#It's been one helluva week

[paintbrushinacoffeecup]

once again, @unpeeled-human's art is keeping me together

Mel is @dashcon-two's, the original comic by unpeeled linked here!

[sophfandoms53]

The dark days are over guys, he’s back in the merch drop we finally won😭🫶🧡

[brennustheskeleton]

Lyrics are from “2 Minutes Notice” from Helluva Boss and written by Sam Haft and Andrew Underberg

Lyrics from “There are worse things I could do” from Grease

[hood-ex]

The first thing my boss said to me this morning was, "I have a surprise for you!"

And I was like, "Is it a dog? A horse?"

And she was like, "Yeah! It's a puppy!!"

So then we went and played with a bernese mountain dog puppy before work. He was the fluffiest and cutest lil bean!

[astoldbychae]

The Multihyphenate Hustler // Ashlee Torée Brand

Lead Bartender at ONYX Del Sol Valley (Dino's Strip Club)

Bottle Girl at Ultra Lounge

Simfluencer

Boutique Owner (currently online/saving money for a storefront)

Also sells items from her closet on Trendi

Listen, It's the way Dino is surrounded by literally the most beautiful women at the club.😩

💕poses by @afrosimtricsims & @namei-co

[buckevantommy]

there's such profound power and comfort in fanfiction. when the world is too much, and life is more bad than good, it provides a much needed escape where we can find solace. when media gives too little, or takes too much, or goes about things all wrong, it provides a safe space in which to fix what was broken. yes, it's where we create, but it also provides a safe harbor until the storm passes, and where we find what we need in order to heal.

[4thehonorofgrayskull]

It’s time for my bi-anual rewatch of Helluva Boss again! :)

[thedeerman]

Yet another scam warning

Have you had unprompted messages in your inbox asking about your favorite hazbin/helluva characters and OCs only to then be pressured into buying AI made art? You’re not the only one!

Check out the scam description and blog list so far.

(some fresh screenshots below cause man i can’t make this shit up)

I went on to ask this person why they were doing this, they claim to be trying to make a living off of it. after i suggested maybe trying something like fiverr instead of harassing people on social media, they went on to continue trying to sell me shit.

So there it is, and the ever growing list of spam blogs is linked above. New artists, here’s an exact description of what not to do when you’re trying to get started! We’ve all got things going on in our lives and mouths to feed but christ this is NOT the way to go about it.

If you’ve gotten similar messages, let me know what the blog names were and i’ll tack them on to the list. stay safe out there, guys.

[spiderbitesandvampirevenom]

"transitioning would fix her" no it wouldn't and frankly I'm getting really tired of these stupid jokes, especially coming from the "oh everyone was obscenely bigoted before they transitioned, right?" crowd. why do you feel the need to relate to the unapologetically bigoted character anyways? transitioning isnt a cure-all for your problems, and so many of you clearly have unpacked exactly 0% of the bigotries you had before you transitioned, both internalized and external. you still act the exact same way, you've just replaced the take-a-joke defense for when people call you out on your racist/homophobic/misogynistic bullshit with crying wolf. transition wouldnt fix her and it didnt fix you.

[shunsuiken]

there is something that just rumbles deep inside me whenever i listen to house of asmodeus

[asyourshadowfalls]

had a 1am wake up, because contrary to common happenstance, i in fact DID feel the tick bite and it woke me up from (presumably) deep sleep.

thankfully, i have clung onto the probably inaccurate data that tick borne lyme disease is rare here, as well as the knowledge from ologies that they typically need to be attached for 24 hours before a disease is transmitted, and so was able to remain calm and not do anything too stupid. I don't however have tweezers anywhere apparently. even tho i definitely did. eventually just pulled it off with my fingers and managed to remove the head with it (after the dumb attempts with credit cards and soap+cotton).

anyway, knowledge is power. and folks, do the smart thing and whenever you've spent time outside in grass take a rinse in the shower.

[lavenderprose]

Emmrich actually IS the suave and charismatic gentleman we've all been waiting for. Forget your Alistairs and your Cullens. Emmrich says dear and darling and has enough Big Dick Energy that you sense him coming from three rooms away. What's that shift in the air? Emmrich's natural necromantic aura touching the Fade? Well yes but also the sound of his monster cock swinging in his perfectly tailored trousers.

Emmrich talks to Rook like there's a love letter addressed to them specifically lodged in his voice box. He touches them like he paid money for the privilege. Emmrich uses his wealth to help others, he is NOT a person who desires power, and he expects the same of others. One time he looked at Rook and said, "The only good noble is a dead one," and even though Rook knew he was talking about the residents of the Necropolis, or perhaps because of that, it made Rook so wet they had to go sit down against a tree and bang their head a little to calm down.

Sometimes Rook shows up in Emmrich's room of an evening and without even missing a beat Emmrich says, "Come have a seat, darling," and Rook sits next to him only for him to tut and pat his knee. Immediately, Rook is perched there like he's Santa Claus.

"The things one can sense when truly in tune with the fade are inspiring," Emmrich says, and other such nonsense as his touch finds the path of least resistance to Rook's skin without hesitation. His fingers are cool and kind and they trace up the side of Rook's ribs like they might slot perfectly between them, like Rook was built as a home for his hand.

"You're killing me," Rook says, because he is, because Rook could actually choke and die from how badly they want to feel Emmrich's mustache on their thighs.

"Yes, but only a little death," Emmrich says. He smiles and his bangles jingle merrily away as he plays with Rook's chest. "Every time I touch your body, I'm already longing for the moment I'll touch it again."

"Guh," says Rook. "Hrng. Hunh."

"I quite agree. I find that words fail me when it comes to...how you make me feel, dearest." This is what Emmrich says, but fails utterly to demonstrate as he leans in and delicately bites Rook's earlobe, whispering seventeen of the twenty filthiest things Rook has ever heard. Things like I'll eat you like a cake, though you're more delicious and the Fade sings your name when I'm in you and--

"If I have to hear ONE MORE THING about that necromancer's cock," seethes Solas, who did NOT know that he was signing up for nightly pornographic lullabies when he decided to kick it in the back of Rook's head. This is the fourth time he's said that this week. He will hear many, many more things about that necromancer's cock.

"YES EMMRICH," echoes through the Fade, "Gods YES, harder! Give it to me!"

The spirits of the Fade, who like Emmrich a whole helluva lot more than they like Solas right now, twirl and giggle.

[evilpumpkincatz]

thinking…

teen sam’s on a hunt by himself and gets hit by a curse that makes him severely unlucky. he talks with bobby and john, and both tell him to wait it off, that witches cannot be trusted to reverse this one. but weeks of being a klutz and nearly dying is enough to send him over the edge. (plus teen rebellion)

he does his own research first but doesn’t believe it so he goes two towns over to find a witch that’s currently on okayish terms with hunters (rare). she confirms his research and tells him it’s a year of bad luck if he doesn’t do what she tells him to do.

“and what do you want in return?” sam’s hand twitches at the lack of his gun but the witch grins. “i want to watch is all.”

sam makes a disgusted face, “you wanna see me make out with a hot guy?! gross.”

but they have a deal. next full moon, the hottest man sam see’s, he’s gonna hafta lock lips with to get this shitty curse off of him. and some random witch is gonna watch.

*

in comes dean. no one knows his last name, and no one seems to care. all they know is that he’s good on the eyes, an even better fuck, and a badass pool hustler.

he’s on a case right now, but currently, he’s about to get lucky with blonde 1 and blonde 2. maybe even a threesome if they’re up for it.

the night is young.

he knows he’s hot shit so it’s no surprise that he immediately spots a tall little twerp eyeing him throughout the night. dean’s used to the occasional eye fucking, but the kid barely looks a day over 15. and the way he carries himself can only mean he’s a hunter too.

he waits for the brat to muster up some courage and come talk to him but he never does. so dean goes to him. he excuses himself from the ladies and makes a bee line for the kid, who surprise-surprise, makes a run for it.

dean’s eyes glint, he loves a good chase. he tackles the teen outside the bar, and pins him to the dirt and dead grass. “you’ve been eyeing me up all night, what’s it to ya?”

the kid underneath him tried to kick and squirm but dean’s got 50 pounds and a decade of training over him. no chance.

he grunts, “speak.”

the boy nearly whimpers underneath him. “help…i just need your help.”

dean’s having to fight off a boner as the kid keeps squirming. so he asks, “you a hunter, boy?”

the body beneath him nods, “yes, help me.”

dean fully releases his weight on him and hauls him up, kid barely weighs anything. “hunt gone wrong, shocker, what’s your name?”

“sam, sam winchester.”

dean finally gets a good look at sam’s eyes and no doubt about it, his little brother is looking right back at him. 15 years could do little to make him forget. dean feels himself go weak, “what happened, baby?”

sam desperately looks away from dean, embarasssed, and says “it’s a curse, and in order to break it i need you to kiss me.”

dean stays silent so sam adds a weak “please.”

one helluva family reunion this is. dean could rarely, if ever, refuse his brother. “course baby, c’mere.”

he grabs at sam’s face but instead of kissing sam, dean knocks him out cold. the kiss will have to wait. he makes sure sam is okay and hauls him over his shoulder.

dean glances over at the witch hiding behind a tree not far from them and raises his hand in her direction, a threat. he gives her an out and she takes it, vanishing in an instant.

it’s the least he could do for her since she kept her end of the deal and brought sammy back to him.

he slaps sam’s ass and smiles, all giddy and childlike, ���let’s get you home, okay sammy?”

(mark of cain dean x younger sam)

so sorry if u read all of this, i’m goin crazy over here

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Back a Ways Part Three

Part Two

Notes: Hiiii welcome to part three and thank you for reading! I didn't tag anyone in this chapter because I tagged everyone in part two and this is the end, so. Yeah.

If you asked me when the next part is and I pointed you to here, hi! As stated above, this is the last chapter. Thanks!

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x Surgeon!Reader

Length: 1.3K

Rating: M

Warnings: Canon-typical medical situations; angst; yearning; it's requited they're just idiots

Summary: You squeeze your eyes shut, turning your head away as you fight back another wave of tears. It’s no use; when Jack rests his hand gently on the back of your neck, and the dam breaks. You crumple, allowing yourself to be drawn into his side as the tears fall. His arm curls around you, and he murmurs reassurances as you shake apart beside him. He holds you, and lets you hurt.

You don’t ask why he’s up there. You don’t move when he sits down beside you. You don’t look at him, you don’t get up and shuffle away in a petty show. You’re worn, tired, wrung out. Your hands ache; your head pounds; your eyes burn from the tears that you didn’t let yourself cry until you were out of the operating theater, on the stairs on your way up to the roof. 

You just eye the horizon as the sun lifts into the sky, your legs folded, hands clasped together tightly to keep them from shaking in your lap.

“You did everything you could. There’s nothing more you could’ve done.” 

It’s not what you want to hear, even if you know it’s the truth. You try to swallow, but your throat is too dry. You swipe your tongue across your lips as you search for the words under the mess of feelings—the heap of futility, the fear of incompetence, of sorrow for the young man with a near-fatal gunshot wound to the head. 

“I didn’t do enough.”

“You and I both know that’s not true.”

“The fuck did I do?” You spit. “He’ll be taken off life support in a few hours.”

“...You gave his family time to say goodbye. That’s not nothing, Queenie.”

It’s too soft, too kind for the guilt trying to make a home in your chest. You squeeze your eyes shut, turning your head away as you fight back another wave of tears. It’s no use; when Jack rests his hand gently on the back of your neck, and the dam breaks. You crumple, allowing yourself to be drawn into his side as the tears fall. His arm curls around you, and he murmurs reassurances as you shake apart beside him. He holds you, and lets you hurt.

When your sobs finally subside, you draw back a bit, scrubbing your hands over your face, sniffling. 

“Who told you I was up here?” You mumble. 

“No one.” You look at him, a quizzical frown pulling your lips down, but Jack shakes his head a little, gently disrupting a tear track with his thumb. “I know you, Queenie.” 

The assertion prompts another swell of tears; your lower lip wobbles as Jack tuts softly, shaking his head as the tears begin to slip again. You lean into him, pressing your face into his shoulder and allowing him to gather you up. 

“Clock out, get changed,” He urges against your hair. “I’ll buy you breakfast.” 

“You don’t have to.”

“I know, but I’m going to. It’s been a helluva week.” 

--  

“You stay long with Everett after I left?” 

You push your scrambled eggs around on your plate. Jack’s done the heavy lifting for most of breakfast, filling the air and your silence in the otherwise quiet diner. 

“Not long,” You finally answer. “Said he wanted me out before I spilled anymore coffee.” 

Jack chuckles, shaking his head. “I thought he was gonna give you hell for that.” 

“I thought you were.” It falls out of your mouth, but you’re too tired to regret it. You glance up just in time to see remorse sweep across Jack’s face, and you shake your head, leaning back in your seat. “Forget it.” 

“Queenie—”

“I’m just tired, Jack, I didn’t mean that.” 

“S’okay if you did.” 

“Didn’t.” Then, against your better judgement, “But something crawled up your ass that morning and something else crawled up your ass the other night and I have no idea what I did to cause your piss-poor mood—”

“You didn’t do anything.”

���Then why’d you treat me like I did?” 

Jack’s jaw tightens, his lips pressing into a thin line as he seems to consider. “How can I make it up to you?” 

You pout a little before nodding to his plate. “Gimme a piece of bacon.”

Jack’s lips twitch with a smile as he reaches for a piece. You tut, nodding again, “The other one.”

His smile widens as he reaches out, taking up the other slide and holding it out. You take it wordlessly, taking a bite as you lean back in your seat. 

“Really making me work for that forgiveness, huh?” 

“Mm.”

“...I am sorry, Queenie.”

“Mhm.” 

“Hey.” Jack slides his hand across the table, and you go still as he rests it atop your wrist. “I mean it.” 

You eye his hand, trying to memorize the warmth, the reassuring weight of it. You give a small nod, and cram the second half of the bacon slice into your mouth as he gives you a squeeze, then lets go. 

--  

“So how’d it go with Wilkins?” 

You couch your wince at the question in a squint as the two of you step out of the diner and into the sun. You know that Jack’s just asking to be nice, but it’s really not something that you want to relive

“Uh…” You clear your throat. “You know, I don’t think, um…” You stop beside your car, leaning against it. “I think David and I are better as friends.” 

“Yeah? Why d’you say that?” 

“Just—I don’t know,” You glance around, “It was weird. Not weird creepy, just...The vibe was off.” 

“Think you might try again when you’re back on the same shift?” 

“No,” You shake your head, “I’m good with just being friends with him. Dana’ll get off my back about dating now. My heart’s with someone else, anyway.” 

“Yeah?” Jack leans against the car opposite yours, head tipping as he takes your face in. “Does the bastard who has it know how lucky he is?” 

“You tell me.” 

In the split-second of Jack’s expression wash with confusion, you know that you can just get in your car, leave him to ponder, and pray that he’ll never bring it up again. But fatigue and grief have beaten down your reticence, and before you have the chance to really think it through, you close the gap and press a kiss to Jack’s lips. 

It’s not the way you’d always imagined it. For one thing, you’re taking the lead, and in every fantasy that you’ve had about Jack since you were a teenager, he initiated. Additionally, Jack isn’t participating—at all. In those brief, heart-hammering moments, it’s like you’re kissing a statue, and that’s enough to make you draw away with a panicked, delirious little laugh as you turn away, breathing, “Shit. Shit.” 

It’s all you can do to fumble for your keys, to try and get the car door open—but before you can get too far, Jack’s hand curls around your upper arm, turning you to face him again.

You mean to apologize, to try and explain, to blame it on your fatigue, to damn the fact that you’re on the verge of crying in front of him for the third time in two hours—but when Jack’s hands cup your cheeks and he presses his lips to yours, your mind goes quiet. Your eyes slip shut as his mouth works tenderly against yours, a soft, stunned moan slipping past your lips as he backs you against the side of your car. 

Your arms curl around his shoulders as his head tips, deepening your kiss as his hum buzzes against your lips. Neither of you get far as the kiss breaks, noses nuzzling as you each catch your breath. 

“I didn’t know,” Jack swears softly, “I didn’t—”

“It’s okay—” 

“How long—”

“A long time.”

“How long, Queenie.”

You groan softly, tipping your head forward and gently headbutting his jaw. “A really long time, okay?” 

Jack’s hands smooth over your shoulders, rubbing warmly before he tips your chin up with two knuckles. His eyes skate over your face, and you thrill as they linger on your lips. 

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” 

“Why didn’t you?” 

Jack sighs, his thumb sweeping along your jaw. “I didn’t wanna make shit weird.” 

You lean in, lips brushing against his as you tease, “That didn’t feel all that weird to me. Did it feel weird to you?” 

“Might have to do it a couple more times to check.” 

“Just a couple?” 

“Several more times.” 

“A dozen, maybe?” 

“Let’s not put a cap on it,” Jack murmurs, drawing you closer for another kiss. “I’m looking forward to losing count.” 

[disease-danger-darkness-silence]

The Homeless Post

Hey, guys. I've been working up the nerve to post this for a while. I'm putting most of it under a cut but I'll give the TLDR up here:

We are going to be homeless for an unspecified amount of time due to some legal issues - whole separate post. We will be living out of the car and a tent, so essentially long-term camping. We need some gear and other assorted items. Here is our wishlist.

Signal boosting is appreciated for obvious reasons.

I have a Paypal.me and a Ko-Fi; the Ko-Fi has a store that will soon have stuff available on it, and a subscription model. I also have Chime, Paypal, and Cashapp, all with the cashtag NovasPrime. At a later date I may set up a gofundme but I don't really want to right now, because guilt and self-internalized ableism is a helluva drug.

On to the story.

So, we were told (mid-December) that we needed to be out by the end of February, from the place we were living in, or eviction would be filed. I don't want an eviction on my record, so I started the process of working towards that goal.

I quickly realized that there was an Issue, and the Issue was that we simply cannot get into any of the low-income housing because… Raven has a felony "failure to comply" warrant in Oregon.

We were surprised, because we thought they were in compliance, but it turns out… No. No, they were not. The records of their attending therapy and anger management were not being sent to the place. On top of that, I discovered that they had ordered Raven to do community service, and even though they were helping with lots of causes and orgs down here, it doesn't count.

Why, you may ask? Well, for one, it wasn't being documented. Not a huge issue, it can be. But also…. They wanted Raven to do THEIR community service.

Which they wanted to charge $40 a day for.

Raven is a disabled veteran. They are limited in the type of volunteer work they can do, but also? They can't afford $40 a day for 30 days. Who the hell can? Why would that be a thing?

After a couple of phone calls, I realized we just needed to go to Oregon. So I began planning for THAT. Our roomie was still adamant about the end of February, so I started planning. We got a storage unit and started sorting shit, and packing it, and slowly transferring it to the storage unit.

And then Shit happened, as it does. The car started overheating. It has also come due for an oil change. It needs a transmission flush, too. And new brakes. Some of this I can do myself, but some of it I can't. I have a friend who could help me do most or all of it, but he's on house arrest until March 25th (he is in recovery now, but drunk driving is a bad thing, guys. Don't do it). He said he'll help after he gets off, which is awesome of him, but like. That's still about a week away (as of right now, because he works) before I can even get the overheating taken care of, let alone the rest.

In the midst of all of this, I was also trying to figure out a timeline... and realized I couldn't, because we had no idea how long we were going to be in Oregon. I have a few friends scattered throughout the state, but I wasn't counting on being able to stay with anyone. We have three cats and two people. What to do?

A friend of mine agreed to watch two of the cats for me for as long as it takes. She has her own house and cats of her own. So, until the car started overheating, we brought the two girl cats over once a week to get used to the place and meet her cats.

But we weren't packing fast enough. Winter is a rough time for both of us because of our disabilities; the weather makes it painful to move. We also had to sort through 20 years of assorted shit; at one point I had a life that hadn't fallen fully apart, so I kept everything. Plus, I had all of my dad's shit that I inherited. I've finally accepted that I can part with most of the useless stuff, but some of it I can't bear to. TLDR: our stuff is mostly still at the old place.

I was able to work out a deal with the friend who's taking care of our cats, to crash at her house for a month. WE and the CATS were out of the old place by March 1, but our shit wasn't, and we've had issues packing it up and moving it. Luckily, old roomie has agreed to just tack an extra month of rent onto what I owe him (to be paid back when we get back from the debacle in Oregon) so we're slowly moving things to storage. I'm just constantly filling the car with water to keep it from overheating and praying that the engine can take it.

However, here's the thing. The Big Thing.

We're technically homeless now, and we'll be Real Homeless as of April 1. The car cannot currently make it to Oregon (honestly? I'd rather buy a cheap minivan or SUV, and leave the car here with my kid, but I simply don't have the money, even though there's a ton of them for sale around here in good shape).

We're going to have to rough it for a while. Raven can get a pass to camp for free at all Nevada State Parks for $30 a year, so we're getting that on payday, and we have a decent tent and sleeping bag (singular, but it'll do). I have some assorted camping gear, even. But there's a lot we do need to just….fix our shit and be able to get to Oregon. Oregon has one of these as well, and it allows 10 days of camping per month. It's free and we've already applied for it. California has one too, but you have to apply in-person if you're not a CA resident. So that'll happen in a bit.

But we are gonna need… help. Raven gets VA disability. $2200ish a month. Sounds like a lot right? It's not. It's really not.

Between car insurance, gas, fixing the car, general car maintenance, phone bills, food (we qualify for a whopping $26 a month in SNAP benefits), things we have to buy to fulfill our end of bargains here, and the camping gear we DON'T have, next month is looking pretty awful.

While Raven is in jail, they get no benefits. I'm also disabled, but juuuust disabled enough on paper that I can't get disability (as you can guess, this is going to be even harder now in the Trump administration, so I'm just working on geting documentation of my disabilities so that when he's gone I can apply). I can't hold down more than really really part-time work because of pain and mental health issues, even though I have been desperately trying to find one. So I'm going to have to survive off of doordash, most likely.

If Raven's jail time isn't going to be that long, it's not that big a deal.

They could be in jail for up to six months.

So, why this post?

One, to explain that my posting will be very sporadic and frenzied when I do. More than usual, anyway.

Two, because I'm going to need your help. There are several ways to help.

Encouraging notes! Currently we have a PO Box, listed above. When we go to Oregon, if we're going to be there for more than a week or so, I'm getting another PO Box and getting mail forwarded from that one to the Oregon one. Digital notes are nice too. I just really like postcards, little cards, letters, etc. Pictures of cool shit where you live. Whatever. Something to keep my spirits up. Anything.

I have set up a wishlist, as seen above. I know, we don't like Amazon, but I don't know where else to do a wishlist that doesn't like. Give out a home address. Since I'm having this stuff shipped to a friend's house, I really don't want to do that. Once I'm in OR, I'll find out where I can have things shipped. PO Boxes are hit-and-miss with Amazon.

As noted above, I am accepting donations and I have a Ko-Fi store and subscriptions. I am working on getting things put onto the Ko-Fi store on a pay-what-you-can model; anything from short fiction to Am Adult instruction sheets to 3D designs, whatever I can manage at any given time. Raven will also be doing drawings and such. I'm also working on making things available to anyone who chooses to subscribe!

Signal boosting this post. I need as many people to see it as possible, not just for monetary benefit, but so I can find people in Oregon maybe willing to let me and my one cat crash on their couch or pitch the tent in their back yard. I'm also going to be documenting all of this and getting documentation on the case in the first place, because Raven shouldn't have even been arrested. So I need people to see this so that word gets out about this kind of thing. Oregon needs to change some shit.

Thanks for reading. I'll have updates as I can.

[hp-hcs]

call me black friday, 'cause i just got a helluva BOGO deal (pt 2 of this fic with the long-ass title) — overprotective! simp! riddle brothers x gender neutral! muggleborn! reader

well, gang, i finally did it. ten months later, and i've finally blessed you plebians with a part 2. after the immediate success of pt 1, i had no clue where to take this story, since i'd originally written it to be a standalone, so i just. didn't. whoops.

1.9k words

⚠️will not make sense unless you've read part 1!!!⚠️

warnings: it gets a little awkwardly raunchy? idk reader is just the most self-conscious thing on the planet, drinking, reader consumes alcohol, mild descriptions of wounds, discussed past violence/murder, kissing/making out while under the influence of alcohol, lotta background ships, is it ooc if they're not even canon characters? tom's voldemort's son in this one so he's just an amalgamation of ideas & also not canon

not edited

for the love of god please comment. fic authors thrive off comments and comments alone.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“The rules are simple,” Pansy said, clapping her hands together. “When it’s your turn, you spin the bottle in a circle. You have to kiss whoever the mouth of the bottle points to. It’s enchanted to land on the person you’re most romantically compatible with, and the bottle will become stuck in place until you kiss them.”

“I feel like that kind of defeats the point of Spin the Bottle,” you muttered to Hermione, who stifled a giggle. “Half the fun is seeing people who aren’t compatible kiss.”

But even Gryffindor’s token good girl elbowed you and dragged you over to the forming circle on the floor. Pansy, having crowned herself as the moderator of the game (mostly because no one else cared), went first. 

The party was being thrown in the Slytherin common room, in the Riddles’ honor. Although no one would ever dare snitch, everyone knew that what had happened to those two Gryffindor guys the week prior was directly linked to the Dark Lord’s sons. Even Harry, who didn’t condone murder (except for when he did it *ahem* Quirrell *ahem*), was willing to look the other way for the sake of those two known bullies’ untimely deaths. 

You’d finally been released from the infirmary wing, although your trunk was still completely wrapped in bandages and it hurt to move. You sat on one of the common room throw pillows instead of the bare floor, your aching body already protesting.

You forgot all about your aches and pains as the game started, though. Begrudgingly, you had to admit that the magical version was a lot more interesting. Or at least, there were fewer arguments and fights. 

(Cue lots of “aww”s when Pansy’s initial spin had the bottle landing on Neville Longbottom.)

Money exchanged hands from years-long bets when Harry Potter’s turn ended with him kissing Theodore Nott, and even more money was exchanged when Draco’s spin landed on Hermione.

Despite having made fun of the game earlier, your palms were sweaty as you leaned forward to spin the bottle. The glass Ogden’s bottle pirouetted for a moment before slowing, finally settling in place.

The common room went dead silent.

“Who’s it on? Who’s it on?” asked Seamus impatiently, ducking under his boyfriend’s arm to get a better view. 

“I… don’t know,” said Pansy, drawing her wand to cast a simple straight line charm. The magic glowing blue line sprouts from the neck of the bottle, casting outward and hitting the wall instead of a body.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Harry scratched his head. “That looks exactly halfway to me.”

Mattheo and Tom were both staring at the blue line that had landed right between the two of them.

“Welp, them’s the rules.” Theo shrugged tipsily, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist and holding the Gryffindor in his lap. “Pucker up, L/n.”

Knocking your cup back for a boost of liquid courage, you gingerly clambered over stray legs and half-crushed red solo cups, trying not to injure yourself further as you made your way to the Riddles. Blaise Zabini offered you a hand to keep you steady as you crossed the circle.

Mattheo’s eyes were as round as saucers as you approached, his hands fluttering uncertainly over your waist as you settled on the floor in front of both boys. Tom had no such qualms, immediately reaching out to rest a ring-laden hand on your thigh. 

“Who wears a blazer to a party?” was the first thing out of your mouth as you took hold of Tom’s lapel. The usually stern man’s lips quirked up at the corners into a slightly dopey smile. You doubted that anyone else present even noticed it except for you and his brother, but you knew immediately that he was tipsy.

“Me, darling,” Tom murmured softly, his hand wandering further up your thigh. He gently rubbed his thumb against your inner thigh in a reassuring gesture. “Is this okay?”

You returned his gesture by resting a hand on his cheek and brushing your thumb against the corner of his mouth.

“Yes,” you whispered breathlessly. You didn’t hesitate after that, leaning forward and connecting your lips. You could faintly hear some of your friends letting out obligatory ooooohs, but you ignored them.

His kiss was uncertain: slow but deliberate. At some point his other hand had come up to cup your cheek, and you could feel the cold metal of his rings pressing into your skin.

When you finally pulled away for air, Tom’s mouth tried to chase yours. 

You turned to his brother, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him in for his turn.

Mattheo’s lips were slightly chapped. Distantly, you wondered if the wizarding world had Chapstick. Your fingers tangled in the soft curls at the base of his neck, your noses bumping into each other clumsily. You both giggled, and you felt his lips turn up into a grin against your own.

There was cheering from the other partygoers, who were happy to move on to the next victim of the bottle. But even as the game resumed, you found yourself sandwiched between the two brothers. You found you had no desire to return to your original spot across the circle. You and your boys were quickly forgotten as the group became focused on Blaise and Luna kissing, leaving you three in your own private bubble.

~~~

The revelry of the night continued without any further hiccups. While Tom had sobered up a bit—after all, he was still Head Boy, and therefore technically required to be responsible—Mattheo had continued to drink. A lot.

And he was sloshed.

At some point, he’d started kissing you again on the Slytherin common room couch. He was mostly just slobbering all over your lips, clumsily smooshing your faces together the way a child does with Barbies.

“That’s enough of that,” Tom grunted in displeasure, seemingly appearing out of nowhere to wrangle in his brother’s behavior. “C’mon, Romeo, up you get. Time for bed, before you do something you’ll regret.” He manhandled his younger brother up off of you and hoisted Mattheo over his shoulder. The younger Riddle just laughed, trying to pat his brother’s head in thanks, but ended up missing his target and accidentally smacking Tom in the ear. 

You reluctantly got up from the common room couch, trailing behind them as Tom carried his brother upstairs to their shared dorm.

Shutting the door behind you, you watched as he dumped Mattheo onto his bed, sighing as he got to work untying his brother’s beat up Converse. “Drunk idiot,” Tom muttered.

You laughed, coming over to help Tom undress Mattheo. Drunk Mattheo did not want to be of any help, so trying to wrestle his jacket off was like trying to undress a dead fish. When you reached for the buckle of his belt, he leered up at you. 

“Trying to get in my pants, pretty thing? S’alright, you don’t gotta be sneaky about it. Just ask, an’ I’ll give you the world.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Riddle,” you drawled. “You’d be expected to beg for that.”

“I love to beg.”

“For fucks sake, Matt, shut up!” Tom hissed, lightly smacking his shoulder. “You can flirt when you’re sober. Now is not the time.”

Dragging his jeans down his narrow hips, you steadfastly averted your gaze to literally anything other than your best-friend-slash-crush’s half-naked body. Since when did Hogwarts’ stone walls become so interesting?

“Tommy?” you heard Mattheo say in a soft and small voice you’d never heard before as you busied yourself with folding his jeans into a perfect square, just to have something to do other than stare at Mattheo’s body. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

Tom sighed affectionately once he was done redressing his brother in a clean shirt and a pair of pajama pants, making your lips quirk up in a small smile at the sight of the little cartoony quidditch players zipping across the charmed fabric. Tom leaned down to comb sweaty curls out of Mattheo’s face and press a kiss to his brother’s forehead. “Always, Matty.”

“Can Y/n join us?” he asked in that same soft voice.

Tom hesitated, turning to glance at your stiff and awkward figure. “Y/n? Would you mind joining us tonight?”

“Join you?” you spluttered, dropping the folded jeans square on the floor in surprise. Your voice sounded a bit strangled as explicit images filled your mind. No, no! Not the time, Y/n! Get it together!

“To cuddle?” he clarified, raising an eyebrow at your sudden clumsiness.

“Oh! Uh. Yeah. Of course.” You hurriedly turn away to take off your shoes, cheeks bright red in embarrassment.

When had you started thinking about your friends like that? you wondered.

With a wave of his wand, the older Riddle had managed to transfigure Mattheo’s bed into one a full size larger. “You want some different clothes to sleep in? I can find you some stuff.”

“Sure, that’d be great,” you mumbled. Tom nodded, opening one of Mattheo’s dresser drawers—which was a mess; half-open drawers puking socks and t-shirts onto the floor. Seemingly knowing how to make sense of the disaster, he immediately located what he was looking for and tugged it out.

“Here– you can wear these as shorts. They’re clean, I promise.” He tossed you a wadded up ball of fabric as he wandered over to his own armoire—everything inside was neatly pressed and hung according to color—to find you a shirt.

Instead of questioning why he wouldn’t just give you one of Mattheo’s shirts when he’d literally just been at the younger boy’s dresser—instead purposefully giving you a piece of clothing from each of them—you just unfold the ball of fabric in your hands. 

Oh, Lord.

Boxers. 

He’d given you a pair of Mattheo’s boxers to wear. The really loose kind, plaid in pattern. They reminded you of those muggle Fruit of the Loom kind you always saw in the non-magical stores back home. You gulped when Tom returned with one of his worn-soft casual button-ups. 

“Will you help me with my T-shirt?” you murmured quietly, not wanting to disturb Mattheo, whose eyes were clearly growing heavy as his breathing began to even out.

Tom nodded, waiting for your nod of permission before reaching out for your shirt. He carefully maneuvered the soft fabric up over your bandaged torso, chucking it onto the nearby desk chair once it was off. His fingers hovered over your bandaged ribs, where a line of red-brown had seeped through. Tom’s expression hardened and his jaw set. 

“We should’ve made them suffer longer,” he hissed, eyes tracing the tail of one of your wounds that peeked out of the top of your bandages and sliced across your collarbone.

He then dressed you, buttoning up his large shirt on your smaller frame. He politely averted his gaze, changing into his own pajamas, as you slipped off your bottoms and traded them out for the boxers. 

Tom helped you into bed, so as to not jostle your injured torso too much. You laid on one side of Mattheo while Tom laid on the other. Even with his excellent transfiguration of the mattress, Mattheo’s body still took up most of it, starfished out across the entire bed. 

Once you’d settled into bed, you whispered, “G’night, Tom,” so softly, you’d assumed he hadn’t heard it.

After a long moment of silence, you heard a quiet, “Goodnight, Y/n,” before Tom snuffed out the lamp on the bedside table.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

hey so fun fact i actually hate this

people who wanted a pt 2 like a year ago or requested it from my recent poll lol:

@babyyd0llll @leona-hawthorne @siriuslyobsessedwithfiction @justyourlocalfriendlydinosaur @yufufuyu-mindy-dreamon @pleasantlycrazyworld @amell333 @evanescentlover @like3gremlinsinatrenchcoat @slytherinboysappreciation