#this is horrible but i laughed and i hope you will too

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Polyjuice Potion | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Part Two

 ← Read Part One

Back by popular demand! I was actually laughing while I wrote this so I hope y'all do too. This is so fucking silly bahahahah poor sebastian. except not really at all, it's so fun torturing him HAH

I will add as an aside, that since this is set in fifth year, I won't be doing a part three since I never write intimate scenes between characters unless they are 18+. Thanks for respecting this boundary!

Words: ~5,800

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Humor

Sebastian Sallow was going to die.

He was sure of it. Whether by expulsion, an arranged marriage, or sheer embarrassment, his demise was imminent.

The rest of the day had been a blur. He barely absorbed a word of his lectures, nearly set his robes on fire in Potions, and had been so lost in thought at lunch that he nearly took a bite out of his goblet instead of his sandwich.

He was spiraling.

He replayed the conversation with Black over and over, trying to decide which part had been the most damning. The secluded alcoves? The suggestion of a scandal? The casual mention of a baby?!

But the worst part—the part that made his stomach twist itself into impossible knots—was the marriage comment.

A proper arrangement. Ensuring the integrity of all involved parties.

Sebastian could barely breathe just thinking about it. Would Black actually force him into it? Could he? He still wasn’t sure what the school’s policies were when it came to these things.

And the worst part—the absolute worst part—was that he couldn’t even properly deny Black’s accusations.

Because you had been sneaking off together. And it had been improper. Very improper.

Sebastian ran a hand down his face.

Merlin’s bloody beard.

What if Black had proof?

Sebastian’s brain short-circuited so violently at the thought that he nearly tripped over his own feet.

No. Absolutely not. He wasn’t ready to even think about that.

Sebastian needed to talk to you. Immediately.

You were the only other person involved in this mess—aside from the bloody headmaster—which meant you were his only hope of figuring out how deep this disaster went.

Did Black speak to you? Did he give you the same accusations? Did he mention marriage?!

Sebastian stormed through the halls, half-aware of students and portraits giving him odd looks as he passed. His usual easygoing confidence was nowhere to be found. He was on a mission.

When he finally spotted you sitting in the Great Hall, completely at ease, not a single ounce of concern on your face, he nearly collapsed with relief.

Then he narrowed his eyes.

Why were you so calm?

How were you not losing your mind over this?

Unless…

Oh, no.

Maybe Black hadn't spoken to you yet. And if you didn’t know yet...

Sebastian’s breath caught.

He was going to have to break this humiliating, horrible, life-ruining news.

And there was no dignified way to do it.

Taking a steadying breath, he strode up to you, his pulse hammering in his throat.

“Hey,” he greeted, voice as casual as he could make it.

You turned to him with an easy smile. “Hey.”

Sebastian stared at you, waiting—praying—for some sign of recognition. Some hint that you already knew what he was about to say.

But you just looked at him expectantly, utterly unaware of the existential crisis unfolding inside him.

His stomach sank.

Oh, fuck. You really don’t know.

Sebastian swallowed, suddenly unsure how to even begin.

“So,” he started, voice tight. “How was your day?”

You blinked at him. “Fine. Yours?”

Sebastian let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Could’ve been better.”

You hummed, tilting your head at him. “Oh? Something on your mind?”

Sebastian just stared.

Something on his mind? Something on his mind?!

Did you have any idea the kind of mental gymnastics he had been performing all day?

He dragged a hand through his hair, forcing his voice to stay even. “Did… Black speak to you today?”

You blinked, brow furrowing. “The Headmaster?”

“Yes.”

Your frown deepened. “Why would he?”

Sebastian’s pulse spiked.

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck—

“Well.” He exhaled sharply. “I don’t know. But he, uh, might’ve mentioned you.”

You tilted your head, expression unreadable. “Oh? And why would he do that?”

Sebastian felt sick.

“That’s… not important,” he muttered. “Did he seem… suspicious of you?”

You shrugged. “Not that I noticed.”

Sebastian’s stomach was in knots. “Right. Right. That’s good.”

You studied him, your expression flickering just slightly—too observant.

“Why?” you asked, ever so innocent. “Did something happen?”

Sebastian let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Happen? No, no, nothing happened, just that the bloody Headmaster of Hogwarts apparently thinks we’ve been—”

Your brows lifted, lips twitching in a way that made him deeply uneasy.

“Been…?”

Sebastian groaned, resisting the urge to physically collapse.

“Black thinks we’ve been sneaking off to do improper things,” he muttered, low and fast.

Your lips parted slightly. “What would give you that impression?”

Sebastian scowled. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said flatly. “Maybe the fact that he directly accused me of it. And then had the audacity to start talking about marriage.”

You made a strangled noise.

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. Had you just laughed?

No. No, surely not—

You cleared your throat. “And what did you say?”

Sebastian let out a sharp breath. “I—I denied it, obviously! But he just kept pushing, talking about consequences and reputation and—”

He was spiraling again. Before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out:

“Look, I swear I would never ruin your future like that—unless you wanted me to, I mean—wait, no, that's not what I meant, just that—”

Sebastian froze. His entire life flashed before his eyes.

Your expression barely wavered. Barely.

But he saw it.

The flicker of amusement. The way your lips twitched. The way you were struggling— visibly struggling—to hold back laughter.

Sebastian’s stomach dropped. His entire body went rigid.

“What?” he demanded.

You shook your head too quickly. “Nothing.”

“No. No, not nothing.” He studied your face closely. “You’re enjoying this!"

You shrugged, playing innocent. “Enjoying what?”

Sebastian groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Merlin, I’m going to lose my mind.”

You just patted his shoulder. “Sebastian… we have been sneaking off to do improper things.”

Sebastian swallowed, hard. “Yes, well—” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat violently. “That’s— I mean— Not that I— We weren’t—”

You grinned. “Oh? What was that? We weren’t what?”

Sebastian’s brain short-circuited. His entire spine burned, every memory of exactly what the two of you had been up to flashing through his mind at lightspeed.

The Undercroft. The hidden corridors. The darkened corners of the library. The breathless, desperate whispers beneath the canopy of the Forbidden Forest.

And now Black was onto him.

Sebastian groaned, gripping his hair. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake—this isn’t funny!"

You beamed at him. “It’s a little funny.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

Sebastian dropped his hands, exhaling sharply. “I hate you.”

You giggled. Actually giggled. “No, you don’t.”

Sebastian clenched his jaw. He was so close to losing his mind. “I might.”

You patted his cheek. “Keep telling yourself that, darling.”

Sebastian froze. You had never called him that before. His entire body locked up. His thoughts derailed completely.

You, unbothered, turned on your heel and started toward the entrance of the Great Hall.

Sebastian stared after you, unmoving.

It took him a full five seconds to realize he was still standing there, completely useless, thoughts looping in an endless, embarrassing cycle.

And then, as if his day couldn’t get any worse—

A voice drawled behind him.

“Well. That was painful to listen to.”

Sebastian whipped around.

Ominis stood a few feet away, arms crossed, his usual neutral expression tinged with something suspiciously close to amusement.

Sebastian groaned, dragging both hands down his face as he stumbled toward the nearest bench and all but collapsed onto it. He slumped forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the ground as if he could will himself out of existence.

Ominis, still wearing that annoyingly neutral expression, walked over at a much more measured pace and lowered himself onto the bench beside him.

Sebastian exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “I don’t get it.”

Ominis hummed, tilting his head slightly. “That’s hardly a surprise.”

Sebastian scowled at him. “I mean her.” He gestured vaguely toward the exit, where you had disappeared moments ago, completely unbothered by what should have been a catastrophic situation.

“She’s amused,” Sebastian muttered, half to himself. “She’s enjoying this. Why?”

Ominis considered for a moment, then exhaled through his nose. “Well,” he said, his voice slow, patient—annoyingly reasonable—“to be fair, you did a terrible job explaining why this is an actual problem.”

Sebastian blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

Ominis turned his head toward him, a single brow arching. “Think about it. You just ambushed her out of nowhere, looking like a deranged madman, started rambling about Black and improper behavior, and then, instead of clearly conveying the very real threat to your future, you panicked so hard that you practically proposed to her.”

Sebastian groaned again, louder this time. “That is not what happened.”

Ominis smirked slightly. “That is exactly what happened.”

Sebastian waved a hand, desperate to move past that particular humiliation. “Fine, whatever. But she should still be worried. Black is onto us. He’s already talking about arranged marriages—”

“Is he?” Ominis interrupted, ever-so-slightly skeptical.

Sebastian gawked at him. “You were there! You heard him!”

Ominis inclined his head slightly. “I was there, yes. But let’s be rational about this, Sebastian.”

Sebastian scoffed. “Oh, great, here comes the ‘rational’ lecture.”

“You and her have been sneaking off together, and to the best of your knowledge, no one has caught you. And then, suddenly, Black of all people, corners you, accuses you, and starts spewing about ‘respectable arrangements’ without a shred of actual proof."

Sebastian frowned. “What's your point?"

Ominis tilted his head slightly, replaying the conversation in his mind. “I mean that Phineas Nigellus Black has never once given a single damn about student affairs. Not once in the years we’ve been here. He barely even tolerates his job as it is. And yet today he suddenly decides to take a keen interest in your extracurricular activities? And not just an interest, but one so pressing that he practically corners you in broad daylight and starts talking about marriage?”

Sebastian frowned deeper, his hands resting on his knees. He hated to admit it, but… Ominis had a point.

“That does seem… uncharacteristically involved of him,” Sebastian admitted, chewing his lip.

Ominis nodded once. “Exactly. It’s suspicious.”

Sebastian shook his head, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “Alright, fine. But maybe—maybe, I don't know, maybe Garreth ran his mouth in the vicinity of a Professor and it got back to Black?”

Ominis considered this for a moment, then shook his head. “If that were the case, it still wouldn’t explain his reaction. He’d have let that Professor handle it, or sent you a warning through a letter—he wouldn’t waste time personally terrorizing you.”

Sebastian exhaled sharply. “So what are you saying, then?”

Ominis’ brows furrowed slightly. “I’m saying something about this doesn’t make sense.

Sebastian frowned. “Maybe not, but he is an odd man. Who knows what goes on in his head.”

Ominis was silent for a long moment, then—slowly, so slowly—his lips curved into something dangerously close to amusement.

“Oh, this is good,” he murmured, tilting his head as though savoring the realization.

Sebastian snapped his head toward him. “Excuse me?”

Ominis let out a short breath—not quite a laugh, but something suspiciously close. “Oh, come now, Sebastian. Think about it. There’s no way it was actually Black. He knew far too much about the specific details of your late night rendezvous. The only logical conclusion is that someone must have impersonated Black. Someone who knows you. Obviously one of our friends went through the absolute ordeal of brewing a Polyjuice Potion just to terrorize you.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. “He did know a lot about where precisely we’ve snuck off to… the library, hidden alcoves...”

“Exactly,” Ominis said, clearly entertained.

Sebastian growled in frustration, pushing off the bench to stand. His blood was boiling. Ominis was right.

The fucking audacity.

His mind raced, already running through the short list of people who were both deranged enough and competent enough to pull this off.

And one name immediately shot to the top of his list.

“Garreth.”

Ominis, still looking entirely too pleased, lifted a brow. “Hmm?”

“It’s got to be Garreth.”

Ominis exhaled, leaning back slightly against the bench. “And what, exactly, makes you so certain?”

Sebastian threw out a hand. “Are you kidding? He’s been up my arse all week, badgering me for details about—” He cut himself off.

Ominis smirked. “About?”

Sebastian gritted his teeth. “About… things.”

Ominis’ smirk deepened. “Oh, I’m well aware of your things, Sebastian.”

Sebastian groaned. “Shut up.”

Ominis hummed, utterly unbothered.

Sebastian paced in front of him, hands in his hair, his entire body tense with fury.

“I’ve been telling him way too much,” Sebastian muttered, seething. “I knew I shouldn’t have let my guard down. But he kept asking, and I figured, what’s the harm? It’s not like he’d—”

He stopped short, realization hitting him like a brick.

“…Wait.” Sebastian’s eyes widened. “That absolute MENACE.”

Ominis lifted a brow. “What?”

Sebastian turned back to him, looking truly unhinged now. “He’s been gloating about a new potion all week.”

Ominis’ smirk vanished.

Sebastian pointed at him, vicious with victory. “He said—and I quote—‘Oh, it’s a special project. I’ll tell you about it when the time is right.’”

Ominis actually winced. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Sebastian mimicked, mocking. “Oh? Yeah, Ominis, oh. The bastard’s been cooking up a Polyjuice Potion for weeks, and I didn’t even see it. I played right into his hands. Merlin’s beard.”

Ominis considered this for a moment. Then: “That’s… actually quite impressive.”

Sebastian nearly exploded.

“DON’T ENCOURAGE HIM!”

Ominis snorted. “Oh, come on. You have to admit—it’s kind of brilliant.”

Sebastian whirled back around, pacing furiously. “I’m going to kill him.”

Ominis chuckled.

“No, I’m serious,” Sebastian hissed. “I am going to personally, violently, and enthusiastically end Garreth Weasley’s entire bloodline.”

Ominis shook his head, but he was clearly entertained.

Sebastian’s mind was already racing with vengeance. Garreth wanted to play games? Fine. Sebastian would play. And Garreth Weasley was about to regret every single life choice that had led him to this moment.

Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black had many regrets in life.

Taking the position as Headmaster of this cursed institution was certainly among them.

There were only so many years a man could tolerate insufferable teenagers, incompetent professors, and Ministry interference before he began to wonder whether he had been cursed by some malevolent higher power.

And now—now—on top of it all, he had to deal with this.

He had been enduring—not enjoying, enduring—his evening tea in his office when Professor Sharp casually mentioned something that instantly ruined his entire day.

“So. About this marriage arrangement of yours.”

Black had, understandably, nearly choked to death on his own tea.

Sharp, ever unbothered, merely watched him struggle, raising a single brow in mild disinterest.

Black coughed violently, pounding a fist against his chest, before spluttering, “My WHAT?”

Sharp had the audacity to look unimpressed.

“I assumed it was a joke,” he said, calm as ever. “But it’s already making the rounds among the students, so I thought I’d ask before it reaches the parents.”

Black stared at him. It took an impressive amount of effort for him not to throw something.

“…Please explain,” he said through gritted teeth.

Sharp tilted his head. “There’s a rumor circulating that you threatened Sebastian Sallow with an arranged marriage.”

Black froze. The words did not compute.

“What.”

Sharp, utterly unconcerned, took a sip of his tea. “Something about improper behavior, a scandal, and the need for a ‘respectable arrangement.’”

Black’s eye twitched.

“Why,” he began, voice tight, “would I ever, in any universe, concern myself with the sordid affairs of adolescent imbeciles?”

Sharp exhaled, as if he, too, was burdened by the weight of other people’s idiocy.

“That,” he said, setting his tea down, “is an excellent question.”

Black rubbed his temples. He had much better things to do than play wedding officiant to a bunch of lovesick idiots. Which meant someone—some absolute fool—had used his name in vain.

And Black was going to find out who.

“Summon Weasley,” he snapped.

Sharp inclined his head. “Garreth or Matilda?”

Black paused. Then, slowly, a deep sense of dread filled him.

“…Both,” he muttered.

And thus, his investigation began.

Garreth Weasley was about to have a very bad day.

He just didn’t know it yet.

Currently, he was completely at ease, perched on the edge of a courtyard fountain, chatting animatedly with a group of Hufflepuffs. His hands were moving wildly, eyes bright with mischief, completely unaware that his life expectancy had just significantly shortened.

Because Sebastian Sallow was on the warpath.

With Ominis reluctantly trailing behind him, Sebastian marched across the courtyard, his eyes locked onto his target like a predator about to tear its prey to shreds.

“Garreth Weasley!”

The Hufflepuffs startled.

Garreth turned his head, blinking in surprise as Sebastian stormed toward him, seething with righteous fury.

“Ah, Sebastian,” Garreth greeted, flashing his usual easy grin. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Sebastian didn’t stop until he was right in front of him, glaring so hard it was a miracle Garreth’s hair didn’t catch fire on the spot.

“You know damn well why,” Sebastian growled.

Garreth blinked. “...I don’t, actually.”

Sebastian leaned in, voice low and dangerous. “Drop the act, Weasley. We know.”

Garreth, to his credit, didn’t falter.

“Know what, exactly?” he asked, tilting his head.

Sebastian scoffed. “Oh, don’t play dumb. You used a Polyjuice Potion to impersonate Black and humiliate me,” he snapped. “Admit it.”

Garreth’s brows lifted. “I did what?”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “Oh, don’t.”

“I’m serious,” Garreth said, now actually looking intrigued. “Someone turned into Black? That’s brilliant.”

Sebastian made a noise that was not human.

Ominis sighed. “Garreth, please. Just confess so Sebastian doesn’t do something regrettable.”

Garreth scoffed. “You think I’d waste a whole month on a potion just to mess with Sallow?”

Sebastian’s eye twitched.

“YES.”

Garreth paused. “…Okay, fair. But I didn’t.”

Sebastian stabbed a finger into his chest. “You’ve been asking questions, Weasley. About—about my, my nightly... routine. And— and gloating about a special potion.”

Garreth looked entirely too delighted. “Wait, someone impersonated Black and then they interrogated you about your sex life?”

Sebastian’s rage doubled. “I’m going to strangle you.”

Ominis rubbed his temples. “Sebastian, perhaps—”

“NO.” Sebastian cut him off, eyes still locked on Garreth. “I am not leaving until this idiot admits—”

“Mr. Sallow.”

A new voice. One that sent an icy chill down all their spines.

Sebastian turned slowly.

There, standing just a few feet away, expression unreadable, was Professor Sharp, and beside him, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line, was Professor Weasley.

Then, after a long pause, Sharp spoke.

“Well,” he said dryly, eyes flicking between them. “It seems you’ve come to the same conclusion as the Headmaster regarding who exactly impersonated him this morning.”

Sebastian froze.

Sharp’s gaze shifted.

To Garreth.

The Gryffindor, who had been watching the exchange with mild amusement, suddenly looked deeply alarmed.

“What?” he said, blinking rapidly. “No, no, no. I didn’t—”

Professor Weasley let out a heavy sigh. “Garreth.”

Garreth turned to her, eyes wide with betrayal. “Aunt Matilda, I swear, I did not—”

“We’ll discuss it in the Headmaster’s office,” she said firmly.

Garreth’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?! I had nothing to do with this!”

Professor Weasley exhaled, rubbing her temples. “Garreth, it’s always you.”

Garreth threw out his arms. “That’s unfair!”

Sharp arched a brow. “Is it?”

Garreth opened his mouth, paused, then scowled.

“…A little,” he muttered.

Professor Weasley stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Garreth’s shoulder.

“Come along,” she said, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Garreth whirled on Sebastian. “I hope you’re happy, Sallow!”

Sebastian blinked. Was he happy? Garreth was being dragged away, right in front of him. He should have felt vindicated. Should have felt relief.

Instead—

There was a deep, sinking dread curling in his stomach.

Because Garreth’s arrest was not the problem. The problem was the real Headmaster now knew about all of this.

And Sebastian was still very, very screwed.

As Garreth was pulled away, still pleading his case, Sebastian stood there, motionless, watching his chance at containment disappear before his eyes.

Ominis let out a slow breath.

“Well,” he murmured. “That didn’t help at all, did it?”

Sebastian’s stomach churned.

“…No.”

No, it did not.

And little did Sebastian and Ominis know, you had been listening the entire time.

And it was glorious.

You had been casually passing through the courtyard—entirely innocent, of course—when you had spotted Sebastian storming toward Garreth like a vengeful wraith.

Naturally, you had done the only reasonable thing and tucked yourself behind a nearby pillar to observe.

And Merlin’s beard, was it worth it.

Sebastian, red-faced and seething, had all but shoved his accusations down Garreth’s throat.

Garreth had been just as bewildered as expected.

And Ominis? Ominis had just stood there, his entire existence radiating exasperation.

You’d had to bite your knuckles to keep from laughing.

Then came the real highlight—Professor Sharp and Weasley arriving just in time to drag Garreth away.

And Sebastian? He wasn’t relieved.

Oh, no.

If anything, he looked even more panicked, and you had to physically restrain yourself from cackling out loud.

As the crowd dispersed and Sebastian muttered something about heading to the Undercroft, your mind was already racing.

You had one last dose of Polyjuice Potion.

And you were going to use it well.

Sebastian and Ominis walked briskly through the halls, heading toward the passage that would take them to the Undercroft.

Sebastian was still fuming.

“I can’t believe this,” he muttered under his breath. "What if the real Black actually agrees with Garreth’s idiotic ramblings and—"

Ominis exhaled sharply. “Sebastian, I highly doubt the Headmaster is actually considering an arranged marriage for you.”

Sebastian threw out his hands. “Are you sure? Because I’M NOT.”

Ominis pinched the bridge of his nose. “For the last time, Black does not care.”

“You don’t know that,” Sebastian shot back. “What if he decides to make an example of me? What if this turns into some grand moral statement about propriety?”

Ominis snorted. “Phineas Nigellus Black making a moral statement? That would imply he had morals to begin with.”

Sebastian hesitated. “…Okay, fair. But still—”

A voice cut through the corridor.

“Mr. Sallow.”

Sebastian stopped dead.

Ominis visibly tensed.

Both of them turned.

There, standing at the end of the corridor, arms folded behind his back, expression severe, was Headmaster Black.

Or at least, who they assumed was Black.

Sebastian felt every last ounce of his blood drain from his face as the Headmaster took slow, deliberate steps toward them, gaze piercing.

“I have been informed,” he said, voice low and authoritative, “that you took justice into your own hands this afternoon.”

Sebastian’s stomach plummeted.

Ominis stood unnaturally still, as if movement might invite further scrutiny.

“That is—” Sebastian stammered, “I was just—”

Black lifted a hand.

Sebastian shut up.

“As I was saying,” the Headmaster continued, voice measured, “It is not your place, Mr. Sallow, to interrogate your peers. Confronting Mr. Weasley? Threatening him in front of witnesses?”

Sebastian’s blood ran cold.

“That’s not—I didn’t threaten him, I just—”

Black tilted his chin downward.

Sebastian closed his mouth.

“Since you are so concerned with matters of conduct and discretion,” Black continued, “I think it only fitting that you learn about them properly.”

Sebastian blinked.

“Sir?”

“You will come with me to Professor Ronen’s office,” Black declared, “where you will complete a ten-foot essay on—”

Sebastian braced himself.

“—Why One Must Be Discreet in Matters of the Heart.”

Sebastian stared.

Ominis made an awful noise, half-choking, half-suppressing a laugh.

Sebastian’s brain shut down.

“What.”

Black did not waver.

“You heard me, Mr. Sallow.”

Sebastian gawked at him. “You—you cannot be serious.”

“I am always serious.” Black’s voice brooked no argument.

Sebastian sputtered. “Sir, this is completely unnecessary—”

“Oh?” Black arched a brow. “Would you rather I speak with Professor Weasley about additional disciplinary measures?”

Sebastian shut his mouth.

Black smirked.

“Good,” he said crisply. “Now, off we go.”

Sebastian gritted his teeth, threw one last murderous look over his shoulder at a still-chuckling Ominis, and stalked off after Professor Black, who continued his merciless monologue.

“…lack of discretion, lack of foresight, lack of even the most basic self-preservation instincts,” Black droned, his tone a perfect balance of condescension and boredom.

Sebastian gritted his teeth. “Yes, sir.”

Black didn’t even acknowledge the response. “One might assume, given your track record, that you would at least attempt to be subtle in your misdeeds.”

Sebastian barely resisted the urge to fling himself out of the nearest window.

“Yes, sir.”

Black sighed. “And yet, instead of exercising the tiniest sliver of caution, you took it upon yourself to corner a fellow student and create a spectacle of your impropriety.”

Sebastian’s eye twitched.

“Yes, sir.”

Black hummed, as though unimpressed. “Honestly, Sallow, I don’t know whether to be more appalled by your recklessness or by your utter incompetence in getting away with it.”

“Yes. Sir.”

By the time they reached Professor Ronen’s office, Sebastian was seething.

Black didn’t even bother knocking. He simply swept inside, looking entirely too pleased with himself, and gestured for Sebastian to enter.

Sebastian dragged his feet as he stepped inside, his mood absolutely foul.

Professor Abraham Ronen looked up from his desk, his ever-cheerful expression brightening further as he spotted them.

“Ah, Headmaster!” he greeted, standing swiftly. “And Mr. Sallow. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

“I require your assistance, Professor Ronen,” Black said smoothly, stepping into the room with the air of a man who had never known shame in his life. “Mr. Sallow has demonstrated a profound inability to conduct himself with even the faintest whisper of discretion.”

Sebastian wanted to melt into the floor.

Ronen’s brows lifted slightly. “Discretion, sir?”

Black sighed dramatically, as if personally burdened by Sebastian’s existence.

“Yes,” he said. “You see, I have taken it upon myself to educate young Sallow in the ways of proper decorum.”

Sebastian scowled. “That is not what happened.”

Black lifted a hand. “Did I give you permission to speak?”

Sebastian’s fury burned hotter. “No, but—”

“Then don’t.”

Sebastian bit his tongue so hard he nearly drew blood.

Ronen tilted his head, clearly amused. “And what exactly does this… education entail, Headmaster?”

“I am assigning Mr. Sallow a ten-foot essay,” Black said blandly, as if discussing the weather, “on Why One Must Be Discreet in Matters of the Heart.”

Ronen blinked.

Sebastian wanted to die.

“I would like you to supervise, Professor,” Black continued smoothly, “to ensure that Mr. Sallow completes his work with the appropriate level of… humility.”

Sebastian felt himself short-circuit.

Ronen was trying very, very hard not to laugh. “Oh, I would be honored.”

Sebastian whirled on Black, aghast. “Sir, please—”

Black lifted a hand.

Sebastian shut his mouth.

Black smirked.

“Good. Now, I expect this to be completed by this evening. Professor Ronen will be responsible for ensuring its quality, and I will personally review it myself.”

Sebastian groaned audibly.

Black tilted his head. “Was that a complaint, Mr. Sallow?”

Sebastian gritted his teeth. “No, sir.”

“Excellent.”

Black turned on his heel, his robes sweeping dramatically behind him as he made his exit.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Ronen let out a deep, satisfied sigh.

“Well,” he said cheerfully. “This is easily the highlight of my week.”

Sebastian glared daggers at him.

Ronen just chuckled.

“Now, now, Mr. Sallow,” he said, far too pleased with himself. “Take a seat.”

Sebastian huffed angrily and collapsed into the chair, arms crossed like a petulant child.

Ronen leaned against his desk, grinning. “So,” he mused. “Matters of the heart, hmm?”

Sebastian had never felt more humiliated in his life.

Which was saying something, considering he’d spent the entire day careening from one public disaster to another.

Late that night, you sat cross-legged on one of the worn couches in the Undercroft, a book balanced on your lap, pretending to be deeply engrossed in whatever passage your eyes were lazily skimming. Across from you, Ominis sat in his usual chair, his own book in hand, posture relaxed.

The two of you had settled into companionable silence, save for the occasional turn of a page and the steady sound of the flickering torches along the stone walls.

He had, of course, informed you—thinking you had no idea—that Sebastian had been assigned detention.

Though he had spared the details, he had smirked slightly as he’d said, “I’m sure we’ll both get an earful about it later.”

And oh, how right he was.

Sebastian was going to be livid. And you were going to have to try very, very hard to look appropriately concerned.

The entrance finally creaked open.

A familiar set of footsteps echoed through the stone chamber.

You looked up and nearly lost it.

Sebastian stood in the archway, fuming. His hair was a mess. His robes were askew. And his hands—oh, his hands—

You had expected anger. You had not expected him to look like he had crawled out of an ink well after fighting for his life.

Ominis, still not looking up from his book, greeted him far too calmly. “Sebastian.”

“I,” he seethed, glaring at nothing in particular, “am going to kill Phineas Nigellus Black.”

Ominis exhaled heavily, not even looking up from his book. “That seems excessive.”

Sebastian ignored him. He threw himself onto the couch beside you, huffing furiously. You had never seen him so pissed off. It was glorious.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

Instead, you blinked at him, feigning concern.

“Rough night?”

Sebastian turned his scathing glare on you.

Oh, it took everything in you not to crack.

“I had to write,” he growled, slamming a fist onto the armrest, “a TEN-FOOT ESSAY.”

You blinked innocently. “Oh?”

Sebastian threw up his hands. Ink smudged across his face.

“It was absolute TORTURE,” he ranted, pacing now, gesturing wildly. “Ronen wouldn’t let me leave until he was satisfied with it—AND I HAD TO READ IT ALOUD.”

Ominis inhaled sharply. Your lips twitched.

Then.

Ominis broke. The laugh that tore out of him was far louder than you had expected, his usually composed demeanor utterly shattering.

And now, with Sebastian’s utter misery in front of you, with Ominis losing his composure entirely, you couldn’t stop the wheeze that escaped, followed by absolute uncontrolled laughter.

It burst out of you before you could stop it, filling the Undercroft, your entire body shaking with mirth.

Sebastian whipped around, eyes wild with betrayal.

“YOU’RE LAUGHING?!”

You tried—oh, you tried—to compose yourself. But every time you thought you had it under control, you caught sight of Sebastian’s ink-stained hands, his utterly ruined dignity, the absolute rage burning in his eyes—

And you lost it all over again.

Ominis, already a goner, was curled forward, clutching his stomach, his laughter echoing off the stone walls.

Sebastian scowled so hard it could have cracked the very foundation of Hogwarts.

“You think this is FUNNY?” he barked, crossing his arms.

You gasped for breath, wiping at your eyes. “No—no, of course not.”

Sebastian glared. “Liar.”

You bit your lip, still grinning. “It’s just… I’m so sorry, Sebastian,” you said, completely unconvincing.

He jabbed a finger at you. “No, you’re not.”

You shrugged, trying—and failing—to keep a straight face. “Maybe a little.”

Sebastian groaned, dragging both hands down his face.

"It's—it's just—imagining your reading it aloud," you inhaled sharply as if you were dying for oxygen, "Matters of the Heart—"

You dissolved into laughter again, but Sebastian froze.

Stared.

Blinked.

Looked at his hands.

Then looked at you.

Then back at his hands.

Realization dawned on you. The laughter immediately died in your throat.

Fuck.

"I didn't tell you what the essay was about," Sebastian said slowly,

Your brain short-circuited.

Lie. Lie, quickly.

“Oh—uh—” You scrambled for an excuse. “I mean, it was—it was obvious, wasn’t it? What else would Black make you write about?”

Sebastian’s eyes darkened.

Ominis exhaled sharply. “Oh,” he murmured, realization dawning.

You clenched your fists. Shit.

Sebastian leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into something smooth, silky, utterly lethal.

“You knew.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. A verdict. A sentence.

You forced out an awkward chuckle. “Sebastian, come on—”

“You knew,” he repeated, glaring. "How did you know?"

Ominis made a noise of delighted horror. “Oh, this is about to be so good.”

You swallowed hard.

Sebastian was too sharp. Too quick. He was already piecing it together—his expression shifting from betrayal to slow, creeping realization.

“How did you know?” he demanded.

You sunk back into the cushions, hands raised in a feeble attempt at innocence.

“Sebastian—”

His brow furrowed. His eyes narrowed. And then, softly, dangerously—

“…It was you.”

Your breath caught.

Sebastian stilled.

Ominis gasped.

And then—

“IT WAS YOU!”

He knew.

Oh. Oh, fuck.

Your body tensed, preparing to run.

Sebastian saw it.

"YOU LITTLE MENACE!"

You yelped, narrowly missing his outstretched hand as you flew over the sofa.

“SEBASTIAN—WAIT—”

“NO.” He vaulted over the couch in pursuit. “YOU’RE DEAD.”

You sprinted, dodging past Ominis's chair, laughing too hard to breathe.

“You absolute menace!” Sebastian shouted, nearly grabbing your wrist. “YOU MADE ME THINK I WAS GETTING MARRIED.”

You shrieked with laughter. “It was a joke—”

“A JOKE?!”

You ducked behind a column, barely missing Sebastian’s grasp.

“Sebastian, listen—”

“NO.” He vaulted over the sofa, closing the gap. “I AM GOING TO KILL YOU.”

“I CAN EXPLAIN—”

“OH, YOU’D BETTER.”

“IT WAS A PRANK—”

Ominis, now fully invested, wiped tears from his eyes. “I have never been happier.”

Sebastian rounded the pillar. You darted left. He anticipated it. He grabbed at your wrist—

And this time, he caught you.

Momentum dragged both of you down, and you landed hard on the floor, pinned beneath him.

Your chest heaved from laughing too hard.

Sebastian, equally breathless, stared down at you.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

The Undercroft was too quiet now.

You felt the weight of him, the warmth of his hands wrapped around your wrists, pressing into the floor on either side of you.

“…You’re in so much trouble,” he muttered, but his voice had dropping lower, rougher.

Your breath hitched. You weren’t laughing anymore.

Ominis, who had been utterly entertained up until now, cleared his throat loudly.

“Right,” he said flatly, dragging his hand down his face before heading to the door. “This is officially no longer my business.”

Neither of you moved. Neither of you breathed.

Sebastian’s fingers tightened.

Oh.

Oh, you were so screwed.

[wingedhallows]

hey!!!!! i wanted to request something a little light and cute and fluffy. my request is abby attempting to do your makeup bc she claims it’s “so easy” bc she’s seen you do your makeup routine so many times. your writing is just so impeccable 🤌🤌🤌 and fucking amazing just make it your own and add your own little details if you’d like. but you for sure have to add a scene where abby is just so focused and concentrated on not messing up bc she also claims she’s a “perfectionist.”

— TOO CONFIDENT FOR HER OWN GOOD —

— ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ pairing : abby anderson x reader / 1.8k words — ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ plot: When Abby claims she can do makeup just as well as you—if not better—you decide to let her prove it. Confident as ever, she takes on the challenge… only to realize she might be in way over her head. What starts as a simple dare quickly spirals into a hilarious mess of streaky foundation, clumpy mascara, and one very questionable technique. But as the laughter fills the room, it becomes clear—this isn’t just about makeup. It’s about love, trust, and finding joy in the little moments, even when things go horribly wrong. — ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ authors note: hi! i had so much fun writing this! i hope it's what you asked for and that you like it. send me more requests, this was such fun :)

♡︎ navigation ♡︎

“What’s that for?” Abby nods toward the headband you’ve just slipped on, her brows raised in curiosity. There’s a knowing glint in your eyes as you catch her gaze, a small, teasing smile tugging at your lips. She’s far too confident for her own good.

“To keep my hair out of my face,” you reply, voice laced with amusement. The answer is obvious, but you can’t resist playing along.

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “I knew that,” she grumbles, and you can tell—just by the slight crease in her brow—that she’s a little embarrassed.

You settle onto the bed in front of her, your makeup spread out between you like an artist’s palette waiting to be used. The thing is, Abby had boldly claimed she could do your makeup just as well as you—if not better—because she had watched you do it sooo many times.

But you know your girlfriend. Abby is stubborn, maybe a little too self-assured at times, and you couldn’t resist challenging her. You dared her to put her skills to the test, and now here you are—your face bare, waiting to be transformed, while Abby sits across from you, staring down at the array of products as if they were some kind of ancient puzzle she suddenly regrets trying to solve.

“Just start with the base,” you encourage, trying to stifle a laugh. Your voice is light, teasing, but you can’t help the warmth in your tone.

She huffs, determined, even as uncertainty flickers in her eyes. She has no idea what she’s doing—but she won’t back down now.

And honestly, you wouldn’t want her to.

You point toward a beige bottle—foundation. “Start with that.”

You don’t offer any more guidance, and you know she won’t ask. Abby is far too proud to read the label, too stubborn to admit she has no idea what she’s doing.

She just nods, feigning confidence as she picks up the bottle. Then her hand hovers over the array of brushes, her fingers ghosting over them uncertainly. For the first time, her eyes flicker to yours, a silent question lingering there.

You bite back a smile and give her a small nod—yes, that’s the right brush. She grabs it, her expression shifting back to one of determination.

But then, to your horror, she squeezes a few drops of foundation directly onto the brush.

Your eyebrows lift slightly. The brush? Jesus…

But you don’t say a word. You just watch. Let her figure it out.

Abby leans in, one hand settling firmly on your thigh. She’d probably claim it’s for balance, but you know better. This is just an excuse to touch you—Abby never misses an opportunity.

You hold still as she begins dabbing the brush against your cheeks, stroking it over your skin in broad, uneven swipes. The pressure is uneven, the strokes unpolished, and you know it’s going to leave streaks.

But you don’t comment.

Not yet, at least.

You feel the brush glide over your cheeks, your chin, your nose—she’s covering all the necessary spots. Well, almost all. She’ll get my forehead too, right?

…Yeah, no.

She moves on, completely skipping over it, leaving your forehead a bare, foundation-less island in the middle of an otherwise blended sea. Great.

You catch the subtle twitch of her brow, a tiny crack in her overconfidence, as if a thought finally nudges its way into her head: This doesn’t look quite right.

You take a slow, deep breath. Good Lord, help us.

Abby sets the brush and foundation down, her expression hardening in concentration. You can practically see the gears turning in her head, grinding so hard you half expect steam to puff out of her ears.

You bite your lip, trying—really trying—not to laugh. But she catches the amusement dancing in your eyes and immediately shoots you a glare.

“Shut up,” she hisses, but there’s no real heat in her voice.

A soft chuckle slips past your lips. “I didn’t even say anything.”

She scowls, picking up the concealer bottle with newfound determination. “Yeah, well, I can practically hear you taunting me in here.” She taps her finger against your forehead pointedly.

That does it—you laugh, reaching up to tangle your fingers with hers. “I would never taunt you, my sweet, lovely girlfriend.”

She rolls her eyes so hard you’re surprised they don’t get stuck.

Then, without hesitation, she dabs a little concealer under your eyes. You wait for her to grab the brush you always use for blending, but instead, she goes rogue.

With her fingers.

Her damn fingers.

You fight the urge to cringe as she smears the concealer across your skin, rubbing it in like she’s applying sunscreen at the beach.

At this point, you’re sure you’ll end up looking nothing short of a full-blown circus clown. But honestly? Watching Abby wrestle with makeup like it’s an enemy she refuses to lose to?

Totally worth it.

"Alright... the eye thing now," Abby mutters to herself, squinting at the array of makeup products like they might suddenly arrange themselves into a tutorial.

You cock an eyebrow, amused. "Eye thing—do you mean lashes, love?"

Her gaze flickers to yours, and instantly, her expression sours. It’s the same look she gives when she spots a spider and desperately needs you to deal with it.

"Absolutely not." She scoffs, shaking her head as she wipes her fingers on a makeup wipe—because, somehow, you're still processing the fact that she applied your concealer with her damn fingers.

"So... mascara?" you ask, tilting your head.

"Ah, yeah—mascara." She nods with confidence and reaches for a tube... except, it’s not mascara.

"Baby, that’s lash glue."

Her head snaps toward you, eyes widening, and a faint blush creeps over the apples of her cheeks. That’s what not reading labels gets her.

"I knew that," she huffs, clearly flustered. "I was just... checking." Her voice dips lower, as if embarrassment alone might make her invisible.

She hurriedly sets the lash glue down, this time taking a moment to actually read the labels before picking up the right tube. Small victories.

Abby unscrews the mascara, but as she leans in, she hesitates. In her head, this is a high-risk operation. One wrong move, and she’s convinced she’ll be the reason you go blind.

She exhales slowly, steadying herself, but her shoulders remain tense. Meanwhile, you simply smile at her, soft and encouraging, before tilting your chin up and looking at the ceiling—your silent way of saying, You got this, baby.

Abby swallows, carefully bringing the wand to your lashes, holding her breath as if that alone will keep her hands from shaking. She moves with the concentration of someone defusing a bomb, praying she won’t stab you in the eye.

And honestly? You’re praying too.

Somehow—miraculously—Abby manages to apply the mascara without stabbing you in the eye, and you silently thank every god who might be listening.

She sets the tube down with a sense of finality, then suddenly—

“All done.”

You blink. Slowly.

…All done?

You take a second to process this. No powder, no eyeliner, no blush—nothing but foundation (patchy), concealer (questionable), and mascara (a crime against lashes). You’re sure you look like a half-finished painting.

But then, you see it. The flicker of uncertainty in her expression. The way her confidence wavers just slightly before she schools her features. She knows.

She clears her throat, her gaze darting away from yours like she can avoid the inevitable.

“I… guess you were right,” she admits, her voice quieter, tinged with reluctant defeat.

Your chest tightens a little because, honestly? Seeing her like this—actually admitting she might not be great at something—is worse than whatever mess is currently on your face.

“I did a shitty job.” She exhales, brushing a few stray hairs from her face, her throat bobbing as she swallows.

You offer her a reassuring smile. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

Then, before she can react, you get to your feet and move toward the vanity.

Instant regret.

Her body tenses, alarm flashing in her eyes. No, no, no—abort mission! But before she can launch herself across the room and physically stop you, before she can wrap her arms around your waist and haul you away from the mirror—

It’s too late.

You’re already staring at your reflection.

And oh. Oh, God.

Abby stands slightly behind you, her heart pounding so hard she swears it might just leap straight out of her chest.

Your foundation? Streaky. The concealer? Blotchy, with distinct smudges where her fingertips had worked it in like a moisturizer. The mascara? So thick and clumpy it looks like it’s actively plotting your downfall.

And the worst part? The tiny smudges in the corners of your eyes, where the mascara shouldn’t be.

It’s bad.

It’s really bad.

You meet Abby’s gaze in the mirror. She looks… devastated.

And despite everything, despite looking like a sleep-deprived ghost, you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

“I… umh… it’s not that bad.” You try—really try—not to laugh.

Abby stands behind you like a statue, her expression frozen somewhere between dread and sheer embarrassment. You can feel her panic radiating off her, but the moment your eyes flicker back to your reflection, the sheer horror of it nearly sends you over the edge.

The foundation is streaky, the concealer is uneven, and the mascara—dear God—is clumpy enough to make you look like you just survived a hurricane. You press your lips together, struggling, desperately trying to hold it in.

Then—

“It’s horrible,” Abby mutters, voice thick with shame.

And that’s it. That’s what breaks the dam.

Laughter bursts out of you, sharp and sudden, your body doubling over as you grip the vanity for support. It’s not even just a giggle—it’s full-blown, stomach-clenching, can’t-breathe laughter.

Abby watches you, stiff at first, but then—when she realizes you’re not laughing at her, but at yourself, at the ridiculousness of it all—her embarrassment melts away.

She cracks.

Then she cackles.

And suddenly, the two of you are howling like a couple of grandmas at bingo night, gasping for air between fits of laughter.

“I look like a damn ghost!” you wheeze between gasps, gesturing wildly at your reflection.

Abby’s laughing so hard she has to clutch her stomach, her whole body shaking as she bends over like some dad at a backyard barbecue. “I tried my best!” she chokes out, her voice barely holding together.

It takes a solid minute before the laughter dies down, leaving both of you breathless. You brace yourself against the vanity, wiping at your eyes as you finally catch your breath.

“If you ever claim to be better at my stuff again, I swear I’m kicking your ass,” you say, grinning at her through the mirror. The sheer sight of your disaster of a face has Abby giggling all over again.

“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbles, rolling her eyes as she heads back toward the bed—

But not before landing a solid smack to your ass.

The sharp slap echoes through the room, and you yelp, whipping around with wide eyes.

Abby just smirks. “That’s for laughing at me.”

The mischievous smirk she throws over her shoulder is all you see before she flops onto the mattress, absolutely pleased with herself.

[iwasbored777]

I've been reading posts about GUN and I know they're going to be so bad in the fourth movie. Because not only is it possible that Rockwell, you know the openly xenophobic agent, will be the leader, but we're also going to have the Metal Sonics. When GUN sees alien threats built from the image of the alien they hate the most and can't chase, it's going to be the perfect excuse to want to capture Sonic and also Tails and Knuckles for sure. Not only that, with Amy in the movie it's going to get worse! If she really can travel through time with her chaos energy, I have no doubt that GUN will want to capture her too so they don't get this insane trump card. I dare say that a Team Heroes X GUN conflict is kind of inevitable.

Thanks for this ask cuz I feel so honoured to shame GUN for everything they've done. That previous post about Shadow wasn't enough, they did so many terrible things and I can't believe I didn't write this before your ask.

I can barely list all the worst things they did but I'll try and I'll answer to your other stuff so I hope you're ready and I hope you don't mind this whole analysis 😅 but I really wanted to talk more about GUN and since you clearly hate/dislike them just as much as I do (and many feel the same way) I really want to complain about them to someone who'll listen:

They were the ones that sent Robotnik in the first place. At least at the beginning he was just doing his job.

They knew that Gerald was Ivo's grandfather and alive all these years but they chose to not tell Ivo and let him think that he has no family his entire life. They used him because he was a genius and wanted him to make all those inventions for them and when they thought that he died they just acted as if he never existed.

They hired one of their agents to seduce Sonic's aunt, propose to her, and plan the whole wedding so that they would capture Sonic (I'm sorry I'm trying to stay serious but what the hell is wrong with GUN?! I don't know if I should cry or laugh and this is only the beginning). Poor Rachel too! They didn't care about anyone whether it was humans or aliens. I kinda wasn't happy that Rachel couldn't stay mad, what they did to her was horrible.

They captured Sonic and Tails. Tails was injured when they captured him and they didn't do anything about it, they simply put him and Sonic in cages after they tased Sonic to make sure he's unconscious too, they arrested Tom too when he tried to defend his son. This scene always breaks me, poor babies 😢

They found Shadow when he landed on Earth, kidnapped him, held him in a cryo pod and were doing experiments on him. (Gee, I wonder why Tom and Maddie didn't trust GUN with Sonic and kept Sonic hidden in their house instead after the first movie).

They were responsible for the death of a child, Maria (Walters did try to protect her and Shadow but when others killed her he mistreated Shadow. He definitely had more sympathy for Maria, she was a human child after all.) This moment right here physically hurts me cuz not only that they don't seem to care about the child they just killed but also they're surrounding Shadow and Gerald with weapons as if Shadow and Gerald were the ones who did something terrible here... They didn't care about the child they just killed, they only wanted to capture Shadow, that was their priority and Maria was just a collateral damage.

Right after they killed Maria they threw Gerald, her grandfather who loved her, in jail for 50 years and forced him to make Eclipse Cannon, that can destroy the planet. He went crazy because of all that and WHO WOULDN'T?!

They froze Shadow for 50 years (would definitely stay frozen way longer if he didn't escape) because they just didn't know what to do with him and kept him awake and fully aware of what they were doing to him during the process. I'll once again remind y'all of Walters' comment that Shadow was "too valuable to destroy", because Shadow was property to them and not a young living being with feelings and trauma that they gave him. His face here breaks my heart... Look how helpless he was here...

I added as many examples of how terrible GUN is as I can remember but if there are more you can always add them in the comments. I could easily add every scene and every screenshot with GUN cuz even at their better moments, they're still really bad, but I tried to pick the most important parts.

As for Rockwell, yeah she's gonna be a handful. She's definitely worse than Walters. At least he realized in his last moments that you can trust some aliens, but she isn't going to be easy to convince. They'll probably be even worse from now on and they probably didn't learn their lesson after Shadow. They better not hurt my baby girl Amy or the Colorful Bunch. I have some theories but I'd rather wait and see what's next.

Amy was hiding her identity here from Metal Sonic but I'm not sure if she doesn't want GUN to find her either cuz she's not hiding from Sonic, she let him see her.

Either way, it's not going to be easy for our alien kids and GUN gave me no reason to trust them so far. It says a lot that Robotnik and Stone were WAY more likeable to me than GUN. I hope GUN will leave Shadow alone and if they can't, I hope he'll kick GUN's butts again.

[azaleax-x]

if you’re taking requests for said X reader, you’ll NEVER guess which Housewarden I want <3.

Riddle. RIDDLERIDDLERIDDLERIDDLE BARKBARKABRKABRK. Ahem… tangled AU, please, for the love of god.

(I would also settle for Azul or Epel <3. I have a type LOL)

ALSO I WAS ON YOUR CHARACTER AI AND I MISREAD THE RIDDLE BOT AS ‘impregnated’ INSTEAD OF INTERROGATED

MY BRAIN IMMEDIATELY WENT TO THE KINGDOM DANCE!! It's so iconic. I have the song in my playlist. TOO GOATED. I know people probably want the lantern scene but erm... maybe part 2 guys.. part 2...

I know Rapunzel is the one who starts the whole dance, but I ERMM didn't know how in character that would be for Riddle. So, reader is the one initiating it!! Sorry guys!!

ALSO HELLO??? LFMAOAO NOT IMPREGNATED?? IM CRYING YOU'RE SO SMART LMAOO /LH

Notes: Reader is GN, not proofread, might write part 2 with the lanterns, first time writing a real fanfiction after a billion years

Kingdom Dance (Rapunzel! Riddle Rosehearts x Flynn Rider! Reader)

or, at least, my twist of the Kingdom Dance...

Loud laughter can be heard from miles away. Shoes clack against the concrete to go with the rhythm of the music. The people who are not dancing are clapping, echoing the beat of the music. The atmosphere is lively, even the elderly are having a fun time.

And then there's Riddle.

He takes a step back as a couple whirl past him, catching a glimpse of their joyful faces.

How overstimulating... He thinks.

His hand subconsciously goes to rake through his hair, a habit he does to keep his nerves still, but he is reminded that the local kids braided it for him. A feat that he never knew was possible. How was he even dragged into this..?

He looks back at the bustling dance floor, his eyes immediately finding you, the culprit of his rebellious behavior.

You're laughing in glee as you twirl with a stranger, somehow not losing the rhythm of the dance. You had managed to create this whole phenomenon by yourself, a sight that would give his mother a heart attack! Just at the thought of his mother makes him take another step back, wanting to be away from the *horrible crime scene*.

Then you make eye contact with him, causing him to freeze up. Riddle watches as you stop dancing, giving him a grin that he has learned to -adore- hate. You make a hand motion for him to come over, but he just furrows his eyebrows. He was hoping you would give up at his stubbornness, but his heart could only beat faster as you sighed in defeat and walked *toward* him. It's just the nerves, he tells himself. Why would he be excited at the idea of you inviting him to dance? With you??

"Riddle! Why don't you come and join me?" You ask loudly over the music, to which he just scoffs at the question. You already knew the answer, and yet, you waited for him to speak.

"Why should I? This is just... wrong! My mother would be disappointed in me," Riddle responds, voice dripping with annoyance. He tries to stand his ground, but the urge to join you gets stronger each second, and he feels like you could see through him.

"You helped me escape the guards. At a pub." You retort, "I'm pretty sure dancing is the least of your concerns."

"...." His face turns red as he clenches his hand in offense. Riddle hates the shit-eating grin on your face, wanting to wipe it off.

"Well-!" Before he could snap at you, you go to grab both of his hands, dragging him to the middle. In a way, he's thankful that you did so since he would most likely spew out something embarrassing to defend himself.

"Exactly! So, come on! Don't be a bum," you laugh, and he hates himself for perking his head up at the sound of your laughter.

You can't help but find his mindset a bit hilarious. He snuck out of the tower, *willingly*, too! According to your calculations, that might be a bigger offense. "Worst case scenario is that we get chased by guards, but we can be discreet."

"As if! Anybody is going to recognize you from your wanted poster. You're literally posing in it! Are you even listening? Stop dragging me-!" He stammers his usual complaints, stumbling as he tries to keep up with you, accidentally bumping into a few people. He doesn't even have time to apologize since you're a little too excited dragging him to the middle. Somehow, he doesn't have the heart to pull away, not wanting to see the dejected look on your face.

"I would ask if anyone taught you manners..." He trails off with a disappointed look, averting his eyes to look at a wanted poster with your face on it. It looks like you're posing for a photoshoot...

"And did anyone teach you not to trust strangers? Not everyone is truthful like me!" You bite back playfully, trying to withhold your giggles since he would most likely hit you with his pan again.

Despite his irk at your snide remarks, his eyes are always on your face, admiring the playful gleam in your eyes. He knew you were a criminal, someone he shouldn't even be talking to, but he can't help that he desires to be closer to you.

You quickly take the initiative, putting a hand on his hip and taking his left hand in yours. Riddle becomes red at the proximity, but your warmth allows him to slowly ease up. With defeat upon knowing that he won't be able to leave, he finally allows his lips to form a small but soft smile at your childlike glee.

"It's really simple, okay? We just twirl and jump around with the rhythm of the music! Try not to step on my feet, though," you lightly tease him, starting with slow movements for his sake.

"Those are rather vague instructions. Is there a rulebook? What if I mess up?" He worries, a little too much in your opinion. You watch him stumble for a moment, often having to hold him up with your arm around his waist.

"It's called following the flow, silly." You can only lightly tease him for now since the poor soul is nervous as hell.

With every small mistake he makes, you squeeze his hand reassuringly, encouraging him to keep going. You're patient with him as he tries to keep up with your steps, gradually increasing the pace. He keeps his eyes on you, slowly joining your small laughing fit as he gets the hang of it. His hesitance has faded, and for the first time in his life, he feels at genuine ease. He isn't living in fear of his mother seeing him. He isn't worried about completing a textbook full of complicated problem. He's only worried about staying with you, not wanting to let you go just yet.

To your surprise, he starts taking the lead. He spins both of your around with a childish laugh, making *you* the one stumbling around. His long braid flows with the breeze, the flowers somehow staying on with all the movement.

"Who would think you would be the one stumbling now?" Riddle teases you with a smug expression, a rare sight for you. You were used to the scowls and sneers, but this? You huff to distract yourself from your reddening cheeks.

You want to form a retort since you hated to be beaten in your own game of banter, but the music comes to an end, which didn't even realize until now. Riddle, with his sudden boldness and wanting to end strong, he pulls you closer to him, chest to chest. You guys look at each other for a moment, your eyes widening. Riddle's lips are in a soft smile, his hair now having stray aways from dancing so vigorously. To notice his eyes glancing down at your lips, causing you to tighten them into a line as the sudden wave of nervousness hits you.

The moment is interrupted when the crowd cheers and claps for you both. This is where Riddle comes back to reality, quickly pulling away. You guys didn't even know you were the star of the show! He quickly tucks a small strand of hair behind his ear, not knowing what to do with all of the attention. To his surprise (not really), you burst out laughing.

"WOW! Talk about being discreet, huh?" You giggling heartily, not looking away from him. He can only mentally roll his eyes, but your giggling is contagious as he soon joins you.

"Yeah..." His laughter dies on as he goes back to focusing on you.

As much as he hates to pretend otherwise, he has grown fond of you, the sole person who is willing to show him what life has to offer. Maybe in the end, even after the lanterns, you're willing to stay by his side.

----

I think what I struggle with is focusing on the reader 💔

As a c.ai bot creator, I'm used to focusing only on the character. So, THIS IS DIFFERENT. I TRIED GUYS... PLEASE DON'T BULLY ME

[elodieunderglass]

elodie! i am still excited to read your big fanfic works BUT i have also had SO much fun watching you develop your delightful OCs. i hope you are having fun with them too!!

Oh my goodness SO everyone who is mildly roasting me because they’re like “Killie the jockey OC is quite short and wretched and horrid, 🧐 much like Chilchuck. Is this a thing? Do you have a type?” is right and please don’t tell my husband that he’s horrid he’s actually quite sweet is putting their finger on the reason why I’ve sort of resurrected him and his worse brother Charlie in my subconscious.

Before writing Weasel Heart in Defiance I thought: I am about to embark on writing a novel that could 💯 be an original, standalone novel. And being a coward, I turned to my idiot OC Charlie, an imaginary friend since childhood, and asked:

Me: Charlie would you be able to be a protagonist of an original novel? because I’m scared?

Charlie: I have read the brief and am completely ineligible. I think you are only saying this out of fear, and because our initials are the same, and because I am short. Actually, the more I think about it, the more that is a microaggression (racism against short people), so no. No, and fuck you, and also -

Me: I was actually thinking of Killie -

Charlie: Killie would not take on any job that has so few horses in it.

Me: oh no -

Charlie: and you’re kind of committed to calling the story some variation of “weasel heart” and neither of us would have a weasel daemon. That’s kind of load-bearing, isn’t it.

Me: oh shit.

Charlie: like, and even if you sand the serial numbers off the rest of it, the whole point is -

Me: the weasel daemon, yeah.

Charlie: my daemon would be a potoo.

Me: it would NOT, you lying son of a bitch. It would be something backstabbing and horrible, with a core of utter ruthlessness. Like a poisonous spider.

(Charlie, hilariously, in a move that normal childhood imaginary friends/OCs do not normally pull off, briefly materialised as a hallucination while I was labouring in the drug-free, physically rather challenging delivery of a real human baby in order to laugh his ass off at me. He was presumably intended to materialise to give me courage. Instead he simply provided spite. I have longstanding Charlie beef.)

Charlie: Killie is a nice bloke in an awful way, if you like nice blokes who aren’t nice at all, but is too much of a mess to carry any sort of plot, and besides, his daemon is either something portable or a straight-up horse -

Me: probably a kestrel -

Charlie: Probably, as you say, a kestrel. God, there’s nothing between his ears at all. Elevator music. Lo-fi girl beats and the sound of the wind, overlaid over transparent montages of horses. Zero emotional life to Killie. He simply exists to ride alongside your parents’ car when driving, and to get shitmixed when he falls off, and to live up to mentally when you need to be stoic.

Me: he’s such a good ragdoll.

Charlie: he deserves it. It’s the punchable face.

Me and Charlie:… he needs a boyfriend.

[itzsana-kiddingmenow]

hiiii can i request lee jeongin with ler minho maybe like minho just finds jeongin cute so he wrecks him🤭🤭🩷🩷

𝙥𝙪𝙙𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙪𝙥 𝙖 𝙛𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩:

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙨: 1k

𝙖/𝙣: happy birthday to my dear love @jeonginsdiary!! i’m so happy i got to post this fic sometime near jeongin's birthday too hehe, even if i'm a little late to both of them :3 i hope you all enjoy this!! (ALSO I MADE A TITLE PUN DO YOU LIKE IT FJIJDFHNFID)

𝒍𝒆𝒆: jeongin

𝙡𝙚𝙧: minho (accomplice-seungmin)

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @someone-who-loves-kpop-saranghae @jeonginsdiary @leeknowstan33 @v--143 @wereallgonnadieonedaybutnottoday @inkytornpagess @lajanaa @a-wild-seungberry @channieissocute125 @soap143 @seungsluvv @skznccmlee @moony-9 @sunny-117 @minnielvrr @bamgyuuu-2001

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞? 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐛s🖤

Jeongin should have known better. He really should have. But the pudding had been right there, unattended, practically begging to be eaten. How was he supposed to resist? How was he to know Minho would come back that quickly?

Now, here he was, sprawled on the floor, trapped beneath Minho, with Seungmin sitting behind him, casually pinning his hands down with the weight of his own body. Worse—way worse—Seungmin was also holding the very chain that had been looped around Jeongin’s wrists, keeping his arms stuck above his head. Just in case he got any ideas of defending himself. Cause apparently that's wrong when Minho's in a mood.

Anyway, it didn't even matter that he had eaten Minho's pudding, because the statement Min made while pinning him down was more than enough to reinstate the one and only thought that Jeongin was completely and absolutely doomed.

"You know, even if you hadn't eaten my pudding, I would have tickled you anyway."

Jeongin tried to wail back in the midst of his wild giggles, but it was nearly impossible as Minho's hands roamed every weak spot, every ticklish area available for those ticklish thumbs to slide into to make the maknae throw his head back laughing oh so loudly.

And Seungmin? He was just minding his business, reading a book, eating chips, and enjoying the background noise of Minho's teasing coos and Jeongin's frantic cackling.

"These seem very ticklish, don't you think?" Minho mused. Thumbs suddenly latched onto his hips, thumbs rubbing circles into the divots as his other fingers squeezed ruthlessly. It was a vicious attack, one that sent him bucking under Minho’s hold, his laughter climbing in pitch until it was nothing more than gasping, desperate little giggles.

"SEUNGMIN HYUHUHUHUHUHUHUNG!! HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHELP MEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!" Jeongin howled for assistance, his eyes watering horribly at the sensation of Minho digging deeper, along with the maknae having no choice but to watch Min's hands tickling him, leaving him more flustered than ever.

Seungmin turned a page.

Minho’s hands dived into Jeongin’s tummy then, kneading mercilessly, thumbs rubbing deep circles near his bellybutton, his other fingers pinching the hypersensitive spots near his sides. Jeongin practically screeched, thrashing as much as he could under Minho’s weight, but the older refused to budge. If anything, he just settled in more, completely unbothered by Jeongin’s increasingly desperate laughter.

Seungmin, meanwhile, was entirely unaffected. If anything, he looked bored. His grip on the chain was relaxed, but firm, ensuring Jeongin’s arms couldn’t come down even as he instinctively yanked and pulled, desperate to protect himself, somehow, some way.

“Wow,” Seungmin hummed, flipping another page. “I think this is the loudest you’ve ever been. Imagine if we recorded this.”

To which Jeongin absolutely did not turn 50 shades darker red at the thought.

"MIHIHINHO—YAH!!" Innie blurted out, gasping for air as everything stopped for a second, Minho's hands frozen at their spot on his sides.

"...What was that?"

Jeongin barely registered what huge of a mistake he had made when he looked up into Minho's eyes. That glint, that glint of mischief meaning Jeongin had about five more minutes to survive before his gravestone listed "Tickled to Death" as his reason for passing.

"W-Wait...Minho hyung. MINHO HYUNG—NAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHA!! STOP IT STOHHOHOHOHOHOHOP!!" Innie howled, the sheer force of his laughter cracked as he thrashed, head tossing back as if that would help him escape. But there was no escape, not with Seungmin pressing down on his hands, not with Minho’s weight keeping him pinned, not with those awful, awful fingers kneading into the most unbearable spot on his legs. His thighs.

“I think this is his worst spot,” Minho mused, digging in even harder. “What do you think, Seungmin?”

“Sounds like it.” Another page turn. A glance down, unimpressed. “You really should’ve just left the pudding alone.”

Jeongin couldn’t even respond anymore. His laughter was bordering on silent, body shaking as tears pricked the corners of his eyes, face a deep shade of red. And yet—

Minho still wasn’t stopping.

“Do you regret it now?” he cooed, giving another deep squeeze, right into that spot at the tops of Jeongin’s thighs that made him nearly levitate.

Jeongin squealed so high-pitched that even Seungmin flinched.

“Oh yeah,” Seungmin muttered, shaking his head, “that’s bad.”

Minho chuckled, hands relentless. “You haven’t even apologized properly, you know,” he reminded. “You’re just laughing. And laughing, and laughing and laughing, but you haven't apologized at all.”

"AAAHHAHAHAHAHAAHAHA I CAHAHAHANT BREHEEHHEHEHEHEEAAATHEEEE!!"

"Awwww, isn't he adorable, Seung? I could just tickle him all night." Minho cooed in a baby voice, squishing Jeongin's dimpled cheek with one hand. "And he's so so so dramatic, and for what, baby? We both know I'm not stopping until I've had my fill~"

Jeongin twisted desperately, his legs kicking wildly, but Minho was relentless. His fingers vibrated against each rib before spidering up toward Jeongin’s underarms. Which certainly got a reaction.

"NOOHOHOHOHOHOHO WAHAHAAAHAHAHAIT!!"

"Wait?" Minho mocked, his hands skittering up Jeongin’s sides before drilling into his ribs, sending the maknae into an adorable, teary eyed, squealing frenzy. "You waited before eating my pudding? No? Then why should I wait before tickling you to pieces?"

Jeongin kicked out, his legs jerking under Minho, but Minho merely pressed down harder, keeping him trapped as his fingers clawed at his underarms mercilessly.

"OKAHAHAHAHAAHAY OKAY!! IHIHIHIHIHIM SO SO SO SOHOHOHOHORRY FOR EATING YOUHUHOUR PUHUHUHUHUDDING!!" Innie wailed. "PLEEHEHEHEHEHEEASE STAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!"

"Alright, fine, fine, you're okay..." Minho laughed, getting off of the younger. Seungmin marked his page and closed his book. “Huh. That was entertaining." He moved to untie the maknae, who was a mess on the floor, tears falling into his hair, cheeks red, panting adorably as he laid there, all energy drained and gone.

With that, Seungmin undid the chain and stood, heading back to his room. Jeongin immediately rolled onto his side, weakly curling in on himself as he tried to recover.

Minho patted his head. “Learned your lesson?”

Jeongin made a small, miserable noise.

Minho grinned. “Good.”

eeee im sorry if my writing's shit.

[thunderclapbennett]

"Well you too are easy to like as well. So pretty and kind." Ben watched amused as the other picked up the flagon and took a drink from it, a little laugh coming from him as he watched him take a big gulp from it like it were something a bit less fermented. "Careful now Florian. It is perhaps a bit stronger than you might be used to." Ben reached out and brushed his thumb over the other's cheek gently wiping a few crumbs from it absently as one would do for a friend or perhaps something more intimate than friends.

"I hope that you were able to fill your stomach, I know how horrible it is to travel on an empty stomach- oh! Where are you staying for the evening? I can make sure you get back there safely. It is my job after all. Guarding." he said with a bright smile as he finished off his won flagon putt it down and licking his lips as he watched the other with a smile, his hand propping up his chin as he fondly looked over Florian.

Ben's honest words made Florians eyes widen a bit and laugh, he wanted him to like him. That was usually something people kept in their thoughts but here he was speaking it into existence. He turned down taking the other's bread, not wanting to take from his plate. "You certainly won't have to try hard then, you're very easy to like." He smirked and looked over to the mead, almost as if he was waiting on someone to pour it for him--royal habit. He then realized and cleared his throat, quick to grab the flagon and give himself a rather generous pour of the substance. Maybe a bit too generous for a first timer, but Ben said it was sweet so it couldn't be all that bad.

Mug grasped in his two hands, he took a big gulp and...it was sweet, definitely had that breath cutting effect of alcohol he could feel in his sinuses, yeasty, belly warming, and--oh his ears were reddening from the first sip. He set down the mug and took a breath. "It's got a little kick, doesn't it?" He felt so embarrassed he had to laugh at himself, using his stew as a chaser of sorts. "You can laugh since I'm laughing too."

[electricalhuzzah]

*Dusts off keyboard*

OH OH~ TUMBBLLLRRR, IT IS GOOD TO BE BACK! NAME'S JELLY, AND I TAKE IT YOU'RE SOME KIND OF CRAZY FIC AUTHOR? HAHA, I'M JUST KIDDING, I KNOW WHO YOU ARE, EVA!

I've missed so much, broski. It has literally been two weeks or something. LIKE, I KNOW IT'S 14 DAYS, BUT GODDAMN... Almost like everyone noticed I was gone and saw this as an opportunity to finally be free and happy or something, HAHA, just joking. They wouldn't do that to me...

(I'm coming for everyone, yes, I'm looking at YOU)

As a biology teacher over here, I also teach sex education, so my search history is fucked beyond repair. BUT after reading that chapter yesterday, I might get the secret service knocking on my door. "Easy body disposal" and "Torture methods" really did the trick. Fucking Derek. FUUUCKINNNNGGG DEREK. That nasty, horrible, disgusting, terrible, repulsive human being. He ain't fictional in my eyes. That bitch is somewhere, and I'm going to find him. Like I've said... death is too damn good for someone like him. HE NEEDS TO FEEL PAIN, THEN THINK THAT THE PAIN IS SLOWLY GETTING LESS PAINFUL, ONLY TO ENDURE MORE PAIN FOR ALL OF ETERNITY.

You're so damn lucky Derek is my target now. *Sells plane ticket*. I was still pissed about the trauma you've inflicted on me the last couple of chapters. GUESS THESE PAST FEW WEEKS WERE A GOOD DISTRACTION👀 Aight, you will get your yappings, probably tomorrow? The day after that? I'll see... But for now.. it's time to STALK EVERYONE'S PAGE AND SEE WHAT THEY'VE MADE. BUT WHO SHALL I CHOOSE FIRST... LET'S SEE, EENY, MEENY, MINY...

Sorry people, the hype just ain't over until I jump on the train as well.

°•☆°•☆°•☆°•☆°•☆°•☆°•☆°•☆°•☆°•☆°•☆

Me: "HEEYYY EVERYONE, I'M BACKK!! DID YOU MISS ME?"

Heinz dilemma supporters: "God fucking damn it, not this bitch.."

Me: "YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW LONG I'VE BEEN WAITING! EEEE I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE WHAT Y'ALL MADE!"

Heinz dilemma supporters: "Maybe if we act like we don't see her, she will just leave by herself.."

Me: "OKAY I GOTTA BE HONEST, MAGS I TOOK A PEAK AT SOME OF YOUR STUFF YESTERDAY AND I LAUGHED SO DAMN HARD. GOSH YOU'RE AMAZING."

Heinz dilemma supporters: "Okay, it's clearly not working, just fucking run people, RUN!"

Me: BRO WAIT I JUST WANNA TALK.. COME BACK DON'T BE LIKE THAT!! I STILL HAVE SO MANY THINGS TO SAY THO..

ohhhh dear jelly i fear there is something deeply sinister that lurks within you. i PROMISE that man is fictional jelly he CANNOT hurt you . he is trapped within the confines of my google doc. no torture necessary! (though still welcome)

welcome back to tumblr >:D we missed you lots jelly <3 hope you enjoy all the stuff ya missed out on!

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

based on this

-

He’s halfway through the portrait to the common room when someone calls his name.

“Weasley.”

Ron pauses. It’s not that he’s not used to being stopped (though typically it was proceeded by a sharp Mister); it’s that he’s not used to being stopped by this bloke. It takes him a full minute to look around. After all, Ginny might be nearby.

But there’s no one. She’s not here. Ron is. The reality of what’s happening is even more mind-boggling when he turns around, brows furrowed and says, “Yeah, Riddle?”

Tom Riddle is what Ron can only call an Apex Slytherin—top of the food chain, probably drinks the blood of innocents out of solid gold goblets, professor’s favourite, sneaky and conniving and outrageously good-looking.

It pains him to admit that last part, but game recognises game.

And there he is, slightly up the hall. Standing back straight, tie straight, head-boy pin straight, announcing Ron’s name. What in Merlin’s name is going on?

“Have you seen Potter?” The way Riddle asks questions is like how his mum asks questions. It’s with that eerie knowing, like they already have a script of what you’re going to say and expect you to say it exactly as written or face the consequences of lying.

But he’s pretty sure Riddle won’t punish him with no quidditch or send him to his room for the evening, so Ron shrugs. “I dunno. Harry’s probably in the dorms.”

Riddle sighs, “Yes,” and sounds ever put-upon. It only confirms Ron’s working theory of an invisible script. “I would like to speak with him,” he continues.

They stare blankly at each other.

...Is he meant to say something? If Riddle wants to speak to Harry, he can speak to him. What’s this have to do with Ron?

It goes on until he nods slowly, hoping that’ll make Riddle spell things out a little clearer. Eventually, Riddle closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and says, “Fetch him for me.”

It’s definitely not a question. Ron can hear absolutely zero question in Riddle’s tone of voice.

Now, he may not like the guy, but he’s not stupid enough to risk pissing him off. “Uh, sure? Give me a minute.”

When Riddle nods, Ron finally crosses the frame. Then he does something he’s never had to do in all seven years of his Hogwarts life; he watches and waits for the portrait to shut entirely. Just in case.

The common room is always crowded after dinner, and today is no different. It takes him longer than ever to make his way through the room, dodging questions and pranks and careless remarks—and those are just from Ginny. Though, he thinks it probably hasn’t been that long at all.

…But there’s a concerning weight pressing against the back of his skull, burning a hole into his brain. He swears it’s Riddle’s anger rising as the minutes pass. Or maybe he’s just been cursed. He did turn his back on Riddle for a second, after all. That’s plenty of time to horrifically maim Ron with an undetectable curse that slowly rends him into a vegetable…

Finding Harry is a relief he hasn’t felt since making the quidditch team.

However, it seems Harry’s in a bit of a mood. He’s lying face down on his bed, glasses still on, robes a mess. Ron’s not sure what’s happened to cause this, but he’s got a sneaking suspicion it has something to do with tall, dark, and edge-lordy out in the hallway.

Well. Ron’s made it this far. So even though Harry can’t see him, he thumbs over his shoulder roughly to where Riddle is waiting and says, “Hey, Harry. Someone was asking for you or something-”

“Tell them I’m dead,” immediately comes muffled out of the Harry-shaped lump before he could finish.

And Ron… Nah, he’s not gonna argue. “Uh...” It takes him all of three seconds to lock in on a plan. “Alright?”

He’s out of the dorm and into the common room in a flash. It takes a few minutes to convince Ginny, but when she hears it’s for Harry’s sake, she’s happy to drop everything. And ultimately, Ron returns to Tom Riddle a new man.

Riddle quickly looks him up and down, most likely cataloguing the obvious lack of Harry along with everything else. The first crack in his polished veneer is the small line between his brows.

“Weasley...” he starts and stops. Stares a few moments longer as if debating whether the answer to his next question is important enough to hear and gives in, “What happened to you?”

Internally Ron thanks the Slytherin learned temptation to have all the information possible. Externally Ron heaves and sniffles. A few more tears slip down his face, and his voice cracks for good measure as he says, “Harry’s died.”

The second crack is a slight frown that tugs at Riddle’s lips. “I just spoke to Potter before dinner. He was perfectly fine.”

"Yeah, well," Ron prepared for this, “it’s happened all of a sudden.” He wheezes, “He fell off his broom during a pickup round of quidditch. It was so fast. He plummeted before anyone could get their wands out to stop him-" he shudders and holds his hand to his mouth.

So overwhelmed he must look (thanks, Ginny) during this fake dramatised retelling of Harry’s untimely death because Riddle’s face turns white as a sheet. It’s the most emotion Ron’s ever seen on him.

For a moment, just a small moment, Ron wonders if this is a bad idea.

And then Riddle is turning about face and marching down the hall, going who knows where to do who knows what. It’s plenty of time for Ron to shrug off the worry and wipe away the fake tears.

Too late now.

[skrunksthatwunk]

just found the most beautiful scanlation of berserk

[mizukagami-takamagahara]

LOVE YOUR WORK.

Further related thoughts in no particular order;

Rachel being a relatively powerless woman forced to watch and suffer through the loops, I'd argue, HEAVILY parallels the plight of the Origin, and the "trapped princess" theming it carries. From there, Ragna retains the same role he has in said dynamic with the Origin- simultaneously the monster that dooms them all and the knight fighting for her freedom.

The point above leads to obvious romantic coding, but can also be spun for further tragedy. Rachel is very aware of the situation everyone is in and is also clearly very familiar with story/genre tropes given the way she speaks- she MUST know that despite her yearning, She Is Not The Princess. She knows that the Origin is the one Ragna will save. She knows there's no room for a second princess. She knows if Ragna succeeds, he will save her, but she will have no right to stand by his side in the epilogue. She's an audience member, not part of the cast alongside him.

Grander themes aside, their entire dynamic is set up to fuel this miserable, one-sided attachment and the pain it leads to. Maybe in early loops she genuinely disliked him, maybe she truly found him annoying then, but after spending 700+ entire lifetimes with someone it just isn't that easy to stay distant. Especially as he is the one most able to match her wit, most able to make her laugh. most able to challenge her; he has a very special place in her life that no other character comes close to.

As Cloudy says up there, Rachel's personality already makes her difficult to handle. Her status as this 'noble creature outside of and above humanity' already makes equality difficult for her to wrap her head around.

Add all of that to the timeloop situation; she can't NOT be invested in Ragna because she needs to work with him for any hope of freedom, but he's insufferably "stupid"- but maybe in an endearing way, 10 or 20 loops in. Maybe in a reliable and stress relieving way. But as she gets closer and closer, more familiar with him and more comfortable, as she watches him go through every high and every low and retains memories between loops of what little jokes he told or what little secrets he confessed this time-

HE. FORGETS. Every time she has to restart that relationship. To return to my earlier point of how both her personality and life situation make Normal Functional Relationships difficult, this addition makes them damn near impossible. She can't get too close because even if she could overcome her internal issues and take that risk, there would be no benefit.

If it worked out, it would be rendered pointless once 2199 hit. It would also damn her to another layer of her personal hell; okay, what, you accept your feelings for this guy, you maybe even have the talk with him... and then you have to face the fact that even WITH your love, you can't help or protect him, because if you do you will lose all your powers to defend him in the future (Onlooker Rules) and there's a 99.99999% chance it won't matter anyway and you, him, and the whole world will be doomed forever thanks to your self-indulgent risk.

IDK these are just messy ranting thoughts but like. Personally I find the Rachel-Ragna dynamic to be a great example of how BlazBlue's character writing is WONDERFUL and has incredible depth to it. Everything in Rachel's life, everything in her and Ragna's personalities, everything in the entire fucking setting is working together to make Rachel the character she is; one full of regrets and agony that she masks with childish cruelty, a sense of powerlessness she buries under snobbery, and a complete inability to face her own desires because of the EVERYTHING.

And Ragna is the face of every hope she can still cling to and every peaceful, stupid, inconsequential moment of reprieve she gets where she doesn't have to think about the weight of the entire world on her shoulders. It would be insane (and a horribly missed opportunity, from a writing standpoint) if she DIDN'T have some kind of attachment to him.

Kinda want to address something that what is is what I feel a lot of people don’t quite get. That being “Why does Rachel have feelings for Ragna?” This isn’t about how whether it’s a good ship or not but more a delve into Rachel’s character. So to get to the meat of things why does Rachel pine for Ragna? That’s pretty simple really. It’s his will to continuously stand up again and fight even against insurmountable odds.

Rachel was the Onlooker her role to observe the events of the world as a bystander. She’s seen the same song and dance the world’s been stuck in so many times she’s almost apathetic to it all. Despite that there’s still something she’s vested. One man who she knows what his doom is (the Black Beast) and the kinda hero he could become (Bloodedge). She’s seen that despite being in the worst state possible he still wants to get back up and fight and this is what enchants her to him.

Rachel loves that belligerence and audaciousness of his (to an extent where it isn’t destructive). She lives for that back and forth where they snark at each other. If Ragna were to ever become submissive to her she’d hate it. He’d stop being the man she loves if he became submissive. Hell the moment that he got her to break the haughty princess act and act like a bashful girl was when he picked her up and gave her a hug. That’s what Rachel wants out of him.

Now with the ‘Why’ explained I’m gonna go into a new section about “Rachel, her role in the world, her personality, and how her relationship with Ragna is like Sideshow Bob in a field of rakes.” This is more about her relationship with Ragna and how she shoots herself in the foot when it comes to having a healthy standing with him. Because as much as she loves him she has a poor way of showing it for a few reasons. Namely due to her role as Onlooker and Head of the Alucard Family and her domineering personality being a poor combination.

Her status as Onlooker means she can’t be direct and her haughtiness means when she is talking to someone who doesn’t meet her ridiculously high standards she will heavily talk down to them. It leaves much of her interactions with Ragna as one sided and aggravating affairs for him. She’ll appear at her whim, belittle him because she can, and at her whim she may tell him something important or not at all and there was little Ragna could do about it for much of his life. Rachel was less a compatriot for Ragna to rely upon and more someone he had to go to when he needed something because he had no one else. The result of this imbalance made for a strained relationship between the two.

That it became less strained overtime was less due to them becoming closer and more circumstances and other people enabled the situations where they are working together better. Ragna became a better person due to the influences of Celica and Noel becoming someone who was more willing to work with others and Rachel became less haughty because she was losing power and things were getting more out of hand that necessitated her taking more direct action if possible. It's not that she's against getting involved but for her there has to be a time and place for it.

How she decides that is when it's most suitable to comes back to her status as Onlooker and Head of the Alucard family. She's essentially a backer to the Six Heroes and those who are trying to stop Terumi and his cohort's plans. And due to how a bulk of her power that came from being the Onlooker works she has to be miserly with her involvement. She can never be the impetus for change but she can point in a direction and add to the push when necessary. Rachel has an acute understanding of the world and the potential fate of others but she's limited in where she can use that knowledge in both how and where she can use it. It makes her and her feelings to Ragna a bit of a tragic affair.

Knowing his fate but never being able to change anything. Knowing him better than most but being unable to connect. Being there to watch his journey but never being able to really be by his side. A pitiful fate that's both by necessity and self imposed. A self sabotaging one sided love that leaves her only able to watch should his path means he must embrace oblivion. For despite that love she has her roles and her responsibilities that must come before her own desires.

[bakafurai]

yeah that's fine I didn't need my heart anyways

[deus-ex-mona]

looking at chizuren supporters like

[supportgaza]

Traumatized in Ireland While my Family is Facing Death and Starvation in Gaza

Note: Vetted by:

1. @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi # 151 on the spreadsheet of Vetted Gaza Fundraisers List]

2. @riding-with-the-wild-hunt Here .

I contemplate the happy faces of people around me here in Ireland and reminisce about the happy normal life my family and I had before the war. A life that turned into a distant memory for us and was replaced by an unending series of horrible nightmares.

Unlike my family in Gaza, people here have access to drinking water, all types of food, electricity, and a roof over their heads. Above all, they are safe, and I cannot help but wonder if they genuinely do appreciate these blessings in their lives enough.

People seem relaxed and laughing wholeheartedly around me in Ireland. I wish I could laugh too, but I am crushed way beyond recovery on the inside. I was evacuated by my Irish college after five months of living the horrors of war in Gaza. I hope you will never know what it feels like to live in constant fear and worry and be horrified by the most sickening and scary nightmares every single night while you are far away from your family in such circumstances.

When did my people in Gaza cease to be human beings worthy and deserving of a normal life? Has it become normal now for my family in Gaza to be starved and killed while the whole world is watching the genocide? If that is the case, then you will have to excuse me if I seek every avenue to bring them to Ireland and start a new normal life like all people here around me.

I was assured by the Irish Reugee Council (IRC) and lawyers in Ireland that there is hope I can reunite with my family in Ireland. In difficult times, it is hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel. For me and my family, you are literally our light and hope for a better life.

SOS!

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