#master in the sense of like. a mentor to be clear

[https-bobreynolds]

save her

pairing: robert ‘bob’ reynolds x thunderbolts*! reader

summary: during a mission, seeing you in danger caused the void & sentry to show up.

warning: mentions of bloods, injuries, a curse word mentioned, anxiety and self-blaming. mentions of y/n. also, reader’s a badass who has powers like wanda.

author’s note: i’m not gonna lie, this is my BEST fic yet and i’m pretty sure it’s gonna be hard to beat so i hope i did the action sequences justice!! this is inspired by @disillusioniary ‘s comment on my bob headcanons post!! hope you like it <3

the thunderbolts* was currently on a mission deep in enemy territory. your target was a highly fortified secure facility that contained weapons of mass destruction. the mission was complicated because the target was heavily protected by an elite special ops division, so you were all expecting heavy resistance.

the team was currently moving through a heavily guarded corridor. the area was well fortified and manned by heavily armed guards. every corner was armed with motion detected weapons, and there were multiple barriers in strategic locations to make progress more difficult.

you had been briefed before the mission, and you were aware of the risks you were all taking. the mission brief was clear: reach the target and retrieve the weapon, or destroy it if you can’t recover it.

every member of the team was confident they could complete the mission, but they were also fully aware that there was a very real chance they wouldn't make it out alive.

the team was approaching the target area, and things were getting tense. they could hear voices coming from the other side of the door, and they knew they were about to meet a lot of resistance, there was at least a hundred of them… but they were still calm, still focused on the mission. they all knew the risks, but they were willing to take them.

bob was in the middle of the team, sandwiched between bucky and john. he was feeling nervous, his heart racing in anticipation. he had never been in a situation like this before, had never been in the middle of a fight like this. he felt like a fish out of water, he felt out of place, like he didn't belong here.

he was lost in his thoughts, trying to calm himself down... he was feeling a lot of things all at once, and his nerves were getting the better of him. he was trying to keep it together, not wanting to show the other how scared he was... but his breathing was coming out in short, quick bursts.

you noticed him from behind, quickly patting his shoulders in reassurance, giving him a nod and a smile when he looked back at you with his doe eyes, thankful for the reassurance, and making him feel so much better, knowing that you were there to support him.

that brief sense of peace was quickly tarnished when bucky made a signal with his hand ‘1, 2, 3’ and within seconds, the door exploded wide open, revealing a large amount of soldiers ready to kill them all.

all hell broke loose. bullets started flying, alexei was screaming “FEEL THE WRATH OF THE THUNDERBOLTS!!”, and the team scattered, taking cover and firing back. bob was crouched behind a corner, his heart pounding in his chest. he could barely see past his own fear, his hands shaking so badly he could hardly hold his gun... then he heard a voice, one of the others calling out to him.

“bob- look out..!” you yelled, jumping in front of him, quickly moving your hands to literally, work your magic through. you are a master of telekinesis, chaos magic, and mind manipulation- though not as strong as your mentor, wanda maximoff, yet.

he snapped out of his fear induced trance and turned to look at you, just in time to see you jump in front of him. he could see the energy surging from you, the magic surging through the air, he felt a wave of disbelief wash over him... was this really real?

“focus..!” he heard someone yell out, only God knows who, in the midst of the chaos. he shook his head at that, trying to clear his mind and focus on what was happening around him. the battle was all around them, the bullets flying and the explosions thundering. it was sensory overload, and he was trying to stay focused.

“bob, try and get the weapons, will you??” yelena said from across the room, as calmly but still firm as she could, shooting at the enemies. bob swallowed his own spit, adam’s apple bobbing, ‘m-me??’ he thought to himself, wondering why the hell was he here instead of washing the dishes back at the tower.

his thoughts was disturbed as he heard an “i’ll cover you, go!” from you, energy surging once more, covering the man with a chaos-magic shield.

bob took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart... he could see the weapons on the other side of the room, and he knew he had to get to them. he was scared, but he knew he had to trust you to keep him safe. he nodded to you, trying to summon the courage to make a move.

he quickly ran, feeling a surge of adrenaline, bullets bouncing off from your magic shield. it made him feel safe, really, but you were getting tired, having to protect not only yourself but bob. only realizing now, that you’re holding off the enemies in front of you with one hand while protecting him with the other.

‘almost there…’ he thought to himself.

the moment he was there, his mind were in shambles, trying his best to think straight. ‘the mission was either to retrieve or destroy…’ and the latter seemed much easier than the first one.

he grabbed onto his gun and shot directly at the weapons, seemingly having to forgetten the fact that they are in fact, highly explosive.

after that, everything just seemed to go in slow motion- the moment the huge explosion occurred: alexei quickly pulled yelena into a bear hug, protecting his little girl from the debris, and they were fine- as they both were furthest away from the weapons.

bucky quickly threw a punch on a soldier before he ran and slid away from the explosion, leaving him to safety. walker got his shield to protect both him and ava, still getting pushed by the impact of the explosion though.

you however?

you completely lost focus on your surroundings and focused it all on his, placing both your hands in front of you, at him, using the energy surge to create a much more powerful shield for him- the impact of the explosion immediately throwing you and several shrapnel onto the wall, causing you to spit out blood, cuts everywhere.

“shit, y/n, are you okay??” bucky asked, from somewhere in the background.

bob couldn’t look, couldn’t believe what he had done... the explosion had been massive, and he was expecting to be injured, to have been hit by shrapnel... but none of the debris had touched him- you were protecting him, shielding him from the explosion... he felt guilty, guilty that he had done this to you. he tried to look back at you, hoping beyond hope that you were okay.

he rushed over to you, trying to find a way to help... he couldn’t stand seeing you in pain, especially knowing it was his fault. he crouched down next to you, trying to assess the damage... he could see that you were struggling, and it was tearing him apart.

“i-i’m alright, bob…” you said slowly, trying to reassure him as if you weren’t a few seconds away from fainting, eyes starting to feel so… heavy.

bob didn’t know what to say, he just crouched there, shaking, as if he’s the one in pain. “you know damn well she’s not.” a familiar, dark voice suddenly came to his head, it was the void.

“you did this to her”

“this is your fault”

bob’s heart sank, his mind racing with guilt... it was all his fault, he had caused this. he could see that you were struggling, that you were in pain, and it was all because he had failed to think rationally.

“i… i don’t k-know what to do… i don’t know how to help her…” bob scrambled, feeling like he was spiraling, trying so hard to remember the first-aid kit tutorials that you showed him several nights ago, “why can’t i… w-why can’t i remember??”

“you can’t save her...” the dark voice immediately says, as bob’s thoughts were being consumed by guilt and fear, like he was drowning- like he was sinking deeper and deeper into a whirpool of anxiety.

“but i can.”

bob froze, he knew that voice... it was the other one, the one that he tried so hard to keep locked away.

“p-please…” in a second, bob closed his eyes, letting the darkness take him away, wanting nothing but you to be safe, “save her…”

the next moment, bob opened his eyes, now with golden rings around it, it was no longer bob, it was the void. bob was long gone, replaced by a cold and calculated demeanor, his black silhouette... his gaze fixated on only one person, you.

bob the void immediately stood up, and in an instant, flew across the room, throwing punches at the remaining soldiers who dared stand against his way. he was like a storm, destroying everything in his path... he moved with such grace and speed, like a work of art, each punch executed with precision and accuracy.

it was almost like an… overkill, even, he didn’t care about their wellbeing at all. he just kept throwing punches even if they were already unconscious. unbeknownst to him however, you were becoming weaker and weaker. the blood loss making your eyes droopy, your breathes shorter.

the more he fought, the more angry he got... he could feel the rage building up inside him, could feel himself losing control... but he didn’t care, all he cared about was taking the soldiers down, one by one.

he found himself on top of a poor soldier, punching him to oblivion. he couldn’t stop- until he heard a familiar voice, john’s to be exact, “bob. that’s enough.”

but that alone wasn’t enough to stop him, ava, who was holding your weak body, yelled at him, “you have got to save her, bob.”

for a moment, it seemed like the void might listen… his fist was inches away from smashing the soldier’s face in again, but he froze, almost shocked by what he heard.

‘save her’ he repeated in his mind, as if reminding himself. her. the girl who had bob in a chokehold, the girl who had shown him affection that nobody has in more than twenty years, the girl who’d do anything for him.

he abruptly stood up, walking back to them, to you... the others immediately prepared themselves, ready to defend themselves in case he gets volatile, “you can’t save her, not by punching people… not like this… but the sentry can” yelena says, desperate to save her friend.

the void stood there, trying to make sense of what he had been told… ‘the sentry?’ he thought, ‘how can the sentry possibly save her?’ he couldn’t understand, but he wanted to try, for her.

he suddenly remembered, the sentry is a being… so powerful… so almighty… that he can heal others with a simple touch. “i can… save her…” the void bob muttered, feeling a sense of determination wash over him… he had to try, he had to save you.

in a few second, his black silhouette started to fade away, going back to bob’s figure- but the others could tell that it wasn’t him, not with golden rings around his pupils anyway.

he was quiet, slowly moving closer to the girl. but it wasn’t because he was afraid or anything like that, no. it was because of his pride, knowing that he is the only one who could save you.

he knelt down next to you, his gaze fixed on your injured frame... he could see the pain you were in, the suffering you were going through... it made his heart ache to see you like this, but he would never admit to that.

he looked at the others, one by one, as if saying ‘look at me, look at your savior’, before he touched your arm, hands glowing a golden bright aura.

the others watched in awe, they were all holding their breath, waiting to see what would happen next- never could they have imagined your scars and wounds healing in just a mere seconds, your breathe coming to a better pace, and your eyes, opening once more.

you groaned, your eyes fluttering open as you slowly came to... you could feel something different, something had changed... you weren't in pain anymore, you weren't feeling sick anymore... you were good as new.

“bob..?” you asked softly, looking at the man with the golden eyes. he let out a small sigh of relief before his eyes went back to his normal state, closing it shut, and fainting right next to you.

you were immediately alarmed to see him collapse next to you, worried that he was hurt somehow. you checked him for injuries, and when you couldn't find a single one, you looked over at the others, searching for an explanation.

“don’t even ask.”

part two

[msfantasy-anime]

Daughter of Jinbe

Monster Trio x Reader

Request: How would the monster trio (separately) feel about reader who secretly turns out to be the adopted daughter of jinbai?

A/n: i’m not sure if you wanted this to be romantic or platonic so I made it platonic.

Luffy

“Y/n is my daughter,” Jinbe’s deep voice rumbled across the deck, cutting through the lazy afternoon as some of the crew lounged under the sun.

“Huh?!” they all shouted in unison—everyone except Luffy, of course.

“How are you not surprised, Captain?” Franky asked, raising a brow as he watched Luffy casually pick at his teeth, lying back on the grass and staring up at the sky.

“They look alike,” Luffy said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Usopp’s brain twisted painfully, trying to make sense of it. “How on earth do they look alike? Are you blind?” he snapped, eyeing Luffy with exasperation. “Y/n’s human. Jinbe’s a fishman. Even a blind man could see they look nothing alike!”

Luffy just rolled onto his side, now picking his ear instead.

He didn’t get how they couldn’t see it.

You were calm in every storm. Loyal beyond reason. You even mastered Fishman Karate just like Jinbe. That quiet strength, that steady presence—it was all the same.

To Luffy, it was obvious. You were exactly like your father.

And he couldn’t understand how the others had missed it.

Zoro

“How’d you learn Fishman Karate?” Zoro asked, raising a brow. His tone was casual, but there was clear curiosity behind it. After all, it wasn’t every day a human girl mastered a martial art considered a race’s closely guarded tradition. The real mystery was how you even found a mentor—most fishmen weren’t exactly fond of humans.

“…Well, my papa’s a fishman, so…” you replied with a shrug.

Zoro choked on his own surprise. “You’re a fishman?”

His eyes darted over you, suddenly reassessing everything. “…Or a mermaid?” he added, frowning in confusion, clearly trying to make the math work in his head.

But your laughter derailed him completely.

“Are you serious, Zoro?” you wheezed between giggles. “I was adopted by Jinbe—how do you not know this?!”

Sanji

“Wow!” Sanji gasped, his eyes turning into shimmering pink hearts as he gazed across the deck. His entire body froze in place, as if struck by lightning, before melting into a dramatic pose—one hand clutched his chest while the other reached toward you longingly.

Jinbei followed his gaze, already dreading what he’d find. Sure enough, there you were—laughing in the sunlight, hair dancing in the breeze, that radiant smile softening the very air around you like a dream plucked straight from the sea.

“She’s absolutely glowing today!” Sanji swooned, practically levitating. “An angel gracing us with a vision of heaven! A vision so enticing, it’s almost torture! If I could just—”

“Not my daughter!” Jinbei barked, snapping Sanji out of his poetic haze.

“D-d-daughter?!” Sanji stammered, his soul practically ejecting from his body. He clutched his head in both hands, staggering backwards like he’d been stabbed. There’s no way Sanji just vocalised so improperly to a potential father in law. “Did you say daughter?!” he repeated, his voice cracking under the weight of his horror. “I-I was only admiring her grace! Respectfully! As a gentleman of impeccable taste! I swear!” Sanji pleaded, bowing frantically. “One day, if I could—”

“Over my dead body,” Jinbe growled, locking eyes with him like a predator staring down prey.

[divinesangel]

— 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞?

pm me for an affordable, in-depth personal or soulmate reading! ko-fi.com/solreads

— 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐚 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞!

— 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟏

this person's physical appearance has something to do with being balanced, yes, adaptable. they may have an agile build and could be capable of moving gracefully between different tasks and responsibilities. they might have this easiness in their body or their energy overall. there's also a sense of flexibility and like they're always in motion. this could also be a sign of them being some type of skilled performer. they seem to be tall with a strong and assertive posture that commands attention. beneath this facade of someone who moves with grace and effortlessly through the complexities of their own life, there is also someone quite passionate and someone who possesses a very unwavering spirit. their gaze speaks volumes of their readiness to confront any obstacle head-on and an unshakable conviction in their beliefs. despite the trials they may face, there is a sense of inner peace and tranquillity that emanates from within, and also a sense of serenity that you could get from this person. their presence exudes a calmness that soothes even the most restless soul, and in their eyes you will be able to notice a depth of wisdom which adds more to their character.

— 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟐

your future spouse is someone who changes their appearance regularly, and it's quite likely that they might have many clothes or many different types of outfits. this is someone who is probably very up to date with the latest trends. their physical appearance is the reflection of their transformative energy and anytime they go through some type of transformation or inner rebirth, you will notice that in their physical appearance. there is also an aura of intensity about them, as if they have very clear where they're heading for their purpose and direction. there is also this unwavering determination to overcome obstacles and achieve their goals, which makes me feel like their posture exudes confidence and resolve, as if they're always ready to charge forward towards what they want. this is also someone who might dress in a very practical way. they don't seem to be the type of person to wear things even if they're uncomfortable because it's an important thing for them. at the same time, there is this youthful energy that they exude as well, and a sense of curiosity. this person may appear youthful and energetic, always wanting to explore new opportunities, have new adventures, explore different parts of the world and expand themselves with that. their appearance may also convey a sense of innocence and freshness. they might like to wear dark-color clothing, with no design or pictures on them.

— 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟑

the physical appearance of your future spouse may reflect a quiet confidence and a sense of inner calm, meaning that they might possess the grace and poise as if they have mastered the type of art of channeling their inner power with gentleness and compassion. there is also a sense of symmetry and harmony, so the colors that they might use might be very pleasant to the eye, and this person could also be a careful person when it comes to weighing in their options and making a decision with what they wear. they also seem to carry themselves with serenity and composure, even if they face uncertainties or conflicts. at the same time, this is also someone who might have very strong features, very characteristic of their birthplace or birth country. they also exude an aura of authority, so they might be like a guide or a mentor to others, and they could also have this type of job position where they are very admired. they could possess a piercing gaze, but also a softness to their eyes that represents their empathic and compassionate nature. their facial structure may be symmetrical and well-proportioned, which goes back to the balance i mentioned earlier. they may also have high cheekbones and a strong or defined jawline.

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 !

hi! it's daphne here.

i'm currently offering personal readings for €5 and soulmate readings for €10 so don't hesitate to send me a private message if you're interested!

thank you for being here!

[forcefemdemonprincess]

I finished a little fantasy themed short story I've been cooking up for the last few days, with lots of corruption and forcefem kinks, if anyone wants to give it a read!

One ordinary day, I sense something reaching out to me, from the faraway depths of the material plane; the feeble presence of a summoning spell, beckoning me towards it's caster. It would be simple to ignore the call, yet as my curiosity gets the best of me, I deign to answer, following the thread of conjuration magic to it's source.

My senses take in the sight of a stone tower, a summoning circle scribed upon the very center of the floor, the candles surrounding it flickering with a faint orange flame. Beyond it there is a wooden work desk and chair, a simple bed, and walls covered in bookshelves, all with disorganized tomes and scrolls strewn about; and a large window on either side through which the starlight shines in a moonless night, curtains billowing in the breeze.

Standing before the circle stands a half-elven wizard, seeming to be in his twenties in human years - though elven blood makes it difficult to ascertain, he could be anywhere from two decades to a couple centuries old - with short brown hair and the lithe, frail frame of a scholar and a smooth face with rather comely features. He chants the summoning spell, his voice filled with uncertainty as he slowly sounds out the incantation as if the words were alien to his lips.

And they likely are. Far from an archmage of yore, the young man seems to have little more skill than a mediocre apprentice. The binding runes around the summoning circle, meant to keep the caster safe and the fiend contained, are all written incorrectly, not that it would have worked with a demon of my caliber to begin with. Even the spellbook he holds is old, certainly passed down to his hands by another, perhaps a mentor or loving relative.

The candles flicker, then go out entirely. The wizard stops his chanting and takes a step back startled, and slowly I rise from the summoning circle. I choose a relatively nonthreatening form, a scantily clad, mostly human-looking woman, save for the pink skin, curved horns, and a thin tail which ends in a heart shape. The candles light up again, their flames painting the room a bright, pink hue.

He immediately looks surprised, as if he'd never expected his spell to work to begin with, but once the shock has passed, he speaks in a shaky voice:

"I-I am the mage Theodoros! I bind you to my service, o' fiend!"

It takes great effort to stifle the urge to laugh. Not only did the fool forget to put up wards or use any binding spells to speak of - not that it would have mattered - he made the oldest beginner's mistake in the book and told a demon his name, not to mention his utter lack of confidence and authority, the wizard paints a laughable picture.

Yet, it's been so long since I've had a mortal plaything to toy with... And this one is so cute and pathetic I simply must have him. And thus, I decide to play along:

"Of course... Master," I smirk deviously. His ecstatic grin makes it clear the half-elf holds no suspiscion of my subterfuge whatsoever. His naivete is baffling, truly. "What is it you desire? Power? Knowledge of dark, forbidden spells? Or are you simply looking to fulfill your wordly lusts?"

The adorable blush of embarrassment that quickly takes over his pale cheeks at the mere suggestion of sex is almost enough to make this worth it already. Virgins are especially fun to break.

"Uh, the spells and power, yes." He calms himself with deep breaths. "I want to become a powerful archmage."

"And you decided to take a shortcut, did you? Very intelligent. Why slave away over dusty old tomes if you can drink directly from the fountain."

He smiles wide at but a few honeyed words. "Exactly! You get it. Well then... Go ahead and uhm, make me stronger. With your demon magic and all."

"Gladly. Could you give me your hand, for but a moment?"

"What? Hells no, I'm not letting a demon touch me, that sounds far too dangerous!" Oh, now he's thinking about risks and consequences. I almost roll my eyes.

I pout. "Come now, it's only through contact that I could lend you my power. Besides! I'm bound to your service, remember? I couldn't harm you if I wanted to."

"Oh... That's true. Alright, do it." He extends his hand, as if for a handshake. I grasp it tightly, and pull him closer into the summoning circle, nearly making him trip, and bring his hand to my lips. They sear with infernal flames, branding a lipstick mark into the flesh of the back of his hand despite how he whimpers and uselessly tries to pull it away.

Before he can issue any further complaint, the blissful heat and raw strength of my demonic mana flows into his being, making him gasp, his eyes momentarily flashing a bright pink hue and his dick becoming painfully hard, his size... Unremarkable. Slightly below average, perhaps.

"I... I thought you said you couldn't harm me." Theodoros says, out of breath.

"Oh, don't be such a baby... A little bit of pain is no harm at all. Quite the opposite, in fact! Don't you feel it?"

"I feel... Hot?" He raises his hands, the tip of his fingers shimmering, brimming with arcane might.

"Go on, try it out!" I grin.

He walks over to a large window that leads to a balcony, trembling with anticipation. He extends his hands, and an unending torrent of fuchsia colored hellfire, hot enough to melt steel, erupts up into the air. He laughs maniacally, drunk with the power and the demonic magic seeping into his body and mind from the infernal brand on his hand. The lustful magic overtakes him, and his concentration in the spell is broken as he orgasms on the spot.

"Hah... I only ever managed to make sparks and light candles before. This is incredible!" He says, with a giddy smile and an unfocused gaze.

"And it's only the beginning," I reply with a smirk as he walks back to me.

"What more can you teach me?" He asks excitedly.

"Oh, plenty. You can manipulate hellfire, bend minds, change into whatever shape you like... And that's not even mentioning the libraries worth of knowledge I've accrued over the years."

"That's... Fucking hells, that's everything I wanted and more." His chest heaves up and down, the adrenaline not going down in the slightest... Nor does his raging arousal. "Can you... Do something about this?" He asks, pointing to the tent in his robes, which refuses to go down despite him already having finished once.

"Oh, plenty! Why don't you come over here and let me show you?"

"I meant more... Just make it stop? With magic or something? It's driving me mad!"

"It's a side effect of demonic magic. I can't make it go away... But I can help relieve you of it in a more direct, and much more pleasurable manner." I say, sliding aside the strap that holds my upper garments to my shoulder, revealing one of my beautifully shaped breasts, while pumping more arousal through his brand. "Just let me out of this summoming circle and I'll show you," I say, dropping the other strap to let my chest bare in it's entorety for his viewing pleasure. I could step out of the circle any time I wanted, but it's far more delicious to make him submit willingly to my whims.

"Hhrn... Alright, fine!" He walks over and rubs his sole on the chalk circle, opening a passage. I step through and put my hand on his chest, giving him a slight push against the wall before pressing my lips to his, forcing a delicious throaty moan out of him as I press my body into him.

My longue, forked tongues explores his mouth, swirling around his in a long, sloppy kiss, grabbing onto his ass roughly enough go make him squeal again. He eventually pushes me off to gasp for air, a strand of saliva lewdly connecting our mouths.

"Mo... More..." He pleads in a breathy voice. "I want to fuck you." He nearly growls, consumed with lust.

"As you wish," I say with a grin, and touch his forehead. With a flash of light the mage is teleported onto the bed, his clothes dropping onto the floor where he stood.

I slowly walks towards the bed, taking off the rest of my garments, making him writhe with anticipation as my curvy, hourglass shaped frame comes into view. I run my hand along my smooth pink skin as I get on the bed, getting between his legs.

He bites his thick, luscious lips as I lick his length from shaft to tip, nearly shooting his load then and there, before I hold it down with a bit of magic. Not yet.

I take his tip in my mouth, wrapping my lips tightly around it and swirling my tongue, feeling the cutie wizard get all wet for me with his pre. I suck aggressively hard, making him moan and twitch and give pathetic little bucks of his hips into my mouth as it envelops his unimpressive member completely.

I make him ride on that very edge of release for countless minutes each stretching on to feel like hour, watching him melt and turn into a writhing, mewling mess, trying everything, from thrusting his hips, to grabbing my horns to try and push me away, all to no avail, until he's barely forming coherent sentences, begging and pleading with tears in his eyes.

When I suddenly pull it out of my lips and release the spell, letting him drench himself in his seed in a mind-numbing orgasm that goes on and on endlessly, the wizard's wjole body shaking and spasming, howling moans escaping his throat.

Each spurt of his seed, that becomes increasingly thin and watery the longer his peak goes on, drains his already somewhat petite member slowly of it's size. When it subdues at last, he's lost about half of it, and with it, you can clearly see how his body and face have gotten softer, his hips wider, waist slimmer, and nipples puffier as his chest begins to form into breasts. His irises begin to glow with that unnatural pink glow from before, and two small pointy protrusions begin to subtly grow along the sides of his head.

Theodoros is, however, too much of a giggly, horny mess at this point to notice, let alone care. "His" eyes half-lidded and a giddy, drooling grin rests on the "man's" lips, nary a coherent thought in the mage's mind... Yet that diminutive dick remains hard, hips bucking needily. Theo's eyes find mine with a pleading look, and the slut manages to speak, in a moany voice:

"Ple... Please..."

I smirk wide, straddling the weak-willed wizard, and letting their now diminutive dick enter me. The pleasure of having it in me as I start riding it is negligible, but the delight and satisfaction of watching this pretty little thing unravel under my will more than makes up for it.

I bounce on it, roughly, wrapping my hand around the wizard's throat as they look into my eyes, pinned under my body as I fuck their brains out, riding their cock until they're chaining one orgasm right into another without stop.

This time, there's no spell to make their dicklet hold back. They cum over and over and over again, shallow spurts of weak, watery seed shooting again and again inside me as I quickly drain away their virility and the rest of their size until there's nearly nothing left anymore of the wizard's dick.

Their last spurt comes with great difficulty, painfully making them writhe and yielp until they shoot out a tiny, pretty little gemstone, brimming with life. Theodoros cums her soul out, and with it goes the rest of her masculinity and self, sealing her transformation into a lesser demon, with a cute, lithe frame, a pair of small horns on her head, a tail, with a heart shaped tip, and pink eyes with slitted pupils.

In a moment, a large demonic cock forms onto my crotch, and Theo instinctively spreads her legs, presenting a smooth, bare crotch. I press my tip between her legs and push, her body yielding to my will and my cock, shapeshifting her pussy and womb into existence to better serve my needs.

"Good girl. You'vrle yielded your soul to me, and now... You're bound into my service, eternally. From now on, I rename you... Theodora. And you may adress me as mistress, Thea."

"Yes... Mistress." Her mind seems to object momentarily to the idea, but the thought is quickly discarded. Whilst holding her soul, Thea's mind is as malleable as her body. The fledgling demoness can't even will herself to want to resist. The very thought brings her pain... And obedience brings bliss.

"That's my good girl... You and I are going to have a lot of fun."

[444ngles]

Paint me like one of your French girls

synopsis: the night of your mentor's final show, things get a bit frisky content: fem reader, geto suguru! is a caligrapher, geto suguru, dirty talk, rough sex, praise, choking, p-ssy slapping, geto is packing icl, he paints on you, fingering, swearing, pet names, overstim, breeding

Wrapping up the last national tour show, your mentor took his bow, the crowd offering a standing ovation - rightly so. After all, you were the apprentice of one of the most esteemed calligraphers of your time. As always, you waited to greet Geto at the wing, a bouquet of flowers and sake in hand, over thirty shows in less than half a year was no easy feat, even for a professional. 

Taking the deepest of bows, Geto’s hair fell from his shoulders, yukata slipping slightly, the nape of his neck exposed. This was always your favourite part, it wasn’t professional by any means, but no one could deny that your master was a true adonis. From where you stood, he seemed to sparkle under the dim lighting, milky skin reflecting the subtle glow of the candle, looking almost translucent. It was also only from this angle that you could truly appreciate his profile, angular jaw and nose contrasting so magically with the soft slopes and curves of his lips and forehead. Finally, now as he looked at you with the most elegant smile, he approached, with eyes the colour of the darkest of voids, consuming you every second you held his gaze. Expression steeled, you almost forget to hand him his presents.  

“Incredible…”

“What was that?” Geto asked, eyes still on you, lips flushed such a delicate shade of pink. You knew it was inappropriate to fantasise about your mentor, but who could resist? When in the presence of a prodigy, it would almost be wrong not to worship him. 

Flustered, you laugh stiffly, handing him the bouquet of white lilies. “N-nothing…congratulations, as always, you were a pleasure to watch!” Keeping hold of the sake, you exhale a sigh of relief. Finally, with the tour over, you could relax - travelling daily was exhausting, to say the least. 

“Care to share a drink with me?” Geto nods to the bottle in your hand before peeping out to check the crowd has cleared, leaving the stage completely empty. 

“It’d be an honour.” Smiling enthusiastically, you followed him to the calligraphy table, breath caught in your throat as your giddy heart began to swell. Not only was this your first time on stage, it was your first time drinking with Geto.

“Stop being so formal with me…you’re off the clock.” Chuckling, he pushes the pillow towards you, kneeling on the floor opposite. 

“Old habits die hard.” Remembering to treat Geto as an equal was almost impossible. In your eyes, he was always the inspiration that had offered you personal tuition, a miracle in all sense of the word. Now, being able to call him your friend as well as your mentor felt like a fever dream. 

Pouring the sake into cups, he serves it to you. “Cheers!” Tapping the rims of your glasses together, you finally feel the tension break. 

The more you drank, and the longer you talked, the more you began to unwind. Noticeably, your yukata had begun to slip from your shoulders, the soft slopes and curves of your frame catching Geto’s eyes. Initially, he didn’t feel the need to address it, but when you finally dropped your hair from its formal updo he couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spine. Taking a prolonged inhale, Geto digested the sight of such a beautiful woman before him. Probably goaded by the intimate setting and alcohol coursing through his veins, he suddenly felt the desire to touch you.  

Similarly, you had noticed the way his adams apple bobbed as he talked, and the way the sake that missed his mouth glossed his lips, his thumb swiping it away. Even the way he sat seemed to almost invite you to touch him, leant back on his arms, one leg propped up and the other splayed to the side. If not for your fear of ruining the otherwise pleasant atmosphere, you might have begged him to kiss you. 

“Kiss me…” 

Oh. It seemed you already did. 

“S-sorry?” Shocked, Geto’s eyes widened. He’d just been babbling about this book he’d read when you suddenly interrupted him. 

“I said, kiss me.” You don’t know whether it was the alcohol, but you had a newfound confidence, one that instantly excited Geto. The way your dollish eyes searched his for any kind of reciprocation almost made him coo, despite your bold words, it was evident you were just as shocked as he was. 

With no hesitation, Geto leaned across the table, his large hand wrapping around the back of your neck and pulling you into the most passionate of kisses. It was almost ravenous the way his tongue forced its way down your throat, making you yelp in surprise. He can’t help but chuckle at your cute reaction, struggling to contain his hunger as he kisses and nibbles at your lips. “I…thought…you’d…never…ask…” With each word punctuated by a kiss, your brain struggles to catch up with your body, mindlessly kissing him back with just as much desire. 

To your displeasure, Geto tears away from your lips, admiring the way your eyes had glossed over, lips swollen and sparkling with a mixture of his saliva and yours. “My gorgeous girl…” With a deep exhale, he guides you around the table, seating you infront of him as he reconnects your lips, the returning sensation comforting the growing ache between your thighs. Carefully, he lowers you, head resting on the tatami flooring as he towered above you, refusing to break the kiss. 

Geto’s hands began to tug at the fabric of your yukata, pulling it further down your shoulders, stopping at your cleavage before leaning back to admire just how angelic you looked beneath him, hair splayed beside you, arms curled up at your sides as you patiently anticipated his next move. 

“Can I touch you?” Nodding in response, he seems unsatisfied. “I need to hear you say it, my love.”

“You can touch me…” Almost sounding desperate with how breathless those words came out, Geto couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Thank you.” Only, you were shocked when you followed his movements, hand reaching for his calligraphy brush to the right of him, dabbing it in the ink and blotting away the excess.

“W-what are yo-” Before you can finish, Geto hushes you.

“Relax…you’ll enjoy it…” Gently, he leans down to press a loving kiss to your nose. Geto’s thumb soothed over your collar bones, tracing the raised skin, smoothing it out as if it were paper. Then, the bristles met your skin, cold liquid making you flinch. The air was tense as the paintbrush glided against you, each stroke and curve tingling on your skin, feeling like ghostly kisses across your chest. “Might be my best work.” Smirking, he admired how the dark ink settled, the kanji that spelt his name staining your skin.  Blowing gently, Geto instantly made space to spell his name down your neck, softly caressing where he intended to write. 

Over and over he marked your skin, leaving little space across your chest for much else. All the while, he began to shift on top of you, knee wedged temptingly between your thighs, inching closer and closer to your throbbing cunt. You hate to admit it, but the way his hair draped, grazing your hands, and that concentrated expression that contorted his pretty face spread goosebumps across your skin. Especially when so close, the scent of his sweet-woody cologne and the raw smell of skin encompassed you, warming your cheeks. “Look at that...so beautiful.” Geto exhaled, finally retiring his paintbrush, unable to turn his eyes away from your decorated decolletage. 

Reaching up, you tucked some loose strands of hair behind his ear, hearing him hum as he leant into your touch. Finally, he starts to kiss you again, this time, his knee firmly pressed against you, applying sinful pressure to your buzzing cunt. Long digits began to trace your figure, following the curves beneath the linen of your yukata before coming back up to graze past your hardening nipples. Geto could hardly contain himself, the way your body subtly demanded his touch made his already hard cock throb furiously, precum glazing his sensitive head. Your thighs spread slightly, welcoming his knee with an easy-to-miss eagerness, your hips rolling gently to make the most of the sensation. 

“Suguru…” He was pleasantly surprised when he heard you call out his first name. “T-touch me.”

“Awe, my baby can't wait any more?” Suddenly, his tone seemed a lot more demeaning, almost sarcastic as he retracted his knee slightly, eliciting a peeved whimper. “Show me how bad you want it…” Whispering seductively, he watched in anticipation as your hands ran down his neck and under the neckline of his clothes, before going back up to his face. Cupping his cheeks, you brought him in for a more intimate kiss, desperately rocking against his thigh, each time feeling his painfully hard erection poking your stomach. You almost shudder, realising each time just how big he was, feeling so thick and hard against you, even through the fabric of his yukata - ‘would he fit?’ you thought.

Laughing into the kiss, he feels how you momentarily freeze, finally giving in, he simply couldn’t wait any longer - he just had to break you. 

Digits reaching between your thighs, he prods and rubs at the wet patch on your panties, sighing as your slick coated his long fingers. Pulling them aside, his fingers scissor at your entrance before pushing in, stretching out your fluttering walls. “S-so tight…can’t imagine how good this is going to feel.” Bringing his lips to your ear, he nibbled and kissed at the shell, soft groans flooding your senses. 

You can barely hold yourself together as Geto’s forefinger stroked and curled against the plush of your walls, hitting spots you’d never reached by yourself. “F-fuck…s’so good…don’t stop!” Arching into his touch, Geto almost feels like he could bust here and now, watching keenly how you writhed and squirmed on his fingers. Desperate to hear more, he brought his thumb to your clit, rubbing precise circles while continuing to piston into your entrance. “M-more…”

Coming out as nothing more than a whisper, Geto could’ve missed it, but he was so intent on catching every moan and whine that it was unmistakable. “Oh? Think you can handle my cock already?” Scoffing, he lands a hard slap on your cunt, watching with a senile grin as you quiver at the sharp sting. “Fine…but don’t tell me to stop.” 

Falling back on his knees, Geto parts his yukata, and you watch eagerly as he does so. Thank god you did, the sight of his cock springing free, slapping against his abs was a sight that almost made you cum there and then, audibly moaning. Like you thought, he was huge, his hands wrapping around the tip and smearing his precum along his slit. With little effort, his other hand brought your legs up, holding them to your chest in a mating press. The view alone made Geto groan, the way your messy cunt glistened with slick only encouraging him further. With one pump of his length, his length is gliding between your folds, tip rubbing on your desperate clit, walls tensing in anticipation. 

“Pl-please…Sugu…” Whining so pathetically, Geto could hardly resist, roughly pushing his head past your entrance at your command. Fists squeezing tight, your face screws in surprise, the sudden feeling of being split apart on his length making your body stiffen. “ S’too much…too much!” Almost screaming as he continues to push his length in, with no pity he's bottoming out, tip pushing against your cervix.

“You can take it…I know you can.” Leaning against your thighs, he pushes himself almost impossibly deeper, finally being able to see the sweet expression on your face. His spare hand reaches down to your cheek, wiping a stray tear, twitching inside of you as he revelled over the way you struggled to take him. Almost impatiently, he’s pulling out again, thrusting his hips dangerously back into you, abusing your pretty cunt.

“So fucking good…you’re so f-fucking tight…” Hissing between clenched teeth, you barely make out the sly smirk painting his expression, the once delicate touch of your cheek being replaced with a tight grip on your neck, smudging the ink that he’d spent so much time decorating it with. “My precious girl…taking me so well…” 

Considering how composed and gentlemanly Geto usually was, just hearing him curse, let alone talk so filthily made you tighten around him. A flood of whines and moans pours straight from your parted lips to Geto’s cock, thrusting so ruggedly inside you, he almost felt more drunk off your pussy than the sake. Like a madman, he continued to push into you, sucked in by your walls, moulding around him like putty. 

“That’s it, such a good girl…I knew you could do it, just like that.” Rambling praises, Geto seems to make up for how rough he was being, hold on your throat pulsing as he struggled to contain his excitement. He almost felt like a teenage boy in that moment, so desperate to cum he could have released there and then. If not for his ego, he probably would’ve. But the way you squeezed and milked him was almost irresistible, something he’d never felt with anyone else. 

You, on the other hand, had never felt this full in your life. Not only was his sheer size impressive, but the way he precisely hit that sensitive spongey spot over and over again with little struggle sent you tumbling over the edge. 

“Cu-umming!” Gripping tightly onto his shoulders as he continued to pumel into you, those words were music to his ears, giving him new found stamina to continue ruining you. 

“That's it…cum for me.” Breathless, his words barely come out as grunts, hardly audible over the sound of his balls brutally slapping against your ass. Each thrust became more and more targeted, better yet when he leaned back, bringing his hand away from your neck and back to your partially neglected clit, watching in awe as you shook against him. Rolling the bundle of nerves so skillfully between his index and thumb as he continued to pummel into your pulsing core, he could hardly wait to see how you melted when you came. 

Lucky for him, he didn’t have to wait much longer, your shaking becoming more intense, arms falling slack as hot white flashes blinded your vision, shooting straight for your brain. The warm sensation that travelled up your legs almost numbed them, especially when he continued at such a violent pace. “F-fuck…what a pretty girl, cumming all over my cock…” Cursing and muttering, he bites harshly onto his lower lip. 

“Sugu…” Overstimulation washed over you when Geto continued to fuck into you even as your high passed. “S’too much…s-stop.” 

“Take it, fucking take it…I’m so close.” Feeling his cock twitch against your slick walls, sucking him in so deliciously despite your pleas. Each thrust became sloppier, still reaching just as deep as he came closer and closer to his orgasm. The volume of his groans and grunts only seemed to get louder, almost overpowering yours. 

With one final thrust, Geto was pumping you full of his hot cum, fucking it into you like he couldn’t let an ounce go to waste. “Such a good pussy…oh-oh-oh.” Struggling to even run that nasty mouth, his jaw fell slack, eyes squeezing shut as he road out his high, letting you take every minute of it. 

Coming to a stop, Geto released you from the almost painful mating press, almost cumming again when he watched his seed spill out of your cunt. “I can’t believe I waited this long to fuck you…” Running his hands through his hair, he drops to the floor beside you, lying on his side. 

Planting delicate kisses to your temple, his does his best to soothe the the pain, rubbing your thighs gently. “That was…” Lost for words, and exhausted, you struggle to vocalise just how you had felt.

“Incredible?”

Scoffing, you hit his chest, realising he had heard what you said earlier that evening. “Fuck you…” Rolling your eyes, you struggle to contain the stupid smile that spread across your lips.

“Again? Didn’t know I was that good.” 

The two of you laughed, laying on the stage a little while longer. What a wonderful finale to a brutal tour.

[all-pacas]

If you could make any changes to House MD what would they be?

that is suuuuch a broad question and encompasses so much, so i'm just going to give my stock reply: i would keep cameron on the show.

i truly think writing her off was one of the show's biggest errors, and i think the show even realized it: masters and adams are both remixes of cameron, and even thirteen is a take on the same archetype (bonds with patients, cares about the moral/ethical problems and tends to over-emphasize with patients). actually, thirteen takes on a lot of cameron's role of the show: her relationship with house isn't romantically coded as cameron's was, but fulfills the same "i see you and our connection is different and special" niche cameron did to house. clearly the show thought cameron was important - she had far more focus and screentime than chase after s4, and more dedicated episodes and subplots in s5 than, like, actual members of the team. we know how deeply important cameron is to the show and the show's dna: she is a major part of the series finale despite it having been three years since she was on it. she is the final shot of the ending montage, smiling as she looks back on house and the original team.

the show also did a lot of work to position her as a future cuddy, as a clear parallel/successor to her: from s1 we hear that cameron's real strengths lie in administration and organization, in s4 she's on the hospital budget committee, in s5 she runs community outreach programs and literally gets a subplot about being dean of medicine for a week. had she not been written off, and had cuddy still gone, cameron absolutely would have been dean of medicine in s8. had cuddy not left, cameron probably would have been shown still taking up the role, maybe stepping in in some sort of unofficial second in command role during s7, dealing with house while he and cuddy were dating for example. i would have loved to see this, by the way. cameron has a pretty strong character arc and a very interestingly evolving relationship to house -- from naive idealism to treating him as and being treated by him as a peer -- and i think the arc of "underling to boss" makes a lot more sense from her and for her than it did foreman.

the official reason they wrote her off really does seem to be "we didn't know what to do with the character anymore." respectfully, i call bullshit: there was so much you could have done with cameron post s5, and it could have also opened up some fascinating other storylines. like, just imagine the chaos of still married cameron and chase, with chase back on house's team and cameron drifting further and further towards hospital administration. imagine a s8 with dean cameron and chase having to figure out how to deal with his boss house and his boss's boss, his wife. imagine the same chaos with them divorced. i'd love to see cameron struggling to define herself as herself, and learn to be in charge: this is a storyline we saw hinted at in s2, we know she wants to supervise and be a leader, but while we get to see foreman and sort of chase (in s8) struggle with it, we never get to see her: the two cases she brings to house in s5, she defers to him totally. she does a good job playing house in big baby, but doesn't ever step up and lead. i would have loved to see her management style. her leadership style. i would have loved to see her with masters and park (two young doctors who don't fit in and who i bet cameron would love mentoring). i would have loved her weird little friendship with wilson explored in the back half of s8, to hear the advice she gives him on his diagnosis. cameron was written off just as she was really coming into her own as a person and going in some incredible directions, and i will hate forever that we were robbed of seeing her go.

[thesirencult]

PAC READING : WHO HAS A CRUSH ON YOU?

1---2

3---4

PILE 1

The Tower, The Fool

This is someone you would never expect to have feelings for you. You view them as distant, private an cold towards you and others. There is something magnetic to them and, at times, they let their cold façade go. Then, you get to experience a different side of them. They may have played with children in front of you or taken care of an elderly person, assisting them to cross the street. This person loves animals and has a soft spot for them. This reminds me of a strong, tall man who build a sanctuary for chihuahuas after his wife left him. Now he takes care of them and encourages other men to break the stereotype and adopt a smaller dog.

So, this person could also be tall and either lanky or lean-muscular. Others see them as intimidating and may try to avoid them in social situations (like coworkers not inviting them out for a drink after work).

I don't think they'll express themselves. They feel very ashamed of their feelings for you and believe that you see them as "not good enough". This has nothing to do with the way you treat them and has everything to do about their own perception of themselves.

They are very innocent at heart and get hurt when people exclude them. This tells me that you must have treated them like your "chihuahua". You are the one who encourages them and offers help or a few kind words. They love your kind and sweet nature but it's hard for them to show their true emotions. You will notice them get shy and anxious around you, like a little kid. Give them a chance by letting them get closer to you.

PILE 2

Judgement, The Magician, 5 Of Wands

This person is very fair and just. They will love every single inch of you and they won't shy away from telling you that. You see yourself as "not being good enough" and the person who has a crush on you will pick up on how you feel immediately. They will try to get you to see your beauty and will get sad when you talk bad about yourself. They just don't understand how someone as perfect and beautiful as you doesn't realise their own strength and beauty.

This person is a master manifestor. They just know how to alchemize energy and change their physical reality. They will see that you have this ability too and they will admire how you are trying to forge your own path. They have probably manifested you into their lives and they'll idolize you a lot.

If there is an age gap (5+), this person will try to hold back and act as a mentor towards you but, they are very competitive with others and possessive. Their feelings will shine through when they sense someone else trying to get with you. You'll notice their absurd behaviour, call them out and they will just kiss you.

"I'll show you why I'm acting this way." And then smooch 💋.

PILE 3

Queen Of Cups, 7 Of Pentacles, 5 Of Pentacles

Okey-dokey! My sweet Pile 3, if you are not into girls or feminines, I would advise you to choose another pile. Otherwise, if you choose to stay, this energy could resonate with your personal journey towards love and abundance.

I'm seeing a very sweet soul waiting for you. This energy is very light and free-flowing. You may not have met this person yet, because of divine timing. I'm getting that when you meet them it will be "love at first sight". You'll catch them doing something random, like picking up a dumbbell at the gym or petting a dog, or even voting (?).

This "exchange" from afar will drive you crazy cause you will know nothing about this person and you'll think you will never see them again. I see that fate has other plans for you.

This feminine is your future spouse and she is very into personal development at the moment. They will be preoccupied with finances and they are trying to clear up "abundance blocks".

At first, they will seem reserved and preoccupied with other things. You'll exchange a few looks and sparks will be flying, so this is a case of a reciprocated crush.

They are quite happy with being by themselves and working on their coins and foundations for their future. I bet you'll hear them talk about that and you'll think "Baby don't worry, I'm your future 💋."

Slowly you'll start talking and I hope you make the next step otherwise they'll never ever let you in.

But, after you get closer to them, you'll realize that they are a very deep and wise person and not just sunny all the time. Actually you'll think of them as darker and lunar. You will love their passion and mysterious disposition. Be their fearless protector and their rock to climb up to and watch the sunrise.

PILE 4

The Hierophant, 9 Of Cups, Queen Of Pentacles

Right now you are going through a "level up" phase. I don't even know why you are waisting your time here. Lol. You are quite independent, fierce and unstoppable. You are also trying to manifest someone like you.

The person who will soon come towards and confess their crush on you is not someone overly "hard". They are quite dreamy and soft. They like ice-cream and long walks. They will take you on romantic dates and worry that you don't like the scenery because you are not talking that much.

This person sees you as a boos b*tch. They admire you and have put you in a pedestal. I'm hearing "Let me service you Queen.". They like "ice-cream" ! Oh my! This person really wants you and they would jump through hoops to get to you.

They'll pass all your tests with flying colours and you will keep wondering how they are such a good match for you. Let them feel like you are in control and they'll submit to you.

[anonymousewrites]

Pearl of the Sea Chapter One

Found Family! PoTC Cast x Teen! Reader

Platonic! Will Turner, Elizabeth Swann, Jack Sparrow, Tia Dalma x Reader

Chapter One: Troublemaking at the Promotion

Summary: (Y/N) goes with Elizabeth to Norrington's promotion and gets way more excited than they bargained for (which had been exactly zero).

Present day…

            “You look constricted,” said (Y/N) as they emerged from their room to see Elizabeth in a yellow and white dress. She had a hat tied around her head, and she looked nice, but she kept touching her stomach, squaring her shoulders, and breathing carefully.

            “I am constricted,” said Elizabeth. She grumbled. “My father discovered that these contraptions called ‘corsets’ are the new fashion in London, so he bought one for me. It’s to enhance the figure.” She took a measured breath. “However, I doubt it was put on properly. I can’t breathe.”

            “I’m glad he didn’t get one for me,” said (Y/N). They were a teenager, so still a child, but such standards of dress started for people at around fourteen, sometimes.

            “He has enough trouble getting you into a dress,” said Elizabeth. She chuckled. “I doubt he’d want to try to put you in a corset.”

            (Y/N) grinned. They wore a blue and white dress themself, and they weren’t particularly fond of dresses—to many layers, they felt like they were stuck, and (Y/N) detested feeling trapped—and what Elizabeth said was true.

            “Are you ready for Norrington’s promotion?” said (Y/N).

            Elizabeth sighed. “Ready as I can be to see a bunch of stuffy society men and pretend to enjoy the boring conversations that accompany polite society.” She smiled at (Y/N). “Shall we face it together?

            “Obviously,” said (Y/N).

            The pair walked to the stairs, and Elizabeth lit up upon seeing her father speaking to Will. He had gotten a new sword from Will (though he thought it was crafted by Will’s master)

            “Elizabeth! You look absolutely stunning,” said Swann, smiling. “(Y/N), you look wonderful.”

            “Will,” said Elizabeth, gazing at him with a smile. “It’s so good to see you.”

            “Hi, Will,” said (Y/N).

            “I had a dream about you last night,” said Elizabeth, walking down the stairs to him.

            “About me?” A dopey smile appeared on Will’s face.

            Swann cleared his throat. “Is that proper for you—”

            “About the day we met. Remember?” Elizabeth smiled at Will, and (Y/N) was amazed neither had confessed their feelings by now.

            “How could I forget, Miss Swann?” said Will softly.

            Really, it’s so obvious, thought (Y/N).

            “How many times must I ask you to call me Elizabeth?” said Elizabeth.

            “At least once more, Miss Swann. As always,” said Will.

            “There. You see. At least the boy has a sense of propriety,” said Swann.

            “Are you going to the ceremony, Will?” asked (Y/N).

            “An apprentice is not invited,” said Will. “And I’m afraid my master is unable to join today.”

            “What a pity,” said Swann.

            (Y/N) refrained from rolling their eyes. Will’s blacksmith mentor was a useless drunk, and Will was the true artist, creating swords from ingots of metal.

            “Now, we really must be going,” said Swann.

            “Good day, Mr. Turner,” said Elizabeth.

            “Bye, Will,” said (Y/N).

            “Come along,” said Swann.

            Will watched with doleful eyes as Elizabeth walked out of the house. “Good day…Elizabeth.”

l

            (Y/N) stood and spaced out while the soldiers of Port Royal performed their marching routines before Norrington’s promotion. This was fairly (very) boring, so they chose to instead imagine what new moves they wanted Will to teach them next.

            “Two paces, march! Right about, face!”

            Norrington walked through the corridor formed by the soldiers, back straight and proper as ever.

            “Present, arms!”

            Norrington approached the dais where Elizabeth, (Y/N), and Swann stood. Elizabeth fanned herself furiously as the sun beat down on her, and (Y/N) closed their eyes and took a breath of the salty air spun up from the sea below. Swann picked up the newly-crafted sword from the ornate box and presented it to Norrington. He removed it from its sheath and lifted it to the sun. He saluted.

            “Presenting, Commodore Norrington!”

            The promotion had been given.

            (Y/N) concealed a sigh of exhaustion. Now, the worst part of the ceremony—the polite conversation and mingling that followed. Music was struck up by the band, food and drink was served, and (Y/N) was encouraged by Swann to behave themself and not ask about stories of soldiers at sea. (Y/N) liked adventure stories, but apparently it was impolite for a young lady—though (Y/N) didn’t feel like one—to ask about such things.

            “May I have a moment, Miss Swann?” Norrington approached Elizabeth and (Y/N) where they stood at the edge of the party.

            Elizabeth looked in alarm at (Y/N), but they couldn’t exactly say no without getting in trouble.

            “Bye, Elizabeth,” said (Y/N), stepping away to drift through the crowd.

            Elizabeth nearly groaned, and (Y/N) winced. They both knew what would be coming: Norrington’s proposal. It had been anticipated for years, so they weren’t surprised, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating.

            “You look lovely, Elizabeth,” said Norrington.

            Elizabeth grimaced through a smile. She was certain the corset, new to Port Royal, hadn’t been put on correctly since she couldn’t breathe.

            Norrington cleared his throat and stepped away, gazing out over the crowd. “I apologize if I seem forward, but I must speak my mind. This promotion throws into sharp relief that which I have not yet achieved.” He looked at Elizabeth. “A marriage to a fine woman. You have become a fine woman, Elizabeth.”

            “I can’t breathe,” gasped Elizabeth.

            “Yes, I’m a bit nervous myself,” said Norrington, turning away in anxiousness.

            Elizabeth fainted and fell from the parapet.

            Splash!

            Norrington turned around. “Elizabeth?” He looked down and saw the froth from her fall. “Elizabeth!”

            (Y/N) heard the cry and raced over to the parapet. Their heart pounded in worry as they gazed down with Swann, Norrington, and other officers. Norrington shed his jacket, but an officer held him back.

            “The rocks! Sir, it’s a miracle she missed them,” said the officer.

            (Y/N) tried to step onto the edge of the parapet, but Swann grabbed them. “No! It’s too dangerous.” He was extremely frightened for Elizabeth’s fate, but he wouldn’t let (Y/N) risk their own death, too.

            Beneath the waves, as Elizabeth coasted to the sea floor, the medallion floated up from her neck. As the salty water felt its presence, a ripple of power and energy sparked. A wave of energy coasted out from it.

            Atop the cliff, (Y/N)’s heart clenched as the ripple coasted outward. They gasped as they felt a sudden shift of energy in their very bones.

            “(Y/N)?” said Swann in concern.

            “I’m fine,” said (Y/N) automatically. They pushed out of his arms and ran for the stairs. “We need to help Lizzie!”

            Whatever they had felt wasn’t natural. They knew that. No one felt changes in the water. (Y/N) should fear whatever new sense they had experienced, but they only felt exhilarated. However, that excitement and energy would have to wait because Elizabeth was in danger, and she was their priority.

            With Norrington, Swann, and other officers, (Y/N) ran down to the harbor. The wind around them abruptly changed direction, and the sea air held something ominous in it. (Y/N) wasn’t sure how they knew it, but they did.

            (Y/N) reached the harbor first—they had leapt over the rocks in an extremely improper manner, but what the hell—and their heart burst for joy as they saw a man pulling Elizabeth from the water. She was saved!

            (Y/N) instantly helped haul her out of the sea. They felt her for breath. Nothing was coming.

            “The corset,” they said, narrowing their eyes. They looked at the man—scruffy, wearing strange bangles and eye makeup—and asked, “Do you have a knife?”

            “Who wouldn’t? Sounds like they’re unprepared,” said the man. He cut open the corset and ripped it off.

            Elizabeth instantly gasped for air. She rolled over, and (Y/N) hit her back while she coughed up seawater.

            “I never would’ve thought of that,” said a guard who had been watching the strange man and (Y/N) saved Elizabeth.

            “Clearly, you’ve never been to Singapore,” said the man. He frowned as he noticed the medallion lying around Elizabeth’s neck. He picked it up and looked at it. (Y/N) didn’t miss the recognition in his eyes. He looked at Elizabeth. “Where did you get that?”

            And then the rest of the officers, Swann, and Norrington arrived.

            “On your feet!” ordered Norrington. He put his sword in the man’s face.

            “(Y/N), Elizabeth, come here,” said Swann worriedly. He hugged Elizabeth. “Oh, my dear, I was worried!”

            The stranger stood and gazed at the tip of Norrington’s sword.

            “Are you alright?” asked (Y/N).

            “Yes,” said Elizabeth. She was still stunned by the situation, but she smiled at (Y/N).

            Swann gazed at Elizabeth’s unclothed body. He looked at the officer holding her corset, and the officer quickly pointed at the stranger. “Shoot him,” declared Swann.

            “Father!” exclaimed Swann.

            “I told him to cut it off,” said (Y/N) quickly.

            “Commodore, do you really intend to kill my rescuer?” said Elizabeth.

            Norrington was frustrated but lowered his sword. The stranger made pray hands and nodded to Elizabeth and (Y/N), an eccentric “thank you.”

            “I believe thanks are in order,” said Norrington curtly, extending a hand.

            The stranger looked at the hand warily before taking it. Norrington jerked him in and pulled back his sleeve. A branded “P” shone in the light. It was the mark of a pirate.

            “Had a brush with the East India Trading Company, did we, pirate?” said Norrington.

            (Y/N) blinked. A real pirate. They had never met one before, but they had heard many a tale.

            “Hang him!” declared Swann.

            The pirate looked offended.

            “Keep your guns on him,” said Norrington. “Gillette, fetch some irons.” He examined the tattoo directly above the brand. “Well, well. Jack Sparrow, isn’t it?”

            Jack pulled his hand back. He grinned. “Captain Jack Sparrow, if you please, sir.”

            “I don’t see your ship, ‘Captain,’ ” said Norrington snidely.

            “I’m in the market, as it were.” Jack didn’t miss a single clever repost.

            “He said he’d come here to commandeer one!” said the red coat that had been with Jack when he saved Elizabeth.

            “Told you he was telling the truth,” said the other red coat. He held out a few items. “These are his, sir.”

            Jack reached for them, but he couldn’t do much as Norrington looked at the items.

            Norrington examined the pistol. “No additional shots nor powder.” He opened a compass. “A compass that doesn’t point north.” He pulled the cutlass from its sheath and looked at Jack condescendingly. “And I half-expected it to be made of wood.”

            Jack offered a faux smile at the insults.

            “You are without doubt the worst pirate I’ve ever heard of,” said Norrington.

            “But you have heard of me,” pointed out Jack, pleased.

            (Y/N) snorted, amused at the response.

            Norrington was not entertained and grabbed Jack by the arm roughly. He began to drag him through the crowd.

            “Commodore, I really must protest!” said Elizabeth.

            “Pirate or not, he saved her life!” said (Y/N). It wouldn’t be just to kill him after he gave up a chance of escape to save Elizabeth. He may be a pirate, but that had been the right thing to do.

            “One good deed does not redeem a man from a lifetime of wickedness,” said Norrington.

            “Apparently, it’s enough to condemn him,” remarked Jack.

            “It’s not just,” said (Y/N), crossing their arms.

            “I would warn you to not listen to the words of a pirate. They twist everything,” said Norrington curtly.

            Jack took the opportunity to sling his chained hands around Elizabeth’s neck. She gasped as she was pulled back. Everyone gasped and surged forward.

            “No, no, don’t shoot!” said Swann, worried for Elizabeth.

            “I knew you’d warm up to me!” said Jack brightly. “Commodore Norrington, my effects, please. And my hat.” Norrington didn’t move. “Commodore.”

            Norrington begrudgingly took the items.

            “Elizabeth—It is Elizabeth?” said Jack.

            “It’s Miss Swann,” snapped Elizabeth.

            “Miss Swann, if you’d be so kind,” said Jack. “Come, come, dear, we don’t have all day.”

            Norrington handed the items to Elizabeth, and everyone watched apprehensively. Jack held the pistol as she faced him.

            “If you’d be very kind,” said Jack.

            Elizabeth slung his belt around his waist and slammed his hat down on his head. “You’re despicable,” she spat.

            “Sticks and stones, love,” said Jack, unaffected by the insult. “I saved your life, you saved mine, we’re square.”

            (Y/N) tilted their head. So, that was how Jack was thinking. Still, they didn’t like seeing anyone threaten Elizabeth.

            Jack spun Elizabeth around and backed away. “Gentlemen, my lady, you will always remember this as the as the day you almost caught Captain Jack Sparrow!” He shoved Elizabeth towards the crowd, who caught her.

            The officers ran forward, but Jack grabbed a rope, kicked down on a lever, and was sent flying up into the air out of reach. The cannon hanging above crashed through the pier. Jack hit his head, and the rope swung abruptly around. Jack spun around in the air.

            “Now will you shoot him?” said Swann.

            “Open fire!” said Norrington, holding Elizabeth protectively.

            Jack let out an offended shout as he spun around and was shot at. He landed on another wooden structure, slung his chains over a rope, and slid down it to the ground. He dropped and began running while officers continued to shoot at him. He disappeared into Port Royal proper.

            Norrington gritted his teeth. “Gillette, Mr. Sparrow has a dawn appointment with the gallows. I would hate for him to miss it.” He nodded to Gillette, who ran into town with soldiers to search for Jack.

            (Y/N) watched them go and concealed a smile. Frankly, they were impressed at Jack’s escape. Not to mention…to see such a free spirit was inspiring. Were they a pirate? No. But they longed to act outside of society’s standards, and seeing a man do so made their heart long for freedom and the open seas.

Taglist:

@slytherinroyalty16

@aew-kun-age-regression

@grippleback-galaxy

@andsoigotabutterfly

@insomniacneedssleep

@painstakingly-juno

@kitkatlover015

@chronicallybubbly

@froggyisfriend

[yan-lorkai]

*vibrating in excitement for platonic yanderes*

Ok, so I haven't watched black butler in years, imma re-watch it soon tho, so if none of this makes sense it's cause my memories shit and you can just ignore this lol

Anyway, here's my idea/request, Obv platonic yandere Ciel with a young reaper reader (14-16)? Like maybe they meet through Grell who mentors the lil reaper. Or maybe like a young ghost reader, he meets during an investigation or smth.

Your free to pick which one obv, anyway. I hope you are having a wonderful day luv, make sure to eat and stay hydrated!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: Lemon, I made you wait a little but I finally finished this request hehe, despite having changed it a little and distorted some historical facts. Funfact: Ouija boards were created in 1891, but for the sake of this fic let's all ignore that Ciel was born in 1875; btw yesterday was his birthday. Congratulations Ciel <33. Also, many people have a hc that his real name has something to do with stars, hence the nickname present in the fic. Having said all that, I hope you enjoy Lemon, I loved writing this! Happy reading everyone!!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: Platonic yandere content, spoiler about Ciel's brother in case nobody knows about it, ouija board and some typos probably!

Ciel likes to watch the sky. He likes to watch how the clouds race to overtake each other, he likes to watch the sun dancing alone in its place, twirling its colorful skirt of orange, yellow and pink during the hours that pass until finally the moon takes its place.

Quiet moments like this now, where he just sits in his armchair, his work all done and Sebastian far away, is when he can think about the things he's lost. But also the ones he won. If Sebastian had any knowledge about such thoughts, Ciel would certainly be subjected to his jokes and mockery.

The demon, while bound by the contract, could still make fun of his little master and he knew exactly how to embarrass the young lord. But Sebastian didn't need to know how the boy thinks about his twin brother, his parents, the employees and his childhood friend, Y/n; If they were alive now they would be maybe thirteen or fourteen, just like him and his brother. It was a fateful day, indeed.

The murder, the cult, Ciel hates remembering it, but he doesn't know how to let it all go. He's a child and there's no one he can ask for help - even if there was, perhaps his pride wouldn't allow it. He didn't ask for help when he was kidnapped, he didn't ask for help when he went through countless assassination attempts, nor did he ask for help with difficult tasks that the queen assigned him. He was the Phantomhive heir, the family's leader, he couldn't just simply ask for help.

The count narrows his blue eyes at the brooding darkness that has settled in his office, counting how many grains of sand fall into the hourglass and how long he has left in peace before Sebastian shows up to annoy him.

Maybe fifteen minutes.

With enough time for the boy to put his small plan into action, he pulled a wooden board from one of the drawers and placed it on the table. Ciel, by and large, was not superstitious, but recent events had left him puzzled. Moreover, he had a demon as his butler, a boy with super strength as his gardener, a sniper as his maid, and a soldier as his cook. In any case, he had even encountered death gods.

Therefore, if he suspected that the presence lingering over his shoulders while he worked or the entity hiding his items and making them appear in different places was something to be investigated, then he would investigate until his doubts were cleared. The giggles and whispers were becoming unsettling. Of course, he heard voices, but they were the voices of occultists, screams and cries from when they died at the hands of Sebastian.

But this particular voice was incredibly irritating and almost familiar.

Ciel scanned the wooden surface, wondering if he was a fool for buying it. The boy was almost certain that Sebastian knew about the board, but he decided not to comment; the butler had been rather distant since they returned from London that morning. Ciel didn't mind, quickly reading the rules and holding the pointer in his hands, trying to see something through it.

There was nothing… yet.

Ciel laid the pointer on the board and sighed, placing his fingers on it, ready to start. He hadn't said anything yet, but an aura already seemed to completely envelop his office. Or maybe he was anxious; he couldn't tell.

"Is there anyone there?" Ciel murmured, his firm voice echoing in the silent room.

For several moments, nothing happened. He really didn't expect anything to happen, judging this whole thing as something foolish that only became popular because of the horror stories that circulated in cities. He stared at the board intently, each letter in cursive, every mystical symbol adorning it, waiting for a response that would satisfy him. Impatiently, he repeated the question once more.

"Is there anyone there?" He looked at the pointer and then around. "If there is, give me a sign."

This time, the pointer began to move slowly across the board as if the entity on the other side was drowsy, gliding from one letter to another with a calmness that Ciel himself didn't possess. Ciel watched with intensity, his expression impassive. But inside, a strange feeling took hold of him.

It was real, after all. As real as shinigamis or Sebastian. He stifled another sigh in his throat.

"Who is there?" He asked, the words leaving his lips with determination.

Who behind the veil was tormenting him, holding on to him tightly so as not to be pulled into the forgetfulness of eternal sleep. He put more force on the pointer as if everything depended on the answer he would receive.

The letters came together to form words, and Ciel remained focused, but a hint of skepticism was present in his gaze when the words spelled out a name. Your first and last name.

"Y/N?" He wondered aloud.

Ciel may have lost a lot, but he also gained a lot. He gained another family, gained new friends allies, gained a new chance.

And yet… He hadn't gained you back. Or had he?

For a second, he let the pointer rest on the board, feeling a heavy sensation settle in his chest as he thought about the days when you used to stay by his side when he was bedridden with asthma, telling him your silly stories and jokes, all while holding his hand and looking tenderly at him. You were his best friend. And he missed you a lot.

And now you were here. You were here.

He placed his finger on the pointer again, still feeling doubtful if it was really you or some other spirit. Confidently, he asked something that only you knew. "What was the nickname that only you called me, and why?"

The nickname you used for him when it was just the two of you. Not for his brother, not for Ciel. If it was really you there, you would notice the small differences, as you did when you were alive.

The pointer moved, taking with each movement a beat of the young earl's heart. One by one, the letters formed a nickname forgotten by time and bitter memories of the only Phantomhive still wandering through this tedious world.

"Pleiades, that's what I used to call you." There was a pause, and Ciel felt his entire body trembling with the confirmation that yes, it was you on the other side. He straightened up in his chair, trying to show that he was calm — little did he know that you could perceive how surprised he was.

And you would tease him about it later.

"Just like your hair, they are blue, an optical phenomenon caused by the dispersion of light in the Earth's atmosphere." You explained, nodding as if he could see you. Ciel rolled his eyes but almost unconsciously smiled.

"I see you remain a know-it-all." He teased.

And you stuck your tongue out at him, moving your arms to make the chair he was sitting in slide backward. Ciel's cheeks immediately turned pink as a little yelp escaped his lips. He hadn't expected you to have more tricks up your sleeve, but soon he regained his composure and cleared his throat, watching you move the pointer.

"One of us has to be clever," You chuckled. "Obviously, I'm the smart friend."

Ciel let out a long sigh. "Your knowledge is all random, though."

You shrugged. What importance did any kind of knowledge have now that you were dead? You said nothing for a few minutes, running your fingers over the wood of the board and the supposedly mystical symbols. Being dead was boring, different for everyone, and you weren't even sure how your soul managed to escape the shinigamis for so long.

But you had one certainty; you were stuck in this world for some reason still. In many stories, there would be an unfulfilled desire or a want, and you had several, but you had made peace with the fact that you could no longer fulfill them. So what was still keeping you there?

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

Ciel nodded, gesturing with his hand for you to continue.

"Can you free me? Can you invite me out?"

Ciel had already broken some rules, especially the one that said he couldn't play alone and that the player should have a form of spiritual protection, whatever they had faith in — a crucifix, a talisman, anything. Ciel, however, had a mark on his eye, so you assumed that nullified this rule. Did that thing serve as a protective mark, though?

The boy remained silent for some time, seemingly weighing the pros and cons of taking such action. To bind a spirit to himself, to the world of the living, when he knew he should let you rest in peace, when he knew such agreements were dangerous.

But he was still the selfish earl who liked to monopolize your time; he was still that same sickly boy who needed a friend. And no one else could be his friend but you. Only you understood him, after all.

He nodded.

It was foolishness, but not even Sebastian could have stopped him. He pressed the pointer harder, desperate for it to work, but of course, it would work if you were already in front of him, the dead proof that there could be life in death.

"I invite you, Y/n, to leave this board."

A warm feeling flooded your chest, as if your skin were kissed by the sun again after so long. You savored it for a moment, smiling, feeling strangely more alive than before, and withdrew your hand from the pointer.

"Can you see me?" You asked, your voice hoarse from not speaking for months.

But Ciel didn't seem to understand, not yet at least. So you touched his cheek as you did when congratulating him on a chess victory, and he felt it, his eyes widening as he assimilated the situation. You figured that now that you touched him, he could hear you, so you asked the question again.

And slowly, he nodded. You could only imagine what he thought of your bloodstained shirt and disheveled appearance, so different from the one you once proudly preserved. Times change, and so do you, and you were like this now, a lost ghost that not even death seemed to want.

You smiled, squeezing both of his cheeks and watching him shudder. It was good to see him, good to be back, even if nothing would be the same. Nothing could ever be the same again, but being able to touch him again after so long, you didn't hesitate to hug him.

You were together again.

[cheriecelestial]

Ocean Eyes Pt.II

disclaimer *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ canon typical violence, not proofread.

pairing *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Percy Jackson x Gojo fem!reader

a/n *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ I actually wrote this the same day as pt.I (hyperfixation goes brrrRRH). This seires is a tribute to my first book boyfriend and honestly the realest one out there. Percy Jackson you will forever be iconic. Comment, Like and Reblog (☆≧▽^)

Also happy Valentine’s Day to y’all ♡

Pt.I Pt.III

The moment I stepped past the barrier, the air shifted—heavy with ancient power, thick with the scent of strawberries and something unmistakably divine.

The camp stretched out before me—rolling hills, rustic cabins arranged in a semi-circle, a glistening lake in the distance. The scent of strawberries was everywhere, carried on the breeze like a ghost of childhood memories I wasn't sure I wanted to remember.

But what truly caught my attention were the people.

Everywhere I looked, the camp buzzed with activity—some campers sparred with celestial bronze weapons, others chatted casually as satyrs trotted past, and a few even soared through the air on actual pegasi. It felt like I had stepped straight into a mythological fever dream. Instinctively, my jujutsu training kicked in, scanning for potential threats. I caught a few curious glances in my direction—some fleeting, others lingering with narrowed eyes, a mix of curiosity and wariness. I was used to being stared at. With hair as white as snow and oversized dark sunglasses, I stood out.

I exhaled slowly. Great. Just what I needed—more people looking at me like I didn’t belong.

The satyr guiding me nudged my arm gently, making me flinch. “Chiron’s waiting in the Big House,” he reminded me, his voice tinged with apology, as if he hadn’t expected my reaction.

I adjusted my bag strap and forced my feet to move forward, even as part of me wanted to turn around and leave. This place was supposed to be a home for people like me.

So why did I already feel like a stranger ?

The moment I stepped inside, I felt it—a shift in the air, something ancient stirring beneath my skin. It wasn’t just the scent of old books and herbal salves or the quiet hum of magic woven into the walls. My senses flared, and a dull throb pulsed behind my eyes. The Six Eyes had always been a mystery to me, an ability I had yet to master. My control was mediocre at best, but the technique itself was among the most powerful. That was why I was here.

To learn. To refine my power. To gain control.

Because people like me didn’t get the luxury of being average—we either became the best, or we didn’t survive.

And at the center of it all stood Chiron. My key to becoming better. 

He was exactly as the stories described—wise eyes, a well-groomed beard, and an air of authority that didn’t need to be announced. As a centaur, he towered over me by several inches,  looking every bit the kind old mentor, but I knew better. Beneath that polite smile was a warrior who had trained heroes for centuries.

“Sensei, it’s been a while.” I offered him a small, customary bow. Chiron’s expression softened, his voice warm yet measured. “Ah… You’ve grown well, Kanao.”

I straightened from my bow, my grip tightening slightly around my bag strap. Hearing him say my name after so long stirred something in me—a mix of familiarity and unease. “Not well enough apparently,” I admitted, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. “That’s why I’m here.”

Chiron studied me for a moment, his gaze knowing, as if he could see straight through the carefully composed mask I wore. “Power without control is a burden, not a gift,” he said finally. “You’ve come to the right place.” The satyr who had guided me cleared his throat. “I’ll leave you two to talk,” he said before stepping out, the door clicking shut behind him.

Silence settled between us, broken only by the faint creak of the wooden floor beneath Chiron’s hooves.

“You’re still struggling with your Six Eyes,” he observed. It wasn’t a question.

I let out a sharp breath. “Trouble is putting it lightly. It activates on its own terms, overwhelms me when it shouldn’t, and the headaches...” I shook my head. “I can barely tap into a fraction of its full potential. And it’s not just struggling—it’s stagnation. I was improving, but at some point, I hit a wall. No matter how much I trained, I couldn’t break past it.”

Chiron nodded thoughtfully. “I spoke with your uncle,” he said. “Eccentric as he may be, he gave me some insight on how to help you. From what I gather, your power needs stronger situational and physical stimuli. The training here—the quests—will provide that. Mastery takes time, Kanao. Even for someone like you.”

Someone like me.

A prodigy, yet powerless in my own eyes.

Chiron offered me a gentle smile, clearly noticing the weight of my thoughts. “Camp Half-Blood will support you to the best of its ability, child, but progress takes time. We must begin slowly—one step at a time.”

“Attention, everyone,” Chiron's voice boomed across the dining hall, cutting through the lively hum of conversation. The space, which could easily have passed for a luxurious outdoor restaurant with its elegantly carved wooden tables and twinkling lanterns hanging from trees, instantly fell into a heavy silence.

Everyone’s eyes shifted toward him, and I could practically feel the collective attention settle on me like a spotlight.

“Today, we welcome a new demigod to Camp Half-Blood.”

The moment those words left Chiron’s mouth, the stares came pouring in. I could hear the subtle rustle of whispers spreading through the crowd like wildfire. The eyes of every camper in the dining hall locked onto me, some full of curiosity, others tinged with suspicion or uncertainty. A few faces seemed vaguely familiar—others were completely new, their expressions unreadable, but all of them were focused on me.

“Who’s that?”

“New kid, huh? Looks intense.”

“What’s with the sunglasses?”

I focused on keeping my gaze straight ahead, fighting the urge to shrink away from the attention. It wasn’t the first time I’d been under scrutiny, but something about this place felt different. Maybe it was because the camp had its own rhythm, its own set of unspoken rules, and I had no idea where I fit into any of it. And most of all it was the fact that this was the first time I was surrounded by so many... children. The only ones I really interacted with were my adoptive siblings, a handful of kids from other clans I saw every couple of years, and a certain arrogant jerk whom Satoru nii-san liked to call my “childhood friend”—if you could even consider him that. 

“Good Evening. My name is Kanao Gojo and I am from Japan. That is all you need to know about me. Stay out of what doesn’t concern you and I’ll gladly oblige in doing the same.”I paused, letting the words hang in the air, my voice as steady and cold as I could manage. No embellishments. No fanfare. No one needed to know anything more about me—now or ever. Friends? That was the last thing I was looking for here. I needed strength, not relationships. Once I was stronger, I could go back to Japan. Non-sorcerers had no place in my world.

“That’s all,” I finished, my gaze briefly scanning the room.

A ripple of whispers surged like an undercurrent. “Damn, what’s up with her? I thought Japanese people were... I dunno, polite?”

The voices were barely hushed, but I heard them clearly—one from a nearby table. A young satyr sitting with a tan boy who had disheveled dark hair, a blonde girl, and another with spiky black hair. None of them responded, but their eyes lingered.

Chiron nodded, clearly taken aback by the sudden shift in my demeanor. Kindness was often taken as a sign of weakness in the jujutsu world and as Satoru nii-san had taught me kindess was to be in one's heart and actions not necessarily their words - especially with the vultures looming over my head, waiting to strike the second they saw an opening. “Thank you, Kanao. Now, let’s get to dinner. No need to keep her standing here longer than necessary. You’ll be staying in the Hermes cabin until your parent claims you,” he announced, his voice carrying a sense of finality. 

With a stiff nod, I started to walk toward the Hermes table. I felt the heat of glares coming from one table in particular. There were a group of kids seated there, all wearing a similar vicious sneer. In the center of them was a girl with short, ragged brown hair and an unmistakably muscular build. A child of Ares, I assumed. In my downtime, I’d researched Greek gods to understand more about the western half of my heritage. Based on what I knew, I was certain that if Ares had children, they would look exactly like her. But kids like them? They were the least of my concerns.

Soon enough, dryads—tree spirits with elf-like features—began serving food at each table. One passed right by me, and the moment we made eye contact, she flinched and quickly averted her gaze. It wasn’t an unusual reaction. My Six Eyes had a way of unsettling people. The vivid blue of my eyes often scared others, setting off their natural survival instincts. It was the kind of look that made people feel like I wasn’t to be messed with. A similar effect to the eyes of a predator, which was also why animals never seemed to warm up to me. The rabbits I had owned as a child had perished simply because they couldn’t survive the horror of gazing into my eyes. 

I pulled out my chopsticks from my bag as the food was set down in front of me. “Silver chopsticks? That’s fancy,” a boy commented from across the table. His laugh was quickly joined by another, the two of them clearly sharing a joke. They looked like twins—both with messy brown curls and crooked grins. I ignored them, focusing on my meal.

“Name’s Connor, and this is my brother,Travis. Nice to meet you, pretty lady—” Connor said, extending his hand toward me. I simply stared at it with a look of indifference before wordlessly returning to my food.

“O-kay. No handshakes. Got it,” he muttered, unfazed. “So, like, uh—” He trailed off, struggling to come up with a question in the middle of asking it. He shifted in his seat, his hand still lingering awkwardly in the air for a moment before he dropped it. “— what brings you to Camp Half-Blood, Kanao?” he asked, finally finding a question but realizing too late how dumb the question sounded.

I paused, chopsticks halfway to my mouth but didn’t respond immediately.

“I see no point in gracing that question with an answer,” I said flatly, not offering any further explanation. “Damn, you're straight to the point,” he said, grinning as if he found it amusing rather than intimidating. Travis leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Fair enough, no pressure,” he said casually, clearly not expecting much more from me. “But hey, if you ever need a tour guide or someone to show you the ropes around here, just let us know. We know this place like the back of our hands.”

“Looks like we've got ourselves an ice princess. Also, cool bracelet,” another camper from the table laughed. None of them seemed fazed by my cold demeanor, brushing it off as just a joke. However, I was surprised he noticed the bracelet. It was shaped like a snake coiling around my forearm. That was one piece of jewelry I rarely took off, unless it served its specific purpose. How, you might wonder? Well, that answer would reveal itself soon enough.

One benefit of having Six Eyes, despite the pain it caused, was the heightened spatial awareness it gave me. And that was exactly why I noticed the Ares kid approaching me from behind with a net in his hand the moment he got up from his table. I didn’t move right away, just watching as he closed the distance. When he was close enough, I shifted in an instant, rising from my seat with a speed that left him no time to react. He crashed onto the table, the impact loud enough to draw a few surprised looks from nearby campers. Quickly regaining his footing, the Ares kid scrambled up and tried to throw his net over me. I couldn’t help but scoff inwardly. Did they honestly think they could catch me with these childish tricks?

I didn’t have time for their games.

“Kaizen.”

The moment those words left my mouth, my bracelet came to life. It slithered off my wrist and shot toward the Ares kid and it coiled tightly around his neck, cutting off his air. “What do you think you're doing?” I crouched down to his level, watching as he gasped and writhed. “Is that any way to treat someone new here? But then there isn’t much you can expect from an Ares brat, now is there?” A mocking smile spread across my face as he struggled to respond. His pale skin flushed a deep crimson, making him look like a bright red tomato. It was almost comical. “How dare you!” Another kid from the Ares table lunged at me. Had they learned nothing?  

Unfortunately, he didn’t put up much of a fight either. Six Eyes offered more than just a keen sense of my surroundings. With a small surge of cursed energy, I was able to propel myself to speeds that made me faster than humans and now apparently faster than demigods. In less than a second, I had the new challenger slammed against the Hermes table by his throat, a silver chopstick hovering dangerously close to his eye.

“That’s enough!” Chiron’s voice thundered through the pavilion. Reluctantly, I released the boy with a rough shove toward his table. Kaizen, too, loosened his grip, causing the first boy to collapse into a fit of violent coughing and wheezing. The bracelet slithered back across the floor, up the Hermes' table—eliciting startled yelps from the campers—before returning to my wrist and freezing back into place.

Chiron’s stern gaze swept across the pavilion, his hooves clicking against the stone floor as he approached us. The tension in the air was palpable and the campers from both the Ares and Hermes tables were frozen in place, their eyes darting between me, the two boys, and the centaur.

“This is not how we welcome newcomers,” Chiron said, his voice calm but firm. “Nor is it how we resolve conflicts at Camp Half-Blood. Violence is not the answer, no matter whose blood runs through your veins.” His eyes lingered on me for a moment, and I could feel the weight of his disappointment. It wasn’t the first time I’d been on the receiving end of that look, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. 

I nodded, but didn’t say anything. This wasn’t about making friends or impressing anyone. The force might've been excessive by some standard, but those little runts had to learn their place. The two Ares campers, still coughing and glaring, seemed to deflate under his gaze, their defiance evaporating. They muttered apologies and returned to their table, clearly humiliated, but that was the way of things here—tough, but fair. Kaizen, still coiled around my wrist, gave a faint pulse, as if reminding me to stay calm.

I returned to my seat, the brief confrontation already forgotten in my mind. The food in front of me was still warm, but I had lost my appetite. “Well, that was a bit more exciting than dinner usually is around here,” Connor said, his grin lopsided but genuine. “You sure know how to make an entrance, ice princess. It was about time someone knocked those assholes down a peg or two.” I didn’t reply, but the corner of my mouth twitched—just barely. I didn't ask for their approval though I didn't mind it receiving it either.

When I reached the Hermes cabin, I pushed the door open and stepped inside, letting out a long breath. The chaos of the pavilion faded behind me, replaced by the cozy, if slightly chaotic, atmosphere of the cabin. Campers lounged on bunks, playing cards or chatting, and a few glanced up as I entered.

“You really stirred things up today. Bold move. I liked it,” a voice called from right above my bed. My ears perked up instantly at the sound of familiar language. I glanced up to see a girl’s head hanging upside down from the top bunk. She had short, straight hair and distinct Asian features. “You’re Japanese?” I asked.

She laughed, her voice light and teasing. “Well, I did just speak in Japanese, didn’t I? Also, asking someone if they’re Japanese in Japanese is kind of silly, don’t you think?”

I cracked a small smile and shrugged. “I was just surprised, that’s all. So, where in Japan are you from?”

“Me? Oh no, I wasn’t born there. My mom’s from Osaka though,” she said, waving her hands dismissively, still hanging upside down as if gravity didn’t apply to her.

“That explains the accent,” I noted.

“And I’m guessing you’re from Tokyo. You’ve got that posh city-girl accent,” she shot back, her tone playful.

“You’d be right,” I admitted. “My family’s ancestral home is on the outskirts of Tokyo, and my uncle owns a place in Shirokane, so I’m always bouncing between the two.”

“Shirokane? Damn,” she whistled, flipping herself over and landing on the floor with ease. “You’ve got money, huh? Not that it’s hard to tell just by looking at you.”

She flopped onto my bed uninvited though not unwelcome, her gaze flickering to my wrist. “And tell me, where’d you get that bracelet? Did your godly parent give it to you? Could be Hephaestus’, ooh or maybe even Hecate’s. Though, the way you fight? Total Ares vibes.”

“Unless my father somehow managed to get Hephaestus or Ares pregnant, I sincerely doubt it’s either of them,” I said dryly. The girl burst out laughing at my words. “He’s the one who gave this to me, anyway,” I continued, my tone growing more serious.

“Really? I didn’t think something like this could exist outside of, y’know, the realm of the gods,” she replied, her curiosity piqued.

“My father was—” I hesitated. Calling him a sorcerer would only complicate things, so I opted for, “an occultist, of sorts.”

“Wow, so you’re stacked from both sides, huh? Fun,” she said with a grin, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Yeah, you could say that,” I replied, leaning back on my bunk with a half-smile.

“Being a demigod isn’t exactly a picnic either. But hey, at least you’ve got that fancy bracelet and whatever else your dad left you. That’s gotta count for something, right?”

I glanced down at Kaizen, the silver coils glinting faintly in the dim light of the cabin. “Yeah, I guess it does,” I said quietly. “But sometimes it feels like more of a reminder than a gift.”

She tilted her head, studying me with a curious expression. “A reminder of what?”

“Of everything I’ve lost,” I admitted, my voice softer even though I didn’t know why I was telling her all this. “And everything I still have to live up to.”

For a moment, she didn’t say anything, her usual playful demeanor giving way to something more thoughtful. Then she shrugged, breaking the tension with a grin. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, you’re already way more interesting than most of the people here. I mean, you’ve got a killer bracelet, you fight like a total badass, and you’re from Shirokane. You're bascially on your way to becoming demigod royalty.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Thanks… I think.”

“No problem,” she said, standing up and stretching. “Anyway, I’m Alice Miyazawa. If you ever need someone to talk shit with or pull a prank on someone, I’m your gal.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Arisu-san,” I replied with a small smile. Even though I was fluent in English, I still struggled with certain pronunciations. Alice caught the slight mispronunciation and grinned but didn’t correct me.

She climbed back onto her bunk, settling in as the other campers started turning off their lights. Just as the room was sinking into quiet, Alice dangled her head off the side of her bed again and declared, “Oh, and tomorrow, I’m taking you around camp. Also, ‘san’ is too formal. Just use ‘chan’ okay, Kanao-chan?”

I blinked up at her, momentarily thrown off by the sudden familiarity. I debated correcting her, but Alice had already pulled herself back onto her bed, completely unfazed. The room around us settled into a hushed stillness, the only sounds being the occasional rustling of blankets and the soft breathing of the other campers.

I lay back on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Today had been exhausting—not physically, but mentally. The stares, the whispers, the ridiculous attempt at ambushing me. It was all just noise.

But Alice… she was different. She didn’t pry, didn’t ask unnecessary questions. Just barged into my space and decided we were friends.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that yet.

Just as I was finally drifting off, Alice’s voice floated down again, barely above a whisper.

“Goodnight, Kanao-chan.”

I hesitated before responding. “...Goodnight, Arisu-chan.”

The next morning, I woke up to the sound of someone humming tunelessly above me. Before I could even fully open my eyes, Alice’s face popped from the side of the bed, her hair dangling like a curtain. “Rise and shine, city girl ! Camp Half-Blood waits for no one,” she declared, her voice far too cheerful for the early hour.

I groaned, pulling the blanket over my head. “What time is it?”

“Time for you to stop being a hermit,” she said, hopping down from her bunk with a thud. “Come on, up you go! Breakfast is the best part of the day, and if we’re late, the Ares kids will have already hogged all the bacon.”

“I assure you, i'm not a bacon glutton. plus my training hasn't begin yet so let this be one of the rare days i get to sleep in”

"Nope," she said, shaking her head firmly. "Get your fancy ass out of bed, because I’m giving you a—" She paused, wiggling her fingers dramatically in the air like she was building up to something huge. "Camp tour! Woooo!"For a split second, she reminded me of Satoru-nii—that same over-the-top, boundless energy that could either be infectious or exhausting, depending on the day.

I let out a sigh, running a hand through my hair as I sat up. "Alright, alright, I’m up."

I reluctantly dragged myself out of bed and headed to the showers. They weren’t nearly half as nice as the bath back home in Japan, but I figured I’d have to get used to it. Getting ready took just as long as it always did—you can’t rush perfection, after all. By the time I was done, Alice was already waiting by the door, tapping her foot impatiently. “You’re slower than a satyr on a Monday morning,” she joked, grabbing my arm and pulling me out of the cabin.

The morning air was crisp, and the camp was already buzzing with activity. Campers were heading toward the dining pavilion, their laughter and chatter filling the space. Alice kept up a steady stream of commentary as we walked, pointing out various landmarks and cabins.

“That’s the Big House,” she said, gesturing to a large blue building with a wraparound porch. “Chiron and Mr. D hang out there. Try not to get on Mr. D’s bad side—he’s the god of wine, and he’s really cranky before his morning Diet Coke.”

I nodded, filing the information away. “Noted.”

“And over there’s the climbing wall,” she continued, pointing to a massive structure that seemed to be spewing lava. “It’s a fun time if you’re into near-death experiences. Oh, and that’s the arts and crafts cabin. If you ever want to make a friendship bracelet or, I don’t know, a clay vase for your godly parent, that’s the place to go.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Do people actually do that?”

Alice shrugged. “Hey, don’t knock it till you try it. You might have a hidden talent for pottery.”

Next she led me inside a cabin. Unlike the sturdy, battle-worn Ares cabin or the regal marble structure of Zeus’, this one had a softer, almost dreamlike quality.

The exterior shimmered subtly, as if the wood itself had been kissed by sunlight, shifting between pastel hues of gold, pink, and lavender depending on how the light hit it. Delicate rainbows arched over the entrance, faint but ever-present, as if drawn from the mist in the air. The door was carved with intricate swirling patterns, resembling flowing water or shifting clouds, giving it an almost weightless appearance.

Inside, the cabin was airy and open, filled with the scent of fresh flowers and morning dew. The walls seemed to glow softly, reflecting the iridescent light filtering through stained-glass windows, which cast delicate rainbow patterns across the floor. The bunks were neatly arranged, each with gossamer-like curtains.

"What cabin is this?" I asked, unable to hide my fascination. My Six Eyes allowed me to take in every intricate detail, making everything appear even more ethereal. The way the light refracted through the dangling crystal prisms, scattering tiny rainbows across the walls, made the entire space feel almost unreal. A constant, gentle breeze flowed through the room, despite the lack of any open windows, as if the air itself carried whispers of unseen forces.

"This is Iris' cabin," Alice replied, grinning. "Lemme show you how we demigods make phone calls."

That caught my attention immediately. I had been strictly advised not to bring a mobile phone with me, no matter how much I had wanted to. Satoru nii-san was probably losing his mind not receiving so much as a single text from me. A corner of the cabin was dedicated entirely to Iris’s domain—shelves filled with old scrolls, modern letters, and finally, a few glowing bowls lined up neatly, their surfaces shimmering with a golden mist.

"What do I do?" I asked, turning to Alice. She gestured toward the bowl. "Take a golden drachma, toss it in, and say, ‘Oh Iris, goddess of the Rainbow, please accept my offering.’ Then just picture whoever you wanna talk to."

"Drachmas? You mean these?" I asked, pulling out an oversized coin purse from my bag and opening it.

Alice took one look inside and practically choked. "That’s way too much drachma! Are you, like, a millionaire or something?"

I hesitated, not really sure how to answer that. Satoru nii-san had always raised me in the lap of luxury, so the concept of what was considered “a lot” of money had never really stuck with me.

"My family... we’re comfortable," I said after a pause.

"Yeah, that’s exactly what super rich people say," Alice muttered, shaking her head.

I merely shrugged, pulled out a few drachmas, and tossed them into the bowl before reciting the incantation. The moment the drachmas hit the golden mist, the surface of the bowl rippled like water, shifting from a hazy shimmer into something clearer. Light bent and refracted, forming a swirling rainbow at its center before stretching outward.

Alice stepped back with a satisfied nod. "Now just focus on who you wanna talk to. Picture them in your mind, as clearly as possible."

I closed my eyes briefly, thinking of a certain someone —the way his hair always looked slightly windswept no matter what, his face, and, most importantly, the broody look that never quite faded.

When I opened my eyes, the mist began to settle, and there he was.

"Onee-san."Megumi said in surprise. 

"Heya, 'Gumi. Miss me?" I asked with a gentle smile, my gaze fixed on the shimmering surface. I was probably the closest to Megumi in the world after Nii-san. Nii-san had taken in Megumi and Tsumiki after an accident that claimed Megumi's father's life. From the start, Megumi had been distant and hard to reach, but over time, he gradually warmed up to me. I couldn’t think of anyone I cherished and pampered more than him—so much so that Nii-san would sometimes get a little jealous of the attention I showered on Megumi.

But before he could answer, I heard a loud voice echo behind him. And before either me or Megumi could do anything, he was yeeted out of view and Satoru Gojo’s face flickered into view, larger than life as always. He looked annoyed—no, pissed—arms crossed, his usual sunglasses pushed up into his hair.

"Gojo Kanao," he said, his tone sharp but unmistakably relieved. "Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to call? I was this close—this close—to storming the camp myself." He pinched his fingers together dramatically. "What, they don’t have Wi-Fi in that camp of yours?"

I sighed. "Nii-san, I told you, phones aren’t allowed. This was the only way I could contact you."

He huffed, clearly not satisfied. "Tch. Typical gods and their outdated rules. You could’ve at least sent a message through some divine loophole or something. Do I need to teach you creative rule-breaking now?"

Alice snorted beside me. "Wow. That’s your brother?"

"Uncle actually."

Satoru’s head snapped toward the unfamiliar voice, his brows raising in interest. "Oho? And who’s this? Kanao, you made a friend? I’m touched." He wiped an invisible tear from his eye. "My baby bird, out in the world, socializing. Proud mother moment."

Alice grinned, clearly enjoying his theatrics. "Alice Miyazawa. Resident prankster and your baby bird’s new bestie—whether she likes it or not."

I shot her a look, but Satoru just smirked. "I like her." Then, his expression turned serious again as he focused back on me. "Alright, spill. How’s camp treating you? Anyone giving you trouble? Do I need to show up and remind some demigods why I’m the strongest?"

I sighed, already bracing myself for whatever over-the-top reaction he was about to have. "It’s fine, Nii-san. Just… different."

His sharp eyes studied me through the mist, as if he could see beyond the image. "Different how?" I hesitated for a moment before saying, "I don’t know yet. But I’ll figure it out."

For once, he didn’t joke. He simply nodded. "You better. And Kanao?"

"Hm?"

His usual smirk returned. "If anyone tries to mess with you—well, you know what to do." A small smile tugged at my lips. "Yeah. I know." The mist in the bowl started to waver, the connection fading.

"Take care, Kanao," Satoru said, his voice softer now. "And call me sooner next time, got it?"

I nodded. "I will."

With that, the image dissolved, leaving only the faint glow of golden mist in its wake. Alice let out a low whistle. "Wow. That guy’s got big main character energy."

I huffed a small laugh. "You have no idea."

She nudged my shoulder. "Well, that was fun. Now, c’mon, you’ve got a whole camp to see."

As we approached the dining pavilion, the smell of food hit me, and my stomach growled loudly. Alice laughed. “Told you breakfast was worth it. Come on, let’s grab some food before the Hermes table gets too crowded.”

We loaded our plates with pancakes, bacon, and fruit, then made our way to the Hermes table. Alice introduced me to a few of the other campers, who greeted me with varying levels of enthusiasm. One kid even asked if I could show him how my bracelet worked, but Alice shut that down quickly.

“Give her a break, will you? She just got here,” she said, waving him off. I appreciated her standing up for me, it wasn't everyday when someone did that.

As we ate, Alice kept me entertained with camp gossip—who was dating whom, which cabins were currently feuding, and which activities were actually worth signing up for. “Oh, and you have to join Capture the Flag. The Ares kids are long overdue for a reality check. Plus, someone actually got claimed during a game once, so hey, maybe you’ll get lucky.”

“What kid?” I asked, taking a sip of my orange juice.

“Oh! Right! I totally forgot to mention—" Alice suddenly leaned back and waved someone over. “Julia, over here!”

I turned to see a girl about my age approaching. She had dark hair, tanned skin, and an easy confidence in her stride. I recognized her from the Hermes cabin yesterday, as well as from dinner last night—she had been sitting next to Alice at their table.

“Julia Kanao. Kanao Julia,” Alice introduced us.

“Hi! You must be the ice princess everyone’s talking about,” Julia said with a laugh, and I offered an awkward smile in return. She seemed nice, and since she was a friend of Alice’s, I didn’t feel as guarded as I usually would. Still, that didn’t mean I was going to warm up to her right away.

“Word travels fast, I suppose,” I muttered as she slid into the seat beside Alice.

Julia grinned, clearly unfazed by my reserved response. “Yeah, well, camp doesn’t have much else to talk about except new arrivals and drama. You're kind of both right now,” she said, her tone light and teasing.

Alice chuckled, nudging Julia with her elbow. “Be nice. She’s still adjusting. Not everyone’s as loud and obnoxious as you are, Jules.”

“Hey!” Julia shot back, pretending to be offended. “I prefer the term energetic, thank you very much.”

I couldn’t help but smile a little at their banter. It was clear they were close, and their easygoing dynamic made the atmosphere feel less intimidating. Still, I wasn’t ready to jump into the conversation just yet. I picked at my food, listening as they continued to chat about camp life and the upcoming Capture the Flag game.

Alice nudged Julia. “Kanao was just asking about the kid who got claimed during Capture the Flag. Figured you’d explain it better than me.”

“Oh, Percy?” Julia’s expression lit up with recognition. “Yeah, that was wild. One moment, he was just some unclaimed newbie, and the next—boom—water starts flying everywhere, and Poseidon himself basically slaps a ‘property of the sea god’ sticker on him.”

I tapped my fingers against the table, thinking. Power without control—that was dangerous. And yet, it seemed to work for him.

“Does this kid fight well?” I asked, cutting straight to the point.

Alice smirked, twirling her fork between her fingers. “Oh, he fights alright.” She leaned in slightly, as if about to share some grand secret. “Dude went from ‘new camper’ to ‘literal prophecy child’ in, like, a matter of weeks. Fought a minotaur before he even knew what he was, took down Clarisse in a game of Capture the Flag, and went on some crazy quest to retrieve Zeus’s master bolt.”

“Sounds like he’s got a lot to live up to.” I mused

“Yeah, but he handles it pretty well,” Alice said, shrugging. “Mostly by being ridiculously good at everything. Swords, water stuff—obviously—and even dealing with gods and monsters. Honestly, it’s kind of annoying how naturally talented he is.”

I smirked. “You sound like you’re a little jealous.”

“Me? Jealous? Pfft, no way,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m just saying, it’s not fair that one guy gets to be good at everything. Meanwhile, the rest of us are over here trying not to trip over our own feet during training.”

“You sell yourself short.” I hummed thoughtfully.

Julia, who had been listening with an amused look, chimed in, “Yeah, but he’s also got that classic dumb, reckless hero streak. You know the type—dives into danger without thinking, somehow survives, and then people call it destiny instead of sheer dumb luck.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Honestly, this Jackson guy sounds like an idiot.”

Julia snorted. “Oh, absolutely. But, like, an idiot who gets things done.”

I glanced around the dining pavilion, my eyes scanning the faces at the various tables. “Where is he?” I asked. Alice tilted her head toward the Poseidon table. “Over there. The one with the messy black hair, sea-green eyes, and that permanent ‘why is my life like this’ look on his face.”

I followed her gaze and spotted him immediately. He was the same guy I’d noticed the night before, sitting with the blonde girl, the spiky-haired boy, and the satyr. He had this air about him, like someone who’d been through way too much in way too little time.

I studied him for a moment before turning back to Alice. “He doesn’t look all that special.”

Alice grinned. “That’s exactly what makes him dangerous. He’s unpredictable.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Well, maybe I’ll get to see this Percy Jackson in action during Capture the Flag. If he’s as good as you say, it might be worth watching.”

“Oh, you’ll see him, alright,” Alice said, her eyes glinting with mischief. “He’s usually on the opposite team, so if you’re lucky, you might even get to fight him. Just don’t expect to win. Nobody beats Percy Jackson in the water.” I thought about that as I took another bite of my food. “I guess we’ll see.”

Alice grinned, clearly liking my response. “That’s the spirit! Now come on, let’s get moving. I’ve got more of camp to show you, and I want to make sure you’re fully prepared for the chaos that is Capture the Flag.”

As we left the dining pavilion, I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of excitement. Percy Jackson sounded like someone worth meeting—or maybe even challenging. If I was going to make a name for myself at Camp Half-Blood and become the strongest, I might as well start by taking on the best.

a/n - Comment to be added to the taglist :3

taglist - @hana-no-seiiki @cxcilla @imsoslay2386 @meilvn @ilovebattinson

[emeritusemeritus]

Vulnera Sanentur [Weasley Twins x Reader]

Part 1

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

Title: Vulnera Sanentur

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley {Established relationship}, platonic Snape x Reader.

Timeline: DH1- Set during the events of the seven potters. Canon and certain plot points have been altered for the needs of the story.

Summary: The battle of the seven Potters throws your world into chaos when one of your boyfriend’s is cursed. As Snape’s ex-potions assistant and previous protégée, you recognise the inflicted curse immediately and demand answers from your mentor.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of war and Voldy, descriptions of injury and blood, descriptive smut, p in v sex, shower sex, tension. Snape has a soft spot for reader. Arguments. Probably some cursing. Mentions of nightmares. Reader is part of the Order of the Phoenix. Mentions of death (Dumbledore). Mentions of Tonks’ pregnancy. Not spellchecked nor beta read, we dire like Madeye.

"Dumbledore's dead, it was Snape."

Your eyes opened in sheer panic as you startled awake, quietly gasping to force air into your lungs as you attempted to center yourself, realising you were safe. You looked around the dark room, breathing deeply and squinting through the darkness, familiar outlines of furniture slowly coming into focus as you took in your surroundings, realising that you were safe in your bed. The familiar weight of two arms slung around your waist gave you an immediate sense of relief as you quietly lay there, your breathing and racing heart slowly calming as you listened to the small snores and steady breaths of your two sleeping boyfriends lay either side of you.

Fred's body was pressed tightly to your back, his arm crossed over your waist as his hand cradled your clothed breast, whilst George lay beside you, your head on his shoulder with his hand resting on your hip. Despite the comforting knowledge that you were safe, surrounded and protected by your beloveds, the words from your dream replayed in your mind like a continuous, tormenting loop, casting an essence of foreboding within you.

"Dumbledore's dead, it was Snape."

Those words had haunted you since the moment you'd first heard them, the words and the greater meaning completely unfathomable to you. You weren't there when Dumbledore had died, but you saw the pain in Harry's eyes each and every time his name was mentioned and for some reason you couldn't escape the moment you learned of the headmaster's demise at the hands of your mentor, Professor Snape.

You'd always had a certain proficiency for potions, that much was clear as early on as your first year when you'd passed the first year examinations with flying colours, earning top marks in your written work and had drafted an exemplary specimen of Forgetfulness potion from memory. You'd proven time and time again that you were both able and interested in potions and for those very reasons Snape had seemed to take a liking to you, never giving you the same harsh treatment he so often bestowed upon his students. At the start of your sixth year, Snape had offered you the role of Potion Master's assistant, a highly esteemed role that had never been offered to a student before. You'd accepted with sincere gratitude and had found that working alongside Snape was much more harmonious than you could have anticipated, both of you sharing a bond of sorts, finding that you were a good team. Of course you were conflicted with his treatment of Harry and his general preference towards the Slytherins, particularly Malfoy, and you could hardly excuse his past as a death eater but for some reason you sensed conflict and guilt within him that redeemed him at least slightly in your eyes. Most students wrote him off and cold and uncaring but you saw beneath that, having seen first hand his caring nature, both with yourself and Draco in particular.

You'd been with Snape the night that Harry and Draco had duelled in the sixth floor boys bathroom, when Harry had unleashed an unknown curse he'd found in that cursed book to block the cruciatus curse that Draco had fired.

Snape had sped to the bathrooms with you in tow upon hearing Myrtle's scream and had tended to the gravely injured Malfoy without hesitation, casting healing spells and incantations that manage to stop more blood pouring from the gashes that littered Draco's body. He'd ordered you to get the essence of dittany from his personal store at once and you'd applied it to the wounds that were knitting together as Snape concentrated on the incantation. Later that night, when he had taken Draco to the infirmary, he'd called you into his office and told you never to speak of it to anyone, and you had kept your promise, knowing the grave consequences you and your loved ones could face if you did.

When you were told of Dumbledore's demise at the hand of your mentor, you'd been astounded and profoundly shocked. Though Snape could be cold and harsh, you'd never once seen him be anything other than loyal and respectful to Dumbledore, which only greatened your shock and horror at the events that had transpired.

"Angel," a voice whispered gently in the dark, the hand holding your hip squeezing gently to get your attention. You turned to George, seeing that he was awake now and watching you. He offered you a small smile as he looked at you with concern in his eyes, his hand moving from your hip to stroke your cheek. "What's got you awake?"

"The usual," you whispered back, with a sigh, nuzzling down into his bare chest to comfort yourself. He placed his arm securely around you and made room for your snuggling, though you still had Fred's arm around you which restricted your movement just a little.

"Want to talk about it?" He asks quietly, stroking your hair, knowing exactly what you are referring to. You don't reply verbally but instead shake your head against the smooth skin of his shoulder, your hand rising up to run your fingers through the sparse patch of hair beneath his pecks, feeling mostly smooth skin beneath your fingertips.

"I'm sorry if I woke you up," you said quietly, drawing little circles on his chest as he stroked your back soothingly.

"You didn't," George says, though you know he's lying. "Need to get up soon anyway."

Disappointment surged through you at his words, realising that he was right as you looked at the little digital alarm clock beside the bed, seeing that there was less than twenty minutes before the alarm would sound out to prepare you for the big day ahead. You hummed a little vague reply and snuggled down closer to his side, already feeling morose at anticipating having to leave him later that day.

"Want to take a shower with me?" He asks, his hands running up and down your back gently. You consider it for a moment, not yet willing to part with the warm, comfy bed but a shower with George did sound like a nice way to wake up.

You looked up at him and nodded, earning a sweet little smile from George as he slowly leant down to place a kiss to your lips, just a small peck that was meaningful nonetheless.

You managed to manoeuvre out of bed without waking Fred and as you slipped into the bathroom with George, you cast one last glance back at your sleeping boyfriend, seeing him now sprawled across the entire bed, seeking the rare opportunity even in his sleep.

George had started the shower ready for you both and was just in the process of checking the water temperature when you walked into the bathroom, really looking at him in the light. You always thought George looked incredible in the morning, still rousing and slightly dishevelled from sleep, his newly cut hair spiking in every direction. He was only wearing a pair of lounge shorts that hung low on his hips, his muscular back completely on display for you as he adjusted the knobs before turning round and flashing you a gorgeous smile.

"It's ready Angel," he says, walking over to you and immediately grasping your T-shirt, or rather one of Fred's old ones, by the bottom and slipped it off of your body, leaving you in just your panties. The whole act wasn't overtly sexual, it was comforting if anything spending a little time just being intimate with one another but you couldn't deny that the scales were tipping and everything that George did seemed to light a fire of desire within you, your nightmares already forgotten. You didn't miss the way George's gaze rested on your naked breasts before he leaned down and captured your lips in a kiss, clearly needing to feel as close to you as you did him. Your hands stroked down his chest as you kisses and you started tugging down his sleep shorts so that he was bare before you, feeling him smile into the kiss at your desperation to get him naked. Your panties were next, George's long, deft fingers slipping into the waistband and slowly dragging them down your legs as he broke the kiss, moving downwards with your panties until you were both completely naked.

"Get in angel," he says with a smirk, smacking your bum gently as you pass him to step into the steaming shower cubicle. The hot water feels heavenly against your skin as you step under the spray, ensuring to leave enough room for George too. Because of your boyfriends' height, the shower had to be raised right to the top of the slide rail, shock created a wonderful waterfall effect for you. George stepped in behind you, closing the door and placing a dry towel over the top of the cubicle away from the water spray for after.

His hands immediately begin running over your hips as you wet your hair, pushing it back and away from your face. You each lather up your hair with the shampoo you shared and take turns washing it out under the spray. You laugh and joke as you reach up to style his shampoo-filled hair into different configurations, manipulating the suds to form different shapes. You'd successfully created the shorting hat on top of his head, though with his new shorter hair it was much more abstract and you poured as he stepped under the spray and washed away your masterpiece.

"Let me," he says as you reach for your shower gel hanging by the little rack. George's hands roam over your shoulders as he spreads the sweet scented gel over your body, watching as it turns to suds in his hands. When his hands slip down over your breasts you can't help but rest your head on the tiled wall, a little puff of breath escaping you at the sensation. You could tell that it was having an affect on George by his increasingly excited member in your peripheral vision that was beginning to run against your leg.

"My turn," you say with a smirk, turning to face him completely as you reach for his products, squeezing a little out into your hand as you begin to lather him up, starting with his shoulders and slowly working your way across his abdomen and down.

He gasps and groans when your hand comes into contact with his hard cock, beginning to pump him slowly, just how he likes.

"Fuck Angel," he groans, eyes closed as he tips his head back in pleasure. Your pace slowly increases as you squeeze him just a little tighter, building the sensations he needed, rewarded in turn by his frequent moans.

"Angel, fuck," he moans, reaching up to suddenly grab at your wrist to stop. You look at him with wide eyes, worried that you'd done something wrong but he immediately pushed you back into the tiled wall, smirking at your little gasp from the coldness of the tile before he kissed you passionately, hands wandering all over your body. You moan into the kiss as his fingers drag over your pebbled nipples before slinking down your body until they slip between your legs, feeling the heat and wetness there.

"Georgie," you moan as his fingers begin to circle your clit, knees trembling already at the sensation. "Georgie I need more, please."

The spot he'd been kissing on your neck is suddenly punctured by his teeth as he groans and dominantly spins you around, manhandling you with little to no effort as he positions you as he likes. Your breasts are pushed against the cold glass, nipples already aching from the cold as he presses you gently into the glass wall. His hand reached down and spanks you, earning a gasp followed by a deep groan as his fingers begin to toy with your little pussy once again, this time from behind. His finger slips inside you and you can't help but buck your hips at the sudden but welcome intrusion. He pumps his finger in and out of you a few times with precision before he suddenly pulls away. Seconds later you can feel the familiar bulbous tip of his erection pressed against your labia and you rock your hips again, desperate for him to enter you as he snickers at your desperation.

Grabbing hold of his cock, he slips back and forth through your folds before pulling away slightly and slapping his tip against your clit a few takes making you cry out. Without warning, he suddenly reaches for your leg and holds it up, spreading your thighs and leaving you completely open for him as he slides in all the way, your hungry pussy greedily accepting him as you feel yourself stretching to accommodate him.

You moan out in unison at finally being joined together and he slowly pulls himself back out, dragging it out so that you can feel every single inch of him, every vein and every ridge before he slams back into you, setting a brutal but tantalising pace as he fucks into you from behind. His moans and groans echo in the little cubicle and those mixed with the steam from the shower make you feel lightheaded and completely fucked out already.

George shifts you forward just a little, still keeping hold of you securely before resuming his thrusting, making you cry out at the new angle. He manages to slip even deeper in you now and you can't help but rock your hips at the intensity of the feeling as he bites and sucks at your neck from behind, never once loosing his momentum.

Suddenly, he spins you in his arms so that you're facing the shower and with one swift reach up, the spray of the shower is no longer above you as George knocks the shower head off the clamp, allowing it to bungee down until it was spraying your bodies. With his unoccupied hand, he reaches for the showerhead and immediately aims it up at your pussy, causing you to scream at the new sensation. The spray of the water was focused entirely on your pussy, the forceful droplets hitting your clit in the most perfect way which only furthered your pleasure. You were completely overwhelmed, the water vibrating against your clit, your nipples taught and aching from the coldness and George's perfect cock filling you entirely. You couldn't hold out any longer and you could feel your climax charging through you, all of your pleasure spots being played perfectly by your boyfriend as you begin to cry out louder and louder.

"Georgie fuck, fuck, George I'm cumming," you cried out as he fucked into you harder and harder, balls slapping against your pussy as he feels you begin to clench and roll your hips at the intensity of the orgasm crashing over you. He lets go of the showerhead immediately, knowing that it would overstimulate you quickly as he focuses on thrusting through your orgasm, prolonging your pleasure and cresting his own as he fucks into you. Your clenching walls squeeze his length in the most wonderful way and he only lasts mere moments before he's cumming inside you with a roar that reverberates around the small room.

He stays inside you as you both catch your breaths, George's arms lowering your leg back to the ground as you wiggled your toes, feeling the familiar ache begin to creep into your limb from being held up for so long but you only smile, feeling blissfully fucked out. He slowly pulls out of you, resting his head on your shoulder as you keen at the sensation, both of you breathing deeply as you feel his cock slip out, followed by a stream of his cum that slips slowly out of your little sore hole and down your thigh.

"Perfect timing," you laugh as you hear the alarm blaring from the bedroom, followed by a loud groan from Fred who you can picture slinging his arm over the side of the bed to whack the clock into silence. George chuckles against your shoulder at your words before placing a kiss to the spot he was resting on, moving to stand at full height again. His hand reaches out for the showerhead and carefully avoid any areas of your body that would be too sensitive, he washes away the evidence he'd left on your body with his hands before turning off the shower and placing it back into the bracket clamp.

"I love you so much," he says suddenly, prompting you to turn and face him, seeing the trepidation in his eyes. Today is the day that the order would be transporting Harry to the burrow, a dangerous but necessary mission and unfortunately for you, both of your boyfriends had been chosen to assist with this operation. Tensions were high and the stakes were even higher, meaning that you were all scared of the outcome.

"I love you so much George Weasley," you smile, feeling your own emotions bubbling under the surface at the prospect of what could happen tonight. You moved forward and stepped into chest, his arms instinctively wrapping around you as you fought of the chill, no longer having the hot water to warm you up.

"If something," George begins to say, but you place your lips on his to silence him, not wanting to hear it. You pull apart and though he still looks downcast, he understands.

"We love each other, that's all we need to think about right now." He nods gently and pulls you in for one last cuddle, placing a kiss to your wet hair as he holds you. The sentiment is not lost on you, both of you completely bare before each other both physically and emotionally, each needing to cling to the other as you navigate the next 24 hours.

"Have you two done fucking? Some of us need to take a leak!" You hear Fred shout, though his voice is muffled through the door. "I don't need to point out that I'm feeling very left out here!"

You laugh and pull apart as George reaches up to drape the towel around you before you both step out of the shower. You walk over and open the door as Fred bursts in, staggering straight to the toilet as he pulls down his own pyjama pants and pulls out his cock, not even caring that he has an audience as he relieves himself. His bleary eyes look over at his twin and he instantly grimaces, seeing him completely nude with only a small towel ruffling his wet hair.

"Gross, get some clothes on," he says, flushing the toilet and walking over to the sink to quickly wash his hands.

"You see him naked all the time," you say, watching his reaction, pointing out the facts. Fred turns to you with a frown before seeing you dressed in only a towel which clearly piques him interest.

"That's different, I don't actively look at him, in fact I try and avoid it. When you're naked I don't see anything else," he grins, moving toward you and messing with the towel where it was tucked, hoping to catch a peak of your naked body but you gently slap his hand away, making him pout.

"So he gets to rail you and I can't even get a peak? Where's the fairness in that?" He says with mock outrage.

"Stop pouting and you'll get more than a peak later," you say with a smirk which makes his eyes widen and his hands immediately fall to his sides as he puts his bottom lip away.

"Yes ma'am," he jokes before leaning in to kiss you, pulling you right into his chest as his hands snake over your bare shoulders.

Fred slips into the shower as you prepare breakfast for the three of you. George makes you a cup of tea and kisses you as he slides it over to you on the counter before taking a seat at the little table in the corner of the kitchen, pulling out the daily prophet and reading through the news of the day. Freddie joins you only a few minutes later and slips behind you as you cook the breakfast, pressing dangerous kisses to your neck as his arms wrap around your middle.

When breakfast is ready you all take a seat and eat in comfortable silence, listening to the radio that Fred had flicked on as he entered the kitchen. There's tension in the air as the news reporters begin to list off the names of witches and wizards that are declared missing, with a few familiar names creeping up on the list such as Charity Burbage, the muggle studies professor at Hogwarts.

You tried to push down the anxiety that was swirling around you and tried to focus on the positives of the day. The shop was closed today on account of it being a Sunday as to not arouse suspicion for the sudden closure to anyone who might be looking for signs that Harry would be moved, knowing that the death eaters were all waiting for this information.

Your orders from Madeye had been simple, though you were still a little aggrieved that you hadn't been selected for the mission, you were to apparate early to the burrow alone and set up a base camp for the returning members. Your talents in potions had been mentioned by your ex-professors Snape and Remus numerous times and this information had earned you the unofficial role as the healer of the group, with your own draughts having been created and shipped to the burrow in preparation.

You had a few hours until you were due to arrive at the burrow and so you took your time getting ready, checking and re-checking the bag you were apparating with, namely containing your personal items, clothing, toiletries and copious amounts of dittany and other healing and restorative herbs that you could use incase of injury or worse.

When it was time to say goodbye to your boyfriend's you could barely hold back the tears as they held you between them both, all three of you cuddled together as the reality set in, those dark thoughts twirling about in all your heads as you looked upon your boyfriends for what could be the last time. If it was, you wanted to commit this to memory, the feel of both of their arms around you, their towering height, the softness of them and the small little differences that you could physically feel between them both.

"I love you Princess," Fred says, pulling you into him as George steps back, letting you both have a moment. "I've loved you for as long as I can remember and there will never be a time that I don't, whatever happens tonight." Tears pooled in your eyes as you nodded to his words, feeling his hand delicately cupping your jaw as he looks into your eyes. "I'm not going anywhere, you're stuck with me forever you know that? Him too, but mainly me," he smirks, nodding his head to George who you're certain is rolling his eyes.

"I love you Freddie," you say, reaching up to kiss him before turning to George.

"You already know how much I love you," George says, taking your hand in his and pulling you closer.

"Yeah I think I heard that this morning," Fred mumbles before receiving a glare from George that makes him step away, leaving you to have a moment with his twin.

"We'll be back before you know it, be safe, I love you." He presses a firm kiss to your lips, hands clutching at the fabric of your dress.

"Now, future Mrs Weasley, do you have everything?" Fred says, moving back towards you as he placed at the bag by your feet. You smile widely at the nickname, butterflies raging in your tummy as you nod.

"My dress is already at the burrow," you say, thinking of your dress for Bill and Fleur's wedding in a few days, "everything else is here."

You glance at the clock and take a deep breath, knowing that you needed to leave. The twins both seem to notice and though you can tell Fred is trying to play it cool, you can see his fingers fidgeting at his side as they often did when he was uncomfortable. George's eyes told you everything you needed to know, the torment and sadness at being parted so clearly visible in his sad look.

"Don't keep me waiting," you say with one last smile before you reach for your bag and with a loud crack, you begin to pull through space and time before ending up directly outside the Burrow in the tall grass.

Molly rushes out to greet you, no doubt having been waiting for your anticipated arrival for quite some time and pulls you into a warm hug, ushering you inside and thrusts an already made cup of tea into your slightly shaking hands. Ginny heard the commotion and comes barrelling towards you, sweeping you up in a hug before you do the same to Hermione who follows suit. Ron stands back awkwardly but you simply step towards him and wrap your arms around him, knowing he wouldn't make the first move. He doesn't resist in the slightest and you hug your boyfriend's younger brother for a moment before pulling away, smiling at them all. Arthur then rounds the corner and ushers you in to a fatherly embrace, asking after his twin sons. Bill and Fleur arrive not long after and then Remus and Tonks, who pulls you away to the front lounge to speak with you.

"Tonks, that's wonderful! I'm so happy for you both!" You say with wide smiles as you embrace the mother to be, overjoyed at their wonderful news as she shares it with you privately whilst you await the rest of the order. Upon entering the kitchen once again, you see Remus look up from his discussion with Bill and you smile widely at him, mouthing congratulations secretly so no one else would see. He shoots you a shy but kind smile with a nod of his head that shows his thanks before he engages in conversation once again.

Kingsley shows not too long after and you greet each other formally but fondly before Madeye bursts in gripping the collar of a disgruntled Mundungus who looks like he wants to be anywhere but here.

"Right, Hagrid is meeting us in little whinging, as are the twins," he says, stomping forward to address the small crowd. "The plan has not changed, we will be executing it precisely as Dumbledore wanted." Suddenly he turns to address you, his fake eye wandering around the room as his real eye focuses entirely on you. "Have you brought everything I asked?"

"Yes, everything's ready," you reply with a nod, eyes flicking over to the little wooden box on Molly's table that housed all of your pre-prepared potions.

You walked over to the box and pulled out a large vial of pre-prepared potion you'd been brewing all month before walking back towards Madeye and handing it over. He examined it briefly before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a familiar flask, sniffing it once before tipping the poly juice potion into the flask before handing the now empty vial back to you.

"It'll last two hours, give or take 10 minutes, Fred and George will need to take slightly more on account of their height, everyone else a big sip will do. Get Harry's hair from the root and sprinkle it in, swirl it around but don't shake it, let the hair dissolve and it won't fail. "

"Excellent, right, best not to keep everyone waiting, Mundungus you're with me."

Madeye marches out and the rest of the group take turns to say goodbye to eachother. You reach out and grab Remus' jacket sleeve as he starts to walk away, gesturing for him to hold back for just a moment.

"Tonks, she, I, should she really be doing this?" You ask delicately, not feeling at all right about sitting about whilst a pregnant woman goes into battle. Remus simply smiles at you and pats the hand that clutches his arm, as if he appreciated the thought.

"I've never once been able to stop her yet, I hardly doubt any being on earth could," he says simply with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. You can tell the weight of the task at hand is laying heavily on him, knowing that both his wife and unborn child would be out there on the front line.

"I can take her place," you say, offering yourself but he shakes his head.

"She knows the risks, as do I, and I greatly appreciate your concern but it's already set."

The waiting has grown to be excruciating as the hours dragged on. Molly whizzed around occupying herself, fluffing and re-fluffing pillows, picking up her knitting then throwing it down in frustration moments later and scrubbing the kitchen counters until the sponge was worn down to a slither. Ginny on the other hand sat frozen at the table, hardly moving as she gazed into nothingness, her worries written clearly all over her face. You tried your hardest not to think of the possibilities and had tried desperately not to think of your boyfriends or friends and companions out there but it was hopeless, all you could think of were Fred and George, desperate to be reunited with them again. You'd checked all your potions, split them into individual vials and had begun brewing more, reading up on healing herbs and anything else you might have missed as you waited. You'd made countless cups of tea for the three of you but none had truly been touched other than a few sips here and there and Molly had created a feast for the members due to return, mostly just to pass the time. You'd actively avoided looking at the infamous clock that featured each member of the Weasley family but as the clock chimed announcing that it was 9pm, you'd accidentally cast a glance at the clock and saw that nearly all of the Weasley family were now pointed at the 'mortal petal' setting on the clock, all except Molly, Ginny and Charlie. Your stomach dropped as you considered what could be happening, knowing that they were due to arrive at Harry's any moment and tried hard to reason with yourself that there was no option on the clock that would fit this exact circumstance, though it was complete denial.

You could tell Molly was trying her hardest to appear strong but considering that four of her sons, her husband and beloved friends were out there, she was clearly distressed. Both of your loves were out there and that was hard enough, you couldn't even fathom how she must be feeling.

"Molly, please let me help," you say, walking into the kitchen where she was scrubbing the sink once again. She stopped and turned to you and you saw the faintest crack in her resilience as she paused her scrubbing, heaving out a large sigh. She gave you a small smile and handed you the dishcloth to dry the plates and you worked in comfortable silence, not quite knowing what to say to each other despite years of a budding parental friendship.

A resounding bang followed by clattering and a splash out in the field immediately made you freeze and look at each-other with an unreadable expression.

They were back. At least, you hoped it was them.

Next

[rosemaryentombed]

reading yj in true publication order is legit insane bc bart was really going into a superhero team after waid, messmer-loebs, and co. pretty much ironed out that despite max being the zen master of speed and everyone’s mentor/uncle-figure… max was not ACTUALLY equipped to be a father. if anything, he shoulda been a weekend caretaker at best, but between him and wally, bart was completely screwed. him joining yj off the heels of max’s repeated failures at connecting with bart just makes so much sense cuz it’s like…. bart learned a LOT under max, but even after 40+ issues together, max still didn’t UNDERSTAND bart because he WAS NOT a good foster parent and he shouldn’t have been a parent at all! and max knows that… helen too. and i suspect bart did too, but he forgave him for it just like he’s forgiven most ppl in his ‘family’ for their transgressions.

bc what choice does bart really have at the end of the day? he’s still a refugee and his mom still can’t bring him home, so he’s got no choice but to make the best out of a shitty situation bc otherwise he’d have to admit that maybe he was better off dead. which is truly heartbreaking when you get to the yj piece of his story bc even the others look down on him and don’t treat him the best all the time. but he loves them anyway, bc what and WHO else does bart allen have left? when you’ve been ousted from your own century AND forced to live with people who’ve made it clear numerous times that they don’t want you there, what else can you do but put on a smile and brave through? you don’t even love yourself, but you love others SO much and willing to sacrifice yourself for it. you didn’t even get a lightning rod until 20+ years AFTER your debut. bart allen, the man that you are

[sailorkamino]

sheltered

relatonships: geraskier x magic!reader [tangled au]

word count: 1.8k

summary: your village believed you to be born cursed and would have killed you, if not for stragobor. you've spent your whole life locked away in a tower but now you've got a chance for freedom in the form of a bard, a witcher, and an pretty horse.

warnings: stragobor, emotionally abusive parent, gaslighting, anti witcher prejudice, death/murder, pre relationship, emotional support dogs

a/n: my first time writing for the witcher! what do you think? i might turn this into a series <3

Spring is coming so you’re making new outfits for your beloved hounds. Which isn’t at all depressing no matter what that one judgemental bird thinks. Anyways you’re using golden yellow fabric for Honeysuckle and cool blue for Periwinkle. As is customary.

Then you sense them. Strangers. You become almost dizzy with fear and excitement. A type of desperation only experienced when you live in a forced solitude. You make your way to the window, desperate for a glance. It’s not like they’ll be able to see you. Your entire tower is invisible to outsiders.

“Hey, look at this tower.”

You choke on air. Your dogs leap from your bed to check on you (still in their winter sweaters.) You hold your breath as two people and a horse step into the clearing. Then you meet yellow cat-like eyes and you’re diving to the floor with a startled noise.

“Careful. Magic.”

One of them is mumbling but it’s drowned out by the sound of your rapid heart. Honeysuckle whines in concern, licking your face. Periwinkle takes a protective stance over both of you, growling out the window.

Father has always told you witchers are bloodthirsty savages. They’ll kill any innocent being for a profit. They know no morals, only violence. When you were born under a black sun your religious village wanted you dead. Father hid you away for protection. You’re not looking to relieve the witch hunt experience.

You mentally poke at the witcher, feeling out his aura. He doesn’t seem particularly beastly. Animals tend to be more shallow than people, all instincts and simple emotions. Surprisingly he doesn’t feel that.

A part of you has always questioned your father's prejudice. You stopped voicing it but the concerns remained. Father hates witchers because they kill beasts. If monsters can be good, why can’t witchers? An old argument resurfaces in your memory.

“Have you listened to a word I’ve said, child?” Father asks angrily. “You cry when a rat dies yet defend butchers.” You look away, embarrassed by his mocking tone.

“This is why you stay in this tower. You’re too naïve for the outside world.”

You wonder if that’s the real reason he keeps you locked away. You’re capable of defending yourself now. So is he really protecting you? Or is he protecting the world? All because you were born under a black sun. Why must you be punished for being different? Why must witchers?

You think of the villagers who looked at a crying orphan and saw a threat. Who saw killing an infant as a lesser evil. You don’t want to be like that. Privately you wonder why your mentor sees compassion as a weakness but you’ve learnt it’s better to agree with him. “Yes father. I’m sorry.”

“No need to fear us. I’m Jaskier the bard, master of the seven liberal arts, and this is my companion, Geralt of Rivia! Could you give us directions to the nearest town?” The colorful man calls out.

Your heart races until you feel dizzy. So this is the butcher. The most beastly and cruel of all the witchers. He’s… underwhelming to say the least. Certainly least nightmarish and more dreamy than you imagined. But you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. You take a calming breath, petting your hounds to ground yourself.

The primal fear inside of you is wrestling with your desire for a real life conversation with a stranger. This could be your chance to hear both sides of what happened in Blaviken. Father always says you’re too naïve but only tells you his point of view. You’re almost sick with nerves when you blurt out rather loudly, “I wouldn't know. I’ve never been in the forest before.”

There’s a long pause and you can sense confusion. Have you already messed up? You don't want them to leave. Well the witcher can go, but the colorful one seems nice. You pop your head back into view, “I don’t leave my tower. I’m sorry. I… like your horse.” Compliments make you friends right?

“Don’t leave or can’t?” A much gruffer voice asks. You shiver. (He didn’t even say thank you for the compliment, how rude.)

“I’m safe here.” The words sound unconvincing to your own ears. You tell yourself it's because of fear. Not because you’re beginning to question them.

“Who says?”

“My father.”

They share a concerned look. You bite your lip in embarrassment. It sounds quite childish when you say it out loud. But you’ve been persecuted before, you aren’t about to let your guard down around a hired killer. So… why are you still talking to him?

Then you notice the brunet’s instrument. What a lovely change of subject. “Is that a lute?”

“It is!”

You’re practically jumping now. Honeysuckle, picking up on your excitement, smacks you with her wagging tail. “I’ve never heard a bard before! Play me something?”

Jaskier goes impossibly sad. You frown, hating the kicked puppy expression. What did you do wrong? Maybe you should just stick to socializing with animals. At least the rats find you charming.

“You’ve never heard music, my dear?”

Your face goes hot, both at the endearment and the pity in his voice. “I have lots of instruments but I don’t think I’m very good. Being self taught and all.”

“Why don’t I come up and give you a lesson? Free of charge!”

Your stomach twists in knots. You don’t know what’s more terrifying. Your new friend coming inside or leaving you to loneliness. You avoid eye contact when you answer. “My father wouldn’t like that.”

“What would you like?” The witcher asks sternly. You freeze. No one has ever cared what you wanted before. Is that concern you sense from him? Sympathy? From a so-called beast? Your silence seems like an answer enough. “So can’t leave,” he concludes.

“Can others enter?” Jaskier asks curiously.

You don’t know why you answer but you do. “Only with a portal. There’s no door.”

“But there’s a window.”

You frown. Obviously there’s a window, you’re talking out of it right now. Maybe your new friend is a little slow.

“Rope?” he proposes to the witcher.

Your mouth drops open. A rope? That’s it? Years of isolation by a warlock solved with a fucking rope? It can’t be that simple. It just can’t be. “My father is very powerful,” you warn. “And he hates witchers.”

“Him and most of the continent,” the man grumbles dryly. For some reason you feel guilty. Years of indoctrination to hate his kind, forgotten in mere minutes. Maybe you really are naïve.

“Who’s your father, dear? Maybe we know him?”

You sincerely hope not. “Stregobor.”

Dead silence. Then a very empathetic “fuck.”

Your stomach sinks. That’s the most emotion you’ve heard in the witcher’s voice so far and it doesn't sound good. Will they judge you for your fathers deeds? Wait, why are you assuming your father’s in the wrong? Since when did he become the bad guy? (Maybe he always has been but you’ve ignored it.)

“Let me guess, you were born during a black sun?” He asks flatly.

You feel as if a rug has been pulled out from under you. The comfort that’s been growing disappears, replaced with icy fear. You don’t even know this man yet you still feel betrayed. “Are you here to kill me?” You ask, slightly wobbly.

He sighs tiredly. Maybe he gets asked that a lot. “No. You aren’t fucking cursed. You were born during an eclipse. A completely natural phenomenon. A bunch of old bastards made up that curse for power and control.”

Your jaw drops, conflicting emotions raging inside of you. If he’s right you’re not cursed, which is great. But it also means your father has betrayed you. Your whole life can’t be a lie. It just can’t. A sinking part of you knows he’s making sense, even wants to believe him, but you desperately ignore it.

“I hurt people,” you confess abruptly.

“I thought you never left this tower?” Jaskier asks.

“When I was a baby.”

The witcher raises an unimpressed brow. “Did Stregobor tell you that?”

You growl in frustration as a strong wind rustles the trees. Jaskier looks around in bewilderment but the witcher holds your steady gaze. Not easily frightened by your show of power or glowing eyes.

“I’ve met a lot of monsters. You’re not one.”

The words you’ve always longed to hear. Uttered by the man you’ve been taught to hate. You take a moment to collect your flurry of emotions before answering. “Funny,” you smile weakly, “I was gonna say the same thing about you, witcher.”

You steady yourself before asking the next question. Knowing it won’t be easy but needing answers. The more you talk to Geralt the more you question what you’ve been taught about witchers. Maybe you don’t want him to be a monster. Maybe you’re so lonely you don’t care if he is.

“Tell me about Blaviken.”

“What?” His voice is somehow gruffer. Face horribly blank and posture rigid.

“Every story has two sides, yet I’ve only heard my father’s.”

He sighs deeply. Then begins. He tells you about Renfri. A princess born under the black sun. Her step mother was looking for a way to get rid of her and the curse was convenient. Stregobor agreed the girl was an evil mutant that must be isolated but her step mother wanted her dead. Together they ruined her life.

Renfri evaded them. She spent years being hunted, until she became the hunter. Eventually she formed a gang of sorts and tracked Stregobor to Blaviken but couldn’t enter his tower. (Apparently the idea of living in a tower forever was very distressing to your father. You don't know if you should laugh or vomit.)

Both Renfri and Stregobor asked Geralt to kill the other but he refused, not wanting to get involved. Although he hated Stregobor he tried to talk the princess out of revenge. It was too late. She threatened to kill townspeople until the warlock came out.

Your heart sinks at the ultimatum. Your father has never been a compassionate man. By the grim look on the witcher’s face he knew it too. In the end Geralt did what Stregobor wanted him to do. Instead of payment or thanks he was branded a butcher.

The fear-shame-grief rolling off of the witcher (definitely not emotionless by the way) is enough to make your eyes sting. Your gaze settles on Jaskier, who’s gone into full sad puppy mode. You have a feeling he’s never heard the full story either. You clear your choked throat.

“You mentioned a rope, good sir?”

[xaila-space]

Not me having this headcanon of eclipse still having his magic and it could in a way be kinda maybe just one third of puppets power but only cause his former self fiddled so much with star power that his literal soul is stuck with it. He just dosent like to use it.

Now where im getting at is basically him using that to teach charlie

Like you know how these mentors normally have the weirdest training technics thats seem impossible and weirdly enough they do it with ease and just casually give it as a task to their pupil?

An example would be in ninjago when master Fu gave Nia a bucket with a big ass hole in it telling her to fill it with water so she can master her water element thing power? Yeh something like that 💀

Eclipse may not have any exprience with the usage of puppets full power but he has knowledge of it and he uses it quite well

So yeh that a headcanon i have that probably dosent make sense and i most definetly will put in SAMS Unraveled AU TvT

I really hope i explained it right-

(Btw changed the Unraveld AU tag to SAMS Unraveled AU so its clear of what fandom this AU is connected to)

[all-pacas]

if you’d be willing to write a bit about the characterization, personality, and general natures of the following characters? Cameron, Foreman, Chase, Cuddy, Wilson, House, Thirteen, Kutner, and Taub 

NEW TEAM TIME.

Something I think is important to keep in mind — or at least something interesting — about the new kids is that: they are all remixes of the first team. They fill the same roles, hold the same niches, even share some broad personality strokes as the original group. But at the same time, they’re remixes: they are tweaked and adjusted and are new characters. I find the comparisons interesting, because it also makes it clear where they’re different, not just the same.

So let’s take it one by one.

TAUB

Taub is a remix of Foreman. He’s intelligent, a bit cocky to Foreman’s arrogance; he has a successful career where Foreman wants one, and has a forceful enough personality that his role on the team (like Foreman’s) is often to challenge House, to push back, to disagree. These similarities are later underlined in S6’s Lockdown, where it is revealed Taub — like Foreman — has the strongest resume and best schooling of the group. He is book-smart, self-assured, and likes to challenge and argue with other’s views. But where Foreman’s arrogance masks insecurity, Taub is genuinely confident and without ego; where Foreman is prone to romanticizing loyalty and an underdog, Taub is cynical and famously incapable of fidelity. Foreman is young, at the start of a promising career: Taub is on a downward trajectory and knows it.

Taub is described by his wife as a ‘bad husband, but a good man.’ This is ultimately very true. Taub is funny, charming, and often very kind: he is willing to mentor and help Masters and Park, two young and inexperienced doctors. He is able to join a Fellowship (training) program with doctors almost half his age, and never feels insecure or threatened by the intelligence of his teammates: he is genuine friends with Kutner, he gets along well with Thirteen and later Chase, he is best friends with Foreman. It’s easy to overlook in terms of how odd couple it is, but that’s… honestly pretty amazing of Taub. He is the same age as Wilson, he was a partner in a practice; now he’s hanging out with kids just starting their careers, and it’s never an ego issue. He’s here to learn. He reaches out to his colleagues. He likes them.

At the same time, Taub is ultimately, fundamentally selfish. He pursues pleasure and quick rewards over his marriage and wife, he has no restraint, he is impulsive and emotional, reactive, quick to get angry or dismissive or sleep around. He is easy to manipulate by playing on his emotions and quick reactions; he lacks… discipline, to put it simply. Taub is something of a hedonist, and enjoys living his life a certain way: he likes sex, he likes having money, he drives a fancy car. He likes being the guy who takes risks and talks fast and has affairs with younger women. He is without ego in the sense that he has the grace to get along with his colleagues with no insecurity, but in other ways, he is profoundly unhappy with his life. He struggles in Diagnostics, not because he does poorly or doesn’t like the team, but because it doesn’t match his image of himself. He wants to be a devoted husband, but struggles to live up to his ideal. He has impeccable credentials and has done humanitarian work, but feels like he’s wasted his career. Taub always wants something other than what he has, and that probably accounts for a lot of his impulsivity and selfishness, which is genuinely not borne out of a desire to hurt people, but out of an inability to resist novelty and excitement.

Taub is also heavily hinted to have struggled with his mental health when he was younger; it’s taken as a given that his “friend from med school” who attempted suicide was probably Taub itself, and even if not, his reaction to Kutner’s death is pretty telling. While Taub no longer seems to struggle with depression or ideation, his risk taking and poor judgement does sort of speak to similar impulses: he takes risks. He is always looking for something that will make him happy, something he does not already have. Ultimately, he finds that in his daughters, and his messy-but-somewhat relationships with his exes. To cite the cliche, he has finally learned to be happy with what he has.

THIRTEEN

We really don’t discuss enough how similar Thirteen and Cameron are. Thirteen is the morals-and-ethics member of the team, the one who bonds with patients and cares about them. Like Cameron, Thirteen has a special/close relationship with House — although it is never coded as romantic as Cameron’s is — and like Cameron, Thirteen is defined by her trauma and hurt, and just like Cameron, Thirteen tends to see herself in and identify with patients to an extreme degree (even doing what fandom largely-inaccurately accuses Cameron of doing, and bonding with dying patients only to lose interest when they’re cured). But where Cameron has been badly hurt in her past and is struggling to get past it, Thirteen’s trauma happens more or less before our eyes: she has Huntington’s. She is dying.

Thirteen puts on a cool, confident front, and she is very good at it. She is a meme for her secretiveness — we don’t really call her Hadley — and it isn’t without justification: nickname and opaque nature in S4 aside, Thirteen also cuts her phone lines and leaves town in S7, and is actually fairly prone to moving/leaving/starting fresh. She has two reasons for doing this: first, Thirteen really does seem to hate prying and people in her business, but second: Thirteen is scared. She is secretive to hide, not just information but from the world at large: she acts confident and in control because she isn’t and it terrifies her.

She tries to deal with her fear in two ways, neither of them all that healthy. First, Thirteen is prone to risk taking to an absurd degree: she does drugs, has casual sex, comes to work hungover, the entire episode of Last Resort, but she is also prone to making more calculated risks: she takes flying lessons. She travels the world alone. These are not dangerous risks, per se, but she refuses to stick to a comfort zone: she is always pushing herself, challenging herself, doing big, bold things whenever she’s given the opportunity. Her other main method of coping is to just ignore and repress and avoid her feelings, which she doesn’t do very well: she puts on her aloof, secretive act but falls in love with dying patients, with people struggling with their identities and sense of self; she tries to hide her trauma but badly. She gets angry: she explodes at House for prying. Or she breaks down in the locker room. She is not okay. She is scared, and she feels alone. An aloof I don’t need anyone act is great until you do need someone, you know?

There’s a moment in S5 where Thirteen believes the Huntington’s drug trial she is on is working. She has just started dating Foreman, she’s riding high on a placebo effect, and the change that comes over her is striking: she is bubbly, she is silly, she starts excitedly planning for her future. This doesn’t last, but this is who she should be, who she would be if she wasn’t dying, if she wasn’t constantly trying to live in the moment and ignore her fear and desperation. Thirteen is deeply preoccupied with making the most of her life, with needing to travel the world and do everything. In S8, she has a moment where she thinks she needs to remain a doctor, because she only has a few years left and should use them to do good: it is House who fires her to force her to be selfish and relax. She feels a pressure to do everything.

Ultimately, Thirteen is a very compassionate, empathic person. She bonds with her patients, and shows real empathy and care for them. She’s honestly quite perceptive and astute: when Chase rejoins the team in S6, she is far and away the most successful of the cast at getting through to him, and she’s even able to figure out the root cause of his crisis over his looks. For all her memetic privacy, Thirteen gets along with people, is able to joke and chit-chat and joke around with them. She wants connections. She is warm and kind and funny. But she is also, always, still dying. And still afraid.

KUTNER

Kutner is a remix of Chase, but the gulf between the two of them is by far the farthest of the new team. They serve the same roles on the team: the easy-going dude who is here to have fun and likes House. They both share a certain creative streak that leads to them solving cases. They have backgrounds hilariously full of childhood trauma that they largely don’t address. Beyond that, it is a bit of a stretch: Kutner is more outgoing and bubbly than Chase by far, an awkward nerd instead of a sporty charmer. But both are easy-going, good-natured, and don’t take things all that seriously.

It’s almost impossible to talk about Kutner without addressing the elephant in the room: his suicide. We can go back and forth about how well-foreshadowed it was, but the fact is that it was unplanned and mostly happened because Kal Penn needed to leave the show. This means that any justifications are always going to be a bit tenuous; you can interpret some things as foreshadowing, but ultimately, it’s always going to be a stretch, because they were never meant to be foreshadowing when written.

What we do know is that despite his bubbly, good-natured exterior, Kutner is someone who has experienced extreme childhood trauma. His parents were murdered in front of him. He was adopted by loving, wonderful parents who tried to raise him to embrace his Indian heritage, but he still felt like an outsider. He was a foster kid. He was the brown kid in a white family. He was the kid with murdered parents. Kutner is often fairly casual when he brings these facts up, but just in the way he does is telling: he always insists he had a fantastic foster parents, wonderful adoptive parents, loved being different, loved standing out. Maybe that’s true, at least in part, but his pointed insistence on being happy and never having any problems does read as denial. In fact, Kutner’s feelings can often reads as a bit … shallow. He is happy. He is cheerful. He is never angry, or sad, or hurt.

This isn’t true, of course. In S4’s You Don’t Want to Know, Kutner is put on the firing chopping block by Cole, who Kutner was close friends with. It is a rare moment we see Kutner’s mask slip: he is hurt. He stands frozen, he does not react or say goodbye. We see a similar moment in Emancipation: at first he had bonded with the runaway patient, thinking they were in the same boat (she was a runaway from a terrible family and foster home — interesting that he identified with her despite his insistence he was fine). He is angry when he finds out she lied, that her story is untrue. A third slip: the reveal that in high school, he was a bully, and a vicious one, acting in cruelty and anger. A final interesting example is in Wilson’s Heart, concerning the death of Amber: while absolutely upset, he is able to accept the reality of her death seemingly more easily than the others: it is sad, they will say goodbye. In a montage of everyone being very sad afterward, he is watching TV and eating cereal.

Kutner is almost pointedly detached from life. He is teased for his nerdy, childish hobbies, but he also detaches into fandom and video games and conventions. In S5, everyone is given a fairly adult subplot: Taub dealing with the fallout of his confessed infidelity, Thirteen adjusting to her death sentence, House struggling with his relationship to Wilson, Wilson’s grief over Amber and moving on — Cuddy’s adoption struggles and Cameron and Chase’s relationship and later marriage — Kutner is almost pointedly absent. So pointedly that it feels like it must be intentional: his easy-going front is so good that his actual struggles and feelings are completely opaque. But if he’s lying to the rest of the world, he also, genuinely, seems to be lying to himself.

Kutner is, above all else, a deeply kind person. He bonds with people who are outsiders, who are struggling (tellingly). He is close friends with Cole in S4, and later tells Taub that he considers him a close friend: he is not shy in his affections. He likes the hell out of House and loves diagnostics; he makes up for a lack of experience and skill with enthusiasm and a wont for setting things on fire. He is creative, brilliant, and finds joy and excitement in almost everything. And if he sometimes seems a little shallow, a little detached from reality — well, maybe that was the biggest piece of foreshadowing the whole time.

[wyverningx]

people on The Internet Dot Com keep being absolute idiots about thea muldani so here is your reminder that she's a ravens success story — she grew up in an environment where she was asked to give her all and engage in incredibly unhealthy practices, but the result of such sacrifice was that she was rewarded for it with US court and a pro team. she was part of a cult and "left" in the sense of gaining physical distance, but all of her experiences reaffirmed that the toxic ravens environment was the most effective way to a successful exy career. it is fucked up that she believes others should go through the same thing in order to be "worthy" or "good enough," but i simply do not understand why so many people look at her and think that she should be crucified for being a representation of a finished, successful raven. especially not if she's unable to recognize abuse in others, which tbqh is something that is very common in cult-like settings. you don't want to look something-that-could-very-well-be-abuse-happening-to-others in the eye, because if they're being abused, then you could potentially be being abused, too, and what do you do with that? do you have any idea how hard it is to come to terms with that reality, especially when you are told day in and day out that this is the only way to get to the top? that this is how you make it in the sport? that someone who is being harmed by the coach or the team captain absolutely deserved it? that people who can't hack it are weak, but you're not weak, you're one of the best, you'll do whatever it takes?

is it extremely shitty that she blames jean for his own sexual assault? absolutely, yes. but she doesn't have the whole picture, and it's clear that jean intentionally deceives her (with the comment about him being fragile/clumsy, etc.) and lets her believe he had more agency in his sexual experiences than he truly did because it's a coping mechanism that also serves the purpose of letting her fill in blanks so he does not have to explicitly tell a lie. besides, if there is any singular raven that both kevin and jean view fondly, wouldn't they want her to believe whatever it took so that she didn't ask too many questions? wouldn't they both want her far removed from the reality of the moriyamas and human trafficking, because her uncovering the truth would put her entire life at risk?

people can have friends that are imperfect or do not understand them completely or that fuck things up sometimes. i get that jean's experiences put people on-guard when it comes to how he interacts with other characters, but god damn. she was his mentor. she taught him everything he knows about being a backliner. she made horrible and judgmental assumptions about his experiences. all of those things can be true at the same time. does she not deserve the opportunity to change upon receiving new information? does she not deserve the ability to take a step back, as ravens are dropping like flies and all eyes are on evermore and the perfect court, to consider that maybe she was a victim in all of this, too? that plenty of people are capable of making it to the top without calling another human being the master and turning a blind eye to the king beating his own men? that maybe kevin and jean and all of them were terribly wronged? why is she the only person in this series who's not allowed to grow as a person by developing a more nuanced understanding of rape and sexual assault and learning how to be a better friend to someone who had no choice?

also someone tried to "gotcha" me by saying thea and jean aren't friends because she uhhhh (checks notes) calls him a teasing nickname and says "i'm going to break your ribs" as though threatening your friends (especially ones you play a contact, violent sport with) is the worst possible offense ever in the same book series that people regularly ACTUALLY fistfight each other and pull knives on one another. i'd argue that these are actually huge indicators that they do like each other, because she's probably one of the only people in the world who he can express himself around and even say things like "i'm not from paris" exasperatedly. you know, like you do when people you care about tease or poke fun at you. those are actually probably some of the most normal interactions jean has pre-TSC, especially as she is not needlessly cruel to him like literally everyone else in the nest is. and not only is thea one of the only people who has any sort of comraderie with him and who makes the effort to see him after his injuries because she cares, but she also makes it past wymack and kevin and renee and neil guard-dogging him. does that seriously mean nothing? do you think renee fucking walker (who was ready to brawl on-sight at evermore) would have let someone like zane waltz into abby's house if kevin said a single negative word about him?

i have seen some incredibly wonderful and nuanced takes about most characters in AFTG, but at the same time, the way thea is treated and criticized in a more severe way than literal murderers in the series for her possibly-willful ignorance is utterly crazy to me.

idk. just some food for thought