#and them both dealing with the pressures of a legacy

[goooofy-goooober1121]

Saja Boys Headcanons

Aka I give them real names, personalities, and possible backstories 😋

Ft. Abby Saja, Romance Saja, Baby Saja, and Mystery Saja!

Requests are open here!!

Reblogs are always appreciated!

DISCLAIMER: I’m not a kpop fan nor am I Korean LMFAO. so if I get anything inaccurate or incorrect please let me know so I can fix it!!!

Abby Saja

Name and Backstory

- when selecting his name I wanted to look into the meaning of the name combos!

- after quite a bit of googling (bc my ass is NOT Korean) I chose Kang-Dae, meaning “mighty and strong”

- take a wild guess as to why I chose that lmfao

- ironically though as for the backstory I envision for him, he was NOT always mighty and strong 💔

- consider: Abby (who I will be referring to as Kang-Dae) was actually a very sick and frail young man in joseon-era Korea. I’m thinking he was born into a family whose business relied largely on physical labor for income, like farmers. I do not envision him having belonged to a wealthy family, and he gives off “only son in a house of daughters” vibe.

- none of his sisters are sick; that’s because he has a sex-linked genetic disorder passed almost exclusively (except for in cases of genetic mutations in female children) from mother to son. It’s a long explanation but to put it shortly: the mother contributes the X chromosome to her child. Because biological males only have one X chromosome, they are more susceptible to genetic disorders caused by a mutation in that inherited chromosome than biological girls; this is because girls have two X chromosomes and if one is mutated, there is a better chance that the other healthy X chromosome can compensate.

- I’m thinking he’s got something like Duchenne muscular dystrophy.

- ANYWAYS enough with the biology lesson

- Joseon-era norms are primarily based on Confucianism, in which men were appointed and expected to be the heads of the house; they were expected to be strong and responsible for the family’s livelihoods.

- Now, Confucianism also stresses the importance of family and filial piety. A culture centered around Confucian philosophy would most definitely put a lot of pressure on someone chronically ill and male because suddenly he’s gotta deal with male standards AND being the foundation of his family AND since this is like anywhere from 1392-1897 AD, he probably would’ve died young because again, CHRONICALLY ILL.

- add that to him being the oldest and only son in his family (he probably had like five sisters LMFAO) and he’s cooked.

- and that is where the root of his shame came from: never feeling like he was good enough to take care of his family and feeling like the legacy would die with him.

- So! Gwi-Ma sees one (1) vulnerable man and says “hey wanna make a deal” and of course Kang-Dae is desperate and crumbling under the weight of shame for who he is and the expectations he must uphold and accepts the pact.

- AND BAM. Abby is born.

- I imagine his fatal flaw, however, was that he began overcompensating for the time he lost. Threw himself into so much work that while yes, he did get the recognition, he was blinded by both his job and the admiration for his sudden recovery and work ethic and physique and ended up leaving his family and other loved ones behind.

- I think his storyline would revolve around how some people are part of the family, but that doesn’t make them family— like how a parent can support their child financially however much they like, but they’re not really a parent if they don’t act out the role of one.

- something something blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb

- tldr: Abby’s real name is Kang-Dae. He was chronically ill and physically weak in the joseon era. Because of the philosophy around men and women’s roles at the time, he felt a lot of shame at being unable to fulfill what was expected of him and support his family due to his illness, so he made a deal with Gwi-Ma for strength and health. After making the deal and making a miraculous recovery from his illness, he threw himself into work and got a huge ego from all the praise and adoration thrown his way from others; this, however, did not save him from losing sight of his family and leaving them behind in favor of the strangers who fed his pride.

Personality

- To me, Kang-Dae gives off the energy of both Johnny Bravo and Kronk 💀

- LISTEN

- maybe I do love himbos okay

- He’s got that Johnny Bravo-esque quality of always trying to impress someone, especially by making a show of his body and strength, and that Kronk-y side of him that’s like… he’s kinda a meathead LMFAO.

- But he can be a sweetheart when he gets past all his pride and ego.

- However, deep down he most certainly feels shame for having prioritized strangers over his family, and partially still feels ashamed of his body even after it got all strong and stuff (because as someone who has myself struggled with body image issues, that shit doesn’t go away completely, even when you do physically improve).

- Unironically posts thirst traps

- obsessed with protein

Romance Saja

Name and Backstory

- For his name I’m thinking Seo-Jun, meaning ‘auspicious’ and ‘handsome’.

- Lowkey? I feel like as a human he would have been some form of nobility. He’s got that rich boy feel to him yk

- I feel like his big issue was his greed/lust (and not necessarily in the sexual way, more like in the ‘constantly desiring something’ way; though I do headcanon that he was kind of a fuckboy LMFAO)

- So picture this: wealthy, kinda spoiled nobleman Seo-Jun who is slave to his greed (hoarding of material possessions such as money) and lust (intense desire to obtain things, even to the detriment of yourself or others). He falls in love with another human who doesn’t reciprocate. He can’t understand why— he has so much to his name, after all. All that power, status, money; he can have anything he wants except for the one person he’s in love with.

- And thus comes his doubt. His shame. He has never really been told no before, nor has he failed to obtain something he wanted. He starts doubting his worthiness, losing his sense of worth in himself and the world around him.

- And here comes Gwi-Ma, who promises him very specifically “I can grant you love”— but does not specify what type of love he means.

- Seo-Jun, of course, is like “hell yeah brother” because of course he thinks Gwi-Ma means the person Seo-Jun is in love with. And thus the demon we know as Romance Saja is brought into existence.

- He gets with his crush, but plot twist: Gwi-Ma is a treacherous bitch as was like “lmao watch this”.

- Gwi-Ma did not specify what kind of love Seo-Jun would receive; while he’s with his crush, Seo-Jun is loved for his money, his body, his status, his possessions— but never for him.

- and Seo-Jun? Seo-Jun wants that romantic, deep love more than anything else in the world— but no matter what he does, he simply can’t get it and it just makes his shame and insecurity grow (thus empowering Gwi-Ma’s grip on the world, too).

- he brings his lover flowers. Buys them the finest silks, tells them the sweetest words, bends himself backwards for them— but still, he is never, ever loved the way he wants to be.

- and that’s how he lives out the rest of his time as a human: bleeding for a romance that never comes about.

- tldr: Seo-Jun (Romance Saja) is essentially Korean Jay Gatsby. Spoiled rich boy who falls in love with someone who doesn’t reciprocate. Spirals into “why am I not good enough for them????? How can I be good enough for them?????” and subsequently makes a deal with Gwi-Ma who is promising love. Gwi-Ma does a little trolling though and because there’s multiple types of love, Seo-Jun is thus never loved romantically by his significant other, more often than not experiencing affection only for his possessions, body, and status.

He never achieves that true love he craves.

Personality

- a YEARNER

- wholly and completely kins Jay Gatsby

- gets really cheesy with the romance stuff.

- starved for that affection that was once denied by someone he thought was the love of his life; therefore he gets a lot of teeny crushes on anything that shows him affection.

- Thinks he’s an absolute Casanova (steals cringe lines from instagram pickup artist pages)

- “Are you 🤨… open minded? 🥰” (if you get this reference ily)

- Subconsciously a people-pleaser. Cannot stand being ignored for more than ten minutes at a time.

- kinda spoiled lol. Rich boy syndrome.

- collects shiny things off the ground.

Baby Saja

Name and Backstory

- I’m naming him Min-Soo. There’s a couple interpretations depending on how you write it but the interpretation I’m going for is “gentle” (Min) and “clever” (Soo)

- Gentle, of course, pertaining to his outward appearance and clever pertaining to (my headcanon) his cunning/intelligence

- Why? Because I like to think he was a pansori performer and poet. Probably wrote all his songs/poetry himself, and made a pretty good living off of it.

- he was mainly revered for his youthfulness and the juxtaposition of it against his skillful and clever writing/completely unique performance style (cute guy, deep ass voice)

- BUT

- his greatest fear would be in becoming irrelevant. I feel like he fed a lot into the “lol i have a baby face” and didn’t initially consider what would happen to his relevance when he grew out of that appearance; not until suddenly he noticed the signs of maturity catching up to him. That’s when it hit him like a truck.

- so his ultimate shame would stem from his aging and the idea in his head that he isn’t *actually* good— people just think the contrast between him and his art is humorous. It’s kinda like a form of imposter syndrome.

- So Min-Soo’s deal with Gwi-Ma is eternal youth. But here’s the thing: goals change. Standards change. Acts get old.

- and after a while, the whole “oh haha baby face deep voice” thing fades away from the charm. Maybe someone new comes along. A different style of performance, maybe.

- And Min-Soo? Min-Soo is stuck being what he’s always been.

- the fear he had about becoming irrelevant due to his aging? Now he’s irrelevant because he couldn’t change.

- tldr: singer-poet Min-Soo has built his career off of looking cute but sounding much more mature/serious. when he starts aging, he freaks and spirals; imposter syndrome hits hard and he starts thinking things like “the only reason people like me is because of how much I contradict myself— I’m not actually talented” and makes a pact with Gwi-Ma for eternal youth to hold on to his act/notoriety. However, times change, and so do the opinions of the masses. Min-Soo fades into obscurity anyways, not because he changed, but because he couldn’t.

Personality

- in Every screencap of him I’ve seen of him he’s either :3, :O, or >:3

- I think he can be pretty playful/mischievous/childish in behavior, yet simultaneously keep up that distant/nonchalant/cool personality.

- I also imagine him to be pretty clever and cunning

- pisses off Jinu to no end because he only does things when *he* wants to do them.

- Hates himself for his stubbornness back before the modern day. I think that’s where his distant demeanor comes from; even though he knows how to act towards the public (such as how he acts as a maknae for the Saja Boys, all cute and silly and such), he internally feels like he needs to overcompensate for how much he tried to hold on by now not attaching himself to anything at all.

- Paints his bandmates’ nails.

- “mew 🥰 I told you we needed more glitter.👹”

- unironically does enjoy the comfy and looser clothing he’s made to wear.

- curses like vivziepop wrote him (/hj)

- master of pranks. REALLY good at acting innocent about it too.

- knows he’s adorable and uses it to his advantage.

- (he’s my bias and I love him to death)

- (please one chance I’m BEGGING YOU 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏)

Mystery Saja

Name and Backstory

- I’m gonna call him Dae-Shim, meaning “great depth” because he’s got a lot of possible depth to his character

- I’m actually kind of having trouble with him because there’s quite a few directions I could go with him

- To me, he’s giving this kind of eccentric, ‘weird kid in school’ vibe.

- So here’s what I thought up: as a human, Dae-Shim was a scholar. He was regarded as odd and eccentric and suspiciously quiet by his peers, mostly because he spent most of his time in his head more often than not, thinking about and reviewing everything he’d learned during the day.

- In Joseon-era Korea, scholars were held in high, HIGH regard. Called Seonbi, they were highly respected by the people and often studied history, literature, and philosophy alongside Confucian teachings.

- I like to imagine Dae-Shim was one of these Seonbi, or at least in training to become one.

- But he craved knowledge. Hated when someone knew more than him. Held himself to the impossibly high standard of “I must always be the smartest in the room”.

- whenever he didn’t know something, he felt ashamed. He’d spiral. He’d be like “all this work and I still know nothing.” And just berate himself like “bro I’m so stupid” (he recited an entire philosophical essay by memory two minutes prior).

- At his core, his academic hubris was his downfall. When he goes blind later on (probably due to some sort of infection like scarlet fever, meningitis, or just a simple eye infection that got out of control; he became more susceptible to illness because he overworked himself to death trying to know everything), he freaks out.

- he’s barely in his twenties, and there’s still so much to learn and so much he wants to do. Now he can’t read or see anything anymore and it feels like his world is ending.

- Therefore his deal with Gwi-Ma was to have all the knowledge in the world — and it ultimately drove him kinda crazy (thus why he feels the need to bark at people 💀).

- he’s unhinged, but in the quiet, kinda terrifying kind of way.

- Before getting yoinked into the demon world, he spends the rest of his days as a human locked away in his room, alone, just progressively getting more and more insane.

- also, I imagine him having a kinda Toph-vision thing going on. If he knows everything in the world, then he knows positioning and what things look like despite being blind (though I think they’d appear more as images in his head and premonitions than actual vision, if that makes sense). Do not be fooled, he’s still blind as fuck.

- tldr: Dae-shim has dedicated his life to his studies. He cannot take it when someone knows something he doesn’t, because in his head, that means he’s not intelligent or capable enough to meet his own ridiculously high standards. He studies for hours on end at the detriment to his health; he catches a sickness that leaves him blind and that’s when he snaps because how is he supposed to be great if he can’t even see the texts he’s supposed to be studying? So he makes a deal with Gwi-Ma for all the knowledge in the world and subsequently loses his mind because having everything everywhere all at once crammed into your brain does that to you.

Personality

- like I said, unhinged as all hell

- it’s not really his fault though. If you were also exposed to every bit of knowledge everywhere at once in the world you’d also be a little (a lot) insane

- very quiet. People don’t really notice he’s appeared until he’s two inches away from them like “hello. 😐”

- doesn’t talk much and has a lot of trouble expressing himself.

- Has a poor concept of personal space but can barely stand being touched.

- out of all the boys, he has the ugliest moments of regret for what he did to himself. And I don’t say “ugliest” as a form of insult or anything— i mean it like “it’s physically painful to watch him break” type shit. It’s not pretty or romanticized or anything. Brother is the most mentally unstable out of all of them and his breakdowns? Snotty and spittle-y. The type of emotional state that has him suffocating on his own tears and probably throwing up because his head just won’t shut up.

- whispers random ominous shit at the worst possible moments. Like idk maybe one of his bandmates is trying to go to bed and Dae-Shim just appears from the shadows and says something like “the hat man is coming. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run.”

- makes friends with his sleep paralysis monsters when he doesn’t scare them off.

- probably eats dirt or something idk

————

A/N: Hyperfixation goes crazy. When there is not enough characterization in the film I will do it myself 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

(BABY SAJA ONE CHANCE PLEASE)

[fili-the-jester]

the sillies

(cinnamon rolls who can kill you)

[kittykattysstuff]

Warning: Incest.

Gojo satoru x fem!reader

“Let’s get married”.

Satoru declared as soon as you both were left alone. And those three words changed your world completely.

Being the sister of ‘The Strongest’ was far more difficult than people would have thought. It was not glamorous, as all your friends used to think. Yes, Satoru-nii was the best big brother you could’ve ever asked for, and you had no complaints whatsoever about him. However, the rest of the Gojo clan wasn’t as perfect as they liked to show to the outside. No. Far from it. In reality, they were a bunch of conceited, hypocrite and misogynistic senile people, whose only concern was to ensure Gojo eventually had an heir to keep the family legacy.

Your brother, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about getting married and giving the Gojo clan the heir they oh so desired. No, he was more concerned with pissing them off and, on the rare occasion he actually bothered to visit the family estate, dote on you.

You see, you were nothing compared to your big brother, who had inherited the most powerful family techniques in centuries. Despite having cursed energy, your abilities were average, nothing special. Therefore, your parents deemed you of no use, and didn’t let you attend Jujutsu High. You were a porcelain doll, collecting dust in the corner and just waiting to be married off to the best suitor your parents could find. To your utmost dismay.

They already had had the perfect heir. You were just an unplanned nuisance. Satoru was the real deal. And you were absolutely fine with that. Really. You saw the pressure your big brother had been subjected to from the moment he was born and opened his eyes.

The expectations the higher ups had on him, the way they wanted him to be a perfect little robot and follow their orders blindly. Satoru’s rebellion, however, was the last thing they expected. And that was your favorite thing about your brother. He never listened to anyone, only ever doing as he pleased. He knew no one would oppose to him. He was the strongest, after all. What could they really do?

As you two grew up, you were always joining Satoru-nii’s mischievous plans of ways to piss your parents off. You were his greatest ally in your household, and he was yours. Satoru-nii was the only thing that made life in the Gojo estate bearable. You were each other’s best friends.

The day he left to attend Jujutsu High, you were a wreck. You remember clinging to him for as long as you could, refusing to leave his arms, and when he got settled into his dorm and it was finally time to say goodbye, you were a sobbing mess. He was just as bad. The last thing he wanted was to leave you behind with your shitty parents, but he had no choice. And, with a heavy heart, tears rolling down his cheeks in a rare moment of vulnerability, he promised he would come back to you and when the day came, you would never be parted again. He pressed a tender, chaste kiss on your forehead to seal his promise. Which leads you to your current predicament.

“I’m sorry, what?”

You asked as you tried in vain to process his words.

“Let’s get married”.

Gojo simply shrugged, a smile on his face as he looked at you through his dark shades.

“How can you say that so nonchalantly? And what are you thinking about? For fuck’s sake, we’re siblings Toru-nii!”

“Oooh, swearing now, are we? You really became a big girl while I was away, huh”. He hummed, shaking his head amusedly.

“Focus, Toru-nii. Where’d you get this crazy idea from?”

You tried to make your big brother come to his senses. You were on the verge of having an aneurysm from the way he seemed so at ease with the whole thing. That wasn’t the worst thing, though. You were more worried with the fact you did not find the idea so bad. What was wrong with you? Maybe all those years living with your family had made you go insane. You shook your head, trying to get rid of such unholy thoughts.

“The higher ups are pressuring me to get married and have an offspring”.

Satoru said seriously, crossing his arms over his chest as he sat on your bed. You followed suit, sensing the shift in the atmosphere as you sat across from him, hugging your pillow close to your chest in an effort to create a wider gap between your bodies.

“They always have, nii-chan”.

You said softly, sympathizing with his displeasure.

“They’ve been trying since you became of age, and you always managed to avoid it in the end”.

Gojo groaned, taking off his sunglasses and rolling his eyes. If the situation wasn’t so serious, you’d be laughing from his childish antics.

“Ugh, I know. But this is not like those stupid dates they used to settle. They actually gave me an ultimatum”.

“Nii-chan-

You tried to placate his anger, before he cut you off.

“I know, right? Like, how dare they threaten the strongest jujutsu sorcerer in recent history?! The audacity of the old farts!”

He started to complain nonstop. This was your time to roll your eyes.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to get out of this situation, Toru-nii. You always do”.

You smiled encouragingly. Your big brother was just blowing it out of proportion, exaggerating and making the details seem worse than they actually were.

“Except that this time I can’t, little sis. They said that if I don’t find a wife in one month, they will find me one themselves”.

Satoru looked you straight in the eyes, and damn, those baby blue eyes of his still made you weak in the knees. Ever since you were kids, he would always talk to you without a blindfold or sunglasses when he wanted you to do something for him. And you caved. Every. Single. Time. Of course, the bastard knew it all too well. Still, you kept your resolve.

“I don’t see what’s the matter. They’ve threatened you many times, and it never worked. Why’s it so different now?”.

“Mom and dad found you a suitor”. He declared, straight to the point.

You gaped at him. How did he know? It was partially true. Although your parents had already decided on the perfect husband for you, it had not been made official yet. And, until the announcement was formally made, you would hold onto every last shred of hope you had.

“It’s not official”. You replied, stubbornly.

“Come on, they already scheduled a date to make the announcement public”.

He said it with such certainty, you knew Satoru couldn’t be lying about this. Fear settled deeply in your heart. They had really scheduled a date? If your nii-chan wasn’t lying to you, and you knew he wasn’t, he never once did, then you were helpless.

“I-I’m sure that if I talk to them…”

“What, they’ll listen to you? They’ve been dictating your whole life since you learned how to walk, sweetheart”.

Unfortunately, Satoru was right. Trying to talk to them would be absolutely useless. You were stupid for even entertaining the idea.

“I know it is not ideal, sweetheart, but this is the best solution for both of us. Do you really want to marry the pervert Zenin Naoya?”.

You grimaced. That was totally repulsive. You could never marry him. The men from the Zenin clan were even worse than your own family.

“But, Toru-nii, this is wrong. We’re siblings!”.

You still tried to reason with him, but the words didn’t seem so firm coming out of your mouth. At this point, you knew you were trying to reason with yourself more than your brother. Oh God, you were just as sick. Picturing yourself getting married to your very own brother shouldn’t feel so good.

“Darling, I thought we had already crossed that line a long time ago”.

Satoru smirked, getting closer to you, your knees touching as he took the pillow from your hands and threw it over his shoulder in the bed. You gasped, eyes huge and mouth open like a fish out of water. You two swore you would never speak of this again.

“Toru-nii!”

You admonished him, refusing to face his bewitching blue orbs, instead focusing on the sage green wall in front of you.

“Oh yeah, I still remember when you came to my room in the middle of the night, wide eyed and with the cutest pout on your pretty little lips, begging me to teach you how to kiss-“

You put both hands on his mouth, silencing him.

“I was just fifteen!”.

“Well, you came to the right person. I’ve always been a great teacher, if you know what I mean”.

Satoru winked.

“Ugh, stop being so cocky”.

A beat of silence passed before Satoru cleared his throat.

“So, what do you say, sweet sis? It’s either you live the rest of your life in a loveless marriage, or you become the wife of your mature, amazing, sexy Toru-nii…”.

“Okay, okay, I get it!”. You stopped him before he got carried away.

“Say, if I agreed to this”. You eyed him carefully.

“Mhmmm”. Gojo encouraged you to continue.

“How would you make it work? I mean, last time I checked, marrying your sibling was illegal”.

Your nii-chan smiled widely, already knowing he had won the discussion.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ve got it all covered!”. He clapped, pleased with himself.

“You arranged it all before knowing whether or not I would agree?”.

“Is that a yes?”.

Satoru leaned even closer, playing with a strand of your hair while watching your face intently all the while. You immediately felt your cheeks grow warm. Being close to Toru-nii always made you nervous. He looked like a predator analyzing its prey, a hungry expression on his handsome face. You gulped.

“Toru-nii, stop teasing me”. You pleaded.

“You need to say the words, sweetheart”.

He whispered, face mere inches from yours. His hand was now caressing your cheek.

“Yes, nii-chan. I will marry you”.

“Good girl. Now, how about we put the lessons I gave you back then to use? I don’t want my future wife to feel neglected”.

Those were the last words he said before he pressed your lips together.

[arguablysomaya]

Nightwing's weird fem-coding

! LONG POST !

Finally got around to jotting down my thoughts on the weird way that Dick Grayson (Nightwing) often occupies female-coded roles without being a particularly feminine guy. This is entirely due to me procrastinating on my finals. Okay!

Dick has often been cited as the hero who plays into the "female gaze", and he takes up some key roles that are typically reserved for women characters.

A large portion of Dick's fem-coding is contingent on his being with his family, and when he's not with them, this fem-coding kinda drops away, such as when he's with his various teams or acting solo.

His most prominent (and imo, complex) femme-coded role is:

-> Eldest Daughter + Widow

Eldest daughter syndrome means " frequently feeling like you’re not doing enough, like you’re struggling to maintain a veneer of control, like the entire household relies on your diligence." It's born out of the unique way that first-born girls are expected to take on adult roles around the household before they've had an opportunity to fully experience childhood (an opportunity their younger siblings will have, in part due to this sacrifice). It creates a strong sense of independence and a desire to be a good role model, but also leads to undue pressure and perfectionism.

Dick acts as a central emotional pillar for those in his family. To the point that when he fakes his death, it breaks something fundamental in the family dynamic:

Not only is it repeatedly made clear that Bruce depends on Dick to act as a lifeline for his own mental struggles, but moreover, his siblings do as well. In a very literal sense, the maintenance of the batfamily rests on Dick's shoulders. Bruce is so rarely available for emotional support that these children turn to the next best thing, which, to be fair, is better than what Dick had growing up. He has to clean up so many breakdowns, it's honestly pretty staggering.

As the OG sidekick, Dick receives quite a bit of hero worship, particularly from younger heroes/sidekicks, who look toward him for guidance. As a naturally upbeat and welcoming person, Dick ends up in the position of bringing light to everyone, not just Bruce. For example, here's Cassandra:

This balancing effect is unique to Dick's skill set. However, this can (and does) backfire very easily. The same pragmatism Bruce engages in hurts extra bad when coming from Dick: like when Dick had to take Robin away from Tim. Not to mention just how intimidating Dick's legacy is, which can create resentment when his successors aren't able to play this role so easily. For example, Jason both before and after his death expressed insecurity that he felt he was constantly being compared to Dick, and falling short.

As the original character that people think of when they think "sidekick", DG Robin (and his successors) had the advantage of not losing prominence even as his contemporaries (Kid Flash, Aqualad, Wonder Girl, etc.) were de-prioritized in favor of independent teenaged heroes (like Cyborg, Beast Boy, Raven, and Starfire). But that means Robin as a concept now has to deal with questions that weren't so prominent in the earlier decades, such as: "How do we justify a grown-ass man using a child (and in fact, children) as emotional crutches?"

It's icky to think about, but there's no denying that early Batman and Robin got side eyes for homosexual subtext. I mean, they literally call each other "partners". So while that "subtext" was, and remains, just audience speculation, given Dick is literally Bruce's adopted son, there is room, I believe, to call into question how healthy it is for Bruce's oldest kid to be taking on a nearly-parental role and be a core pillar of Bruce's emotional regulation.

Hot take here, but I think Dick's relationship with Bruce was/has been pretty emotionally incestuous for a long time.

-> Emotional incest

"Emotional incest[...] is a type of emotional abuse performed by a parent. In cases of emotional incest, parents rely on their children for significant emotional support, which is a reversal of roles. Emotional incest is more than just relying on your kids on occasion—rather, it is an extreme dependence on them." (There's a pretty good argument to be made that Bruce has been emotionally incestuous with all his Robins, especially Dick and DEFINITELY Tim, but y'know. Small steps.)

Emotional incest is a semi-common consequence of eldest daughter syndrome; the natural conclusion of deputizing a child to manage the other children combining with an inability to see the child as a child, still in need of emotional guidance, but more like an adult capable of shouldering the burdens of grown-ups dumping their traumas on them.

To be clear here, while emotional incest may not be incest in the most traditional, taboo sense, it is still abuse. It's putting a burden on a child they shouldn't have to carry, even for children that aren't dealing with such extreme burdens as "grown-ass man running around in a fursuit needs me to keep him from getting himself killed". It's a perversion of a healthy parent-child relationship, where the child is treated more like a partner than a child. In Dick's case, it further exacerbates the parentification he already experiences. This is made more explicit when Bruce "dies" and Dick is cast into a sort of "Widow" role.

Dick reluctantly dons the cowl in an attempt to bring order to his family members. He's also left to parent Damian, alone. He has to make the decision to take Robin from Tim, and try to deal with the fallout from that decision. He has to put a stop to Jason's fratricidal rampage. He's made into the de-facto head of the family.

And the thing about this is: Dick's not even bad at it. In comparison to Bruce's litany of disasters-in-parenting, Dick does a pretty bang-up job of managing his siblings, heading the Justice League, and being Batman. But the crucial point is that he does this at the expense of his own mental health, which is the crux of eldest daughter syndrome. There's no denying that at the time, Dick was most certainly the best choice for New Father Figure, but it was a choice he was pushed into, and a sacrifice he had to make. When this sense of responsibility to the point of self-sacrifice is pushed to its logical conclusion, it has the effect of making Dick a Martyr-type figure.

-> Protector/Mama Bear/Avenger

Dick has shown repeatedly that his hot button is his family. From Tony Zucco to allowing Blockbuster to be killed after the villain targeted Haley's Circus, going after Nightwing's family is a pretty good way to earn yourself an asskicking. Probably the most infamous example of this is when Dick thought the Joker had killed Tim, beating the clown to death to avenge both Tim and Jason.

And while this role isn't particularly feminine, I do think it's interesting that Dick protects his family members from each other with almost the same frequency that he protects them from outside threats. He's pretty notorious for wrangling Damian and Tim, foiling Jason's murder plans, and most importantly, beating the shit out of Bruce whenever he crosses a line, such as when Bruce asks Dick to conceal being alive from their family to join Spyral or when Bruce wanted to abandon the Bruce Wayne persona after the murder of Vesper Fairchild. Or of course, more recently after Bruce's latest MK-ULTRA shenanigans.

This basically puts Dick in the position of being the glue that holds the family together, at basically all times, but especially in times of conflict. This also means he's put in the dangerous position of bodily defending his younger siblings from Bruce's wrath or irresponsibility, a position made even more awkward given the whole emotional incest thing.

That's not to say that Dick's relationship with his family is 100% unhealthy. Dick and his family members (including Bruce!) feel legitimate affection and care for each other. There are times when the dynamics here are indeed healthy. And like most people with eldest daughter syndrome, the unhealthy nature of this dynamic is usually understated. Oldest sibling syndrome is often just an unavoidable consequence of how parenting works. So while I am of the opinion that this dynamic is often unhealthy, hot take: I'm fine with that.

Now, though I've just listed some tropes that he only falls into around family, Dick also falls into some fem-coding all the time, regardless of who he's with, and these have to do mostly with his sexuality.

-> Sexual Assault & Harassment

Yeah, so nobody is surprised that this is a factor. Look up any list of the top ten hottest/sexiest/most attractive male superheroes, I guarantee 9/10 times Nightwing is number 1. However, unlike his father, whose attractiveness is usually played as a part of the male wish-fulfillment fantasy, something people aspire to be, Dick's attractiveness more often makes him an object of desire- very similar to how most attractive female characters are perceived.

And as an object of desire, Dick Grayson is constantly having to deal with being objectified.

Now, Dick Grayson being an attractive character is not the problem. Dick Grayson being sexually assaulted isn't even the problem. the problem is that he keeps being harassed, assaulted, and raped in ways that are flagrantly nonconsensual, and yet it's not treated with the seriousness it deserves. In fact, it took a full decade for Devin Grayson to retract her previous statement and admit that yes, the rooftop scene with Catalina Flores was in fact rape, and it's never been acknowledged in-universe (though, comics have always been atrocious at calling out sexual abuse of all kinds, let alone that which targets men).

Hell, even when he in-universe calls it out, he's dismissed immediately and the story continues like nothing happened.

Like???

Dick's adult sexcapades (which were consensual and enthusiastic) have long contrasted with the numerous times he's been harassed; times in which he comes across as bored, exasperated, and even frustrated with his own attractiveness and the vulnerable position it often leaves him in.

This puts him in the rare (in comics) position of being a male character who consistently and near-exclusively has his sexual agency and boundaries violated by women - a position that authors uniformly refuse to examine despite writing him into it all the fucking time.

Other characters around him frequently make comments passing off this harassment and assault as a natural consequence of Dick's own attractiveness, making "jokes" that essentially amount to "I understand why someone would want to assault him". Which- UH?

There is also, of course, the unavoidable reality that as an acrobat and an aerialist, he receives a very specific type of sexual harassment

the nature of nightwing's fight style necessitates a type of tight-fitting suit that male heroes typically don't go for: an extremely slick suit with bare-minimum armour that again, makes him vulnerable in a way most male heroes aren't, but a style female heroes wear all the time, whether it makes sense for them or not. This of course then allows artists to draw attention to this fact by posing Nightwing in poses usually reserved for femme fatales:

And unlike the Hawkeye Initiative, these poses are (largely) unironic, and not played for jokes. Dick isn't arching his back or looking over his shoulder to poke fun at how female heroes are treated; he does so because the artist (clearly correctly) sincerely believed these poses would play into the unironic gaze of the audience, and also probably thought it was hot. It's the same line of thought artists use when posing femme fatales.

He's even been known to use his sexuality as a bargaining chip, much like more traditional Femme Fatales. In Batman and Harley Quinn (2017), he refers to sleeping with Harley Quinn after being kidnapped by her as one of "the things I do for Gotham", to which she responds "I'm taking that as a 'yes'." And that's uh- not how consent works.

And this particularly sucks because- HELLO? The opportunity to explore the very real and tragically underacknowledged phenomenon of sexual violence against men is literally invaluable, especially with such a prominent character. It's one thing to ignore that men face sexual violence, it's another, entirely more unforgivable thing to continuously and explicitly depict such scenarios and play them off as jokes or not as serious as they clearly are. But what did I expect from an industry that has never had a good track record on sexual violence anyway.

-> Queercoding?

There's also of course the fact that DC has been, as of late, dropping hints that Dick might be bisexual.

That on it's own doesn't mean anything, but when paired with the fact that DC has been angling toward giving Dick a similar playboy persona that Bruce has, just with men included, it's just very interesting.

(BTW: The likelihood DC actually commits to making Dick bi is, uh, not a lot, but if they're gonna stick with this weird closet stuff for a while, let's hope they do so in a way that doesn't make him sound like a cross between Donald Trump and Harry Styles next time? Please?)

Anyway, all of this is basically to say I am forever fascinated by the gender dynamics of Dick Grayson, likely due to the fact that I'm projecting all my eldest daughter traumas onto him, and that someone who's background is in Gender Studies needs to get on this shit if they haven't already. I just love this character sm.

[nxrcissablacks]

thinking about a fangs of fortune modern day law firm au where:

zhao yuanzhou is That Law Firm partner - yes, the one who has been there since the beginning of time and no one knows how or when he joined the firm; he just is a fixture, and who:

disappears mysteriously from his office on occasion (bai jiu, in hysterics: “But I really need him to sign off on this document right now!!!!!!”)

closes cases with suspicious methods (zhao yuanzhou, blinking innocently: “Yes, I just had a little coffee with him and he agreed to settle for a million. Isn’t that nice?” wen xiao, wondering innately if coffee is code for something else: “…yes…”)

has a never-ending rotation of nice, ridiculously expensive suits. even zhuo yichen can’t beat him on this front, and the only one who comes remotely close is li lun (more on this later)

was rumoured to be work-rivals with zhuo yichen’s brother right up to his untimely death. the streets say that zhao yuanzhou deliberately played a card on the last case they worked on together that caused the company they were going after to send hired hitman after them both (the reality was really that even zhao yuanzhou did not expect something so extreme as becoming the target of murderous assassins, and that card was unfortunately a trump card that Needed to be used). zhao yuanzhou survived but zhuo yixuan did not.

has a complicated relationship with zhuo yichen as a result - constantly saves his ass even though zhuo yichen does not need saving thank you very much - takes the hits for him when things go wrong, and feels constantly as though he owes him (zhao yuanzhou, drunk: “hey bro you wanna stab me or something? Just offering.” zhuo yichen: “is that an innuendo? No. And stop calling me bro. The fuck.”)

zhuo yichen as his constantly exasperated counterpart:

worked diligently and was known as a stellar associate before getting promoted to partner on his brother’s unfortunate death - feels rather pressured to live up to his brother’s legacy and do him proud

claims to detest zhao yuanzhou and blames him for causing his brother’s death BUT the secretaries will not stop telling people about the time they saw “Mr Zhuo went into Mr Zhao’s office and draped a blanket over Mr Zhao’s sleeping form!!!!!” - zhuo yichen repeatedly denies this occurrence and zhao yuanzhou doesn’t suggest otherwise; the blanket in question is, however, neatly folded in a drawer in zhao yuanzhou’s office

deep down, he has already forgiven zhao yuanzhou - ever the studious lawyer, he went over the case files from that deal and realised he would have made the same call as zhao yuanzhou, and he guessed his brother would likely have done the same.

never declines a call from zhao yuanzhou to go out drinking even though he makes a lot of grouchy sounds because Someone has to put the man in a taxi home before his self destructive tendencies get the better of him and that Someone is unfortunately zhuo yichen (taxi driver: “you should wake your husband. We’re here.” zhuo yichen, flustered and trying to get zhao yuanzhou’s heavy ass head off his shoulder: “he’s Not my husband.”)

li lun as the barrister whom zhao yuanzhou insists on using on all his cases (zhao yuanzhou: “bc he’s the best, dude”) but who zhao yuanzhou refuses to email or communicate with on pain of death, so zhuo yichen has to send all the emails and have awkward little meetings going through cases with him:

ruthless af in court and tears everyone to shreds (including the judge on occasion)

encyclopaedic knowledge of law rivals zhao yuanzhou

collection of expensive suits ALSO rivals zhao yuanzhou (wen xiao, appreciatively, every time li lun walks into a meeting room in the firm: that man is a dick but he sure has Taste)

his superior taste includes, much to zhuo yichen’s horror: zhao yuanzhou (zhuo yichen, wishing he could dig his eyes out and run them under water: “wen xiao, zhao yuanzhou swanned past the meeting room we were in and i swear to God. li lun was undressing him with his eyes. and then he turned to me and said, i kid you not: seems like zhao yuanzhou’s been spending some time in the gym. i can see his chest muscles have gotten bigger since the last time we met.” wen xiao, having had the downlow from zhao yuanzhou about his complicated on and off situationship with li lun: “mm hm.” zhuo yichen, moaning with his head in hands: “and once he tried to show me a folder on his laptop but clicked on another by mistakes. and it was just filled with files labelled ZYZ1 ZYZ2 ZYZ3 and so on. They were IMAGE FILES, wen xiao!!! IMAGE FILES!!!! PNGS!!!! wen xiao, mentally making a note to blackmail zhao yuanzhou about the existence of those images: “yeah.”)

was the sole reason zhao yuanzhou didn’t get murdered along with zhuo yixuan in the while hired hitman saga (wen xiao: “but why did he have a gun.” zhao yuanzhou, shrugging: “the only time li lun’s into following the law is when he’s in court. other times, less so.”)

Also featuring:

wen xiao and pei sijing as the two senior counsels (pei sijing, when asked why she declined partnership: “ew, why would anyone want a role in partnership, that’s for losers who actually like networking”) who think no one knows that they are in a relationship (yinglei: “they have couple mugs. and i know they are couple mugs because i saw wen-jiejie happily point at them in Soho Home and pei-jiejie immediately put them in her shopping basket.”)

yinglei and baijiu as the baby trainees who are there just to watch the office drama unfold and give each other unnecessary stress about deadlines (baijiu: “what do you mean this was due on the fifth. That’s yesterday’s date.” yinglei: “fuck.” baijiu: “fuck.”)

[bellarkeselection]

Hello, I am wondering if u take request for a Tony Stark x female reader, who is also best friend of Tony Stark before he came Iron Man but she has been by his side through everything as well. But it’s a fluff and a smut as at the end where they both reveal their feelings for each other which they had from the moment they met and they have their first kiss between them as well which leads them to their first time “Sex” together and then also after their first time they both happily agreed to be in a relationship with each other as well.

Always More Than Friends

The scent of motor oil and burnt popcorn permeated the air, a familiar cocktail that could only mean one thing: Tony Stark was tinkering again, and he’d roped you into another one of his all-nighters.

"You know, Tony," I said, stretching out on the worn leather couch that had witnessed countless nights like this one, "sleeping is actually quite beneficial for the human body. Remember that bio class we took together? Apparently, something about cellular regeneration…"

Tony, perched precariously on a rolling stool, goggles perched on his forehead, barely glanced up from the intricate circuit board in his hands. “Regeneration? Please, darling. I'm Stark. I regenerate through genius. Besides," he looked at me, a playful glint in his eyes, "who else is going to keep me in line when I inevitably try to weld something to my forehead?"

I laughed, the sound echoing in the cavernous lab. That was Tony. Always deflecting, always joking, but always needing someone to ground him, to keep him from flying too close to the sun. And me, well, I’d been that person for him since I accidentally tripped over his feet in the MIT cafeteria, spilling a tray full of lasagna directly onto his pristine white shirt.

He’d been a whirlwind of arrogance and brilliance, a walking, talking paradox wrapped in a designer suit. And me, a quiet, sometimes sarcastic, girl from Indiana, had somehow become his best friend, his confidante, the one person he actually listened to - sometimes.

I’d been there when he inherited Stark Industries, when the pressure of his father’s legacy threatened to crush him. I’d been there for the reckless parties, the disastrous business deals, and the fleeting relationships that never seemed to stick. I’d even been there for the Obadiah Stane debacle, tirelessly researching and providing support while Pepper Potts handled the corporate side. And then came Afghanistan.

The change in Tony was seismic. He returned a ghost of his former self, haunted by the atrocities he’d witnessed, driven by a newfound purpose. I was the first person he turned to, the one he trusted with the secret of the arc reactor and the Iron Man suit. I helped him refine the technology, offering practical solutions and unwavering support, all while battling my own fear for his safety.

Tonight, he was working on… well, I wasn't entirely sure. Something about repulsor enhancements and minimizing collateral damage. Classic Tony.

As the hours ticked by, the tension in my shoulders began to dissolve. The rhythmic clicking of his tools, the soft hum of machinery, and the comforting presence of Tony beside me lulled me into a state of quiet contentment. I watched him, mesmerized by the way he moved, the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the way his lips pursed in thought.

I’d always found him attractive, of course. It was hard not to. But my feelings ran deeper than superficial attraction. I admired his intelligence, his resilience, his unwavering dedication to making a difference. But most of all, I loved his vulnerability, the brief glimpses he allowed you to see beneath the layers of sarcasm and bravado.

He suddenly slapped his wrench down on the table. "Alright, enough. I'm calling it a night. Or morning, I suppose. You should probably go home and get some sleep before Pepper comes looking for you. She thinks I'm keeping you hostage down here." He turned to face me, his eyes tired but bright.

I chuckled, standing up and stretching once more. "She's not wrong. Alright, Mr. Stark. I'll leave you to your world-saving responsibilities."

As I walked towards the door, Tony stopped me calling my name before I could make it around the corner. "Hey, Y/N?"

I turned back, my heart doing a little flip-flop. He rarely used your name like that, especially not with that tone in his voice. He stood there, looking uncharacteristically hesitant, his hands shoved into the pockets of his grease-stained jeans. "Thanks. For… everything. You know?"

I smiled, a genuine smile that reached my eyes. "Always, Tony."

The air crackled with unspoken words, lingering glances, a shared history that bound you together. You both knew there was more to it than just friendship. I had known it from the very day you met.

He took a step closer, and I took a step back.

"Okay, you know that upgrade I was working on, the dampening field that’ll help the suit be more stealthy when i'm flying high in the skies? Well, I've been trying for a few hours now and the result is zero, so I really need your help and insight because you have always been the reason behind my success." His eyes travelled straight to mine and he took steps to meet me where I was standing and I did the same. He quickly moved his hands on my waist, and he pulled me closer, my breasts met his chest but he did not stop there. He buried his face in my hair, breathing me in. "I've wanted you here for a long time now, I really like you."

I grabbed his hair and pulled his head up so we could meet and lock eyes for a second. “Tony - I like you too. I’ve liked you - more than a friend for a very long time.”

I didn't waste any time pulling him into a kiss which he gladly returned, he had his hands all over your body as if he was trying to map me out. The kiss was full of yearning, desire, and years of unspoken feelings. It was a raw, passionate expression of everything you both had held back for so long. He deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing the outline of my lips before exploring the depths of my mouth.

I moaned softly into the kiss, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. I felt a surge of heat rush through my body, a burning need that I’d tried to suppress for so long.

He broke the kiss, breathless, and rested his forehead against yours. "God, (Y/N)," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "I’ve wanted to do that for so long."

Closing my eyes, savoring the moment, the connection, the feeling of finally being where you were meant to be. “Me too, Tony,” I whispered back, draping my arms over his shoulders, grinning up at him like it was Christmas morning.

Tony leaned and kissed me again, a gentler kiss this time, full of tenderness and promise but I couldn’t help but take it further from just a simple first kiss. We had spent so many years waiting and now that was over in my opinion. “Tony, make love to me now please.”

“You don’t have to say anything more, babe.” I let out a yelp when he lifted me into his arms, I wrapped my arms around him and pressed my lips against his. He kissed me back passionately and sped into his room. Opening the door, he walked towards the bed and dropped me down to the bed. My back hit the soft silk sheets before I rose up from the bed staring at him softly and brought a hand to his cheek stroking it softly.

Standing tall, he lifted his shirt over his head and threw it to the ground. My heart began to beat for a second as I stared at him, my eyes directed down to his muscular chest, and blushed at the sight. I averted my eyes with my hands covering them quickly and tried to contain my blush, he looked up at me and smirked at my reaction. "You see something you like?”

"I’m certainly not adding to your ego, Stark." I pointed out to him where I peeked through my fingers for a split second.

He reassured me, grabbing my hand with his. "If you want me to stop at any point just tell me and I will.."

"No, I want to do this." I said, wishing my heart would stop beating so rapidly like I was scared.

He cupped my face, and pressed his lips on hers. They were soft, like the petals of a daisy. The battle of tongues began, not with words but with their lips it did. My hands started to trace his form, I began to run his fingers up and down his muscular chest softly while I began to feel his hand start to crawl underneath my shirt. He yanked my shirt off my head, throwing it to the ground only once breaking the kiss.

He glanced down at my clothed beasts staring at them deeply before reaching behind my back and began to unclip the straps off and tear it off me in a split second. I gasped at him instantly reaching a hand to cover my breasts, he let out a growl at them pushing my hands away. " Don't hide from me, my love you are perfect and all mine."

"Like what you see then, Stark." I asked, smirking at him, noticing that he was smirking down at me the entire time.

"Yes, I do." He smirked before gathering me in his arms and pressed his lips down onto mine while placing his hand on my behind squeezing it gently.

He pushed me down to the bed gently, towering over me. He stood up from the bed and unbuttoned his jeans, tugging them down to his legs before stepping out of them wearing nothing but his boxers. He teared his boxers in a split second, releasing his member. My eyes widened at how big it was and wondered how that would fit inside me. “Pepper is going to surely think you’re holding me hostage now.”

“I think she’ll know what really happened in the morning. She won’t be too angry once she figures it out.” He knelt down in front of my legs and opened my legs up a bit, he ran his hands up my legs and grabbed at my panties before tearing them off in a second.

My eyes widened in shock at him and leaned up on my elbows staring down at him in confusion, "What are you doing "

"Do you trust me " He asked, glancing up at me.

"With all my heart " I replied struggling to catch my breath knowing that my heart was racing a mile a minute .

He hovered over me and brought his lips down upon mine. I wrapped my arms around his neck and embraced more into the kiss. I felt a hard rock positioned at my lower religion, he placed his member at my center and looked up at me. "Babe, this may hurt for a few minutes. I'll stop if you're not ready."

"No, I want you, " I said, gripping the bed sheets in my fingers, never moving my gaze from his. " Please just go slow."

He nodded and aligned himself against me before thrusting into me softly , I hissed out in pain as I felt him breaking through my wall, tears began to well in my eyes. He let out a groan at how tight his little witch was and how she was squeezing him around her walls, " You feel soo good." He moved slowly against her, I bit down on my lip hard trying to bear through the pain.

Within moments I felt the pain suddenly vanish and began to feel pleasure. I began to move against him and leaned up pressing my lips down upon his. He embraces me back instantly when my fingers dug into his back. “I love you, Tony.”

He ran his body over every inch of my body he could reach, both of us slick with sweat as he moved against one another, our pants and moans filling the room. “I love you too, Y/N.”

[scourgebff]

more from the hollycinder partners in crime au, their little family ( original concept/au idea by @the-owl-tree )! i imagine dovewing got cinderheart’s build with hollyleaf’s striking features while ivypool is leaning more towards hollyleaf’s tall stature but cinderheart’s recognizable markings.

holly’s disappearance into the tunnels after upending the entire normalcy of thunderclan had left quite a stir in her wake. ivy and dove grow up trying to make sense of and deal with her legacy in their own ways. cinder is in the middle, fiercely protecting her daughters’ youth from a world which wants to press the weight of everything on their shoulders far too readily while also struggling to figure out her own identity.

very detailed brainrot under the cut

it seemed like an ironic twist of fate in the eyes of lionblaze and jayfeather that dove was to take holly’s part in the prophecy, quickly sweeping her under their wing and closely guiding her paws. the lingering worry that she would stray from them and onto a dangerous path as holly had- doubly so since lion was made dove’s mentor. lion is fiercely protective of dove, seeing in her a bright potential and genuinely wants her to succeed. however it is quite clear to everyone that he’s projecting his sister onto her, for all her talent and resourcefulness going beyond the shadowy pelt and leading to heightened expectations. dove swallows down her discomfort at the pressure, wanting to make everyone proud and live up to their expectations, not only as warrior but as part of a prophecy so much larger than herself. one that she feels is partially to blame for driving her other parent away, as jay eventually reveals to her to full truth, leading to feelings of guilt she doesn’t even particularly understand. torn between stars and shadows, her paws wander over clan borders in search of an answer or escape for herself while discovering things she’d never expect.

meanwhile ivy feels like a spectator in her own life. listening in on near constant rumors and gossip about her family that she isn’t even included in, instigated by a cat she doesn’t even know. getting even further frustrated by just how passively helpless to remedy anything she is. while cinder treats the two girls completely equally, ivy isn’t blind to the practically palpable anticipation thunderclan holds towards dove. she’s a prodigy, with the undivided attention of both the clan’s healers and one if not the strongest warrior as a mentor, sent on journeys and given extra assignments as cats discuss how promising she is- yet also the level of suspicion cats hold towards her for being related to both a traitor, a healer, and a windclanner. ivy is of course of the exact same blood, yet she might as well not exist to anyone but dove and cinder bar a few extended family members. feeling isolated yet reluctant to try and burden her already troubled closest kin with insecurities she feels are ‘insignificant’, ivy meets hawkfrost who seems to not mind listening. in fact he says he relates to her, having a controversial family history himself. ivy asks for advice, ending up gaining confidence with his helpful suggestions and in turn drawing closer to the dark forest. she seems more well adjusted, yet in truth she’s merely getting better at lying and giving cats a spectacle to notice her by. while her social life improves, the unease in her grows as she’s gradually lured into working for the dark forest. ivy with new confidence and supposedly trustworthy new friends feels as if she can balance the danger despite rising escalation.

cinder, ivy, and dove remain extremely close. there is certainly friction between ivy and dove, however cinder is incredibly involved in their lives. refusing to let them lash out at each other and drift apart, she’s reminded all too painfully of her bitter last interaction with holly. she regrets how they ended, strangely enough considering how she didn’t regret dirtying her paws with blood to cover up holly’s sins. what she will not tolerate however is disrespect against her kits, growing estranged from her childhood friends jay and lion upon seeing how oddly they treat dove. it’s an uncomfortable situation, yet dove and ivy both are incredibly grateful to always have cinder in their corner. just for her they’ll set their reservations towards each other aside to form an at least temporarily stable truce. that being said, cinderheart being a reincarnation of cinderpelt actually has relevance to her character here that can be a whole other post on its own so i won’t go into it.

holly is more washed than a rack full of clean dishes icl. fleeing into the tunnels was a temporary solution, made at the peak of her mental crisis she initially tries to ignore how horrifically she treated so many cats. pushing it aside, and trying to restart herself. yet she can never forget cinder, even when she leaves the tunnels to become a wanderer cinder’s loyalty always sticks out so clearly. the kindness that holly had pushed and pushed and pushed until it broke and now here they were after that blow-out argument upon the gathering’s aftermath. a lot can be said for the time she’s out living as a rouge, but she eventually will have to come back and face her horrible past mistakes. unfortunately not before meeting a cat who might change everything for the worse- darktail C:

there’s some more i could mention because the cinderholly brainrot is infectious but i already rambled enough sorry TY IF U ACTUALLY READ THIS LOL UH </3 reward for making it down here is the fullbodies of these very normal not tortured individuals i consider them an equally normal amount

[pankowcrumbs]

Death Eaters X Mattheo Riddle Chapter one

Plot: You are Y/N Black the daughter of Regulus Black, raised in the shadow of a legacy stained by dark magic and impossible expectations. Destined to follow in your father’s footsteps, you're marked for service to the Dark Lord, bound by an unbreakable pact along with your cousin Draco Malfoy, and Mattheo Riddle the enigmatic, dangerous son of Lord Voldemort himself.

The three of you have been tasked with secret, high-stakes missions by the Dark Lord, all while trying to maintain the appearance of normality at Hogwarts. But between secret meetings, coded messages, and growing pressure from both sides of the war, life within the castle walls becomes a ticking time bomb.

As tensions rise and loyalties begin to waver, your bond with Mattheo begins to deepen. A connection forbidden and dangerous, but undeniable. Torn between what you were raised to believe and what your heart is beginning to feel, you’re left questioning everything: your family, your fate, and whether the darkness inside you was truly ever your own.

18+

Chapter one word count: 12K

MasterList

Harry Potter Universe Masterlist

Next Part

(3 parts total and 31K words in whole series)

The sound of steam hissing from the scarlet engine echoed through Platform 9¾ like a warning. Maybe it was just me projecting, but the air felt heavier this year like Hogwarts knew what we were all walking into.

Another year closer to the Dark Lord’s call.

“Stop fiddling with your wand, Y/N,” Draco muttered beside me as we approached the train, our trunks levitating behind us. “You’re going to snap it in half before we’ve even reached Hogsmeade.”

I rolled my eyes and tucked my wand into the inside pocket of my coat. “Maybe I’d like to be wandless before the first lesson. Save me from dealing with Snape’s greasy breath breathing down my neck again.”

Draco smirked. “He favours you, you know.”

I didn’t reply. He was probably right. Most professors did. Being a Black still carried weight at Hogwarts, even after all these years.

We found our usual compartment near the back of the train, far from the younger years and nosy prefects. Enzo and Eden were already inside, curled together in the corner like they hadn’t spent the past two months attached at the hip. Enzo lifted his chin in greeting.

“About time,” he drawled. “Thought we’d have to start without you.”

“Relax, we’re only two minutes late,” I said, sitting opposite them and crossing my legs.

Draco followed me in, flopping down beside me with a tired sigh. “Where’s Pansy?”

Eden smirked. “Still trying to flirt her way into the prefects' compartment, last I saw. Wanted to ‘make a good impression’ this year.”

“So she can abuse the power later,” I muttered.

The door slid open, and Theo and Blaise strolled in, talking lowly between themselves. Theo dropped into the seat next to Enzo, his hair as perfectly styled as ever, and Blaise nodded at me before stretching out, taking up more room than necessary.

And then came Mattheo.

He didn’t say a word. Just stepped inside, took the seat furthest from me diagonally opposite and leaned against the window with that same brooding silence he always wore like armour.

He looked different. Taller, maybe. Hair slightly longer, messier. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing ink along his forearm I didn’t recognise from last term. His jaw was sharper now. Eyes colder.

I quickly looked away.

We were in the same friendship group by default our families tangled like vines in the same dark garden but we barely spoke. Polite nods. The occasional "pass the sugar" at breakfast. Nothing beyond that.

I wasn’t sure if he disliked me or just didn’t care enough to pretend otherwise.

“How were the holidays?” Blaise asked, his voice lazy as ever.

“Hot,” Enzo replied. “France was boiling.”

Eden nudged him. “You complained every day.”

“I complained because you dragged me on hikes.”

“They were romantic hikes!”

“Babe, sweating my arse off on a mountain isn’t romantic. It’s torture.”

We all laughed, even Theo cracked a grin. I found myself watching Mattheo again out of the corner of my eye. He wasn’t laughing. Just gazing out the window like the rest of us weren’t even there.

Draco nudged me suddenly. “You alright?”

I blinked. “Yeah. Fine. Just tired.”

He gave me a look, but didn’t push it.

We chatted through the countryside, the conversations shifting from family holidays to upcoming Quidditch trials and which professors we thought might mysteriously disappear this year.

It wasn’t long before Pansy strutted in, her hair styled immaculately and an overconfident smile on her face.

“Well, I’ve been made a prefect,” she announced, holding up the shiny badge like it was a trophy.

Theo whistled. “So hell did freeze over.”

She smacked his arm, but grinned. “Jealousy isn’t flattering, Theo.”

“I’m not jealous,” he replied, “just mildly concerned for the state of our disciplinary system.”

Draco rolled his eyes, but kissed her cheek when she sat beside him, fingers lazily playing with hers.

I shifted slightly in my seat and found Mattheo watching them, his jaw tight. He looked... irritated. But whether it was about them or just general disgust at all things romantic, I couldn’t tell.

We fell into silence for a while after that. The compartment grew warmer, the chatter quieter as the rocking of the train lulled most of us into lazy half-naps.

I pulled a book from my bag and tried to read, but I felt his eyes on me.

Mattheo.

Every time I looked up, he wasn’t looking anymore. But the weight of it was there like smoke trailing across the room.

Finally, I set the book down and stretched my legs.

“Anyone want anything from the trolley?” I asked.

“Chocolate Frogs,” Theo said.

“Liquorice Wand,” Eden added.

Mattheo’s voice broke through for the first time.

“Fizzing Whizzbee.”

I blinked, surprised he’d spoken to me directly.

“Alright,” I said, nodding once. “Back in a minute.”

The corridor was quieter than I expected. A few second-years giggled as they ran past me, and I stepped aside to avoid being knocked into.

The trolley witch looked mildly overwhelmed, but smiled as I approached. I gave her a few Sickles and filled my arms with sweets, trying to remember everyone’s requests.

I was just about to head back when I heard footsteps behind me. Slow. Steady.

I turned.

Mattheo stood a few paces away, hands in his pockets, eyes unreadable.

“Didn’t think you liked sweets,” I said, nodding to the Fizzing Whizzbee in my hand.

“I don’t. I just wanted an excuse.”

“For what?”

“To get you alone.”

My heart skipped. “Why?”

He shrugged. “You and I… don’t talk much.”

“You noticed that, huh?”

A faint smirk touched his lips. “It’s hard not to.”

I crossed my arms, still holding the sweets. “What are you playing at, Riddle?”

“I’m not playing anything.”

“You never say more than two words to me, and now suddenly you want to chat? You could’ve just said thanks.”

He stepped closer, eyes locked on mine. “Alright then. Thank you.”

I stared up at him. “You’re not very good at this, are you?”

“Not even a little.”

I huffed a quiet laugh. “Why now?”

His expression shifted. “Because this year’s different. We both know it.”

A chill swept through me, even in the warmth of the train.

“Yeah,” I said softly. “We do.”

He looked down for a moment, then back up. “And because I’d rather not go into this next chapter of madness without knowing where we stand.”

“We stand… in the same group. With the same expectations. On the same path.”

His brow furrowed. “I meant you and me.”

I blinked.

Mattheo Riddle was not supposed to say things like that.

Before I could find the words, he took the bag of Fizzing Whizzbees from my hand and turned, walking back toward the compartment.

He paused halfway down the corridor and glanced back.

“You coming, Black?”

Still dazed, I followed.

The candlelight in the Great Hall flickered against the stone walls, dancing across centuries of whispered secrets. The ceiling overhead mimicked the dusky sky, casting a warm amber glow over the long tables where students buzzed with energy old friends reunited, gossip exchanged, houses reasserted in every glance.

I followed Draco and the rest of our lot towards the Slytherin table, the weight of expectation draped over us like the long black cloaks we wore. Sixth year. Practically adults. Practically Death Eaters.

Draco nudged me as we slid into our usual seats near the middle of the table. “You alright?”

“Peachy,” I replied, smoothing my skirt. “You?”

“Counting down the minutes ‘til we can get out of here and open that bottle of Firewhisky Enzo smuggled in.”

I smirked. “You say that every year.”

“And I mean it every time.”

Across from me, Pansy perched next to Draco, immediately attaching herself to his arm like a decorative brooch. Enzo and Eden sat further down, their fingers intertwined beneath the table. Blaise and Theo were in the middle of some whispered argument that Theo was barely pretending to care about.

And Mattheo… took the seat directly across from me.

He didn’t say a word.

But I caught the way his eyes flicked to mine as he reached for his goblet. Quick, almost imperceptible, like he hadn’t meant to.

Like he was looking without permission.

I blinked and glanced away, pretending to be far more interested in the golden plates being filled by magic before us.

The first-years filed in a moment later, guided by Professor Longbottom of all people he looked as flustered as ever trying to keep them in some sort of order.

I sat a little straighter, scanning the crowd until I spotted him.

Atticus Black.

Tiny, nervous, clutching his robes in his fists like they might float off without him.

Draco leaned in. “He looks like he’s about to vomit.”

“He’s fine,” I murmured, watching as Atticus glanced around wide-eyed, lips moving as he rehearsed something silently to himself.

He was the baby of the family. Regulus’ late-in-life surprise. Big eyes, bigger heart, and more questions about the Dark Mark than any eleven-year-old should be asking.

The Sorting Hat was placed, and the ceremony began.

Atticus was near the middle of the group. When they called his name “Black, Atticus” a few murmurs passed through the hall. The name still carried weight.

He hesitated, then shuffled to the stool. I watched every step. My fingers tightened around the edge of the table as the hat was dropped on his head.

It barely touched his hair before shouting, “Slytherin!”

There was polite applause, mostly from our end of the hall. A little less enthusiastic than in past years. But it was enough.

Atticus slid off the stool and walked towards us, still looking slightly stunned. His eyes searched the table until they met mine.

I gave him a small smile barely a tilt of my lips, a nod.

He didn’t return it, but his shoulders relaxed.

He found an empty spot further down and sat, fidgeting with his robes again.

I glanced sideways and caught Mattheo watching the whole thing. He didn’t comment, but his expression had softened just a touch. I tucked the observation away for later.

Before I could dwell on it, someone ruffled my hair from behind.

“Oi,” I hissed, whirling around.

Alexander stood there, grinning in that infuriating way only brothers could.

He was in his fifth year, taller than me now, all smug charm and permanently wrinkled uniform. “You’ve got Galleons, right?”

I raised a brow. “Why?”

“Because I don’t.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What happened to the ones Mum gave you before the train?”

“They’re in the possession of a very lovely card shark named Declan who did not play fair.”

I sighed, reaching into the hidden pocket of my robes and flicking him two Galleons without looking.

“You’re lucky I love you,” I muttered.

“I know,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of my head before sauntering off. “Tell Atticus I’m proud he didn’t cry.”

Mattheo chuckled.

It was quiet, barely audible, but it was definitely a chuckle. I glanced at him.

“What?” I said, cocking an eyebrow.

“Just… brothers,” he said simply, shaking his head.

“They’re insufferable.”

He raised his goblet in a mock toast. “And yet, you’re the softest of us all when it comes to them.”

I didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Because he wasn’t wrong.

The food appeared in a grand flourish roast beef, Yorkshire puddings, mountains of potatoes and conversation shifted to summer gossip. Who had secretly kissed who, who had been seen at Knockturn Alley, whose family had been seen at Malfoy Manor.

“You hear about Daphne Greengrass?” Pansy asked, dabbing delicately at the corner of her mouth with a napkin.

“Do we want to?” said Theo flatly.

“She’s engaged.”

“To who?” Eden gasped.

“Some French pure-blood. Her parents arranged it over summer.”

“Gods,” I muttered, reaching for the pumpkin juice. “We’re not even seventeen.”

Mattheo’s eyes were on me again.

“You worried your father’s planning the same?” he asked, voice quiet beneath the chatter.

I smirked. “If he is, I’ll hex the poor bastard before he gets a chance to kneel.”

He didn’t smile. Just kept looking at me.

I felt my cheeks warm under his stare and immediately turned back to my food.

The feast stretched on, conversation getting louder, messier as the plates emptied and sweets arrived. Atticus stayed quiet, watching everyone with big, uncertain eyes. I made a mental note to send Alexander to check on him later. The older brother talk always landed better coming from him.

As the plates finally vanished and Dumbledore stood to deliver his usual reminders about forbidden corridors and curfews, I felt Theo’s knee nudge mine under the table.

He leaned close and whispered, “Towers tonight?”

I nodded once. “The observatory?”

Enzo, listening from across the table, smirked. “Everything’s still stashed behind the heating panel, right?”

“Unless Filch found it,” Blaise muttered.

“Then we give him some and he mysteriously forgets,” Pansy chimed, shrugging.

“After lights out, yeah?” Eden said. “We’ll meet at the snake tapestry.”

I looked down the table at Atticus, who was listening to a prefect explain where the dormitories were.

“You lot go ahead,” I said. “I’ll come after he’s settled in.”

Draco scoffed. “Don’t baby him.”

“He’s eleven.”

“He’s a Black.”

“Exactly,” I said pointedly.

Mattheo watched this whole exchange silently, but his eyes never left me not even when I wasn’t speaking.

And for the second time that day, I got the sense that whatever polite distance we’d maintained for the past five years was beginning to… fray.

Not snap. Not yet.

But pull.

A thread unravelling.

I turned to Draco “I just want to check on Atticus first.”

He waved me off. “Be quick or we’ll start drinking without you.”

I grinned. “As if Enzo would let me miss the first toast.”

The Slytherin common room was just as I remembered dim, green-lit, full of whispers that never really echoed. I found Atticus by the fireplace, sat cross-legged on the thick rug with his little stack of first-year books already out and opened, though his eyes weren’t moving across the page.

He looked up as I approached and gave me a nervous sort of smile.

“You alright?” I asked, crouching beside him.

He nodded, but the hesitation was obvious.

“Everyone’s so... loud,” he said quietly. “I couldn’t even understand what half the boys were saying. One of them told me not to touch his wand, and I wasn’t even near it.”

I stifled a laugh and sat down properly beside him.

“You’ll find your people,” I said. “And until then, Alexander and I are your people.”

“You’re a girl,” he said bluntly, frowning.

“And don’t you forget it,” I smirked. “But lucky for you, I’m a Black first. Which means you come before the lot of them.”

He shrugged. “Dad always talks about you like you’re this big, scary Slytherin girl. The ‘shadow in the corridor’.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “Well, I am scary. But only when I need to be.”

He smiled for real this time, teeth and all. A tiny thing, still full of baby roundness in the cheeks. I ruffled his curls gently.

“Get some sleep,” I said, standing. “Tomorrow we start the year properly. You’ll be fine.”

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re not scary. Not with me.”

My heart pinched. I gave him a wink. “Don’t tell anyone. It’d ruin my reputation.”

The girls’ dormitory was mercifully empty when I got there. Eden was already rifling through her trunk, holding up potential outfits with a mischievous grin.

“You’re wearing the black one, right?” she asked.

I arched a brow. “Obviously.”

“It’s barely a dress.”

“Exactly.”

Truth be told, I hadn’t meant to change over the summer. But I had. I’d grown into my body in ways that were both a blessing and a curse: curvier now, fuller in places I hadn’t been before, and no longer just Regulus Black’s young daughter. I had started looking like a woman.

Tonight, I felt it too.

The black dress I pulled on clung like it had been spelled to. Low back, low neckline, and a hem that danced just below the tops of my thighs. The kind of dress that was illegal in the library and would’ve had McGonagall fainting into her tea.

Eden let out a low whistle.

“If Theo doesn’t combust when he sees you, I’ll eat my shoe,” she said, fastening the last of her bangles.

“Please don’t.”

“I’m just saying. You look...” She looked me up and down. “Dangerous.”

We slipped out after lights-out, shoes in hand, bare feet on cold stone as we padded silently down the corridor. At the snake tapestry, we met the boys already there, loitering like they owned the place.

The moment we turned the corner, the conversation cut.

Theo was the first to react.

He gave a low, theatrical whistle and clutched his chest like he’d been shot. “Bloody hell, Y/N.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Draco groaned instantly.

Enzo barked a laugh. “Is it still Y/N or did we get a Veela over the summer?”

“I second that,” Blaise added, eyes flicking down and up again. “That’s not the same girl we left on the train last year.”

Eden snorted beside me. “Told you.”

I rolled my eyes, but the smirk I wore betrayed me. It felt good. Not because they were looking but because they noticed.

Theo stepped forward with a wink. “If I die tonight, I want this to be the last image seared into my brain.”

Draco elbowed him, hard. “Stop talking about my cousin like that or I swear to Salazar, I’ll hex my own ears off.”

“You’d prefer we lie?” Enzo teased.

Draco groaned dramatically and covered his face. “I’m going to vomit. All over your shiny shoes, Theo.”

Mattheo hadn’t said anything.

But I felt it.

The weight of his gaze as I stepped closer. Slower. More deliberate now.

When I looked at him he was already looking.

And his stare didn’t flick away like the others. It lingered. Measured. Not shocked. Not loud. But like he was trying to make sense of something he hadn’t noticed before.

Our eyes locked. Just a breath.

And then I turned to Eden.

“Shall we?” I said sweetly, lifting the hem of my dress slightly as we started up the winding steps toward the tower.

“Let’s drink until we forget we have classes tomorrow,” she grinned.

“Or until Draco actually throws up.”

“I heard that!” he called from behind.

The party hadn’t even started yet, but already, the air was different.

Something was brewing.

And I wasn’t sure if it was the Firewhisky in Enzo’s satchel, or the way Mattheo Riddle still hadn’t stopped looking at me.

The observatory tower wasn’t meant for parties but that had never stopped us before.

It was cold, sure. And mostly stone. But Enzo had charmed a few cushions into existence and Pansy had hexed the windows shut to keep the wind from cutting through our robes. The air was thick with the sugary scent of liquor and someone's overly expensive cologne.

Music drifted lazily from a wireless someone had smuggled in. Theo, of course, had already poured a round of Firewhisky into mismatched goblets he’d stolen from the kitchens.

I’d barely had two sips before someone probably Eden suggested it.

“Let’s play Never Have I Ever.”

Draco groaned loudly and threw his head back against the wall. “Must we?”

“Come on, Cousin,” I grinned, poking his leg. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“You shag Theo and I hurl myself off the tower?”

“Oi,” Theo said, clearly not offended at all. “That’s rude. And oddly specific.”

“I hate this game,” Draco muttered, already covering his ears. “If any of you mentions anything involving Y/N and body parts, I’m going to start singing 'God Save the Queen' at full volume.”

“Deal,” I winked.

We arranged ourselves in a messy circle Pansy curled under Draco’s arm, Eden in Enzo’s lap, Blaise already sipping without a care, and Theo seated far too close to me for Draco’s comfort.

Mattheo, of course, was leaned against the stone wall, one leg up, arms folded watching everything. And saying nothing.

First round was tame enough.

Theo smirked. “Never have I ever... kissed someone in this room.”

Half the group drank.

Draco fake-gagged as Pansy proudly took a long sip, and then kissed his cheek just to make him squirm.

Next came Pansy: “Never have I ever snuck out of the castle walls past curfew.”

Everyone else drank. Naturally.

Eden: “Never have I ever hooked up in the library.”

Blaise raised his goblet with a wicked grin.

I stared at him. “Who?”

“Sixth year Ravenclaw,” he said, and left it at that.

“Never have I ever,” I said sweetly, “been caught in the act by a professor.”

Theo raised his goblet with a smug grin and drank.

My jaw dropped. “You’re joking.”

“I wish,” he said, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Who was it with?” Eden asked, already giggling.

Theo leaned back against the stone wall with a theatrical sigh. “A Ravenclaw. I won’t name names. But she had a thing for broom cupboards.”

The group groaned and laughed until Theo wiggled his eyebrows at me for a beat too long.

That was all it took.

“LALALALA!” Draco shouted, slapping his hands over his ears. “Do not flirt with my cousin. You’re disgusting.”

“Grow up, Draco,” Pansy rolled her eyes.

Next up was Enzo.

“Never have I ever had a dirty dream about someone here.”

Theo drank. Immediately.

All eyes turned to him.

“Shocking,” I muttered.

“Oh, come on,” Theo grinned at me. “You’re telling me you haven’t had any dreams?”

I raised a brow. “Not that I remember.”

“Pity,” he said, leaning closer, voice low. “I’d be happy to help you come up with a few.”

Draco threw a cushion at his face.

“Back off,” he growled.

Theo laughed. “I didn’t say it was about her.”

“You didn’t have to!”

As the bickering continued, I glanced up just for a moment and caught Mattheo’s eyes across the circle.

He hadn’t said a word all game. Hadn’t taken a sip. Hadn’t smiled or laughed or reacted.

But he was watching.

His gaze was sharp, cutting through the haze of candlelight and music. Like he could see through all of it. And for a second, I couldn’t look away.

There was something behind his stare.

Tension. Heat. Maybe irritation. Maybe something else entirely.

Theo nudged me gently with his shoulder, pulling my attention back.

“You alright?” he asked, softer now.

“Yeah,” I said. “Just warm.”

I wasn’t lying. The room was hot from the whisky, the bodies, the press of something unsaid in the air.

Mattheo stood, finally, and crossed the room to pour himself a drink without saying anything.

Theo watched him, then turned back to me with a glint in his eye.

“Never have I ever,” he said, raising his voice just enough to drag Mattheo’s attention back to the group, “thought about snogging someone off limits.”

I blinked.

Theo looked at me as he drank.

Slowly.

And across the room, I saw it Mattheo’s jaw flexing, teeth pressing together, fingers tightening just slightly around the rim of his goblet.

He didn’t drink. But he heard it.

“Alright,” Draco said, standing abruptly. “Game over. I’m cutting it off.”

“Oh, come on,” Theo grinned. “Scared we’ll find out who Pansy’s dreaming about?”

She elbowed him hard.

“Don’t ruin the night,” Eden called out.

But Draco was already grabbing the whisky bottle from Theo’s hand.

“I’m not having my cousin’s name dragged into your filthy little fantasies.”

Theo held up his hands in mock surrender. “Didn’t say it was about her.”

“You didn’t have to!” Draco snapped again.

Mattheo stepped forward calm but firm. “Alright, that’s enough.”

His voice wasn’t loud. But it cut through everything.

Everyone went quiet.

He looked at Draco first. “Sit down.”

Then at Theo. “Back off.”

Theo raised a brow. “Didn’t realise you’d appointed yourself our babysitter.”

Mattheo’s stare didn’t waver.

“Didn’t realise you needed one.”

A beat of silence.

Then Theo laughed, shaking his head. “Someone’s touchy tonight.”

“Yeah,” I muttered under my breath. “Someone definitely is.”

Mattheo’s eyes flicked to mine for just a second.

Just long enough to make my stomach twist.

Something had shifted.

And I didn’t know if it was the dress, or Theo’s mouth, or the whisky catching up to all of us but I felt it in my chest.

When I met Mattheo’s gaze again, I didn’t smile.

Neither did he.

But I didn’t look away.

I needed a moment.

I slipped out onto the observatory balcony, cool stone biting beneath my bare feet as I leaned against the railing, drawing in a long breath of the night air. Stars blanketed the sky above, bright and far away, and down on the darkened grounds, something moved a Thestral, maybe, drifting through the trees beyond the pitch.

The world felt still. Quiet. I let myself melt into it.

Then I felt it.

A presence behind me. Close.

Too close.

One arm came down on either side of me, bracing against the balcony rail. I froze. My spine straightened. I couldn’t turn, couldn’t move whoever it was, they had me pinned without touching me.

Warm breath ghosted against my ear.

“You are such a fucking tease, you know that?”

The voice was low. Slurred, but deliberate. Dangerous. A whisper that curled like smoke and disappeared just as fast.

And then gone.

The warmth behind me vanished. No footsteps. No trace.

I spun, heart hammering, but the balcony was empty.

The doorway hung open, music pulsing faintly from inside the tower. Laughter. Glass clinking. No one looking at me. No one suspicious. No one out of place.

Theo was laughing with Blaze, his arm slung around Enzo’s shoulders. Mattheo was standing a bit apart, nursing a drink and scowling at the floor like it had insulted him. All three could’ve made it back in seconds. All three looked… normal.

I lingered a moment longer on the balcony, staring into nothing.

The echo of that voice that breath clung to me like a second skin. I could still feel the heat of it at my neck, the way it sent a shiver all the way down my spine. Whoever it was hadn’t touched me. But it felt like they had. Possessively. Like I was theirs.

My heart hadn’t settled. My legs were still unsteady, and not just from the Firewhisky.

Eventually, I pushed myself away from the railing and stepped back into the tower.

Warm light wrapped around me again, the smell of drink and smoke and bodies overwhelming my senses. Laughter roared from the corner. Enzo was doing some ridiculous impression that had Theo doubled over, wheezing. Blaze and Eden were attempting to balance goblets on their heads. Pansy was trying to drag Draco into a drunken slow dance while he looked like he’d rather be hexed.

And Mattheo was sitting on one of the window ledges, glass in hand, eyes unreadable.

None of them looked like they’d just slipped out and whispered something dark in my ear.

I scanned them again. Tried to look for anything. Anyone. A twitch of a smirk. A glance. But I couldn’t focus. My head was spinning and my limbs were loose, and every second that passed made the whole thing feel less real like I’d imagined it. Like I’d dreamed it up in a drunken haze.

Still… I knew what I’d felt.

That presence. That closeness. That raw, hot breath against my ear. My skin prickled just thinking about it. My body remembered what my brain was too dizzy to process.

“You are such a fucking tease, you know that?”

Who the hell had said it?

I gave up trying to figure it out.

Dragging my fingers through my hair, I crossed the room and grabbed my wand from where I’d left it tucked behind a stone bust near the staircase. “I’m calling it a night,” I said to no one in particular, voice hoarse and low. No one argued. They were too far gone.

Theo raised a lazy hand in goodbye, and Enzo blew me a ridiculous kiss. Mattheo didn’t look at me at all.

Fine.

I slipped out of the tower and padded down the corridor, my head spinning harder with each step.

By the time I reached the common room, I was sobering just enough to curse my thoughts.

That voice whoever it belonged to had burrowed under my skin like poison.

Not the words. Not really.

But the way it was said.

Like they’d been watching me. Wanting me. Resenting the hell out of it.

And somehow… the thought thrilled me.

I hated that I was so curious. So pulled in.

But lying in bed later, facing the dark ceiling of the Slytherin dormitory, I replayed it over and over.

That moment. That voice. That heat.

I’d never felt so owned by something by someone I didn’t even see.

And gods help me… I wanted to know who it was.

The next morning hit me like a Hippogriff to the chest.

My head pounded. My limbs ached. And I had the awful, itchy sensation that someone had crawled inside my mind and rearranged everything while I slept.

I moved through the motions of getting dressed in a daze pulling on my uniform, ignoring my mess of hair, and nearly buttoning my shirt up wrong three times. Eden was still snoring softly in her bed, one arm flung dramatically over her head, her makeup smudged and wand dangling off the edge of her pillow.

I didn’t wake her.

Mostly because I couldn’t form words.

My mind was a loop. That voice. That breath. That moment.

I hadn’t dreamt it. I was sure of that now. I could feel it still. Whoever he was Theo, Blaze or Mattheo had left something behind in that touchless, breathless moment on the balcony. Some thread tangled deep in my chest.

And now it was tugging.

Hard.

By the time I reached the Entrance Hall for breakfast, my stomach was twisted in knots. My eyes kept flicking sideways, scanning for tells. Blaze was talking animatedly with Theo near the wall. Mattheo stood apart, leaning against one of the stone columns, arms folded, jaw tight.

He wasn’t looking at me.

Or maybe he was, when I wasn’t looking at him.

It was maddening.

I didn’t eat. Couldn’t. The food looked like it was spinning on the plates.

We were halfway to Defence Against the Dark Arts when I felt someone fall into step beside me.

“You alright?”

I blinked up to see Draco watching me, brow furrowed. His platinum fringe was neatly in place as always and his robe hung perfectly around his lean frame. He looked composed. Sharp. Focused.

I forced a smile. “Fine.”

“You’re not.” His tone was quiet but pointed, a cousin’s mix of concern and condescension. “You’ve been floating through the corridor like a ghost. You didn’t eat. You look like you didn’t sleep.”

I said nothing. Just shrugged and kept walking.

Draco sighed, pulling me aside by the edge of the corridor, letting the others pass.

He turned to face me fully, voice low now. “Look… Y/N… this year isn’t just another year. You know that, don’t you?”

I met his eyes. I did know. Of course I did.

“We’ve got to be ready,” he continued. “When the Dark Lord gives the signal when he calls us in we don’t get to hesitate. He’s not going to care if you’re distracted or daydreaming or chasing shadows.”

I flinched slightly.

He paused. “I’m not saying this to be a prick. I’m saying it because I care. Because you’re my cousin and if you’re not focused, you’ll get hurt. Worse.”

I swallowed hard. He was right. I hated that he was right.

I forced another nod. “Yeah. I know. You’re right.”

His eyes searched mine. “So whatever happened last night whatever’s messing with your head let it go.”

But how could I?

I offered a small, tired smile and patted his shoulder. “Thanks, Draco. I’ll sort it.”

We rejoined the others, heading down into the Defence corridor, where Professor Snape was already stalking about with his usual grim energy.

I tried to focus. I did.

But all through the lesson wand gripped in my hand, dark spells echoing off stone walls I could feel it again.

That voice.

That whisper.

That heat.

You are such a fucking tease, you know that…

I closed my eyes for a heartbeat and told myself it meant nothing.

Even though I knew better.

By lunch, I’d convinced myself that I was fine.

Completely, entirely, totally fine.

Sure, I’d barely slept, I’d lied to Draco, and I couldn’t even look at a stone balcony without feeling my heartbeat stutter but fine. That was the story, and I was sticking to it.

The Great Hall buzzed with life voices layered over clinking goblets, the rustle of parchment, the occasional shriek from the Gryffindor table when the ceiling rumbled with the threat of an autumn storm.

I sat between Eden and Theo, across from Mattheo and Blaze. Draco was arguing with Pansy at the far end, their on-and-off drama swinging back into “off” for the moment. Pansy’s dramatic sighs could have powered the Hogwarts Express.

“You can’t actually believe the Cannons are going to make top five this season,” Blaze was saying, mouth half-full of roast potatoes. “They haven’t made top five since Merlin had knees.”

“Oh, and I suppose you think the Harpies will?” Theo shot back. “You’re all talk and no broomstick, Zabini.”

“I’m talk and strategy,” Blaze replied smugly, tapping his temple. “Unlike you, whose idea of defence is ‘fly in a straight line and hope for the best.’”

I smiled faintly, grateful for the familiar rhythm of their arguing. Eden leaned into me with a grin, whispering just loudly enough, “Watch this.”

Without warning, she pinched Theo’s side.

“OI!” he yelped, jumping a good six inches in his seat.

“Still ticklish, I see,” she teased.

“Betrayal,” he said, clutching his chest. “From my own best mate. I feel wounded.”

“Not as wounded as your dignity was when I beat you at Wizard's Chess twice last week,” I added sweetly, sipping my pumpkin juice.

Theo turned to me with a dramatic gasp. “You’re supposed to take my side.”

“You’re never winning that game,” Eden said, smug. “Y/N’s got you wrapped around her wand.”

Theo wiggled his brows at me. “If only.”

“Oh, grow up,” Mattheo muttered, not looking up from the book he was absently flipping through beside his untouched plate.

I blinked. He hadn’t said much all morning. Actually, not much at all since the party. Just the occasional glare at Theo but then again, that wasn’t exactly unusual.

“You alright, Matty?” I asked, biting a piece of bread.

He didn’t look up. “Fine.”

Eden gave me a glance, eyebrows slightly raised, but didn’t comment.

Draco finally slumped down beside me, dramatically dropping a scroll of parchment on the table. “If I hear Pansy say ‘You never listen to me’ one more time, I’ll jinx my own ears off.”

“Didn’t you two get back together like, yesterday?” Theo asked.

“She said I don’t communicate enough,” Draco said, already digging into his meal. “So I tried to tell her about my dream last night, and she said, and I quote, ‘You dream about yourself too much.’ I was fighting a basilisk, mind you.”

“That sounds very on brand,” I said, trying not to laugh.

“Was it shirtless basilisk fighting again?” Theo added.

“Obviously,” Draco muttered.

The laughter around the table was light and easy just like old times. For a while, it worked. The voice faded. The balcony slipped to the back of my mind.

We talked Quidditch, upcoming Hogsmeade trips, our new (and already detested) Arithmancy professor, and made plans to sneak out to the lake next warm night we got. It was… normal. And I needed normal.

By the time the bell rang and we all dragged ourselves toward our respective classes, I felt almost steady again.

Even when Mattheo walked just a step too close to me on our way to Charms close enough that our hands nearly brushed I didn’t let it shake me.

I was fine.

And nothing was going to ruin that.

The library was unusually quiet for a Wednesday. A soft patter of rain hit the tall windows and made the warm candlelight flicker against the stone walls. I settled into a corner table, textbooks and parchment spread out before me, determined to be a model student or at least appear like one.

Quill in hand, I scribbled the opening lines of an essay for Potions, but my mind wandered almost instantly.

A flash of warm breath. The ghost of a whisper. A grip too close, a voice too deep.

You are such a fucking tease…

I clenched my jaw, shaking the memory away. I had more important things to

Bootsteps.

Slow, familiar, deliberate.

I looked up just as Mattheo stepped into my line of sight, a textbook tucked beneath one arm, his other hand buried in his robe pocket. His hair was a bit messier than usual, the ink on his fingers fresh, like he’d just come from scribbling something he’d never show anyone.

He didn't notice me at first. Or maybe he did and pretended not to that would be more like him.

But when he settled at the table just a few feet away, I lifted my gaze again and caught him mid-sit.

I gave him a small smile. Not wide. Not overly friendly. Just enough.

A silent you can join me if you like.

His eyes found mine… and didn’t soften.

His stare was unreadable cold, almost and instead of moving toward me, he opened his book with a slow rustle and dropped into his seat as if I hadn’t gestured at all.

I blinked. Once. Twice.

And then tilted my head slightly, lips curling.

Interesting.

Because suddenly, now that I was paying attention really paying attention I could see it.

The jawline, sharp and tense. The slight rasp of his voice when he was annoyed. The way he always stood just a little too close when irritated. The sort of possessive, heavy way he watched things when he thought no one noticed.

Mattheo Riddle was all hot breath and dark heat.

And I was certain now it had been him on that balcony.

The realisation sent something electric down my spine. Heat. Thrill. A little flick of power.

He wanted to pretend? Fine.

Two could play that game.

I returned to my notes, posture adjusting subtly. Slouched just enough that I could cross my legs, letting my skirt ride up a little higher on my thigh. My hand drifted lazily to the top button of my blouse and I undid it.

Then another.

It wasn’t scandalous not by Hogwarts standards. But the swell of cleavage now visible beneath my open collar certainly wasn’t what Professor McGonagall would deem appropriate for study.

I didn’t look up. Not yet.

Instead, I reached to the far end of the table just far enough and gave my Charms book a careless nudge.

It slid off the edge and landed on the floor with a soft thud.

Mattheo didn’t move, but I knew he’d heard it. The room was too quiet not to.

I stood, stretched, and turned my back slightly as I bent to retrieve it slowly, carefully, just enough that the hem of my skirt shifted, lifting slightly. Enough for a teasing hint of lace to peek out at the top of my thigh-highs.

I didn’t need to look at him to feel it.

That subtle shift in the air. The heat of his stare. The way time sort of stilled between us quiet but buzzing.

I stood again, hugging the book to my chest, and finally glanced his way.

He was watching me.

Not reading. Not pretending.

Watching.

His jaw was clenched tight, mouth pressed in a hard line. One of his hands curled around the edge of his book, knuckles white.

Gotcha.

I gave him a small, innocent smile, as if none of that had just happened, and returned to my seat.

He didn’t move. Didn’t say a word.

But the tension radiating off him could’ve lit the whole bloody castle.

If Mattheo wanted to ignore me, he’d have to work a hell of a lot harder.

Something had shifted since the library in me. Knowing it had been him on that balcony, knowing he’d left me rattled with just a whisper, only to act like I didn’t exist afterward? That lit a fire under my skin I didn’t want to put out.

So I leaned into it. Boldly. Shamelessly.

And I made damn sure he noticed.

The first opportunity came in the common room. The whole group had gathered after class, sprawled across couches and mismatched chairs like we owned the bloody place which, by now, we practically did.

Enzo and Eden were tangled together in their usual corner. Blaise was reading or pretending to as Pansy painted her nails with a wand flick, fuming over something Draco had said earlier. Theo sat by the fireplace, legs spread, long fingers twirling a silver ring over and over again.

And Mattheo?

Slouched in the armchair closest to the window, sleeves pushed up to his forearms, jaw tight, eyes flicking between his book and the rest of us like we were all an irritation.

Perfect.

I walked past him slowly, letting my fingers trail across the edge of his armrest. As I stepped between him and the firelight, I made sure my skirt swayed just enough, and let my hand accidentally brush his thigh.

Just a whisper of contact.

But his whole body went still.

I didn’t look back.

The next day, I wore a top I knew would drive him mad. Low-cut, just slightly sheer in the right lighting, and I caught Theo blatantly staring three times before breakfast ended.

“You trying to kill someone this morning?” he whispered as he passed behind me in the Great Hall, his voice low and amused.

“Just making the most of the attention,” I replied sweetly.

Mattheo didn’t say a word the entire meal.

But when I reached for a piece of toast across the table, and my hand grazed his again, I felt it the tension in his body, the way he pulled his arm back like I’d burned him.

Still silent. Still seething.

During Herbology, I partnered with Theo. Not because I had to but because Mattheo paired himself with Blaise before I could even blink.

Fine.

Theo didn’t mind. In fact, he leaned in close as we worked, brushing dirt from my cheek with a grin that was way too confident for someone holding a spiked plant.

“You really did something over the summer,” he murmured as he reached past me.

“Oh?” I asked, tilting my head innocently.

“You’ve always been hot. But now?” He gave me a look. “Now you’re dangerous.”

Across the greenhouse, Mattheo’s gloved hands snapped the stem of a shrieking mandrake clean off its root.

Professor Sprout nearly cried.

Later that week, after another night in the common room, I passed Mattheo again this time with our arms brushing. Close. Too close.

And this time, I leaned in as I passed and whispered, “You always get this tense around girls… or is it just me?”

He didn’t respond.

Not with words.

But his nostrils flared. His eyes flicked up, sharp and dark. His hand gripped the book in his lap like he was seconds away from tearing it in half.

Good.

Because I wasn’t just playing anymore I was hunting.

And Mattheo Riddle?

He was trying very hard not to let himself be caught.

The wind nipped at my legs as we strolled through Hogsmeade, scarves wrapped loosely and cloaks billowing behind us like we owned the bloody village. Because honestly? We did.

We were those students the ones everyone knew, watched, whispered about. The children of Death Eaters, dark-blood royalty in Slytherin ties. And we moved like it.

Today, the whole group had come along Eden and Enzo hand in hand, Draco sulking because Pansy had refused to come unless he apologised for something he said about her shoes, and Theo?

Theo had glued himself to my side.

“Sweetheart,” he drawled as we passed Honeydukes, “I’m buying you something disgustingly sugary and romantic. Pick your poison.”

I smirked. “Sugar quills. And those little truffles with the gold foil.”

He threw a Galleon at the shopfront boy like he was royalty and turned back to me with a grin. “Anything else?”

“Surprise me.”

His eyes flicked down my frame in a slow sweep, smirk deepening. “Don’t tempt me.”

From somewhere behind us, Mattheo’s voice snapped out low and sharp: “You’re going to give her diabetes, not shag her.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Theo shot back, unfazed, “I can multitask.”

That earned a bark of laughter from Enzo and a scoff from Draco.

But me? I didn’t even blush. I turned to Theo, took one of the sweets he’d handed me, and placed it between my lips.

He watched as I bit into it, eyes locked on my mouth like I’d cast a spell.

Mattheo?

He didn’t say a thing.

But his jaw was clenched so tight I could see the tension running through him like a piano wire.

We ended up in The Three Broomsticks after an hour of wandering all squeezed into a booth that was far too small, our knees knocking beneath the table, the drinks flowing faster than usual.

Theo had his arm around the back of the booth behind me. He wasn’t touching me, technically but his fingers would brush my hair every so often like an accident. Except it wasn’t.

And I wasn’t stopping him.

“You’re quiet today,” he said softly, tipping his Butterbeer towards my lips. “Too much thinking?”

“Too much watching,” I replied, sipping from the tankard. “The company’s distracting.”

“Am I distracting you?” he asked, voice low.

“Terribly.”

Across the table, Mattheo said nothing.

But he hadn’t touched his drink.

Just sat there, hand tight around the glass, staring at Theo like he was moments from planting a dagger between his ribs.

Draco, blissfully unaware, was muttering about getting back to the castle.

Theo was smirking. Eden and Enzo were locked in their own world.

And me?

I was floating in the middle heat curling in my stomach, eyes drifting from Theo’s lazy grin to Mattheo’s dark stare and wondering how long this dance could really last.

By the time we walked back up the hill to Hogwarts, the sun was setting behind the towers in streaks of lavender and gold, and the butterbeer had settled warm in our veins.

Theo kept brushing his hand against mine.

Mattheo trailed behind with Draco, silent, his eyes never leaving me.

I could feel them.

Later that night it was far too late for any of us to be out of bed, much less piled into the back corner of the Astronomy Tower, sprawled on cushions someone had stolen from the Common Room and wrapped in stolen blankets and smuggled Firewhisky.

Someone had lit a few candles with their wand probably Eden and the flickering glow made shadows dance across the walls like ghosts whispering secrets.

The air buzzed. Maybe from the alcohol. Maybe from us.

“I swear on Salazar’s grave,” Theo drawled, voice lazy, “if I have to sit through another DADA lecture on Inferi, I might throw myself off this tower just for a bit of variety.”

I laughed. “You’re not even paying attention half the time. You spent the last class transfiguring Draco’s quill into a flaccid carrot.”

Draco made a sound of indignation. “That’s what that was?”

Theo only smirked.

But his attention, like always lately, shifted back to me far too quickly.

I was sitting on one of the blankets, legs crossed, revealing far too much thigh for propriety. And I knew it.

So did he.

“I’ve got an idea,” Theo said, pushing up onto his knees. “Let’s play something.”

“Oh God,” groaned Enzo. “What sort of something?”

“The fun kind.”

“Define fun.”

Theo didn’t answer. Instead, he turned to me, voice dropped low like we weren’t surrounded by half our housemates. “Y/N. Come here.”

The room stilled slightly. Even the candles seemed to pause.

I tilted my head at him. “Why?”

“So I can tell you a secret.”

I laughed. “You’re drunk.”

“Not drunk enough to miss the way you’ve been looking at me tonight.”

A few whistles went around. Blaze let out a cackle. Draco groaned again. “Don’t.”

But I was already moving, climbing up to my knees, leaning just slightly towards Theo with an amused smile playing at my lips.

“Fine,” I murmured. “What’s your secret?”

He grinned, a little wicked the kind of grin that meant trouble and leaned in, nose brushing mine.

His hand skimmed up my thigh.

His breath was warm.

And then

“Y/N.” Mattheo’s voice.

Sharp. Clipped. Firm.

Everyone turned.

He was standing now, dark jumper clinging to his broad chest, curls a mess from where he’d raked a hand through them, eyes blazing.

“I need your help,” he said shortly. “With something.”

I blinked, pulling back slightly from Theo, who let out a frustrated sigh but didn’t push.

“What?”

“Snacks,” Mattheo said, tone flat. “Or maybe more drink. Whatever. You’re coming with me.”

It wasn’t a question.

He was already walking toward the door, not even checking if I followed.

I hesitated.

And then just to spite Theo’s soft curse behind me I stood and followed.

The corridor outside the tower was darker, cooler. Empty, except for the glow of the occasional floating lantern.

“Snacks?” I asked, arms crossed, catching up to him.

He didn’t slow down.

“Cut the act,” he muttered.

“What act?”

Mattheo stopped so suddenly I nearly crashed into him. He turned, eyes wild and dangerous in the low light.

“The bloody act, Y/N. The teasing. The fucking… games.”

I blinked, heart thudding. “You’re mad I didn’t let Theo kiss me?”

“I’m mad you wanted him to,” he snapped.

I gaped at him, stunned silent.

Mattheo Riddle son of the Dark Lord, ice-veined and cold-blooded looked like he might explode.

He stepped closer.

“I’ve watched you,” he said, voice lower now. “Every damn day since we got back. Walking around in skirts two sizes too small, laughing with Theo, touching me when you think no one’s watching…”

He leaned in. My back hit the wall of the corridor.

“You’ve no idea what you’re doing to me.”

I swallowed, heat blooming in my chest. “Then show me.”

His eyes flared. But he didn’t move.

Just stood there. Breathing hard. Clenching his jaw like he was holding himself back from either kissing me or hexing the wall beside my head.

“I’m not a game, Y/N,” he said.

“I never said you were.”

But he didn’t answer.

He just turned and walked away leaving me breathless, dizzy, and completely undone in the empty corridor.

He walked away...

Just like that.

Like he hadn’t just ripped open my ribcage and peeked inside. Like he hadn’t just stood close enough to burn me alive and then left me out in the cold.

I leaned back against the stone wall and let out a shaky breath, trying to ignore the way my hands trembled slightly at my sides. My skin still buzzed from where his voice had wrapped around me like smoke low, rough, possessive.

My lips parted. My chest ached. My mind screamed with a thousand thoughts, but none of them made it past my throat.

What the hell was that?

Why pull me away from Theo just to deliver that meltdown and leave?

Why not kiss me?

Why didn’t he just do something?

Instead, he gave me everything and nothing all at once.

I didn’t go back upstairs.

Not right away. I needed the cool corridor air more than I needed the teasing glances or the way Theo’s hand kept finding my waist like he already knew it belonged there.

Because for a moment, I wanted it to. Just to see how Mattheo would react.

But now? Now I couldn’t even pretend.

It wasn’t Theo I thought about. It wasn’t even what Theo might’ve done.

It was him. Mattheo. Mattheo, who had stared at me like I was something unholy and tempting and his, and then walked away like I wasn’t.

Again.

I don’t remember walking back to the dorm. Only that when I got there, the fire was out and the moonlight from the tall windows streaked across the common room floor.

I didn’t sleep.

I lay in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, heart pounding like I’d run a race. His words echoed on a loop in my skull.

“You’ve no idea what you’re doing to me.”

But I did.

God, I did.

And worse? I liked it. Liked the way I made him snap. Liked the way he came undone.

Liked that he cared enough to fall apart about it.

And now? Now I was in so much trouble.

By morning, the usual chaos returned. A half-burnt piece of toast in one hand, bag half-zipped, Theo slinging an arm over my shoulder like he’d done it a hundred times before.

“Tell me,” he said, chewing noisily, “if we all just dropped out, how long before the professors noticed?”

“Two weeks,” I said flatly.

Draco, walking ahead of us, snorted. “Two hours. We’re the only halfway intelligent ones left.”

“Speak for yourself,” Blaise muttered, dragging behind with a hangover.

Mattheo didn’t say a word.

He walked a few paces ahead, dark curls mussed, sleeves rolled, tie askew. His fists were jammed deep into his pockets, jaw ticking like a clock running out of time.

Every time I laughed at one of Theo’s jokes, I swore he walked faster.

Every time Theo leaned in close to whisper something in my ear, Mattheo’s back went impossibly straighter.

He didn’t look at me once.

So I mirrored him. I didn’t look either. But I felt him.

I felt the tension simmering between us like a hex hanging just beneath the surface, waiting to explode.

And it was only going to get worse.

The classroom was already full by the time we arrived desks scraped back, parchment scattered, and the dull hum of morning groans echoing through the dungeon walls.

Professor Slughorn didn’t look up as we filed in. His long, ink-stained fingers continued scrawling on the blackboard, wand tapping occasionally to underline something gruesome about blood magic and ritual binding.

“Partners,” he announced flatly, still not turning. “Same as last week.”

I froze mid-step. My stomach flipped.

Mattheo was already at the back table, slouched in his chair like the very act of existing annoyed him.

Our usual seat.

Our usual partnership.

And today?

It felt like walking into a war zone.

I slid into the seat beside him slowly, carefully as if he might snap again just from proximity. He didn’t look at me. Not even a flick of those burning eyes.

He had one hand wrapped around his quill, tapping it with precision against his notebook.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I sat stiffly beside him, pretending the space between our shoulders didn’t ache with everything unsaid.

From across the room, Theo caught my eye and grinned.

“Oi, Slughorn,” he called, lazy and smug. “Think we could do a reshuffle this week? I’ve been robbed of the only decent partner in the class.”

A few heads turned. I felt my cheeks heat.

Professor Slughorn didn’t even glance up. “No.”

Theo sighed dramatically. “Tragic, really. Was hoping for a bit of fun. I work better when my partner’s got good legs.”

I shot him a glare, but he just winked.

Next to me, Mattheo’s quill stopped tapping.

The silence was heavier than lead. His fingers tensed, the feather of his quill crushed in his grip. But still no words. No movement.

I didn’t dare look at him.

The instructions for the potion were scrawled messily on the board something complex involving powdered raven bone and an unstable fluxweed reduction. I started gathering the ingredients automatically, but my hands felt clumsy. Unfocused.

He moved beside me silent, efficient, infuriatingly cold.

Not a word passed between us.

Only the soft clinks of glass vials, the scrape of a knife on a chopping board, the dull roar of a low flame catching under the cauldron.

My chest felt tight. The silence was worse than yelling. Worse than his anger in the corridor.

This? This wasn’t him. This was something colder.

I measured out the fluxweed. He stirred counter-clockwise without needing a prompt. Our hands brushed briefly as I passed him the stirrer, and I swore I felt him flinch.

But he didn’t look at me.

Not once.

By the end of class, our potion shimmered perfectly violet stable, correct, flawless.

Unlike us.

When the bell rang, I stayed seated a second too long.

He stood, pushed his chair back, and walked out without a word.

And just like that, I was breathless all over again.

The courtyard was unusually full for a weekday afternoon the kind of overcast day where no one wanted to be inside, but the sun hadn’t quite shown up either. Clusters of students lounged on benches and stone steps, halfheartedly pretending to revise.

I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be there.

“I still don’t understand why I have to be the one to return this,” I muttered, glancing down at the borrowed textbook in my hand.

“It was your idea to steal it from Granger in the first place,” Eden smirked, flicking her quill at me. “So you’re doing the noble deed.”

I scowled. “I didn’t steal it. I… borrowed it aggressively.”

But she wasn’t listening anymore, and before I could escape, I spotted them.

Granger, Potter, and Weasley. Sat under one of the arches, heads bent in discussion over some tattered bit of parchment that looked suspiciously like contraband.

Perfect.

I considered just tossing the book in their direction and fleeing, but something made me approach.

Maybe it was the sharp eyes I felt tracking me across the courtyard.

Mattheo was nearby half-lounging against the low stone wall with Draco, Theo, Enzo, and the rest of the usual suspects, all laughing at something Theo was miming with far too much enthusiasm.

I ignored the way my stomach twisted.

I stepped up to the trio.

Granger looked up first, surprised.

“I believe this belongs to you,” I said coolly, holding out the book. “Advanced Arithmancy riveting read, really.”

Hermione blinked. “I...thank you…?”

“I’d rather eat flobberworms than sit through another of Professor Vector’s lectures without caffeine,” I added dryly. “Not sure how you manage.”

Harry gave me a cautious look. “Didn’t think you lot borrowed from our side of the castle.”

I smiled tightly. “Desperate times.”

Ron, never one for tact, raised a brow. “Thought Slytherins didn’t need help from anyone. Especially you.”

I tilted my head. “Is that supposed to offend me, Weasley?”

He grinned like he’d won something. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Just odd seeing you with your nose out of Malfoy’s arse for once.”

Draco sputtered with laughter from across the courtyard.

Before I could respond, Potter added under his breath, just loud enough to carry:

“Maybe she’s trying to trade up. Heard Y/N has a thing for dark-haired psychopaths lately.”

I turned just in time to see Mattheo push off from the wall, expression thunderous. That dangerous calm wrapped around him like smoke slow, deliberate, lethal.

He didn’t raise his voice.

Didn’t need to.

“What did you just say?”

Harry stiffened. “It was a joke.”

“Say it again.” Mattheo stepped closer. “Go on, Potter. Make another joke. Let’s see how funny you are when your wand’s broken and your glasses are shattered into your bloody skull.”

Harry stood now too, jaw tight. But Mattheo’s stare didn’t falter molten and livid, like he was daring him to even breathe wrong.

The entire courtyard was watching.

“Mattheo,” I said quietly, barely audible.

But he didn’t look at me.

Didn’t look at anyone but Harry.

“You think I don’t see you watching her? You and your little band of idiots.” His lip curled. “She’s ten times the witch you’ll ever deserve. So next time you want to use her name to make yourself feel important. Don’t.”

The silence stretched, heavy and brutal.

Even Ron looked spooked.

Mattheo turned without another word, jaw clenched, and walked straight past me but not before his hand brushed mine briefly. Just once. Just enough to burn.

The moment he was gone, I realised I was holding my breath.

So was everyone else.

The laughter and tension still hung thick in the air, but I barely noticed it anymore.

My eyes flicked to Harry.

He looked stunned. Brows furrowed, still trying to make sense of what had just happened. I didn’t like him not really but even I could admit that jab from Mattheo had hit harder than necessary.

I caught his eye just briefly.

My lips pressed into the faintest, silent sorry.

Then I turned and followed Mattheo.

He was already halfway up the courtyard steps, shoulders tight, strides long cutting through the archway like a storm wrapped in black robes.

“Mattheo,” I called, quickening my pace. “Mattheo, wait.”

He didn’t. Of course he didn’t.

I had to jog to catch up, fingers closing around the cuff of his sleeve as we reached the hallway outside the library.

He stopped, but didn’t turn.

I tugged again. “What the hell was that?”

Finally, he twisted, eyes flaring. “You’re asking me?”

“Yes,” I hissed, stepping in front of him. “You just threatened Harry Potter in front of half the courtyard”

He cut me off. “He deserved it.”

“That’s not the point”

“It is to me.”

I blinked at him.

Mattheo’s jaw clenched. His eyes, usually unreadable, sparked with something dangerous and unfiltered.

“No one gets to say your name like that. Like you’re just some… pawn in a joke. Some girl to make jabs at.”

I blinked again, softer now. “So you humiliate him? For my honour?”

“For you.”

Silence stretched between us.

It wasn’t performative now. Not like the teasing, the games, the tension we both pretended to ignore. It was raw. Real.

I swallowed. “You’re acting like we’re something.”

Mattheo looked down at me, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. “Aren’t we?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered.

“Then decide, Y/N,” he said, voice rough. “Because I can’t keep doing this. Can’t keep pretending I don’t want to ruin anyone who so much as looks at you.”

I opened my mouth.

Closed it again.

Then finally: “You already are ruining them.”

His mouth twitched a ghost of a smirk.

But he didn’t say anything else.

Just stepped in closer, hand brushing mine for half a second a barely-there touch that sent my pulse skittering and then turned to walk away again, leaving me speechless and burning in the empty corridor.

By the time I made it back to the common room, the rest of them were already there sprawled in their usual spots on the couches and armchairs, laughter floating above the firelight like everything was normal.

Like nothing had just happened.

But I could feel it. The shift.

Like a crack in the floor that no one wanted to look at.

Eden glanced up from where she was tucked against Draco’s side, brows flicking slightly as her eyes swept between me and Mattheo. She didn’t say anything none of them did but they all felt it. I could see it in the way conversation faltered when I stepped in. The way Theo’s gaze lingered on me a beat too long.

And Mattheo?

He didn’t look up at all.

He sat in the corner armchair, legs spread wide, elbow hooked over the back, a book open in one hand and the other curled in a fist against his jaw. But he wasn’t reading.

He was watching Theo.

Theo, who was suddenly very interested in where I was going to sit.

“Y/N,” he drawled lazily, stretching out like a cat and patting the cushion beside him. “Come lighten my mood, would you? Being this handsome is exhausting.”

I rolled my eyes, but the corner of my mouth twitched. “Is that your way of saying you’ve missed me?”

He grinned, head tilting. “Terribly. Tragic, really. I’ve been inconsolable.”

“Such a shame,” I said, sitting not beside him, but close enough that it still counted. Close enough that I felt Mattheo’s gaze snap up, hot and immediate, like a pull to my spine.

Theo leaned in slightly, dropping his voice just enough for it to feel intimate. “You always know how to fix me.”

“You’re hopeless,” I muttered, but didn’t move away.

Mattheo shifted.

Not much just the scrape of his boot across the floor and the creak of leather as he leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees but it was enough that the room seemed to notice.

Not directly.

But in the sideways glances. The awkward silences. The undercurrent of awareness.

“So,” Eden said, far too loudly. “Are we sneaking out tonight or pretending we’re model students for once?”

Draco scoffed. “Speak for yourself, Greengrass.”

“Obviously I was,” she snapped back, tossing a cushion at his head.

Laughter erupted. Conversation picked up.

But the tension remained like static, humming just beneath the surface.

Theo didn’t stop flirting.

Mattheo didn’t stop brooding.

And I didn’t stop feeling like I was walking a tightrope with no idea which direction I wanted to fall.

The moon was high by the time we slipped out the back gates, past the edge of the castle wards and into the open air.

Someone probably Blaise had suggested a late walk under the guise of getting “fresh air,” which really meant another excuse to sneak Firewhisky into our lungs and trouble into our bloodstreams. A few others came, laughter echoing across the grass in drunken stumbles and muffled giggles, but I didn’t stay with them long.

Not when I noticed Mattheo hanging back.

Not when I felt his gaze on the back of my neck like it ached to be acknowledged.

So I slowed.

Let the others walk ahead, their silhouettes drifting further into the trees near the edge of the forest.

And then it was just us.

The quiet closed in around us slowly, like fog. I glanced at him beside me tall, tense, curls pushed back from his forehead by the wind, jaw set hard against whatever war he was fighting internally.

I shoved my hands in my cloak pockets and asked, quietly, “What do you want from me, Mattheo?”

He didn’t answer at first.

Didn’t even look at me just kept walking, boots crunching over the frost-covered grass.

I waited.

And waited.

Finally, just when I thought he might stay silent forever, he exhaled hard, like the answer burned his lungs on the way out.

“I don’t know.”

I frowned. “That’s honest, at least.”

He stopped walking.

And I did too turning slightly, facing him now in the silver wash of moonlight.

His brow was furrowed. “You drive me fucking insane,” he said, voice low and raw. “One minute you’re all over Theo, laughing like he’s the only one in the world, and the next you're looking at me like you want to set me on fire.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. “Maybe I do.”

His mouth twitched. “Yeah. That’s the problem.”

Silence stretched again.

And then I said it what we’d both been tiptoeing around for weeks. “If this is just… whatever this is jealousy, boredom, a game say it. Because I’m not going to keep circling you like this forever, Mattheo. You either want something or you don’t.”

His eyes met mine sharply.

And something shifted in his expression. That usual razor-edged intensity dulled slightly not gone, but softer, almost vulnerable. It cracked something in my chest.

“I do,” he said, so quietly I almost didn’t hear it. “I do want something.”

I blinked. “Then why won’t you just...?”

“Because we’re about to find out what our tasks are.”

His voice was bitter.

And heavy.

Like he’d just yanked us both back to earth.

The Dark Lord’s trials. The reason we were all here, really why every death eaters child carried that same haunted look behind their eyes, why nights like these mattered so much, because we didn’t know how many we had left without fear behind every breath.

Mattheo stepped closer, eyes fixed on mine. “We don’t know what’s coming. And you… you shouldn’t be tethered to me when it does.”

I swallowed. “You think I can’t handle it?”

He didn’t answer that.

Didn’t need to.

We both knew the truth: it wasn’t about what I could handle.

It was about what he couldn’t.

And somehow… I understood that.

“Fine,” I said after a moment. “We don’t start anything.”

His jaw tensed. “Right.”

“But,” I added, holding his gaze, “let’s not pretend it’s nothing, either.”

A breath caught in his throat.

He nodded once. “Deal.”

Then because it was him and because it was me we stood there a moment longer. Close enough to feel each other’s warmth. Close enough to want to close that distance.

But we didn’t.

We turned back toward the castle.

Back toward the others.

Back toward everything that would come next.

And the tension didn’t fade it lingered, heavy and inevitable, like the kind of storm that builds before lightning finally cracks the sky.

The fire was dying in the Slytherin common room when the owl arrived.

A single black-feathered thing, silent as a ghost, with a scroll sealed in wax as dark as blood.

Mattheo caught it before anyone else did, his jaw locking the second his eyes scanned the names.

He didn’t need to speak.

I already knew.

Draco. Mattheo. Me.

The three of us summoned.

Malfoy Manor looked exactly how it felt cold. Silent. Timeless in the worst way, like the air inside had never been meant to carry warmth or laughter, only secrets and cruelty.

We stood outside the drawing room like prisoners waiting for trial.

Lucius had taken Draco in first. The doors shut behind them with a sound that echoed too loud for the velvet-draped hallway we waited in.

Neither of us spoke.

Mattheo leaned against the far wall, arms crossed tight over his chest, eyes fixed on the marbled floor like it had insulted him personally. His jaw was clenched, lips thinned. The shadows under his eyes were worse now. He hadn’t been sleeping much.

I didn’t blame him.

I stood still, hands wrung together in my cloak, listening. Trying not to.

There were no screams. No raised voices. Just silence so deep it made my spine itch.

Fifteen minutes passed. Then twenty.

When the door finally opened, Draco stepped out pale as parchment.

His eyes didn’t find mine. Didn’t find Mattheo’s.

He just walked stiff, precise, like every movement had to be measured now.

“Go in,” came Lucius’ voice from the shadows behind the door.

Mattheo didn’t hesitate. He pushed off the wall and walked past me without a word.

But just before he stepped inside, he paused.

And turned slightly just enough to glance back at me.

Something flickered in his gaze. Not fear, exactly. Not regret.

But something.

Then he was gone.

The door clicked shut behind him.

And it was just me, now.

Waiting in the cold.

Alone.

I didn’t know how long Mattheo was in there.

Time stopped making sense the second the door shut behind him.

I just stood. Waiting. Heart drumming a slow, deep rhythm behind my ribs like a warning bell. The sconces on the walls cast long, flickering shadows, painting grotesque silhouettes of me against the cold stone.

The manor felt haunted. Or cursed.

When the door finally creaked open again, Mattheo stepped out.

His expression was unreadable.

He didn’t look at me.

But as he passed, his hand brushed mine barely there, the lightest touch of his fingers. A flicker of warmth.

And then he was gone.

Lucius’ voice slithered out next: “Y/N Black. You may enter.”

I stepped inside, spine straight, chin lifted but my hands were cold, curled tight into fists beneath the sleeves of my cloak.

The drawing room was darker than I expected. Curtains drawn, the fire low. The great chandelier hung like a dead thing above us, casting fractured glints onto polished floors.

And at the center of it all he stood.

Tall. Robed. Motionless.

The Dark Lord.

My blood turned to ice. I bowed immediately, the way I’d been taught. The way we all had been taught.

"Y/N Black,” he said, his voice soft, airy. A whisper that seemed to echo without needing to.

I didn’t raise my head until he allowed it.

He was watching me with something like curiosity. Pale, serpentine eyes glittering beneath the shadow of his hood.

“So much potential,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Such… power in your blood.”

I stayed silent.

He stepped forward, slow. Each movement as deliberate as a chess piece being shifted.

“I want you to show me your loyalty,” he said, tone still smooth, almost pleasant. “Prove yourself.”

My breath caught.

He tilted his head, considering. “Use an Unforgivable.”

The air thickened.

My throat dried. I nodded once, stiffly. “Yes, my Lord.”

He stared at me like he could see through every bone in my body. Then he said it.

“The Killing Curse.”

My heart jumped so sharply I thought it might tear itself in two.

“But…” He paused, eyes narrowing. “Not just anyone.”

He smiled.

And it was the most terrifying thing I had ever seen.

“Igor Karkaroff,” he said, voice laced with venom. “A traitor. A coward. A man who once wore our mark and abandoned it like filth.”

My stomach turned cold.

He took another step closer. I could feel his magic now pressure in the air, like standing too close to a lightning storm.

“Find him,” he said softly. “End him. For me.”

I nodded again, slower this time. “Yes, my Lord.”

Voldemort’s smile widened slightly.

“Don’t fail me, Y/N.”

Then he turned away, cloak billowing behind him like smoke.

Dismissed.

The door clicked shut behind me, and for a long moment, I didn’t move.

The hallway outside the drawing room was cold, colder than before. Or maybe that was just me something inside me had shifted, frozen. My bones felt heavier.

Draco and Mattheo stood waiting at the end of the corridor.

Neither spoke.

I couldn’t look either of them in the eye. Not yet.

Mattheo’s hands were shoved deep in his pockets, his jaw sharp with tension. His hair fell into his face, shadowing his eyes, but I didn’t need to see them to know he’d heard. Or maybe he just knew. He always seemed to know.

Draco’s arms were folded, but even he didn’t have a sarcastic comment or disdainful glare tonight. He looked pale. Haunted.

We walked.

The corridors of Malfoy Manor echoed with each step, our footsteps the only sound. No one spoke. The silence between us wasn’t awkward it was sacred. A mutual agreement. We didn’t ask. We didn’t share.

We couldn’t.

Whatever we had been given inside that room… it belonged to us alone now.

It was a clear night outside. The wind had teeth.

Draco was the first to speak, just barely.

“We're not to speak of it.”

His voice was flat, brittle.

“Not to anyone,” he added after a beat. “Not even each other.”

I nodded slowly, watching the dark trees in the distance.

Mattheo stayed quiet, but he finally looked over at me.

His gaze lingered on my face like he was searching for something. Some crack. Some clue to what the Dark Lord had asked of me.

But he wouldn’t ask.

And I wouldn’t tell.

Something had settled between us thicker than tension now. It was weight. It was knowing. It was the price of being chosen.

We reached the gates of the manor, and Mattheo finally broke the silence not with words, but by brushing his fingers against mine again, like he had earlier. The contact lasted longer this time.

I didn’t pull away.

But I didn’t hold on either.

There was nothing left to say.

The library was too quiet.

Not even the scratch of quills or the turning of pages could distract me anymore. My books were open in front of me Advanced Defensive Magic, Unforgivable Curses: A Historical Breakdown, and a thick, dusty volume of obscure magical theory that I wasn’t even sure was relevant. But I hadn’t turned a page in ten minutes.

My hand gripped my quill tight enough that the tip had snapped hours ago.

The words blurred.

“The killing curse,” he’d said.

My chest tightened, and I slammed the book shut with a bit more force than necessary. Madam Pince looked up from her desk, but I didn’t care. I was unraveling. Slowly. Quietly. Like something fragile splitting under pressure.

I needed air.

I grabbed my cloak, shoved my books haphazardly into my bag, and left the library without looking back.

It wasn’t long before I found myself at the Astronomy Tower nearly deserted this time of night. The wind up here bit through my cloak, but I leaned against the cold stone anyway, letting it cool the burn under my skin.

“Figured I’d find you here.”

I didn’t turn, but my heart jumped.

Mattheo.

He stepped into view slowly, hands buried in the pockets of his uniform trousers, hair windswept, eyes darker than usual.

We hadn’t spoken much since Malfoy Manor. Not really. There was still something unspoken hanging heavy between us, but it wasn’t anger. It was… understanding. A reluctant sort of intimacy.

He stopped beside me, looking out over the Forbidden Forest.

“You alright?” he asked after a moment.

I scoffed under my breath. “What do you think?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stood next to me, the silence thick and careful.

Finally, I turned my head to glance at him. “Do you ever wish you weren’t… this?”

Mattheo tilted his head slightly. “A Slytherin?”

“No. A weapon.”

That hit something in him. I saw it flicker across his face before he looked away again.

“All the time,” he said quietly.

The air between us shifted.

I swallowed, then asked the question that had haunted me since that night.

“Would you do it?” I asked. “Could you?”

His jaw tensed. “I don’t know.”

I let out a shaky breath. “He wants me to kill someone.”

Mattheo stiffened but didn’t interrupt.

“Igor Karkaroff,” I said, voice barely above a whisper. “For… deserting. For betraying him.”

Mattheo said nothing. But I could feel him tense beside me, like every bone in his body was locked into place.

“Do you think that makes me evil?” I asked. “If I...if I go through with it?”

He finally looked at me, his eyes burning. “No.”

I blinked. “You don’t?”

He shook his head once. “We didn’t ask for this. None of us did. We’re just… trying to survive.”

I looked at him longer this time, really looked at him. He looked tired. Fractured. Like me.

“I think about you,” he admitted suddenly. “When I’m supposed to be thinking about my assignment. I think about… how your hands shake when you’re holding your wand sometimes. How you hate pumpkin juice. How you roll your eyes when Draco talks about himself.”

His voice was low, honest.

I blinked, startled by the softness in his tone.

“But I can’t let myself want this,” he said. “Not now. Not when everything’s about to fall apart.”

I nodded slowly, throat tightening. “Me neither.”

We stood there in the cold for a long time.

And neither of us moved.

[alottodix]

Dix didn’t die. Dix is sitting her final exams. Dix needs help. Thus, enjoy my disgusting South Park essay headcanons while I procrastinate attacking my Rome textbook like a loser:

Kyle and Cartman are absolutely the kind of assholes to walk out of an essay-based exam, be silent for like twenty-seconds, and then delve into the most insane argument about the right conclusion to have drawn every single time. They do not give a shit about volume. Is Tweek having a panic attack about failing? Yes. Does that stop them essentially terrifying everybody with what should have been written? No.

Kenny and Stan walk behind them listening to their screamed points about historical debate, sinking deeper into the despair that they both have absolutely just failed. In reality, Kenny passes with flying colours. He’s what every examiner wants in an essay kid. Solid delivery, straight to the point, blunt finish that screams “fuck you. I should be doing STEM.”

Meanwhile Stan is the kid to write an essay, turn it into a vent half-way through, and then end with an oddly poetic conclusion that will make whoever is marking these exams either sigh in despair or pray this kid gets into songwriting. Thus, he still passes based off delivery alone in subjects relying on interpretation. If he needs to debate a point based on, well, fact… at least he can write something, but it will not be good. He’s the guy to write broadly about a topic in a way that becomes weirdly philosophical in his attempts to mask what he doesn’t know with abstract terms. Still, depending on whoever is giving him a grade, he might get away with it.

NOW, DEBATE LORDS:

Kyle is a beast. Cartman is a beast of a different kind. While Kyle gets top marks for his rigorous performance and his ability to bait the reader with emotional stakes hinging on moral beats that make you terrified to disagree with him, Cartman is writing speeches — rather than essays — stuffed so full of rhetoric it becomes terrifyingly obvious this is the same kid that inspired genocide at 9-years-old.

One time, Kenny and Cartman are walking to sit an exam. Kenny isn’t confident. He hasn’t studied. He knows fuck all beyond how fun it is to draw moustaches on scary men in history textbooks. Cartman nudges him in the rib.

“Collective pronouns.”

Kenny frowns. Cartman repeats himself. It doesn’t help.

“What?”

Cartman turns to face Kenny with all the seriousness of an 18-year-old military commander. “From the moment you step into that exam, you and this examiner are on the same team. Use we. Never I. We.”

“But—”

“We don’t want you to fail, do we?”

Kenny freezes. “I guess not.”

“Then I wanna see a goddamn communist manifesto.”

Weirdly, when he went on to list extra techniques, his advice worked. Kenny passed with a B.

If Kyle had been the one there, however, Kenny would have received a completely different set of instructions.

A crash course in how to write an evaluative introduction, the correct way to thematically code an argument, subtle ways to mask lack of knowledge by swapping clauses in a sentence. All the juicy shit that goes beyond Cartman’s typical “bully until the examiner is embarrassed to dare be on the opposing team” approach. Shit that reminds you Kyle isn’t just studious. No. He’s something worse.

Kyle was raised by a lawyer.

And a lady who declared war on Canada once. He is undefeated in the art of debate and dealing with a chronic need for perfection under pressure.

Equally, Cartman is freakishly good at humanities. Not perfect, but strong enough to reach convincing conclusions. Why?

Cartman is a boy fluent in conflict. Studying wars, he doesn’t take notes for exams but for strategies to admire later. Propaganda, persuasion, leadership — it’s fucking awesome. He remembers minute details about characters, politicians, commanders, playwrights, all as if he’s known them his entire life, subconsciously building up a case-file on each to blackmail them and smear their legacies for a grade. Paragraphs are no longer complex academic debates. They’re narrative devices.

In conclusion, here is how the four would phrase an identical point in an essay, you can guess who is who:

1. “Dix should not be making headcanons. She has an exam to study for. This is bad because she needs good grades. For example, A. Alternatively, A. Therefore, she must return to the desk.”

2. “What is a desk if not a place to sit? This is what Dix asks herself, procrastinating while trapped in the motionless discord of productivity. In fact, what even is productivity? It can be argued that productivity is just a scam. Dix does not want to be scammed because she needs good grades. What are grades? Therefore, while desks are indeed places — no different to a street or a bed, if not more important — desks are scary. Dix is scared like a lion watching those movies where lions poke their heads through the screen and roar to set tone. In conclusion, to be scared is to be human. To be human is to be scared. In fact, Thomas Hardy maintains the belief that humans are scared, too. Fear is a concept about feelings. Feelings are felt. So, WW1 did indeed end in a stalemate between North and South Korea in the 70s. 60s? 1962.”

3. “In conclusion, let’s not waste time entertaining the illusion that rest is inherently productive. That’s a bedtime story for people who want gold stars for doing nothing. If rest were truly productive, coma patients would wake up with PhDs and six-packs. They do not. They wake up confused and unemployed. Thus, it is clear to us that Dix should study. If she does not, she will fail. This has been proven to us before. To ignore this fact is a simple breach in logic.”

4. “There is an abundance of reasons to study. This will help boost grades essential for university. For example, short-term memory is typically decisive in these contexts, requiring a return to books. Furthermore, it is common for stress to weaken ability under pressure and increase the need to maintain a firm grip on the information to combat that. Moreover, these exams are fucking obese. Stuffed full of information to memorise. Thus, it is clear that Dix should study. However, rest is equally necessary to maintain a will to live. This will increase the effectiveness of any work performed in aiding memory. Although this has been a long rest now. She may even fail her exams. What is the point.”

And they all lived happily ever after.

The end.

[lsunstreakerl]

the latest chapter of SH! 💛 charles going feral over the not-even-real-possibility of lewis adding max to his collection of blond WDC champions and also just thinking about charles pretty much pissing all over HIS red bull golden boy, that really hits the spot! thank you!

but also in another ask you said that max may consider the whole eye injury water under the bridge but charles not, and that made me think of the grudge you can hold onto someone over them hurting the people you love and how hard it’s to let go. In this case clearly lewis isn’t at fault but i’m wondering of how hard it has been for charles to deal with those negative thoughts in a high pressure environment. i know you mostly feel comfortable writing from max’s pov but any chance we can get a bit into charles’ mind?

Hi anon! I meant to respond to this much earlier but it got stuck in my brain and actually manifested as a little snippet, so here's a tiny peek behind the curtain! hopefully it's a little bit more insight? feel free to ask more questions if you have them :)

Charles is trying not to grit his teeth, though if the glare Silvia is sending his way is any indication, he's failing.

They're getting ready for the fan stage, and Charles keeps checking his phone, making sure he isn't missing any messages from Max.

They're in Monaco for the race, and normally it is one of Charles' favorite races, and Max was supposed to be here in the garage today, but he'd had a flare-up this morning, dry heaving and dizzy. Charles hadn't wanted to leave him, but Max had gotten decently close to biting his head off, shoving him to the doorway.

"If you want to be worried I cannot stop you, but at least be driving while you are doing it."

Now, though-

Charles isn't sure how he's meant to do this fanstage. He's been civil with Lewis, hasn't let his roiling resentment sneak into their interactions, professional or personal, but it's only a matter of time.

It's harder on days like today, where Charles has left his boyfriend sick at home, suffering from something that many very well never leave him, when Max could be- should be here, racing with them, racing with Charles.

Everyone has idolized Lewis at some point in their lives, and Charles is no different, had admittedly been excited to find out he was joining the team, but the end of last season, and this one-

It's left a sour taste on his tongue. He doesn't hold Lewis on a pedestal anymore, how can he, when he has slipped into Charles' home, driving the color that belongs to Charles, belongs to Ferrari, refuses to address his legacy with Max the same way he refuses to talk about any other rivals.

Charles can't stand it. He couldn't care less about Nico and Seb- well, maybe a little bit about Seb- but to do the same to Max. Charles' Max, the Max that fought his way onto the grid, fought his way through the hate, fought himself into a competitive car, and a team that loved him, the Max that deserves to be on the grid today-

To see Lewis instead, who has been driving since before Max and Charles were on the grid, and still is, it makes his fingers curl.

Maybe he's just having a bad day. He knows he needs to pull the nice boy face back on, but he's having trouble finding it, when the car is competitive this year, when he and Lewis are both bringing home points.

It doesn't matter, at the end of the day, what Lewis is capable of, because he is driving for Ferrari, but he is not Ferrari, doesn't have rosso corsa beating fast through his veins, doesn't have the prancing horse as a thundering heartbeat.

He's a Mercedes boy, a wolf at heart, and that will ruin him, here. Ferrari does not take wolves. Ferrari takes sacrifices, bleating lambs, brought to the alter young and innocent, and only the most devoted get to live, get to have the honor of bringing the team to glory, the privilege of representing the legacy. Only the most treasured become the shining eye of the tifosi, and to get it all at once, to be a model driver, a living breathing manifestation of the Scuderia- it only comes around once every few generations of drivers.

Seb couldn't do it, and neither could Fernando. Lewis will not be capable either.

Charles has it.

It may not have been intentional, but Max has left Charles a mantle, a legacy, one final way to etch their names together forever, intertwined in a way no media or sports magazine could ever brush past, like so much of their lives and careers, tangled together to the very end.

Charles Leclerc will not let Lewis Hamilton get his eighth title.

A hand claps down on his shoulder, gives him a friendly squeeze.

"Hey man, you ready?"

Charles checks his posture, unclenches his jaw, and smiles at Lewis, but there's nothing friendly about it. It's the most Charles will let himself have, tiny little slips in the mask, unsettling for Lewis and unnoticeable for anyone else around them.

"Of course."

[georgeharrisonsmiling]

how much of paul and george’s relationship being so complex has to do with john? do you think it got harder for them to be friends after john died? i love mcharrison and your thoughts on their dynamic

It's not a secret that Paul pushed George aside to focus on John or that George liked John more than Paul. Still, I think that John was only a factor in their falling out and not the cause. Both of them made decisions that alienated each other from time to time.

The thing is, you would think a traumatic event like John's death would fix them but it didn't. First of all, they tried, we cannot deny that they tried and there is an interview with Paul saying how they promised to be nice with each other after that but it didn't stick.

The most obvious thing was the business side, I think that Paul used to deal mostly with John but once he was gone, he had to deal directly with George in all the matters about the Beatles legacy and you can tell he wasn't used to that. John was unpredictable, but he could be persuaded with the right motivations while George was stubborn and rarely changed of opinion.

Then of course it was a matter of the Beatles reunion. Even without John, people wanted a reunion and expectations switched to George to make it happen and he definitely didn't like that pressure. While Paul was encouraging about a potential reunion and Ringo was a given, George had to dismiss most of Paul's public statements. I think that put another strain on their relationship.

I think Paul and George were also at odds about John's memory. Paul in particular had a lot of mixed feelings about John and took a lot of it on George. He wanted to protect his own legacy while also promoting the Lennon-McCartney brand and that sometimes ended up with unfortunate interviews about how at least he and John were speaking while George and John were fighting. George didn't make a lot of public statements but he put his foot down in business decisions like how to present John's demos which made Paul paranoid. etc.

[daycourtofficial]

🍂 Eris week masterlist 🍂

Day 1

Bonds -

All’s well that ends well to end up with you - Eris x Rhysand’s!sister reader - fears and doubts cause you and Eris to do your first irrational act together: a secret mating bond ceremony

Bargains -

The uncertainty of Spring - Eris x OC - a son of Autumn makes a deal with the daughter of Spring in hopes for a watchful eye over Lucien

Day 2

Childhood/Legacy -

Fireling - Eris x Rhysand’s sister!reader - every father’s dream is to be there the day his son first uses his powers. Luckily for Eris, he gets just that.

Day 3

Betrayal - these are companion pieces, both centered around the same day but from two different perspectives

- Cold was the steel of my axe to grind - Eris x Rhysand’s sister!reader - centuries of plotting and scheming come to a head when his mate unexpectedly arrives in Autumn and Eris is desperate to set his plans in motion, least she become a piece for Beron to use against him

- Chains around my demons, wool to brave the seasons - Eris x Rhysand’s sister!reader - Eris leaves his mate alone in the Forest House, telling her to trust no one but his mother. The two women are ill-equipped to provide frontline fighting, but surely they can help Eris in their own way

Healing - Hell was the journey but it brought me Heaven - Eris x Rhysand’s sister!reader - in the immediate aftermath of Beron’s death and the thrum of power in his veins, Eris’s mate forces him to, at the bare minimum, bathe

Day 4

Traditions -

A Season of Decay - Eris and Lucien used to enjoy hiding amongst the crowds of fae to attend the annual autumn festivals. In Lucien’s absence, Eris goes for the first time by himself and has a hard time coping with the effects of Lucien’s banishment

Day 6

AU -

Autumn in New York - Modern!Azris - my favorite playlist ‘listening to jazz while cooking with your lover in a nyc apartment’ but make it soup and Azris and big sweaters

Princes of Ice - Modern!Azris - Eris’s blood pressure is rising when he finds himself alone in the locker room with one of his school’s hockey players. What happens when Eris’s preconceived notions of him might not be what he thinks?

Loving parents, harmless fun - Modern!Eris x Rhysand’s sister!reader - slice of life where Eris takes his family on a roadtrip and is only slightly annoyed at his son’s choice of car game

Retellings -

How the kingdom lights shine just for me and you - Eris x Rhysand’s sister!reader - Eris tells his sons a story, letting them know how a strong knight defeated an evil dragon and saved the kingdom.

Day 7

Free day -

Worms, Worms, Worms! - Eris x Rhysand’s sister!reader - Eris's son Atlas is finally asking the important questions about life and how far his dad’s love extends

[thesummerestsolstice]

Unwritten Fics game

I was tagged by @runawaymun to talk about all my as-of-yet unwritten fic ideas! I have many, many of them. Here are a few. Feel free to send me asks about any of them, or to tell me which ones you'd most like to read in the tags!

Earendil-drinks-the-Silmail-AU: see Tumblr post here. Elwing gives Earendil the Silmaril's light to try and heal him from an illness, and both he (and later E&E) now have the light of the Silmaril within them. This causes problems for the Oath of Feanor. Can't decide whether to make it serious and heartbreaking or extremely silly.

Immortal Elros AU: definitely need to post about this one. In which Elros sees the mortals who will become the people of Numenor, loves them, and decides the best way to help them is to be immortal, to protect their descendants and maintain their legacy long after they're gone. He becomes Numenor's beloved guardian, caring for it's people for centuries. This all goes pretty well until Tar-Mairon shows up on the island.

Faustian Bargain AU: when both Gil-Galad and Celebrimbor are captured during Eregion's fall, Elrond makes a dangerous deal with Sauron to get them back. In exchange for their release, Elrond offers to become Sauron's captive, and to help him in his efforts to reach the Void and free Morgoth. Elrond, of course, has other plans. So do the now-free (and incredibly worried) Gil Galad and Celebrimbor.

Unexpected Problems: see Tumblr posts here and here. All about the issues Elrond runs into in Valinor– from people debating about whether or not he counts as an Ainur to Noldor being scandalized that he only wears a couple pounds of jewelry. Also his repeated attempts to stop Galadriel and Bilbo from completely destroying Valinorian society.

The Love of a Parent: Elrond's parents continue to look out for him, whether from beyond the circles of the world or from the stars above. Probably largely outsider POV. A chance for more eldritchry.

On Estel: In which Earendil goes into the void, searching for Maeglin's lost spirit. Slight AU in the sense that it's very Maeglin sympathetic, and has him having a good familial relationship with Turgon, Idril, and Earendil.

Ten Little Soldier Boys: my take on who Finrod's faithful ten were, why they were so loyal, and the moments they each decided they would give anything to keep Finrod safe. OC heavy but very dear to my heart.

Misfits, Outcasts, and other Characters of Ill-Repute: a series of oneshots about the various people who end up in Rivendell and how they got there. Includes canon characters (Glorfindel, Erestor, Lindir, etc.) and some OCs (including an old Feanorian diehard and one of Thingol's bodyguards, and, of course, Garthaglir the Library Orc)

No pressure, but I'm going to second Runawaymun's tagging of @jaz-the-bard (I don't think they've done the game yet but I might've missed it on their blog)

[f1version]

BARBARA ROBERTS ★ DTN SERIES

series’ masterlist

An old chapter is reopened, that force and distinction that drove Barbara Roberts to the top of F1 for two consecutive years, back home. Malibu Racing is a new temple, the extension of a legacy.

Barbara Roberts, Team Principal and CEO of Malibu Racing F1 Team has her origins tied to history books. A two-time world champion whose on-track abilities couldn’t be ignored. A fierce competitor who came back for more.

At the young age of four, Barbara began chasing the excitement behind the wheel, observing karting races closely, going home, and developing her talent with each lap of her uncle’s old kart. She found happiness in speed, enjoyed visiting the Phoenix Street Circuit each year, obsessed over the Indy500, and watched Ayrton Senna and Alain Prost challenge each other throughout the years. Suddenly, she began to dream about a hot-pink car, all her notebooks filled with drawings of it. She, as well as her family, then understood that racing was a fire that needed to be fueled.

Roberts made her kart racing debut at the age of eight, and after winning her first race, it was a matter of time before her name was engraved on several US-based kart championship trophies. However, further progress would require expanding horizons, which prompted the Roberts to move across the ocean in 1994, supporting Barbara for what could be a challenging career. 

Europe was fast, she stayed faster. By fourteen her collection of kart titles included national, international, and world championships. Every race and practice aimed for that unattainable perfection, being aware of the judging eyes on each step she took. At 16 years old, Roberts was fearless, deciding to pursue another dream of hers, an engineering career. She used to say that the pressure was a reminder of what was yet to come.

Pieces began to fall into place, Barbara embarked on single-seaters as soon as age allowed it. Her first title in Monoposto Racing Club was followed by titles in Formula BMW ADAC, Formula Renault, and the Formula 3 Euro Series — all consecutive titles. And bound to keep the momentum, she started hunting for a seat in Formula One, closing the deal with BMW Williams in a reserve capacity for 2004 and securing a race seat for the 2005 season. 

Debuting at 21, Barbara spent her year fighting at the midfield in struggling machinery, yet was able to finish 10th in the World Championship, once again pouring ink on paper for what would be BMW Sauber in 2006. An improvement in reliability for her sophomore season placed Roberts on track for her maiden Grand Prix victory in the streets of Monaco, an unbelievable, emotional, and well-remembered drive that holds her in the tracks’ spotlight to this day.

For the 2007 season, Scuderia Ferrari took the bet on two young talents: Barbara Roberts and Kimi Räikkönen, giving both drivers the exact same 3-year-contract and an opportunity to make history. 

The pair held a fiery battle all season, ending in one of the most astonishing title deciders in the sport’s history, where the world championship rested on their number of wins due to a tie in the points. The crown sealed on Räikkönen, but Barbara’s own would arrive that very next year, securing it after 8 wins and 15 total podiums.

In her final year of mastery, Roberts became a double World Champion after a year-long battle against Brawn’s Jenson Button, three points separating them. And despite being contracted to race in 2010, Roberts decided to leave F1 behind at the end of the 2009 season.

After her F1 retirement, Barbara has taken on different roles and challenges throughout the years. In 2011 revealing her retirement's original reason, Roberts announced her new position as CEO of her family’s emblematic automobile manufacturer, Malibu Motors, linking nostalgia with modernity. In 2016, they held the biggest car launch in history, presenting one supercar and seven SUVs which resulted into having six of those as the bestselling cars of the year. In 2017, Malibu Motors became part of the Formula 3 engine programme, making the public think that was her only form of a comeback to motorsport. Yet, one year later, a victory in the 24 Hours of Le Mans was waiting for her and former rivals, Fernando Alonso and Jenson Button. And, in for 2019, she begun sponsoring multiple young women across motorsport, mentoring those in the path to Formula One.

Important figures of the sport, old colleagues, and the public, believed Barbara would be back in the car sooner or later, but after fourteen years, she has opted for a different path. A decade-long project becomes reality in 2023, with two hot-pink cars flying on track, resembling Barbie’s old childhood drawings.

★ Malibu Racing F1 ⓒ 2023

THE PINK MEMBERSHIP — @lorarri @fefieverywhere @inejghafawifesblog @lenean7 @boiohboii @monacokisses @nyxblessed @whenelisefallsinlove @peachiicherries @folklorelvrr @spencerrxids @destourtereaux @lovelytsunoda @landonorizzz @love4lando @evans-dejong @cielolercs @mae119 @spacius @almostjollypizza @elliegrey2803 @thatsadsmallchild @formulaoneluver33 @obsessed-fan-alert @teamspideyman @mikauraur @goldsainz @iamk-shale @fefieverywhere @be-your-coffee-pot @asian-vulcan @schumacheer @opheliaas-stuff @satellitelh @sialexia @folkloresreputation . . . join the taglist here

[devastatinglygreen]

Why do you think they're waiting for the Lady Whistledown reveal?

aside from drama? and i mean that seriously. i know everyone had headcanons and wants for years here but they're building tension. there was no real tension in part one outside of sexual and the stakes need to be higher for the penultimate episode.

the next bit is spoilers we know have been pretty much seen by too many people for ep 5 at least so wander under the cut at your own risk:

i think, and i know a lot of people aren't going to be thrilled about colin not knowing before some things happen, that they need to do two things: solidify their relationship a bit and basically send penelope into a spiral to take the stakes higher.

they have plot armor, they're not going to behead penelope right there in the queen's garden with the peacocks once she gets caught. the only thing truly up for grabs is polin. and not even that, not really, but it's the thing the audience is going to care about.

the spoilers have penelope trying to tell him but failing because she keeps getting interrupted. every time she fails, the clock ticks further. it's a pressure build. eloise is on her back. colin is just wandering along, deliriously happy and penelope knows she's carrying this bomb she's gonna blow up in his face.

she lost eloise to it. colin is the love of her life. i think we can all do that math. she's so stressed out by eloise's timeline she can barely breathe and then comes cressida.

you've got cressida taking credit for LW, colin's happiness sitting on her shoulders (tho i do think it's also so smart of them to have him defend penelope to portia before he finds out, it might give him some insight to how penelope is treated and feels when the right time comes), eloise is assuming things and giving her hell.

i mean, wouldn't you be a mess too? like, give the girl some grace her entire life is imploding right after getting what she's always wanted and never thought she'd get and losing the two most important people in the world to her only a few months before. would you want to blow that up again? yes, yes, i'm sure everyone who says "but she has to!" is very morally outraged and perfectly righteous in their own lives scoffs at the idea that penelope might struggle with a secret she doesn't know what to do with.

it's not like we've never seen how that eats her up before, right? oh. we totally have. nvm.

anyways. cressida. i kind of hope it's the turning point for peneloise because i think even eloise knows she's not a good person to have in a position of power like that. say what you want but penelope doesn't lie in LW.

add in they seem to be bringing in book scenes and i'm going to guess colin catches her after she takes off to print something saying cressida is a whole ass lie. fight ensues. angst! stakes are ridiculously high. the wedding is planned. the pedestals are knocked over and now colin will know everything. does he love her after that? can he? does he trust her ever again? (clearly yes or they're gonna need to change up that family tree thing they released lol).

this will give way to colin having to come to terms with penelope's legacy and how it affects his own estimation of himself and his writing. jealousy like the book. it's a colin issue and he knows it but he still has to deal with it.

colin very much thinks penelope is his purpose, right? the book says it. LN said it about show colin. he's gotta reconcile that LW and penelope are two halves of the same person. he can't put them both in boxes.

anyways what i mean is that the stakes need to be high and her blurting it out then having 2.5 episodes of them moping around about their LW fight isn't really the thing that gets your heart racing when you've got 8 episodes to tell the whole story.

(also as an aside, i think it's going to lead to us getting second "firsts" in a way. it's not going to be a first kiss or anything but i feel like the energy of it all will be different and i, personally, think that could be very fun)

[prudentseer]

May I just say you write some of the best period style fics. This is the original anon btw. Everything about your au is so. I don't even have words actually its so immersive and believable. Coincidentally I was also thinking of an arranged marriage au when I wrote the ask! I have read through the whole thing repeatedly all evening.

I imagine Etho is a recluse, and Joel has to attend the balls and social events alone. So Joel faces many rumours about his marriage , especially considering their wedding was still not too long ago. Until Etho awkwardly asks to accompany Joel one evening. When some people notice Etho and Joel aren't dancing, they talk. Etho hears this and decides to ask joel to dance. As it turns out they're both awful dancers, but they have fun despite it, even if Joel is bewildered about Etho's behaviour lol

Please don't take this as any pressure to write! I'm simply glad to have someone else who loves period aus.

Great minds think alike ;)

In all seriousness I could not have gotten this far without prompting so really I have everyone who's shown so much love for these writing scraps thanks; especially you for coming up with the original idea! I'd say you were my muse but it's more like you are God and I'm just sending my offerings (/j).

This one is a lot more rough around the edges but I really wanted to get back into writing after being sick for a while so here it is! This is the third installment of this "series" but it happens prior to either of them (it's also 1.5k words this time, I'm sorry). Thanks for stopping by!

Joel's family name could be traced back to the start of the empire.

A rich history, beautiful natural landmarks and a sanctuary to those fleeing from war. He had everything he could possibly need and things were well.

Then the gold mines dried up.

Certain dyes–their largest export–fell out of fashion and the biggest drought in recorded history swept through his estate. All of a sudden, his family was close to being destitute.

So he had to get married.

It didn't matter that Joel studied hard to be knowledgeable in anything from politics to arithmetic to language. It didn't matter that Joel was offered a position in the royal guard at age fourteen for his strength and mechanical ability. It didn't matter that Etho hated him from the second he saw him.

Whatever future Joel had was second to his family name. He had a legacy to defend, a reputation to keep and like everything else he had to learn to be okay with it.

So he did what any good husband would do. He listened to the rules of the house and kept his mouth (for the most part) shut. He handled small projects and paperwork, never needing to be asked. He never inquired for anything outside necessities, and accepted gifts handed to him with a smile. He worked in the confines of their deal, no matter how skewed they seemed at times.

A knock at his door draws him out of his thoughts. He jolts upright, scrambling for a pen to look busy.

"Come in!" He shouts, head down as almost catlike quiet footsteps tread into the room. He doesn't need to look up to know who just walked in. "I dropped off the documents detailing the expansion on your desk ea–"

"You're going to the ball tonight right? The one the King's hosting?"

Joel's eyes narrow at the almost nervous tone of Etho's voice. He dips his pen into the inkwell before responding.

"Yes, half past seven, I told you this at dinner."

"I remember." He replied, a small sigh escaping his lips. "What's the dress code?"

Joel's head snaps outwards so fast something might've popped in his neck. Etho looks…well he always looks slightly anxious when he speaks–hunched over on himself ever so slightly to make himself look smaller–but it's the shakiest Joel thinks he's ever seen him.

"Excuse me?!"

"Dress code?" He repeats, staring at the ends of his sleeves. "I'm wondering if my pale blue broach would be allowed–"

"You're coming with me?"

He's still not looking at Joel, choosing instead to wring his hands. "Yes. Can I?"

Etho didn't do social events unless he had to. His estate being so close to the mountains practically trained him and his entire family to be more…independent. Besides, Etho never seemed enthusiastic enough to go so Joel never asked. Sure, it led to ignoring the whispers and the pitiful stares he got just by showing up, giving a tight lipped smile and a half baked excuse whenever someone had the courage to ask why he was attending the ball alone but it worked for the most part.

So what was going on?

"Is there someone you want to meet there?" Joel asks, going through a list of attendees in his head.

"No?" Etho replied, head tilted like Joel was the one who said something absurd.

"I–but you–" Joel stops himself. "There's no dress code but why–"

"I'll see you later then."

And like that Etho's scrambling out the door like there's a fire in the room and Joel can only sit there and hope that the day he'll finally understand Etho will come soon.

------

It's a bad idea.

Everything about tonight was a bad idea. Etho can't recall the last time he went to any social event of this caliber let alone with a partner. He...pitied Joel, or at least something close to that emotion because he had felt good when he had initially asked to attend with him but now it felt much more real.

It still didn't feel real as he dressed himself that evening, fumbling with the neckline of his tie. It still didn't feel real the entire carriage ride over, staring out the window as Joel gave him the same puzzled expression every time they made eye contact. But it does feel real as he stands right in front of the ballroom doors, heavy mahogany muffling the soft orchestra music and distant chatter.

Joel wordlessly turns Etho to face him. Before Etho can ask why, Joel's fingers find the broach Etho pinned on himself earlier, adjusting it so it's straight. There's an almost stoic look on his face, concentrated like this ball is only a means to an end, a goal to reach rather than a fun event. Etho sees himself in Joel's eyes and that brings a surprising amount of comfort to him.

"Ready?" He asks when he finishes, holding out his arm for Etho to take.

He latches on without hesitation. "Yes."

The lights nearly blind him, music swelling and chatter all extremely overwhelming. He digs his fingers into Joel who thankfully doesn't react, every other muscle in his body seized up as he forces one foot in front of the other. People stop. People stare. A lot of people stare, pulling at the sleeves of others and whispering; hands blocking mouths and judgement clear in their eyes.

"I'm going to speak with some friends, will you be okay alone for a bit?"

No. Don't leave me alone.

"Is there somewhere I can get something to drink?" He asks instead, already feeling his throat dry up.

Joel smiles, a weak thing. "Refreshment table is on the far left, help yourself."

The eyes on him make him tense the entire way there, barely breathing and looking through everyone as he makes his way to the refreshments table. Bite sized foods, fancy plates and champagne. He has no appetite but he takes a flute of champagne, clenching onto the glass and bringing it to his lips with a shaky hand as he tries to force himself to relax.

He watches Joel who looks almost natural in this scene. Flowing around into different groups like an intricate dance, laughter and smiles following him wherever he went. People call out to him and vye for his attention, they greet him kindly and pull him into conversations. Open and warm while Etho remains comfortably invisible in the shadows.

"He came with his husband today."

Etho's ears perk up at the nearby conversation two ladies in loud dresses are having nearby, colourful fans covering their faces.

"I'm surprised the husband is real, honestly." The second woman laughs hautly, back still turned to Etho. "Did you see them split the moment they walked in? Not a single dance together."

"If it took seven months to convince my husband to come out to a ball with me after marriage, I would be embarrassed to be seen with him too."

Etho places the flute back on the table behind him. "Excuse me ladies."

They both have the decency to appear embarrassed as Etho makes his way to Joel who's chatting to a man with orange hair. Both of their eyes go wide when they notice him.

"Etho?"

"Can we dance?" He turns to the other man who fortunately doesn't seem too bothered. "Sorry, did you want to dance with him fi–"

"No! You two go ahead!"

He realized later in hindsight that he should've asked for a name or displayed any sort of good manners to the mystery man but instead Etho simply held out his hand for Joel before walking them both to the dance floor.

Joel fills the silence as the move.

"Something wrong?" Joel whispers, glancing at him from the corner of his eye.

"People were talking." He mumbles back.

"People always talk, you don't have–"

"You'll have to take the lead." Etho interrupts as they reach the center of the dance floor, grabbing Joel's waist with his free hand. "I don't know how to dance."

Joel chuckles. "I don't either."

"How? You come to so many of these?"

"I fake it." Joel shrugs, stepping forward and almost onto Etho's foot. "Usually the other person is good enough to lead."

They sway back and forth awkwardly for a few seconds, narrowly avoiding bumping into each other several times. It's painful, embarrassing and he can't imagine it's pretty to look at either with how many eyes he feels on him.

"We're off beat aren't we?" He murmurs, eyes down at their feet and face flush under his mask.

"Not even close."

"Should we stop?"

"Nah." Joel replies, Etho looking up to see him biting back a smile. "Let's give everyone something more interesting to talk about."

Without warning, Joel spins him almost violently, barely catching him from falling with two hands before dragging him back up and flush against his body.

"Joel!"

He should be furious but when he opens his mouth to argue the only thing that bubbles up is laughter. Joel laughs too, so bright and loud and uncontrollable they both look like mad men. Stomping around on the dance floor and almost backing into people; Etho's lightheaded from how much he laughs.

"Spin me next!" Joel exclaims breathlessly, stumbling forward and almost falling into Etho.

"Hold on!"

Joel was right, they'll be the talk of the party.

But Etho can't bring himself to care.