#I still have 4 pages of prompts to get through but I was gripped with the need to postthis

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Heya! We recently got back into the arcana after having distanced for a few years, and I have been playing Muriel's route.

Well I fell in love again, along with a lot of our system, and we were wondering, if you could use the prompt of "M6 finds out MC is a system" or something like that? If you in have trouble finding information that can help, looking up DID can help get a good grip on systemhood!

If you don't feel comfortable with that I have a back up since we do want to suggest a prompt "M6 reacts to MC age regressing" if you haven't done that? I'd imagine Lucio's would be absolutely amazing and hilarious.

The Arcana HCs: When MC Age Regresses

~ @selfcarecollective I went with the age regression prompt, if only because that's something I'm a bit more familiar with! I hope you enjoy these ^.^ - brainrot ~

-- for writing purposes, MC is age regressing in their shared space with the M6 because they feel safe and supported enough to do so, but haven't gotten around to telling M6 about it yet. this can be read with the M6 being either a romantic or platonic partner, however, ALL INTERACTIONS ARE PURELY PLATONIC WHILE MC IS IN THIS HEADSPACE. thank you ^.^ --

Julian

Genuinely terrified

Here is what he knows: something has happened.

He does not know what that something is, or why it's resulted in you acting and speaking like a child, but he can tell it's not fake and he doesn't like the way you start to get upset when he asks about it

Which is right about when his protective older brother instincts kick in. He doesn't know why you seem to be working with a child's brain, but he knows how to take care of kids

And he's definitely committed to taking care of you

Finds that the best way to calm you down (and to calm himself down) is to wrap you up in a nice, safe, long hug

Starts asking gentler, simpler questions about what you need and works with that

He quickly finds that you're very receptive to being entertained, so he launches into the first story he can think of

You both quickly get caught up in said story, and that's how you end up bundled in blankets on the couch while he paces the room and soaks up all your reactions to his tall tale

Spends three days buried in all the age regression information he can find and emerges with a five page list of questions

Asra

Low-key thinks it's a fun game at first and just goes with it

Until you stub your toe playing hide-and-go-seek in the closed shop and start honest-to-goodness crying in a ball on the floor

Okay now they're a little worried, that's not your usual behavior

Step 1: double check that touch is ok

Step 2: ask to hold your foot and then do a flashy magic spell to make the pain go away

Step 3: scold the shop counter for getting in the way of your poor toes and watch you start to giggle

Step 4: cuddle you close and use the safety to try to get a read on what's happening in your head through your bond

Step 5: quietly realize that your mind is reverted to a young state and resolve to give you the happiest glimpse of childhood he can

What follows is them taking the rest of the day/night off to spoil you and snuggle you and listen to you and do all sorts of silly things to make you smile

Yes, this includes covering yourselves (and the shop by extension) in glow-in-the-dark paint

Yes, this includes Faust playing peek-a-boo with you until you laugh yourself sick

Nadia:

She's not proud of it, but the first place her mind flickers to is the off chance that you're mocking her in some way

After spending her entire life trying not to be associated with childish things, seeing you acting in such a way touches on relational insecurities that she's trying to leave in the dust

This concern only lasts for maybe two seconds, though, because a quick look into your eyes tells her you're not faking anything

Well, she does love to care for you

She's still learning how to play the support role when it comes to emotional connection, but she thrives on the opportunity to physically provide for you

You seem like you could use some comfort. She can do that

She calls for your favorite food, she cradles you on her lap, she gently smooths your hair out of your face and wraps you in her softest blankets

And she talks with you. Just talks, not a discussion around improvement plans or a philosophical heart-to-heart. She finds out what your favorite color is and which part of her face you like most

Her first question when you're back to your usual self is how best to care for you like that in the future

Muriel:

Immediately notices you slipping but doesn't breathe a word because he wants to know what's happening before he does anything about it

Okay, this seems fine, you're clearly in a very child-like state of mind (he's had enough flashbacks to have a rough idea of what that's like) but you seem content and happy

Why are you smiling at him like that

Why are you climbing into his lap

Wait no no no don't curl up and go to sleep on his chest, he still isn't sure what's going on with you, what if he somehow hurts you while you're vulnerable like this??

Okay, you're just resting. And you seem extra happy when he holds you close and safe. ... and you're looking at the carving he's working on like you want to play with it

Well ... if it makes you smile ...

A few hours later, Muriel has unlocked several new skills: giving the carvings names. Giving the carvings individual voices. Helping you build an elaborate plot about the carvings' adventures

He eventually convinces you to get off his lap by having Inanna lie on top of you instead. She now considers you her pup

Does begin a new collection of carvings, specifically for you to enjoy next time you're in that headspace

Portia:

Baffled

But somehow instinctively knows what to do

She can tell right away from the way you're holding yourself to the change in your speaking patterns that your head isn't in the space it usually is. She just wants to make sure that that's a good thing

Also, you're oddly adorable like this

She'll ask you a few basic questions, but her nurturing instincts are strong, so as soon as she has a rough idea of what's going on she's jumping straight into gentle older sister mode

Will find a quiet, grounding activity to do with you so you can stay focused on something soothing while she keeps interacting with you and keeping tabs on your physical and mental state

She makes cookies (has it been mentioned that she stress bakes? she stress bakes) and has the time of her life rolling them out with you, making different shapes and counting chocolate chips

Pepi goes out of her way to lean on you and purr whenever she gets the chance so you stay extra grounded and safe

When you're back in your normal headspace, she's going to ask you about it first before trying to do any research. She wants to focus her efforts on your specific experience more than anything

Lucio

It's a good thing this is happening during down time or he would be beside himself with panic

He's still panicking a little, of course, but since you seem happy and uninjured and since Mercedes and Melchior aren't acting up he figures that this is just normal magician weirdness

He comes to the conclusion that you had an accident with a spell and now you have your child brain instead of your normal brain

Oh CRAP he's not good with kids, he knows he's not good with kids, he wants you to be happy, what does he do???

He tries asking you a few panicked questions, but it only seems to be distressing you and he hates seeing you upset

Sweets. Kids like sweets. He also likes sweets. And you don't seem like you're about to scold him for blowing his budget ...

He takes your hand in his non-metal one, throws a hooded cape over you that he knows you like, and marches you through the town until he finds the closest bakery

The rush of joy he feels from watching you light up at getting to pick as many sweets as you want is unrivaled

And watching you play tag and giggle with the dogs is even sweeter while you work off the resulting sugar high

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #the arcana game #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson

[maxattax]

Meet Me Halfway - Holiday Truce 2023

Happy Holiday Truce! This gift is for @dannyphannypack :) I hope you like it! I used your prompt #4, identity reveal.

--

The second hand on my watch ticks forward slowly. I’m waiting for my most troublesome student to show up for detention, and it is now five minutes past when he should have been here. I shouldn’t be surprised; Daniel Fenton is rarely on time for class, so why should this be any different? I’ll be calling his parents if he isn’t here soon.

Ten minutes past the hour, the door finally opens. “Sorry I’m late, Mr. Lancer. I… uhm…” Daniel’s face scrunches while he searches for an excuse.

I sigh. “Mr. Fenton, I was starting to think you wouldn’t show.” I gesture to the chair I’ve pulled up to my desk. “Have a seat.”

He sits. At first, I say nothing. He squirms in his seat, fingers dancing across the desk. I’ve known many students who are perfectly content to sit in silence, and many who will fill every second with words. But Daniel just waits, uncomfortable. He stares at me, his face grim like a man condemned. I finally break the silence.

“You missed half of my class today. Care to explain why?” I ask.

Daniel picks up a paperclip off my desk and straightens it out, then bends it back into its original shape. “Why bother asking?” he says, shaking his head. “We both know you won’t believe me.”

“Maybe if you told the truth…” I trail off, pinching the bridge of my nose. I lower my hands to my desk and look him in the eye. “I know you’re a good kid, Daniel. It’s clear there’s more going on. If you ever feel comfortable confiding in me, I want to help. Just meet me halfway.”

Daniel meets my gaze. I can’t tell what he’s thinking as he examines me. Is he weighing whether he can trust me? Is he trying to figure out if I know more than I’m letting on? I wish I did. Is he just waiting for me to dismiss him?

After too long, he says, “I’m just going through some stuff. You wouldn’t get it.”

“I might. I was a teenager once, too. I do remember what it was like.” He cocks an eyebrow. I choose to ignore his disbelief. “Is this about Mr. Baxter? I have been too lenient on him. I apologize for his actions; I only recently learned the extent of how he’s been treating you and your peers, and I will be cracking down on his behavior.”

Daniel’s eyes go wide for a moment. “Uh, yeah, that’s it.” Okay, so that’s not it. He’s not a very good liar. “Thanks. He’s been a pain in the a– uh, butt, for a while now.”

That I do believe. Dash has been cruel to several of my students, and I still can’t believe how blind I was to his bullying. I won’t let him get away with it any longer.

But if this isn’t about Dash, then what is it? “I’m happy to help,” I say. Daniel gives me a half smile, but says nothing. “Well, if there’s nothing else, why don’t you get some homework done? We still have forty-five minutes.”

Daniel deflates. “Yeah, fine.” He eyes his preferred seat in the back of the room, but slinks to a desk in the front row. He sinks onto the chair and plops a notebook onto the desk. Hunched over his book, he chews on the back of his pen as he reads. He scribbles something in his notebook, shakes his head, and turns the page.

He looks up at me. I hastily look away and start organizing the papers on my desk.

A few minutes later, I hear a gasp. “Is everything alright, Mr. Fenton?”

His fingers grip the side of his desk. “Uh, yeah. I just have to go to the bathroom. Can I go?” He taps his toes, unable to stay still in his seat. I can’t tell whether he urgently needs the restroom or if he is just eager to get away. It’s probably best to let him go just in case. I open my mouth to respond.

CRASH! The classroom door explodes inward, shards of wood ricocheting off the wall. An enormous glowing green bear stomps into the room. Saliva drips from its razor-sharp teeth, and it lets out a bone-chilling growl.

The bear takes a step in my direction. The floor shakes as its feet hit the ground. “The Winter’s Tale, I’m being pursued by a bear!” I stand up from my chair and back away slowly. My heart pounds in my chest as it takes another step.

“Hey ugly, leave him alone!” The bear rears its head towards Daniel. What is he doing?! It slowly makes its way towards the boy, rage in its eyes. What do I do? I can’t fight a ghost!

I glance towards the door. The phone on the wall has been crushed and is hanging off the base by the cord. It’s times like these that I regret not having a cell phone.

Daniel pulls a thermos out of his bag. This is not the time for soup! I want to shout, but the words are stuck in my throat.

The bear lunges towards the teen, but he nimbly dodges the attack. Daniel skirts around the ghost and points the thermos at its torso.

I drop to my knees and hide under my desk. I hate to leave a student in danger, but I am honestly terrified, and he seems to have this handled, somehow. As I watch, I remember that his parents are ghost hunters. It makes sense that he’d know how to capture them, although I was under the impression that he is scared of ghosts. He is usually the first out the door during ghost attacks.

Daniel dodges another attack, but drops the thermos. It rolls across the classroom floor and bounces off the leg of my desk. The bear notices the movement and turns to face me. Oh no.

The bear takes a few steps in my direction and raises its paw a foot away from my face. Time freezes. This is it. I’m going to die here, and Daniel won’t be far behind. I’ve failed in my duty to protect my students. My muscles tense, bracing for the impact.

In slow motion, the paw comes careening towards me. Daniel leaps across the room. There is a flash of light, and ethereal white rings appear around the boy’s waist. As the rings travel across his body, they transform my young student into the town superhero, Danny Phantom. What in the world?

A glowing green dome appears around me, and the bear’s claws scrape against the light. I’m unharmed? How?

“Okay, now you’ve pissed me off,” the ghost boy says. His voice echoes ominously.

The bear growls in response. It turns to face Phantom, who is floating over my desk, eyes glowing with the intensity of his anger.

Phantom whips around and flies behind the bear. He wraps his arms around it and lifts it over his head, slamming it into the ground behind him. The bear crumples, dazed. Phantom unceremoniously picks up the thermos and activates it. The bear stretches towards the thermos, a growl ripped from its throat as it is sucked into the machine. Phantom caps the thermos with a soft click. The air is still and quiet; the danger is gone.

The teenage ghost floats before me. He stares at me, silent, examining. His deathly pale face is frozen, twisted in an expression of anxiety. He searches me, although for what I am uncertain.

He takes a deep, unsteady breath. Do ghosts need to breathe? “So, uhm,” he says, his voice shaking. “You didn’t see any of that, right?” His hands are trembling, his form vibrating in the air before me.

“I saw a student turn into a ghost and suplex a bear,” I say bluntly. I stand and look up at him. His glow illuminates the area around him, and it’s uncomfortable to look directly at him. “Is that really you, Daniel?”

“Oh.” He lowers himself slowly to the ground. Another blinding flash of light summons rings around his waist, transforming him back into the boy I know. “I guess I have some explaining to do…”

“Yes, you certainly do. You’re a ghost? A Christmas Carol, how did this happen? Are… are you dead?”

Daniel grimaces. “No! Uh, probably. Jazz says no; I’ll trust her on this. Technically, I’m only half-ghost.” He runs a hand through his black hair. “Generally ghosts don’t like to talk about how they died, but I’ll just say there was an accident in my parents’ lab.”

I raise my eyebrows, but before I can speak, he continues. “No, my parents don’t know. Please don’t tell them.” He picks up a pen from my desk, uncaps it, and caps it again. “They wouldn’t take it well.”

This poor boy, having to hide who he is from everybody. That can’t be easy. I word my next question carefully. “Are you safe at home? As your teacher, I am a mandated reporter. That means if you’re in danger, I have to tell somebody.”

Daniel does not meet my eyes, staring intently at the pen in his hand. “No – I – uhm, no. Like, yeah, they’re ghost hunters, but they’re really bad at it. They miss half the shots they take.”

“That means they still hit you with half their shots,” I point out. “I may be an English teacher, but I’m not that bad at math.”

He finally looks up at me. “I’m good at this, Mr. Lancer. I’ve been doing it for a while. If you call CPS, then the Guys in White – sorry, the Ghost Investigation Ward,” he rolls his eyes, “will get involved, and they’re much more dangerous than my parents. Do you think they’ll care that I’m half human, if they even believe me?”

I think back to the last few times the government agents were in town. They haven’t been quiet about their hatred of ghosts. He’s right; they’re not exactly compassionate or careful. “Okay,” I say. “I believe you. You said Jasmine is aware of your… condition?”

Daniel laughs. “I’m a superhero, it’s not a disease. Yeah, she knows. Sam and Tucker do too; they were there when it happened. I’ll, uh, have to fill them in on this.”

A superhero. He’s so young to be throwing himself into danger on a daily basis. No wonder he’s failing his classes. “Why were you late for class today? I expect honesty, this time.”

Daniel blinked, expressionless. “Not the question I expected.” He sighs. “It was a ghost, of course. On the other side of campus.”

“Ah. Is that always the reason you’re late?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” He shrugs. “The ghosts don’t care that I have class. I have to take care of them. Nobody else is gonna do it.”

“What about the Red Huntress? Isn’t it better to let an adult take care of it?”

Daniel barks out a short laugh. “She cares more about capturing me than any other ghost. She shoots first and asks questions never. I can’t leave her to do it alone. Plus, she has sc– other responsibilities too, outside of ghost hunting.”

“You know who she is.” It’s not a question.

“I do. But it’s not my secret to tell.”

I nod respectfully. He really is a good kid. “Okay. I wouldn’t have asked, anyway. She’s not my responsibility. You, however…”

“Yeah, I know,” Daniel says. “I haven’t been the best student. I’ve been so busy fighting ghosts I haven’t had time for anything else. I’ve barely been sleeping. But if you could meet me halfway, I’ll do my best to bring my grades up.”

I appreciate that. He must be incredibly busy, considering how many ghost attacks Amity Park sees every day. “I can’t excuse too many absences, not without the school getting suspicious,” I tell him. “But now that I know about your… extracurricular activities, I can cut you a little slack. And I won’t tell anybody. You have my word.”

Daniel lets out a long breath of relief. “Thank you, Mr. Lancer. That means a lot.”

I smile at him. He smiles back, then gasps. A wisp of cloudy breath escapes his mouth. “Oh no, another one?” he says, annoyed.

“What was that?” It’s not that cold in here, certainly not cold enough to see one’s breath.

“My ghost sense. There’s one nearby.”

A booming voice shouts as a ghost fades into view. “I am the Box Ghost! BEWARE!”

Daniel rolls his eyes. “Can I have a minute to deal with this guy?”

“Of course.” Daniel grins and transforms into his ghostly alter-ego once more. He punches the ghost, confident in every move. He seems to know what he’s doing. I’m glad to finally know what’s going on, and I’ll be here to support him every step of the way.

And maybe even get him to do his homework.

#danny phantom #phandom truce 2023 #my writing #fanfiction #ive never written first person present tense before #ive also never written from lancer's POV #so this was a fun exercise #i'm happy with how it came out

[redleavesinthewind]

proper pirates have tattoos

written for day 1 of @demonlandline’s celebration. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TYLAR!!✨ and so many congrats on the 2k milestone!

prompts: tattoos, transformation, yellow

before the crew sets sail to follow blackbeard, stede gets a tattoo

read below or on ao3 (720 words) / the other day 1 / day 2 / day 3 / day 4

The sun is setting, painting the sea pink. There’s a stripe of yellow, just where the ocean meets the horizon, and that’s where Stede keeps his gaze as the needle pricks at his arm over and over again. He tries to come up with a good description for the sensation, and concludes that it feels the way scraping a chalkboard sounds. It is unpleasant and takes more time than he anticipated, and Stede would very much like it to be over now.

He grips Oluwande’s hand tighter. “Why did I let you convince me to get a tattoo?”

Oluwande looks unimpressed. “Captain… this was your idea.”

“Why would I decide to get a tattoo? I dislike pain very much.”

At that, Oluwande raises an eyebrow in amusement, then he shakes his head. “I tried to warn you. You didn’t listen. Talked about how proper pirates have tattoos.”

“Well, they do.”Stede closes his eyes and tries to ease his grip around Oluwande’s hand at least a little bit. He doesn’t want to crush it. It works until the needle pricks at a delicate part on the underside of Stede’s arm, and he can’t help but yelp.

“Be careful!” Stede cries out, and the tattoo artist looks at him even more unimpressed than Oluwande did. Stede goes back to watching the yellow in the sky. For a few seconds, there is peace.

“I found us a ship!”

Pete barges in, at the same time as Roach stumbles through the door. “I got us stocked up on supplies, but there’s nowhere to put them.”

Stede looks between the two for a moment, waits for them to come to the conclusion. When they don’t, he sighs. “Well? Put the supplies in the new ship Black Pete found for us.”

Roach nods, the movement a bit more frantic than it has to be. “Right ahead, Captain.”

He doesn’t leave yet though, as this is the moment Buttons decides to show up, a new seagull—Olivia he said her name was—perched on his head.

“What’s our course, Capt’n?” He asks, wide eyes looking down at where Stede is sitting.

“We need to follow Ed, so his course is our course. Do we know where he is at the moment?” Stede looks at Oluwande, as if the man has all the answers. He doesn’t.

“Do we really want to follow Blackbeard?” Wee John asks from where he’s been hovering in the corner with the Swede all this time, scrolling through the pages of the tattoo artist’s sketchbooks.

“The man marooned us on a tiny island.” Roach adds.

“Yes! We have to follow Blackbeard!” Pete yells right over him. “Lucius is still on that ship!”

“And so is Jim. I’m not leaving them behind.” This time it’s Oluwande who grips at Stede’s hand, looking for support.

“We are not leaving anyone behind.” Stede hisses through the pain. “Not Lucius, or Jim, or Frenchie. Not Ed. I understand what he did was… well, unforgivable. But it also doesn’t sound like him.”

“Marooning a whole crew when he’s tired of them doesn’t sound like Blackbeard?” Pete asks, in a way that suggests that this exactly sounds like something Blackbeard would do. He’s not wrong.

Stede sighs, then mumbles. “It doesn’t sound like Ed.”

Oluwande is the only one who hears him. Louder, Stede orders. “Everyone, ask around town if they heard anything about Ed—Blackbeard, and ready the ship.”

Slowly, everyone disperses, even Oluwande, after he looks at Stede with a question in his eyes, and the Captain nods. When he is alone with the tattoo artist again, he looks back out of the window. It is dark now, the sun has set. There is no yellow stripe between the horizon and the ocean anymore.

“It’s done.” The artist says, voice gruff. Stede thanks him and pays for the tattoo, then he leaves the stuffy room. He expected to feel different, now that he has a tattoo. Expected it to transform him into a proper pirate. But part of him always knew, that particular transformation requires more action than just getting a tattoo. But he is ready. He forces a smile. This is going to be an adventure. One look at the black outline of the candied melon silk moth on his arm, and his smile turns real.

***

✨tagging people from my taglist that i know are also into ofmd (tell me if you only wanna be tagged for spn stuff, and as always, ask to be added/removed)

@classycoffeecat @goiwantamuffin @emeraldcas @hellericarus

#chalkboards didn't exist until 1801 but haha i don't care. that is exactly what getting a tattoo feels like i can't describe it any diffrent #anyway this was fun! my first ofmd ficlet! i hope you like it #elliot writes #demonlandline2k #rambleoncas #ofmd #ficlet

[seasonal-brotp-prompts]

not to be fluff on main, but I’m really weak for when one character isn’t totally cognizant (drunk, sleepy, spellbound, unconscious, ect.) and they act super vulnerable/trusting towards another character who they probably shouldn’t be acting that way towards??? but their natural instincts just decide “nah I trust this person”

and of course the other character has no idea how to react to this because “you absolutely shouldn’t trust me, I could hurt you right now” but also they’re lying to themselves and end up taking care of the dazed character anyway

#writing prompts #writing tropes #platonic tropes #whump prompts #hurt/comfort #physical hurt/comfort #I still have 4 pages of prompts to get through but I was gripped with the need to postthis

[dazed--xx]

So Far Away

Request: Can you do one with yoongi where you go to studio bc he's been practically living there & doesnt spend time with u even in his days off and u feel kinda neglected & u go and tell him to take a break & spend time with u and he says something like work is more important & to leave him alone & so you go and after that he regrets it but keeps working but he doesnt realise until a few days that you havent texted him or visit him & he panicks & goes to see u & u can go from there haha please & thanks!

Member: Yoongix Reader

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 2,603

Trigger Warning: getting yelled at, neglect, accidentally getting hit with a chair and a door, anything else that can be a trigger

A/N: soo this has been sitting in my requests for a long ass time and im so sorry to to the requester. I AM SO FREAKING HAPPY TO HAVE THIS ON MY MASTERLIST TBH these kinds of requests or prompts are like OG prompts like any decent writer has this prompt on their page for Yoongi and I am so happy to be added to that. and since im editing this after the fact lol >.< i love that you guys are enjoying this.

At the studio don’t wait up x  

I scroll up in the conversation, seeing an endless amount of similar texts. Honestly when was the last time I saw Yoongi? I thought to myself; don’t wait up not an I love you, not an how are you? I’m tired. Tired of being alone. Tired of being pushed to the side.

This wasn’t what you signed up for, Yes I knew he would be busy; he made that VERY clear in the first few months of your now 4 year relationship.  

But unlike your best friend, Jennie; who’s anniversary with Namjoon was the same as your own. I spent it alone, which normally I wouldn’t care—except for the fact that he already forgot your birthday, valentine's day, new year's, Christmas and every other holiday for the past year. Random mindless days spent in bed only for him to rush off to the studio the minutes after unloading himself into you.  

I sighed, typing in a short blunt K. I backspace the letter, Fine Yoongi you don’t want to come to me ill come to you. I decide pulling myself out of bed, I knew I really shouldn’t just show up to his studio. The few times I have without an invitation only led to an argument, yet I didn’t care; You’d rather him scream and yell at you anything but this emotionless, unloving stoic persona.  

Grabbing your coat and keys. Maybe he fell out of love with you, I thought; my heart aching in my chest at the thought. You could remember a time where he literally wanted to spend every second with you. Days spent in the studio him silently producing with you seated next to him; his hand reaching over every once in a while, grasping your thigh with a smug smirk. He’d slowly lose interest in the art he was making. His focus on you, and you only.  

Deciding to get food, I pulled into the store. My lip comes between my teeth, hesitation in my steps as you stare at the simple store Yoongi and I have come to a lot. I’ve been coming alone a lot recently. Finally making your way inside grabbing 2 instant ramens. The lady behind the register gave me a small sad smile. “I haven’t seen you around with that Yoongi boy recently, did you guys break up?” Tears well in your eyes at the statement, you shook your head. “H-he’s been busy with work” I plaster a small smile on my face. She nods curtly sadness still in her gaze.  

The tears fall as I sit in my drivers seat. Hands gripping the steering wheel, knuckles turning white as the sobs release from my chest.  

________________________________________________________________

Once the studio was in my view my breath grew shaky. Walking through the door, trembling I saw Hoseok heading toward the exit behind me. “Noona? Hey” he smiles brightly. “You looking for Hyung? Are you okay?” he asks concern growing on his features as he observes the dry tears on my face. I nod simply taking a small bow and walking toward Yoongi’s studio.  

I bring my hand to the keypad, fingers hesitating and hovering over it. A sigh releases from my lips. Knocking on the door softly, through the distorted glass I could see his figure toss his headphones onto the desk; forcing himself up and pulling the door open.  

I took in his angry expression before it fell as he took in my appearance. “Y/N? A-are you okay? did something happen?” He asked concerned his hand wiping tears I didn’t realize were falling. I shake my head. “I just wanted to see you” a small smile appearing on my face. His eyebrows scrunch together a scowl forming. “Im working like I told you” He states rolling his eyes storming back into the studio. I follow behind him my hand reaching up and stopping the door before he could slam it in my face. A sharp pain shooting through it as I close the door behind me.  

“I can just be quiet you wouldn’t even know im here-” “-So why fucking be here at all?” he cuts me off bluntly. “I told you I have shit to do. Just go home I'll call you later” “Yoongi you can't be serious.... I just want to spend time with you I haven't seen you in a long time you just got back from a tour, so I haven't seen you or even heard from you properly for almost a year” I squeak, my bottom lip returning between my teeth as I feel the tears pooling in my eyes.  

“Are you done being dramatic?” He asks an emotionless expression growing on his face. “Being dramatic?” I whisper to myself. “You saw me please just go, im having a hard time focusing as it is and I don’t need you distracting me” He turned back to his keyboard. My feet find themselves bringing me toward him; wrapping my arms around his neck from behind. “Please I brought some food can we just eat together and I'll go home.” I whisper. He pulls my arms from around him.  

“FUCKING LEAVE Y/N!!!!! I TOLD YOU I AM FUCKING BUSY I ALREADY ATE AND I DONT NEED YOU DISTRACTING ME FROM THE ONLY THING IMPORTANT IN MY LIFE” The force of his chair connecting with my abdomen sending me to the ground clutching my stomach from the pain. The tears flowing freely, I refuse to look at Yoongi bringing myself off the ground and rushing toward the door.  

I can feel his hand wrap itself around my wrist as I grip the handle. “Y/N, I-I" He whispers, “What. Im leaving you alone like you asked” I state bluntly staring at the silver handle in my hands. “Are you okay?” His voice laced with concern. “You should get back to work I'll see you later” My voice breaking “J-just tell me if you're okay” He whispers “fuck...... please......”  

I pull his studio door open forcing my wrist from his grip he fights to hold on. “No.....I-Im not okay and I haven't been for a long time” I state my voice shaking. “Goodbye Min Yoongi” I state finally looking at him, a confused look on his face “W-what? N-no you’re hurt let me he-” “It's fine hope you figure out what’s been troubling you” I cut him off, finally pulling myself away from in front of his studio door. I knew he wouldn’t follow me; our relationship wasn’t public and he had a reputation to uphold. “Y/N!” I could hear him call from behind me. The sound of his voice bringing me to pick up my pace rushing toward the exit.  

________________________________________________________________

My phone rang for the 4th time in the past 10 minutes. Signaling what was probably Yoongi’s two hundredth call to me I have not answered in the past three days. I pause in reaching for my phone as his subsequent text message comes through. Quickly swiping them away, “Tsk answer the poor boy” My mother states “Imagine his worry when he came home and you were gone” I roll my eyes at her statement  

“Imagine my worry when he doesn’t want to spend time with me at all after barely being able to see him after he got off a 6-month world tour, imagine my worry when after him being back for 3 months and I still haven't even physically seen him and I find out the tour is over because im on weverse and Big Hit releases a statement. Imagine my worry when he tells me the only thing important in his life is his work on our anniversary. He didn’t care I wasn’t there he’s fine probably happy he doesn’t have a huge distraction anymore” I state between clenched teeth.

“He doesn’t care? Is that why he’s been calling you relentlessly? Is that why he called me in tears asking if I knew where you were?” “Eomma...tell me you didn’-” The frantic doorbell ringing cut me off. “Traitor” I whisper under my breathe pouting. My mother smacking the back of my head as she walks to the door. “Tsk hit me all you want doesn’t change that its true” She chuckles sticking her tongue out at me.  

I rush up the stairs, locking the bedroom door behind me. “Y/N!......... Sorry Eomeoni” I hear Yoongi shout as his footsteps bang loudly as he rushes up the steps. Sitting on my bed I hear the handle jiggling as he tried to open the door. “Y-y/n....please just- fuck" His voice is hoarse I can hear the tears in it. “Please.....I-I just want to see you” He begs. I blink the tears away, “I just wanted to see you” I state to myself “I know........I know please........you know how stupid I can be” He cries “D-don’t do this to me please yoongi go home” “NO! Don’t tell me to go home you can tell me im an idiot, that you're mad at me, that you hate me but please don’t tell me to leave” He begs his voice shaking. “I c-can't do this right now please just go” I beg.  

The door begins shaking as I hear him trying to force it open. “Please! Please! Fuck don’t do this to me let me fix this please im sorry im so fucking sorry please” He begs. His body connecting with the door. “Yoongi stop! Youre gonna hurt yourself” “Yoongi-ssi” My mother calls softly, I could hear the understanding in her tone.  

“Im not fucking loosing you...not like this” He says defeated “I’ll leave but I’ll be back. Reply to me at least.... Don’t give up on me please”  

I could hear the front door, then a soft knock “He’s gone” my mother states softly. I sob into my pillow.  

________________________________________________________________

It took another 2 days for me gain the courage to speak to Yoongi. It's taken me an hour to open his contact, it's taken me 10 minutes of panicking to press the call button. When his face lights up the screen, phone vibrating wildly in my hand. Pressing the green button, “Y-you answered” He sighs, “Fuck you have no idea how-I miss you please just come home” He cries, my voice lost from the moment his raspy tired tone reached my ears. My throat dry as my eyes grew wet “Y/N? Hello?” He called out worried “Please I just want to talk, see you im so sorry I didn’t mean to forget-” “It doesn’t matter anymore Yoongi-ssi" “Y-yes it does it always matters” he cuts you off.  

“N-no it doesn’t you made it clear, Yoongi-ssi" I state holding back tears. “I-I” He stutters “P-please just tell me how to fix this” “There’s nothing to fix” releasing a sigh my heart tightens “Lets.....break up” “Y/N! NO! WAIT-” I end the call. My phone vibrating, yoongi’s photo taking over the screen.  

Missed call from Min Yoongi

New Message from Min Yoongi  

Please tell me how I can fix this, don’t do this I know I fucked up but please I can't lose you. I love you; I’ll do anything please just don’t break my heart like this.  

To: Min Yoongi

You ended things a while ago, im just making it official.  

New Message from Min Yoongi

I love you I don’t want to end it.  

To: Min Yoongi

It's too late

New Message from Min Yoongi

I'll do anything please don’t say that it's too late, you love me. I know you do please just talk to me. If you tell me to my face that were over then I'll accept it but I need to at least try I know I didn’t fight for you that night but I am now can't that mean something.

To: Min Yoongi  

Seutaeli, 11 am tomorrow

New Message from Min Yoongi

I'll be there. I love you thank you

________________________________________________________________

My hand shook as I pulled the café door open. Yoongi eyes on me the second I walk through the door. My heart in my throat as I take in his appearance for the first time since that night. His eyes are red tears staining his face. I could see him swallow his coffee roughly. His eyes drifting back to the table, his hand playing with his hair, a trait he only had when nervous.  

He stands meeting me halfway, his arms wrapping around my waist tightly. My eyes widen, “Y-yoongi-ssi you don’t have a mask on, someone could see” “let them see” He states his face tucking into my neck. Im frozen, I can hear him inhaling my scent as I try to pull away “Please, if this is the last time just let me have this” He begs. I awkwardly wrap my arms around his neck. He sighs longingly. “p-please tell me this isn't the last time”  

“I don’t know Yoongi-ssi" “I hate that you’re calling me that, so formal” He pulls his face away, his finger brushing over my bottom lip. “C-can I-” I pull his hand off “Yoongi-ssi” I stare at him knowingly. “Let them see I don’t care” He argues. “I don’t think it would be appropriate” I whisper. He nods disappointedly, I stare at the crowded café. “I-if you want to talk somewhere privately, I've reserved a room at a hotel nearby” He stutters anxiously. I nod.  

_______________________________________________________________

The drive was silent, Yoongi’s hand gripping mine the entire ride. His eyes never leaving my face as if he was trying to remember it. The elevator was filled with both awkward and sexual tension. Yoongi held you at his side, grip tightening every time you tried to pull away.  

When we finally got into his room, the smell of alcohol hits your nose. “S-sorry I didn’t plan on bringing you here.” He says embarrassed picking up the mess. “M-make--” he trips on one of his shirts on the ground a chuckle is released from my chest. “Make yourself comfortable anywhere” he says embarrassed lifting himself up. I nod and sit on the couch.  

We sit in silence for a long time. His eyes never leaving my face after he sat down. “D-do you really want to break up?” He asks meekly. I shake my head “No, but I can't keep doing this” “You won't, I can change I-I'll do anything for you, you mean everything to me” The tears threatening to fall from his eyes. “You said I was a distraction......that your work was the only important thing in your life” He shook his head rapidly as tears streamed down his face “I didn’t mean that you know I didn’t mean that” He drops in front of you, taking your hands into his own.  

“I didn’t mean it” He states again, tone serious; his eyes pleading for you to believe him. His hand releasing yours to wipe the tear off your face. “Please don’t cry, I can't take it” His voice is desperate. “Please don’t...I know it's hard being with me, and I don’t deserve another chance but I need you to know im sorry and I can't lose you”  

My tears flow freely “Please....I'll take a break; we can do anything you want please stay with me.” He brushes his lips against mine, I pull my head back slightly. His hand caresses my face, my lip traps itself between my teeth. His free hand caresses the outside of my thigh. I can feel the wetness growing. Our eyes meet briefly “It's been so long since I've kissed you” he whispers. His bottom lip wedging between his teeth.  

His eyes focusing only on my lips.  

#suga angst #yoongi scenarios #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #bts yoongi #yoongi smut #min yoongi #min suga #min suga angst #yoongi x reader #yoongi break up au #yoongi calls you dramatic au #yoongi distant au #bts angst

[radiant-reid]

Kids

"Alright, this one is grim," Garcia warned as she put pictures up onto the screen. She never liked this part of her job, but the team were worried if she called a case bad. "In Myrtle Beach, a woman has been murdered."

The team flicked through the photos on their tablets, apart from Reid, who had a manilla folder.

"Why are we being called in?" Rossi asked her.

"Excellent question. They were able to connect the M.O to a series of murders that happened in the 1990s. All crime scenes had the same trace DNA, which they haven't been able to identify. The victims were all dumped in the ocean with their faces burnt with acid." Garcia told the team as she grimaced. This was definitely her least favourite part. The photos of a woman's decomposing body with a burnt off face. She showed them a map with 'x's marked on it.

Prentiss picked up on her words. "1990s? So we're saying something happened to the unsub between then and now." She hypothesised. "Something triggered him back then, and it's only started triggering him again now?" She continued. "Garcia, how many murders were there in the 90s?"

"4 bodies they found," Garcia told the team, showing them more photos. Another 4 woman's decaying bodies with burnt off faces.

"There's a lot of overkill." Reid noticed. "An unsub with this much anger doesn't just stop." He continued. "We should look into anyone who committed domestic violence. Or the partners of woman suspiciously turning up in the E.R." He suggested, and Garcia nodded.

Hotch gave the team one final nod. "Wheels up in 30." With that, they gathered what they needed to and left the room. Then they were off to the jet.

Garcia called once they were on the jet. It only had just over an hour of flight time.

"I have more bad news," Garcia announced to the team. Everyone's attention snapped to her quickly. "The latest victim had two kids. A 6-year-old boy and a 4-year-old girl. They stayed at the apartment at night while she went out to the supermarket. That was the last time she was seen on camera. Then, poof." She told them.

The only silver lining of the case had been there were no children involved. But now there were. 2 kids who had been left without a mother. "She was a runaway from foster care, so we don't have any next of kin. The kids are still at the apartment. They not being taken into foster care until this afternoon, so you can talk to them, but they're under police protection. " She informed them.

The information sunk in soberly. No kid deserved this. "Okay, when we get there, Y/l/n and Reid are going to the victim's apartment. I want you two to find out as much as you can. It's going to help with victimology." Hotch instructed before giving the rest of the team their orders. Y/n was not excited to be the one having to snoop around the apartment.

Y/n had zoned out until JJ reached across the table for her hand. "Are you going to be okay? I can ask Hotch if we can swap." She picked a moment when Hotch had left to get coffee.

Y/n shook her head. "I'll be alright." She confirmed. As the newest member of the team, JJ had taken the girl under her wing.

"Call me if you're not." JJ insisted. "Plus, you've got Spence to look after you." She gestured to the tall mop of curls that was flipping through pages of a book. He instinctively looked up with a blush on his cheeks.

"Take care of her, Spence," JJ told him strickly once they had landed. Reid nodded as he picked up his go-bag and satchel.

Hotch handed the pair a car key, and they were off to the apartment. Y/n was gripping her fingers around the steering wheel, tighter and tighter with the closer they got. Spencer picked up on it. With that and the fastening rising and falling of her chest, she was panicking.

He wasn't sure whether or not he should comment on it. But JJ's words, ringing in his ear, prompted him to. "What are you thinking?" He asked, although he probably already knew.

Y/n was surprised by his voice. Spencer wasn't one to speak much unless he was talking about a case, especially to Y/n. "Just about how horrible it is for them. It's horrible people are being killed, but I feel bad for the kids." She tried to explain her thinking.

"I know. I feel it too." Spencer told her with a sad smile.

Neither of them said anything else until they reached the apartment, and flashed their badges to the police presence. It was definitely not where someone would choose to live. The outside was run down with rubbish outside, and it looked grubby.

"Don't worry," Spencer said one last time before he knocked on the door. Y/n weakly nodded, trying to keep a smile on her face for the kids' sake.

A little boy answered the door. He had blond hair that was sticking up in every direction, much like Spencer's. Three of his front teeth were missing, and it was adorable when he smiled.

Spencer crouched down to his level, despite being dressed in a full suit. "Hi, you must be Oliver. My name is Spencer, and I'm from the FBI." He offered out a hand which the little boy weakly shook. Y/n followed, crouching down and holding out her hand. "This is my friend, Y/n." He told Oliver, who shook the woman's hand.

"What is the FBI?" Oliver asked, tipping his head to the side.

"We're like the police, and we help catch the bad guys," Spencer told him with a sweet smile. He was trying to be as gentle as possible. "Would it be okay if we come in?" He asked the little boy.

Oliver nodded and took a step back so Y/n and Spencer could enter. "Do you know where my mommy is?" Oliver asked.

"Not yet," Spencer told him, not having the heart to break it to Oliver. Y/n took a look around the small apartment.

It was definitely in need of some repairs with holes in the wall and mould on the ceiling. The furniture was old and breaking down, not somewhere people should be living. The landlord clearly wasn't doing a good job.

A little girl was sitting on the floor, holding a doll in her hand. Spencer crouched down on the floor next to her. "Hi, there. My name's Spencer. I like your doll."

"I'm Sophie." She very quietly told him. She seemed much more hesitant than her brother to talk.

"It's very nice to meet you, Sophie. What's her name?" Spencer asked as he motioned to the doll still in her hands.

Sophie looked at him for a second before answering. "Sally."

"Did that come from The Cat in the Hat?" Spencer asked her. She nodded gently. "Did your mom read it to you?" She nodded once more.

"Where is my mommy?" Sophie asked him. Spencer's smile dropped, and he took a deep breath. He really didn't want to have to be the one to tell the siblings.

So he went with a simpler answer. "I'm not sure, sorry, sweetie." He stood up and turned around to Oliver. "Now, who wants to get some breakfast?" He asked with a more cheerful tone.

Oliver nodded quickly, and Sophie stood up hesitantly. "Me, me, me!" The little boy cheered. Y/n just hoped this wouldn't be his first meal in a while. The rest of the families home was relatively normal; picture frames, books, and toys. It was clear the mother loved both kids.

"Alright." Spencer matched his energy. "Where's your favourite place?" He asked.

"Hmm... pancakes," Oliver said, looking at his sister. "They're Soph's favourite." He whispered to Spencer.

Spencer turned around to look at Sophie. "Okay, do you like the one down the road?" He asked, receiving a nod. "Alright, go get ready." He told the two of them. Oliver ran off to get his shoes and came back with a pair of Sophie's in hand.

"Spencer, are we allowed to do this?" Y/n asked him, looking concerned. She didn't want to break any rules, but she definitely didn't want to put the kids in danger.

Spencer turned back to look at her. "I don't really care." He told her so casually, it was odd. Spencer was usually the biggest rule follower so Y/n knew he was onto something. "Just call Hotch and tell him we're still working on V-I-C-T-I-M-O-L-O-G-Y." He spelt out the last word, trying to not alarm the kids.

Y/n nodded and pulled up Hotch's number. She briefly explained the plan was to take the children somewhere their mother took them to establish victimology. Hotch told her that it wasn't a problem and to update whenever they had information.

When Y/n turned back around, Spencer was doing Sophie's laces up for her. In fact, he was teaching her how to tie them herself. She finally gave him a smile, and Y/n could tell it meant a lot to Spencer.

"Let's go then," Spencer said as he opened the door for the children to walk out. Oliver held hands with Sophie as they left the apartment. Both Y/n and Spencer stuck as close to the children as they could to make sure no one noticed them. They were also watching for the possibility that the unsub was watching.

Thankfully, no one seemed to be paying special attention to them. Once they reached a crosswalk, Spencer instinctively reached for Sophie's hand, which she accepted. Oliver stuck his up for Y/n to hold.

A block later, they reached the diner. Spencer got them a table near the back, and the adults looked over the menu.

"What's your favourite?" Spencer asked Sophie, who was sitting next to him. Oliver was across from his sister and next to Y/n. Sophie just shrugged at his question. "Do you want pancakes or waffles?" He offered her.

"Pancakes." She told him, still quiet.

Spencer nodded and made a show out of running his finger over the menu. "Do you like them with blueberries?" He asked her. She shook her head. "Nutella?" He offered. She thought about it for a second before shaking her head. "Chocolate chips?" She shook her head again. "Okay, what about sprinkles and M'n'M's?" He offered once more.

The little girl quickly nodded her head. "Yes, please."

"Perfect." Spencer gave her another smile. "What about you, little man?" He asked Oliver.

"A waffle, please." He asked politely.

"Okay, what about one with ice cream?" Spencer asked him, earning a huge nod. "Alright then." Spencer returned the smile, holding up his hand so Oliver could give him a hi-five.

Y/n found it cute she didn't often get to see Spencer like this. Despite wearing a suit, he looked so casual. It wouldn't even be a stretch to assume the group were a family. Y/n and Spencer taking the roles of mom and dad, with Sophie and Oliver their children.

Throughout breakfast, Spencer and Y/n subtly grilled the children about their mother. And they found some interesting things. About the routine, what the victim was like and who she spent time with. It was incredibly sad to Y/n and Spencer that the children still didn't know what had happened to their mother. Neither of them could bring themselves to tell them.

They stayed in the diner with the children until the representation from foster care came. By then, they had finished their meals, so Spencer and Y/n took Sophie and Oliver outside.

"It's okay." Spencer tried to reassure Sophie. She was now clinging to his legs as she cried. "These people are going to take care of you." He told her.

She shook her head, still clinging to him. "Where's my mommy?" She pleaded.

Spencer knew he had to tell her. "I'm sorry. She's not coming back." That caused the little girl to cry harder. Tears streaming out of her eyes. He didn't want to cause her any pain, and he felt tremendous guilt for being the one to tell her the worst news of her life.

Oliver heard as well, and Y/n picked him up so she could comfort him. Next to her, Spencer was already scooping up the little girl.

The foster care workers let them have a minute in the middle of the busy street to hug the children.

Y/n combed her fingers through Oliver's hair as she buckled him into a car seat. Spencer was on the other side, strapping in Sophie.

"Don't worry. It'll all be okay. You've both got each other." Y/n tried to calm the crying children before she shut the car door. The foster care workers gave her and Spencer a nod before getting in the car themselves.

Y/n couldn't help the tears run down her cheek as she waved goodbye, trying to smile. "Y/n." Spencer cooed as he pulled her in for a hug. That was something they had never done. He rubbed his open hands up and down her back. Y/n was grateful for the affection, and she could finally breathe with her arms wrapped around him.

They both finally pulled back. "Sorry." She told him, still wiping the tears off her cheeks. "That was just very real."

"I know." He agreed with a nod. Then they turned back to walk to the apartment. It was only then that Y/n noticed the tears on his cheek. She had never seen him like that either, but it made her upset.

"Are they going to be okay?" Y/n asked nervously. She was terrified they wouldn't be. They were both old enough to remember the trauma.

Spencer didn't want to answer. He knew the facts. "70% of foster kids would like to go to college." He started off positively. That made Y/n nod, but she knew there was something bad coming. "Only 3% get college degrees." Ouch. "But that's only if they age out, which is statistically unlikely for kids their age." At least that brought her some relief.

"And if they're adopted?" Y/n asked, still worried. She just hoped Spencer could give her some relief.

"A lot better." He smiled a little. "Adopted children are more likely to participate in extra-curricular activities than their non-adopted pairs. They're also less likely to live in poverty. More than half have excellent or very good performances in maths, English, and language arts." All of those things brought Y/n great relief. She finally let her shoulder relax and breathe properly.

"That's good to hear," Y/n replied, finally letting a genuine smile appear on her face.

Spencer smiled back at her as well. "Even more, 85% are in excellent or very good health." Sophie and Oliver both deserved to live a good life, and it was good to hear they were going to.

"Should we get back to Hotch then?" Y/n asked him once she reached the car.

Spencer nodded. "Yeah." He got in the car, and Y/n followed, hopping in the driver's side. "You know, they'll be alright, Y/n." He said to her.

Y/n nodded his words made her feel better. "I know." She replied.

Tag list @archer561 @measure-in-pain

#spencer reid x original female character #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid self insert #spencer x y/n #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid blurb #dr spencer reid #spencer x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencerreid #mgg #mgg smut #gublernation #mgg fanfiction #gubler #mgg imagine #mgg x reader #spencer reid series #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fic #spencer reid one shot #criminal minds #david rossi #derek morgan #aaron hotchner

[carrionbeast]

Part 1 of my @daredevilexchange​ Daredevil + Defender Exchange Piece for @hehearse​! Part 2

Also available on Ao3 once the collection is revealed! Prompt used: talking about lost opportunities, lost chances

Image IDs are on Ao3, separately in chapter 2 and also under the cut!

[Image description: 6 images containing 11 Daredevil fan comic pages and 1 cover

Cover: 

Daredevil is written in the bright red, tilted lettering of the classic logo. In the upper left corner is a box with a black outline, split in two. The top half is a red box with white lettering, reading DDE, mimicking the marvel logo should be and under it, in a white box, is the number 1 in black lettering. Under these two boxes is the name of the author and artist, Neon Brutalism.

The cover features a large empty hourglass, tilted towards the upper left of the page. Trapped in the bottom of the hourglass, we see Daredevil and Foggy. The glass is too small for the both of them and they’re tangled in each other’s limbs. Matt’s sitting with his knees bent, uncomfortably on his tailbone. The toes of Matt’s boots are pressed up to the glass and his hands are pushing up against it above him and to his side, the red fabric of the gloves lighter where it’s tight against the curved glass. He’s blushing under his mask, tilting his head away from Foggy. Foggy, dressed in a suit with bow tie, with his legs up in the air, has one hand between Matt’s boots and one above his head, against the glass. The bottoms of Foggy’s shoes are up against the glass, right leg across Matt’s lap and his left leg behind Matt’s back. Foggy is also looking away from Matt and blushing deeply.

At the bottom of the page, the title, “The Glass of Sand and Fog” is written in white lettering with a thick black outline. /end image description]

[Image Description: Interior cover:

No art but text in the center that reads: 

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of Marvel. The original characters and plot are the property of the creator of this story. The author and artist is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended. 

In the lower left corner of the page, more text, that reads:

“For Heherse, Daredevil and Defenders Exchange 2021” /end image description]

[Image Description: Page 1

Panel 1  - Inside a warehouse. The moon glows through the warehouse’s glass-block windows, casting a sharp light on the room. The camera is pointed up at the villain, a thin, short-haired man, half-hidden in shadow. His right eye is obscured by a large monocle and he has a triumphant expression on his face. He is standing on top of a giant clock with a large battle-axe replacing the hour-hand. The axe-hand is pointing to the number twelve in roman numerals. The man is dressed in high-waisted riding pants with suspenders and an old fashioned button-up shirt. In his left hand, he holds a staff with a small hourglass on the top. 

The Villain: “Don’t worry, Mr. Nelson! You still have one more hour for Daredevil to come save your miserable life! But beware, the Axe of Time may be the end of you both!”

A speech balloon coming from below the panel’s edge.

Off Camera Voice: “What the hell is the axe of time?”

Panel 2 - The camera pulls out to reveal the full shape of the clock. It stands solitary on a short platform in an empty warehouse. The villain leans over the clock to glare downwards with an offended expression.

Sitting on the platform, positioned at the 6 on the clock, under the axe, is Foggy. He’s wearing a bowtie and a slightly rumpled suit. His hair is parted in the center and slightly messy. His hands are bound together at the wrist and his feet at the ankles but he does not seem very distressed. 

The Villain: “Well, not all of us can afford the giant hourglass needed for a sands of time trap.”

Foggy: “It’s just really thematically confusing.”

Panel 3 - Medium zoom in on the villain. The camera right side of his face is hidden in shadow and his grin is toothy and threatening.

The Villain: “You should be more worried about your dear friend Daredevil -”

Panel 4 - Same zoom. The villain is confused and raises a single eyebrow.

The Villain: “Wait. Friend? Associate? Client? I’m unclear on the nature of your relationship.”

Panel 5 - Medium zoom in on Foggy’s face. He rests his chin on his bound-together hands and stares forward in resignation. 

Foggy: “Yeah, you and me both.” /end image description]

[Image Description: Page 2

Panel 1 - Pulling back into the shadows a little, the villain grins, still gripping his staff.

The Villain: “Well, no matter…”

Panel 2 - The shadows behind the villain have shifted into the silhouette of a figure with horns. Enormous, bright red eyes glare ominously forward into the camera.

The Villain:  “Once your companion shows up to save you, he’ll meet his grisly-”

Panel 3 - The villain’s speech balloon continues into the next panel but his sentence is cut off as the shadows materialize into Daredevil. Daredevil punches the villain in the face, fist flying towards the camera. We see the villain’s full face at last as his monocle goes sailing off his face and out into the gutters between the panels. 

The Villain makes a distressed noise.

Panel 4 - A bird’s eye view down at the floor from the top of the clock. We can see Daredevil’s boots standing on the top of the clock. The villain lies unconscious on the floor, his monocle next to him, cracked and his staff out of reach.. Still sitting on the platform is Foggy, who looks up at the camera with a fond expression. 

Foggy: “My hero.”

Panel 5 - Camera at ground level, Foggy watches as Daredevil jumps towards the ground. Daredevil: “I’m guessing this was a me-related kidnapping?”

Panel 6 - The camera is over Foggy’s shoulder. Daredevil is facing away from Foggy as he unties Foggy’s hands. His expression is regretful and apologetic and the far-side of his face is slightly cast in shadow. 

Foggy: Well…

Daredevil: Sorry... /end image description]

[Image Description: Page 3

Panel 1 - Daredevil sits on his knees as he unties the ropes around Foggy’s ankles. He’s still regretful. Foggy reaches over to pat Daredevil on the shoulder with a comforting expression.

Foggy: “Really, don’t get pouty. This guy wasn’t exactly threatening.”

Panel 2 - Daredevil and Foggy are both standing now. Foggy is holding the remnants of the rope in his hand and examining it with a dubious expression. Behind him, Daredevil looks confused.

Foggy: “He didn’t even tie me to the clock.”

Daredevil: “That’s a clock?”

Panel 3 - Far zoom out at ground level. Foggy and Daredevil walk away from the camera towards the double-doors of the warehouse. Light from the street casts a shadow behind them as they move towards the light.

Daredevil: “Why’s there an axe on it?”

Foggy: “His theme is inconsistent.”

Daredevil: “Hm.”

Panel 4 - Pull back and reveal the outside of the warehouse, a square brick building with a low, flat roof. The full moon hangs low in the sky. The streets around them are empty and a bright streetlamp casts the warehouse area in light, reflecting off the power lines and windows of the warehouse. Daredevil climbs a rickety ladder next to the warehouse door, leading up to the warehouse roof as Foggy stands on the ground and watches him climb.

Daredevil: ”To be honest, I think time is scary enough without a giant axe clock.”

Panel 5 - Foggy grins up at Daredevil as he climbs up the ladder towards the camera.

Foggy: “What, worried about getting old? Daredeviling getting hard on your knees?”

Daredevil: “No, no…”

Panel 6 - As Daredevil’s boots retreat out of the top of the panel, Foggy starts to climb up after Daredevil.

Daredevil: “It’s hard to explain.”

Panel 7 - At the top of the warehouse. The roof access door visible over h’s shoulder, Daredevil is standing on the flat roof and reaching over the ledge to pull Foggy the remaining distance up the ladder.

Daredevil: “Maybe it’s the idea of stuff slipping away, missing chances, that sort of thing.”

Foggy: “Let’s not talk about slipping when you’re pulling me up a rusty ladder?” /end image description]

[Image Description: Page 4 - 

Panel 1 - The New York City skyline lights up the horizon as Daredevil and Foggy sit on the ground of the roof, their backs to the ledge wall surrounding it. Daredevil hugs his knees and Foggy has one  leg stretched out and one bent slightly, more relaxed. Foggy looks at Daredevil.

Foggy: “So, what slipped away from you?”

Panel 2 - From behind, Daredevil pulls his cowl up and off, revealing Matt’s hair. It’s static-y and wild from being under the cowl.

Matt: “Oh…”

Panel 3 - Matt grips his knuckles and faces down, blushing brightly as Foggy, with a determined expression, runs his fingers through Matt’s hair trying to smooth it down. 

Matt: “Just… Stuff.”

Panel 4 - Matt in profile, gently wincing. The blush has receded and Foggy is smiling at him.

Foggy: “Oh. like how I still wish I had tried out for the Hell’s Kitchen community theater production of The Scarlet Pimpernel?”

Matt: “Ha, kind of.”

Panel 5 - Meta panel, borderless with a white background. Cartoon-y versions of Matt and Foggy pop up from the edge of the lower panel’s border, standing next to an elaborate image of Foggy dressed in a French Revolution era military outfit, reminiscent of Norm Lewis’s from the 2006 revival. Cartoon Foggy is looking at the version of himself in costume thoughtfully, cartoon Matt has his arms crossed and is nodding.

Foggy: “Well, it’s not too late. They’re doing Les Mis in the fall. What do you think, should I try out for Fog Valfog or Fog-vert?”

Matt: “Oh, Fog-vert, one hundred percent.”

Panel 6 - Tight on Matt, his face is half-hidden in shadow. He’s smiling slightly but is more sad than anything else. 

Matt: “I think I’m too late for what I’m thinking about, though.”

Panel 7 - Panning over to Foggy, who is reaching for Matt’s shoulder.

Foggy: “Oh, come on, Matty, don’t be so broody.”

Panel 8 - Tight on the lower half of Matt’s face and his shoulder, where Foggy’s hand is resting. Matt is blushing again. In the background, Foggy is prattling on about something unclear but Matt isn’t paying attention.

Panel 9 - Matt in profile, his head cast down and shadows cover the top half of his face. He’s hesitant to explain.

Matt: “Foggy I - …” /end image description]

[Image Description: Page 5 -

Panel 1 - Pull out to see Matt facing the camera and Foggy next to him. Matt isn’t facing Foggy and is still blushing. Foggy’s excited and has taken his hand off Matt’s shoulder.

Matt: “... Do you want a ride home?”

Foggy: “Oh hell yes, I do!”

Panel 2 - The lights of the New York buildings around them blur as Matt swings through the city on his billy club, Foggy’s arms tight around his neck.

Panel 3 - Foggy’s apartment, small amongst the New York skyscrapers. Scattered lights are on in the windows of the buildings, but Foggy’s apartment is dark.

Foggy: “So, uhhh…”

Panel 4 - Inside Foggy’s apartment, the lights are off. Matt stands stiffly with his arms crossed in the corner, next to the window, staying in the shadows. Foggy, in the foreground, is pulling off his dress shirt, revealing his undershirt. His belt is unbuckled and hanging loosely. He’s not looking at Matt.

Foggy: "... So you think Javert? Its a good role. I'm - I mean, I'm not sure I can carry it but ..." 

Panel 5 - Matt’s blushing bright red under his mask again and he points outside, leaning towards the window, slightly panicked. Foggy’s a little disappointed.

Matt: “I - um, sorry. I need to go. Because - I … Crime.”

Foggy: “Oh, sure, no proble-”

Matt: “Bye.”

Panel 6 - Foggy frowns as a red blur leaps out the window.

Panel 7 - Cut to a bright day. Foggy, wearing a dress shirt with vest and tie, is sitting at a  restaurant table across from Kirsten, who is wearing a blouse and slacks. The table has a glass of water and an uneaten burger and fries in front of Foggy and fried shrimp and salad in front of Kirsten Foggy has his eyes closed and arms crossed, frowning. Kirsten is leaning back, resting her left arm on the back of the chair and holding her drink casually in her right hand.

Foggy: “And that is the longest I’ve seen him in two weeks.” /end image description]

[Image Description: Page 6 

Panel 1 - A restaurant patio on a New York street during the day. Foggy buries his face in his hands.

Foggy: "I had the perfect opportunity there. He was talking about - things he wished he'd done. UGH- Kirsten, why did I have to keep talking about musicals?"

Panel 2 - Close on Kirsten. She smirks and rolls her eyes.

Kirsten: “Hm, changing the subject to avoid being honest about something? Sounds like you've been hanging around Matt plenty to me.”

Panel 3 - Foggy holds a french fry and scowls at Kirsten while she takes a sip of her water through the straw. 

Foggy: “Hilarious. I'm pretty sure he knows how I feel anyway.”

Panel 4: Foggy, chewing, rests his cheek in his hand and looks away from Kirsten, pouting.

Foggy: “He turned red and panic-jumped out the window before I could finish talking about Javert."

Panel 5 - Pull out to a bird’s eye view. A graffitied truck rumbles by the patio as Foggy takes a bite of his hamburger. Kirsten has put her drink down.

Kirsten: "Well, is that better or worse than an actual rejection?"

Panel 6 - Foggy is glaring down at his burger as he chews, annoyed. 

Foggy: "At least an actual rejection has catharsis. Avoiding me is just him being a selfish dick." /end image description]

[Image Description: Page 7 

Panel 1 - The camera shifts slightly, pointing up from under the table, revealing the restaurant name behind Foggy and Kirsten; The Dog Track, and in the corner of the sign, the disclaimer “No longer associated with the New York Gaming Commission”. Kirsten is keeping her face carefully neutral as Foggy’s expression is more irritated. 

Kirsten: “That’s a little uncharitable.”

Foggy: "Just because I'm in love with him doesn't mean I don't know what he's LIKE."

Panel 2 - Kirsten tilts her head and holds a fried shrimp on a fork in her right hand. 

Kirsten: "And you can't just skip all the drama, pick up your phone and call him right now because...?"

Panel 3 - Tight on Foggy, who isn’t meeting Kirsten’s eye and is blushing.

Foggy: "It's ... complicated!"

Panel 4 - Pull out on Kirsten and Foggy. Kirsten is grinning and Foggy is hunched over, eating his hamburger and looking annoyed and embarrassed.

Kirsten: "You know you're about 15 years late for this high school shit, right?"

Foggy: “You’re 15 years too late.” /end image description]

[Image Description: Page 8 - 

Panel 1 - Another warehouse at night, large shadows cast around the room.There’s no moon lighting the windows tonight. An enormous hourglass stands on the dirty floor, a few old crates are up against the wall and some of the pipes nearby are leaking water out onto the floor. There’s a human figure in shadow within the top section of the hourglass and another one on the floor, pacing. All the sand within the hourglass is in the bottom section.

Shadowed Figure in the Hourglass: “So did you get a grant or what?”

Shadowed figure on the floor: “Silence.”

Panel 2 - Foggy, of course, is the one trapped inside the hourglass. He’s annoyed but sitting comfortably like he’s in a hammock. He throws his hands up, gesturing to the hourglass around him.

Foggy: “It's just this is kind of a big budget upgrade from two week ago! I thought you spent all your money on that tranquilizer you hit me with.”

Panel 3 - Foggy frowns, skeptically and taps the glass with a finger.

SFX: Tink-tink

Panel 4 - Close on the villain, still cast in shadow. His monocle has a crack down the middle and he is wearing a waistcoat over a dress shirt and he’s furious. The hourglass is visible behind him and as Foggy pulls his cell phone from his pocket, watches the villain from within the hourglass.

Foggy: "... You know I need to be in the bottom part of this, right?" 

Villain: “I know how an hourglass works.”

Panel 5 - Over Foggy’s shoulder, within the hourglass, we see his phone. There’s a series of unreadable text messages sent to and from a devil emoji, but the latest one, sent from Foggy, simply reads “Halp”.

Foggy: “Touchy, touchy…” /end image description]

[Image Description: Page 9 - 5 panels.

Panel 1 - Foggy is still reading his phone, more or less bored with the villain’s theatrics and waiting for a return text. 

Foggy: “So, what, you forgot you needed a way to flip it over?”

Panel 2 - The villain crosses his arms and glares up at Foggy, offended.

Villain: “I’m sorry, do I come into your place of business and tell you how to do your job?”

Panel 3 - The camera faces Foggy within the hourglass. He throws his hands up in frustration, still gripping his phone. 

Foggy: “Sorry, this is an even less deadly death trap than the first one!”

Panel 4 - Super tight shot on the villain’s eyes. The cracks in his monocle gleam and his visible eye makes him look deranged with the rest of his face in shadow.

Villain: “I am perfectly content to just push the hourglass into the river, Mr. Nelson, and let Daredevil find your bloated corpse when it washes up."

Panel 5 - Foggy smirks, looking profoundly unintimidated and reading his phone. 

Foggy: “I’d be more intimidated if I thought you could afford to replace it.” /end image description]

[Image Description: Page 10 - 6 panels.

Panel 1 and 2 - The villain furiously points up at Foggy. 

Villain: “I will have you know Mr. Nelson, I”

The villain is suddenly cut off when a red billy club flies in from the left side of the panel, hitting him in the side of the head. His monocle goes flying and the villain himself drops like a sack of bricks.

Panel 3 - Daredevil in silhouette jumps down and lands gracefully on the silhouette of the hourglass with Foggy inside.

Foggy: “You know I don't think this guy thought this supervillain thing through.”

Panel 4 - Foggy looks up and watches as Daredevil perches on the edge of the hourglass and pushes it open at a hidden hinge. He faces down at Foggy.

Daredevil: “I don’t think any of them do.”

Panel 5 - Free of the hourglass, Foggy stands in the background next to the exit of the warehouse, one hand on his hip and the other rubbing the back of his neck. He eyes Daredevil as Daredevil scowls, fastening ropes around the villain’s hands.

Foggy: “So, we haven't really had a chance to talk at the office lately…”

Daredevil: “Well, we’ve been really busy.”

Panel 6 - Daredevil faces the exit, his face hidden and looking away from Foggy, who stands in the foreground.

Foggy: “I, uh, do need to talk to you about something -”

Daredevil: “Sure - yeah, sure, just uh….” /end image description]

[Image Description: Page 11 - 6 panels.

Panel 1 - A red blur as Matt takes off, leaving Foggy in silhouette behind him.

Panel 2 - Matt’s office, during the day. Matt is sitting in a leather chair behind his desk. He is wearing a suit and tie and his eyes are hidden behind his rectangular, red sunglasses.. Kirsten is there, sitting on the edge of Matt’s desk, half-turning to look at him as they talk, she’s wearing a pair of high-waisted slacks and a flowy blouse. Matt’s office is tidy, with a long filing cabinet in the corner with a braille printer on top. His desk is clean aside from his braille reader, hooked up to his closed laptop and a mug next to him. Other buildings are visible in the window behind him. Kirsten’s expression is slightly skeptical and Matt is wincing, embarrassed.

Kirsten: “So you left a devil-shaped dustcloud.”

Matt: “Look, I’m not proud of it.” 

Panel 3 - Matt leans back in his chair, smiling weakly. 

Matt: “I just need some time. I’ve been actively pushing this down for years, it just… comes back up sometimes.”

Panel 4 - Kirsten is skeptical and Matt smiles grimly. Behind Kirsten, we see Matt’s office door which reads Murdock (in reversed letters).

Kirsten: “And that’s why you’re hiding in your office.”

Matt: “And that’s why I’m hiding in my office.”

Panel 5 - Zoom in on Matt. He’s half-smiling, but clearly sad.

Matt: “I just… I know he won’t be a dick about it. But it’ll make him uncomfortable and I …”

Panel 6: Matt slouches all the way down in his chair, the office around him having vanished into a white void and leaving him alone to sulk.

Matt: “I’ve put him through enough.” /end Image description]

#daredevil #mattfoggy #fan comic #long post #daredevilexchange #matt murdock #foggy nelson

[mypoisonedvine]

Love, Theoretically | Sebastian Stan x reader (Chapter 9)

(chapter 1) (chapter 2) (chapter 3) (chapter 4) (chapter 5) (chapter 6) (chapter 7) (chapter 8)

series summary: having lost your husband, sister, and best friend all to the same extramarital affair, you ran away to a secluded villa in the Hungarian countryside to write and get a little time away from the life you’d left behind.  you were only looking for peace and perhaps some inspiration for your novel, but instead you found an unlikely connection with the immigrant repairman– even though the two of you don’t speak the same language.

word count: 3.8k

warnings: smut (semi-public fingering, specifically), angst... I think that's it

After your impromptu motorcycle drive you stayed out all night; exploring the empty city, ducking into dive bars if they were still open, dancing in the streets to music only the two of you could hear.

The city was so eerily empty at night, nothing like a metropolitan complex like London. But it was less creepy and more peaceful, especially when you were walking with Sebastian hand-in-hand along the cobblestone path. He started to swing your hand as you walked and it made you laugh.

“Teach me more Romanian words, please,” you requested, looking at him and struggling to fight your smile. “Română?”

“Eu voi,” he nodded, looking around and pointing to the ground. “Stradă.”

“Stradă... we call it the street,” you answered. “Or road. Road?” you prompted.

“Road,” he repeated.

“Good! Your pronunciation isn’t too bad either,” you grinned.

“Copac,” he announced as he pointed to a tree.

“Copac,” you repeated. “In English, it’s tree.”

“Tree,” he smiled. “Engleza este o prostie.”

He suddenly pulled you into him and spun you around in a twirl, making you laugh. “Dans,” he said as he stepped his feet in time with yours. “A dansa.”

“Yeah, dancing,” you smiled. “I haven’t danced in years, you know, except for tonight.”

He surprised you with a sudden kiss that was unexpectedly chaste, just a press of his lips on yours that either lasted longer than it normally would or just slowed time for a moment. “Sărut,” he whispered when he pulled back.

”Sărut,” you repeated.

“Aș putea să te sărut ore în șir. Ai cele mai perfecte buze,” he breathed, running his thumb over your bottom lip which had gone slack just from listening to him talk.

Your fingers trailed down over the portion of his chest exposed by his unbuttoned collar. “I didn’t know I could feel this way about somebody,” you admitted aloud to yourself. “I wish I could stay…”

His hands lifted your face to look up at him. “Nu face asta. Nu te mai ascunde în gândurile tale. Fi cu mine.”

“Sărut?” you requested, making him grin.

“Da, iubirea mea,” he cooed as he leaned in and kissed you again, smiling into it.

You really hadn't even liked kissing all that much before you met him… you just hadn't seen the appeal beyond warming up to more exciting activities, but now? This was all the excitement you needed; you could kiss him for hours and never get bored.

That said, apparently Sebastian had exciting plans of his own, because you found yourself being backed up against a brick wall, his hands exploring your body— subtle at first, just rubbing your arms and gripping your waist, but then it got less ambiguous as you felt his fingers toying with the hem of your shirt, just barely grazing over your stomach.

His touch trailed higher, nearly reaching your breast but stopping just before: you didn't mean to whine impatiently, but you heard it muffled against his lips and felt him chuckle lightly, breaking the kiss and leaning in to whisper in your ear.

"Atât de nevoiași," he hummed, nibbling on your earlobe as your thighs clenched together much too strongly when he'd barely touched you.

You clutched at his shirt, watching as his hand moved down to the top of your pants, the tips of his fingers just barely breaching past the fabric and starting to slide down.

"Here?" you gasped, finally remembering you were in public though you hadn't seen another person out here since you left the bar.

His hand moved lower down and your stomach fluttered with the forbidden nature of it all, feeling like a rebellious high schooler fooling around behind the movie theater when you both had curfew in ten minutes. But then he found your clit right away and it was nothing like high school.

"Oh fuck," you whimpered, shuddering and pushing your hips up to silently beg for more. He rubbed circles over your bud and smiled against your neck, already making it a struggle for you to stay quiet.

“Un alt cuvânt pe care ar trebui să-l știi,” he whispered, the pitch of his voice making it clear he was saying something beautifully filthy, “este dracu. Vreau să te dracu.”

“Seba, please,” you sighed.

"Dar nu cred că o pot face aici," he added with a soft laugh.

Two fingers suddenly pushed into you and didn't seem to struggle with it at all since he already had you soaked, curling into a tender spot inside you right away.

“Yes,” you whined.

“Yes?” he repeated with a smirk.

“Yes,” you said it again, “fuck yes.”

“Fuck,” he laughed, the word that was so familiar to you almost sounding foreign when he said it. “Spui asta mult. Cred că asta înseamnă că vei veni.”

“Your fingers feel so good,” you moaned, barely enough air in your lungs to get the words out. "Please… please don't stop…"

He kissed you again, open-mouthed and desperate as you both breathed heavily, his tongue sliding against yours as if to taste your moans. Hoping to stay upright now that your knees felt a little wobbly, you slipped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer. That, in turn, led to you feeling the hard outline of his cock pressing against your thigh and you nearly melted right there, wishing you could feel him inside you now but figuring it probably wasn't worth the risk of being arrested for indecent exposure.

By now he knew you like the back of his hand, it seemed, because you were already throttling full speed ahead toward the edge, shocks of heat jumping up your spine each time he curled his fingers inside you.

"I— I'm gonna—" you stammered through your warning. He nodded, moving his fingers faster as you bit your lip a little too hard.

Just when you thought you couldn't help but cry out he kissed you one more time, rough and hungry, and muffled the sounds of you reaching your peak literally by his hand.

Everything that had twisted and snapped all at once began to soothe as you sighed and pushed his hand away slowly, feeling your walls spasm one more time when he slipped his fingers out and slid them right over your clit.

He pulled his hand out of your pants and brought his fingers to your lips; you dutifully cleaned them off for him, watching his lips twitch into a brief snarl when you took his fingers down your throat.

"Vom termina asta mai târziu," he promised darkly as he pulled you off of the wall and spun you around, and you wanted to return the favor but he stopped your hand from sliding up his thigh. "Mai târziu," he insisted, instead guiding you around the block and back to where his bike was parked.

Hopping on the back again as he started it up, you relished the change to cling onto his back tightly. He drove you through the empty streets, over sprawling hills and through stone archways, but just as you noticed this wasn’t the way to get back to the farmhouse, he slowed down and turned into a place to park.

“Why are you pulling over?” you asked, furrowing your brow as he parked the bike and motioned for you to get off with him. “Where are we going?”

“Ai incredere in mine,” he smiled as he took your helmet off for you and kissed you again, quickly, taking your hand and guiding you down a secluded path. You followed him down a few strange alleys, under clotheslines and sconces that started to dim with the oncoming morning light. Finally, he navigated you around a turn, through a tight gap, and out of nowhere you were on an overlook; one that gave you the perfect view of the sun beginning to rise over the city. “Wow,” you whispered, watching enraptured as soft yellow light overtook everything, the village and the woods in the distance beginning to come to life.

“Vremuri de genul ăsta mă fac să-mi fie dor de casă,” he sighed, before looking at you again from where he leaned on his elbows over the stone railing. “Îți faci mai ușor. Nu mai sunt singur.”

“This place is so beautiful, I’ve never lived anywhere like this before,” you admitted. “Maybe it’s just that it’s different that makes me like it so much… I guess I could say the same about you.”

Your eyes met his again, and the way he looked at you… it was like he saw right through you. Honestly, it was a bit terrifying. You'd never been so vulnerable to someone. You liked it more than you expected.

But it still scared you.

"Haide, hai să mergem acasă," he smiled as he stood upright again and took your hand.

"Let's get back to the house," you decided, but he was already leading you back to the bike where you rode through the countryside one more time, doing your best to memorize it all while you still had the chance.

You found tears in your eyes, though you didn’t remember crying, as you typed the final page of your manuscript.

It was a first draft, nothing close to a completed novel, but you were on your way to jumpstarting your career again. The only problem? You couldn’t have a career here. You couldn’t be published while living here, you couldn’t even edit this thing properly without a computer and you didn’t even have one here.

You needed to go home.

It killed you to realize that this was not a sustainable system: you living here— Hungary or Mrs. Alberti’s lakehouse— and falling in love with a near-stranger.

Sure, it was good for what it needed to be; he reminded you what it was like to be cherished and cared for, maybe you helped him break some dry spell (although you couldn’t imagine that this guy was anything but drowning in pussy all the time, but whatever). Regardless, it couldn’t last. It wasn’t meant to be anything other than… whatever it was meant to be.

You flipped through the pages of what you’d written already, admiring the journey that you saw on the paper— not just that of the characters, but your own as well. You could feel the weakness in your own voice in that first chapter, as if your hurt was right there painted on the page with the ink-pressed letters. You could remember shakily typing these words, hoping they would distract you from the fears and memories that plagued your mind.

A few chapters in, you could see the hope and optimism that built with the action of the story. You could feel your own love mirrored in the way you wrote your story, it was painfully powerful.

It brought a sense of closure, in a way; it gave you a chance to appreciate everything you’d learned from this, even if you knew you couldn’t take it with you into the next chapter. But this love didn’t feel like a subplot, it didn’t feel like a stepping stone onto the next adventure— it felt like what you’d been looking for your whole life. Maybe that’s just how it feels to be in the ‘honeymoon phase’ or whatever it’s called; maybe it’ll fade soon, with time and distance.

That was what you silently prayed for as you packed everything, folded your clothes, checked the nightstand drawers for those random trinkets they seemed to accrue. Funny how packing to leave this place took you longer than it did to throw your stuff together when you left Michael, and you’d been living there for years.

Then again, you'd known Michael so much longer than you'd known Sebastian, and yet it was Seba that meant so much to you now.

You weren’t sure what would be more difficult: leaving him, or knowing that you could never hope to explain everything in a way he would understand. You considered writing a letter and hoping that he would come upon a Romanian to English dictionary— but with everything you wanted to say, that would take him hours. After all that, would he find your words worth it? Or would he see it all as one last chore from a peculiar fling?

You were pretty sure he didn’t see it as a fling. But maybe he would understand that it was best left as a very unique rebound.

You left your room just to go get some coffee (or maybe something a little stronger, if it was available) and jumped when you saw Sebastian in the hall, causing you to quickly close the door behind you. “I didn’t expect to see you upstairs,” you greeted.

“Obținerea cearșafurilor curate,” he explained as he opened the door to the linen closet and pulled out some bedsheets.

“Oh, yeah, those could probably use a change,” you mumbled as you realized he may not have washed them since the last time you stayed in his bed.

“Vrei și tu câteva?” he asked, pointing towards your door and holding up the sheets.

“Oh, uh, I don’t need any more sheets,” you shook your head, “but thank you…”

His face curled into a mischievous grin. “Poate că trebuie să murdărim acele foi,” he purred as he set the linens down and stepped closer to you, wrapping you in his arms.

“Seba,” you mumbled, but he must not have heard the hesitance in your voice as he leaned in and kissed your neck, making you sigh a little. He hummed contentedly and lightly bit your ear, and you were almost ready to just let him do it and procrastinate this conversation a little longer, but you had to sigh and push him back.

“Esti bine?” he asked, voice heavy with concern, as he straightened up and examined your face.

“Sebastian…” you started with a sigh, the words you’d been anxiously mulling over all night suddenly abandoning you. “What happened between us meant so much to me,” you continued slowly, “but the fact of the matter is, my first marriage isn’t even over yet. I mean, it’s over, but… I’m not really in a place where I can… start a new relationship…”

He looked back at you, that same blankness of incomprehension you were so used to painting his expression, and yet it was somber; he seemed to sense the tone, even if he was losing out on the specific ideas.

“It’s not fair to either of us, really,” you sighed. “I’m still mourning my marriage— and you were a really important part of that for me. So, thank you.”

You realized you needed to express your gratitude more thoroughly. Thinking quickly, you reached for his hand and opened it, placing his palm to your chest. He looked at you, a little confused.

“Thank you,” you repeated, looking him right in the eye.

He nodded slightly.

“Someday, somebody is gonna love you the way you need— the way you deserve,” you told him, stopping briefly to bite your lip in hopes it would stop quivering. “God, I wish it could be me. But it can’t.”

He held your face and kissed you, and much to your dismay it didn’t feel like a goodbye kiss. It didn’t feel like he knew this was the end. “Nu plânge,” he whispered. “Te iubesc.”

He kissed you again and you let yourself get lost in it like a complete fucking idiot, melting into his arms as he opened your bedroom door and pulled you inside with him. For a moment, it was like any other time, like any other perfect kiss with him, but then he pulled back and looked around and you had to watch his eyes as he realized. You had to watch his face as his smile fell away and his hope turned to despondence.

The whole room was packed. Heavy trunks on the bed, the sheets already stripped so Mrs. Alberti could wash them. Everything that made it feel like your room was gone, and it was just a guest room again, feeling bigger and emptier than ever.

All that was left was the typewriter on the table, because you still couldn't lift it.

“O să pleci,” he gasped, stepping back and releasing you from his embrace. “Chiar mă părăsești.”

You knew that look he was wearing on his face; beyond heartbreak— betrayal. You were all too familiar with it. “I’m so sorry,” you whimpered, “I would stay if I could, but I can’t, can I?”

A car horn honked outside, making you wince.

“That’s my ride,” you mumbled. “I have to go…”

You started to reach for your trunks and for a moment you thought that was really it. “Nu te duce,” he interjected suddenly, grabbing at your wrist and turning you to face him.

“I’m sorry— I have to leave—” you rushed, trying to grab your bags again.

“Nu te duce,” he repeated again desperately, pulling you close, cradling your face in his hands.

“Don’t make this any harder than it already is,” you pleaded as your eyes began to water.

“Stay,” he begged, and you didn’t know that he knew that word. A tear fell; you wished he didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you shook your head, “I can’t.”

You stood up on your tiptoes to try to kiss him one last time, but he grimaced and pushed you away.

“Să trăieşti,” he said quickly, bitterly, as he stormed out of the room.

“Sebastian, wait—!”

But he was already running down the stairs; you heard the sound of the back door slamming a moment after he was out of sight, and another honk of the horn outside reminded you that you didn’t have time to chase after him. This wasn’t how you wanted it to end— really, you didn’t want it to end at all, and maybe if it had to (which it did) then this was as good a way as any. But you hated to leave like this when the last thing you wanted was to hurt him.

Defiantly wiping the tears from your face, you lifted the first of your trunks and made your way down the stairs, bringing them to the front door where the driver of the cab was waiting to carry them the rest of the way for you.

“Could you go upstairs and get my typewriter for me?” you asked him. “I can’t carry it well myself.”

He nodded and did as he was told, another small but painful reminder of your first day here. Mrs. Alberti came around the bend wearing a knitted shawl and a bittersweet smile.

“I hope you didn’t plan to go without saying goodbye,” she teased you.

“Of course not,” you smiled, “goodbye Mrs. Alberti.”

“I didn’t mean to me, dear,” she explained, making your heart twist.

“I don’t think he wants to hear it from me,” you admitted awkwardly. “I don’t think he can, literally.”

She just sighed and looked away, just as the driver loaded the last of your things into the trunk.

“So, this is it then,” you shrugged as you turned to face her.

“I doubt that,” she smiled. “It’s not a goodbye, sweetheart, just a ‘see you later.’”

“Sure,” you agreed, knowing she was wrong. You couldn’t come back here; you couldn’t leave him twice.

The driver shut the trunk and got back into the driver’s seat, leaving you to stare up at the house and take one last moment to soak it all in.

“You be sure to call me when your book is a big hit!” Mrs. Alberti instructed with a grin.

You were too choked up to say anything back, so you just waved and nodded as you got in the car and took a deep breath. “To the train station, please,” you mumbled to the driver, covering your eyes with your hand as you felt the car reverse and turn onto the road. You couldn't open them, or you’d look back, and you couldn’t look back.

Since your eyes were closed, you had no way to know that Sebastian chased after the car for nearly a block, giving up at the turn of the road, falling into the gravel and laying there for a while, repeating that one English word he couldn’t get out of his head: stay.

#sebastian stan au #sebastian stan x reader

[silhouetteofacedar]

Pearl, Ch. 5: Marche Funèbre

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

It’s just another Tuesday.

Scully’s been telling herself that all morning as a kind of mantra in an attempt to calm her nerves. It’s not working.

It’s just another Tuesday, and she’s getting ready for an unremarkable workday. She showers, blowdries her hair, puts on the little pearl earrings her father gave her when she finished her undergrad.

In another timeline, in the life her parents wanted for her, she would be putting these earrings on beneath a lacy white veil. Her mother and sister would fuss over her dress, adjusting the train and making sure it hung well on her healthy frame, pressing a sprawling bouquet of flowers into her arms.

But that’s not her reality; in this timeline, she’s alone in her bedroom, putting on the creamy beige suit she’s worn to the office several times already. Her mother doesn’t know, and her sister is dead.

She feels oddly like she’s preparing for her own funeral, albeit a little premature. Will my mother have me cremated, or will they bury me in something I never wore? she wonders.

She thinks of Mulder then, a spouse in name only, and her stomach clenches.

Don’t go there, Dana. Tuesday.

She barely eats breakfast; cautiously nibbling at dry toast, wincing as it sticks in her throat. Her appetite has shrunk considerably lately, and her nervousness this morning isn’t helping. She gulps a glass of tepid water, eyeing the clock in the kitchen.

She doesn’t have to be at the office for another hour, but she decides to go in anyway.

She arrives a half hour early and is surprised to see that Mulder is already there. He rarely arrives before her unless he’s preparing a slideshow or simply never went home the night before. She would usually assume he slept in his desk chair, except this morning he’s freshly shaved and wearing a suit that’s still crisp from the cleaners, a blue striped tie neatly fastened at his neck.

As soon as he notices her enter the room, he covers his eyes and spins his chair away from her. “Bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony,” he says, attempting levity. The joke falls flat.

“Good morning to you, too,” Scully replies drily, setting her briefcase on her chair. “You’re early.”

He peeks at her over his shoulder and turns back to face her. “Yeah, I, uh, thought I should get a head start on some paperwork since we’re taking a long lunch today.”

Long lunch. Is that what they call eloping nowadays?

Scully raises a brow. “That’s surprisingly reasonable of you, Mulder; are you feeling okay?”

He huffs a laugh. “I could use some coffee,” he admits. “Didn’t get the best sleep last night.”

A clumsy response flits around in her mouth, about the quality of sleep one should expect from a leather sofa, but she swallows it. Instead she pulls out her day planner, leafing through the pages until she reaches March eighteenth, scanning her notes. “We have a meeting with Skinner at ten,” she reminds him, setting the book down on the desk. “I’ll get us some coffee from upstairs, and then we can dig into that inbox.” She gives him a tight little smile before leaving the office in search of caffeine.

-

Mulder’s had a rough morning.

He woke up just after five and thrashed about on his couch for half an hour before giving up on sleep altogether. He threw on some clothes and went for a nippy predawn run, relishing the lactic acid burn in his sleepy muscles; chasing one ache down with another.

Back at home he showered and scrubbed every inch of his body clean, even though Scully wouldn’t see it. He shaved carefully, slowly tracing his jaw with the razor. He didn’t want a single nick to mar his skin today.

Every thought, every movement, every little choice he made this morning, was for her.

It was almost funny, them both arriving to the office early and desperately pretending everything was normal. He hopes this new fog of awkwardness around them eventually dissipates; the whole point of this arrangement was that, in spite of legal status, their relationship wouldn’t change.

Scully retreats to find them coffee, and Mulder heaves a sigh, slumping over his desk. He’s going to wrinkle his shirt, but what does it matter? As far as anyone else knows, it’s just another Tuesday.

He glances down and sees Scully’s date book open on the desk, filled with notes and appointments in her neat, slanting script. He angles it toward himself and casually scans the day’s page, two appointments catching his eye.

Get married, 1:00

Chemo, 4:00

He grips the edge of the desk, inhaling sharply. That deep, forbidden feeling hits him like a wave of nausea, rolling sickly sweet through his stomach. He wants to throw the book away, hide under his desk, dissolve into panic on the worn gray carpet of their office. She’s breaking her remaining days into neat little pieces, organizing them tightly in the grids of her calendar, squeezing every last drop of time out of them. And giving that time to him.

This is the worst way to want a woman, he decides. Selfishly lapping up every spilled second, thirsting for more than she can give. Probably more than she wants to give.

Scully walks back into the office, two styrofoam cups in hand. Mulder feels a quick burst of shame at having been caught reading her appointment book, as though it was a secret diary and not a simple calendar.

“It’s at one, in case you forgot,” Scully says, passing him a cup. Coffee, black, one sugar like always. She sits in the chair opposite him, hands cradling a cup of what appears to be tea, judging from the little paper tag fluttering from a string hanging out of it. He wonders how the ring in the small box in his pocket would look on her slender hands.

“Mulder,” she prompts, casting her eyes up at him as she blows on the surface of her drink to cool it.

“Sorry, was I staring?” he asks.

“Mm,” she nods, taking a careful sip. “I’m fine, if that’s what-”

“No, no,” he says quickly. “You. Um. You look very nice today, actually. That’s all.”

Her cheeks remain pale. “Oh. Well, thank you,” she says calmly. “You look very nice today too.”

That was the idea, Mulder thinks desperately, painfully. I wore this tie to match your eyes.

The minute hand on the clock lurches silently forward.

#pearl #my fic #txf fic #msr #cancer arc #marriage of convenience #secret marriage #mmm i love angst with my morning bagel #also i'm moving out of state so i'm busy as FUCK packing all my shit #i'm doing my darndest for yall okay xx

[comfortwriting]

A Triwizard Baby Part 4 - F.W

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompt Masterlist

Fred Weasley x Fem Reader

Part 4 of my ‘Triwizard Baby’ mini-series, please read Parts 1, 2, and 3 if you haven’t already. Want to be tagged? Let me know!

Warnings: Swearing, Mention vomiting, and food/eating.

"Girls" you sighed, watching them finally stop jumping on their beds and dropping their pillows "There's something I need to tell you."

You and Angelina shared a glance, she knew and so did you - you were finally ready, to tell the truth. Hiding this - hiding the truth about you and Fred had caused you enough pain, and the longer you decided to hide this, the worse the pain would get.

"What is it?" Katie asked, already concerned, no longer giggly or excitable.

Staring and picking at your fingernails, you finally looked each of your friends in the eyes, your heart thumping in your chest with each breath.

"I'm ready to tell you" you sighed again "who the father is."

They all stayed silent except Matt's little sister, "who is it?" she asked quietly.

"Fred," you blurted out, unable to hide his name for much longer "Fred Weasley is the father."

"I've told you" Fred hissed "don't bloody speak to me!" he stormed in front of George, stamping his feet, furious his backstabbing brother would dare to even speak to him.

Fred was exhausted from sleeping in the room of requirement alone and no one to talk to, he was pissed off with his brother, frustrated that you weren't his and that everyone around him avoided him as if he had a curse. For the first time in his life, he left as if he had run out of luck.

George grabbed him by the arm "Freddie, please-"

"No!" Fred shoved George's grip off him "You're jealous, you always have been."

George opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't get a word in.

"You always have been, every girl I've been with, you've chased after when I'm done with them. You can't stand the fact I fucked her, and you've rubbed it in my face that you've knocked her up!" Fred's voice cracked "And I told you, I loved her!"

"Fred, I-"

"Do me a favour, Georgie, don't speak a word to me at the baby shower, unless you want a crib smashed against your stupid head!"

"Keep those eyes closed!" Angelina grinned, her hands covering your eyes as she walked you through the rented restaurant covered in banners, balloons, a buffet table and presents.

"I am!" you smirked, feeling slightly nervous, smelling the mouth-watering fruit juices and pies.

"Okay," Angelina smiled, removing her hands "open in three, two, one!"

Opening your eyes you looked across the huge room, your friends were all huddled together with party poppers, yelling "Surprise!" and pulling the string, confetti shooting across the room, Fred sat alone across the room, trying his hardest to show support and be happy for you, but his heartbreak was breaking through his persona better than he thought.

You were bombarded with presents for you and the baby: the new crib, clothes, socks, bottles, nappies, monitors, teddy bears, and blankets - you unwrapped everything which brought the biggest smile to your face and tears of happiness to your eyes.

Everyone made bets on whether you would have a girl or a boy, what time and day they would be born on, and how long the labour would be. Even you had to admit, you were having a good time and for the first time in a while, the smile on your face was genuine, not forced.

After hours of present opening, games, bets, and food, you and the girls cleaned up the confetti, empty plates and scrunched up wrapping paper. Fred slowly approached you and tapped you on the shoulder, turning around to look at him, your heart pained.

Tell him, everyone knows but him, just tell him!

"Freddie-"

"Y/N, can I have a moment?" he murmured.

The girls looked at the two of you standing in the middle of the room, they exchanged looks and nodded, leaving to give you both some privacy.

"I wanted to give this to you in private," Fred said softly, handing you a large faux dragon scale photo album "I ran out of time to wrap it, was up all night finishing it."

You stared down at the photo album and opened it, your heartbreaking with each turn of the page. Pictures of you and Fred throughout the years, followed by his little notes of when and where the picture was taken until you flicked to the empty pages, you stared up at him.

Tell him, now is a perfect time-

"Fred, please-"

"The blank pages are to fill with pictures of us and the baby," he said softly "that's if the father won't mind."

George entered the room again, not knowing his brother was still there.

"Y/N, I was thinking-" he stopped in his tracks, looking at his brother's face dropping.

"Congratulations, again." Fred walked away, pushing past his brother and out the door.

"They are Braxton Hicks, my dear." Madame Pomfrey waved her hand, helping you to your feet in the hospital wing.

Your hand rested on your bump "I'm sorry, what?"

After your little moment with Fred, your womb contracted and relaxed, disturbing your baby, causing it to lash out and kick against your tummy in discomfort from the contractions. You were frightened and sure you were going into labour and George rushed you to the hospital wing.

"Is she going to be okay?" George asked nervously.

"False labour pains" she replied "and if you go to the tournament tonight you'll be experiencing more of them!" she stressed.

"I can assure you I won't be doing backflips," you grumbled, "surely it will be safer for me if I sit down."

Madame Pomfrey held her nose up in the air, feeling slightly defeated "I can't stop you from going, but as long as you're sitting down and surrounded by a responsible group of friends, I don't see why you can't go."

"I'll take good care of her, I swear."

"Your brother couldn't!" Madame Pomfrey hissed "she's in this mess because of him, and I better not see you two back in here until that baby is ready!"

The loud band played along as everyone got seated high up in the stands, the girls on your left, and George on your right, you held onto his hand, still on edge from the sudden Braxton Hicks. You rested your head against his shoulder, Fred stared at the back of your head, his hands bunched into fists, regretting his decision to sit towards the back.

Everyone was on the edge of their seats, Fleur had failed, Krum evidently had too - now - it was between Cedric and Harry, the champion being a Hogwarts student was certain, but still, undecided whether that champion would belong to Hufflepuff or Gryffindor, like many others in the stands, your fingers and toes were crossed for Harry taking the win.

Out of nowhere, Cedric came stumbling out of the maze, covered in dirt, sweat, and blood, his shirt sticking to him and his hair ruffled, scratches across his delicate face. He crouched down, clearly out of breath, but so startled and shaken up that he was shaking and green in the face.

The crowd jumped to their feet, cheering for Harry and Gryffindor, holding their red banners and waving their flags in the air whilst Syltherin scowled and hid their faces in their hands.

"We need to go and see if he's alright!" Angelina panicked hearing Cho shriek, the girls got on their feet and hurried down the stairs, running out to Cedric who was now on his hands and knees on the grass, throwing up.

"Well, are you coming!?" Angelina asked George, holding out her hand.

George looked at you, he didn't want to leave you on your own and you knew it.

"Go," you reassured him "I'll be okay."

You watched Cedric gain the courage to speak, you tried to lip read but he was too far away for you to even make out a single word, but whatever he had said panicked the cheering girls and proud lads because now they were muttering, whispering and all appeared to be frightened and anxious, no longer in the mood to celebrate Harry's win.

Katie who didn't leave you behind shot a scowl at Fred who continued to stare at you, she moved closer to you whilst Angelina and George hurried back, horror across their faces.

"What's happened?" you panicked.

"It's Harry" George frowned "The cup, it was a portkey and he's gone, Cedric said-"

Angelina nudged George with her elbow, glaring at him and shaking her head "not now, George."

"No, what is it?" you demanded.

Just as George announced the news that the dark lord had returned, you felt major discomfort and a dull ache in your back and lower abdomen, along with the pressure that increased in your pelvic, you gripped onto your bump and winced.

"George!" you panicked "It's happening!"

The father of your baby watched as you went into labour, Katie and Angelina helped you to your feet as George hurried over to Madame Pomfrey, everyone around you started to panic and gave you all the room you needed to evacuate safely back into the hospital wing - the one place you didn't want to end up twice in one day.

Leaving you behind, George stared up at Fred who was sat as still as a statute, if you weren't going to tell him, George had to, he wouldn't allow his brother to miss the birth of his child.

George stumbled over to his brother and shook him angrily "I don't want to bloody argue but listen to me!"

"George, I told you-"

"You're the dad, alright!" George yelled, "She's having your baby, you need to get to the hospital wing now!"

"What are you on about?" Fred argued, not believing the word "are you seriously-"

"Think back to the party when you played truth or dare! Think for Merlin's sake!"

Fred shut his mouth and suddenly, his world began to spin so fast his heart could've stopped.

“I want you.” you breathed, pulling away from the kiss “I want you to fuck me like you do everyone else.”

“I want you too” Fred replied, taking your hand and fleeing from the party.

“Are you ready, Y/N?” Fred asked, pulling away from your breasts.

“Yes,” you breathed out, slurring slightly “I’m ready Freddie.”

The memories suddenly flashed before his eyes, the sight of your naked body beneath his, the two of you climaxing, Fred pulling out and falling into your arms, only to wake up the next morning in an empty bed that smelled of your hair and perfume. It reminded Fred that he had forgotten to put a condom on, George wasn't lying, he is the father of your child.

Fred's eye widened and he bolted from his brother, shoving everyone aside and sprinting for his life to the hospital wing, no one and nothing could stop him now.

The doors of the hospital wing swung open, laying in your bed, tears rolled down your face as the contractions worsened, Madame Pomfrey urging you to keep pushing. Fred pulls out a chair and sits beside you, holding your hand, comforting you, kissing your forehead and encouraging you.

You opened your mouth to speak: you wanted to say sorry, to tell him you loved him, you wanted to explain everything all at once, but you were unable to - the pain increasing, causing you to scream out, tears rolling down your face.

"Almost there Y/N, you're crowning!" Madame Pomfrey announced.

Fred planted another kiss on your sweaty forehead "keep pushing sweetheart," he said softly "you're doing so bloody well!"

Within a few moments, the sound of your babies cries rang out through the hospital wing, Madame Pomfrey placed the baby in your arms, encouraging you to sit back and relax - but you couldn't you still had the urge to push.

"I need to push again, "you cried, gritting your teeth "I'm not done!"

Madame Pomfrey's mouth dropped, causing her to take the baby from your arms and handing the newborn to Fred.

"What's going on?" Fred panicked, gripping onto his child, already feeling the protectiveness kick in.

"There's another baby..."

"She's having twins?!"

Fred held the elder newborn in his arms whilst the younger and smaller newborn rested in yours, both of them just like their father; a full head of ginger hair.

"They're yours." you croaked, your. throat sore from all the screaming and crying.

Fred smiled, tears forming in his eyes as he rocked the baby in his arms "I know, they look just like me... their hairs..."

"I'm so sorry, Freddie, I didn't tell you because... because I didn't know what to do, you're my best friend and I've had feelings for you since the beginning and I felt as if you didn't feel the same, I thought that me forcing a child upon you would... would ruin what we had."

"Of course I feel the same," Fred replied "I just didn't know if you did."

The two of you went silent for a moment, the twins sleeping -  they were exhausted from being brought into the world earlier than expected.

"Do you still feel the same?" you asked Fred, staring into his pride-filled brown eyes.

He nodded "Yeah, do you?"

Everything you had ever wanted finally arrived, the children you were carrying - so eager and excited to meet, and the man of your dreams, finally on the same page as you - who had been in love with you for all this time.

You looked down at the baby in your arms and then back up at Fred, "I do too."

"Shall we have a fresh start?" Fred smiled "As parents and that."

You broke out into a light laugh and smiled "I'd like that, Freddie. I'd like that a lot."

There was another silence, it felt as if the world was sleeping.

"So, when can we make another one?" Fred winked.

"When we graduate from Hogwarts!-"

"Next year?" he raised an eyebrow.

"You didn't let me finish! We need to graduate, get stable jobs and have a house with enough room!"

"So next year then?" Fred smirked, still cradling the baby.

Your furrowed your brows, unsure whether or not he was bluffing.

"Okay then, since you're all confident, let's make a bet." You smirked back.

"If I win, we make another baby, if you win... we get married," Fred said softly as the baby opened his eyes and let out a cry.

"Alright," you agreed, taking your baby from Fred, trying to breastfeed "but what is your obsession with making another one?" you asked, "we've just had twins!"

Mr and Mrs Weasley were slowly approaching the hospital wing, George following not far behind.

"Yeah, which I've only just found out are mine!"

The hospital wing doors opened, Molly and Arthur standing in the doorway, staring at you, their son, and their grandchildren.

taglist: Taglist: @amourtentiaa @horrorxweasley @alwaysnforeverfangirl@reeophidian @inglourious-imagines @sebby-staan @onlyfreds@pandaxnienke @xmalfoyweasleyx @manuosorioh@cosmiccomicloverqueen @the-romanian-is-bae @fhhsposts@cavalinhox @purple-vodka-99 @simpforweasleys2@dracoismybabey @statellitespidey @xuminghaosworld @michael-loves-chickens @simpforweasleys2 @freddie-weaselbee @itsnottlilly

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley x you #fred weasley imagine #george weasley #george wealsey x reader #george wealsey imagine #george weasley fanfiction #George Weasley one shot #harry potter fanfiction #Harry Potter fanfic #harry potter #weasley twins #the marauders #Remus Lupin x reader #Sirius black x reader #draco x you #draco x reader

[morganaspendragonss]

holly's august extravaganza day 4: a friend in me

📍 anon - I don't know but I feel like Carlos and Nancy can have such an awesome best friend dynamic. Maybe something sad/scary regarding Nancy happens where she has to make a report at the precinct and Carlos doesn't tell anyone as she made him promise so he starts to just check on Nancy and they just develop this caring, supportive, beautiful, fun, full of banter friendship to the amusement of TK and the 126.

kept this separate from your original ask because i want to keep those other prompts you sent alongside this one for later 😊

ao3 | 2k | hurt/comfort, brief references to gun violence, mostly just carlos and nancy being besties

Carlos has never seen Nancy look so small.

She’s sitting hunched over in one of the interrogation rooms, shock blanket around her shoulders, hands seemingly moving of their own volition to tear the empty styrofoam cup in front of her to shreds. As soon as Carlos had seen her being escorted into the precinct, shaking like a leaf and clutching her coat like a lifeline, he’d persuaded the officer with her to let him take over the case. His association with the 126 is well known so the officer had been reluctant, but Carlos had managed to wear him down, saying that he doesn’t really know Nancy that well.

And it’s—it’s not exactly a full lie. Through their hangs and TK’s stories, he’s coming to see Nancy as a force of nature, a woman who will let nothing and no-one stand in her way, whether that’s out on the field or during a game of Monopoly. But of her personal life, Carlos knows next to nothing; she mentioned a sister a few weeks ago, and TK delights in teasing her about her growing crush on Marjan, but that’s about it.

He needs to make more of an effort, he decides. When they’re anywhere else but a police station.

Carlos knocks lightly on the door to announce his presence before entering the room, sending her what he hopes is a reassuring smile. Nancy visibly relaxes at the sight of him and she drops the remains of her cup, though Carlos doesn’t miss the continuing tremble to her hands.

“Hey Nancy,” he says, sliding into the seat opposite her. “How are you doing?”

Nancy’s lips twitch, the corners barely curving into the beginnings of a wry smile. She breathes out shakily, meeting Carlos’s eyes for the briefest second before staring back down at the table. “I’m not great,” she answers, and for her to admit to that… Well, Carlos suspects it’s not a regular occurrence.

He nods, reluctantly pulling out his notebook and pen, hesitating before flipping to the next blank page. Nancy tracks his movements, resignation clearly etched all over her features. Carlos glances at the two-way mirror—not that it does him any good—then reaches across the table to take Nancy’s hand.

“We don’t have to do this right now,” he murmurs. “If you need more time, just say the word and I’ll leave. Or if you’d prefer to talk to someone you don’t know, we can do that too. Anything you need.”

The sudden tightness of Nancy’s grip is unexpected, as is the flash of panic in her eyes.

“Please, don’t go,” she whispers. “I don’t—” She cuts herself off, shutting her eyes and breathing slowly for a few seconds. Slowly, her hold on Carlos begins to loosen until her hand is slack in his, then she draws both hands into her lap and straightens in her chair. When her eyes reopen, she seems more like the Nancy Carlos knows—strong, confident, assertive—though there’s still clearly an undercurrent of fear underneath it all.

“I’m fine. Let’s do this.”

Carlos bites back an are you sure and settles for clicking his pen, his smile unwavering. “Can you run me through what happened, exactly?” he asks. “Take your time.”

A second or two passes, then Nancy nods, her voice steady when she speaks. “I was restocking the bus at the end of shift. I was alone; Captain Vega was in her office and TK was with the others in the showers—he did try to help but he’d had to go into a fire on our last call to help a patient and the smell of smoke was giving me a headache, so I told him to go.”

Carlos pauses in his note-taking, mentally filing that last piece of information away for follow-up as soon as he sees his boyfriend again. Judging by the amused quirk to Nancy’s eyebrow, she’s fully aware of where his mind has gone, so Carlos clears his throat and motions for her to continue, forcing his thoughts back to the present.

“Like I said, I was alone. I didn’t mind it; it was kind of relaxing, you know? Then this guy appeared from nowhere and pointed a gun at me, saying if I called out or turned on the siren or anything, he’d shoot. I thought—” She inhales sharply, her knuckles going white on the tabletop and her jaw clenching tightly. Her voice sounds different when she next speaks, more controlled, as though forcing each word out. “I thought it was happening again. I thought he was going to take me somewhere, make me his personal pet paramedic, something like that.

“Turns out, he just wanted drugs. I gave him what we had on the rig and he seemed satisfied, so I figured he’d shoot me anyway ‘cause I’d seen his face, right? He didn’t—obviously—but it looked like he was considering it.” Nancy pauses and flicks her gaze up at Carlos, biting her lip. “I think he might have done it,” she admits quietly, “but he got spooked by one of the guys making noise so he just bolted. I’m not sure how long it was between that and TK coming back and finding me. I’m sorry.”

Carlos shakes his head. “It’s okay. We can check the cameras at the station. With luck, that should get us an ID, maybe a license plate if he drove. I think that’s almost everything; just one more question, if that’s okay. Can you tell me what you gave him exactly?”

Nancy nods. “Morphine, Ativan, tramadol… I’d have to check stocks for the exact amounts.”

“We’ll do that, don’t worry about it.” Carlos taps his pen on the pages before flipping his notebook shut and leaning across the table again. “Are you okay?” he asks softly. “Speaking as a friend and not a cop, if there’s anything you need, anything I can help with, let me know.”

She smiles wanly. “I’m okay. I just want to go home and forget all this ever happened.”

“Fair enough. I’ll walk you out to your car.”

Carlos half-expects her to brush him off, but she just nods and allows him to escort her back through the precinct and out to her car. He dithers awkwardly, shuffling his feet as Nancy turns to him, one hand on the door handle.

“Thank you, Carlos. For real. I have the feeling it wasn't a coincidence that you were the one in that room with me.”

The tips of Carlos’s ears go pink as he finds himself caught out. “That, uh… That would not be inaccurate.”

“Well, thanks.” She pulls open the car door and Carlos takes a step back, wanting to wait until she’s safely away to go back inside. Nancy ducks as if to get in, then pauses and straightens again, biting her lip as she looks back at him.

“Hey, Carlos?” she says. “Can you do me a favour and not tell the others? Not even TK. They— They know vaguely what happened, but I’d prefer it if the details and, uh, some of the other stuff I told you could be kept between us.”

He agrees immediately, just grateful that she trusts him enough to handle this for her. “No-one will know any more than they need to,” he promises, which seems to relieve her. She thanks him again, then gets in the car and drives away, Carlos watching after her with one hand raised in farewell.

*

It grows from there.

It’s not intentional exactly, but one text to check up on her soon turns into a steady stream of messages, stories and jokes and even the occasional meme passing back and forth between them. Carlos especially appreciated Nancy's carefully curated collection of dirt on TK, which, as a concerned boyfriend, it is his duty to know. Many a conversation has been spent griping about TK's accident prone ways or sighing over his latest mishap.

Lovingly, of course.

Nancy, 15.48: you’ll never guess what happened this time

Carlos, 16.22: ?

In answer, he receives a picture of a dejected-looking TK sprawled on the floor with Buttercup’s front paws squarely resting on his chest. Buttercup’s tongue is lolling out, a wide grin on his face, and in the background stand the rest of the crew. All of them also seem to have their phones pointed towards TK—probably the reason TK looks so down, as Carlos knows his boyfriend couldn’t be upset with Buttercup to save his life.

Nancy, 16.26: he thought he’d try to teach buttercup some tricks. turns out, dog trainers exist for a reason

Carlos has to stifle a laugh—technically, he is supposed to be working—but his attempt at being subtle is thwarted when his phone repeatedly pings with similar texts and photos from Paul, Marjan, and Mateo. He screenshots the sudden influx of notifications and sends it to Nancy before saving every single photo.

Nancy responds with a laughing emoji and a promise to keep him updated.

*

Not all of their conversations are about TK, naturally.

Carlos, 19.10: I don’t understand why you don’t just talk to her

Nancy, 19.12: i do talk to her. every shift, actually

Carlos, 19.13: Nancy

Nancy, 19.13: carlos

Nancy, 19.14: i don’t even know if she’s into women, alright? it’s not like i can just march up and ask, that’s like waving a banner saying ‘hey, i’m in love with you’ in her face

Carlos, 19.16: Oh, we’re talking about love now, are we?

Nancy, 19.17: can it, reyes

Carlos, 19.20: Noted. Look, take it from someone who’s been navigating gay relationships in Texas his whole life. Sometimes you just have to go for it. Ask her for coffee, test the waters, see where it leads. You never know, it might work out. I mean, look at me

Nancy, 19.24: wow, way to rub your happiness in my face 😑

(Carlos doesn’t find out if she follows his advice, but he does notice her and Marjan showing up to their hangs together)

(Nancy does not appreciate his smugness)

*

Without even realising, they become a formidable team. This fact is highlighted one game night about three months after the incident, when Nancy and Marjan blow into his and TK’s house, a determined glint in both their eyes.

“We’re switching up the teams,” Marjan declares, much to TK’s outrage.

“What? Why?”

“Because,” Nancy continues, “we’re tired of losing to you guys. You’re like, freakishly good at board games and it’s not fair. Plus, we have to watch you both being all lovey all the time when you’re on the same team and it’s exhausting. We want to see you being competitive for once.”

TK pouts, but Carlos just shrugs when he looks to him for backup. “It’ll be fun,” he says, smiling at Nancy and Marjan. TK still looks put out, so he leans in close and half-murmurs, “C’mon babe. How about a prize for the winner?”

TK perks up considerably at the suggestion, and, going by the twin looks of despair on Nancy and Marjan’s faces, they caught both the comment and the innuendo. Marjan groans and Nancy raises her eyes skyward, as if pleading for divine intervention.

“This was a great idea, actually,” TK says, grinning. He quirks an eyebrow at Nancy. “You and me, Nance?”

That seems to shake Nancy out of her silent prayers for strength. “Uh, no. I’m with Carlos.” To emphasise the point, she strides forward and grabs Carlos’s arm, dragging him to the couch. He nudges her gently when they sit, smirking at the disgruntled way she digs into the snack bowl.

“You did say you wanted to see us being competitive.”

“Shut up.”

*

In the end, TK ends up paired with Mateo, and Marjan with Paul. It’s clear from the outset who’s going to win—Nancy and Carlos dominate the board, and not even Paul’s master strategy is enough to catch up with them.

They win by a comfortable margin, fist-bumping in celebration. There’s a general air of bemusement in the room, and when Carlos looks round at the others, he finds four pairs of eyes fixed on them.

“What?”

“Since when have you two been such a good team?” Paul asks, leaning back in his chair and raising an eyebrow.

Carlos shrugs, sharing a smile with Nancy. “Guess we just are.”

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #carlos reyes #nancy gillian #marjan marwani #tk strand #tarlos #lone star #911ls #holly's august extravaganza #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #my writing #📍 anon

[weelittleweasley]

Amortentia | Draco x Reader

Prompt: After having a large crush on Draco for two years, you decide to move on for your own sake. But what happens when you are in potions class and what you smell is not that of your current boyfriend, but of an old flame?

Warnings: angst, a lil fluff at the end

Requests status: Open and ready for some requests

A/N: New fandom, same old writer hehe. I thought I’d come back after a long hiatus and write a little something. Quarantine/the pandemic has me back in my teenage self. In this, we go through year 4 to year 6, so GoF to HBP :)

The bellows of the professor at the front of the classroom fall into muffled murmurs as you go in and out of daydreams, fiddling with the quill in your writing hand. As you draw nonsense pictures in the margins in your notebook, you fantasize scenarios in your head of the boy you’ve had your eye on since the beginning of year four at Hogwarts. In your head, it all made sense. The two of you were pure blood Slytherins, competitive and ballsy, ready to fight at a moment’s notice. That’s what you adored so much about the blonde boy. He may have his moments, but he always seemed to be ready for whatever. 

The corners of your mouth twirl upwards into a smile as you think about being able to wear his jumper, smelling his cologne on the collar. You think about his hands on your hip bones, squeezing them lightly as he peppers small, soft kisses on your neck and collarbones. Yearning to lace your fingers with his as he dips down his head to place a tender kiss to your l-

“Miss (Y/L/N), do you have anything to add?” Professor Moody snaps you from your daydream as you sit straight up, feet planted on the foot, picking your quill up back in writing position. You clear your throat and shake your head back and forth. “If you have nothing to add, I’d recommend you quit daydreaming and focus on what is going on at the front of the classroom.”

You breathe out a small, “Yessir,” before returning your attention back to your work. Small giggles are let out across the classroom, relishing in your embarrassment. Heat rises to your cheeks and you try to make yourself smaller by sinking into your chair a little and ducking your head downward. Peering up through your eyelashes, you try to sneak a look a Draco who is seated only two tables ahead and to the left of you. As you do so, you see that he was looking at you the whole time, him chuckling with Blaise Zabini before returning their focus to the blackboard. Embarrassment washes over you yet again, caught in the act of looking at the boy you fancied. 

Within the hour, Moody dismisses class and you gather your things swiftly, trying to leave class without Moody stopping you to ask why your mind was elsewhere today. As you fling your satchel across your body and tuck your notebook under your arm, you scurry out the door only to be stopped by Blaise. 

“Would you move it, Zabini? I have to get to astronomy,” you push Blaises large chest with your hand, before booking it in the opposite direction. You can’t escape him, or so it seems, because he walks beside you now down the corridor to your next class. “Are you obsessed with me or something? What’s your deal?”

Blaise laughs, “I didn’t know that you get so distracted during class, doodling and dreaming, (Y/N). What’s more interesting than a class with Moody?” He nudges his shoulder into you, making you stumble a little bit as you walk.

Now getting really annoyed since he brought up what happened in class, you stop in your tracks and hit him with your notebook. “Leave. Me. Alone. You. Arse,” you speak in between slaps and Blaise just laughs as you swat him. Before you can walk away from him, he quickly snatches your notebook from your hands and your eyes grow wide. If he flipped through the pages just right, he could see all of your Draco doodles. “Hey, give that back! That’s private!”

You jump for your notebook, but with no avail since Blaise was significantly taller than you. He carelessly flips through pages, “Now what does Miss (Y/L/N) write about in class? Taking diligent notes?” With one final shove, your notebook falls onto the ground, wide open to the page where you have written Draco Malfoy in script in the margins of your notebook, so much so that it creates a border around your note in the center of the page. Blaise lets out a deep chuckle, “Ho-ho! That’s where little Miss (Y/L/N)’s thoughts have been! The Slytherin Prince!” 

Before Blaise can torment you anymore, you grab your notebook off the floor and slam it shut. Your heart is racing, Blaise is in Draco’s inner circle and if Blaise knew about your crush, that meant Draco was bound to find out. Your anxiety swells and your chest tightens. Your grip becomes iron on your notebook now, unwilling to surrender it if someone dares to snatch it away from you again. You look up at Blaise and if you look up any longer at the shit-eating grin he has on his face, you’ll start crying. As if this day could not get any worse. Blaise immediately recognizes your facial expression as a girl who has just been hurt and he instantly retaliates, regretting what he just did. “I told you that was private,” you manage to speak out before walking away briskly.

The sound of quickened footsteps follow you and Blaise voice says, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just thought we were having fun, that’s all!” he attempts to rationalize. You ignore his feeble attempt at an apology. “I won’t tell Malfoy. It’ll just inflate his ego,” he attempts to humor you.

“I would hope not. That would be the most human thing to do,” you spit at him. “Just leave me alone, okay? I think you’ve done enough damage for today.”

“(Y/N)!” Blaise calls out before you turn around to enter your next class. “Please. I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean it.”

You look at him and by the look on his face, you can tell he means it, which is surprising. You sigh, “I believe you. Just...don’t do it again. And please, don’t tell...” you don’t want to say his name in fear if you say it, he’ll come right around the corner. “...him.”

Blaise offers you a warm smile. “Your secret is safe with me.” You let go of your held breath, some tension releasing from your shoulders. “Can I just ask? What is the fascination of him? Is it his hair?” he asks, making you laugh lightly. There were many reasons you liked Draco; his personality, his smile, his drive, the cool blue gray color of his eyes, the way his nose scrunched up when he laughed. There was so much to like. Blaise notices your pregnant pause and smiles, “Never mind me asking. I have a feeling it will take too long to get your response.”

“Goodbye, Zabini,” you trail off, trying to slip into your class before he stops you yet again.

“Wait! Um,” Blaise stutters. “So, the Yule Ball is coming up soon. And I know maybe you were hoping to get asked by a certain...someone else,” he winks as you roll your eyes, “but I was wondering if you wanted to go with me?” he delivers the last part confidently, like he was giving you a sales pitch. 

You quickly thought about it. Although the chances of Draco asking you were slim to none, you still were holding out that maybe he noticed you and wanted to take you to the Yule Ball. But the proposition with Blaise sounded like fun. Blaise knew how to have a good time and you rather go with another Slytherin than with some half-blood from another house. And as selfish as it was to say, you would probably be invited to get ready with the other Slytherin girls like Pansy which meant more time to see Draco. Offering him a sweet smile you reply, “I’d like that. Now, if you’ll excuse me I need to go to class, Zabini.”

Blaise smiles and lightly blushes, but turns away, hoping you would not catch it. But you did before you slipped into your astronomy class before the professor started.

Soon enough, the Yule Ball rolled around and like you had previously thought, you found yourself in Pansy’s room, getting ready for the ball. You lightly tugged the rollers out of Pansy’s hair, helping her finish getting ready as she rambles on and on to Daphne Greengrass about their magical creatures class. A small smile tugs on your lips as you remain bystander to the conversation, enjoying the ridiculousness of the conversation. Your thoughts are disturbed when Pansy says, “Oh, wow, (Y/N). When you said you could do hair, you meant it!” She shakes her head side to side, causing her loose curls to shimmy across her shoulders. You had to admit she looked beautiful. 

You shrug, “Don’t mention it. Could you zip up the back of my dress?” You turn around, feeling the zipper close, the dress fitting around your figure tighter. When you turn around, you take a look at yourself in the mirror. Iridescent green fabric clung to your body fabulously, a deep v plunging down to your chest, your dècolletage shimmering in the light. It was a stunning dress; your mom had sent it over from London. It was her dress when she went to the Yule Ball at your age. 

“You look radiant,” Daphne tells you, placing her hands on your shoulders. “Blaise is going to be drooling.” Pansy and Daphne giggle, hoping you would join in. But you just offer them a small smile in return, secretly wishing there was another boy who would be gawking over how radiant you looked. “Something wrong?” Daphne asks.

Pansy looks at your face, “Do you not wanna go to the ball anymore?”

“No!” you exclaim. “I do! I do want to go!” You calm down both the girls as they dramatically sigh. “I just did not picture myself going to the ball with Blaise,” you confess. 

The girls exchange confused expressions before looking back at you. “What do you mean? Do you not fancy Blaise?” Pansy asks.

“No! I like Blaise! He’s a charming boy, don’t get me wrong. And he’s very handsome.”

“So, what’s the problem?” Pansy asks. 

He’s not Draco, you think to yourself. But instead of that you say, “I just fancy someone else.” That was probably too much information to give to the girls, you know they would take and spread some sort of rumor, but you give them the benefit of the doubt. “This does not leave this room,” you say sternly. You extend both of your pinky fingers to Daphne and Pansy, making them pinky promise and kiss their thumbs: your ritual for making promises. 

“So...” Daphne starts. “Can we know who you do fancy then?”

Your anxiety peaks again. If you even murmured that you liked Draco, Pansy would probably loose her mind. Pansy basically called dibs on Draco when you stepped foot at Hogwarts. In all seriousness, Pansy has fancied Draco longer than you, so it just seemed inconsiderate and rude to tell her that you had feelings for the same platinum haired boy. “You’ll find out later. Besides, we should get going now,” you change the subject.

You make your way down the stairs and the winding halls of Hogwarts before arriving at a tall staircase leading to the Ball’s entrance. Your arms are linked with both Daphne and Pansy’s as you descend the staircase. Your eyes roam the floor, looking for a certain blonde haired Slytherin and you almost immediately find him. And to your surprise, his eyes have found you. Your pair of eyes burns into his, creating a tunnel vision. The orchestra that plays in the other room becomes white noise and everyone else seems to disappear. It is just you and him now. He look absolutely dashing. His suit fits him excellently and his hair is perfectly swept back. His eyes are open in wonder as he watches you descent the staircase, looking absolutely regal. This moment feels like forever and you never wanted it to end. But it sadly does when you both realize you haven’t looked at either of your actual dates to the ball. Your eyes drift away from his blue ones and they meet Blaise’s brown ones instead. He is smiling big at you which makes you laugh. When you make it down the stairs, he meets you at the bottom and grabs your hand like an absolute gentleman. “You are unearthly, (Y/L/N),” he whispers before kissing the back of your hand. 

Smiling at the compliment, you thank him. “You are not too bad yourself, Zabini.” He did look great. His suit was tailored perfectly to his tall, muscular figure and his shoes were shined so bright that you could practically see your reflection in them. 

“Shall we head in there?” he asks, offering his arm to you to hold. You smile and take his arm. But not before taking one look at Draco. He kisses Pansy’s hand gently, but as he does this, his gaze is on you the whole time and only breaks when he comes back up to look at Pansy and give her a smile.

This was going to be a long night. 

Since that night, your relationship with Blaise grew. You went from friends, to something more than friends, to boyfriend and girlfriend. You didn’t expect to end up dating Zabini after the Yule Ball, but you decided that maybe pursing something with him was more realistic than chasing after Draco. He obviously had a thing for Pansy and Pansy for him and who were you to ruin that? So you let yourself use Blaise as a distraction or someone else to focus on rather than pining over Draco. However, it did drive you mad when you would all be in Slytherin common room and you sat on the floor next to Blaise and Pansy would sit on Draco’s lap when there was plenty of room on the couch. You also did not feel bad when Blaise would make fun on Pansy having an obvious crush on him. You would hide your laugh as Blaise pulled you closer to him. 

That being said, as you got closer with Blaise, you got closer with his friends. Which meant having to face Draco and swallow your feelings. You always felt like such a poser when you were with Blaise. You knew it was wrong to date someone who genuinely liked you and you liked someone else. But you just crossed your fingers and hoped that your feelings for Malfoy would melt away and your feelings for Blaise would grow. Of course, with your luck, nothing happened. Your feelings for Draco were just solidified if anything. He was cheeky and smart mouthed, which you just loved. He kept you on your toes. Blaise wasn’t like that; he was predictable. Draco would make jokes that only you two would hear and you would laugh until your ribs shook. Blaise has never done that. But it wasn’t right to compare Blaise to Draco; it was an unfair competition. 

Regardless, you stayed with Blaise. Too afraid to break up with him and too afraid to tell Draco how you felt, you stayed in a relationship where you lied not only to yourself but to another person every day. A good person at that. Blaise was a great guy and every day you held his hand, shared a kiss, cuddled up together, you felt guilty. You were hurting him more and more with everyday. And you were hurting yourself by being in this relationship for so long. But you stayed. 

Back in a classroom, this time Slughorn’s potions class, you stood next to Pansy waiting for the class to begin. You looked across the room to see your boyfriend toss you a wink as you lightly smiled. “I love you,” he mouthed as you sighed. 

You did love Blaise. So much. But not in the way he wanted. And yet, here you were, mouthing an “I love you too” back to him, causing him to smile wide. You turn to Pansy, “So what are we supposed to be doing today? If it’s boring, I’m going to use the washroom.” Using the washroom was always code for going back to your room. 

Pansy giggled, “Today’s class should be good. I heard Slughorn has Amortentia today.” Your heart sank. Amortentia: the most powerful love potion in the world. People say that it smells different for everyone according to what they are most attracted to. “Your should be easy. Smells just like Zabini I bet,” she nudges your side as you offer a convincing smile and girlish giggle. “I’m sure I know what mine smells of...” she trails off before looking over to Draco who was too involved talking to Zabini to notice her gaze. 

Slughorn starts class, reciting off lists of potions to which Granger completes his every question without fail. You roll your eyes, “Some people are just such show offs,” you whisper to Pansy, making her laugh. You join her, causing Draco to look your way, more interested in what you were laughing at rather than the lesson Slughorn was giving. You look away from Draco and focus back on the lesson, hoping it would distract you from those familiar gray eyes. 

Hermoine talks more about Amortentia before prompting Slughorn to ask your classmates to come up at random and speak what they smell. Granger goes first and describes a horrific combination of mowed grass and spearmint toothpaste. Others go after and then Blaise volunteers to go next. “Mr. Zabini, please, go head,” Slughorn says before Blaise steps up to the small caldron and take a whiff.

“I smell...morning rain...vanilla...and jasmine,” he smiles as he finishes his sentence, looking right at you. Your heart sinks. Blaise had smelt your perfume and everyone in the class knew it. Those who were friends with him laughed as Pansy let out an ooooh. You told her to shut up with a jab to the side as she continued to tease you. 

“Miss (Y/L/N), you’ve been awfully quiet this class. How about you come up and smell?” Slughorn proposes.

You freeze. Absolutely not. There was no way you were going to get up there and smell the Amortentia. You knew exactly what you were going to smell and you were not prepared to tell the class and your boyfriend that what you were smelling was Draco Malfoy. 

“I’m fine, actually.”

“That was less of a question and more of a demand, Miss (Y/L/N),” Slughorn rephrases, earning a few laughs from Gryffindors to which you shoot them a dirty look, causing them to stop. “Well?”

You look at Slughorn and gulp. He offers you a gentle smile and you can’t deny the man any further. You sigh and slowly walk up to the caldron. You are a foot away and already the scent slaps you in the face. It almost makes you cough from how strong it is. Right next to the pot, you look down at the bubbling liquid with pink fumes evaporating from it. Closing your eyes and iInhaling deeply, you get chills. The scent makes you forget where you are. What time it is. Who is watching. It’s euphoric. It’s perfect. It’s him. The smell of musky cologne, leather polish, and green apples dance around your nose and your stomach erupts with butterflies. 

“What do you smell?” Slughorn asks, snapping you out of your daydream.

“I’m sorry?” you ask.

“What do you smell?” he repeats. 

Suddenly, you remember that you have to tell the class what you are smelling. Or who you are smelling. Once you said what you smelled, everyone would know who you were talking about. Pansy would know. Blaise would know. Draco would know. You try to think. What in the world does Blaise smell like? Can you lie about this stuff? For Merlin’s sake, what does Blaise smell like?! “Um...” you try to concoct your way out of this situation. You try to think of what your boyfriend smells like, but the scent of Malfoy is clogging every single sense. 

“Say it then,” Slughorn urges you.

“Cologne, leather polish, and green apples,” you blurt, confessing what you were most afraid of to the class. You slowly open your eyes and see the smile that was once on Blaise face quickly fall. His eyes pang with hurt and pain and your heart drops into your stomach. You wanna run over to him and tell him how sorry you were and how much you loved him, but this thing with the Slytherin prince was unshakeable. Too hurt to look at Blaise anymore, you glance at Pansy, who is just enraged. Her ears are bright red, eye locked onto you, unwavering. Her eyes dig into your soul and you can hear her saying in your head, “You’re bloody joking, right?” You don’t dare look at Draco, but in the periphery you see him just staring at you, lips parted, breathing softly, eyes burning into the back of your head. 

Slughorn notices the tension and attempts to diffuse the situation. “Alright, everyone take your seats,” he dismisses. You walk quickly to Pansy who swiftly moves away to you and toward Blaise who sits with Draco, taking up a whole table with no room for you like usual. Instead, you find yourself sitting with random Ravenclaws for the rest of class, unable to think straight about what just happened. The look on Blaise’s face was enough to have you in tears and the look of betrayal on Pansy’s face drove you mad. You spent the whole class thinking, what have I done? 

As soon as class is dismissed, you watch Blaise’s movements, wanting to catch him or Pansy after class. Pansy leaps off her chair and to the door and you quickly follow suit. “Pansy!” you call after her. “Pans, please! Please can we talk about this? Please do not shut me out!”

“Why not?” she yells back. “You lied to me! You could have told me how you felt! You knew how i felt and yet you still lied to me!” 

“I know, but I thought what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you. But I just ended up hurting you anyway and I am sorry, Pansy. I am so sorry,” you attempt to reconcile with your best friend as she fumes. 

Pansy shakes her head. “I just need space. Away from you. Can you at least respect that?” she sarcastically says. “There’s someone else you owe a bigger apology to,” she tells you before trotting away down the hall back to the Slytherin common room. 

You turn around and there stands Blaise, stoic and tall. His eyes are soft and full of so much pain. You could cry. You start to cry. “Blaise,” you croak out. “I didn't mean to hurt you. Please know that is the last thing I wanted to do. When you asked me to the Yule Ball, I thought that it would be a good way to get over Draco, but I-I don’t know what happened? Nothing happened, I guess. I value you and your friendship so much. Blaise, I love you, I’m so sorry. I thought not tell you how I really, truly felt would protect you.”

Blaise sighs, “(Y/N), I know you didn’t mean to. For Merlin’s sake, I’m not a git. I knew you still liked Malfoy.” Your eyes widen. Huh? Before you could ask every single question that flurried into your brain, Blaise stops you and says, “From that moment in the hallway during year four until now, I knew. I thought that the longer I stayed with you, I could convince you that I could love you more than he could. But I don’t think that’s true...(Y/N), I love you. What either of us did was not right and I think we just need space from each other right now.”

You shake your head. You couldn’t lose Pansy and Blaise. That would be too much. “No, I can’t lose you, Blaise. I need you,” you beg, holding onto his forearms. 

“It isn’t for forever, darling. Just for a little. I think we both a need a little space from each other right now,” he holds your face in one of his hands and you lean into his touch, soothing you almost instantly like it has done so many times before. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” You nod, him wiping away your tears before replacing it with a gentle kiss on the apple of your cheek. “Besides, I think you have to talk to someone else,” he whispers in your ear, before walking away, revealing Draco standing behind him.

Your breath hitches in your throat. His eyes burn into yours just like that night at the Yule Ball. A small smile on his lips dances as a last tear strolls down your cheek. He takes a few steps towards you and you instinctively take a few steps back. Draco looks a little hurt that you moved away from him so quickly. You gulp, not knowing what to say, what to do. Who would in a situation like this? Lightly sniffling, you wipe away your tears with the sleeve of your robe, not breaking eye contact with him. Draco opens up his mouth to say something, but then chooses not to. He closes his mouth, pressing his lips into a line, thinking of what to say. You watch him think, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he finds the right words to say. 

“Uh,” he starts. “How lo-”

“Year four,” you answer, knowing exactly what he was going to say.

He lightly laughs at how prepared you were to answer him. He nods. “I thought,” he lightly speaks, looking at you with a small smile. He is trying so hard to get you to open up to him. Or even crack a small smile at him. But that seemed really impossible right now. The two people who you cared about more than anything just told you they needed time away from you. You felt like an awful person. Although you should be in Draco’s arm right now, stroking his hair, kissing his lips, telling him how happy you were, you were standing four feet away from him, a shaking mess, tears still flowing from your eyes. “Here,” he reaches into his pocket and offers you a handkerchief. 

“Thanks,” you mumble, accepting his token, blotting your eyes with the green silky cloth. You blow your nose into it, loudly. You look at him, watching his reaction, wondering if you should return a snotty handkerchief. “I...I can wash it for you.”

He chuckles, “Don’t worry about it. Keep it if you need it.” You smile and tug it away in your bag. Silence falls over you two again. “Can I stand next to you?” he asks permission, knowing how fragile you are right now. You nod and he slowly makes his way towards you, stopping about three inches away from you. Your breath hitches in your throat when you look up and see the proximity of your faces from each other. “May I hold you hand?” he asks, you shaking your head yes slowly. With that, he grabs your left hand in his large hand, pressing yours flat against his before intertwining the fingers. It makes you smile softly which makes his heart flutter at your excitement. Draco so desperately wants to hug you, squeeze you, kiss you. But he knows he needs tread lightly. “I wanted to take you to the Yule Ball,” he confesses as he looks at your hands intertwined.

Your head shoots up and your eyebrows furrow. “You did?” you ask, not believing him. He shakes his head yes. You pause. This made no sense. “Then why didn’t you ask me?” you ask.

Draco sighs. “I didn’t know you well. Zabini said he wanted to ask you. I stepped back.” So much has happened today you cannot wrap your brain around what has just been said. “But now...I know you better. And now that you and Zabini are no longer...” he trails off, looking up at you with those chilling blue eyes that make your knees weak and heart putty. 

You want to scream yes. Wrap your arms around him. Kiss him. Hard. Breath in his scent that has haunted you for nights on end. Finally, he was yours. You were his. But that would not be right. It wouldn’t be fair to Blaise. Or Pansy. Or you. Or Draco. You needed time. “Draco...” you say, breathily.

“Yes?” he asks, eyes so bright and shimmering with so much hope and longing. Merlin’s beard, he wanted to kiss your tear stained cheeks and hold you close, bodies becoming one. “Is something wrong?” he asks, worry creeping into his words, his free hand that isn’t holding your hand, cups your cheek. “Please tell me. I don’t want to wait any longer. I can’t wait any longer.” 

His words make your heart break, knowing that you needed to wait longer. Just a little bit longer. “Draco...” you repeat, the tears welling back up in your eyes, slowly dripping own your cheek, but Draco is quick to wipe them away. “I...” you start, but your voice fails you. 

“Take your time,” he breathes. Oh, how he was so right. 

“I need time,” you repeat after him. 

“Yes, take your time. Breathe,” he says, thinking that what you are saying is applying to just now. 

“No, Draco,” you tell him, reaching up to his wrist, pushing his hand away from your face. “I need time. To process this. Blaise, Pansy...us...I need time.”

His eyes fall and the once happy expression on his face is fading fast. But he knows that you were right. It would be too fast. Too much for the both of you. You both needed time to think, recover, and come back to each other.

“And I will wait for you,” he reassures you, both of his hands cupping your small ones. “If I waited this long already, I can wait a little while longer.”

It’s like he knew exactly what to say. His words make you smile softly and you feel just a little bit better. Your smile makes me him smile. So you just stand there, your hand in his two large ones, smiling at each other. He places a tender kiss on your knuckles and then another to your forehead. His actions make your heart flutter, knowing that if this is what a relationship with Draco was like right now, you were in for a treat. You whisper a weak thank you and he shakes his head, laughing that you would thank him for something like this.

“Now go get some rest, darling,” he presses his forehead against yours and you flutter your eyes closed, loving the feeling of him being so close to you. It felt so good to finally have him next to you. You pull away, give him a gentle smile, and start to walk back to the Slytherin common room. 

Draco watches you walk away, down the hall. In his head, he thought to himself, I can wait a little longer. Because you are worth waiting for.  

#draco #draco imagine #draco malfoy #draco x female reader #draco x you #draco malfoy imagine #draco x oc #draco oneshot #draco malfoy oneshot #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy fanficiton #harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter imagine #potter imagine #draco x blaise #blaise zabini #pansy parkinson #draco malfoy x female reader #draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader

[bunnimew]

5 Times Pitch Used Terrible Pick Up Lines and the 1 Time It Kinda Worked

Fandom: Rise of the Guardians Pairing: Jack Frost/Pitch Black Tags: Fluff, Crack, Pick Up Lines, Post-Movie, 5+1, rating for themes, Pitch Black is a ridiculous man, Jack Frost you little shit Rating: T Words: 1884 Summary: Does what it says on the tin.

For RotG Bingo 2021: Terrible Pick-Up Lines On AO3 Here.

1

Jack hadn’t seen Pitch since the nightmares dragged him away.

The image was never far from his mind. The panic, the despair. And the children were so carefree now that Jack began to wonder if the Boogeyman would ever return.

Which is what made it such a shock when he finally heard that voice again, that silky smooth tone Jack thought locked away in his past, out of the literal darkness.

“If you were words on a page, you’d be fine print.”

Jack gripped his staff on instinct and spun to face his opponent before he realized that wasn’t an insult at all.

That was a pick-up line.

Pitch Black had just laid a pick-up line on Jack. Frost. One of the Guardians.

What.

The shock was so complete that all the fight melted out of Jack and left him reeling in confusion. Pitch’s lines were meant to sting, right? They weren’t supposed to be–

“Did you just call me fine?” Jack had to ask. Just to make sure.

Pitch’s expression remained smooth and suave, but his body, what little of it was solid, began to waiver and… was the Nightmare King fidgeting?

“Of course, Jack,” he said. “Surely you know how appealing you are?”

Jack nodded. He did. He definitely did. “Surely you know how weird it is that you said it?”

Pitch tilted his chin up, straightening his spine and assuming a very carefully composed stance. He looked uncomfortable as fuck. “It’s not that strange, Jack. If you’ll recall, it’s not the first… offer I’ve made you.”

That was a fair point, and Jack almost gave it to him. “Taking over the world and taking me to bed aren’t exactly the same thing, Pitch.”

His eyes widened in feigned surprise. Pitch leaned forward just enough to make Jack feel his height, and then he said, “Aren’t they, though?”

He vanished into the dark before Jack could come up with a good reply.

2

“Kiss me if I'm wrong. But dinosaurs still exist, right?”

This time, Jack was less surprised. Surprised, yes, but Jack didn’t jump into a defensive stance or anything, which was good for his sense of pride.

Instead, he thought about what Pitch actually said. Dinosaurs did not exist, and that was one of the saddest facts Jack knew. “These are supposed to be Pick-Ups, not Put-Downs. What are you doing?”

Pitch didn’t miss a beat. He turned his head coyly to the side and made himself look very unassuming. “You know, I’m actually terrible at flirting. How about you try to pick me up instead?”

That was… a pretty good line, if Jack were honest. Unfortunately, fraternizing with the enemy was frowned upon in most establishments, and also Jack was not going to reward the Boogeyman for bad behavior. “I’m not falling for it.”

“Are you sure?” Pitch looked up, all innocence. “Maybe you should check again.”

Jack snorted a laugh. He knew Pitch was witty and all, but somehow the Guardian had thought it limited to nasty insults and setting traps. Speaking of…

He looked right into Pitch’s eyes when he said. “You’re wrong, but I’m not kissing you.”

Pitch’s lips twisted, but it looked more playful than aggrieved. “Well you’re no fun.”

3

Jack skated to the edge of the lake, the one he liked to think of as home, and tipped joyously over into the soft snowbank to rest. Figure eights were a lot of fun, but figure skating was a lot of work.

“We’re not socks, but I think we’d make a great pair.”

Jack almost jumped right back out into the lake and through the ice. Instead, he used his unwillfully gained momentum to turn and smack Pitch’s shoulder for scaring him. That was no way to woo a man.

“Antarctica hit you hard, didn’t it?” he accused.

Pitch did look off-put by that, but he didn’t leave so Jack figured he was over it enough. It was only fair, too, considering the whole Antarctica thing was largely Pitch’s doing.

Jack brushed off the snowflakes he’d thrown all over himself in his panic and settled down into the bank the way he’d meant to before Pitch so rudely interrupted. “You know, you’d get further if you stopped sneaking up on people.”

Pitch looked even more offended by that. “I am the Boogeyman!”

“Yeah, so?”

Pitch tossed his head. Dramatically. Jack hid his grin. “Sneaking up on people is what I do.”

“Sneaking up on targets is what you do,” Jack corrected mildly. He stuffed one arm under his head and made sure to have a good angle on Pitch’s face for what he said next. “Sneaking up on a pull is how you go to bed lonely.”

Pitch drew back in shock, and Jack loved to see it. His eyes were wide and everything.

Jack raised his eyebrows and said, “That is what you’re trying to do, isn’t it?”

Pitch sputtered. It was hilarious. He recovered quickly, and that was fun, too. “And who are you to give me dating advice?”

Jack shrugged. “Just the guy you’re trying to date.”

Pitch walked right into that one, and he clearly knew it by the way he kept his mouth shut and looked at everything that wasn’t Jack. Finally, he licked his lips and said, “Yes, well…”

“Well?” Jack prompted. He would have sworn Pitch’s high cheekbones were looking darker than usual.

“Have a nice night,” Pitch said in a rush of breath and vanished into the shadows from whence he came.

Jack grinned. He didn’t care if Pitch was actually still there and could see. “Oh, I’m sure I will.”

4

If Jack was the kind of person to compliment his arch nemesis, he would give him props for materializing slowly this time. Was Pitch trying to learn?

All the same, the Nightmare King stopped Jack in his tracks by blocking his way with a long gray arm and a beautiful purple rose.

“I just wanted to show this rose how beautiful you are.”

Gorgeous as the rose was, that line was transparent as hell. Jack dropped his shoulders and stared at Pitch, hoping his expression was as lame as that line.

To his credit, Pitch held his ground. His face was the picture of innocent interest, maybe even with a dash of hope.

As they watched each other, waiting to see who blinked first, Pitch’s arms slowly lifted to place the rose, de-thorned thankfully, over Jack’s ear.

...Well played.

Jack tried to maintain his stare, but it was hard to stay mad when he felt pretty. That didn’t mean Pitch’s line was working; it just meant Jack liked roses. Who didn’t like roses?

Jack gathered his wits and tried to look casual when he asked, “If that’s all you wanted, then I guess your job’s done here, isn’t it?”

Pitch didn’t look upset the way Jack thought he would. His eyes were roaming over Jack’s face and the flower tucked against it in distant admiration and Jack, for the first time, really started to think Pitch might mean something by these lines he was using.

“Yes, I suppose it is,” he said as if waking from a dream. This time, when Pitch melted into the dark, he sank slowly into the shadows and it didn’t feel anything like the running away it had every time previously.

He could have taken three times as long to leave and Jack still wouldn’t have found his tongue in time to reply.

5

This time, when Pitch appeared, Jack was reclining lazily up in a tree. Which Jack would have considered his home turf, except the way Pitch dripped out from the shadow of the branch above him to hang upside down, comfortable as any bat, made him feel at a distinct disadvantage.

It was creepy, but Jack could admit it was cool, too. Pitch had style.

Jack waited patiently for the line he knew was coming.

“I'd like to take you to the movies, but they don't let you bring in your own snacks.”

Jack snorted a laugh. He couldn’t help it. And yet, after all of this, Jack could admit to feeling flattered by it, too. A snack, huh?

“Why can’t you just tell me you like me and get it over with?”

Jack hadn’t realized any part of Pitch was moving until all of it, extended shadows and everything, came to a screeching halt. “Wha–” He stuttered, and it was music to Jack’s ears. “No, That’s–I don–”

The Boogeyman didn’t know how to handle it when he wasn’t in control, but rather than lash out the way Jack feared, the way he was used to, he flailed in embarrassment and conceded all ground to Jack. That, more than anything else, told Jack what he needed to know.

“Goodbye, Frost.” Pitch said with what little dignity he could muster, and dropped right into the ground.

+1

Pitch wasn’t even a surprise this time.

Jack was in the middle of a long brick walkway, icing up the ornate lamps and decorating the bare trees on either side with snow. There were plenty of shadows to pick from, but Pitch walked over from some distance away giving Jack more than enough warning to know he was there.

Jack was tempted to interrupt him. To see if he could wrongfoot him again, get Pitch to trip over his own words and obvious desires and flee.

It would be easy. Jack could think up dozens of ways to call Pitch out before he even spoke a word.

But then Jack wouldn’t get to hear him speak a word.

And he was curious what words Pitch might speak.

“Your eyes are bluer than the Atlantic ocean,” Pitch spoke softly, poetically. He must have practised to deliver the line this well. “And I don’t mind being lost at sea”

It was worth it, Jack thought: the practice and letting Pitch say it. That smooth tongue was meant for promises on the wind and romance in every word.

Jack stared for too long and only realized when Pitch’s eyes gleamed and he took another breath.

“I wish I were a tear,” he whispered as he moved closer. His cool fingers brushed gently along the side of Jack’s face and Jack felt no fear. Pitch was telling him just what he wanted, and Jack held all the power here. “...So I could start in your eyes,” Pitch said, “live on your face…” His fingers drifted down along Jack’s jaw. He knew what Pitch was going to say before he said it, “...and die on your lips.”

But it was so much better out loud, in Pitch’s voice, than in Jack’s head.

It was Antarctica all over again, but this time Pitch was offering something whose price wasn’t Jack’s soul. It was Antarctica all over again, and Pitch was brave to come back a second time, a third time, a sixth time to risk rejection and hurt and wounds reopened that maybe only just healed.

Jack watched Pitch glow in the moonlight. Watched him take a deep breath and open his lips to speak—

“You can stop now,” Jack said, and grabbed the back of Pitch’s neck to pull him in for a kiss.

Pitch’s lips tasted just as sweet as his lines.

#TheBunni #Rise of the Guardians #rotg #blackicerotg #blackice rotg #blackice #Jack Frost #Pitch Black #Pick-up lines #Rotg Bingo #rotgbingo

[fandomscombine]

Exploding Stink Bomb

Platonic!Weasley Twins x Reader

BG: Chaos ensues when the twins steal your latest prank invention. How much worse could it be when innocent people are caught in the mess?

WC:1744

Entry for @feetoffthetable​ 's 500 writing challenge. A week late I know-sorry! Cause I lost the initial draft. (Note: Do NOT trust auto save that much) So I had to rewrite it.

The prompts are taken from Random Prompts List No. 4 and No.11. (Are in bold in the text)

4. “…Are they dead?” “I don’t know! Why don’t you ask them!”

11. “You’re being remarkably calm about this.” “Thanks, it’s the shock. Give me fifteen minutes, the screaming will happen.”

>>>MASTERLIST<<<

Fred Weasley, George Weasley and Y/n L/n, also known as 'The Pranksters Trio' of modern day Hogwarts.

It is the winter of senior year, and your stress levels are increasing by the day. NEWTS are to be held in a couple of months and you have managed to procrastinate completing your mock papers. At this rate, you would get a passing grade but in all honesty you know that wouldn’t cut it, you know your abilities. If you actually put effort in your subjects you can bump a level up.

You've made a deal with your parents that if you had completed your practice papers, you could spend the last week of the Christmas holiday with the Weasleys.

Which you are; 3 days in, 4 days left till school.

'What your parents don't know won't hurt them...' You mumble to yourself as you stir the bubbling green mixture clockwise.

See you haven't finished the potions assignment yet. Your parents thought you did last week, but in reality what you were working on was a little fantastic smelling concoction that could contribute to the twins' upcoming new joke shop merchandise lineup!

During the journey to King’s Cross, Fred had come up to you and asked if you could help brainstorm a new product that would blow people's minds away. Of course you agreed, a multitude of ideas already brewing, you would do anything to help out your friends.

That night, it was all you could think about. Naturally you are itching to get started, before the thought flies away. Pushing your potions textbook aside, you got to work. It took 18 hours of no sleep but it paid off. The product was now in your hands.

A shiny burgundy shimmering marble-like sphere. The final product was smaller than the blueprint- the amount of ingredients you had on hand in your muggle household were limited- you do a mental note on raiding the potions supply closet once back in school for dragon hide.

But when you do finally have all the resources, the sphere should be the size of a baseball.

For now, at 30% of the ideal size, this mini test sphere could stink up a small bedroom. Which is enough to do damage but also has a small enough impact that you fix if anything were to go wrong.

BAM! You knew the quiet was too good to last.

“y/n/n, my dear!” Greeted Fred, waltzing into Ginny’s room.

“Are you--” George placed his hand on the door, stopping it from slamming back to his face. “Oi! Why’d you have to kick the door so hard? You could have ruined my handsome face!” He shouted to his twin.

Dropping your quill back into the ink bottle you sighed. “Nooo, how many times do I have to tell you? I’ll be finished when I’m finished. Most likely tomorrow, the earliest.”

“Why can’t you just let US test it though?” voiced George.

“Because I came up with it and it’s the only one we’ve got!” You reasoned. “I wanna see it when it explodes!”

Right then, the boys’ eyes lit up.

“IT EXPLODES?!?!?” They exclaimed in union.

“SHIT!” It was too late to cover it up. The secret is out.

The twins shared a look, you don’t really believe in twin telepathy but in the case of your 2 best friends and mischief, they almost always are on the same page.

You are sent flying sideways off your chair and hit the air mattress. “Offph! George! Let….me….go!” With all your might, you try to push George off you but to no avail. The muscles built up during quidditch training are to his advantage.

In the other side of the room, Fred is rummaging through your trunk, eagerly looking for the mysterious and highly sought after invention.

Although he may not know what it looks like, Fred is still one of your accomplices in sneaking prank items to school, meaning he and Geroge know all the secret compartments in your trunk. As do you with their trunks.

This setup made sense, it was a precautionary method devised so that in a matter of incoming danger or when suspected of something, the others could easily get rid of any incriminating evidence.

The system is perfect! Well expect now when it backfired on you.

“AHA GOT IT!”

Your face snaps to the direction of the voice. Cursing internally, right there, raised high above Fred’s head is the prized Exploding Stink Bomb.

“WICKED!” cried George. While the twins are reveling in their success, you took the chance to push George off you and launch towards Fred.

While George was caught off guard, Fred had the few seconds in which you got up to process what was happening and sprinted towards the door.

“IMMA GET YOU FRED!”

“LET’S SEE THAT SMALL LEGS!”

“GOT YA! AHHHHH--” One moment you had your hand on Fred’s shoulder, next you felt a tug on your waist. “GEORGE LET. ME. GO”

“No can do y/n/n.”

His hold wasn’t enough to hurt you, but it was certainly tighter. “Learned from your earlier mistake eh” You teased.

“Just caught me off guard” George reasoned.

Fred walking backwards, bids his farewell. “See you Suckers!” He shouted, taking a bow. With that he disappears round the corner.

A THUD.

“Ginny!”

You and George shared a look of confusion, what was going on?

Arriving at the scene, you are not surprised to see a sneering Ginny.

“That’s what you get for going in my room!”

What you’re more surprised to see is a frantic Fred. You knew that Ginny is fully capable of being terrifying but this was all in good fun right?

Slowly George walked up to his brother. “Freddie what’s wrong?”

“The ball… it slipped”

Eyes wide, your heart starts to beat faster. “Where…?”

You barely had gotten the question out, the answer is given.

As if on cue, you hear shouts coming from your right, Ron’s room.

Ginny being the closest, beats all of you to the door. When it opened, you catch the faint bit of purple smoke before it completely clears away, no other evidence of the stink ball in sight-you smile at the result, hard work does pay off.

‘Now is not a time to be happy y/n’ you told yourself. Your gaze reached the unconscious bodies on the two beds. “Well that’s…..uhh... new...”

Here are 4 guilty looking teenagers looking at the scene of the crime.

Ginny gingerly poked Ron’s side, keeping a fair distance away just in case he jolts back. “…Are they dead?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“I don’t know! Why don’t you ask them!” George paused his pacing to point his finger at both you and Fred.

“Hey! I am not the one you had thrown the stink bomb into the room!” You said defensively. “Besides I told you to test it when I’m ready! BUT NOOOO… you two wanted it now WITHOUT EVEN KNOWING IT’S FULL CAPACITY AND RESTRICTIONS!”

“I…..I…” When George couldn’t come up with a come back, he changed tactics. Turning to Fred he challenges. “You’re being remarkably calm about this.”

Fred, who was still standing rooted at the entryway, replied. “Thanks, it’s the shock. Give me fifteen minutes, the screaming will happen.”

“What the heck happened anyway?” asked Ginny.

“Yea, I thought it was just a stink bomb that could explode!” added George.

“It is just an exploding stink bomb!”

“Then why are they unconscious?” George’s panic becomes more evident as in addition to his pacing, his voice is now an octave higher.

“I think that the stink bomb was too powerful for such a small room.” Sighing, you gestured to the closed windows. “There’s no adequate ventilation too. Must have cause them to inhale a larger concentration”

“How long will they be out?”

“I don’t know Ginny…really.” You shrug. “It could be hours, one to two at best.”

“TWO HOURS?!?” The twins say in union despite one clearly in utter distress while the other scarily unmoving.

Fred gripped his hair, placed his head in between his thighs and let out a scream that could rival a lion.

George now having lost hope of his brother functioning, took charge. “Mum is gonna be back any second now. What are we gonna do?”

“Well, first…we’re gonna check the boy’s condition again for progress” You suggest, dragging Ginny to check on hair while you check on Ron.

“Then..we’re gonna say..”

“GOT YA!” You 4 shout, finger guns at the ready.

“Wait.. WHAT?!!?? WHAT’S HAPPENING?” George looks at Harry and Ron- who are surprisingly alright and laughing their heads off, to you and GInny looking very smug.

Fred tilts his red face up to the commotion.

“YOU JUST GOT PRANKED! SAY CHESSE!” You announced, indicating to Ginny with the camera.

“Cheeseee” murmured the twins in defeat.

~

“How’d you do it?”

You knew that they would be back with questions. You keep them on the edge as you finish up your potions essay.

"You lot are predictable."

"Predictable?" George scoffed.

Tidying up the study table you continue "Mhhhmmm hmmm. Predicted that you would test it out on Ron, knew that you would try to steal it from me cause you both are very impatient- especially you Fred."

"Heyy!"

"But how did you wake up Harry and Ron?" Piped George. "We shook them but they were still unconscious!"

"Ah George ever the curious. It's simple really." You lay on the bed with hands behind your head, enjoying this moment of outsmarted the boys. "Your siblings were all very tired of been pranked so when we saw an opportunity to have you taste of your own medicine we grab them chance."

You glance at them.

"The time of you setting off the stink bomb is unknown but we were ready. I've made a nose blocker chewing gum while I was tinkering with the foul smell of the stink bomb."

"No sense of smell, no effect." stated Fred.

"Exactly, the rest I'd just improv and acting! The boys weren't actually unconscious, just a temporary numbing spell which Ginny and I reversed when we checked on them."

Sitting back up, you continued.

"What I didn't predict was how crazy you with react. I've never seen you two gone off the rails scared shirtless like that before." You admitted. "Priceless."

"And now you have a photo of it" grumbled George.

"And video too!"

"WHAT?"

Taglist [All/General]: @gruffle1

HP Taglist: @onlyfreds

#fred weasley x reader #george weasley x reader #fred and george #fred weasley imagine #george weasley imagine #fred weasley #george weasley #weasley twins #harry potter x reader #feetofthetable500writingchallenge #fandomscombine writes #fred weasley fluff #george weasley fluff #harry potter imagine #weasley x reader #ron weasley #ginny weasley

[some-kindofgnome]

Kinktober #4: Control Yourself: Bucky Barnes

In which you are incapable of controlling the weather. 

Characters: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+ please!) dom!Bucky/bratty sub!reader, discipline, spanking, choking, emotions, mentions of anxiety, aftercare

Notes: Here it is- the first Marvel fic of the month! If you’ve been loving the MHA stuff so far, I’m thrilled, and I thank you in advance for accommodating my multifandom ass. If you’re more of a Marvel person, this one’s for you!

Today’s prompt was “spanking/choking,” so... both is good. 

Kinktober Masterlist

“It’s not letting up any time soon.”

You pull the blanket a little tighter around your shoulders to ward off the chill that wafts from the frosted glass in front of you. It’s dark out there, but in the faint glow of the porch light you can see that the blizzard is unrelenting.

It’s easy to see that you will not be getting Stateside tonight.

“Dammit!”

You twist from the window and the blanket whirls behind you like a cape. You can feel cold anxiety twisting its fingers around your heart, curling its way up your windpipe. You can’t help it. You hate it when things go wrong.

“You’re doing it again.”

Bucky’s voice pipes up from the loveseat across the room. The cabin that you’re stationed in for the night is barely twelve feet by twelve feet- just enough room for a double bed, tiny kitchen, a loveseat and a rug parked in front of a big wood stove.

“Am not.”

He lifts his eyes from the book he’d been paging through before- some crumbling classic piece that neither of you had heard of- and though his gaze is soft, his jaw is set.

“Are too.”

“It doesn’t count when the situation calls for it.” Your voice breaks into the upper register as you cross a few steps back towards him, coming to stand on the edge of the rug with the blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders.

“The situation is out of your control,” he retorts. “There’s nothing you can do about the snow.”

He licks his lips and his gaze flicks over your body. There’s not much to look at, when you’re wrapped up to the chin in such a massive throw, but you can tell he’s not just checking you out. He can read you like a book, and that’s exactly what he’s doing right now.

“Sit,” he prompts, softer than before. “Might as well settle in.”

But you’re not ready to give in just yet.

“I’m allowed to feel this way.”

“I never said you weren’t.” He shifts a little in his seat, bringing his eyes back to the book and flipping forward a few pages. He always does that when he’s bored with a story; he flips forward to see if he’s got anything to look forward to.

“But you’re acting like it.”

“Sweetheart, you and I both know that I am not out to stop that. I just don’t want you to spend the whole night letting something you can’t change keep you from relaxing a little.”

You needed the rest, too. Part of the reason you were so wound up was the mission you’d come back from. Bullets flew over the fate of a heavily armoured briefcase and your getaway car was a snowmobile- just the sort of thing to fray your nerves. In the field you were iron solid. But once you were safe… it could be difficult to process sometimes.

“So you’re trying to change the way I feel. You’re trying to tell me not to be anxious anymore. You of all people should know that it’s not as simple as that.”

His eyes drag from the book again, and this time he’s agitated. Your chest thrills. One step closer to getting what you hadn’t realize you wanted, until he gave you a taste of it with his gaze.

Unfortunately, he picks up on that. He quirks a brow and narrows his eyes, looking you over again.

“I understand,” he growls with a feral edge to his voice that you’re suddenly not sure you wanted to provoke.

“It’s not that,” you snap and your cheeks heat in defense. But it’s too late. He’s already smirking, snapping the book shut and rising from the loveseat with embers smouldering in his silvery gaze.

He comes to stand in front of you, towering over you like the mountain of a man he is. He’s always leaned into a haphazard sort of lumberjack aesthetic, and that effect is amplified tenfold against the backdrop of a snowy cabin and a blazing fire. Burning wood that he chopped earlier that afternoon.

Okay, so maybe you have a thing for lumberjacks.

He growls your name with such a deep edge of baritone that it draws your attention right back to him. He’s got his stern face on. The one he always makes when you’re behaving this way. You know he’s only doing this because he knows it’s what you need- and you do need it, badly, even if you’re not ready to ask for it.

“Drop the blanket.” He growls like a drill sergeant and your body keens. You sink your teeth into your lower lip, hesitate for half a heartbeat, then release your grip on the corners of the broad knit. It slips over your shoulders and pools in a half-moon at your feet. As it draws away from your skin, it reveals the underwear you’ve got on underneath. The rest of your clothes are draped neatly by the fire, drying out from the spill you took in the wet snow.

Black bra. Black thong. Practical, for missions. But it doesn’t exactly keep you well-covered.

Bucky’s seen you in less.

“That’s better,” he rumbles. He reaches forward and takes you by the hips, stroking his thumbs over the skin just above your waistband. He reaches up and cups your cheek, tilting your face toward him. It’s warm, by the hearth, but you’re still shivering.

You’re already starting to break down.

“I’ve got you,” he coos. He leans down and kisses your forehead, the strands of his unbound hair brushing your cheek. In the next instant, he’s scooped you into his arms and he lays you face down on the bed, running one hand in and out of the curve of your spine. You tuck your knees underneath your body and push your hips up.

You know how this works. You’re ready to give in.

“I’m gonna give you five,” he grunts, already running his fingers over your ass. He slips his fingertips playfully under the edges of your underwear, snapping the elastic against your skin and making you jump. You can’t feel him behind you, but you know he’s getting excited already.

He hooks two fingers into the waistband of your panties and pulls them down over your ass. He never takes them all the way off; he only pulls them down enough to expose you, for extra humiliation.

And if that’s not enough, he draws his palm over your bare ass, and you can hear him rumbling his appreciation. He’s never actually told you this before but based on the grabbing and the slapping and the pinching- sometimes in public- your ass is one of his favourite parts of your body.

He draws his hand back and pauses, just to torture you that much longer.

“Count for me, sweetness.”

His palm- flesh, not metal, thank God- connects with your backside, sending a thrill of pain through your whole body. The sting sets in like an afterthought and you whimper, tucking your hands under the pillow that you’ve buried your face into.

“One.” The word is muffled, but it’s enough for him, and he soothes your ass with another delicate stroke of his palm before he’s pulling it back again.

Smack.

“T-two.”

This time, his palm connects with the tender spot where your backside meets the back of your thigh, and your hips jolt forward in surprise. Your spine goes concave and you push your chest into the mattress, squeezing your eyes shut.

He was right about this. You’re in agony, but at least you’re not thinking about the snow.

“You with me, sweetness?” He runs his hand up your spine, fingers curling gently around the back of your neck and making you groan.

“’M good,” you promise. You lift your chin and you can hear him smirking over your shoulder.

“That’s my girl.”

His metal hand slips under your left arm, fingers dancing up your sternum before they close around your throat. You choke on a breath but quickly realize that he’s not squeezing. Not yet, anyway.

“Almost there,” he promises. His flesh hand slides down your back again and lifts away from your skin. “Count of three, sweetness. One…”

He smacks you on two and you were fucking ready for it this time. But that doesn’t stop your body from jerking forward into his metal palm, sucking in a panicked breath and loving the way the air seems to rush past his fingers. They tighten, restricting your breath just a little and you let your eyes fall shut.

“Three,” you gasp, not even hiding it anymore. You’re blissed out. You don’t care. He knew he could do this to you.

“Almost there,” he repeats, holding you fast. His metal fingers tighten just a little more and your pulse is racing beneath his smooth thumb.

The next one comes hard, relentlessly so, and you cry out hoarsely, letting tears blur your vision. You want to be tough for him but it hurts too much and you’re feeling delicate and he always knows how to unlock it when you need a cry. Your feelings get bound up inside you so tightly sometimes- he’s the only one who can unravel them.

“One more,” he murmurs, and he’s stroking your back with his flesh hand in broad circles, loosening his grip on your throat as you choke and gasp for breath. “You can do it, sweetness. My strong girl. You can handle one more.”

“D-do it,” you plead, because he’ll worry if you don’t say something. He stays where he is for a minute, whispering softly to you. Then he shifts and lifts his hand. And you wait.

Smack.

“Five,” you sob, and then you’re collapsing onto the mattress and he’s collapsing beside you, pulling your body into his chest and wrapping all his limbs around you. He holds you tight and strokes your hair as you cry, letting the stress of the mission, the weather, and everything else wash over you.

He doesn’t say anything to you, just holds you, shushing you quietly when the sobs wrack your body too tightly to let anything else in.

Once your cries have quieted into soft little hiccups, he kisses your forehead and pulls away just enough to see your tear-soaked face.

“Better?” He asks, so tenderly it’s hard to imagine he had you by the throat just a few minutes ago. But that’s the nature of your relationship. He knows how to take you apart, but he’s the only one who can put you back together.

You cast your gaze over his face. He looks considerably more relaxed than before, too, and you let a sleepy smile stretch your features. You snuggle in close, as he draws the blankets over you. He casts another glance at the fire- whatever he sees, he decides it can wait, because he rolls onto his side and pulls you back against his chest, draping a heavy arm over your torso.

“Better,” you sigh, letting your eyes fall shut. You sleep through the night.

When you wake up in the morning, the storm has passed. The sun beams through the dusty cabin, splashing brilliant gold across the bedspread.

#bucky barnes/reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky/reader #bucky barnes/you #bucky barnes #reader insert #kinktober #jbbKinktober2020 #marvel #mcu #mcu fanfiction #marvel kinktober #marvel fanfic #readerfic

[codename-adler]

Dear Tumblr toxicity,

Hi. Adler here. We need to talk.

- TW: mental health issues, depression, bipolar disorder, self-harm, homophobia, transphobia, coming out, xenophobia, islamophobia, racism, implied sexual content, rape, non-con, addictions, abuse, parental negligence, depictions of violence, swearing (please message me kindly if I forget anything)

- What prompted this message: The release of Skam France S7 teaser (emphasis on teaser, will get into that below)

- Where I’m coming from: I will talk from the pov of a white, cis and queer 22-years-old woman (she/her); this is the pov that affects my experiences and the opinions I will share below; but my message comes from a place of deep hurt, and love

- What this is about: My goal is to share a recurring experience that has hurt me in order to spread a message of awareness, maturity, peace and love

- Central content: Skam France, Skam Wtfock, and Skam/remakes in general

From now on I will assume people have enough information for me to talk about the topics without explaining every plotline/character. There are plenty of wiki pages to help you out and I will gladly answer any (respectful) questions asked if a plothole bothers your comprehension of my message. I’m only making these assumptions in order to alleviate the text.

January 9th, 2021.

The francetv slash YouTube channel releases an unexpected teaser video for an equally unexpected seventh season Skam France. The video features Tiffany, a white, cis female teenager, going into labour from denial pregnancy just after winning what appears to be a gymnastics championship. Overall, the video and its release are very dramatic.

The character of Tiffany, also called Tiff, was previously seen on season 6 of Skam France as a bully who persecuted the main character, Lola, both at school and on social media. Outside of this characterization, nothing is known about her. It is majorly accepted that Tiff is not a liked character; she rather poses as one of the antagonists of Lola’s arc.

Now you know the details of what happened, in the most objectively possible way. 

Now I’ll speak for myself.

Before I went digging around for people’s reaction, here is what I initially thought of this video.

1) Shock: I thought Skam France was over, so... Big, big shock.

2) Excitement: I hold this web series very close to my heart. It has gotten me through depressive episodes, anxiety attacks, coming out to my best friend. To see this new development? It couldn’t bring me more joy.

3) Curiosity: I recognized Tiff immediately. I was intrigued as to what would happen to her to set off a new season in true Skam Fr fashion. As soon as she started gripping her stomach, I knew she was pregnant and wasn’t aware of it. Big, big surprise here again.

4) Numbness/Overthinking: As I stared at my screen, motionless, my mind went off. What did it mean? How did she not know? Who is the father? Do we know him? Will the baby survive? Where are the other characters? Will Lamifex be present? What? How? When? Why? Who?

5) Disappointment: No, I did not like Tiff one bit in S6. Yes, I sincerely wished for a season on either Jo (ambiguous and funny teenage girl, cis + white), Sekou (seemingly neurodivergent teenage boy, cis + black), and my favorite, Max (mysterious and grave teenage boy, trans + white) So why Tiff? It felt to me like a missed opportunity, but I did not lose hope.

So, these were the five stages of my emotional process. And then I made the terrible mistake to go look for the fans’ reaction. I didn’t even look at the YT comments, I didn’t go on Instagram, I went directly here on Tumblr. Why? I’m still asking myself that. From S1 to S6 of Skam Fr, I kept my love for the show to myself and only looked at ig and video edits. I tried once, and only once, to look it up on Tumblr, and was greeted by fervent agressivity, disrespect and hate. Why did I ever forget that after watching the S7 teaser? I still don’t know.

The reactions on this platform were wild. People are furious (I get that). People are disappointed (I get that). People are anxious (I get that). People are also verbally agressive, insensitive, hateful, disrespectful and bullies. I don’t get that.

Comments along the lines of “What she gonna do with a fucking baby?”, “Are we gonna watch the baby do nothing all fucking season?”, “Wowwww, teenage pregnancy, so new and relatable!” (note the sarcasm made in the comment here), “Who gives a shit about Tiff?”, etc. 

And then all the mistakes Skam Fr ever made flooded back onto the feed. The wlw misrepresentation, the whitewashing, the overdramatization, the dubious sex scenes between minors, all of it.

Let’s take a break here. Do I condone these mistakes? Nope. Am I a white-bully apologist? Nope. Did I forget every horrible action Tiff has made in the past? Nope. She manipulated a whole school against Lola, she profited from Lola’s mother’s death, she bullied her, harrassed her, pushed her deeper into mental distress. Tiff was a despicable character that I never once liked. The way she was played by the actress made it clear that Tiff was not intended to be a good guy. If I could replace her as the main of S7, I would, in a heartbeat. I’d choose, as I said, Jo, Sekou or Max.

Skam France deeply lacks diversity and made mistakes when attempting to diverse the issues represented. This is not an opinion, it’s a fact. 

Poc representation is very, very low. Only one season has a woc of Islam beliefs as mc (Imane, S4) with poc entourage/family. Only 2 other characters not related to Imane were poc (Sekou and Sarah, S1-S2). These 2 characters were very in the background and served to further the mc’s plotline, they had no real content. (I am not a poc, and so my opinion does not matter here. If you are not poc, your “opinions” don’t matter here, this point is not for you to debate. These are facts.)

While I do not particularly find the wlw representation bad, I do understand how it hurts/bothers other queer women. From my perspective, the bar was very low regarding my expectations of the Lola/Maya pair (none of them died *yay* they had a happy ending *yay* they were not typically overfeminized or overmasculinized *yay* Lola  and Maya were respectful of each other, understood each other, accepted each other with all their flaws and their beauty *yay* I truly believed in their love and it gave me confidence and hope *yay* I ould really go on but this is not my main point so I’ll stop here) Regardless of my opinion on Mayla, I understand that to some queer women, it was bothering/hurtful. (If you are anything other than a woman / wlw, this point is not for you to debate. Keep your “opinions” to yourself, it does not matter here. These are facts.)

Like every remake of the original Skam where the S4 was given to Sana/Imane, the Muslim community was not represented at its best, at its most beautiful and respectfully. The character of Imane, although she is my favorite girl of the series, was not portrayed in a way that respected the majority of the Muslim community. (If you are anything other than Muslim, this point is not for you to debate. Our opinions do not matter here. These are facts.)

And so the same goes for the portrayal of sexual assault and child pronography in S2, of mental illness and homophobia in S3, of disabilities in S5, of addiction, transphobia, self-harm and neurodivergence in S6. Again, if you are not part of these communities, your opinions do not matter on these issues. These are facts that are not up for debate.

In other words, Skam France, as well as the original Skam, Skam Wtfock, Skam España, and probably all the others I haven’t watched in their entirety, are NOT perfect shows. They (maybe) tried their best to portray issues of the younger generations that are ugly, shameful, taboo, hard-to-swallow-pills. Of course they made mistakes. Of course they have to be held accountable. Of course they can and should do better. Of course it must be spoken about.

Here is my problem.

The so-called “fans” shamelessly SHITTING on the WHOLE show because of ONE TEASER TRAILER. (btw, this is where I get angry)

I am not talking about the fans making fun of the show and this season’s premise like “Better MCs than Tiff for S7: a romance between the car that almost hit Lucas S3 and the car that hit Arthur S5, or the school’s nurse, or Imane’s dad, or Elu’s rabbit” (that shit’s funny and I’d watch all of these).Or the joke about Wtfock and Skam Fr shaking hands while signing the same contract to disappoint the fans with white MCs (it’s funny cuz it’s trueeeee).

I am not talking about the fans criticizing the producers’ choice of Tiff as MC. There is a difference between shitting on issues and adressing/discussing them. I WANT to talk about how this season’s issue would have been so much better if a woc, specifically a black woman, had been the MC, because black women and doctors are a whole different level of issue than white women and doctors. Add on top of that an unplanned teenage pregnancy? It would have been IMMACULATE. I WANT to talk which wlw couple was better represented, Mayla or Croana/Crisana, and why is that. I WANT to talk about disabilities in black and poc communities. I WANT to talk about headcanons, AUs, to rectify the missed marks. I WANT to talk about our takes on seasons about Max, Sekou and Jo, instead of Tiff’s.

I DO NOT WANT TO TALK ABOUT YOUR SHITTY, NEGATIVE, UNHELPFUL, HURTFUL COMMENTS.

Just because the protagonist is white, doesn’t give you ANY right to dismiss the issue that is unplanned teenage pregnancy. This is a problem that affects countries WORLDWIDE. Do you know how many deaths are related to minors giving birth? Do you know how many babies die at birth from these pregnancies? Do you have any idea the trauma it puts you through, to go into labor without even knowing you were pregnant in the first place, and then giving birth, and then having to care for a defensless human being? The dilemma of keeping it, or giving it away? The fear that lives in every person able to give birth, that one day they’ll become pregnant, because society turns sych a shameful look to that? No matter your ethnicity, your gender identity, your sexuality, your political stance or whatever shit you bring up to justify your disgraceful and downright degrading comments, YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO SAY THAT A MINOR GIVING BIRTH IS NOT AN ISSUE. 

You think the topic has been covered plenty before? Yeah, because shows like “16 and pregnant” and “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant!” are such good examples and show the reality with such an objective point of view! 

Bullshit. Teenage pregnancy is still a taboo, it still kills, and people are still morons about it. 

“Well I guess everybody is secretly pregnant now!” No, Jessica, but you wouldn’t know about it, would you? Because I wouldn’t tell you shit if you were my “friend” and I was going through it. The whole message of all the Skams is not that it presents super relatable issues of teenagers, although it is a big topic of the show. They present some issues that affect the youth in an authentic light, but that’s not it.

Tous les gens que tu rencontres mènent un combat dont tu ignores tout. 

Sois indulgente. Toujours. x x x

//

Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about.

Be kind. Always. x x x

THAT’S THE MESSAGE. THAT’S THE WHOLE POINT OF THE SHOW.

And you all missed it.

All of you making dead baby jokes and death threats, degrading people who give birth, shaming teenagers for their pregnancies... Listen to yourselves.

“Well she deserves it, she was such a bitch!” No, Michael, you shit stick. Let’s rewind a bit for you, yeah? It was a GOD DAMN TEASER. We literally know nothing! Nothing at all! Why are y’all getting mad when we saw 3:25 minutes representing a whole ass season! Listen to yourselves. Y’all judge so fast for people pretending to love Skam and its authenticity and its motto.

You say Tiff is irredeemable?

Emma cheated on her boyfriend.

Manon lied and manipulated her friends.

Lucas was homophobic and prejudiced agaisnt mentally ill people.

Imane was homophobic too and went behind her friends’ back to get what she wanted.

Arthur cheated on his girlfriend too.

Lola dragged Elliot down with her in her addiction, lied, was verbally abusive, etc.

ALL THE MAINS ARE PROBLEMATIC.

Any guess why?

BECAUSE THEY ARE TEENAGERS. THEY ARE STILL GROWING AND LEARNING.

Yet we still loved them all. 

So don’t you dare tell me that Tiff deserves this, that her baby deserves to die, that teenage motherhood is irrelevant. Motherhood is not a curse in the first place, nor is it something to wish to inflict upon anyone. Motherhood is different for every single person and nobody except the person living with it can have an opinion on that. We don’t even know if the baby survived, for God’s sake!

There is no excuse for this kind of behavior..

It makes me so angry. Women are discriminated against in a fandom I thought was safe, again and again and again. 

I have to stop here because, well, this is just too much. There is much wrong with Skam (the original AND all the remakes), but there is even more wrong with the fans. I’m done.

You don’t support the show anymore? Fine, then don’t watch it! If I really am wrong, the number of viewers will go down and the show will die, just like you wished. There is no need to be vicious about it. 

I hope y’all are proud of your misogyny. 

Sincerely,

Adler.

#skam france #skam fr #skam fr s7 #fandom toxicity #toxic fandom #toxic fans #intersectionality #elu #skam elu #skam #mayla #skam mayla #lamifex #imane bakhellal #lucas lallemant #elliot demaury #lola lecomte #emma borges #manon demissy #arthur broussard #david hourregue