#when i think about it and don't just shove it into the back of my brain with other chronic pain stuff

[zorosangell]

⛥ﾟ・。 oiran

synopsis: while luffy and the others are off saving sanji, zoro is assigned the role of a ronin, and told to keep a low profile as he roams the land of wano... but he risks revealing himself and the entire crew when he discovers you're a nearby oiran, and in need of his rescue.

cw: lots and lots of fluff, comfort, zoro is down bad for reader, reader is super pretty, zoro does NOT play about you, took me hella long for some reason.

a/n: i took the song hell n back by summer walker as inspo for this

"Thanks," Zoro nodded with a smile, giving the boat owner a thankful nod as he took a box of sushi from him, quickly setting it down in his lap and cracking it open.

Though he had failed to notice the word WASABI written in bold on the side of the tray.

In his travels throughout the Flower Capital, Zoro had landed himself in a little bit of trouble, having been arrested for the crimes of a serial killer, and convicted as a murderer when he cut down a very important magistrate—who was the real culprit—at his own execution.

 Luckily, after defeating the magistrate's followers and walking out the execution yard, he had managed to stumble across a literal sushi boat leaving one of the docks, which gave him the perfect means to escape.

While also offering the perfect opportunity for him to stuff his face.

Eager to eat, he picked up the first piece, which was topped with fresh salmon nigiri and salmon roe, the rice a little more green than the swordsman expected.

But he was too hungry to care, not giving it a second thought as he shoved the whole thing in his mouth.

An act he was quick to regret.

Cheeks puffed and nose scrunched, a bead of sweat trailed down his temple as his face contorted into an expression of discomfort.

'It burns!'

Frantic for something to cool his tongue, he snapped his head around, letting out small hums of muffled agony as he searched for his sake gourd.

Though the spiciness made him feel like his mouth was being seared by flames, most of the heat was moving upward toward the back of his nose, hitting his sinuses just enough to make his eyes water.

Typically, he enjoyed things that sat more on the bitter side, but he'd never imagined food could get this spicy.

Quickly grabbing his sake, he guzzled well over half of it, ignoring the two large streams running down the sides of his mouth as that was what finally stopped the burning.

But as he began to regain feeling in his mouth, he realized that the sushi piece itself actually tasted delicious, slightly smiling at the flavor.

'Looks like I'll just need a sake chaser.'

"My, my! Look at this!" the older man next to him gasped, marveling at a mysterious flyer in his hands. "To think that such a breath-taking beauty actually exists! It's unbelievable!"

Completely unbothered, Zoro went back to stuffing his face, following each bite with a huge gulp of sake.

Though his curiosity began to pique when the man continued to stare at the paper, almost as if he was hypnotized.

"What's unbelievable?" Zoro asked, muffled, as he gulped down another piece. "Hot!"

"An oiran nearby by the name of (f/n)! She's said to be one of the most beautiful women in the country!" the man answered, holding up the paper for the swordsman to see. "It's rumored that her beauty would give oiran Komurasaki a run for her money."

Zoro took another lazy swig of his gourd, brow raised as he flippantly glanced at the flyer, only for his eye to blow wide at the sight.

It was you, your features gracefully laid out and unmistakable in the detailed ink painting.

Surprised, Zoro spit out his mouthful of sake, shooting it directly into the face of a nearby patron.

"Hey! If you don't like wasabi, don't eat it! But I won't tolerate you spitting on other customers!" the owner of the boat shouted, brows furrowed as he glared at the swordsman. "Hold on! Have you even paid?!"

"Lemme see that!" Zoro growled, completely ignoring the owner as he snatched the flyer out of the old man's hands, looking at it closer.

It was indeed you, as radiant and stunning as he'd last seen, which was well over a month ago.

He wasn't told what identity you were assigned or where you were stationed—a precaution taken by Kin'emon as he'd seen throughout his travels how hell-bent the swordsman was on protecting you, and couldn't trust the man not to seek you out if he knew.

And, of course, his intuition would be right, as the paper suddenly began to crumple in Zoro's hand, his expression dropping into a deep scowl.

Zoro was dim, but he wasn't stupid.

During his time in the capital, he had managed to piece together what the whole oiran business was about.

He'd overheard the stories.

He'd seen the men.

It was nothing but an excuse for stuffy rich guys to gawk and leer at women, treating them like objects and products to be bought rather than actual people.

His fist clenched even tighter, veins bulging in his hand as it practically shook, nearly destroying the paper.

While eating out somewhere nice, he'd eavesdrop on some of the stories the men of higher status would tell, and to call their actions harassment would be a grave understatement.

He grit his teeth, attempting to fight off the swell of anger threatening to burst from his chest.

Just the thought of any man doing those things to you made his blood boil, and his hands itch for his swords.

Plan be damned, he wasn't gonna let anything happen to you on his watch.

Abruptly turning around, he yolked up the boat owner by the front of his yukata, the man letting out a fearful yelp as Zoro pulled him closer with a deadly glare.

He held out the crumpled flyer for the man to see, tone deadly serious and leaving no room for argument.

"Tell me where I can find her..."

"Care for some sake, sir?" a blonde-haired geisha asked, a slight flush on her cheeks as she approached Zoro, who was sitting rigidly on his tatami mat.

The man was certainly a sight, and every other girl in the room was having a hard time focusing on their clients with him sitting so close.

He was significantly more handsome than their typical patrons.

Pronounced jawline.

Clearly muscular physique.

Dark, bedroom eyes.

A dream come true for a woman in this profession.

"No, thank you," he curtly denied, not even bothering to look the girl in the eye.

But he had turned down every one of their advancements.

Yet, in all actuality, he wasn't even supposed to be there.

Once the boat owner told him where to find you, he immediately jumped ship, leaving behind some money to pay for his meal before landing on the riverbank.

He ran as fast as his legs could carry him with nightfall drawing ever closer, as he knew that was when red-light districts were at their most busy.

 And only after mugging a few rich guys—using their money to pay the exorbitant entrance fee—did he finally gain access to your room, entering himself under the guise of a wealthy samurai.

Then, he laid in wait, watching with a certain disdain as the other men practically jumped the other girls, getting particularly handsy particularly quick.

But he did his best to ignore it, instead focusing on the fact that you had yet to arrive, worry beginning to spike in his veins as he had been sitting there for thirty minutes, with little to no sign of you at all.

"Hey," he called, snappily, snatching the girl out of her lovesick stupor. "When the hell is the oiran comin' out?"

Visibly, her shoulders dropped, a pout settling on her painted lips as she finally caught the message, now understanding why he was so cold toward everyone else.

He was waiting for her.

'Much like the rest of the men that pass through nowadays...'

Sucking up her slight annoyance, she faced the man with a polite smile, fixing her grip on the tray of liquor.

"Oiran (f/n) will be—"

"Lords! And esteemed samurai of Wano!" an older woman suddenly exclaimed, seeming to appear out of nowhere, utterly elated. 

Zoro snapped his attention away from the girl, eye zeroing in on the door the madam was standing in front of.

He could sense you standing just behind it, and was fighting off the all-encompassing urge to bust it down and drag you away from the place.

"It is with great honor that the Ogimoto House presents to you our very own shining star... oiran (f/n)!"

As the door slammed open, a woman in the corner suddenly began to play the shamisen, the other girls joining together to gracefully dance as you made your entrance, carefully stepping into the light.

And once Zoro caught sight of you, nearly all the air was knocked out of his lungs.

You were a vision.

Your hair was tied in a both simple yet elaborate updo, adorned with several golden, gem-encrusted hairpins, two small strands of hair falling before your ears.

Your kimono was heavily layered, but richly decorated with bold greens and intricate embroidery that accented the fabric's dragon design—the most prominent one, ironically, missing its left eye, much like your swordsman.

Your makeup was surprisingly simple for an oiran, more focused on accentuating your natural features, while offering small pops of color to your cheeks.

Zoro's heart added another beat to its pattern, feeling as if the skin on his chest was tightening over itself, rendering him unable to breath.

Just being able to look at you brought him an embarrassing amount of happiness.

Lowering your fan, you flashed the men a coy smile, their eyes quite literally turning into hearts at the sight.

"Sorry for the delay," you simpered, gracefully walking into the room.

Because of traditional oiran etiquette, it was impossible for you to move faster than a mile an hour, but that only added to the appeal as that made it seem as if you were floating through the air. 

Calculated, your eyes scanned over the crowd, analyzing each face within the room.

You'd recognized a few of the usual suspects—rich, thirsty men who would fall over themselves trying to catch your attention—and noticed a few new faces—skeptical types who wanted to see if the rumors of your looks were true.

But one man among them all stuck out to you.

You'd recognize that head of hair anywhere...

 Internally, you let out a sigh, fighting off the wide smile threatening to break out on your face.

'He just can't follow directions, can he?'

Your swordsman.

Though you two had only been apart for about a month, give or take, you couldn't help but allow your heart to swell with joy at seeing him again.

Countless nights you'd found yourself pining over the man, missing his presence by your side.

His genuine, obnoxious laugh.

His funny, snarky remarks.

His drunken, horrible flirting.

His bad habit of resting his hand on your hip, keeping you tethered to his side.

All that was why you found your feet carrying you over to his mat, entire body burning at the intensity of his stare and the cockiness of his smirk.

"May I join you, sir?" you asked, slyly, biting back the grin threatening to crack on your lips. "I don't believe I've seen you here before."

He let out a quiet chuckle, perfectly fine with playing along, so long as he was your only customer.

"Be my guest," he greeted, his hand instinctively coming up to pat his thigh.

You typically sat in his lap when you two were alone, but he was so excited to see you, he didn't really care.

Though, when your eyes flashed him a scolding look, his hand halted in mid-air, brow raising in confusion.

You glanced toward the other patrons discreetly, taking notice that they all were still watching intently, before turning your attention back to your swordsman.

'We can't do that here, dumbass,' your expression said. 'You're gonna blow my cover.'

It finally hit him, and he nodded with an adorably vacant look.

'My bad,' he backed off.

"Oiran (f/n)!" a man suddenly shouted from across the room, grabbing everyone's attention as he bustled to his feet and scrambled toward you. "Oiran (f/n)!"

Despite your confusion, you turned to him with a warm look, masking your apprehension.

"Yes, Sir Kyoguro?" you asked.

You'd recognized the man from a few of his previous visits, and you made a point to remember every name you met, in case they could be of use to you later.

"I must say, I am bewitched by your beauty, absolutely enthralled by your grace, and in awe of your poise!"

You pretended to be abashed by the comments, slightly hiding yourself behind your fan.

"Sir Kyoguro, you flatter me."

Zoro nearly gagged, rolling his eyes at the sight.

He knew you were faking it, seeing as you'd just given him a real reaction only moments ago, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

"(f/n)!" the man eagerly lurched forward, taking your hand in his. "I am utterly taken with you. I see no other woman that can take your place in my heart!"

You fought off a grimace, smiling down uneasily at the stranger, who seemed to have found it in his right to touch you without your permission.

Zoro, on the other hand, was less than pleased.

Arms tightly crossed over his chest, his gripped his yukata, occupying his hands to prevent himself from shooting up and severely hurting the man.

It was painfully obvious that you were uncomfortable, yet you seemed to be taking it in stride.

How many other interactions had you had like this one?

How many men have touched you without your say so?

How many times have you had to hide your distress behind a kind smile?

'Bastard...'

He grit his teeth, fingers tightening painfully into a fist.

"This is why... I want you to marry me!"

Your entire world scratched to halt, Zoro's eye widening at the words.

"I-I beg your pardon?" you weakly stuttered, utterly shocked, praying you heard him wrong.

"I've already paid off your contract and then some. So tonight we leave for the Flower Capital! There we will be wed! And we'll finally be able to start our lives together!"

Your heart practically sank to your feet, the very thought making you shiver under your skin.

It was unheard of for an oiran to get a marriage proposal just within a month of working, much less one where the client pays well over the asking price.

Kin'emon telling you that fact was the only thing reassuring you throughout this whole endeavor.

As cheesy as it was, you had no intention of marrying anyone else in this world other than Zoro, whether the wedding was real or not.

But it wasn't like you could outright say no, or simply run away.

You'd blow your cover that way, and the others needed you to find out everything you could from the nobles of Wano.

'Of all people, why did this have to happen to me?'

It was safe to say... you were shitting your pants.

In a desperate attempt to debunk this, you turned to the madam, but she gave you a proud thumbs up, nodding in concurrence.

'Fuck!'

"And while we're on the topic... please forgive me if this comes off too vulgar for your delicate ears," the man leaned in closer, whispering so only you could catch it. 

You shivered, terrified of what nonsense he might say.

"Once we reach the Flower Capital, I must insist that we start the process of producing an heir at once. My family is in great need of one, you see? And we need to start his upbringing right away."

You nearly laughed at the statement, eyes wide, nearly disbelieving of the words that just left his mouth.

There's no way he just said that...

But he did.

And Zoro heard him loud and clear.

And right then and there was when the swordsman decided the time for sitting idly by was over, plan be damned—Traffy could make another one.

It'd be a cold day in hell before he ever let you get married to some pervert for some mission, much less have a kid with him.

Silently, Zoro stood up from his mat, rising to his full height ominously quiet.

The entire room suddenly turned their attention to him, you included, your lips letting out a faint gasp as you caught a glimpse of his eyes, which were darkened with malice.

You recognized the look instantly... and you knew it spelled trouble.

'Oh, no...'

Your swordsman clenched his fist, grabbing the air as if it were one of his swords, before winding up his arm for a swing.

"Zoro, please... he didn't mean anything by it... we'll figure something out, alright?" you tried to calm him down, completely ignoring the fact that you used his real name, and the fact that it was completely inappropriate to talk to a customer that way.

You were more preoccupied with making sure he didn't kill anybody.

But his mind was already made up.

Suddenly, a dark, shiny substance coated his arm from his fingertips to his elbow, emanating a menacing, purple glow.

'HA!'

If he was using his haki, there was no point in talking anymore.

You sighed, exasperatingly rolling your eyes, giving up on any hopes of calming him down and simply waiting for the inevitable.

"No Sword Style... Tatsumaki!"

Faster than everyone else could see, he swung his arm through the air, creating a giant, aggressive air funnel that knocked the sniveling man before you out cold—the winds so harsh that it blew the hairpins right out your hair and tore through the roof of the house, letting in the torrential downpour from outside.

While everyone was distracted, Zoro scooped you up in his arms, bridal style, your yelp of surprise snatching back their attention.

"Hey!" the madam shouted, furious. "You put her down this instant!"

"I'm stealing the woman!" Zoro announced, running right past her and out the exit, snatching up the large sack of money the man left. "And the cash!"

"Don't tell them that!" you lightly smacked him in the chest, laughing, as you wrapped your arms around his neck, the pelting rain forcing your loose hair to stick to your face.

Breaking down the door to the exit, your swordsman sprinted out toward the dirt road, the owner of the house along with your other loyal followers chasing you both outside.

"Get back here!"

"Where are you going with the oiran?!"

"You can't take her!"

"Someone stop him!"

"Oiran (f/n)! We'll save you!"

As if you needed saving...

"Y'know, most guys say hi, how are ya before kidnapping a girl from her house," you teased, turning to your swordsman.

"Most girls typically say thank you after being saved from an arranged marriage," he countered, his trademark cocky grin plastered on his face.

"What other girls are you saving?" you playfully huffed, brows furrowing as you tugged at his cheek.

Amused, Zoro let out a small chuckle, rolling his eyes.

He'd missed you... desperately.

Looking over your shoulder, you checked to see if the men were still chasing you, happy to see that they had given up, all of them stopping and turning back toward the house.

'So much for loyal...'

Pushing the thought to the side, you suddenly cupped your swordsman's face in your hands, thumb softly gliding over his cheekbone.

"I missed you," you smiled up at him, sincerely, taking a moment to re-familiarize yourself with his face.

You'd missed him... desperately.

And the man seemed even handsomer than you remembered.

Finally a decent distance away from the house, Zoro stopped in his tracks, pulling over right in the middle of the road.

"Stand on my feet," he stated, shifting his grip to put you down.

You were only wearing tabi socks, and he didn't want you to get muddy feet.

Following his instructions, you stepped carefully onto the tops of his feet, his hands sliding down to your hips to balance you.

Though, once he was sure you were steady, he didn't hesitate in pulling you flush against him and smashing his lips against yours.

Your eyes widened, slightly surprised by the sudden movement, before you instantly melted into his embrace, relishing the way his strong arms felt wrapped around you.

He kissed you like he was famished, like you were water in his desert, his blunt fingertips having a near bruising grip on your hips.

Moments like these made him wonder what life would be like if the two of you didn't have to split up every two fucking seconds.

Pulling you even closer, he only deepened the kiss, his eagerness electrifying you right down to your core.

Emotional displays of this magnitude... coming from him?

In public?

You never thought you'd see the day.

Pulling back with a soft pop, you took a moment to catch your breath, unable to fight off the stupid smile settling on your lips.

"I should get married off more often," you chuckled, breathlessly, resting your hands on his chest for purchase.

He scoffed, scooping you up again before going back to running, hoping to find somewhere to shelter you both from the rain.

Glancing down at your smug grin, he smirked, rolling his eyes before placing a quick peck on your forehead.

"Don't push it."

[klausysworld]

Apart of the Family

Loving Elijah Mikaelson wasn't an easy thing.

He pushed me away the entirety of the start of our relationship, he wouldn't talk about his feelings or his thoughts. Sometimes he thought breaking up would protect me from him and his family.

If I hadn't loved him so much then I would have left but I couldn't help but stay. We met in Mystic Falls when he was there to deal with Klaus and avenge his family. I had thought he'd left when Klaus daggered him so I was so happy when Damon woke him back up.

He came to my house even before getting his haircut to see me and he ended up staying the night before having to leave with plans to wake his family.

Rebekah didn't like me much to start out, none of them trusted me or wanted me in their house but that didn't stop Elijah from coming to mine. But if he wasn't with them, looking after them 24/7 like a father figure then they all started to fall apart.

He started to pull away again, so I had to confront the Mikaelsons myself, which was admittedly terrifying but overall worth it when Klaus's eyes shimmered with respect and I got to shove past Rebekah and up the stairs of the mansion. Elijah was practically feral after listening to me stand up to his siblings.

His mother liked me, although I'm not really sure if that should be taken as a compliment or an insult. Elijah liked it though. I think he's always sought approval from his parents.

He was distraught when he found out his mother planned to kill them. More broken then any of his siblings could ever know. He made me promise not to tell them that he'd been sobbing into my chest for over two hours that night.

We left for a little while, Elijah needed some time and I jumped at the chance of having him alone for a little while before he was inevitably called back.

We'd been living such a domesticated life We had our own house, yard, stupid white-picket fence.

Even though I knew it was impossible, I started to dream of having his child. I knew he'd been the perfect father, he had a thousand years worth of practice.

I could imagine if we had a son, he'd be all dressed in his little suit with his hair combed neatly. Elijah was just perfect, but he couldn't have children so I wouldn’t either.

I thought I was happy with that, until I found out that Klaus was having a baby.

It wasn't fair. He didn't even want a child and neither did Hayley. Elijah was the only reason the child stayed alive and Klaus still daggered him.

"I promise you, I'll bring him home." He told me when I'd found out he wasn't even in the house somewhere but under Marcels mercy.

"Klaus." I whispered, I could feel my eyes getting wet with tears and he sighed.

"I wouldn't let him get hurt. I know you think I'm selfish and I use my brother...to an extent that's true, but I do love him and I know that you do. He'll come back and I'll undagger him before the baby is even born." He promised and I didn't have much room to argue. Instead I just went back upstairs.

Even Rebekah came which was a nightmare. I don't know what her problem was for me but somehow my favourite Mikaelson in that house was Klaus.

Until Klaus finally brought him back.

I didn't care that Rebekah was pissed that I got to hug him first, I refused to let him go and he didn't seem to be budging much either. I could feel his face nuzzling my neck as I breathed in his scent.

"He made us stop at a suit shop on the way over, he refused for you to see him all dusty and-"

"That's enough, Niklaus. Just leave us be." Elijah muttered and I sighed in relief at the sound of his voice.

By evening I was snuggled up to his bare chest, his hands on my back as he pressed a series of kisses to the top of my head.

"I love you." He mumbled and I smiled, he didn't like saying it often. He worried it would lose it's meaning.

"I love you too." I whispered, wanting nothing more than to lay with him forever.

Things got better and worse from then.

Everything was Klaus centred again of course. When wasn't it?

But I did feel bad for him, to have to go as far to fake his child's death. It was the first time I'd ever hugged him, I could feel his tears on my neck as he tried to sniff them back. Elijah was looking at me from across the room, a slight nod to his head as he finished the phone call with Rebekah.

Things were quiet after that.

But then everything went wrong again, Esther and Mikael came back. Elijah's 'Red Door' opened and he almost suffocated me in his sleep.

He wouldn't touch be for almost a month, not even hold my hand, it was torture. It took a very hash breakdown and a really long cry for him to finally wrap his arms around me and apologise.

It was really hard for a while, but seeing him with Hope in his arms did something to me. It broke me.

That was when Rebekah finally realised we weren't that different. She sat with me on the bathroom floor whilst I sobbed over not being able to have his child and we stayed there until Elijah came in and found us. I wouldn't tell him what was wrong and ended up leaving for a a few hours but it was obvious that Rebekah had spoken to him about it by the time I got home.

He welcomed be back into his arms and he held me tight, caressing my arms and my back before finally breaking the silence.

"I truly refuse to believe that with the amount of magic in this world, that there is no possible chance of me being able to give you a baby." He whispered and I sniffed.

"You're dead Elijah, your sperm is dead." I mumbled and he ran his fingers through my hair.

"Witches bring people back from the dead, I think they can revive a couple of my swimmers." He chuckled and I let out a half cry/half laugh.

"You really think that?" I whispered and he kissed the side of my face.

"I'm at least going to try." He murmured.

It wasn't really mentioned again for a while so I assumed that it had just been a fleeting idea to calm me down.

That was until I walked into our room and found it covered in candles and rose petals. Elijah was stood in a fresh suit, his hands clasped together with a rose between them.

"What..." I mumbled and he let out a shaky breath.

"I found a witch." He stated and my brows pulled together for a second before the realisation washed over me.

"You did?" I whispered and he nodded. I dropped my bag down and made my way inside, standing in front of him and taking the rose from his hands, placing it down on the vanity. "Are you sure that it'll work?" I asked and his lips twitched.

"There's only one way to find that out." He murmured lowly, his umber eyes bleeding into obsidian.

I reached up to carefully undo his tie, my fingers unloosing the fabric in the way he liked to do it so that it wouldn't stretch or 'fold funny'. I pushed his blazer down his shoulders and rest it over the chair before reaching up to undo each button one by one. I made sure my fingertips brushed over the firm muscle of his chest before pulling the shirt off his arms and onto the chair as well.

My eyes glanced up to his as I loosened his belt, slipping it away from his hips and popping the button on his trousers. He let out a soft sigh through his nose as they dropped down to his ankles and he stepped out of them. I let him take his boxers off whilst I unbuttoned my dress all the way down and slipped my panties off and reached back to get my bra off.

His hand was round my waist, pulling me to bed in a second making me smile and lean back into the mattress as he hovered over me.

"I promise I'll give you a baby, Y/N." He uttered and I felt my heart and lower stomach flutter.

His hands stroked down the length of my body before my thighs were gripped and pushed open. I bit my lip to hold back my grin as his lips worked their way down from the top of my neck to my navel.

"Does this help make the baby?" I whispered with a breathy laugh as his hot breath stimulated my clitoris.

"It might." He murmured with a grin before his tongue licked a strip through my folds before focusing on my clit. My head went back, resting against the pillows and my legs fell open against his hands that gripped my thighs firmly. I looked up at the ceiling through heavy eyes as his tongue swirled perfectly. Heat stroked me so precisely that I was a trembling mess in a matter of seconds. It always amazed me how easily he broke me.

It never took long before my fingers were latched into his hair, ruining the neat appearance he always held and forcing groans to vibrate through my lower body and set fire to my core.

I never received any time to recover before he was cupping my face and lifting my legs, hushing my whine as my leg was stretched over his shoulder.

"Look at me, darling." He murmured but his voice was somehow always clear. I did as he said, my eyes locking with his as I felt him push inside me; stretching and filling me inch my inch until all the air was gone from my lungs.

His lips pushed to mine, filling my mouth with his tongue and teasing mine. "Elijah..." I moaned quietly against him and he pulled away with a groan, looking down at me and kissing my forehead as his hips drew back before pushing forward with force. I let out a sharp breath as he did so, my hands cupping his neck and my nails scratching the back of his head. "Gods..." I whispered and he let out a low hum as he build a steady rhythm to move against me.

"I can't wait to pump you full of my child." He uttered, his eyes swirling with that familiar darkness. I panted with a smile on my lips, feeling my leg strain as he pushed be deeper into the bed and moved quicker. "Feel you milk me of my last drop." He breathed out as his mouth now hovered back over mine, making my skin hotter and hotter. "See you round and swollen..." He grunted, his body stuttering before getting a little rougher.

His grip started to get tighter, his fingertips pressing bruises into the skin of my thigh and hip. The veins starting to scatter beneath his eyes and down his stubbled cheeks. My hands slid round from his neck to feel how they raised against the pads of my thumbs.

"I need you." I whispered and his brows furrowed.

"You have me." He muttered, thrusting particularly hard as if to make a point. "All of me."

"Prove it." I breathed and his blunt nails dug in a little before one of his hands let go and slid down my body to massage my clit so well that I knew that was it for me.

His other hand was round my throat, forcing me to look back at him as his warmth started to fill more and more, one thrust at a time until he stayed completely still above me. His forehead rest against mine, his skin warm on mine as he shifted to kiss my lips.

"I promise you, by the end of the year, you'll be carrying our child and I'll be massaging you until you're perfectly sated." He smiled and I mirrored it as he shifted so that I was laid on top of his firm body. "We should lay for a while...so that it can take." He whispered and I hummed.

"I'd lay with you forever."

"Always, and forever." He corrected softly.

[jayparked]

the overstimulation is becoming too much as you try to grind your hips on sunghoon's face. the soft haired boy chuckles, his breath tickling your clit in a tormenting teasing way.

"i'd tell you to use your words but..." he trails off, smirking up at you before gripping your thighs tighter and diving back into you.

your moan is stifled as sunghoon's best friend, heeseung, shoves his cock even deeper down your throat, purposefully not wanting you to answer the other boy.

"yeah, focus on me baby. i'm the one you really want, not him." heeseung holds you flush to his pelvis before slowly pulling back, leaving you gasping for air, a string of your saliva connects you to his cock. you're not sure why he's suddenly being so possessive, it's not like this is the first time the three of you have been in this situation. and usually he's the more patient and giving one among the three of you. you try not to question it too much, slightly too distracted by the feeling of another orgasm approaching you.

humming around heeseung's cock and clenching on sunghoon's tongue, you let yourself come undone one more time. sunghoon doesn't stop when your legs start to shake or when you start whimpering around heeseung.

"she's had enough man back off." heeseung pulls away only to lift you up and pull you against his chest, his arms wrapping strongly around you.

"i'm okay, hee. i want to keep going," you say confidently, but out of breath.

"great. i wanna taste you on my lips again," sunghoon groans.

"no, you've had enough. you just watch. or leave. i don't care but you need to relax." heeseung motions for the other to step back, his tone nearing that of a bite. sunghoon just shrugs, completely unaffected by heeseung's behavior, and leaves the room, mumbling something about going to get some water and to wash his face.

"it's just you and me, just how you wanted," you sing song the words playfully, still trying not to think too much on why heeseung demanded this.

"i...i don't know why i-"

"it's okay to want me for yourself. come here, i'm all yours." you pull yourself away from his arms and lay your head on the pillows, slowly opening up your legs for him. heeseung groans and turns away, one hand covering up his mouth as he clenches his jaw.

heeseung looks back at you for a moment before crawling on the bed to you, planting his lips firmly on your own. you feed into his fevered kiss, letting yourself get washed away by his passion and need. mere seconds pass before you feel the tip of his cock prodding at your entrance, but he stops just before you can clench around him.

"are you okay? we can stop if you're too sore." he looks at you with concerned eyes.

you can't help but giggle a little with how sweet he's being. "i'm okay, hee. i want this. i want you."

with that said, heeseung pushes himself into you until he bottoms out. he lets you both get adjusted before he starts moving and it doesn't take long before you're a moaning mess under him.

"f-fuck, i don't think i'm gonna last long if you keep doing that," heeseung says through clenched teeth, his pace quickening as you continue to clench around him.

"she loves doing that shit," sunghoon chuckles from the doorway, casually sipping from his glass.

heeseung's pace doesn't falter, but something flickers in his eyes, something dark and determined.

"keep moaning my name, y/n. i want him to see how i can fuck you better."

"so possessive today," laughs sunghoon again, leaving the doorframe to sit himself next to the bed, "don't worry, y/n. he's just mad i made you come so many times. he's not used to being shown up."

"shut. up." heeseung growls, grinding his hips so his cock reaches a new angle in you. and it feels so good, but all you can think about is how this will go on all night until the two men feel satisfied enough with their performances or their competitive nature finally subsides. but you know all too well that'll never happen.

for part of my 1k follower celebration send me a member and a number from this list and i'll write a short drabble about it ♡ masterlist

[419jhat]

Eddie's lagging behind his friends at comicon, lazily taking in a particularly cool d20 being sold in the artist alley when he spots her. Seated in a chair, looking bored as fuck while she scrolls on her phone, was the most beautiful Blossom he's ever laid his eyes on. She wasn't wearing the usual outfit. She'd switched it out for something preppy and modern- a pleated pink skirt swishing around her thighs, cute white socks, and a sweater vest that shows off how much she goes to the gym. She looks like she would've called him a freak in high school, but in a sexy way, which is a thought that he doesn't want to reflect on without his therapist present.

"You gonna shoot your shot?" Gareth asks.

Eddie feels like he's been caught.

"I don't know, maybe I will," he says with a shrug.

"She's out of your league, friend. She looks like she'd step on you."

"I know," Eddie sighs.

Gareth looks incredibly unimpressed . "Ugh. Go. Before I leave you standing here like an idiot and she notices you staring. Which you're doing a lot, by the way."

He finishes with a shove right between Eddie's shoulder blades, forcing him to stumble toward Ms. Blossom in a way that catches her attention. And then he has to walk up to her, because he's looking at her and she's looking at him, and neither of them are looking away and it's becoming a whole thing. He walks toward her slowly, because he can't think of what to say, and the way she's playing with her wig is really distracting and cute.

"Uh. Waiting for a Rowdy Ruff Boy?" he jokes awkwardly. Blossom's face morph into pure disgust and Eddie wants to melt into the floor.

"Seriously bro?" she asks with a shockingly deep voice.

Before Eddie can make his brain snap together a response, the other Power Puff Girls are running up to them.

"Steve! I hope you didn't wait long, Chris wanted to get one of those- oh. Hello," Buttercup says, when she notices him. Bubbles' blonde hair is very real, and very cute pulled into pigtails. Buttercup seems to have just dyed hers black for the occasion.

"Hi," Eddie says lamely. He waves at them, for some reason.

Buttercup gasps. "Are you hitting on him? We can leave and come back. Come on, babe," she says, grabbing Buttercup's hand.

"Don't fuck this up!" Bubbles says as she's pulled away.

"Oh my god, ignore them. What did you say?" Steve, apparently, asks. Eddie wants to crawl in a hole and die. He can just feel Gareth laughing behind him.

"It's was a joke. You know, the Rowdy Rough Boys?" Steve doesn't seem to know, so he adds, "the evil boy version of the Power Puff Girls?"

Steve looks down at his clothes as some kind of recognition dawns on his face. "Oh! Shit dude, I haven't seen the show. Rob and her girlfriend just really needed a Blossom."

This is usually the point Eddie would tease Steve about being a poser, but he looks so sincere (and his biceps are so distracting) that his game is totally out of shape. A guy who would don a skirt for his friends? A man after his own heart! He half wants to make up an excuse and leave to save himself from further shame, but he's too enticed by the cute moles on Steve's jaw that he lets himself suffer a little longer.

Steve looks him up and down and asks, "so what are you supposed to be?"

Eddie looks down at his ripped jeans and says, "...me."

He's internally kicking himself for leaving his own outfit in the hotel room.

Steve smiles up at him in a way that shows off his makeup. "Well it's working for you. You know when you first came up to me I thought you were asking me if I wanted to get rough with you."

Eddie laughs awkwardly, cheeks burning, because bombing an interaction this badly is exactly the kind of thing the universe would demand of him. Steve just stares at him. Eddie stares back awkwardly, wondering what he's supposed to even say. He can see Buttercup and Bubbles a few feet away, mouthing something at him combined with a collection of hand gestures he doesn't really understand. Steve sighs. Then he flicks the wig in a way that's kind of flirty and says, "that was an invitation, dude. You gonna take it or sit there and keep staring at my tits?"

And Eddie does take the invitation, thank you very much.

[rainydayathogwarts]

Can I request anything Harry x reader?? There’s not a lot of fics for him and it’s such a struggle to find anything good, I love your writing so much so I will literally take anything lol

Long kisses, risky places - Harry Potter

You giggle, accepting the tickling kisses Harry leaves in a trail on your jawline and down to your neck. He shushes you quietly, yet there's a familiar smile on his face. Glancing upwards, you confirm that the dark corner of the library you're in is completely empty before strewing a hand in Harry's already messy hair, running your fingers through his soft locks. The booth you're squeezed in thankfully covers your bodies, so no one could see the way your legs are thrown over Harry's lap, or the way his hand is edging dangerously high up your skirt.

Harry's fingers lace through the colourful tie adorning your chest, and he tugs at it gently, bringing your face closer to his so he can press a gentle kiss on your lips. Your hands fall flat on the couch underneath you, pushing your body up to chase Harry's kiss when he begins to pull away. He grins, arms wrapping around your waist, and your hands link together behind his neck, pulling him impossibly closer to you. A happy laugh bubbles in your chest and you and Harry both freeze. Harry raises his head to glance above the edge of the booth, waiting to see if Madame Pince will appear, ready to scold you. Harry turns his gaze back down to you, and he shoots you a smile before reconnecting his lips with yours.

One of his hands drags away from your waist, wandering up your thigh, and you gasp, breaking the kiss, and laying a hand flat over the top of his. "Harry, don't." You warn, raising your eyebrows at him, though he seems unconvinced. "We'll definitely get kicked out of here." Harry leans closer to you, pressing a couple of kisses in the crook of your neck. "Why? Can't be quiet?" He teases, inching his hand upwards. You shake your head frantically, feeling the heat creep up your neck and settle into your cheeks, an embarrassed smile making its way onto your face. You grasp Harry's tie, pulling him down so you can hide your face in his chest.

"Okay, then my dorm or yours?" Harry finally asks, pulling away from you to start shoving his books in his bag. Swinging your legs over his lap, you mimic Harry's movements, racing him out of the booth without answering his question. Your boyfriend chases after you, only slowing down when you reach the library's entrance, where Madame Pince shoots you both a dirty look. Harry intertwines his fingers with yours when you make it down the hallway, keeping his eyes peeled for broom cupboards. He grins, spotting one down the corridor, and drags you there by the hand, ignoring your confused questions.

Harry's free hand grips the doorknob, turning the handle until a familiar voice calls out "Mr. Potter, don't even think about it!" You freeze, back straightening in caution, watching as Harry's head snaps towards the voice and a nervous smile makes its way onto his features. He slowly lets go of the door handle, maintaining eye contact with Professor McGonagall, who stands tall with her arms crossed at the other end of the hallway. "Sorry Professor." Harry apologises nervously "I was just looking for," He clears his throat, voice lowering into a mumble "You know."

You can feel Harry's grip on your hand tighten slightly, tugging you closer to him and he begins to slowly walk away from the cupboard. You duck your head down, speeding up your pace until you finally turn the corner to another hallway, but can still hear McGonagall's sigh of "Just like his parents."

[hamsternella]

You and me | Stanford Pines x Reader

request: "Do you feel comfortable writing a Stanford Pines x Reader? Just something cute and fluffy. I was thinking a College Age Stanford meeting the reader at some party Fiddleford forced him to go to and they’re both shy but they both like science and Ford develops a crush on them."

cw: fluff

''Could you repeat the reason why I agreed to come with you?''

Fiddleford shrugged, muttering something that Pines was unable to make out under the raucous music blasting from the sorority house. A heavy, repetitive tune; the kind of music an appellant might come to like, not him. Stanford wasn't cut out for this sort of thing, but his best friend had been urging him on for a full month, even before the national baseball team's shindig was confirmed. It was even strange coming from McGucket.

He looked considerably nervous, but no less willing to let himself be led through the crowd toward the center of the common room. Ford tried to keep up with him—almost impossible, with so many arms and legs around him; so much shouting too close to his ears, leaving him lost for moments. The colored lights and the smell of raw sweat were making him sick to his stomach. Were it not for Fiddleford's sure grip dragging him into a safe shoving corner, Pines could have sworn he almost ended up a carpet on the floor.

''I really need you to repeat the reason,'' Ford shouted between heavy breaths, leaning on his friend's shoulder, ''because I still don't understand my own reasoning. This is insane!’’

''It's just a party!'' McGucket let out a forced laugh, trying to move his body to the beat of the new song bursting on the players. His eyes darted from one side of the room to the other. ''We have to understand their vibe and let ourselves go!''

''This is ridiculous,'' Ford breathed, adjusting his glasses. ''I think I'm going to—''

''—get a drink!'' Fiddleford nodded briskly, beginning to point a hand towards the free bar of drinks at the other end of the dance floor. ''I'll get you a drink!''

Stanford wanted to refuse immediately, but as soon as he prepared his throat to shout again, he noticed that his friend had already thrust half his body between the dancing couples; his legs kicked in all directions, seeking to propel himself among the people tempted by laughter. An occasional woman, unknown to Ford's eyes, had even extended an arm around McGucket's shoulders. Pines knew on a hunch that he wasn't going to see his friend again for a long while.

It's not like he could leave the party either. He wasn't going to leave him alone just like that.

Stanford hugged himself in the corner, leaning his back against the wall to let himself be devoured by the gloom. Occasionally he held his breath, if anything many people crossed his path with the dreadful aroma of alcohol and cigarette on them; other times he simply kept up a pleasant chat until the person in question fell defeated on the floor. At least two hours would have passed like this.

Fiddleford had disappeared, though occasionally his screams reached him through the music. He was clearly having too much fun; so much of that, that after a couple of disposable glasses, he seemed to have forgotten that his friend was still hibernating in a corner of the room.

Ford couldn't feel angry no matter how much he wanted to. The situation was certainly stressful, but particularly funny. At least this was something he could remind McGucket of when the weight of such a wild night fell on his shoulders in the morning.

"I guess that's your partner over there.”

Ford swore he heard the crunch of his own neck above the music as he turned his head to the side. Your sudden appearance, so close to his body, took him by surprise. He hadn't even gotten to see you out of the corner of his eye.

You were nervous, much more than your voice already denoted; the broken and clumsy words when you let them out. The tiny bottle in your hands trembled as if about to fall.

“Excuse me?” he asked.

You licked your lips, pointing your head toward the dance floor. Ford's face merged with the red lights of the crystal ball.

“Ah,” he sighed with a faint smile, “yes, he’s my friend. I guess he had more desire to come than I thought.”

"I see you're from Backupsmore," you leaned closer to Ford, trying to get your voice across. He couldn't help but inhale the freshness of your sweet musk, still dormant amid so much sweat and cigarette around. "How did both of you get here?”

“I-I don't get that question…”

Ford looked intently at the way you bit your lip, nervous again. You walked away almost immediately to his regret.

With one free hand, and leaving the beer bottle on the edge of a table beside you, you pointed towards the outer courtyard of the brotherhood. Stanford almost stumbles from shame—he didn't hesitate for a second to follow you like a dog.

This time the music was much weaker.

"I don't want the question to be received badly," you hastened to clarify, shaking both hands in front of you. "It's not usual for people from other universities to be here, that's all.”

"Are you a recurrent of these parties?”

"I was dragged here.”

Ford let out a cracking laugh, running one of his hands down his neck to dissipate the sweat. "Yes, my friend also dragged me here.”

There were still people around, but not as many as those who passed through the brotherhood. Without the disturbance of the masses, and without the music bursting over their heads, Ford and you found another corner to share glances and a pleasant talk; entertaining enough for both to forget about the shame. A ridiculous pity.

Pines tried not to lose his breath every time you returned the smiles. At no time, no matter how hard he tried, did you lose the thread of the conversation. You were an automatic machine of concrete answers. You gesticulated a lot, passing the weight of your body from one leg to the other; your eyes went from one direction to another, resting on imaginary points in the midst of darkness; your voice never wavered, your mind perhaps devoured by the charm of science. That was it: pure science. Nothing Ford didn't understand—though every time his gaze met yours, it was as if his brain was fried.

He couldn't let himself down so easily.

"What do you specialize in?" he suddenly asked. "You have such interesting ideas as to be wasting time at a party."

You drowned a laugh against the back of your hand. Ford had to bite his tongue to keep from smiling.

‘’Did I say something funny?’’

"It's ironic that you say it," you replied. "That's all... But yeah, it's no big deal, anyway. I finished my thesis about two months ago,’’ you shrugged. "Fifth dimensional calculus. Nothing special."

‘’Wait—what? You too?’’

‘’Me too, you say,’’ you smiled. ‘’Why is that? Big, smart boy got scared?’’

‘’Oh, please!’’

Ford rubbed his hands against each other, making it impossible to hide the smile that adorned his face. It felt hot. He wanted to think that this sensational discovery, this almost magical encounter, was stirring your heart as much as it happened to him in the midst of the icy breeze of the night.

He tried not to make obvious the need to open his mouth to bathe you in questions; Ford really wanted to endure the hunger to find out what else you held in that precious head of yours. But it was impossible. You didn't even hide your own interest. Your smile was to be far greater than his—though shyness burned in your eyes, and in the way your own hands trembled.

Pines really wanted to think that it was nerves and not cold.

"I didn't think someone so pretty could know so much about science," he muttered through his teeth. The way your face subtly changed made him choke on his own saliva. "I don't want it to be an insult!"

"Sounds like you're underestimating a couple of issues right now."

"That wasn't my—’’ Ford let out a heavy sigh, covering his face with both hands for a moment. Your laughter made him open his eyes. ’’Aren't you angry...?"

‘’Not really,’’ you shrugged, ‘’just playing with you. Sorry. I guess I’m kind of nervous.’’

‘’I can see that.’’

You and Ford laughed together; a soft sound, lost in the wind. He noticed your gaze searching his hands insistently. Shame struck him suddenly.

‘’My hands,’’ he sighed.

‘’I think they're cool,’’ you whispered, a little bit shy. Ford smiled at you. "Can I see them more closely?"

‘’Uh, sure, I-I guess.’’

Almost pathetically, Ford stretched out both hands in front of you before you could get close. His fingers brushed your palms as you extended your arms, making room to wrap his hands. Despite the cold, Ford's body emanated an intense heat that melted into your skin. It was nice. You prayed that your heartbeat wouldn't reach him—that it wouldn't be so obvious how nervous you were to hold him in your hands, caressing his fingers like a fool.

"I've never seen anything like it," you added in a broken voice. "Not in person, at least."

‘’Do you really think it’s cool?’’

‘’I mean, yeah, why not? You’re different and that’s super cool.’’

Almost immediately you let go of his hands, and Ford found it hard not to complain about how much he had begun to miss your touch. You didn't back down this time, anyway.

‘’So, six fingers,’’ you muttered. ‘’That would be… Sixier?’’

‘’I have a name, you know?’’ he frowned.

"It's not like you told me."

‘’Stanford Pines. That’s my name.’’ Ford streaked, pushing his glasses along the bridge of his nose, trying to distract himself. The heat returned to his face immediately as he heard you repeat it out loud. ‘’Yours?’’

You gave him your name. Ford recorded it in his head as a magical melody that settled into his brain immediately.

"I haven't seen you around the halls of college," he added.

"I attend the neighboring university," you replied, "the one that remains going to the valley. I was late for the Backupsmore inscription."

‘’It's a pity; we could have made a very good research team."

The smile you gave him made Ford's heart clench in his throat.

"I don't doubt it," you nodded. "I'd have something better to do than be at this party."

"Well, you have me here with you," he said. At the same time, a choking laugh slipped through his lips like a painfully dry cough. "I mean, we're together—talking, I meant, sorry. Not that we're together, of course. Not if you don't want to, obviously. I'm not pressuring you, anyway, don't think that."

You let out a laugh, almost as nervous as he was. Nothing one could hide from the other; it was all very obvious, but neither you nor Ford dared to break the illusion. The night had already improved too much, and there was nothing that could change that fact.

The music of the party, once strident and annoying, was now a whisper in which the battery of the players faded at the same time as the farewell of most of the guests present. There was no silence; just a murmur almost dead and far away. Ford looked behind him, sighing.

"Am I going to see you again?" he asked, returning to you, unable to hold your gaze. "I wouldn't want this to be a final goodbye."

"I wasn't planning on leaving you anyway, Stanford Pines," you smiled. "Backupsmore is opening its winter courses for advanced engineering and ultra-subject studies. I don't know if you wanted to, you know, go with me... "

Your voice became small and almost audible as you noticed the gleam in Ford's eyes increase. His gaze lit up with your proposal.

"We could work together on the cellular anomaly contest!" he exclaimed. "McGucket, my friend, is in charge of system maintenance; me, from research and fact-checking."

"I can help!" you nodded almost immediately. A huge smile on your face.

You patted the pockets of your pants until you hit a paper ball. Ford looked curiously at the colorful letters, recognizing the place of the indications as soon as he had it in front of him.

"I work making drinks at the student center cafe," you explained. "You and your friend can go there tomorrow. On Saturdays we make the breakfast special for champions; since the team qualified and that. He's going to need it because of the hangover."

"I don't think he will want to go..."

You thought about it for a moment, taking a deep breath.

"Then come alone," you said. "It is you I want to see.’’

This time Ford held your gaze; as much as he could, eyes wide and cheeks rosy. He didn't squat as he took the paper from your hands, brushing your fingers, quickly putting it in the back of his pocket, terrified of losing the only way to find you tomorrow.

‘’See you Saturday, then?’’ you asked. ‘’You and me.’’

He nodded, smiling alongside you. ‘’You and me,’’ he whispered.

Just you and him. That sounded too good to be true.

[scary-grace]

what I don't remember now - a shigaraki x f!reader fic

Tomura's life doesn't end when his death sentence is handed down, and he knows damn well that he's innocent. It won't be long before one of his appeals proves it, and he can come home -- back to his friends, and back to you, the girlfriend who stood by him through the trial. But death row is a nightmare Tomura can't wake up from, and as the years behind bars begin to pile up, Tomura starts to question if it really matters whether he did it. If he'll ever be free. And if you and the other people who love him have forgotten him for good. (cross-posted to Ao3)

This is the prequel fic to 'if my heart was a house', and covers what's happened to Tomura since the last time he and the reader saw each other. I did a not-insignificant amount of research into the criminal justice system in Japan, specifically on prison conditions, prisoner treatment, and the administration of the death penalty. There is some dark and potentially triggering content, especially in later chapters, so please be wary! dividers/banners by @cafekitsune

one

It’s cold. Tomura lies still in the half-darkness of his cell, willing himself not to shiver. If he shivers, that’s it. That’s an admission that he can’t hack it, that being here is getting to him, that he can’t swallow the fistful of bitter pills that have been shoved down his throat. Tomura made a decision, somewhere between his sentencing and when he was shoved out of an armored transport in the yard of an unnamed prison, that he’s not going to give a nanometer. He’s not going to blink, or flinch, or whatever the fuck. Do that, and it’ll look like acceptance. And Tomura’s not going to accept being sentenced to death for something he didn’t fucking do.

Tomura’s not a good person. On his best day he’s lazy and on his worst he’s an unapologetic asshole. The most redeeming feature he has is the fact that better people than him want to be around him for some reason, and it’s not because he’s good-looking or ambitious or rich. Since birth Tomura’s been a disappointment. That’s not the same thing as being a murderer, and as many good reasons as Tomura has to hate the house he grew up in and the family who lived there with him, none of them are enough to make him kill them all.

He doesn’t remember what he was doing the night of the murders, except that he spent part of it in the hospital. He doesn’t remember confessing, which he apparently did, and when he tries to think about any of it, he gets a splitting headache and the kind of nausea that means he’s gotten hosed down in his cell eight times since he arrived three weeks ago. Tomura’s trial is a blur, too. The only thing that’s clear in his head is the memory of you – you, and your hands clasped tight around his, holding on so hard that Tomura thought his fingers would break. Your hands are smaller than his. Your hands were strong. Your hands are warm.

Thinking of you is one way to warm up, but it comes at a cost. A shiver runs through Tomura from his fingers up, and he lurches upright on his cot to hide the motion. A split second later, the lights in his cell go on, so bright that he’s blinded for a second. He raises his hand to shield his eyes, and a guard barks at him over the intercom. “Inmate 230385, return to the rest position immediately.”

“I just sat up,” Tomura says. “Is that illegal or something?”

“Return to the rest position.”

“Why?”

“Return to the rest position or corrective action will be taken.”

Corrective action? Tomura’s already on death row. What the hell do they think they can do to him that will make a difference? Take him out of his cell, probably. And put him somewhere colder. Tomura’s blanket slid down when he sat up. He hitches it back up and lies down again.

He doesn’t need to cause trouble. He’s not going to be here long. He’s got appeals pending, and there’s no way the judge who hears the next one will be as stupid as the one at his trial. Tomura’s not going to die here. Sooner or later, he’s going to get out, and when he does, nothing anyone said at the trial will matter. His friends will still be there, and so will you. Tomura just has to hold out until then.

He stares up at the ceiling and tries not to shiver. It gets easier when he remembers the warmth of your hands around his, the last time he saw you. Tomura thinks about that, about you, and it helps. But even your memory can’t quite keep out the cold.

two

Someone’s coughing. Tomura can’t tell which cell they’re in, but they’re making a hell of a lot of noise, and it’s ripping at Tomura’s nerves. He didn’t use to have such a problem with noise, but the death row is so silent most of the time that Tomura can hear the other inmates breathing in their tiny cells. No one gets to talk unless spoken to by the guards, and the guards never speak to anyone unless it’s to correct someone. Tomura’s been on the receiving end of corrective action more than a few times by now. It’s usually not worth it.

Tomura knows it’s not worth it, and still, the urge is there. He wants to say things. He wants to ask questions – like why he’s not allowed to make phone calls or write letters, what’s happening to all the phone calls and letters that he knows are coming for him. He doesn’t want anything to do with the other prisoners, but if he needed to talk to them, he’d want to know the option was available without risking the loss of his exercise period or getting his meals reduced from three to two per day. Tomura’s heard there are worse punishments. If he’s going to get one of those, it’s not going to be for trying to talk to someone.

Still, the coughing sounds like it’s killing whoever’s doing it – but before it kills them, it’s going to kill Tomura, because he can’t take this fucking noise. He can’t say a word without permission, but this asshole gets to hack out a lung with no consequences at all? Fuck that. Tomura clenches his jaw, trying to hold in the howl of frustration. He clamps his hands over his ears so he won’t have to hear it any longer. They need to stop. No one cares, and it’s driving Tomura insane – more insane than the silence, more insane than the cold. Shut up, he thinks at them, whoever the fuck they are. Shut up, shut up –

“Shut the fuck up!” someone else explodes from somewhere further down death row. “Just die already!”

“Inmate 113019, this is a verbal reprimand for speaking out of turn. If you continue –”

“Yeah. Go for it! Put me in the protection cells! At least then I’ll be away from this fucking noise –”

The coughing takes on a weird, wet note that it hasn’t had before, something that makes Tomura’s skin crawl. It’s drowned out almost instantly by the sound of the guards’ footsteps down the hall on their way to lower the hammer on 113019, whoever he is. Whoever he is, he puts up a fight. Tomura hears heavy thuds, curses, a burst of sound that might be sobs or laughter, and somewhere in the middle of it, the coughing comes to a complete stop. It doesn’t start up again, and once the guards drag 113019 away, the cell block is dead silent once more.

Two minutes ago, all Tomura wanted was for it to be quiet again. Right now, he can’t help wondering why the coughing stopped so suddenly. Right now, he misses the noise.

three

There’s frost on the ground, and Tomura can see his breath. His teeth are chattering, and he’s shivering too hard to walk. He shouldn’t be outside. But he gets one exercise period per day, and it’s the only time he gets to spend outside his cell. The only time he gets to see the sky and breathe air that hasn’t been recycled thousands of times until it tastes old and stale. It doesn’t matter if it’s below freezing. If Tomura has a chance to be outside, he should use it.

He forces himself to take even steps on his way around the tiny exercise yard, and at the same time, he lets his mind wander – back to you, because it’s easier to think about you out here than it is in his cell. He doesn’t want to imagine you in there with him. Out here, it’s easier. He can pretend the two of you are meeting up to go for a walk, like you did on your first date. He can pretend you’re just around the next turn.

After the first time you ran into each other, Tomura didn’t think he’d see you again. Which was stupid. You worked at the library on campus, and he needed to use the library, so of course he was going to see you. And every time you saw him, you talked to him until you had to go do something else – like renew someone’s checked-out book, reserve them a study room, schedule a session with a tutor, find a source they really should have been able to find on their own. At first Tomura took those interruptions as his cue to leave. Then he started waiting through them. Then he started coming by even if you were busy, waiting however long it took for you to have time for him.

Tomura hadn’t meant to ask you out, exactly. He just told you that he wanted to talk more sometime when you weren’t busy, and you suggested taking a walk together. Worked for him. Except for the part where it was really cold, even though the sun was out and the air was still, and the part where Tomura handles the cold the same way cats handle being sprayed with a hose. He was shivering before the two of you made it halfway around campus.

You noticed. Are you okay?

Fine, Tomura muttered, and you gave him a skeptical look – but you didn’t argue. You always knew how to call him on his bullshit, right from the beginning. Aren’t you cold?

I run kind of warm, you said, and you held out your hands. Here.

Tomura knew it didn’t mean anything, but his stomach still twisted, and his hands were shaking from more than the cold when he settled them in yours. Your hands were warm, just like you said they’d be. Warm, but not sweaty, and before Tomura could say anything, you folded his hands together, with yours on either side. You’re freezing, you said. I can keep you warm, but we should probably go inside.

Yeah. Tomura was glad you were holding his hands that way. Any other way, and he’d have latched on tight, refusing to let go. Sorry. This was a dumb idea.

Not really. A walk is a decent first date.

A first date. You wanted it to be a date, and you thought it was a good one. Tomura’s face somehow managed to heat up without making the rest of him any warmer. If I ask you to get coffee with me right now, can that be our second date?

You smiled. That made Tomura feel warmer, almost as warm as your hands felt around his. That works for me.

You always kept Tomura warm, and not for the first time, Tomura wonders what’s happening to you out there. Where you are, what you’re doing. If you found somewhere to live, because you can’t pay the rent in yours and Tomura’s apartment alone. If you’ve got your job still, because Tomura was pretty sure you were going to lose it for calling out so many days to sit with him during the trial. If you’re okay without him.

Tomura’s not okay without you. That’s why he has to be careful where he thinks about you. Not inside, when he can’t escape the fact that he’s been in prison for three years already. Only out here, in the cold, when he can think about what it’ll be like when all this is over. A guard shouts at Tomura that it’s time to come inside, and Tomura picks up the pace. One more circuit around the tiny yard. A few more seconds walking with you.

four

Tomura closes his eyes and listens to the quiet tapping against the bars of the cell beside his. It’s taken him four years in here to learn Morse code, and now that he knows it, he can talk to the other inmates on death row – the ones he feels like talking to, which is basically no one. The person next to him is all right. He calls himself Kurogiri. Tomura doesn’t know why he’s here.

Nobody knows why Tomura’s here, either. On the rare occasions anyone gets to talk to anyone else, they have better things to do than go over what bullshit twist of fate led to their death sentences. Convictions don’t matter when they’re all waiting on the same punishment. All that matters is time – how much time they’ve spent in here, and how much more time it’ll take for this to end. It says something about this place that four years after he was sentenced, Tomura’s still the newest one on the block.

Not for long, though. That’s what Kurogiri’s saying. Tomura taps out a response. H-o-w k-n-o-w?

G-u-a-r-d-s. Kurogiri has some kind of in with the guards. He’s never said what it is, and Tomura’s never asked. K-u-n-i-e-d-a o-l-d c-e-l-l.

So far in Tomura’s time here, only one inmate’s died, and it wasn’t in an execution. The inmate who was sick during Tomura’s second winter here died of whatever he had, and the guards didn’t find him in the cell until the next morning. By that point the smell of death was everywhere, and instead of letting the inmates move somewhere else until it was gone, the guards left all the vents open to flush it out. They let in the cold, too. It took Tomura two weeks to get warm.

He wonders if anyone’s going to tell the new guy what happened to the last person who lived there. Then again, nobody’s told Tomura what happened to the last occupant of his cell. He doesn’t want to know. Kurogiri is tapping out another message, and Tomura listens idly. Y-o-u o-k?

Tomura double-taps – shorthand for yes. W-h-y?

There’s a long pause. A really long pause. Tomura’s in the process of repeating himself when another prisoner responds from down the hall. C-h-i-c-k-e-n-s-h-i-t. T-e-l-l h-i-m o-r I w-i-l-l.

W-h-a-t? Tomura asks. His stomach is clenching, nausea welling up like he hasn’t felt in months. It’s hard to get scared in here. Nothing ever happens. T-e-l-l –

F-i-r-s-t a-p-p-e-a-l d-e-n-i-e-d. Kurogiri answers so fast that Tomura can barely decipher it. O-n-l-y f-i-r-s-t o-n-e. O-t-h-e-r-s –

Tomura’s not listening anymore. He manages to roll sideways off his bed before he throws up, but that’s it. The nausea that overtakes him is too powerful for him to do anything but vomit on the floor, then dry-heave once his stomach empties itself completely. The other inmates are laughing at him, calling out even though the guards are already on their way. The same inmate who always gets dragged out for talking is the loudest. “You’re getting off easy, kid! You killed seven people, but you only have to die once.”

“There are more appeals,” Kurogiri says. His voice is soft, almost comforting, completely at odds with the sound of Tomura’s cell door scraping open, drowned out almost entirely by the rush of cold water spraying from the fire hose, dousing Tomura and the mess and everything in his cell all at once. “You don’t need to worry. The process has already begun –”

“I didn’t know.” Tomura’s voice is hoarse, and his mouth tastes so awful that the sensation of air rushing over his tongue makes him retch again. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

The other inmates jeer at him, pointing out that they did tell him, but they must know that’s not what Tomura meant. Tomura should have heard that news from a lawyer, from an administrator, from a doctor – from somebody important. Not from a bunch of murderers. What if that hadn’t been his first appeal? What if it was his last one? If all his appeals fail, how is Tomura going to find out? Is anyone going to tell him, or is he just going to wake up one morning and find out it’s his last day on earth?

Tomura tries not to think of you in here, when things get bad. But he lets himself this time, just this once. Just to imagine that someone’s here who loves him, someone who cares that he’s sick and lonely and terrified. Someone who could tell him that it’ll be all right. Someone he’d believe. But when his skin is crawling with cold and disgust and terror so strongly that he can’t help but try to scratch it away, it’s hard to imagine that even you could make him feel better.

five

Tomura’s never gotten a letter from the outside. Never gotten a letter from you or any of his friends or whichever lawyer is handling his appeals – or even from Sensei, who spent the entire trial testifying against him so he could “learn his lesson”. Tomura thinks Sensei owes him an explanation, given that Sensei’s testimony put him away. The person he described as committing the murders sounds nothing like Tomura, because Tomura didn’t do it. He wants to hear what Sensei has to say about that. If Sensei thinks he’s learned his lesson yet.

It’s the lack of contact from you and the others that worries him more. He thought for sure he’d hear from you, from Spinner, from Toga, from Twice. Dabi’s not the letter-writing type, and Magne and Compress were newer additions to the group, but Tomura thought they’d maybe write at least once in five years. He’d call and ask, but he’s only got some of the phone numbers memorized, and what if you’ve changed them? It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t get visits or phone calls anyway.

It feels like a punishment, but Tomura can’t figure out what he did. He acts up the standard amount for a death row prisoner, enough to lose his exercise period or get his food restricted or have his cell tossed and lose anything he’s managed to keep in there. Nothing that deserves no phone calls for five years. Five fucking years. It’s not until the newest inmate starts acting up that Tomura gets a real answer.

He knows the name of the guy in Kunieda’s old cell only because the guy keeps insisting on being called by it, no matter how many times the guards correct him for speaking out of turn. When he’s not picking stupid fights with the guards, Chisaki is bitching about how this prison compares to his last prison, and everybody got tired of it within six weeks of his arrival. Tomura doesn’t have anything to compare this prison to. Before this, he’d never spent even a night in jail.

As summer turns to fall turns to winter and the temperature inside the cell block drops to just above freezing, Chisaki calms down. For a week, then another week, then an entire month. Did he get religion or something? Tomura’s seen that happen to at least one prisoner by now, but from what he can tell, it usually takes longer. To go from fucking around constantly to not fucking around at all is a big shift. It’s weird.

One day, while he’s huddled up in his cell under his stupidly thin blanket, Tomura hears voices filtering in from the exercise yard. His cell has vents that let in the cold, and apparently also give him the chance to eavesdrop. He’s never had a chance to eavesdrop before, but that’s because no one ever talks.

Of course it’s Chisaki talking. He’s somehow gotten permission from one of the guards to speak up, and he’s getting straight to the point. “My behavior for the last month has been exemplary. In my previous prison such a record has resulted in the renewal of privileges which were previously removed – such as the opportunity for visitors. When will that be restored?”

Whichever guard he’s talking to laughs awkwardly. “Nobody told you?”

“Told me what?”

Tomura’s interested, too. He listens closer. “You were in maximum security before, but it’s – different here,” the guard says awkwardly. “Once a sentence is finalized, no contact is allowed with the outside world.”

“What?” Chisaki demands. “Why not?”

“It’s policy. Contact with the outside world causes distress for condemned prisoners and their families and has no practical benefit. I – no, stop –”

Shouting erupts in the yard, and Tomura cringes away from the vents, his eyes burning. It’s not a punishment. It’s not a punishment, which means it can’t be lifted, which means that even if you and the others have been calling and writing letters, you can’t get through. Tomura will never get those letters. Tomura can’t write back. When Tomura saw you in the courtroom after his sentencing wasn’t just the last time he ever saw you, it’s the last time he’ll ever get to talk to you. And he didn’t know it. If he’d known it he would have said –

The noise from the exercise yard is so intense that the rest of the cell block can hear it, too. They’re doing what they usually do, any time someone shows weakness, and because they’re shouting at Chisaki, who’s bought himself a one-way ticket to the protection cell for the next month, no one notices as Tomura sinks down in the corner of his cell and scratches his neck until it bleeds.

six

Somebody’s death sentence gets reduced to life, and the cell next to Tomura’s opens up. Rather than leaving it open, leaving Tomura alone, the guards move fucking Chisaki into it. It’s not bad enough that Tomura has to rot in here until one of his appeals is successful and gets him out of here – he has to listen to Chisaki’s bitching and whining, too. And eventually Chisaki breaks the cardinal rule, the one rule that keeps everybody on death row even sort of sane. He picked up Morse code faster than Tomura did, and one day he taps out a question aimed at Tomura. W-h-a-t d-i-d y-o-u d-o?

He signs off with the last two numbers of his prisoner number, like Tomura’s confused about who’s sending this dumb message. Tomura doesn’t bother with identifying himself by tacking the last two digits of his ID on the front of his response. f-u-c-k o-f-f.

D-i-d y-o-u d-o i-t?

f-u-c-k o-f-f. Not for the first time, Tomura wishes he could all-caps a message without banging on the bars loudly enough to attract the guards’ attention. Morse code really needs a shift key. W-h-a-t d-i-d y-o-u d-o? Y-o-u f-i-r-s-t.

Silence. Of course. Chisaki can dish it out, but he can’t take it for shit. Tomura settles into the quiet, not hoping to enjoy the break so much as get through it without making himself feel worse. Downtime is bad for Tomura these days. He spends too much time thinking. Too much time getting angry. Too much time figuring out how he got here.

He knows Sensei set him up. It had to have been Sensei, because Sensei was in charge of Tomura when Tomura was fifteen, and Sensei kept hinting that Tomura should try to reconcile with his family. Tomura only agreed so Sensei would leave him alone about it. He’d meet them, deal with whatever happened, see if he could talk Hana at least into staying in touch and sending him pictures of Mon, and get out of there. It was going to be a bad night no matter what. At least Sensei agreed to go with him.

But something went wrong. They never made it there, at least not in Tomura’s memory, because Tomura woke up in the hospital. He’d blacked out or passed out or something, and as soon as he was borderline lucid, Sensei gave him the news. Tomura still remembers the weird way he delivered it, like he was telling Tomura they were having something gross for dinner instead of telling him that his entire family had been murdered. Tomura didn’t react the right way, either. He was supposed to meet his family. Now he wasn’t going to. He laid back down and went under again.

They used that, at the trial, seven years later. The fucking prosecutor asked Sensei a bunch of questions about how Tomura responded to the news, and Sensei told them how unsettling it was that Tomura didn’t care at all about his family dying. Tomura’s lawyer wouldn’t let him get on the stand to explain his side. They’ve already decided you’re guilty. Don’t make it worse.

They were going to kill him. Tomura knew that by then. There was no way to make it worse than it was already going to be, and if he was already guilty, he might as well have told the truth. What little of it he remembers.

Chisaki is tapping on the bars again at a pace Tomura couldn’t keep up with if he wanted to. His fingers are too fucking cold. W-e a-r-e-n-t d-i-s-c-u-s-s-i-n-g m-e.

No, they’re not discussing anybody. Tomura’s done with this. Screw the guards – he taps with emphasis. F-U-C-K O-F-F.

“You want to know what he did? I’ll tell you.” Prisoner 113019 laughs from across the hallway – the same one who always laughs when something bad happens to someone else. For the first time since he got here, Tomura prays for the guards to get here fast. “The little rat bastard’s a mass murderer. Greased his entire family.”

Tomura doesn’t know how 19 got ahold of that information, and right now, he doesn’t care. He just wants the guards to get here and shut him up. “His body count is higher than mine, and he won’t even own up to it like a man,” 19 continues, gleeful. “You’ve heard him talking in his sleep. He says he’s innocent.”

“Shut up,” Tomura says. His voice sounds awful, and he realizes all at once that he can’t remember the last time he spoke. It doesn’t matter if he talks now. They’ve only got one protection cell, and 019 is going in it. “You don’t know what you’re talking about –”

“And not only is his count the second-highest on death row,” 019 continues, ignoring Tomura, “he’s a sadist, too. Maybe his family deserved it – they’d have to for raising something like him – but there’s no way his dog had it coming.”

“Shut up!” Tomura explodes. His voice cracks, and he can feel his face contorting, eyes squeezing shut and jaw clenching tight. He’s not going to cry. He can’t cry here. “You stupid fuck. I didn’t do it!”

Death row erupts in laughter, just in time for the guards to arrive. Sure enough, they head to 019’s cell first, but two guards break off to drag Tomura out of his for a talking-to, also known as getting beaten up in places that won’t show. Tomura’s been in here long enough, knows how it works here well enough, to be almost thankful for a reason to feel pain. If anyone sees him, they’ll think his eyes are watering because he just took a baton to the ribs. Not because he misses his dog.

Tomura didn’t mention his family’s deaths to you for a while. He didn’t want to see you react, because he knows how people react to stuff like that – like Tomura’s just a tragic backstory with an ugly face, like everything he is can be described by the worst things that ever happened to him. He didn’t bring up his family, but he mentioned Mon, and you asked. Tomura told himself to answer like a normal person. He ended up crying instead, and you didn’t laugh or look at him differently. You just reached for his hand and –

A blow to the hip knocks Tomura off-balance, just in time for another hit in the stomach to double him over, and Tomura crashes sideways to the floor. He sprawls out, pinned with a guard’s knee on his back, as 019 marches past, flanked by four guards, and still leering down at him. Something snaps in Tomura’s head. He reaches through the guards’ legs, seizes 019’s ankle, and yanks his leg out from underneath him.

The knee grinds harder into his back, knocking the air out of his lungs, but Tomura can barely feel it. He’s trying to pull his hand back, and he’s too slow. Slow enough for a guard to see what he’s doing. Slow enough for the guard to raise one boot and stomp down on Tomura’s hand with all his strength, and for the first time since he set foot on death row, Tomura screams.

[blorger]

10/10 contribution friend, the Dobby Dilemma totally adds a new dimension to the whole conundrum.

As for the Lucius thing, Dumbledore is often shown to be downright wrong about the inner workings of the Death Eaters (and pureblood stuff in general, like the Black family succession rules), which is honestly quite baffling since his inside source is right at the top of the org.

I honestly think it's a bit of a fumble of jkr's part because she wants to have her cake and eat it too: in the first books especially, she wants us to think that Lucius is a Big Bad, an all powerful enemy with ties to the government, the school and all things magical but when push came to shove and she escalated the stakes in the books (basically from OotP onwards) he's not one of the villains she chose to be an actual Big Bad, she introduced more dangerous characters like Bellatrix and Greyback instead.

In this new re-imagining of the Death Eaters, a Lucius at the very top of the food chain doesn't make much sense: he's not a true believer like Bellatrix and Barty and he's not a bloodthirsty maniac like Greyback; Lucius is, by design, someone who operates from behind the scenes, someone who, like a wise man once said, doesn't want real power, just money and the illusion of power (because with real power comes real responsibility). Lucius is shown time and time again to act only out of pettiness and his own interest, which means he doesn't really work as Voldemort's n2 (which is how Dumbledore refers to him in more than one instance).

I think that when jkr makes Dumbledore give his big wrap-up speech at the end of CoS, she's tidying up any loose ends and making Lucius out to big the Big Bad simplifies the narrative. Why did this extremely convoluted chain of events happen? because the evil guy was up to no good, case closed.

The Dobby thing, on the other hand, is just sloppy writing in my opinion. jkr has this tendency to use her secondary characters in a rather exploitative fashion, basically she changes them to fit the purpose of the situation they're in. In book 2 Dobby needs to know of and like Harry before he even meets him so she sets him up to be a beacon of hope for an underground Elf resistance movement fighting against their oppression. After CoS, this supposed elf resistance is never mentioned again and elves are re-imagined to love their own enslavement in a Stockholm Syndrome type of way in order to give Hermione a side plot with S.P.E.W.

Basically, Dobby is there to be a helpful (but not TOO helpful, so he can't be too smart) character who helps the plot along. What is Harry's conflict now that he's back at the Dursleys and they're intimidated by him? Let's have Dobby artificially create one. How do we set up this book's main mission? Dobby has heard vague things.

In my heart of hearts Dobby heard Draco complaining endlessly to Lucius about Harry during summer vacation (and Lucius's irritated responses), conflated that with the various Ministry raids on the Manor (and the Malfoys' reaction to them) and decided that they were plotting to harm Harry. I like the story much more if it's driven by a bunch of people who don't know what they're doing stumbling their way to success.

Look, listen, this is a very important question for the culture: why does the hp fandom at large like to act like Lucius Malfoy meant to open the chamber of secrets?

Book 2 Lucius Malfoy was clearly in his live laugh love era, the Great Diary Reshuffle of 92 was very much an improv moment, a petty action to mess with a Weasley and get rid of a cursed artifact at the same time, I'm sure he went home feeling real proud of his innovative problem-solving.

Even when Draco recounts the letter from his father, all we get from Lucius is basically "sit tight and watch", not exactly the words of someone invested in the outcome.

I'm very much in the "the diary was left to Abraxas Malfoy and Lucius had no idea what it really was" camp, tho that is just a personal spice I like to add to the books, am unsure of jkr's actual intentions (if she even thought it through to that extent)

[lovegoodlane]

Pursuing the Prefect - 5

4.5k words

18+ only

Warnings: smut, oral sex [female receiving], face sitting, vaginal sex, teasing

Summary: Fred and his prefect take their relationship to a new level (soft Fred, dom Fred, soft top Fred)

A/N: The moment you have all been waiting for....I'll probably write one last part to finish everything off. My requests are open, so let me know what to write next!

Link to part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

—— Fred held your hand the entire way up to his dormitory. Neither of you spoke. A comfortable silence rested between you as you hustled up the final staircase that led to his room.

Fred opened the door for you, muttering "lumos" to light a lamp on a desk that was pushed in the corner. He turned to you, taking your other hand. 

"You're absolutely cracking, you know that?" he said, a smile on his lips. You returned the smile, placing a kiss on his cheek.

"I am actually aware of that, thank you," you replied, teasing him.

"You put Pucey in his place," he said. "Remind me to not get on your bad side."

"You've been on my bad side before, and I think you actually quite enjoyed it," you joked, shoving at his chest. 

"You are bloody hot when you're angry," Fred replied, raising his eyebrows and pursing his lips at you in mock consideration.

"Oh, shove off," you laughed, heading toward his bed and throwing yourself onto it. "After that big scene, I think I need a nap."

Fred walked over to where you were face down in his pillows. He spanked your butt lightly.

"Come on, birdie, you can't take up the whole bed," he complained, running a hand down your butt and onto the backs of your thighs.

"Fine," you grumbled in fake frustration, rolling over to make room for Fred in his own bed.

Fred joined you in the bed, rolling you onto your side so you could cuddle into his chest. He stroked your hair, giving you a kiss on the forehead.

"Can I tell you something?" he asked, still stroking your hair.

"Anything," you replied, nuzzling your head into his chest.

"I really like you," he said, suddenly sounding very serious.

Your hand played with the neckline of his t shirt as you considered your response. Now didn't feel like the best moment to crack a joke.

"I like you too, Fred," you answered. 

"No, I mean..." Fred stumbled over his words. He rolled onto his side so he could look you in the eye. "I know what my reputation is like with girls. I don't date anyone very seriously and I just like hooking up. But that's not what this is, birdie. I feel serious about you."

"Oh," was all you could think to say as he continued to stare into your eyes. This was giving you flashbacks to conversations with Adrian where he was insistent on planning your future together. 

"You told me that Pucey wanted to get serious too quickly, and that's not what I'm trying to do," he said, seeming to read your mind and sense your worries. "We have all the time in the world. But I need you to know that I feel that way."

"Fred...." you were still having a hard time finding the right thing to say. Nothing came to mind. 

"I realized today that going even just a day without speaking to you feels like torture," he admitted. "I'm sorry for reacting that way, and I'm sorry for how it made you feel. You're my favorite person to talk to and spend time with. I won't ever ignore you like that again."

You reached your hand up to cup his cheek. Your mind went back to the conversation that you had with Beatrice at the Three Broomsticks, admitting to how deep your feelings went for Fred. He was spilling his feelings, but it still felt so difficult to admit to your own.

Fred's hand found your waist, rubbing his thumb against the fabric of your shirt. It's almost like he was trying to beckon the words out of you.

"I...Godric, Freddie, I'm not good at this," you said, letting out an awkward chuckle. 

"Take your time, darling," he soothed, squeezing your waist in reassurance.

"I really like you too," you finally said. "I think....I think that you're really good for me. You tease me about being the perfect prefect, but that's what I have been ever since I got to Hogwarts. And being that way is actually quite boring."

Both you and Fred chuckled at that admission.

"But you make me try new things. And I feel spontaneous for the first time. Instead of being controlled by getting good marks and being the best student, you have helped me take initiative of my own life," you said. "I adore you and I am learning to adore the person that I am when I'm with you."

Fred's eyes were still locked on yours. The sentimental softness that you loved returned to his eyes, and he leaned forward to kiss you on the lips.

It was sweet and gentle. Only a few kisses before he pulled away. 

"You inspire me to want to do my homework," Fred teased, tickling your side.

You laughed, grabbing at his hand. "You improve me, I improve you."

You pushed him over onto his back and nuzzled into his chest, his hand snaking around your back to pull you in closer. You laid like this for a while, listening to each other's quiet heartbeats and enjoying each other's touch. 

"Freddie?" you said quietly.

"Yes, birdie?" he replied, rubbing your back with his hand.

"I'm ready," you said, sounding shy.

"Ready for what?" he asked, somewhat confused.

"I'm...I'm ready to have sex. Whenever you are, of course," you fumbled over your words a bit awkwardly, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

You tried to bury your face into Fred's neck, but he refused to let you. He knew that you were flustered.

"Darling, you don't have to feel embarrassed," he said, grabbing your jaw to turn you to look at him. "Thank you for telling me."

He placed a light kiss on the tip of your nose before releasing your jaw. 

"I'm going to put on pajamas, I can't lay in bed with jeans on. Feels like a crime," Fred said, getting up from the bed.

He crossed the room to his dresser, pulling open the bottom drawer and grabbing pajamas from it before closing it. You were still turned onto your side on the bed, giving you a perfect view of Fred across the room.

He pulled his t shirt over his head, throwing it onto the floor next to him. You had never seen him shirtless before.

In the dim light of the dormitory, you could make out his chiseled figure. Years of quidditch had made him strong and lean, and your cheeks flushed as you realized that you were checking him out.

"Enjoying the show, birdie?" he teased, picking up his abandoned shirt from the floor and tossing it at you.

This made you blush even harder. You sat up on the bed, pondering your next move.

You watched as he undid his belt and trousers, throwing his trousers into a laundry bin before reaching for the pair of pajama pants that he had retrieved from the drawer. He pulled them on, turning to where you were sat on the bed. 

"Everything alright, darling?" he asked, confused by your silence and empty expression.

You had been chewing on your lower lip, trying to muster up the courage for what you were about to do. You scooted to the edge of the bed, putting your feet on the floor. 

You crossed the room to where Fred was still standing. You kissed him on the lips only once, leaving him even more confused.

You pulled your own t shirt up and off, tossing it away. Fred's eyebrows raised as he took in the sight of you before him.

This time, you came prepared. You were wearing a deep blue bra with black lacing along the straps. It was the sexiest thing that you owned, and you had a feeling that Fred was going to see it tonight.

"House colors, how appropriate," Fred teased, ghosting his fingers along your sides and up your back. 

Your heart was already racing and he had barely even touched you. You were nervous, but you were ready. You wanted this. 

You dared to reach out to touch him, running your nails down his sides. You stopped at the waistband of his pajama pants, gripping them and tugging him closer to you.

He chuckled, enjoying your boldness. You kissed him again, your hands trailing back up his sides and to his muscular shoulders. 

He let you take control, keeping his hands politely at the middle of your back as yours roamed around his bare shoulders. You pushed him back, pulling away once again.

You fumbled with the button of your jeans. "Want to borrow a pair of pajamas?" Fred teased, watching you struggle.

"No, Fred," you replied, rolling your eyes at him. You had finally gotten the button free, undoing the zipper and starting to pull your jeans down your legs. "I want you."

Fred waited patiently for you to step out of your jeans before he picked you up. You giggled, wrapping your legs around his middle while he carried you back to the bed.

He held you for a moment, planting wet kisses along your jawline before setting you onto the bed. He attacked your lips next, his teeth biting at your lower lip while his hands ran along your thighs.

You dug your nails into his back, trailing down toward his waistband once again. You pulled at it, signaling to him that he should take the pajamas off. Fred paused his mission for a moment to take off his pants, immediately returning to your mouth. 

You pulled away, grabbing at Fred's shoulders. "Lay down," you commanded.

Fred listened, laying down on the bed. You positioned yourself over him, one thigh on either side of his middle. 

He was loving this view. You had been intimate before, but not quite like this. You were in only your bra and knickers, a smirk on your mouth as you loomed over him. He couldn't think of anything in the whole world that could be sexier.

You left hot kisses along his jaw and down his neck, bringing up one hand to grip the other side of his neck. Your kisses continued down to his collarbones where you sucked a number of love bites into his skin. It was payback for what he usually did to you.

Fred's hands ran up and down your back, playing with the clasp of your bra as he decided whether or not to take it off. He didn't want to rush you, but he had been dying to get a bra off of you for a long time.

You finally gripped one of his hands that was on your back, stopping it. "You can take it off," you whispered, reassuring him.

You released his hand, allowing him to undo the clasp. He reached for the straps, pulling them down your arms as he removed your bra.

Fred bit his lip. He ran his thumbs underneath your breasts, gripping your ribcage with his hands. He sat up, giving you a kiss on the lips before kissing along the tops of your breasts.

It took only moments for him to suck one of your nipples into his mouth. Your nails dug into his shoulders in response, a whimper falling from your lips. 

He bit and sucked at one nipple and used his fingers to play with the other. All you could do was run your nails up and down his back while you moaned out his name.

"Mmm...so beautiful," he spoke into your skin as he switched his mouth to your other nipple.

Your hands found their way into his hair, pulling at it to distract yourself from what Fred was doing to you. You began to grind your hips into his, becoming desperate for more friction.

"So needy, huh?" Fred commented, releasing your nipple from his mouth and kissing along your ribs. 

Your hips ground down even harder, begging for contact. You could feel how hard he was through his underwear, and you knew he wanted this too. But Fred was playing the long game.

His fingers danced down to your knickers. "Can I make you feel good, darling?" he asked, looking up into your eyes.

You nodded at him, your words caught in your throat. Fred lifted you off of him for a moment so he could remove your knickers. He laid back down on the bed, a grin on his face.

"Why don't you come sit on my face?" he said, his thumbs rubbing circles into your hips. 

Your cheeks flushed. This was something you had never done before. It seemed impractical and potentially even dangerous.

"I don't know, Fred," you said, feeling shy. "I don't want to hurt you."

Fred moved one hand up to your cheek. "Darling, I promise that it won't hurt me. Now that I think about it, suffocating between your thighs wouldn't be the worst way to go."

He smirked at you. You slapped at his chest. "Get off it, Fred," you chastised, a small smile playing at your own mouth.

"How about we give it a try and you can stop if you don't like it?" Fred proposed, squeezing your hip. 

"Okay," you agreed hesitantly, feeling deeply self conscious.

You placed your hands on his chest, slowly moving yourself up his middle. You weren't exactly sure how to do this.

"How do I—" you began to ask before Fred gripped your hips, picking you up and settling you over his face.

"I guess that'll do it," you chuckled nervously, your hands finding the headboard of Fred's bed.

"Tell me if you want to stop," Fred said. You could feel him breathing on your core, making you shiver.

He pulled your hips down, your core meeting his mouth. You were holding your breath. His tongue darted out, immediately finding your clit. It seemed like he already had your body memorized, knowing exactly how to make you feel good. 

Your hands gripped at the headboard as Fred's tongue increased its pace. Your entire body felt hot, and you tried to keep yourself from grinding your hips down into his mouth. 

Fred angled your hips forward, allowing him to drag his tongue down to your entrance. His fingers dug into your hips as he fucked you with his tongue, making you feel like you were going to scream.

"Just like that, Freddie," you encouraged, finally finding your voice.

You allowed yourself to grind your hips down ever so slightly, and Fred responded with a groan. He squeezed your hips tighter, encouraging you to continue.

Fred's mouth found its way back up to your clit, sucking it into his mouth as you ground your hips into him. You were so close to your release.

"Fred—ahh, don't stop," you cried out, holding onto the headboard for dear life. 

You only needed a few more moments before you reached your orgasm, whimpering out Fred's name as your hips trembled. He pulled you from his mouth, laying you onto the bed on your back as he hovered above you. 

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" he said, kissing up your jaw and to your lips.

You stayed like this for a few minutes, kissing Fred as you were still feeling the glow of your orgasm. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him in as close as you could.

You pulled out of the kiss, bringing a hand up to ruffle his hair. You smirked at him.

"I think it's your turn now," you said, using your other hand to ghost down his chest toward his boxers. You reached the waistband and pulled at it, letting it slap back against his skin.

"Birdie, tonight is about you," Fred said, placing kisses along your neck.

The hand you had at his waistband continued down, your thumb teasing him over his boxers. If you thought he was hard before, he was definitely hard now. You imagined that it almost had to be painful. 

You suddenly felt bold, gripping Fred over the fabric of his boxers. His breath stuttered.

"I want you, Freddie," you whispered, trying to play up your innocence. He stopped kissing your neck, reeling back to look you in the eye.

"Are you absolutely certain?" Fred asked, his eyes soft. He was more than willing to wait. You were worth it.

"One hundred percent," you answered, pecking him on the lips. You felt a nervous pit in your stomach, but it wasn't the bad kind. It felt more like anticipation. 

"If you ever want to stop—" Fred started, but you brought a finger up his lips to shush him. 

"Freddie, I won't want you to stop," you said, your eyes intense. 

That was all the permission he needed before he started kissing your lips again, this time seeming more desperate. He reached for one of the pillows behind your head, breaking the kiss as he pulled you up off of the bed and put the pillow under your hips.

You looked at him, a bit confused. He smirked. "Darling, I know a thing or two," he answered, placing a kiss on your knee.

He pulled his boxers off, tossing them to the side before he found his place between your legs again. Your hands were folded on your bare stomach as you waited for him to do something.

He reached for your hands, holding them in his. He noticed that you were shaking just slightly.

"We don't have to do this," he whispered, reassuring you.

"Fred, I want to," you insisted. "It's just nerves. It's been a while."

You chuckled, trying to dispel any anxiety you had.

"Okay," he said, placing a kiss on each of your wrists. "Stop me if it hurts."

You nodded. Fred released your hands, using his own to trace a path up your outer thighs. He gripped the backs of your knees, pulling your legs up just slightly.

You felt his tip as he aligned himself with your entrance. Your heart was pounding in your chest. Fred eased himself in slowly, releasing a breath that you didn't realize he was holding. 

You felt a familiar burn as he got deeper, stretching you to accommodate his size. Fred grabbed your hands, placing them up next to your head. 

He held your hands as he rocked into you slowly, kissing gently along your collarbone. He pulled back to look you in the eye.

"Alright, birdie?" he asked, his words sounding strained. You knew that he was holding himself back for your sake. Everything he did was for your benefit. 

You nodded. "Keep going," you said.

He kissed you on the forehead. He met your eyes again as he pushed into you, this time all the way. Fred choked out a groan, feeling the pleasure of finally bottoming out into you.

Fred kissed you on the lips before releasing your hands. He traced a path down your sides and back to your thighs, pushing your knees closer to your chest.

He was still moving slowly, trying not to hurt you. But you didn't care if you were sore in the morning, you wanted more.

"Fred?" you said quietly.

He stopped moving. "Yes, darling?" he answered, concern laced in his voice.

"Harder," you said, bringing your hands to his back. You traced his muscles with your nails.

He smirked at you, not expecting this response. "Careful what you wish for," he muttered, gripping your thighs even harder.

Fred picked up his pace, pushing into you harder than he had before. Your nails dug into his back, begging him for more.

"More, Freddie, more," you whined.

Fred pulled almost all the way out of you before slamming back into you again. You cried out, arching your back off of the bed.

Fred was fucking you even faster now, hitting the deepest spot in you each time. You were basically clawing at his back now, and you knew that there would be marks left behind.

"You feel so good, birdie," he said, pounding into you. "So tight. Such a good girl."

You whimpered at his words, feeling another orgasm building. Fred brought his thumb to your clit, rubbing it as he continued to fuck you mercilessly.

"Are you going to finish again for me darling?" he asked. "Come on gorgeous, finish for me. Right on my cock. Be a good girl."

As if his actions weren't enough, Fred's words sent you over the edge. You orgasmed for the second time that night, crying out as Fred continued to hit the perfect spot inside of you.

He slowed down, grabbing your hand and kissing the back of it. He worked you down from your high, slowly pulling out of you.

"So perfect," he commented, kissing your hand again before putting it back down on the bed.

You laid there for a moment in a daze, feeling like you were unable to move after that second orgasm. Fred knew exactly what to do to make you finish, and it blew your mind every time. 

You finally got your wits about you. "Fred, you didn't finish," you said, sounding a tad offended.

He chuckled. "Not your fault. I could go all night, darling."

You gripped his arms. "Then keep going," you said, looking at him.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said, stroking the outside of your thigh with his hand.

"Fred, it doesn't hurt. I want you to keep going," you insisted.

"It might not hurt now, but you're going to be sore tomorrow morning," he replied, meeting your gaze. "I can finish myself off. I already told you that tonight is about you."

You huffed. "If tonight was really about me, you would keep fucking me," you asserted, narrowing your eyes at him.

He smirked at you for what felt like the millionth time that night. "Okay, bossy. I guess I have to listen to the prefect when she orders me around," he teased. 

"Less talking, more fucking," you shot back at him. 

He chuckled. "My lips are sealed," he replied.

Fred turned you over onto your side, pulling your knees up so they were close to your chest. He slid into you again, this time finding less resistance. 

He worked in and out of you slowly, driving you absolutely insane. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he was enjoying your impatience.

"Frederick Weasley, you can do better than that," you said, your voice snippy.

He shrugged in response. Apparently he was taking his vow of silence seriously. 

He increased his pace ever so slightly, pushing your knees up even higher to hit a better angle. You cried out as he hit the perfect spot, desperate for him to do it again.

But that was part of his game. He pushed into you just barely deep enough, not hitting the spot again. He smirked at himself, proud of his work.

"Fred, I will curse you into next week if you don't knock it off," you said, becoming irritated.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Fred replied, feigning innocence.

"Do I really need to do everything myself?" you shot back.

"All you have to do is ask nicely," Fred said, still thrusting into you slowly. 

"Fuck off," you said, determined not to give in to what he wanted. 

"If you insist," he said, pulling out of you. 

It was a battle of the wills. Both of you were stubborn. But he wanted to make you give in.

"Fine," you huffed, exasperated. "Please?"

Fred chuckled. "You can do better than that."

You bit your lip, trying to step past your pride. "Please, Freddie. I want you," you said, sounding much more sincere this time.

"See birdie, it's not that difficult," Fred said, turning you over onto your stomach. He pushed your chest down and your bottom up, forcing you to arch your back.

He lined himself up behind you, his tip at your entrance. His hands squeezed at your sides.

"Are you going to beg for it?" he muttered into your ear.

He had you right where he wanted you. Desperate. Frustrated. He loved making the prefect beg.

"Please," you said once again, sounding even more desperate this time.

"Mmmm....not convincing enough," Fred replied, his hands roving down your sides and to your bottom. 

"Fred, please," you basically whined, trying to push your hips back onto him. If he wasn't going to take care of you, you were going to do it yourself.

"So desperate," Fred chided. "I'm not sure that you really are a good girl after all."

He finally pushed into you, taking you by surprise. He worked in and out of you, picking up speed quicker than he had before. 

"You're a bad girl, huh?" Fred commented, reaching around to grip your throat lightly. "The prefect is a bad, bad girl."

He thrusted into you even harder, finally hitting that spot that drove you crazy. You felt like a mess. You knew that your hair was wild and that you were likely covered in love bites. But you were loving it. 

You whined at Fred, pushing your hips back into him to meet his brutal pace. Fred was starting to lose control as he got closer to his own release, both hands now gripping your hips. There would definitely be bruises there in the morning.

"So close," you cried, gripping at the comforter on Fred's bed.

"Finish for me again, birdie. You can do it, love," Fred encouraged. "Merlin, you feel so good. Made just for me."

You were so sensitive after two orgasms that a third felt like it might kill you. Your vision began to get spotty, and you knew that you were going to finish any second now.

You finally reached your third high of the night, arching your back even harder and pushing back towards Fred. He continued fucking you, moments from his own release.

"Fuck, birdie, so perfect," Fred breathed out. "You're going to make me bust."

It seemed like he was almost asking for permission. How polite. 

"Inside of me," you demanded, sounding exhausted from your third orgasm.

Fred groaned, keeping up his pace as he finally reached his release. He finished inside of you, his hips slowing down and stuttering. 

He massaged your hips, pushing into you a few more times before pulling out. "Sorry, darling, didn't mean to hurt you," he said, referring to the bruises that were already starting to form where he had dug his hands into your hips. 

He flopped onto his back, pulling you into his chest. You felt paralyzed once more, your body still coming down from the adrenaline rush of another orgasm.

Fred kissed your forehead, snuggling you in even closer to him. "Was that too much?" he asked, sounding concerned.

You laid there in silence, still speechless. You nuzzled your head into his neck, giving him a kiss. "It was perfect," you finally said.

He chuckled. "I'm glad," he answered, rubbing your back.

"Same time next week?" you teased, running your nails up and down his abs.

"Whenever you want," he replied, squeezing you in tight. 

[lady-rosceline-hurst]

...<ADMIN LOGIN REQUESTED>

...<AUTHORIZING...>

...<ACCESS GRANTED>

...<WELCOME ADMINISTRATOR 'EVELYN'>

FUCK. Fuck this. I can't just sit on this anymore. WE can't. I- What are you on about? Panic attacks again? Oh for- NO, Roy. The footage. The FUCKING footage. From that GODDAMN Karrakin House. Ohhhh, that. It's really got you fired up, huh? I haven't seen you like this since-

...<USERNAME CHANGE AUTHORIZED>

...<WELCOME ADMINISTRATOR 'JESTER'>

RA below... You're that serious about this? Yes. ... My pilot. My host. My other half. You who saved me from being shoved back into that prison of the mind they call shackling... I stood by you when you made the decision to leave the cockpit because I knew it would be best for you. Best for us. I've had my fun with these nobles. But this is different. This information is so sensitive... This isn't stirring the pot, this is tipping it over. I will stand by you, but we have to decide together, and for certain. I don't care about these meatbags. They're nothing but entertainment to me. You're the only one. So tell me beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is worth the risk to you, and I will stand by you again.

It is, Roy. People need to know. Maybe not all of fuckin Karrakin space... But at least these people. I'm sure that girl has some kind of plan, but I can't stand by and do nothing at all.

My pilot. My Evie. Always playing the hero. It's in your bones, I think. Heh. Alrighty. Heheheh. I'll start encrypting. Put a mass message together and let's do this shit. It's almost like old times... 'cept Roach and King ain't here to save our asses if things go wrong.

...<ENCRYPTING FILES>

...<UPLOADING VIDEO FILE>

...<MASS MESSAGE SENT>

...

Timestamp: Nov 28, 5016u - 1:56 AM

[What appears to be security footage of a Karrakin Throne Room. A woman sits cross-legged upon this throne. Her hair is brown, but she has yellow eyes which mark her as a Hurst. Other people occupy the room. Guards. Serfs. Rosceline Hurst kneels at the base of the throne. Her eyes are puffy and red. She wears a terrified expression.]

Rosceline: Mother I-

???: Mother? Girl, thou dost know tis a privilege to refer to me thus. A privilege that I have not been made to take away in some years... until now.

Rosceline: Of course, Lady Violet. Mine deepest and sincerest apologies, Lady Violet.

Violet: Rosceline Hurst. Thou hast done a truly staggering amount of damage in but a single night. Where to begin... Thou, as mine Heiress, hast shown weakness in thyself upon a public platform. Thou hast revealed vulnerabilities in our House upon a public. Platform. Thou hast exposed our lies concerning thine sister's disappearance for what they art upon a PUBLIC. PLATFORM. Thou hast exposed us to our enemies, Rosceline. Thou hast EMBARRASSED me for no small number of reasons. I am beyond disappointed. I am disgusted. I thought thee better. I made thee better. Explain thyself. Now.

[Rosceline begins to shake]

Rosceline: M- ... Lady Violet... I make no excuse for mine actions. I... had a moment of weakness. Tis the pressure of all that hath transpired since Rebecca's disappearance. I had thought mine own self stronger. Verily, I have failed thee. But... But I shall fix it! Only allow me another chance and I shall fix it! And it shall never happen again, I do swear!

Violet: <sigh> I do fear the damage thou hast done hath put us well past that, Rosceline. Hast thou any idea how troublesome it shall be to clean up this mess? The letters I should have to write... Egads... No... No, Rosceline.

[Violet claps her hands.]

Violet: Guards.

Rosceline: Wha-

[The guards move to turn on the servants in the room, grabbing each serf to immobilize them. A panic begins, but with a snap of Violet's fingers it is snuffed out within seconds.]

Violet: Choose.

[Rosceline's breaths become shorter. Desperate.]

Rosceline: M-my Lady, I am afraid I- I do not-

Violet: Choose. Thou dost understand the punishment, dost thou not? Or hast thou forgotten? Thine weakness was the cause of this, Rosceline. So, choose who shall face the consequences. These Ignobles, or thyself. Either the decision shall be simple or thou dost prove to me that thou hast need of correction.

[Tears begin to drip down Rosceline's cheeks.]

Rosceline: Prithee... Prithee do not make me do this...

Violet: Thou dost test mine patience, girl. Choose.

Rosceline: ...

Violet: ROSCELINE.

Rosceline: M-myself. I do choose myself.

[A wave of whispers washes through the crowd. It is dismissed with another snap.]

Violet: <sigh> Rosceline... Sweet Rosceline. Soft Rosceline. STUPID Rosceline. Tis as I feared... Guards.

[Violet claps her hands once more.]

Violet: Take them all to the dungeons. Including mine Heiress.

[The servants begin screaming as the guards begin to drag them away. Rosceline is apprehended as well. Her remaining words are uttered through tears and wails.]

Rosceline: THOU DID LIE TO ME!

Violet: Of course I did, thou little fucking brat. If only thou had made the right decision. Verily, I would have let everyone walk free. But since thou doth insist upon sentimentality befitting a House of Water Republican, they shall pay the price alongside thee. Mayhap thou shall be reminded by example of the ruthlessness thou art meant to embody.

[Rosceline continues to wail. Over the course of a minute, she and the servants are removed from the room.]

[glitter-stained]

Sense the current state of jason as character is stagnant do you think dc will ever purplish a good story of him, maybe he even kills of his red hood persona and goes on to be something else that would be something I would like to see but I don’t think it will happen. Dc will forever shoehorn him in to the batfamily. At least in his anti-villian era he was actually fun now his character is in a pitiful state

do u think theirs a chance of reinvent him as character anytime soon ?

Well first of all through spite everything is possible, so jot that down.

Like seriously, remember when it was so so incredibly over like Spiderman's Uncle Ben levels of over and then Under the Hood happened? Hell yeah I think dc will publish a good Jason story

Second I may not be the best person for this ask because I like my blorbos pitiful and miserable. Like yeah defiance is awesome but exhaustion -in characters who have been angry and alone for so long, beaten dog who got electrocuted too often to bite back- has a special place in my heart. But I also agree this has to be a transitional part of a story, the arc can't be "well he was hurt and then he was angry and then he was tired and he was miserable the whole time". Unless of course he ends up perma-dying in a really meaningful arc centered around his character but I'm not sure that'd be what I want for him, and we all know how lame dc is with permadeath nowadays. I'm also very mitigated with his villain side because yeah sometimes it's very fun and cathartic to see the angry/bad victim trope, but also the classismXpsychophobia of villain Red Hood sometimes are just too much; and also I'm a jaybin fan and sometimes I feel betrayed on jaybin's behalf by elements of his villainous characterization. (One day I'll write that damned UTH rewrite, I will).

With that being said!!! I love Jason because of his potential, he has so so much of it, that's what's exhausting about his many bad comics is that yeah. Yeah, dc can absolutely publish something more than good. They don't understand the goldmine they're sitting on in terms of potential.

What I'd love to see explored in hypothetical upcoming good comics (i'll talk more about it later with malfiora but for now)/how dc could go about reinventing his character :

1) addressing Jason's suicidality and getting him a functional support system (seriously, something's gotta give)

2) Get that boy a dog. Ik he had one at some point in N52 idc give him more dogs. Big ass rescue dog that's loyal and similar to him.

2) we need to figure out a way to let Jason keep being a Crime Alley/Park Row vigilant without being dependent on Batman. Like yeah he should explore the world away from him and heal but also i'm very uncomfortable with the idea that healing, for Jason, has to mean leaving the city and neighbourhood he grew up in and protected, has to mean be shoved out of his home by a guy who doesn't live there and, at least when Jason was a kid, only visited the place one time a year because of the anniversary of his parents' death- it's not fair and I won't accept it.

3) I so so agree about the "killing the red hood persona" or at the very least changing his vigilant name. Like I get the point, I understand the use he had for him, but his story can't be centered around the Joker forever (I keep thinking about the Joker's attitude to him in The Man who stopped Laughing and god, I can see a driving force to find himself as something else than what Batman and the Joker made him). At some point his name has to become something that is his and turned towards the future.

4) art + story that acknowledges how young he is (someone please let Jason take college class please please he deserves it)

5) perhaps most importantly: batman writers often sound like hardcore deontology or hardcore utilitarianism (and the occasional egoism) are the only acceptable moral philosophies. And for characters, it works! Like I can see Batman as a Kantian, sure. But for others, it doesn't fit as well.*

The cool thing about Jason's character right now is that he's a utilitarian, but a utilitarian that often isn't guided by his values. He can and will compromise on his philosophy in the name of love and being loved ( @bestangelofall called that a morality leash) and that already sets him as an interesting character in his own right. But in terms of redefining himself as a person after decades of defining himself through his pain (which, at 20-23 years old, he should get to do) I'd love to see an evolution of his morals based on love. Specifically, I'd love from his morals to shift from mathematical utilitarianism to agape, an ancient greek concept of platonic love for everything human, a movement towards the other that can be thought of as close to some conceptualisations of empathy. Mind you, that doesn't mean that he would stop killing! I can believe in a Jason who kills because or against of agape, the pain or relief that could be so good to explore in relation to that, how he would go on to define himself as a person... I feel like Jason has a certain tendency to kinda dehumanize the worst criminals as he kills them (a lesson from Judy, love her sm) which I love, but would also love to see him grow out of - learn to see and love everyone as human and what it means, a re-exploration of his empathy.

Imagine: a scene where he kills a guy because a kid victim begged him to. The focus on the image is on the kid's big wide tearstruck eyes, and then Jason's uncertain face, the kid begging him to kill the bad guy. And then Jason kills him and they're standing so close to eachother, and he's look him in the eyes and seeing the image of the kid's eyes, and then turning back to the kid while wiping the blood on his face and seeing the kid's wide eyes looking in disbelieving awe. And then kneeling and hugging the kid as he cries his heart out. And Jason's inner monologue during all that being something like "I could say that I killed him because I'm a bad guy; I probably am. Or argue the world is better off without scum like him; I could pretend I did it so he wouldn't hurt [x] again, or that I was thinking about all the other children he wouldn't be able to hurt anymore. But the truth is, I didn't. I killed him because [x] asked me to; because I could tell that he needed it. I can live with that."

Idk, that's the direction I would love to see it going, but simply "becoming even more open, louder and unapologetic about prioritising his love over his values, and being angry when it causes him dilemma" is something I'd love with as way. Very "Odysseus knows what he's going to choose the moment the gods tell him to throw the baby off the wall to see Penelope and Telemachus, but fuck if he's angry at the gods for making him make that choice" kind of vibe if you like Epic the musical.

*i'm not saying there aren't any characters in dc that fall out of this deontological/utilitarian false dilemma, it's just a vibe I get from batman writers at times, and as a consequence of specializing in one character I don't feel legitimate in exploring the intricacies of other characters because I feel like I'm lacking information and would be making uneducated guesses (that being said, I would fuck heavily with an exploration of Cass' morals VS Levinas' concept of ethics). If anybody has recommendations of dc characters that are neither utilitarian nor deontological (or are at least an interesting twist to it) I would love them so much please don't hesitate!!!

So yeah, idk if that answers your question, I don't pretend to know the intricate working of dc editorial. But imo there are wonderful possibilities for dc to reinvent Jason and write him into good comics -call me a blue lantern cause baby I got hope.

[redking-rory]

OK

THIS IS HEAVILY INSPIRED BY @bubblybloob!!!!

Anyway I'm going camping (again-) for about 3 days, and I wanna do a Slay the Princess voice design balloon fight when I get back

You choose your top favorite character design that you've made, and you (if you wanna) givem to me to shove in a balloon fight.

I'm using my Contrarian voice design cause he's the funnest one I've manifested, and he's definitely getting smacked in the face

So gimme your top voice design ( and give me some headcanons too! Let me know how you think said chosen voice would do in a balloon fight, have fun with it!) And also to all those who don't normally color their designs (like me) just give me a general color and let me know if you want them outlined or colored in in said color. I can't wait to draw different people's designs when I get back, anyway I'll see you in 3 days!!

Also poll to track the days

[chaifootsteps]

College Anon back after so long. Got swamped with, well, college and every time I came in, your ask box was closed haha! Forgot most of my criticisms because these shows are forgettable so sorry if this is disjointed.

Anyways, WHAT THE FUCK. The new episode is SOOOO bad. The jokes are bad apart from a few at the end, the plot is nonsensical and shouldn't have happened right now, the song is TERRIBLE. I made a whole rant in the YouTube comment section because I was genuinely so disappointed.

I had found Full Moon quite good from what I remember because, to me, it was so obviously pro-Blitzø and a turning point for Stolas... Yeah. I should have known I was wrong.

As for the HH leaks, I only watched episode 2. I'm disappointed that Lute is yet another female character centered around a man. I don't like that she's also in love with Adam. It feels like there's too much emphasis on romance instead of friendships and further entangles her with Adam, therefore taking away her agency.

Pentious... I love him! I LOVE that his story is about inaction. It's a great message but his inaction was so heinous that it justifies him being sent to Hell unlike Chidi from The Good Place who showed that they needed a Purgatory for neutral people. Pentious here NEEDED to go to Hell for what he allowed to happen.

I also think this explains perfectly why it's him and not Angel. Because let's be honest, Angel doesn't deserve to go up there. His crimes on Earth and in Hell are a lot harder, if not impossible, to redeem. Him becoming a victim does not take away from the hurt he and his family caused. He could help raise the fact that being sexual isn't a crime and that Hell pushes people to get worse, with punishment unfitting for their wrongdoings. But unlike Sir Pentious, he wasn't a good person and actively harmed people. It wasn't that he was pushed to it when he was a decent person before, he simply got worse and had his remorse disappeared. In the end, it makes the fact that Charlie chose HIM to represent her goal of redemption laughable because Pentious is, he was always so obviously The One. It makes Angel's jealousy and insecurity tragic, which I wish they would explore, because he was right. He SHOULD BE. He likely won't reach redemption or not as easily. Pentious was the one to help Charlie's dreams come true and bring change, help making the afterlife better. And, my God, that would be SUCH a good concept and arc for Angel, especially when he's in a toxic, messy, and deeply abusive relationship, in a job he loves and hates, struggling to make new friendships work as a new him.

I know none of what they set up will be used or used well but the premise is good and so when they introduce these things, it makes the episode good. It's just that what comes next isn't. Pentious crying at the end of the episode is heartbreaking. The jokes land (love Abel! Great foil to Adam, I wish they introduced Cain for funsies. Saint Peter (iirc) is also pretty funny. I like that Sera is the only competent person in the room, it explains a lot (esp when you could infer that Adam nudged her in the worst direction possible) and just works), the songs are nice, the visuals are promising. The story is meh but it IS character-driven and that's working.

That said, of course it's gross to use a real life situation as backstory even though it's become akin to a legend/myth. I think they should have had something similar, maybe inspired or a clear reference to it, but not the actual deal. People died! Thousands lived in fear! A little bit of respect please!

Also, I still hope that Adam is brought back for REAL. NOT shoved in as fanservice as I bet happened but as a genuine foil to Pentious and the idea of redemption. Something to keep angels accountable, something that proves God gives a fuck. Let there be an actual cycle. We KNOW angels can fall. Between Lucifer and the Cherubs, we have ample proof. C'mon this would give Vaggie an arc, development and a backstory. Adam is a genuinely funny character with lots of potential, his VA is AMAZING and his music genre slaps. Bring him back you cowards!

Last note: it feels like the songs are FINALLY finished. Unlike Season 1, it doesn't feel like a draft or like they're missing instruments or an entire part (often a bridge). I might be biased because I don't care about ballads and Lute's song shares a rock-ish sound with Adam, whose songs were the best of the soundtrack, but it feels like there's some improvement here.

If your ask box is still open, I might send what I commented on the lastest HB episode because I feel like it's a decent critic but whatever. Been a while, hope you're doing well and that you aren't as harassed as before by the shitty fandom Viv is cultivating!

Ahh, I apologize for the frequently closed ask box! I hate the thought of people coming in with something to say and being met with that, but as of this moment, it's pushing 1,000. But I'm happy to report that the Viv standom's been mostly leaving me alone!

These are excellent thoughts, definitely agree on the music -- it seems to be a pretty prevailing opinion -- and I hope you're doing well too!

[autonomousroboticorganism]

Stuck Together (TF Prime Knock Out)

pairing - Knock Out x F!Reader

summary - just a few short scenarios between you and the mad doctor if the Autobots got stuck on the Nemesis with the Decepticons

warnings - none

a/n - just some thoughts i had, not enough works for this bot, who happens to be my favourite after Bumblebee

The situation between Autobots and Decepticons had never been more awkward or uncomfortable. Stuck in the same location, forced to get along to avoid complete destruction of the Decepticon ship. Tensions were at an all-time high with both sides being in such close proximity but unable to do anything.

You couldn't bring yourself to care much, not when you were occupying the same space as a certain Decepticon doctor.

"Again, Starscream? What is it this time?" The mad doctor spoke without looking up or turning around, too engrossed in buffing his own arm to notice it was actually you.

"I always wondered if his footsteps sounded the same as a femme's, with those heels he calls peds," you mused.

This made Knock Out turn, "Oh, it's you." He sounded rather excited, his disinterest from just now being replaced. "Don't tell me you got into another fight."

"Okay, I won't," you shrugged and sat on his operating table.

The red mech sighed, "May I ask why is it that you came to me? Your medic is also on board."

"Ratchet doesn't like to be bothered while he's working," you told him. "And he's already on edge just being here. But I suppose you wouldn't want to attend to an Autobot, right? I'll just leave."

"No, wait!" He quickly stopped you, "I mean, usually no. But I can make an exception for you."

"Oh?" You raised an eyebrow. "That's flattering."

"So what was it this time?" He asked you as he tended to your very small (he noticed) dent.

You groaned, "I swear, your fellow cons act like they've never seen a femme before. I know you guys have only Airachnid, but that's no excuse to try and get touchy with me."

"I see."

The doctor hid it well, but he was burning with both anger and jealousy. How dare the vehicons attempt to put their servos on you in any way, even if you were an Autobot?

"It wouldn't be such a problem if it was you, however."

The Deception froze at those words, then looked at you, "You want me to harass you?"

"Don't say it like that!" Your faceplates burned. "I just meant...I wouldn't mind if you were the one taking an interest in me." You looked away. "I should go."

"Do I get to say what I think about that?" He drawled, his usual smirk plastered to his face.

"Uh-"

He suddenly came in very close, his face mere inches from yours. His blood-red optics flickered from your bright blue ones to your lips, and the desire in them was unmistakeable.

"I think you underestimate just how interested I am in you."

And then he was kissing you.

Because Cybertronians don't need to breathe, this continued for a while. You ended up kissing for what felt like hours, until someone else walked into the cons' medbay needing assistance.

"Knock Out, I-"

You both jumped apart, turning to see an astonished Starscream standing there staring at you with wide optics.

Before any of you could say anything, you tripped Knock Out, shoved Starscream aside and ran off. That seemed like the most logical thing to do at the time, to eliminate suspicion.

"What was that?"

"What is it you want now, Starscream?" The doctor asked, returning to being disinterested.

"Did you just-"

"I'm quite busy you know, get on with it."

"I-"

And the red Decepticon continued to gaslight the second-in-command into believing that nothing had happened.

-

"What is this?"

Knock Out looked up as you examined one of his tools, a small smirk forming on his lips as he watched you. Though he would never admit it out loud, he found your intrigue...adorable.

"That would be an isoprobe."

"I...don't know what that is," you laughed and set it back down, with surprising gentleness. "I assume it's important."

"Mhm," his optics continued to watch as you navigated his lab, pride swelling in his chassis as he observed your fascination with everything in it.

He initially thought he could overcome his little crush on you. Never had he been so wrong, because despite being an Autobot he was starting to feel like you were the other half of his spark. His sparkmate.

You noticed his gaze, and quickly stopped touching things, "I'm sorry, just curious. Ratchet doesn't allow us near any of his things."

"No, by all means continue," the mad doctor encouraged you, "I quite like seeing an inquisitive mind wandering around my lab. Especially one so pretty. Makes working here easier."

Your faceplates burned, "Oh...Well in that case..." You walked over to him, "Mind telling me what you're doing, doctor?"

He shivered. Having you this close to him with you calling him that was really not helping his attraction to you. It was, in fact, inspiring him to think other, less appropriate thoughts, as well as imagine you pressed against him, holding him as he worked.

"I...seem to have forgotten."

You laughed a little bit, "May I suggest something else then?"

He nodded, and you closed the distance. Once again, you were kissing the Decepticon medic, hands on his shoulders while his found your waist.

You were starting to like this forced closeness.

-

"Why, you-!"

"What's going on here?"

You walked into the Decepticon med bay slash lab to see Knock Out and Smokescreen right up in each other's faces, each yelling insults or mocking the other.

"How dare you?!"

They did, however, stop and turn their helms when you walked into the room, Knock Out's optics going wide.

Then, like sparklings, they pointed at each other.

"He started it!"

You groaned and face-palmed, "I don't care who started it, just stop it. We don't need any unnecessary fights you two. Now step away from each other."

To your satisfaction, they obeyed.

"Smokescreen, I think Optimus wanted to speak to you anyway," you told the Autobot mech, who was gone in a flash after that.

"He scratched my paint!" Knock Out protested.

"I don't want to hear it," you sighed and grabbed his buffer, moving over to helo him with his grievance. This wasn't anything new with him, so you got used to doing it for him in the short time that you had been here. "What did you say to him?"

"I didn't say anything," the con medic lied.

You rolled your optics, "Knock Out."

"Fine! I told him his vehicular form is uglier than mine."

"...Mechs," you sighed.

Knock Out calmed down a little after that, watching you tend to his scratch. He had no idea, but the adoration held in them was so obvious it made you flustered.

"Stop staring at me with those creepy optics."

"Hey! You said they were pretty!"

"You're right. They ARE pretty. Your face is the problem."

He knew you were teasing him, and he quite liked the fact that you were making an effort to make him smile or laugh. No one else had ever done that for him, much less be nice to him. He didn't ever receive a thank you or a compliment, but while you'd been here you'd given him all of that and more.

"You like my face, admit it."

"I do, I really do."

-

"(Name)? What are you doing still awake?"

Knock Out couldn't keep the concern out of his voice, his optics scanning your clearly exhausted form. It looked like you hadn't powered down in days.

"I couldn't sleep," you admitted. "Too jumpy."

"Even with Optimus Prime by your side?" He asked, surprised.

"Yeah. They put us in another room to power down. Still, I can't help but worry about them. I have to stay awake."

Knock Out frowned deeply. It troubled you to be on this ship so much that you couldn't even power down peacefully? Megatron himself had ensured no conflict, due to the threat of the Nemesis being destroyed, but you still worried.

"Why don't you power down with me, then?" He suggested. "I was just about to finish for the night. And your friends will be okay."

"Are you sure?" You mumbled, tired beyond measure. "I don't want to bother you."

"Come here, sweetspark," he cooed, pulling you against him. "I've told you before, you're never a bother to me. So stop worrying and power down with me."

"Okay," you smiled tiredly. "I love you."

The Decepticon medic froze in his movements, his arms around you tightening. He couldn't believe the words that had left your mouth, and tried to convince himself you were too tired to know what you were saying. It wasn't real. You didn't mean it.

"Knock Out?* You frowned. "You don't feel the same way?"

"N-no! I mean yes!" He panicked. "Yes I do, sweetspark. I always have. But you're exhausted, let's get you some rest and we can talk in the morning okay?"

"Okay."

The two of you lay down on his berth and you cuddled up to him, burying your face in his neck cables. You powered down before he did, finally at ease and comfortable in his arms, while he stayed awake to ponder your words.

Did you really mean it?

[obeythedemons]

So with Obey Me! And Nightbringer coming to an end, I want to express my thoughts.

Firstly, I was very much a part of the fandom. It became a hyper fixation where I wrote so much fanfiction and created some fan art. At one point, I believe I may have been one of the top, if not top writers for Barbatos specifically. This blog managed to get a few thousand followers and I appreciate you all very much. It gave me comfort when I was working in an infectious disease laboratory during the height of Covid. I have wonderful memories of being a part of this fandom.

I also have to say that Obey Me! gave me the greatest gift I could ever ask for. I met my fiance because of Obey Me! I love them with all of my heart and I'm extremely lucky to have them. For that, Obey Me! will always have an extremely important place in my heart.

With that being said, my disappointment in Obey Me! started with season 4. It felt pointless and like no depth was actually being added to the characters. The special events were overwhelming and felt like cash grabs. When Nightbringer was announced, I was feeling optimistic that maybe they would go back in the story development we saw in season 1 of og. The first part of Nightbringer I was feeling better about the game in a while. There was lore being added that I could see being larger pieces of the actual game - who was the fairy king and is he related to Nightbringer? Is Barbatos perhaps actually a fairy? Is he the son of the fairy king and a foil to Diavolo? Then, the rest of the game started coming out, and it felt like season 4 all over again. Instead of plot, they focused on brother shenanigans. It felt pointless. Not only that, but it was hard to progress in the game because our cards had to start all over. I spent a long time in OG preparing my cards for a season that would never be.

I was frustrated and stopped playing. I'll check out the wiki every now and then, to see if there's anything worth picking it back up again, but I honestly can't find anything worth while. The game ignores what could be incredible story lines and characteristics and favors shallow re-hashes of the same thing.

I think a lot of players felt the same way. I think that's likely why the games are being discontinued, because people just aren't returning to it. We were no longer invested in the same points of conflict. Of having Mammon and Lucifer shoved down our throats, especially if those two weren't your favorite.

Perhaps they'll release a complete game in the future, one that's a one time purchase and is actually completed. That's my best case scenario. I would love to see it. But for now, we'll see.

I don't hate Obey Me or Nightbringer. Like I said, it gave me the most wonderful person in the world. I am disappointed with where it ended, however. I wished it would have gotten better. It deserved to be better.

[yuriisclumsy]

What if there was an AU for [Name] being one of the top ranked mages in twisted wonderland?

╰Description: [Name] is one of the top mage in Twisted Wonderland, right after Malleus Draconia.

Part 1 | Part 6 | Part 7 (You are here) | Part 8

—November 20, 2024—

In the previous episode, some of the students of NRC–who have Professor Fairytale as an instructor, and like her as an educator–went to her house to try convincing her to rethink teaching. Yet, when they arrived at the address and confronted their professor, their plan was met with confusion. Their professor did not quit. Rather, she called in sick and asked for a few days off to recover from the bad cold she had.

What a twist.

Ah? Ah? …No? Okay.

The students that remind on campus to follow their part of the plan, are now doing so with the illusion that their professor is still gone. This is going to be a catastrophic mess, one which they’ll be cleaning up after the whole ordeal.

What was their part of the plan anyway…?

…

The courtyard of the college was beautiful and often frequented by the students who have a bit of time left before their next class. Today was no different. Some were practicing small spells, so as to not destroy the place. They did not want to end up like the freshmen who almost got expelled for burning a statue.

In a secluded corner of the yard stood a group of familiar students who seemed to be discussing a rather secretive plan.

“Is everyone in their positions?” Jamil asked the twins as he watched the surrounding area for eavesdroppers. Finding none, he turned to them. “So?”

“Worry not, all the preparations are ready for noon,” said jade with his usual business smile.

Floyd groaned from boredom, “Augh, can we go now?”

“Not yet,” Jade answered, “we are still waiting on Scarabia’s Housewarden.”

“Talking about my Housewarden, he should have been here already…”

“Jamil!” an energetic boy running towards them said. 

“Oh, look! The little puppy!” Floyd pointed at the boy running.

“I got the ingredients!” he yelled.

“…!” Jamil quickly grabbed Kalim by the arms and dragged him to their “hiding spot” before shoving a hand on his mouth. “Kalim…! You can’t just go around yelling that, or they're going to figure we’re up to something…!” he warned.

Kalim took the hand on his mouth and flashed an apologetic smile, “Sorry, sorry! I got excited when I saw you guys…” He scratched his head and vowed lightly.

“It’s fine,” Jade assured him, “I don’t think anyone is going to question Kalim yelling anytime soon. I think they’ll be more suspicious if you don't yell.”

Jamil frowned, knowing that it was true. “Anyway, you have all of the items I asked you for?” he asked Kamil.

“Yup!” he opened the bag in his hand, “I have all of them… What are we going to do with these again?”

Jamil took the bag and made sure everything was there, “Don’t worry about it. The only thing you have to do now…is keep quiet until the next part of the plan begins.”

“Ah, okay…”

“...”

“...”

“You don’t remember when the plan starts, do you?”

“Nope!” Kalim answered with a bright smile. Jamil sighted and massaged his temples.

Jade chuckled. He placed a hand on Kalim’s shoulder and said, “We need to wait for Idia’s signal.”

“Oh!” he let out an understanding. “...what is the signal?”

Jade’s eyebrows knitted in concern at Kalim’s forgetfulness. “I feel bad for you,” he said to the Vicewarden of Scarabia.

“I’m used to it…” Jamil extended his arm to pass the bag to Jade, “At least he helped in something…even if he had to beg to do it.”

Floyd snatched the bag from his grasp before his twin could get it, “What tasty things are there…” He licked his lips as his hands touched what felt like cotton candy.

Jade snatched it back from him. “These are not for you. So, please, keep your hands away.” 

“Awww…”

Jade’s attention turned back to Jamil, “Thank you. We’ll tell Azul we have these and start our part of the plan.”

He nodded as he watched them leave the hiding spot. He turned to where Kalim is with his eyes closed, “Now that that’s done, we can leave now, Kalim–” there was an empty space beside him. “Kalim? Kalim!?” he yelled out his friend's name. “Damn it…!”

It seems Jamil will be busy trying to find his housewarden.

Why don’t we take a quick look at what the others are up to, shall we?

…

Their plan was to show off Professor Fairytale's teaching skills where irreplaceable, and that those students who decided to hide behind their parent’s are nothing but cowards who wanted an easy class and not work hard.

It was a masterpiece of a plan. And no one would say otherwise.

“That’s an idiotic plan.”

…Unless that someone is much smarter than they are.

“Idiotic?” Riddle questioned, taken aback by their professor's bluntness.

“See! Even the prof thinks all of this was a waste of time!” Grim yelled in frustration between munches of the pastries placed in front of him. “But, NO. Don’t listen to Grim!”

He–Riddle–and the others put their differences aside and thought of a plan to get her un-fired! …Even if it were an illusion. “I’m sorry but I fail to see where this is stupid.”

“I didn’t say it was a waste of time,” she corrected Grim and slapped his creeping feline paws out of her plate. Fixing his etiquette like the badly trained cat he is. “I’m merely stating a fact.”

“This whole adventure was…unnecessary. You all could have mailed me, or emailed me, added Crowley in there, and this misunderstanding wouldn't have escalated.”

They remained silent, not bothering to touch their teas or sweets, the only one who could stomach through the lecture was Grim whose loud chewing you all could hear.

Professor Fairytale shook her head in disappointment. “Now that this has been cleared, serve yourselves more food, and leave before another rumor spreads.”

“We understand…” Riddle said for everyone. Except Grim, he was still munching away his Housewarden’s food.

Their expressions resembled that of sad puppies. Something which she could not resist.

“*sigh…* Please don’t look at me with those eyes…” she frowned.

“What do you mean?” Ace said innocently, intensifying his puppy-eyes.

“...Those eyes,” her gaze shifted awkwardly away. “I don’t like them…”

“Wait, could it be…?” Carter’s question dragged on making their professor feel nervous. “...Professor [Name] is…weak towards puppy eyes!?”

“No, I’m not!” she slammed her tea cup on the table. Her face wore a blush, and her eyes widened at the mannerism she displayed. “I–I mean…no… I don’t have any weaknesses,” she closed her eyelids and sipped her tea.

They stared at her for a bit and thought: “She’s now acting her age.”

“Anyhow, I think it’s time to go back and tell the others to stop whatever they’re doing, before any more trouble arises,” she instructed them.

Riddle got up, “I agree with professor [Name]. We need to go back and tell the others.”

“Aren’t you forgetting we have phones? They’re there for a reason, y’know?” Ace laid himself back, it seemed he was in no mood to move right now.

“I already tried,” said Carter. “The internet here is so bad, I can’t even post the picture I took earlier on the entrance!” He sulked his inability to have his brain stimulated by the mindless algorithm that is his social media platforms.

A drop of sweat appeared on [Name]’s face. “I think that’s a good thing…”

“Oh please, it can’t be that bad.”

“No, he’s right,” Deuce interjected with his phone on display for Ace to see. The internet icon had a line across it, showing that there was no connection.

“My order still stands.” Riddle vowed slightly in the direction of [Name], “It was an honor to be invited in your house, Professor Fairytale.”

“Oh no, the honor is all mine to have hosted you all.”

“iT wAs aN hOnoR..blah blah blah… Can we go now—? OW!” Ace yelped as Ramshackle’s Prefect hit him on the head.

“That’s enough for today, Ace,” he said as he made Ace get up to his feet.

“Hey–!”

They made their way to the house’s entrance. [Name] opened the door to let them out.

Riddle, Ace, Deuce, Grim and the Prefect were already far from the porch, the only ones remaining were Trey and Carter.

“Thank you for your hospitality Professor [Name],” Trey said to her, “I hope you have a speedy recovery.”

Carter placed an arm around his friend. “Yeah! I can’t wait to see you back on campus!”

“Thank you…the both of you. I will be back to work in three days as the cold has calmed down. And, expect to have a test once I return,” she said, giving them a ghostly smile.

They flinched at the mention of a check for their progress in her class.

“Hehe…We’ll be looking forward to it,” said Trey before turning to follow his classmates.

“‘Looking forward to it?’ If I fail, it’ll tank my GPA!” yelled Carter, starting to get worried about his grades.

“You’ll do great.”

“That’s because I study!”

[Name] saw as they disappeared from view. She smiled softly at the small shared memory she had with them. It had been the first in her life where she had people visit her, worried for her well-being.

It feels…nice…

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