#like and write and run the events they want

[illyrianbitch]

Sweet and Strange

Pairing: Baby Daddy!Azriel x Pregnant Illyrian!Reader

Summary: Weeks after a one-night stand with Azriel left you pregnant, Elain Archeron becomes an unlikely friend. When Azriel discovers your secret, you both must confront an uncertain future.

Warnings: fluff! pregnancy trope, emotional turmoil, slight angst, elucien crumbs, reader and az have a lil chat

Word Count: 4.5k

This is set after the events in An Honest Mistake, but can be read as stand alone!

Universe Masterlist

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Never in your wildest dreams would you have imagined Elain Archeron, sister of Prythian's first High Lady, to be your closest confidant.

And yet, here you sat, in a city you barely knew, a few weeks into a recently discovered pregnancy, watching Elain unpack her third care package in the past four days. 

Today's offering: a complete introduction to the Day Court, complete with flowers displayed in a vase so delicate you're afraid to breathe near it.

"Lucien wanted to come," Elain says, her voice soft as silk as she unpacks a beautifully crafted basket. "But he and Helion are busy with some internal affairs."  She pauses, those doe eyes finding yours. "I also told him you might not be ready for company."

Elain has been strangely, impossibly considerate—especially for a female who owes you nothing. You are a stranger. Less than a stranger. You are nobody, and yet she appeared at your door over a week ago with wide eyes and gentle hands, promising to keep your secret until you're ready to face the world that's about to change.

She's admitted her mate knows—an accidental slip before she found herself on your doorstep. But even then, she asked permission to tell him everything. Permission. When was the last time anyone asked you for that?

"Thank you, Elain.” The words feel rusty in your throat.  You're not sure what else to say. It's still surreal, seeing her in your desolate apartment. She nods in acknowledgment and goes back to her task of revealing today's haul, gently placing everything on the table before you.

Elain is very pretty. Luminous, in fact. Even here, surrounded by your bargain furniture and drawn curtains, she practically glows. It isn't fair, really. You wonder if some people are just made to take up light.

The familiar twist of envy curls in your gut—toward Elain, toward whatever mate speaks of her with such reverence he writes letters to strangers on her behalf. Back home, a female like Elain would have been hidden away, protected from the kind of hunger that's gnawing at you now. The smart play would be for someone with her advantages to hoard them, guard them like the precious things they are.

But here she is, offering freely what others would kill you for.

You've known females who were genuinely kind—so kind it made you wonder what broke inside you, what made softness feel like weakness instead of strength. Your nature makes you wait for the trap, the price, the moment when her patience will run out and she'll demand payment for her charity.

Stop it, you tell yourself. Not everyone is from Karasith. Elain has given you no reason to question her intentions.

"Here," she says, and you blink back into reality. 

She's holding out something delicate—an envelope that feels too elegant for your name written across it in flowing script. Your fingers brush hers as you take it, and you try not to notice how soft her skin is, how the small scars scattered across her knuckles somehow make her seem more real.

The ring on her finger catches the light. Gold and simple and worth more than everything you own. Elain waits expectantly before you, lips curved into a sweet, enticing smile, hands clasped together near her chest.

"Oh, sorry," you murmur, and open the envelope with less grace than it deserves. The paper is thick, expensive. The kind that whispers quality against your fingertips.

Y/N,

I imagine these are not the circumstances you expected to find yourself in, but I hope you know that even though we are strangers, I sympathize with what it feels like to have the rug swept from under you, to have your life change in seconds. 

Elain is a good friend—and I say this not only because I am fortunate enough to be mated to her. There is not a fake bone in her body, only pure sincerity, and you should take advantage of it. Draw from her strength if you need it.

You have a place to escape to if needed. Velaris is lovely— but sometimes being somewhere open, where no one knows your name, can be a nice reprieve. Perhaps you share the same sentiment. 

With warmest regards, 

Lucien Vanserra-Archeron

Something cracks behind your ribs. Not a fake bone in her body.

You fold the letter carefully, pushing down the suspicious voice that kept you alive in Karasith but has no place here. When you look up, Elain is watching with bright, hopeful eyes that dim slightly at your silence—like she's bracing for an adverse response. 

"It was sweet of him to take the time to write this,” you say, gently waving the letter in your hand. "Your mate has a way with words." 

Sweet. You keep using that word. Strange, because nothing in your life has ever been sweet before. 

There were those sour candies once—little green things Balthazar managed to scrape up enough money for at a confections store near camp. As centuries have passed, you wonder if that story of his is fictitious— if those delights found their way into your fingers because Balthazar was rather sly with his. A little thief.

They were sour, and chewy, and you loved them despite their bite. Maybe even because of it. They tasted like the tea Old Marta used to brew back home, made from the bitter leaves that grew wild by the stream.

The memory hits unexpectedly—home, with all its sharp edges and familiar cruelties. Home, with it’s babbling brooks and fresh air. Your wings shudder against your back, an automatic response to homesickness you’re sure you have no right to feel.

Elain laughs. A small dainty sound. "He likes to think so," she muses, and the smile on her face  turns knowing, lovesick in a way that makes your chest ache. "He was very secretive about what he wrote. Do I need to worry about my dirty secrets getting out?"

A laugh escapes you—rougher than hers, not as refined, but just as genuine. "I find it hard to believe you have any dirty secrets worth worrying about."

Something shifts in her expression, a shadow passing over those warm brown eyes. She looks down at the spread of gifts before her. "I think we all have things we're ashamed of.”

You tilt your head at her, your thoughts rearranging themselves to catalogue her the way you learned back home. Old habits—mental ledgers of who ranked where, who was a threat or friend or liability. Who was weak, who was reckless, who was genuinely kind. Survival skills that felt out of place in this gentle apartment, but some instincts die hard, you suppose.

Elain Archeron: pure sincerity.

"I guess that's true," you say, tracing the edges of the letter. "I also guess that's what makes change so nice." You meet her eyes. "Sometimes."

Something glistens there—understanding, maybe, or recognition. She lifts a plate with flourish, revealing an array of pastries that look like they've been kissed by actual sunlight. They make your mouth water just looking at them.

She looks rather proud, almost beams, as she extends the plate toward you.

"These are honeyed sun-cakes," she explains. "They're a Day Court specialty. I made them this morning."

"You baked these?" You move closer, placing the letter carefully on your humble table. "All of these?"

She nods eagerly. "There's actual food in the basket too. But these were prettier to reveal first." Her expression falters slightly. "It's okay if you don't like any of it. I won't be offended if you throw it all away."

You stare at her—this beautiful, impossible High Fae who baked for you before dawn and is now worried about your feelings. She must take it as disbelief of her words, because she quickly adds: "I mean it! You can toss it all in the trash if nothing is appetizing. I won't be offended."

You shake your head, recollecting your thoughts. 

You haven't really had many female friends, many friendships at all, really. You're not sure how to try on the coat of someone more sociable. Someone that Elain would bake for. But you're open to trying, in front of the beautiful Archeron before you, which is more than you've felt before.

"I have a sweet tooth," you admit. "I'm sure I'll love all of this."

Elain beams. It seems like a permanent state for her—this friendliness that radiates off her like the sun. Rather fitting for the lady of the Day Court. "I knew it! We're going to get along so well."

She launches into explanations—the history of each pastry, what to expect from the flavors, showing you the simple foods she's brought that she considered safe options. Roasted potatoes with herbs, plain bread that smells like home, broth in a container that radiates warmth.

You stop her with a gentle touch to her arm. When she turns, you pull your hand back, suddenly aware of the distance between your lives.

"Is it too much?" Worry creases her brow. "Lucien said it might be. I just wanted to make sure you were eating. I know that stressful changes can make it hard to—" She catches herself. "I mean, I've heard."

There's a story there, you think, but it's clearly not ready to be shared. You file it away for later.

"It's not that," you reassure her.

“Is me being here too much for you?"

You shake your head, despite the fact that you should say yes. You should want this stranger out of your space with her impossible kindness and her baked goods and her sweet nature that feels too good to be true. But you don't. Her presence is... nice. Warm in a way your apartment has never been. You appreciate her company. 

It's all so strange.

"Why are you doing all this?"

She blinks, clearly genuinely confused. "I wanted to make sure you were eating."

"Why?"

"It's important."

"But you don't know me.” The words come out harsher than you mean. “I'm nobody to you. Why waste the time?"

The change in her expression is immediate—not anger, but something deeper. Hurt, maybe. Disappointment. You brace yourself for her gratitude to be pulled back from you, ripped away the way you'd deserve.

"It's not a waste of time," she says, and her voice is gentle. "And you're not nobody."

You raise a brow. "A week ago you didn't even know who I was."

"That's not true."

She's right, and you both know it. She knew your name before showing up at your door, recognized you at the apothecary where your world tilted off its axis. So why the lie? Maybe you expected her to admit ignorance, give you an excuse to retreat into the safety of isolation.

"Is there something I'm missing?" You straighten, falling into old patterns. "I mean, why spend time with me? You don't have to pity me, if that's what this is. I'm not some helpless pregnant female who needs saving." I'll be alright if you want to go home."

Elain studies you for a long moment, something settling in her features. You fight the urge to size her up in return, to make yourself bigger, less vulnerable. Those instincts belong to Karasith.

"There was a time," she says quietly, "when I had the chance to help someone, and I didn't."  She says. You're taken aback by the admission, by the sincerity in her voice. A confessional, standing before you. "I didn't do anything, actually. Nothing at all."

"I'm not sure why my vision led me to you," she continues, thumb brushing over her ring. "Why I discovered your pregnancy at the same moment you did. But I'd like to believe it was for a reason. I have a chance now to do right by someone."

She’s telling the truth. And it’s heavy, chest-constricting, and somehow healing. This is not a deception. This is someone trying to balance scales you can't quite see.

Elain Archeron, who hadn't been able to explain why she found herself on your doorstep. Who came back the next day, and the day after that, sitting with you while you process your new reality. Who filled your silence with stories until you were ready to talk, who was there when you finally decided what to do with the life growing inside you.

You've never really met someone like her.

A strange sense of comfort runs through you as you take a deep breath. You realize the feeling is something foreign: gratitude. Gratitude without the complicated love, and the indebtedness, that you feel for Balthazar.

"I'm not the best company," you find yourself saying. You feel inclined to bare every ugly truth to her. Because she deserves honesty. Deserves to know that her kindness might be better spent on someone who isn't rough-edged and bitter and suspicious of every gift. "I'm—"

"Believe me," Elain grins. "I know how to handle a little attitude."

Your mouth curves despite yourself. "I'm worried about how bad that attitude's going to get once I—" You gesture vaguely at your stomach, words failing. "Well, you know."

Elain lets out a contemplative hum. "I think you'll be able to get away with anything—carrying a whole new life and all."

"Including eating everything you brought?"

She catches your eye in a conspiratorial glance. "Especially that."

You laugh—actually laugh—and something loosens in your chest. Elain moves closer, offering you a sun-cake, and for the first time in weeks, you actually have an appetite. 

Then a sharp knock at your door shatters the moment like glass.

Every muscle in your body goes rigid. Your wings press tight against your back as your fingers find the edge of the table, gripping until your knuckles go white.

Elain is already moving, alert but not panicked like you are. "I'll get it," she says, though you both know there's no other option. "Probably just a neighbor."

You nod, emptily, at her words, and your heart hammers as she walks to the door. When her voice carries back—surprised but warm, tinged with familiarity—hope sparks in your chest.

Balthazar. Perhaps Gwyn was needed by Nesta, or Emerie, or Balthazar somehow sensed your distress across whatever distance separates you. Maybe this was another blessing: time to talk to your oldest friend, to the male you trusted, and find a way to move forward.

But the voices drop to murmurs, and something cold settles in your stomach. Balthazar would have called out to you by now, would have come in with Elain and pulled you into a hug. You find yourself walking toward the entrance, pulled by some invisible string.

"Elain?" You call. "Is everything okay?"

You see the back of Elain's form first—watch as it goes slightly stiff, and then your heart stills as she glances back, and the space between her and the door reveals a face you've only truly seen in the dark.

Azriel's jaw goes slack the moment he sees you.

Time stops. Your heart stops. Everything stops except the way his hazel eyes go wide, then narrow, then soft as they trace over you with the same intensity he showed that night on the rooftop.

His face crumples into something vulnerable and raw as recognition hits him like a physical blow.

"You're pregnant."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

 Azriel stands statue-still in front of you, and every instinct screams at you to run. Which is pathetic, really, because you've always preferred to fight.

The silence stretches like a held breath. You sit at your table, picking nervously at one of Elain's sun-cakes, wanting desperately to eat it but somehow unable to manage the simple act of bringing food to your mouth while a male unravels in your living room.

Elain left with promises to return, understanding with one look that whatever comes next needs to happen without an audience. You suspect she'll be back soon enough to learn the aftermath of whatever this conversation becomes.

The shadows around Azriel's feet pool in a black mass, moving with him in languid patterns as he paces your small space. Are Spymasters supposed to be this transparent? This easy to read?

Then again, a voice in your brain chastised, you fell apart completely when you first learned about the pregnancy. At least he's still standing. Standing and clearly panicking— probably sorting through every possible thought in his mind.

"You're pregnant." The words seem to surprise him as much as they surprise you, despite it being the fifth time he’s said them. It startles you out of your daze, and you sit up straighter, feeling a strain in your wings. "And it's mine."

You nod. "Those are the current facts, yes."

He blinks, furrows his brow, and then asks, "Are you certain?"

It takes you aback, and you recoil slightly, scowling. "Pretty fucking certain."

It's logical, you suppose. How many powerful males have to worry about being baby-trapped by ambitious females? Azriel is a Spymaster, a Shadowsinger, someone worth lying to. He's covering his bases.

Smart. Practical. The kind of intelligence you hope your child might inherit.

But there's something oddly tender about the implication that you might be carrying another male's child. Not that there would be anything wrong with that—you could have slept with Azriel and found comfort elsewhere afterward. Probably should have, honestly. Stress relief and all that.

Except there hasn't been anyone else. There's barely ever anyone, and you can assume that pregnant, unwed females aren't exactly in high demand. Neither are bitter camp-bred bastards with trust issues and an attitude problem.

"I didn't mean—" Azriel's face softens slightly. "I wasn't suggesting that you—"

"I know," you cut him off, unwilling to sit through what will undoubtedly be a painfully polite apology. This is awkward enough without him removing the professional mask. "I get it."

He settles into stillness that somehow seems more dangerous than his pacing. The silence presses against your skin like humidity. You run your tongue along your teeth and find yourself inclined to speak.

"How did you know?"

"About your pregnancy?"

You nod, irritated that both people who've discovered your condition did so by accident, without any input from you whatsoever.

He gestures to the shadows writhing around his feet. "They've been... insistent about returning here. I didn't understand why until I saw you."

"Okay," you respond, absorbing his words. "How did you know when you saw me, though? Do I already look—"

"Your scent."

You bristle. "My scent?"

Well, now you're offended. 

You've been taking care of yourself, thank you very much. Maybe you've been living in your head lately, and yes, Elain was right about the not-eating thing, but you've been religious about hygiene, at the very least. You've turned into a prune more than once, soaking in the bath while contemplating your life choices.

Azriel's eyes widen like he's realized his mistake. You wonder if he's given up on the put-together mask he attempted to keep in the first place. "No, not—there's a scent that comes with pregnancy. For those who can detect it."

This feels like something you should know. Another item on the growing list of things you're apparently ignorant about.

"Is it a bad scent?"

He shakes his head. "It's not. It's just very specific."

"Specific?"

"Yes."

"Specific how? Like bodily fluids, or warm bread? What are we talking about here?"

"It's nothing to worry about."

"No, actually, I'm a little worried. I'd like to know what noticeable smell I'll be subjecting people to for the next several months."

A beat of silence. "As I said, it’s not unpleasant, if that is what you're concerned about."

You roll your eyes, groaning. "Azriel, will you just tell me what the hell I smell like? I'm not in the mood for twenty questions."

He looks at the floor, takes a careful breath, then meets your burning stare with something that might be embarrassment.

"Me," he says, jaw tightening. "You smell like me."

You're stunned into silence. Azriel offers you a sheepish smile—at least, you think it's a smile. It's tight and awkward. This powerful, dangerous male who somehow looks more uncomfortable discussing scent than he did naked in your bed.

"Oh," you manage. "That's an interesting development."

His wings twitch, a subtle shiver of discomfort that makes you want to laugh at the sheer absurdity of the situation.

"I'm sorry," he tells you.

You frown. "For what?"

He doesn't answer immediately, which tells you everything. He's not sure what he's apologizing for, either.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," you say. "Takes two to tango, literally."

Azriel clears his throat, and finds sudden fascination in your floorboards. You feel obligated to fill the silence, if only to make this go faster.

"I was going to tell you. Soon."

His head snaps up and he tilts his head—like a dog listening to words, and realizing he recognizes what is being said.

"I was," you continue. "I just needed to figure out what to say. But I'm not going to force you into anything or ask for support."

The male before you perks up at your words, suddenly more alert, more movement in the shadows that now curl up his form. 

"So you've decided? To keep it?"

You draw into yourself instinctively. "Yes. I know that's probably inconvenient for you, and I'm sorry for that, but I'm also not sorry, and don't even think about trying to pressure me into changing my mind."

"I would never pressure you into doing anything."

You cast a wary glance at him. Comforting yes,, but comforting words are often spoken by liars. 

Still, you believe him—from that night, from everything you know about him through Elain and Balthazar and even the Valkyries. You trust Azriel to tell you the truth, mostly because honesty is exactly what landed you in this situation to begin with. You both were honest with each other in ways you're not sure you can repeat.

"Well, good," you say. "Because it wouldn't work anyway."

The corner of his mouth twitches—barely there, but you catch it.

"I believe that."

You huff out something that might be amusement. Silence settles again, and unwanted memories of his touch flicker at the edges of your consciousness. You shove them back ruthlessly. Terrible timing, especially with a male who can probably smell your thoughts.

The male whom you have seen completely and utterly naked, and yet appears more vulnerable, and meek, before you now than he was in bed.

Azriel moves slowly, pulling out the chair across from you. The scrape of wood on wood makes you wince, but the sound cuts off abruptly. A quick glance below reveals the legs of the chair now covered in thick, black shadows. Azriel examines the contents on the table.

"How long has Elain known?"

You shrug, suddenly not wanting to meet his gaze, and focus on the delicacies before you. "A little over a week."

"I see she's been taking good care of you."

A real smile tugs at your lips. "She has."

"I'm glad." He traces a finger along your table's surface, and you find yourself following the movement, cataloging the scars that mark his hands, the sapphire siphon that catches the light. Your gaze must linger too long, because he quickly pulls his hands back. "I wasn't aware you were friends."

"We aren't," you tell him, and when his brow furrows, you clarify, "I mean, we are now, I think. But we weren't. Some vision brought her to my doorstep like a stray cat with big brown eyes."

His mouth twitches again—definitely amusement this time.

"She's way better than a cat, though,” you add. “Elain is sweet.”

"She is," he agrees softly. "Very sweet."

You nod, and he nods, and then you're sitting in silence again. Gods, it was so much easier to talk to him when alcohol had loosened your tongue and lowered your walls.

"Tell me how much time you need."

His voice draws you back from your brooding. When you look up, his gaze is already settled on you. His expression has gentled now, the hard lines of his face softening into something almost tender.

"I don't want to overwhelm you, but I need to tell my family."

"Right, yeah. Of course."

Your mind races through logistics, through all the things that will have to happen now.

"Balthazar and Gwyn will be returning from their honeymoon in three weeks,” Azriel says. “Would you prefer for me to wait until then?"

You blink, mouth suddenly dry, and struggle to string together sentences. Something flickers across your face—surprise, maybe, that he’s anticipated his concern. But he's a Spymaster. Reading people is literally his job.

"No," you say, though you're not sure why. "Tell them whenever you want. I'll be fine."

He studies you for a long moment, then angles his head to catch your gaze when it tries to drift away.

"Congratulations," he says quietly.

The word hits you unexpectedly. A smile blooms across your face before you can stop it.

"Congratulations to you too," you say. "You're officially on your way to DILF status."

The sound that escapes him is pure surprise, and then you're grinning, and his shadows are moving like they find the whole thing amusing, settling across his shoulders like an audience waiting for the next act.

The moment stretches between you—not uncomfortable anymore, but not exactly comfortable either. It's something new. Something undefined.

"So," you say finally, reaching for one of Elain's sun-cakes because you're still starving and the absurdity of the situation has made you bold. "How does this work?"

Azriel watches you take a bite. "I don't know," he admits. "I've never done this before."

"Comforting to know. Neither have I." The pastry is perfect—sweet and warm and everything Elain promised. "But I suppose we'll figure it out."

He nods, and there's something almost shy in the gesture. "We will."

You take another bite, suddenly aware that this is the first real food you've enjoyed in weeks. That Azriel is sitting in your apartment like he belongs here. That for the first time since that confirming appointment, you're half of a complete team.

"Elain's going to be overjoyed when she gets back," you say, and Azriel's mouth twitches into what might actually be a smile. “She’s been waiting for the news to be shared.”

"She’s acquired a talent for meddling. Seer powers and all."

"Is that what this is? Meddling?"

His shadows curl closer, and when he looks at you, there's something certain in his eyes. "No," he says quietly. "I think this is something else entirely."

The future still feels uncertain, still feels like standing at the edge of a cliff. But at least, you think, taking another bite of sunshine and sweetness, you’re not jumping alone.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

AUTHORS NOTE: they crack me up your honor!!! reader is gonna have a field day when she learns about az + elain tho lmaooo. who do you think is gonna fall first be honest

IMPORTANT : please follow me on my library blog and turn on notifs to be alerted when a new fic is posted! taglists age me 1000 years babies im so sorry i cannot do em anymore

thank yall for reading <3 & dont forget your daily click for palestine!

permanent tag list (shall remain for now!) 🫶🏻

@rhysandorian @itsswritten  @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon  @glam-targaryen 

@cheneyq @darkbloodsly @yesiamthatwierd @azrielsbbg @evergreenlark 

@marina468 @azriels-human @book-obsessed124 @bubybubsters @starswholistenanddreamsanswered 

@feyretopia @azrielrot @justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli  @mrsjna

@anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound @melissat1254 @secretsicanthideanymore

@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend @raginghellfire

@angel-graces-world-of-chaos @acoazlove @paradisebabey @inkedinshadows 

@paankhaleyaaar @curiosandcourioser @thisrandombitch @casiiopea2 @w0nderw0manly

@rottenroyalebooks @jurdanpotter @casiiopea2 @gamarancianne @weesablackbeak@booksaremyescapeworld @knoxic  @wynintheclouds @dacrethehalls  @louisa-harrier

[lynati]

People, if you just want to write genfic, that's nothing to be embarrassed about. It happens to plenty of authors. I myself have gone through several phases in my life where I everything I wrote was gen. I think people should be encouraged to talk about it more, so there's less of a stigma about that kind of writing. It's okay if you don't want to read or write smut. You don't need to pretend to be "Not Safe For Work" just to fit in! PROUDLY announce that you're going to be running an event called "GENOVEMBER" where there's not going to even be hand-holding going on in the stories submitted. You may not get 1,459 followers for it, but you're way more likely to get the kind of works you clearly want from it.

omfg i went snooping and yalll. im.

i think that caitvi kinktober thing shifted to a new blog name. calling it nsfw month now

and im looking at the rules and this change and im CACKLING

THEY LITERALLY TOOK THE KINK OUT OF KINKTOBER AKFKFGKGKHK

moved it to november. this is so fuckin funny to me

[silkensago]

hellooo, i would like to make a request about jason x fem!reader. where the reader comes home after a 3 weeks undercover mission to celebrate jason bday without jason knowing and jason comes home after a patrol to find reader waiting for him with and a homemade cake and a bunch of gifts.

i really love your writings! and tysm!!<3

hi angel, thank you sm for requesting! apologies for posting a day after his bday, hope this is okay <3

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ jason todd x fem reader. fluff. ⭑ all jason honestly wanted for his birthday was you and some sleep, but he ends up getting much more than that.

Jason’s not really the type to expect good things after patrol. A shower, maybe, or getting a few more chapters into his book before he knocks out in bed, if he’s lucky.

Ugh, his bed. That’s a whole different matter—hardly worth crawling into without you there to wake up beside him. He doesn’t bother with marking up his calendar, save for a few events here and there, thanks to Dick’s persistent nagging, but whenever you’re away like this he can’t help counting down and crossing out the days until you’re back. What’s a vigilante supposed to do when his beautiful girlfriend goes on a three week long covert ops mission?

Just a few more days. A few more days, and this torturous wait will all be worth it and he can finally, finally hold you in his arms again.

The hallway’s dark as usual, save for the warm glow bleeding from beneath his apartment door. Weird. Jason knows for a fact that he left the lights off. Did his address get leaked? He hasn’t made a rookie mistake like that in years. He’s already running down a list of all the backup safehouses he has in his head, thinking through contingencies. Relocating your plant collection isn’t the problem, but finding a coffee shop that lives up to your standards like the one down the street… that’ll be a process.

He grumbles out a yawn, hand already resting on the gun at his hip as he turns his key. Let’s get this over with.

”Surpri—oof!”

Jason freezes, chest pressed firm against the intruder’s back, one hand pinning an arm behind them and the other braced into the couch. His eyes lock onto ones that he’s admired a million times before, now blown wide with surprise as you glance back at him over your shoulder.

“Baby?” His voice is rough with disbelief. Is he hallucinating?

Flour dusts the ridiculously cute apron tied over your nightgown, and if that didn’t short circuit his already groggy brain, then the small pout tugging at your lips definitely does. You look soft and impossibly pretty, caught under him with a tumble of messy hair falling into your face that makes his heart do a drop kick, hard against his ribs.

”Hey Jay.” You grin back at him. “If I’m being honest, I wasn’t expecting to be in this position until after cake.”

Jason laughs, relief bleeding into disbelief, and he quickly lets go of your wrist. He pulls you in immediately, guiding you onto his lap as an apology for manhandling you. He buries his face in your hair, drawing small circles into your back as he presses his nose to the crown of your head, taking a deep breathe of his favorite …scent?

“Uh,” Jason lets out a low chuckle. “Why do you smell like smoke?”

”Oh—I saved a plane from crashing earlier. But that’s not important!”

“Not important? Sweetheart, that’s amazing. You’re amazing.” He amends, pressing a kiss to your forehead and back your hair with a hand. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you…” You offer him a shy smile, and his chest warms as you snuggle up to him.

“Thought you weren’t supposed to be back till Friday, though,” he murmurs, voice going soft against your hair. You pull back to blink up at him through your lashes—isn’t that today?—and he laughs at how you try to look innocent. He really did miss you, a lot.

Jason finally takes a good look around the apartment, and blinks again, harder this time. Maybe the exhaustion’s really gotten to him, because there’s no way all of this is real.

Balloons drift lazily against his ceiling. Streamers that look like you wrestled with them for an hour before finally winning gracing the walls. A crooked banner—of course only a tiny bit—contrasting its neatly painted words that read Happy Birthday, Jason! in your handwriting. His chest aches so suddenly he has to rub at it with the heel of his palm.

“Is all this… for me?” His voice is rough, betraying him. He almost completely forgot. Today’s his birthday, and of course, it makes sense now, you came home early to remind him.

You nod, eyes crinkling. “’Course. Who else?”

God, you. Always you. He’s not the type to need much—give him a book and some quiet and he’s set—but you’ve always given him that and more. You notice the little things, the gaps he doesn’t realize are there until you’re filling them with warmth and care.

“Thank you, sweetheart. You really know how to make a guy feel special,” he manages, even as his throat tightens.

“That’s because you are.”

He huffs out a laugh, trying not to melt entirely, but then you’re slipping out of his lap with that grin that means you’re up to something. Jason’s reluctant to let you go so soon, his lap feels too empty, too quickly, and he almost calls you back—but you’re already straightening from where you were digging behind the couch, your hands full.

“Wait—what’s this?”

“A little something,” you say, suddenly sheepish. “Well… a few somethings.”

Jason stares as you set a neatly wrapped package in his lap, the red ribbon perfectly tied. His fingertips hesitate on the wrapping paper. “You didn’t have to—”

“Jason.” Your tone cuts him off gently. “Open it.”

He does, slow at first, then quicker when the corner reveals the familiar embossed spines of a collector’s edition set of classic books he’s been eyeing for months. Nestled alongside is a weighty fountain pen in its case, sleek and polished, the kind of thing he never would’ve bought for himself. His chest feels tight all over again.

“Sweetheart…” He swallows, thumb brushing over the pen like it might vanish. “This is… wow.”

“You like it?” You’re biting your lip, waiting, worried in that way you always get, even when you’ve put your whole heart into something and got the details down to a T.

Jason looks up at you, his expression raw, and shakes his head. “Like it? I love it.” His voice dips quieter. “Almost as much as I love you.”

The way your face lights up right then—it’s almost enough to undo him completely. He’s still reeling from it when you disappear again, this time into the kitchen, reemerging with the glow of the candles dancing across your features.

He takes in the little details, can tell that you must’ve taken lots of care in the way you spelt his name with a heart next to it in homemade cream cheese frosting. Red velvet, just like the ones that he had growing up back at the manor. You must have asked Alfred for the recipe.

Jason’s already halfway gone before you even sing a word, starstruck eyes gazing at you.

“Should I be worried?” He suddenly teases, clapping while nodding towards the cake in your hands after you finish your cute little song. His face hurts from grinning so much, and he reaches an arm around your waist to bring you to his lap again.

”No!” You huff. “That smoke was from the plane, not when I was baking!”

”You sure?”

”Only way to know is to try a slice.”

The hand he’s been resting against the small of your back nimbly tugs at the knotted bow of your apron, and grins when you gasp, finally taking notice that it’s undone from the way it starts slipping down the silk of your gown. “Don’t have to ask me twice.”

”Jason Peter Todd!” Your face is flushed, and he chuckles, relishing the way your thighs heat up so much that he can feel their warmth through the fabric of his cargos. It’s a familiar tell he never gets tired of provoking, always finding new ways to push your buttons until you give it to him. “Put those hands up.”

He raises his arms in surrender, looking anything but guilty with that smirk on his face. “Yes ma’am.”

You roll your eyes, holding the cake up for him.

Jason swallows hard, leaning closer before he even realizes he’s moving. He blows the candles out fast—too fast—because the need to get to his real gift outweighs tradition, before he cups the back of your neck and kisses you.

“Hey,” you murmur against his mouth, laughing softly. He’s somehow gotten frosting on his cheek and onto yours in the process. “That was way too quick. Did you even make your wish?”

He smirks, forehead brushing yours. “Yeah, I did.”

“And? What is it, birthday boy?” you press, and his grin grows wider at the way your breath hitches when he leans in again.

“I think you already know,” Jason whispers into the space between your lips before claiming another sweet kiss.

Wish granted.

[marauder-misprint]

Hey sweetie, as news about the new series comes in, my excitement is reaching fever pitch. And I think this is the first time in my life that I'll be looking forward to a James Potter story.

Before Lily and James' relationship began, the marauders could make a bet among themselves. Within a certain period of time (it could also be a specific event, such as a deadline), would James be able to charm a Slytherin girl and kiss her?

If we're talking about marauders, this Slytherin girl might have a last name starting with 28—just to make things even more impossible :D

Throughout this process, the reader might start to develop feelings for James and then find out after the kiss that it was all just a bet. (I admit I've been watching too many classic teen movies lately)

Any happy or unhappy ending is acceptable to me.

If you like the idea and writing it is okay with you, I'm eagerly awaiting it.

Cora ❤︎ I have finished this! I'm not the most happy with the ending? It feels rushed to me, but I also cannot write conversation for the life of me today so it is what it is.

Hope y'all enjoy ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

Getting a girl

James Potter x Flint!reader

5.2k words

cw: fluff, angst, unhappy ending

It was only 8:30 p.m. when James tucked himself into bed. He was feeling defeated. 

After dinner, he had gone with just about everyone else in his year outside to one of the courtyards to enjoy the warm evening air. He had been feeling good. Morning practice had felt rewarding and classes were a breeze. So, he decided to try his luck, once again, with Lily. He walked over to the girls.

“Evans! How are you this fine evening?” he asked, running a hand through his hair before leaning against one of the stone columns. 

She barely looked up from her conversation. “Better before you opened your mouth.”

“Well, I can make it up to you. Let’s go for a walk, just you and me. I’m sure the grounds look almost as lovely as you do.” 

“I’d rather eat Marlene’s vomit. No thanks,” she said with an annoyed expression. “Come on.”

She grabbed Marlene and Mary and walked away from James. He stood there for a moment. She had turned him down time and time again, but for some reason, this one hit him right in the chest. It strangled something within him. It didn’t make sense that her simple refusal made him feel like this. He sighed and gave his limbs a little shake. He returned to his friends for a little bit, not feeling into being around people. Then he headed to his dorm alone.

His friends weren’t oblivious to his sudden mood change, and when they came into the dorm to see him already in bed, their suspicions were confirmed.

“Sulking over your Lilyflower?” Sirius asked, leading Remus and Peter toward James’ bed. 

James made a groaning noise. 

“You know there are other girls out there. Other fish in the sea. Or, I guess, other flowers in the garden?” Remus asked, sitting down on Sirius’ bed. 

“Sure, but it’s not like James could woo them if he wanted to,” Peter said.

“What do you mean? He’s a proper catch!” Sirius said, defending James for him. 

James moved slightly so his face wasn’t buried in his pillow. He groaned again.

“Then why can’t he get a girl?”

“Not that he can’t. He just doesn’t want any one beside Evans,” Sirius said.

“I think it’s can’t,” Peter said, crossing his arms with a smirk on his face. He didn’t mind playing devil’s advocate; it was fun.

James sat up. “I can get a girl.”

“Yeah? Care to prove it?” 

“Pick one. And when I get her wrapped around my finger, you’ll owe me ten galleons.”

Peter’s smile twisted into a mischievous smirk. “Y/N Flint. Get her to kiss you before we leave for Christmas. Has to be her making the move.”

James’ expression fell just slightly before he masked it. Peter chose a challenge. This wasn’t just if James could get a girl, it was if James could get an unattainable girl. You were about as likely to go out with James as Lily was. 

You practically had your own guard: Evan Rosier, Anthony Avery, John Mulciber and Stefan Wilkes. Sometimes Severus Snape, Barty Crouch Jr. and Regulus Black would be there too. You were always around one of them, usually more. It made you not the most approachable person. James couldn’t just walk up to you. 

So, he started with baby-steps. The first being observation. Was there ever a time when you were alone? Or at least without the boys. James figured he could try talking to you if it was Dorcas, Pandora or Samantha. To his dismay, you were never alone. 

He reminded himself: baby-steps. In his observing, he realized he learned your schedule fairly easily. He could attempt to catch your eye and wave to you. Part of the challenge was getting you to come onto him so why not get you to do the work from the beginning? 

The first time you caught James looking at you, it’s across the Transfiguration classroom in the middle of McGonagall’s lecture. He smiled when he realized you’re actually looking back at him and he held your gaze until you looked away. You caught him looking at you a few more times throughout lessons that day. It hit the point where you approached him after Arithmancy.

“What are you looking at, Potter?” you asked, voice level and uninterested, like it was a chore to ask him.

“Thought it was pretty obvious,” he said with an easy smile.

“Then why?”

“To get you to talk to me. Worked, didn’t it?”

“And why do you need me to talk to you?” you asked, crossing your arms. 

“Well, your friends are a bit… unnerving.” James stood up with a misguided notion that you were actually going to stand there and chat with him.

“Unnerving? Huh, I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave.” You gave him a quick once over before adding, “Cute.” Then you looked over to where Dorcas was just getting up from her desk. “Come on, Dorcas.”

You walked out of the classroom with Dorcas following closely behind. The latter glanced back at James confused. 

“Hear that, lads? I’m cute.” 

“Don’t think she meant it as a compliment…” Remus muttered. 

James waved a dismissing hand at Remus. It was part of the process. James didn’t expect you to be falling all over him because he simply looked at you. He knew you weren’t that type of girl. He planned to prove to you that he was worth your time and once you decided he was, you’d be kissing him in no time. 

“What was that with Potter?” Dorcas asked as she walked with you to the dungeons. 

“Not sure. But apparently you’re unnerving.” You smiled at her.

“Did he say me specifically? I would hope I’m more, ah, what’s the word, daunting.” 

“He said my friends.”

“Then I think he’s referring to the idiots who couldn’t make it into N.E.W.T. level Arithmancy.” 

“Dropping Arithmancy was a choice,” Evan said, making himself known. He had been silently walking behind the girls with Stefan. 

“Hi, how was class? Study hall was a bore,” you said overenthusiastically. “Class was great, thanks for asking, Evan.” 

“Why would we ask when you’re just going to do it for us?” Stefan asked, stepping forward and putting an arm around Dorcas’ shoulders. 

She quickly shrugged him off. 

“It’s called manners. And you both could use to learn some.” 

Evan dropped into a deep bow. “Please accept my deepest apologies, your majesty. How may I ever make it up to you?” 

You gave Dorcas a look and the two of you kept walking towards your common room. Stefan nudged Evan and they were followed, giving you a little more space than before but not enough that they’d have to give the password again. 

At dinner, you let curiosity get the best of you. You glanced toward the Gryffindor table a few times, and every time, James was already looking at you. This had to mean that he wanted something other than just getting you to talk to him. You had talked to him. He didn’t say anything worth listening to. 

You let James get in your head too easily. How could one person looking at you constantly be enough to get you to be quiet at dinner? It wasn’t like people never looked at you. You were a Flint, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and you liked to think you were both smart and pretty. People noticed when you walked into rooms. 

“Thinking about something?” Pandora asked when you and your roommates were getting ready for bed. “You’ve been quiet.”

A soft laugh escaped your lips. “Of all people, James Potter.” 

Samantha and Pandora both stared at you, wide-eyed and waiting for an explanation. Dorcas had at least seen you talk to him today, but was interested nonetheless. 

“Go on,” Samantha said. 

“Just been staring at me all day. Bit weird.”

“Maybe he’s moved on from that mudblood he’s been chasing,” Samantha said. “You’d be quite the upgrade.” 

“Because that’s what I need, Potter’s undivided attention and affection.”

You gave James two more days of staring at you before you would talk to him again. This time, it was after Potions. You put your hand on his book and looked at his friends.

“Move on, boys.” 

James smiled at his friends as they finished putting their things away at an ever-so-slightly quickened pace. You took your hand off James’ book and leaned against his station with your arms crossed once the boys were gone. 

“You’ve been staring.” 

“Yeah. Ever heard of the phrase ‘keep your eye on the prize’?” 

You nodded slowly, tilting your head from one side to the other.

“I have. I have… But I fear it doesn’t apply in this situation,” you said. 

“What would apply? Enlighten me.” 

You rolled your eyes with a sigh. “If you want it, you got to work for it.” You stopped leaning against his brewing station. “Simply staring won’t get you anywhere in life. Enjoy the free advice.” 

You were about to walk away when James grabbed your wrist. You looked at him impatiently. You could see Evan, Anthony and John over James’ shoulder. Your “unnerving” friends could be at your side in an instant if James made the wrong move, not that you’d actually need their help. 

“I’ll put in the work. I’d go the extra mile.” 

“If that’s so, don’t be afraid of my friends. They’re harmless.” You smiled sweetly. “Until they’re provoked.”

You pulled your wrist out of his hand and left the classroom. Evan, Anthony and John walked closer to James’ desk than they needed to as they trailed behind you. 

James stood there for a moment. Until they’re provoked. Right. Because all the times he’s pranked your friends over the years hasn’t provoked them. 

You didn’t see James staring at you across the Great Hall during dinner. You thought you had escaped whatever he was trying to do. It relaxed you. Usually whatever James was up to was no good and you had no desire to be on the receiving end of one of his pranks or schemes or jokes or whatever. 

James was simply gathering himself. It was an embarrassing amount of repeating to himself that your friends were harmless. Then he had to figure out when he would talk to you again and what he would say. His previous conversations with you were short. He had to admit that he didn’t actually know much about you. 

His staring dramatically decreased the next day. You were convinced that James really was scared of your friends. But then he approached you during study hall, despite the fact that you were sitting with Severus, Anthony and John. The boys stared him down as he stood next to you for a few seconds without saying anything.

He cleared his throat. “Hey, Y/N.” 

“Hello, Potter,” you said as you continued to work on the Ancient Runes essay you had in front of you. 

“I was wondering if you’d done the Herbology worksheet,” James said slowly, as if testing the waters. 

“I think I’m about halfway done with it.”

“Oh, brilliant. Would you want to work on it together?” James asked, already sitting down and opting to ignore the increasingly intense stares of your friends. 

“Might as well,” you replied with a shrug before reaching into your bag to putt it out. “Any chance you actually pay attention?”

“Occasionally, but I’ve become quite skilled at finding answers in the book.”

A brief, quiet laugh escaped your lips. It was enough to make James smile and take a breath of relief. You had somewhat hoped James had taken notes in class so the sheet would be more fill-in-the-blank, but instead, he had pulled out the textbook and set it between you. Yours was back in your dorm. It was a thick tome that you couldn’t be bothered to carry, even when Professor Sprout requested that students bring it to class. 

“First question, did you get four glossy, smooth-edged leaves?” you asked.

“Yes. And two should be itchiness and swelling.”

“Until asphyxiation.”

James chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. “Erm, yeah, I suppose. Or until an antidote is applied.”

“No guarantee anyone’s around to apply it.”

“Okay. Um, number three, underwater fiery petunia weed?”

You hummed affirmatively. “And false for four. I stopped there last night. Got bored.”

“Five should be blooms once every four years,” James said, flipping back a few pages in the textbook and pointing to a section under a diagram of a flower. “And six might just be bees? I’m not sure if she’s counting manual pollination.”

You leaned over to see the section he was referring to in order to copy down the answer. In doing so, you caught a whiff of his cologne. It took you by surprise. It was nice. It was different than what your friends usually wore, but in a good way. It was a warmer scent that didn’t scream This costs one hundred galleons. 

As you worked on the rest of the worksheet, you and James shared his book, both of you scanning the sections at your own paces and letting the other know when you were ready for a page flip. You’re certain you finished it faster and more correctly than if you had done it on your own. James muttered a few comments here and there that made you smile. Even though your focus was mainly on the worksheet, you could still feel James’ eyes occasionally drift to you and linger. So he was still staring. 

“Oh, that was the last question… Not so bad,” James said, flipping over the double-sided sheet from back to front to back. “Thanks for working on it with me. I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing.”

He gave you a wide smile and moved to stand up, but you grabbed his wrist. He gave you a questioning look. 

You rose just enough to whisper in his ear, “You smell good.” 

Then you let go of him and sat back down. His smile widened even more. You returned it with a sly smile. He nodded and went back to his friends. John watched James leave with a wary expression before turning to look at you.

“What was that?” 

“Herbology homework.”

“I meant-”

“I know. Not exactly,” you snapped. Now you had to work on your Ancient Runes assignment before you lost the motivation to do so. 

Now that James had sat at the same table as you with your unofficial guard, he felt more confident. The next day, he was saying hi to you when he passed by in the corridor. He was still staring at you from across the classroom, but now when you caught him, he flashed you a brilliant smile, one that was more happiness filled than cocky, and a wave. 

After Herbology, he stopped by your station and said, “Just bees was correct. Glad I didn’t change it.”

“Shame she didn’t include asphyxiation though,” you replied. 

Pandora’s curious expression when he walked away was priceless. It was understandable though. James had never exchanged little comments like that with you before. 

He made it clear that he was no longer intimidated by your male friends. A few days later, he approached you after lessons and asked if you’d want to work on homework in the library with him.

“You know where the library is, Potter?” you asked.

“It’s that big room that I usually avoid,” he said, lips twitching into a smirk. “If I didn’t know where it was, I might wander in there by accident.”

“But you’re offering to go there now? Willingly?” you asked with an overly-sweet tone. 

He shrugged and adjusted his bag on his shoulder. “Is that not where you usually do homework?” 

“Common room, actually. But you can’t go there. So, sure. Lead the way to the forbidden land, Potter.”

Dorcas and Anthony watched as you left them to go with James. 

“This is weird, right?” she asked him.

“Very.” 

“I’m going to find Pandora. We’ll keep an eye on him,” Dorcas said. 

All the two girls would see in the library would be you and James sitting next to each other, textbooks spread across the table as you worked on homework. Every once in a while, one of you would say something that would make the other laugh. It appeared simple, innocent, friendly. That made it all the more suspicious to them. 

“You know he’s not a threat,” you hissed, breaking the two girls out of their zoned out state. You had spotted them a few tables away and excused yourself. 

“What?” Dorcas asked. “Are we not allowed to work on homework in here?” 

You looked at their table. Dorcas had a Defense textbook open and Pandora was doodling. 

“Homework. Right.” 

“Yup. I’m going to turn this in for extra credit. Sprout will love it,” Pandora said with a nod.

“Okay,” you said, shaking your head. 

It would take a few more asking you to study before your friends stopped questioning it. Well, they still questioned it, but they didn’t bring any attention to it. You agreed to go with him. You seemed in a decent enough mood when you came back to the common room or to the Slytherin table for dinner. 

“Y/N, can I ask you something?” James asked as he tucked his Potions’ essay into his bag. 

You hummed, still finishing yours. 

“If I asked you to Hogsmeade, what would you say?” 

“In a hypothetical, I’d say no.” You saw his face fall in your periphery. “But that’s only a hypothetical. Too many variables.”

“Oh. Um, okay. Y/N, would you like to get butterbeers with me in Hogsmeade?” he asked, unsure if that’s what you were saying with the hypothetical and variable talk. 

“Like a date?” 

“Yes?”

“I’ll go on a date with you. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” James said, now smiling with a new brightness in his eyes. “Meet you at the Three Broomsticks?”

You nodded. 

“Great, I’ll see you then.”

James was extra smiley when he got back to his dorm. You agreed to a date. He could get a date. It wasn’t like you were going out with just any bloke who asked you. This was something. James could get a girl. Just not Lily apparently. 

You kept your date with James under wraps. Your friends, who already disliked James, didn’t need to know that you were going to be spending more time with him. So when it was time to meet James in Hogsmeade, you slipped away from your friends. They were in an intense argument about something or other. 

James was waiting for you outside the Three Broomsticks. His face brightened when he spotted you. 

“You came,” he said as you got closer. He opened the door for you.

“I said I’d go on a date with you. I keep my word.”

“I’m glad.” 

“Up to you to ensure I don’t regret it,” you said, picking a table to sit at. “Was this why you started staring at me?” 

“If I’m being honest, yes. I knew I had to be your friend before I could dream of getting you here.” 

“You’re not the only one who’s dreamed about dating me,” you teased. 

“I would be surprised if I was. You’re beautiful.”

“And a damn good time,” you added with a smile. 

“That I’ve come to know,” James said. “Never been upset when I’m with you.”

“I’m waiting for you to piss me off. Feels like it happen eventually.”

“If you think I’m going to piss you off, why did you agree to come?” 

“See how long it takes.”

“And here I was hoping that you might actually like me.”

“I’m debating it. You haven’t been as bad as I was expecting.”

“Coming to see that I’m a delight?” he asked.

You laughed. He was proving to be alright. He could make you laugh and make time pass by quicker. He didn’t seem to care about little status things, which you were debating if you liked or not. 

“Speaking of delights, Flitwick’s exam? How do you think you did?” James asked. 

It’s strange how easy it is to talk to James. This was more continuous conversation, only broken up by sips of butterbeer, rather than the miscellaneous comments while you worked on homework. You talked about the exam and the homework. You joked about your friends and their arguments. James talked about some drama that was going down in the Gryffindor Tower. 

By the time you’d gone through a few cups of butterbeer, you had decided that James wasn’t too bad. He didn’t piss you off. He listened to your stories. He laughed at your jokes. Despite some hesitancy, you would admit that you liked spending time with James. 

You figured he must feel the same since he kept finding time to be near you. You studied together even more frequently. He walked with you to classes you had together, even if your other friends were with you. They didn’t really warm up to James. They simply tolerated him for your sake. 

Then he didn’t split up from you when you reached the Great Hall. He followed you all the way to the Slytherin table. You expected him to turn around when you sat down, for him to cross the hall to Gryffindor’s table. But when you sat down, so did he. 

“Excuse me?” Severus snapped. 

James looked at you, silently asking if it was okay that he had sat down. 

“Bugger off, Snape. He’s with me,” you said, giving James a soft smile. 

The boys around you, besides James, exchanged glances that you chose to ignore. James had become your friend and was steadily working toward something more. The boys would have to get used to him being around. Dorcas and Pandora were a smidge warmer to James. So at least he had that. 

Dinner ended up only being slightly awkward. You acted like nothing was weird. It was just all your friends together and you could bridge the gaps in the conversation. Soon enough, your laugh was being met with those of your friends. James bumped shoulders with you and shared smaller smiles with you. 

He became almost like a shadow to you. Walking you to class, carrying your books, studying in the library, hanging out in alcoves. You stood next to him during the Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw quidditch game. James sat at the Slytherin table from time to time. Dorcas and Pandora accepted that he could keep good conversation, but the boys still held out on him. But one thing was certain: you and James were something. You didn’t define it or put a label on it, but something was there. 

It was a few days before students were to leave for Christmas break. James had yet to kiss you. You almost wanted to throw it in his face, saying that he was some Gryffindor if he couldn’t kiss the girl he’d been going around with. You didn’t. Maybe he was waiting for the right moment. 

“James!” you called across Central Hall. You laughed as you got closer and saw that he was holding a small box. “We had the same idea, didn’t we?”

You held out your own small box for him. He smiled and swapped the two.

“I didn’t want to risk not seeing on the last day,” he said. 

“Unlikely.”

“I know. But go on. Open it.” 

You untied the ribbon before peeling the edges of the wrapping up. 

“A box! Perfect!”

“Your favorite, I know.”

You opened the box and your smile grew twice the size. It was a simple necklace with an amethyst pendant. 

“You ranted about being tired of diamonds once and I know you like purple…” he muttered, like he needed to explain his gift choice. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him. 

“James, it’s perfect,” you breathed as you took a step back. “Wait, wasn’t that diamond rant from before you started staring at me?”

He smiled sheepishly. “Just because I wasn’t looking doesn’t mean I wasn’t listening.” He shifted his weight. “But you really like it?” 

“I love it. Will you put it on me?” 

He took the small box from you to remove the necklace. You lifted your hair so that he could clasp it around your neck. 

“Aren’t you going to open yours?” you asked, turning back around. 

“I mean, I don’t need to. You already gave me the best gift.” 

“Open it!”

“Okay, okay,” he laughed. 

He didn’t take nearly as much care with removing the wrapping and when he opened the box, a small broom zipped out and flew around his head. James reached out to catch it and turned it over in his hands, careful to not let it escape.

“Oh, this is brilliant!” he said. He let it go for a few seconds before grabbing it again.

“The handle is a switch. You can adjust it so it doesn’t fly or so it just levitates in one spot,” you explained, toying with your new necklace.

James fidgeted with the handle until the tiny broom hovered over his hand without flying off.

“This is so cool.” He glanced at the library. “Did you have homework, or…”

“I don’t have any. Jus’ was looking for you.” 

James slid the broom into his pocket and grabbed his hand. “Then let’s go to the greenhouses. It’s warm in there.” 

You let James lead you there, finding a bench in the upper levels. He put his arm around your shoulders as you sat together. 

“Got anything planned for break?” James asked.

For a while, the two of you talked about your families’ holiday traditions. When he had to go, he kissed your hand and winked. You stayed in the warmth of the greenhouse for a bit longer, playing with the pendant and smiling to yourself. 

“I hear you got your kiss,” Peter said the moment James walked through the door of his dorm. 

“Cough up your galleons then,” Remus said. “I believe you agreed to ten.”

Peter went to dig for the coins.

“Don’t worry about it yet, Peter. I haven’t broken up with her yet.”

“Why not?” Peter asked, hand rummaging around his trunk. 

“Because that would be rude? We just exchanged Christmas gifts and you kissed me. See you? I’ll end it later.” 

Remus and Peter left it at that. Except, James didn’t break things off with you before break started. The more he thought about it, the more he didn’t want to break your heart. Before Christmas, right – that part was important. He could end things when you got back in person. 

Sirius was told that James won the bet. After that, no one mentioned you. You didn’t come up on the ride to King’s Cross. Sirius didn’t bring you up to James’ parents when they came to pick the two boys up. And for the first few days of break, Sirius didn’t see who James was writing letters to. He assumed his friend was writing to Remus or Peter or Marlene or someone else on the quidditch team. 

“James, you got mail!” Sirius yelled from the kitchen one morning. An owl had already been by with the post. Sirius flipped through the letters and stopped on one with a heard on it. “Who’s this one from?” 

James, having just walked into the kitchen, took the letters from Sirius. 

“Oh, that’s from Y/N.”

“Why is she writing to you? And with a heart? Couldn’t get over you or something?” 

“No,” James said, shaking his head. “I didn’t break up with her.”

“You didn’t end things? You proved yourself, mate. You don’t have to waste your time on her anymore.” 

“Not going to ruin her holiday. That’s cruel.” 

James left the kitchen to read your letter in privacy. He thought that he should’ve corrected Sirius that he wasn’t wasting his time. He actually enjoyed spending time with you and looked forward to your letters. You were complaining about a dinner your parents dragged you to. You were the only one there under 30. James immediately went to write back.

Sirius started checking the mail every day. There was always a letter from you. He had no clue what you and James were talking about that could warrant daily correspondence like this. Especially when James was going to break up with you. 

A few days after Christmas, he opened one of the letters. You were writing from your grandparents’ house and saying that James would love their cooking. It didn’t even seem like James had planted a seed of uncertainty in you. From the letter, it looked like everything was good between you. So Sirius took things into his own hands. He wrote back to you and burned the letter you had sent. 

In the letter Sirius wrote posing as James? He broke up with you. He wrote how it had started. A bet to rebuild his confidence after a painful rejection from Lily. And since he had gotten his kiss, he didn’t need you anymore. But, Hope we can still be friends. 

You stared at the letter when it arrived. Your chest felt empty as you sat on the guest bed you had claimed as your own. You had been used. Your friends were right to be wary of James. You should have listened to them. You ripped the necklace James gave you off your neck, breaking the chain. You felt bad about hiding in your room at your grandparents’ house, but you didn’t want to see anyone. Not while you were crying and heartbroken. 

What made things worse when you got back to school was James really leaning into the “Hope we can still be friends.” He tried talking to you, walking with you, waving to you across corridors. You ignored him. You didn’t know how he thought he could be your friend after using you like that. After making you like him. 

“Hey, Y/N!” he called, jogging to catch up with you as you quickly left the Transfiguration classroom. “Wait up!”

You didn’t. You kept walking. He broke into a full-out sprint to get to you. You only stopped because he grabbed your arm. 

“Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to study together, but something’s off with you.” You rolled your eyes. “D’you want to talk about it?” 

You yanked your arm out of his hand.

“Talk about it? Why would I talk about it with you?”

He stared at you for a second. There was bite in your voice and anger in your eyes. He wasn’t expecting that from you, although he supposed your letters did stop rather abruptly. 

“I… I don’t…”

“You were using me to get over Evans’ rejection. You did it,” you snapped bitterly. “I don’t know why you’re still talking to me. You made it pretty clear in your letter that you didn’t need me. So, just, fuck off, Potter.”

You stalked away from him, leaving him standing there. In his letter? He hadn’t written anything like that to you. He knew he was going to have to tell you eventually that it started as a bet, but he really enjoyed your company and wasn’t planning on ending things. He was so confused. He had grown to like you. Really like you. And you had looked like you would murder him if he tried to talk to you again. He was fucked and he didn’t know why.

tags: @navs-bhat, @faceache111

[hood-ex]

Sigh, I am here to ask a question. Was Dick the primary “Jason Todd was the reason for his own death” truther before 2002 (apparently) when Batman (apparently) decided to be the main one?

For context I just read a post about Dick being Jason’s #1 hater for “no reason” and that he also victim blamed him for the longest time after Jason’s death.

I uhh really don’t think there was enough media literacy in that post already and they were some very adamant Jason Stans but, I genuinely don’t know enough about comics yet to know whether this is true or not. As my go to for Nightwing related comic truth, the question is in ur hands 🥲

To answer this thoroughly, we have to go back to the events occurring before and after Jason's death. To do this, I'm going to be pulling quotes from Scott Peterson's commentary from the deluxe edition of Batman: A Death in the Family. For those who don't know, Scott Peterson was a DC editor and writer.

Let's go back to the time before Jason died. Let's go back to when DC needed a new Robin. Why did DC need a new Robin? Because Dick gave up Robin and became Nightwing. The problem with this was that Robin was a popular character, and Robin toys also sold well. The solution to this problem? Bring in a new Robin.

However, as Peterson explained, there was a problem with making Jason Todd Robin.

So there's a new Robin. Awesome! Problem solved. Except a new problem popped up: the readers didn't like this new Robin. In fact, they hated him. Hated him. In large part, he was hated because of how beloved the Dick Grayson Robin had been and Nightwing was. Any new Robin was facing an uphill battle. But due to the abrasive nature of this particular Robin, and having been handed the costume without even giving the original Robin a professional-courtesy heads-up...well...it was not an ideal situation. Now, I might argue that taking this street urchin who-unlike the original Robin, who'd been a trained acrobat since birth-had no qualifications and making him a new Robin actually emphasizes how much the character of the Batman requires a Robin. But that's in theory. Because, for whatever reason or reasons, Jason just didn't connect with the readers.

Jason wasn't liked by comic readers, but according to Peterson, Jason wasn't liked by one of his own writers, Jim Starlin, either. As Peterson said,

I've unfortunately never met or worked with Jim Starlin, but he's been quite vocal in interviews about his lack of fondness for the character.

Starlin wrote Jason's angst-filled stories such as The Diplomat's Son in Batman #417 as well as Jason's death in Batman: A Death in the Family. He was responsible for the darker turn in Jason's life, and there are pieces from his writing that many writers now use to define Jason's personality and behavior.

Starlin wanted to kill Jason off from the beginning of his Batman run, but it was comic fans who determined Jason's fate. After the calls came in, and after Jason was killed, a new Robin was needed. A Robin that was completely different from Jason. As Peterson said,

All the things that had made Jason hated by the fan base were flipped around for his successor, the beloved Tim Drake. Tim was friendly and respectful. Tim had Dick Grayson's approval. Tim had a long and intensive training period. And Tim had the benefit of succeeding not the original, treasured Robin but the second, despised Robin, which couldn't help but give the third Robin a leg up.

Jason was now used as a negative contrast to Tim. Jason, the "bad" Robin, and Tim, the "good" Robin. Peterson explained,

Jason's memory, both in and out of continuity, was always honored, and always of vital importance. He was a cautionary tale, both in the stories and out. He was the Robin who didn't do it right, and he paid the price. He died. He was Robin, and he made a series of bad choices, and he died.

Hated by fans, hated by Starlin, and used as a cautionary tale, Jason's reputation as the reckless and impulsive Robin who disobeyed orders was slotted into place.

Now you may be wondering why I took you on a little trip down memory lane, but this information is necessary to understand why Dick was written the way he was after Jason's death. Speaking of Dick and Jason, let's take a look at the issue that has them meeting for the first time. Please note that this issue was written by Starlin.

We start off with Jason following a dealer to a coke lab. He's unsupervised. Bruce is the one narrating.

Batman #416

Extremely important: look at how Bruce describes Jason in this scene.

No matter what I say, Robin likes to go it on his own whenever he gets the chance. The trouble is that he is nowhere near as good as he thinks he is. He’s new at this dangerous game. There are still a lot of tricks he’s yet to learn. That’s how he ended up in that mess last night. He’d trailed a dealer to the coke lab. Robin was so pleased with his discovery that he got careless. He should have known a setup like that would have guards posted outside. Especially on the roof. Sloppy. In this business, you don’t usually live long enough to realize your mistakes. The penalties for fouling up are high… that’s why only the best survive. I’ve been trying to keep Robin alive long enough to become one of those chosen few. But he doesn’t make it very easy.

Look at that language. Talking about how Jason is new at being Robin. He's nowhere near as good as he thinks he is. He's careless. He's sloppy. Keep this in mind going forward.

Dick shows up after Jason falls into the coke lab. (Dick and Jason have never met each other before--Jason has no idea who Dick is.) One of the men accuses Jason of trespassing. Jason, shocked, asks what the man is trying to pull, and he exclaims that they're clearly standing in a cocaine processing lab. The man asks Jason, "Oh yeah? Mind telling me where the blow is?" Dick jumps in and says that Jason made a mistake, and they'll both be leaving.

Once back outside, Dick and Jason have an argument. Dick points out Jason's mistake: you can't bust anyone for possession of coke if there's no coke to be found. Dick explains that the coke wasn't due to be delivered until the next day. The dealers will most likely change locations now that they know they're being scoped out. Dick's a bit pissed about this because now he'll have to track the new location down. Dick tells Jason to go home and tell Batman how Jason screwed up.

In that one scene, we not only got to see what Bruce thought of Jason's skill level, we also got to see Jason's inexperience play out in front of Dick. That was the impression Dick got of Jason while Jason was Robin. (Let it be known that Dick and Jason did work together later in that same issue, and it's the issue where Dick gave Jason his Robin costume and his phone number, telling Jason to call him if Jason needed someone to listen.)

So now that we have that covered, let's take a look at the comics following Jason's death to see how Jason is described. First, let's get a refresher on what occurred after Jason died.

Facts: Jason died. Dick was off world when it happened. Bruce had the funeral. Dick was not at the funeral because he was off world. Bruce did not tell Dick that Jason died. Dick found out Jason died from Titans member Danny Chase. Dick was distraught and felt responsible because he gave Jason his Robin costume. According to Kory, Dick felt like a part of him died when Jason died. This is all from The New Titans #55, which was published in 1989, and it was written by Wolfman and Pérez.

Now that we've got that covered, let's look at the first panel where one might accuse Dick of victim blaming Jason. This panel in particular relates to the drug busting scene I described above in terms of Jason's inexperience.

In this scene, Dick decides to go see Bruce. They lash out at each other, trying to place blame for Jason's death. Bruce tries to shift blame to Dick. Dick, feeling attacked by the unfair blame directed at him, tries to throw blame back to Bruce by saying Bruce let Jason be Robin before Jason was ready.

The New Titans #55

Now this is where we get a taste of victim blaming because there's the implication that Jason's lack of readiness is what got him killed rather than putting responsibility on Joker. This comes out because of displaced guilt. Dick and Bruce want to think that they could have had control over the situation if so-and-so did something differently. For Bruce (or, really, it's Dick speaking for Bruce), it's the implication that Jason might still be alive if Dick had never given up Robin. For Dick, it's that Jason might still be alive if Bruce had trained Jason more before letting him be Robin.

It's less about Dick blaming Jason for dying, and it's more about him trying to shift blame to Bruce because that gives him a sense of control. "If Bruce had only done this then Jason would be fine." Of course, the reality is that neither Bruce nor Dick had control of the situation, and the only one they should be blaming is Joker.

However, we can see why Dick would have accused Bruce of not training Jason enough before letting him be Robin. We can see why Jason's skill level would be called into question when Dick saw Jason's inexperience first hand during their interaction at the drug bust. Bruce himself admitted Jason wasn't the best he could be skill-wise. To Dick, Bruce was letting a beginner play on an advanced field, so you can see why Dick worded things the way he did.

Now in an issue published in 1990 (written by Alan Grant), Tim had a daydream that included Jason being victim blamed. Once again, we have to remember that Jason was used as cautionary tale, particularly for Tim.

Batman #456

And then in 1991, Bruce made a comment to Tim that could be in reference to Jason and the idea of him being too impulsive and reckless.

Robin #1

In 1994, Dixon, who wrote the scene above from Robin #1, wrote a scene between Dick and Tim where Dick talked about Jason. This included Dick victim blaming Jason for his own death.

Robin #0

And because this is Dick talking to Tim, I will once again bring up what Peterson said in regard to how Tim was to be treated in comparison to Jason.

Tim was friendly and respectful. Tim had Dick Grayson's approval. Tim had a long and intensive training period. And Tim had the benefit of succeeding not the original, treasured Robin but the second, despised Robin, which couldn't help but give the third Robin a leg up.

Is Dick victim blaming Jason in this scene? Yes. Is that bad? Yes. We can see why writers like Dixon decided to do that though, right? To continue to push the narrative that Jason killed himself. Jason was reckless. Don't be like Jason. Be like Tim. We like Tim, right? We got rid of that nasty second Robin that everyone hated, so you should like Tim.

And look! Tim doesn't want to be like Jason! And look! Dick likes Tim!

Robin #0

Now, I don't know why Dixon couldn't have simply made Dick say that Jason went up solo against Joker, and Joker killed him. Maybe he was following Grant's lead ("I killed myself, Tim"). Whatever the reason, there is victim blaming there. Dick's not the only one to do it, which goes to show that rather than it being a flaw specific to Dick, it's more so a writer problem across the board.

If only more writers would focus on the heroic aspect of Jason's death like Sheila did 😔.

Batman #428

[codywankinktober]

Welcome to Codywan Kinktober!!

Welcome one and all to CodyWan Kinktober 2025! An unofficial event based on fan favorite Kinktober.

If you are familiar with Kinktober this will be nothing new for you. Prompts will have 3 options for each day, and you can use them in any order that you want, you can use all of them, or you can use just one of them. Just whatever day you are creating for, make sure you include one of the prompts/kinks in that day. There are also 7 alternate prompts that you can use as a free space of a sort to add to a day’s prompts or use as a substitute for a prompt. You do not have to create NSFW content for any of the prompts if you so choose (but where’s the fun in that? 😉). Works can be in any form as long as the work is original and yours. Works also don’t need to be posted every day, nor do you need to complete every prompt in order to participate. (Unless you are planning on being a completionist.) As long as you have something that fills the prompt and it is submitted on time you’re fine. 

Rules: 

YKINMKATOK. Your kink is not my kink and that’s okay. We’re all different people with different tastes and we get different ideas for different prompts and that’s okay. 

Don’t like? Don’t read. Let’s all agree to be adults here and not get upset because someone likes something we don’t or writes something we don’t like. That’s toxic and we don’t need that energy here. 

Most importantly – HAVE FUN!!

Prompt submissions will start October 1st and run through October 31st. More information to come about the AO3 collection and tags. 

Keep an eye out in the meantime for prompts! They will be posted shortly! Happy Creating! 

@swfandomevents for visibility!

[this-acuteneurosis]

Hi, I just wanted to say I stumbled onto Don’t Look Back the other day, and now I CANNOT. STOP. READING. IT.

I know this might send stalker vibes (sorry), but I’ve literally read or listened (via narrative app) to just about all of your stuff now. Your work is absolutely amazing! The political and social struggles, the developing trust or mistrust between characters, and Leia’s interpretation of the Force is just so unique. And Leia! Her characterization is so dynamic that it can grab attention from both fictional and real people. I’m on the edge of my seat waiting for the next chapter! You’ve even got me reading one shot aus and I never read one shots as a personal rule- they’re always so heartbreakingly short they haunt me.

On the topic of one shots, namely your Trick or Treats series, do you still take requests? Is it just something you do around Halloween so readers must wait to suggest a prompt or sequel?

Anyways, I just wanted to send you my best wishes and appreciation. I hope you have a wonderful day!

Thank you! (*^_^*) I'm glad you've been enjoying my writing so much. Always glad to know I'm provoking so many feelings.

So, Tricks for Treats is an event I've run two times in October, partially to satiate my poor readers who just want Leia to Say Something. It has rules and limitations on what prompts I'll take, and it is a lot of fun, but So Exhausting. I'm thinking I'll do one more year of prompts, but I may only take a limited number this time.

I don't mind if people send me prompts or ideas at other times, but I just like to be clear that sending me something doesn't mean I'll have the time or inspiration to write it. And if you want a continuation of a Tricks for Treats item specifically, I probably won't do it unless you ask during the event.

[k3yreviewer25]

had a difficult time trying to figure out what to do for this, but landed on writing out my headcanon for how cranboo arrived in the overworld as a kid

@sixteenth-day-event

The world was a blur of pain by the time Ranboo finally reached that distant, soft light they'd been chasing. Their skin was tingling too much to feel the door's handle, but they must have gotten it open because the dark disappeared in a burst of orange. It was brighter up close.

Then it was fading. It was fading away, leaving him in a haze of dim agony.

Please don't go, I don't want to be alone here, I can't-

Nothing but darkness.

They woke slowly.

There was light on the other side of their eyelids.

It hurt to open them.

They shut them again before curiosity made him try again.

Once he finally managed to pry them open for long for them to adjust to the light, he found himself in a small room. The curtains were drawn shut, but enough light bright. unnaturally so slipped between the gaps that they could make out the room.

Every single surface was grainy, like the inside of a chorus fruit stalk, but magnified 10 times over. The ceiling he was staring at when he woke, the walls, the floor, even the little table next to the bed. It was unsettling, but there was nowhere they could focus their attention that that grainy texture wasn't visible.

There wasn't even an exit. Every wall was smoothly connected at the corners, and the floor stretched to meet each wall without any gaps for a staircase or a ladder.

feels wrong, so so wrong, where's the stone, the purpur, the smooth symmetry, the soft light

He jumped as a section of the wall swung inward and a- person? holding a tray walked into the room.

His first thought was that they didn't look like anyone he'd ever seen before: short, broad shoulders and thick arms, and all the hair on their head seemed as though it had slipped off the top and collected on their chin.

His second thought was that he couldn't recall what type of person he was used to seeing.

"Ah, you're awake." The words sounded strange on their ears. But what would sound normal, why couldn't he remember- "Looks like that healing pot worked for ya."

It takes a moment for Ranboo to realize they're meant to answer. "Where am I?"

"Hypixel." The name wasn't familiar. They tried to dredge up a place that was, but nothing came up. "Call me Percy."

"I'm Ranboo." At the very least, they had their name. "How- how did I get here?"

Percy set the tray down on the little table, then sat in the chair across the room. "I dunno what you Endermen eat, but you're probably hungry by now."

The food on the tray was an odd assortment; it looked like a mix of plants and meat, though what kinds, Ranboo had no clue. Still, their stomach was rumbling now that they paid attention to it. "Um. Thank you."

Percy nodded and continued. "Stormed last night. Pretty heavy. Know you folks aren't good with the water. You came crashin' in, passed out on my floor. Lucky it was a quiet night last. Not many doctors round here know how to fix an Enderman, but seems like whatever she did worked all right."

It must've. Ranboo felt... fine? There wasn't any pain, nothing weird outside of the whole not remembering anything. Assuming this was what normal felt like. Was there something wrong with him, but he just didn't know what he was supposed to feel? What if he was actually sick? What if-

"I won't pry." Percy's monotone voice pulled them out of their thoughts. "Whatever you're runnin' from, that's your business. But you bring any of it down on my inn, you're out on your ass. Got it?"

"Y-yes." Was he running from something? Everything was just bringing up way more questions.

"Good. I'm out a stable boy. You do some work 'round here, you've got a place to stay until you find other accommodations."

What had he gotten into here? Was this just how things around here worked? Maybe he should just go along with it until he could remember anything. "Okay."

[saurongorthaur9]

Thanks for tagging me @aureentuluva70 :D

I genuinely like my own writing. I go back and read it simply to enjoy it, and I like the way I tell stories. I write from my heart, and I think it shows.

I like that I pursue my dreams and don't let fear stop me. Last year, after twenty years of working towards it, I was finally able to go to New Zealand, and this year, I was finally able to make a 2000 mile move away from everything I'd ever known to the place I'd always dreamed of living. So many people said to me "I'd never be able to travel to a different country all alone" or "I'd never be able to make such a big move" but to me, living the life I want to live is far more important than living a safe, small life.

I like that I'm a Youth Services Librarian. I believe deeply in the importance of libraries and librarians as a profession, and I know I'm very good at what I do.

I like being a cosplayer. I still get imposter syndrome that I'm not very good, but I have won a good number of cosplay contests, I've worked professional cosplay gigs, and most importantly, I have my mind open to learning more and getting better, even though I still am a beginner. But I love how I feel when I'm in costume and out on the floor at a con or event and the joy I see my costumes bring to people.

I like that I'm a very curious person. I have a never-ending list of things I want to learn or try (from learning to play the ocarina to learning to scuba dive). I have a very wide range of interests and talents (from raising praying mantises to cross-stitching to running an audiofic website).

Tagging: @squirrely-wraith @annabthesolitarywriter @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @frotu @flameunquenched @helenvader @myrsinemezzo @saurhands

Firstly, when you get this, you have to answer with 5 things you like about yourself, publicly. Then, send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers//non-negotiable, positivity is cool

uhh lemme see

1: i can cook?

2: im kinda funny?

3: ... running out of ideas, uh....i can draw?

4: im nice?

5: i listen to ppl?

followers: @askgeneralwash , @k01-dr4ws, @harzekeenjoyer, @mammonmuffinz, @theatergerk, @sleepystormchaser, @theojrresponds, @ceo-of-lams, @arcadeii, @cal-1776

[heathtrash]

Treats and Fics: The Worst Witch Hallowe'en Exchange 2025!

The spookiest time of the year approaches! Witches young and old are flying back to Cackle's for the start of term, and the crisp smell of autumn is almost on the air. Later in the season, pumpkins will be harvested to be baked or carved, leaves will begin to settle on the earth, and ritual fires will flicker high into the night air. We're here to celebrate all things The Worst Witch with a fun gift exchange fic!

This event is supposed to be low-commitment as this can be a busy time of year, but this year we're not limiting ourselves to drabbles - any fic under 2000 words is welcome! Dribbles, drabbles, ficlets - whatever suits your writing style or the story you want to tell. You can explore a tiny scene, random AU, headcanon, or whatever else you feel inspired to by your assignment's prompts! There's no overall theme to the collection, but we'll be running from the 1st of September (when Cackle's opens its doors to the new and returning students) right through to Hallowe'en, so you may wish to include these as themes in your requests or offers - or not! Whatever brings you delight.

So how does the exchange work? Everyone participating will have one matched assignment based on ships etc. You'll have September and October to actually write your fic for your assignment, which brings us to the best part of this challenge - the TREATS! Once you've done your assignment, you can peruse the list of requests and treat as many people as you like to more tiny fics. So let's make sure everyone opens their gifts on Hallowe'en with a full cauldron of treats!

You are allowed to request any TWW media, but bear in mind that at least one should include a main 2017 ship for ease of matching.

AI works and crossovers with Harry Potter are not permitted. Ships must be consenting adults only. An AO3 account is required to participate.

SIGN UP HERE! Open until 1st September.

Sign-ups open: NOW!!

Sign-ups close/requests revealed: 05:00 UTC+0 1st September

Assignments due: 05:00 UTC+0 28th October

Works revealed: 05:00 UTC+0 31st October

Have more questions? Read the FAQ or message me here!

[assassins-and-hidden-blades]

WIPs in Production -- @assassins-and-hidden-blades

17/08/2025: Yes, the aesthetic is a sneak peek. Yes, I'd love to do more in the future. Yes, I have a bunch of fics I'm currently brainstorming/working on under the cut. I would love to hear your thoughts, opinions, hopes, and dreams about them and whether you wanna be tagged when they come out!

Everything is under the cut! Not to bribe, but if you tell me the ones you're most excited for, it'll probably shift around the list a little bit... possibly a bit higher... obviously not bribing you to comment your faves... not one bit... 👀 Anyway, enjoy!!!

Fandoms (if you're in these, it's your duty 🫵 to reblog... pretty please? 🙏): Assassin's Creed, Red Dead Redemption 2

Here are my portfolios (AKA: I can write, I promise -- I just have crippling adhd):

Assassin's Creed Masterlist

Red Dead Redemption 2 Masterlist

Assassin's Creed

Jacob Frye

Apocalypse!AU (gn!Reader) -> series - The long coveted series of dirt, grime, and zombies. It's the end of the world, and you and your group of survivors are just trying to survive. ( ~ 6 standalones pending)

Biker!Jacob Modern AU (f!Reader) -> oneshot - Early stages, but we have vibes.

Cowboy!Jacob Modern AU (fem!Reader) -> oneshot - Yeehaw, ykwis? You meet Jacob at a rodeo event. Shenanigans ensue.

Cowboy!Jacob RDR2 AU (f!Reader) -> series - Defecting from your old gang, you struggle to find somewhere to call home. One day, a mysterious stranger offers to grant you just that. The catch? You'll have to wait and see...

The Eden Files/Archives (final name pending) (f!Reader) -> series - Complete re-write of 'The Predator and the Prey'. Past Ellie, what were you thinking? Gag. Anyway, this one will be bigger and better than before. Don't you worry.

Compromised (gn!Reader?) -> oneshot - You and Jacob have feelings for each other when you really shouldn't. By trying to keep your feelings at bay, you let your guards down.

Tease (f!Reader) -> oneshot request by @iceboundstar - Jacob gets you to confess your love for him. He knows, he just wants you to say it.

Rivalry (f!Reader) -> oneshot request by anonymous? - Enemies to lovers. You both grind each other's gears until the crashing force of reality of life as an assassin comes crashing down on the both of you.

Domesticity (f!Reader) -> oneshot The reality of transitioning from assassin life to family life.

Alexios of Sparta

gn! reader -> oneshot - Alexios is poisoned.

Eivor Varinsson

(sorry guys, one must simp for viking man every now and then)

Ransom (gn!Reader) -> oneshot - You're taken for ransom to guarantee Eivor's compliance.

Invasion (f!Reader) -> oneshot - Ravensthorpe is attacked, and your and Eivor's children are trapped inside the longhouse.

Battle-worn (gn!Reader) -> oneshot - You catch one too many axes, and fall in battle. Eivor races to save you, but will he make it in time?

Connor Kenway

Babysitting 2: Electric Boogaloo (Equine Vet!Reader) -> oneshot - You're called out to deal with an emergency birth at a farm late at night. Connor comes to babysit your daughter overnight.

Red Dead Redemption 2

Arthur Morgan

Gone Hunting (gn!Reader?) -> oneshot - You went hunting, and you're taking too long to get back.

Bounty Hunting (f!Reader) -> oneshot (SMUT ALERT??? Or just fade to black? Stay tuned, folks...) - The way back from a simple job is rougher than the journey there...

Broken Oath (low honour Arthur x gn!reader) -> oneshot You say goodbye as time runs out.

Don't Poke the Bear (gn!Reader) -> oneshot You won't like Arthur Morgan when he's angry. Watch tf out.

The Things You Don't See (f!Reader) -> oneshot You don't listen to him and you reap the consequences (nb: Arthur crashes out).

Save a horse... (gn!reader) -> oneshot request by anonymous? - Arthur teaches you how to ride a horse.

Sleep-Deprivation (f!Reader) -> oneshot - You can't sleep. And it costs you.

Wrath (gn!Reader) -> oneshot You get hit in the shoulder. You'll survive the wound, but Arthur's fury? Jury's out.

----------

That's all of 'em. Now go drink water, you dehydrated SOBs.

[gopikayam]

Good evening. Noticed you are can write with RE. So If you are not busy, can I request headcanon with Leon, Chris, Albert, Carlos, Luis, the morning with them. Like, how morning with is begining

Morning and weekend headcanon with RE men

Summary: How they spend their morning time with you, on weekend.

Genre: Fluff (don't critic please and sorry for mistakes 😭)

Leon S. Kennedy

He usually used to wake up very early cuz of his work. Or sometimes, he doesn't even sleep if the mission is scheduled at midnight.

Today was a weekend, a rare luxury moment for you both. He's probably still half-asleep when you wake up. He works late often, so a weekend morning means catching up on rest.

You got out of bed, but Leon pull you closer for a few more minutes, pressing a soft kiss to your hair before finally stirring.

Coffee always is first. He likes strong, black coffee. He might make two cups, for you and himself. If you are not big fan of coffee, then he won't

Not talkative during breakfast, only would ask a few questions, like "How's you sleep?" "Did you get enough sleep?". But also would like to discuss plans for today with you.

For Leon, ideal weekend would be about finding moments of peace and normalcy, away from his job. You both would like to watch movies, series or order your favourite foods. Or if you want active day... Then he doesn't mind. But likes to walk in less populated places, where you and him only. This man also can go to target Practice (optional). If you shows interest, he might take you to a private range. It's a way for him to unwind and stay sharp, and he might patiently teach you a few things.

Chris Redfield

Like a Leon, Chris also sometimes doesn't get enough sleep. He is up before you, even on his days off. It's ingrained in him. He would wake you up gently, stroking your shoulder or cheek. He won’t push, if you need more sleep. But ofc he wouldn't let you sleep all morning.

He's likely already doing some light stretching or preparing for an early morning run. Chris might offer you to join, but won't push.

If he's making breakfast, it's efficient and nutritious. Scrambled eggs, toast, maybe some fruit.

Chris approaches weekends with a balance of physical activity, practical tasks, and quality time with you, valuing stability and shared purpose. So you won’t sit all day.

Hiking, trail running, or even a strenuous workout together. He believes in staying fit and would enjoy sharing that with you, pushing both a little.

After an active day, he enjoys a low-key evening, perhaps watching a documentary or simply talking, valuing the comfort of your presence.

Carlos Oliveira

Carlos is definitely sleeping in, tangled up with Y/N, probably with his arm thrown over her. He is early riser, so would wake you with playful nudges, maybe a tickle or a series of light kisses on neck until you stirs.

As soon as he's up, music is on. Something upbeat and energetic. He'd be humming or dancing around while getting ready.

He'd insist on making breakfast together, turning it into a fun, slightly messy activity. Pancakes, omelets, whatever you wants.

While eating, he'd be recounting a funny story from his past or making plans for some exciting activity later in the day.

A weekend mean Carlos can do whatever he wants and won't waste time. Hitting up lively bars, casual restaurants, or attending local events. He loves people and wants you to enjoy the social scene with him. But if you are introverted, then he would spend time with you in home. He doesn’t mind.

But even in house, Carlos won't sit all day. Watching a sports game, playing video games, or engaging in a friendly competition. He loves a good challenge and sharing hobbies. Or Kicking back with music, telling jokes, or watching action movies. Plus, you both can cook something new if you won’t burn kitchen

Albert Wesker

(I'm not sure, if it's matched to his canonical personality. Knowing him as a toxic man, I'll try make it a little different, if you don't mind).

Wesker doesn't truly "sleep" in the conventional sense. He's likely been awake for hours, perhaps reviewing data or simply observing you. Or maybe work on a "project"

The room would be perfectly temperate, the blinds precisely adjusted to allow a specific amount of light. Everything is precisely as he wants it. He wouldn't engage in typical morning pleasantries. A terse "Good morning" might be offered, or simply a look that conveys his awareness

He has a meticulous morning routine that he adheres to, regardless of the day. This might involve advanced exercises or mental conditioning. If you are moving slowly, he'd likely show subtle impatience, valuing efficiency even in relaxation.

He wouldn't cook. Breakfast would appear, perhaps prepared by a service, designed to be optimal for his (and by extension, yours) physiological needs, rather than comfort.

​A weekend with Albert would be less about traditional romance and more about intellectual engagement, controlled environments, and his personal pursuits, with you as a refined companion.

Spending time observing things, perhaps a complex system or a natural phenomenon, and discussing his deductions with you. He wouldn't frequent crowded places. If they go out, it would be to private, controlled environments where he dictates the terms.

Luis Serra

Luis would wake up with a charming, slightly suggestive comment, a smile already on his face. He'd enjoy lingering in bed, chatting, laughing, and generally making the most of the relaxed morning before facing the day.

Doesn't rush for a coffe, not cuz he doesn't like it. He might even prefer to start the day with a glass of water, or simply wait for you to make coffee if she's the type to.

If he's making breakfast, it would be an experience – perhaps something Spanish-inspired, prepared with flair and a little theatricality.

​"What Adventure Awaits?" His focus for the day wouldn't be on chores, but on what exciting or enjoyable thing they could do. He'd suggest something unique or thrilling.

He is enjoying the nightlife, whether it's dancing, listening to music, or just soaking in the atmosphere. He's charming and loves being out. Or taking you to obscure, interesting places only he knows about – a secluded viewpoint, a quirky shop, a historical detail.

Sometimes, his ideal weekend might involve just getting away from everything, going off-grid for a short time, focusing solely on each other without external distractions.

(I know, It's sucks. But I did my best)

[ganglygamer]

Hi @alllgator-blood/River 👋

I hope you don't mind me responding to this with some art and rambles, especially with me being a complete stranger to you and whatnot. I don't really talk about my personal life like, AT ALL let alone out of the blue to strangers on the internet but, idk, I guess I'm just thinking that sharing my own experiences might make you feel...better???

I guess what I want to say is, I can relate to what you're going through, pretty heavily actually. I may not be chronically ill or have attempted any serious form of SH (thankfully), but I've still gone through some needlessly awful things in my life.

When I was 10 some shitty events forced my family move to a shitty old house in a shitty neighborhood in a shitty city with a shitty gorilla of a person, where every day for years I had to deal with things like mice in the walls, shit on the floors and like. actual fucking dead rats falling out of the open ceiling. I went through constant verbal and physical abuse that literally no adult I went to would act on even WHEN I dared to speak up. My family was no help since they all have their own caveman-ass lifestyles, in fact often they'd be defending or even covering up what was happening, and at worst certain people have threatened my safety if I tried fixing my situation. Even now, years later in a different house and city, I'm still kind of forced to live with my family and things really aren't different, aside from me being too old to really threaten physically. Hell, it's taken me DAYS just to write this reblog simply because my family keeps intervening with more of their bs.

As a result of all this I basically became the reclusive "weird" kid at school; I lashed out and got in trouble more often, which in turn made my home life worse, and soon enough I was too afraid to even be in the same room as certain members of my family. I started hitting/scratching/pinching myself over the stupidest things because it was one of the only ways I could think to express myself when I was upset. I started thinking the only way out was to either join the military or just...run away one day and never look back, despite me still being a kid, because either of those options genuinely felt better than what I was going through at the time. Honestly if it wasn't for me having a SINGLE SOLITARY person at school who gave a shit about me and shared my interests, I probably would have turned out very different than how I am now, and even then I'm still more of a recluse who struggles opening up to other people.

All this to say, I know what it's like to be trapped in a shitty situation where you can't even leave because you have nowhere else to go. I know what it's like to have the universe unfairly hitting you with uncontrollable bullshit after bullshit, even after it feels like you've done everything right. I know how those things can make it scary to talk to people during bad times, let alone try to open up to them, especially when the people you thought would help you before only let you down. And I know how things can feel so shitty and inevitably hopeless that you want to just run and hide away for eternity. And because I know what all that's like, I feel like I should have to remind you that, NONE of this is your fault. Not having a support system or people to help you is NOT your fault. Being stuck in a body that forces you to feel like shit and lay down for long periods when you'd rather be engaging with people is NOT your fault. Not feeling safe or well since you were young is NOT your fault. And of course NONE of the terrible things that are happening or have happened to you are your fault, be it some inconvenient hormone spike or some absolute douchebags hacking your accounts.

And NO, it's not a bad thing that you talking about this stuff in your life reminds me of my own or makes me feel sad, if anything it makes me want to be more open by giving more comforting words than what I ever got. I used to think when I was younger that I had one of the shittiest lives possible, and now seeing someone going through a somehow even worse situation than mine just...hurts. You and Bialejaja's art are a big part of the reason why, even though I rarely if ever acknowledge or interact with the cotl community and have only ever played like, 40ish hours of the game itself, I still feel invested because of how you create stories out of it. Your body might have issues, but you still have a genuinely admirable talent for art and storytelling that I rarely see on this site. That recent comic you did with Shamura and Narinder? That was genuinely one of the most movingly bittersweet things I've read in a long time, and it just sucks seeing the person who made it, someone talented and passionate who clearly just wants to be engaged with their audience, instead be so...deflated after having all this unnecessary shit pile up on them.

If it's ANY consolation, I want you to have this drawing of Kallamar I did while on vacation. I was planning to post it later as repayment for the Artfight revenge I'm waiting on, but I feel like posting it now is more important for you given your situation.

I'm not asking you to respond to this post, hell I don't even know if you'll SEE this post with how chaotic your life is right now. But I DO want you to know that regardless of what your situation might make you feel right now, there are still people who can relate to you and support you, and no one is going to hate you just because something in your life prevents you from talking to them, nor is anyone going to hate you if you feel the need to come on and vent constantly.

Please just remember that you don't have to silently suffer alone and that no matter how bad things get, we'll all still be here, always and forever.

You've got this.

haven't been able to draw nearly at all, but I slooowwlly made this over the course of a week and a half or something because I needed to find some humor in my situation. "If I don't laugh, I'll cry" and all that. Not sure why I did it at such a low resolution but I think my paint program was running out of space and I didn't feel like closing my 40ish tabs. One of those tabs is another slightly older comic where the Therapy Bee (therabee?) shows up for one panel in a montage.

Obligatory update/rambling beneath the cut that got way darker than I expected but I mean. It's ME, is anyone gonna be surprised?

Still alive, still truckin, it's very very hard and I'm doing that thing where I keep saying "you have to wait 24 hours to go through with your plans" or "order yourself something online cause you can't just die before you open your package!!". Currently am waiting for a lamb plush in the mail that should be coming tomorrow, and after that I'm gonna make myself stick around til my liquor runs out, and after that uhhhh...new cotl comic drops on october 29th?? It's gonna have heket most likely, and she is my beloved so I have to live to read that. My local convention is on october 9th or something. And slowly, VERY SLOWLY, I am assembling a cosplay when I'm able to focus and afford supplies, so I can't die before I flex my awesome cosplay on everyone.

It's rough because I don't really have like....a support system. Or friends (too afraid to talk to/meet people). Or working medication. Or therapy....and I feel bad because people offer to talk to me on here, but I literally don't know what to say. I have no idea what'd help me and it's really embarrassing to think about my first interaction with someone being me begging for help that the other person is unable to give. Like I really should've been hospitalized maybe 2 or 3 weeks ago but every queer gen z in my area can tell you our psych hospitals are ABYSMAL. I was told the series of people that neglected me last time I was there could've led to my sh wounds leading to amputation or death if one (amazing) nurse didn't finally step in, so hospital is absolutely not an option.

This whole crisis thing sucks because if you're already in a shitty living situation, it makes the brain chemistry telling you all is lost sound...VERY logical. I won't get into it, but when I relapsed on my main self harm method and ran away for a while, I had this moment where I was sleeping on a wet basement floor with broken glass + was being bitten by wolf spiders, and realized I was calmer there than at my own place. So it's like...if I stick this out, the only thing I feel is waiting for me is MORE sticking it out through a comfortless, isolated life that doesn't seem to go anywhere. Suicide has felt like an inevitability since I was 9-10 or so, but I'm just hoping if I stick around long enough, I'll find what makes life worth living, because at the end of the day the only promise I want to keep to myself is that I won't have to die sad after everything I've been through.

No clue why I added all this to the description of a comic of a cartoon sheep and squid. I should probably delete this but I've written so, so many posts like this in the past and deleted em and still felt shitty, so maybe I'll feel better knowing I shared my thoughts SOMEWHERE

[pynkhues]

I hope this doesn't seem like a pressuring ask but I was curious if you were planning to finish like a dogless bone? Under the circumstances it's understandable and within your right to leave the fic incomplete but I was wondering if it was going to be completed. And if you choose to update please update at your leisure, I support you whatever you decide and I know many other readers also support you and want you to be safe.

It doesn't seem pressuring at all, anon! Honestly, I haven't opened the doc since that last round of threats and harrassment on Thursday, which is kind of a bummer, because I suspect that was a part of the intent, especially given I increasingly do think those negative comments on Ungodly Hour were probably from the same cohort of people. I do still plan on finishing it though, and am actually even planning on having a look at it this afternoon, so wish me luck! :-)

[webrollus]

daily suitcase 1-3

[pixie-felix]

Okay wow this got a lot more positivity than I was expecting😳

I literally nearly deleted it an hour or so after posting because I thought it might be too much. I'm really glad I didn't do that.

Originally I was planning to only do one appointment per member, but that seems likely to change due to the amount of delightful triage notes in my inbox.

So far I have no idea how long I'll run this event for, I guess it depends on the level of interest 🤔 either way I'll definitely keep the asks open for a week or so.

If you want to send in a request for this but are worried it's too kinky, don't fret.

I answered it in an ask somewhere, but other than what's listed in Clinical Limitations I'm happy to write pretty much all of the things.

Speaking of Clinical Limitations, by extreme object insertions I mean things like entire arms and ostrich eggs. And baseball bats. 💁‍♀️

Thank you to everyone who's sent things in and left comments, like I said I was originally really worried no one was going to be interested in this so to read your words has me feeling all sparkly and nice 🥰

It might be the heatwave melting away the last of my kink inhibitions, or it might be the amount of sexually suggestive fruit in my algorithm. But somehow 800 of you follow me, and that is completely bananas, so lets make it weirder...

800 follower event | Stethoscopes and Submission

This is a sub!skz smut event. You can request for a member's demeanor to be cheeky/cocky/confident, but they're still gonna be the one that gets a finger up the ass 💁‍♀️

You're the new doctor at JYPE's state of the art suspiciously soundproofed shiny new medical facility: JYPmed.

Between all the previous staff assigned to Stray Kids resigning simultaneously and the amount of sexual allusions in the NDA you just signed, you have a pretty good idea of what’s lying in store for you. Good thing you've never been one to shy away from a challenge. It's gonna take more than a couple of horny idols to make you give up this job.

Please choose your patient, evaluate their demeanor, and fill out the triage form.

JYPmed Triage Patient name:  First appointment: yes/no Patient Complaint: Additional Concerns and Symptoms: Demeanor: Receptionist's Observations:

Patient complaints are the reason for the appointment, such as a headache or a general checkup. Maybe someone pulled a muscle in their groin, or they’ve had an erection that just won’t quit. Maybe they’re worried about the sensitivity of their nipples, or lack thereof. Maybe they just need their blood pressure checked.

Noting any additional concerns and symptoms is not mandatory, but would be helpful in making sure we administer the right treatment plan.

A patient’s demeanor is their outward behaviour. Do they seem stressed? Shy? Confident? Are they chatting up the receptionists? Looking at you, Chan.

It’s always a wise idea to read the receptionist’s observations. They know the members well, and will give you hints on the best course of action for dealing with them.

Paperwork guidance: to avoid confusion, here are some previous triage notes~

Patient Name: Christopher Chan Bang. First Appointment?: No Patient Complaint: General check up Additonal Concerns and Symptoms: Physical exam requested Demeanor: Playful and a little cocky, very flirty Receptionist’s Observations: Seems like a time waster. Punish him 😈

Patient Name: Lee Felix First Appointment?: Yes Patient Complaint: Heart palpitations  Additonal Concerns and Symptoms: n/a Demeanor: Nervous, possibly embarrassed. He's blushing a lot. Receptionist's Observations: Seems sweet, but definitely very nevrous. Perhaps when you use the stethoscope, you could also remove your shirt? In solidarity. (Or to distract him with your tits. Whatever works💁‍♀️)

Clinical Protocols:

Triage notes must be submitted through asks to avoid filing mishaps.

Due to the nature of this clinic, minors must not interact.

This is a sub!skz smut event. Chan will not be bending you over the heart monitor. (but you could put his dick in a blood pressure cuff, should you so wish if his symptoms call for it)

Clinical Specialisations:

General checkups can include prostate exams, temperature play taking, gag reflex checking, sensitivity assessments, and other general med!play. Clinical specialisations include:

Post-pleasure endurance education (overstimulation)

Refractory period reduction (edging)

Physical anxiety soothing (pleasure!dom style body worship)

Reality checks (lessons in submission for the cocky, overconfident ones. Can include kinkier things like intimate hair removal and cnc chastity–make them cry, let them love it)

The clinic is equipped with a wide range of medical equipment (adult toys and chastity devices) to suit all patient needs, to be used as and when required

Clinical Limitations: due to JYPmed's limited training and insurance cover, the clinic is unable to assist with the following conditions

actual medical conditions (the most qualified member of staff is the emotional support puppy. and no I'm not talking about Seungmin.)

ageplay, knifeplay, breathplay

enemas, vomit, and waterworks

mpreg

extreme object insertion (I warned him last time, if Jisung gets another baseball bat stuck up his butt he can deal with it by himself)

The clinic will be opening from next week. Each skz member is entitled to one appointment, though more may be avaliable depending on the severity and rarity of symptoms. (kinkiness is encouraged, creativity takes priority💖)

See you in the clinic,

nurse pixie xoxo

Taglist: @sthaay @bluesungology @chrizzztopherbang @avnche @kemkem33 @mikaelless @n-kiie @eevenus @furioussheepluminary @sheerfreesia007 @aasthamoon @amazinglystay @delulustardust @galaxy4489 @lil-bear08 @abby-loves-aphrodite @a-jazzy-bitch @incognitoinstigator @minhooofr @auroramirage @breakmeoff @beppybeesnuggets @skzlover24 @hansxcheesecake @velvetmoonlght @aliceskzfan @tsunderelino @leehyejoon1 @writteninessence If you wish to be tagged, please specify if it's for this event only or if you wish to join the main taglist.

I have no idea if anyone will even be interested in this, so there is a chance I'll just end up writing the two above, let them rot in my drafts, delete every trace of this and pretend it never happened😅

m.list | banners by @saradika-graphics & @cafekitsune & @diviniyae