#and he and I ended on amicable enough terms

[celestiarambles]

hi welcome once again to celestia trying to defend cc women for the nth time

i don’t understand why some ppl hate asal. apparently she… *checks notes* betrayed jack?

(this trope is referring to jack in cc tropes)

and how did she “betray” jack apparently?

1. she killed a man (oh no! the most heinous crime in cc!)

2. she kept a lot of secrets from jack

3. and she broke up with jack

apparently asal’s an evil person for… doing her job?

she didn’t kill a man just because she wanted to. mossad ORDERED AN HIT ON THAT MAN and tasked asal to do it. she didn’t get away with it because she’s “evil”, she got away with it because mossad had an agreement with the international court. and while jack was upset for a bit, EVEN HE UNDERSTOOD what asal did and forgave her. she is shown to value her job at mossad very much and she’s been doing this for a while now, she wouldn’t go “but what will jack think about this?” every time mossad orders her to eliminate a target

‘she didn’t love or even care about jack!’ SHE DID, THAT’S WHY SHE KEPT SECRETS FROM HIM!! it’s why she prefers to separate her work from her personal life. and eventually she found out about ripley and mossad’s involvement in sombra and initially thought the whole bureau was involved (esp since she implied she knew about the whole mole situation even before the bureau found out about it!)

and that’s what caused the downfall of their relationship. because a.) jack was immature at the time and he didn’t respect asal’s wishes to stop interfering with her work, b.) because she started to distrust jack and the bureau, and c.) because she didn’t want jack or the people jack cared about to get hurt with her knowledge of the mole. AND ALL OF THOSE REASONS WERE TOTALLY VALID!!

their relationship on s3 still ended on amicable terms anyways, so i don’t understand why some people hate asal and treat her like a criminal when she was just doing her job

ALSO ALSO bonus: while searching for the above trope i found this listed on asal’s page and i was like HUH???

how tf is asal dumb. she’s literally one of the smartest characters in cc, hell she was SO AHEAD OF EVERYONE to the point that she knew the existence of the bureau mole, who the mole was, and ripley and mossad’s involvement with sombra. also, she knows enough chemistry to the point she managed to poison jack just enough to incapacitate him but not kill him. WDYM JACK KNOWS MORE SCIENCE THAN SHE DOES???

tldr: the hate on asal is wild. SHE DID NOTHING WRONG!!

[bethesdaglitch]

the thing about me is that my mom and my ex-boyfriend’s mom became best friends while we were dating and that didn’t end when we broke up so sometimes I have to go out to dinner with her and try to pretend I’m not her son’s ex which is. fun.

[designernishiki]

sometimes i kinda wish mirei wasn't killed off because boy the divorced exes dynamic with majima could've been so god damn funny

[somewhereincairparavel]

The fandom's bias and tendency to wanting to agressively associate EVERYTHING with Percy and getting upset when a character isn't associated with him really taints their view on actually significant relationships, and it ruins Percy's canon character tbh.

I came across a video edit appreciating Jason and Nico's friendship, and the comments were just filled with people raging on how Percy should've been included instead of Jason because he was "much closer friends" to Nico than Jason was. It's appalling how much ppl can turn to a blind eye when it comes to Jason.

People hate Jason SO much in this fandom that they literally refuse to admit that Nico canonically considered Jason as his first ever friend, not Percy (this is literally said in Tower of Nero, by the way)

You guys are seriously so hell bent on wanting to take away every little thing jason had that makes his character meaningful, simple to give it to percy when it isn't even necessary. Doesn't percy have enough good characterization already? Why deprive Nico of a genuinely good friendship? Jason spent time and effort to make Nico comfortable and succeeded in earning nicos trust. He taught nico to never push people away and not to be ashamed of being himself, Isn't that beautiful? Why do people get salty abt that so much? Because of course, it's about appreciating Jason for once, and not Percy, isn't that it?

My perspective on Percy and Nico is that, they were never really "close" to begin with and never ended up being close either, and that's okay. Percy tried his very best to be a brother to Nico, but they somehow always had tension with eachother because of Nico's internal turmoil of idolizing and crushing on Percy whilst simultaneously associating him with Bianca.

Sure, they talked it out a little in the end, but I'd like to think that some tension would always be there, because they started off at the wrong foot, and there was too much bitterness and resentment to come in their dynamic. And them never actually being close "brothers" makes their dynamic very significant and authentic. In the end, Nico acknowledged that Percy was a good person, and I like to think that's the farthest they've ever gone in their dynamic. They both are on amicable terms but the awkwardness still being there is very realistic, the weight of Bianca's death would always be associated with Percy to Nico, and it's neither of their faults. That adds SO much to their angsty dynamic, why get so upset about it when it's such an integral, and meaningful part of the story? Nico and Percy not being close friends shows how complex character relationships can be.

Percy doesn't have to be close with everyone just because he's the main character, it really deprives him of actually meaningful connections. The fandom forcing him to be buddy buddy with everyone simply because they HAVE to associate Percy with anyone and everyone, and getting angry that Jason is closer to Nico than Percy is, is just really weird.

Why do people feel SO threatened about Jason all the time that they have to get all defensive and suppress his connections by dragging Percy into videos that doesn't even have to do anything with him? I swear y'all are creating this whole Jason/Percy rivalry thing because you cannot bear to see someone rival Percy, and you want Percy to be the only powerful/good person in the books.

Let other characters befriend eachother without trying to insert Percy in there all the time.

Percy and Nico would never be like Reyna and Nico, or Jason and Nico, and that's completely fine. I like them better that way. You can't be best friends with everyone. That's just how life works.

[liv2post]

Professors and Plants

Severus Snape x Herbology!Reader Wordcount: ~2.4k Summary: You're the new replacement for Professor Sprout and one day you require someone to plant-sit for you.

Read here or on ao3

Severus was struck the first time he saw you enter the Great Hall for breakfast at the start of the new term. You were Professor Sprout’s replacement as well as her cousin, but most people wouldn’t have thought the latter due to your appearance. Your dark robes resembled his and you donned a pair of boots with yellow thread sewn into the tops of the soles. What really stood out was your hair. It was snow white, transitioning into black at the bottom third of your hair length like a gradient. Your eyes met his and held his gaze for no more than a second as you took the last available seat that happened to be at the opposite end of the head table.

Despite your dark appearance, you were perfectly amicable and polite with the other teachers, even Lockhart, but you weren’t one to ever start conversations with any of them, preferring to keep more to yourself unless someone wished to converse with you. 

The first time he talked to you was that same day before classes would start tomorrow to get a proper read on you. 

“Hello, Professor Snape,” you greeted mildly, turning away from a Sopophorous Bean plant to face him as he barely clicked the door to the greenhouse behind him.

“How do you know my name?” His eyebrows furrowed and his soft baritone voice floated through the air.

“I know your first name, too. We went to school together, but you were older. I graduated just before you took over for Professor Slughorn.”

“I see…”

“Is there something you need from me?”

“Dittany leaves. Surely, Pomona left a plant or two in your care.”

“She most definitely did. Will a standard 16 oz jar’s worth do?”

“Yes.”

You smiled softly, retrieving a mason jar and a pair of snippers, and began trimming the fuzzy green leaves of one of the tall dittany plants that sat in the corner. “Did you and Pomona have any arrangements?” you called back to him.

“Arrangements?” Snape repeated, his eyes flicking over a decorative succulent whose pot was shaped like a mushroom before looking back at you. 

“Given our positions, I imagine you and I will be supplying each other with inventory and remedies or what have you. I was just wondering if you and Pomona had any arrangements that made each other's lives easier or more efficient work-wise. Do you like your ingredients bottled a certain way? Are there certain things you find yourself running out of more often than others?”

“We didn’t have any specific protocols established. Pomona was annoyingly protective of her plants,” he stated coolly. “But…now that you mention it, my store of wormwood tends to fluctuate. The younger years can be…unapologetically wasteful.”

“Noted. I will try to remain well-stocked on wormwood. And by the way,” you screwed on the jar lid, the glass filled to the brim with leaves—not so compactly that they were squashed inside, but certainly not leaving much wiggle room either, “I’m not as crazy a plant lady as my cousin is. Minerva tells me you're quite competent at your job and it sounds like I can trust you so…if you ever need to grab something feel free to come and go through the greenhouses as you please. I just ask that if I happen to not be present to leave a note citing what you took and the quantity. Y’know, for proper record keeping ‘n all. If I know what I have then I know what I can still provide you with.”

Snape nodded lightly. “Yes… That sounds practical enough.”

“Good,” you hummed, handing him the mason jar, your fingertips just barely brushing as he took it from you. “Glad we understand each other."

______________________________________________________________

Duties aside, you and Professor Snape got along rather well. He respected your need for notes and wrote what he took crystal clear, signing them off with “S.S”. You delivered ingredients he’d sent for in a timely manner, ensuring they weren’t overly compacted or bottled improperly. He returned the courtesy when it came to any potion meant to help your plants’ growth, sometimes brewing them fresh rather than giving you a bottle that had sat on the shelf for months at a time. Sometimes he’d add a sarcastic little comment on the notes about a student or a certain DADA teacher who you’d both found to be pretentious. 

From the notes blossomed more sociable interactions. Despite being separated by multiple floors, your classes were within the same vicinity of the castle’s layout, which meant, more often than not, you’d run into him when descending down to meals as he ascended up. You’d walk with each other, and talk a little bit, whether it be about incidents in the classroom or happenings informed to the both of you from the Prophet. The conversations would continue at meals where you’d start sitting next to one another. You didn’t get to know each other beyond a collegial level until around early November when the temperature started to get colder every day and the leaves were a vibrant wash of yellow, orange, and red. Your open-door policy on your greenhouses remained the same, but you had clarified that if he ever wanted to have tea or escape the chill of the dungeons, that open-door policy extended to your warm and cozy office. One day he knocked and when you opened the door he simply stated, “It’s cold,” before you promptly held the door back further, allowing him entry. 

You’d drink tea often, sometimes while the both of you graded, passively enjoying one another’s company as you did so, sometimes sitting on the couch or chairs and having direct conversations with one another. You compared each other's schooling experience with one another, gaping at the fact that he knew so many curses and had even invented a few spells. He confessed that it was actually Lockhart’s position he wanted, not to teach potions. 

“I didn’t take you for a Hufflepuff when I first saw you,” he admitted one afternoon.

“Was there anything else to take me as, Severus? My being here was not only to satisfy the Herbology teacher role, but also to fill the Head of Hufflepuff spot.”

“Of course, just outwardly…you didn’t seem the type. And the students have joked that your creatively witty chiding ought to have landed you in Slytherin.”

You exhaled quietly. “My whole family is mostly Hufflepuff with a few Gryffindors sprinkled in, but even so I understand my general dark attire and reticence made me a bit of a black sheep amongst my peers. I can’t really disagree with you much on that second point. All I can say in my defense is that my loyalty is sharper than my tongue. If you ever need a reminder that I am indeed a Hufflepuff, know that I am always wearing this.” You rolled up the left sleeve of your dark robe to reveal a beaded bracelet around your wrist, each bead yellow with black text stamped in on the sides, spelling out “HUFFLEPUFF.”

An unexpected, incredulous smirk tugged on Severus’s lips. “You really wear that all the time?”

“Only when I’m not bathing or sleeping. My sister made it for me after we got sorted. We, unfortunately, were not placed in the same house… Don’t look at me like that!” you chuckled at the mostly feigned repulsed expression regarding your sibling's sickly sweet behavior. “I happen to like this bracelet, thank you very much!”

“Who knew under your robes was something so garishly bright,” he sneered playfully.

“You’re not as slick as you think either, Severus. Don’t think I didn’t see that Slytherin scarf beneath your cloak at the last Quidditch match,” you eyed him knowingly. He parted his lips to refute but found he had no argument and grumbled while blushing against his tea cup.

______________________________________________________________

“Pardon me, Professor Lockhart, but could I speak to you for a moment?” 

The DADA teacher replied with an “Of course, dear” as he followed you to a spot off to the side from the entrance of the Great Hall after you had finished lunch one Friday afternoon. Severus eyed the both of you as he himself was slowly exiting the Great Hall as well. He slowed his pace down significantly as he floated through the corridor so he could pick up on what you two were saying. You had never willingly started a conversation with Lockhart before.

“...going to be gone this weekend. Leaving tonight, actually…

…take care of a few plants…? I left instructions in Greenhouse 4…”

“...ourse I can! Watering a few plants should be easier than defeating a vampire or two…”

You wanted Lockhart to plant-sit for you this weekend? That actually stung him a bit. Why wouldn’t you ask him to plant-sit for you? He was perfectly capable of doing so and he knew your greenhouses like the back of his hand. Did you not actually trust him like you claimed to?

He kept silent on the matter, his expression remaining impassive as he saw you off to the midnight train in Hogsmeade that same night. 

“See you Monday, Severus,” you bid softly, lightly patting his upper arm before stepping off the platform and disappearing into the night on the train until it was no more than a dot in the distance.

Severus didn’t trust Lockhart to do what was asked of him. Not one bit. Unless it was DADA-related or stroked his ego directly, the man couldn’t be bothered to accomplish what was asked of him. He imagined the fool would pass off the task to a student. Severus unlocked Greenhouse 4 the next morning and found the instructions you had left behind for Lockhart. They were simple and bullet-pointed, detailing exactly what to do and where he could find what. All that was asked of him was to spray a batch of Alihotsy plants with a germinating solution that sat on the third shelf in the supply cabinet, rotate them out of the sun at three o’clock each day, place them back at dawn, trim the matured leaves and store them in a jar. “Eventually to be delivered to our amazing potion master,” it noted, making him smile.

Severus kept a watchful eye on Lockhart that first day. Lockhart remained in his office until lunch, and after that made a trip down to Hogsmeade, no doubt to drink and find some entertaining company. At 2:45, Snape went up to Greenhouse 4 and confirmed that nothing had been moved from when he entered there this morning, the germinating solution still sitting in the exact same spot. He sprayed them all heartily and shifted the plants to a shelf away from the sun’s sight. A few leaves had matured so he gingerly snipped them from the stem and placed them in a standard mason jar. He also noticed several snails trying to sneak their way into some Potted Mandrake and disposed of them as well as repaired some worn netting protecting the Shrivelfig that was meant to keep out aphids.

He came by Sunday morning and treated the Alihotsy the same, making sure to place them in the sun at dawn so they had absorbed plenty of light by mid-afternoon. Once again, Lockhart hadn’t even bothered. 

______________________________________________________________

You returned Monday morning while everyone was at breakfast. Upon stepping into Greenhouse 4, you sighed in relief when it looked as though your plants had indeed been taken care of in your absence. You smiled pleasantly when you noticed some protective netting had been repaired, a task you planned on getting to when you had returned, but your smile broadened even more when you noticed a muddy boot print on the ground, one that did not at all belong to Professor Lockhart.

“Thank you for taking care of the Alihotsy this weekend,” you said to Lockhart who happened to be passing by the door that led down to the kitchen as you had come back from retrieving a snack that would substitute breakfast.

“Huh? Oh!” The man quickly recovered. The look of confusion lasted not even a second before plastering on a smile. “Yes, it was nothing! You can always count on me, Y/N!” he winked. You nodded once, drifting away from the man in favor of walking alongside the potion master who was breezing by in the same corridor.

“Hi,” you greeted. 

“Welcome back,” he replied, hiding his delight at your return. 

“Did anything interesting happen while I was gone?”

“Not particularly, though I was tempted to push Lockhart down a flight of stairs multiple times.” 

“Aren’t we all,” you laughed.

He walked with you all the way back to your office, select words hanging on the tip of his tongue until finally, he couldn’t hold them back anymore as you pushed on the handle of the door.

“Lockhart didn’t take care of your plants,” Severus blurted. 

“Oh?” Your hand slipped from the handle to face him with feigned curiosity.

“I didn’t trust him and…was proven correct when he ignored the task and instead spent his time in Hogsmeade, so I took care of them,” he explained carefully.

You smiled sweetly at him, lacing your fingers together in front of you. “I know, Severus.”

His breath caught in his throat. “You do?”

“Mhm. Truthfully it wouldn't have been the end of the world had those plants gone a couple of days without treatment, but I wanted to see what Lockhart would do and how he’d react to receiving false praise. I can’t say I’m surprised by the results, really. He’s as phony as ever.”

The potion master smirked. “Quite.”

You took a small step forward, stood on your tippy toes, and pressed a kiss to his forehead, making him flush pink when you pulled back and looked at him with twinkling eyes. “Thank you for taking care of my plants, Severus,” you murmured, affectionately squeezing his shoulders, before slipping inside of your office. Severus stood frozen in shock, his heart drumming in his chest before he managed to stop his brain from short-circuiting further. Without warning, he entered your office as well—you did have an open door policy after all—where he received another kiss. And another. And another…

He should plant-sit for you more often.

[brucewaynehater101]

Overachiever Tim Drake goes to ballet with Cass and picks it up fast enough that he and Cass are set to perform together in a production of Giselle with Cass as the lead, Giselle, and Tim as Hilarion

YJ has front row tickets and bouquets prepped for both of them

Bruce has front row tickets and a bouquet for Cass, he did not know Tim would be in the production

Alfred also has a ticket and a bouquet for Cass

Jason was off on an outlaws mission but sent flowers for Cass and if he and Tim are on amicable terms and Jason finds out Tim was in the performance too then later Tim might get some alien tech as a congrats present

Dick is there opening night and castigates himself for not knowing Tim was in the show too and having flowers only for Cass, takes both Cass and Tim out to dinner after the show, ditching B who was planning the same but wasn't as quick as Dick to make the invitation since he was trying to rearrange the reservation to make sure there was room for Tim which previously he was not included in Bruce's count. YJ goes with as well since they also had dinner plans prearranged with Cass and Tim and are generous enough to allow Dick to be part of the group since he's making an effort.

Damian, bribed to be on his best behavior, is actually impressed with the dancers' skill and has flowers for no one, ends up left with B and Alfred after the show instead of going to dinner and is upset. Dick gets him out early from school on a different day for lunch to make up for it.

Tim is going to never try out for a production again no matter how much of her share of cookies Cass promises him or how much she makes pouty faces and calls him little brother. He arranges for people to present flowers to every performer at the end of the show. Last thing Gotham needs is a ballet themed rogue who was salty that they weren't satisfactorily appreciated for their talent.

Tim and Cass dancing together is a beloved hc. Usually, I love to see them casually dancing with each other in the kitchen, on Gotham's rooftops, in the Batcave, and in the living room. Them performing on stage together is precious. I hope Alfred got a video of it.

Cass probably purposefully didn't tell Bruce, Dick, and Alfred about Tim as a prank. She purposefully refused to tell Jason (I personally like their relationship to be where she loves Jason, her brother, but also hates his guts cause he murders people. Just sibling-like hatred, though). She only tells Damian about it cause she thinks it would be funny if he knew and she knows that he wouldn't inform the others.

I'm glad YJ is there to support them, though. What food did they end up getting?

[thisreadswhatever]

The Chase: Part One

Pretty Sweet

series masterlist

[description]: jax teller x female reader

[wordcount]: 2.7k+

[summary]: Jax Teller is used to getting what he wants. At least that was the case before he met you.

[cw]: 18+ only minors do not interact - AU, follows some canon characters & themes but timeline is different. otherwise none yet, but stick with me, I have a smutty plan!

[authors note]: this has been really fun to write. thank you so much to this anon for requesting this idea! I plan on writing a good few parts of this.. as I am really loving writing this reader insert. if you have any ideas or suggestions on where you would like this to go, please let me know! I absolutely love getting your suggestions. I really hope you enjoy!

It had been a long sixteen hour drive. You sighed with relief as you sped past the large wooden slice, “WELCOME TO CHARMING”. You rolled your windows down, the wind blistering through your hair as you took in the warm California sun. 

You turned the music up, attempting to drown out the events replaying in your head that led you here in the first place. 

Charming wasn’t exactly on your bucket list of places to travel. Your parents had split a few years back, after your mom decided she could no longer handle the baggage that came with the Sons of Anarchy MC. Your Dad was an avid member of the Denver Charter, and she soon realised she couldn’t sit back and watch as he grew deeper into the Club. It was a quick and amicable divorce, made easier by the fact you were an only child and more than understanding of why the relationship had to end. You were old enough to see the pain your mom went through trying to make it work, and you knew that it was the best decision for them both. Your Dad on the other hand, never really got over it. 

When your mom remarried last year, he decided to leave Colorado and transferred to the SAMCRO Charter. Charming was his home now. He’d been begging you to visit him for months, and despite the fact you were genuinely pleased that he was happy, seeing him so far from home and content without his family wasn’t something you’d looked forward too. 

Charming was a small place, and from what your Dad had told you, it had never really left the seventies. Denver was the total opposite, a city full of life and people, and ever growing with new expanding chains of business. Even with the freezing winters, there was always something to do in Denver. But Charming? They barely had a population of fifteen thousand. 

You had evaded the trip for as long as you could, blaming college assignments and exams for the reason you couldn’t make the drive. Now that you’d graduated, the excuses had run thin, and it was time to visit your Dad in Charming. 

You pulled into the road of the address he had given you, entering a long unpaved driveway that ended on the outside of a dainty cabin. Your Dad’s bike was parked stagnant on the dirt. You dug your suitcase out from your trunk and walked up the wooden steps to the porch, bringing your hand to the door to knock. Before your knuckles could meet the wood, the door flung wide and your Dad lunged at you with open arms. 

“You’re finally here!”, he squealed in excitement as he grasped you into a giant bear hug.

“‘Finally’ is right. That was a serious drive, Dad.”

He took your suitcase and carried it through the entryway. “Sure is. I’m so glad you got here safely, kiddo. Come on, let’s get you settled. You hungry? I was just about to make some lunch.”

You followed him inside as you observed the interior of the quaint, dusty cabin. “I could definitely eat.” 

—

Your Dad showed you to your room and then became sidetracked from lunch, giving you a full tour of his new home and the complete low down of all things SAMCRO. He’d explained that the place was owned by the Club, but nobody ever frequented it unless they were in hiding. Your Dad was housed here for the long term, or at least until he could find something he liked better inside the Charming suburbs. 

Once he’d caught you up, he made his start on lunch. You watched as he strolled throughout the kitchen, sitting patiently at the small round dining table. 

“It’s a nice place, Dad. Not sure how I feel that you’re out here all alone though.”

“I’m barely here, kiddo. Spend most of my time down the Clubhouse.” He shrugged nonchalantly as he continued to make sandwiches, dropping a piece of turkey in the process. “I can’t wait for you to meet the guys, y/n. A lot more warm than the ones up in Denver. Some of them are your age too.” He placed the plate in front of you, and you grimaced at the site. Your Dad had never claimed to be a great chef. 

“Thanks.” You smiled at him politely, taking a bite and struggling to swallow down the piece of dry sandwich. “I’m sure they’re great, Dad.”

“So, how’s your mom?” 

You shrugged dismissively, unsure how to broach the uncomfortable topic of the newly weds. “She’s doing well. Mike is good to her.” 

He nodded. “That’s good. I’m really glad she’s happy.” 

It was hard to see your Dad try to be okay with the fact that your mom had moved on. The awkward silence was interrupted by his chair scraping against the floor as he stood up from the table. “Finish lunch and we can head on out. The guys are getting together at the Clubhouse tonight, you can meet them all there.”

You knew an evening with a bunch of Californian bikers was going to be inevitable during your trip. At least you could get it over with on the first night. 

“Sounds great, Dad.” 

—

You weren’t thrilled to be back in the confines of your car so soon after your long road trip, but your Dad knew better than to ask you to sit on the back of his motorcycle.

You rolled the windows down of your car as you followed his bike through the winding road from the cabin. As you re-entered Charming, you passed by locally run stores and cafes. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think this was a quiet, peaceful town. But you did know better. You knew what the Club’s presence actually meant for a small community like Charming. If SAMCRO was anything similar to the Denver Charter, the underworkings of this town would be anything but quiet and peaceful. 

You pulled into the lot of Teller-Morrow Automotive Repairs, instantly drawn to the huge row of Harley motorcycles lined up on the inner bays.

Your Dad parked up and met you outside your car, telling you all about his new job in the garage as you walked together. He led you across the lot towards a small black door, entering into the SAMCRO clubhouse. It was impressive, a comfortable space with its own bar and lounge area. The place was full of MC memorabilia and pictures from the club’s long history. The furthest wall was centered by two large double doors that were surrounded by mugshots of the SAMCRO members. You had visited the Denver Clubhouse enough to know that room was where the decisions were made.

Your Dad introduced you one by one to several members that were there, a few of which he’d mentioned to you that afternoon. Bobby, Chibs, Trager, Juice and Opie all greeted you with open arms. They were extremely friendly and welcoming, just as your father had promised. The one your Dad called Trager seemed very pleased with your arrival, hugging you for a little too long. Your Dad managed to break the long embrace, pulling you away to start touring you around the building. 

“Don’t get too close to that one, kiddo. He’s a little out there.” 

You giggled as you nodded in agreement, “I’ll keep my distance.” 

—

You sat alongside the club’s Secretary, Bobby, on a leather bench that faced out with a view of the entire room. You observed as the Clubhouse filled with more members and women, a handful of which were old ladies. The rest of them, very clearly single. Of all the members you’d met so far, Bobby had been the easiest to talk to. He clued you in on some of the Club’s legitimate businesses, Cara Cara and Red Woody Productions. You figured that’s where most of the girls came from, retired and current porn stars. 

It was a little strange, and anyone else may have felt uneasy seeing their father in this kind of environment. But you were used to the life of girls and guns from growing up with a dad in a motorcycle club. The Denver Charter had its fair share of women in and out of their doors, but mainly just bartenders and the odd crow eater looking for a way in. These girls were more forward, scantily clothed, makeup on point, and obviously comfortable with their surroundings.  

Bobby nudged your shoulder, regaining your attention from the party happening around you. “You know your Dad talks about you constantly. He’s so happy that you’re here, kid. We all are.” 

You glanced over at your father, a huge smile forming as he collected a drink from the bar. 

“He does seem happy. Just weird seeing him away from home.” 

“You got a home here with us too now, y/n.” He placed his arm over you and squeezed your shoulder reassuringly, “we’re your family as much as we are his.” 

“That’s really sweet, Bobby. Thanks.” 

He pulled his arm back as he chuckled to himself, his large stomach bellowing as he laughed. “I am pretty sweet.” 

Suddenly, the front door opened and a roar of drunken welcomes filled the clubhouse as two more members entered. The President of SAMCRO, Clay Morrow, walked in smiling ear to ear, hands held up as though he was a celebrity greeting his adoring fans. You’d heard a lot about Clay from your father, mainly that he was the initial sponsor for his transfer from Denver, and some remarks about what an ass he was. Behind him, a much younger member followed, embracing Opie as he entered. He was different from the other members, not totally clean cut, but you could at least tell he had showered. Not only was he bathed, he wasn’t harsh on the eyes either. You watched as he talked with Opie, his hands pushing his long blonde hair behind his ears as he spoke. 

“Who’s that?” You asked Bobby, your eyes never feigning from the man. 

“That’s Jax. Club’s VP.” 

As you watched him converse with Opie, he suddenly glanced your way, locking eyes with you. You quickly turned away from him and back towards Bobby. 

“He looks a little young to be Vice President”, you mumbled as you took a swig from your beer, still conscious that he was looking at you. 

Bobby laughed, “Yeah, well, he’s a Teller. His Dad was First 9 alongside Clay and Piney Winston, Ope’s pops. Jax has been SAMCRO since he came out of the womb.” 

You raised your eyebrows, glancing back over your shoulder. Jax’s attention had now been obtained by one of the Cara Cara girls. She was pulling him in by his cutte, batting her eyelashes at him as she leaned against the bar. 

Bobby watched as you observed Jax. He sipped his drink, amused by your interest. “He’s known for his way with the ladies.” 

You wanted to press Bobby further, but your Dad suddenly was stumbling over beside you, placing a hand on your shoulder. 

“Come on over here, kid. I want you to meet my sponsor.” 

“The asshole?”, you whispered to him as you stood up from the chair.

He snickered back at you, patting you on the back. “He’s having a good day.” 

—

You were impressed by the brotherhood the Redwood Originals shared. It wasn’t unfamiliar to the Denver Charter, but the way the members of SAMCRO loved one another was palpable. You observed quietly throughout the night as they all ripped into each other with lighthearted banter and spilled beer all over the place. You were conflicted by the fact your Dad fit in so well here. It was painful to know he had chosen this life over one with you in Denver, but you still felt at peace knowing he had found a place in this family. 

He was now slumped over a leather armchair in the lounge, snoozing after one too many beers. You nudged his shoulder, trying to wake him. “I’m gonna head back to the cabin, Dad. I’ll meet you here in the morning?” 

“You sure, y/n?” He tried to stand up as he slurred, but his balance failed him, collapsing back into the seat. “I can lead you back-” 

You chuckled, placing a hand on his head as he closed his eyes, “No way are you getting on a bike in this state. I remember the way.” 

Tig overheard and slid himself beside you, placing an arm across your waist. “We’ll take care of him, sweetie. Don’t you worry. Get back safe, okay?”

You unwound from his grasp, collecting your bag from the coffee table as you searched through the contents for your keys. “Thanks Trager.”

A strange laugh left his throat as he watched you leave, before his face turned straight as a board. “Call me Tig.” 

You said your goodbyes to the members that were sober enough to communicate, and made your way to the parking lot. 

Jax Teller was sitting outside the clubhouse, journal and pencil in hand. He glanced up at the sound of the door opening, a lit cigarette hanging from his lips.

He smiled boldly, in a way that perplexed you. Almost like he was happy to see you, even though you’d never met. He took the cigarette from his lips as he asked, “you’re Ralph’s kid, right?”

“I usually just go by y/n.”

He placed his pencil inside the journal and tucked it snug in his cutte, standing from the bench. “It’s a nice thing you’re doing, coming all this way to see him.”

You nodded, “had to make sure my Dad wasn’t living with some crazed psychopaths, you know?” 

He exhaled, his lips forming a perfect O as the smoke left his lips. “Pretty sure a few of those knuckleheads could pass for psychotic”, he teased. His mouth pulled into an infectious smile, and you couldn’t help but smile back. 

Jax walked closer towards you, your bodies now inches apart. He held out an open pack of cigarettes, prompting you to take one. You shook your head, declining the offer.

 “And what about you? How’s your level of sanity?” 

Jax hesitated. “A work in progress.” 

You smiled politely as you walked past him, making your way to the car. “Anyway, I was just leaving. Was nice meeting you.” 

Jax’s brow creased in concern, “you heading to the cabin on your own?” 

You looked over your shoulder to see him pacing behind you, flicking his cigarette to the cement.

“My Dad’s not exactly in riding order.” 

“I can take you back.” 

You stopped outside your car and turned to him, scoffing at how forward he was. “I met you thirty seconds ago.”

“So?” He shrugged. 

“I don’t really think that’s appropriate.” 

“I’m not asking to get in bed with you, y/n. You can ride the Harley with me and I’ll leave the second you’re in the cabin.” 

You opened the car door, sliding into the seat. “Not gonna happen.” 

“I won’t lay a hand on ya, darlin’,” he raised his hand up, smiling, “scouts honor.” 

You pressed your lips together, suppressing yourself from giggling at his innocent gesture. “I don’t ride bikes.” You affirmed. 

Jax cocked his head at you, confused at the statement. “Denver girl’s scared of bikes?” 

Your eyes rolled at his assumption. “No offense, but I just met you. I’m not sure my safety is your concern.” You shut the car door, realising your window had been left ajar from the way there. You wanted to curse aloud that the good Californian weather enabled the opportunity to ride with the windows down.

Jax didn’t push further, nodding his head as he watched you settle into the driver's seat. “No offense taken.”

Jax leaned his head into the open window, resting his arms on the roof of the car. You turned the ignition, letting the engine roar to life. “Nice to meet you, Jax.” 

“You too, darlin’. Will I see you again?” 

You were looking directly at him, your faces parted only by the frame of the window between you. “I’m here for the week, darlin’.” 

His lips pulled from ear to ear, smiling playfully as you put the gear in reverse, forcing his hands off the car as you pulled out of the parking lot. You peaked in the rear-view mirror, finding Jax still watching you drive away into the Charming night.

back to masterlist

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (see full series list here)

1994

Two nights before Harry's big Ministry hearing, you sit at the kitchen table with Sirius, talking about nothing in particular, easily slipping into your old routine of sitting and talking with each other for hours on end. No matter who you meet, no matter how long you've known them, there's no one that seems to just get you like he does.

Mrs Weasley wipes down the counters in the kitchen, her usual routine before heading to bed, while her husband fiddles with a Muggle children's toy you'd given him. It's one of those things with the metal balls inside, and you have to shake and tilt it to try and get them to fall into place in the holes, usually on the top of a bottle of bubbles.

"Fascinating!" Mr Weasley exclaims happily, shaking it enthusiastically and watching in wonder as the balls miss every hole completely. "And Muggle children play with this, yes?"

You nod, smiling. "Keeps them entertained for a little while. I never liked them growing up — I was never patient enough.”

He continues to play with the toy, his face the picture of wonder and interest. You're glad he's there, really, because you hate the tension between Sirius and Mrs Weasley ever since Harry's return. Neither one of them have decided to apologise to the other — and though sometimes you think about saying it to Sirius, you feel it really should be Mrs Weasley who apologises, considering the awful things she said about his place as Harry's godfather.

You're still on good terms with Mrs Weasley, despite how her words still sit stinging in the back of your mind, but you'd rather forget about it and move on amicably than suffer through this suffocating awkwardness.

A knock on the kitchen door grabs the attention of the room, and you stand up to answer it, surprised when Dumbledore is on the other side of it.

"Dumbledore!" you exclaim, opening the door wider for him to enter. "Wasn't expecting you tonight."

He steps inside, smiling politely at you. "Yes, I do apologise for coming unannounced… Sirius, I would like a word with you, if you don't mind."

Mrs Weasley drops her cloth into the sink, brushing off her hands and seizing hold of Arthur's arm quickly. "It's getting late, we should be getting to bed. Goodnight, everyone."

"Night," you say to them, watching as they scurry out of the basement kitchen as quick as possible and close it behind them. Glancing between Dumbledore and Sirius, you feel a slight awkwardness creep through you. You clear your throat. "Should I go?"

"No," they say at the same time, eyes focused on each other.

Great.

You mentally prepare yourself for the argument that's bound to begin when these two start talking. You busy yourself in the kitchen, doing nothing really but pretend to look occupied as Sirius starts the conversation.

"Well, what did you want to talk to me about?"

"Harry's hearing on Thursday," Dumbledore replies, as you mindlessly adjust cups in the press without them needing it.

"And? What about it?"

There's a pause, the only noise being you clinking cups against each other aimlessly. "I expect you would like to accompany Harry, but I am afraid I must tell you that I do not think you should."

"I can't say I'm surprised to hear you think that," Sirius says, a slight bitterness lining the edges of his voice. "But I'm sure you understand that I think I should. He's going to a Ministry hearing, he could do with the moral support."

"He will have moral support from Mr Weasley, who will be bringing him to and from his hearing," Dumbledore answers calmly. "It is far too dangerous for you to leave this house, Sirius, even in your animagus form."

"I'll be careful. I just want to help his nerves — "

"I cannot let you," Dumbledore says, more firm this time. "Not only do I think you shouldn't, I know you shouldn't. It is not worth the risk."

You look up as Sirius glances at you, and Dumbledore follows his eyeline expectantly.

"I'll go with him, Sirius, don't worry," you say with a sympathetic smile. You know how much he was looking forward to getting out of the house. "I'll make sure he's alright."

"I am sorry to say I must tell you to stay here as well, professor," Dumbledore says slowly, and you blink at him in confusion.

"I...I don't understand. I'm not on the run, why can't I go with my godson?"

"Suspicions will be raised if you are spotted within the Ministry," Dumbledore says, looking at you. The prolonged eye contact is making you uncomfortable, and you nervously avoid his gaze and focus on the wooden table before you. "It is best that Harry's visit draws as little attention as possible."

"Then I'll wear a disguise," you reply simply.

"As who?"

You bring yourself to meet his eyes, blue and expectant as he silently waits for you to offer an answer: one that you don't have. "As...uh, a Ministry worker bringing him to his hearing, of course."

You think you might imagine the slight surprise that widens Dumbledore's eyes by a fraction, but it's gone when he shakes his head. "Too risky. I direct the two of you to stay here during his hearing, and not to go with him."

You look at Sirius, your eyes communicating every frustration you're currently feeling — he looks the exact same. You're so sick of having arguments and never getting what you want out of them.

You bite your lip, sighing defeatedly. "Right, fine. We'll stay."

✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

After a disgustingly early start on Thursday morning, you wish Harry the best of luck in his hearing and watch as he and Mr Weasley leave the house for the Ministry. You make an effort to keep yourself and Sirius as busy as possible, working on cleaning and redoing the drawing room again.

You run a cloth along the piano, catching the dust and revealing the shiny black surface hiding beneath the grime. You sit down on the bench, pushing it closer to the instrument with your heels and start to play whatever comes to mind, an old classical tune you've forgotten the name of.

When you finish, Sirius comes to join you, placing his hand on your shoulder. "Beautiful. What's it called?"

You shrug, smiling sheepishly at him. "I forget. I'm a bit rusty, to be honest."

"Doesn't sound like that to me," he says, motioning for you to scoot over so he can sit beside you on the bench. "Could you teach me something?"

"You never played?" You say, surprised. "I would've thought this was here for you to play."

Sirius chuckles softly, shaking his head. "It was more my mother. She always wanted me to play, but I refused, of course. Regulus was far better than me — he used to play while she did her embroidery."

You scoff. "Her embroidery? It was the 70s, not the 1800s."

"My parents did not get the memo, apparently." He nudges you with his shoulder, smiling playfully at you. "Come on, teach me something, professor."

You spend the next hour teaching him the basics, gently placing your hands on his and slowly leading him through a simple piece, laughing at the intense look of concentration on his face.

"What are you giggling at?" he says with a grin, looking back at you.

"Nothing, you're just so concentrated," you giggle, beaming.

"Well, it's actually quite difficult, you know...everyone has to start somewhere!" he says in mock offense.

You hum, pouting dramatically at him. "And you're starting off very well." You peck his lips, patting his shoulder as you swing your legs over the bench and stand up. "Come on, Mozart, I think I heard the front door open."

When you enter the kitchen, the atmosphere is very much celebratory as Ron high-fives Harry hard, a great big grin on his face.

"Cleared!" Harry says to you and Sirius, beaming, "of all charges!"

You feel the weight lift from your shoulders and grin at him. "Oh, wonderful, Harry!"

Sirius claps Harry hard on the back, beaming proudly at him. "Knew you'd pull through."

When Harry turns away, however, you don't miss the way Sirius's smile falters and is replaced by a small look of disappointment, before he regains his composure and smiles again. You find his hand and squeeze it comfortingly.

"Listen, you guys, Lucius Malfoy was at the Ministry — " Mr Weasley starts, and you both immediately turn your attention to Arthur.

"What?" you say sharply.

"Yes, we saw him talking to Fudge on level nine, then they went up to Fudge's office together," Mr Weasley replies. "Dumbledore ought to know."

"Absolutely," Sirius says. "We'll tell him, don't worry."

Lucius Malfoy. If Fudge stopped to think for a second why Lucius Malfoy keeps donating so much gold to the Ministry, surely he'd realise that it's not out of the goodness of his lovely pureblood heart?

Dinner passes pleasantly, everyone in high spirits after Harry's great escape from expulsion. Sirius, however, seems more downcast than usual and you're pretty sure you know the reason.

He heads to bed much earlier than everyone else, finishing his meal and bidding everyone goodnight. While everyone else celebrates and chats happily at the table around you, you chew on your lip thoughtfully.

You wait a while before heading up to bed after Sirius, wanting to give him time to himself to think over everything. However, when you open the door to his bedroom you find it empty, and immediately go looking for him. It's only when you enter the master bedroom, where Buckbeak is being kept, that you find your husband, sitting on the floor next to the hippogriff, stroking his feathers absent-mindedly.

"Here you are," you say softly, shutting the door behind you. "Hello, Buckbeak."

Buckbeak cocks his head in your direction curiously, clicking his beak in greeting.

Sirius looks up when you enter, clearing his throat. "Hello."

You make your way over, sitting next to him on the floor. You don't say anything for a few moments, the room quiet and still, before you take a deep breath and start talking. "I know you're disappointed Harry is going away to Hogwarts again."

He doesn't respond, sighing.

"But it was going to happen," you continue, your voice soft and gentle. "That's where he's happiest."

"I know," he says quietly. "I know that. I just...hoped I'd get more time with him. Longer than a few weeks."

You hum, laying your head on his shoulder. "Me too."

"But you'll get to see him anyway," he continues. "Come September, you'll both be gone back to Hogwarts."

You shake your head, offering him a small smile. "I'm not going back to Hogwarts in September, Sirius. I'm staying here."

His expression brightens for a moment, before he seems to remind himself of something and shakes his head. "But you love your job. You're always talking about how much you love teaching."

"I do," you answer truthfully. "But I love you more. I could never live with myself if I knew I had the choice of going back to work or being with you, and I chose my job. I've had a good thirteen years of working there, and I'd like to make up for all the time we have missed out on together instead."

Sirius looks at you as if it's taking every bit of resolve in him to say this. "I want you to go back."

"You don’t seem too convinced.”

He exhales deeply, closing his eyes for a moment. "I want you there, to look out for Harry. To keep him safe."

"Hogwarts is where he's safest, Sirius," you say. "Dumbledore will be there, he knows best how to protect him — "

"But he's not you," he says simply, his eyes serious. "Dumbledore can protect him, sure, but Harry trusts you. He knows he can go to you for anything. I think that's what he needs most this year."

You sigh, kissing your teeth quietly. "I don't want you to be alone."

"But you know I'm right."

You chuckle humourlessly, shaking your head. "I hate it when you're right."

He pulls you into him, kissing your temple. "I know."

✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

"So, any girls, Harry?"

Sirius raises his eyebrows at the boy, everyone else in the room distracted by their own separate conversations and activities. They had previously been discussing Harry's life at the Dursleys, and now Sirius thinks it is high time for him to impart as much (god)fatherly wisdom he can on the lad.

"What?" Harry's face is the picture of confusion.

"You can't tell me there isn't someone you've got your eye on," Sirius continues with a cheeky grin. "Girl, boy, maybe there's more than one — so come on, tell me, what's going on?"

Harry laughs nervously, shaking his head. "There's no one."

Sirius raises his eyebrows at him, unbelieving.

"Okay, there's one girl."

Sirius grins triumphantly, laughing. "I knew it! You make any moves yet?"

"What? No."

"In that case, let me impart some of my endless wisdom," Sirius says theatrically. "Now, Harry, if you're going to listen to anything I say to you now, it best be this: never lie to a woman. Okay? Simple." He brings his hand up to begin listing things off his fingers. "It'll never work, they always know. And if they don't know straight away, they'll find out you lied eventually, and then it'll be even worse for you. It never ends well. I mean — have you ever tried to lie to my wife?"

Harry thinks for a moment, shaking his head. "No?"

"Think again, you're sure you've never lied about your homework or something like that?" Sirius pushes.

Harry thinks again, remembering the time he tried to lie to you about his scar being painful in fourth year. "Wait, I have, actually."

"And did she believe you?"

"No."

Sirius nods gravely. "She is impossible to lie to. I don't know how, but she just sees through it every time — it's impressive, really."

"I hope you're not gossiping about me."

Looking up, Sirius spots you sitting down into the chair beside him, just returning from your guard duty that night.

He smiles. "Never, darling."

You hum, giving him an unimpressed look. "Nice try."

Sirius looks at Harry, raising his eyebrows with a laugh. "See? I told you." He shakes his head, smiling at you. "I've just been giving Harry some advice on girls, that's all."

You snort, giving him an incredulous look. "Girl advice? Sirius, please, you know nothing about women."

"What? I know plenty!" he says defensively, but still in good humour. "I knew enough to get you to marry me."

You smile sympathetically at him, patting his cheek. "That's actually not true, I'm afraid, because I married you for your money."

"Oh, really?"

"Uh-huh."

You look at each other, grinning, before bursting into laughter. When your chuckles finally subside, you look at Harry again. "Seriously, though, Harry, don't listen to Sirius. You don't want to do anything he or your father ever did to get a girl to like them."

"It still worked!" Sirius defends. "We both got to marry the women we loved."

"What did my dad do?" Harry asks curiously, and you laugh.

"What didn't your dad do?" you say. "Actually, do you want to hear the story of how I even became friends with your dad? And Sirius too, by connection — but it was really all James's doing in the end."

"I want to hear this too!" Hermione chimes in, who before had been talking to Remus with Ron.

"What's this?" Remus asks, a curious smile playing on his features.

"How we became friends in fourth year," you explain, and Remus instantly nods in acknowledgment.

"Oh yes, James and his ways."

You clear your throat, grinning. "Now, if I can have your full attention..."

♡*⁠。♡*⁠。

January, 1975

You walk along the corridor, a letter clutched in your hands, making your way to the owlery when a voice calls your name.

You recognise the voice, and with an agitated sigh, you continue walking and ignore it. He calls again, before you hear his footsteps pounding along the floor behind you and he skids to a stop beside you, bumping your shoulder.

"Potter? What do you want?"

James Potter falls into step beside you, grinning, his face red and his glasses askew from running. You can't say you're particularly fond of him, considering how he annoys Lily every single day and bullies her friend, Severus. Any enemy of Lily's is an enemy of yours.

"So quick to anger!" he exclaims dramatically. "So demanding!"

You grit your teeth. "What do you want, James?"

"Listen, listen..." he places a hand on your shoulder, pulling you aside. "Now, you and I haven't always seen eye-to-eye, for reasons unknown — "

You scoff.

" — but despite this, I have a trade — a proposal, if you will — of a lifetime to offer you!"

You raise your eyebrows at him again, thoroughly unimpressed.

"I suggest this — trade me a date with Lily, and I'll send you an invitation to the wedding. Sound good?"

He stretches out his hands, wiggling them theatrically and you burst into derisive laughter, shaking your head.

"Oh...you're funny, James, I'll give you that," you say, moving to walk away when he grabs your arm again.

"Wait, wait, listen to me," he says desperately. "Look, I really like Lily, and you're the only one who can help me. You’re her best friend.”

"What about Alice?"

He frowns, rubbing the back of his neck. "She used some…colourful language to tell me she will not be helping me."

You nod. "Sounds about right." You sigh, rubbing your forehead. "Look, James, if you really like Lily then stop being such an ass about it."

"What?"

"You're too cocky, James, and you're mean," you say. "Just actually talk to her yourself, no bullshit. And let Alice and me get some peace, yeah?" 

You finally manage to leave him now, turning and making your way up to the owlery to post your letter. 

If there's one thing about James Potter, it's that he doesn't know how to follow good advice. Sure, talking to Lily would be all fine and dandy if she wanted anything to do with him, but unfortunately for James, she did not. No, to James, this romance is a multi-level scheme, a plan, and you were key to his success.

The best friend angle, he calls it. If he can convince you that he's a decent guy, good enough to date Lily, you can then convince her to go out with him! All he needs is one teeny, tiny little date and James believes that Lily will fall head-over-heels in love with him, and they'll live happily ever after for years to come. 

But he can't go talking himself up to you — you'd never believe it for a second. So he sends the next best thing: his best friend. 

One morning, on your way to Potions, your bag decides to unceremoniously rip and fall to the ground, sending your belongings skittering along the dungeon floor. 

"Oh, no! Do you want some help?" Alice asks, stopping in her tracks. 

You shake your head, glancing at your watch. "No, it's fine. You'll be late — save me a seat!" 

Alice and Lily quickly head into the classroom while you throw everything back into your bag, cursing at the textbook that's now been covered in ink from one of your inkwells and how you've got dark ink all over your hands now. You repair your bag with a wave of your wand, and hurry into the classroom. 

Professor Horace Slughorn looks at you in surprise as you enter and you smile sheepishly. 

"Sorry, professor, my bag split..."

"Nothing to worry about, my dear! Take a seat," Slughorn booms cheerfully. 

You look around, trying to locate Lily and Alice and the seat they were supposed to have saved you, only to find it's been taken by someone else — conveniently the boy Alice has been pining over for the past few weeks. You stare, betrayed, at Alice, who shrugs and mouths, "I'm sorry!"

You scoff quietly, glaring at the boy and wandering to the only empty seat left, which happens to be right beside Sirius Black. He looks up, raising his eyebrows and smirking at you as you sigh, dropping into the seat beside him. 

"Well, aren't I lucky to have you sit beside me?" 

"Truly." You glance around and click your tongue thoughtfully. "Trouble in paradise, Sirius? Looks like your girlfriend kicked you out."

You point at James, who is sitting beside Peter and Remus on the other side of the room.

"Is there something wrong with wanting to sit with someone new?" Sirius says, lowering his voice as Slughorn begins his teaching. "A very pretty someone, might I add."

"Save it for James," you mutter, unimpressed. This isn't the first time Sirius has tried his charms on you, and you're not in the mood for it right now. 

"Today we will be brewing a hair-raising potion," Slughorn says, smiling happily at the students. "Now, we'll start by chopping up 5 grams of porcupine quills — "

"Speaking of James..." Sirius starts, ignoring Slughorn. "What do you think of him? What are your thoughts?"

"I think he's a git." You turn pointedly away from him, focusing on Slughorn again. You give him a confused look when you notice he's not paying attention to Slughorn at all. "Don't you want to find out how to brew this potion?"

He shrugs casually. "I've already made it before, it's not difficult."

Though you really want to ignore him and listen to Slughorn, your curiosity gets the best of you and you turn to him again. "Why have you made a hair-raising potion before?"

He grins at you. "We put it in Filch's goblet on Halloween. Although, we may have gotten some measurements wrong — "

"That was you?" You say in disbelief, a shocked laugh escaping your lips. "You're the reason Filch lost half his hair?" 

"Well, me and James — and also Peter and Remus," he replies, grinning proudly. 

You sigh, shaking your head with an amused smile. "Right. Well…I haven't made it before, so if you don't mind, I'd like to listen to my teacher now."

" — next, add the rat tails slowly, mixing the potion counter-clockwise as the tails are added, and it should turn to this sort of blue colour — cerulean, I would say...or perhaps it is more of a sky blue — " 

"Really, though, about James..." Sirius interrupts quietly, distracting you again. "He's a good guy. Got a good heart, a real romantic. Don't you want Lily to go out with someone who really cares about her?"

You scoff. "Did James set you up for this? Seriously? He's more desperate than I thought -- "

"Which just shows how much he cares," Sirius says, ever the loyal friend. 

"It shows how much of a coward he is," you hiss, your face the picture of attention when Slughorn's gaze flits to your desk to make sure you're listening. "He's too scared to talk to Lily himself."

"Because she hates him!" He sighs, looking at you, eyes big and pleading. "You just need to get to know him, then you'll see — what about this? Hang out with us tomorrow. Spend the whole day with us, and then tell me what you think."

You raise your eyebrows at him, shaking your head. 

"Unless..." a smirk tugs at his lips. "Unless you're scared of being wrong. Scared that you might actually like us."

And, despite knowing that this is definitely not worth your time, despite knowing that he only said that to goad you, you bite. 

"Fine. One day, that's all you get," you relent, and Sirius grins triumphantly. "But — if I don't like him by the end of it, you have to do my potions homework for a month!"

"Done." He holds his hand out for you to shake, grinning smugly at you, and you take it, letting go quickly. "And when I say the whole day, I mean the whole day. You can't go running off to Lily and Alice at all, you're stuck with us."

You give him a pained smile, gritting your teeth. "Can't wait."

♡*⁠。♡*⁠。

"You make me sound so bad in that story," Sirius complains when you finish and you laugh.

"That's how you were!" you defend. "Right, Remus?" 

Remus smiles appreciatively, nodding. "I'm afraid so."

"Did it work?" Hermione asks curiously. "What did you think of James by the end of it?" 

You laugh, grinning at her. "Oh, nothing changed, and Sirius had to do my Potions work for the month, as agreed" — Sirius rolls his eyes " — but I did have a lot of fun, and we became friends. By fifth year, we were all as thick as thieves." 

"Did you really not like my dad?" Harry says, brows furrowed. 

You give him a reassuring smile, shaking your head. "Not at the beginning, no. Lily didn't like him, so I didn't like him either. But after that torturous day spent with the lot of them, he really grew on me and now I can't picture Lily with anyone else. You really wouldn't meet another couple more perfect for each other."

"Except for us, of course," Sirius adds. 

You nod, an obvious look on your face. "Oh, obviously. We are unbeatable." You tap your chin thoughtfully, racking your brains for another story to tell. "What else can I tell you..."

"How about the time you punched Lucius Malfoy?" Remus offers, casually taking a sip from his goblet. 

The trio's jaws drop, and you turn and stare at Remus accusingly, who smiles innocently at you over his goblet. 

Sirius laughs beside you. "An excellent story!"

You shake your head frantically, glaring at Remus. "I really don't think this is the story they need to hear — "

"We wanna hear it!" Harry says, grinning and nodding at his two friends. 

"I — I don't even remember — "

"I do," Sirius says, smirking at you. He clears his throat dramatically. "Your godmother hated Lucius Malfoy at school, Harry. Absolutely hated him, and for good reason too, 'cause he was a prick — but one day he was picking on her, trying to wind her up, and he said something bad about Lily and bam, she just punched him right in the middle of Herbology, no hesitation."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stare at you in shock and you wince, shaking your head. "That makes me sound awful."

"One of the best days of my life," Sirius says with a proud grin. "You broke his nose, didn't you?" 

"Yep," you nod, kissing your teeth. "Got myself a month's worth of detention, too. Professor McGonagall was furious with me."

"Wicked," Ron says in awe. 

"You should've seen the look on his face," Sirius continues gleefully. "He was too afraid to speak to her for weeks."

You shake your head vigorously. "I'd like to stop talking about this."

"Oh, stop pretending like you regret it," Sirius says with a scoff, laughing. "You're proud of it — and you should be, he needed to be taken down a peg."

"Oh, well…” you glance at Remus. “At least I didn't eat a butterfly."

Remus stares back at you in shock, his cheeks reddening. "I was six! And I told you that in confidence!"

"You...you ate a butterfly?" Harry repeats and Remus hangs his head in shame. 

"I'm not proud of it. It was an accident and I cried for a month after it happened. I...I can never look at butterflies the same."

You and Sirius burst into laughter, while Remus scowls, his face a dark shade of crimson.

He gives Sirius an accusatory look. "You can't say anything, Sirius, when you only took O.W.L. Astronomy because she was taking it."

You snort, looking at Sirius in surprise. "Really? I thought you liked it."

"Hated it," Sirius admits. "I thought it'd be nice and easy, looking at stars and planets and all that but it was actually pretty difficult, and you loved it — you used to go on these long excited rambles about astronomy and I never had any idea what you were talking about."

"I really thought you liked it!" you say sheepishly. "If you didn't like it, why didn't you tell me? Could've escaped my rambles."

He shrugs, smiling at you. "I liked hearing you talk."

You raise your eyebrows, folding your arms. "Didn't like hearing me talk when you put that potion in the showers, did you?"

Remus and Sirius grin at each other. 

"It's not like you were the only target!" Sirius says defensively, still laughing. 

"What?" Harry asks, puzzled, and you give the chortling Sirius a shove. 

"The boys thought they were so funny." You scowl at Remus, though you don't really mean it. "One day, they slipped a potion into the Gryffindor showers that caused anyone who used them to have to walk around with a giant bubble around their head for the rest of the day. It was awful."

Ron and Harry start laughing and you sigh, shaking your head. 

"It was very funny, to be fair," Sirius says cheekily and you roll your eyes. 

"Oh, shut it." 

You, Sirius, and Remus spend the rest of the evening telling the kids the best stories of your school days, and your chest burns from laughter by the end of it. 

"Remember the night we snuck out?"

"Or when James sneezed and nearly fell off his broom!"

"You can't forget the time Alice tripped, fell into Flitwick, and knocked him over!" 

When Mrs Weasley finally puts a stop to your story-telling and makes the kids go to bed, you linger, sitting contentedly between Sirius and Remus. You drape your arms across their shoulders, pulling them into you with a sigh. "I love you two, you know that? I don't know what I'd do without you."

You mean it, too. You're so happy to be back to some semblance of normal, where you get to see Sirius every day and wake up next to him after so long apart, where you finally get to tell people these stories without worrying about what they'll think, where you get to laugh and joke with Remus and talk about nothing at all. 

You're with your family again.

✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

“I thought we’d have a little party, not a sit-down dinner,” Mrs Weasley says cheerfully, as she hangs a scarlet banner over the dinner table that reads: Congratulations Ron and Hermione — New Prefects.

The kids had received their book lists this morning, the last day of the summer holidays,  which you find quite odd as the book list is usually out far earlier in the year. With the lists, Ron and Hermione had received shiny new prefect badges and Mrs Weasley has been on cloud nine ever since. When you joined her in Diagon Alley to get everyone’s books and supplies, she talked and talked of how proud she is of her youngest son and how wonderful it is that he was chosen. You think it’s sweet.

The town was bustling of course, with parents and children scrambling to get their books and school supplies before the term starts. You met several of your students and their parents and stopped many times to chat and catch up with them – even spending a good while talking to Neville and his grandmother, who has always struck you as an interesting woman. She was one of the few people who had actually trusted you after Sirius’s imprisonment and always appreciates the time you spend visiting Frank and Alice in St Mungo’s.

“Your father and Bill are on the way, Ron, I’ve sent them both owls and they’re thrilled.”

The table is piled high with food and drink, the room buzzing with celebration and cheer. Remus approaches you and Sirius, goblets in hand for the both of you. 

“All set for tomorrow, then?” he asks you, handing you your goblet. 

“Think so,” you answer with a shrug, taking a sip from your wine. “I’m glad I went to Diagon Alley weeks ago, it was absolutely mad today — all the good parchment and quills were gone.”

Nearby, Moody sets his normal eye on Ron and growls, “Prefect, eh? Well, congratulations. Authority figures always attract trouble, but I suppose Dumbledore thinks you can withstand most major jinxes or he wouldn’t have appointed you…”

Ron looks quite startled at this view and quickly leaves to go welcome Arthur and Bill Weasley, who have just arrived, accompanied by Mundungus in a weirdly lumpy overcoat that he seems adamant to keep on — no doubt housing another unique business venture in his pockets.

“Well, I think a toast is in order,” Mr Weasley announces, once everyone has a drink. He raises his goblet, beaming. “To Ron and Hermione, the new Gryffindor prefects!”

You grin at the pair of them, drinking to them and then applauding. As you reach for something to eat on the table, you beam at the pair of them. “Congrats, you two. I was never a prefect myself, that was Lily’s job — our teachers reckoned I wasn’t a good fit.”

“Why did they think that?” Ginny asks curiously. 

“‘Cause I found rules impossible to follow.”

Ginny laughs, and Hermione looks unsure of whether she should smile or frown at this, and instead chooses to take a large gulp from her butterbeer and chokes on it. 

“What about you, Sirius?” Ginny says, thumping the coughing Hermione on the back. 

Sirius lets out a bark of laughter, shaking his head. “No one would have made me a prefect, I spent too much time in detention with James. Remus was the good boy, he got the badge.”

“I think Dumbledore might have hoped that I would be able to exercise some control over my best friends,” says Remus. “I need scarcely say that I failed dismally.”

Soon, Ron is gushing about his new broom to anyone who’ll listen. His mother had bought him a broomstick as a present for his new status. “Nought to seventy in ten seconds, not bad, is it? When you think the Comet Two-Ninety only does nought to sixty and that’s with a decent tailwind according to Which Broomstick?”

“Why didn’t Dumbledore make Potter a prefect?” Kingsley Shacklebolt is saying quietly to Remus, though his deep voice is audible even in chatter. 

“He’ll have had his reasons,” Remus replies. 

“But it would’ve shown confidence in him. It’s what I’d’ve done,” Kingsley continues. “Especially with the Daily Prophet having a go at him every few days…”

You think that perhaps it’s best to keep Harry out of the limelight as much as possible. Your heart aches with sympathy for him — an orphan boy raised with his spiteful relations, without any knowledge of the wizarding world until his eleventh birthday, and then being thrust into a world where everyone knows his name and his story better than he does. A boy who met two different versions of Voldemort in his first two years, then watched him come back to life at fourteen, and witnessed the death of his classmate. A boy who is currently being vilified by the media and the government simply for telling the truth, and a boy who has to live in fear for his life all because he survived death as a baby. 

At the end of the day, he’s just a boy. He’s just a child. 

If you could take it all on for him, you would. You would do it in a heartbeat. 

“You alright?”

Sirius taps the tip of your nose gently with his finger, looking inquisitively at you. You shake yourself out of the thoughtful daze you had gotten yourself in, and smile at him. 

“Perfect. Just thinking, that’s all.” 

“About what?” 

You glance at Harry out of the corner of your eye, who catches your eye and looks away quickly, acting as though he wasn’t eavesdropping as he makes his way over to Moody. You turn back to Sirius, placing your hands in the back pockets of your jeans with a shrug. “D’you remember all the things the prefects used to get? The fancy baths in the bathroom, the private compartment on the train, the mitching class for meetings…”

“Didn’t need to be a prefect for the last one, did we?” Sirius says with a cheeky grin, and you chuckle. 

“Well, we certainly didn’t, no.”

After a while, everyone begins to filter out of the basement and upstairs to their beds. You follow Moody as he hobbles down the hallway towards the doorway. 

“You’re welcome to stay, y’know,” you whisper, conscious of the sleeping portraits on the wall. 

Moody leans on his staff with both hands, raising his eyebrows at you. “And wait for that house-elf of yours to strangle me in my sleep? No thanks.”

You snort, scoffing. “If Kreacher was going to strangle anyone in their sleep, what makes you think it’d be you?” 

“I’ve seen the looks he gives me — there’s murderous intent in those eyes,” Moody growls, good eye wide in warning. 

Sirius shrugs. “He has that intent for everyone, trust me — “

He stops as a muffled yell is heard from upstairs, and without hesitating you sprint up the stairs to the drawing room with Sirius, Moody, and Remus following close behind you.

“What’s going on?” 

Running into the room, you freeze when you spot Mrs Weasley cowering in the corner of the room, her hand trembling violently as she points her wand at a figure in the middle of the room: Harry, lying dead on the carpet. 

Remus pulls out his wand immediately, saying, “Riddikulus!”

Harry’s body vanishes, replaced by a shiny full moon hovering in the centre of the room. Remus waves his wand once more and the moon vanishes. 

Mrs Weasley breaks into a fit of sobbing, her face in her hands as her body shakes. 

“Molly,” Remus says bleakly, striding over to her, “Molly, don’t…”

You stare at the patch of carpet where the boggart pretending to be Harry’s lifeless body had just been, fighting the urge to vomit.

“It was just a boggart,” Remus says soothingly as Mrs Weasley buries her head in his shoulder, sobbing. “Just a stupid boggart…”

“I see them d-d-dead all the time!” she cries into his shoulder. “All the t-time! I d-dream about it!”

You force yourself to tear your eyes off the carpet, shaking your head to remove the image of Harry dead, but it sticks sickeningly permanent in your mind despite your efforts. Looking around, you see the real, alive Harry standing, panting, at the side of the room. You feel a rush of relief at the sight of him alive. 

“D-don’t tell Arthur,” Mrs Weasley chokes, rubbing her eyes desperately with her sleeve. “I d-don’t want him to know…being silly…”

Remus hands her a handkerchief and she blows her nose loudly. 

“Harry, I’m so sorry, what must you think of me?” she says shakily. “Not even able to get rid of a boggart…”

“Don’t be stupid,” Harry says with a weak smile. 

“I’m just s-so worried,” she says, tears streaming down her face. “Half the f-family’s in the Order, it’ll b-be a miracle if we all come through this…and P-Percy’s not talking to us…what if something d-dreadful happens and we had never m-made up? And what’s going to happen if Arthur and I get killed, who’s g-going to look after Ron and Ginny?” 

“Molly, that’s enough,” Remus says firmly. “This isn’t like the last time. The Order is better prepared, we’ve got a head start, we know what Voldemort’s up to…”

She gives a squeak of fright at the name. 

“Oh, Molly, come on, it’s about time you got used to hearing it — look, I can’t promise no one’s going to get hurt, nobody can promise that, but we’re much better off than we were last time. You weren’t in the Order then, you don’t understand, last time we were outnumbered twenty to one by the Death Eaters and they were picking us off one by one…”

“Don’t worry about Percy,” you add gently. “He’ll come round. He’s still young and he hasn’t gotten the chance to realise that he needs his family more than his job yet.”

“And as for who’s going to look after Ron and Ginny if you and Arthur died,” Remus says, smiling slightly, “what do you think we’d do, let them starve?”

Mrs Weasley gives a watery smile. “Being silly.”

“Come on, Molly, why don’t you come downstairs and let me make you a cup of tea to help you relax?” you offer soothingly, leading her out of the drawing room. 

When you slip into bed some twenty minutes later, sleep escapes you for quite some time. The image of Harry’s unmoving body burns in your mind, a seed of worry gnawing at your gut. You dream of Harry’s corpse on the drawing room carpet and of Cedric’s lifeless face on the dewy grass of the quidditch pitch.

✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

-> all kinds of interaction appreciated ♡

thank you for all your patience, I know this chapter was a little slower than usual to come out. also sorry to anyone who read like half of this chapter because I accidentally posted it before it was finished and didn't realise for ages. love you all <33

HUGE thank you to my incredible taglist lovelies:

@mothraantics @wholelottalove05 @izuoyarmin @devoid-swanky @carpe000diem @mooonyxoxo @hyperspeedo @idkman5335 @elanna-elrondiel @murielisacertifieddilf @penelopied @jennifer0305 @imgondeletedis @wooyoungsrightsock @wolfdragon0424

[some-thrilling-heroics]

i'm workshopping halsin's past in terms of relationships

considering that halsin was very likely bullied as a kid (thaniel was his only friend) and how he is a prime target for an abusive relationship (you can say all kinds of nasty things to him and he will just look sad but not break up with you or draw any kind of line that next time it's over or anything - and sure player chara lifts the curse so it's all magic on a pedestal and heart eyes but still…)

the way i see it time-wise: he's 350 now and i don't see him having any relationships like that since the shadow curse / taking over as archdruid, so that takes us down to him at 250 - his slavery 3 years were in his youth so im gonna assume that's closer to him either below or just around 100 so let's say ages 20-80/100 he might have had some relationships, then underdark happened at some point and then ages 80/100-250 again he is out and might be in relationships

so with that in mind, i'm trying to picture his past relationships and how they ended, what could be some common threats in most / many of them and were the breakups amicable or not

maybe besides duty and power imbalance and lack of peers / actual friends the reason he didn't have any relationship in the time as archdruid would also be that he was at that point aware enough that when he gets involved with sb he is easily manipulated by them, even if a relationship starts all sunshine and roses it always devolves when the other party(-ies) pick up on that and - not even to keep himself safe from that but to keep the grove safe from the potential dangers of that - he stayed single? that would also fit with him expecting the ship with tav to end even if it's going well and they are living in the commune, he's still waiting for that other shoe to drop, like all the other times

would his past lovers have issue with his relationship with his bear shape? they'd know he's a druid but he's not exactly standard in his approach, whether you go with werebear approach or not. would that have been a point of conflict in some relationships? would he have ended things if it was?

would some of them - either intentionally or through ignorance - hear him say openly he's polyamorous and take it as an open invitation to cheat on him or to involve third parties without properly discussing it with halsin and just assuming he'd be up for anything and with anybody? (i get wood elves are culturally polyamorous so this point might not necessarily apply to them, but clearly halsin doesn't limit himself to just dating wood elves)

on the flipside i don't want him to only have bad relationships, or only ones that in time turn abusive, but what would happen there? imo the simplest would be 'we're just having fun and want different things long term from life' or duty calls and the like that would necessitate a breakup. i would hate the idea that tav is the only / first good happy steady relationship in his long life and thus somehow special - outside of the special aspect being around the curse breaking bc can't argue with that.

thoughts? anybody?

[dc-imagines]

~DC Imagines~

Jason Todd X Hero!Reader

TW: Suggestive, Mentions of murder, Cussing

Depending on what time in Jason's life the two of you meet, you two could be on opposite ends of justice ⚖️ or fighting side by side

Whatever your abilities are, he's going to kind of scoff at you and do his best to show he's the better fighter between you two

Either he entered your city or you entered Gotham, both of you following a lead and trying to stop something from happening

Apparently your leads ran in the same circles because you're suddenly face to face with Red Hood and he's fucking massive 👌

If you beat his ass then he'll sulk about it later and insist you pulled some dirty trick or cheated, even blames whatever circumstances were going on at the time

"You got lucky! That's what happened!"

But if he wins, then he's smug and will lord it over you in a way that is irritating and sexy

"Listen, Babe, if you're looking to get pinned down again, then you're barking up the wrong tree. I don't have time for that."

The most amicable encounters the two of you will have is when you have to team up against a common enemy, and even then, you'll have to intervene, or he'll kill them

"We aren't killing them! Stand down!"

Honestly, you'll have to stand between them and Red Hood to prevent it, but you might not be doing much to stop him

If he has to hurt you to take them down, then he will. He doesn't know you well enough to care about you and your well-being at this point

"The hell we aren't! I'm doing the world a favor by putting them down!"

Of course, he pushes back. It will honestly turn into a fight between the two of you, which leads to the villain getting away

"You let them get away!"

"I did!? You're the one who picked a fight!"

Eventually, as you two run into each more and team up more often then Jason will start to warm up to you more, be more willing to abide by your boundaries

You two still do butt heads when it comes to beliefs, but if you manage to skirt around the topic of punishment and killing, then it's a good time

He pushes those thoughts down though, not letting himself dwell on them for too long and trying to just enjoy the moment together

You two sometimes catch each other staring, both of you looking away with small blushes on your faces but neither says anything

Or one of you tackles the other to keep them from getting hit, rolling until one of you is on top, both panting and staring at each other's lips

Only to have the moment ruined when you're both attacked because you got too caught up in each other

Lots of little moments where you two smile a little too long at each other, or you hold him a little too tight on his motorcycle or you two are stuck a little too close to each other for it to be platonic

Talking about that time you two hid in a vent together with Jason on top of you and your ass was pressed to his groin, the two of you deathly still and unable to look at each other without blushing afterwards

It helps that you two have an insane attraction to each other, that he thinks you're hot as hell and could see himself working with you long-term

He's always in a better mood after a night out with you, no matter how things went down or how beat up he got

He's just in a good mood the next day, unable to hold in the small smile on his face whenever he thinks of you

Everyone around him notices it, Dick of course, being the first to press him about it, not so subtly teasing him and insinuating that Jason has a lover

Tim and Duke try to team up and trick Jason into giving up information about you but he just threatens to knock their heads together

Cass and Steph try to follow him out on patrol and see if you two are meeting up or hooking up, but you manage to catch them, Jason quickly booting them out

Damian genuinely doesn't care at first, but everyone's sudden interest sparks something in him, and he takes it as a competition to try and find out just who you are to Jason

Barbara is the one who finds out the most about you because, of course she does, she's too smart for her own good and she rubs it in everyone's faces

"I know what city they protect, their abilities, and how many times they've been spotted with Red Hood~ What do you guys have on them?"

"I know that they're really killing it in that suit. You think they could make me one in purple?"

Alfred helped her out, though. In fact, he helped everyone out because he's a sucker for all that gossip

Bruce is just tired and wants Jason to be happy, is grateful to you for putting a stop to Jason's more extreme forms of punishment

You may or may not have a run with Batman himself and have an awkward conversation about Red Hood and your intentions

But Bruce also just wants to make sure you know what you're getting into with Jason, he even gives you a way to contact him if Jason ever goes too far

"Uh-thank you..? Mr. Batman-Sir..?"

Jason is just sick of everyone trying to sniff out his business and just wants to have this one thing to himself without having to share with his family

Which makes it really sound like he likes you, just a little bit 🤏

He will deny it and tell everyone to butt out of his business, which only confirms their suspicions

"Oh, he's so into them."

"For sure."

It's not like you two know each other's secret identities so he can't just call you up and ask when you're free to hang out, he has to wait for when you two are in vigilante mode

So he looks forward to nighttime and will find excuses to come around your territory when he can, which isn't often, but it's enough for you two to grow closer

Your relationship becomes more relaxed than it was in the beginning, more playful and teasing as tension between you two turns into something else

You start to rely on each other in a fight, moving in sync and quickly becoming an unstoppable duo that balances the other out

You stop asking not to kill and instead just ask him to trust you, which seems to work because he'll always reluctantly let you handle the criminal/villain

"Just-trust me with this, okay? Let me handle them and keep the blood off your hands a little longer."

"...fine."

But he's not going to leave you alone with them, insisting on helping you escort them because he would never forgive himself if something happened to you

"I'm coming with you to make sure you don't let them get away again, got it?"

You have two options, tease him because you see through his pathetic attempt to hide his real motivation

"You could just admit you worry about me~"

Or take the bait and end up bickering the entire way there with him, making your hostage wish you had just let Jason kill them instead

"You bastard! You were the one who let them get away last time!"

He thinks it's cute to ruffle your feathers but will roll his eyes under the mask if you tease him instead

Jason gets a bit jealous if you work with other heroes, especially anybody from the Batfam, because how could you!?!?!

Is super rude and testy with whoever your partner is, and it's just horribly obvious how jealous he is but he won't admit it

"Wait, are you jealous..?"

"Of course not! I just think it would make more sense for us to work together on this, don't you?"

"Maybe, but they're my boyfriend/girlfriend/lover sooooo-"

"YOUR WHAT!?"

"So you are jealous!"

Weeks later, he'll ask you if you're actually seeing anyone, which will be the most he's ever asked about your personal life, your real identity

He doesn't know why he asked you, hates that he did because he's terrified of your answer, if you do have a boyfriend then he's going to be crushed

But if you don't, then you surely deserve better than him, every bad thing he's ever done since you two met suddenly haunting him

You hum softly and look up at the night sky, unsure if you want to really answer that before deciding that you trust him enough

"No, no boyfriend or anything like that. Just some annoying guy who won't quit bothering me at night, but he isn't so bad."

It takes Jason a moment to register what you said, relief flooding his body before hot realization hits him

"You're the annoying one!"

He throws a strong arm around you and tugs you close to him, squeezing you playfully as his heart thunders in his chest

Your laughter makes his heart ache, your flushed cheeks and smile just make it so much worse because he knows his feelings have developed beyond lust

He can handle lust, it's something hot and electric that would fizzle out the moment he's hit it and quit it

But these warm bubbling feelings inside him? He knows it's only going to get worse because he's falling for you, he wants to be with you

Yet part of him realizes that you two only know half of each other's lives, your true identities still hidden from each other

But he wants you, craves being with you more than anything, so he knows he has to start somewhere, his hands coming up to suddenly unlatch his helmet

You're not too confused, keeping your head on his shoulder, having seen him without the helmet before and knowing of the domino mask underneath

Until his hand is suddenly guiding your own up towards his face, encouraging you to remove the mask and see his real face

"What are you-"

"I want you to know me. All of me. It's okay if you don't trust me but I trust you with this."

He's blushing, you're close enough to see that his cheeks are tinted pink and you can't help but cup his face in your hands, rubbing your thumb against his bottom lip

He really does have kissable lips-

Focus

Instead you guide his hands to your own mask, giving him a reassuring smile as you start to lift his mask off of his face

"I trust you."

You knew he was beautiful, scars and all but you weren't prepared for just how pretty Jason was without the mask

It was unfair really, he already had an amazing physique why couldn't he be just a little bit ugly???

You don't even get a chance to say it because the moment your own mask comes off then you feel naked, trying to look away before a strong hand grips your chin and guides you back to him

You're frozen under his intense gaze as he pulls your face forward, lips nearly touching as he wraps his other arm around your waist

"It won't be easy, being with me you know..."

He sounds so genuine and hurt that it pulls you out of it for a moment, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a bruising kiss

He's in a daze when you pull away, not remembering how you ended up in his lap but drunk on the taste of your lips, strong hands squeezing your ass appreciatively

You lean in to kiss him again and stop just before you kiss him, smiling and cupping his cheek softly

"I was gonna say the same thing, baby~"

✨️🌟✨️

I hope you guys like it! This is my first work for my blog so please send me some requests!

[foxaftershocks]

A Chance Encounter (Lars Pinfield x f!Reader)

Synopsis: A run in with an ex was not something you wanted.

Words: 2.5k

This is kind of an extension of my other fic Ghost Boy. It uses the same reader character with Lars.

“I don’t see why I have to do this.”

Lars grumbling wasn’t new, but it was making you need to hide your smile. Your fingers tightened around his, pressing your face into his shoulder, letting him lead you through the street.

“It’s just drinks with some of the others,” you said, “we can’t live in the lab.”

“We could go home,” he muttered.

You laughed then, muffled in the material of his jacket. You knew Lars wasn’t the most social person, but the offence he’d taken at the thought of grabbing a drink with some of the people from the lab was a step too far. You loved your nerd, even when he made it clear he didn’t see the need to talk to other people.

“One drink,” you said, “you can manage that, right?”

“I guess,” he replied.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

He looked down at you, perking up enough for more giggles to tumble over your lips. His expression softened and he pulled his hand out of yours, sliding his arm around your shoulders. Whenever he showed you affection you melted, just a little bit, enough to fold yourself against him.

“I’ll get a reward?” he asked, bending towards you, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Only if you behave, ghost boy” you shot back.

His lips pressed to your temple, a soft rumble in his chest reminding you how much you revelled in his joy. Your arm curled around his waist, finding its way under his coat, seeking out his warmth.

The bar was loud when you arrived and you knew Lars would be complaining about it. You took his hand again, tugging him through the crowd. His hand tightened in yours and you looked back over your shoulder at him. It wasn’t frustration on his face, but a level of anxiety you weren’t used to with him. You paused, ignoring the complaint from the person behind the two of you.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

“Fine,” he replied through gritted teeth.

“Lars.” You cupped his cheek, forcing him to look at you, “talk to me.”

“Not a big fan of crowds,” he said, eyes darting around the bar.

“You should have said something. We don’t have to stay if you’re uncomfortable,” you said.

“It’s only one drink, right?” he asked, finally looking at you.

“We don’t have to,” you replied.

“One drink should be alright,” he said.

You reached up onto your tip toes to press your lips to his. His arm slid around your waist automatically, the way it always did when you were close enough.

“Why don’t you find the others and I’ll get us that drink,” you suggested, pushing back from him.

It was easy to track his movement through the crowd with his height as you moved in the opposite direction towards the bar. You shuffled through the crowd, squeezing through what gaps you could find. Pushing your way to the front, you caught the eye of the bartender. He held up a finger, finishing one transaction before sauntering over to you.

“Hey, could get a glass of the shiraz and a rum and coke?” you wrested, raising your voice to be heard over the noise.

He flashed you a charming grin and a nod. You lent against the bar, one elbow resting on the slightly sticky surface, eyes scanning over the crowd to find where Lars had ended up. Tucked away in one corner, you could see him, blond head bowed as an uproarious laugh went through the group from work.

“Well fancy seeing you here.”

Your head snapped around, a face swooping into view. A startlingly familiar face. You found yourself rearing back, not enjoying the surprise.

“Liam,” you breathed.

His stupid smiling face was blocking your view of Lars and the begins of panic fluttered in your stomach. The years you’d spent getting this man out of your life came flashing through your mind. He wasn’t awful, he could just be kind go a dick, and so wrapped up in a lot of your social circles. You’d even ended on amicable terms. But then you’d moved to New York to untangle yourself from him. And now he was here.

“I was going to tell you I was in town but then I thought surprising you would be so much more fun,” he said, leaning on the bar in front of you.

Yeah, he hadn’t quite gotten the memo that you guys weren’t friends anymore. Over a year without talking and now he thought he could surprise you.

“How’d you… how’d you know where to find me?” you asked, pressing a hand to your stomach, hoping something would begin to make sense again.

“I didn’t. This was a surprise. I was going to go find the Ghostbusters tomorrow and ask them to help,” he said, “I’ve been watching your videos. They’re really good.”

“Thanks,” you replied faintly.

“Are you here with them now?” he asked, still smiling at you like you’d just made all his dreams come true by existing.

“No, not the Ghostbusters. Just some people from the lab,” you said.

“Cool, cool. Hey, come join me. We can catch up. How’ve you been? We all miss you back home. No one’s really heard from you in ages,” he said all in one breath, making your head spin.

“I wish I could but I’m here with people,” you said.

“Just tell them you want to catch up with an old friend.” His eyes swept over your body, “you look great.”

You did your best to suppress the disgust the feeling his appreciative gaze made you feel. Your whole body rejected it and you found it hard to believe you’d ever once enjoyed it. Biting back a scathing response, you looked away, trying to catch the eye of the bartender.

“So what have you been up to?” he asked, stealing back your attention.

“Oh, you know,” you said, “working. Enjoying the city. Going to bars.”

“So are you seeing anyone?” he asked, eyes sweeping over your body again.

Two glasses were placed down in front of you, your order finally arriving. You flashed a smile at the bartender, tapping your phone to pay for it.

“Well, it was nice running into you,” you said, picking up both glasses, “but I have to get back to my friends.”

“Stay for one drink,” he pleaded.

“I really can’t. I’m here with people,” you said.

“I’ve missed you.”

The guilt. He was always so good at wielding guilt to get what he wanted. You paused, the familiar feelings making you falter. His puppy dog eyes only made it worse.

“Everything okay?”

You blinked, reminded of where you were and what you were doing. A soft hand landed on your waist, pulling you back against a body that made you feel electric. You lent into Lars, glad for his steadying force.

“Hi,” Liam said, the surprise evident on his face. He’d never been good at hiding his emotions. Not from you.

“Who’s this, love?” he asked.

“Oh uh.” You never could have prepared for this moment, “Lars, this is Liam. Liam, this is my boyfriend, Lars.”

You turned, passing the glass of wine over to Lars, looking up into his face. He was staring at the other man, expression hardening. It wasn’t often he looked like that, that expression usually reserved for Gary when he was messing about in the lab.

Or you when you asked him to film a video with you.

“We’re just catching up,” Liam said, “we’re old friends. She’s probably told you all about me.”

“I can’t say that she has,” your boyfriend replied.

His hand slipped down until it was resting on your hip, almost possessive as he held you. Liam’s eyes slipped down to it, disappointment and hurt flashing over his face before he tried to school his features. And yet those damned puppy dog eyes remained.

“So she never told you we used to date?” he asked.

“I did tell you about him,” you said, snatching Lars’ attention, “he’s that ex from my college days. Remember? Caused a lot of fights?”

“Oh, he’s that one,” he said.

His fingers tightened on your hip and you had to wonder what was going through his mind. Glancing to the side, Liam had taken a step towards you, fingers clenched at his side. The look on his face was confusion and heartbreak mingled together and you weren’t sure you had the energy to deal with him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

“Liam, we haven’t spoken in over a year. I didn’t think I had to tell you anything about my life. We don’t talk,” you said.

His shoulders slumped under your words and guilt was claiming its way up your throat and the need to apologise was growing and the pressure was building and-

Lars’ lips pressed to your temple, breaking you out of the spiral you were finding yourself in. You blinked, turning away from him, into the safety offered by your boyfriend’s arms.

“Can we talk?” Liam asked, his hand landing on your shoulder.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Lars said, his voice hard.

“Please?” That soft voice always used to be your undoing.

You squeezed your eyes shut before you turned back to him.

“We have nothing to talk about, Liam. We’re not friends. We don’t have a place in each others lives. It’s better if you just leave it be,” you said to him, vocalising how you’d been feeling for so long.

“But I still care about you,” he said, sounding lost.

“And I’m sorry for that. But someone who cares for me wouldn’t hurt the people I care about the way you did. They wouldn’t lie to me the way you did. They wouldn’t treat me with the disrespect you did.” It all came out of you in a rush, “you liked the idea of me than the reality. You liked that I made you look so good. You liked using me as free therapy.”

The expression on his face was like you’d slapped him.

“You’re my best friend,” he said, “I thought… I thought there was still a chance for us.”

“And I think you have your answer,” Lars snapped.

Liam finally looked away from you, something ugly marring his face when he saw Lars. His arm slid around your body, holding you close, glaring at the other man. If you weren’t careful it would turn into a tug of war with you playing the part of the rope.

“I’ve moved on,” you said, before a proper fight broke out, “you should too. Find someone else to be your best friend because I quit.”

You turned, one hand on Lars chest pushing him back, feeling proud of yourself. You didn’t always stand up for yourself so when you did, it felt like a big deal.

“Yeah? Well everyone back home only ever says what a bitch you are,” he called to your retreating back, “I was the only one who ever stood up for you. Guess I can stop doing that now since you’ve proven you’re exactly what they all say. A stuck up back stabbing bitch.”

Lars shoved past you, pushing the glass of wine into your hand. You blinked and his fist was up, slamming into the side of Liam’s face. You gasped before dropping the glasses back onto the bar and forcing your way between the two men. Both hands on Lars’ chest, you shoved him back.

“Lars,” you said, not sure if you were angry or proud of him.

“Don’t you talk about her like that,” he snarled, pointing at the man over your shoulder.

“What the fuck?” Liam demanded.

“We should get out of here,” you said to Lars.

“Please do,” the bartender said.

“Come on, ghost boy, let’s just go home.”

You were so aware of the people watching, phones turned in your direction. He pulled his glare away from Liam, looking down at you. His jaw was clenched and you knew his anger was simmering, so close to popping.

“Alright.”

He slung his arm around your shoulders and you led him out of the bar, not even bothering to spare a glance back at your ex and his bruised ego.

You let him stew in his anger for a few blocks. The way he was muttering under his breath was familiar and yet usually he didn’t resort to punching people. Eventually, you had to break the silence.

“So much for one drink,” you said.

“I can’t believe you dated that guy,” he said.

“I know. I made some bad choices in my youth,” you replied.

“How dare he say those things about you?” he growled.

“I know, ghost boy, but you can’t go round punching people who say shit about me. Otherwise you’re going to have to track down a lot of commenters from our social media,” you said, “plus, you tried to get me fires so…”

“I think I’ve more than made up for that,” he said.

You stopped him in the street, forcing him to look at you. His jaw was working and you could feel how the anger was still coursing through him. You shoved him against the wall of the closest building, hands resting on his chest keeping him there.

“Thank you for sticking up for my honour. Honestly, ghost boy, no one’s ever done that for me before. But I can’t have you getting arrested for assault. Assholes like that aren’t worth it,” you said.

“He thought he still had a chance with you,” was all he said.

“And he was wrong,” you said.

“He better be,” he muttered.

You shoved him again. His hands settled on your hip, pulling you closer to keep you from doing it again.

“That was such a stupid thing to do, ghost boy,” you said, head falling forward until it rested against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said, lips brushing your temple.

“But also kind of hot,” you admitted.

A surprised laugh fell from his lips and you looked up at him, squinting in the face of your own hypocrisy.

“Don’t you ever do that again,” you said, “but also you are so getting your reward.”

“That sends a very confusing message,” he said.

“I don’t care.”

Pushing up onto tiptoes, you pressed your lips to his, sinking into his warmth. The hands on your hips tightened, hauling you against his body. Your tongue licked into his mouth and you kissed him deeper until the wolf whistling started.

“Home?” you murmured against his lips.

“I want my reward,” he replied.

“C’mon then, ghost boy.”

Threading your fingers through his, you tugged him in the direction of your home, ready to give him the reward he definitely deserved.

[blzzrdstryr]

Hardest yanderes to escape from (male human ver)

Request: Which (half or full human) male yan in Genshin would be hardest to escape from?

Let's say darling managed to bolt and make it to a faraway country. Which male yan (that's at least half human, so this excludes Xiao, Venti, Zhongli, Scara, Albedo, etc) do you think would be likeliest to have you back (alive) in his arms eventually? (In terms of sheer determination and ability even across the entire region of Teyvat)

Sorry if this is the wrong place to ask, this is my first time submitting an ask since I've only lurked on tumblr up till this point. English is not my first language so I hope my ask makes sense.

I think a lot of yanderes (if not all) would be willing and desperate enough to travel Teyvat by foot in search of their beloved, but there are definitely those who can afford it and those who don't.

Characters with enough money and good social standing will be able to narrow your window of escape and expand their chances of capturing you back to their loving embrace. These yanderes are(in descending order of getting away from them): Diluc, Ayato, Childe.

Diluc is the hardest to escape - the man is filthy rich and unlike Ayato or Childe he's not as stifled with a title to uphold. He can afford to chase you to the end of the world without causing too much damage to his image or business - Mondstadters may think he travels to establish new deals and expand his already gigantic wine empire, and there are Adelinde and Elzer to oversee the winery and domestic affairs. He is no longer a knight captain, and with his less than amicable disposition towards his old order, Jean and his former colleagues won't pry into his matters too much.

All in all, Diluc is scarily rich with an equally scary lack of duties to bind him in one place.

Ayato is also rich, yet he has the reponsibilities before the people of Inazuma and his clan, responsibilities he can't and won't neglect, so he has to plan and wait. Travelling isn't new to him, yet his journeys have to be politically beneficial for his clan at least in some degree - Ayato can't afford to be away, avoiding the title of the commisioner. Yet the same title also lends him some benefits, such as the usage of the Yashiro commision resources and eyes and ears of Shuumatsuban. Some of his requests may raise some eyebrows, so Ayato needs to be discreet, or at least have a convincing legend painting you as some kind of fugitive criminal that poses unique threat, that only Yashiro commision will be able to eliminate.

Ayato is rich and politically influential which gives him both advantages and disadvantages.

Childe is an interesting case - his servitude provides him with the help of the Northland Bank, yet it's also the same servitude that stops and stiffles him. If you're someone famouse, someone significant in the Teyvat world, then Childe won't be able to pursue you, as this will directly impact Fatui image and thus Tsaritsa too, should the truth leak out. On the other hand, Childe is one of the Harbingers, he has a horde of underlings at his beck and call, who were taught to never question their orders, so it won't be hard for him to order someone else to bring you back.

[alwaysonf1]

date?

Pairing: Charles LeClerc x Hamilton!OC

Genre: Slice of Life; Fluff

Word Count: 3.3k

Warning: Mild Language.

Rating: PG-13

Author's Note: PSA there will be no French hear unless it's a pet name or I love you.

A knock on her door makes Iman jump. In the process a bit of the lip gloss she was applying gets on her chin. Panic fills her and she quickly grabs a tissue and blots it away. 

“One second,” she calls out.

Iman would love to say that all her nervous energy was because she needs to touch up her make-up quickly, but it was there long before that. It’d been there since she’d woken up from her nap. She’d opted out of the late lunch she’d been invited to, claiming she was tired and needed a bit to recharge. Which hadn’t been a lie, but it also wasn’t the complete truth. Iman needed alone time to pull herself together and scream into her pillow.

The giddy schoolgirl behavior was back.

There was a part of her that still hated that feeling, but she’d also started to embrace it. Most of her relationships didn’t come with it. That didn’t mean the ones that did were amicable at all, but for some reason she felt like this time it made sense. This time it was okay to fall into her emotions, even if the potential bad outcome comes true.

As soon as the thought enters, even though it’s not sending her into a spiral, she pushes it out. Going into this with only thoughts of the good, while being realistic is what she needed to do. Even if things ending badly, was a realistic possibility.

With a tap of her setting powder and then a light mist, she gets herself up from the seat in front of the vanity and grabs her purse from the bench near the door. Her gaze flits over the mirror on the other side of the door and she walks toward it. One thing she isn’t nervous about is her outfit.

The olive-green dress she chose fits her well up top and flares perfectly at the bottom, stopping just below her knee. It’s her favorite color to wear and she’s full of herself enough that she knows that others agree with her choice. However, the one area where she’s a little hesitant is the shoes. Why she packed stiletto length heels she was unsure, but they work and that’s all that mattered.

A deep breath, an adjustment on how the bottom half of her braids not in an updo, and then she opens the door.

Unconsciously she takes a sharp inhale. When Charles looks up at her he does the same. It stops some of the burning in her cheeks, but she could see the rosiness forming on his face immediately. He looks bashful and that comforts her for some reason.

“Hi,” she says.

Not enough to get her to say something better than that though.

“Hi. You look… beautiful, mon ange.” He sounds a little breathless.

However, that isn’t what she focuses on. No, her brain is fixated on the term of endearment. Fixated on him calling her his angel. Iman is sure that the burn in her cheeks is enough to be visible. But she hopes her blush is hiding it. Being this flustered is a little embarrassing.

“Thank you. You look handsome.” 

The statement could easily just be a throw away compliment since he gave her one, but Iman means it. Her eyes scan him from head to toe, his combination of brown slacks and a cream ribbed button up makes her warm in a different way. Her eyes meet his again and he his lips are quirked in a smirk and there’s a fire in his eyes.

A second passes with them just staring at each other, then Charles extends his hand. Iman takes it without a second or first thought. Their fingers lace together, and Charles nods his head toward the elevators.

“We shouldn’t miss our reservation.”

Iman nods and they begin to walk. 

Silence fills the space between them, but it’s comfortable. Once inside the elevator she thinks Charles will let go, but he holds her hand firmly. Not giving a single sign, he plans to release her. Even as one of her fingers taps against the back of his hand due to her mild fear of being trapped in an elevator. Something that came from getting trapped in an elevator once with Logan. 

He leads her out of the elevator once the doors open, squeezing tight for a second. 

The only times he’s been in front of her is to motion her forward in a lady first gesture. Something she doesn’t need for a date but feels good.

Though the usual move was to rent a house on vacation, everyone thought a new resort that had everything you could want on the property was a good idea. So, from the moment they exit the hotel to their arrival at the restaurant only five minutes will pass.

The first minute is with more silence, but then suddenly Iman is pressed against Charles’ side. Her eyes go wide, and she turns her head to look up at him, but then she feels a whoosh of air. She turns her head just in time to see a golf cart going too fast.

Shock is the word that best fits her as she watches the cart until it disappears. Then she looks to Charles again. Despite their impending danger just moments ago he seems very calm. Too calm.

“Did you set that up, Charlie?”

“What do you mean?” Confusion takes hold of his features. 

“Your saving the damsel in distress moment?” 

His confusion only seems to grow, and she watches as he opens his mouth to reply, then closes it. An expression that Iman would call a little arrogant replaces the confusion.

“Are you a damsel in distress, mon ange?”

Iman purses her lips in thought, then bats her lashes at him.

“Maybe.”

Charles leans in close and whispers in her ear, “Then I will save you whenever you need it.”

Involuntary shivers run down her spine and from the growing smirk she knows that Charles noticed it. Her immediate response is to fall into a shy persona, but she steels herself, this time being the one to whisper in his ear.

“I’ll hold you to it.”

There’s a mild shift in expression, but he manages to keep it off his face. 

“We have to go. Don’t want to be late, remember?” she says.

Charles clears his throat and nods, leading them to the restaurant. This silence is more tension filled than before. The kind of tension that Iman enjoys.

But because she knows that he’s already flustered she doesn’t do anything to get him even more riled up. Just holds his hand until they get to the entrance of the restaurant. Her hand goes to push open the door, but Charles beats her to it. He gives her a look that she’s sure is about the audacity of her opening the door herself and then guides her in by the small of her back.

This resort has quite a few F1 fans on staff, so it doesn’t shock Iman when the host’s face lights up and he gestures for them to follow him without a word said. He leads them through the half full restaurant and to a table that isn’t completely separate from everything else but has some level of privacy.

Charles pulls the chair out for her, and she sits, her hands itching to look at the menu, but she waits until he’s seated and the host leaves. Iman’s hand reaches out to grab the menu, but it’s gone and in Charles’ hands before she can. She opens her mouth, ready to ask what he’s doing, but that’s paused by the waiter arriving with water and taking the drink orders. Before he leaves Charles promises they’ll have their orders ready for when he comes back.

So, instead of saying anything Iman looks at Charles with a raised brow. One of his hands extends across the table and takes her’s. He looks into her eyes and she almost melts.

“I know what you want,” he says.

Immediately she wants to be apprehensive, but she doesn't give into that. Yes, people could be different when a romantic relationship is on the table, but Charles sat through an hour rant about a date with someone who ordered for her and then ate half her food while she was in the bathroom.

“Go on,” Iman says.

“They have wagyu here.”

All funny feelings fled her at once and she could feel giddiness building up in her. 

“And a asparagus dish similar to…”

A soft sound of joy escapes her, cutting him off. The mention of two of her favorite things is all she needs to hear. Without thinking she gets out of her seat and goes to his side. She takes his head in her hands and leans down, kissing him in a way that isn’t soft, but also not intense.

When she pulls away Charles looks breathless again. And for a moment Iman thinks about doing it again but sees their waiter out of the corner of her eye and moves back to her seat. 

“What did I do to deserve that?” he asks when the waiter leaves.

“Listen.”

“That is all it takes?”

Iman knows he’s teasing her. They’ve had many conversations about the bar being in hell. Though he says it’s much deeper than that.

“I also just wanted to kiss you.”

“You are welcome to any time, mon ange.”

Embarrassment for her reaction to that or her reactions at all is nowhere to be found. Maybe it will turn up when she’s trying to sleep at night, but Iman has no regrets. Charles is a man she’s liked for longer than she’d care to admit and like she told herself in her hotel room, she’s allowing her elevated emotions to be what they are. She’ll mellow out.

Neither say anything else, taking a moment to taste their drinks. Wine isn’t her favorite thing, but she likes the red wine she chose. She hadn’t specified what kind, and the waiter didn’t ask. It worked in her favor.

Throat clearing and she’s looking at Charles again.

“Do you like it?’

“Surprisingly, yes.”

“Good.”

“Do you want to try it?” 

Charles’ eyes widen. “Oh no, mon…”

The glass is already outstretched to him, he hesitates, but takes it after a few seconds. Iman watches intently as his lips press to the rim and he takes a small sip. And then another. And then for a third time.

“Hold on now, I didn’t say you could drink it all.”

Her hand beckons for him to give it back and he takes one last sip then hands it over. There’s a pout taking shape, but Iman refuses to be swayed by it.

“Put that lip away before I bite it. Order your own.”

Brows are raised at the word bite, and he doesn’t stop the pouting. In fact, he exaggerates it. 

“Sharl…” she warns.

That brings a smile and she can’t help but roll her eyes, before smiling as well.

Time either moved quickly or the staff did, because two waiters approach with their meals a second later. They’re both covered until the plates are on the table and a man is now no longer what Iman is salivating over.

“Thank you,” they say as the waiters leave.

Once they’re gone Iman takes no cues from Charles, just picks up the smallest piece of her already cut steak and fights a moan. It’s nearly perfect and it’s been a while since she’d had it.

Her next step is tasting the asparagus. There’s a little surprise in the restaurant having it whole, the only time she sees them in an up-scale restaurant is usually as a barely there part of the meal. 

The moment she touches her tongue her eyes go wide and she takes another bite immediately. This time something akin to a moan almost comes out, but there’s another piece in her mouth before she can release it.

“That is almost the taste exactly,” Iman says.

“I don’t believe I have asked you, why do you enjoy those so much?”

Iman puts down the cutlery and takes a sip of her wine.

“Lewis was, and still is, a terrible cook. But that didn’t stop my mother from leaving me with him for a week while she worked. I only knew the basics and that got tiring after a while. So, I begged him to make something fancier. He caved, we went to the store and grabbed anything. Then we got home and it was a disaster trying to figure things out. Burned chicken, burned chocolate lava cake, and somehow burned mashed potatoes. Asparagus is the only thing that we managed not to burn and we’d just thrown random spices on them before roasting so we were terrified. But we agreed it was the best vegetable eating experience we’d ever had. Took weeks to figure out how to recreate it.

“And then he went vegan on me. So, it became one of the few shared favorite dishes we have.”

Charles appears thoughtful. There was some eating here and there - from both of them - as Iman spoke, but she had his full attention the entire time.

“Ah. I will admit that this love you have for it is still confusing to me, but I understand. Now, how did you come to love such an expensive cut of cow?”

Soft laughter escapes Iman because of his phrasing.

“For one of my birthdays, Lewis just showed up and said we were going to Japan. I’d always wanted to, but mom refused to let him just jet me here and there because it would spoil me or something. As if he didn’t in every other way,” Iman rolls her eyes. “But anyway, we went and did all the touristy things, ate ramen in small towns, and bought way too much in all the districts of Tokyo. Then we went to a restaurant that was just the fanciest place I’d ever seen. It was a kind of place that had a set menu.

“I wasn’t all that sure about trying the wagyu when it came out redder than I liked, but he convinced me and it was the best steak I’d ever eaten. We still had a week after that and I convinced him four more times to take me to places with wagyu, but I refused to have anything but the best. That’s the first and only time he’s cut off my spending. Which is fair. I was at risk of actually putting a dent in his bank account if I got my way.”

A fondness fills Iman and she thinks back to the chaos and fun of that trip.

“So should I raise my price when I go into contract negotiations to prepare for this addiction of yours?” he asks, laughing.

“If you like me, happy.”

“Then I will do just that.”

Iman was uncertain if he was joking or not, but there was this look in his eye that made her think he might not be.

Instead of addressing that she continues to eat her meal. They speak here and there about the things they loved in life. There’s a lot of focus on Iman getting back into dancing and Charles wanting to release more music.

“Why not release a single? Get the fans excited.” Iman asks

“I have nothing ready.”

“I’ve heard your “unfinished” music before, it’s great. You’re just too in your head.”

“Perhaps.”

Two waiters arrive to take their plates and then leave quickly. As if scared to linger longer than necessary.

“Dessert?”

Lips pursed, Iman shakes her head. “Hm… I usually wouldn’t say no, but I don’t know if I can manage.”

“We could share?”

Iman thinks it over, she knows that she’ll have to satisfy the sweet treat craving later if she doesn’t now. Which is fine, but she kind of wants to know what the restaurant has to offer. 

“Okay.”

Hand not even halfway up and the waiter is at their table.

“What can I help you with?” he asks.

“One of your chocolate mousses, please.”

“Only one, sir?

“Yes, we will share.”

Their waiter pulls a face. “I’m sorry sir, are you sure? The mousse is quite small.”

Charles looks at me and I turn toward the waiter.

“Two of them, please.”

The waiter nods and is gone as fast as he arrived. 

They continue talking about everything under the sun and just like their food, the mousse is there before they know it. And when they see it, their understanding of what small means is very clear.

“No wonder they provide such small spoons, trying to make people think it’s more than two scoops,” Iman says.

Nothing else is said and they dig in. It takes them both three spoonfuls to be done with it, confirming that Iman will need to order something from room service anyway.

“Ready to go?” Charles asks.

“Yes.”

He leaves the table and returns a minute later with his hand outstretched.

Iman takes it and rises from her seat and allows him to lead her out of the restaurant. The sun is much lower in the sky and so the walk is much slower than it was before. Their hands lightly swing between them.

When they reach Iman’s room she thinks it’s too soon, despite turning a five-minute walk into twenty. 

Stalling, she turns to face him and just stares. Charles does the same thing. Then he’s creeping closer and closer, until Iman’s back is flush against her door. One of his hands slips to her waist and the other cups her face. He angles her head up and then his lips are on her’s. They’re soft and taste of chocolate. It’s gentle to start, but Iman wraps her arms around him, trying to pull him closer and it takes a turn.

They part for a moment and then Iman puts a hand in his hair and pulls him back in. Her teeth graze his lip, he shivers. So, she does it again, but instead of a graze it’s a bite.

A haze comes over her.  As they finally pull away and she doesn’t know how long they’ve been at it, but she hears voices and doesn’t want to get in trouble for indecent acts in public.

“I should probably…” she trails, hitching a thumb at her door.

Charles clears his throat and loses some of that spacy look he has going on.

“Yes, you need your rest. We have an early morning.”

“Someone really should have stopped that Florida man from booking a sunrise breakfast boat ride and then snorkeling.”

Laughter. “I am sure it will be fun.”

“I hope so.”

Seconds tick by with neither of them doing anything. Then the voices get closer and Iman rediscovers sense. 

“So… good night, Sharl.”

“Good night, mon ange.”

They lean in and kiss again, but it’s more of a peck. Then he watches as she unlocks the door and goes into her room. She waves at him as she closes the door.

Inside her room Iman stands perfectly still as she counts down thirty seconds, hoping that he’s on the elevator. She reaches thirty and she grabs a pillow from the love seat in her room and screams into it.

“Hell yes,” she shouts.

###

Every second since Charles kissed Iman at her door has been like he’s floating on a cloud. His every moment is almost autopilot and when he breaks from his stupor for a second or two, he can’t remember when he changed into his pajamas or dimmed the lights. 

Standing in front of the bathroom sink so he can brush his teeth, his eyes meet the reflection and he sees a dopey smile on his face. Not that he hasn’t known it was there this entire time. But seeing it is different. It confirms something for him.

He’s not going to let this slip away. 

That’s not the thing he’s confirmed though, but he can’t find it in himself to address it. It feels too fast.

[golden-eye-ramblings]

Renatus Revol Headcanon Dump Part 1

Woo wooo!! Time for Renatus headcanons! He’s not just a simple delinquent and I intend to convince y’all on why :3c. This will have manga spoilers! Gif credit to @fallinblossoms

————

Renatus Revol

Height: 5’10/180cm

Age: 26

Birthdate: November 1st

Sign: Scorpio

Gender: Cisgender

Pronouns: He/Him

Sexuality: Bisexual

• While Renatus fits into the category of a delinquent brute with how lackadaisical and extreme he can be in terms of delivering punishment. He’s actually quite amicable like Ryoh and Kaldo. He’s just incredibly tired 24/7 due to his role and hasn’t gotten proper sleep in years(except for holidays, which he yearns for every day).

• Has developed the ability to sleep standing upright.

• His favorite food is fast food because it’s the only thing that’s usually available super late at night to eat. My man can NOT cook.

• Conversely his favorite drink is cheap beer because, once again, of how easily accessible it is during late hours.

• He enjoys reading ghost stories because it helps keep him up at night.

• Compared to the others who at least have decent homes or lavish spaces, Renatus lives in a cheap apartment. He still has things in boxes because he’s never had time to go home and truly unpack anything. The first thing one sees when entering his place is a single mattress on the floor, stacks of magazines and books, dirty containers of fast food and empty bottles. Truly a Male Living Space™️.

• Is actually quite the academic, although his memory isn’t what it used to be.

• And speaking of his memory issues. While I am inclined to believe that sleep may be a factor in it, I am also inclined to believe his immortality also plays a role in it.

• While he can regenerate at incredible speeds, it’s not entirely perfect. A crick in the neck? Simple, he just breaks his neck so the bones can set properly again. Back problems? Just break his back, no biggie. After his fight with Doom, his regeneration couldn’t keep up and he lost consciousness. And the healing process was not completely perfect when he came to(huge time shenanigans and mega manga spoilers aside). To summarize, he ended up with brain damage.

• People often think he’s forgetful because he’s just tired or lazy and doesn’t care enough to remember properly. While that’s *partially* true, it’s also because he has yet to really fully grasp how bad it really is. And he’s certainly not being careful with himself either. He’s always had memory issues but his lack of self preservation only exacerbated the problem.

• While he recalls that he gave up his mortality in order to save a girl he loved, he can’t recall if he did in fact save her. Nor even remember her name, or what she looked liked. He doesn’t think on it much in recent times, save for this weird funny feeling he gets in his chest whenever he traces his only scar.

• Renatus’ coworkers have yet to notice how bad his memory has gotten, Agito however has been assisting him in little ways. Such as leaving behind notes and helping him grab lunch and remind him of important events or work related things. He hasn’t noticed the changes fully.

• In terms of closeness with the other Divine Visionaries. He is closest with Agito, amicable with Tsurara, Ryoh and Rayne. Neutral with Orter. And on negative terms with Kaldo and Sophina. He enjoys teasing Sophina the most due to her strict school president like attitude.

• Does not remember Nerey. At all. Repeatedly even after Nerey has introduced himself several times. It’s unclear on whether or not he’s doing this as a bit or because Nerey’s genuinely not interesting enough to be remembered by Renatus.

[oh-saints]

sweetest devotion (p.8)

they did start this whole circus with a marriage of conveniences. little did mason and serena know was how convenient they had become during this marriage…

playboy!mason mount x princess!OC wc: 3.5k tw:  only as warned under masterlist but none for this chapter, except for a long read ahead! note: I am deeply apologetic for delaying this for far too long, but a virus came into me and almost paralysed me. but an excuse is an excuse, and a promise is a promise so here you go! the long-awaited chapter for our favourite star-crossed couple and I hope this made up for all the times you miss mason x serena. but as usual, I happen to have inspirations whenever dawn is approaching so this is not proof-read yet! tags: @pingyu-in-wonderland @808heartz @ironmaiden1313 @myreveriie @kathb59 (let me know if you want to be added!) < part 7 here - part 9 TBA (hopefully within the next 2 weeks) sweetest devotion masterlist

if, when mason decided to step on the throttle and married serena earlier this year, any of you shot mason in the head with the fact that mason would get along very well with serena on the last trimester of her pregnancy, mason would spit in your face. without a doubt, without hesitation.

“i need your help,”

such simplistic sentence was not supposed to do any harm to mason’s body, but it did—it always does, without his consent—and the footballer had to regulate his breathing to conceal the devastating effect serena effortlessly brought upon him.

being amicable with serena was never in his bingo cards. let alone this.

mason mount was only supposed to partake his share of responsibility towards his own child. the fact that he might be able to save serena from an impending death sentence, should she be discovered with a child out of wedlock, was a bonus.

naturally, with that in mind and a divorce at the end of the deal, he didn’t expect to be more than co-parenting partners at best.

“what is it?”

but now, he could only count his blessing amongst the stars, for no one had shot him with such incredulous prediction of his future, so mason didn’t have to apologize to anyone for having spat on their face. because mason and serena was co-habitating even better than expected, way much better than even the both of them would like to admit.

“i can’t reach for the pan.”

mason laughed a genuine one, the warmth replacing the initial electric shock. serena frowned a deeper pout, adding more heat all over mason’s body despite firing up the furnace earlier, resulting mason to plaster a wide smile still on his face as he did what he was instructed. “there you go, princess.”

they weren’t supposed to fall into this—whatever “this” might be. the sense of familiarity, comfort… all mixed up in one unknown territory they didn’t want to explore but know well enough that they had plunged themselves in.

as much as they denied themselves from the reality, though, they had indeed deviated from their own terms of being amicable. they had certainly gotten themselves more comfortable around each other than intended; it was as if they had found the rhythm on their feet and had fallen together into a song to dance together. serena cooks, mason grocery-shops. mason drives everywhere, serena massages him before they retreat to their respective bedroom. mason plays a home game, serena watches from the family box. serena has a foot aching or swollen, mason is ready with a warm-water footbath. serena catches an occasional or residual morning sickness, mason knows where the ginger crackers are. mason talks, serena listens.

what a contrary to the so-called first dance they displayed for the rest of the world to believe. back then, serena was lucky to not have stepped on mason’s tom ford shoes, and mason was saved from critics highlighting his luckster steps ripping off the train of serena’s reception gown. that night, serena decided it might actually be better to have god save the princess instead as an alternate title to eldorran national anthem.

but despite the level of this newfound friendliness established between the two of them, there was still an enormous elephant in the room.

where are they in this relationship?

that is, if there was ever a sufficient word to describe their relationship. yes, they were married but are they a couple? if not, were they friends or were they just roommates?

mason would like to think the first one—for him, roommates were simply acquittances that could care less about other person’s whereabouts, and surely with the extent they had gone through together wasn’t merely hi, how are you? basis—but more often than not, serena did make him feel the reality was that mason was indeed still walking around the eggshells.

there were times when serena made him feel he was one step forward, two steps backwards. for example; while mason was more than happy to be labelled the yapping boyfriend per today’s standard of couple compatibility, serena was, in nature, a reserved person who speaks only when deemed necessary, so to have her sharing bits of her life while he was away for work could be seen as making a wide stride of progress. but in comparison to the earlier times when their communication was rather limited to texts—or rather, mason had limited their interaction—serena was far more welcoming then, in a sense that she was willing to inform him where she was going and whatnot when they were still practically strangers.

case two was, unfortunately, the most ironic of all.

mason and serena had made a habit to retreat to the living room after dinner, for whatever reason. be it simply watching the latest movie they didn’t have the chance to catch up, be it mason gaming while serena continued her journaling, be it serena accompanying mason while he was up to review the approach of an upcoming game, be it to have a light discussion about nursery, the upcoming doctor’s visit.

bottom line, the living room had turned into a shared premise for them, yet serena had never once invited mason over to her mini piano recital.

you might wonder why was mason upset over such a small—meaningless even for some—matter. but when your housemate bid you farewell for the night, only to sneak up the owner of the house later into the night to use the grand piano by the stairs—courtesy to his interior designer, who decided it’d be a nice sentimental touch to contrast the masculine theme of his house—it posed so many questions. not to mention, serena was annihilating the keys, madly punching the notes like she was screaming, very much unfit to the elegant divinire by Ludovico Einaudi.

mason had to give it to serena, though, for choosing this road. because others—most of the population, really—would only think she’s blessed with a musical talent, playing the black-and-white keys as if glue was stuck on the pads of her fingers, when in reality she was anything but destroying the classical piece.

layered with complexity, exactly like serena in person.

the next morning, mason woke up with a full determination to confront serena about it. only to be greeted by a sight of her mildly swollen eyes—mason might not be the brightest kid at school but her sisters made sure he was the top of class in the subject of “women 101”—so he’d forego whatever words about to be spilled on the tip of his tongue.  

but later, mason realised, he was glad he never made it known that he’d overheard her stellar performance. another night she’d sit down on the giant musical instrument and played a beautiful piece mason recognized from the black swan, yet it was mesmerizing for all the wrong reason. he remembered she’d gotten a call earlier from a palace, and her face expression had become sombre a bit, probably due to whatever the palace was saying.

he concluded that it had moulded into a pattern of habit whenever she was having a bad day—a way to let out her frustration. so mason stayed put, afraid he’d only distract serena. or worse, destroying her concentration flow. she worked hard to conceptualize this whole recital anyway, why should he ruin it?

other times when this happened, he’d sat on top of the stairs, hidden behind the nearest wall, as the princess took over the grandiose piano. and he had never recalled any other time when he failed to show up whenever she played her version of rendition to a modern classic piece because he knew it was serena’s only outlet to be herself. full of hidden angers and oppressed opinions, unable to express the way she truly feels because of all the royal restriction. in a way, he wanted to be there for her—good days, bad days, every day.

what a regal way to do so, whilst mason was the type to punch away the sandbag at the gym.

still, if her outmost genuine concern was not to disturb mason, and thus the midnight choice of time, she was certainly wrong. if serena thought mason would miss the elegant tunes flowing as the production result of her dainty fingers dancing on those black-and-white keys, she was certainly over-confident. mason might not be the mozart prodigy but he knows when one is supposed to depict sadness and anything alike.

but why would she conceal something as beautiful as that?

on another take, if she indeed didn’t want mason to know her habit: why? or was that why the notes she’d play was always heart-wrenchingly beautiful? because she didn’t want mason to hear anything whatever she had to say without words? because she didn’t want mason to know her deepest, most hidden secret that she was never happy here in the first place, no matter how hard mason had been trying to provide everything in this earthly realm in order to make her happier and healthier?

why didn’t she say anything, about anything at all really? in whatever relationship is—friendship, kinship—it always takes two to tango. and right now, serena was an even worse dance partner than their reception night.

just until when were they going to tango around the room, spinning endlessly?

“that was one hell of a performance.”

serena visibly jumped on her seat behind the piano, her eyes immediately looked for the source of sound. “mason,” she remained still, as she watched mason coming nearing her position. “do i wake you up?”

“no, i was only falling asleep when you started,”

“oh, no, i apologize—”

“no, no, no, i always like it whenever you play,” realising the slip of tongue that this was not the first time he’d heard her, mason might as well let out the remaining of the truth. “i like how you look when you play. free—of pressure, of opinions, of judgement… of the world, really. nothing else but you.”

there was a flash of surprise and fear. an equivalence of deer in the headlight in royal etiquette, mason presumed, before she turned away her head. “sounds like a selfish person to me.”

“if you’re a selfish person then you would’ve aborted our son the first moment you found out about him,” the speed of mason’s retaliation took serena by surprise. “but you didn’t. and that’s what i like about you, too.”

the amount of the word like coming out of mason’s mouth was seriously concerning serena. they were not supposed to like each other—amicable was what they agreed upon in the first place, given the situation and condition.

“can’t sleep?”

serena shook her head in response to mason’s question while her fingers reached for the cover of the piano, wanting to shut the lid and took her leave.

her intention had to be cancelled as mason took his spot beside her. “how are you feeling about tomorrow?”

ah, yes. the day she had been dreading.

tomorrow was the day serena had to fly back to eldorra, for her oldest brother’s wedding and her father’s abdication. the festivities wasn’t supposed to kick off until 5 days later, but serena had decided to fly in earlier because she thought she needed time to adjust back to the nitty-gritties of royal etiquettes, protocol and other royal affairs. it was a reasonable justification, both in the eyes of the palace and mason, considering she’d been away from the princess lifestyle for rather a while now, technically alone in London and bereft of any relatives but mason, both from his side of the family and especially hers.

in all honesty, serena was content with her life here, away from the spotlight and the pressure of a royal member. it was rather a life she’d been wishing to have since she was teenager. contrary to her image and popular belief that she was the friendliest member of the eldorran royal family, she wasn’t as good at mingling with any figure connected with power, politics and whatnot as she was mingling with her people.

an entire sequence of traditions was coming her way—for a wedding, abdication and coronation—so the level of social anxiety was guaranteed skyrocketing. this would mean mingling, meaningless chitchats, keeping two-faces intact, answering intruding questions, addressing false allegations, greeting and faking smiles to gold-digger spouses and so-called socialites FOR DAYS. good lord in heavens, please give me enough strengths to truck the atrocious days alone.

“are you sure you are not coming, mason?”

ah, yes. the breaking news, so shocking it headlined the eldorran gossip channels and tv programs for a week straight.

mason’s professional commitments required him to fly with his football club for an important match for several days, which coincidentally happened to fall during the series of pre-events leading to the wedding day of her brother. his attendance on the wedding day itself, the abdication and the coronation remained hanging for the public to guess—but they knew better.

the king, serena’s father, still harboured an ill feeling towards his only son-in-law. … mason didn’t even protest on that, given it was the prerogative of the king anyway, but her father made it well-known from their very first meeting in chelsea’s training ground that they’d never have a particular in-laws normalcy. mason remembered it very well, for he’d never been in the presence of a great power and authority flowing throughout the room that he’d wavered a little behind the mask he displayed.

mason flashed serena a bitter smile. “you know the answer to that, princess.”

“there is an answer to that, too, mason,” serena said, offering mason a slight grasp over his hand. “we can always use this special card of ours.”

the sight of serena looking down at her protruding belly, now unable to be hidden under various designs and styling, as her free hand stroking the ball of sunshine, never failed to warm mason’s entire body and soul. he would always feel warm and giddy, and proud and glad serena and their son was doing well each and every day, despite the rocky start.

“i’ll miss that when you’re away. you, playing the piano,” while another hand stroked gently over serena’s stomach, mason turned his occupied palm around to grip hers tightly, interlacing their fingers for the first time in forever. “i’ll miss this, too.”

“well—”

“i’ll miss you.”

what they had was orthodoxically special, indeed.

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

the house feels empty

serena didn’t know the exact time and place where this all had begun, the random texts. the timeline had become blurry since they had progressed into a friendlier terms, coming from a chain of texts that was similar to the ones shared between the owner of a house and its renter. but it had indeed become something she looked forward to during the day, a glimpse of how his day went so far—ben snores so much it hurts my ears; azpi’s so irritating in training today; or such. it filled a small space in her heart, longing for a dear friend.

but since the i’ll miss you happened, serena would be lying if she didn’t think that mason’s words were laced with something else. something beyond friendship, something she was afraid to find out, something she’d like to think non-existent so they could continue their beneficial partnership until their son was born.

in case you forget, your sound system is top notch.

act calm as usual, the head of royal etiquette always reminded her in cases where she faced a micro crisis. thus, her reply just now. she’d slip in a banter or two whenever mason sent her any text of grumbles, complaints, grunts on a usual basis.

as calm as she was, serena had to place a hand over her chest, exactly on top of her beating heart that was running rather irregularly now, while her other hand was busy slipping her phone discreetly back to her meticulously customised purse and her attention back to the ongoing discussion between two young heirs in front of her.

but of course, when she felt her phone vibrated again not long after sending her reply, serena couldn’t help but to succumb to temptation. she retreated to the corner of the room and hands were immediately reaching for the electronic device.

it’s still not the same you’re not here

for a full ten seconds, serena remained a statue. the only sign she was alive was the wide grin plastered across her face that the princess herself didn’t realise was there to begin with.

ah, shame we’re miles apart then.

it didn’t take a minute before another bubble popped up.

what if I tell you we’re no longer apart?

serena’s heart jumped from its long hibernation—she’d successfully managed to sedate them into a peaceful sleep during her time training again her old motoric as a royal princess—but she tried very hard to mask the stallion pace it was giving.

because in all honesty, serena would be lying if she didn’t wish mason was here by her side. the last state banquet she attended with mason a while back was enough of a proof that having an ally was better than no one at all. even when they weren’t exactly in the best term back then, and apart from the fact that he was only there to fulfil his end of deal.

should she mention the immense assurance she felt whenever mason’s hands were on her back, placed strategically to guide her through the maze of people wanting to formally greet her, or whenever mason’s hands were extended to reach her waist protectively while one or two people were ready to step on her feet?

alas, hope is a very powerful weapon and she’d wish not to yield it. not towards mason, at least. but before she could type out her reply to his text, her phone beeped once more and another blue bubble had popped up on her screen.

look around.

despite the early internal battle, serena did as she was told. and there he was, mason mount, looking dapper as ever with a complete, tailored suit like every other man in this ballroom—which should mean by fellow aristocrats, socialites, political figures amongst others. maybe mason was even more dashing than the rest of them because good god, his smiles as he greeted every one he met along the way down to reach serena…

it was polite but full of implied sneer, it was handsomely irritating somehow. it was captivatingly powerful too on the other hand, enough to put all the gossip and rumours spread by the palace down. it was a plain challenge to the king’s authority that didn’t allow him to be here in the first place without giving away too much insider information away.

“hello, there,” the multimillion-watt smile wasn’t wavering anytime soon, serena inferred, as he finally stopped his steps in front of her. now that he stood so close to her, she could see a thousand layers of emotion unravelling, but one thing struck more than other: he was very happy, with a bit of relief, that he was here. and that was enough of a reason for serena to reciprocate his—somehow, unbeknowingly—wider grin because she, in fact, shared the same sentiment.

for the first time in her life, despite being trained to stand up for herself diplomatically so, serena thermapolis was beyond elated to have found a true ally in this room full of fake courtesies, and that ally was her husband, no less. her stunning husband, fawned by several ladies in the background, whom she had grown more than fond of, with or without her acknowledgement, was here and that was all that mattered.

and the awful part was mason didn’t know what he did just obliterated her poor heart and rendered her speechless.

“you look like you could use a company. may i join you this evening?”

[sauntervaguelydown]

TWO YEARS AGO, by a series of strange coincidences, I found myself attending a garden party at Westminster Abbey. I was a bit uncomfortable. It’s not that other guests weren’t pleasant and amicable, and Father Graeme, who had organized the party, was nothing if not a gracious and charming host. But I felt more than a little out of place. At one point, Father Graeme intervened, saying that there was someone by a nearby fountain whom I would certainly want to meet. She turned out to be a trim, well-appointed young woman who, he explained, was an attorney—“but more of the activist kind. She works for a foundation that provides legal support for anti-poverty groups in London. You’ll probably have a lot to talk about.”

We chatted. She told me about her job. I told her I had been involved for many years with the global justice movement—“anti-globalization movement,” as it was usually called in the media. She was curious: she’d of course read a lot about Seattle, Genoa, the tear gas and street battles, but … well, had we really accomplished anything by all of that?

“Actually,” I said, “I think it’s kind of amazing how much we did manage to accomplish in those first couple of years.”

“For example?”

“Well, for example, we managed to almost completely destroy the IMF.”

As it happened, she didn’t actually know what the IMF was, so I offered that the International Monetary Fund basically acted as the world’s debt enforcers—“You might say, the high-finance equivalent of the guys who come to break your legs.” I launched into historical background, explaining how, during the ’70s oil crisis, OPEC countries ended up pouring so much of their newfound riches into Western banks that the banks couldn’t figure out where to invest the money; how Citibank and Chase therefore began sending agents around the world trying to convince Third World dictators and politicians to take out loans (at the time, this was called “go-go banking”); how they started out at extremely low rates of interest that almost immediately skyrocketed to 20 percent or so due to tight U.S. money policies in the early ’80s; how, during the ’80s and ’90s, this led to the Third World debt crisis; how the IMF then stepped in to insist that, in order to obtain refinancing, poor countries would be obliged to abandon price supports on basic foodstuffs, or even policies of keeping strategic food reserves, and abandon free health care and free education; how all of this had led to the collapse of all the most basic supports for some of the poorest and most vulnerable people on earth.

I spoke of poverty, of the looting of public resources, the collapse of societies, endemic violence, malnutrition, hopelessness, and broken lives.

“But what was your position?” the lawyer asked.

“About the IMF? We wanted to abolish it.”

“No, I mean, about the Third World debt.”

“Oh, we wanted to abolish that too. The immediate demand was to stop the IMF from imposing structural adjustment policies, which were doing all the direct damage, but we managed to accomplish that surprisingly quickly. The more long-term aim was debt amnesty. Something along the lines of the biblical Jubilee. As far as we were concerned,” I told her, “thirty years of money flowing from the poorest countries to the richest was quite enough.”

“But,” she objected, as if this were self-evident, “they’d borrowed the money! Surely one has to pay one’s debts.”

It was at this point that I realized this was going to be a very different sort of conversation than I had originally anticipated. Where to start? I could have begun by explaining how these loans had originally been taken out by unelected dictators who placed most of it directly in their Swiss bank accounts, and ask her to contemplate the justice of insisting that the lenders be repaid, not by the dictator, or even by his cronies, but by literally taking food from the mouths of hungry children. Or to think about how many of these poor countries had actually already paid back what they’d borrowed three or four times now, but that through the miracle of compound interest, it still hadn’t made a significant dent in the principal. […]

But there was a more basic problem: the very assumption that debts have to be repaid. Actually, the remarkable thing about the statement “one has to pay one’s debts” is that even according to standard economic theory, it isn’t true. A lender is supposed to accept a certain degree of risk. If all loans, no matter how idiotic, were still retrievable—if there were no bankruptcy laws, for instance—the results would be disastrous. What reason would lenders have not to make a stupid loan?

[…] For several days afterward, that phrase kept resonating in my head. “Surely one has to pay one’s debts.” The reason it’s so powerful is that it’s not actually an economic statement: it’s a moral statement. After all, isn’t paying one’s debts what morality is supposed to be all about? Giving people what is due them. Accepting one’s responsibilities. Fulfilling one’s obligations to others, just as one would expect them to fulfill their obligations to you. What could be a more obvious example of shirking one’s responsibilities than reneging on a promise, or refusing to pay a debt?

It was that very apparent self-evidence, I realized, that made the statement so insidious. This was the kind of line that could make terrible things appear utterly bland and unremarkable. This may sound strong, but it’s hard not to feel strongly about such matters once you’ve witnessed the effects. I had. For almost two years, I had lived in the highlands of Madagascar. Shortly before I arrived, there had been an outbreak of malaria. It was a particularly virulent outbreak because malaria had been wiped out in highland Madagascar many years before, so that, after a couple of generations, most people had lost their immunity. The problem was, it took money to maintain the mosquito eradication program, since there had to be periodic tests to make sure mosquitoes weren’t starting to breed again and spraying campaigns if it was discovered that they were. Not a lot of money. But owing to IMF-imposed austerity programs, the government had to cut the monitoring program. Ten thousand people died. I met young mothers grieving for lost children. One might think it would be hard to make a case that the loss of ten thousand human lives is really justified in order to ensure that Citibank wouldn’t have to cut its losses on one irresponsible loan that wasn’t particularly important to its balance sheet anyway. But here was a perfectly decent woman—one who worked for a charitable organization, no less—who took it as self-evident that it was. After all, they owed the money, and surely one has to pay one’s debts.

Debt, the First 5000 Years