your head, and your neck turned a million shades pinker from the feel of it. Also paying for that mistake, you heard and felt Five let out a sharp intake of breath.

“What’s the problem?” Lila asked, scowling at him.

“Just throw it over,” Five angrily grumbled at her, and your stomach quivered from the deep tenor of his voice, and your walls reactively clenched around him, trying to prolong the feeling.

Clearly aware something was up, coming over, taking the blanket, before either you, or Five, did something stupid, Diego kindly handed you the blanket and then Five the bowl of popcorn he’d bought for you to share.

“You think you two kids can be good and watch the rest of this movie?” Diego questioned, “Or do you want to call it a night?”

“We’re good. Start it back up,” Five cooly replied, and again, just the feel of his body inside yours as he spoke was making it hard for you to resist moving your hips. How he could act so relaxed was beyond you. You felt like you were going to burst at the seams, and when he leaned forward to set the bowl on the coffee table you almost came right then and there.

What the hell was he doing!!!!!!!

As the TV screen came to life, there was no way your mind could go back to the romantic comedy that was playing, not with Five moving himself, and you down, laying so your heads were resting on one of the end pillows. His warm, heavy cock slipped in and out from the motion, giving you the slightest friction from the adjustment, but just as fast, with one deliberate thrust, burying himself full deep again, he had you. “Oh! Shoooo.....ooot,” you accidentally cried out, quickly acting like you had your hair tangled under him in a way that hurt.

Pretending like he was unaware of what he'd done, Five kicked his shoes off, and his feet joined yours at the other end of the couch.

“Isn’t this nice?” he whispered in your ear, and again, Lila glanced your way, but this time, you swore you saw her trying to hold in a smile.

You didn’t know what to say, so you said nothing. The joy in Five’s voice proved he was thrilled, and that he knew just what he was doing to you, which was driving you insane.

Laying there, mostly hidden under the blankets, Five moved his arm that was draped over your body, his fingers soothingly moving along your side, then your stomach, up and down, over and over.

It felt amazing. This was so sneaky and dirty, but still, you’d never felt anything even remotely like this. All you think about was him. All you could feel was him.

As Five slowly caressed your body, every so often your hips would reactively start moving. You pushed your butt against him, trying to increase the sensation, and just that tiniest movement would make you want to cry because it felt so good.

Planting his feet on the arm rest, doing you even more dirty, Five slowly began to work his hips, fucking his cock into you, so shallow and so agonizing slow. Letting go, you shut your eyes, your pinched breaths falling into cadence with his.

Creeping his hand between your legs, Five was greeted with the fresh wash of wetness of his making. “I could hold you like this forever,” he whispered with his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

His loving words and the feeling of what he was doing made it feel like you were being lit on fire. You were sure that you were glowing with Five’s ethereal aura of blue light, and he was about to blink you out of there, but that didn’t happen.

Instead, gripping your hips to prevent you from grinding back against him, he stopped rutting himself against you.

“Perfect little cockwarmer,” he breathed, so quietly, only you could hear it.

As he worked a single finger, back and forth across your clit, the only sign something was going on over on the couch was the soft, wet sound of movement, but it was too quiet for Diego or Lila to hear it. That was until Five hooked his finger, dragging it up and down even faster. Holding the blanket away from you, so they couldn’t see the quick thrusts of his wrist, the quietest whimper crept from your lips.

Diego looked your way for a second, but Five had already stopped moving his hand, so his brother looked away again, and turned up the volume on the TV. When Five pulled his hand back out from under the blankets, your shamefully slicked thighs helplessly clamped together in protest, then he brought his finger to your mouth, pulling at your bottom lip.

“Open,” he quietly demanded, peering down at you with a glint of fondness in his darkened eyes.

Not wanting him to draw more attention to the fact that you weren’t just sprawled out, spooning on their couch like you appeared to be, you did as he asked, and Five slid himself inside your mouth, the weight of his finger firmly pressing down on your tongue.

“Suck,” he breathed.

Obeying him again, your lips closed, and you were met with the taste of your own lust.

Debasing you as he discretely fucked your mouth with his pussy-soaked finger, Five’s cock twitched with excitement. He was so hard, that he was throbbing. You knew that he had to be out of his mind by then, but then just like that, he pulled his hand away from your mouth and he reached for the bowl of popcorn, instead.

You were going to die.

Yup. This was it. You were dead. Klaus was going to end up being your only company.

On purpose or not, you weren’t sure, bringing a handful back, Five dropped a piece of the puffed corn, and it fell on the couch cushion right next to your face. Going all in with Five in this madness, you shuffled our hand out from under the blankets and popped it in your mouth, chewing angrily.

“I hate you,” you murmured, and Five kissed your temple in reply, then he continued to crunch on his salty treat.

At this point, it had been over a half hour with his cock inside you, stretching your walls, but hardly moving. You were so beside yourself, and you weren’t sure which you wanted to do more, kiss him silly, or slap him sillier. Both seemed like viable options, and knowing Five, he’d enjoy it way too much one way or another.

By the time the movie ended, Five had been quiet for the last thirty minutes, and so had you. You could feel his breathing, deep and slow, as if he was sleeping. When you’d looked back at him, even before the credits had rolled, his eyes were closed, his thick lashes laying in stark contrast to his flawlessly pale cheeks.

He was so beautiful.

Wanting to be with him, even in sleep, you closed your eyes too.

“Should I wake him up so he can get her home?” Diego whispered a few minutes later.

Lila’s reply was just as quiet. “No. Let him have this. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that evil little ghoul look so peaceful.”

The sounds of Diego and Lila turning the movie off, and the click of the lights going out, were followed by their feet, treading down the hall towards their bedroom.

You were sure that at some point during all that, you’d feel Five’s dick softening, but you hadn’t. You were also sure that he was out, sleeping just like they thought he was. Then, suddenly, the floor felt like it was dropping out from under you. You were floating through space, crashing through time and space, then thrown back into reality, met with the chill of cold blankets under your back.

Clinging to Five, even though his weight was holding you down, head spinning in a way that wasn't enough to make you sick, but was still plenty alarming, you shivered from head to toe.

Looking around, you realized you were back in Five’s apartment.

“Don’t worry, that feeling will go away in a minute,” he apologized. “You did so good, sweetheart. Now it’s time for your reward.” He pulled out of you, leaving your body bucking, and your cunt spasming from the loss of him filling your hole.

One second, illuminated by nothing other than the dim light filtering in through his bedroom blinds, Five was kneeling between your legs, tearing off his shirt, throwing his tie off in the darkness, and the next, you were blinded by a flash of light and he was back, totally naked, having ditched his pants and socks.

Bearing down on you with his dick bobbing against you, Five frantically worked your shirt up over your head. Once exposed, his lips came crashing down against yours.

“Five, please,” you whimpered as his tongue pushed inside your mouth. You couldn’t take it anymore.

Moving his kisses down your neck, then to your chest, giving your nipples each a few hot licks, Five braced himself on his forearms, then mounted your clit with his mouth, violently and relentlessly sucking you off.

The sloppy sound of him eating you out, and the heat of his breathy growls against your clit, sent jolts of electricity through you. Gripping his messy hair, you forced his face down harder, and Five took it like you knew he would, lapping at you, his tongue and teeth and his whole face fucking you delirious.

He was so fucking good at this, and you were so swollen from hours of him toying with you that all it took was less than a minute and your thighs were quivering around his youthfully smooth cheeks.

“Yes, Five, yeeeesssss!” you wailed as you came, seeing stars as your body writhed and twisted in his sheets and your walls tightened over and over, getting nothing but the empty ghost of him that had been there before. “Five…” you cried, tears streaming from your eyes as you looked down at the dark-haired boy who was giving you a misty-eyed look of his own that was so loving and broken it only made you want him more than you already did.

Barely a moment passed, and you were flipped over, blinked around in the other direction, and Five was entering you, fucking you with a messy pace, so hard and angrily as he slapped your ass, over and over, not hard, but hard enough. “That’s it, baby,” he growled in your ear as he draped himself over your back, using your arm to pull you up from the mattress. “You’re warming daddy’s cock so well.”

At that point, you could only repeat the words please and fuck like a broken record playing a background song of a porno. When Five finally let you drop back down to the mattress and his tightened balls started slapping into your body even harder from the momentum of him fucking you, your hands immediately balled into fists, your knuckles turning white from how hard you were clinging to the bedsheets.

“Your pussy is so fucking tight,” he praised, “Daddy is going to fill you like the perfect little cock warmer you are.”

Again, you were thrown into space, your entire body feeling like it was being ripped apart, then slammed back together in a blast of blinding light that left tingles zipping up and down your spine and your eyes darting around, trying to understand what had happened.

Slamming you back down on his mattress as you both landed, falling from his portal, but with your body flipped the other way again, Five moved his hand under your thighs, pulling you to him. Once positioned, he gripped himself, giving his entire length a few long strokes.

“All I have ever wanted was this,” he whispered as he slid inside you, letting out a hissed, fuck as his jaw dropped open.

You could feel nothing but every slow thrust of him pushing deep inside you. You could hear nothing but the sound of your heart beating in your ears and the contented moans coming from his gently parted lips.

Rocking his hips harder and faster, Five jerked his head back, trying to whip his hair from his eyes. Looking utterly shattered, completely focused on you, his eyes narrowed with a darkness that you feared would always haunt him, but you weren’t scared of it, or him.

Lifting you from the bed, thwacking his body into yours, he let the bulbous tip of his cock fuck into you just right, before he’d fuck you balls deep again, making you cry out his name even louder.

With the pattern he’d was laying into you, your second orgasm hit you fast and hard, turning your entire body into a warm pool of nothing, and Five followed you right after, his breathy groans and grunts sweet and innocent as he started to fill you.

You purred into his pillow as you felt the hot trickle of his fresh cum running out of you as he moved his hips, shifting back and forth, trying to coax more out of his orgasm and yours by not stopping even though he was spent.

This was your favorite part about sex with Five, him never giving in, of him falling down on you after you fucked, his breathy declarations of love softly caressing your senses as he kissed you sloppily, any where his lips could reach as he rut out his high.

Once the room was no longer filled with the sounds of you both blissfully losing yourself in the other, and the wet slow slap of skin-on-skin came to a stop. Five could no longer pump his softening cock inside you, but still, proudly knowing that he’d drawn out this moment he’d created to the absolute fullest, he finally pulled out, admiring his hot seed as it drizzled out of you until he reached for his shirt, carefully and gently whipping you down.

Reaching for him, Five was silent as he lay himself behind you with his sweat covered chest pressed to your back.

There was no need for words to say what doing this with you meant to him. You knew.

Five may seem all self-assured most of the time, but somewhere inside him there would always be that lost boy who desperately craved the warm feeling of human touch and the feeling of what it meant to be loved that he’d been denied for so long. Your heart felt so full. Out of everyone it could have been, he’d chosen you to finally have this with.

There was no one else like Five Hargreeves, and he was yours, and you were his, and you kissed the top of the hand that he had clinging to yours, for good measure, just in case he needed more proof of your devotion.

The quiet of the room remained, and you were lost in sleepy thoughts of happy things when suddenly your eyes popped open.

“Five? Where are my underwear?”

His adorable titter of boyish laughter shook you, then the cool feeling of his comforter fell over your bodies, and he threw a leg over yours, ensuring you couldn’t get away.

“Nothing says I am the dirty old pervert Lila said I was than the sight of your torn up panties laying on their couch in the morning. I just thought while I was taking full ownership of your heart, and your sweet pussy with my magical dick, I’d own up to that title too.”

“Five!”

Still chuckling, he snuggled himself into you, his smile plastered to the back of your neck as he breathed you in.

Within minutes of you stroking your hand along his arm that was still holding you tight, Five’s body relaxed into your touch.

He did own your heart and he knew it.

With your eyes drooping, and a soft sigh, you both slipped away-together, warm, and safe and loved.

~~~~~Repost an hour after original post because it wasn't showing up in any of the tags. 😉 Hope you find it anon.

Thanks again anon for reading my stuff and the kind words of support. Let me know if I did okay. ❤️

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