#tom fonder

[sanguineterrain]

your most recent jason fic has me in a bit of a chokehold and its bc you do so well with the dialogue and the banter!!

HONEYLOVE???#?*×& i need to be physically restrained (i appreciate your fics respectfully)

anyways, the fic has me thinking: imagine it's the same reader, but they know Jason's alive and they're back to being friends again (skipping over the drama of "YOU'RE ALIVE?!?" "yea lmao sorry ily tho") but there's this tension now. and since Jason's not working with a mask anymore (and he's slightly more vulnerable with r), it's him who gets flustered and it's r who does the flirting playful banter. maybe it ends with a kiss (˘ ³˘) ?

i'm such a sucker for a flustered Jason and there's something that tells me he gets really weak in the knees for someone he adores >:) anyways, you can always choose to write this or not but a very big, fat thank you if you do

the reaction pics are SO FUNNY i'm glad you enjoy this au <3

jason todd x gn!nocturne!reader. pt 3 of vigilante reader. this is basically reader just being feral over jason :> they speak for all of us, really. love confessions, tension, somewhat flustered jason, more sparring lols.

pt 1 / pt 2

****

Jason Todd is alive. Jason Todd is sitting two feet away, talking about a case.

You can't quite believe it. You went home two days ago and expected to wake up to the whole thing being a dream or the result of a Poison Ivy hallucinogen.

You can't stop staring at him. It's weird. You're being weird. But you can't help it.

Every time you see Jason, you want to look at him for as long as possible. You don't want to forget his face. This new face. Scarred and hardened, but still good. Still loved.

And, well. It's not like Jason's bad looking. Sure, you thought he was cute when you were teenagers. Resurrection makes the heart grow fonder, et cetera.

But now? Now, Jason makes your heart stupid. You can barely contain your desire. It's been two weeks since he revealed himself, and every time you see him, you have to dig your nails into your palms to keep yourself from showing him what he does to you.

Sometimes you think he sees right through you, but if he does, he never acts on it.

"—listening. Yo. Ground control to Major Tom. Are you with me?"

Jason waves a hand in front of you. You blink.

He's unmasked and in a Fleetwood Mac t-shirt and dark jeans—the most comfortable you've seen him, actually. His hair is still wet from his shower.

"Sorry," you say, suddenly zeroed in on the three droplets of water sliding down his neck. "I'm listening. Just looking at you."

"'Cause I'm so pretty?" Jason asks, batting his lashes.

You reach over without thinking. He freezes when you wipe the water off of his neck. Then you tuck a curl behind his ear.

"You should let me blow-dry your hair," you say, taking your time in dropping your hand. "It'll take ages to dry in this humidity."

Jason's eyes have gone wide. Pink splotches bloom on the apples of his cheeks.

"Uh." He swallows. You watch his throat bob. "Thanks. Maybe... next time."

"I'll steal Dick's. He's got the fancy sixteen setting one."

That makes Jason smile. "Hm. Some things never change."

His eyes crinkle at the corners. Fondness swells swiftly in your chest.

You stay like that for a moment, caught in each other's orbit.

Jason breaks it first, leaning away. "Right. You should probably get back to the Manor. Br–the others'll probably think I kidnapped ya."

You shrug. "I quit."

"What?"

"Bruce was getting on my last nerve. I can't work with someone like that."

Jason snorts. "Join the club. Look, I can't say I'm not thrilled that you're stickin' it to the old man. But if this is 'cause of me... I wouldn't be mad if you kept workin' with him. Honest. If that's what you wanna do, don't let me stop you."

"Jason." You rest your hand atop his. "I joined this life because of you. To honor you. You taught me how to help people, not Bruce. You taught me what it meant to be kind, to be a part of something bigger than myself."

To love, you don't say.

"I..." He shakes his head. "You became Nocturne for me?"

You close your eyes, then open them. You've cried so many times. You don't want to stay in your grief any longer. Not when he's right in front of you.

"When you died, I..." You take a deep breath. "Nocturne was something to ground me. I think Bruce recognized that. I think he knew how much you meant to me. He didn't have to take a chance on me, and I appreciate that he did. But I've realized that he doesn't know everything. Can't see what's right in front of him sometimes."

You squeeze Jason's wrist. He sighs.

"God, I'm sorry," he says.

"What're you sorry for, Jay? You came back. That's all I ever wanted."

Jason chews his cheek for a moment. Then he stands, chair scraping the floor.

"C'mon," he says.

You follow him to the living room. He moves the armchair, the couch, and rolls up the rug. He disappears down the hall and returns with two thick mats. He tosses them onto the floor.

"Uh..." you say. "What're you—"

"'M gonna show you what y'did wrong that night on the roof."

"Wow. Can't believe you're still single. Being reminded of my shitty combat skills gets me so hot."

Jason rolls his eyes. "Alright, smartass. Just 'cause you quit the Bats doesn't mean you won't go out there and keep helping people. I know you. The least I can do is pick up where Dickface left off in your training."

"The least you can do, huh? I think you just wanna pin me against the floor again," you say, smirking.

He clears his throat. "That—no."

"No?" You step closer and look at him through your lashes. You're so close, you're touching his chest. "What happened to tying me up 'cause I was out when I shouldn't have been? Isn't that another educational technique?"

Jason's throat bobs. "That wasn't—I was just saying things."

"Hm. That's too bad."

You skip right past him, onto the mat, and hold out your arms.

"Okay. Put the moves on me, J.P."

It takes Jason a moment to craft his usual poker face. When he does, he groans. "'M not an evil Gilded Age financier. Still don't like 'J.P.'"

"But you like me-ee," you sing-song.

He shrugs. "Sometimes. Until you give me a heart attack and run into a burning building."

"Wish I could've seen your face for that one," you say as you steel your shoulders and secure your feet.

"Better you didn't. I'm sure there was a vein or two popping outta my forehead." Jason cracks his neck. "Ready?"

"Lay it on me, big guy."

"You first. Attack me like you normally would."

So you do. You step forward and throw a punch similar to the one from your rooftop spar. Jason catches it, of course. But this time, he locks you in a hold. One leg is between yours, and your arms are twisted behind your back with one hand. Humiliating.

"Dude!" You wiggle. Jason doesn't yield. "Jay, come on. No petty criminal is gonna know how to do all that."

"I know. The point of this is for you to know how to use someone's size against them."

Jason presses his cheek against yours. You tamp down your shiver. You can hear his heartbeat.

"Take a breath," he murmurs.

You close your eyes and breathe. Jason's grip doesn't hurt, but you're frustrated by how predictable you are. How he knows your body. A part of you is missing in not knowing him the way he knows you.

"Alright," he says. "Think. What part of me is exposed?"

"Not the important parts, I hope."

You can feel his eyeroll.

"You're hilarious. C'mon, focus. What can you attack?"

"Um... your legs. You trapped my arms, but my and your legs are free."

"Good." The praise warms you. Being this close to Jason will never get old. "What else?"

"What else? Do you have a tail I don't know about?"

"Sucha wiseass," he says, mouth close to your ear. "Your head. You're still able to move your head, and you're close to my face."

"Yeah, I'm not headbutting you. Out of the kindness of my heart."

"I appreciate that, sweets. Sweep my leg."

So you do. Jason goes down easier than he normally would for your benefit.

"'Kay," he says, once again underneath you. Now you have his hands pinned. "Good. Remember what went wrong last time?"

"You bucked me off like a Clydesdale."

He smiles. "Yeah, okay. So what'll you do different?"

"I'm not in my suit," you say. "I don't have extra weight in my boots."

"No, but you don't need it if you keep my legs apart."

"So that was your plan all along, huh? Perv."

Jason coughs. "Ah-hum... I—c'mon, lock my legs."

You grin and spread Jason's legs, using your knees to keep him immobile.

And then you just stare. This time, it's not because you're thinking about the miracle of resurrection (though what a miracle it is). No, you're just thinking, once again, about how your best friend got really, stupidly pretty.

And how you really, stupidly wanna kiss him.

Jason still looks young, but his jaw is now defined. He's got a five o'clock shadow coming on. His lips are full and pink. Freckles dot his cheeks and nose. The nose that still has a bump from when he broke it during a fight with Riddler.

You remember how he played it off for weeks. Bruce said that didn't even cry. But when you asked if it hurt, Jason had said yes.

You wonder when the last time Jason cried was. You wonder how much pain he's suffered since.

You wonder if he knows he's got your heart in the palm of his hand.

"Hey," Jason says. His voice is soft. Shy. "I lose ya again?"

You shake your head. "No. Never."

"There somethin' on my face?"

"You're a lot to look at," you say. "Pretty, pretty boy."

That gets an undeniable reaction. Jason Todd has never been able to take a compliment. You've been exploiting that all day.

Perhaps you know him better than you thought.

He exhales sharply, like you've sucker-punched him. His eyes dart to you. Waiting.

"Your eyes are green," you say. "Like, mixed. Blue and green."

Jason nods. "I—yeah. The Pit. Changed 'em. Changed me."

You lean in. His gaze flicks to your mouth. You watch his Adam's apple bob in a hard swallow.

"They're still pretty," you say. "Always had pretty eyes, Jaybird."

"Heh, right. Even with this shit?" He points to the scar that crosses over his right eye, stopping at his lip.

You let go of his wrists—not that you were holding them that tightly anyway. If this were a real fight, you would've lost ten times over already. Considering how much of you is touching Jason, you happen to be winning hard.

You trace the puckered white flesh with your thumb. Jason flinches but doesn't pull away.

"Your face could never turn me away," you say. "Never."

He closes his eyes and shudders. "Y'too nice to me. Always so nice t'me. Even when we were fighting. Why're ya so good?"

Your lips are a hair from his now. "I don't know how to make it more obvious, Jaybird. I'm absolutely insane about you."

Jason's eyes fly open. He sees your mouth and his breathing increases. You smile.

"Yeah, want you bad. No place I wouldn't follow you. Do anything for you."

Jason makes a strangled noise in his throat. You grin.

"C'mon, big guy. I'm right here. Come have me, Jay. I'm yours."

Jason soars up and kisses you. Swallows you, really. His hands hold your waist for dear life. You wrap one leg around his.

You nip his lip. Jason whines softly. Delicious.

You grab his face, fingers tangling in his curls. Jason sits up, slotting you against him. One hand supports you on your back, the other on your side.

"God—" He breaks away, just barely. "You're way too good for me. Had sucha... sucha crush on ya when we were kids. Y'so sweet."

You blindly find his throat and bite, hard enough to leave a mark. Jason makes a guh sound. You lick the bite to soothe it.

"Missed you," you say into his skin. "Missed you so goddamn bad, Jason."

"Yeah. Yeah, yeah," he babbles, clinging to you as you kiss up his neck. "Yeah, missed you too."

"Not letting you go," you say, almost snarling. You're angry with want, angry at the world for keeping this from you for so many years. "It's you and me now, Jay, mkay? Gonna be mine?"

"Always been yours," he says, panting. Jason finds your lips again. The kiss is messy, uncoordinated. Full of love. "No one but you."

You haven't fallen behind. You're starting anew.

"Never been anybody but you."

[sebastianswallows]

The English Client — Four

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: none, but almost main character death lol

— WORDCOUNT: 2.5k

I

Tom stayed away for a few days. He stalked around some other rare book stores but found none of what Caractacus Burke was searching for. Still, it gave ample enough time for her to forget about him. He needed to be out of her mind before he carried out his plan.

He sat at a café outside her store one evening, waiting to see her go home again. Not able to stand another cup of coffee, hot and bitter, he decided to try something he’d seen so many other locals eating. It was called ‘gelato’. A frozen treat, it looked like clotted cream and was eaten with a little spoon. Tom regretted ordering it the moment it arrived, but with each bite, he became a little fonder of it. It was cold and vaguely sweet with a drizzling of cherry jam on top. He reached the bottom of the cup before he even realised, and licked the spoon clean afterwards.

She stepped out later this time, at around six o’clock. Tom got up not long after but he didn’t follow her. His gaze trailed after her from behind a pair of aviator shades — her white shirt fluttering with each step, hair soft upon her shoulders — and let himself enjoy the view until she disappeared beyond the curve of a building that bent like a wave. Then he turned the other way, the way she came from.

The lamp lights were just coming on, bathing the marble a sulphuric yellow. He took his sunglasses off and tucked them in his shirt as he slid through the narrow street the shop was on. There was nobody around, but he could hear the echoes of other people through the walls of the nearby buildings. The area was a mix of domestic and commercial, small old flats and little shops which made it quite unpredictable. It was a very intimate setting, and dangerous for that very reason — few escape routes should anyone appear.

He peered through the glass first at the organised chaos inside, the clutter and piles of precious old things that lifetimes would not suffice to explore. Between them, Tom saw his reflection staring back. He aimed his wand at each lock and muttered an Alohomora. The spell let him in like butter.

The shop was just faintly lit from beyond the large display windows, rendering every book and smooth wood surface into a little sunburst. The air was light with dust, and dry, and cold in the way libraries often were. The pillars that held the ceiling high were cinder-black, and carved so finely that the wood seemed lace and pillow soft. A sweet scent lingered in the cavernous construction. It really was a marvellous atmosphere… Tom wouldn’t have minded staying if circumstances were different. His grandfather’s ring trilled around his finger.

Regardless of how old the building was, the interior was certainly built to order. It had a hint of the Victorian with a Renaissance flair. Tom had been in enough rich people’s houses to tell. It amused him how much they were all alike in taste, as if they were part of the same secret breed.

He stepped further in. The floorboards creaked and, looking down, a small amount of dust flew up. Curious. Perhaps it really didn’t get that many customers so often. The other shops he had visited this week all seemed to have at least another two clients while he was there… Strange, as this shop was bursting with books, and in an accessible location too. Tom could only guess that either they were prohibitively selective with their clientele, or the place had a bad reputation.

He found her ledgers tucked underneath the desk. They were split into three themes: Letteratura, Religione, and Esoterismo. He opened the latter.

It was detailed, thick, and finely indexed with the most minuscule writing. Instead of listing their catalogue, it listed all the authors they seemed to have an interest in, whether or not they held any of their books. Prices were next to certain volumes, along with purchasing dates. Others were annotated with the shop or collector that held them. From Agrippa to Cheiro to Crowley, from Novalis to Paracelsus, Roerich, and Sepharial, they had their eye on everyone. He turned toward the end, pale finger brushing through the T’s.

They had nothing by Tamisso, another author on his list, although they did have a copy of The Lost Word by Trevisan — a more recent edition than the 1870 one that Mr. Burke wanted, but still serviceable. But what he was really looking for was Torchia.

And he found him. A whole half-page was dedicated to him, even if the books were few and three-quarters of the space was empty. They must’ve expected to find more of his works in the future.

But as he was reading, the ring started feeling heavier, like its black stone wanted to pull loose. Oftentimes, the splinter of his soul that was trapped inside was a bit of a canary in a coal mine, more sensitive to changes in Tom’s surroundings than he was… He gazed suspiciously toward the ring and put the ledger down.

Tom looked up at the ceiling. It was tall and too dark to see, absorbing the most highly placed volumes like a black hole, like a void. Looking down, between the floorboards, the same infinite darkness. It occurred to him that perhaps the place was cursed. An unlikely idea given that it was a building belonging to muggles, but he’d seen stranger things. And after all, he still didn’t know who the owner was.

He looked at the catalogue again.

Torchia, A.

Key to Captive Thoughts, 1653 — four three copies

A Curious Explanation of Mysteries and Hieroglyphs, 1655 — one copy sold to H. Àristos, 1949

The Three Books of the Art, 1658 — one copy, private ownership → Luce

He scanned further down the line, and there it was: Delomelanicon.

It wasn’t written up like the others. It had no number, no mention of its year of publication, nor even where it was. All it had was a strange symbol next to it, like a plus sign with a downward arrow. Tom couldn’t guess what it meant.

But they had it, they must have. He closed the book with satisfaction and an overflow of greed, and carefully put it back in its place.

II

With the bookshop all to himself, Tom explored at his leisure. He stepped lightly, almost reverently, through its misty dusty rooms veiled by growing darkness. He cast Lumos when entering the second room, which had no windows to the outside world. A thick red carpet muffled his steps.

His first stop was at the section where she had searched for Helena Blavatsky, assuming the shelves followed the logic of the ledgers and were organised thematically as well as alphabetically. He pulled the ladder over and started to climb, holding the wand between the tips of his fingers.

Names spread before him, ancient and powerful. Some of them were only mentioned in the most proscribed of texts, others he hadn’t even heard of. It was one thing to see them listed so economically, and another to see their naked spines, crack them open, part them, and touch their wavy pages.

He had to pause once he came across a 17th-century copy of the Cyranides. How many men died for merely reading this book… What horror, what beauty. He turned to the page on the use of bezoars and smiled. The illustration braided around the page was of a watersnake, unmoving, done with an almost childish hand. It was from a more innocent time when such magical knowledge was a thing of fear and wonder, exclusive and yet renown, whispered about, admired. Not hidden away.

Holding the wand between his teeth, Tom pulled the ladder and himself a bit further to the right. Its wheels were loud enough to make him wince.

He found a wealth of books in this place that made him feel things he had not felt in a while: greed, desire, admiration… He hadn’t seen so many wonderful tomes since Hogwarts. For long moments in large swaths, he forgot his mission. Eagerly, his hands picked up any volumes he could reach without the ladder tipping over, and he sipped in eager drops the ancient wisdom, a few pages at a time, admiring the crude but honest illustrations before, with a heavy heart, putting them back on the shelf.

Finally, he reached Torchia. A few of his works were there, the same ones mentioned in the ledger, but not the Delomelanicon. Tom brushed his finger on the shelf, and it came up with a fluff of dust. Hadn’t been touched for a long time…

It occurred to him as he climbed down the ladder that they could have had hidden compartments, as such bookstores sometimes did. Borgin and Burkes did too, although theirs was hidden by magic. Muggles would have had some contraption hidden behind a painting or shelf. He cast another glance around him before moving forward again, step by heavy step. Between those dormant shelves, he saw another surreptitious doorway toward another room.

III

The place grew labyrinthian. Tom felt as though he was disturbing a tomb, and without even needing to his steps grew gentler. The ring around his finger ached again, but he ignored it.

He was exploring a glass case with a pyramid of skulls in the corner of a room three doorways from the entrance, further in the building and blissfully chill on the exposed skin of his arms and neck, when suddenly he noticed something about the creaking of the floorboards: he couldn’t hear it anymore.

Tom looked down, his shoes soft on the carpet, and shifted his weight. No sound, but there was a bit of a tilt beneath him as the wood moved. He moved to the side and toed the carpet away. At first glance, he noticed nothing strange, but when he cast Revelio, a piece of metal shone and the edges of a trapdoor revealed themselves before him.

“I’ve got you now,” he grinned.

He stepped away, grabbed the edges of the carpet, and folded it further back. It was a trapdoor alright, large enough for two people to fit through. The area was clean, as if it saw regular use. Could it be a secret way into and out of the shop? Well, he’d seen her always use the front door, so it was most likely a storage area.

He dug into his trouser pocket for something, anything that he could use, and found the Swiss army knife he’d gotten from Clement. The thought occurred to him that it was a misuse of a gift to rob a bookshop with it, but that thought died quickly in Tom’s heated mind. He had a job to do.

He slid its blade between the folds of wood and pressed the handle down. Marvolo’s ring squeezed and pulled at his finger, and Tom cursed at it to be quiet. The trapdoor undulated at the strain as he moved the blade around, but the thing was as good as nailed down on all sides.

“Come on, you piece of muggle trash, open,” he hissed between clenched teeth.

He pushed, edging the wood upwards, and the bit of leverage made it flap as far as its hinges would allow. Holding the wand between his teeth for light, he moved it slightly, checking in every direction for a keyhole. The only thing he found was a burn mark that shone in the faint light, small and round and crested. It was probably a hidden button or a kind of keyhole, the kind of which he’d seen before in a couple of places both at Hogwarts and elsewhere. Tom grinned, moved the blade there, and pressed harder right beneath it.

“Aaaah!” he groaned, nearly dropping the wand from his teeth.

The ring was shooting pain all the way up his arm now, and his muscles strained. He clenched his teeth and pressed the blade in further, deeper, but the longer he tried to get it open, the more useless the attempt seemed, and he was overcome with a feeling of wrongness — as if he actually cared that he was trespassing.

He got up, sighed, and wiped the sweat off his brow. The feeling of guilt that had been bubbling in his stomach crested and crawled up his bones until he felt the sickness in his throat. He was overcome with the desire to leave and put this place behind him. A traitorous thought…

No, he wasn’t feeling sick. That nasty little door was enchanted. There was probably a curse on it, not too dissimilar to those placed on Egyptian tombs, meant to ward prospective thieves away. The emotions that swirled in his breast, the guilt, the shame, none of it came from him. It was something he was forced to feel by whatever enchantment guarded the place. What an insidious little spell… He frowned and pointed his wand down at the trapdoor again.

“Finite incantatem.”

Nothing happened.

“Finite incantatem!” he said again, more clearly and imperious.

The trapdoor mocked him with its silence. Tom looked down at his wand as if it were impotent.

“Of all the damned… Revelio,” he cast again, but nothing new appeared. “Alohomora!”

And that was when it struck him.

The spell worked, but just for an instant before it was undone and something fired back at him. A shard of death crawled up his spine and pooled inside his heart, pushing him backwards into the sharp edge of a table. The lamps on it rattled from the impact.

He felt dizzy for a moment, his body numb and cold, then nauseous when his senses came back to him at once. Pain billowed at his lower back so hard it filled his throat with bile. He clung to the edge of the table and kept himself just barely standing, managing the breath to groan.

“By Salazar’s f-fucking… Ow!”

Among all the sudden pain, he noticed that his arm was numb. The ring had stopped hurting him. It got its point across… The door was cursed, and so severely that, if not for his Horcrux, he surely would have died.

Tom clenched his teeth and hissed at the bothersome little entrance, cursing it in parseltongue. He kicked the carpet back over it and rubbed his aching hip where he already felt a bruise forming. There was nothing else he could do there, at least not tonight. He’d have to go back to his hotel, hopefully not limping all the way, and plan his next steps.

“I’ll get you yet,” he muttered with a parting glare. “And whatever mongrel of a mage made you.”

[sku1l-b4e]

School Love

(Chapter 3)

As final period ended, I couldn't help but feel my stomach drop. It was the weekend, meaning I wasn't able to see Bill for another 2 days, but as I packed up my stuff and put them in my art folder to be put away within the classroom drawers, I felt a tap on my arm. I look towards the hand and freeze, noticing the black nail polish that belonged to the man I hold in my heart. My heart flutters and my stomach tightens, a smile appearing on my face.

"We haven't talked in a while... Did you want to hang out this weekend? I miss how we were." His voice was soft, as if scared I was going to reject his offer. I stare at him for a moment in silence, my brain trying hard not to overthink what he meant by this. Did he truly want to be friends again? Or did he finally reciprocate my feelings?

We had abandoned our friendship after me, Tom and Bill had gotten drunk on my last birthday. I had gotten so drunk that i stupidly told Bill I loved him. He took it as friendly love at first but he soon realized and left, Tom following him. So I was left alone on my birthday, sobbing in my bedroom as I thought I had lost the only person who knew everything about me.

I could see him shifting on his feet, uncertainty in his eyes the longer I stayed quiet. But I soon respond, "Yeah, yeah. Sure... Do you still have my number?" I ask, watching as he took in my question and grabbed his phone from his pocket. He scrolls through his contacts as I wait uncomfortably for him to speak. "Yeah, I still do. Why? Did you block me?" I laugh awkwardly at his question, how did he know? I had gotten so caught up in my emotions that I had blocked his number to try and get rid of my crush. But it only grew stronger each day I was away from him. Distance makes the heart grow fonder.

He shakes his head, a small smile on his soft lips as he reaches his empty hand forward, gently grasping my bicep to keep my full attention. "Do you want to... Oh. Nevermind... Can I come round yours?" I watch with a raised eyebrow as he struggles with asking me a question but as soon as he finishes speaking, I smile and nod, my attention fully on his brown eyes as the light reflects off them.

I've always known he was insecure about his house as his family wasn't very rich. His clothes used to be old, hand-me-downs from his stepdad and I rarely came round because he didn't want me seeing his house. "When did you want to? I need to ask my mum." I respond, still smiling as he answers me.

"Today."

Sorry it's short, busy busy! Chapter 4 whenever I think of something 🫶🏻

[saintsenara]

I’m obsessed with your Percy/Rodolphus fic, so I just wanted to get some more of your thoughts on who you think the Lestrange brothers are/what they’re like. They’re often overlooked in this fandom but I personally love them. (PS your answer to my Frank/Rabastan question was amazing. Thank you!)

thank you so much, anon! this is a lovely ask and i'm so thrilled you've enjoyed subluxation.

i've been joking quite a lot while writing it that it’s tricked me into finding rodolphus and rabastan lestrange fascinating, having never cared about them before. but this is - it’s time to come clean - not strictly true... obviously, as a bellamort shipper, poor cuckolded roddy has had to take up some space in my brain, but also the family appears in quite a lot of my other writing and i have quite a lot of headcanon lore i appear to have ascribed to them…

most of this - unsurprisingly - surrounds the family’s relationship with voldemort. while the evidence of canon is that the malfoys are voldemort’s favourite accomplices - at least until lucius falls from grace after failing to retrieve the prophecy - i am much fonder of the idea that the lestranges are the dark lord’s most important death eaters and that the family has been in voldemort’s orbit since the second he arrived at hogwarts.

i do not - however - think that the lestrange originally ensnared is either rodolphus or rabastan. i know many people choose to interpret the mention in half-blood prince of a lestrange in the slug club alongside tom riddle as referring to rodolphus - and i do see the interesting things which can be done both with the idea of him as voldemort’s oldest friend [and, therefore, fully aware of his real name, appearance, and background, while his wife is not] and the idea of him as much older than bellatrix. but i much prefer the idea of voldemort having an impact which is distinct across three separate generations: you have the knights of walpurgis, who become the first death eaters, who know the proto-voldemort of the 1940s and 1950s, with all his messy human characteristics; then you have these men’s sons, who know the unassailable paramilitary kingpin of the 1970s, who seems to be a force of pure magic; then you have these men’s sons, who know the paranoid, monstrous voldemort of the 1990s and his single-minded obsession with harry potter. or, in other words, you have abraxas malfoy - then lucius malfoy - then draco malfoy, each trying to square the voldemort that’s in front of them with the voldemort they once knew.

hence my favourite original character: rodolphus and rabastan’s father, romulus augustulus lestrange. named for the last - and worst - roman emperor.

i am - as any good tomarry shipper - obsessed with the parallels between harry and voldemort, and i originally came up with romulus in order to provide voldemort with his very own ron weasley. the two meet on the hogwarts express when romulus sits in tom’s compartment, it’s romulus who acts as the insider to the magical world who helps tom adjust to his new life in the castle, and it’s romulus who convinces tom while they’re heading north that the only house worth being in is slytherin. i like him then remaining tom’s ride-or-die even through his teen edgelord days, his depressed retail-worker days, and his long sojourn on the continent.

[although readers of my tomarry wip one year in every ten will be aware that his relationship with the young voldemort is not entirely a happy one…]

i write rodolphus and rabastan as being born in 1949 and 1953 respectively and as having some sort of acquaintance with voldemort as children - indeed, one headcanon i use, if the story fits it, is that voldemort is both brothers’ godfather. this means that, when voldemort returns from albania in 1966, both are in their teens and - rodolphus especially - are all too susceptible to the revolutionary miracle voldemort is promising. i imagine that rodolphus - in conjunction with lucius malfoy - is the dark lord’s best recruiter of young pureblood men in the later 1960s and early 1970s, and that these men are much more interested in open violence than their fathers, who support voldemort as a political leader within the wizarding world’s established framework, rather than as a terrorist.

which means, of course, that i think that rodolphus is the person who recruits bellatrix.

while i like the potential of bellatrix and rodolphus’ canon vibe being caused by the gulf of a large age gap, i really like them as a clear illustration of the way in which pureblood society’s rigid gender roles stifle potential - and, therefore, think that they marry the second bellatrix finishes school, in an arranged marriage they both go through with because it’s what they think they ought to do [and i think that voldemort’s affair with her starts almost simultaneously - i think it’s important, when thinking about bellatrix’s radicalisation, that all the evidence of canon is that she’s groomed to be a terrorist when she’s barely out of her teens by a man old enough to be her father, and voldemort - who, when she’s 19, is 44 - being her only proper experience of a romantic or sexual relationship is quite a key part of that]. i am wedded to the idea that the marriage is profoundly unhappy - but not abusive or toxic - because neither bellatrix nor rodolphus really like each other - they get along cordially enough, but there’s no real passion or affection between them.

the only exception to this is their passion for voldemort and his terrorist organisation. the implication of canon is that bellatrix is the more zealous of the two - and that she is the ringleader of their attack on the longbottoms, while rodolphus and rabastan are just doing as they’re told - but i don’t buy it. i think rodolphus is a hardcore death eater, that he is entrusted with high-level missions throughout the 1970s, and that voldemort values him incredibly highly prior to 1996, when our evidence is that he’s also sent to azkaban having been caught in the department of mysteries alongside lucius malfoy.

[and one high-level thing i think he’s entrusted with is the knowledge of what - exactly - is in his vault…]

which means, i think, that he is probably slightly more disillusioned than bellatrix once he’s broken out of prison for a second time in july 1997. i am now convinced that the role he plays in subluxation - essentially pius thicknesse’s childminder - is one he agrees to because he thinks it’ll keep him safer than being at voldemort’s side as he grows more and more volatile - and i am also convinced [because, i hate to say, i’m a delphini truther] that he flees the battle of hogwarts the second harry springs out of hagrid’s arms and goes on the run with his dead wife and dead master’s lovechild.

rabastan - on the other hand - gets given up by lucius malfoy as part of his plea deal and shuffled off for life in azkaban.

indeed, i really like rabastan as… a bit of a flop. whereas i think rodolphus has a genuine capacity for sadism, i prefer rabastan in what we might call the draco malfoy vein - someone who is profoundly unpleasant and who believes wholeheartedly in blood-supremacy, but who doesn’t have the stomach to actually follow this through with violence. i like the idea of him as someone voldemort finds quite unimpressive, and i also like the idea that rodolphus - since awful people are never wholly awful, nor good ones wholly good - puts himself in considerable danger to protect his younger brother from the dark lord’s anger by fixing his mistakes and covering for his fuck-ups.

and i am now really, really into the concept of rabastan and frank longbottom!

the only other headcanons that i am absolutely set on when it comes to the lestranges are that their ancestral home is in brancaster, in norfolk [a very beautiful, but not not desolate place], and that romulus has a great love of flying horses which is passed down to both of his sons.

[faegoddessog]

 Seventy Two Hours of Bliss Ch. 35/41

Chapter 35: The Road Ahead

Chapter Warnings: Explicitly mature content, 18+ only, Fingering, unprotected PiV, (play safe ya'll) mention of past self harm (There is help for self-harm, Text CONNECT to 741741 ), angst, possessive sex,

Series Masterlist 

Series Summary:

You are neighbors with Austin Butler on the Gold Coast of Australia just prior to shooting Elvis. You become just friends because he is taken. However, after he is single again, you both find out just how attracted you are to one another and things get unrelentingly hot.

SERIES WARNING: Explicitly mature content, 18+ only,  here there be lemons.

Authors Notes: I started writing this while remodeling my kitchen, so that informed the slightly quirky narrative. It starts slow, but once it heats up, it is on fire. I have tried to pull facts from RL as much as I could, but obviously there are some assumptions and flat out dreamy wishes  involved here. 

Chapter 35: The Road Ahead

Late one night in the beginning of July, you are lying in bed unable to sleep.  Austin is conked out next to you, he looks like an angel, breathing softly in the light of your phone. You habitually pull up your email. The top email is from the US Antarctic program. You are suddenly terrified to open it. You toss your phone to the foot of the bed like it’s on fire. 

Shit, it’s here. The thing  you have been dreaming of and yet dreading in the back of your mind is actually here. One long held, life-affirming dream potentially lying in wait at the foot of the bed, another fresh, new, love-affirming dream lying next to you. What if you have to choose between them? You aren't ready to confront a choice like this. 

What if Antarctica doesn't want you and you never end up going. One dream crushed. The other is still here, asleep next to you. 

But what if they do want you. You HAVE to go. This, plus renovating Tom and Rita’s in Greece, will complete your 7 continents. You wouldn't forgive yourself if you give up on your ‘every continent’ goal. It's the one thing that kept you going after facing death, after being broken mind, body, heart and soul. You just can’t, not for anyone, not even for Austin.  But if you go, what will happen between you? Will he still want you, will you still want him?  What if absence makes the heart grow forgetful instead of fonder. You push those thoughts away viciously, your heart rate increasing. 

Oh my god, you don't know how to feel right now, strong opposing emotions stretch your capacity to think rationally.  You swirl perilously close to that blank place of apathy. Thought patterns and emotions you thought you had dealt with, re-surfacing after so many years. The place you fell into when he left while you were still in your hospital bed. That place you went when you were torn apart physically, mentally and that fucker left your heart and self esteem in tatters.  The place of neutral feelings, everything gray and bland.  The place where bright streaks of red welling up on your arms weren't cause for alarm, just a way of feeling something, anything.  The place where living and dying were all the same. 

'Fuck no you don't!' She screams inside your head, color and knife edge emotions brought back into sharp focus, 'We are NOT doing that again! Austin isn't him. He would never do that to you!' 

You roll over and huddle into the angel's chest, hiding from what may be on your phone. Your breath is shallow and shaky. FUCK! Why can’t you just stay in the now. The literal right now, in your little Austin bubble where he is yours (and Elvis’) all day, every day.  What if all this between you is just because it’s convenient? What if absence makes him simply forget you exist? What if someone else, swoops in and takes him away from you while you are gone? You try in vain to take in big, long breaths, attempting to shove those dangerous thoughts out of your head. 

'Shut the fuck up bullshit inadequacy!" She is so much more than just a sex-driven demon. 

You start trembling, clinging to him, hoping it’ll stop before he wakes up.  Damnit, you know better than to get yourself worked up. Fucking anxiety attack. 

‘When the hell did you become THIS girl?’ you ask yourself, ‘Antarctica is your dream!"

‘When you fucking fell in love with that sexy boy right there,”  she states, "when you let yourself finally become vulnerable to someone else."

Woken by your movement and the breath across his skin, Austin folds you in his arms. 

This only manages to make you shake more. Knowing you aren't actually alone here is like permission to let all that has been running around your head leak out. 

“Hey, Kitten,” his voice gravelly with sleep.” hey, what’s wrong? I’m here baby, it’s ok. Shhhh,”

His immediate concern shifts your anxiety into tears. Damnit.

“Wanna talk about it, Kitten?”  he asks, concerned and rubbing your back, ”was it a bad dream.” 

“No baby,” you sob, “it’s this dream…It’s too good…..what if it doesn’t ….” you whimper into his chest, tears wetting his skin. 

“What are you talking about, sweetheart?” he pets your hair soothingly. 

“What if you forget …And someone else,” you are practically hyperventilating and unable to finish your sentences through your sobs, ”So in love ...  how can I … will you want...... how can I face mys- … fuck… why am I so… fuck!" tears stream down your face. 

“Shhhh, Kitten, darling,” he doesn't try to understand, he just holds you close, kissing your forehead, “I love you baby, just breathe.”

Gradually you get your breathing under control and your heart beat slows as the anxiety runs it's course. He sits up, leaning against the headboard, taking you with him. He turns on the bedside lamp, hands you the bottle of water he keeps there and a tissue. 

You blow your nose, feeling a little foolish, and sip the water. 

“Are you ready to tell me what is going on?” he asks as you hand the bottle back to him.

"I'm so sorry baby, fucking anxiety," head hanging and your hand covering your face, feeling a little ashamed.

"Whoa, sweetie," he gently removes your hand and holds it in his rubbing his thumb along the back.  He tips your chin up to look at him, "there is nothing to be sorry for. I am here for you my love, no matter what."  

His loving gaze melts you.  You take a deep breath, then another. You nod and reach for your phone.

“I haven’t read it yet to see what it says, but I got an email from the Antarctica people and um… all my anxiety just exploded.”

“Why anxiety hunny? I thought that would be exciting for you,” he frowns a little, "it's what you've been waiting for." 

“Well, what if they said no, there goes my dream of all 7 continents, but what if they said yes… and I... I leave,” your voice gets shaky again and words tumble out as if they will never be said unless you say them quickly. “What if you forget all about me and I never see you again.  And why the fuck am I being so insecure? But how can I not go, it’s my dream and yes, so exciting and I don’t want to lose you, but… I mean I would never ask or expect you to give up your career and dreams to follow me around the world carrying boxes...“

Austin places one hand on your cheek, arresting your freight train of thought.  “Oh baby, we knew this was coming, and yeah it's a daunting now that it's here, but I would never ask you to give up on those dreams for any reason.  It’s another one of those things that makes me love you," his other hand frames your face, his eyes boring into yours, "Did you hear that? I. Love. You. Forgetting you is simply not possible. Do you think I hand out custom butt plugs to everyone I’ve dated? No. You are so unique and such an amazing human.  And no, I wouldn’t give up my dreams, but I would follow you anywhere and carry anything for you. So instead of what-if-ing, let's see what they actually said,” his deep voice has a calming effect on your nerves. 

You open the phone, then shove it over to him, “You read it, I’m too nervous.”

He nods, licking his lips. He is nervous too. He scans the email. 

“They want you baby,” he smiles up at you.

“What?!” you snatch the phone from him. The email says you are the primary applicant for the Antarctica position you interviewed for last February. They want you on the winfly to prep the station for the austral summer influx.  Your contract would run until February with an option for longer should you choose. Because of quarantine procedures and mandatory training you will have to leave in two weeks. They want an answer in 48 hours. 

“Oh fuck, two weeks, I thought I’d have longer than that.” You look up at him with tears threatening.  You don’t even know how to feel; elated? sad? scared?  “Should I tell them yes?” you ask, all nerves.

“Um, you had better! You would never forgive yourself or me if you didn’t,” he knows you so well.

“Fuck, you are right. I would end up so pissed if I told them no," you realize that saying no for him would drive an inevitable wedge between you, "I guess I’m going to Antarctica!” the excitement starts to seep into the cracks left behind by the anxiety.  

“I’m so excited for you! You are gonna crush it!” he grabs your face and plants a kiss on your lips, then pulls you close for a hug. 

“I’m going to miss you so much though babe,” you say into his chest. 

“Kitten, it’s not even a year, we can handle that. Besides,  in this day and age, it’s nothing. I’ll call you all the time,” he tries to reassure you. 

You pull away from him, forehead crinkled and look him dead in the eye. 

“Oh, Austin, there is no cell service there. They barely have internet. That’s why I’m scared you’ll …. “ you let your sentence fade off. It’s stupid, the idea he’ll forget you, but the fear of losing him is bigger than you ever wanted it to be. This is why you have not gotten involved with anyone for so long. Fear of losing... again.  

“Ok then, we will do it old school and I’ll write you letters,” he smiles, undeterred, “and if they don’t have mail I’ll use a carrier penguin.” 

This makes you crack a smile. 

“Kitten, something you may not have realized about me, when I fall in love, I do it hard. And nothing and no one is going to change how I feel about you,” his hands are cradling your face, thumbs wiping away stray tears, “got it baby?” 

You just nod, holding his hand to your cheek. 

He kisses you lovingly and sweetly, then deeper more passionate but still tender. He pushes you onto your back, rolling on top of you. His weight comforting as his tongue gently explores your mouth. He kisses you until all the anxiety is washed away, replaced with pure undiluted Austin. 

“Do you want me, Kitten?” he whispers, pressing his stiff cock against your thigh, ”can I make love to you?” 

“Please yes,” you whisper back, legs spreading to make room for his hips. His mouth is on your neck, kissing and gently sucking as his hardness finds its way inside you, filling you. It feels so blissfully good. He moves in you in this sweet, gentle way. He is unhurried.  Each instroke is strangely soothing to your soul. Things have been so surreal in the world, but this, this moment, is as real as it gets. 

In the morning, you get an appointment with your therapist. You hadn’t needed a session in a while. She is, luckily, available because of the time difference. You give her the rundown of the situation and how those self-destructive thoughts surfaced again.

She talks about how something so traumatic never really leaves you, and it’s normal that they arise from time to time, triggered by similar strong emotions. You talk about Austin, about how deeply in love you are with him, how you are afraid of losing him,  all the things he did and said when you were having your breakdown. 

“You have come so far from the girl who first told me she would rather die than fall in love again. He sounds like a good one. Have you told him about what happened?” She asks. 

“Not exactly, he knows I was in an accident, he knows I was engaged. But not the whole story, it’s just not come up,” you say. 

“You should tell him, give him some context for your fears,” she suggests. 

You nod, she has a point. 

After you end the session, you and Austin facetime to your Uncle Roy. He agrees to let Austin stay in the apartment rent free. 

“I like that there is someone there during the pandemic” Uncle Roy says, “plus Austin is like family now.”  Just as he says that, Marissa walks in.

“Daddy, can I borrow the…” she looks at the screen, “Why are you watching an interview with Austin Butler?” 

Oh shit. 

You whisper, ‘Marissa’ to Austin. He raises his eyebrows as if to say, ‘you ready for this?’

Well, here goes nothing! 

“Hey Mar!” you pop your head into view. 

“It’s your cousin and her boyfriend in the Aussie apartment,  Mari Bear,” your uncle has no idea that the cat is out of the bag. He doesn’t even know there is a cat OR a bag. 

Marissa just stares at the screen, mouth agape as Austin puts his arm around you so you can  both fit into the phone screen. 

“Wait, YOU’RE THE FRENCH WOMAN?! How the hell!!” She squeals, grabbing her phone. 

“Put the phone DOWN Mari!” you say threateningly. Mari freezes. “Uncle Roy, thank you so much for being so cool about this, I need to talk with Mari girl to girl  for a second.”

“You two and all your girl talk, since you were kids,” he waves his hand, shrugs and steps out of the room. You step away from Austin. 

“Listen Mar,” you voice lowered conspiratorially, “we are not ready to go public with this so if you or anyone you know or that follows you even so much as hint that you know the identity of the ‘French woman’, anywhere online and I will 1. Never you let you meet Austin in person and 2. I will tell EVERYONE about what happened at the lake and I mean everyone.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Mar gasps, looking around to make sure her dad isn’t near. 

“Like hell I wouldn’t. That is how important this is to me, and yes, I still have the negatives,” you remind her.  

“Okay, Okay! Well when you are out, can I have a big reveal for my channel?” She asks, trying to bargain. 

“How about this, if you keep fucking quiet, we will set you up with his publicist and we will work something out.” you say, walking back to Austin, giving him a thumbs up. 

“Holy fuck, I’m freaking out right now!” Mari exclaims as you lean up against Austin.

He gives her a little finger-tip wave.

“Hey Marissa, nice to meet you. Thanks for keeping this on the DL, for us. We really appreciate it,” he says in his interview voice,  giving her a winning smile. 

“Oh, of course Mr. Butler,” she is all flustered. 

“It’s just Austin, but thank you,” he nods his head. 

Once you get off the phone, you glance at Austin. 

“You handled that well, what did you say to keep her quiet?” giving you a side eye.

“Well, I’ve been handling Mar our whole lives. I love her cuz she’s family, but she has trouble with boundaries. I have dirt on her that she doesn’t want out. And um…  I told her we’d hook her channel  up with your publicist when, and if, we are ready.” 

“Hmm, alright, I’m not sure how she will feel about that, but we can talk,” he says. 

“Yeah, oh fuck, I didn’t think, will your publicist follow her socials? I won’t be able to with no internet,” you ask. 

I will call her later and we will talk about it,” he smiles at you.

For the next two weeks, any time not spent  filling out forms and packing things either for storage or Antarctica is spent with Austin. He still studies Elvis every day, not wanting to lose his momentum. You try to find the right time to tell him more about what happened with your ex, but it never seems right. You cook together, watch some of your favorite movies, you take moonlight walks on the beach and the sex… oh my god the sex. 

You have been trying out your hand at mixed drinks for the past several nights. Tonight is gin night. You have about a week until you leave.  You are both on your way to being tipsy, having tried a  Tom Collins  then Negronis. You had just made two shaken gin martinis and  clinked them together, feeling super fancy.

“I have a prezzie-prize for you babe,” you say, feeling goofy. You reach into your bag and pull out a post mailer. “I had the mail wrap it for you.” You giggle at your own joke and hand it to him. 

“OH! A present! For me!!” he exclaims, being silly himself.

He tears open the package. It’s two pairs of Meundies boxer briefs. The first one has martini glasses with the words ‘extra dirty’ on them. Two little olives are cuddling in the glasses with a little heart over their heads. Yeah, you might’ve timed this with your drinks on purpose. He looks at the second pair and then at you.

“You didn’t” he says. You just nod with a huge grin on your face They are light blue and covered in unicorns with rainbow manes and tails, just like your favorite panties. He just laughs and hugs you to him. “I love them hunny."

He insists that you two go up to the rooftop with your drinks. 

You grab blankets and toss your drinks into to-go cups with lids. There are no lights up there, just the ambient light of the city. He stands there looking out over the ocean, sipping his drink. You slip under his arm. It’s a little chilly, maybe 15C, the breeze from the ocean making it feel a little colder. 

“I know I’m a little drunk, but I want the world to know that I love you, Kitten.” He kisses you softly,  then holds his drink up and yells at the top of his lungs “I, Austin Butler, love this woman right here!”  

A distant ‘good for you! Now shut up!’ bounces off the buildings.  

You giggle as he sits on one of the lounge chairs, laughing. He draws you down on his lap, straddling him. 

“I love you too, so much it kinda hurts,” you admit.

“Hurts? No, no baby,” he shakes his head, putting his drink down, ”I don’t want you to hurt, only feel good. Here let me kiss it and make it better.” He leans forward filling both his hands with your breasts and plants a kiss in the middle of your chest, on your heart. 

Your fingers play in his hair as you lean down and breathe deep the scent of him in the cool night air. Filing it away in your memory as best you can. 

“All your kisses make me better, darlin’,” you mutter, kissing the top of his head, feeling the gin seep into your brain.

He takes your cup and sets it down next to his.  You wrap the blankets you brought around you both. He cradles your jaw and your lips meet.  You moan against his closed mouth, inhibitions evaporating. You are both just a little clumsy from the alcohol, but the ‘whiskey kisses’ are divine.  

“You are so hot Kitten.  I had a dream the other day that I fucked you up here,” he murmurs against your lips, hand rubbing against your clothed crotch. 

“You dream about me?” you had no idea.

“Oh yeah, all the time. Why do you think I wake you up with my cock so often. Damn, I’m gon’ miss that,” he presses his face to your breasts. 

“Tell me your dream, baby,” you cradle his head against you. 

“I was young Elvis,” he leans back looking into your neckr eyes, “and you were an adoring fan, sittin’ on my lap just like this, arms around me, only you had on a little skirt with nothing on under.  The sun was sinking and you glowed as I slipped into you. And now I’m gonna slide into you right here,” he says, “make you a puddle in my lap.” His hands undo your bra under your shirt with only two tries. His lips and teeth are against you. 

Your insides clench tight, juices starting to flow. 

“I would be disappointed if you didn’t,” you say, rocking back and forth onto his swelling bulge. His hands slide into the waistband of your pants. You try to get your pants off of one leg. In your haste and clumsiness, you end up falling off his lap onto the grass, taking the blankets with you. You both start laughing. 

He helps you up and you wiggle out of your pants. You straddle him again, re-settling the blankets around you both. His hand slips up your shirt to palm your breast in circles, watching your brow furrow in desire and your teeth capture your bottom lip. He gives you a naughty little grin and lifts your shirt over your tits. Gathering your breasts together with both hands, he licks your nipples. The cold air makes the flesh pucker. He pulls one into his mouth sucking hard, making you drop your head back and moan. Your hands curl up into his long hair, grasping him to you. His tongue is like fire licking your belly. 

Your hands push between your bodies, unfastening his fly and reaching to pull him out. He helps, his big cock already stiff and upright. 

“Do you see what you do to me, my beautiful Enchantress?” he motions to his cock, “Even tipsy as I am, I’m hard as hell for you.” 

“What I do? Feel what you do to me,” you lift up to give him space to reach between your legs. “My god Austin, just the mention of putting that gorgeous cock in me, made my cunt drip in anticipation. I want you so desperately.” 

He slips his dexterous digits between your folds. 

“Oh fuck baby, you are one horny minx aren’t you,” the corners of his beautiful mouth curl up and his demon gazes up at you. He begins to curl his fingers, finding the spongy, rough section on your front wall.

You are shaking, not from cold, but from eagerness. You love him inside you; want him like this always; always inside you somehow; always wanting you.  Your juices run in a runnel down his fingers and into his palm. Low moans flow from you.

“Oh my god,” you cry out, louder than you meant to. 

“Now, now Kitten, Are you gonna be quiet for me?” he asks.

“No,” your tipsy self answers honestly with a little giggle.

"Well that guy," he points over his shoulder, "might yell at you." 

"Fuck that guy," you shrug.

"No thanks, I'd rather fuck you." He pulls you into a passionate kiss. You grind your pussy into his hand.

Suddenly you are both overcome with desire. 

“Get that cock in me,” your tone demanding against his lips. 

He nods, holding himself by the base as you lift up. He positions himself at your opening and you grind down onto him in circles. Your moans mingle in your kiss.

The little pocket between you where his cock had been lying in wait, was chilly, despite all the blankets wrapped around you two. He feels cool inside you, so you can only imagine how warm you must feel to him. 

“Oh yes,” he moans, the alcohol hindering his usual verbal restraint, ”take all that cock like a good girl.” 

He feels so good inside you.

“Aw, I like being naughty though,” you retort, smiling at him and sliding up and back down onto him, wetness covering his cock.

“Who’s naughty Kitten are you then?” he asks, his voice deep.

“Well, let me see…” you joke, continuing to ride him. 

He tightens his grip on your hips, stopping your movement. 

“Who’s are you?” his eyes are suddenly serious and piercing. The tipsiness slows your brain just  enough that you don’t see the insecurity in his face until he thrusts hard and deep into you, bringing your senses into sharp focus. 

“Oh fuck,” is all you can say. 

“Who’s dirty girl are you?” he asks, louder, thrusting again. 

“I’m yours, baby,” looking into his eyes and finally seeing his seriousness.  

“Who owns this dripping, hot, wet, pussy?” each descriptor punctuated by a hard thrust into you.

“Oh Fuck, you do!” it would hurt if you weren’t so fucking turned on. 

“Who does?” he asks

“You do Austin. It’s your pussy.” 

“That’s right,” his voice is raspy, as he pulls your hair out of your face,  “You are MY naughty little Kitten. My dirty girl. All Mine!” 

“All yours baby,“ you say, rocking him in and out of you, “All yours to finger, to suck and lick, all yours to pound, yours to play with.” 

You press yourself close to his chest, pulling blankets up and around you both again. “Please, please don’t stop fucking me.” 

“Never,” he says through clenched teeth. 

His hands grips your legs, his hips raising and lowering his cock in and out of you. Your hand is braced behind his neck, forehead to forehead. He is steadily fucking you. 

“Oh god, I love it, I love that,” you moan in his ear, unable to stop words spilling out your mouth. 

Your knees are sliding wider and wider apart, wanting him deep, wanting him to slam into your clit with each thrust.

“Your pussy, your pussy, your pussy”, flows out your mouth. 

You are so close to the breech, mouth open. He can tell you are close so he quickens his pace. Your top teeth sink into the fleshy part of his shoulder, pussy clenching down.

“Oh Kitten, my dirty girl, I love fucking you,” his voice husky and low. His hips jerking roughly into you. 

 “Oh god, yeeeeessss,” you scream, arching back, his words triggering pelvic spasms around the stiff rod he is torturing you with. A closed-mouth high-pitched wail sounds out your nose as you gyrate on his cock through an orgasm.

 Even if you wanted to, you can’t stop your hips from moving, jerking,  grinding onto him.

“You’re so fucking perfect baby, cumming on my cock like that. God damn,” even through your orgasm you recognize the deep desire in his voice. 

He lifts you off of him.

“Nononono don’t stop” you whine.

“Never, baby,” he slides his legs to either side as he pushes you back to lie on the foot of the lounge, the blankets behind you. You don’t even feel the cold. Your legs are  up by his shoulders, throbbing pussy exposed and open to him. 

“Do you want my cum?” he asks, his voice harsh with desire, his fingers flicking across your clit.

“Yes, yes, yes,” is your breathy reply, 

“Say it, Kitten. Do you want my cum?” he asks again, placing the tip of his glorious self at your opening.

“Fuck yes I want your cum Austin, please, I need your cock in me, fuck me please” you beg, your filter totally gone. “Please give me all your cum right here,” you tap out little slaps on your pussy. 

With you so lascivious under him, so lustful with need, he can’t hold back.  With a groan, he immerses himself in you. Immediately charging towards his own orgasm with fervor, hands on your shoulders, pulling you towards him. 

“Oh God,  fuck,  you make me cum so good! You make me cum so good! You make me cum so good!” your strings of words getting higher in pitch, on the brink of cumming against his onslaught. His hands slide to either side of your head. Forcing you to look at him. 

“Who’s pussy’s gonna cum?” he says through gritted teeth. His head is still, but his hips are pitching into you with such force, only his hands on your head keep the vision of him from being a total blur.

“Your pussy, baby, yours. You fuck your pussy so good, so good, so good, so fucking good.” Like a deluge of water dropping on you all at once, another orgasm slams into you, making you writhe under him, teeth imprinting onto his hand to muzzle the sound of your screaming. 

“That’s my girl. Cream that cock, dirty girl, fuck you feel so good,” he moans. Crest after crest of your orgasm seizes his cock, bringing him closer to baptizing you in his cum. 

“Who’s dirty girl are you?” he urges, wanting to possess you.

“I’m your d-d-d-d-dirty girl, I’m your dirty girl,” you stutter and moan out as you ride the wave of shivering pleasure. “Give me your cum. I want it, I want it in me!”

“It’s yours baby, it’s your cum, only for you Kitten,” he is pounding you hard, fast, head tucked down into your neck and shoulder.  "Oh Fuuuuuck, yessss!”  hisses out of him as he pushes deep and fills your pussy. “Oh  Gawawawad!” his whole body seizes on top of you.

Your arms and legs clutch him to you.  You are overwhelmed with emotion, everything you’ve been holding back about leaving welling up with your enormous orgasm.  

He  sits back in the lounge chair and pulls you and the blankets against him. You don’t realize it at the time, but his deep shaky breaths are hiding his own emotional overwhelm.  

After a while,  how long you can’t say as time feels fake,  you are curled up against Austin half naked, both of you calmer and somewhat less drunk. 

“Are you awake Kitten?” he ventures quietly and a bit nervously. 

“Yeah,” you answer, sensing something is off, “you ok?” 

“I, uh, I need to say something and um… I don’t want you to take it wrong,” he begins.

You sit up in his lap to look him in the face, suddenly terrified of what he is going to say.

“If you are breaking up with me…” your mind falls to the worst thing you can think of at that moment.

“What? NO! No, no!” he interrupts you, a look of horror on his face as he grips your outstretched hands. 

“Jesus,” your eyes close and you breathe a sigh, “what is wrong with me?” you mutter to yourself. You know what is wrong, it's time to tell him. 

“Oh babe,” he cups your check, “there is nothing wrong with you or with us. I just need to…” He hesitates.” Ok, there is a part of me that is so excited for you to live your dream. But there is also a chunk of me that doesn’t want you to go,” his forehead creases and furrows as he admits this to you. “And to be clear, I’m not asking you to give it up, I just need to be honest and present with my feelings. I know it’s a scary pandemic world right now, but I wouldn’t trade this time with you for anything. I’ve fallen so hard for you, I don’t know how I’m gonna do this without you. And what if you meet someone else? I know it’s stupid but you’ll be down there so far away and I can’t call. That's why the possessive stuff during... “ he bites his lip. ”What if… I have this weird fear that what if what we are feeling for each other doesn't translate to being apart? What if we can’t do this?"

You reach up, smoothing his forehead with your thumb. You hadn't realize he was feeling insecure too.  

“Same baby,” you say simply, “on all accounts.  I am excited AND I don’t want to leave. I’m also terrified that you will find someone else in the months that I am gone, I mean you are a sexy heartthrob of a man in the public eye, women and men must fall at your feet. I’m not sure how I’m going to cope without you either. I’m just hoping that we will both be so busy we won’t have time to dwell on it. And, I like being your dirty girl." you smile. 

"Listen Baby, I need to tell you this,  just so you have some context," you take a deep breath and forge ahead, "Do you remember I told you about the guy I used to flip houses with,” Austin nods, his face intent with listening. “Well, we were engaged when I had my accident and when he found out that I couldn't have kids, he came to the hospital the next day and broke it off. He said he didn’t want to drag it out, but that kids were the priority for him and he didn't want to waste any time finding the real mother of his children."

Austin looks appalled by this. You just nod.

"I was crushed, I was nothing but a baby factory in his eyes.  By the time I was out of the hospital, he had moved out of our apartment,  divided our holdings in half and left with no forwarding address or number. IHis family wouldn't take my calls. I didn’t get the chance to have any closure.  I slipped into a deep depression, feeling no self worth.  I started cutting myself just to feel something, anything. "

"Oh baby," Austin strokes your hands, empathy and concern on his face.

" Yeah, it was bad. I had a lot of therapy and meds. I slowly realized the gift of getting away from him, he would have never loved me for me. The continent thing was born when I started my own remodeling business, initially as a way to get away from that past. It grew into a passion. This dream has healed me in so many ways. I became an independent, curious, educated citizen of the world again.  It allowed me to meet you. I didn't think I’d ever let anyone this close to me again, but with you it was so damn easy I didn’t have to think twice.

“So yeah, I am afraid of losing you and I’m sorry I let my insecurity jump to conclusions. Will our relationship stand being apart? Babe, there is only one way to find out and it’s walking towards our fears.”

He nods again. You take another breath, and grab both his hands.

“I do know this: I’ve been ‘around’,” you admit, “ I’ve dated a fair number of people, and, honestly I’ve slept with a fair few more. Not one of them holds a candle to you,  to how you make me feel, the things you do to me. I have never before found what we have right here,” you move your clasped  hands up to each of your hearts. “I had given up on trying to find someone, until you. I am in awe of you Austin Butler and it blows me away that you consent to be with me.” 

“Consent? Kitten, I WANT to be with you. Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me all  that, especially the cutting, that can be hard to share.  I see why you responded the way you did, it makes a lot of sense. You have been through so much, seen so much of the world and have done it with grace and kindness and strength. You are amazing and brave and so fucking sexy. I will state for the record that I don’t care if you can’t have kids.  I want YOU, just as you are. You bring parts of me out that I didn’t know I had and I can’t keep my hands off you. I’m not going to deny the ego boost of getting that kind of attention from the public but at the end of the day it’s not fulfilling. It’s not THIS, “ he grips your hands back, “I am astonished that YOU are willing to be with ME, and I just want to be enough for you.”

“We are a pair, aren’t we,” you chuckle, shaking your head, “here we are worried about the same things, and each of us feeling insecure about not being good enough for the other, yet so over the moon about one another.”

“Well when you put it that way….yeah, “ he smiles, “I think we need to tell our insecurities to shut the fuck up and agree that we are more than enough. See through love’s eyes, instead of fear’s.”

“One hundred percent agree,” you smile at him, “and however we end up communicating over the next 7 months, let’s just be as honest as we can with each other. I mean if we decide it isn’t working, I’d rather not be delusional.”

“I don’t like to think about that, but I’d much rather be honest, so yeah,” he nods his head.  

“And,” you put your forehead to his, “I will make this promise to you: once Antarctica is over and I finish Tom and Rita’s, if you still want me, I will follow you to the ends of the earth.” 

“Take out the insecure ‘if you still want me’ part and it’s a deal,” he smiles at you.

“OK,” you breathe, starting over, “once Antarctica is over and I finish in Greece, I promise I will follow you to the ends of the earth.” 

“Not unless I follow you first babe,” he pulls you into a sweet kiss, hand on your chin. 

[downtilts]

i like the tomgreg in 4x03 bc it boils down their complex relationship into its most essential parts. tom teases greg for his own amusement and to remind greg of their power dynamic. greg resents this but plays along. then tom receives devastating news, and turns privately to greg for emotional support, which greg provides. it’s like a speedrun of their relationship development from previous seasons; the main difference here being the extra tenderness. the teasing is fonder, the support is more kindly asked for. it really reassured me of their current level of intimacy

[destinyc1020]

can I say a confession. I kinda lost all my interest in the MCU not even the prospect of zendaya and tom returning in sm4 is exciting to me obviously I would eat up a press tour but not the movie. I dont post end game this MCU has been rather flat and dull. No hate to people who love the MCU, I really hope the MCU delivers yall some magical stuff. Its just watching other major blockbusters and seeing their quality like top gun or mad max or dune or spiderverese like Im reminded at what cinema can be when creators are given time and freedom to build their own worlds and create unique moments story telling or when we see great cinematigraphy and sound design.

Like Im glad I opened myself to see smaller things or films I've never thought I would watch like poor things, american fiction, la chimera, all of us strangers, past lives and just being transported and experiencing something amazing and emotional and feeling rewarded as an audience member. I dont know I feel like mcu is kinda lagging behind and I feel lile audiences deserve better products and the MCU just dont deliver anymore.

Thanks for your confession Anon. 😊

Idk if you meant for me to hold this "Confession" off until Sunday so that you could have immunity lol 😆, but I saw this posted to my inbox yesterday, and it didn't say to hold off from posting until Sunday, so I assume you wanted me to post it. 🤷🏾‍♀️ If I misunderstood, I apologize.

Anyway.....

I'm definitely a self-proclaimed "Marvel Girl" (always have been 😊), but I also love DC comics as well. I'm not one of those who feels like fans HAVE to choose btwn one or the other. 👀

With that said, Marvel to me is like the fun, exciting, "junk food" of cinema. Like eating junk food, watching Marvel movies is fun to digest, it's enjoyable, it's exciting, you feel GREAT while watching it, and you can't wait until you see some other new films coming out.

But, you can't exist SOLELY on junk food and be healthy, just like if you're truly a fan of film, you can't ONLY watch Marvel films and be 100% satisfied in your movie-viewing life. 🤷🏾‍♀️ You need a balance.

It sounds like you're definitely a fan of film, and you watch a variety of stuff. That's awesome! 😃 👍🏾☺️

While I love Marvel, I too have noticed that some of their more recent films have left some fans a little disappointed, and just feeling a little "Marvel Fatigue".

I honestly think that they got worried that after they killed off most of the OG Avengers, that fans would lose interest, and so they started just churning out more and more films and series in order to put out the "next phase". But in all honesty, I kinda feel like after NWH and Wakanda Forever came out, I sort of feel like Marvel should have taken a little bit of a BREAK, and allowed the fans to miss them (sometimes, absence makes the heart grow fonder), and really taken their TIME in writing better films going forward after resting for a few years. 👀

Cuz you're right, some films are feeling a little sloppy and rushed, and honestly, when you compare some of the newer Marvel films to films like "The Dark Knight" , or even "The Batman", or shooot.... even "Spider-man 2" lol 😆, you can kind of see the STARK difference. (No pun intended lol)

Obviously, Marvel films aren't going to be like "Poor Things" or "All of Us Strangers", so I wouldn't even compare them to those types of films rofl 🤣

But yea, like when you even compare some of the Marvel films to a movie like "Top Gun: Maverick" (which was AWESOME and brought back old school style Hollywood filmmaking), you can tell the immediate difference in how you feel when watching it, the writing, the cinematography, the MUSIC, everything....

I think Marvel reigned Supreme for many many years (over a decade), and so maybe they got lazy or felt that MORE content more OFTEN was "better", but I actually think the opposite. 👀 🤷🏾‍♀️

[cinematicnomad]

for shiv and tom, what do you think would need to happen in order for them to work out? like how would shiv be able to allow herself to be vulnerable enough for that to happen?

iiiii genuinely have no idea. despite wanting it v badly, i doubt it's realistic to hope for lol. the unhealthy option, obviously, is that tom does something that allows shiv to feel superior to him again and allows her to feel some semblance of control over their relationship. but even then i'm not sure that would be enough to make her forget how betrayed she felt after he turned on her. to move forward in their relationship she would have to be able to trust tom to not hurt her like that again and i don't know if she can. but she'd have to feel powerful so...i don't know, maybe if logan were to cut tom off, leave him out to dry, maybe if tom came crawling back to shiv on his knees and begged for forgiveness—maybe that would be enough to make her feel like she has some power over him. if it all blows up in his face and she is his only option for a saving grace and she gives it to him because it gives her plausible deniability. like—oh, i'm not letting tom back in my life because i love him and want him and need him, but because i pity him, i feel sorry for him, i'm doing something charitable, he needs me and i can lord this over him. you know? again: incredibly not healthy.

then again, maybe what needs to happen is for shiv to have to be around tom but NOT be with him. you know what i mean? like, to witness him from the outside of their relationship, to examine their dynamic separate from their marriage, to miss him, to ache for him, to yearn for him etc etc. maybe that would be enough to make shiv want him back—if for no other reason than the roy's do not really know how to handle NOT getting what they want. like, maybe it would be enough for shiv to admit to herself that she misses him, because they are not patient people and if she knows she wants something she will figure out a way to get it. like...maybe shiv just needs to be confronted with what life looks like without tom. they've been dancing around each other for months and now they've decided to divorce so they're going to actually be apart for the first time, and maybe (in true cliche fashion) distance will make the heart grow fonder.

maybe shiv just needs to...confront her dad, confront the trauma he raised her in, and realize that tom is A Good Thing™. not because he's the right strategic choice or because he gives her power or anything, but because she loves him. because she wants him. sometimes all forgiveness is, is CHOOSING to forgive someone. sometimes they can't fix how they hurt you no matter how sorry they are and you decide you still want them in your life anyway.

the reason why i'm focusing on shiv is mainly bc. i feel like tom has always been willing to go full 90 to meet her 10. he's always been willing to give up pieces of himself just to keep her in his life. the night before their wedding he gave her an out even though he wanted to marry her. the night OF their wedding he agreed to an open marriage even though he clearly wanted a closed one. he kept silent when she leap-frogged him for the top job in s2, he almost went to prison for her dad, he let her kick him with her "i don't love you", etc etc etc. i don't think his betrayal was enough to, like, fundamentally alter the core of his being. i think if she gave him the opening, he'd take it.

maybe the easiest answer is just. nobody changes. maybe logan dies. maybe he dies and in her grief, in her moment of utter vulnerability, shiv turns to tom for support. i mean, wouldn't it be a kind of...slightly nice, slightly sad, slightly poetic path for them? because it's how their relationship has always worked: in s1 shiv says they got together originally when she was "a mess", when she NEEDED someone—specifically tom, someone she'd never imagined herself with. and then he proposed to her at a similar moment—when logan was in the hospital and they thought he might die and tom just wanted her to have one good, happy memory from that terrible, awful day. like, maybe if logan dies...they just continue on with that pattern. they get back together. because shiv is vulnerable and sad and because she needs tom and because he wants to give her a good thing to focus her energy on instead. would it be healthy? probably not. but sometimes there's comfort in what's familiar.

this is mainly a huge ramble and i don't know if it's even coherent so. hope that was enjoyable to read! lol

[mlwritersguild]

Purr-suasion, by @empressofall

Based on a prompt submitted by @deinde-prandium: Adrinette P&P? Chloe as Emma? Go wild, as long as it’s an AU based on one of Jane Austen’s works.

AO3; Jane Austen AU, Background Feligami, Background DJWifi

Summary:

Marinette and Adrien reunite 10 years after Marinette suddenly broke off their secret engagement. At least, it had been sudden from Adrien’s point of view.

----

Their debt had been purchased and the sale to their new owners had been made. The Dupain-Cheng family still ran the patisserie on Rue Caulaincourt, but it no longer had their name above the door. 

Those were just the first in a series of events that led Marinette to where she was standing now, across from him and him across from her. 

In all honesty, it should have been obvious where this was heading. The purchase had been made years ago, but Gabriel Agreste, the old curmudgeon, had died and there had been no one to cause issues after that. The inheritance had fallen to some nephew in London and they had heard neither hide nor hair of him until a month ago. A month ago the letter had come with a last name that Marinette hadn’t thought to connect. They’d set up dinner, did their best to impress their employers, but the evening had turned sour as seating placements dictated that she was looking directly into the eyes of Adrien Agreste. 

“We hadn’t even realized you left Paris.” Tom Dupain seemed a little sheepish in making that statement. 

“I didn’t realize my father had bought your establishment.” The words seemed a little too biting, and he quickly added, “I’m happy that we are able to catch up after so many years.”

Adrien wasn’t a cruel person. Marinette knew him well enough to say that. Absence hadn’t made the heart grow fonder in this case, and the bitterness that drifted her way from his side was palpable. 

Adrien’s cousin, Mr. Felix Graham de Vanilly, and his wife, Kagami, silently observed the mess that was unfolding and did nothing to help. 

“You must tell us about your time at sea,” Sabine Cheng said. “The most famous Captain in the French navy. You must have some good stories.”

“Perhaps my cousin can share how he earned such a ridiculous nickname as the Dread Chat Noir,” Felix said with the barest hint of amusement. 

Adrien didn’t look up from his plate. “Only that I bring bad luck to my enemies.”

Marinette didn’t know if she liked it better when he was ignoring her or when he wouldn’t look away. 

“Why join the navy in the first place?” Sabine asked. 

Adrien stopped completely. He set his utensils down and hastily picked up his napkin to cover a cough. His eyes looked up and over to her above the edge of the cloth with a question and Marinette gave no answer. She had never told her parents of the past. It wasn’t likely she would come out with the truth now. 

No one argued when Adrien didn’t give an answer. He simply went back to eating. 

Kagami gave an awkward smile as she looked around the table. “The salmon has such a lovely citrus flavor.”

.*.*.*.

Marinette was the one opening the bakery the next morning. She had started doing it a few days a week, giving her parents the opportunity to sleep in while she baked and served their first customers. In the time that she had grown older, so had they. Her father complained of his back aching more often and her mother had grown dark circles under her eyes. 

Some might complain that Marinette was seven and twenty and unmarried, but she was doing a lot more good at home than she would in her own household. 

Marinette was in the middle of putting fresh loaves of bread on the display when the door opened and the bell above it jingled. She looked up to see a familiar head of blonde hair. Adrien lingered in the doorway as though he were waiting for her permission to enter. She wanted to tell him that he was letting the cold in, but didn’t want him to take her words as hostile. 

After a moment, he walked up to the counter and before he could even tell her what he wanted, Marinette was pulling the passion fruit macaron from the shelf and putting it in its only little bag. She grabbed a croissant from the display and added it to the order. Adrien seemed surprised when she presented them to him.

“You remember,” he said. 

Marinette pretended she wasn’t thinking of every time she shared this breakfast with him. And every time she had thought about them sharing it in the last six years. 

Adrien picked up the bags from where she had placed them. She held out her hand to him. “That’ll be a franc, please.”

He stared at her dumbfounded. 

“Your cousin owns this establishment. Not you,” Marinette said. “I might be inclined to give him and his wife free products, but you’re still a paying customer.”

The fact was, Adrien had never had to pay before. He dug into his pockets even still and pulled out the money. 

“You seem to be doing well for yourselves,” Adrien said, looking around the room. Gabriel Agreste had paid for renovations when he’d purchased their debt and their business. “And you seem well. As well.”

Was he angry? Is that why he was being so awkward?

Marinette was agonizing over what to say next. She wasn’t prepared for this conversation this early in the morning. Adrien had every right to be upset with her. His version of what happened was different than her own, some of the truth had been concealed, and it made Marinette the rightful object of his ire. 

“Things have been…” Marinette paused to take a deep breath as she tried to think of what word to use, “fine.”

Adrien’s lips pulled into a tight line as he nodded. 

Marinette tried to think of something else to say. “Do you…have your land legs back?”

Surprisingly, Adrien laughed at this.

“I’ve been back from sea for almost a month,” he said. “Sometimes I still feel the ground shifting beneath my feet.”

He started drumming his fingers on top of the counter. 

“The— uh— The sailors under my command were the ones who started calling me Chat Noir.” Adrien had a soft smile on his face when he spoke. 

“Because you bring bad luck on your enemies?”

“And myself.”

Marinette bit her lip. She was about to open her mouth. Maybe an apology would come out. 

“I dropped a cannonball on my foot one time,” Adrien said. 

It took Marinette a moment to realize that he was being serious and she burst out laughing. She was drawn back into her memories, how they used to try and make each other laugh every day. Picturing Adrien holding her in his arms as he cracked another ridiculous joke was an image still sharp enough in her mind to cut deep. His nose had brushed up against hers. Her eyelashes tickled his cheek. 

“But I did face an enemy or two in battle,” Adrien continued. He shrugged. “Apparently, I did alright.” 

Marinette sucked in a deep breath and asked the question she had been trying to hold back. “And how long are you staying?” 

“I’m not sure yet.” 

Nothing was sure. Not anymore. 

Perhaps there had been a time when Marinette could ask him to promise to stay in Paris longer, or leave his post behind entirely. She had forfeited that right when she had gone back on her word. Adrien wasn’t the kind of person to do something like that, and he certainly wouldn’t tolerate that from anyone else. Not even her. 

At one point in her life, Marinette had been so sure that she was going to keep her proimise to marry him. The day she had been called to his home by his father, that certainty crumbled. 

Adrien sniffled and readjusted his grip on his bags of baked goods. “I will be here for a while. There’s some more people I want to see.” 

More people. Could Marinette let herself believe that she was on his list?

“Perhaps I can see you again?” Marinette asked, the smallest bit of hope dripping into her voice. 

Adrien smiled at her. “I’ll see you again, Miss Dupain-Cheng.” 

Her heart sunk as he addressed her by her last name. 

.*.*.*.

When Marinette did cross paths with Adrien again she hadn’t been expecting it. Someone— and she wouldn’t name names— had decided to bring him along on a trip to the botanical gardens. 

Alya Cesaire had organized the outing. She had brought along Nino Lahiffe as well and Mr. Felix Graham de Vanilly and his wife Kagami tagged along as well. Nino and Alya walked arm in arm and Marinette xpected an announcement of their engagement any day now. 

With the roster of the present company, Marinette had been left to walk in the back with Adrien. Couples weren’t always open with their single friends and Marinette often wondered if people got married just so they didn’t feel excluded. Fellow singles of the opposing sex had to keep distance from each other, which made commiserating difficult.

Not that she could have commiserated with Adrien. The fault behind why they walked with a few feet between them instead of arm in arm was her own. 

Marinette tried to occupy herself by enjoying the flowers. They were in full bloom, the warm days of summer coming as a blessing after the cold of late spring. She took walks like this often and tried to use the time to find peace with herself. It was the first moment that Adrien was with her, not just in memory. 

She’d thought of him often. Regret and hope had all mixed together in the same messed up bowl of feelings. With regret, she had listened to his father and “cut him loose.” With hope, she dreamed of him coming back to her. 

Their encounters so far had been nothing like her fantasies and neither was this one. 

Adrien remained silent. He was either listening to their friends' conversations or thinking about something. Either way, the look on his face was intense. It shifted, and he was nodding along to something with a small smile.

“Marinette, what do you think?”

She hadn’t been prepared for Alya’s question. “Hm?”

“What do you think?” Alya related. “About Adrien turning to a life of piracy.”

Adrien was looking at her as if he was actually curious to hear her answer. 

“Would he make a good pirate?” she asked, quickly trying to avoid his eyes.

“Chat Noir is a better pirate name than a naval captain,” Nino said. He scoffed. “He could certainly use the money from stealing chests of gold.”

Alya’s brows furrowed. “What for? Don’t you have some large, grand inheritance from your father?”

“He did ,” Felix said, grumbling under his breath. 

“What?” Alya and Marinette spoke almost simultaneously. 

“Did?” Alya asked. “As in not anymore?”

They had all stopped walking, all eyes turned to Adrien. He turned sheepish under their gazes and his shoulders scrunched up to his ears. What was he trying to hide and why were Marinette and Alya the only ones who didn’t know? For what reason had Gabriel Agreste not left his son with something? Felix had been the one to inherit his business empire, but Adrien had nothing at all.

Anger bubbled up inside Marinette’s chest. Disinheritance had been what she had been trying to protect him from when she’d broken off their engagement. Gabriel had threatened to leave his only son with nothing if they had married and he had done it anyway. 

Forget anger, Marinette felt overcome by panic. She tried to keep herself from hyperventilating. Her friends seemed to have noticed. 

“Will you excuse me, please?” Marinette asked. By the end of her sentence, she was already walking away from them. She took herself off of the path and started trampling through the trees and over their roots. 

Adrien was calling to her over the sound of leaves and branches snapping underneath her feet. Marinette didn’t want him following her. She tried to keep her pace fast enough that he couldn’t catch her but his long legs easily matched her strides. 

He was able to maneuver around her with ease and stop her with his hands on her shoulders. The worry on his face was clear as day as he examined her and his grip was iron. She wouldn’t be able to go anywhere.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

Marinette tried to keep her lip from trembling. She didn’t know what to say to him, how to let out the secret that no one else knew. Gabriel Agreste was dead. She had never told her parents and not even Alya. 

“Did you—“ Marinette felt the words get stuck in her throat. She shut her eyes, cursing under her breath as she tried again. “Did your father really take away your inheritance?”

Adrien blinked slowly as he tried to process. “That’s what you’re—“ he stuttered. “No. No, I refused it.”

“What?” Marinette asked. Her feelings were running away from her. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she sniffled. “You did?”

Adrien hasilty used his hands to wipe away her tears. He was nervous to touch her. She could feel it. 

“Marinette, I know,” Adrien said. “I found out that he told you to walk away.”

There was the slightest hint of anger in his green eyes, as if a distant memory were playing out behind them. Marinette could remember feeling the same way in the days after Gabriel Agreste had summoned her to his home. She had kicked herself for making her decision and then settled with it for a while, only to go back to beating herself up later. 

“I was too late,” Adrien continued. “By then, I was in the middle of my commission. And when they gave me leave to see him before… I wanted nothing more than to come back and clear the air with you.”

“Clear the air…” Marinette repeated. 

He still held her, so gently. 

“I wish you had told me,” Adrien said. “I would have abandoned everything then and there if it meant I could keep all of you. More than just the memories.” 

“I didn’t want to make you give up your family.”

“Damn that. You’re my family.” Adrien didn’t sound harsh at all. Marinette could only recognize the passion that she had loved with her whole being. “You, Marinette. You. You. I want you.”

He leaned in, as if to kiss her, and stopped short. There were still inches to close between them that seemed like miles. 

Adrien pulled away, searching her face again. “I only– That is, I want to ask. If perhaps you still feel the same?” 

Marinette wanted to scream that yes, of course. Of course, she still felt the same. How long had it been since her longing consumed her until it took over her life? Adrien had been in everything since he left, in every loaf of bread she baked, in the evening sky she looked up at on her roof. She saw him when she woke in the morning and when she went to bed at night. 

How could her feelings have changed over these past years when he had been ingrained in her so deeply?

“If you no longer feel the same as you did, I swear to you, I will walk away without another word.” 

Marinette grabbed his hand to hold him there. “Stay,” she said. “And tell me again.” 

Adrien’s whole body flooded with relief. He relaxed, no longer carrying the tense posture of a shoulder. His head drifted down to rest on her shoulder, arms reaching around to pull her in tight. Marinette’s fingers threaded through his hair, keeping him as close to her as possible. 

“I still love you,” Adrien mumbled. 

“What was that?” Marinette asked.

Adiren looked up at her with a frown. “I–”

Marinette quickly pecked his lips. He silenced. She only let him sit in his shock for a second, and much sweeter and gentler, Marinette leaned in and kissed him again. It lasted longer, but she would need much more to make up for all the pain that still lingered in her heart. 

Adrien was quick to caress her cheek, his other hand on the small of her back. When he finally pulled away, he looked as though he let go of anything but his happiness. “Say that I have you again.”

“I am yours.” 

.*.*.*.

Marinette didn’t know if she liked the new sign hanging above the bakery. She had worked on it for hours, but wasn’t sure if it was perfect. Adrien told her a few times over that he loved the blue colors, reminding him of rolling waves on the seas. 

The Agreste name had been taken down, and Dupain-Cheng put back up. Returning ownership of the shop to them had been an unexpected wedding present but a welcome one. Sabine and Tom started talking a few full days off with their daughter and son-in-law taking charge.

Marinette placed a hand on Adrien’s shoulder as she passed by him taking orders from customers. Today was a busy day, but it was hard to be stressed when she was spending it with him. 

“You’ve got to take a break, my love,” Adrien told her after the customers were gone. “You’ve been on your feet all day.”

He wrapped his arms around her from behind, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. 

“Perhaps we can afford to take an hour for lunch,” Marinette said. “If you insist.”

“I do. Put the sign on the door,” he said, turning her around to face him. “An hour to have you all to myself.”

Adrien, once again, drew her in for a kiss. 

[quillsinkwell]

Sneak Peek of Chapter 12 of BTC!

A necessary conversation and epiphany that has been delayed for too long.

(Henry's point of view)

Life was relatively going well at the safehouse.

Allison was growing fonder of them every day, and although Tom seemed the same, Allison swore the same was true for him.

Norman seemed to recall more of his human self, from small moments at the studio, to details about his family and past that no one else knew.

Porter and Bendy were helping Audrey train her powers so that way she could get stronger, and it seemed to be going well.

And Bendy was growing more comfortable talking to the other people in the safehouse, even it was just short phrases.

There was one concern that plagued Henry's mind.

Sammy.

He didn't speak often after what Tom had said about his 'flock', and more often than not simply laid on the cot, facing the wall.

It worried Henry, to say the least.

He had hope that Sammy was getting better, that he was recovering from all that Joey had done to him, but Tom's statement seemed to have sent him back into spiralling into his own mind.

Damn it, Tom! Why couldn't you have just been a jackass to only me like you've done all the previous cycles?!

He knew there wasn't a point to asking that question. He already knew the answer.

Tom had plenty of reason to be a jackass, especially considering who was in his safehouse, but that didn't change the fact that it pissed Henry off.

Henry. What is the matter.

AH! Uh, nothing, it's nothing, Henry thought back to Bendy, having gotten semi-used to the demon's telepathy.

Henry. Do not lie to me. I can sense your unease and fear.

It's really nothing, bud, besides I don't wanna put this on you.

...You let me confide my deepest, darkest secrets and dread within you, it is only fair that I return the favor.

Well, he had a point. And Henry would be lying if he said he didn't wanna talk about this with someone.

Alright, you got me. It's Sammy.

What about him? Is he causing you pain?

NO! No, it's the opposite. I'm worried about him. He hasn't talked to any of us since Tom gave him the news.

Why do you care?

Because he's my friend. I care about him and I want to help him recover from all of this like I do with you.

I see, I see.

Thanks for letting me talk about it, bud.

It is no problem.

Henry fiddled with his hands.

He had to figure out a way to fix this.

•••

(Bendy's point of view)

Bendy really didn't want to do this.

He stood at the wall separating him, Audrey, and Porter from the others.

It wasn't too late to back out. He could just go back to sleep with the others.

Bendy wasn't especially fond of Sammy. He found him extremely irritating.

On a good day, he was useful for doing something Bendy wanted.

On a bad day, he was a pest Bendy found use in solely as a target to unleash his rage upon.

He truly didn't understand why Henry cared about Sammy Lawrence. He was irritating, clinging, and creepy.

But, Henry was a saint, and in a past life he was friends with Sammy, so it wasn't too surprising that he chose to befriend him again.

And Bendy was a core part of Sammy's disheveled mind, so he was probably also a core part of undoing his insanity.

Still didn't change the fact he didn't want to do this.

He used his abilities to melt his way through to the wall to get to the cell that Sammy was in.

Come on, Bendy. Do it for Henry.

•••

(Sammy's point of view)

Sammy.

Sammy's slumber was interrupted by a sudden call into his unconscious.

A very familiar call.

He turned to the opposite side of the wall to see the Ink Demon (albeit in his tiny form) staring at him..

He immediately bolted to sit up straight and properly face the Lord.

Sammy. We need to talk.

Sammy gulped.

So this is how I die.

####################################

Thank you to @preciouslittletoonette for your lovely comments, thank you to all of my lovely readers for liking and reading the fic, and I hope you have a nice whatever time it is in your timezones!

[snapdragonsxoxo]

Stupid teenagers and their inability to cope with their emotions in a healthy way but it’s like cute… kinda 🐿️

I have an actual essay I should be writing-

They'd separate for a bit. Maybe when they're young or maybe as teenagers. Absence makes the heart grow fonder or whatever. I'd like to think they got into an argument but they also could have just gotten super sucked into their lives and were too busy to talk. I dunno they're kinda obsessed with each other so I think their separation would be intentional.

Maybe they separate because she's on track to becoming queen? (I still think of her as a princess but my au is more based on eg so maybe she's on track to becoming a principal? l'm really not sure. I like princess a lot more She wants to focus on her studies and pushes him away. At first she's always busy and he understands but weeks turn into months and he gets frustrated.

They'd def separate after she freaked out. She wanted to talk to him but she couldn't bring herself to.

Regardless he called everyday at first begging her to say she's alright or really to say anything. She wouldn't.

Luna would tell him that she's alright and just needs a little space. He'd call her and talk about her day, the voice mails would range from 5 to 15 minutes. And of course she'd listen to every one several times, to the point where she could recite it. After a couple months of no one being able to get much out of her Celestia requested him.

He'd knock on door softly and get no response, then he'd knock a little harder. There'd be a muffled "go away" she wouldn't keep her door locked she's a good kid. He'd slowly twist the knob and glance around. Her room looked different. Her huge canopy bed had been moved from the center of her room to the corner, her sheets were still purple and her plush animals covered the entire bed. He spotted the Tom nook plush he'd given her for Christmas years ago with her arm wrapped tightly around it. She'd have band posters on her wall, ones that He'd never seen her listen to. More interesting there were bright colored clothes littered on her floor. In all the time he'd known her she'd never worn anything bright, she loved soft colors. The neons hurt her eyes, but yet here they were sprawled across the floor. Which led to another realization her room was far messier than he'd ever seen it. She was by no means clean and organized but her chaos made sense to her. This seemed different though, there were no longer books and notes sprawled across her floor, but magazines and various snacks. He stepped into the room, she didn't move from under her covers. He made his way to the bed and sat down near her legs. "Your rooms a mess" he chuckled. Immediately she scrambled up from under the covers, making his eyes widen. Twi had always had unusually long hair, she'd constantly complain about brushing it all, at times it was such a chore she'd beg Mordecai to do it for her. It was a dark purple color, almost blue. Bangs accompanied the the long hair. They were blunt, precise, as were the ends of her hair. The girl who had emerged from the blanket had short hair, with blonde patches sprinkled in. Her hair wasn't all that had changed, she had never been very fond of makeup, only wore it when attending events with Celestia.

However makeup was present on her face, smudged dark circles surrounded her eyes. Her lips were pink a color her recognized as the one she'd worn to an event a year prior for a fund raiser. She adored it. The glasses he'd commented on for years were no where to be found. She'd completed changed, well not quite, the black transformers hoodie she'd worn everywhere was still present. It had small bleach stains, presumably from when she'd dyed her hair. Dark little eyes stared at him, scanning over his face. " I'm sorry I-" she whispered quietly. " I should have called you back. I should have let you know I'm ok" He didn't process her words, continued looking at her appearance. " you changed you hair" he noted with a small smile. " now I see why Celestia called, blonde streaks? How original" he teased. " Celestia?" She repeated confused. “Yeah that's how concerned she was, and I see why. Not that there's anything wrong with how you look it's just.. different. You cut it with kiddie scissors didn't you?" He said gestering to her hair. " kitchen sears" she smiled. " interesting, it suits you" " now you don't have to brush it anymore" she giggled. " I never understood why you didn't jus use your magic to do it" she stiffened at the mention of magic. He glanced at her confused before realizing. " how long has it been?"

"7 months" she muttered looking away. He stared at her in shock. *7 months" he repeated. * I dont want to do it anymore, I don't want to become that again. I don't want to hurt anyone" she trailed off. " so no I haven't done anything in 7 months* The gravity of the situation started to set in. " you see the new transformers movie?" He asked switching topics. Her head perked up at that. " no I haven't left the dorms in a month* With that he crawled off the bed. "Cmon" he said gesturing for her to follow. "I'll buy m&ms for you to put in the popcorn"

[tmvoldemort]

@regretismyconstantcompanion -

"I can hardly design your thoughts Tom. I'm quite afraid they're all yours." Albus hid his amusement at Toms clear displeasure at having such invasive thoughts he clearly wasn't used it. He was pleased, even if he wouldn't admit that outloud. "Are you really thinking of me that much? Perhaps you have missed me? Absence does make the heart grow fonder after all." he smiled at him and took a step forward, just to see what Tom would do.

“Clearly you haven’t tried magical means to control peoples minds.”

Tom blurted it out. Only to pauses. Realizing that was a statement. Nor had he been force to answer a question.

Tom mule over the revelation. Whatever spell held him, Tom was allowed his own assumptions. Or own guess’ of Albus Dumbledore. 

“Well, you didn’t place this charm upon me. But you are taking clear advantage of it.”

Tom mash his lips together. Scowling down his nose at the other man. At least now he knew the rules. Until Albus spoke again.

“I already answer that, and yes.” Tom said, 

Tom steps forward his torso facing down the other. 

“Now was that a proper question? It seems I don’t have to answer fanciful follies. Or are you afraid of my real answer?”

[kimwexlers-brownhair]

i feel like shiv’s interactions with the stark sisters would be very interesting

I see her as a much less brutal and threatening Cersei to them: Sansa thinks she's the coolest, most beautiful woman in the world, with all the best accomplishments, and Arya picks up on all her worst qualities and just glares daggers at her. Shiv doesn't quite know what to do with Sansa's worship, but eventually she gets her an internship as her personal assistant, and maaaaybe they establish a Tom/Greg dynamic (shippiness only if this is an au where there isn't a huge age gap).

If Arya comes to see that Shiv's determination to separate from her father is sincere, she might gradually become fonder of her.

Overall, I think Shiv is a little uncomfortable around them. Both of them remind her painfully of her own experiences. As the eldest daughter, Sansa is still, even in this enlightened day, expected to be the debutante and backup hostess to her mother, and Shiv knows what that kind of sexist scrutiny is like. Arya will remind her of her own youth as a wild child, and that society is so much harder on girls for putting their foot in it than boys. When she sees Arya and Ned together, a small part of her is reminded of her own relationship growing up with Logan, at its very best. She remembers the couple times Logan encouraged her boldness and independence. The times he understood her better than her mom and even her brothers on occasion.

However, seeing a relationship with those traits sincere and sustained makes her realize that Logan and her really had far too few moments really like that, and that every day they're getting more like Cersi and Tywin instead.

So I sense some wistful nostalgia, not all good, from Shiv when it comes to the Stark girls.

[leon-hoax]

Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Leon Hoax & Emma Hoax | BLOGGERS

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

x DETAILS x

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

Drunk Pose Pack w/Prop from Animosity in Mainstore

Tom Hairbase and Skin from FUOEY at TMD Event Event Opening Date: February 5, 2023 Event Closing Date: February 28, 2023

Chill Blazer BETA from Kalback at TMD Event

Tattoo AJAL from CORAZON at MAN CAVE Event Event Opening Date: January 17, 2023 Event Closing Date: February 11, 2023

[glazed-thy-choco]

rock n roll 80!

since im gonna meet ether tom, i recently found an excerpt from my notes b4 of errthing i felt abt her mid falling in love with her lol

"i love her already, but we're still too shy with each other, or is she just not interested in me? I really want to figure out our love language, if it even exists for the both us.

i want her to wake up every day knowing someone loves her, but i think its still too early in the talking stage to tell her u know?

but it's hard sometimes, she's often not active online, or she just doesn't want to talk to me much i guess. kinda hard building a relationship online with a social media ghost

but i love her, i really do she makes me feel whole and i think all i need also for now, is to wake up everyday knowing that we love each other

because how beautiful is that to hear?

she'll never see this im sure, but i hope in some sort of way there's some wind blowing past her right now that reminds her of me

and the blowing wind saying to her that i love her wholeheartedly

i cant wait for our hearts to grow fonder, ether"

well hopefully i get to say this to a person that loves me back i guess

[aunti-christ-ine]