#this book is infuriatingly great

[soufre-de-paris]

this fucking scene in which corwin goes down on moire is making my brain twitch, i've been thinking about it for two weeks now

[airbenderedacted]

Well, yeah, she cured his sexism.

Commander Peepers was not the only male character in Wander Over Yonder to continue to treat Lord Dominator as exactly the same threat she was before after they found out she was a woman so that you could call him sexist.

[iamgonnagetyouback]

𝟷.𝟸𝚔 || 𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐘 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆

♡ ︎ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You assume Luke and Jess are sexist when they say you can't assemble a chair.

♡ ︎ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: None except loads of fluff

♡ ︎ꜱʜɪᴘ: Jess Mariano x reader

It was a busy day at Luke’s Diner. The place was packed, and Luke, always a stickler for doing things himself, had accepted a delivery of new chairs that needed to be assembled. Naturally, Lorelai had dragged you in with the promise of coffee and pancakes, which quickly turned into you offering to help.

"Okay, so these are the parts," you said, staring down at the instruction sheet in front of you. "This doesn't look too bad."

Lorelai leaned in, glancing over your shoulder. "You say that now, but just wait until you're drowning in screws and bolts."

"Great, so optimistic," you replied sarcastically, rolling your eyes.

As you started unpacking the parts, Luke wandered over. "Y/N, you sure you got this? These chairs are heavy. I usually handle this kind of thing myself."

You frowned, pausing mid-screw. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

Luke blinked, confused. "I just mean, you know… It’s heavy lifting."

Your frown deepened, and Lorelai was already smirking, sensing the impending storm.

"That’s so sexist of you, Luke!" you said, standing up straighter, putting your hands on your hips. "What? You think just because I’m a woman, I can’t handle it?"

Luke stammered, "No, no! I didn’t say that—"

You cut him off, pointing the screwdriver in his direction. "Yes, you did! You basically just said, 'Y/N, you can’t do it.' So rude."

Just then, Jess strolled in from the storage room, looking as nonchalant as ever, a book tucked under his arm. "What’s going on here?"

You spun around to face him. "Jess! Defend my honor!"

Jess quirked a brow, glancing between you and Luke. "From what?"

"From Luke's blatant sexism!" you exclaimed. "He doesn't think I can assemble these chairs."

Luke muttered something about his words being taken out of context, but you ignored him.

Jess chuckled, leaning against the counter. "Well… to be fair, I don’t think you can do it either."

You stared at him, aghast. "Excuse me? Are you guys just going to assume that a woman can’t do this?"

His lips quirked up into that infuriatingly smug smile he was so good at. "It's not about being a woman or not. A woman can definitely do it," he said, pausing dramatically, "but you? I’m not so sure."

Your jaw dropped, and you grabbed the nearest thing—an old magazine from the table—and swatted him with it. "You're the worst! Take it back!"

Jess dodged the hit with a smirk, not even trying to hide his amusement. "You’re cute when you're mad, you know that?"

"Oh, you think so?" You raised the magazine again, your eyes narrowing. "Well, get ready because I'm about to become fucking adorable."

Jess laughed, holding his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay! I'm just kidding. Jeez, Cherry."

Lorelai, watching the whole interaction with great interest, nudged Luke. "See? They're made for each other."

Luke grunted. "They're made for driving me crazy."

You crossed your arms, glaring at Jess. "You're gonna help me finish these chairs, Mariano, or I'll make sure you regret it."

Jess shrugged, still grinning. "Sure, whatever you say. Just… try not to break anything."

You shot him a withering look, but inside, you couldn't help the little flutter of excitement you always got when Jess teased you like this. He was impossible, and yet, you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

As you two got to work—Jess actually offering helpful tips here and there—Lorelai sighed dramatically from the booth. "I give it six months before these two are married."

Luke glanced at her, unimpressed. "I give it two weeks before they’re banned from this diner."

You and Jess exchanged a quick look as you muttered, "Fine," giving Jess another playful shove as he handed you the next screw. "But I’m still mad at you."

Jess leaned in, his voice soft and teasing. "You look adorable when you’re mad."

You huffed, trying not to smile. "I hate you."

"Sure you do," he whispered, grinning as he bumped your shoulder, "and I think you're adorable too."

I am having a cherry flavored lollipop right now and I just realized Jess is MADE to say the nickname 'cherry'. 🍒

[0blobthefish0]

BBF

bucky barnes masterlist | main masterlist

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader 2,394 words

a/n - thanks for the request anon!! hope you like it <3

God.

You couldn’t stand him.

You silently glared at the all too familiar figure from above the pages of your book as you laid on your stomach on the sofa. With a roll of your eyes you turned the sound up to your music and continued on with your reading. You could feel the sun, amplified by the large window behind you, beaming onto your exposed skin and filling you up with a summer comfort.

Not even a minute later, you felt your headphones being pulled sharply off from over your ears and looked up to see the blue-eyed brunette staring down at you with that infuriatingly condescending smile on his perfectly pink lips. You could feel your blood begin to boil before remembering the promise to yourself; you were all on holiday and you wanted to at least enjoy it, so the least the two of you could be was passive to each other.

“Mornin’, Princess,” Bucky greeted with a shine in his eyes - he’s known you’ve hated that nickname ever since he first said it.

“Afternoon, James,” you replied, returning the favour, before snatching back your headphones from his hand. 

Your brother came up from behind and slapped Bucky on the back before wrapping an arm around his neck.

“You coming?” Your brother questioned and you noticed that the two were in their swim shorts. “We’re going to the cliff,” he grinned and you couldn’t help the smile growing on your face. You had all been eyeing it as soon as your dad had pulled into the driveway, perfect diving conditions; deep water surrounded the pillar of rock, multiple platforms at varying heights and easy to climb. There weren’t many other people around, but you have seen people jumping off of the rock, no one, not that you had seen, had jumped from the top yet.

“Fine,” you mumbled, getting up from your spot on the sofa and throwing your book onto the coffee table just to your side, “but you’re waiting for me, I am not walking by myself.” You instructed with a pointed look before walking off to your room to get changed. 

A few minutes later, you came out in your swimsuit, a hat on your head and sunglasses resting on your nose with a bottle of sunscreen in your hand. You could see Bucky in the corner of your eye, however, your brother was nowhere to be seen.

“Hey, where’s-” you started, but your eyes suddenly widened when you saw your book in Bucky’s hand. You quickly moved over to him and ripped the book away from his prying eyes, “Did Winnie never tell you not to take stuff that isn’t yours?” You huffed out, but he only smirked at you with a knowing look. Great. He was going to be insufferable. 

“That the kind of stuff you like?” He teased as he took in your appearance, embarrassment etched across your face.

“Shut up!”

You moved to the other side of the sofa to hide your book under a pillow, before turning back to him.

“Where is he?” You questioned.

“I thought you told me to shut up,” he snarked and it made you want to wrap your hands around his stupid neck. You let out a deep breath and began to turn on your heel. “He went out to get some stuff ‘cause you took so long.”

“I was literally only like ten minutes.”

“More like thirty.”

“Fifteen.” 

The two of you eyed each other, daring the other to start again.

“Whatever,” Bucky finally grumbled and got up from his seat. You heard his phone vibrate and stared at him as he checked it. “He’s on the beach, let’s go.”

The two of you trudged towards the beach in silence. Bucky a few paces ahead of you due to his ridiculously long legs.

“Can you slow down?” You asked as you jogged to close the gap between you. Wordlessly, Bucky matched your pace and you continued on in silence. You could feel the heat of the sun that was absorbed into the dark tarmac and the light breeze was welcomed as it gently grazed over your skin. Soon enough your shoes began to sink into soft sand and your brother waved with his whole arm in the distance at seeing your silhouettes.

The wind was much stronger as waves lapped up your ankles and you found yourself glad that your hair was out of your face.

“I brought sunscreen,” you announced and stepped back to face the two boys, grains of sand sticking to the wet skin.

“Already did it,” your brother quickly replied and ran into the water because you both knew that he was lying. You eyed Bucky as he made a start to follow your brother.

“Fine then, can’t blame me if you get skin cancer,” you called out and Bucky turned to you.

“Only if you get my back,” he shouted over with a shrug of his shoulders.

You rolled your eyes, “Come here then,” and he jogged over to you. You held the bottle over his hand and squeezed a dollop onto his palm before squeezing some onto your own and then threw the bottle into the sand. You rubbed your hands together before placing them on the hot skin of Bucky’s back and rubbing in the sunscreen as he worked on his arms. You did your best to ignore the way he felt under your hands and Bucky did his best to ignore the feeling of your hands on his skin.

You waited patiently, watching your brother scope out the rock, as Bucky finished getting rid of any white residue from his legs. “Wanna race?” He questioned tilting his head back to look up at you and a grin made its way onto your lips.

“On three?” Bucky jumped up and dusted the sand from his shorts.

“Always,” he replied with a cocky smirk as he moved into position and you did the same.

“Three!” You shouted and bolted into the ocean. You could hear Bucky behind you, but his words were inaudible - just a mess of sounds - before you dived into the cold, salty water. Your heart was pounding in your chest and you began to move upward to see where you were. Just as your head broke above the waves you felt a hand clamp down on your ankle and pull you sharply down back into the water. Bucky used the action as added speed and easily cut through the waves toward the finish line. 

You gasped for air once you made it back out of the water and began to tread the water as you breathed in as much oxygen as you could. You watched as Bucky climbed up onto the rocks. Cheater. You let out an annoyed huff before leisurely swimming the rest of the way.

Finally, you pushed yourself up onto the ledge and climbed up to stand next to your brother, ignoring Bucky’s outstretched hand.

You peered over the edge on partially shaky legs. The fourth platform was much higher than you had thought. Bucky and your brother had already jumped and had made their way back up. Your brother had let out a loud laugh when he had seen you still standing there.

“Scared, Princess?” Bucky pouted and walked up to you. “You can do it,” he whispered and a hand made its way to press lightly against the back of your shoulder. You felt the pressure of his hand change ever so slightly and your eyes widened. 

But you had realised too late.

With a hard shove, Bucky pushed you cleanly off of the cliff. Not even a scream passed your lips as you scrabbled, trying to grab onto the air, and you hit the water with a large splash. The ocean flooded every sense and you continued to fall through the water before finally pushing yourself upwards.

The boys leaned over the edge as they waited for you to resurface.

You exploded from the water angrily and shouted up at the boys. Your skin stinging at the harsh impact.

“FUCK YOU, JAMES!” You screamed with your whole lungs and flipped them off before disappearing back under the waves and towards the beach. They only laughed at your reaction and high-fived before moving up to the next platform. It was exactly what Bucky had expected from you.

It was dark now, and Bucky rested idly on the sofa - scrolling through his phone - when you walked in. He hadn’t seen you since you had swam away. It was clear that you had been in the pool. You smelt of chlorine. You paid him no attention as you walked into the bathroom and turned to the side to look in the mirror. Hiz gaze almost instantly finds the discoloured skin on the side of your hip and guilt fills his stomach; you must have hit the water pretty hard for it to already have yellowed around the edges of your dark bruise.

You didn’t speak to Bucky for the rest of the holiday.

Little did you know that you wouldn’t see Bucky again until a decade later.

Now you’re staring dumbfounded.

The last thing that you could have imagined when your brother had asked you to meet at the café for your annual catch up was for him to bring a friend.

“Y/n, you remember Bucky, right?” A somehow taller, thirteen-year older, much burlier Bucky smiles down at you. His hair is grown out and you can see small specks of grey buried in the scruff of his beard even though - you quickly did the maths - he was only thirty, maybe thirty-one. He looked mature, nothing like the young man you had last seen, he looked good.

“Ye-yeah,” you pulled your bag over your shoulder before shaking his hand, “of course I do.”

The three of you sat at your usual table and your brother soon left to order, leaving the two of you alone. You smiled shyly at him as you picked at your fingers.

“How have you been, Princess?” He asked and, when you looked at him with a wide smile on your face at the familiar nickname, he had that old, boyish smirk on his face.

You shook your head lightly before replying, “Yeah, I’ve been good, got my degree, got my heart broken, y’know all that normal stuff,” you trailed off. “What’ve you been up to, James?”

James. Bucky’s heart squeezed; he hadn’t been called that in years. He kind of missed it. He kind of missed you.

“I dropped out of college after the first semester,” he confessed and your eyebrows raised in surprise - he had gotten into his dream university, studying his dream course, “joined the army, made some good friends, got a cat, y’know,” he shrugged, “the normal stuff.” 

“Wow,” was all you could say before your brother returned. And you spent the remainder of the time listening to them talk, sipping on your drink, letting time fly.

Bucky moved to pull up the sleeve of his left arm before quickly pushing the fabric down.

But you had seen what your brother hadn’t.

His steel-blue eyes caught onto yours and you pulled your gaze away.

Was that metal?

Your next meeting with Bucky Barnes would come much sooner than the last.

You were having a small house party, courtesy of your brother. Your guests were mostly drunk and the card games were in full swing when you heard a knock at the door. Were you expecting anyone else?

Cautiously, you put one heel in front of the other as you wobbled your way to the door - Natasha closely behind you.

“Bucky,” you gasped out when your eyes landed on the tall brunette, beside him an unfamiliar, equally as tall, blonde stood with a polite, awkward smile on his face. You could feel Natasha jabbing her fingers into your side at the scene in front of you.

“Dibs on the blonde one,” Natasha whispered, though not so quietly. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment as you watched Bucky’s poor friend’s face grow red.

“This is Steve,” He introduced and Natasha smiled at him, pupils blown. 

“Are you staying for the party, Steve?” Natasha questioned, her voice like dark honey as his name rolled off her tongue.

“Uhh, yeah.” Poor Steve, he looked like a deer in headlights.

“Great, you can come sit next to me,” the red-head smirked and moved from behind you to hold onto Steve’s arm. The blonde sent a quick look back to Bucky, who only nodded his head and pushed him forward, as Natasha pulled him into the room.

“Ahah, sorry about that, she’s uh- she’s.. Natasha,” you chuckled awkwardly and stood to the side to let him in.

“It’s no problem, God knows he needs it,” he laughed as you shut the door. “I brought you wine,” he announced and held the bottle up.

“Oh wow, you didn’t need to do that, thank you, it’s lovely,” you smiled as he handed it to you. “You can, uh, sit down, you remember Banner and Wanda?”

---

You let out an exhausted sigh as you sat down on the roof, looking out into the city, a half-empty glass of wine by your side as the cool, night air breezed over your face. Silently, Bucky stepped through the open window and took a seat by your side. You turned to him with a tired smile on your face and offered him some wine. He shook his head and offered you a cigarette. You shook your head.

“Do you smoke?” You asked as you eyed the way he flicked the lid open and closed.

“Used to,” he answered.

“Why do you keep them on you?” You questioned, genuinely intrigued.

“I don’t know,” he began slowly, “comfort? I like the way the box feels.” You hummed in response, satisfied.

A comfortable silence blanketed over the two of you and Bucky watched as you enjoyed the cool air.

“What’s your cat’s name?”

“Alpine.”

“Do you have pictures?” 

Wordlessly, Bucky pulled out his phone and passed it to you. You smiled at the white ball of fuzz.

“She’s adorable, I’d love to meet her.”

Bucky searched your eyes, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And there, on that roof, as you looked at each other, a young love that hadn’t yet budded began to grow again.

[cheolism]

study break

✧ yoon jeonghan x afab reader

✧ summary: jeonghan decides to take a break during your study session as the library.

✧ wc is 2.9k

✧ warnings: smut, minors dni. public sex, library sex. oral, fingering. teasing, he's slightly mean. pussy slapping. after-care and kissing, innuendos. admiration of his hands bc ig i have a thing for hands. he pockets your underwear.

✧ request: requesting jeonghan smut please! i really enjoy your works! thank you for writing these :)

“Baby,” Jeonghan called, his voice breaking your concentration. You hummed in response, not looking away from your textbook. When he called your name you glanced up to see him pouting, looking at you with wide eyes. 

“What’s up?”

He had his textbook closed, a single notecard poking out of it and marking his spot. You had been pleasantly surprised when your boyfriend agreed to go to the library to study with you, even more so when he actually brought along his things and opened his notes and book. 

You weren’t implying that Jeonghan was a bad student, of course. Jeonghan was just the type of person who, infuriatingly, didn’t need to study. He got good grades most of the time without even opening his notes. 

So Jeonghan tagging along to study with you was just a little surprising, because he didn’t need to and never did put much effort into studying. You supposed you couldn’t be too surprised that he was the first one to stop between the two of you. 

“We’ve been studying for hours,” Jeonghan whined, peering over at you. His eyes were impossibly sweet and round, seemingly the picture of innocence. “I know you want a break.”

You shrugged, going back to reading. “I’m okay. If you want a break, you can go ahead and take one. Don’t let me stop you from taking a rest.”

Jeonghan was quiet after that, leaving you alone. He began shuffling beside you, and you fought the urge to look over at him. Looking at him, you had found in your few months of dating, was just encouraging him. 

From the corner of your eye you could see him reach down beneath his chair, picking it up with him still in it. Then, in one great move, Jeonghan hopped closer, slamming the feet of the chair down on the ground. 

“Jeonghan!” You gasped, startling. “You’re lucky we’re in a cell.”

A cell, as it was rather unaffectionately called, referred to a series of small study rooms at the back of the library. Some had windows, though they were always filled. The walls had recently been painted red for productivity, but that still didn’t take away from the sense of imprisonment you got whenever you stepped foot into a room. 

Jeonghan just shot you a look, wiggling the chair closer to you until his knees were brushing against yours. “Just wanted to be closer to you is all, sweetheart.”

You shot him a weary look, not verbally challenging him. Jeonghan took his phone out of his hoodie pocket, and you watched as he opened up his messages. 

Figuring he was done messing about, content now that he was touching some part of you, you went back to your book. Still you couldn’t help but be hyper-focused on that one point of contact between you and Jeonghan, how the warmth of his body seemed to seep through his knee and spread into you. 

When his hand lowered to lay on your thigh, you couldn’t help but flinch a little in surprise. He squeezed your thigh, apologizing underneath his breath for startling you. 

Jeonghan’s fingers drew your attention like little lights in the dark, your eyes falling to them naturally. His hands were one of the first things that caught your attention, back when you two were just classmates. You had walked into the room, eyes falling onto the exceedingly beautiful man in the third row, spinning his pencil around his fingers. 

His fingers were long and thin, no softness to them. They were knobby and crooked, and you loved them. You loved how they felt entangled in your hands, how they felt sliding through your hair, combing it out. And you loved how expertly he used his hands, whether it be playing the guitar or spinning a pen, or reaching deep inside of your cunt, thumb rubbing down on your clit. 

You blinked before frowning at yourself. Jeonghan was just touching you, just had his hand innocently laying on your thigh. There was nothing dirty about it, and yet here you were, daydreaming about his fingers stretching you out, palm grinding down on your clit; his fingers reaching up, wet from your juices, pinching your nipples. 

Jeonghan sighed from beside you, bringing you out of your indecent thoughts. You watched as he turned his phone, opening up a card game. 

Going back to your textbook, you forced yourself to put the weight of his hand out of your mind. You ignored how his hand shifted so often, fingers flexing against the meat of your thigh. 

You stared at the illustration in the textbook. Marcus Aurelius. There’s nothing sexy about the fall of Rome, nothing remotely sexy about Stoicism philosophy, nothing remotely sexy about the shape of Jeonghan’s fingers, the weight of his hand, the memory of his hand pushing down at your hips, forcing you still against the bed as he grinded the tip of his cock against your slit, taunting you. 

When his hand shifted on your thigh, there was no way you could ignore it. Not with how in-tuned you were to him. You refused to watch as his hand slowly slid, dragging, the tips of his fingers coming to rest inside your thighs. 

“Jeonghan,” you warned, voice stern in an attempt to disguise how horny you were. 

He shot you a look, raising his eyebrows. “What?”

You gave him a half-hearted look at his look of innocence, knowing him better than to believe it. Still you went back to your textbook. 

Nothing in the world, however, let alone Stoic philosophy, could keep your mind away from Jeonghan. You stared at the page, useless against the feel of his hand creeping. When the tip of his forefinger brushed against your pussy through your underwear and sweats, you couldn’t help but, pathetically, clench. 

Neither of you said anything as Jeonghan’s fingers wedged deeper between your thighs, his fingers brushing over your clit. You were quiet, staring at the text on the page, as his fingers repeatedly, softly swiped over your clit through your clothes. 

You were so warm all of a sudden. Your shirt seemed oppressive, your pussy hot. His fingers never stopped brushing over your heat, aimlessly, mindlessly, as if he truly didn’t mean to slide his fingers down your cunt. 

Finally, you swallowed, looking up from the text. Jeonghan turned, meeting your eyes. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

His fingers didn’t stop moving against your cunt. Instead they slotted between your thighs completely, fingers pressing through your sweats, tips of them burying into your cunt while the side of his forefinger bore down on your clit. 

A loud, long whine escaped you. You closed your eyes, mouth falling open. Jeonghan cooed at you, removing his hand from your heat. As soon as he did, your eyes flew open, looking at him in betrayal.

“Aw,” he reached out, hands framing your cheeks and squishing your face. “How cute.”

“Jeonghan,” You whined, pouting. Your boyfriend loved cute things; kittens, puppies, Boo Seungkwan, you. He loved it when you acted pathetic and desperate, and you weren’t above giving him what he wanted. Especially when it could end with his fingers buried to the knuckle in your pussy. 

“Sorry for distracting you,” Jeonghan hummed, reaching and brushing back your bangs. “That was so mean of me. You can go back to studying now.”

Your mouth parted in surprise, feeling completely cheated. “Jeonghan --”

He shushed you, mimicking your pout. “Don’t worry, baby. Just go back to studying.” “Jeong --”

“Study.” He said again, though this time his voice was slightly more strict. He moved away from you, pushing back and away from the table. You watched as Jeonghan braced one hand on the edge, slowly lowering himself to his knees. He stopped, however, once he noticed you still watching. “I said to study, baby.”

Helpless, but your pussy clenching around nothing as realization shot through you, you looked back at your text. Out of the corner of your eye you could see Jeonghan going beneath the table. Then you felt his hands settle over your knees, squeezing, before crawling up your thighs. 

“Up,” he commanded. 

You leaned back, bracing yourself on the chair. Jeonghan’s hands, those sly, clever hands, quickly hooked onto the waistband of your pants and tugged them down your thighs. He then grabbed the waistband of your underwear, tugging them down to join your pants, and then completed the journey until they were around your ankles. 

His hands returned to your knees. He pressed them apart. A small sigh escaped you as you complied, baring your pussy for his eyes. 

The air that rushed against your cunt had you clenching, cold compared to the heat that had been generated from your cunt and trapped by your pants. A spike of shame shot through you at how obviously aroused you were. 

Jeonghan let out a soft breath of air, the gust of warmth hitting your thighs and causing you to instinctively clench them. “So wet already, hm? Is this all just from studying?”

“Jeonghan,” you whined, feeling heat rise up to your cheeks at his tease. 

He laughed softly, hands kneading your thighs in apology. Then he was wedging his shoulders between your thighs, holding them open, One of his arms wrapped around you, hand settling on your lower back and pressing your forward. His other hand went to your cunt, fingers ghosting over your opening. Your soft noises filled the room as he teased your opening. His touch, or the ghost of it, made your hair stand on its ends and your brain scramble, empty except for the want, the need, for his fingers inside of you. 

“Jeonghan,” you begged, canting your hips forward. He pulled back, leaving you grinding against air. “Jeonghan, Hannie. Please.”

“I don’t see you studying,” he taunted. His face appeared from between your knees, a soft little smirk on his face. He moved his hand, the one that hadn’t been between your legs, to brush back his hair behind his ears. “Get to studying like you so desperately wanted to do.”

A loud sob escaped you, tears rising to your eyes. Jeonghan just sighed at the sight. “You’re going to make me feel like this is all my fault, sweetheart.”

You moved to the edge of the chair, legs still spread. You braced your elbows on the table, peering down at the textbook. The text was all muddled, the face of Marcus Aurelius blurred through your tears. 

Pleased, Jeonghan took pity on you. With a murmur of good job, baby, his hands went to your inner thighs. His fingers dug into the flesh, nails piercing your skin. He hooked his thumbs between your pussy lips, bearing you for him once more. 

“Why don’t you read your book to me, sweetheart,” Jeonghan inquired sweetly, as if you couldn’t feel his breaths against your quivering pussy, as if you weren’t soaking the chair with your need for him. “Wanna know what you’re studying.”

He was such a liar. Both of you knew he didn’t give two fucks about Stoicism philosophy or Roman leaders. Jeonghan was just doing this to be mean, to be a tease. 

Regardless, you took a deep, quivering breath. “��In order to -- to achieve telos, virtue is needed. In this instance virtue relates to human reason and the --”

A horribly loud moan escaped you as Jeonghan ran the flat of his tongue over your entrance and clit, gathering your juices. His tongue went to your clit, focusing on it, laving over it and worshiping it. You couldn’t help but squeeze your eyes shut, toes curling. Slurping noises came from your boyfriend as he slurped and ate at your cunt. 

Jeonghan pulled away from your soaking cunt, which was pulsing with need clenching around nothing in desperation to be filled. He placed a kiss against your thigh, your pussy juices that had smeared around his mouth wetting your skin there. “Keep reading, baby.”

Whining, you shifted, hands going to hold your hair and clench it in an effort to ground yourself. You took a deep breath. Your pussy clenched. You couldn’t find it within yourself to be ashamed of the slick that pulsed from you, feeling it slide down your cunt. 

“Diogenes Laertius said that virtue is when --” Another sob escaped you as Jeonghan’s mouth reattached to your cunt. He drank from your pussy like it was a fucking elixir of life. 

He pulled his mouth off of your cunt just enough to murmur, his lips brushing against your cunt lips, “Don’t stop.”

“He says that virtue is when, quote, a soul has been fashioned to achieve agreement in the whole life, end quote.”

One of his hands released your cunt from his grasp. You sucked in a breath, anticipation curling your fingers and toes. His mouth went to your clit, sucking meanly on it, and one finger prodded at your entrance. 

“Please --” You gasped, thighs jumping at the intrusion. “Jeonghannie --”

He withdrew, a horrified sob leaving you. Then there was a sharp stinging sensation over your cunt as he slapped it. You jumped, thighs snapping shut around Jeonghan in surprise. He wedged himself further, hand going to lay flat against your cunt in warning. “Did I say to stop reading?”

“No --”

“Then don’t stop,” he warned. His hand swatted at your cunt, though less severely. “Gotta get your studying in, sweetheart.”

A curse bubbled out of your throat, but you swallowed it back. You couldn’t help but sniffle, releasing your grip on your hair to wipe at your eyes. 

There was silence. Then, from under the table: “Color?”

You couldn’t help the wet little giggle that escaped you. “Green, Hannie.”

He hummed. “Keep reading, baby.” Then Jeonghan’s mouth was back on your slit, the loud noise that accompanied his suck so lewd that you couldn’t help moan in response. 

Two of his fingers returned to your entrance, dipping in to the first knuckle. Sensing he was waiting, you licked your lips and began reading. “‘To develop one’s reason to perfection is to not only live in the best condition for a human being, but . . .’”

Slowly, with his mouth working at your clit to take away any discomfort, though you were drenched enough to where there was none to be had, Jeonghan sank his fingers inside of your cunt. Your pussy eagerly accepted them, clenching around his digits in an effort to accept them further. Once they sunk all the way, his fingers brushing on that sponge deep within you, Jeonghan began working his fingers; stretching you, assaulting your walls, focusing on your g-spot. 

He was relentless with it. You knew he could bruise your cunt with just his fingers from experience, knew he could use his fingers just as well as his cock. And he did. Jeonghan’s mouth kissed and suckled at your clit as his fingers slammed into your g-spot, milking you for what you were worth. 

The tension that had been building in your stomach was rapidly beginning to mount, stomach tightening with it. You couldn’t read anymore, your eyes tightly squeezed shut and soft little moans leaving your lips. Your hips grinded towards him, eager, seeking out the pressure that his fingers willingly provided. 

When the tension snapped you had to bite down on your lip to muffle the shriek. It was deafening, almost, your release soaking exploding from your cunt and drowning you in pleasure. 

When you came back to consciousness, it was Jeonghan holding you. He had your face pressed against his stomach as he stood before you, hands combing through your hair. Jeonghan was murmuring sweetly to you, and when you finally tilted your head up towards him, he was wearing a soft little grin. 

“Hello, sweetheart,” he greeted. Jeonghan ducked his head, pressing a kiss to your lips. You sighed into the kiss, letting your eyes flutter shut again. 

His mouth was red and puffy, you noticed, when he pulled away. Jeonghan’s eyes, however, were shining. He pressed a kiss to your temple, your hair, and then stood back up. “Think it’s time for us to go back home.”

You nodded, agreeing. Jeonghan pulled away from you, hand moving to pull at your ear affectionately. You watched as he gathered his supplies and put them in his backpack before returning to yours. He hovered over your textbook before laughing. “Think this Stoic guy has ever seen a person eaten out in a library before?”

Feeling heat rush to your face, you reached out and slammed the textbook shut. “His name is Marcus Aurelius.”

“Oh,” Jeonghan cooed, gathering your book and putting it in your bag. “So I guess our little study session was helpful.”

You swatted at him, causing him to laugh. Jeonghan then knelt beside you, his knees cracking. He grabbed your underwear, soaked, and began using it to wipe your thighs. 

“Jeonghan!” You hissed, hands reaching out to stop him. 

He shrugged, pulling away further. “They’re already drenched in your pussy.”

Jeonghan then put your underwear in his hoodie pocket. You wondered if you would ever get them back. With careful hands he guided your feet into your sweatpants, sliding them up your calves. 

Then he helped you stand, your knees weak. The two of you traded kisses as he tugged your sweats up your legs. 

Making a face, you pulled away. “I feel disgusting.”

Jeonghan pressed a final kiss to your lips. “Well let’s get you home and on the bed.”

“Don’t you mean in bed?”

He smirked then, eyes dark and twinkling. “No. No, I don’t.”

[wslydoxy]

ink-stained hands.

fred weasley x fem!reader

warnings: the readers house isn't specified, and the term princess is used once.

Fred Weasley the ever-charming never-flailing flirt. Always popular around the girls, always having that annoyingly cocky smirk on his face, him and his infuriatingly pretty smile and knee-shaking height. you on the other hand were the girl always writing, always a roll of parchment and ink bottle evident in your hands.

Unbeknownst to you the redhead had a tiny crush on you, "it's microscopical George!" he would defend himself, he just wanted to know why your hands were always filled with books or parchment and as if evidence of them being in your hands prior, ink stains. Whether you acknowledged it or not, when you were in the room the older twin's eyes were always set on you, If it was in curiosity or admiration was unknown to him as well. You just had an aura to you, one that drew him in a way he couldn't explain.

You of course always had seen the redhead and his twin around the school, you saw them yelling in joy after a quidditch game or just after a good prank. A small attraction may have sparked towards the boy but you always swept it under the rug knowing it wouldn't lead anywhere anyway, If only you knew how wrong you were.

No matter how many teasing looks from his friends when you were in the room, it was not enough for the boy to get over his initial nerves to talk to you. but after one extraordinarily good game of quidditch here he was, adrenaline rushing through his veins, in front of your dorm room waiting for you to open the door.

You open the door perplexed, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape “Uh- Fred Weasley, right?” you ask. “Uh yeah, look- listen I see how weird this probably is and I honestly Merlin don't know how else to put this except that you're really pretty and for some reason, you're always distracted writing something or another and it's so infuriatingly attractive how you don't notice anything I do, no matter how I hard I try to get your attention and I think it's adorable how your hands are always stained with the ink you use and how you always have something smart to say in class and how absolutely funny your sarcastic replies are and honestly? I just reallyreallyfancyyou” he spits, chest heaving from the whirlwind of words, saying the last part all in one go.

You look at him eyes fully open, you haven't quite fully processed what the redhead said, after a moment you slowly, quietly question “You fancy..me?” you say your left hand pointing to him then yourself. “Um yeah? is that okay?” he questions his resolve melting slightly with your extended reaction time. “That is more than okay, that is great if u ask me, I would totally love to be liked by you because I totally maybe kinda fancy you too?” you say voice going quiet by the end of the sentence.

By the end of your sentence, you look up to see Fred with a completely cocky smile and his usual confident front back “You fancy me too? How perfect, care to tell me how exactly I caught your eye over a cup of butterbeer this weekend?” the boy is full on leaning on your door frame at this point, quidditch robes still on and quite honestly looked hot right now. “How can I say no to that,” you said smiling up at him. “I'll see you this weekend for the date. and tomorrow for breakfast too? Or will I see you at the after-game party tonight?” he asked joy glazing his features due to your acceptance of the date.

You gave yourself a once over in your pyjamas and messy hair and then shifted your eyes up at him eyes squinted and mouth in a straight line, “Yeah about that, I don't think I'm in the prettiest state right now.” humour evident in your voice, “I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow and definitely for that cup of butterbeer” “Yeah I'll see you tomorrow y/n” he says smiling and looking at you head to toe, checking you out quite openly.

A voice hauntingly similar to Fred's twin is heard calling for Fred to come to the common room, and party full-on rage as the loud music is deafening. “You better get going then yeah? people are waiting for you” you smile beckoning him to go, “yeah I should,” he pauses looking you in the eye “I think you look pretty damn cute, even in your pj's princess” the endearing term whispered leaving you with a slight blush dusting your features, and he was gone before you could reply.

With a shake of your head and an airy laugh, you close the door and go to bed with an ever-present smile just to not sleep most of the night, going over the earlier events that had unfolded seemed to keep you up. Smile still gracing your features as you went to breakfast the next morning, and if you put a little extra effort into your hair and makeup just to have it all messed up in the room of requirement by a certain redhead, no one had to know.

[dat-town]

yours truly

Characters: fate!Sunghoon (prince of hearts) & mortal!female reader

Setting & genre: caravalverse au, fantasy, forbidden romance

Summary: “... ballads don’t end happily, and neither do the two of us.” ‒ Stephanie Garber

Warnings: Sunghoon’s character is canon-typically mean and flirty in the beginning, blood, dagger and arrow-caused injuries, mentions of people dying, ambiguous ending

Words: 2.9k

Playlist: moonstruck, criminal love, fatal trouble, still monster, lucifer, fate

Author’s note: for those who haven’t read the books, just imagine a world where deity-like creatures called fates walk among mere humans; for those who did read the books, imagine this as an alternative for the plot, the worldbuilding is the same but the actual romance plays out different since Sunghoon is NOT Jacks, just a different Prince of Hearts. i know personality-wise it’s very not Sunghoon-like but i chose him for visual reasons #theplot

for @restlessmaknae because you worked hard and i believe that you will see its results <3

The Prince of Hearts was exactly how the stories described him: devastatingly handsome and infuriatingly wicked.

The first time you met him, he just broke a naive girl’s heart.

The Prince of Hearts was the hopeless lovers’ Fate. Many turned to him to fulfill their hearts’ desire or get revenge on their unfaithful significant other but there was a reason why he had always been portrayed with bloody tears running down his sculpture-like face and his perfect lips pulled up in a cunning smirk.

“What did you do?” You heard the girl’s trembling, frightened cry over the garden fountain’s lovely bubbling sound and you could tell she didn’t notice you on the other side of the installment. She must have dragged the young man out of the celebration to have a word with him privately. Too bad it was your hiding place.

“Exactly what you asked from me. I made sure he can never look at another girl again,” the man replied in a silky smooth voice, his tone almost melodic. He must have sung lovely lullabies, you thought, but then he continued and his voice turned something dark, something poisoned and sickly amused. “Or at anything for that matter.”

There was a cruel laugh carried by the night breeze and your eyes widened, thoughts running wild.

“This isn’t what I wanted,” the girl protested weakly between sobs but no use, it didn’t seem to affect the man at all.

“Isn’t it? Then you should have asked more… precisely,” he scoffed and with a rustle of clothes you could tell he turned around, ready to leave.

“But… but I kept my side of the bargain. You are a Fate, you should keep your word, too!”

You sucked in a breath because you didn’t have to guess much to know which Fate she was talking about. There was an infamous one for broken hearts.

“Are you seriously accusing me of not fulfilling my part?” The Prince of Hearts spoke up again and this time you could hear anger bubbling up beneath the boredom in his tone. He spoke quietly yet every word of his punctured like bites of a viper. “You wanted your lover to not look at other girls, so I took his sight. Would you have preferred if I plunked his eyeballs out? Or even better, if I simply killed him? Is that it?”

The girl’s crying turned pathetic and you almost felt bad for her even if she should have known better than to make a deal like that. Fates tended to take more than what they had promised.

“Look at you, a sobbing mess. Is your great love really only enough for this? Will you leave him now that he’s blind? Who’s the unfaithful one now?” The ageless creature tsked, his harsh words enough to make the girl run, crying and devastated. The air was once again filled with silence and crickets chirping. Out of curiosity, you quietly stood up from where you sat in the fountain’s shadow but you could see nobody on the other side of the monument. You let out a small sigh, turning back around only to gasp in surprise.

Right in front of you, barely an arm-length away was the most beautiful man you had ever seen. He had porcelain skin and elegant features, artfully tousled raven black hair and almond shaped eyes reflecting the moon. His mouth was pulled into a lopsided smile as he leaned closer, resting his hand on the fountain’s rim beside your waist.

“You know, I can hear your heartbeat, love,” he said, syrupy sweet, and you had to deliberately remind yourself to breathe properly. “It beats rapidly like a trapped bird’s wings. Is it because of fear or attraction? Both?” The Fate arched a brow, provoking.

“I’m not playing your game,” you raised your chin with more confidence that you actually felt in yourself but you didn’t back down, not even when the young man’s eyes burned through you.

“Too bad. I didn’t even tell you the rules yet,” he pouted but he seemed more amused than anything else.

“Are all Fates this bored?”

“There’s a better question, love; are all Fates forgiving towards this blunt attitude of yours?” The Prince of Hearts raised a brow, challenging, his breath fanning over your cheek, his closeness painting it a rosy color. There was something predatory in the way he looked at you and your rabbit of a heart wished nothing but to run. Then he abruptly pulled away, his frown melting into an all too sweet smile.  “But see, I’m a gentleman and I will let it go. For now.”

The threat was clear in his velvet voice and the shine of his midnight dark eyes. It took your breath away and you only let out the air you were holding in when he walked out of sight, your heart still beating crazily as you watched him disappear like smoke in the dark.

The next time you met him, you were smarter than to walk into his trap. This time you were actually looking for him because you were about to do what you had never imagined yourself to: gamble for a Fate’s help.

But really, this was your last resort. No matter how many reasons and proofs you had listed, your best friend was dead set on marrying a duke with no land and no morals. He just wanted her for her family’s money but she didn’t believe you. She even told you that if you weren’t happy for her, you weren’t welcome at the wedding. So you had to make sure the wedding didn’t happen, that she realized that her fiancé was a selfish bastard. It was the perfect kind of job for the Prince of Hearts since he seemed to hate other people’s happiness. No wonder even his Destiny Deck card’s meaning was unrequited love and irrevocable mistakes.

As you opened the church's gate, your sister’s voice echoed in your ears. She had told you not to make deals with Fates but if you must, always make sure to double guess the meaning behind their words and not let them have leverage over you. She had known after having her own deal with the Jester Mad. Fates weren’t evil nor saints but as ageless deities, they had different moral compasses than mere mortals. They also lived a long, long life, so what could have been more fun for them than playing with human feelings?

Back in the days, Fates had been private creatures hidden from plain sight. People had built churches and altars for them, waiting for their miracles to happen. But then one day, the Fates disappeared. Nobody knew why or where. There were countless rumors but it didn’t matter because eventually they returned and they weren’t hiding anymore. The Poisonmaker kept wreaking havoc at events where drinking was involved, the Maiden Death started warning people about their loved ones’ dying in the middle of the main square and the Prince of Hearts had heads turning at every noble gathering pretty much in the entire country based on the rumors. Whispers followed his trail, so you knew exactly where to find him.

“Looks like wind blew a little birdie my way,” you heard the familiar smooth voice from behind you once you dropped your golden coins into the well inside the old marble church. You spun around, facing the Fate and you hated the instant effect he had on you. The way his mere presence was enough to weaken you. You tried focusing on the tiniest details on his face to keep yourself grounded like the moles adorning his cheeks, his defined eyebrows or the way the skin around his pretty eyes wrinkled when his mouth pulled into an amused smile. Your heart was a traitor once again.

“Missed me?” He teased, further decreasing the distance between you. He didn’t even touch you yet his closeness set the air around you on fire and you desperately tried to find purchase on the edge of the well, your well kept nails digging into the stone.

“I have a favor to ask,” you forced out and recited the entire monologue you had practiced with all the details in order to make sure there was no loophole in your request. You couldn’t have your best friend getting hurt because of you. You just wanted to get rid of her fiancé subtly. So you came prepared and judging by the almost impressed look on the Fate’s face and the pondering tilt of his head, he must have noticed too.

“Oh, you’re actually a smart one,” he mused out loud, a chuckle escaping him. “It sounds exactly like my kind of fun but you don’t think I’m doing it without a price, right? So are you ready to pay, love?”

You expected it, of course, there was always a price to pay. A bargain with both parties committing to something. You thought you were ready for anything the Prince of Hearts could ask of you: your reputation tarnished, memories of your first love destroyed, cursing you to never love again but maybe you were naive. Because in that moment he looked at you hungrily, eyes dark and tempting. He darted out his tongue, wetting his lips as he angled his face over yours, still not even grazing against your skin, yet you could feel yourself shiver.

For a moment you were sure he would kiss you. That he would kill you.

Because the thing with Fates was that all of them were cursed in one way or another. As for the Prince of Hearts, his kiss was fatal to all but his one true love. They said it was worth dying for and so many naive girls wanted to be the one to break this hex, he left a trail of corpses behind him.

“Not yet, love,” the Fate taunted as he swiped his thumb across your lower lip, leaving tingles behind, and you felt incredibly embarrassed for thinking he would actually kiss you. Gosh, you weren’t normally like this.

“What do you want?” You found your voice after pushing the silently laughing man away from you. You needed space, you needed to focus. You came to save your best friend’s future, not to kiss murderers no matter how much they erupted a garden of butterflies in your stomach.

“Let me be your plus one for the wedding and I promise to make sure your precious friend realizes her mistake before tying the knot. No bodily harm, no future consequences, yadda yadda,” the Prince of Hearts mocked your way of negotiating your conditions and you squinted your eyes because it sounded too good to be true.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” he flashed you a charming smile before leaning in close again, this time his breath fanning over your ears, teeth grazing against your skin, leaving goosebumps behind. “Oh and call me Sunghoon.”

The Prince of Hearts kept his word and you started to wonder whether he wanted to accompany you to the wedding because he wanted to see the drama he caused in person. He seemed rather amused when both the duke’s creditors and mistresses showed up and your best friend threw a vase at him.

It was naive of you to think so though, of course the Fate came on his own accord for his own ulterior motives. You didn’t even know that the infamous Witch of North, holder of the Fated object of the Unbitten Fruit, would be at the wedding but Sunghoon sure knew. He disappeared from sight in the middle of the chaos and you could only find him after calming your best friend down. The wedding hall was empty and broken into pieces and in the middle of it all, surrounded by blackened rose petals, there he laid like a beautiful fallen angel. His white shirt was snug over his broad shoulders and where his wings would have laid, blood spread like wine on tragic days.

“Oh my fates,” you mumbled as you rushed to his side.

Fates had once been immortals but even since their re-appearance, they were merely ageless and could be killed and while you shouldn’t have cared, something didn’t let you let him bleed out. Maybe it was because he just helped your friend like he had promised or because you had always been weak for the helpless ones even if the Fate was nothing but one.

“What happened?” You asked with trembling lips, pressing a torn piece of your skirt onto the bleeding wound on his side.

“Somebody wasn’t too happy that I said hello,” Sunghoon croaked a smile, still all too arrogant even with blood on his lips and pain on his features when his own laughter made him hiss.

“Do you have many enemies?”

“Enemies is all I have,” he said, reaching for the buttons of his blood-soaked shirt to get rid of it and you could feel your face flush at the sudden exposure of bare skin and toned stomach. But trust the Prince of Hearts to tease you even in his stabbed state. “No need to be so shy, love, you can look.”

You cleared your throat and hardened your gaze, looking him in the eye, unwavering. You accidentally applied a bit more pressure on his injury though because his face suddenly distorted in agony.

“Actually, there’s a vial in my front pocket. Would you be kind enough to pour its content on the wound?” He spoke up again, softer, a bit of breathlessness in his usually smooth voice and if it wasn’t for that, you would have believed he was still teasing.

But you actually found a potion in his pocket and once the liquid contacted his torn skin, it started healing at an amazing speed. Oh, so he came prepared, you realized and it made you smack his chest hard. He made you worry for nothing. So stupid of you.

Sunghoon caught your wrist and pulled it over his unbeaten heart, laughing at you. You should have been angry and yet, it was the most beautiful chime of bells you had ever heard.

That should have been the last time you saw the Prince of Hearts but he kept showing up. He kept bothering you at balls, scaring away suitors, stealing apples at the market you had to pay for. He found your reluctance and annoyance amusing, poking fun at the way your heartbeat spiked in his company. He put flowers in your hair, called you love like he meant it and touched you briefly only to make you crave more. You thought it was all just a joke for him because he was bored and you weren’t as easy as the other girls but then you were bleeding out and he looked ready to burn the whole world down.

It was a typical case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. You were just in the way. It wasn’t meant for you but the arrow pierced through your chest nevertheless.

You coughed up blood, barely catching your breath, when Sunghoon caught you in his arms before you could have fallen onto the flower bed beneath. Deliriously you looked up at him in wonder, at Death’s most beautiful angel. 

“You’re not dying,” he told you through gritted teeth but his voice was torn, feelings you didn’t recognise scratching the surface.

“They say you can’t feel, not because you have no heart but because it stopped beating long ago. Is it true?” You forced out weakly as you put a hand over Sunghoon’s chest just over where his heart was still as always. “I wonder what kind of girl it was, the one who broke your heart.”

All Fates were humans once and their assigned traits and powers were aligned with how they had been once as mortals. It was silly but you couldn’t help being jealous of the girl who had once held his affection because the way he looked at you then made you feel like nothing else mattered to him but you.

You knew that Fates felt everything in extremes. They didn’t hold grudges, they took revenge. They didn’t know love, they only knew obsession. Yet so many made the mistake of falling in love with a Fate and you couldn’t find it in yourself to blame them. Not anymore. Not when the Prince of Hearts’ hands were stained with your blood but you wanted nothing more than to succumb to this overwhelming feeling of being held by him.

“Kiss me,” you whispered, feeling faint. You were dying anyways, it couldn’t have hurt more to try. Because what if it was true, what if true love’s kiss could cure all curses, what if he had been looking for you all this time?

“Love…” Sunghoon’s voice was ruined. It was just a word yet a plea at the same time. A simple word you associated with your name ever since you had first met him.

His eyes shining like bright stars in the night sky were the last thing you saw before your eyelids fluttered close. Tears streamed down your face or blood, you couldn’t tell, but the lips on yours tasted metallic like iron and the sweet taste of the forbidden fruit. Like sin and redemption at the same time. Like you were his in this fairytale and he was yours. Yours truly.

[vintagerpg]

I bought this because of Denis Loubet’s excellent cover. Look at it! So good, so smooth, so warm. What is it? Something damn strange: Dragons of Underearth (1982). But what’s that? Steve Jackson’s Fantasy Trip, sort of.

The Fantasy Trip is great, a lean and mean point-buy RPG focused on tactical combat that began life as too microgames, Melee and Wizard. Based on the success of those games, in 1980 Metagaming had Jackson design a more advanced game, a full-fledged RPG consisting of three books and an adventure (Advanced Melee, Advanced Wizard, In the Labyrinth and an adventure, Tollenkar’s Lair). All those things were supposed to be in one box set, but got released separately, seemingly because it was cheaper to do it sans box. That, and other difficulties, led to Jackson bailing on the company and the game. After that, The Fantasy Trip gets even more confusing, with a series of supplements coming out that were advertised as being compatible with both versions of the game, or lacked any compatibility information at all. Many of them, like Dragons of the Underearth, came packed, infuriatingly considering the history of the game, in boxes. Unsurprisingly, Metagaming shuttered in 1983.

This thing is appealing in a lot of ways. The box is small and reminds me of a videogame box. The art is good. The tokens are sharp as hell. But it is just a watered-down version of Fantasy Trip. Or rather, the previous box, Lords of Underearth, was a watered-down version. This is technically an advanced watered-down version. Dear god.

[heartofbusan]

Plausible deniability.

Whatever Jimin and Jungkook have will be safe and protected as long as they remain within the realm of 'are they/or aren't they'.

The minute they confirm what they are, is the minute they open up their relationship to outsiders. Who would want to risk such a precious and, dare I say, rare kind of love to prying eyes?

Growth. Just like Jimin and Jungkook keep striving to grow as artists deserving of our admiration (done and done), I'm sure they have growth as one of the corner stones of their relationship. They stumbled upon it, stumbled and fumbled through it. They saw it for what it was and nurtured it from a puppy love to a long-lasting bond. One that serves them both equally.

In this essay I will...

*NO WIFI*

Guys. I'm currently on holiday in the South of France and I'm camping on a beautiful but infuriatingly 'no wifi' campground. It's like a fucking hippie commune. It's beautiful, the weather is amazing. BUT

I HATE IT.

ALL I WANT IS TO BASK IN THEIR LOVE AND NOW I HAVE TO DO IT IN SHORT INTERMITTEND BURSTS WHILE SITTING ON A WOODEN BENCH MADE BY HIPPIES. I HATE EVERY NON JIKOOK SECOND OF IT. I MISS THEM.

Can you believe me when I tell you that my mind is alive, though? Is this what a lack of accessible internet does to a brain? It wanders off towards Jikook as I gaze out over the Alps. My thoughts drift towards the special bond that they have as I listen to the crash of a waterfall.

As the official 'Are You Sure' trailer is about to drop, I'll have to covertly and illegally siphon off some of the wifi as I try and keep up with my pookies 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Like..who even dares to book a holiday when bangtan are roaming the earth?!?

Last year, it was D-Day, the year before it was Hobipalooza. FML!!!!

I'll catch up if they don't catch me first.

Ps. MUSE is a great road trip album!! It will always be embedded in the memories we're making here.

[wannaeatramyeon]

mooooom! i got a request for youuu~ 💌

-young reader learned taekwondo from hansu, but never got to meet his son. so, she only knew taehoon from hansu's stories and cute photos of him aaand that's how she developed a crush on taehoon. years later, she finally meets him... but her "cute" image of him immediately shattered the moment he opened his mouth; chaos ensues 💀

this scenario has been on my mind for a while now and it makes me giggle to an unhealthy degree that i want an entire fic of it 😭 also if it wasn't obvious, i thirst for hansu content 🥺🫶 tysm in advance 🤧

p.s. i really REALLY love your fics and your writing aaaaaa 🫠 ik i already told you before and but im saying it again hehe hope you have a great day! ilyy~~ 💖💖

My dear lovely baby Rie! I saw this and thought yes, let's drop everything INCLUDING Tears of The Kingdom and write this.

But... I'm sorry, there really isn't much Hansu in this, it's very very Taehoon centric.

One of the best things about fandom is bringing people together and I'm so happy to have met you!

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Strangers to... a Not-Crush

Follow up with Hansu and Taehoon here

You're pretty sure you're in love with this Taehoon.

The first time you heard his name was during your very first Taekwondo lessons, many many years ago

Schedules, circumstances, situtations; all the usual life happenings has stopped you both from actually meeting.

But Hansu waxes lyrical about his son. You must have heard for the hundredth time how he is a spinning prodigy, how he has surpassed Hansu at a similar age, how he will be one of the best. His name destined to be written in the history books.

As Hansu talks about his son with stars in his eyes, you can't help the shine rubbing off on you too.

.

.

"Y/N, this is Taehoon."

Your jaw drops. Sure, Hansu has shown you countless pictures. Compared to the real living thing though, the gap is so vast you might as well say he's the least photogenic person alive. That's really saying something, because Taehoon photographs well.

He's one of the prettiest boys you've ever seen.

With his lips and eyes and even his goddamn hair. Are those lashes even for real? And then you notice his stature and his muscles, his rock-solid chest and abs peeking through.

Maybe he's not pretty at all. He's fucking hot.

You jaw drops even further.

Why on earth hasn't Hansu ever shown you a full body picture, he could have at least prepared you. Like a cliche, you feel weak at the knees. You feel light-headed-

Then Taehoon opens his mouth and the illusion shatters. Splinters into a hundred million little pieces. With his next words, you've never felt more pissed off in your life.

"Keep looking pervert, and I'll pluck your eyes out,"

What the fuck is this guy's problem.

.

.

For once, the stars align, and you see each other constantly.

You curse the damn stars. You curse Hansu for passing your tutelage to Taehoon. Most of all, you curse Hansu for creating this.

The idea of Taehoon is much better than this... this fucking menace you have to see day in day out.

Taehoon makes you address him as Master. He hits you on the head for stepping out of line (you bite your tongue every goddamn time), he takes no prisoners during your spars together, makes you repeat exercises over and over until you're on all fours and trying not to throw up.

And infuriatingly, he touches you.

Little corrections with his hands, his elbows, his knees, his legs, his foot. "Your stance is shit," he tells you, "your technique is still off," as he taps the offending body parts, mere millimetres out of place. Your cheeks burn every time and your skin is on fire even hours later.

What's worse is your head swims every night with Taekwondo and Taehoon.

Lying in bed, all you can see is him. That antagonising smug smile on his lips. You want to wipe it off his stupidly handsome face.

See if he has any cutting words left when, not if, you beat him in a spar, and you gloat over him, straddling his hips, trapping him between your thighs and you can feel how aroused he is-

Oh.

Shit.

You hug your pillow tighter to your body.

This relevation is a fucking nightmare.

.

.

Taehoon reckons your skills are average at best. What he's most impressed with is your dedication and tenacity.

No matter how many times he kicks your ass, you still get back up for more. Regardless of all his nitpicking and corrections with your form, you take onboard his words and listen.

He hasn't missed that it's all through gritted teeth. Still.

He also hasn't missed you blushing and your breath catching in your throat when he touches you.

Nothing not out of necessity, all completely above board. But it's still funny. Messing with you.

Taehoon tells himself he is completely unaffected. People fawn over him all the time, you looking at him with hearts in your eyes is nothing new.

It's just amusing, that's all.

.

.

You don't know whether this is heaven or hell.

Taehoon piggybacks you all the way from the studio to the emergency room. You're so close you can almost taste him, see all his faint freckles, the vein in his temple from the exertion and concern.

All this proximity is doing nothing for your crush. Which you are determined to get over, by the way. Because this guy is a goddamn asshole and nothing else.

It was a silly accident, really. You went for an opening when there was none, causing Taehoon to mistime his kick. You collapsed like a sack of shit.

Worried hands check up on you even as his mouth runs.

"It's fine," you say, waving off his concern. When you tried to stand up, your ankle is in no mood to bear any weight.

You go down for a second time.

Taehoon's patience is unexpected. He waits with you until you are seen to.

Conversation is strained, and he doesn't talk much, just giving you wary glances every now and then.

But you fill the silence, telling him little anecdotes from your life and your day. Bridging the gap between Taekwondo and the little pieces that make up the rest of your life.

His lips quirk as you speak. The smiles aren't condescending.

Eventually, when the nurse tells you it's just a simple strain and will heal if you keep off it, Taehoon is the one that nods and asks follow up questions.

At the end of the day, after another piggyback this time to your home, you thank him for his time and he is surprised at your sincerity.

.

.

Taehoon doesn't miss you. Definitely not.

The only reason he is at your door with stew and kimchi is because his old man told him to check up on you.

You're not able to attend any lessons while you recover, and Hansu wanted to make sure you're ok. Not Taehoon. Taehoon could not care less. He also did not jump at the chance of seeing you again, so much so that even Hansu gives him a questioning look. Ridiculous.

Why is his palm sweaty? Must just be the heat. Taehoon wipes it on his jeans before knocking twice on your door.

"Come in," you call out, and Taehoon hasn't missed your voice. And he hasn't missed the sight of your face neither.

He doesn't greedily take in the colours of your bedroom, the pictures on your wall, the books on your shelf.

He doesn't memorise your handwriting when he walks past your desk, something that is so uniquely you, like a fingerprint.

And when you give him a shy smile and apologise for the mess, it doesn't affect him.

Nor when you take the proffered food and have a mouthful, Taehoon doesn't soften at this.

The ensuing silence is not comfortable. He doesn't want to stay longer. His fingers don't twitch in your presence, having grown used to casual touches with you.

.

.

This song and dance is continued for the next few weeks only because Taehoon is a good son, and an even better teacher.

He needs to check up on the welfare of his student.

And then finally, after too long, when you show up at the studio again, Taehoon's heart absolutely does not soar.

[laurapetrie]

what are your thoughts on luhrmann's gatsby movie now that it's been over a decade?

A decade of loneliness and a thinning brief-case of enthusiasm, tbh! No, but really, that mess is over ten years old now? I am shocked because it still makes me seethe like nothing else on the planet. I feel like Baz Luhrmann is not the brightest light on the dock, and the only time he ever made a good movie (Moulin Rouge) was because Nicole and Ewan were both in their Peak Babe Prime and carried the entire thing with the most insane chemistry the early 2000s ever knew. They really could not have picked a more inappropriate director to adapt such a quiet, achingly sad book. For me, The Great Gatsby has always been about the haunting loneliness that these people feel so acutely, and the parties only serve to accentuate the hollowness. (Chapter Six is the best example of this: "I feel far away from her...She used to be able to understand.") Does The Great Gatsby have parties in it? I mean, yeah, obviously. Is it about parties? Absolutely not. And that's what flew right over Baz's microscopic peanut brain. And for what it's worth, I hold him 100% responsible for this whole "party like Gatsby" way of reading (not reading?) the book that's so infuriatingly prevalent now. I have turned down not one, not two, but THREE separate invitations to "Gatsby" parties, so this is the hill I have chosen to die on. (I know this hill. I love this hill.) Fitzgerald’s party scenes are so obviously a condemnation, not a celebration; Gatsby doesn't attend most of his own parties, and he doesn't even drink. You really want to party like Jay Gatsby? You're basically the designated driver, congratulations. Fitzgerald wrote an elegy for an entire country. Baz Luhrmann, meanwhile, bought 2,000 confetti cannons.

[soup-of-the-daisies]

i’ve talked about this before but i just LOVE the sheer potential of a james-sirius-severus trio?? especially with the three of them in the same hogwarts house.

they’re all geniuses and they’re all feral and they’re all a bit cruel. they’re canonically SO smart it’s annoying. they become animagi three months after first opening a book about it—not for remus necessarily, but just because the three of them are bored and wanted to challenge themselves (severus becomes a fruit bat and sirius suggest they call him ‘count snapula’). they’re inventing new spells left and right by their fourth year. the map is more interactive than it is in canon because they just really enjoyed continuing to tweak and improve it as they continued to learn.

having (at least) two frighteningly loyal Boy Buds behind him, one of whom has incredible parents, severus doesn’t end up falling down the far-right pipeline. severus also never ends up losing lily, so he’s not particularly bothered by james and sirius’ soulmate-ish behaviour. he gets included in their shenanigans so much that it’s rather stifling anyway, and he invents muffliato solely because their dormmates are completely done with the unhinged, evil cackling coming from their side of the room when they’re figuring out a new prank.

the potters are a safe haven for severus, just like they are for sirius; and severus adores his mum, he really does, but after she dies young the potters are the people he flees to. euphemia hugs him and kisses his temple, takes him into the backyard to practice duelling. fleamont is ecstatic to have a potions prodigy under his roof and they spend many a days brewing away. james doesn’t mind, is happy to share with sev and later sirius, then gets infuriatingly smug when lily visits and emerges from the potions lab with flushed cheeks and bright eyes, because i bloody told you she’d love my old man, sev, didn’t i? (no james, i told you that)

i’m not entirely sure where remus and peter fit into this au, mainly because i imagine that this trio is more possible if james and sirius are sorted into slytherin and i don’t think remus and peter would willingly end up there. i also don’t want to ‘replace’ remus with severus here; they’re very different people, though fanon!remus is similar to how i imagine severus here.

regardless, harry (should he come to exist) ends up with another uncle—reluctant, yes, and strict as all hell, but endlessly protective. also nobody dies because sirius and severus together? nothing will happen to james and lily.

like?? i think those three would’ve made such a good fit under different circumstances. both sev and sirius have an acerbic sense of humour, and james seems to have that as well. sirius is shown to respect intelligence, something that sev has in spades. the three of them as friends is, from the outside, just a rapid-fire exchange of witty barbs, interwoven with academic theories and seemingly devastating insults. nobody understands how they became friends because james is so annoying and sirius looks so mean and severus seems to dislike literally everyone, but they are friends and not one person can do anything about that.

if they’d joined forces they would’ve been unstoppable. voldemort is annoyed that they won’t join him. dumbledore is annoyed that they won’t listen to his orders, because apparently they ‘know better than him’. severus calls lucius an unbearable pasty white slug during a battle and james, hyped up on adrenaline, cackles so uncontrollably sirius has to yank him out of the way of spellfire. they’re that ‘on a leash’ meme in no particular order and it’s so great

[sealrock]

19. taken

no content warnings word count: 883 words

"… Fuck."

Achille tugged at his hair in his growing frustration and panic—the house had been overturned, with any and every nook and cranny small enough for a baby to trap themselves in checked thoroughly. The state of disarray was from him frantically searching for his tiny charge. All he did was close his eye for a second (it was an hour), on the couch, knowing for certain that Paris was safe in her wooden playpen, the lock secured to keep the squirmy troublemaker in place.

Thankfully, she didn't cry when her parents took their leave. Achille would've thought Hector would be the one to loathe the thought of leaving her, but it was Andromache who had to be dragged out the door. Paris thought nothing of her constant reassurances that they would be right back as she teethed on Achille's chaplet, the cool metal cross offering relief for her irritated gums. Achille groaned to himself thinking about the inevitable teeth marks that would disfigure the necklace.

Hector and Andromache could walk through the door right now, which was something Achille wasn't looking forward to. He was used to Andromache's bursts of anger, but he only witnessed Hector's ugly side once when Achille mistook rare and fragile plants for weeds in his herb garden. It was something the redhead didn't want to experience again. With Achille on watch duty, the couple set out that morning to gather supplies down at the village market, though Hector must've got sidetracked with something or other because a simple twenty-minute trip turned into a whole day excursion.

Achille had their trust to look after the infant, but after a long night of dealing with a fussy and overly tired Paris who thought it was a great idea to keep them all awake by refusing to sleep (the knot at the back of his head from Andromache throwing a book at him for his offhand comment still throbbed). While her parents were no worse for wear, the two of them infuriatingly being morning people, Achille was feeling it today, his tense attitude and short temper caused by lack of sleep.

It's not like Achille hadn't dealt with sleepless nights before, it was only recently that his nightmares began to go away. But when the mind is running on fumes, it begins conjuring up scenarios not based in reality. It was during his third sweep of the house that he noticed something odd; the bay window next to Paris' playpen was slightly ajar.

Did someone sneak in to snatch the child? The front and back doors were locked and bolted, the upstairs untouched. If someone, or something, had taken Paris, they were gonna wish they were never born once Achille was through with them. His present crankiness aside, Achille would burn the world to ashes if something happened to Paris. He looked out the window for any signs of an intruder, be it footprints on the ledge or fingerprints on the glass. So absorbed in his hunt for an imaginary kidnapper, Achille almost missed the telltale squeak of a mischievous infant as he rushed back inside.

His bare feet came to a sudden stop on the rug. Panic quickly morphed into annoyance as he slowly opened the window to look down; there she was, nestled atop a prickly firethorn bush, Paris regarded Achille's glower with a wide-eyed stare.

"You little shite, how did you get out here?"

As if she could respond to him, not yet old enough to talk. Little noises came from her mouth as Achille lifted her up and out of the bush, the man surprised to see no skin pricks or other signs of injury on her, her baby clothes pristine. He couldn't guess how long she was out there, at least it wasn't hot outside and Paris was underneath the shade of the house. Paris reached up to tug Achille's pierced ear, her grip strong and tight as she clawed on the silver jewelry. She ripped out an earring once, and Achille's ear was nearly healed from that incident.

"Oi, none of that today. You gave me a scare I almost died. You wouldn't want me to die, right?"

Paris blinked at him as he gently removed her offending hand, the baby instead shoving it in her mouth as she hummed. Achille flopped onto the couch with a sigh, he'll clean up the mountain of mess later, allowing Paris the opportunity to crawl over to his face with her slobbery hand. If she couldn't get to his ears, she would tug at his stubbled cheeks, the bristled sensation always getting delighted giggles from her. Achille could only cringe at cold baby spit on his chin, trapped under the pudgy eight-month-old as he stretched out on the couch.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want. You're gonna miss me when I'm gone—"

Curious sticky fingers hooked themselves into Achille's mouth. His agitated spluttering sent Paris into a laughing fit, her squeals growing louder at his look of irritation. Nonetheless, Achille never let go of the infant, his sturdy hands securing her body on top of his chest. They stayed like that for a while before eventually falling asleep. Achille would deal with Andromache's barrage of questions later, he's just relieved his baby was safe and sound.

[bi-bats]

trick or treat <3333

TAURIA MY BELOVED!!! HAPPY HALLOWEEENNNNNN!!!!

In the spirit of the season (and giving out full size candy bars) you get a snippet from an idea that I have not talked about on Tumblr yet!! Everyone say thank you to Tauria and go read a bunch of her fics on Ao3 her stuff is so good!!

ANYWAYS this is a snippet of a DamiTim piece I've been working on in the vein of Now Kiss! It's probably going to be a oneshot with multiple little scenes, and it's an urban fantasy fic that's not a no capes!au. It's based off of this one super short tumblr post (that I cannot find ughhh) about magic in the modern era between a self-taught sorcerer and a classically trained one arguing about the ways that they do certain thins, and I saw it and was like "I have to hit that with my DamiTim beam rn" soooo more urban fantasy from Misha for you all!!

(stealing your formatting Tauria because this is too long to indent the whole snippet)

~ ✨ ~

“Why are you keeping the sample in here?” Damian asks, his voice losing just enough of its edge for Tim to answer him sincerely. 

“It combusts at room temp. That’s how the fires are catching so fast and staying lit for so long. You know, B didn’t have to send you to come get it, I could’ve just—” 

A small, glowing portal opens up at the next snap of Damian’s fingers, deep green sparks lining the image of the fridge in the Batcave on the other side.

Yeah, that. 

Tim rolls his eyes as Damian’s eyes flicker over the contents of the fridge. 

“It is unbelievable that you’ve made it this far in life without accidentally drinking your work,” Damian scoffs at the rows of bottles on the shelves.

“Hey, glass can shatter and plastic doesn’t! Besides, I’m recycling.”

“Is that what you call it?” Damian mutters as he pushes aside a gatorade bottle half full of a deep red, viscous liquid. “Which one?” 

“The caps are labelled.” 

After a few moments of watching Damian rifle through the bottles, Tim scoffs and pushes away from his desk. 

When he gets to the fridge, he slides in front of Damian — which infuriatingly, reminds him of the inch of space between the top of his own head and the tip of Damian’s chin — and grabs the Power-C Vitaminwater bottle that has a few tablespoons of an orange, oily liquid pooling in the bottom.

He slips his hand through the portal and drops it on the shelf on the other side before pulling his hand out. 

At least Damian’s spell doesn’t singe him at the fingertips the way his magic used to. 

It’s still a near thing, though.

When Tim turns back around, he almost flinches at the realization that there’s only a few inches of space between his nose and Damian’s chest. He looks up at him — ugh, who let the demon brat get so tall? — and raises an eyebrow. 

In the time it takes for Tim to let out his breath, Damian glances down at him. His eyes flash with something, pink rising to his cheeks again—

And then he’s stepping back, out of Tim’s space entirely, a scowl carving across his features as he looks around Tim’s study.

“You know—” 

Great, here we go, Tim thinks. 

“—there are cleaning spells you can employ to prevent your space from looking like this.”

“Again, Damian, just because I’m mostly self-taught doesn’t mean that I’m stupid.” 

“I was not—” Damian scowls, his voice gruff, defensive and god, here we go for real, Tim thinks.

But Damian doesn’t continue. He breathes out slowly, his voice coming out softer when he finishes his thought. 

“I apologize. I was not trying to insult your intelligence. I was merely suggesting that you may want to employ one of those spells before you trip over a stack of reference books or…” Damian kneels down to pick up a receipt off the ground. “Slip and crack your head open on something. Do you need this?” 

The urge to snatch it from Damian’s hand rises up in him, but he pushes it down.

He apologized, after all. 

“Yes.”

Damian raises an eyebrow at him before flipping the receipt over. 

“Is that… a spell?”

Tim snatches the receipt from his hand.

“Yes. Not all of us have time to copy our spells into a book—”

“Why don’t you just spell your pens?” 

Tim stops mid-step to frown at Damian, the receipt crinkling in his hand.

“Spell them how?”

Damian’s other eyebrow rises to join the first. 

“With a mirroring rune? It will copy whatever you’re writing into your grimoire as you write it.” 

Damn it. Fucking runes. There are just so many to keep track of, and Damian always seems to know them. 

“Here. Where’s your ritual knife?” Damian asks, striding past Tim to his desk, looking around for a pen. 

“I just use a batarang.” 

“You what?” 

“Yeah, anything sharp will do the trick.” 

Tim pulls one out of a drawer and passes it to Damian, letting himself snicker at the displeased look on his face. 

“You have the money. Buy a ritual knife, I am begging you,” Damian scoffs. 

“I don’t need one — don’t argue with me about it, I’m begging you. The rune, come on.” 

He watches Damian’s thick fingers curl around the pen as he carves the rune into the plastic with smooth, precise motions. He means to be following the lines of the rune, but his gaze catches on the scar on Damian’s knuckle, and before he knows it, Damian is handing the batarang back to Tim and muttering, “Grimoire?” 

“Oh, uh…” Tim moves a few piles of papers around, looking for one of the dozens of notebooks lying around this place. 

Okay, maybe Damian has a point. 

He gives up searching manually and waves his hand through the air, waiting for a notebook to soar from somewhere random in the room.

Nothing happens.

Why is nothing happening? 

Tim looks around, waves his hand again and with a little more sass, and then there’s a crashing noise as a pile of books collapses to the floor, his notebook responding to the summons and flying into his hand. 

He flips it open to a blank page and ignores the heat on his cheeks and the look Damian’s giving him as he passes it over. 

“Is it a time constraint preventing you from maintaining your space?” 

Tim scoffs, paying attention to the lines of the rune this time instead of Damian’s fingers. “Yes, Damian, it is pretty clearly just another thing I don’t have time to do.” 

“You could ask for help. I’m sure Jason would love to teach you some cleaning spells.” 

“He’s banned from my study for that exact reason. I still haven’t figured out where he put everything last time. Does the direction you draw the rune in matter?” 

“It’s a rune, Timothy. It always matters.” 

“Fucking runes,” Tim mutters, rolling his eyes. 

Damian laughs a little, and suddenly Tim realizes that this is the longest amount of time they’ve spent together when they weren’t in masks in… 

Well. Since Tim moved out, probably.

They get along fine (comparatively) these days, but it’s not like they spend time together unless it’s for a case, and they haven’t worked a case together since… last year? 

Which is probably why he’d forgotten how Damian’s laugh isn’t the same condescending noise he remembers from when he was a bratty little tween.

Or why the low, warm rumble of it catches him off guard, makes something in his stomach squeeze. 

“Here,” Damian says, jotting down the directions for the rune on the same page. “I can’t help you with organizing it in the notebook, especially since you have more than one, but—” 

“Oh, that’s not a problem. I just use summoning spells anyways.” 

There’s a silence long enough for Tim to look up at Damian’s face. 

Is his eye twitching?

[snamioneasks]

Hi, are there any fics where Snape and Hermione are both professors at hogwarts after the war. Or fics where snape is a known spy during the wars and him and Hermione have to work together? TIA

fics where snape is a known spy during the wars and him and Hermione have to work together

There are several - I actually love this trope! There is a subset of them that rewrite the last two or three books. I have listed the ones I know in these two posts: here and here.

Other fics that have them working together, but don't necessarily rewrite the books:

Memento Amori by Olethros - M, 17 chapters - COMPLETE. SSHG. A vicious attack leaves Hermione Granger unable to form new memories. Now she and Severus Snape must work together on a weapon that could destroy Voldemort. Yet how can she trust him when her past is unknown and her present uncertain?

Before the Dawn by snarkyroxy - M, 49 chapters - In her seventh year, a latenight discovery changes Hermione Granger’s view on a great many things. Severus Snape is just one of them. Complete.

The Problem with Purity by Phoenix.Writing - M, 62 chapters - As Hermione, Harry, and Ron are about to begin their seventh and final year at Hogwarts, they learn some surprising and dangerous information regarding what it means to be Pure in the wizarding world. HG/SS with H/D. AU after OotP. When A Lioness Fights by kayly silverstorm - M, 80 chapters - Hermione Granger, master spy, and Severus Snape, spymaster to the Order. An unlikely partnership, forged to defeat the Dark Lord on his own ground. But to do so, they must confront their own darkness within. Spying, torture, angst and love. AU after fifth

The Professor’s Discretion by Twelve Years in Azkaban - T, 22 chapters - The only thing keeping Hermione out of trouble and Harry Potter alive is... the Professor's Discretion. AU.

fics where Snape and Hermione are both professors at hogwarts after the war

This isn't a trope that I read a lot (I love A Light in the Fog, though), but I'll list some fics I've seen recommended over the years. Also, check out our Hermione Granger: Professor tag.

A Light in the Fog by turtlewexler - M, 29 chapters - The last thing Severus remembers is overhearing a prophecy in a dingy, goat-scented pub. Now there’s a James Potter clone with Lily’s eyes, a much aged McGonagall, and an infuriatingly familiar woman with wild hair all saying he is not a loyal Death Eater. Looking in a mirror proves that he is, indeed, suddenly pushing fifty. All in all, not his best day. AU, EWE. *COMPLETE*

A Murder of Crows by Hogwarts 91 - M, 33 chapters - 14 yrs post-war: Hermione’s teaching at Hogwarts when an un-aged Snape awakens from stasis and returns to the school. Sparks fly when they meet. Can they learn to trust and love in time to defeat an evil plot bent on changing the wizarding world forever?

The sound of silence by Ellemphriem - M, 36 chapters - When Professor Granger appeared at Hogwarts as the new Potion Mistress, she wasn’t expecting to be the temporary guardian of a beautiful and highly charismatic child. Neither was she expecting that child to draw close to her a lonely man who was encased in forced silence. This man slowly showed her that silence had a deafening sound, if you listened close enough.

The Fine Art of Fine Print by Mundungus42 - M, 8 chapters - Hogwarts’ headmistress threatens the integrity of the school with her reforms, so the Minister sends his most talented Unspeakable undercover to bring her down from within. What Hermione finds will change her life forever. SSHG

The Charms of Hermione Granger by SallySlytherin - M, 19 chapters - Hermione returns to Hogwarts as the new Charms Professor. She’s determined to befriend Severus Snape, whether he likes it or not.

[mermaidchan05]

Vesuvia Weekly: Reclaiming Lost Languages

So the @vesuviaweekly "Learning Languages" prompt reminded me: if the Apprentice spoke a different language than... whatever the Arcana-verse equivalent of DnD's Common is, then it's very likely that they forgot that language when they were resurrected. So here we have my Apprentices re-learning their old languages with the help of their LI's. From least to Most Angsty.

Influenced in part by this Ask Arcana answer

Julian and Damian (with an Asra cameo):

Damian, as Asra knows well, is from Nopal. 

Asra has a house in Nopal. 

Even if Asra isn't fluent in the language, they know enough to get by. 

And they know more than enough to get Damian started on finding his heritage again. 

Asra can’t actually take Damian to Nopal. Not yet. There’s still too much risk. 

But Asra's got a few books from there, and learning the language doesn’t hurt Damian, so it all worked out well. 

Damian’s attempts to teach Julian the native language of Nopal? 

That’s another story. 

Julian’s great at learning languages by listening, and he’s picked up enough to carry on conversations in a lot of different languages. 

But heaven forbid he tries to read-- or, gods help him, spell-- anything. 

Julian’s accent is adorably off, and his grasp of grammar is far from perfect.

But he makes himself understood well enough.

And he has fun treating his new knowledge of the language of Nopal like some secret code between himself and Damian.

(it is not, but Damian's not about to ruin that fun)

Damian, meanwhile, takes to the reading and writing part much more quickly. 

Which means when he’s surprisingly adept at learning the completely separate alphabet they traditionally use in Nevivon. 

After all, if Damian’s giving him language lessons, Julian would consider himself a terrible partner if he didn’t return the favor. 

Damian’s writing is almost perfect, and his sentences flow like poetry.

His accent...?

It’s terrible. Julian loves it. 

Between the two of them, they should be able to decently learn a language, but really they end up making an adorable mess of things. 

At least they’re enjoying their adorable mess, so it’s all good in the end.

Nadia, Portia, and Chimalus:

After their resurrection, Chimalus completely forgot their native language

And they were so secretive about their past that even Asra has no idea where they were born or what language they spoke. 

Which was sad, especially for Asra

But Chimalus picked up on the Common Language so quickly that it was never really a problem. 

One day, while Nadia and Chimalus were in the middle of a meeting with a representative from Galbrada, Chimalus happened to hear a phrase they recognized. 

The moment of realization nearly knocked them out of their chair. 

(But, thankfully, it didn’t cause them a catatonic headache) 

Now Nadia is armed with an incredible piece of information. 

Her beloved is from Galbrada. 

But while Nadia is fluent in a dozen languages, Galbradan is, infuriatingly, not one of them. 

Now she is a woman on a mission. 

She’s determined to not only learn the language, but to help Chimalus reconnect with this glimmer of their past. 

And maybe she can teach them a bit of Prakran along the way. 

All free time is now spent in the palace library, pouring over any and every useful book they can find. 

Portia is only too happy to assist in their mission. 

Most of the time, she’s bustling around the library, grabbing more books (each with varying degrees of relevance), bringing in tea and snacks, and making everyone laugh with the nonsense she finds in some of the less-helpful books she found. 

Much like her brother, Portia is excellent at picking up on the speaking part of a new language

She is loving every second of learning it.  

Chimalus is very good at learning languages through repetition as well.

But when they’re studying from books alone, it leads to some... fun mispronunciations. 

Both Portia and Chimalus are speaking Prakran like natives within a month, though, thanks to Nadia's expert teaching. 

And Portia might be having a bit too much fun learning Prakran swear words. 

Nadia knows plenty of them. You pick up a few things when you’re the youngest of seven, after all. 

And both Nadia and Portia find it adorable when Chimalus goes a little red at their profanity-laced conversations. 

Asra and Meleia:

It was difficult at first. Very difficult. 

As Meleia started recovering from the resurrection, the first words she spoke (after Asra’s name) were from her native language. 

A language that Asra had never heard before in his life. 

And after years of speaking with her perfectly fluently in the Common Language, it just made things hurt all the more.

He had to pick up some phrases rather quickly. 

The first one he learned was her word for something being wrong.

So he could rush to her side when he needed to. 

And Asra had to coach Meleia through the language that she used to know... all without triggering any debilitating headaches. 

It was touch and go for a while. But finally, finally, they managed it. 

Now Meleia barely remembers her native language. 

It wasn’t until she found an old journal of hers when the two of them were doing some much-needed cleaning that she started picking up her native tongue again. 

In a moment that was both scary and wonderful, Asra and Meleia went through the entire journal together, picking out all the phrases that they could. 

It’s slow going, but Meleia’s starting to reconnect with her past. 

Becoming fluent again is bound to be a long journey.

But Meleia and Asra are taking it together. And that’s what really counts.