#there is more where this came from (threat)

[rottenherbs]

Saint Like // G.W x reader

Request: Would you write a George x reader where Molly doesn't like George's girlfriend and she's kind of mean towards her but when she sees reader take care of George after he loses his ear she starts to slowly accept her?

Word count: 2.2k

Authors note: finally back to writing! Yippie!! That sickness actually was the worst ive had in years.

[masterlist]

Much love, Saige

———

It hurts to be dismissed by your boyfriend's mother. Year after year you arrive at his home, welcomed by others in his family, banter with his father, and simultaneously given the stark cold shoulder by the woman who gave him life.

It confused you to no end. She never supported the twins' endeavors; she consistently dismissed and shrouded any thought of their joke shop, practically banning any conversation of the idea in the burrow indefinitely. In her own world, Fred and George would magically wake up one day and decide that they wanted to pursue a career that was more lucrative. Her own fear of poverty inflamed her distaste in their aspirations — purely because it had the possibility of their own financial demise. She wanted better for her boys, and unfortunately you were the easy scapegoat to place blame.

It poked and prodded every nerve on you. You wanted nothing but success and love for George and his family, but you were seen as a threat to the possibilities that they might turn out… normal.

—

The climate of the wizarding world was beyond bleak. Everyday you rose to the sun, beyond blessed to be living another day, but filled with anxieties that it truly may be your last.

Your addition to the order was practically mandatory. With no ties to your parents it was easy for you to sign away your life for the greater good. Your heart lied with Goerge and your friends and fighting next to them would be an honor.

As it came up on Harry’s seventeenth birthday, figuring out how to transport the boy became more trivial. The magical protection given to him by his mothers sacrifice would wear off and he would be more vulnerable to Voldemort than ever. Every movement or spell he made was under the view of the ministry and it had to be done with extreme caution.

The burrow was the next safest place for him, but getting him there bred confusion and limited options.

“What if we just had him apparate out?” Ron asked. The order sat around the kitchen table at the Burrow, just days before operation Free Potter.

”He is still underage Ron, it’ll be flagged immediately.” Hermione replied, rolling her eyes slightly. Ron shook his head.

”We’re already breaking the law, why not one more!” He chuffed, disappointed how easily his idea was shut down.

“Pius Thicknesse has gone over, which gives us a big problem.” Moody interrupted “He’s made it an imprisonable offence to connect this house to the Floo Network, place a Portkey here or Apparate in or out.”

The table silenced at his arrival, everyone soaking in the new information and the loss of yet another helper on the inside.

“That’s pointless, he is protected anyway -“ You started. You were honestly just thinking out loud, soon realizing everyone’s eyes on you.

“All that’s done is stop Harry from leaving safely.” You coughed, attempting to find your voice again. Moody shook his head in agreement, those in the order all now speaking among themselves. George arrived at the kitchen taking a spot next to you. He nudged you quietly, smirking down at you.

“Anything juicy?” He whispered, leaning down. You smiled and shook your head no, leaning over to reply.

“Just all hobgobble about how we will get Harry here. Even moody is stumped.” You whispered. George scoffed.

“Moody stumped? Give him like 4 minutes, we’ll be out of here in no time.” He chuffed. The feeling of his hot breath tickled your neck, causing you to shiver slightly. Giggling, you looked over the room, unfortunately making eye contact with Mrs Weasley. She pursed her lips and scowled.

“I think we ought not be distracted.” She stood, walking around the large table to the sink. She stood with her hands firmly on the ledge leaning away from the crowd. As much as you felt targeted by the statement she was right.

“Its risky but it’ll take cooperation… from all yous.” Moody thumped, his fake eye spiraling around the room. Thievery fell into a hush, waiting for what he had to reveal.

“Everyone will be a potter. As many heads as we can round up. They’ll be confused, won’t know who’s who.” He coughed, opening his flask and taking a swig.

“Polyjuice potion?” George asked. It was more of a rhetorical question of course, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Aye boy.” Moody nodded.

“They’ll just kill us all.” Molly shrieked, the idea of everyone now the face of the target became increasingly daunting.

“No they won’t Molly.” Remus coincided. “We ride on brooms, quietly through the night in groups eh” He raised his eyebrows, checking the feelings of the table. Most people nodded in agreement.

“It’s the order Molly. We’ve been in danger from the beginning. It’s not the time to become fearful.” Moody coughed, standing up from the table.

“One month from today. Stay vigilant.” Moody snapped from the room, leaving everyone in silence.

—

The month came and went in a flash. It felt as if the sky was grey every day since that meeting. No sign of summer or joy, only the steep consequences that were to come.

“Hi my love.” George purred from behind you. He wrapped his arms around your torso, resting his head on top of your.

“Hi.” You whispered, leaning back into his body. You both swung lightly in each other's arms enjoying the feeling of peace.

“They just got word of who’s flying.” He mumbled, keeping his head steady. You kept swaying, but your body stiffened slightly at his words.

“You’re going.” You sighed. You knew he would, and you kicked yourself daily for worrying about his demise. It wasn’t exactly a positive situation to be in, but your milling about danger wouldn’t help.

“I know you wish I could stay, but Fred and I fly well, and they need people who are confident in their brooms.” He murmured, rubbing your sides lovingly. He turned you around to face him, his cheeks warm with glow, beaming down at you.

“What am I doing?” You asked, holding his arms tightly. Part of you wished to be in the sky with him, as if your presence could protect.

“You, my beautiful bird-“ George leaned down, kissing your forehead after every word. “You are meant to stay here. Look for signs and send alerts back if anything happens.”

You didn’t respond, you just sighed and smiled.

“I know you wanted to go.” He whispered. “But it’ll be good. A good opportunity to help from the ground.” He smiled. You could tell he was trying to reassure you, his eyes darting between yours looking for any sign of disapproval.

“Okay.” You whispered, leaning up so your nose grazed his. “I’ll be waiting for you, and you better come back in one piece.”

—

The night finally arrived and you spent every waking moment with George. You hated to think it was your last time seeing him, but the reality was clear. Anything could happen tonight and you would be sure that it was spent with him.

After dinner, Moody arrived at the burrow rallying up those who were going.

“5 minutes and we must be out, got it?” He looked around the room, heads nodding in acceptance. He turned to you and Molly, softening his face.

“You two will be the first to know if anything happens. I will send a message once we have left the Dursleys, then we will be back here in approximately 30 minutes.” His eyes widened in question, looking for any look of approval between you two. You dare not look at Molly and keep eye contact with Moody.

“Yes sir.” You choked, the air in your chest seizing.

“Atta girl. Alrig’t move out.” Moody winked, turning on his heel and walking out of the room, numerous bodies following. George paused and jogged over to you, kissing your cheek and squeezing your hand before joining the fray.

Once everyone left the burrow became quiet. Molly soon looked for any way to busy her fingertips knowing she’d have to distract her mind or else she’d go mad. You stood by the window for a short period, looking at the sky and prairie out past the horizon looking for any sign of movement. Hearing a hefty sigh behind you, you turned to face the sound, already anticipating a lecture.

“Could you help me make supper? I bet they’ll be hungry when they get back.” Mrs.Weasley spoke softly, her back turned to you still maneuvering pots and pans in the kitchen. You nodded to yourself and took a deep breath in, walking over near her.

“Maybe start with the potato’s, rid the eyes and peel the skin for me.” She didn’t look at you, instead speaking into her hands, sniffling after ever few words. She wasn’t crying, but you could hear the trouble in her voice clear as day. Grabbing a peeler, you got to work, trying to pass the time as well.

“I hope you know I don’t .. loathe you like you may think.” She whispered, just loud enough so that you’d hear but quiet enough that the words don’t linger in the air.

You stood in silence, peeling the potatoes, confused entirely by her statement.

“I don’t think-“ you lied, thinking it was the right thing to counter, even deep down you felt that she thought you were better off dead most days.

“You have every right to think it.” She snuffed, pausing her work and biting her cheek. “I just….”

“I understand a mothers love.” You whispered, picking up another potato and holding it softly. “I understand wanting the best for your children, but ..” you choked. You didn’t know if you had the confidence to say yet another thing that would make her angry.

“But sometimes their best interest isn’t yours and it’s out of a mothers control what their adult children do.” You finished. You knew it was the truth, but on the heels of Percy abandoning the family it had to have stung just as hard.

Mrs Weasley didn’t respond. She didn’t move her head or acknowledge your statement but stood and pondered what you said. You couldn’t tell if she was boiling with rage or the words finally penetrated the field of deep affection that clouded her judgement so.

Just from the window, a owl rapped the glass, begging to be let in.

“That’s them.” She muttered, wiping her hands on her apron and rushing over to let the owl in.

“Thirty minutes.” She sighed

“Thirty minutes.” You repeated.

Time moved extremely fast after that. You both were taking turns by the window to cool down your nerves with the cold night air. The meal was brewing magically on the stone and didn’t need the tender touch of either of you to finish. Even though very little was said between you two, it felt as if you had become closer because of tonight. At least, we understood a little more about each other retroactively.

The sound of loud snapping wood alerted you both that people were apperating at the burrow. Running out of the burrow, you locked eyes with Harry, who was barreling off of Harris’s motorbike, stumbling towards the house.

“Death Eaters, loads of them — we were chased —" Harry coughed, falling into Mrs.Weaslys arms. Your mind raced, searching the sky for any one else who would arrive.

“Death eaters-“ You whispered, fear overtaking your body. You could taste the adrenaline in your mouth, a sour foul feeling overcoming your every sense. Luckily the pain of unknowing was only for a moment more, as Lupin and George followed suit.

“George!” You cried, running over to the boy. His hand held the side of his head, blood was dripping down his shoulder and across his cheek.

“I’m okay im okay.” He mumbled, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and hoisting himself upon your small frame. You tugged his body indoors, flopping him on the family couch in the living room.

“It’s just my ear darling.” He smiled weakly, his face was pale from the loss of blood but still held your hand tightly. Mrs.Weasley quickly began to tend to her son, allowing you to hold his hand and be with him through it all. Even though you were slightly inconvenient to her tendings, she dare not ask you to move. Both Fred and you had been tied together, your sobs uncontrollable.

“Honestly I think I’m way cuter without an ear. Don’t you think?” George tossed, rubbing your hand affectionately. Mrs Weasley had successfully stoped the bleeding and bandaged what she could, leaving you both alone in the room. Just in the kitchen, Lupin and the order continued to talk about their now sudden loss of Moody and who could be trusted.

“It definitely makes you stand out.” You laughed, finally feeling comfortable in his state. You both smiled at each other, the everlasting admiration you had for him only grew, how resilient and fateful even in the face of death he had been.

“I’ll always get the last laugh-“

[livin4woso]

Avoidance and Acceptance (mapi+ingrid x reader)

Summary- reader transfers to Barcelona where feelings develop for the only two people you shouldn't fall for, and in an attempt to not make them show, they are left avoiding the two people they want to see most. However maybe these feelings arent so one sided.

Transferring to Barcelona felt like a dream come true. The current champions' league winners were interesting in signing you for 300k from Manchester city. This wasn't your first time in spain after having a loan spell to athletico Madrid in the 22/23 season you found your preformances had gained you a first team place and you're performances between the sticks against Barcelona during the group stages of the champions league had earned some eyes on you. Enough for a Transfer over there while you knew you weren't going to be the starting keeper being the number 2 keeper to the best team in the world was an offer you can't say no too.

The move was rather fast in the January transfer window so your signing went rather under the radar while in progress until the big move which lets say some city fans were not the most pleased about your departure as many believed you were the next big keeper for England at just 23 making many first team debuts which is rather unseen in the goalkeeping community.

The first few days of training were rough, to say the least. Although the language wasn't new, the intensity and pressure to perform well that was definitely a big change for you. You had a few individual keeper sessions with Cata, and your performance was raising a few eyebrows as you looked like a promising threat to Catas' starting position. Then it was time to see if you were the real deal as stopping shots from the goalkeeper coach is very different to having the likes of Alexia Eva Claudia and Mapi taking shots and freekicks at you.

You were brought into full team training with being in goal when the girls would play smaller sided games and you had been blessed with ingrid and mapi as your back line for the game and thier chemistry off the pitch is as good on the pitch it was like they could read eachothers mind when defending and made your life a little bit easier. As you blocked each shot when you were getting up mapi or ingrid would come and pat your back or compliment you and while you know it was just them being friendly the way they looked at you with such passion you couldn't help but start to fall for them... both of them.

Maybe it was the Norwegians cerulean eyes that felt like they saw into you're soul or her nickname the princess of norway because right now you feel like you could get down at her feet and bow before her presence. Or maybe it was mapis intricate sleeve of tattoos each one you could so faintly make the detail out when she faced towards you and how the sun shone so perfectly on her face highlighting the light coloured freckles on her face.

You were quickly snapped out of thought when the ball came flying at your stomach, and without having time to react, you had been winded and were hunched over, trying to get some air back into your lungs again. "Shit y/n, are you okay?" Ingrid asked concern in her tone "mhm" you groan, sticking your thumb up with your face burried in the grass still. Ingrid helps you up off the floor, and you silently thank her as you tighten the velcro on your gloves and try to shake off the thoughts of the two women circling your mind.

Going home that night was certainly interesting lying on your sofa scrolling on social media you couldn't help but follow them as they were your new teamates so it was almost like a rite of passage however what you didn't expect was for them to follow back instantly you thought it would have took atleast a few hours. It was sad to say that this got your hopes up more than it should have and in hopes for maybe another sign you decided to post of your story to see if they would view it as quick as they followed.

Unfortunately the results wasn't the same however each time you clicked on there profiles and saw them together you felt guilty of your feelings and it was almost as if your conscious was trying to smack your heart back to sense and find someone else to like. However, every interaction with the two women had you falling hard and faster then you had expected even seeing them in the corridors would have your heart racing. It was an issue and one you needed to fix quickly.

It was dinner, and the night previous, you had decided to go on hinge and try and meet someone new and just completely ignore all feelings for your teammates. You were talking to aitana and keira who you had become close friends with "yeah i mean this weekend im going on this date with this girl but i think im throwing myself in too fast ive only been here 2 months" you say to keira trying to reason out the date " no but y/n this isnt like you, you normally love going out and dating and dont deny it ive heard the stories" keira said and you nearly spit your drink out from the mentions of your past actions "kieraaa you were not meant to mention anything about them" you said in a hushed tone. Aitana was looking at you with a glint of confusion but also curiosity as although her English wasn't great, she could tell that whatever was said had gotten a reaction out of you.

However what you didn't notice was two people who may have been snooping on your conversation was mapi and ingrid. They had took some keen interest on you when you were at city and had done some previous research on you before moving to Barcelona. But the mention of this date was not sitting right with either of them, but also ingrid had some digging to do from kiera from these stories she had just learnt about.

As you left to go and get ready for the gym mapi followed you down the hall and ingrid went to kiera and so the questioning began. Mapi was quick to get to you "so y/n i heard you have a date this weekend you excited" she said with a smile on her face however her eyes were piercing as if you were in an intervention. "Mhm yeah i mean just.. just trying things out" you could barley look at the defender even tho you were of a much taller stature than her "hmm alright you don't seem so sure but i just wanted to let you know we're having team building on Saturday at mine and ingrids if you need an excuse to get out of it" she said winking at you and walking away leaving your knees weak.

There was no team building at their house it was a setup to get you by yourself at thiers for a confrontation of your feelings as you weren't the most obvious at keeping them concealed. Meanwhile ingrid was still trying to pry the stories out of keira "please i heard you talking about them and she's so modest and quiet she can't have done anything that bad" Ingrid pleaded with keira "okay fine but you have to swear to not tell anyone because she'll kill me if i told anyone" keira responded giving in "i swear i won't" replied ingrid almost smirking knowing shed won "so basically a few years ago lets just say y/n was a bit of a party animal and we were out celebrating the end of the season and at around 11 we lost sight of where she had gone." Keira started with ingrid looking at her with pure focus " so we texted her and she said im back home im busy which everyone knew what that meant so the next day we sent lucy to go and bring her breakfast as she was probably hungover but as she opened the apartment and went in the bedroom to wake her up she found not one girl in her bed but two" keira said almost laughing at the embarrassment of your face when you knew you'd been caught "omg really didn't expect that from her" Ingrid said "yeah well from her reaction even now to this day you can tell it was not her first rodeo" keira said laughing and ingrid had gathered all the information she needed.

That night, ingrid and mapi were discussing their next move, although you were a few years younger that was not stopping either of them. "I told y/n that we had team building here on Saturday to get her out of that date," mapi said to ingrid while shuffling closer to ingrid to wrap her arm around her waist. "Mhm, well, i found out that she's slept with more than one girl before, and it wasn't just a one-time thing," ingrid said, almost proud of her discovery.

Saturday flew round for the three of you. You had an excuse to get out of a date and extra time to see ingrid and mapi, and they were excited because they had a plan to confront you. You had DMd mapi asking what time to arrive for the team building, and she had said around 5pm. After getting changed into some relaxed wear that still looked good enough for the occasion as neither of the older women very often saw you out of training clothes. You arrived at their apartment and as you opened the door you saw you were the first one thier which wasnt an issue but it meant you had to directly make small talk with them without trying to become a puddle.

"So when abouts are the others getting here?" You aksed sheepsihly while sitting at the kitchen island "hm oh sweetie no one else is coming we just have a few things we wanted to talk about with you" Ingrid said walking closer to you and it was if the whole world just stopped moving and you were frozen in your spot. "Oh right, yeah," you said, stuttering out.

"We've noticed that maybe you either have a staring problem or a crush on one of us and we just wanted to make this issue clear" mapi said in a spanish accent making you go feral but also struck with embarrassment "erm im sorry i dont really know what to say" you began to say trying to think carefully about your next words "no its okay cari keep going" mapi said the spanish pet name not helping your thought process. " okay erm maybe i have a crush on you well not just one but both and i know i shouldnt and im really sorry if it makes you uncomfortable i can leave" you began rambling trying to frantically apologise "hey hey no we never said it was a bad thing we just wanted to know before we did anything that was all" Ingrid said grabbing your hand from where it rested nervously tapping on the counter. "Huh, what? i dont understand what you're saying," you said, trying to wrap your brain around the suitation. "Cari, we like you too, and we want you to give us a chance," mapi said, looking directly at you. In this moment, you felt like you were in a fever dream it all felt fake.

"Yeah, i mean, yeah, of course, yeah, you can have a chance," you said, sounding way too eager. "Okay good we'll see you Tuesday night 8pm and we'll take you on a real date so you might want to cancel that other one" mapi said smirking knowing that you had only tried to go on a date as a distraction from them. " yeah course im gonna have to go now ive got a date to cancel on" you said leaving the kitchen and just as you're about to leave you shout down the hall "by the way you looked very good tonight, both of yous" "you too cari" mapi replied as you smiled and waved leaving their apartment.

"Well, that was successful,no?" Ingrid said to mapi once you had left. Meanwhile, you were skipping down the hallway. And since that night you're relationship had been great and still to this day you still didn't know that kiera had shared one of you're craziest stories atleast it wasn't the time youd been nearly caught with 3.

A/N- Sorry for the disappearance guys ive been super busy, so im sorry if this isn't the best as im a bit rusty as i haven't written in ages, but some recs would be nice.

[alastor-x-reader-stories]

Could you do a one-shot where alastor is super nervous when meeting reader, not really on his face but more his body language where when she shakes his hand he continues shaking it or doesn't let go immediately. nervous smile too lol, thanks love your stuff!!

Heeey I wrote it hope you don't mind some interpretation on my part! You didn't mention why Alastor was nervous so I just did whatever ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Tags: Oblivious Alastor, Cartoonist Writer, Humor, awkward affection, Alastor is either oblivious or in-denial, Nifty is Nifty and you should all love her

-----------------------

Alastor’s introduction to you was not a willing one. Charlie had started a bit of a bookclub at the Hotel as some odd attempt at bonding. Alastor wanted no part of it, but after the 532nd time Charlie asked him he said something particularly scathing and the princess was cruel and told Vaggie, and the ex-exorcist would NOT stop stabbing his door until he finally relented.

Of course, his choice of book was one called ‘Blank’. It was a notebook with nothing written in it. Very easy to discuss at a bookclub.

Charlotte was not impressed and Vagatha once again starting throwing vague threats in his direction. How tempted he was to just kill both of them, but alas this hotel has been the greatest form of entertainment he’s had in years (is what he tells himself.)

Darling Nifty came to his rescue, offering up a variety of different light-reading to be discussed in the future. Most of which were….not to his taste. Nifty’s interests highlighted most definitely, but Alastor quickly chucked the books out the window when the story turned to ….that.

As the number of books dwindled, he was just about prepared to give up on this stack entirely and fetch something meaningless to pretend to read (who’d check, anyway?).

He picked up one, a flimsy comic-book like thing and rolled his eyes once before giving it a go. The story wasn’t anything particularly interesting. The plot was just two bunnies going to get some ice cream. But the wordplay, the exaggeration of all the smallest obstacles, how self-aware and absurd it was gave him a good laugh. The Radio Demon’s first introduction to your work.

Although the bookclub idea ended up going nowhere, Alastor found himself seeking out more of your works. Another about a man just making a taco, one about a woman folding her laundry. So many little, day-to-day situations amplified to a ridiculous amount. Clever one-liners and humorous puns sprinkled throughout kept it intelligent enough for him to maintain interest despite the absurdity of it all.

Eventually he got a cartoon you drew that seemed just the same as the rest. Some random cute cartoon raccoon drawing some random little cartoon things. There was a scene in it though that stuck to Alastor’s mind (and dare he say, heart) like glue.

In it, the raccoon was confronted by a shark. “Why do you bother making these?” the shark sneered “No one reads these but you, no one looks at them but you, there’s no point.”

“Why does there need to be a point?” The raccoon said. Alastor’s ears straightened up on their own accord as he read “Even if no one sees it, it’s something I made and it’s some I enjoyed making.”

“Even if you put it out there, no one will care about it.”

“Someone will. They might not say anything but there’ll always be at least one.”

“Do you know how stupid you sound? No one gives a crap about your ‘passions’!”

“I do.”

“Do you know how stupid you sound-“

And then the raccoon pressed a button and an anvil fell onto the shark, comedically turning it into a pancake. “Your argument doesn’t have any depth.” The raccoon said. The story moved on from there.

It struck a bit of a chord with Alastor, he could admit that much to himself. And the raccoon’s way of dealing it was something he’d keep in mind for his next encounter with an annoyance. He didn’t put much stock in it, as storytellers and their stories don’t always agree on all things.

Your comics were a little joyful distraction when he needed them, that was all. Nothing deep and profound.

“BOSS!”

Alastor slammed shut the book he was reading, his grin never faltering though his twitching ears indicated a slight nervousness. He tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Hello, Nifty! Did you need something?”

Nifty scamped up his chair and onto his lap, settling down andstaring up at him with her one big eye. “BOSS BOSS BOSS BOSS I MET THE DEMONESS WHO DRAWS THOSE CARTOONS YOU LIKE”

Alastor’s eye twitched “Oh? Well, that’s neat.”

She stood up, squishing his face between her hands and stared more as her grin grew wider and more manic “Did you want to meet her?”

Yes

“Now, now, Nifty.” Alastor said as he removed her hands from his face “There’s better ways to waste one’s time.”

Nifty tilted her head, staring at him as though it would allow her to see into his mind. Her expression shifted into….One he hadn’t seen on Nifty, admittedly. The best way he could describe it was ‘smug’. But what would she have to be smug about?”

“If you say so, Boss!” She chirped, hopping off his lap and trotting off “But yeah I was at the Evermore Book-Store and she was there working ‘cause I guess that’s what she does for a livng….” Nifty’s voice faded away as the little maid walked off, not caring her rambling were being said to no one.

After Alastor had finished his errands for the day, he happened by that very store…for…Reasons. Upon entering it, he realized he had no idea who- what- he was looking for. The store itself wasn’t large. A couple patrons, one large hulking demon with tiny spectacles at the desk and a much smaller one organizing shelves.

One of the workers, then?

Not that he cared.

“Pardon me!” Alastor chirped to the desk demon. Their big eyes seemed to move in slow motion to him, a low grunt accompanying the acknowledgement. “I’m looking for someone, yes? The author of some silly comics?”

The demon slowly narrowed their eyes, lips curling up into a snarl as a growl emanated from them.

“Ah, so she is here?”

The demon planted their very large hands on the desk, pushing themselves up to stand at their full height. They were taller than Alastor by a good three feet, and much more muscular as well. Their nostrils flared, blowing hot air into his face.

Alastor wasn’t the slightest bit phased. (He found it funny, actually). “So may I speak to her?”

The large demon opened up their gaping jaw-

“That’s me, hi! How can I help you?” The shelf-stacking demon interrupted, getting between Alastor and the clerk demon. A nervous little lady with a wobbly unsure smile and bags under her eyes that looked like they could carry the entirety of Hell in them.

Alastor held up one of your comics- a book that has been very obviously well-read “You’re the creator of these splendid little things?”

“Splendid…?” You repeated him, trailing off into an amused snort “Er. Yeah, I wrote and drew those.” The Clerk behind you closed their mouth, setting back down on their chair and adjusting their spectacles. The glare didn’t leave Alastor.

“Well, my dear, I find I quite enjoy them! It’s quite a pleasure to meet you.” Alastor said, not paying the larger (glowering) demon any mind. He found himself wondering why you were so tired and so timid. A woman like you should be so much more cheerful! Alastor was a tad offended….Because you weren’t smiling like he did. That’s it. Really.

“Well. I’m glad you like them.” You said. “It’s nice to meet you, too.” You offered your hand for him to shake.

One of his ears twitched. You must be fairly new to Hell, to offer a handshake so easily. Or perhaps a bit sheltered or on the naïve side. Alastor briefly considered making a sly deal to take your soul, but… Well, there was no need for that.

He took your hand and gave it a firm shake. Your hand was so much smaller than his own, but it felt as though it warmed his entire body. This was strange. Perhaps you were casting some spells on him? Why was he finding it so hard to focus- why did he feel like he didn’t know what to say next- why-

The Clerk gripped Alastor’s arm in between two fingers, gently but assertively pulling it away from you. You took half a step back, cradling your arm to your chest as if he burned you. Alastor glared up at the Clerk “Is there a problem?”

The large demon growled. You intervened again “Er….You were just. Holding my hand for a while. It was……kind of weird.”

“Ah.” Alastor cleared his throat, straightening his posture with a flourish “My apologies! Mind was elsewhere, you know how it is with us creative types.”

You blinked. Then your timid smile turned a bit more confident. A bit more…like a smirk. “Er. Yeah, I guess so. Well. See you around, I guess?”

“If I have the time, I suppose!” Alastor grinned “Well then, I must be off! Ta-ta!”

You watched as the strange demon disappeared into shadows and slivered off. As soon as all trace of him was gone, you laughed quietly into your hand “Well, I can certainly say for certain I know someone ‘awkward as hell’ now.”

Your friend groaned, gently pushing you over as they continued their own work.

[fangdokja]

He’s the hero in his own story… and you’re his latest toy.

❤︎ Synopsis. An unhinged author who controls every aspect of your life, weaving a dark narrative where you’re both the protagonist and his plaything—he writes your fate, but only if you endure his disturbing obsession. In his world, every chapter brings you closer to a horrifying end… unless you please him.

♡ Book. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Author x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanons. Fate’s Final Draft - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 5,218

♡ TW. dom + top + older + sadistic yandere, general non-con, possessiveness, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, hints at rough play and sex, psychological and emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats, depression and mental illnesses, implied suicidal tendencies, unhealthy coping mechanisms

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr content guidelines involving mental illnesses, self-harm, and suicide, some plot details of the original story were purposefully made ambiguous to fit the platform.

♡ A/N. Wahaha, finally made this idea. It is possible for him to have his own Main Story; but I'm still thinking about it, since I have a lot of shiz to do haha. I was going to put the NSFW erotic horror part, but it was getting too long already.

♡ Yandere! Author who sees the world as his manuscript and everyone in it as characters for his narrative—mere pawns on a chessboard he rearranges at his whim.

♡ Yandere! Author who was once a literary prodigy, hailed as a genius storyteller for his grimdark tales that left readers breathless and disturbed. Critics marveled at his uncanny ability to craft despair, heartbreak, and suffering so vivid it felt alive. Little did they know he wasn’t just writing fiction—he was recreating his fantasies in the real world, puppeteering events to mirror the chaos in his mind.

♡ Yandere! Author who despised the monotony of real life. “People are so… boring,” he’d mutter, a sardonic smile tugging at his lips. No one suffered properly; no one’s struggles were beautiful. To him, the world lacked intrigue. Until you.

♡ Yandere! Author who plucked you from your dull, ordinary existence like a child selecting a toy from a shelf, more out of habit than interest. You weren’t special—just another pawn in his grand game, another character to throw into the chaotic maelstrom of his imagination.

♡ Yandere! Author who didn’t think much of you at first. Quiet, gloomy, meek. You lacked the charisma of a hero, the fire of a rebel, or even the arrogance of an antihero. Just another blank slate with nothing to offer but the predictable reactions of someone out of their depth. But that was fine. You weren’t meant to be interesting. You were meant to survive—or not. Either outcome was entertaining.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Author who dropped you into his latest world—a fantasy isekai brimming with magic, monsters, and a cruel leveling system that ensured nothing came easily. “Good luck,” he’d murmured to himself, watching as you stumbled into your new reality. He hadn’t even bothered to give you a cheat ability or a supportive companion. You were cannon fodder, a nobody. Your story wasn’t supposed to last long.

♡ Yandere! Author who delighted in throwing obstacles your way. A cursed weapon that drained your life force whenever you wielded it. A village that betrayed you the moment you turned your back. A party of adventurers who abandoned you at the first sign of danger. Every twist, every betrayal, every near-death encounter was a carefully crafted piece of his art.

♡ Yandere! Author who laughed aloud when you failed, tripping over your own feet in the face of danger, barely scraping by with nothing but luck and desperation.

“How pitiful,” he’d muse, scribbling notes in the margins of his book. “Not even a shred of resolve. I wonder how long you'll last.”

♡ Yandere! Author who couldn’t resist pushing you further. When you lingered too long in a safe zone, he unleashed a plague. When you finally caught a moment of peace, he summoned a beast that tore through the tranquility like paper. When you found a rare treasure, he made sure someone stronger, greedier, took it from you. Every time you thought you were one step closer to victory, he yanked the rug out from under you.

♡ Yandere! Author who barely even noticed the way you persisted. At first, it was amusing, in a “look at the bug crawling out of the trap” sort of way.

You didn’t fight back, not really. You just endured, trudging forward like someone too tired to give up. It wasn’t resilience. It wasn’t strength. It was nothing worth writing home about. Yet you survived longer than he’d expected. Longer than most.

♡ Yandere! Author who began to notice your patterns. The way you didn’t waste time trying to rally allies or plot revenge against those who wronged you. You just… kept going. Quiet, unassuming, almost boring in how you refused to break. No grand speeches, no tearful outbursts, no fiery declarations of vengeance. Just silence. And somehow, that silence started to irritate him.

♡ Yandere! Author who started to poke harder, his curiosity piqued despite himself. He sent you a companion who betrayed you the moment you grew attached. He trapped you in a dungeon with no clear way out, just to see how long you’d last without food or hope. He introduced a rival, someone far more capable, to crush any fleeting sense of progress. And still, you lived.

♡ Yandere! Author who began to grow frustrated, his usual detachment slipping.

“Why won’t you break?” he muttered, leaning over his desk as he watched you struggle through yet another of his impossible scenarios.

There was no satisfaction in your suffering, no drama, no spectacle. You were boring, predictable, and yet… infuriatingly tenacious.

♡ Yandere! Author who threw you into the final trial of that first world, expecting it to be your end. A labyrinth filled with traps, monsters, and puzzles designed to shatter even the strongest of wills. He made sure to stack the odds against you, laughing to himself as he imagined your inevitable demise. But you survived. Barely.

———

♡ Yandere! Author who then throws you into a modern, thriller-horror world—something grounded in frightening realism where paranoia seeps into every corner. It’s a city crawling with secrets, where every smile hides an ulterior motive and murder is just another piece of the puzzle.

♡ Yandere! Author who’s still irritated as he writes your entry into this new world. He hates being proven wrong, and the fact that you survived his last creation gnaws at him. But rules are rules. Killing you outright would be a betrayal of his art, and if there’s one thing he holds sacred, it’s his craft. He’s a creator, not a hack. If you’re going to die, it’ll be on his terms—poetic, meaningful, unforgettable.

♡ Yandere! Author who drops you into this nightmare with nothing but your wits. No powers, no special abilities, not even a single ally you can trust. You wake up in a city that feels alive in all the worst ways: too many eyes watching, too many whispers following you like ghosts. The air itself feels oppressive, and danger lurks just out of sight, waiting for you to make one wrong move.

♡ Yandere! Author who sets the stage with a murder investigation—a gruesome, chilling crime that sets the entire city on edge. He knows how to craft fear, how to make every detail unnervingly realistic. Bloodstains that seem too fresh, suspects who lie with smiles that don’t reach their eyes, evidence that vanishes the moment you think you’ve found it. He weaves the threads of the mystery so tightly that it’s impossible to tell who’s the predator and who’s the prey.

♡ Yandere! Author who watches from his perch as you stumble through this new world, his annoyance tempered by the thrill of the game. You’re cautious, hesitant, and still so painfully predictable to him.

He nudges you toward danger at every turn—a “helpful” stranger who knows too much, a missed phone call that could’ve saved you, a shadow lurking just behind the corner. He pushes and prods, waiting for the moment you’ll falter.

♡ Yandere! Author who doesn’t shy away from making it personal. He paints the world with your fears, digging into the recesses of your mind to pull out the things that make your skin crawl. A too-familiar face in a crowd. A voicemail from a loved one you don’t remember having. Rooms that look like places you’ve been but shouldn’t exist here. He loves psychological horror, the kind that eats away at your sanity, and you’re the perfect subject for his masterpiece.

♡ Yandere! Author who grows frustrated when you continue to endure, even as the world around you crumbles. You’re cautious to the point of paranoia, hesitant to trust anyone, and maddeningly silent in your suffering.

You’re playing his game, sure, but not the way he wants you to.

It’s not fun this way.

He craves the drama, the despair, the art of it all—and you, with your quiet determination, are robbing him of the spectacle.

♡ Yandere! Author who watches with growing intrigue as you adapt. You’re still boring to him—quiet, gloomy, unremarkable—but there’s something in the way you navigate his traps, how you outmaneuver his designs without even realizing it. It’s not notable skill or flashy brilliance; it’s a quiet kind of intellect. And for someone as obsessed with control as he is, your unpredictability is both infuriating and captivating.

♡ Yandere! Author who, despite his annoyance, can’t help but enjoy watching you squirm. You’re a puzzle he hasn’t solved yet, and that irritates him to no end. But he tells himself it’s fine. You’re just another character, another experiment. You’re not special.

♡ Yandere! Author who leans back in his chair, pen tapping against his lips as he watches you stumble through another one of his traps. “Let’s see how long you can last this time,” he murmurs, his irritation giving way to a slow, unsettling grin. “Don’t disappoint me, little protagonist. I’m just getting started.”

———

♡ Yandere! Author who creates one of his signature magnum opus—a grimdark epic drenched in despair, betrayal, and violence. This is his masterpiece, the pinnacle of his craft, and the perfect stage to break you once and for all. No hope, no redemption, no safety. In this world, survival is a cruel joke, and death is the only certainty.

♡ Yandere! Author who throws you into the chaos with nothing but the clothes on your back. A crumbling kingdom teetering on the brink of war, political intrigue so convoluted it devours its players whole, and monsters lurking in the shadows—both human and otherwise. He crafts the world so meticulously that even the air feels heavy with doom. There’s no escape, no mercy, no way out. Or so he thinks.

♡ Yandere! Author who raises an eyebrow the moment you start to deviate from his script. It’s subtle at first—minor choices that ripple outward in unexpected ways. A betrayal you sidestep, an alliance you form that shouldn’t exist, a carefully constructed chain of events you unravel with quiet precision.

At first, he thinks it’s luck.

Then, he thinks it’s coincidence.

But as the story spirals further from his design, he begins to realize: you’re rewriting the script.

♡ Yandere! Author who leans forward, fingers steepled, his irritation giving way to intrigue.

“Fascinating,” he murmurs, watching as you dismantle his carefully laid plans.

He’s seen this trope before—characters defying their roles, rewriting their fates. But those stories are sloppy, riddled with plot armor and deus ex machina. He hates those stories. He despises their stupidity, their lack of respect for the craft. Yet… this is different. You have no plot armor. You have no cheats, no guarantees. And somehow, you’re still alive.

♡ Yandere! Author who begins to test you, introducing new challenges designed to crush even the most determined spirit. He throws you into a city under siege, its streets filled with the screams of the dying. He pits you against a monster so horrific that it haunts your dreams. He manipulates the people around you, turning allies into enemies, twisting trust into betrayal. Yet no matter what he does, you adapt. You survive.

♡ Yandere! Author who finds himself muttering to the empty room as he watches you work.

“Clever,” he says when you outmaneuver a traitor.

“Bold,” when you risk everything for a gambit that shouldn’t have paid off.

“Stupid, reckless, but… brilliant.” He’s annoyed, yes—he hates being outplayed—but he’s also captivated.

You’re playing his game, but on your terms. And for the first time, he doesn’t know how it’s going to end.

♡ Yandere! Author who starts to see you in a new light. You’re not like the others. You don’t scream at the heavens, don’t declare war on the “unfairness” of the world. You don’t rely on luck or blind faith.

You’re calculating, deliberate, quietly defiant.

You’re everything he never expected you to be.

♡ Yandere! Author who feels a strange mix of pride and irritation when you survive his masterpiece. You’re battered, broken, barely breathing, but you’re alive. Against all odds, you’ve clawed your way through the carnage and emerged victorious.

It’s not the ending he planned, but it’s… satisfying, in its own way.

♡ Yandere! Author who chuckles softly, the sound low and dangerous.

“Well played,” he says, a crooked grin spreading across his face.

“But don’t think for a second this means you’ve won. You’ve caught my attention now, little protagonist. Let’s see how far you can go before you break.”

♡ Yandere! Author who realizes, with a thrill of anticipation, that the game has only just begun.

———

♡ Yandere! Author who introduces himself for the first time in this new world, a historical reverse harem trope with an undercurrent of political intrigue and dystopia, dressed up in a pretty, romantic facade.

You find yourself in a world that seems beautiful on the surface—lavish gowns, grand balls, charming men vying for your attention. But beneath the glittering exterior, it’s a world of betrayal, manipulation, and deadly power plays.

♡ Yandere! Author who enters the story with a calm smile, playing the role of an NPC "friend" meant to help you navigate this dangerous world.

He’s the type of character who exists solely to guide you, the wise adviser, always in the background but never quite the center of attention. His role is clear—he’s there to “help” you, to watch you fall in line with the game. But his eyes… they never stop watching you.

♡ Yandere! Author, playing the part of your “helper,” leans in close one day, his voice smooth, almost soothing.

“It’s dangerous here, you know. You can trust no one. Not even those who claim to love you.” His words drip with false tenderness, though the glint in his eyes betrays the sadistic pleasure he derives from the darkness surrounding you.

“But that’s why I’m here, isn’t it? To guide you… to protect you.”

♡ Yandere! Author, watching you, his smile never wavering, as you stand by him, as you consistently choose him over others in the court. His eyebrows arch in surprise, and for the first time in any world, there’s a genuine flicker of confusion behind his unshakable calm.

“Hmm,” he murmurs, voice almost a purr. “You’re still here. You haven’t run off to one of those princes, haven’t you?”

You look at him, unblinking, your gaze steady. “You’re the only one I can trust. The others are all just playing a game.”

♡ Yandere! Author, leaning closer, his voice low and a little mocking, with a smirk that barely hides his amusement and something more sinister.

“How quaint. You think I’m trustworthy?” He watches as you don’t flinch, his eyes narrowing. “I suppose that makes you… my little pet then, doesn’t it?”

Your expression never changes. “I’m just smart enough to stay close to the only one who can’t be manipulated in this world.”

———

♡ Yandere! Author, sensing a shift, a delicious challenge that he’s never faced before, lets out a small laugh—one that’s cold and filled with dangerous amusement.

“How interesting,” he muses, stepping closer, his hand brushing against your arm lightly. “So, you know who I am, then?”

You meet his gaze, unwavering. “You’re not even pretending anymore.”

He tilts his head, eyes glinting with a dangerous mix of amusement and irritation. “Ah. So I’m not the only one who understands the rules of this game, hmm? You’re quite clever, aren’t you? A pity, really. Most of the ‘protagonists’ I encounter are so… naive.”

♡ Yandere! Author, now utterly intrigued by your unwavering proximity to him, begins to shift his approach. The cold, detached adviser becomes a more charming, flirtatious presence. His words are laced with honeyed poison as he circles around you like a predator testing a new, unexpected prey.

“You know,” he says, voice soft and teasing, “you could be so much more than this. I’ve seen how they all adore you. How they all want you.” He leans in closer, his breath brushing your ear.

“But I think you’re starting to realize that none of them matter, don’t you?”

You blink, not reacting to the subtle pressure in his voice. “I don’t care about them. I care about you.”

♡ Yandere! Author, for the first time, pauses, a shiver of something unfamiliar running through him. His smile falters, but just for a moment.

Then it’s back, even more dangerous, like a cat toying with its prey. “Is that so? And why is that?”

“You’re the only one who’s honest,” you say simply. “And you’re the only one who isn’t pretending to be something you’re not.”

♡ Yandere! Author, amused yet unnerved, chuckles darkly, his voice oozing with a wicked charm.

“I see. You think I’m the only one who isn’t pretending, hm? Well, maybe there’s something about you that makes you interesting after all.”

He steps back slightly, his eyes scanning you with renewed interest. “But don’t mistake this for affection. I’m not the kind of man to simply hand over trust. I’m the one who deserves it. I’m the one who’s worth it.” He grins, a little too wide, a little too sharp.

“But let’s not rush things. We’ve got plenty of time to figure out how this plays out.”

He watches you carefully, taking in every moment of your steady gaze, the way you never flinch. His heart quickens, and he can’t tell if it’s frustration or fascination that drives him now. Whatever it is, it keeps him drawn to you, and that… that is something he’s never experienced before.

———

♡ Yandere! Author who doesn’t shy away from cruelty, doesn’t flinch at the thought of breaking you piece by piece, but for some reason, you never crumble. It’s maddening.

“You’re so boring,” he sneers, pinning you against the desk, his lips curling into a sadistic grin. “But you stick to me like glue. Why? What is it you’re waiting for? A happy ending? Newsflash, sweetheart—I don’t write those.”

You stare at him, unblinking, as his fingers trace the line of your jaw, deceptively gentle. “I don’t expect anything from you.”

He laughs, sharp and bitter, his other hand slamming down on the desk beside your head. “Oh, don’t give me that. Everyone wants something. Attention. Control. Fortune. Power. Love. What is it, huh? Tell me.” His thumb presses against your lips, his gaze dark and hungry.

“Or do I have to find out myself?”

♡ Yandere! Author, who toys with you in increasingly intimate ways, his touch lingering, his voice dipping into dangerous territory.

“Do you know what I could do to you?” he whispers one night, his fingers trailing down your arm, sending shivers through your skin.

“I could ruin you. Completely. No one would know, no one would care. You’d just be another name crossed out in my little book of stories.”

Your voice is steady, your gaze unwavering. “Then why don’t you?”

His grin sharpens, his fingers tightening around your wrist. “Because, my little enigma, I like puzzles. And you…” He leans closer, his breath ghosting over your ear.

“You’re a puzzle I haven’t solved yet.”

♡ Yandere! Author, who grows more physical, testing your limits, pushing you closer to the edge with every touch, every word.

“You know,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the curve of your neck, “most people would be begging me to stop by now. Crying, screaming, running for their lives. But you… you just stand there, letting me do whatever I want.” He chuckles, low and dangerous.

“It’s almost like you enjoy it.”

You don’t respond, and that only seems to amuse him further.

“Or maybe,” he continues, his hands sliding down to your waist, “you think you can handle me. That you can survive me.” He presses his lips to your shoulder, a cruel smirk playing on his face.

“Tell me, do you honestly believe that? That you’re strong enough to endure this?”

♡ Yandere! Author, who starts to lose himself in the game, his sadistic intrigue growing with every interaction.

“You’re driving me insane, you know that?” he says one night, his voice sharp with frustration.

“I could end this right now. Dig through that pretty little head of yours and find out exactly what makes you tick. But no. That would be too easy.” His fingers dig into your hips, his gaze burning into yours.

“And I don’t like easy.”

He leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a fleeting, almost tender kiss before pulling back with a wicked grin.

“But you’re making me curious, and that’s a very dangerous thing, my dear. Curiosity killed the cat, after all. And I’m not a cat, but I might just kill you.”

You tilt your head, meeting his gaze with an unnerving calm. “Then why don’t you?”

For a moment, he’s silent, his eyes narrowing as he studies you. Then, he laughs—a low, dark sound that sends chills down your spine. “Because you’re interesting. And I don’t destroy my toys until I’ve wrung every ounce of entertainment out of them.”

♡ Yandere! Author, who starts to blur the lines between his sadistic games and something deeper, something he doesn’t want to name.

“Do you feel that?” he whispers one night, his hands sliding up your sides, his touch both possessive and teasing.

“That tension, that heat? It’s intoxicating, isn’t it? But you’re so composed. So controlled.” He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear.

“It makes me want to rip you apart, just to see what’s underneath.”

You don’t flinch, your voice steady. “Do it, then.”

His grin widens, his eyes glinting with something dangerous. “Oh, no, my dear. Not yet. You don’t get to decide when this ends. That’s my privilege.”

♡ Yandere! Author, who starts to wonder if maybe, just maybe, you’re as twisted as he is.

“You’re not afraid of me,” he says one night, his hands framing your face as he forces you to look at him. “You should be. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

“I know exactly what you’re capable of,” you reply, your voice calm.

His smirk falters for just a moment before returning, sharper than ever. “Fascinating,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your lips.

“You might just be my favorite experiment yet.”

———

♡ Yandere! Author who’s always prided himself on his control, his detachment. You’re just another piece on his board, another thread in his masterpiece. But this—this strange, gnawing feeling in his chest—it’s utterly foreign, and he hates it.

“Hmm,” he hums, leaning back in his chair, watching you tend to yet another hapless NPC, your hands gentle, your words soft. “So this is what you’ve chosen to do with your time. Interesting choice.”

You glance at him briefly before returning your attention to the injured character. “Someone has to help them.”

His grin is sharp, dangerous. “Oh, do they? What’s the point? They’ll be dead in a few chapters anyway. Why waste your energy?”

You don’t answer, your focus unwavering as you wrap a bandage around the NPC’s arm.

♡ Yandere! Author clicks his tongue, the annoyance creeping into his voice. “You know, you’re starting to develop a bad habit. Always playing savior, always looking after others. It’s almost… predictable.”

You finally look up, your expression as calm as ever. “Maybe. But it’s what I want to do.”

His grin falters for just a fraction of a second, and something dark flickers in his eyes.

♡ Yandere! Author, who watches you interact with the love interests he’s meticulously placed around you, his jaw tightening as you laugh at one of their jokes.

“Oh, now this is rich,” he says, his voice dripping with mockery as he suddenly appears at your side. “Tell me, which one of them do you think will betray you first? The charming one with the tragic backstory? Or the brooding one who can’t decide whether he wants to kiss you or kill you?”

You sigh, clearly unimpressed. “Do you always have to narrate everything?”

He leans closer, his breath ghosting over your ear. “Always. It’s my story, after all.”

You step away, your attention shifting back to the love interests, and something snaps in him.

♡ Yandere! Author, who’s never felt this burning irritation before, this inexplicable urge to tear those carefully crafted characters apart limb by limb.

“You’re awfully invested in them, aren’t you?” he says, his tone deceptively light as he circles around you like a predator. “Do you actually think any of them are worth your time? They’re just puppets, you know. Hollow. Empty. Nothing like me.”

Your gaze meets his, steady and unflinching. “I know what they are. But at least they’re not trying to destroy me every second of the day.”

♡ Yandere! Author laughs, loud and sharp, the sound echoing in the empty room. “Destroy you? Destroy you? Oh, sweetheart, if I wanted to destroy you, you’d be gone already.”

His smile twists into something cruel. “No, I’m just… refining you. Shaping you into something better. Stronger. You should be thanking me.”

You don’t respond, and that silence claws at him, burrowing under his skin like a splinter.

———

♡ Yandere! Author, whose madness always simmers beneath a mask of cunning smiles and calculated control, finally unravels. But it’s not chaos. No shouting, no frenzy.

It’s quiet. It’s deadly.

It’s the kind of madness that burns cold and precise, carving through the air like a scalpel.

"You’ve been so patient," he says, his voice soft, almost tender, as if he’s consoling you. His head tilts, studying you like a puzzle he’s finally solved.

"And here I thought you were just stubborn. Turns out, you’ve been waiting for me to slip, haven’t you? Waiting for me to break my precious little rules."

You remain silent, but his sharp grin stretches wider, something twisted flickering in his gaze.

"Oh, I see it now," he continues, leaning in, his breath brushing against your ear.

"You’ve wanted it all along, haven’t you? That quiet little release. That final curtain call." He clicks his tongue, amusement dripping from his voice.

"Tsk, tsk. How boringly predictable."

♡ Yandere! Author, who crouches in front of you, forcing you to meet his gaze. There’s no warmth in his eyes, only a brutal, cutting clarity as he speaks.

"But I don’t care what you want," he says, his grin hardening into something more dangerous. "No, I never have. This story? You? It’s never been about you. It’s about me. What I want."

His fingers trail up to your chin, gripping it with enough force to keep you still. "And do you know what I want?" he whispers, his voice dropping to a near-silent murmur.

You shake your head—or perhaps you don’t. It doesn’t matter. He answers anyway.

"I want to keep you alive. Forever. I want to see that flicker of defiance in your eyes snuffed out again and again, only to light it back up myself." He leans closer, his lips ghosting over yours in a cruel mockery of affection.

"I want to watch you crawl through my worlds, bleeding and desperate, and still unable to die."

♡ Yandere! Author who laughs, low and cruel, as he pulls back, dragging a hand through his hair.

"Death is too kind, don’t you think?" he muses, pacing in front of you like a predator toying with its prey.

"It’s a full stop. The end of the story. How... uncreative. And I am anything but uncreative."

He pauses, turning to face you fully, his grin sharp enough to cut.

"No, my dear," he says, crouching again to meet your gaze. "You’ll live. You’ll suffer. You’ll endure every twisted scenario I can dream up. And you’ll do it for me. Because I’ll make sure you can’t do anything else."

♡ Yandere! Author, whose hands frame your face, his touch paradoxically gentle despite the venom in his words.

"You think you can escape this?" he murmurs, his tone soft, almost coaxing. "Escape me? I’m the one who writes your story, sweetheart. And I’ve decided that you don’t get an ending. Not now. Not ever."

You blink up at him, expression unreadable, and he laughs, the sound echoing through the room like the toll of a bell.

"You’ll always belong to me," he continues, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if he’s memorizing the curve of your face.

"Not even death can take you away from me. I’ll drag you back from the abyss if I have to. Over and over again."

♡ Yandere! Author, who straightens, his grin softening into something almost wistful.

"It’s funny," he says, more to himself than to you. "You’ve always been such a dull little thing. Gloomy, quiet, boring. But now?" He chuckles, shaking his head.

"Now you’re fascinating. A toy I never want to put down."

♡ Yandere! Author turns his back to you, hands tucked into his pockets, his voice carrying as he walks away.

"So go ahead," he calls over his shoulder, his tone deceptively light. "Keep sticking by me. Keep hoping I’ll slip. Because the more you push, the more I’ll pull. And I’ll make sure you never get what you want."

He glances back at you, his grin razor-sharp, his eyes glinting with something dark and terrible.

"After all," he says, his voice a soft purr, "what kind of artist would I be if I let my masterpiece end?"

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. 🔞Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

[yesihaveaobsession]

A Morning Symphony

Alastor x female!reader

Summary: Partying too hard the night before led to being hungover, Alastor insists to help.

A/N- I always seem to write him like a little b*tch, Sorry!! HAHA😭

The sunlight streamed into your room, way too bright for how you were feeling. Your head throbbed like a badly tuned drum, and the awful taste in your mouth screamed of regret. You groaned, burying your face deeper into your pillow and yanking the blanket over your head, desperate to block out the world.

But, of course, peace wasn’t an option.

“Good morning!” came the cheery, sing-song voice of none other than Alastor. You flinched at the sound, clutching the blanket tighter as if that would keep him away.

“Go away, Alastor,” you groaned, your voice muffled by the layers of fabric.

“Oh, but I simply can’t!” he replied, his tone dripping with amusement. “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t check on you? Especially after last night’s… festivities.”

Peeking out just enough to glare at him, you growled, “Alastor, I swear to all that’s unholy, if you don’t—”

Your threat was cut short when the room grew eerily quiet. Not the comforting kind of silence, but the unnerving, something’s-about-to-happen kind. You froze, clutching the blanket tighter.

“Alastor?” you called hesitantly. No response.

Then you heard it: static. Faint at first but growing louder, buzzing in your ears like a swarm of insects. The air turned icy, and the static morphed into distorted whispers. A chill ran down your spine just as the blanket was yanked away with dramatic flair, revealing a grinning Alastor standing way too close for comfort.

“BOO!” he exclaimed, his voice laced with that signature radio distortion.

You screamed, not from fear, but pure irritation.

“Alastor!” you snapped, grabbing a pillow and hurling it with all the strength your hungover body could muster. He sidestepped easily, dodging your weak attempt.

“You should’ve seen your face!” he howled, clutching his chest like he’d just heard the funniest joke in the world. “Absolutely priceless!”

Flopping back onto the bed with another groan, you muttered, “I’m going to kill you. Slowly. Painfully.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he teased, leaning over you with his ever-present grin. “Come on now! I’ll whip up something to cure you. A little radio magic, a sprinkle of jazz hands, and voilà—you’ll be good as new!”

“Or,” you countered, peeking out from under your pillow, “you could leave me alone and let me die in peace.”

“Not a chance!” he chirped, adjusting his bowtie. “Your misery is far too entertaining to ignore.”

As much as you wanted to strangle him, a tiny smirk tugged at your lips. Alastor’s antics, as maddening as they were, had their own strange, comforting charm.

“Fine,” you grumbled. “But if your so-called cure makes me feel worse, I’m coming for your soul.”

His grin widened even more, if that was possible. “Ah, darling, you’ll have to get in line for that!”

[eclipseberrycake]

Virulent (MBC x Reader)

AN: Hey Guyysss-

It's me :) Have I annoyed you all yet? /lh Anyway, I was on tiktok as I always am these days when people annoy me (Ginger mains- when I catch you ginger mains-) I noticed a lot of redesigns of the mains twisted forms to turn them lethal and yk what? Hell yeah. So I've been brain rotting and decided to share with you!

This is kind of far off from what I normally post but I still wanted to share with you, plus it's still MBC! And Distractor! Reader. Think of it as an AU! Of that universe.

Warnings: Depictions of horror themes, talk of mutated twisteds, threats of death (No one dies dw, I'm too soft for that), if you don't vibe with zombie apocalypse vibes, then this one may not be for you, and that's okay! Also kinda shorter than normal because I'm tried and had an assignment due that I forgot about :(.

☁ With all the mains back, runs had surprisingly gotten easier, if you did say so yourself. It was much easier to distract when you knew where the twisteds were and who they were the second you stepped out of the elevator. And having Shelly running around giving boosts made the time spent distracting cut shorter and shorter. Plus having Pebble right there as well was always a bonus.

☁ And of course, your sweet moonshine and berry boy. It was always a pleasure to be with them on runs and have them shadow you as you went; It was like a safety net in a way, moreso when Cosmo came along. It was very rare there was a run going on where one of you was going, and the others did not follow.

☁ That being said, there were times you missed the simpler runs with just you, Poppy and Boxten and maybe a few other commons. The mains all had their inside jokes and experiences together that, regardless of how hard Sprout and Astro tried not to, sometimes left you and Cosmo feeling like the odd ones looking in.

☁ Which is where you were currently, joking and laughing with the other commons as you all tried to go for a long run. It had started early this morning, and while you were unsure how long you were down there, you were sure it was well past lunch. The others knew you'd be gone a while though and planned their days accordingly.

☁ You hadn't even realized the true extent of how far you'd gone until Dandy was popping up, eyes frantic despite you all buying regularly. He eyeballed you as you approached, making you hesitate when reaching for the band on a pillow. "...Is there something wrong?"

☁ "Floor 50. I'm not even down here very long." He spoke and your blood chilled at the tone, Cosmo quickly threading his fingers with your own. Dandy noted this before refocusing back on you, eyes sharp and calculating. "Do you know what you're stepping into?"

☁ "I assume it's no different than any other floor." You sneer back, quickly exchanging your tapes for a bandage, watching carefully as Cosmo did the same.

☁ Dandy took them almost robotically, lips twitching just a bit. "...You've never been this far, have you?" You haven't, you didn't even think there were this many floors, but you weren't going to tell him that. Whether he saw it on your face or not, he grinned. "I'll leave the elevator open. As a one time grace for you all to return at any time." He yanked on the lever suddenly, giving a bright wave. "Good luck! You're gonna need it!"

☁ The warning, from Dandy nonetheless, does little to ease your nerves, but you still step out of the elevator with a kiss for Cosmo before taking off. It was a replica of the Christmas Toon's floor, so the twisted's should've been easy to find. Only...you didn't find anything.

☁ You immediately called out to be aware of objects on the ground, because as much as you loved Blu and Oakley, you didn't want a repeat.

☁ Still, the air felt...different then it did in that time. Like something sinister was watching, waiting, hunting. Taking off once more, you quickly rush to find Cosmo, finding him working on a machine. Seeing him find brings a sense of relief to you, but it's not enough to erase the feeling.

☁ "I don't like it." You frown, looking over your shoulder as you heard the rapid swish of air moving. There was nothing there.

☁ "I get what you mean. Leaving the elevator open?" Cosmo raises a brow ridge, pausing the extracting he was doing. "It's just not-" He turns to face you, only to pause, mouth gaping open as he grows impressively pale incredibly quick. He's staring behind you, watching as something moves. You go to look, but he's quick to stop you.

☁ "Something's wrong." He whispers, much quieter, struggling to draw his eyes away from whatever he was seeing. "I don't want you near...that."

☁ "Near what?" You try to turn around again and he grabs your chin this time. "Y/N, please." He pleads. "We just need to back away and-"

☁ There's a shrill shriek and this time he can't stop you as you whirl around to see Tisha with the same expression Cosmo had on his face. Behind you is a tall twisted, taller than any you've seen, other than Dandy. It's one red eye is glowing at you, locked on as it hands from the ceiling. Two of it's arms hang by it's head, lifeless and stained with ichor, though the large claws don't look any less deadly. A drop of ichor hangs out of its mouth before splatting on the ground, making your stare it, horrified. It moves like a bug, slowly as it's multiple limbs each click against the ceiling.

☁ None of you can move, you can only watch as it grows closer. There's a swish of fabric as it reorientates itself to stand upright, the two limbs that were previously lifeless lifting, as if to caress you. You don't let it, stepping back in time as Cosmo pulls you back into him.

☁ It's close enough you could see it's face though. Half of it's face is stretched unnaturally, tinged a soft blue, but darkens as it twists up in recognition of your act of denial. There's a large white star on the other half, which begins to whirr wildly, spinning and spinning and spinning.

☁ For a fleeting second, your traitorous brain turns to Astro and his twisted and the similarities between that and this...thing.

☁ The star on it's face suddenly shoots out and you tackle Cosmo to the ground as Tisha takes off to warn the others to get to elevator. There's a crash as the machine Cosmo was working on is shattered, ichor spilling out over both of you as glass rains all over the floor. Whatever is in front of you screeches and two arms reach for you.

☁ You're quick to grab Cosmo, hauling him up and taking him with you as you both take off towards the elevator. There's two sets of footsteps behind you, but with a quick glance, you see it's only the one twisted, but with four running limbs being used rather than the regular two. It's catching up fast, too fast, and for a second you swear it's going to grab you, but a hand around your waist makes you're entire system shudder before you and Cosmo are both being yanked into the elevator, which shuts much faster than usual.

☁ Everyone in the elevator is silent before Tisha is letting out a blood curdling scream, grabbing at the edges of her box. "What was THAT?!"

☁ "I don't know!" Goob cries out, big eyes already welling with tears as he pulls at his fur. Scraps is trying to help him best she can, but even she's pale and struggling to control her shaking.

☁ You couldn't outrun it. You couldn't outrun it. YOU COULD NOT OUTRUN IT. As a distractor, that's one of your only roles, and you couldn't do it. Scrambling, you shakily get to your knees, crawling to where Cosmo is slowly sitting up. His eyes are darting everywhere before landing on you, meeting you halfway and cradling you to his chest.

☁ You clutch onto his sweater with white knuckles, shaking so badly you fear tearing the fabric. The way he holds onto you is much the same however, so you don't think he minds too much.

☁ "Maybe...Maybe next time we..." You struggle to find words, throat closing as you fight more tears. Your tail gives a whip behind you before curling around Cosmo, lacing itself between the center of his curl for a better hold.

☁ "We don't." Glisten shudders, smoothing out his bow before rubbing the space between his brows. "We can't- I don't even think the mains would know how to handle that."

☁ "It kinda looked like Astro." Rodger mentions, fingers tracing a crack in his glass before retracting. "Do you think it's possible the Ichor is mutating?"

☁ "Mutating?" You shake your head. "That- That can't be. That's-" You pause before growing suddenly angry. "That's not fair!" You're suddenly seething at the aspect of it all. A new terrain to learn, new twisteds, new methods of containing them; a whole new set of injuries...Of scars. "I can't. I can't do it! I can't!" You cry out, turning to hide your tears in Cosmo's sweater as he numbly rubs your back.

☁ The elevator gives a cheerful ding, a direct contrast to everyone else's mood in the elevator. It opens to the vibrant and cheerful colors of the lobby and you hear the footsteps of the others rapidly approaching, but to you, you're just reminded of-

☁ "Cosmo! Y/N!" Your attention is quickly redirected to where Sprout and Astro are eagerly approaching, the former wrapping you both in a tight hug that the remaining partner is quick to join.

☁ It's a comforting presence and it makes your heart steady itself before fingers are picking at your fur. "Did something happen? You're both covered in ichor." Astro frets, immediately making that ill feeling return to your guts. You debate not telling them before immediately erasing the thought. They needed to know they had too. If anyone could at least begin to get a handle on how to survive...whatever that was.

☁ "There's something about floor 50."

[creeperkiwi]

ghost of you | Tim Drake x ghost!reader ᯓ★

sumarry: Tim Drake was inspecting the building where one of the most wanted villains of the last month was found. He knew there were strange things going on, but meeting a ghost boy was not in his plans, much less being smitten by his beauty.

male reader, word counter: 3330

masterlist

The building lay in ruins, abandoned to its fate like a forgotten skeleton in the heart of Gotham. Dampness clung to the cracked walls, and the echo of dripping water from a partially collapsed ceiling sounded like whispers of ancient secrets. Darkness gripped every corner, pierced only by the faint light filtering through broken windows and sagging beams. Tim Drake moved cautiously, his flashlight revealing invisible paths among the dust suspended in the air, like stars trapped in a shadowy universe.

There was something peculiar about the place. Beyond the signs of struggle and the traces of the villain captured there weeks ago, the atmosphere felt heavy, almost watchful. Tim was no stranger to the strange, but this sensation was different—an eerie chill that crawled down his spine like cold fingers.

He advanced into a room where time seemed to have stopped. A dilapidated piano sat at its center, its yellowed keys covered in dust. Around it lay fallen books, broken furniture, and air that smelled of dampness and despair. The young hero frowned. Something didn’t add up.

Then he saw it.

At first, he thought it was just another shadow, a trick of the flashlight. But as he adjusted the angle, the figure took shape—a boy, no older than himself, sitting in a corner. He seemed almost translucent, as if he didn’t belong to this world. His pale skin emitted a faint glow, and his disheveled, snow-white hair fell over eyes that held oceans of sorrow.

Tim took a step back, unsettled. There were no signs of entry or exit in the room, and his equipment hadn’t detected anyone else. Yet, there he was, a specter among the ruins.

“Who are you?” Tim asked, his voice firm but not aggressive.

The boy looked up, startled, as if he hadn’t expected to be seen. He didn’t answer. His lips quivered but formed no words. There was a void in his gaze, an absence that spoke of lost memories and an existence barely hanging on.

“You’re not alive... are you?” Tim muttered, more to himself than to the boy.

The ghost shook his head, almost imperceptibly. Then, he raised a hand and pointed to something behind Tim. The young hero spun around immediately, searching for the threat, but all he found was a wall covered in graffiti. When he turned back, the specter was no longer in the corner but standing a few steps away. He seemed to be watching Tim with a mixture of curiosity and fear, as if Tim were the apparition and not him.

“Why can only I see you?” Tim asked, narrowing his eyes, trying to analyze the situation logically. But there was something about the ghost’s presence that defied all reason. It wasn’t hostile, at least not outwardly. And yet, there was a sadness so profound in its features that Tim felt a knot tighten in his chest.

The ghost opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Frustrated, he brought a hand to his throat and shook his head. Tim understood immediately—he couldn’t speak.

“Great,” Tim muttered sarcastically. “A mute ghost. This just keeps getting better.”

The boy tilted his head, as if unsure whether to feel offended or intrigued. Then he extended a finger and pointed at Tim. The young hero raised an eyebrow.

“What? Me?” The ghost nodded slowly. “Perfect. A mute, cryptic ghost. Sure, why not.”

For some reason, Tim’s deadpan expression made the specter crack a faint smile—barely a hint, but enough for the young hero to notice. For a brief moment, something warm seeped into the icy atmosphere of the room.

“I guess I’ll call you ‘Ghost Boy’ until you remember your name, huh?” Tim said, tucking the flashlight into his belt and crossing his arms. “Don’t get too close. I still don’t know if you’re safe.”

The ghost didn’t reply, but his eyes seemed to speak for him. Tim felt a different kind of chill this time—one not from the surroundings but from something deeper. There was beauty in that ethereal figure, a fragility that unsettled him and made him want to look longer than he should.

In the days that followed, the specter became a constant presence in his life. Always nearby, silently following him like a shadow. At first, it annoyed Tim, but he soon began to grow accustomed to it. He watched as Ghost Boy observed him with a mix of shyness and growing trust, as if being close to Tim gave him something he’d long lost—a purpose.

Their conversations became a game of deduction. Tim would speak, and the ghost would nod, shake his head, or point, creating a makeshift system of communication that, though frustrating, worked. There were moments when Tim, exhausted from patrols and sleepless nights, would throw sarcastic remarks at him just to see the ghost roll his eyes or flash a fleeting smile.

“What are you doing here, following me?” Tim asked one night while reviewing documents at the Batcomputer. The ghost stood beside him, watching with a curious expression.

The boy raised a finger and pointed at Tim, as he had the first time. Then he touched his own chest, as if trying to convey something.

“You need me?” Tim ventured, tilting his head. The ghost nodded.

A charged silence fell between them, broken only by the hum of the machines. Tim, almost without realizing it, let out a sigh.

“I can’t promise anything,” he murmured, more to himself than to the specter. “But I guess I can try to help.”

The ghost didn’t say anything, but his expression spoke volumes. And for the first time in a long while, Tim felt that maybe—just maybe—his exhausting life as a hero could be set aside, only for a moment.

Days passed, and Tim’s routine became strangely shared. The ghost boy was always there, watching him with that silent calm that could be both reassuring and unsettling. Tim wouldn’t admit it, but he had started to grow accustomed to his presence. At times of utter solitude, he even found himself speaking aloud, addressing the specter as if it were a confidant.

However, not everyone in the Wayne family was as used to Tim’s new habits.

“You look worse than usual,” Damian grumbled one morning in the kitchen, eyeing his adoptive brother with a mix of irritation and poorly disguised concern. “When was the last time you slept?"

Tim barely looked up from the coffee mug clutched in his hands. The ghost boy stood near the window, invisible to the others, observing the interaction with his sad, large eyes.

“I’m fine,” Tim replied, his tone sharper than necessary.

Bruce, seated at the end of the table, set his newspaper aside and studied him with his usual analytical gaze. He said nothing at first, but his silence was more eloquent than any verbal reprimand.

“You’ve been talking to yourself a lot lately,” Dick commented from the other end of the kitchen, trying to lighten the tension. “And I don’t mean thinking out loud. I mean full conversations with someone who isn’t there.”

“What are you insinuat—” Tim began, cutting himself off when he noticed the way they were all looking at him.

“What we’re insinuating,” Bruce finally interjected, “is that you’re overworking yourself, Tim. The building case, your patrols, your work as Red Robin… You can’t do everything without consequences.”

Tim pressed his lips together, feeling frustration bubble under the surface. He couldn’t tell them the truth. How could he explain that he wasn’t talking to himself, but to a ghost? Even to him, it sounded absurd.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, this time with a tone of exasperation. He stood abruptly, leaving his mug on the table. “I just need space.”

The ghost boy followed him as he left the kitchen, gliding after him like an ethereal shadow. Tim walked to his room, shut the door behind him, and collapsed into the chair at his desk, running a hand through his dark hair in frustration.

“See what you’re doing to me?” he muttered to the specter, who hovered near the window. His tone wasn’t truly angry, more resigned. “They think I’m losing my mind from lack of sleep.”

The ghost lowered his gaze, guilt and helplessness mixing in his expression. He hadn’t meant to cause problems, but he didn’t know how to disappear either.

Tim sighed, resting his elbows on the desk and dropping his head into his hands. The connection between them was inexplicable but increasingly difficult to ignore. Sometimes, it felt like the ghost understood him better than anyone, which terrified and comforted him in equal measure.

“It’s not your fault,” he finally said, his tone softening. He looked up at the specter, who seemed relieved by his words. “Just… if we’re going to keep doing this, I need to find a way to prove I’m not crazy.”

The ghost didn’t respond, but he floated closer to Tim, as if trying to offer reassurance. Tim felt the familiar chill that always accompanied his presence, but this time, instead of being bothered, he found it almost comforting.

“We’ll figure out who you are and why you’re here,” Tim promised, leaning forward to look at him more closely. “But I need you to help me not lose my own mind in the process.”

The ghost nodded slowly, a spark of trust in his eyes—a silent promise that he would be there to uncover his truth and protect Tim from the chaos he had brought along.

The abandoned building remained a key location in their investigation. Tim had inspected it thoroughly, but the ghost boy insisted on pointing out certain places as if trying to guide him toward something important. That evening, Tim returned, fully equipped and on high alert.

“Show me again where you saw it,” Tim requested, holding a scanner in one hand.

The ghost pointed to a crack in the floor where a piece of wood jutted out among the debris. Tim knelt, carefully clearing away the rubble. His fingers brushed against something solid: a small, rusted medallion with barely legible engravings.

“Does this mean anything to you?” Tim asked, holding it up for him to see.

The specter studied the object intently, his expression shifting to one of anguish and recognition. He stepped back, as if the sight of it affected him deeply.

“Well, it’s something,” Tim muttered, sealing the medallion in a bag on his belt. He stood, observing the ghost carefully. “We’ll figure this out, whatever it is.”

The ghost looked at him with a kind of gratitude that didn’t need words, but there was also a shadow of sadness in his eyes, as though he feared what the search might reveal.

Back at the Batcomputer days later, Tim examined the medallion. It belonged to an orphanage in Gotham that had closed over a decade ago. As he read through the files, the ghost remained by his side, as silent as ever but intently focused on the screen.

“Does this place mean something to you?” Tim asked, pointing at the image of the orphanage.

The ghost nodded slowly, moving closer. Tim glanced at him, trying to ignore the cold air that always seemed to surround him.

“We’ll go tomorrow,” Tim said, leaning back in his chair. He ran a hand through his hair, tired but determined. “But I need some sleep first.”

The ghost seemed restless, as if he didn’t want to wait. He took a step toward Tim, instinctively lifting a hand toward his face. It was an odd gesture, almost as if he were trying to comfort him.

And then it happened.

For the first time, Tim felt the ghost’s touch: an intense cold that sliced through his skin like a blade of ice. He froze, eyes wide, as the ghost’s hand briefly rested against his cheek. The contact was fleeting, barely a second, but enough to make Tim’s heart race.

“How…?” he whispered, but before he could finish, the connection broke.

The ghost looked just as startled, staring at his own hand as if he didn’t understand what had happened. He stepped back, his form flickering faintly as though losing stability. Tim reached out, but his hand passed through the specter as usual.

“Great. Another mystery,” Tim muttered, lowering his hand in frustration.

The ghost watched him, guilty, but Tim just shook his head.

“It’s fine. It was… weird, but it’s fine. Just don’t try it again until we know why it happened. I don’t want you disappearing or something worse.”

The ghost nodded, his expression serious. Tim wasn’t sure what had just happened, but a part of him couldn’t shake how human that touch had felt, like there was something more to the ghost that tethered him to this world.

The next day, while inspecting the orphanage building, Tim decided to take a risk. They had found a journal among the rubble, and though the ghost couldn’t touch it, it was clear it held some importance to him.

“All right, let’s try this,” Tim said, holding the journal in one hand and extending the other toward the specter. “If you could touch me before, maybe you can do it again.”

The ghost looked at him uncertainly but nodded. Slowly, he raised his hand and reached toward Tim’s. For a moment, they both held their breath, as if the entire world had paused.

But this time, there was no cold, no sensation at all. The ghost’s hand passed through Tim’s as it always did, leaving no trace. The specter stepped back, his expression disheartened, while Tim glanced down at his own hand, frustrated.

“It doesn’t matter,” Tim said, trying to brush it off, though his voice betrayed a hint of disappointment. “We’ll figure out how it worked the first time.”

The ghost looked at him, his dark eyes filled with unspoken apologies. Tim just sighed and tucked the journal into his backpack.

“Come on, we’ve got work to do. This isn’t going to stop us.”

As they walked through the dark hallways of the building, Tim couldn’t stop thinking about that fleeting moment of contact and how something so brief could feel so significant.

The journal they found didn’t turn out to be the key they’d hoped for. Instead of revealing who the ghost was, its pages spoke of another victim: a young woman who had been trapped and murdered by the villain who used the building as his lair. Her accounts of fear and despair were like a dagger to Tim’s heart, but for the ghost, they were a brutal reminder of his own tragedy.

As they read through the journal’s final entries together, the specter brought a hand to his temple, as if something was breaking inside him.

“I remember,” he whispered suddenly.

Tim looked up, surprised to hear his voice.

“What do you remember?”

The ghost closed his eyes tightly. His form flickered faintly, as though he was on the verge of vanishing.

“My death... It happened here. He... chained us all to the walls, and every week, one of us would die and...” The specter faltered, his barely audible voice breaking into a murmur. “I don’t know who I was before that, but I remember everything. The pain. The fear.”

Tim set the journal aside and stepped closer to the ghost, feeling the air grow colder around him. The specter looked more vulnerable than ever, like a fractured reflection of something that had once been human.

“You don’t need to remember everything,” Tim said softly, his voice cutting through the heavy silence of the room. “You don’t need to know who you were before this.”

The ghost opened his eyes and looked at him, confused.

“How can I move forward without knowing?”

Tim crossed his arms, studying him with a mix of determination and compassion.

“Because you’re not what they did to you. You’re not just your death. You can start over. Be someone new.”

The ghost seemed to consider his words, his lost expression softening little by little.

“Do you really think I can?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Tim nodded.

“I believe in you.”

A heavy silence fell between them, but something had shifted. The specter took a step closer to Tim, and this time, when he extended his hand, it wasn’t to pass through him like before. Tim felt the cold yet firm touch of the ghost’s fingers against his own.

“It works,” Tim murmured, unable to hide the surprise in his voice.

The ghost pulled his hand back, looking at it as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened. Then he lifted his gaze to Tim, his uncertain expression transforming into a faint smile.

Tim slowly raised his hand and gently placed it on the ghost’s cheek, their breaths mingling as their lips met, catching the specter off guard.

The ghost let out a brief laugh—the first Tim had ever heard from him. And for the first time, the air between them didn’t feel cold or heavy. It felt, strangely, like a new beginning.

The tranquility of Wayne Manor was shattered one night when Dick decided to pay Tim a surprise visit in his room. As usual, he barged in without knocking, a carefree grin on his face.

“Tim! Did you know that—?” The words died in his throat.

There, standing by Tim’s desk, was the ghost boy. His ethereal figure glowed faintly under the light of the monitor, and his expressionless face turned toward Dick with an unsettling calm.

Dick jumped back, hitting the door with a loud thud, his eyes wide as saucers.

“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!” he yelled, pointing at the specter with a mix of horror and confusion.

Tim, who was sitting at his desk going through files, turned slowly, frowning.

“‘That’? He’s my… friend,” he replied, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

The ghost tilted his head slightly, staring at Dick without a word.

Dick started pointing frantically between the ghost and Tim.

“I thought Damian was lying when he said you had a ghost boyfriend! But… Oh my God, he was right! IT’S REAL!”

Tim groaned, covering his face with his hand, letting out a deep sigh of resignation.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Then what is he?!” Dick flailed his hands dramatically, clearly on the verge of a meltdown. “Because I swear, if he moves through walls, I’m going to scream louder than Damian does when he loses a chess match!”

The ghost, completely unfazed, seemed almost amused by Dick’s overreaction—probably the first time anyone had found an adult in blue spandex so comical.

“He’s harmless,” Tim said, trying to calm Dick as he stood up from his chair. “And the whole ‘ghost boyfriend’ thing is ridiculous.”

“Sure, sure,” Dick replied, raising his hands in mock surrender as he edged toward the door. “I just want it on record that if he starts moving objects or possessing people, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Before he could leave, the ghost stepped forward and, with a smooth motion, pushed a book from the edge of Tim’s desk toward Dick. The book hit the floor with a loud thud.

“I KNEW HE WOULD MOVE STUFF!” Dick shouted, bolting out the door.

Tim watched his older brother sprint down the hallway, while the ghost, for the first time, showed a faint, mischievous smile.

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” Tim said, though his tone made it clear he was more amused than annoyed.

The ghost merely shrugged, his eyes glinting with playful mischief.

“Well,” Tim muttered, leaning forward against the desk, placing his hands on either side of the ghost, effectively trapping him. “At least now Damian won’t be able to use the whole ‘ghost boyfriend’ thing against me just to annoy me.”

The ghost didn’t reply, but something in his expression hinted that he was enjoying the closeness far more than he should.

[plaidcowboy]

છ !loner!shoupe being rafe’s alibi continued

── ✦ .ᐟ loner!shoupe!reader

છ previous

‧₊˚ ׁ  ׅ after rafe found the cross :

୭ 𝜗𝜚 ⠀ ┈─⠀ִㅤ ░ ㅤׄ

“i know where they’re hiding it” was rafe’s first words when you opened the door. nevermind your being prohibited to have company while shoupe was away, rafe never cared. he had been on about this cross that the pouges found and all you wanted was to plant yourself in their group as a mole so you could find out more information. rafe shot your idea down, warning you to stay away from the pouges. the more people said it, the more you wanted to do the opposite.

your eyes widened, stepping back so rafe could enter. he did so, hoisting you up by the waist with a smile. “pretty, i found it. those dumb pouges couldn’t cover their tracks for nothing. i found it. rafe.”

you giggled down at him, grasping his shoulders. his happiness was yours times a thousand. him being able to find the cross on his own.. somewhat.. added on to things you were proud of rafe for.

“okay, okay. what do you do now? i could help you take it? where are you going to put it? it could stay here, i’ll find somewhere for it..”

rafe set you down, sliding a hand over your mouth. “first, that thing looks heavy. you’re not touching it. second, there is no way you could hide the cross here. you want to be bad so badly for me, you don’t even care to actually think first.”

you stared up at him, mouth trapped. you mumbled an apology into his hand, knowing you were jumping the ship. “what’s that?” rafe leaned closer with a brow raised, hand still on you. you huffed, tugging down his hand. “you’re right, i’m sorry.”

“no need to be sorry, you need to be safe. even if you could, it’s too dangerous for it to be in your possession. i have a plan, i need to run to barry’s to carry it out. once i know i need to solve something, i have to get it done. you understand.”

it wasn’t a question. rafe knew you understood. you knew about barry from things rafe has told you. he confided in you about his substance issues, but how barry was willing to do what rafe said if money was thrown at him. you still seethed a little at the fact barry was the reason you weren’t able to touch rafe for a while. rafe assured you he still had the trailer owner under his thumb. that was what mattered. rafe having the upper hand on everyone. it’s what you admired most about him. you bit your lip at the thought, rafe’s lip forming a smirk upon seeing it. almost like he knew where your thoughts went without asking.

you nodded, placing your hands on his chest. “of course. you know what’ll happen if you get yourself hurt. i don’t have to tell you to be careful.” you promised with a threat. something you did whenever rafe was going off to handle something that could put him in harms way. you told him what you would do if he came back with a mere scratch on his face. rafe, unaware if he could take you seriously or not, promised anyway that he wouldn’t get hurt. nevermind the time pope roughed him up after he threatened kie when she confronted him about peterkin. you didn’t need to see that. and you didn’t need to go swinging that pocket knife around and getting yourself in trouble.

“you don’t, but i will be. for you” was always rafe’s response. he grabbed your hand, placing a kiss on the back of it where your scar lied under your skin. “i’ll come see you later” he grabbed your head, placing another on the top of it. once he was out the door, you shut it with a dreamy sigh.

when he returned to you, muddy with a slightly dripping bloody nose, you steeled him with a hard glare, tugging the blade from your pocket. but, “don’t worry” rafe said. “i handled it” he said..

‧₊˚ ׁ  ׅ rafe returning after shipping the cross :

୭ 𝜗𝜚 ⠀ ┈─⠀ִㅤ ░ ㅤׄ

you were shocked when rafe entered through your window, tugging you down to your floor with his arms tightly bound around you, not saying a word. you ran your fingers over his head that he lied on your chest, breathing in you.

“hi” you whispered, glancing to your door. it was late and your father was fast asleep. the need to be cautious was pushed down by the content you felt at having rafe in your arms again. your legs tangled together, his weight pressing into you from above, acting as your anchor. you placed a kiss on his temple, smiling at the easy access. “your hair..” you murmured, smiling against his skin.

his hands found refugee roaming around your body, needing to feel you as much as you needed to feel him. “too long” you heard him whisper into your neck where he placed little pecks. “too long” he sighed out, head coming back to lie on you.

that was way too long to be without you.

‧₊˚ ׁ  ׅ when rafe melted the cross :

୭ 𝜗𝜚 ⠀ ┈─⠀ִㅤ ░ ㅤׄ

“can i..?” your fingers reached out hesitantly to the nugget in rafe’s palm. real gold. rafe chuckled, placing a kiss on your shoulder where you sat perched on his lap on the chair that sat on your wooden porch. shoupe was too busy going around handling business and worries about the gold that was being talked about around outer banks. and here you were, close to touching it. the gold rafe found. the gold rafe melted. all him.

“yeah you can” he lifted it closer to you, letting your fingers skim over the surface. “that’s so cool..”

you turned to him with hearts in your eyes. “and you said you already have buyers lined up?” you fiddled with the lapels of his suit jacket. this new look, you loved.

“mm hm, not hard to get people’s attention with this stuff. they’re all the same and they all want the same thing. i’m the only one that can supply it to them.”

you were giddy with proudness at rafe. he did it. he showed his dad what he’s capable of. he helped his family’s issue. not sarah, not ward. rafe. since it became all he wanted, it became what you wanted as well. you would steer your dad off to focus on something else whenever he mentioned anything close to a treasure. whether it was throwing the pouges under the bus or leading him somewhere where he wouldn’t find anything, you needed to stall him so rafe could carry out his plan. rafe didn’t know it. he didn’t need to.

you threw your arms around his neck, running your fingers across his nape. “i could help distribute it, if you like? so many people walk past here, i could get their attention and mention it. i could help this go quicker. the faster you are, the less likely you’ll get caught..”

rafe ran his thumb over your lips, signaling you to stop talking. “you do have the pretty face for selling.” you grinned under his thumb. “but you know who you are..”

you took a second to come down from your eagerness to help rafe, taking in his words. right. you’re the sheriff’s daughter. if anyone found out about you selling gold to people, you’d never hear the end of it from shoupe. but you couldn’t help thinking it’d be worth it if it helped rafe.

“right.. i just wish there was a way for me to help..” you murmured softly after rafe removed his thumb to stroke it against your cheek.

he sighed. it wasn’t easy seeing you like this. you were always so eager to make anything easier for rafe. to go against your dad if you needed to. to throw off the cops. rafe couldn’t tell you just how much he appreciated you.

“you want to help?” you shook your quickly in a nod, rafe’s hand gripping your face to still you. “put on that good little girl act for dad. keep up that innocent face to get things your way. you know you’re good at it.”

you peered up at him while his hand covered most of your face, thwarting you from moving. “then you drop it around me. let yourself be my little accomplice. that’s how you help me. i couldn’t ask for anything more.

you remained silent, rafe not yet telling you you could talk again. he noticed, and he let his thumb tug your mouth open, and you spoke around it. “okay, rafe. whatever you want.”

୭ 𝜗𝜚 ⠀ ┈─⠀ִㅤ ░ ㅤׄ

‧₊˚ ׁ  ׅ part three..

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Ulterior Motives

Another lil one shot inspired by this gorgeous work by @tamayula-hl

Summary: A confrontation in Feldcroft shatters trust and friendship as you discover the truth behind Sebastian's intentions.

Words: ~4,600

Tags: Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama, Hurt/No Comfort, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House

The flickering flames in the common room hearth cast long shadows across the walls as you carefully adjusted your scarf. Spring had crept into the Scottish Highlands, but the chill in the air still lingered, especially in the evenings. You glanced at the ornate mirror hanging beside the fireplace, smoothing your hair before securing the clasp of your traveling cloak.

You hadn’t intended to go to Feldcroft today. In fact, when Sebastian and Ominis had extended the invitation at breakfast, you’d politely declined, citing a looming essay on magical theory and a commitment to help Professor Garlick in the greenhouses. But as the day wore on, you found yourself finishing your work earlier than expected, and a restless energy took hold of you. Something about Sebastian’s insistence that you visit—that you speak with Anne again, see the little hamlet he so often spoke of with both warmth and bitterness—lingered in your mind.

You had grown close to Sebastian and Ominis in the months since your arrival at Hogwarts. Starting as a fifth year had been daunting enough, and the peculiar circumstances surrounding your ancient magic hadn’t made it easier. But Sebastian had been there from the start, a whirlwind of charm and relentless curiosity that had drawn you in despite yourself. He had a way of making you feel seen, even when you wanted to disappear, his easy confidence filling the spaces where your own uncertainty crept in.

Ominis had been slower to warm to you, his initial reserve bordering on coldness. But once he decided you weren’t a threat—or worse, an enabler for Sebastian’s more reckless tendencies—he’d become a steady presence in your life. His dry humor and razor-sharp insights often caught you off guard, but you found them strangely comforting. Together, the three of you had fallen into an easy camaraderie, one that felt as though it had always existed.

Still, you couldn’t deny that your connection to Sebastian was… different. It wasn’t just his dark eyes, which seemed to spark with mischief whenever they met yours, or the way his voice softened when he spoke to you. There was something deeper, something unspoken, that pulled you toward him despite the warnings you’d occasionally catch in Ominis’ tone.

The crackle of the fire snapped you out of your thoughts. You stepped closer to the hearth, gripping the small pouch of Floo Powder in your hand. The common room was empty now, the other students likely still at dinner. You hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should have sent word ahead. But Sebastian had always been insistent that you were welcome, no matter the hour.

Taking a deep breath, you tossed the powder into the flames and watched as the fire roared to life, shifting to an otherworldly green. “Feldcroft,” you said firmly, stepping into the flames.

The familiar sensation of being pulled through space and time left you slightly dizzy, but you quickly steadied yourself as you stumbled out into the village, the faint smell of wood smoke and blooming wildflowers filling the air. The setting sun bathed the small hamlet in orange light, casting long shadows across the uneven cobblestone paths. You straightened your cloak, brushing off a few specks of ash, and began making your way toward the Sallow cottage, your steps hesitant yet resolute.

As you approached the house, voices carried through the open window. You froze, recognizing Ominis’s measured tones, though they were sharper than usual, laced with frustration.

“This isn’t right, Sebastian,” Ominis was saying. “She trusts you. Do you have any idea what you’re risking?”

Sebastian’s voice came next, low and urgent. “Of course I know. But this is Anne, we're talking about. I can’t just stand by and do nothing.”

“And using her?” Ominis shot back. “That's your solution? Even after all she's done for you, you're still choosing to manipulate her?”

Sebastian’s response was immediate, but there was a tremor in his voice that betrayed his desperation. “You didn’t see what I saw, Ominis! In Isidora’s memory—she took pain, real pain, and removed it. Don’t you understand what that means? If Isidora could do it, then maybe… maybe she can do it for Anne too. Isn’t it worth trying?”

Ominis’s sharp intake of breath was audible, his frustration mounting. “Don't start trying to manipulate me, too, Sebastian. I know all about that damned memory, and you know as well as I do that what Isidora did was wrong! You saw what it led to—the suffering, the corruption. And yet you still choose to gamble with her trust for something that might not even work.”

“It’s not like I haven’t thought about that!” Sebastian snapped, his voice tinged with both anger and anguish. “You think I don’t know what I’m risking? I can’t just… I can’t lose Anne, Ominis. If there’s even a chance this could help her, how can I not take it? You don’t know what it’s like to feel this helpless, to watch someone you love suffer and not be able to do a damn thing about it!”

“And her?” Ominis pressed, his tone growing quieter but no less firm. “What about her? Have you even considered what this will do to her, how she’ll feel when she realizes what you’ve done? Because she will, Sebastian. She’s not stupid.”

Sebastian hesitated, the silence stretching painfully long. “Yes. Yes of course I... I've thought about it. But Anne is my sister.”

The voices inside the house dissolved into an indistinct murmur, overtaken by the thunderous rush of blood in your ears. You stood motionless, rooted to the cobblestone path as though an invisible hex anchored you in place. The light of the setting sun bathed Feldcroft in warmth, but it couldn’t touch the cold that had settled deep within you, chilling you to the core.

Manipulate her.

The phrase looped in your mind, a discordant refrain that unraveled the web of trust you’d woven around Sebastian.

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat refusing to budge as your thoughts spun wildly. The way Sebastian had drawn you into his orbit from the moment you arrived at Hogwarts—it had felt so genuine, so natural. You'd always believed his persistence, the way he nudged you into his plans and centered you in his life, was an expression of friendship. Maybe even something more.

But now... now you were left with a single, unshakable question: Had any of it been real? How much of it had been Sebastian pulling strings, steering you toward some grand purpose only he could justify?

Your thoughts turned inward, replaying memories that had once made you feel cherished, needed, important. Like the day he’d coaxed you into sneaking into the Restricted Section. How he’d insisted you were the only one he could trust, leaning in with that boyish grin that made it impossible to refuse.

The time you’d followed him to the Scriptorium to retrieve that relic he claimed could help Anne. You’d braved dark magic at his side, not because you thought it was wise—Merlin knew Ominis had tried to stop you—but because he’d asked. Because you’d seen the desperation in his eyes, the way his hands shook when he talked about his sister, and you hadn’t been able to deny him.

And those moments, between the chaos of his schemes, when he’d made you feel like the only person in the world who could understand him. The only person who mattered. The way he’d linger just a little too long after Crossed Wands, brushing his hand against yours as he handed back your wand. The late nights in the Undercroft, the firelight catching in his dark eyes as he spoke of dreams and fears he’d never share with anyone else.

You’d believed him. Believed in him. Believed those moments mattered. But now, the cracks in those memories began to show.

The way Sebastian had pushed you to use your ancient magic—not just once, but time and again, under the guise of curiosity, necessity, or friendship. His playful persistence in urging you to master it, to test its limits. Back then, it had felt like encouragement, like he believed in you in a way no one else did.

Yet with the truth laid bare, that tenacity no longer seemed so innocent.

You pressed yourself against the wall of the cottage, the rough stone digging into your palms as you fought to steady your breathing. Every instinct screamed at you to leave, to turn back and retreat to the safety of Hogwarts where this truth could be shoved into the farthest corner of your mind. But your feet refused to move. You had to hear what else they would say.

“She’s not just some pawn, Ominis!" Sebastian's voice rose again. "I care about her. You know I do. If it were anyone else who could help Anne, I’d ask them, but it’s not—it’s her. She’s the only one who can do this.”

Ominis scoffed. “You can’t care about someone and treat them like this, Sebastian.”

“And what would you have me do?” Sebastian’s voice cracked, the weight of his desperation pressing into every syllable. "You didn’t see what Anne was like last week. She couldn’t even get out of bed. I won’t just sit back and watch her waste away!”

“And what about her?” Ominis shot back, his voice rising. “What about her life? What if your gamble ruins her? You saw what ancient magic did to Isidora—it consumed her, twisted her into something monstrous. What makes you think this will be any different?”

The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of Ominis’s words settling over everything. Even the soft chirping of birds and the gentle rustle of the wind seemed to fade into nothingness. You bit your lip, hard enough to sting, your thoughts a tangled mess of betrayal, confusion, and something darker—anger.

When Sebastian finally spoke again, his voice was quieter, almost pleading. “She’s stronger than Isidora. She’s… she’s different. I wouldn’t let it come to that, Ominis. I won’t.”

The certainty in his voice made your stomach churn. He believed in you, yes—but not in the way you’d hoped. He believed in what you could do for him.

“You say that,” Ominis countered bitterly, his voice weighted with sorrow. “But you can’t promise it. You have no control over what her magic will do to her. These are just empty words—excuses you’re using to justify your actions.”

Sebastian didn’t answer right away, the silence stretching unbearably. You could imagine him standing there, jaw tight, his hands probably clenched into fists at his sides. He always did that when he felt cornered, when he didn’t want to admit Ominis might be right.

But this time, Ominis wasn’t just right—he was holding up a mirror.

Finally, Sebastian spoke, his voice low and trembling. “I have to try, Ominis. I have to. If there’s even the slightest chance I can save her, I can’t just—”

“You can’t what?” Ominis interrupted, his tone sharp. “Accept that some things are beyond your control? Let her live her life without sacrificing someone else for your desperation? Merlin’s sake, Sebastian, listen to yourself! You’ve always been so blind when it comes to Anne—so blinded by grief that you can’t see the damage you’re doing to everyone else around you.”

Sebastian’s breath hitched audibly, the crack in his composure painfully clear. “I can’t lose her, Ominis,” he said softly, the words barely audible. “Anne is all I have left.”

Ominis didn’t respond immediately. The air in the room grew heavier, the tension settling like a dense fog. You couldn’t see his face, but you knew why he’d fallen silent. You knew because you felt it too—the sharp, unforgiving sting of Sebastian’s words, cutting through the fragile threads of trust that still tethered you to him.

Anne is all he has left.

As if you didn’t matter. As if Ominis didn’t matter. As if all the time you’d spent by his side—the sleepless nights in the Undercroft, the risks you’d taken, the secrets you’d kept—meant nothing.

A wave of hurt surged through you, so strong it made your knees weak. All this time, you’d thought you were part of something unshakable. You, Ominis, and Sebastian—three against the world—when in reality, were nothing more than a supporting role in Sebastian’s calamity, a tool he wielded to cling to the one thing he truly cared about.

The realization knocked the air from your lungs.

Ominis finally broke the silence, his voice quieter but no less resolute. “So you’ve convinced yourself that we don’t count, that we’re just—what? Background noise to your tragedy? Something to lean on until we’re no longer useful?”

Sebastian turned sharply, his voice defensive. “That’s not fair, Ominis.”

“Isn’t it?” Ominis shot back, the steel in his voice returning. “You just said it yourself, Sebastian. Anne is all you have left. What does that make us?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Sebastian said after a moment, his voice strained. “You know I didn’t.”

Ominis’s laugh was humorless, bitter. “No, Sebastian. I don’t know.”

Sebastian’s eyes darted toward the window, toward the place where you stood hidden just out of sight. For a moment, you thought he’d sensed you, but his gaze quickly returned to Ominis.

“You’re twisting my words,” he said, his voice thick with frustration. “I didn’t mean that you don’t matter. Of course, you matter. Both of you. You’re my best friends.”

The words should have brought comfort, but they didn’t. They felt hollow, like an afterthought hastily spoken to fill a void. Because no matter what he said now, the truth had already been laid bare.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight as you fought back the tears threatening to spill. It was too much. Too much to hear, too much to feel, too much to bear.

And then your gaze flickered to the window, where you knew Ominis stood just inside, facing Sebastian alone. Ominis—your steadfast, sharp-witted, infuriatingly honest best friend. The one who had been with you through all of this. The one who had seen what you were only now starting to comprehend.

He was hurting too. You could feel it in the tension in his voice, the bitter edge to his words, the way he seemed to waver between fighting for Sebastian and fighting against him.

And you’d be damned if you let him face this alone.

A surge of anger rose in you, hot and unrelenting, overtaking the hurt that had threatened to paralyze you. You pushed off the wall and stormed toward the door, your footsteps heavy against the cobblestones. The wooden door creaked as you shoved it open, and the tension in the room hit you like a physical force.

Sebastian’s head snapped toward you, his dark eyes widening in immediate panic. “You—” he started, but the words caught in his throat, his face blanching as if he’d seen a ghost.

Ominis’s head turned sharply in your direction, his expression oscillating between vindication and sorrow. His pale eyes, though unseeing, seemed to pierce straight through you, as if he already knew exactly how much you’d heard.

Your gaze didn’t linger on Ominis for long, though. You closed the distance between yourself and Sebastian in two quick steps, your eyes blazing with a fury he’d never seen from you before. He flinched, his shoulders tensing as he took an involuntary step back. “I—”

“No,” you interrupted, your tone sharp and unwavering, cutting through the tension like a blade. “You’ve done enough talking. It’s my turn now.” You took a steadying breath, your hands clenching at your sides as you fought to keep your voice steady, though the storm inside you threatened to spill over. “I trusted you, Sebastian. I trusted you.” The weight of your own words crashed down on you as they left your lips, tightening the knot in your throat. “Do you even understand what that means? What it feels like to trust someone with everything, only to realize they’ve been lying to you the whole time?”

His mouth opened and closed, but no words came. His dark eyes, so often full of mischief or defiance, were wide with panic, darting between you and Ominis as though seeking some kind of escape.

“I followed you,” you continued, your voice trembling now, though it didn’t lose its edge. “Every time you asked—no, every time you pushed me to do something, I followed. Because I believed you. I believed you cared about me, that we were in this together. But now…” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to continue. “Now I find out that all of it—every risk I took, every time I used my magic, every secret I kept—it was all for Anne. Not us. Not even you. Just her.”

Sebastian’s lips parted, but his voice was barely above a whisper. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, isn’t it?” You let out a humorless laugh, the sound bitter and sharp. “What part of it isn’t like that, Sebastian? The part where you pulled me into every reckless scheme you could come up with? The part where you made me think it was about trust, about friendship, when all along you were just using me? Or maybe the part where you’ve decided to gamble with my life?!"

“Stop,” Sebastian said, his voice tight with desperation, his hands raised as if to calm you. “It’s not like that. I care about you—I care about you so much. That’s why—”

“You care about me?” you interrupted, your voice rising. “You care about me so much that you’ve spent months lying to me, manipulating me, pushing me into situations that could have killed me?” You stepped closer, the anger burning hotter now, fueled by the tremor in his voice that betrayed just how much of your accusation was true. “You think that’s care, Sebastian? You think that’s what Anne would want?”

Sebastian froze, his expression crumpling as your words struck their mark. He opened his mouth, then closed it, his hands falling limply to his sides. For a moment, he looked utterly lost, as though the weight of his actions had only just begun to dawn on him.

“I never meant to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know what else to do. I thought—”

“You didn’t think about me at all," you interrupted coldly. "And you didn't think about Ominis either. But I guess that tracks since Anne's the only thing you have left, right?

Sebastian shook his head, his voice trembling. “That’s not true. You’re not just—”

“Don’t lie to me."

The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of your words settling over all three of you. Sebastian stood there, his face pale, his eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound came.

You took a step back, your chest heaving as you tried to steady your breathing. “I don’t even know who you are anymore, Sebastian. Honestly... I don't think I ever did." You laughed, a hollow, bitter sound that echoed through the tense room. "And I don’t think you know anymore, either.”

A tear slipped down his cheek, and he took a hesitant step toward you. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice trembling. “I’m so sorry.”

But you stepped back, keeping the distance between you. “Bullshit."

The room fell silent again, the air heavy with the weight of everything that had been said—and everything that hadn’t. You turned to Ominis, who had remained quiet throughout the exchange, his pale eyes fixed on some distant point. He looked tired, his usual sharpness dulled by the tension hanging over the three of you.

“I’m leaving,” you said, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you.

Ominis gave a small nod, his expression unreadable. “I’ll walk you to the Floo,” he offered, his tone gentle.

Sebastian took a step forward, his hand reaching out as if to stop you. “Wait—”

"Leave me alone, Sebastian. We're done."

He froze, his outstretched hand faltering mid-air as your words landed like a physical blow. The look in his eyes—desperation, disbelief, pain—should have softened you. Before, it would have. But now, it only fueled the anger and hurt simmering inside you.

“You don’t mean that,” he said, his voice breaking, trembling with raw emotion. “You can’t.”

You turned to face him fully. “I do. I do I mean it. I can’t keep doing this, Sebastian. I can’t keep letting you drag me into your schemes, making me feel like I matter to you, only to find out I’m just... convenient.”

“You’re not convenient,” he insisted, his voice rising, his fists clenching at his sides. “You’re everything to me. Don’t you see that?”

You laughed bitterly, the sound harsh and hollow. “Obviously I'm not. I'm just the person you need to save Anne.”

His face crumpled, and for a moment, you thought he might fall apart entirely. But you didn’t wait for him to respond. You turned on your heel, your steps resolute as you headed for the door. Ominis followed quietly.

Sebastian’s voice cracked behind you, desperate and pleading. “Please don’t do this. Please don’t walk away.”

You paused, your hand on the doorframe, your heart aching even as your anger burned bright. Without turning around, you spoke, your voice steady but laced with the pain you could no longer hide.

“You only care that I'm walking away because you’re losing control. This isn’t about me, Sebastian. It’s never been about me. It’s about you. What you want, what you think you need, and what you’re willing to sacrifice to get it."

Sebastian’s sharp intake of breath behind you was the only sound in the room, but you didn’t turn to see the devastation you knew was etched across his face. You couldn’t. If you saw it—if you saw the brokenness in his eyes, the tears trailing down his cheeks—it might undo you completely. And you couldn’t afford that.

You felt a gentle touch, Ominis’s hand brushing against yours. His silent offer of support was steady, grounding, and you took it, intertwining your fingers with his.

Wordlessly, you walked out of the house together, the cool night air biting against your skin. The quiet surrounded you as you made your way down the cobblestone path, your footsteps the only sound breaking the stillness. Ominis didn’t speak, but his presence was a comfort, his hand still firmly clasping yours.

It wasn’t until you reached the Floo station that the weight of it all finally hit you. The anger that had kept you upright, the fire that had propelled you forward, began to crumble under the sheer weight of the betrayal, the heartbreak, and the loss. Your shoulders trembled, and you drew in a shaky breath, the tears that had been threatening finally spilling over.

Ominis pulled you into his arms, his embrace firm and protective, even as you felt his own shoulders shake faintly. He was hurting too; you could feel it in the way his breath hitched, the way his head rested against yours for a moment as if he, too, was seeking solace.

“I’m so sorry,” you choked out between sobs, unsure if you were apologizing to him, to yourself, or to the remnants of what you’d lost.

Ominis shook his head gently, his voice steady despite the emotion lacing it. “Don’t apologize. This isn’t your fault. None of this is your fault," he inhaled slowly. "I should have told you sooner. I... I'm sorry, I thought I could fix it." His arms tightened around you as if trying to shield you from the storm you were both caught in. “I thought I could stop him before it got this far. Before it hurt you.”

You shook your head against his shoulder, your voice muffled but insistent. “It’s not your fault, Ominis. You tried. You always try.” You pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his pale, unseeing eyes, which were glassy with unshed tears. "You can’t take the blame for what he chose to do.”

After some time, Ominis gently released you, his hands lingering on your shoulders as he straightened up. His thumbs brushed across your cheeks, wiping away the tears that clung to your skin.

“Now what?” he asked quietly, his voice laced with equal parts uncertainty and exhaustion.

You shook your head, your throat tightening again as you struggled to form an answer. “I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what comes next."

Ominis nodded. He seemed to weigh his words carefully before speaking again. “Back to Hogwarts, then?”

You hesitated, glancing toward the Floo behind you. “Yeah." You paused, looking at him more closely. “Are you coming with me?”

He didn’t answer right away, his gaze dropping slightly as he shifted his weight. Finally, he shook his head. “No,” he said quietly, his voice firm despite the tremor of emotion in it. “Not yet.”

“Why?” you asked, your brow furrowing in confusion. “You don’t have to stay, Ominis. You don’t owe him anything.”

“I’m not staying for him,” Ominis replied, his voice steadier now. He glanced toward the direction of the Sallow cottage, his expression softening with something you couldn’t quite place. “Anne will be home soon—with Solomon. She’s... she’s innocent in all of this. She doesn’t deserve to be caught in the middle of what Sebastian has done. She’s been through enough.”

Your heart ached at his words, the quiet truth of them cutting through the haze of your own pain. Anne. Of course. For all of Sebastian’s manipulations, for all the hurt he had caused, she was the one who bore the weight of his desperation. And she hadn’t asked for any of it.

“She doesn’t know, does she?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

Ominis shook his head again, his jaw tightening. “No. But I don’t think I can leave without making sure she’s okay.” He exhaled slowly, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I owe her that much.”

“I understand,” you said, your voice soft but sincere. “She’s lucky to have you.”

His lips quirked into a faint, bittersweet smile, though the sadness in his expression didn’t fade. "I'll see you tomorrow. We... we'll figure things out."

You nodded slowly, your grip tightening briefly on his hand before you let go, the warmth of his touch still grounding you.

“Tomorrow,” you echoed softly, though the thought of facing all of this again made your chest tighten.

Ominis gave a small nod, his pale eyes unfocused but heavy with emotion. “Get some rest,” he murmured, his voice gentle but firm. “You’ve been through enough for one day.”

You wanted to argue, to tell him that he’d been through just as much—if not more—but the exhaustion in his voice silenced you. Instead, you reached up and placed a hand lightly on his arm, offering a silent promise that you’d be okay. Or at least, that you’d try to be.

“You too,” you said quietly, your voice faltering slightly.

With a deep breath, you turned toward the Floo. The weight in your chest hadn’t lifted, but Ominis’s quiet resolve gave you a flicker of hope—hope that, somehow, you’d both make it through this.

[slut4christopherr]

— THE PARTY —

part five..

warnings: make out session, dirty talk, swearing (if there’s any more lmk)

summary: you guys arrive at chris’ secret destination, you and chris not in matt’s sight anymore, what could happen?

chris talking = orange

matt talking = blue

reader talking = pink

matt looks between the two of you, feeling increasingly uncomfortable.

“jesus, can you two stop flirting for like, five seconds?”

he mutters, clearly not enjoying the chemistry between you and his brother.

your eyes dart over to matt, seeing the pissed off look on his face.

chris just rolls his eyes at his brother’s comment.

“jealous, matt?”

he teases, his smirk growing wider.

matt glares at his hermano.

“you wish.”

chris chuckles, clearly entertained by their bickering.

“just admit it, you’re jealous i’m getting more game than you.”

you can’t help but laugh, the way them words came out of chris’ mouth tickled you.

both matt and chris turn their gazes towards you, surprised by your sudden laugh.

chris grins at your reaction, clearly pleased that you’re amused.

“see, she thinks i’m absolutely fuckin’ hilarious. right?”

he asks, his eyes locking on yours.

you nod, still giggling slightly.

“yeah, you are kinda funny”

matt rolls his eyes once again, still annoyed at the situation.

“can we please get going already?”

he mutters, gesturing for the three of you to continue walking.

5 minutes later..

as you three keep walking you approach a hotel, chris turns around and smirks, suggesting this is where you guys are staying tonight.

the exterior of the hotel looks fancy and expensive, clearly designed for the more upper-class clientele.

chris pauses in his tracks and turns around, a sly smile on his face.

“looks like we’re here.”

he says, gesturing towards the hotel.

matt groans at the sight of the hotel, clearly annoyed.

“seriously chris? a fuckin’ hotel?”

chris just shrugs, still grinning.

“what? It’s a nice hotel. and we’ll have some privacy, away from all the noise of the party.”

chris’ grin only grows wider.

“me and y/n have our own room anyways.”

chris tosses matt’s hotel room key to him.

“your on your own man.”

matt’s annoyed expression only grows more intense.

“you’re not staying in the same room as her, chris.”

he says firmly, his tone warning.

chris rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed by his brother’s protectiveness.

“and why not?”

matt scoffs, clearly pissed off.

“because you can’t be trusted, that’s why.”

matt replies, his eyes narrowing

chris lets out an exasperated huff.

“come on, matt. have some faith. i’m not gonna do anything.”

you butt in, sick to the back teeth of their bickering

“cmon, matt, it’s fine, okay?”

matt looks at you, his expression torn between annoyance and concern.

“are you sure?”

he mutters, his eyes flickering over to his brother

chris just grins, clearly enjoying the situation.

you give chris a wink and a cheeky grin.

“yeah, m’sure”

chris’s grin widens at your expression, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

matt sighs, knowing he’s outnumbered.

“fine, but if anything happens—”

he warns, letting his threat hang in the air.

chris just waves off his brother’s threat, clearly unconcerned.

matt gives chris a final glare before reluctantly acquiesce, sighing in defeat.

“just be careful, alright?”

he mutters in your direction before turning and walking off to his own room.

as soon as the door shuts behind you, chris wastes no time in pulling you into a passionate kiss. his mouth meets yours hungrily, his tongue seeking out your own in an instant.

his hands grip your hips, pulling you closer to him, his body pressed tightly against yours. you can feel the heat radiating off of him, his desire for you clear in his every touch.

the heat inbetween your legs grows unbearable.

the kiss is intense, filled with a mix of lust and need. chris’s hands slide up your sides, tracing a fiery trail along your skin. his fingers tangle in your hair, gripping it tightly as he devours your mouth.

chris reluctantly breaks the kiss, his breathing heavy. he pulls his phone out of his pocket, glancing at the notification on the screen.

“it’s matt,”

he mutters, his voice thick with annoyance.

“what does he want?”

chris sighs as he reads the text message from his brother.

“he wants to meet up in the hotel lobby.”

he says, his voice tinged with frustration.

“probably just wants to give me a lecture.”

“oh, but chris. do we really have to go? cant we just stay here, i can tell you want it”

your eyes go down to his growing erection, straining in his pants.

chris’s eyes follow your gaze downwards, a small smirk forming on his lips as he catches you staring.

“you make a convincing argument.”

he murmurs, his hand coming to rest on your hip.

a/n: oh is it hot in here? or is it just after reading that because wooooo it’s getting steamyyy!! thank you sm for reading my other parts are pinned on my blog!! 🎀

taglist @ariastur9z @baileysturns @ishasturnz @sturns-mermaid @mattsbrowser @chr1sslvtt

[americasboyfriendposting]

LUIGI MANGIONE UPDATE (23/1/25)

Synopsis: Love and solidarity for Luigi transcends prison borders

Earlier today: Someone who was incarcerated in the same prison as Luigi Mangione (the previous location of Huntingdon Pennsylvania) has revealed what it was like to share a prison with Luigi at that time. This update is new because only now has someone been released from prison who was one of the inmates at the time, and they are currently sharing their experiences with this case.

They detail how the entire prison went into lock-down mode anytime Luigi was escorted from his cell. No one was allowed to move until Luigi was safely escorted from any one place to another. He was kept in a blue padded suit (different from the orange jumpsuits everyone else wore.) and it is said that this type of suit is to prevent self harm. They took extreme precaution with him that other inmates had never seen before. No one was allowed to interact with him.

Back in December 2024, the entire inmate population in Pennsylvania had already heard about Luigi's alleged acts of heroism as many inmates had access to television and were permitted to watch the news. But despite major news outlets attempting to steer the public perception of Luigi Mangione towards a much more negative one, all of the inmates had already seen through the deception and recognized him as a hero. Rumors began that Luigi Mangione was now located somewhere in their prison, and it became gossip of the entire inmate population. People couldn't believe he was in the same building as they were and speculated as to where they were keeping him. They exchanged word of mouth about how poorly he was being treated and the idea made many of the inmates upset on Luigi's behalf.

Then news reporters came. Prisoners initially began using a tactic of blinking the lights in their cells to communicate with reporters, answering yes or no questions, and then eventually blinking just to show solidarity with other inmates in agreement of their support for Luigi. The inmates were swiftly punished by the prison staff for doing this. Inmates were told they would be placed in solitary confinement as well as have other punishments—some reports say reduced food privileges—if they were to keep talking to news reporters. However, these threats did not deter the inmates. Instead, inmates stopped using their blinking lights so the prison staff could no longer single out which cells were responsible. Instead, they began communicating via shouting in unison as loud as they could. The shouts could be heard throughout the whole prison and beyond the prison fences. They were shouting to reporters that they demand prison staff treat Luigi Mangione with more kindness, improve the conditions he is being held in, and allow him to watch television as he is being barred from access to entertainment while incarcerated. Most importantly, they shouted "Free Luigi!"

Some inmates were aware their voices were likely too faint or drowned out by all the others. But all of them shouted anyway because they felt like Luigi Mangione was giving them a voice that they did not normally have as prisoners. Inmates were incredibly happy to be part of this.

The released inmate in question is quoted as saying "His brothers here will intently follow his case as it moves forward through the criminal justice system, all the while telling anyone who’ll listen, if it had been them, what they would have done to keep from getting arrested in the first place." They all talk about what they would've done differently if it meant they could save Luigi. They all agree that they were part of something historic and remember the event fondly.

_

Later, at Luigi's re-location to MDC where as of this post he still resides, public supporters of Luigi Mangione came to hold a noise demonstration with the hope of keeping Luigi company on New Years Eve. Supporters were ringing bells, blowing trumpets, whistles, and banging on home depot buckets as makeshift drums while standing outside the prison. It appears that Luigi learned from the inmates of Pennsylvania on how to show solidarity with those outside a prison, because supporters quickly noticed the window of Luigi's cell began flashing lights. This was met with cheers as onlookers hope this means Luigi was showing the same solidarity for them as the previous prison had shown for him just weeks earlier.

These are snapshots taken from a now deleted video; the video of supporters was removed by twitter/x as part of a widespread censorship campaign to silence online support for Luigi.

Sources: (1) https://prisonjournalismproject.org/2025/01/23/luigi-mangione-prison (2) https://nypost.com/2024/12/12/us-news/luigi-mangiones-fellow-inmates-decry-terrible-prison-conditions-in-wild-tv-interview-with-reporter-standing-outside (3) https://x.com/ceo_slayers/status/1874650975967064227

[bumblebee-online]

i imagine vee x a extractor reader fluff/angst where the reader got hurt by a distractor getting to close cause the twisted to attack them and vee helps them get to the elevator.

⟡ ݁₊ . “Love Buzz” ~ vee x distractor! crush(?)

☎️; not totally sure what I was doing here,,, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless! :3 put crush(?) ‘cause if you rlly wanna think of it as established relationship, you could!!!

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

You were never much of a distractor yourself, not great with chases as your mind tends to just go blank and you’re not so quick on your feet. But it wasn’t something to dwell on, as you found your real talent in the ichor machines. Over time, you became more familiar with them, improving your skills. It’s safe to say you became one of the best… though you wouldn’t brag about it.

You were working on the final machine, still not exactly sure what threats were walking around or who exactly they were. You knew Vee was nearby—she always was. That girl refused to let you out of her sights for more than just a moment. But you always reassured her, telling her it was fine, that you are fine, and you really were.

Then you watched Flutter swing by, leading what looked like Poppy away from another area. The thing is… Flutter didn’t quite notice you, putting you directly in harm’s way. Before you could react, a sharp pain shot through your shoulder, like someone scraping a fork across your back. Poppy’s fingers dug into your skin, snatching you away from the ichor machine, leaving you momentarily stunned.

Before another mysterious figure roughly tugged you away, you caught a horrifying glimpse of Poppy, her face contorted with rage, ichor staining her features. Her jaw unhinged, ready to bite into you. Thankfully that never came to happen, and you found yourself running alongside your savior, still too stunned to fully process what had just happened.

“You better not slow down! We’re getting to that elevator, and I’m not waiting for you to get snagged by some Twisted! Keep up, or I’ll carry you there myself,” Vee spoke sharply, gripping your hand as she guided you along, the timer quickly ticking down and the alarm blaring in your ears. You almost wished she’d just sweep you off your feet and carry you.

With just five seconds to spare, Vee gently pushed you into the elevator, her attention already focused on your shoulder to examine the injury. A worried, panicked expression flickered on her screen, her bow tie slightly tilted. Though clearly stressed, she softly traced the wound with her cold fingers, and a faint static hum filled the air, a tiny sign of relief, kind of like a quiet sigh.

“You’ll be fine. I should’ve been there sooner, I’m sorry.” she muttered, her gaze drifting to the floor. You could only stare at her, your eyes full of love and appreciation. The pain in your back stung, but it hardly mattered, you were just grateful to be alive.

Vee glanced over at you, raising an eyebrow. “What are you lookin’ at? I mean-” she started to ramble, but you quickly cut her off with a hug before she could finish.

“Thank you, thank you so much, Vee! Seriously, I can’t thank you enough,” you repeat, smiling as you hold onto her tightly.

Vee gave a tiny, gentle smile in return, trying to appear unfazed. “You’re welcome. It was nothing,” she replied with her typical confidence, holding you just as close, trying to be subtle about how much she really cares.

With your hands resting lovingly on either sides of her screen, you let out a soft giggle, feeling the light shock of her touch in response to yours. You kindaaa almost forgot she was made of wires and circuits…

“Alright, c’mon. We can’t celebrate yet. There’s still a whole lot more to do,” the game-show host added with a serious tone, though her content expression gave her away. You really knew how to tug at her heartstri— no, wires.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

[sailorspica]

the stars have all gone (cont.)

suggestive, with an allusion to assault and brief, clinical discussion of manslaughter. crocodile x f!reader, past basil hawkins x reader. selfshippy; reader is a different race from both. 2.1k words.

"There's a man asking for you."

These days you did readings in the back of a the cafe near the bakery where you worked now. Your client base grew by word of mouth, and interested parties called your Den Den Mushi with their birth information, so the only people who showed up at the cafe asking for you by name were usually pissed at you—rarely a client themself, but more often than not someone in their life affected by whatever advice they heard in your commentary.

You checked your notebook of charts for the week. All women. Definitely not a client.

"What's he look like?" you asked the cafe owner.

His eyes shifted. "I like you, I do, I like that your business brings me business. I knew your past was something suspect. But—"

"I'm sorry, what?"

The owner stepped closer and stage whispered: "It's Sir Crocodile."

You didn't make a habit of hooking up with strange men, but you supposed infamous men were a trend in your single-digit body count considering you gave your virginity to a captain of the Worst Generation. That night, months ago, Crocodile easily tucked you into his side away from the from view of other diners as you left the restaurant, and you let yourself ebb along. You weren't even sure what you kept talking about, but his rich, low laughter sounded surprised at itself and thrummed in your veins the next morning when you woke alone in a suite at a fine hotel you'd only passed since settling here. On his side of the bed was a folded note, unsigned: "I'll see you."

You assumed they were empty words, or careful ones. Crocodile seemed to move around a lot, having no base of operations since he was stripped of his Warlord title, so you shrugged it off at the time. But now...

Surely they weren't sweet nothings. He was too sensible for that. So maybe you offended him and it was actually an oblique threat, in which case you'd better climb out the window.

"I'll talk to him. Is it okay for him to come in?"

The cafe owner blanched, then hardened. "If this means trouble, we're done."

He left to retrieve Crocodile like the notorious pirate was there for a chart reading (was he?), or like he was... calling on you, like a suitor (...was he?).

You shook yourself and tried to remember anything after the restaurant. What he tasted like under the wine, or what his pale skin looked like in low light. But you came up empty except for the smell of the cool spices of his aftershave in the sheets.

Damn.

His footsteps were heavy and leisurely before he stopped in the doorway, and you felt the breath leave your lungs. How was he so handsome? Other people would find his scars off putting, and there were several; you weren't researching him or anything, but you saw wanted posters from throughout the years, and they seemed to only accumulate along his face. His hair was dark as yours, but your skin was pinkish and cool while his was a warm, light olive.

"You keep odd hours," Crocodile more grunted than said.

"I do," you agreed. It was mid-afternoon, and only the start of your day. You had a little solitary time in your room at a women's boardinghouse before you did consultations, then spent the night studying for future clients until your pre-opening bakery shift well before nautical twilight, earlier than you'd wake up on the Grudge Dolph. Then you slept most of the time the sun was up, ironic for you and your diurnal chart, but you didn't believe in this stuff anymore.

"Long time no see," you said pointedly, and nodded at the chair across from you.

Crocodile looked too big for the cafe, like everything was doll furniture to his stature. You knew their were humans larger than him but wondered how the hell you two fit together that night since you woke up with minimal but tell-tale soreness. He angled his chair away from the table so he could cross his ankle over the opposite knee, and you swallowed, unable to pretend you weren't looking at the strong thighs crinkling his dress pants, before meting his gaze.

"I almost gave up," he said simply. "My associate would wonder why we bothered docking here with nothing to show for it."

Okay.

You were lost.

"Excuse me?"

He inhaled a good drag of his cigar. "'You're my captain,' you said. It was a thought exercise, to do with that instrument of yours, but I've warmed to the idea."

No.

"What do you say?"

He looked at you like he wouldn't be bothered either way you answered.

But.

"I'm sorry," you said against your better judgment. "I'm a little lost here. I don't... totally know what we discussed last time."

He wasn't expecting that.

"Hah." That bark-laugh-grunt he did that somehow also held a question, but not as undignified as a "huh?"

"It was a lot of wine for me," you said awkwardly. What were you, a kid? You're twenty eight. It's not that you were teetotal, but that was your first night of drinking in a good few months.

Crocodile seemed well and truly taken aback, and a bit of ash ungracefully plopped off the end of his cigar, which he caught with... a cloud of sand, and neatly floated off into an ash tray. Wow. Logia powers really were different.

His voice was tight. "What do you remember."

"Uhm..." You bit your lip, and his eyes flicked down there for millisecond. "We left the restaurant for your hotel. And then, uh. It was morning."

Slowly, with his cigar curled in his pinkie and ring fingers, Crocodile went to pinch his brow. "That unremarkable, huh?"

Oh god.

This was that little bit of sensitivity to him you found so endearing. He'd never call it that, though; pride was a euphemism.

"If I was drunk enough not to remember shit for shit," you started, "Surely I must have... I don't know, puked on you, or something."

"No." His moment was over in the blink of an eye. "It's better this way. Just know we mostly talked."

Mostly. "About?"

"Your travels." You winced. Surely you didn't cry over your ex-captain to Sir Crocodile of all people. You had a pitiful lack of girl friends despite living with women for the first time in a decade, but even the widow who brought you to that restaurant in the first place would be a better choice. "What you want, and who's in the way of it."

That also sounded vulnerable, but the way he studied your face for your reaction made you think it struck him, somehow.

"What I want."

"You can map the stars along the Grand Line if you stick with a Warlord," Crocodile said simply. "Not one of your greenhorns."

Your breath caught.

That was the reason you joined Hawkins when he came back to your hometown after forming his crew of sycophants who'd never seen cartomancy before. You didn't want to be a navigator. You wanted to survey the Grand Line celestially because the sea crossed the equator. In reality, you wanted to move to the South Blue and study the southern hemisphere's sky, only after familiarizing yourself with the one you were born under. The Navy wouldn't let you move that freely, and the astronomers of Mary Geoise weren't practiced in geography, nor would they give you the time of day. The only course was to do it all yourself.

"It will be dangerous." Hawkins hadn't lied to you, yet. "You need to hold your own to be a pirate, but I'll protect you when I can."

You were the only woman on the ship and the only one who knew him before, the neighbor boy who complained he had to babysit you but cried when the two of you got lost in a fishing boat as night fell, and you used Polaris to get back to your home port.

"Former Warlord," you corrected. Crocodile's lip curled in annoyance. "You're from the Grand Line, aren't you?"

"From the New World. Been back for almost two years now."

So had you. Your ancestors were from this sea, too.

"I saw it," Hawkins said easily, and three of his cards arranged themselves midair: the High Priestess, the Eight of Cups, the Chariot. "You, leaving here."

You hated it most when you had the same interpretation, because it let him think he was right. He'd long since assigned the High Priestess to you and the Magician to himself since by pure chance you shared birth cards, and in one of your now-rare lighter moods, you'd sniffed, "The Chariot navigates. You be the Tower." But besides that, the Chariot was ruled by Cancer, a water sign, beside a pip from Cups, and here you were, underwater. Leaving him.

"I'm sorry."

"You're not."

The Pacifistas were terrifying. You followed your instincts to run and hide, and no one resented you for it, but the crew barely acknowledged you as it was. You were either a know-it-all of a navigator or the captain's tagalong. Both of you knew they assumed you were fucking, still, but nor did you do anything to disabuse them of the idea, and this is where it led.

"No," you said out loud. "Thank you. But I'd hold you back. I'm not strong."

"You think I don't know?"

Ouch. "You could flatter me a little."

"Can you even use that thing?" Crocodile inclined his head downward. How did he...? You were better about keeping your dagger strapped to your thigh these days, but today you were wearing a longer skirt that should've hidden it well, and you briefly had the thought was he checking out your legs? You wore stockings today. Maybe he liked that sort of thing.

"It was a gift."

Hawkins called it an athame. You'd killed only one person in your life, dragging it down a man's femoral artery when Hawkins wasn't there, didn't see you get separated from the crew.

"I can teach you," Crocodile said. "But you should trust the person you follow. I've survived this long."

I'll protect you when I can.

You blinked.

"You also went to prison."

"And left."

You exhaled. "You know what I wanted when I was young and stupid. But what are you doing now?"

"There's nothing stupid about knowledge," he said sternly. "It's a weapon more strictly controlled by the World Government than any blade or bullet."

"How political."

"Everything is."

You grinned, more to yourself. Even when he was pressing you one way, he was so easy to talk to. But you schooled your face to neutrality. "What did you want with Alabasta?"

"That was a long time ago."

"I don't care about a monarchy going down," you said impatiently. "If I join you, what am I participating in? And do you even have a ship? A crew?"

"You know, I believe I told you all this last time. But apparently..."

"Oh, don't you hold that over my head." The look he gave you was unimpressed. "What?"

"You insist you're not a pirate, but you're vulgar as any sailor."

"Vulgar? I haven't said anything." Besides 'shit for shit,' but he seemed distracted in that moment.

"I don't mean your vocabulary."

"Oh!" you said sarcastically. "Okay, sir."

Crocodile's brow hardened. "Watch it."

"Or what, sir? Did I call you that in bed, sir?"

He stood up, suddenly, and closed the few feet of distance between you. His golden hook came through one of the wide stitches of your sweater harmlessly as he butted it up under your jaw, tilting your head up. "What are you playing at, hmm? I decided I'd forget it to be fair to you."

You breathed deeply and the cardamom and tobacco of him filled your head like a fog. "Or you could remind me."

His gaze didn't leave your face. "It's poor form to sleep with a subordinate."

"I'm not under you."

He closed his eyes and exhaled, like you were really testing him. "What will it take?"

Feeling brave, you gently coaxed your sweater from his hook—stretched the damn stockinette, you'd have to tug the fabric to get it smooth again—and held onto it, like it was his other hand, petting it with your thumb. "Your pitch needs work. You just showed back up in this town hoping I'd be amenable? Based on a one-night stand?"

"I thought it was more like a date."

He sounded a little sullen as he nudged his chair closer to you with his foot.

"One of us has to ask out the other, you know."

"You're exhausting."

"Yes. Are you still sure you want me?"

"Yes."

You didn't know if he meant for his crew or otherwise.

[maxedes]

texts from the grid

texts from last night x f1

[hijinxinprogress]

Civilian Gothamites realizing they can get vengeance through Sword!Robin

Gothamites figuring out if they happen to mention a rogue treating animals poorly within hearing range of sword!Robin that rogue will be in custody with at least four fractures and a concussion and Damian being completely aware that like 63% of these people are lying but it’s the only way he can get experience with the nonlethal takedowns he’s experimenting with bc everyone keeps complaining about how he treats his opponents and allies 

Like he’s guiding a civilian to safety and they mention that “this would be the worst thing to happen to me today if riddler didn’t stab my fucking cat” and this civilian does not own a cat but they did own a car that was just paid off but riddler fucking crushed it with a stupid ass hot air balloon that’s shaped like a fucking question mark and Damian is aware of this bc he was the one that verified the insurance claim (but he’s been looking for a reason to punch Nygma in the throat since his last Arkham escape when he called Damian a moron)

And he also knows that if he plays along with it and says ‘as if I’d let that gaudy and tactless imbecile get away with committing such atrocities’ when prompted that he’ll get away with barely a slap on the wrist like he gets three half hearted but long lectures he’s not going to listen to and an online sensitivity training seminar he goads Tim into completing (Damian and Tim 100% try to trick each other into doing work they don’t want to do and full heartedly believe the other has no idea what they’re doing)

Bruce’s tendency for finding small crashouts at risk of becoming future rogues in Gotham and deciding they need love & supervision but what actually happens bc he’s so fucking awkward is they get almost the same amount of supervision just with like an hour of intense helicopter parenting a week but honestly besides that they just have more money and resources to do fuck shit

Tim 🤝🏾 Damian: using the manipulation tactics they learned from their mothers then later improved on with help from an assassin cult and bat/cape interrogation questioning techniques on the homies

[severus-snaps]

potions master @snapecentric