#this is what happens when i'm feeling too ill to write and decide to watch something instead

[rainintheevening]

OH MY GOSH

@authortobenamedlater

GIRL

Yes, I am dizzy because I have a flu/cold thing, but I also watched Forward Unto Dawn and holy smokes I LOVE THIS. I LOVE THESE CHARACTERS. I LOVE TOM.

I need SOOOOO many more fics about them, in your Chyler lives AU, of course. Especially right after the movie.

And about Tom and his brother too!!

Girl, I want to give you plot bunnies now!!!!!

[miguelhugger2099]

Just a silly little request👉👈

Do u think fem!reader likes to wear crop top with no bra and Miguel's boxer. You two are just flirting and teasing each other until Miguel decided to toss the remote to reader for movie night and reflex, she tries to catch it reveal her tits and Miguel just "😳... Nice catch..." And smut if u want. Having his hands speezing them I'm going insane 😭😭

Just One Touch

a/n: this ask has been in my inbox for so long and ur not gonna believe what got me out of my month long stump to write this. everyone thank sir-mix-a-lot's song "ride" it possessed me and gave me energy. excuse the crappy writing, i'm still lowk having writers block so it's not my greatest work. please enjoy and as alwayssss i can rewrite this if you'd like <3 Art: mar_mar0u on instagram ! Unedited btw, plz dont crucify me ill die :(

It wasn’t unusual for you and Miguel to wind down after the sun had set. Movie night was a must, whether it was cheesy romcoms for you to sob to, horror movies for Miguel to be annoyed at, or even action movies to make fun of–as long as it was together. Still, Miguel teased you by holding the remote up above his head and out of your reach. He grins with one hand on his hip and watches you reach up with no progress in sight. “Give it!” You laugh, trying to keep your anger believable. “No, first you take my clothes and I know you’re gonna pick one of those creepy knock off animated movies.” He chuckles and he walks off. Due to the size difference, every step of his was three of yours–practically chasing after him. “Put respect on Over the Hedge’s name! It’s not even a knock off!” Miguel plops on the couch on one side with a huff of laughter. “Fine, fine. Here–take it!” He throws the remote above your head and you pause and stumble back.

You reach high up to grab the remote. “You asshole!” You laugh. The remote hits your fingertips and bounces a bit farther back. Your crop top rides and flows up as you lean back onto one foot to finally grasp the device in your hand.

Miguel could feel everything happen in slow motion. The small glimpse of your underboob before your nipples finally come into view. The grin on Miguel’s face slowly drops and he could feel drool slipping from his lips. He watched your boobs bounce, the roundness of your flesh and perky buds making his cheeks go red. He can’t help the disappointment in his face when your arms fall back down, shirt hiding the glorious view of your tits.

“Caught it!” You smirk at him triumphantly. His eyes continue to glance at your tits.  “Yeah, uh…” He gulps. “Nice catch.” He adjusts his shorts, hoping his growing bulge wasn’t too apparent.

You don’t notice, too engrossed in your victory and making Miguel speechless. So, you crawl in his lap, Miguel’s hands suspended in mid-air as you nestle yourself in his arms. You feel his muscles surround you like a warm comfortable blanket, leaning your back on his firm chest while you click the buttons to turn on the TV.

“So what are we picking this time?” You ask, flipping through random trailers to find what you’re looking for.

“Huh? Oh, uh, anything’s fine.” Miguel shrugs half-heartedly. He’s too focused looking down at your crop top. Slowly and gingerly, his fingers caress your stomach–light and feathery as if trying to be discreet.

“Yeah sure, whatever. Don’t complain if you don’t like it.” You laugh softly, clicking on a random movie that looked good enough.

“Mhm.” Miguel mumbles, not even hiding his disinterest in a damn movie right now. While your eyes are on the opening scene on the TV, Miguel’s eyebrows scrunch together, his lips into a tight line as he resists his urges.

He can’t help it though. He gets handsy, Miguel carefully caressing your stomach. You barely notice it since the two of you always get snuggled up like this.

You only notice when he hikes higher up, his hips shifting slightly while his fingers run up and down the valley of your tits. You smack his arm around your waist with the remote.

“What are you doing?” You ask, trying to sound annoyed but the smile seeps through your tone.

“Nuthin’” He murmurs. Miguel then feels the curve of your breast, his fingers itching for a squeeze.

“We’re supposed to be bonding.” You move to turn your head up at him. You try to meet his eyes but he stays glued downwards to your chest.

“We are.” Miguel insists, his lips slightly parted. His thumb swipes across your nipple and you gasp, feeling your cheeks burn. He can feel the nub perk up and his tongue darts out to lick his lips, biting his bottom lip to hide the satisfied smile on his face.

Miguel takes his chances, bending down to kiss along your neck, tugging you closer to him and making you melt. His body moves against yours and your eyes flutter shut. His mouth gently sucks and licks your skin and you shiver. Miguel grabs your left tit, the plump flesh squeezed in his palm. His fingers flick your nipple, circling around before gently twisting it.

You back arches and you moan. “Ah–fuck, Miguel!” You hissed, a burning heat crawling up your neck. Your hand lifts up to curl in his hair while he attacks your neck, his other hand running down to his boxers you were wearing. He slips his fingers in the front hole of the boxers, using his index and middle fingers to spread your folds apart. You feel him nip your neck with a smile as he smears your slick around your clit.

He then uses both of his hands to lift your shirt up and over your head. Your breasts are now out in the open, the cool air hitting your chest and making your nipples hard. You barely get a word out, Miguel already cupping your boobs and squeezes them. Your hips buck back to grind on his crotch, eyes closing as he plays with you. Miguel used his fingers to tease your nipples simultaneously, flicking and tweaking them. He lifts them up and watches them fall down before squeezing them again. Your pussy is soaking through his boxers, aching for more stimulation that’s making you feel empty.

His eyes are dark watching his own hands play with your chest, the memory of the bounce of your tits as you caught the remote high in the air. He wanted to see that again.

Miguel could feel his cock swell and twitch along with each bounce of your breasts. You have your body arching, hands behind you and holding onto his thighs. He plays with your tits switching with his hands or his mouth–but if you asked him, he preferred sucking on them. So that’s where he was now, lips attached to your right nipple and his right hand playing with your left. You slammed down on his cock, whining since you barely felt him thrust up. But in all honesty, Miguel could do this forever with your tits in his mouth and his cock buried in your cunt. While his tongue sucked and lipped your nipple, he knew if he didn’t focus, he’d cum instantly. He looks up at you after playfully biting down on your nub, your squeaks making his dick twitch against your walls. You look down with glossy eyes, hips stuttering and pussy throbbing when you see him smirk up at you with your boob in his mouth. One of his hands that was on your waist comes up to your back to keep your body arched. Miguel scrunches his eyes shut, eyebrows furrowed while he sucks on your nipple, his hips jerking and balls slapping against your ass. You wail with each thrust, falling forward and holding onto the backrest making your boobs squish in his face. Miguel groans as he lets you fall on top of him, hands falling down to your ass as you grind on him. His cock slips in and out of your wet cunt with a wet squelch. It makes you bite your lip with a loud whimper, the action making your man under you tug on your nipple with his teeth. He’s obsessed with you, Miguel pulling away just enough to make your tits swing in his face. He glances up at your pleasure filled face, sweat glistening down your face and body while you panted and whined. He’s entranced, eyes falling down to follow the way your boobs bounce as he fucks up into you. Miguel trusts you to keep fucking yourself on his while his hands leave your ass to come up and cup and squeeze both your breasts. He kneads them and watches your mouth drop open to moan. Your head hangs and your foreheads almost touch. Miguel doesn’t need to tell you a damn thing, his lips parted while he looks at yours. You lean down to kiss him, Miguel immediately slipping his tongue past your defenses with a low groan. He continues groping you, his hips smacking up with your thrusting and he can feel himself about to cum. He can tell you’re about to too by the way your pussy spasms wildly, sucking him in deeper and soaking him in your slick.

So he hammers into you, grunting as he puts all his strength in making you cream. Your eyes roll back, mouth separating from his to dig your nails into his shoulders and roll your hips. You can barely get a word out, garbled moans of his name escaping you while your body twitches, ecstasy flowing through from top to bottom. Miguel watches your chest heave as you catch your breath, your juices dripping out of your a making a sticky mess in his lap. You’re dizzy and weak, body flopping forward on his chest. Miguel soothes you, curling his hand in your hair and pressing you into the crook of his neck. He kisses the top of your head and you’re too numb to feel him take your body off him. He places your back down on the couch, hair sticking to your face with sweat, lips plumped from kissing. You’re whining when your sensitive folds feel his still hard cock rub in between them, accidentally slipping his tip in a few times. You swallow to get the dryness out of your throat. “Mig…Mig…” You’re cut off when Miguel slams into you, your body jerking and tits bouncing with the hard thrust. Your hazy vision rolls onto his face, Miguel glued onto your chest still. He gives another few soft thrusts and watches your boobs jiggle around. You feel his cock jump inside your walls, a soft hum of approval coming from deep in his throat. He bends down, biting and licking the side of your tit to add another mark to his collection. His teeth marks littered around your plump and round flesh–his favorites being the ones around your areola.

His face is buried in your breasts while he pounds into you, your head thrown back and legs locked around his waist. Oh, he’s in heaven.

[danikamariewrites]

Soooo, I hope that this is alright to request. I can't really pick between a ship for this b/c I love them and how you write them so much. So, if you don't mind, could you write about the reactions of Feysand, Rowaelin, and Nessian + Azriel (...Nesriel?? IDK) to reader getting poisoned by an enemy (reader lives, but is left feeling very, very weak and ill)?? If you just want to do one or two that's fine... I was just curious to see how some of them might react :).

Cured By You headcanons

Feysand x reader, Rowaelin x reader, & Nezriel x reader

A/n: I would not be able to pick between them in general and I love these ships and so happy you do too anon

Warnings: poison, over bearing mates

Feysand

It happened while visiting the court of nightmares

You felt like an idiot, you always check your drinks or have Azriel’s shadows check

When you wake up 2 days later you were more embarrassed than anything. Especially passing out in the middle of the Court of Nightmares, like what a rookie move

Cassian and Azriel jump into action as Rhys scoops you to his chest. Feyre unleashes her claws, practically growling in Kier's direction. Rhys grabs her and winnows the three of you home to an awaiting Madja

thankfully you healed quickly. whoever poisned you clearly didn't get their dosage right

you still feel weak and get tired easily during the day for a few weeks

the first thing you see is Rhys and Feyre casually chatting. you watch them for a bit before reaching for Feyre's hand that's casually draped on the bed

they jump at your movement and are overjoyed that you're finally awake

if you thought they were doting and overly fussy about you when you have the sniffles, think again. these two are unbearable!

Rhys carries you everywhere. it was a struggle to convince them to let you out of bed so this was the compromise

the poison had weakend you to the point where lifting your arms was a chore. Feyre had decided to feed you even though most of the time you gave her an I'm-going-to-kill-you look

you considered yourself lucky though. to have mates that take care of you is a blessing

Rowaelin

Furious doesn’t even begin to describe how Rowan and Aelin felt

everything was fine, dinner was going great. this new alliance with a kingdom bordering Wendlyn seemed promising

until you polished off your wine. you turned pale and Rowan immediately scented that something was wrong with you

you passed out, collapsing from your chair. the dining room fell into chaos as soon as Fenrys sniffed your glass and announced you'd been poisoned

the guests were ushered out and taken to another room to be interrogated while Rowan rushes you to your shared bedroom, Yrene following and ready to draw the poison from your system

you woke up two days later with Fleetfoot watching over you, her golden head laying on your stomach. her big brown eyes staring at you. petting Fleetfoot behind the ears she shakes your hand off after having her fill. leaping off the bed the large golden beast sits by the door and begins to howl as loud as she possibly can

the queen and king coming running, almsot breaking down the door

Fleetfoot wags her tail at the sight of Aelin, running back over to sit next to the bed as your mates approach

the pair throw themselves down next to you, squishing you between them carefully. "We were so worried, oh gods." Aelin breathes out as Rowan repeatedly kisses your face

(like Feysand) the two of them don't let you lift a finger. Rowan never gets to do this for Aelin so he babies you to the max

from helping you walk and work out the muscels in your body to feeding and bathing you he does everything for you

Aelin spoild you with attention and treats. you two spend all her free time snuggled up in bed eating junk food

Nesriel

they each have a very different (yet extreme and justified) reaction

Azriel starts threatening people with Nesta, who lets her power rumble through the room, flames cupped in her hands

Cassian is getting you the hell out of there and to Madja

Cass doesn't let go of you for a single second while the healers pulls the poison from your body. he presses kisses to your temple and whispers sweet nothings as you writhe in pain from the poison being extracted

while you sleep for a week they hover over you, watching over you like hawkes

Azriel sleeps sitting up in a chair next to the bed while Nesta sleeps next to you, playing with your hair so you feel soothed in your unconcious state

when you wake up you're startled to find Cassian curled up at the end of the bed like a dog, Azriel in a chair, and Nesta next to you

Az's shadows go haywire next to his ears, alerting him to your conciousness. the shadows rush to alert Cass and Nes who perk up immediately

Nesta sits up, holding your face in her hands, "oh thank gods, you're ok." she coos on the verge of tears

even though you're weak you force your arm to move so you can hold her wrist. "I'm ok," you whisper

you all thought Cassian would be the more doting/crazy one but it turns out to be Nesta

she freaks out every time Az or Cass move you, worried about your comfort levels or if you're in pain. she yells at them if you even wince, "Careful! you're hurting her!" they always give her the same exasperated look as you giggle

when they find out who poisoned you Cassian tells you and stays with you. meanwhile Az lets Nesta tag along to the interrogation

he even let Nesta participate and she did not hold back. making this guy feel the worst pain he has ever endured

[guttednights]

your bar.

You've worked in the same bar for the past 3 years. It's fairly common for military men to come in and get drinks together. It's always soap, gaz, price, and the one in a mask.

One night you finally speak to the guy in the skull mask. "your name is?" as he looks at you, his cold eyes lighten.

"ghost," he said gruffly when soap elbowed him, he shot soap a glare and sighed making eye contact with you. "Simon. simon Riley." he gruffs.

you can't help but smile. "well then Simon Riley. want your usual?"

"Please," he says coldly

you and your friend spent the rest of the night talking about simon. "god i dont know what it is about him but." "jeez.."

"oh ew! shut up" your friend replies walking to the other side of the bar

you giggle "ah cmon, its not as nasty as you and your thing for that old one.

she giggles. "price is hot because hes a gentle man. simon just looks like he could hurt anyone."

"thats what i like" "feels like hed go to jail for me"

She rolls her eyes "okay mrs delusional."

the next few days some tension between you and simon grew. he cant keep his eyes off you. your literal eyecandy to him. and you notice.

"sarah he keeps staring" you say entering the back to "refill something"

she squeals. "girl hes so into you!"

you roll your eyes, "oh whatever."

Later that night soap walks up to the bar,

"hey y/n, you know my big friend Simon? ya he wants ye number"

your heart practically stops beating. "uh.. yeah sure here" You quickly write it on a napkin and hand it to him. you watch as soap runs away like a schoolgirl giggling to Simon as he hands it to him.

the whole rest of the night you were shocked. The big huffy man you think is hot wanted your number?

around 2 am you jolt awake as your phone buzzes. you grab your phone, its him.

"hey gorgeous its simon, or "big masked man"

"Hi simon" god you cant believe this is happening is this real?

"you should be asleep. what you doing up?"

ur heart flutters, (GOING FERAL LIKE YES PLS BOSS ME AROUND) "couldnt sleep"

"any reason why?"

(yes Simon ur the reason why) "nope no praticular reason why, just one of those nights."

"alright. want to get coffee tomorrow?"

"coffee?!" you think to yourself "Omg it's happening.."

"id love to get coffee"

"great. ill see you at happy cafs tomorrow at 9 am."

"see you there"

your freaking out literally, the man of your literal dreams is asking to go out on a coffee date?! Is it a date..?

"is this considered a date?" you text him a few minutes later

"yes, sweetheart. it's considered a date lol"

you throw your phone across the room screaming and kicking your feet. you can't sleep the rest of the night. too busy thinking about what to wear. finally at 6 am you give up and hit the shower, then walk to your closet. "god do I wear a dress? jeans hoodie?" finally you decide on a long-sleeved black dress, perfect for winter. you straighten your hair, do your makeup, and hype yourself up.

8:55 and you're a minute away from the cafe when u see him pull up. your heart drops. you're so excited yet so nervous, u practically black out until you bump into him.

"op, watch out there" he chuckles, "looking at your feet while you walk sweetheart or?"

you chuckle, "Sorry lost in my thoughts." sweetheart?! You can't help but blush as he puts his hand on the lower part of your back and directs you inside. you both sit down at a booth and a waitress comes over. you both order and wait.

you can't help but stare at him, even tho you haven't seen his face his eyes just capture you.

"I'm not gonna lie, sweetheart,. I can't keep my eyes off you at the bar,"

"might as well claim ye before you are no longer available" he smirks as you blush and look away

you spend the next 3 hours just talking getting to know him. And before you know it, (in a few weeks of course) you are dating, officially his. the man of your dreams is officially yours.

side notes: i dont know if i like this tbh. it feels really long and i almost lost what else to say. if u want a part 2 (MAYBE SMUTTY VERS. i can do it lmk!!!)

[runningfrom2am]

cold nights // part nineteen

summary: you showed him colours he knows he can't see with anyone else.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.3k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, depictions of mental illness, also she's is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: i'm sorry it took me so long to post this omg i am behind on writing bc i'm so sick but i'm also trying to get ahead on requiem BUT-

Important Announcement!!:

cold nights will officially have a season 3! i wasn't sure but i had a good idea for what the epilogue would be and then i realized it would be so much better as another fully developed idea. so, that will be coming soon!!

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist

Coryo smiles as you run up ahead of him, picking up his pace slightly and dropping his bag next to yours.

Some of the others are already stripped down to their bathing suits and running down the dock. It is beautiful here, not that he ever doubted you.

He watches as you peel off your dress, another short one similar to the one you had worn for most of the time he'd known you. This one wasn't sewn in at the middle, so you can slip it quickly over your head. Your bathing suit must have been homemade, too, and it allowed him to see how the bruises and scratches on your back were all but healed while you toss your dress to the ground. He notices quickly that it was exactly the same as Lucy Gray's, maybe your mother had made you matching ones. That's so sweet.

Your skin looked so beautifully soft- just like it should have the first time he saw it, spare for the scars on your calf and your arm, it was just what he imagined.

You kick your shoes off, and the wood of the dock is hot against your bare feet as you run down to the end, diving head-first off to the side to avoid jumping right onto any of your friends.

It seemed to Coryo that you weren't afraid anymore as you briefly looked back at him while you were running. The excited scream you let out when you lept from the dock made his heart flutter. This is exactly what he had wanted, from the very beginning.

When Coryo jumps in behind you, you can hear his shout and feel the water shift around you as his body breaks the surface. You turn under the water, its clarity allowing you to see where everyone is. You loved this. The memories of this lake kept you safe, almost. You can hear muffled laughter above the water, deciding to take your time before coming up for air. You didn't need it just yet.

You swim away from everyone deep under the surface, scanning the lake floor for anything interesting. Really, it was just sticks and rocks and mud, but one day you may find something else exciting, but not today.

"Where is she going?" Coryo comments, watching your body as you kick away deeper under the water.

"Wherever she wants." Lennox answers plainly, treading water as he stares at him.

"She's looking for secrets." Maude Ivory giggles, splashing him in the face. At least she gave him somewhat of an answer.

He quickly lifts an arm to block the wave, but it fails miserably. "What kind of secrets will she find at the bottom of the lake?" He coughs out, wiping the water from his eyes.

"Once we found a watch." Lucy Gray shrugs, looking from him to you. "Which is odd because we didn't know anyone else knew about this place. The secrets are what happens when we aren't here."

You hardly noticed the lack of oxygen until it almost felt too late, quickly swimming up and pushing your hair out of your face so you don't inhale it by mistake.

"Anything good today?" Lucy Gray shouts over to you as soon as she's noticed you've come up.

"There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so!" You pant, pushing yourself through the water back toward her.

"So, that's a no?" Sejanus asks and you laugh, shaking your head.

"Just rocks and sticks." You explain, joining them again and bumping shoulders with Lucy Gray. "Some weeds, if that's your fancy."

"Oh, yes, that's right up my alley." Sejanus chuckles, cupping his hands to block out the glare of the sun as he looks down into the water anyway.

"I've never been to a lake before," Coryo says, breathing heavily as the waves from the kids splashing keep coming up too close to his face.

"What? Really?" Lucy Gray and Sejanus ask in unison, and you smile at him.

He nods, eyes locking with yours. You feel the need to say something. "Is it everything you dreamt of?" You ask.

"Just about." He grins.

"Oh? What's missing?" You giggle.

Oh, only being able to hold you without retraumatizing you.

"It's not that anything is missing," He comes up with as an excuse. "There's just more birds than I expected."

"Oh, yeah. They like it out here." You hum, looking up at the trees while Lucy Gray whistles out a tune for them to mimic. You smile. "Why, you don't like birds either?"

"Never been the biggest fan, no." He chuckles.

The birds echo her song back to you repeatedly. Coryo turns around to watch as if there was anything to see besides these black birds flitting around the trees and above the cabin. "What kind of birds are they?" He asks. "I've never seen that before."

"We call 'em Mockingjays." Lucy Gray tells him.

"'Cause they'll mock ya if you mess up the song!" Clerk Carmine jumps in, climbing onto Lucy Gray's back under the water.

"Oh, I wouldn't know." Your friend teases him, gripping tight onto the boy's legs as he starts to shout. He knows what's about to happen, and clearly you do too as Coryo watches you and your brother quickly swim out of their reach and closer to him.

You laugh, watching as Lucy Gray takes a big dramatic breath in and sinks under the surface of the water, pulling CC down with her as he screams and splashes.

The sun dried you quickly after you decided you had had enough of the water, climbing back out onto the dock and deciding to just lay your blanket there to dry off on while you took the book and snacks from your bag.

Coryo had been sitting with Lucy Gray and Sejanus, but they were just talking to each other more than him. Not that he could have paid much attention. He was just watching you.

"Can I go talk to her?" He asks with little regard for the conversation that he was interrupting.

They both look over at him. "I mean, you could try. Would that be okay?" Sejanus answers, looking to Lucy Gray for confirmation.

"No. Let her have her peace and quiet." Lennox interrupts as he walks back up in front of them, pulling his shirt back onto his now fully dried skin.

Lucy Gray sighs."Just... Don't be stupid." She advises Coryo, nodding him on. "Len, we'll be right here."

Your brother shakes his head slightly, glaring between the three of them with nothing short of adamant disapproval.

Coryo nods slightly, taking the preferable answer by getting up and heading back down onto the dock.

Lennox looks back over his shoulder to where he just was with Maude Ivory looking for katniss, before taking Coryo's spot on the deck.

"Did she not tell you anything about him?" Lennox mumbles to Lucy Gray, eyes locked on his sister and her 'friend' as he stands over her. "No, she must have- because you were at The Hob last week. You saw it."

"I saw a girl with a lot of unresolved trauma have an episode." Lucy Gray explains, watching Lennox take Coryo's spot next to her. "He made a mistake, but he wouldn't ever hurt her."

Your brother opens his mouth to argue, but Sejanus interrupts. "I know it isn't my place, but Lucy Gray is right. He would sooner die than hurt her."

"Okay, well, explain how he's sitting right next to her when he's already hurt her so bad she may never recover!" Lennox whispers, gesturing to the dock as if they couldn't already see you there.

"I'm not defending anything he's done. That's not what I meant." Sejanus explains. "I just mean he would never do it on purpose."

"Accidents are clearly bad enough."

"Len, he just wants to make amends now." Lucy Gray insists. "And she wants that. I know she does, she's really trying."

"Listen, if it helps..." Sejanus starts, looking back out at you and Coryo on the dock. He can tell how nervous his friend is, watching you intently as he picks at the wood finish beneath him and listening to you talk. "He really loves her. I know it's not my place to tell you that, but it was bad when she was gone. He hardly spoke a word to anyone, he wouldn't put her book down- it was really hard on him. We weren't sure if she had been executed for cheating, and it was killing him to be left in the dark."

"That's not love, that's guilt." Lennox mutters, watching you closely.

"What's the difference between love and guilt?" Lucy Gray asks him rhetorically. "He wouldn't feel guilty if he didn't care."

"The difference is he wouldn't have come here and made the same mistake again."

Lucy Gray bites into her lip, slightly shaking her head. That was an honestly good point.

"I was in the arena, too. I saw what he did." Sejanus says after a moment. "He saved my life, it was my fault. It was shocking... you know, the overkill, but I can't say for certain I wouldn't have done the same thing. We were both pumped so full of adrenaline that I truly believe that's what it was." He explains. "I mean, I was behind him, so I don't know what she saw- but it looked like adrenaline to me."

"How do you think she felt?" Lennox asks, eyes wide. "She was in there for three days! You and him were there for what, ten minutes?"

"Wait..." Lucy Gray backpedals, looking at Sejanus. "Sejanus, what do you mean you thought he was executed for cheating? Like, in the games?"

Sejanus swallows, nodding. He looks over at you but quickly looks away. "Yeah, uh... Coryo told me that she used rat poison to kill two of the others. And he did something to keep the snakes from biting her, but I don't think he was caught for that."

Your brother and best friend look at each other like they'd just seen a ghost before their eyes simultaneously track to you. You were laughing.

"She didn't... She didn't tell me that." Lucy Gray says quietly. "Did you know, Len?"

"No."

"That doesn't surprise me." Sejanus shrugs and they both look at him, shocked and confused. "Well, she doesn't know either. I don't think, definitely not about the snakes, but she told the Dean it was salt. That I gave her." He laughs slightly at the end, but they don't find it funny. "By the time she left, she was fully delusional about it. She knew what it was, Coryo gave it to her to protect herself because he needed her to win. She was really upset by the insinuation that it, in fact, was not salt."

Lucy Gray and Lennox look at each other again, unsure what to say. It must have been worse than they thought. Regardless, they knew it must be eating you alive.

"Can I join you?" You hear Coryo's voice above you after about ten minutes of listening to the mockingjays sing Lucy Gray's song back to her as she sat on the porch of the cabin. The sun was so warm on your skin that you could have fallen asleep here if you weren't reading your book.

You squint against the sun as you look up at him. "Yes, you may." You agree, and you feel him sitting down next to you as the wood creaks below him.

You find yourself holding your breath, even as you return to your book to try and remain relaxed.

He's not going to hurt you.

"What are you reading?" He asks after a moment, thinking your arms must be asleep for using them to hold the book and support your weight for so long.

"It's called 'Much Ado About Nothing'." You answer. "Another Shakespeare piece."

"Do you like it?" He asks, lifting his leg to rest his elbow on his knee while you sit up, crossing your legs and letting the book fall into your lap.

"I do." You smile down at the page. It is much more lighthearted than Romeo and Juliet, as much as you would have loved to come home and drown yourself in your favourite book- the boy next to you unintentionally made it impossible. God, you were so embarrassed by the letter you wrote to him. Your cheeks flush just think about it. All you did by surviving was make everything weird.

"Another tragedy?" He inquires, attempting to read some of the words on the page as it's opened on your lap.

"No." You chuckle, shaking your head. "It's a romantic comedy, actually."

"Oh, wow. You changed it up?" He asks, only somewhat shocked. It would only make sense that you couldn't handle much more tragedy since you've been home.

"I did." You smile. "It's quite funny."

"Will you read me your favourite part?" He suggests, watching your eyes as they light up with excitement from the request.

"Okay, so..." You quickly flip back through the pages and into the first act, scanning for the lines you're looking for. "Okay. Here." You pretend to clear your throat.

"In our last conflict four of his five wits went halting off, and now is the whole man governed with one: so that if he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let him bear it for a difference between himself and his horse; for it is all the wealth that he hath left, to be known a reasonable creature." You recite, dragging your finger along the page so he can track what you are reading. You remembered it, but it might have been easier for him to follow that way.

Coryo watched you the whole time, and by the end, you were a giggling mess. You thought it was absolutely hilarious, and he smiles at that.

"What does that mean?" He chuckles.

"So," You laugh, a hand pressed to your chest. "Basically, she's talking about how she was arguing with Benedick and won. The punchline is that she let him keep one of his wits, because if she didn't no one would be able to tell him from his horse."

Coryo laughs at that, shaking his head. "That is good." He agrees.

"Isn't it?" You smile. "It's a welcome change of pace."

"Yeah, Romeo and Juliet was... yikes." He says, ticking his jaw and peeling up some of the wood from the dock between you.

"You read it?" You ask quietly, eyes widening as you look over at him. It shouldn't shock you, he told you he would, and that he even looked forward to it. "What did you think?"

"Of course I did," Coryo nods. "I really enjoyed it."

"It doesn't seem like it..." You laugh nervously, looking down as you flip back to the page you were on before closing the book.

"No, truly. I did." He insists. "Just... for lack of a better term, it was tragic."

"Yes, well..." You chuckle, shrugging slightly and tucking your book back into the bag next to you.

"It was heartbreaking!" He laughs suddenly. "And that's your favourite?" He looks at you then, head tilted as he slightly shakes his head.

"Okay, so," You laugh, rolling your eyes. You were used to defending this to others who have tried reading it. "That's what makes it so beautiful. It's so touching, they died for each other thinking they were in love, but they also hardly knew each other. It forces you to wonder what could have been, and I like that."

"Okay, well, you're right." Coryo agrees. "I didn't like the ending, but that's the point, I suppose. The rest was good, it reminded me a lot of you."

"I think I forced a bias onto you. My apologies."

"You didn't force anything on me." He smiles, shaking his head. "All I knew is that you loved it, and that made it so much better."

Your cheeks flush as you busy yourself by pulling out the bag of cherries. "Would you like some?" You offer the bag to him and he reaches in, taking just a couple out and popping one into his mouth.

"I finished it all before you left." Coryo tells you, and you hold him out another empty paper bag to spit the pits into.

"That good?" You smile and he nods.

"Can I..." Coryo starts, and you tilt your head at him. He doesn't want to ruin your day by bringing this up. Everything on your face shows hope, even excitement for what he is going to say. "If you can't hear this stop me, but the book made great company in the mentor hall."

For a moment, he saw nervousness flicker behind your eyes, but still, you nodded. You wanted to hear anything he had to say- you just hoped you could stomach it.

"Oh, that's fine. I'm... I'm glad." You try and smile, distracting yourself by popping a cherry into your mouth.

"I was alone most of the time. I didn't go home." He tells you, trying to say what he wanted but still be as vague as possible.

"It must have been so horribly boring." You laugh nervously, swallowing the cherry pit as you reach for another of the small red fruits, picking the stem from it and flicking it into the lake.

"I wish it was." He replies, watching you closely to see if and when he's crossed a line. You nod in understanding, and he takes a nervous breath in. "I... The alternative was that I got sent home like some of my classmates. I wasn't going to leave until I had to."

'Until I had to.'

So he was forced to go in for Sejanus. Why on earth would they not send peacekeepers? Why another child?

"I... I appreciate that." You stammer out, looking down at your lap, noticing for the first time that your hands were trembling. "That must have been uncomfortable. I apologize."

Coryo furrows his brow at you. "No, I'm sorry. Why would you apologize to me?" He asks. "I'm sorry I couldn't do more for you. That I couldn't get you out."

"You did more than you had to." You say, voice quiet with your honesty.

"No." He shakes his head. "I had to do everything I did. I couldn't let you die."

"You saved my life, and... and-" It happens very suddenly when a tear falls down your cheek; you didn't even notice you were starting to panic.

"No, wait, I'm sorry, hey, don't cry..." Coryo says quickly. He wants to help, to do something, but he feels helpless. Again. He feels sick with the knowledge that he always says the wrong thing.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." You mumble, trying to wipe your eyes but you're finding it hard to speak.

"Don't be, please don't be sorry." He pleads with you, shifting so he's kneeling next to you, placing a hand on your back.

You almost jump away, head flying to look at him. He's just rubbing your back. He's only trying to help.

Instinctively, your eyes search for his. They aren't hard to find, and all you can see as you search them is worry. Nothing malicious. "I... Do you want me to get Lucy Gray? Or your brother?" He offers, grabbing your shaking hands in his free one. "Just take deep breaths."

You nod, scared to look away for even a second. So he has to.

Coryo turns back, swallowing his pride. "Lennox! Lucy Gray!" He shouts, drawing their attention quickly.

He accepted the berating he was about to get from your brother before it even came.

"What did you do?" Lennox asks him, forcing himself between the two of you.

"We were just talking and I think I said something- I don't know, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..." Coryo answers honestly, standing up and taking a step back.

You're watching him, intently, despite Lucy Gray taking over holding you and talking to you in hushed tones, trying to ease your mind.

"I'm okay." You tell her, nodding. You don't look at her, only watching him. Watching his eyes- but nothing changes. Baby blue. Worry. More worry.

taglist: @soulessjourney , @that-veela-girl ,  @dreamyysouls, @rockstarbfs , @maysileeewrites , @baybieruth , @kitscutie ,  @fratboyharrysgf0201 , @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @drewsandsebastianswife , @niicole-87 , @queenofshinigamis , @innercreationflower , @nallasstuff , @iovemoonyy , @thatmarvelchick19 , @wearemadeofstardust0 , @regulusblackcore , @puredreamagination , @fantasticchaosthing , @becauseseaotters , @secretsicanthideanymore

okay suddenly tumblr isn't letting me tag more people than this so i just made some cuts unfortunately :') i just left the max amount of people i could whose users i recognized and see in my notifs all the time :) if you're not on here and you should be i'm so sorry!

also this taglist is closed now!! if you’d like to get a notification when i update, turn on my post notifications!! i promise i won’t spam y'all :,)

[silkscream]

CHAPTER 15: HUMMINGBIRD

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader

It’s not like Satoru can help it. He’s been very good since you decided to stay. Really, he has been. He keeps his hands to himself. He doesn’t make it too obvious when he stares at your ass.

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: angst, oral sex (f receiving), edging, fingering, gagging, mentions of sexual assault

ੈ✩ wc: 8k

ੈ✩ a/n: the more i write this fic the more they scream divorced couple. maybe next chapter ill let reader beat satoru with sticks

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

October, 2011

The clatter of dishes punctuates the heavy silence falling over the kitchen. You watch Satoru carefully, noting the tension in his broad shoulders as he wipes his hands on a dish towel, his piercing blue eyes avoiding yours. The playful demeanor that usually adorned his features is noticeably absent, replaced by a melancholy that made the air between you almost tangible.

He says your name, his voice steady but weighted with an urgency that demands your full attention. He clears his throat. 

“About Megumi and Tsumiki…"

His words hang in the room, and you feel a knot tighten in your stomach. You push your half-eaten breakfast aside and lean back, arms crossed, readying yourself for whatever confession is about to spill from him.

"I know who they are, Satoru," you prompt, tone laced with curiosity and apprehension. “I want to know why they’re with you.”

Satoru exhales slowly, as if bracing himself against an invisible storm. 

"When I... when I defeated Toji Fushiguro, he warned me. He knew the Zenin clan would come for his son because of his technique— which they'd exploit without hesitation." His gaze flickers to yours, searching for understanding. "It's been a few years now, and the time is approaching. I couldn't let that happen to him.”

You absorb his words, feeling the gravity of the situation settle over you like a shroud. A gifted child and a vulnerable girl—alone in a world riddled with darkness and greed. Satoru's protective instincts were clear, yet something gnawed at you, a lingering frustration that clawed its way up your throat.

"So you took them in," you state flatly, your voice betraying the anger simmering beneath the surface. "But you left them alone, Satoru. Alone, for days. And a cursed spirit attacked them because of it!"

He flinches slightly at your accusation, the dish towel crumpling in his grasp. 

"I know, and I can't undo that mistake," he replies, his usual confidence faltering as he faces your ire. "But I'm here now, and I won't let anything else happen to them."

Your heart wrestles with the conflict of emotions—anger, concern, and an undeniable sense of loyalty to the man before you. Satoru's intentions were noble, even if his actions were flawed.

"Fine," you concede through gritted teeth, your support given begrudgingly. "I understand. The children shouldn't suffer for the ambitions of the Zenin clan."

Satoru's eyes soften, the gratitude evident in his expression. "Thank you. This means more than you know."

Yet, as you stand there amidst the emotional wreckage, you couldn't shake the sense of unease that clung to you, a shadow of doubt that whispered of complications yet to come. What the hell were you even doing here? None of this was your business, but there are roots in this city that lead to Satoru, whether you like it or not.

With two kids getting involved in that, you have trouble with the idea of going back to your life in Kyoto, even if you’ve only been around for a few days. You trust Satoru more than you’re willing to admit, but you aren’t sure if you trust him enough to leave him as a guardian by himself.

The morning light filters through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow over the remnants of breakfast. Satoru leans back against the counter, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that feels almost palpable.

"So," he ventures carefully, "How long do you plan to stay?"

You hesitate, your gaze drifting towards the window where the bustling streets of Tokyo seem to call out to you. A mix of longing and uncertainty knots in your chest. 

You missed the frenetic energy of the city, the comfort of familiar places, and the faces of those you held dear—especially Shoko. Her dry humor and blunt advice were sorely absent in Kyoto. You missed… Satoru.

"I wasn’t going to stay.”

“You don’t actually like it better there, do you?” Satoru raises a brow. “I fucking hate going there for the clan.”

“I do,” you lie.

“Come on.”

“Okay, Kyoto was... a trial in independence," you admit, your words laced with both nostalgia and regret. "But Tokyo has always been home. I do kind of miss it."

Satoru's expression shifts, a spark of hope flashing across his features. 

"Then stay a little longer," he suggests eagerly. "Help with Megumi and Tsumiki."

You weigh the offer, your heart tugging you in directions you hadn't anticipated. The children needed stability, something you could provide, even if temporarily.

"Alright," you say quietly, the decision surprising even yourself. "A little longer. Maybe a week. I’ll have to call Utahime and Gakuganji–"

“I can handle it.”

“Um… okay.”

"Great!" His smile broadens. "You can have the extra room—no charge—or the apartment below if you'd prefer more privacy."

“What, it’s just vacant?” you raise a brow.

“It’s a pretty new building. And you know I can pay for it.”

The idea of living under the same roof as Satoru stirs an array of emotions within you. Despite everything, the thought of being close was undeniably appealing.

"The room will do," you respond.

__

You find normalcy over the next few days at the Gojo/Fushiguro household. The rhythm of life with Megumi and Tsumiki becomes a comforting pattern – you and Satoru take turns picking them up from school. The both of you go to Jujutsu Tech together during the day and he tries his best to leave you alone to whatever studies you’re able to do on the Tokyo campus.

You get to know Nanami a bit more, thankful for his company whenever Satoru’s presence is a bit overwhelming. The sorcerer seems to be hovering over you more often than not, to your dismay. The push and pull between you is back, the tension never having left since the Tanabata festival.

Satoru is good at controlling himself. He doesn’t provoke you outright, but there are… things that he does on purpose.

The first day you’re back at Jujutsu Tech, he comes into Shoko’s workspace three times within two hours to “check” on the two of you. The first two times are welcomed, innocent enough to you, but the third time, Shoko yells at him to get out when she’s showing you and some first-years the dissection of a frog.

At home, he’s most definitely trying to impress you. He insists on cooking, which is only successful every other time. You’ve never seen him this eager to make a home cooked meal considering his penchant for takeout. More than once, you’ve caught him napping on the couch with Megumi leaning on him, and it makes your heart swell up so big that it could probably burst out of your chest. The bastard.

The thing that almost makes you snap is his insistence on his late-night showers after classes and missions. Once the kids are off to bed, you’re usually trying to make yourself useful by tidying up. Playing the role of a domestic partner to Satoru was not one that you expected of yourself — not now, at least — so why exactly are you fussing over doing his laundry?

It’s not like he even puts on clothes after his showers. He just loves to hang around in only a towel, often passing by your room to ask you an innocent question while droplets of water cascade his chest, and you’re caught off guard every fucking time. And he knows it.

It’s not like Satoru can help it. He’s been very good since you decided to stay. Really, he has been. He does tend to stare at you longingly, just like he used to, but you’re usually preoccupied with other things, like handling the kids or engaging in your studies. He keeps his hands to himself. He doesn’t make it too obvious when he stares at your ass. 

He’s being good. But it’s in his nature to fuck with you a little.

So he starts touching you more often, too. Wakes up earlier than you (he doesn’t sleep much anyway, apparently) to make you coffee the way you like in the morning, just in his boxers. Sometimes he uses the travel shampoo you bought just so you can get a whiff of him and feel very, very confused. The way you pinch your brows each time your body gives in just a little bit is priceless.

It’s satisfying for him, to say the least. Especially since he can’t help but think of you when he’s in the shower, ruining the shower tiles after he fists his cock at the thought of you like he’s sixteen again. He almost feels bad since the bathroom is connected to both your room and his. 

Well, what you don’t know won’t hurt.

You’re smart, though. You catch on very quickly to his attempts at getting attention from you and ignore Satoru when you realize. It’s almost devastating when you don’t look at him anymore.

One night, he’s particularly antsy. He’d convinced Nanami to go to some happy hour with him just so he could talk all about you and mildly tell him that you’re off-limits. When he comes up behind you while you’re cooking dinner, you smell the artificial sweetness of some fruity liquor. He places his hand on your hip.

“There’s my little housewife.”

You look at him, your expression completely blank. 

“And who are you talking to?” you respond coolly.

He chuckles. “Just kidding. Whatcha makin’?”

“Yaki udon.”

“Oooh. Need any help?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Aww, come on,” Satoru pouts. “S’the least I can do.”

“Not when you’re tipsy.”

“Ah, you caught that, huh?” He leans against the corner and grins cheekily. “Just had a drink with Nanami-kun. He’s been a great help on some missions lately.”

You hum as you stir the noodles.

“He’s handsome, isn’t he? Save for that emo-ass haircut–”

“Satoru,” you say his name sharply.

“Yes?”

“What do you want?”

“Nothing,” he asks, his lashes batting innocently. “Just making conversation.”

“Okay, well… can you leave me alone in the kitchen? You’re kind of driving me insane here.”

He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Anything for you,” he mutters under his breath.

You’d have to crack eventually.

__

October, 2008

Gojo was getting a little clingy. He loved having you over, loved handling you like some kind of ragdoll just because he could. In his head, it was making up for all the times he avoided you like the plague. He had you wrapped around his finger – you let him fuck you for all these months, didn’t you?

It was probably the longest he’d ever been with someone. You were basically a girlfriend at this point, or so Suguru liked to tease him. The word girlfriend left an odd taste in his mouth.

But sure, he could pretend. He acts like a boyfriend, maybe. Chases you around the corridors like he used to when he was a kid, only to pin you down to his bed, skirt up. He likes to bite at the ankle of your leg whenever you ignore him while you’re in his bed. 

He was such a teenager about you, but that was his right. He’s young . Both of you could be a little lovesick if you wanted to be. He wasn’t thinking too far into the future anyway. 

But there are moments when you look at him like you’re in love and it fucking terrifies him.

Because he leans into it, too. His kisses with you are longer, his touches lingering. He’s started to get antsy if you’re in the room and he’s not touching you. It’s an itch that won’t go away. He wants to keep you all for himself — that’s why he doesn’t tell you about Shoko’s party.

She had an inkling about the two of you. Satoru always acted like an idiot, but Shoko knew him long enough to see that something was different. She wanted to properly spend time with you, so she said. And you could, Satoru reasoned. Just not in his house full of intoxicated people, comprised mostly of other boys from school.

The thought of you surrounded by other men made his stomach churn. He pictured their eyes on you, their hands reaching out to touch what was his. No, he couldn't allow that. 

He knew he had it bad ever since last week. 

Suguru’s hair was growing past his collarbone and you offered to cut it for him. It was stupid how Satoru couldn’t stand it – the way your delicate fingers combed through Suguru’s dark hair. His boyish grin while you stood above him with kitchen scissors, blades of black cascading down his bare back. Satoru couldn’t help but think that you looked perfect together.

He knew Suguru was no competition — you were Satoru’s, and he wasn’t sleeping with anyone else. That fact alone was odd. He’d never been with anyone who was a virgin before. Knowing that he was the first to touch you at all made him dizzy — he still remembered how wet you were the first time, even though he had only kissed you once before.

At the moment, his face nuzzles your belly as you read on a chaise lounge in the Gojo den. He was annoying you, pulling your shirt up, nipping at your skin. You’d swat him away, but there was no use. There’d be pink welts, love-shaped bite marks. Clan blessings.

You were stubborn as always, but he liked the chase. Everyone else would fold too easily — there was no game. With you, there always was. He was addicted.

“Can I eat you?”

“No.”

“Please?”

You snap his name and he grins to spite you, his hands tickling the meat of your thighs anyway.

“Fine,” he huffs. “Did you think about what I said?”

You feign ignorance, barely peering at him. “About?”

“About school. ”

He needed you at Jujutsu Tech. It was better than you being stuck at his estate. No one at the local colleges would be enough for you. Satoru imagined you with human boys, ones at the bottom end of the spectrum in which he was at the top. They’d take you for granted. He couldn’t bare the thought of any of them fucking you with clumsy, sweaty hands. Unpracticed rolls of the hips, fish mouths. It made him sick.

“No, I haven’t thought about it.”

He rolls his eyes. He looks up at you, then. At your lips.

“Please. ”

“Don’t beg,” you smirk. His eyes flicker and narrow. He wanted you beneath him, pressed into his bed. As much as he was mildly pissed off, your tone was different. It made his insides burn. 

Satoru's eyes darken, a mischievous glint dancing in their depths. In one fluid motion, he rises from his position at your feet, his body moving with a predatory grace. His hands find your waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulls you closer.

"Don't tease me," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. The book you were reading clatters to the floor, forgotten.

Your breath hitches as Satoru's lips graze your neck, his teeth nipping gently at the sensitive skin. You could feel the tension radiating off him, a mix of desire and frustration that made your heart race.

"I'm not teasing," you whisper, but your voice trembles slightly, betraying your own growing arousal.

You gasp as his fingers ghost over your center, the thin fabric of your underwear doing little to mask the heat emanating from your core. Satoru's other hand tangles in your hair, pulling your head back to expose more of your neck to his hungry mouth.

"Satoru," you breathed, your hands clutching at his shoulders. "Your mom’s home. We can’t—"

He lifts his head, his piercing blue eyes meeting yours. "Why not? Just be quiet. She never comes in here anyways." His fingers continue their teasing exploration, making you squirm beneath him. "Besides, I thought you liked a little risk."

As his hands roam your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake, you can't help but wonder if he realizes just how much you belonged to him - and how dangerously close you were to stealing his heart in return.

“You love me, right?” he breathes. You look at him with wide eyes, unable to speak.

You could only nod dumbly.

Satoru pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze intense and searching. "Then say you'll come to Jujutsu Tech. Be with me."

You hesitate, torn between the allure of his offer and your own uncertainties. "Satoru, I-"

But before you can finish, his mouth is on yours, hot and demanding. His kiss is bruising, possessive, as if he could convince you through sheer force of will. Your hands find their way into his hair, tugging gently as you return the kiss with equal fervor.

When you finally break apart, both panting, Satoru rests his forehead against yours.

"I need you there," he says, his voice low and raw. "I can't stand the thought of you being anywhere else."

You close your eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity of his words, of his touch. Part of you wanted to give in, to let yourself be swept away by his passion. But another part held back, wary of losing yourself completely in Satoru Gojo.

He was serious. It would kill him — he said it with his eyes. He always spoke in hyperboles. He was allowed as such, his own existence larger than life itself.

"Let me think about it," you murmur, running your fingers along his jaw. "Please?"

Satoru groans softly, clearly unsatisfied with your response. But he nods instead, pressing one more kiss to your lips before pulling away.

"Fine," he says, his tone a mixture of resignation and determination. "But don't take too long. I'm not known for my patience."

As if to emphasize his point, he scoops you up in his arms, ignoring your startled yelp. "Now," he grinned, all boyish, "I believe I asked if I could eat you earlier."

Your protests dissolve into laughter as he carries you upstairs towards his bedroom, the unresolved tension between you momentarily forgotten. He loved playing with you, pulling your hair. He liked the way you yipped like a puppy when his tongue was carving out your cunt, imprinted with the tender muscle. Swirling heart shapes in between the ribboned folds.

He could feel how close you were already from the way your pussy twitched underneath him, his drool mixing with your arousal. When you’re right at the brink, he stops.

“Satoru!” you hiss.

“Say you’ll go to Jujutsu Tech with me.”

“Are you – are you edging me over this?”

“Sure am,” he grins, his mouth wet with you. Your throat dries up. He was always doing this lately to get what he wanted. 

“You’re fucked up.”

“You like it,” he murmurs, licking your clit teasingly. Smirking as your body seizes up.

“You’re insufferable,” you grit. “And entitled–”

“Keep going. I like it when you’re mean to me.” He presses his cheek against your damp thigh. “It gets me hard.”

You scoff. “If you don’t wanna fuck, we don’t have to.”

“You don’t mean that, baby. You want to come, don’t you?” He plunges his fingers into you, hooking into the soft spot that makes your eyes roll back. 

“Satoru—”

“Shit, you’re wet. I could make you feel so good if you weren’t being such a brat.”

“How am I the one being a brat when — hah –” Your breath hitches when he pulls the pleasure out of you. Summoning lightning. 

“You wanna come or not?” he taunts. “Yes, fuck— okay, okay, I’ll… I’ll enroll—”

He pauses, his face lighting up eagerly. “Really?”

“No,” you huff, kicking him off of you with your foot. “But I might. I need to figure out my technique a little more.”

“I’ll train you.”

You roll your eyes and straddle him, pawing at the bulge straining against his pants. He looks at you, love-struck, face red as your other hand grabs his chin forcefully. 

“You still wanna fuck?” you ask, pulling off your soiled underwear. 

“Fucking obviously—” He gets cut off by you stuffing his mouth with your panties. His face flushes as red as a tomato when you unzip his pants and palm him.

“I’ll fuck you if you stop being so annoying. That means you stop pestering me. And you can train me on my terms. ”

Satoru nods slowly, eyes glazed over. You feel him throb against your hand and you smile. 

__

October, 2011

You find yourself alone in the apartment. Megumi and Tsumiki are at a sleepover, and Satoru is out on a mission. The silence is both a relief and oddly unsettling after days of constant company.

You decide to take advantage of the solitude, drawing a hot bath and sinking into the steaming water with a contented sigh. The scent of yuzu soap relaxes you. The tension in your muscles begins to melt away as you close your eyes, allowing your mind to wander.

Unbidden, thoughts of Satoru float to the surface. The sky-blue of his eyes, the curve of his smile, the way his muscles ripple beneath his shirt when he moves. You squeeze your eyes shut tighter, trying to banish the images, but they persist, growing more vivid with each passing moment.

You're so lost in your thoughts that you don't hear the front door open, or the soft footsteps approaching the bathroom. It's only when Satoru's voice cuts through the silence that you jolt back to awareness.

"Oh, sorry! I didn't realize you were in here."

Your eyes fly open to see Satoru standing in the doorway, his hair tousled from the wind and a faint flush on his cheeks. His gaze roams over you for a split second before he averts his eyes, but not before you catch the hungry look that flashes across his face.

"It's fine," you manage to say, your voice slightly strained. "I'll be out in a minute."

Satoru nods and retreats, closing the door behind him. You let out a shaky breath, your heart racing. The bathwater suddenly feels too hot, your skin flushed and tingling.

You step out of the tub and wrap yourself in a towel, acutely aware of how the soft fabric clings to your damp skin. Taking a deep breath, you open the door and step into the hallway.

Satoru is there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His eyes lock onto yours, and the intensity of his gaze sends a shiver down your spine.

"I thought you were on a mission," you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Finished early," he replies, his voice low and husky. "Wanted to come home."

The word 'home' hangs in the air between you, laden with unspoken meaning. You're hyper-aware of how close he is, the heat radiating from his body.

You run your tongue over your teeth, feeling small under his gaze. His blue eyes are unfaltering, boring into you so intensely that you feel branded. Head waterlogged from the weight of it. 

You know what he’s thinking – you can see the longing in his eyes. It seemed that Satoru decided to cut the bullshit for once, letting his desire flow freely. He doesn’t say a word about his desire, still, but you can tell he’s sick of flirting. Like the ice king he could be, he demands presence by simply looking at you.

It makes your stomach flip the way it used to. You always lie to yourself, convinced you can resist him after all these years. You’re both breathing a little too hard. You notice a maroon streak of blood underneath the loose collar of his shirt and inhale sharply.

“I made soba if you’re hungry.” Your voice is as thin as a willow. “It’s in the fridge.”

Satoru smiles. “Thanks.”

Your face is still warm from the bath, feverish from the hot water. He looks predatory and pleased, making you feel pent-up and fidgety. Touch-starved.

You nod curtly and slip past him, your damp skin brushing against the fabric of his shirt. The brief contact sends electricity crackling through your body, and you hurry to your room, closing the door behind you with a soft click.

Your heart pounds as you lean against the door, listening to Satoru's footsteps retreating down the hallway. You take a deep breath, willing your pulse to slow. With trembling hands, you dress in loose pajamas, the soft cotton a stark contrast to the lingering heat on your skin.

When you finally emerge from your room, you find Satoru in the kitchen, heating up the soba you prepared earlier. He's changed into a simple white t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair still slightly mussed. The domesticity of the scene strikes you, and for a moment, you allow yourself to imagine what it would be like if this were your everyday reality.

"Want some?" Satoru asks, gesturing to the steaming bowl in front of him.

You shake your head, moving to the refrigerator to pour yourself a glass of water. "I already ate."

As you reach for a glass, Satoru moves behind you to grab the soy sauce. His chest brushes against your back, and you freeze, hyper-aware of his proximity. He lingers for a moment longer than necessary before stepping away.

You retreat to the living room, curling up on the couch with a book you've been meaning to read. Satoru joins you a few minutes later, settling next to you. The silence between you is charged, filled with unspoken words and suppressed desires.

You try to focus on your book, but your eyes keep darting to Satoru. He's scrolling through his phone, the blue light casting shadows across his sharp features. Occasionally, his gaze flicks to you, and each time your eyes meet, the tension in the room ratchets up another notch.

"How was the mission?" you ask, desperate to break the silence.

Satoru shrugs, setting his phone aside. "Nothing too exciting. Just a low-level curse causing trouble in Shibuya."

You nod, trying to appear nonchalant as you take a sip of water. Your hand trembles slightly, and before you can react, the glass tips, sending a cascade of cool liquid splashing onto Satoru's lap.

"Shit," you exclaim, jumping to your feet. "I'm so sorry."

Satoru looks down at his soaked sweatpants, a mix of surprise and amusement crossing his face. 

"Well, that's one way to cool things down," he chuckles, standing up.

You rush to the kitchen, grabbing a dish towel, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. When you return, Satoru is still standing there, the wet fabric clinging to his thighs in a way that makes your mouth go dry.

"Here," you say, thrusting the towel at him.

He takes it, but instead of drying himself off, he catches your wrist, pulling you closer. "Why don't you help me?" he suggests, his voice low and teasing.

Your breath catches in your throat as you look up at him, torn between desire and the last shreds of your self-control. Slowly, almost against your will, you bring the towel to his thigh, dabbing at the wet spot.

The room feels electric, charged with the tension that's been building between you for days. You can feel the heat of his skin through the damp fabric, the firm muscle beneath your trembling hand. Satoru's breathing has quickened, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he watches you.

"I think you missed a spot," he murmurs, guiding your hand higher up his thigh.

You swallow hard, your fingers brushing dangerously close to the junction of his legs. The air between you feels thick, heavy with unspoken desire. You can smell his cologne, a heady mix of sandalwood and something uniquely Satoru that makes your head spin.

"Satoru," you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper. 

But even as the words leave your lips, you find yourself leaning closer, drawn in by the magnetic pull of his presence. Satoru's hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your lower lip.

"Tell me to stop," he says softly, his eyes searching yours.

You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out. Instead, you find yourself rising up on your tiptoes, closing the distance between you until your lips are mere inches apart. You can feel his breath on your skin, warm and inviting.

For a moment, you hover there, suspended in time. The world narrows down to just the two of you, everything else fading into the background. Your heart pounds in your chest, so loud you're sure Satoru must be able to hear it. You huff, turning your face away.

“Stop,” you mutter. Satoru’s face falls.

“Twigs.”

“Satoru .”

“What ?” he asks sharply. “I know we’ve been apart for this long but you’ve never stopped being mine. You realize that, don’t you?”

You clench your jaw, glaring at him. It excites him, undoubtedly. Satoru won’t admit it, but his desire is only ignited even more when you’re angry. He knows that you know this, too, but you won’t indulge him. You’re the picture of composure, but the facade is cracking very, very delicately.

“You’re still so entitled.”

Satoru sighs in frustration. “I don’t understand what you want from me. I could give you everything — I want to. Fuck, I will. But your insistence in keeping me at arm’s length is driving me insane.”

You raise a brow. “Begging for sex now, are you?”

“That’s not—” he flushes. You have a point, and there’s no use in denying it. He’d rather be humiliated and be thrown a bone. “So what if I am? Wouldn’t be the first time, would it?”

“Can you just— behave? I know what you’re doing. I know what you’ve been doing.”

“What have I been doing?”

“Seriously, Satoru? Walking around half-naked when it’s just the two of us, flaunting the kids around because you’re trying to awaken some maternal instinct in me or something? Are you trying to babytrap me?”

“I’m not! I just — fuck, I missed you. So much. Maybe I get a little desperate sometimes. I can’t help it.”

You sigh, scrubbing your hand over your face. “Eat your damn soba and behave. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“About what? Our sexual tension?” he teases.

You flick his forehead, huffing, before turning on the television to distract yourself. Thankfully, he only snorts and sets down his bowl of noodles to quickly change in the bedroom. He merges in a pair of athletic shorts and the mere sight of it makes your jaw tick.

He resumes eating next to you, eyes fixed on the television. He knowingly manspreads, thigh to thigh with you. The television flickers, casting a soft blue glow across the dimly lit living room. You try to focus on the drama unfolding on screen, but your attention keeps drifting to the man beside you.

Satoru sits with an air of casual indifference, one arm draped across the back of the couch, his fingers mere inches from your shoulder. His legs are spread wide, his muscular thigh pressed against yours, radiating heat through the thin fabric of your pajamas.

You shift slightly, attempting to put some distance between you, but the couch suddenly feels impossibly small. Satoru doesn't move, his eyes fixed on the television, but you can see the faintest hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. 

Asshole.

The air in the room feels thick, charged with an electricity that makes your skin tingle. Every breath he take is hypnotic in its rhythm. If you weren’t so attuned to it, you’d have the mind to control your own breathing, the persistent hummingbird pattern of your pulse.

On screen, the lead actress leans in for a passionate kiss with her love interest. You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. From the corner of your eye, you see Satoru's tongue dart out to wet his lips, and you grimace.

He stretches, his t-shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of toned abdomen. Your eyes are drawn to the trail of silverish hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his shorts. When you drag your gaze back up, you find Satoru watching you, his blue eyes dark.

"Everything okay?" he asks innocently.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Satoru's hand moves from the back of the couch to your shoulder, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your skin. The touch sends shivers down your spine, and you have to bite your lip to keep from leaning into his warmth.

"You seem tense," he murmurs, his fingers kneading gently at the knots in your muscles. "Want me to give you a massage?"

The offer is tempting, so tempting that for a moment you consider giving in. But you know where it would lead, and you're not ready to cross that line. Not yet.

You don’t respond, merely giving him an annoyed look that acts as a warning.

Satoru shrugs, his hand sliding away, leaving your skin burning in its wake. There’s a glint of mischief in his expression, the cock-sure boyishness of his younger self stewing under the surface. But he’s behaving. Technically.

"Suit yourself," he snickers, turning his attention back to the TV.

As the on-screen kiss intensifies, you feel your cheeks grow warm. The embrace seems to last for an eternity, the actors’ hands roaming each others’ bodies in an urgency that reminds you of the person next to you. Satoru notices the way you awkwardly shift and grins.

“Getting turned on by some softcore porn?” he whispers, his voice playful. “Or are you getting flashbacks?”

You shoot him a withering glare, but it only seems to encourage him. “Shut up, Satoru.”

The tender love scene gets even more intense, the sound of gasps and moans filling the space. 

“Don’t be so shy,” he snorts, reaching over to squeeze your knee. “Though I have to say, I’m a bit hurt. You never blushed like that for me.”

You open your mouth to give him a sharp retort, but the words die on your lips when you catch his dilated pupils and playful smirk.

“I— I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter.

“No? Should I refresh your memory and you can prove me wrong?”

You roll your eyes, ignoring him. His forwardness never ceases to surprise you, but your blood warms up from your frustration — with him, with the way you’re so close to giving in. You refuse to let him have power over you despite knowing he does and always has.

Satoru stretches an arm over the back of the couch again, his skin touching your hair. He leaves you be, for now, but the lazy smirk on his face lingers as if he’s won an unspoken battle.

You know better, though. You’ll give him what he wants if it’ll satiate him, but he won’t be the one winning.

“Hey, Satoru.” You scoot closer to him, your eyes dark in the bluish shadow of the television. “How have you been managing without me?”

He raises a brow. He doesn’t know what you mean — truthfully, he’d been a mess the entire time, but you already knew that, given his confessions months prior. But he’d been alright with the kids. Having you back just made him feel normal again.

“Uh, fine?” 

“Right,” you nod slowly. “You know, I ran into one of our classmates yesterday at the grocery store.”

“No kidding.”

“Mhm. Fukuda Masako. You remember her, right?”

He narrows his eyes. Yes, he remembered her. He’d fucked her a couple of times when he was sixteen, usually at his house, usually loud enough for you to hear on purpose. He doesn’t know why you’re bringing that up now .

“Sure.”

“She asked about you. Wondered if you were single.”

“What’d you say?” he asks carefully, jaw tightened.

“I said you were, of course. The great Satoru Gojo would never let a girlfriend hold him down, right?”

He gives you a sharp look. “What are you getting at?”

“Nothing,” you smile innocently. “I was just looking out for you. Tsumiki says you look lonely sometimes, you know?”

“I’d rather not waste my time with a non-sorcerer,” he scoffs.

"Why not? You used to all the time, even when we were underclassmen at Jujutsu Tech. You’d do it to get back at me and Suguru sometimes, right?”

He stares at you. The playful atmosphere from moments ago evaporates, replaced by a sudden tension that crackles in the air between you.

"That was a long time ago," he says, his voice low and controlled. "I was young and stupid."

You lean back, crossing your arms as you regard him coolly. "Were you? Or were you just being yourself?"

The words hang in the air, sharp and accusatory. Satoru's eyes flash with a mix of anger and hurt, his usual cocky demeanor faltering for a moment.

"What are you really trying to say?" he asks, turning to face you fully.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the conversation you've been avoiding for years. 

"I'm saying that you have a history, Satoru. A history of using people, of playing games. And I'm not sure that's changed."

Satoru runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in the tense set of his shoulders. 

"Is that what you think? That I haven't grown at all?"

"Have you?" you challenge, your voice rising slightly. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're still playing the same games. Flirting, teasing, trying to make me jealous. It's all so familiar."

The words tumble out, years of pent-up emotions finally finding their release. You remember the nights you spent lying awake, listening to the sounds of Satoru with other girls, the way he'd smirk at you the next day, daring you to say something. The constant push and pull, the mind games that left you dizzy and confused. The times he’d be overly possessive and jealous despite having his arm around other girls at parties while you’d find comfort in Suguru.

Satoru's face darkens, a storm brewing behind his eyes. 

"That's not fair," he says, his voice tight with suppressed emotion. "I've changed. I'm not that person anymore."

"Really?" you press, leaning forward. "Then why does it feel like you're still trying to manipulate me? The half-naked wandering, the constant flirting, using the kids to tug at my heartstrings. It's all calculated, isn't it?"

Satoru stands abruptly, pacing the length of the living room. The muscles in his back are taut beneath his thin t-shirt, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

"Is it so hard to believe that I genuinely care about you?" he asks, whirling to face you. "That maybe I've realized what I lost and I'm trying to make amends?"

“So you admit you’ve fucked up? Tell me what you’re making amends over!”

He opens his mouth, but you cut him off. “Do you know how embarrassing it was when I’d feel confused over you and I’d vent to Shoko and Utahime? What about years ago when you were sleeping with me exclusively and then pretended I didn’t even exist?”

“What? I’ve never—”

“You ignored me the entire time at Shoko’s nineteenth birthday party,” you snap.

He pauses and thinks back to how drunk you’d gotten. How he went ballistic on another boy for putting his hands on you, how you’d vomited in his bathroom. The guilt creeps back again like a parasite and his face crumples.

"I remember that night," he says softly, his voice muffled. "I remember every detail, every mistake I made."

You watch him, your anger tempered by the raw emotion in his voice. Satoru takes a deep breath, lifting his head to meet your gaze.

"I was terrified," he admits. "Terrified of how much I cared about you, of how much power you had over me. I'd never felt that way before, and it scared the shit out of me."

He leans back, his gaze fixed on some distant point as he continues. "That night at Shoko's party, I— I couldn't handle it. Being with you. I don’t know why I ignored you, why I was trying to pretend everything was more casual than it was. If I’d just— been there , then you wouldn't have—”

His voice tapers off into a choke. Satoru's confession hangs in the air between you, heavy with years of unspoken truths. You remember that night vividly – the sting of his indifference, the confusion and hurt that had driven you to drink more than you should have. The way you felt when someone else’s tongue was in your mouth.

“When I saw that creep put his hands on you," Satoru continues, his voice tight with remembered anger, "I lost it. I wanted to tear him apart. And then when you got sick, all I wanted to do was take care of you, protect you. But I didn't know how to do that without making myself vulnerable."

He clears his throat. “I know I apologized, then, but it wasn’t enough. Do you remember what you said before I apologized for not being there? You blamed yourself. You said, please don’t be angry with me. ”

Your shoulders slump. You don’t remember that moment, not clearly, at least. You only remember vomiting and crying before falling asleep in Satoru’s arms.

“And I kept being a fucking idiot over and over after that. Even when we were with Suguru, when everything felt good. I was in love with you and fucked you over so many times because I was stupid and jealous and didn’t know what to do with my feelings. And I’m so, so fucking sorry.”

He expects you to be on the brink of tears, but you let out a sigh of exhaustion. His heart beats frantically, half-expecting you to leave him right then and there. But you don’t. You stand there and you say nothing.

“There were so many times that your selflessness just — fucked me up. I knew I didn’t deserve you but I kept wanting you anyway, and you kept letting me in. It wasn’t fair. If I—” he pauses, inhaling sharply, “If I ever treat you like that again, I want you to knock the daylights out of me. No infinity, I swear.”

Your neutral expression cracks. You laugh.

You… laugh?

Your laughter catches Satoru off guard, his brow furrowing in confusion. But as the sound fills the room, you feel something inside you begin to unravel. Years of pent-up tension and hurt start to dissolve, replaced by a bittersweet catharsis.

“God, I put up with so much of your bullshit,” you exhale, your laughter subsiding. Satoru looks at you with caution as if you’re a wild animal. He can’t tell if you’re livid or not.

“Yeah, you did,” he says quietly. “And you shouldn’t have.”

“I guess that’s why I went to Kyoto.” You sink back to the couch, your expression calmer now. 

Satoru doesn’t know what to say. Neither do you. Silence ensues for an uncomfortable amount of time before you speak up again.

“You know,” you sigh. “I wasn’t… completely blameless in all of this either.”

Satoru’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “What do you mean?”

You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. "I... I played games too, Satoru. Maybe not as obviously as you did, but I wasn't always honest about my feelings."

You remember the nights you'd spent with Suguru, knowing full well that it would hurt Satoru. He wasn’t entitled to you, of course, but there were times you’d deliberately leave him out when you were pissed off with him. Times you'd deliberately ignore his texts or calls, relishing in the power it gave you.

"I was selfish, sometimes," you admit, your voice cracking slightly. "Especially with Suguru. I wanted both of you, in different ways, and I couldn't bring myself to choose. I mean, I know I didn’t have to choose – we loved each other, right?”

He nods, face flickering with emotions you can’t decipher. Neither of you had talked about Suguru in so long. It almost felt taboo.

“I didn’t know how to be in love with you both and healthily navigate it all. So I just... let things spiral out of control."

You pause, gathering your courage for your next words. "I knew how complicated things were between the three of us, but I kept playing both sides. I'd comfort him when you two fought, knowing it would drive a wedge between you. And when everything fell apart with Suguru, I... I blamed you. It was easier than admitting my own role in the mess we'd created."

Satoru listens intently, his eyes never leaving your face.

“It was immature of me to basically ghost you after I went back to Kyoto. I wanted space, but I just… cut you off instead of having a conversation with you.”

“I deserved it,” he mutters.

“Even if you did, there was no reason for me to isolate myself and not talk to you for six months. I wanted to be more independent but I just pushed away the person that loves me most. I’m sorry.”

Satoru reaches out, hesitantly taking your hand in his. His touch is warm, familiar, and you find yourself leaning into it despite your reservations. His thumb traces gentle circles on the back of your hand, his touch a soothing counterpoint to the tumultuous emotions swirling between you. The soft glow of the television casts dancing shadows across his face, highlighting the vulnerability in his eyes.

"I’ve missed you so much," he says softly. "But I think... I think maybe we needed that time apart to grow. To figure out who we are without each other."

You nod, a lump forming in your throat. "I think you're right. Being in Kyoto, as much as I hated it sometimes, it forced me to confront a lot of things about myself. About what I want, and who I want to be."

Satoru shifts closer, his knee brushing against yours. "And who is that? Who do you want to be?"

You take a deep breath, considering your words carefully. "Someone stronger. More independent. Someone who doesn't lose herself in other people's expectations or desires."

A small smile tugs at the corners of Satoru's mouth. "You've always been strong. But I understand what you mean. I think... I think I needed to learn how to be on my own too. To be responsible for someone other than myself."

His gaze drifts towards the hallway, where Megumi and Tsumiki's rooms lie silent and dark. "Taking care of the kids, it's changed me. Made me realize how selfish I've been in the past. I used to think I was invincible. That nothing could touch me, that I could do whatever I wanted without consequences. But seeing how vulnerable they are, how much they depend on me... it's terrifying. And humbling."

“I’ll admit you’ve… grown a lot since I’ve come back. You’re different.”

“Different?” Satoru chuckles softly. “You mean less of an asshole?”

You can't help but smile. "Well, yes. But also more... I don't know. Present? Like you're really here, not just putting on a show. You’re still a cocky little shit, though.”

“It’s the Gojo blood,” he deadpans. You exhale out a laugh.

A comfortable silence falls between you, filled with the quiet hum of the television and the distant sounds of the city outside. You find yourself leaning into Satoru's warmth, your head resting on his shoulder.

“So… what now?” you mumble. Satoru's arm wraps around you, pulling you closer.

"I don't know," he admits. "But I know I want you in my life. In whatever way you're comfortable with."

“Me too,” you nod.

Silence washes over the both of you again, though you have no qualms about it. You bask in his warmth and the beat of his heart. His hand rubs your thigh gently, tantalizingly. You glance at him, amused when he looks back at you innocently.

“We're still not having sex tonight,” you say matter-of-factly.

“Damn it.”

[al-the-remix]

TikTok Chef!Buck AU: several sentences sunday (or something like that)

I'm close to finishing the fic I've been working on so I finally felt like I could write a little something based off this headcannon without feeling too guilty about it, lol. 2k of mostly crack, please enjoy.

It all starts when Tommy’s stuck on his couch for a week with a sprained knee. He wishes he could claim it happened doing something heroic–or at the very least badass–but in truth it was the result of letting his ego get the best of him at the squat rack. 

Lucy stops by a few times to keep him company, which really means letting herself in unannounced with her spare key, eating all the leftovers in his fridge, and offering an unsolicited running critique of whatever show he’s watching. Today it was Below Deck reruns. 

“If I ever decide to take a vacation on a boat, tackle me, this shit does not look worth it.”

“You really don’t have to be here you know,” Tommy says, leaning over to grab some chips from the near-empty bag she was cradling before they were all gone. He’d been looking forward to eating those for dinner and feeling sorry for himself. 

Lucy just snorts. “Please, if I wasn’t here you’d already be up to something ill advised. I caught you looking up deck chair patterns earlier, power tools don’t go well with injuries, Tommy, even if it’s only carpentry.”

Well, she had him there. 

At least she had the decency to order them Chinese take out for dinner so he wouldn’t have to Instacart a can of soup or something equally pathetic. 

Before she left she made a grabby hand at him. “Give me your phone.”

“Why?” Tommy asks, already suspicious. 

She met his suspicion with boredom. “Don’t ask stupid questions, just do it.”

Rolling his eyes, he hands it over, giving into her whim, and maybe he should find it a little more unsettling that she already seems to know his password off by heart. 

She clicks around for long enough that Tommy starts getting nervous: what was the last text message he sent? Was it embarrassing? Were all his nudes still in that locked folder? Did she know the password for that too? Just when he was going to start asking questions she tosses his phone back. ���Here, this should keep you entertained for a while,” she explains as he scrambles to catch it. “My niece wastes hours of her life on this crap.”

“Such ringing endorsement,” Tomy grumbles, she’s downloaded some kind of video app onto his phone. TikTok. Perfect. He’d heard of that one, apparently it was single handedly ruining a whole generation’s attention span and the Chinese government was using it to spy on the inner lives of teenagers with stupid haircuts and a critical lack of social skills. 

“Are you sure you didn’t just give me some kind of virus?” Tommy asks, clicking around the home page arbitrarily, the UI didn’t make a lick of sense. 

“Har, har. You were always good at picking up new skills, I’m sure you’ll figure this out in no time. I have faith in you,” she says, clapping him hard enough on the shoulder to make him wince. 

He finds his profile page by total mistake. His username reads: benchedcockwrangler.

“How do I change this?” he asks, waving his phone at her as she makes for the door. 

“You don’t,” she says, without looking back. “Don’t stay up on that thing all night, it will ruin your sleep schedule!”

Tommy winces as the front door slams and sighs. He’ll figure out how to change it later. After all, beggars can’t be choosers and three days into his mandatory medical leave he’s already so bored he’s ready to stab his eyes out with hot pokers just to mix it up a bit. 

He scrolls through the app, and based on most of what he sees he finds himself unable to justify its existence in the first place. It feels like every video he watches drags him into a deeper alternate universe where everyone’s wholeheartedly competing for the top of the podium at the Darwin Awards. 

There’s a woman digging tunnels under her apartment that Tommy is positive are not up to code (that’s a call just waiting to happen); and two young ladies mixing cocktails of a concerning hue and variety at random local establishments (not necessarily anything that would warrant a trip to the ER but potentially a health code violation); and what seems like an ungodly number of men hosting podcasts (Tommy is pretty sure that even during his darkest days rotting in the closet he had a better batting average picking up women than any of these bozos.)

Tommy’s eyes start to glaze over as he scrolls past comedians, and political commentators, and people reviewing romance novels, and–how has it already been forty minutes?

He’s about ready to give up and throw his phone across the room and leave it there until Lucy shows up tomorrow and he can make her delete it off his phone, when catchy music, an arm roped with muscle, and a criminally tight shirt sleeve catches his attention. 

It’s some kind of cooking video and his first impression is: how is anyone supposed to understand what’s going on with edits that fast? His second impression is: hot man. Man hot.

Soon his brain is catching up with his eyes, kickstarting like a toddler being exposed to sugar for the first time. 

Cooking might be a generous description for what’s going on here. The man is obviously skilled, but the main focus of the video seems to be how hot he looks in an apron (very) and whether it’s possible to bring half a peach to completion by finger blasting the pit out of it (not like, whether or not you should pre-bake your tart crust to achieve an ideal texture). 

Tommy has to watch it twice just to fully absorb everything that’s going on. He’s making some kind of deconstructed peach crumble topped with an obscene amount of whipped cream and steak with fries that looks fancier than anything Tommy’s ever eaten at a restaurant. 

Half way through the video the man wipes down the worktop shirtless with a cloth sudsy enough to make Tommy’s mouth go instantly dry then suddenly wet enough he’s forced to swallow. 

He clicks through to ChefFirehose’s profile just to, you know, get a better sample size. Tommy’s not above letting himself be manipulated by a man with biceps like melons and a cute smile. 

His profile description reads: LA resident, self-taught, putting out fires and saving lives in my spare time. Just here to give the food the appreciation it deserves. Let me show off for you 😉.

Tommy thinks this guy must be new to town, because living nearly a decade even in a city as sprawling and overcrowded as LA, he doesn’t know how he could miss running into this guy on the job. There was no way he wouldn’t remember a guy this hot even through turnouts, a helmet, and smeared in a thick layer of soot.

He starts working his way back through ChefFirehose’s videos, and some are admittedly a little less chaotic than the rest, but all of them are just tongue-and-cheek enough that Tommy feels confident he’s just one in close to a million people in on a joke and not enabling someone’s very real personality disorder. 

He’s stuck somewhere between disbelief and admiration. He definitely wouldn't have the balls to post this on the internet for everyone to see and so obviously thirst over. He braves the comment section on a few of the videos and it’s just a litany of horned-up men and women trying their best to make ChefFirehose laugh, or get in his pants, or both. He replies to almost all of his comments with either a smirking emoji or acting deliberately oblivious when someone tries to bait him into giving up the bit. Tommy finds him funny and maybe a little more endearing than he should after ten videos. 

Tommy can’t really blame them for trying to shoot their shot so shamelessly. ChefFirehose’s wardrobe consists of polos plastered so tight to his skin that Tommy was mildly concerned about restricted blood circulation, dress shirts buttoned dangerously low, and slacks that wrap snugly around miles of long, toned leg. 

Those weren’t Tommy’s favorite looks though. No, every so often a video would start and he’s be dressed down in soft looking sweatpants, a baseball cap pushed on backwards plastering his auburn curls to his forehead, and a white tank top–or if Tommy was really lucky, no shirt at all (sometimes not even the apron which Tommy had mixed feelings about...), his muscled arms and shoulders on full display. He’s got tattoos decorating his forearms that Tommy can’t quite make out, a collection of fine lines on pale skin like thin ribbons of chocolate drizzled over a crape. 

Those videos are most often breakfast related and ChefFirehose is barefoot in his kitchen, the warm sunlight casting his face in gold. He paints such an enticing tableau it’s all too easy for Tommy’s brain to plop himself right down in that scene, imagination running wild. He can so easily picture what it would be like: in that kitchen, feeling the warm cast of sun on his face and getting to watch built, handsome man make him breakfast with that flirty confidence of his. 

Tommy bookmarks a video of him making an omelet, the way he handles the eggs making Tommy blush like he’s a schoolgirl and not a man pushing forty. He feels less guilty about getting hard over it on the sofa surrounded by takeout containers than he probably should.  

The screen goes suddenly black and Tommy’s faced with his own reflection in the finger smudged screen, chin rolls and all. Fuck. He reaches for his charger. God, his life was depressing at the moment, and apparently he really needs to get laid.

So yeah, by the time his two weeks of recovery are up he’s feeling a little stir crazy in an entirely different way than before. He’s never been more glad to get back to work, put some of this weirdness behind him and get some much needed distance from his phone.

That’s only part of the reason why he doesn’t even think twice when Howie calls him for a favor. A big favor. And that was only the first of many surprises the universe had in store for him, apparently.

Even fully clothed in his LFD uniform Tommy recognises him. Evan. Evan, Evan, Evan, (Tommy repeats over and over in his head until it drowns out every other name Tommy’s assigned him the past few weeks: slutty egg guy, ChefBigDick, totally off limits boyfriend material–just to name a few).

“So you’re the guy who’s gonna fly us into a hurricane.” Evan sounds a little breathless, like maybe he jogged all the way here, and Tommy chalks it up to the high that accompanies stealing government property. “Chim said you were the best pilot he knows and good in a pinch, but I still thought there was no way anyone that good would agree to something this crazy.”

Tommy’s definitely starting to feel a little crazy. Evan’s still shaking his hand. His grip is solid, his fingers long and nimble, surprisingly soft against this palm (he must really lather on the hand lotion) and Tommy can’t stop thinking about all the talented things he knows they can do. 

 “That’s me. Though I’m pretty sure I’m just the only pilot Howie knows who's in town at the moment.” 

“You look good to me–capable, I mean.” Evan gives him a solid smack on the shoulder with his free hand. His mouth does something funny like he's trying to hold back the sheer force of his excitement by his teeth. “Solid.”

His eyes are even bigger and brighter in person, smile softer, even taller than Tommy presumed. Howie’s giving them a weird look from over Evan’s shoulder. The other man with them, Eddie, isn’t paying them any attention, checking out the other helicopters parked on the apron instead, and Tommy forces himself to pull his hand out of Evan’s warm grip. 

Tommy clears his throat. “Good to know. I’ll show you guys the bird we’ll be taking. I've got her all gassed up and ready to go.”

He just met his (internet) celebrity crush and the man of his dreams, and now Tommy was going to get him killed in one of the most spectacular ways imaginable. It seems like they’re all headed for the Darwin Awards this time.

[ravenelyx]

I love you in every timeline - Chapter 1: My Love Is As a Fever, Longing Still

← Prologue

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Fem!Reader

Words: 14.9k

Chapter Warnings: angst, Harry Potter characters appearance, no name usage for reader (only a few blank spaces), use of 2nd person for the reader, Sebastian is confused and doesn't know how to handle his feelings, and he's also struggling with his personality, veeeeery slow burn

Summary: "He couldn't risk being emotionally stuck somewhere he didn't belong just because his heart was grieving and crying out for a memory of the girl it broke and pieced itself back together for. He couldn't do that to you. He couldn't do that to himself. He couldn't do that to her". In which Sebastian, in his search for a cure in the Dark Arts, finds himself 100 years into the future and meets his most trusted companion's descendant (who looks far too similar to the girl he was once secretly in love with).

A/N: this is long, and more is to come. It's gonna be a very slow burn apparently, but I hope you will like it. Finally Chapter 1 is here, it's been a while. Also, as much as I love fanon! Draco and Pansy, I decided to follow a more canonical approach here, sorry. Again, english is not myfirst language so I'm sorry if I made any mistakes. Never am I going to write about time travel again,my brain hurts.

I also made a playlist inspired by this because why not.

You can find the whole fanfiction here on ao3

"My love is as a fever, longing still For that which longer nurseth the disease, Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, Th’ uncertain sickly appetite to please." - William Shakespeare, Sonnet 147

You weren't her.

Then who the hell were you?

You briefly smiled at Sebastian and then turned back to the red-head, squinting. "Do you have the book or not?"

Ron gulped, avoiding your eyes. "It's probably in my dorm or something... I didn't have class, so I didn't take it with me."

"In your dorm, isn't that right?" Your eyes narrowed even more if that was even possible, and Sebastian was pretty sure you were about to hex him on the spot. Your leering didn't go unnoticed by either of the two Gryffindors and Hermione’s throat bobbed ever so slightly, eyes widening a little in alert.

"Well, as I said—"

"Here," interrupted Hermione suddenly, voice slightly squeaking. She looked into her bag and extracted her own copy of Winogrand's Wondrous Water Plants. "Use this in the meantime. I take notes on the book too, unlike Ronald here, so it should compensate."

You accepted the book, seemingly calming down a bit. “Thank you, Hermione,” you said, enunciating her name sarcastically as you shot the other boy a nasty look, and Sebastian couldn't help but feel a touch of schadenfreude as Ron hung his head low, cheeks as red as his hair.

“I said I'll give it back,” said Ron, scowling. “It’s not like you need it anyway. Sprout doesn’t even make us open books!”

You politely smiled at Hermione, your eye slightly twitching at his remark, before said smile turned into a sneer as you looked at Ron again. “Then what the hell is taking you so long?"

Hermione sighed softly, dejectedly, and Ron shrinked on himself, sending Sebastian an unconfident look. But that only seemed to propel you to continue.

"And most people do open books for Herbology, my dear Ron, but I don’t expect you to know that. You’re too busy trying to find ways to whine and beg others to help your lazy ass later when they have other, more important things to do.”

Sebastian saw it happen, in a gradual, torturous slowing of time. There was something about you, in the way your lip quirked up, in the way your brows furrowed, giving life to that crease. Something that you couldn't stop, washing over you like a tsunami, drowning any possible thought of rationality and empathy. Control, in that moment, was appearance and nothing more.

He felt, for a moment, afraid; chilling his veins until goosebumps raised on his skin: a thrill, as if she was there. As if he was watching her unleash that godly power in all her beauty.

You were still, hands clammy at your sides, as he could see you open and close them repeatedly, and you weren't gloating. It was different; like that thick, foggy feeling that floods your brain when your opponent misses a step whilst casting Protego, or opens their arm a bit too much, making it easy for a well-aimed Stunning Spell to pass through, and it makes your cheeks turn red and your chest flutter, and Sebastian saw that twinkle in your eyes as you ignored Hermione’s pleading look.

The same thrill that makes his heart tug when he inevitably, nimbly raises his wand back. When the spell goes right where he intended it to go, and the deaf sound of a wand hitting the floor fills his ears.

It was that innate human side that took pleasure in pain. That part that could turn from a lambent glow into a Fiendfyre if you're not careful. Or if you really put your mind to it.

But you weren't duelling.

Sebastian wasn’t sure what to make of the way with which you were slandering your — he supposed — friend. And in front of him, too. It made him slightly tremble, his lip slightly twitch. Part of him wondered if he was invisible, part of him felt a little too alert, part of him pitied the girl in front of him.

And while it seemed Ron and Hermione were just as shocked, they had a sort of weary gleam in their eyes. And any attempt at smoothing things over was futile. Hermione feebly tried to intervene. “Oh, we don’t need to go further—”

“You see Ronald, for a Prefect you should really put some thought into the impression you’re making on new students, not to mention the one you should give of our school—” you ignored her and sarcastically gestured towards Sebastian, who felt his breath hitch at the sudden spotlight put on him, “and yet, you’re always so comfortable acting like a dimwit . Pull yourself together and be responsible for once.”

Ron’s jaw fell open, completely at loss for words at your harsh words, and he shared a look with Hermione that Sebastian was able to understand completely.

What the hell just happened?

He couldn't agree more.

“I think you’re overreacting,” said Ron sternly.

“I think you’re disrespectful,” you replied just as eagerly.

“Alright, that’s enough!” said Hermione, putting herself between the two Gryffindors. “It so happens we have a guest here!”

Sebastian felt his heartbeat quicken ever-so-slightly as both you and Ron turned to him like you had just seen him for the first time. He shifted his weight uncomfortably; an attempt to get rid of that eerie shiver that ran down his spine as your incensed gaze fell on him.

That seemed to snap you out of it, and your cheeks flushed a bit in regret. “Fair enough...” you muttered, nodding at Sebastian. “Sorry.”

He nodded back, unsure about what to do as he shifted his eyes between you and Ron, letting them linger on your face each time he looked at you. Your nose had that same curve he always wished he could kiss, run his lips over with reverence… He shook the thought out of his head immediately.

“I should receive an apology as well,” muttered Ron, and Hermione nudged his arm as a warning not to add fuel to the fire.

"You have one day. Just one." You gave Ron an ultimatum, your tone sharp and, Sebastian thought, quite frightening. He hoped to never find himself in Ron's place. “And don’t expect me to help you ever again, I'm tired of it!”

You didn’t wait for an answer and began to walk away, only stopping briefly to look at the Slytherin boy. "I wish you the best of luck, especially if he— " you glanced at Ron again "—has to be the one guiding you through this maze they call a school."

Sebastian gasped and opened his mouth to reply, but his words seemed to be stuck somewhere between his throat and his tongue. He let his eyes fleet over your face again, heart beating out of his chest as he tried to make out your features, like in a dream.

"I hope we'll meet again soon enough." You forced a smile on your face that looked almost guilty and embarrassed, and with that, you were gone.

His eyes followed you until you turned a corner and vanished from his sight, thoughts racing at a hundred miles an hour — questions with no answers clouding his mind more and more each second. Who were you? Why did you look like her? And above all, why did you bear her family name?

Even after the theatricals that he had just witnessed, there was a certain hope in his heart: traitorous and wrong. A hope that she was really there, somewhere, waiting for him. A hope he immediately wanted to crush as soon as the image of your eyes and red robes flashed in the window of his vision again.

Sebastian Sallow was utterly, completely, absolutely losing his mind.

He was aware of the gravity of his situation — his body still spasmed uncomfortably every now and then as a result of having travelled through space and time — but, Sebastian realised, it felt more like a trance. A painfully aware and too tight reverie he couldn't find a way out of. After all, just the night before, Natty had asked him if he wanted to take part in Summoner's Court with her the next day, hadn't she?

And just a few hours after that, Sebastian had decided to try his last chance, opening the artefact that, he had believed, would bring him back to a time where her sister wasn't cursed — a time he could have avoided the disaster. And not just one at that.

He took a deep breath, willing the halls of Hogwarts to become brighter in his vision, more real. He was indeed in the future, he repeated himself, his ribcage evidently too small to contain the excruciating throbbing he felt in his chest. He had to accept that. He did. Probably.

“Bloody hell!” Sebastian heard Ron mutter as he also stared at the point from which you had just disappeared. “What was all that for?”

“Honestly, Ronald…” said Hermione curtly. “We’ll deal with this later.”

Still, Sebastian felt painfully calm at his situation: the sort of calm that he only experienced when he knew he was in trouble and couldn't do anything about it, or when he knew he was in trouble and had the solution for it lying in his hands, teeming down his throat like a treacly and old pint of Butterbeer, or a briquette of ice, whipsawed by the choice of safely travelling down his stomach and melt and leave him warm and satisfied or change direction and chill his lungs and cut his breath and bring him to a freeze.

What would Sebastian, a calm and collected person (and he believed he was, or tried, at least), do in a similar situation?

Two options came to his mind, clear and painfully bright.

To freak out completely until he was in shambles on the floor, addled and ready to break himself and cut the edges of his persona to fit into the new reality he now essentially belonged to, though he still didn't feel like it.

Or estrange himself from said reality, seeing it through lenses, analysing the world around him as if he weren't there until he found a way to go back, like a spectator, a reader. And he was indeed a reader.

In a way, the very core of one was tantamount to the other — both would completely destroy him. And Sebastian Sallow could not allow himself to be destroyed. Not like this.

But then there was another, the one Sebastian desperately willed himself to adopt, keeping his edges glued to himself and the lenses away from his perfectly working eyes.

The one he followed when everyone had lost hope for Anne.

And that was any option available, and every rational thought, even if the sound of them — or anything else, really — was still drowned by the loud pounding of his heart reverberating at the thought of the girl who just flipped his world upside down.

“What did you say her name was again?” Sebastian asked the two students, his eyes never leaving the corner you had just turned.

Ron and Hermione both looked at him with surprise; Ron opened his mouth with a scowl, as if about to make a snarky remark, but Hermione interrupted him, repeating your name calmly.

That was indeed the name.

And so he tried to be as rational as possible.

“Thank you,” said Sebastian quietly, lips parted, gaze musing. “I’d forgotten that just there.”

You were her descendant, a hundred years from his time.

Sebastian couldn't remember her having any siblings or cousins who bore her surname, but if you did, you had to have received it from a male member of her family, didn't you? She couldn't possibly have given you her name unless she married someone from her own bloodline, and Merlin, he hated that thought.

Or she had married someone else and decided to keep her own surname instead, and, once again, Sebastian knew — it wasn't his first thought, of course, but certainly one that plagued his mind — that he couldn't have been the one she had married, because if one thing was true about Sebastian Sallow, it was that he'd have burned down the world just to get her to take his last name.

His thoughts circled back to her family, but try as he might, he couldn't pinpoint any related members from whom you might descend. He was starting to feel dizzy and sure to be on the brink of collapsing under the amount of information he was trying to process, but then Ron and Hermione pulled him out of his trance by starting to explain the rules of the castle, the classes to attend and some basic information about the Professors.

"Defence Against the Dark Arts changes every year; they say there's a curse on the chair or something," explained Ron, having calmed down a bit, and half-smiled, "so you won't have to see toad-face for long."

"Toad-what?" asked Sebastian absent-mindedly, his head still teeming with disjointed thoughts and meandering ideas which, Sebastian was sure of it, would never find a proper abode.

"Our new Professor. You'll see what I mean when you meet her for the first time."

Sebastian nodded occasionally as he listened to them talk about the other Professors, such as Snape, the Potions teacher, and also the Head of the Slytherin House. Ron kept going on about how annoying he was, trying not to show how much he was afraid of him. "You don't have to worry, though: Slytherins get special treatment from him," he said jokingly.

Ron, Sebastian decided then, was a nice fellow. He found himself wondering why you had reproached him so harshly. He had half-a-mind to ask, then, about your behaviour — and why both the two Gryffindors seemed to be far less surprised about it than he expected. He decided against it.

"Wait, what do you mean, she won't let you use spells?" Sebastian frowned as they talked about 'toad-face', alias Dolores Umbridge.

"She's from the Ministry," explained Hermione. "After what happened last year, we're sure they're doing everything they can to keep the school under control and make sure no lies—" she stroked the word sarcastically, "—are spread among the students.

"I'll explain everything later. We should focus on more important things, like your academic persona and your education," she added, noticing his confused expression.

She was definitely Prefect and worthy of her role too, at least if you went by the typical clichés.

--

The hours passed, and there wasn't a minute when Sebastian didn't think of her.

And of you.

Because the more time he spent walking, the more his rationality seemed weak and pointless.

He thought he'd go mad, her memories spoiled by your oh-so-similar but equally different features. He saw your eyes looking at him back in the Scriptorium, as she was ready to take the Cruciatus Curse rather than cast it on him. He saw a Gryffindor sitting by him in Herbology, stealing not-so-subtle glances while tending to the mandrakes. He felt like his mind was splitting in half, frustrated and embittered and close to tears as you tainted his remembrances of her.

He needed to see you again, talk to you, ask about your life, your family, your past. He needed to know every thought behind your eyes, every subtle expression towards him that could mean you recognised him, that you were her, that you remembered him, remembered your time together, that you'd follow him in all his antics, in all his mistakes, in all his choices, that your actions meant more than your words.

That you loved him as he loved you — as he loved her.

Her.

Not you.

Because he didn't need to talk to you. Because indeed your recent actions spoke louder than words ever could.

Because no matter how much Sebastian fooled himself into thinking that he wasn't alone, stuck in a world that had gone on without him for a hundred years, that she returned his feelings the way he thought she did, that somehow you'd look at him and know that she was meant for him, that you were meant for him, you weren't her . You didn't know him. You could never know him as she did, and not because he wouldn't let you in — he'd run to you even now and lay his heart open if it meant finding a faint resemblance to what it used to be — but because he couldn't allow it. He couldn't risk being emotionally stuck somewhere he didn't belong just because his heart was grieving and crying out for a memory of the girl it broke and pieced itself back together for. He couldn't do that to you. He couldn't do that to himself. He couldn't do that to her.

At that moment, Sebastian made the decision to stay as far away from you as possible.

He snapped out of his thoughts as he reached the Great Hall. He hadn't noticed that it was already lunchtime.

"Do you think Dumbledore will make a speech to introduce him or not?" asked Ron, not caring that the Slytherin boy could hear him loud and clear.

"I don't think he'd just let it go, but I hope it won't be as big as last year's," noted Hermione.

"Those were two bloody new schools, Hermione. This one must be different."

He felt like a new Honeydukes product hitting the shelves for the first time.

It turned out the Headmaster hadn't made a speech to introduce him, and Sebastian almost would have preferred it if he had, because he felt like a circus monkey sitting at the Slytherin table with a hundred eyes staring at him like he'd just broken into their home and stole a particularly rare card from their Chocolate Frogs collection. He looked around at the other tables and saw heads turning away so quickly that he was sure he would be the culprit in a mass murder with a thousand broken necks. He sighed as a girl with dark hair and green eyes sitting opposite of him handed him mashed potatoes.

"Do you want to eat or not? No one poisoned your food just because they don't know you."

Sebastian glanced at her and accepted her plate, munching his food slowly as if he didn't quite believe her.

"I'm Pansy Parkinson."

"Sebastian Sallow."

"Sallow? Never heard of that name. What's your blood status?"

He almost choked on his food at her blunt question. What kind of uncivilised conversation was this? And the way she looked at him, waiting for his answer, he knew that that question alone could decide his entire future — hopefully a short one — in that House.

"I'm a pureblood like you, I suppose," he lied, lifting an eyebrow as he blankly stared at the girl.

"I see," said Pansy, narrowing her eyes as if not fully believing him. And Sebastian knew it was probably time for him to make up a story, a lie he could tell everyone in the indefinite amount of time he was to spend among them.

He had put a great deal of thought into what wanted to tell in the past hour — he could, after all, be anyone. Anyone he wanted.

He could change his past, he could avoid his mistakes, he could pretend to be a normal boy with a normal life. He could just be.

In the end, it didn't matter, because while other people might look at him and see only a picture-perfect new student with a thirst for knowledge, he would look at himself and see the boy who tortured his friend, the boy who murdered his uncle.

They might not know, but he would.

He kept the edges tight against his body, and decided to opt for a half lie that made it easier for him to play on and not forget any details.

He told her that he wasn't from the Highlands. He told her how his parents were Professors at another magical school but died prematurely, and left him to live with his uncle, a former Auror. And he told her about his timely death as well, omitting, of course, his involvement in it.

"When he died, too, I decided to move here," he concluded simply, hiding the tremble of his lips behind a glass of pumpkin juice.

Part of him expected sympathy from her, or at least a hint of hesitation; that look he had become so accustomed to whenever people came to know about his tragic tale or something along those lines.

Surprisingly — though, for some reason, Sebastian wasn’t surprised in the slightest — Pansy Parkinson didn't seem to care at all.

"Were your parents true purebloods or filthy blood traitors like the Weasleys?" she asked instead, clearly showing where her priorities lay, and it was enough for him to know that his earlier hope that there would be no more discrimination was merely a child's prayer.

"They have magic. That's the only thing you need to know." Sebastian cut short before focusing on his food. He noticed the familiar badge on her robes and silently thanked Dumbledore for assigning him to the Gryffindor Prefects instead. At least they never judged him, not even for dwelling with time and space like a bloody idiot — though he believed he had seen a gleam of reproach in Hermione's eyes as she'd uttered the word 'misadventure .

"All right, I believe you." She shrugged.

Sebastian wasn't convinced.

Pansy nudged a boy beside her, who looked at him with his piercing grey eyes. He was pale, with sleek blond hair so light it almost looked white, and also wore a badge. He reminded Sebastian of Ominis. That must be Malfoy.

"I'm Draco Malfoy," — it hadn't been so hard to guess, though now Sebastian thought he'd rather not meet him at all — "I saw you walking around today with that skint blood traitor and that mudblood Granger. You should have been assigned to us. It's not worth it to taint your blood status by associating with such filth," he spoke venomously, a mocking tone punctuating his sentences.

Skint blood traitor. Mudblood. He was exactly like those boors Sebastian so enjoyed thrashing in Crossed Wands when they had the guts to join. Perhaps he could do the same with him — blast him with Bombarda until his hair turned black (or he went bald; any of them would do).

Sebastian didn't know why he suddenly felt like defending the honour of two people he had met that same day, but he wished he could poison his food instead.

"Maybe next time you'll be considered fit for your assigned role. I suppose all that purity didn’t take you that far this time," he replied just as rudely.

Draco Malfoy made a weird face — a mix between stunned and angry and that half smirk that had begun to creep up his face as he had expected Sebastian to agree with him, and that had died on his lips but not yet fully, and the whole thing was so comical Sebastian had to hold back a snort. Because that was not (not in a million years, no matter how many artefacts he accidentally opened) going to happen, and when Draco Malfoy realised it, he seemed to have a hard time closing his mouth back to a dignified expression.

"I'd be careful if I were you, new student. I'm a Prefect!" he threatened, squinting his grey eyes and finally gaining enough control to curl his lip into a small smirk.

Spoiled bragger, Sebastian thought.

"And what exactly are you planning to do — take points away from your own House?" replied Sebastian, smirking back, enjoying how his face turned back to that ferret-like countenance.

"We share the same dormitory. Choose your words carefully." Draco Malfoy pursed his lips, his face becoming even paler. Sebastian wondered if he had even an ounce of blood in that body of his.

"We do indeed, so I suggest you sleep with one eye open," retorted Sebastian. Part of him knew that, logically, he should have been more mature about the situation.

But Merlin, he was starting to despise the brat.

(And the other part of him was still fantasising about that Bombarda-induced vengeance).

"You think you can scare me?"

Draco Malfoy snickered, and the line of Slytherins sitting on his side began staring at the two boys with piqued interest, wondering what all the fuss was about. It was quite unusual for two Slytherins to argue so openly, and even students from other Houses had begun to turn their heads towards their direction. Two big students beside Draco Malfoy snickered, too, as if on cue. Sebastian felt a wave of repugnance at how pathetic they looked.

"Definitely not, especially when you have your guard dogs next to you." Sebastian nodded at the two students mockingly. "Tell me, does your father pay them to be by your side? They can't be that stupid to volunteer to be in your presence."

The blond appeared to want to eat him alive, while the other two took a bit longer to fully understand his words before reproducing the same angry expression. Perhaps Sebastian understood your outburst: it was indeed gratifying to pour his disdain out. Though, unlike you, Sebastian didn't feel an ounce of regret. 

"All right, Draco, enough of this," interrupted Pansy with a sigh, before giving Sebastian a hateful look. "He's a blood traitor like Weasley, and he'd better take care of his priorities."

Sebastian ignored her, focusing back on his food and already dreading the idea of having to share his Common Room and dormitory with people like that. Maybe he could sleep in the Undercroft for the rest of the year. He wondered if that place still existed at all.

Strangely enough, the aftermath was quite unsatisfactory, and Sebastian felt his cheeks warm up as he realised he had indeed acted like an immature git, stepping down right at their level. He stared at his half-empty plate, abashed.

The time passing, then, felt particularly chilly under his skin.

After he felt content enough with his lunch, Sebastian stood up, ready to meet the two Gryffindors again. He faltered a little as he looked around their table, his chest squeezing as he caught a glimpse of you. And not just a glimpse.

He watched you as you engaged in a happy conversation with a red-haired girl next to you: she scarily resembled Ron, so he deduced that she must be his sister. The two Prefects sat opposite you, and on your other side was a boy with messy black hair and round glasses.

Sebastian noticed how you tried to avoid Ron's eyes, only glancing up at him through your lashes from time to time before looking back at the girl, and he wondered if you would even apologise or if you were waiting for the red-head to do so. How proud were you? How much did you care? To which length were you willing to go for the people you loved? Sebastian felt a compulsive need to know it all, a new wave of hunger right in the pit of his stomach, completely empty even after his heavy, albeit displeasing, lunch, and ready to be fed by what all he could find about you. He needed to know every last bit of information, if it was the last thing he did in that new world.

That eerie calm chilled his bones again, moderately assuaging his desire, like a glass of cold water before supper. Sebastian realised he was stuck, so he had no rush to do exactly that. He didn't need to be greedy, to devour — though the idea was tempting indeed — and to gobble up every bit of you yet. He could feast, he could savour, he could indulge in his sumptuous meal like he deserved. And then he would find his way back, satiated beyond belief.

Now that would take his edges off.

He shook his head, derailing that tingly feeling running down his lower stomach before it nestled, and averted his eyes, instead noticing that barely anyone had left the Great Hall, and he was the only Slytherin standing. He quickly walked out of the room and rested against a column, wondering if he should wait for Ron and Hermione to finish eating and meet him, or if he should just go alone.

--

Sebastian decided to walk to the Defence Against the Dark Arts tower, to the Undercroft, praying it would still be there, untouched by other students. When he arrived, he saw the familiar clock, and his heart swelled in fear and anticipation as he took out his wand and flourished it like he had done so many times he practically relied on muscle memory alone.

The clock hands started to turn, and he breathed a sigh of relief as a door opened to the familiar room that he considered an analogue to his house. He stepped in carefully and looked around. The furniture hadn’t moved an inch in a hundred years, still in the same position that Ominis knew by memory. He wondered about him: if he knew Sebastian would one day disappear forever only to remain stuck in the future, if he had waited for him in that same room hoping for him to come back, or if he was glad he was gone after all.

Sebastian wondered if he would ever return to his time: if Ominis and Anne had been waiting for him their entire lives, getting old without him, and if they had hoped that they would one day see him again, and then he had another terrifying thought: what if he went back yet it was too late?

What if all of his pals were much older than him once he did? What if, upon his return, he discovered Anne still suffering the effects of the curse, or worse yet, already deceased? What if Ominis had been made to return to his family, where he would have either changed into one of them or been tortured and murdered? What if she had found someone else to fall in love and share the rest of her life with, or what if the perilous journeys she was compelled to take killed her and he had not been there to save her?

"Scourgify!" he declared, pointing his wand at various objects around him to clean them, wishing he could reproduce the same effect on his mind.

Once he was done, he sat down, leaned against a column, and put his head in his hands, breathing deeply and feeling his eyes burn.

The calm had gone, replaced by pure, utter despair and panic. It had only been a few hours since he'd found himself there, confused and startled, and he knew it would be many more until he went back — if ever.

If ever.

The thought cut at his lungs like sharp glass, drawing quiet and wet sobs. He didn't know whether the artefact could ever be repaired at all. He didn't know whether he could control it enough to go back if it was repaired. For all he knew, he'd find himself in bloody Mesopotamia, if he was lucky enough to survive another travel. Or he'd get stuck between time and space, forever embedded in the threads between realities.

Based on those thoughts alone, Sebastian felt like he should be grateful to have found himself still in Hogwarts, as safe as he could be, but he wasn't.

He missed his routine, his life, his friends. He had disappointed Ominis, but he would give anything to hear his voice now, even if he yelled at him, to see Anne even if she did not want to see him, to read their old letters over and over again, to accompany her on whatever adventure she was setting out on. Heck , he wanted to hear Headmaster Black's voice scolding him for his horrible detention record, listen to Poppy ramble about her dear magical creatures, see Garreth blow up his potions, and even wanted to hear Imelda complain about Quidditch being cancelled. He missed it all.

He spent some time there alone — he did not know whether it was minutes or hours — weeping silently to himself. His wrists copiously moved to his eyes in a weak attempt to dry his tears, which kept falling nonetheless, undaunted, wetting his cardigan and shirt and skin.

Sebastian had always prided himself in his capacity to bottle up emotions, to avoid the crying and instead channelling those goopy feelings into something more useful, like studying or spellcasting. That had backfired, and Sebastian had to learn, awfully, that doing that didn't mean those emotions wouldn't force their way out in a way or another, and after what had happened in the Catacombs, where his feelings had exploded in the worst way imaginable, he had reluctantly decided that crying alone was the best way to let them flow naturally. With that and everything that had happened to him within a few weeks, not to mention the previous events, he felt overwhelmed.

He hated it.

After drying his tears as best he could, hoping that no one would notice his glistening eyes or swollen face, he decided to leave the Undercroft and find Ron and Hermione again; they were to give him his timetable, as he would join their class starting the next day. That was before he abandoned them.

He stepped out of the room and froze in his steps. You were sitting on the ground just outside, back against the wall, focused on your textbook. You looked up once you heard a noise, and saw a dishevelled and surprised Sebastian staring straight at you.

"Oh, well, hello again, new fifth-year!" You smiled politely.

He cursed under his breath, turning his face away slightly and rubbing the back of his hand under his nose again, in case any stray tears were still present.

"'Didn't know about another secret passage in the school," you continued, apparently ignoring his actions, before muttering to yourself, "It wasn't on the Map."

"Map?" he said in a rough, unfamiliar voice, surprising even himself.

You examined him, a quizzical expression on your face. "Have you been crying?" you asked bluntly, raising your eyebrows in surprise.

Great job, Sebastian. Perfect disguise.

He felt his cheeks warm up, and he turned away again. "No... not at all." He cleared his throat, trying to find a way to switch up the conversation when his eyes fell on your book. "What are you reading?"

You frowned slightly, obviously not believing him, but understanding that he wasn't willing to talk about it, and looked back at your book. "My Herbology book. Ron gave it back to me at lunch. Finally, I’d say."

Sebastian paused for a moment, unsure whether it was appropriate to ask about what happened in the corridor, but then he felt that ache again, right above his navel, and the words slipped from his mouth without restraint. "Did you two—"

"Don't." You interrupted him and averted your eyes, staring down at the cover musingly. "Don't bring it up again. That was already embarrassing as it was."

Sebastian stayed quiet, his eyes never leaving your form. He would very much have liked to just plunge into your brain at that moment and make himself at home there.

Perhaps he needed to add 'Learn Legilimency' to his to-do list.

"How so?" he asked at length, quite stupidly, he realised.

"I lost my temper," you said simply, and forced your eyes back towards him. Your next words seemed to eject out of your mouth painfully, like they were unfamiliar to you, and it took a while for you to utter them. You sighed, "I— I suppose… I owe you an apology."

An apology never felt so forced and so sincere at the same time. "Oh, you don't have to—"

"I do. It wasn't the best impression I made of myself." Your lips parted as you leaned your head back on the wall. "I suppose I have to apologise to Ron as well — properly, I mean."

Sebastian stayed quiet, observing you curiously. Why were you telling him all that? "I... suppose," he uttered, not knowing what else to say. That appeared to be enough for you because you didn't even seem to acknowledge his words.

"He was looking for you, you know? Hermione, too. They said they needed to give you your schedule."

"Ah, yes, they mentioned that before," said Sebastian, glad to change the topic. "I’ll meet them promptly then, I was—"

"—Too busy hiding in a place no one else knew about," you continued for him.

That made him still in his steps, a chill running down his spine. Your eyes met: his open wide, yours unwavering and daring him to contradict your statement.

Perhaps the previous topic was way better.

"I just..." Come on, Sebastian, think!

"I just stumbled upon it!"

Usually he was one to conjure lies out of thin air, but being around you made his brain seem to melt. Sebastian thought that it was because he didn't really want to lie to you, or perhaps it was because, with the way your eyes pierced him, he felt as if you already knew all his secrets, all his lies, and you certainly wouldn't be fooled, not even if he made up a whole story full of intricacies and chapters worth publishing.

He knew, however, that the answer was neither, and it lay deeper than anything he was willing to admit to himself so loudly that he had to face it.

"Right."

You closed your book and stood up, facing him. He couldn't read your expression properly, but he felt his body start to uncharacteristically shrivel at the intensity with which you stared him down. He was in Ron's place.

"Strange, isn’t it? how the new student suddenly stumbles upon a secret room on his first day — a room not even Fred and George know about."

You had spoken that last part quietly, as if only to yourself. In fact, Sebastian didn’t know who Fred and George were at all. And, frankly, he didn't want to. "What can I say? I’m full of surprises," he replied smoothly.

"Or full of lies." You hadn’t missed a beat.

It was frightening how easily you had switched back to the girl he had met in the corridor. And he pitied it. And he liked it. And perhaps he was a fool for liking it, and an even bigger fool for pitying it. "I didn’t know it was illegal to be in this room," he said, scowling.

"Illegal? Oh, not at all. But certainly unusual for someone who has supposedly never set foot in this school before."

You took a step towards him, and he had to fight the urge to take one back himself. There was something wrong in the air — something goopy and misty and heavy, penetrating his skin like Mallowsweet fumes, inebriating and dizzying and frighteningly close to losing control. He had only felt it once, in Hogsmeade nonetheless. Electric and impatient, but, now, shrouded. That day, it had been galvanising. Now it was almost shy — almost… veiled.

"Hermione told me that she barely only took you through the first two floors. You're not even supposed to know about the classroom's whereabouts, and yet you seem all too comfortable with your surroundings," you continued, unaware.

He felt his heartbeat accelerate. Why did you have to be so inquisitive? Was he supposed to tell you the truth now?

Dumbledore’s voice came back to his mind: "...unless it's absolutely necessary."

"I don’t know what you're talking about. It was an accident, as I said," replied Sebastian in a poor attempt to reason again, knowing full well you wouldn't believe him.

"Certainly a convenient one." He twitched involuntarily, like he had just got a shock. The corners of your lips lifted in a sneer. "You are an interesting case... Sebastian, was it?"

He nodded hesitantly and narrowed his eyes, baffled at your countenance and your confounding words. An interesting case?

You shuffled on your feet in a nimble movement and pressed your back against the wall again, leaning onto it. "Don’t forget to show me that room sometime, too."

"And why would I do that?" Sebastian was growing impatient at your behaviour, while some part of him was thrilled at your nonchalance. The more you bantered with him, teasing him like that, the more he felt his stomach flutter. He hated himself for it.

He felt a sudden urge to leave. To run to his Common Room, or back into the Great Hall, where the noise cramming his ears would be enough to shut down each and any possible much-too-loud beat of his heart, as if the mere sound of those tiny pulses would beguile him into wandering proscribed feelings. A deceit of his own body he wasn't willing to face, not even through his love of the forbidden. The hunger and ache had to stay just that: mere curiosity, more about her and her family than you.

But he stayed in the silence of the corridor, with a loud pounding noise in his ears.

"Because it would be a shame if other people in, let’s see, higher power were to know about it, too, wouldn’t it?" You moved a hand through your hair to push it back, clearing your vision, and Sebastian watched as your locks fell around your face, a twinge in his chest. "Although I do believe Professor Flitwick would love to have another room for his choir practice. Is there a good acoustic in it?" You peered over his shoulder and towards the now closed door with a playful smile, clearly only teasing him, but the way the light fell on the tresses framing your visage was a bit too familiar to him. His mind stalled for a moment, and he didn't want those beats to stop anymore.

"Why do you care about this room so much?" Sebastian shifted his weight, now taking a step forward as well, and your eyes flickered down when you perceived the movement. Your lip twitched a bit.

"Why do you?" You simply replied, shrugging. "A secret room is a secret room. Don't you want to be a proper new student and get in good with the Professors?"

Sebastian felt his stomach boil at your singsong tone. "That seems to be more of a Gryffindor trait."

"Is it? And how much does a supposed stranger know about our Houses?"

His breath hitched and his resolve crumbled immediately at your quick retort. Sebastian warmed all over and stilled in his steps, feeling a bit too heavy on his legs. The image of the girl who lost her temper in the corridor was the one he had expected to evoke, pity even, yet she was nowhere to be found as your half-lidded gaze stared at him impishly.

"Besides," you continued, clearly feeding off his reaction with increasing confidence. "You should really get to know your Slytherin peers a bit more. Hopefully you won't become like them, but alas if you do, you'll end up snitching on this place yourself."

The thrill gradually disappeared, replaced by unadulterated annoyance. He found himself lowering his head, and he glared down at you, heart pounding in his ears. Your eyes stayed unwavering in his, though Sebastian noticed your crossed arms tightening marginally around your chest. "You can only wish to be like us," he hissed.

As you lifted an eyebrow daringly, he stepped forward again, finally free of that marbly perception that had spread through his body at your mockery, and towered over you. You tilted your head up, eyes never leaving his, the red and gold making them stand out in a way that only sent a new wave of anger through Sebastian's bones.

You could only wish to be like her.

"My dream in life."

Your voice rustled softly against your teeth, stretching with the smirk you wore, daring him to retort again. Sebastian felt it spread before he could even process your words entirely, burning through his guts all the way up to his trembling hands. That hunger. Craving. Ache. And something else — something that made the corners of his mouth tingle and his head tilt forward slightly more. He inhaled deeply from his nose, breathing out gratingly, air straining against his throat.

"Shall I serve as your future proxy and tell the faculty about it now?" you continued, voice glottal and purring, faring on the satisfaction of his heavy breathing on your face. "Might save you time ahead."

A low chuckle left his lips. "Even if you told the faculty about it, I could always pretend you were the one who showed it to me and kept it a secret all this time. After all, I am the new student, aren’t I?"

He grinned to himself as your smile fell slightly, squinting as you looked at him, but it only lasted a moment before you spoke again.

"And why, pray tell, would anyone believe that I would fraternise with a Slytherin enough to show said person a secret room?" You leaned your head on the side, and Sebastian’s heart jumped again. "And why would I turn myself in, given I would have, supposedly, kept my room hidden for five years?"

"It's my room," replied Sebastian lowly, instinctually, voice slightly trembling, blood rising to his head. Despite the height difference, he was starting to feel smaller and smaller every time you spoke, crushing his resolve word by word. It made him shrivel. "I knew it before. You're not welcome in it, nor is it any of your business."

"You knew it before," you repeated blankly, like you didn't care. "So you’re admitting to having learnt about this place already?"

What?

A heartbeat, a glint in your irises, and Sebastian's heart dropped pathetically as he realised he had given you exactly what you had been searching for — what you had wanted him to admit all this time. He shifted his weight back, leaning away from you. "No, I never said—"

"—I believe the Professors know about your true history — especially Dumbledore, you can't trick that one — so I know they won’t be fooled," you continued undaunted to shut each and every one of his possible retorts. "Plus, even if you told them that lie after I snitched on this place, they’d still let it go and take control of this room — Filch in particular. I won’t get into trouble just for keeping an insignificant room secret, but you would lose your special place."

His mouth fell open, for once at a loss for words. He could only stay silent as you threatened to reveal his hidden spot with that undeterred ragging tone of yours. Sebastian would usually brush off any threat against him, especially if it involved getting the help of teachers of all people — he was known for breaking rules on any occasion — but he couldn't ignore your words. He knew you had no idea how much that room meant to him; would you have cared if he told you? Would you have taken your words back? Why would he care if you had? He had promised himself to stay away from you, and that was exactly what he was planning to do. This conversation had gone on for too long.

"Who—Who says it's my special place?" Sebastian tried to salvage it, although his disingenuous and trembling voice betrayed him almost immediately.

"You reek of dust and humidity," you said with a satisfied smile, as if insouciantly waiting to shake his hand after your checkmate. "As if you've spent a lot of time in there just now. Also, no student in Hogwarts with more than a pea for a brain would ever refuse the comfort of a secret room no one has discovered yet."

You had deduced it... by his smell?

Sebastian had still been processing when you gathered your things and looked back at him, breaking into a genuine smile. "You look like you’ve just seen a ghost, and mind you, there are a lot of them in this school, so you'd better get used to it."

The corner of his lips quirked up against his will, heart gradually slowing down again. "Well, you did just threaten me in a way."

You chuckled — an unfeigned, carefree chuckle with no malicious hint — and shrugged. "I was never going to snitch on you, that would have been incongruous. I just wanted to see how this would go."

"I don't follow," he said at length, tilting his head slightly and raising an eyebrow at that. "Were you just playing with me?"

Sebastian didn't know why he had asked. It had been quite clear since you started talking that you had only run rings around him like he was a bloody amateur. He chewed on the insides of his cheeks in chagrin. You averted your eyes with a smile still on your face, and Sebastian wasn't sure whether to feel impressed or annoyed.

"Call it an investigation." You raised your hands in surrender. "I’m no Sherlock Holmes, of course, but..."

"Sherlock who?"

"He... Never mind." You shook your head, and looked back at him for a moment, biting your lip as if facing a conundrum. You sighed. "The thing is, from your perspective my threat should've appeared empty, or unfounded, because, as you said, the Professors would have believed that I was the one who showed you the room, as a more experienced student."

Sebastian listened intently, growing more confused the more you spoke. "Wait, so—"

"So, if you had nothing to hide and had really just found out about the room, you would've been less... defensive ," you explained, and Sebastian found no contempt in your voice: it was neutral, a bit excited maybe, but not mocking — perhaps only a little condescending, he noted bitterly. "Or, more specifically, you would have been defensive about me being out of line rather than about the room itself — more annoyed , I believe, at the fact that I got all up in your personal business uninvited."

The way you spoke, with unalloyed certitude and indisputable pride — though with an almost riveting aspect in your self-assurance, if he dared to admit it — seemed almost preposterous to Sebastian.

"Also," you continued, "if you had really stumbled upon it so easily, you would've been more shocked about the fact that no one else in the school had, wouldn't you?"

That actually... Made sense.

“What if I were just a new student who had accidentally found a room,” began Sebastian hesitantly, although he couldn't stop himself from being rather dazzled — and envious. And definitely ill at ease at your aptitude at reading people — him specifically. “And had completely panicked when another more experienced student threatened to reveal me as if I had done something horribly wrong?”

You looked at him, eyes shifting between his right and left one in a sequence. “Yeah,” you finally countenanced with a blithe nod. “That would have been perfectly plausible, too.”

Sebastian’s face fell, exasperated beyond measure. He suddenly felt a wave of lassitude wash over him and let out a world-weary sigh that earned him a small smile from you.

"Just know that you don't know me as much as you think you do," he said at length.

“I don’t know you at all,” you confirmed with a bright smile. “But I definitely enjoyed this. "

You pointed between the two of you, and Sebastian faltered, following your hand with his eyes for a moment before his gaze fixed on you again. "What?"

"It's just… I didn't lose my temper this time, and... well — it was sort of... nice."

Nice. The word you had used was nice. Sebastian found it anything but that: it had been humiliating to say the least. But again, he was the loser.

"You didn't lose your temper alright," said Sebastian, looking away. "Though we may need to get even on that."

Your eyebrows lifted and you broke into a giggle. "Yeah, perhaps. Even if I'm sure I'm not as much of a smooth talker when you’re not in… well… emotional distress." 

To his own surprise, Sebastian smiled back, genuinely and widely and almost tenderly, letting his chest tingle freely and a little more than needed. "So you took advantage of me."

"That I did." You nodded at him. "It’s a pleasure doing business with you." And with that, you started to walk away, leaving him stunned but smiling in the middle of the corridor.

"Ah, before I go," you suddenly added, turning around and walking backwards, and his eyes shot to you once more; "last time I saw Ron and Hermione, they were near the Grand Staircase, on the second floor. If I meet them, I’ll send them to you."

You waved at him and turned around, walking down the stairs and disappearing from his sight.

[Read more]

Taglist:

@lovely-maryj @yuzuhasbae @mosf13 @rbfacee @prichuchan-blog @h0neeyy @lina-prongs @moonlightsolo @ninicol @gayandfairycore @nanako-sakura @epicy0n @shiro-from-cafeberry

(I'm having trouble tagging some of you, sorry :( )

[canonisdead]

This AU is a mix of writing and not writing

After an infection AU video I watched (non slendytubbies) I got inspired to make an AU where the infection doesn't turn anyone into mindless killers, instead it just does weirdass illness stuff.

As tradition, it gets to Tinky Winky first. He woke up with a bad fever and day by day his leg bones were deforming and refusing to be dog like. He can't stand on his feet anymore.

Everyone is scared and confused.

A week later and seems to be losing the ability to form words and is behaving oddly. While he has stopped crying about how it hurts, he's been sleeping on his stomach.

One morning they couldn't find him in the dome. They soon heard him come in, on fours as it seemed this was the only way he could walk, with a bloody dead rabbit in his jaws.

Dipsy had froze in horror.

Noo-Noo grimaces while the others watch the purple Teletubby eat the corpse as if there was nothing wrong.

It was only a theory, but whatever was wrong with Tinky Winky...

It was affecting his mind, acting similar to a dog. He had no idea how this is happening.

-

Shortly after the bunny incident, Dipsy woke up every night feeling like something was filling his lungs.

Hopefully he wouldn't be eating bunnies.

One day he didn't come out of his room. Laa-Laa went to go check on him and screamed at the sight water coming out of his mouth with his eyes rolled back.

No one needed to check for a pulse, he was obviously dead.

Laa-Laa was inconsolable, crying hysterically.

-

A few days later everyone was woken up by Laa-Laa's pained screaming. As if she was being butchered alive.

Announcer was horrified to see Laa-Laa's fur falling off and her skin seemingly melting.

He didn't know if it would work, but biting down through the pain of her overheated body, he got her body into cold water in the tub.

Noo-Noo was surprised and baffled to see that this actually stopped the melting. But her fur still continued to shed.

For days she had to be kept in cold water, Noo-Noo did not have the mental state to watch an 18 year old melt to the bone. He might actually vomit.

But despite their efforts, a week later they found her body half out of the tub.

Announcer barely could see through his tears when he had to bury Laa-Laa's corpse as well.

Tinky could only watch in confusion, unable to understand what was happening.

Po had been quiet as she watched these events unfold.

-

I didn't forget about you Po :)

One day fuzzy spider legs grow out of her TV screen and sides.

Po could not tell if she was scared or confused.

She was startled to find she had no control over these new limbs, it seems they have a mind of their own as they jump onto the wall and crawl to the ceiling.

Po could barely feel her arms and legs. Her Teletubby legs that now were useless. With her head upside down, she could only guess what her fate would be.

Unless if the new body parts decided to go back down, she'd probably die from her position.

Her purple eyes dart over to the shaky doorknob. Someone was struggling to get in, judging by the frustrated whines.

When it finally did open, she was surprised to see Tinky fall into the room. He crawls the rest of the way in and closed the door with his left leg.

He looks around before finally looking up with a frown.

"H...Hi Tinky, I'm j...just hanging out." Her voice was watery, more close to tears than she thought.

Tinky paws at the wall, trying to stand up. But obviously he couldn't. He whines in distress.

She isn't sure how Tinky knew something was wrong.

But at least she wasn't alone anymore.

"No...Not how I wanted to go out." Po doesn't even know how much Tinky could even understand.

She isn't sure how long she babbled whatever came to mind. Before everything started to become blurry and cold.

Something hits a spider leg and plummets to the ground.

But it must be too late since nothing clears up nor gets warm.

Unless if you count something large and warming curling around you.

The legs would try to get moving to the wall again, but Tinky would lowly growl and slam a paw on them.

By the time Announcer and Noo-Noo hear the noises clearly, they're just greeted by Po's corpse and Tinky ,viciously attacking the squirming spider limbs.

As if his new animal brain blamed the legs for his best friend's demise.

Tinky snarled and growled at Announcer when he tried to take the body and the two half bots don't know how to explain logic to an infected Teletubby.

Yes Guardian tried calling the Government but they ignored him and babygirl is honestly too scared to go outside like what he catches the weird illness :(

[confusedemiposts]

Hello! Love your blog's aesthetic, I'm new to Tumblr so I'm not sure if this message is sent through? Hehe if you don't mind can I request ranpo x reader headcanon/scenario where reader occasionally distance themselves from him because the more they like him, the more they're in denial. reader kept insisting they strictly adore ranpo as a friend but ranpo knew that wasn't the case.

I want something sweeter~

Summery: Reader being in denial about crushing on Ranpo

Tags: Fluff, gn reader, slightly oblivious reader, not proofread, bad grammar ,might be oc, use of nicknames (sweets, sugar)

Format: Headcannons/ scenario

Notes: I hope this is okay,I'm not used to writing Ranpo. Title is from Sweeter by Jess Penner

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡🍰<3୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

You loved being friends with Ranpo, after all who wouldn't?

He may have been difficult to understand at first but you quickly got along with his childish behaviour.

You would spend your time together eating snacks and playing video games when you could, always being amazed at his intelligence.

You found yourself feeling like a giddy child around him.

Heart racing when your fingers and any other body part brushed against each other, that was a normal feeling of course because of the sugar, duh!

He would know you liked him before you even did yourself

You who's mistaking your own innocent crush as just a really big affection for your friend.

I don't he'd bother with it till you figured it out yourself, after all you seem happy enough.

Unless he likes you too

He'd be more childish with you such as play fighting, sitting in your lap for no apparent reason or just holding your hand so neither of you get 'lost'.

He keeps his hand on you for much longer than needed, which he knows you unconsciously love.

Your hand always tingling after

You love when he's says he's feeling tired and dosent want to move at all even though he wants to eat his snacks, so what better is it than to feed him yourself he suggests.

You don't really protest, it's an excuse to be even closer to him

Bringing the sweets to his mouth that he has wide open, warm breath on your hand

You drop the jellybeans into his mouth and watch him eat

Your face unconsciously flushes

You wonder if he's lips would taste as sweet as what he eats-

Oh what was that thought just there?

Wow what a silly thought to be thinking about your really good friend like that

You ignore the thought at first but then even more similar one started appearing

The feeling of his soft hand in yours and wondering how they'd feel holding your face

You wouldn't dare go to a doctor because deep down you already know what's happening

The sight of his pout and lip jutting out, how you just want to kiss it off him-

Nonono those aren't supposed to be thoughts you should have about your friend!

But you can't help but feel those butterflies in your stomach

Suddenly growing nervous as he holds your hand

You 'mistake' these emotions as feeling sick

By "mistake" I mean trying to gaslight yourself into thinking that you are not in love with your best friend

It fails miserably as just the sight of him makes you heart beat 10x faster

You decide to stay home to get better from this 'illness'

You don't really get time to distance yourself because Ranpo will just confront you

He doesn't like letting unnecessary problems fester if he knows it's happening

Especially as something that he considers as small as a silly crush

He's very direct

It's been one week since you've started avoiding Ranpo, your hoping to recover from this 'illness' but your every single thought is about him and it makes you insides all warm and fuzzy, your face is always flushing and your palms feel sweaty, it must be a fever!

You'd be stupid to think he doesn't know that you've been ignoring him but what hopefully he doesn't know won't hurt him your lying to yourself . You know very well that he knows with that stare he gave you when you finally realised you liked him more than a friend.

Your face is flushing even at the memory when you realised your feelings weren't as platonic as you thought they were. You inwardly cringe when you remember you just ran out of his dorm while in the middle of a game, freaking out when he opened his eyes when you finally realised, and you finally knew he knew all along.

You cover yourself in your blanket as if to hide your embarrassment from the world. It's not that your ashamed to like Ranpo as more than a friend, it's just someone as cool as couldn't possibly return your feelings.

Your self pity is disturbed when you hear a knock at your door, standing up and heading to the door you didn't think much until you nearly slammed the door shut in suprise when you opened it.

Ranpo is standing there with a lollipop in his mouth and he leans over the door before you could close it, a cheshire cat grin on his face. "Heya sweets, what have you been up to?"

Your flustered and suprised and you couldn't do anything to hide it, you want to close the door but you can't, his arm is leaning on the door frame and you don't want to hurt him. His grin never falters as if he knows what your thinking, there's a light blush on his face.

"Ranpo what are you doing here?" You try to keep cool but your face is heating up as you watch the lollipop in his mouth. He leans forward teasingly, taking out the candy that was just in his mouth.

"You should know that sugar" You can't keep your embarrassment hidden as you blush at the nickname, how red could you get? "I mean, after all, why wouldn't I be here? You have a crush on me, meaning your someone someone who noticed my amazingness, and I love people who see that!"

"Wait, what—no, no, that's not—Are you actually—no, wait." He sighs as you attempt to convey that you don't have romantic feelings for him which definitely is not the case.

"Y/n. I like you too"

Your brain practically breaks at the words. You babble random things like "no that can't be- that isn't-"

He pouts, growing impatient with your failure of self sabotage and cuts you off by leaning in and kissing you on the mouth.Face instantly flushing,the contact only lasts a second but it feels like bliss. When the kiss breaks you unconsciously lick your lips, tasting the sticky strawberry flavour of the lollipop.

He exaggerates his reaction with a loud "haah! That was brilliant"

Your speechless and staring at him with your mouth agape, his eyes open and your face flushed, he has a smug expression from seeing your reaction.

"See! I am telling the truth! Now let's do that again"

I feel like I didn't do this justice and might rewrite it again 😞 (I lost my original draft so sorry if this seems lazy)

[monsterblogging]

There's definitely a compelling story happening in Attack of the Clones. Anakin scans as a young man who has reached the absolute end of his rope from years of people telling him to practice spiritual bypassing instead of giving him true emotional and psychological support. It's very telling that the minute he's alone with Padme, he starts dumping his grievances with Obi-Wan on her. It's not really surprising that he falls for her so fast and secretly marries her; he is just that starved for human connection.

We can also see that Anakin has internalized a kind of toxic perfectionism. After Anakin kills the Tuskens in a rage, Padme tells him "To be angry is to be human," Anakin responds with "I'm a Jedi. I know I'm better than this."

Better than feeling angry.

And then he internalizes the guilt for Shmi's death, because somehow, Anakin has come to learn that it's all his fault, always.

The moment that broke my heart the most - the moment that made me cry - was when Padme agreed to go to Tatooine with him and he apologized. Imagine how traumatized you have to be to feel like you need to apologize when someone acts supportive when you want to go and rescue your mother.

This is also very interesting to me because there's something incredibly honest happening here: the way Anakin behaves really is what happens when someone internalizes the kind of stuff Obi-Wan and Yoda were teaching Luke in the OT. While watching the OT I was kinda horrified at how bad their teachings often were. ("Do or do not, there is no try" is the kind of thing that will absolutely fuck you up.) Anakin as depicted in this movie is basically just what happens when you bring a kid up on this stuff. (This isn't something that will only just fuck you up if you're mentally ill or traumatized, either; if you're mentally healthy, it will sooner or later traumatize you and make you mentally ill.)

Lucas is also pretty decent at pulling together political plots. I know a lot of people didn't the prequel trilogy's more political angle back in the day, but like... honestly, if we're going to let the man do anything, this is what we should let him do. Oh, and Jedi detective stories; pretty much everything that was Obi-Wan tracking down Kamino was good.

Unfortunately the movie has its problems; the whole thing of the Tuskens kidnapping Shmi is rooted in IRL anti-Native racism. The dialog and direction also could have been better in places (same problem as TPM where a good part of the dialog sounds unnatural).

I also think Padme's writing could have used help, too. Just as ESB never really made me understand why Leia wanted to smonch Han, AotC never really made me understand why Padme wanted Anakin so bad. Both stories feel to me like they're written from the assumption that women will just fall in love with conventionally attractive men in their vicinity.

And then there's that thing where Lucas seems to think battle scenes need comic relief, and... I dunno, maybe there's some people who like it, but I find it incredibly jarring to have this crucial fight scene interrupted by slapstick jokes. Jedi are getting killed, and C-3PO is complaining "this is such a drag!" while his head is literally getting dragged across the ground.

Finally, I actually think moving to CG was a reasonable choice for the prequel trilogy. No, the CG aliens don't look "realistic," but neither do the puppets and the animatronics in the OT, and it's evident that CG allowed for a much greater range of motion in nonhuman characters. I think both methods have advantages and disadvantages, and for what the PT wanted to do? I think CG was the right choice. IMO, the only place it really looks bad is where Lucas decided to insert a bunch of CG into the OT, because the looks don't match, and each one ultimately makes the flaws of the other stand out more.

[kairiscorner]

Feeling for some hurt/comfort or bittersweet ending with Spidernoir x Reader , married life AU. They both have a daughter, but Noir is left to take care of her himself because the reader dies pretty early either due to an accident or illness (You decide, their cruel faith is in your hands HAHA).

so Noir tries his best to stay strong for his daughter, but inside he’s a grieving mess especially when his daughter isn’t watching. SOBS 💔

RGHHHHH YOU GOT ME THINKING OF DEAR THEODOSIA FUCKKKKKK SURE I'LL WRITE IT I LOVE PAIN AND I LOVE YOU PLATONICALLY ANON 💖💖💖imma say this was noir's other canon event in a different version of the domestic family au, this isn't gonna happen to our main domestic noir though, i can't live with myself if i give him and his family this ending AAAAAAAA @thecoolerdor will rip me apart if i do that :> SO ANYWAY, I HOPE Y'ALL LIKE THIS

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

like a flame that flickers out to soon... – domestic!spider noir angst

as every day passes, he feels even more scared, he feels even more incomplete. he can never forget the way you feebly held his hand as he gripped yours tightly, wetting your sheets with his tears as your daughter kept singing to you that lullaby you kept crooning to her when she was born. you weakly tried to sing along, correcting her every time she sang a misheard lyric, but coughing that correction out instead. you were growing weaker and weaker the longer your illness took hold of you, you couldn't hang on any longer, and neither could he.

"peter..." you muttered his name, which he immediately perked up at and tended to your call. "yes, love?" he asked you with a soft voice as you gently caressed his cheek and tried bringing the corners of your lips up to crack a smile, even if it hurt. "i love you both... so, so much..." you wheezed out as your breathing became even more labored. peter placed his hand over yours and tried smiling in spite of the tears streaking down his face, in spite of the horrible fate that awaited you, in spite of the promise that tomorrow might not come for you. "we love you, too, dearest..." he muttered as your daughter held your other hand and smiled. "i love you both so, so, so, so, so, so, so much!" she beamed as you both chuckled at her loving demeanor.

"she has your eyes..." you said as you looked at the two of them, turning your head around to look at the two of them, who were both by your sides. peter leaned over to you and kissed your temple, feeling your body getting colder and colder as your movements became gradual and laborious. "and she has... your grit..." he murmured as you glanced at the two of them and sighed, content with how your life had been so far, even during these silent, final moments of your life. you shook your head while a faint smile remained on your face. "i'm so glad... that i married you, peter..." you whispered as your daughter copied her father and kissed your cheek. "and i'm so happy... we had her..." you uttered as a couple of tears streamed down both your cheeks.

"it's enough... for this dying lover... and parent... to this beautiful, beautiful... family..."

and those were the final words you uttered. your breathing was too hard to maintain, and the heat of your body escaped you as you struggled to even blink, to even stay awake. it had happened, your life was extinguished from the world like a candle's flame that went out too soon.

peter couldn't feel his hands, he could only hear a sharp ringing sensation in his ears as he watched your peacefully sleeping body that was confined to an infinite slumber. he couldn't even make out your daughter's voice, trying to wake you up to play princesses and tea time with her. she was so young, she has no idea what kind of nap time you were having...

"honey..." peter uttered as he hunched over and covered his eyes, gripping at the sides of your bed as the ringing in his ears got even louder. your daughter looked over at peter and asked her, "daddy, why are you sad? they're only sleeping, lookie! they always get like that when sleepy, i hope they wake up later, i wanted to show them my new dolls!" "they're... they're..." peter stammered as he tried his hardest to keep his tears in and to get up, to face your fresh corpse and admit the facts straight up: his lover was gone, the parent of his child is dead.

he stumbled as he got up, but walked over to your daughter weakly as she kept talking to your lifeless body. he murmured to your daughter that the doctors will need to see you, and that they shouldn't be there for a little while. "bye-bye!" you daughter bid you a goodbye as peter whimpered softly to himself, trying to keep the tears and sobs in as all that was repeated in his mind was, 'they're gone'.

as the two of them waited outside your hospital room, your daughter's attention was captured by the little playpen the hospital had. peter tried to smile as his daughter begged to be taken there, and he obliged; he brought your daughter there, where she played with the new doll he bought her and had a little tea party with them. he sighed to himself as he walked off to your hospital room and watched as the doctors were about to move your dead body from here to the morgue. the doctors opened the door of your hospital room and rolled your carcass out. peter watched you get carried away on that stretcher, have your file removed from that bed as the nurses and doctors nodded and pat his shoulder and back with condolences and pity in their words and tone.

and it was here that his entire facade crumbled.

his knees buckled and he lost his balance, his eyes teared up relentlessly with tears, his face was red and flushed with sadness and grief that nobody could ever emulate nor understand. he sobbed and cried as he kept thinking, 'why did the universe have to steal from me again?' he whimpered and cried, slamming his clenched up fists into the ground as he screamed, screamed his grief and mourning out. he could never act like this around her, though... and he had to be there for her, all on his own. he breathed heavily and wiped the tears from his eyes as he adjusted his tear-stained glasses back on his face as he heard your daughter call for him.

he cleared his throat and tried to compose himself before coming over to tend to your daughter. "yes, sweetheart...?" he called back out to her as he got on his feet very unsteadily and trudged ahead to take care of your daughter. it would be just the two of them now... he fears he can never get used to it, but he has to at least be strong, be fortified, be unbothered... for her.

tags !! @thecoolerdor @miguelswifey04 @sabcandoit @binibinileonara @k4tsu3 @fiannee @luvstarrstruck @maxoloqy @arachnoia @thee-fantastic-mrfox @ophanimgold

[andorerso]

💧 ☔️ for the wip game <3

💧Share something romantic/hot from your WIP, or just something sweet if it's gen.

god knows if I'll ever finish it but this is from the next chapter of the dildo fic

Cassian pulls her on top of him, carding his fingers through her hair, thumb rubbing her cheek. "I love you." Her heart flutters embarrassingly, a grin pulling at her lips. "It was that good?" But her attempts at humor are futile when he simply gazes at her with an expression so gentle, she nearly dissolves into a puddle in his arms. "No, I just wanted to say it." "No, it was not that good?" He groans, and she lets a small, uncharacteristically giddy laugh.

☔Is there a fic concept you have that you'd like to just explain and share because you're not sure you'll ever write it? If so, what is it?

omg too many 😭 I'm gonna go with my old vampire AU because I feel like Blood Red Rose will probably be my only vampire AU for them, but it actually wasn't the original one I outlined.

so in this one, Jyn and Cassian are married in the 1800s and they're happy and in love and everything's good until Jyn gets sick. she tries to hide it from Cassian but she knows she's dying and doesn't want to put him through having to watch her waste away (something about him watching his mother and sister die the same way) so one morning she packs her things while he's sleeping and leaves. she has another reason for this, namely the distant possibility that she may be able to save herself, but to do that, she'll have to make a deal with the devil. smg smg old childhood memories of Galen and Krennic working together on a so-called medicine that could cure any illness.

of course she's wary but she's desperate so she seeks out Krennic who ends up giving her the medicine - vampirism. but because Krennic is a petty bitch who still resents Galen, he doesn't just let Jyn go of course. he decides to take revenge by locking her up in a crypt, now a vampire and immortal, but doomed to be locked away for the rest of her life.

anyway, flash forward to 2016, while the local mayor's office is doing some renovations on the old church building, they end up discovering Jyn and freeing her. she has a lot of adjustments to get used to, how much the world has changed, everything she missed out on, her own vampirism that she never fully got to experience yet, the fact that everyone she ever knew is dead... yeah, girl's not having a good time. ofc she thinks Cassian is dead too, and what's worse, he probably died hating her for leaving him like that...

anyway blablabla, shit happens, Jyn decides to seek out Krennic and take revenge, but in the process, she realizes that - plot twist - Cassian is not dead! he's also been turned into a vampire. who would have thought?

that's all I really have lmao. I mostly liked it for combining my favorite tropes, exes, thinking the other is dead, vampires, etc... but despite writing a little bit of it, it just wasn't working, so I abandoned it in the end

[itsbebebe]

So I got bored and decided to binge rewatch some deltarune theory videos and now I'm writing this i guess. I dont hang out too much in the deltarune tumblr tags so idk how much of this is spewing well agreed ideas already but...

Its interesting to me how susie and noelle have this sort of order v chaos thing in terms of their narrative roles. (This is looking like a long post so ill be kind and add a cut here)

Susie is like the character that drills the "your choices dont matter" concept into you (the player - if im referring to kris in this post ill use their name). Not only is she the first to say it but the main times where you make a choice and it doesnt matter are because theyre stopped by susie. Iirc, the only power you have over susie in her segments in both chapters are in puzzle solving (something that actively aids her in her goal). During both the lancer battle and the ferris wheel scene you cannot change what happens. You just have to sit there and watch. Not only that, but susie also can straight up override your decisions in moments like when you try and decide who to go with at the crossroads in chapter 2. You also cannot stop Susie fighting at the start of chapter 1. Some of the few choices that you do make (how you design the thrash machine in chapter 1, speaking to onion san in chapter 1 in hometown) are specifically done when susie isnt around to stop you.

Susie, intentionally or not, forces some order upon the story. She helps force the beads down their designated path, or whatever that metaphor in the hospital is.

However, in chapter 2, susie, by her own choice, leaves for a while and its our new party member who allows us to make a big choice that will matter. Snowgrave. Ive seen people point out before that the snowgrave route really parallels noelles history with game bugs (shown mainly through the sweepstakes blog posts) as the route feels like a game break. In fact it is a game break, considering you are supposed to not have any meaningful choices and do the normal route. It sort of makes it seem like Noelle herself facillitated the route. Not only that, but Noelle (likely due to insecurities in her relationship with Kris) lets you make a lot of choices when you are with her. (I think it could even been argued noelles presence allows you to override susies tendency to stop you making choices in the cutscene at the start of chapter 2).

So Noelle allows you to make the choices, allows the chaos. Susie keeps you on a set road, enforces the order.

This is a fun frame on their relationship. If you told me there was 2 characters, one of which was a girl who was a known rulebreaker and bully and the others was a girl who was top of her class and the mayors daughter, and asked me to tell you which one was chaos and which one was order, i would get it wrong! (It also seems like a good framework to throw some tragedy upon their relationship but lets not think about that rn)

But now if you are anything like me you will be thinking "where do ralsei and kris (as our other 2 established main characters) fall onto this chaos v order paradigm we have established?"

Lets start with kris, as their position feels more quantifiable. Kris does what you tell them. By our established parameters that should make them more chaos leaning. However, Kris will actively stop you from affecting how each chapter ends. This suggests that they want some sort of order, or control over you but will allow you most of the time to make decisions, and allow chaos.

This suggests Kris is order leaning but chaos permitting.

Ralsei, meanwhile, i dont think sits on the paradigm as we have established it. He wants the prophecy to be fulfilled but he wants us to make changes that lead there. He gets upset when Kris is unable to make choices but firmly believes we must fulfill the prophecy. What ralsei does and doesnt know about Kris or us is vague and unknown, and therefore by extension how he feels about Kris and us is vague and unknown.

So is he more order - forcing us to do specific things and stopping us from having meaningful choices in the story? Not really... But then is he more chaos - allowing us to make big changes? In a sort of apathetic, not really bothered way maybe. All in all, i think Ralsei falls outside of the scale, as he has a very unique relationship with us and Kris.

Generally, choices and chaos and order are all very big themes in deltarune. So i think its interesting to link the two together like this.

[charred-angel-ribs]

I'm nearing the end of my third (3rd) full watch through of Hannibal, and I love the show so dearly. I love going on about the writing and symbolism and the acting and every little bit that makes it so good as a show.

But I feel like it's only fair to talk about the flaws as well, so, I gotta say it: I don't like Molly's character.

I think she could have been a good character, but for some reason she just doesn't feel well written. Her character feels very shallow (not like a shallow personality, but shallow as in not developed). Like a filler character for the sake of pushing a narrative, rather than an actual person involved in the story.

We don't really get to know much about Molly, but from what we do see of her, she comes across as an NPC almost. As if she's saying what she does just for the sake of it.

She gets Will to go back to working with Jack, which implies she either is completely unaware of how bad things were and what happened, or that she knows but doesn't care/understand properly. Now, either of these are viable options for a character, but the way it's done just seems to lack any sort of reasoning or feeling.

When she talks about it, both with Jack and Will, her dialogue feels like it's written just for the sake of pushing a narrative. It doesn't feel like there's any sort of drive or emotion behind what she's saying. She objects a little with "You're gonna take him either way" to Jack, but the way it's done just sounds like she's saying it for the sake of "Oh but I didn't want him to, I tried to convince Jack otherwise".

It doesn't feel reasonable for her character. From what we see, Molly and Will seem to have a healthy relationship, and they do seem to actually care about eachother (though even that isn't written very well), so it doesn't make sense that she wouldn't care - in fact, I would argue she would care a lot. But she doesn't seem to?

Not just with Will going back, but about the consequences too. After Molly and Walter's incident with Dolarhyde, it shows Molly in a hospital bed talking to Will. She barely seems phased by it. The most emotion we see her express over the matter is "My son almost died. I almost died." said very calmly, then proceeded by a sigh and "Man, I got mad there for a second."

Like, I'm sorry? What do you mean "I got mad there a second"? She should be way more shaken up by that. Like she just said, she and her son not only almost died, but were almost killed. By the guy Will's after, because the man who manipulated him for so long decided to sick him on Will's family as a way of further manipulating him now that he's back.

Yes, she does call Hannibal out with "I knew it was him," but that's it. She deserves to get angry, she should get angry. Or scared, or annoyed, or upset, something. The fact that she's so calm about it all makes it feel very superficial, like they just had her there to push things along and that's it.

And alongside Molly's character's poor writing, Will's line of "I'm just about tired of you crazy sons of bitches." feels wildly out of character, not only for Will but for the whole show. Will is not, at any point in the show (to my memory and knowledge), known to make any sort of ableist remarks or use any sort of ableist language - in fact, I don't think anyone does. The closest it gets is when Chilton uses outdated terms to refer to Gideon (if I remember correctly).

The whole show is very respectful (in my opinion) of neurodivergent and mentally ill people, especially considering it's a large part of its horror aspect. I view Hannibal as proof that you can have media whose horror aspect is neurodivergence/mentall illness, without it being ableist. In fact, at the beginning of the show, we see Will talking to Jack about how he doesn't like that Jack made a museum about serial killers and named it the "Evil Minds Museum". A lot of mental illnesses are villainised and considered "evil", and Will was outwardly objecting to that.

So for Will to just walk into Hannibal's room and say that feels like a curveball and a half. It doesn't feel natural. Will has never been known to say things like that, and whenever he and Hannibal communicate, it's never that aggressively blunt; there's always some layer of poeticism and subtext to carry the words forward. But even so, Will doesn't really talk like that with anybody??

I don't know, maybe I'm just missing something, or misinterpreting something. This is just how it came across for me. I'd love to hear someone else's thoughts on this. /lh /gen

[the-moogle-of-your-nightmares]

new most hated genre of post: people ~getting back at the fatphobes~ for 'complimenting' fat characters by saying they're 'so brave' and 'look like they're so soft and wholesome and give good hugs 🥺' (indeed fucking gross, call it out, stop that) by '''joking''' about how skinny people are 'so cute because they're so sharp and bony and give bad hugs, and you could totally break them in half 🥺'

fun fact! you are not describing the bodies of privileged thin people who just can't take a joke! you are describing the bodies of people who are disabled and/or otherwise extremely ill and/or starving! you are talking about people who face high rates of mockery and medical abuse! even without the other three factors, being underweight has massive impacts on your health and shortens your lifespan greatly! it also makes you physically weaker and much easier for people to manhandle, hurt, and kill, because unlike being fat, being underweight is inherently mutually exclusive with being strong.

how fucking sick do you have to be to talk this way about the bodies of cancer patients, AIDS patients, people with other wasting diseases, people who are atrophied from disability and/or confinement by abusers making it impossible to exercise, people with eating disorders that manifest by reducing their body mass, homeless and food-insecure people in regions that have decided arbitrarily that they should starve, famine victims, war victims, VICTIMS OF THE

FUCKING HOLOCAUST

what kind of soulless fucking ghoul do you have to be to mock us, to say that our bodies are unpleasant to even be touched and treat it as the height of ridiculousness that anyone we love might find us to be anything else, to imply that the only reason someone actually would is because they have a gross objectifying fetish, to treat us as a joke to own people who say annoying things about your stupid fucking blorbos, to talk gleefully about beating and maiming and murdering us and what our bodies would feel and sound like crunching under your hands

i watched my mother die of cancer. i watched her body wither even more quickly than most--on the order of weeks, not months--after she had a sudden stroke that destroyed her sense of taste. i watched her break down in tears more than once when she tried something different, just a tiny little snack, in hopes that maybe this time it would be edible, only for this one to taste like car exhaust too, because she was so, so hungry. she died so hungry.

i'm not going to get too deep into my own body and medical issues here. just writing this out so far is about as much as i can handle, and vomiting up all the years of trauma right now would just about break me. but in short i am an extremely underweight disabled person who's been watching my mind and body waste away for a long time, knowing there's basically nothing i can do about it and it's very likely to kill me, being constantly concern-trolled and splained and guilted and shamed and victim-blamed about how i just don't want to get better, how if i just had the right attitude and powered through it and tried this special diet they read about on facebook and 'it's not that hard to make food, just.... do it :/' then i would magically be okay, i've had people fetishize my body and praise me for it and say i'm lucky and it's great that i lost weight and they wish i had my body when i was malnourished/physically ill/actually dying, i've had to see constant victim-blaming Scare Em Straight PSAs from supposedly eating-disorder-conscious assholes about how DID YOU KNOW THAT IF YOU DON'T EAT ENOUGH YOU'LL [gruesome detailed descriptions of what will happen to me, culminating in my early death],' i've had caretakers demand to know who they can pawn off responsibility on for my death if i died soon so they wouldn't get in trouble for neglect when the police found my corpse

'well fat people also--' shut the FUCK up i'm not talking about fat people right now, i am talking about underweight people because we are the ones you can't keep out of your fucking mouths. have a brain and a fucking soul, and also i can attest that your blorbos are shit solely on account of you using them as an excuse to behave like this. FUCK you.