#and resurrected to share this from my recent

[messylustt]

 ݁   𓂃 ៸៸៸ deer in headlights — rafe cameron + reader ( obx ) : when trying to help your sad friend at a party leads to an unexpected kiss from rafe.

contents : slight dick!rafe. nsfw intentions (not full on sex tho). slight dubcon (not heavy or roughly forced) tittie licking/sucking. tittie grab. kissing.

your eyes scanned the party mess. it had only been an hour or so. but more than likely people came drunk way before. most go from party to party, trying to find one that won’t get busted. we’ll see how long this one lasts.

girls yelping, some giggling, most a boy crazy mess. guys hollering, others giggling themselves, nearly twirling their hair at the bent over girls “enjoying” their drinks. you couldn’t help but smile. even though you never found yourself in the centre of it all, you were far from hating the experience.

but that’s when you spotted your friend, scarlet, bolt upstairs, pushing her sleeve down to her fingertips to wipe the mix of tears and mascara from her face. you stood up, tilting past the edge of the couch to reach her.

“scarlet!” you call, trying to quicken your steps. what had happened? she either ignores you or simply can’t hear over the drowning base of the music.

you follow her upstairs. “scarlet?” you call again. and this time she shifts her gaze, her head turning towards you.

“hey..” you smile softly reaching her side. “what’s wrong? why the tears?”

scarlets bottom lip quivers, even if she trying to force it down, while her brows remain furrowed and bent with hurt. she looks as though she wishes to say something, but then she gulps. her expression pales as she rushes into the bathroom, but not before she shuts the door stopping you from entering.

scarlet was always a little complicated. easily embarrassed despite her confidence.

there’s a moment where all you can hear is puking as you try to turn the handle finding that the door is locked. “no. don’t come in.” she says, breathless after a moment.

“scarlet—“ you say in protest, wanting to help. “no! please.” she replies, cutting you off.

you sigh, knowing she hates anyone seeing her puke. “i just wanna help.” you try.

“no I—“ you can hear her hiccuped breathing. “i don’t want him to know…” her tone is almost pitiful.

“who?” you ask standing by the door.

“kelce…”

“kelce?” your brows furrow before thinning out. “is he the boy you kept telling me about?”

she sniffles. “maybe..”

“scarlet…” you say softly “what happened?”

“it was a joke. all of it. ‘sleep with the slut’.” she scoffs. “just because i like boys…a lot of them doesn’t mean i’m some…look liking dick shouldn’t be some god awful issue.”

your brows furrow again, but this time in anger. you hadn’t known kelce that well. only through living on this island, like most. but you had thought he was merely a guy looking to stay ‘cool’ or ‘popular’, not an outright dick.

not like his friend, rafe. rafe cameron. now, if anyone was to easily be called a ‘dick’ it would be him.

“are you sure i can’t come in?” you ask. “please just…” she replies, to which you ease her. “it’s okay. just relax…let me go get you some water.”

you rush back downstairs, squeezing past the out of tuned drunks, and high teens. you head to the kitchen. but as you do, you catch a conversation going on in the hallway.

“i fucked her over man…” the voice, you can identify as kelce’s. “i…why did i do that?”

“hey, calm down. don’t get worked up alright?” the other voice…rafe’s.

“nah man..” kelce sounds stressed, almost on the verge of tears.

“listen to me man. it was a stupid joke. she shouldn’t have taken it to heart, yeah?” rafe’s tone is dismissing towards scarlet, which honestly doesn’t leave you very surprised.

“fuck..” kelce mutters “but now she doesn’t…want me…want anything to do with me most likely.”

“then move on.” rafe replies, speaking as though that concept is a breeze.

“move on…” kelce mutters, repeating slowly.

“yeah, move on. you’re at a party for christs sake. have fun. plenty of girls around.” rafe replies, hitting kelce’s shoulder by the sounds of it.

you peek slightly round the corner to watch them.

kelce sighs rubbing his head roughly.

“go get ‘em man. go on” rafe pats kelce’s back as he slightly pushes him towards the heat of the party. you quickly return behind the doorway as he passes.

you wait a moment before looking back to where they were talking to find rafe staring straight back at you. you pause, blinking. rafe’s head tilts, his expression not one of surprise, as if he had spotted you the moment your head poked out.

“you always eavesdrop?” rafe takes a swig from his beer. you step out, darting your gaze slightly.

“i was just getting some water…for my friend.” you reply as he begins to head over to you.

“yeah?” he hums nodding, as he stops a few step distances from you. “does that water trip include spying?”

“i didn’t catch much.” you reply.

“yeah, how much did you catch, deer?” he asks, his gaze darting over your face and down your body as if he’s trying to place you.

your brows furrow. “didn’t know you were one for…names like that.”

rafe scoffs “i meant ‘deer’ as in a deer caught in headlights, not the other ‘dear’.” he says tapping his beer bottle on your nose, gesturing to your round eyes.

your nose scrunches in response as you lean back, rubbing it. “i’m not ‘caught in headlights.’”

“no?” he replies. “or maybe you’re just starstruck.”

“by you?” you ask raising your brows. “i’m sorry, but you don’t have that ‘wonder’ to you, rafe.”

“a lot of girls think different.” he replies. “you’d look at me with ‘wonder’ if you’ve been seeing stars all night.”

you pause, staring at him, before his words register. “ew, rafe.”

“ouch.” he replies, completely unbothered, taking a swig.

“the majority of people who you make see ‘stars’ are those who have a ‘your-shaped-fist’ indent in their face.” you say edging back into the kitchen, preferring that this conversation ends sooner than later.

rafe scoffs, his face dropping, as he steps after you. “you’re not clever.”

“you seemed affected though.”

“re-size your brain, it ain’t that big”

you raise your hands in innocence, as you turn towards the sink, grabbing a clean empty glass. rafe leans up again the kitchen island, his legs planted in a slight spread.

you glance back at him, wondering why he’s still here.

he watches you.

“look, i’m sorry for eavesdropping. i only cared because…” you pause instinct telling you not to talk about your friend with the likes of rafe. but he clearly already knows.

“oh you got a reason? you’re not just simply…nosy?” rafe gives a fake-surprised look, as you stare blankly at him.

“you’re talking as if you know me.”

“i do know you.” he replies simply.

“no, um…you don’t.” you look confused.

“yeah…i do.”

“maybe we’ve had like…one proper conversation…” you say.

“nah, more than that.” why rafe is saying such simple sentences is a bother to you.

“alright, well…just because we’ve talked a couple times doesn’t mean you ‘know’ me.” you say filling the glass up with water looking back to the sink.

“you think I pay no attention to the people on this island?”

“yeah, sure, briefly. i do the same.” you reply shrugging. “you’re acting as though you know my favourite colour or something.”

“orange.”

you look to rafe, staring at him. “what?”

he crosses his arms, placing his beer to the side. “no, obviously i don’t know your favourite colour. i’m talking about behavioural observations, not stalker material, doll.”

“i thought you weren’t one for names like that.”

“i’m not.” he replies so simply again.

you look back to him seeing that he’s not going to explain any further. “okay…” you mutter moving past him with the glass of water.

“that for kelce’s fuck buddy?” rafe asks staying against the island.

you pause “I’m sorry?”

“what’s her name again?” rafe hums. “sophie?”

“scarlet.” you say with a frown. “and she was never kelce’s fuck buddy. she liked him.”

“yeah, most do like who they fuck.” rafe turns to you.

you narrow your gaze. “your buddy kelce may have thought of it like that, but she never did.”

“hearts break.” rafe states stepping closer “big deal.”

“yeah, it is a big deal. she’s hurt. and fair enough, cause if I got treated like that I’d react the same.”

“would you?” rafe asks. “have you?”

“gotten treated like that? luckily no. but it’s because she puts herself out there way more than me. she’s confident. actually gives it a go.”

“what a star.” rafe mocks.

“you’re all talk, rafe.” you say “because if a girl hurt you like that, I’d think you’d be worse.”

“really?” he looks down at you. “and what happened to not knowing each other that well?”

“you’re a loud bully. i’d have to be deaf not to easily hear about the things you’ve done.”

“you make it sound so dramatic.” rafe scoffs.

“you are rather dramatic.”

“look, doll,” rafe begins leaning down to level with you. “you can nurse sophie back all you want, comfort her, but you’re really not helping.”

“how so? do you have a better idea to help?” you ask raising your brows.

“yeah.” rafe says darting his gaze “enjoy the party. let them deal with it.”

“deal with it? you told kelce to go scout the girls here.” you say.

“yeah, and you actually think he listened to that? kelce is a bleeding heart. sensitive like a fucking kids movie.” rafe states. “no, he’s gone to talk to her. she’s crying in the bathroom right? i guarantee he’s there too.”

“and what makes you think she’d want to see him?”

rafe shrugs. “not our problem.”

“she’s my friend. of course it’s—“

but rafe cuts in, grabbing your shoulders. “not. our. problem.” he states slowly. “you think you rushing in there is going to help? they need to talk. kelce needs to talk.” rafe chuckles. “though if I were him, I wouldn’t bother, find someone new.”

“well thank god she didn’t sleep with you.” you mutter.

“jealous?”

“oh yes.” you nod sarcastically. “wouldn’t want her stealing you away.”

rafe’s lips quirk up. “yeah?”

“you look way too happy that i said that.” you eye him.

rafe grabs his beer off the kitchen island, bringing it between you both. “drink.”

you look at the bottle then back to his face. you shake your head. but rafe just nods, bringing the bottle to your lips. you lift your hand to protest but your glass of water spills a fraction making your hands pause, and giving him enough time to tilt the beer into your mouth.

you’re instinct is to swallow, before you step back, wiping your lips. “ew, rafe.”

“do you find everything disgusting or just when it involves me?” rafe asks taking a sip of his own from the beer bottle.

you meet his gaze staying silent, as he frowns.

“i’m not some troll.” he scoffs.

“could’ve fooled m—“

but rafe cuts in. “don’t finish that.”

you press your lips together, almost smiling, despite yourself.

“don’t smile either.” this time rafe looks disgusted. “you look demented…” he then pauses. “…or pretty, hard to say.”

you scoff “great save.”

“i try.” his lips quirk up again. he looks around a moment before his smile fades, finding a certain spot behind you.

you look behind you also seeing a girl who’s gaze is hardened on you both. you shift your gaze back to rafe but he’s far closer then before. you instinctively lean back.

“don’t be annoying now.” rafe says.

“i’m just moving back.” you reply, not seeing the problem.

“hm.” rafe hums, rolling his eyes. though that action doesn’t seem to be for you, but for the girl staring.

“katie, right?” you say in reference to the girl.

“ew.” rafe replies.

“ew?”

“i thought you were well aquatinted with that word?” he steps closer to you, glaring at the girl. “what a pest.” he mutters.

you look back to katie, who’s gaze hasn’t shaken. “you with her or something?”

“don’t ever say that again.” rafe says harshly. “little bitch doesn’t know when to quit.”

“it must be that ‘wonder’ you possess.” you say shrugging.

rafe looks to you, deadpanned. “funny.”

“i’m just saying. which is why i’m confused that you’re bothered.”

“when I kiss someone, i want to like it.” rafe states blandly. “i didn’t like it, so that’s why she’s not over here and instead over there.”

you stare at him. “okay. then have you talked with her about that?”

“uh huh.” rafe says. “in one ear and out the other.”

rafe then focuses fully on you, an idea almost displayed in his eyes. you look back at him confused, your eyes darting a little nervously at the intensity of his sudden attention.

“are you a good kisser?”

rafe’s question makes you pause, even more confused, your eyes widening a fraction. “what?”

“c’mere.” he murmurs, his finger curling into one of your jean loops at your hips.

“wow, wow—“ you rush out placing your hands on his chest as he tugs you closer.

“look convincing.” he hums tilting your chin up. his lips reach yours, stepping against you.

your eyes flutter shut at the closeness. his mouth moves against yours, finding your bottom lip as his tongue drags. the suddenness of it all makes your head spin.

rafe begins to smile against your mouth, either at katie’s reaction, or potentially yours. his tongue doesn’t let up as it slides between your lips, reaching your own. his hand grabs your glass placing it aside before he reaches for your hair sliding his fingers between the strands.

your lips feel wet now, swollen, as you clench at his shirt to breath. he lets up leaning back a fraction. you’re blinking, licking your own lips in shock. you knew they were now red.

“what…what was that?” you whisper. you pause then glance back to katie who’s gaze is like thunder but she finally looks away, heading outside to the busy pool. “oh...” you say. “to make her jealous? really?”

“no, to make her leave.” rafe replies, his tone almost distant, as his gaze is stuck on your mouth. he then leans down and kisses you again, stopping your tongue from dragging along your lip repeatedly. he was far too eager this time around.

and this time you step back.

rafe nearly follows your lips.

“rafe…she’s gone, you can stop now.” you mutter fixing your hair.

rafe then murmurs. “didn’t I say if i don’t like it leave?”

“which is rather rude when you’re actually kissing a girl.” you reply, a little flustered, as you reach for the glass.

rafe slides it away. “you kissed back.”

“i was surprised.” you say.

“glad you have that instinct then.” rafe muses. to which you turn away aiming to leave the kitchen.

but rafe steps after you. “what, going back to sophie?”

“scarlet.” you say. “and yes. I’ve left her for too long.”

rafe blocks your exist. “you don’t like me, i get that. but if you want to help your friend, let them talk. and in the mean time, enjoy yourself.”

“so you’re suggesting I go outside then? maybe to the pool.” you say, as he shakes his head.

“no idiot. here. with me.”

“now that’s the kind of name i thought you’d prefer saying.” you reply. “and…no…thank you.” you say trying to move past him.

“you’re a good kisser.”

“how sweet. move please” you say.

“my god, you really hate me, huh?” he chuckles

“i dont know you enough enough to hate you.” you say “but i do dislike you…so….close.”

“at least I’m not at the far end of the spectrum.” rafe hums, getting closer and fiddling with the end of your shirt.

“you’re close.” you say trying to move his hand away.

“but not there.”

“rafe, what do you want?” you sigh, looking up at him.

“i wanna see if you look more like a ‘deer’ when my hand is actually doing something.” he murmurs for your ears only.

“I’m sorry?” i stare at him, surprised as if he hadn’t just randomly kissed you before.

“relax.” rafe murmurs, pressing against you. “ease up, baby.”

all you manage to do is stare as your body registers the feel of his.

“yeah…” he hums, tugging at your hair slightly. “like that.”

“rafe…” you say, still confused by his actions.

“come on,” he chuckles lowly. “it’s a party. don’t tell me you don’t enjoy it?”

“i do, it’s just—“

but he cuts you off, his breath hitting your cheek. “then left your shirt up, lemme see…”

your stomach fills with butterflies, your eyes darting over his face.

“listen, I’m bored.” rafe says his lips now pressed to your ear, his hand squeezing your waist. “and…i liked the kiss. so I’m thinking I’ll like the rest of you.”

“you’re—you’re just overly horny.” you say.

“and who’s fault is that?”

“hey, you were the one who kissed me.” you say.

he smiled as his hand sunk under your shirt to your stomach.

“rafe—“

“shh.” he hushed, looking down at your shirt and his hand underneath. he lifted the material. you move to grab the shirt, embarrassed at the exposure.

“please, doll, just a quick look.” he says. “none of this has to mean a thing, i promise.” his hand grips your shirt.

and strangely, as he tugs you to a darker corner of the kitchen, his hands lifting your shirt to reveal your bra, and the hum that follows, makes you wonder if he really means that promise.

because as soon as his finger traces the cup before slipping inside, and brushing right over your nipple, the look in his eyes changes.

you can’t pinpoint what it changes to, but his following action, with the grip in your hair is clearly a new promise.

if he doesn’t like it he leaves.

but what happens when he does like it?

he grins nearly cooing at your concentrated face. “don’t think too hard.” he hums as he rubs your nipple and breast making your breathing hitch. “keep that head small for me, doll. you’re a very pretty deer when caught in headlights.”

“you just like me dumb.” you say, understanding his words.

his grin merely grows, as he pushes your bra cup aside completely holding and grabbing your breast. “well, when you’re smart you’d push me away.”

you nod, as he nods too, chuckling. he then forces you to arch against him, as he leans down, keeping eye contact.

he swirls his finger around your nipple. “should I turn this red too?”

the moment his tongue reaches your nipple, tingles run up your spine. and as he begins to suck, the tease in his voice leaves him as he murmurs a simple “fuck.”

your stomach churns, as he nods, almost answering himself with a name he claims to dislike. “yeah…baby, don’t move”

© messylustt.tumblr please don’t steal, copy or translate my work onto other platforms.

[littlestfallenangel]

My favorite thing about dungeon meshi fans is that they share just enough to make it incomprehensible. Does Falin being resurrected with a blood sacrifice have any moral or ethical implications? Fuck if I know. How and why does she become a chimera? Fuck if I know, I only recently found out that the chimeraification happens AFTER the resurrection, so I guess that girl is having A Week.

Where the fuck did Chilchuck and Senshi come from? No idea, Laios just hired them I'm assuming? When how and why does the cat girl show up? No idea. Why do there seem to be like 70 characters when 99% of the screenshots are just the same four dudes? I dunno.

Game of Thrones and Supernatural fans forced me to know more about that show than I ever wanted so in a way I appreciate the Dungeon Meshi fandom for being completely incomprehensible. God speed you crazy bastards.

[riddlemelater]

Last Call - M.R.

masterlist | nav

⚠︎ all characters 18+ | MDNI ⚠︎

warnings: alcohol use/dependency, mentions of war, death, depiction of injury/blood, dark themes, one brief mention of rumoured suicide, post-war vibes, implied trauma. please let me know if there's anything i missed!

I am not responsible for your media consumption, please read the warnings and if it's not for you then i'll see you next time <3

summary: Mattheo Riddle was sharp, charming, and haunted. Now he’s just a shadow at the bar—drunk, quiet, unraveling. You don’t know why you care. Maybe it’s who he used to be. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you like he doesn’t expect kindness anymore. But one things certain: you won't turn your back on him, not like the rest of the world already has.

w.c: 3.8k

a/n: consider this me dipping my toes into the au world because I've read so many recently that have got me thinking👀 ps: this is my new series riddlemelater is back with a bang ;)

All feedback, likes, reblogs + comments are greatly appreciated!

"Sweet Salazar, look what the cat dragged in." Your boss murmured with a heavy sigh, nodding towards the door which had just pushed open to reveal the dishevelled appearance of Mattheo Riddle.

The local drunk, as most knew him, was a shadow of the boy from Hogwarts. Back then he'd been a heart breaker. A playboy. Sharp witted, short tempered, and irresistibly charming.

You'd never really spoken to him in school. Everyone knew Draco Malfoy, naturally, and Blaise Zabini too was a household name—thanks to his illustrious mother. You'd spoken to Theodore Nott once or twice, vaguely and in passing. Even shared a potions station with Lorenzo Berkshire for half a year, but Mattheo Riddle had never directly come into your orbit.

Not until very recently.

He was your typical bad boy— the tragic backstory, the scars, the knack for trouble — he fit the part too perfectly. Gorgeous, yes, in that careless way. Curls falling over stormy eyes, a scowl that made people lean in instead of run. And tinged in just enough mystery that it was impossible to tell if he was an asset or a threat.

That had all come to an end now, his whole world crashing down around him the moment Harry Potter defeated Lord Voldemort, his father. He was shunned from that day forth— there had been rumours they'd snapped his wand, others that he was sleeping rough somewhere in the forbidden forest, biding his time before resurrecting his father, or becoming the next threat to the Wizarding World himself.

None of the rumours were true, though. You'd learned that pretty quickly.

Mattheo Riddle lived in a flat just off Charing Cross—though by the looks of him, you’d think he was squatting in Knockturn Alley. He certainly didn't look like someone who owned property, never mind one in Central London amongst Muggle bankers and finance experts.

But alas, having Lord Voldemort as a father must've done wonders for the young heirs Gringotts vault— even if not for his mental wellbeing.

"Listen, love. Do you want me to serve him?" Your boss offered quietly, leaning towards you to whisper under his breath, eyes not leaving the scruffy figure who'd sauntered in, drunk and dead behind the eyes.

Your head shook slightly, "S'alright I've got it, Albion. He's harmless."

A few heads had turned, mostly regulars who were well aware of who lurked underneath the dirt and the grime. His hair was more unruly than ever, his chin littered with stubble and the occasional, bloody cut from his shaving razor. But it was obvious who the man behind the mask was.

He looked like he needed a shower, skin sweaty and stray hairs sticking to his forehead. Clothes dirty and stained like they hadn't been washed in weeks, and he wore a leather jacket. One you recognised from a few years ago, almost able to picture his younger, teenage self leaning up against an alley wall in Hogsmeade, smoking with his friends.

You grabbed at a clean glass from under the bar and turned just as he slid into the stool opposite you— his movements slow, slightly off-balance, like gravity pulled at him harder than it did anyone else. His gaze was vacant at first, cast somewhere over your shoulder, brow furrowed like he was lost in a memory he hadn’t asked to remember.

“Same as usual?” you asked smoothly, reaching for the bottle he always gravitated towards — something cheap, burning, no-nonsense.

That’s when his eyes finally lifted to yours.

And for a moment — just a moment — something clicked behind them. Recognition, sharp and fleeting, like the glint of a knife beneath a coat. His lips parted slightly, not in greeting, not in surprise exactly, but something close. Like maybe he knew your name once. Like maybe he remembered the way you used to pass him in the corridors at Hogwarts, eyes down, heart thudding, pretending not to notice the way he laughed too loud and lived too fast.

He didn’t say anything. Just blinked slowly, then dragged a hand through his hair like it physically hurt him to focus.

“Didn’t think you’d still be here,” he muttered, voice low and rough, words carelessly slurred — like they weren’t meant for you at all.

Your hand paused over the bottle. “Still where?”

He didn’t answer. Just leaned forward, elbows on the bar, and looked away — eyes fixed now on some distant point across the room, jaw clenched in thought.

Maybe he didn’t mean you, exactly. Maybe it was this place. This pocket of stillness in a city that never looked twice at him. Maybe it was the only place left that didn’t flinch when he walked in, or the only place that would let him in nowadays.

The pub sat quietly between the Muggle and Magical worlds — close enough to Diagon Alley to draw a few wizards, but far enough into Charing Cross to be forgotten by most. The regulars were either too old to care, too drunk to notice, or too lonely to ask questions.

Seemed fitting for the likes of Mattheo Riddle.

You poured the drink wordlessly.

"I'll add it to your tab, then?" You asked, sliding the glass across the bar, unable to take your eyes off him as he took a sip. Then, as if considering something, swallowed the rest in one large gulp.

He didn't respond, just pushed the glass back towards you, indicating for a refill.

"Long day, was it?" You asked, breezy and light, as if he was just another customer. You began to pour another but stopped when you noticed his eyes narrow, like he was trying to figure you out.

"There's no trick, you know." You met his gaze, "I'm just being nice."

Mattheo let out a low huff of air—maybe a laugh, or maybe just exhaustion. Hard to tell. His eyes dropped to the bar between you, fingers drumming a restless rhythm against the scarred wood.

"You know who I am," he said, voice rough, like it hadn’t been used much lately. "Don’t pretend you don’t."

You shrugged, nonchalant. "Everyone knows who you are."

He looked up again. This time, his stare landed like a weight. "No," he said. "People who know who I am don't waste their time being nice."

You refilled the glass without a word. Let him drink. Let him watch you like that, like another person who couldn't be trusted. He was cynical enough, why bother convincing him of anything else.

"Hogwarts..." he said abruptly, then trailed off like the words tasted strange. Like he'd caught himself at the last second. "Never mind."

His eyes darted back down to his drink and he didn't look back up at you for a long while, a quiet confirmation that the conversation was over. You left him to it, and he was gone before you could even notice he'd stood up, a mouthful of whiskey still sat at the bottom of his glass.

The next time he showed up, he looked worse.

"There's something not right about that boy," Your boss muttered breathlessly, watching you pull the first aid kit down from the stockroom shelf.

"And don't you go getting mixed up in his troubles. A boy like that can only bring bad news, I'll tell you that for free." he warned as you turned to head back out, the place deserted asides from a few older wizards huddled in the corner.

You hesitated with your hand on the door. Maybe Albion was right. Maybe you should’ve just left it alone.

But something about him — the way he looked like he’d stopped expecting kindness, the way his silence felt heavier than most people’s words. That made it hard to walk away.

You didn’t know why you cared. Not really. Maybe it was pity. Maybe it was the version of him you remembered in passing, the boy who once seemed untouchable. Or maybe it was just the simplest truth of all: he looked like someone who didn’t have anyone. And you couldn’t stomach the thought of being another person who turned their back.

"Ruddy Gryffindors." Albion muttered to himself as you rounded the bar, disregarding his warning.

Mattheo was sitting in his usual seat, knuckles bloody and a dark purple bruise decorating his left temple. You didn't ask what happened. Part of you already knew, he wasn't that unrecognisable if you looked hard enough.

"Let's see, then." You said, pausing in front of him and nodding towards his injured hands. Mattheo looked stunned, pulling his hands back from where they rested either side of his drink.

You weren’t foolish enough to think you could fix him. But maybe — selfishly — it felt worse to do nothing at all.

"It's nothin', just leave it." he protested tiredly.

You shot him a look, one of those disapproving 'don't be ridiculous' looks you'd learned from working with the drunk and disorderly over the past year, and offered your hand to him. Expectant. Waiting.

It was his choice whether he took it.

Hesitating, he thought for a moment. Looked like he was weighing up the odds of getting up and walking out. Then slowly, sheepishly, he extended his hand and let you examine his knuckles.

Sucking a breath in through your teeth you examined the wounds, the way the skin parted at the high points of his joints, the steady trickle of blood that dripped down his tan skin. It wasn't the worst you'd seen, but it needed cleaned and you didn't trust him to in the state he was in.

"Hold still a second," You instructed, pouring disinfectant onto a cotton-pad, daring a glance up at his furrowed brows as you dabbed it across the cuts. He flinched subtly, restrained but not as much as he would've liked, fingers flexing as you worked.

"Sorry." you winced.

He grunted a sort of acknowledgement and stared at you through his lashes. You wondered what he was thinking, if he too was as confused as you were about why you insisted on helping. On caring. He stared, gaze steady, even as you reached for the antiseptic and applied it carefully to the broken skin.

"We had Charms together, didn't we?" He asked quietly, "You were always late."

You stilled, glancing up at him, face warming. You hadn't expected him to remember you, he had no reason to, not really. Yet he did, somehow.

"We did, yeah. In fourth year." You nodded slowly. "And I was only late because—"

"—because you had potions right before." He finished, then as if embarrassed, he looked down. “Only reason I remember’s ‘cause they were on opposite sides of the castle.” His voice was low, a little too casual. Defensive, even.

But for a moment you could almost see a younger, less closed off version of him.

You smirked and canted your head, watching him curiously. "Bloody nightmare. Those stairs, I mean." You remarked, sensing he wasn't quite up for a trip down memory lane.

"Yeah..." He exhaled, nodding. "A real nuisance."

You were still cradling his injured hand, even though you'd long finished tending to the wound. He seemed to notice at the same time you did. You pulled away first, patting the bar beside him and pulling away.

"That's you, then. Bandaged up, I mean." You coughed, clearing your throat. Busying yourself with packing up the first aid box.

He grunted again, swallowed his drink and pushed the empty glass towards you.

"Thanks," he murmured, so quiet you thought you'd imagined it. "You didn't have to— yeah. Thanks."

You'd nodded, topped up his glass, then another customer stole your attention. And he sat quiet, like he was locked in another memory.

✯ ✯ ✯

Mattheo hadn’t been in to the pub in over a week. Though, given the time of year, it being the 5 year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts and all, you could hazard a guess or two as to why.

It had been busier the last few nights, more traffic to Central London, Diagon Alley, and the Ministry meant business was booming. Record highs for the usually quiet pub, and a weary few days for you and Albion.

Yesterday, the Patil twins had stopped you in the street outside keen to catch up for old times sake. You'd chatted away cheerfully, plastering on a smile as they discussed the Ministry's Annual Charity Gala in memory of all those who fought and died in the battle.

You'd only gone the once and sworn never to attend again, it was far too bleak to stare at photo's of deceased friends and mentors whilst dressed to the nines and sipping on champagne.

And this afternoon, Neville Longbottom and his wife Hannah—formerly Abbot— had come strolling in for a spot of lunch before meeting up with some of your former classmates. They'd been ecstatic to tell you, and anyone else who'd listen, that they were expecting their first child in the winter. You'd only smiled and shook your head when they enquired if you were settling down anytime soon.

With so much fanfare around the Gala, you'd no time to breathe at all this week—helping Albion with the orders, chatting with old friends and former allies, even posing for the odd photo as the Prophet were reporting on the events once more. It was hectic. So much so that you hadn’t really had time to notice his absence, or the empty bar stool that sat in his place.

Not at first, at least.

You’d been too swept up in the heaviness May always brought—the memories, the grief, the stories you no longer wanted to hear aloud. The same things that you suspected kept him away.

By early evening on the anniversary, the pub was packed, and you and Albion were rushed off your feet. A group of wizards from somewhere in Southern Europe had wandered in early and were still crowded around a table, laughing loudly and talking in a language you didn’t recognise.

The rest of the crowd was a mix—some familiar, some not—but you rarely had time to think, let alone pause. You’d just come up from the cellar after replacing one of the barrels when a cluster of voices caught your attention.

Familiar. Posh. Too familiar to ignore.

You turned toward the sound, already tense before you could place the voices. Aristocratic voices— polished by wealth and dulled by just enough alcohol to make them louder than they should be.

Draco Malfoy stepped through the open doorway first, shrugging off the cold like it offended him. Still as pale and as pointy, though notably wearing far less hair product than you remembered. Blaise Zabini followed, hands tucked into the pockets of his long coat, eyes already scanning the room meticulously— You wondered if he'd always done that with such hyper-vigilance, or if it was a trait learned through the war.

Behind them came the lean figures of Lorenzo Berkshire and Theodore Nott, both laughing low and conspiratorial as they shook off rain from their shoulders. They'd always been the more lax of the group, them and Mattheo, that is.

You pushed that thought away, not wanting to acknowledge his obvious absence from the scene.

It felt like twisting a time-turner—old Hogwarts ghosts pressing into your present like they belonged there.

Blaise caught your eye first, expectedly. He blinked, registering you behind the bar with a flicker of surprise, then gave you a subtle nod. Not friendly nor unfriendly, just acknowledgement.

Lorenzo let out a soft whistle as he took in the place.

“Well, this is... atmospheric,” he muttered.

Albion gave them a hard look from the other end of the bar, clearly having overheard their assessment. You were already reaching for glasses before they could ask. Or before Albion demanded to know what they were doing in his pub.

Draco made a beeline for the bar, businesslike. Detached. You'd read enough of the Prophet to know that the Malfoy's had fallen out of high societies graces, though clearly this was news to Draco. Cool and unfazed as ever.

“Four firewhiskys.” he said, not quite meeting your gaze, already pulling out a handful of Galleons and slapping them down on the counter.

You poured without comment. Years ago, they wouldn’t have spared you a glance in the corridors, it seemed that Blaise was the only one who'd grown out of that behaviour.

Blaise leaned against the bar, sharp gaze moving from your face to the rest of the pub. “Didn’t expect to see anyone we knew here,” he murmured.

You raised a brow. “You don’t know me, Zabini.”

Theo let out a soft, huff of a laugh. “Merlin. Did anyone, back then?"

You glanced away, silent.

There was a quiet moment as they all took their glasses, the pub buzz muffled under the weight of something unsaid. Like they were communicating in some secret, silent language only they understood.

Draco was the one who broke it. “Well." he cleared his throat, "Is— Is he around?”

You didn’t move, just quirked your brow like you didn't know quite what he meant. “Who?”

“Mattheo,” he said blankly. “Supposed to meet us hours ago. Heard he comes here, thought we'd try catch him. We've— erm— been looking for him, you see.”

Your stomach curled, but you kept your expression neutral. “Haven’t seen him, sorry.”

Theodore exhaled, long and low. “Right,” he said into his glass, mostly to himself. “He was doing alright for a while. Still... better off not here, I suppose."

He sounded bitter, and thankful. You focused on polishing the counter, not wanting to speak out of turn.

The four of them lingered a minute longer, quiet in a way that made the room feel colder. Like they were united in their disappointment. Draco drained his drink, the others copying him silently.

Eventually, they peeled away—Draco leading, Lorenzo and Blaise in tow. Theodore was the last to step back from the bar, slower than the others. He didn’t look at you as he spoke, voice low and meant for them.

“Probably just got held up. He'll show. He has too.”

No one answered. They just kept walking.

You didn't say another word to them and they left shortly after. You just kept pouring drinks when required and occasionally glanced over at the empty stool— the one he always preferred. No one touched it that night.

Anniversary week came and went. The crowds died down and things fell back into the slow, quiet rhythm they'd always followed. The same old regular witches and wizards, the same orders that hadn't changed in years. Simplicity.

But still no sign of Mattheo Riddle.

You shrugged off the bad feeling, reminding yourself that he was an adult, not your responsibility. You barely knew him after all.

That didn't make you feel any better.

You were wiping down empty tables, the scratch of cloth against wood loud in the near silence, when a grizzled man from the corner caught your attention. He was a regular—weathered, with eyes sharp beneath heavy brows—and tonight, he seemed to be nursing more than just a drink.

“Heard about that young Riddle lad?” he asked, eyes darting around like he expected the walls to have ears. A few of the wizards at his table shared a glance, then shook their heads leaning in.

You stiffened, slowing down to listen in. Sucking in a breath you didn't even know you were holding.

"He cracked, didn’t he?" he bellowed, chuckling. "Couldn’t outrun what was coming for him I reckon. Offed himself, poor bastard. That’s what Mick Tolliver said, anyway. Down Knockturn, the other week."

You froze, an empty glass in hand, heart skipping a beat.

The man shrugged, a grim smile tugging at his lips. "World’s cleaner for it, if you ask some folks. Shame though— think of the things he must've known about You-Know-Who."

You forced a breath out, steadying yourself. Ignoring the uncaring shrugs, the mutters of good riddance. As if the end of the Riddle bloodline was something to be celebrated.

You didn't even notice you'd slipped outside until the cold air hit you, despite summer being just around the corner it was still wet and cold in London. That smell of rain lingered across the concrete back alley, you used to love the smell at Hogwarts, though now it made you want to be sick.

Instinctively your fingers fumbled in the pocket of your apron, brushing against the half smoked pack of cigarettes you picked up months ago— something to lean on when memories of the war dragged your nerves and the silence at night felt too loud.

Your hands were steady as you lit it with the tip of your wand, but your mind was a storm, watching the embers light up against the dark. The smoke filled your lungs as you took in a long, bitter drag, those words swirling in your mind.

He offed himself.

Had it really come to that? Was he really that broken? Or had you just been too blind to see it?

The memory of his friends from just a week ago flashed through your mind—the way Theo had seemed quite certain he'd come, the way the others didn't seem too convinced. Like they all knew something you didn’t.

The cigarette burned low between your fingers, the smoke curling up like unanswered questions. You exhaled slowly, but the ache settled deeper. You didn’t know if it was grief, guilt, or something heavier—something that tasted like the war still lingering in your veins.

If he really had done it you'd have known, you reasoned. It would've made the front page of every wizarding tabloid out there. Swarms of magical folk would've been poking around the pub, all desperate to get a glimpse of his favoured haunt. Rita Skeeter at the very least would have made an appearance, surely.

But there’d been nothing. No headlines, no Ministry owls, no whispers beyond the drunken mutterings of half-sure old men.

Just silence. And absence.

You took one last drag and let the smoke slip from your lips, watching it vanish into the damp air like it might carry the thought away with it.

He was probably fine. Probably. Maybe he'd got clean, sorted himself out and left London. You hoped that was it.

You crushed the cigarette beneath your heel, the hiss of ember against pavement far too quiet for the weight in your chest. Then you went back inside—because what else was there to do?

You closed up in silence that night, wand abandoned behind the bar, opting to tidy up without magic. It'd take longer but you didn't mind, if anything you quite liked the distraction, and part of you still hoped he might turn up.

Bloody, slurring, drunk— you didn't care what state he was in, you just hoped he'd show. Prayed that it was another rumour, that he wouldn't be another person who lost their life to a war you shouldn't have had to fight.

You stacked the chairs, wiped the bar down one last time. It was the kind of night that left everything feeling a little heavier. You didn’t check the door.

But you thought about it.

And when you turned off the lights, you paused—just for a second— long enough to hope. But lately, hope didn't hold the weight it used to.

©️riddlemelater. 2025.

[fangirl-writes]

Need A Hero To Save Me (Just In Time)

JJ Maybank x Fem!Routledge!Reader

Warning(s): mild swearing. that's all.

Request: could you do a fic with jj where y/n is a routledge and after john b is presumed dead, shoupe shows up and ends up taking her to a foster camp (the one kie was actually taken to) and then jj comes to save her while kie and pope go to charlotte?

Notes: This one took a while. It's the first obx fic I've finished since s4 and...yeah. S4 wasn't exactly motivating.

You wanted to die.

You'd already lost your dad, and now you've lost your brother. You refused to go back to the Cameron's so you holed yourself up in the chateau, crying.

Kie and Pope were pretty much on house arrest, but JJ came by often.

He was the only thing holding you together at that point.

Which was why it hurt all the much more when Shoupe came to take you away.

"The...Camerons have decided to send you to Kitty Hawk," Shoupe said. "They are still technically your legal guardians, so they have a say, since you're not eighteen yet."

Your stomach sinks. The behavorial camp? You'd only heard bad things about the place, the wilderness cookoos nest, and weren't excited to have your adventure ripped out of you.

Tears swelled in your eyes. "I- I don't have a choice do I?"

Shoupe sighed, shaking his head. "No. I'm sorry, you don't."

You nodded, choking up. "Okay. Let me just...pack some stuff."

Shoupe turned away, heading back outside where the Kitty Hawk car was waiting to take you away from the only home you'd ever known.

It was empty now, though. Void of the brother and father that gave it life. A shell of a happy home.

You contemplated texting Kie. Or Pope. Tell someone where you were going.

You also considered running, but where would you go? You didn't have a car, the twinkie was still impounded, and you didn't have anywhere to go where you wouldn't be turned in.

The Carreras and Heywards were lovely, but they'd think it would be best for you to obey, to go to the reformitory camp.

"Okay, JJ," you mumbled, quickly sharing your location with him along with an explanation text. "Be my hero."

With that, you threw a few pairs of clothes and other neccessities into a bag and went to meet Shoupe outside.

So, this was it.

No more chateau. No more Kildaire High. No more boneyard parties or late night bonfires. No more pogues.

You gave your home on last look, trying to keep the tears from falling as you went.

Shoupe was talking with one of the workers, dressed in boring beige that matched the car behind him.

"Ready to go?" Shoupe asked, brightly.

"No," you replied. "But I don't have a choice, remember?"

Shoupe frowned, a flash of guilt crossing his face before he turned away.

"Can I check your bag?" The worker asked, shifting his stance to face you.

"Why? Think I'm bringing a weapon or something?"

"From what I hear about you and your friends, it wouldn't be a surprise."

You glared, shoving your bag into the man's arms. "Don't go rooting around in my underwear, would you?"

He didn't dignify your jab with a response, simply rumaged through your few belongings before zipping it back up and handing it to you.

"Everything a-okay, boss?" you snap.

The worker grunts, opening the back door for you to get in.

You send Shoupe one last glare before getting in and having the door slammed behind you.

Meanwhile, JJ's phone dinged with a text that wasn't from the recently resurrected John B.

"Guys, we have a problem," JJ said, looking up from his phone.

"Yeah, obviously, clearing John B.'s name is gonna be-"

"No. I mean a new problem," JJ interrupted. "The Camerons sent Y/N to Kitty Hawk."

Kiara's head snapped up. "The wilderness camp?"

"Yeah," JJ slammed his hand against the lockers. "God damn it! Every time we catch a break it's something else."

"I hate to say this, JJ, but we have bigger fish to fry right now," Pope said. "Y/N will be fine at Kitty Hawk but John B. could be snagged at any moment."

JJ looked scandalized. "Pope they're gonna rip her personality out of her, haven't you heard the stories?"

"Yes, JJ, I have and I know that they don't shoot them on sight, okay?" Pope replied. "Right now, we gotta try to get some evidence against Rafe before the Camerons destory any trace of it, okay?"

JJ looked like he wanted to protest, but kept his mouth shut. "Fine. But we get something, I'm going for her, alright? I'm not gonna let her rot in there. Not when her brother's alive."

You were curled in on yourself, knees hugged to your chest as you watched the trees pass by, depression and hopelessness setting in. You hadn't heard back from JJ or anyone.

You felt well and truly alone.

The car pulled up to the gate where a guard was stood.

"I have Y/N Routledge," the driver said.

The guard waved them through and the gates closed behind you.

There were girls all around, gardening, mowing, digging. Manual labor type things.

Your stomach sank.

The worker and driver that picked you up led you passed all the girls (who looked about as excited to be there as you did) into an building where you were handed a uniform and sent into an office to speak with a woman you guessed was the leader of this...lovely establishment.

"Welcome to our camp, Y/N," she said with a smile that was a bit too kind for the soulless nature of the place. "How are you finding it so far."

You shrugged. "Not finding it inviting, if that's what you were hoping for."

The woman ignored you, jotting something down in the notebook before her.

"I understand you recently lost your brother," she said.

You glared at her. "Yeah. Someone was trying to frame him for murder and he died in a thunderstorm. Thanks for bringing that up, it only happened a few days ago, so it's still raw and all that."

She smiled at you. "You know, we can help you process it. Here we give girls like you the opportunity to rebuild."

"Girls like me?"

"Girls from...rough homes."

"I am not from a rough home."

She flipped a page she had. "Stop me if I'm wrong, but for the last several months you were living in your childhood home without a guardian, and with your brother, until Ward Cameron took you in."

"Yeah, and then Ward Cameron's psycho son shot our sheriff and they framed my brother for it, so forgive me if I wasn't too eager to go back," you snapped.

She closed the file. "Y/N. I understand that you are greiving. But this is a new opportunity for you. A good opportunity."

You snorted. "Yeah. I'm sure."

JJ was going insane. He couldn't stop think about you, about John B. It was like the Routledges had moved into his brain.

He tried texting you, no answer. John B. was also MIA, probably ditched the phone he was using.

And now Pope wanted to go to Charleston.

"Charleston?" JJ asked.

"I know," Pope replied. "It's like an eight hour drive plus the ferry, how are we going to get there tonight?"

"Yeah, we'd have to leave like right now."

"I have a free period," Kiara said.

"Material evidence," JJ whispered. "What's that even mean 'material evidence'?"

"It means he can clear John B.," Kiara explained.

"Oh, shit, then we're going to Charleston," JJ said, louder than the cranky librarian cared for.

"I need to tell my mom," Kiara said. "If we get it this time, we are not giving it to Shoupe."

JJ agreed.

Clear John B. This could be huge.

"Guys," JJ said suddenly. "If, uh, if we're clearing John B...I really think Y/N outta be there."

They both groaned. "Not this again, JJ."

"What? Doesn't she deserve to know he's alive? That he can maybe come home?" JJ said.

"Yes, of course she does, but we have to go to Charleston, we can't take a detour-"

"Then I'll go get her!" he whisper-shouted. "You guys go to Charleston and I'll go get Y/N."

Kiara huffed at him. "Do you even have a plan?"

JJ shrugged. "You know me, I make it up as I go."

"JJ, you don't have a car, how are you even going to get there?" Pope said.

JJ frowned. "I'll- I'll go break the twinkie out of lockup and use it."

"What?"

"JJ, what if you get caught?"

JJ groaned. "All right, how about y'all focus on Charleston and I'll focus on Y/N."

In the end, they agreed and let him go off to break out the twinkie and try to break out Y/N.

All the while, you were stuck hanging laundry and gardening. Nothing you'd never done before, but something about being forced to do it made it worse.

Plus, you'd never been a morning person and waking up before 6 a.m. was proving to be a nightmare.

And going to bed at 9 p.m. only made you dream about John B. About how he must've drowned in that thunderstorm. About him calling your name before being swallowed by the ocean.

You woke up crying.

JJ drove up to the Kitty Hawk gate, trying to appear as casually as he could in the beat-up, cracked windshield, hippie van that was the twinkie. It was a miracle that he was able to get it out and get it running without ending up with a flat halfway there.

"How y'all doing?" JJ greeted, giving the gate guard his brightest, most casual smile.

"Can I help you?" The guard said.

"Hey, there, uh, sir, I-" He gestured to the gate. "Camp couselor Laura, I'm- I'm her brother. I was gonna drop off one of these packages back here for her, if that's okay."

One of JJ's strengths was lying out of his ass.

He could only hope that a) there was a couselor named Laura or b) that these guy's didn't know the counselor's names.

"It's real quick, I promise, just in and out," he said. "That all right?"

JJ's heart was pounding, but his exterior remained calm.

"Yeah, go ahead," the guard said, gesturing to the other guard to wave him through.

Fuck. Yes.

"Thank you so much, all right," JJ said. "Y'all have a good day."

He drove the twinkie into Kitty Hawk on a hope and a prayer, easing it into a parking space and getting out.

"Okay, Y/N, if I were you, where would I be hiding out in this shit hole?" he mumbled.

It was an eerie place. Girls walked in formal lines and were watched like hawks at they did so.

JJ waved to one of the watchers. "Hi there, sir, uh, I'm looking for... I'm looking for the office."

The man seemed nice enough, seeming to trust JJ's nice demeanor (and the fact he was let in at all).

"Is there a main lodge or something?"

The man pointed him in the right direction and JJ followed without argument, sauntering right up to the office.

"Hi there, ma'am," JJ said to the woman at the front desk.

"Can I help you son?" she asked.

"I, uh, I have a message for one of your campers," he said. "Uh, Y/N. Y/N Routledge, she's here, right?"

"Unfortunately we're not allowed to do that," the woman responded, looking at him in the way the woman in the high school office always did when he got called into the principal's office. "You're not even supposed to be here on campus."

JJ licked his lips. "Okay. It's...It's just that's it's a very important- May I sit?"

The woman allowed him and he settled into the chair.

"A very important matter, ma'am," He continued.

"Oh, I'm sure it is, sweetie, but we have a policy. No contact from the outside world for the first six weeks."

JJ considered. He had to pull on this woman's heart strings to get anywhere. She was nice enough, had a picture of her cat on her desk...which sadly meant he could manipulate her pretty easily.

"Right...ma'am, it's actually a family matter, and uh," he said. "I'm...I'm related to her, I'm her cousin. So, I know you got a policy and all, but there's just been something that happened recently that..."

JJ was getting choked up.

Fakely, of course, but he was still doing it.

"You know what? I'm getting a little emotional, right now, so I think I should go," he stood up. "I shouldn't even be here, like you said, so I'll leave you alone. But before I leave-"

Here goes nothing.

"Could you just let her know, um...could you let her know that they found her brother?"

The woman seemed taken aback.

"I- uh, I'm sure you've heard that he drowned in a boating accident a few days ago and, uh, they've been looking for him since and...and they finally found him this morning, so."

The woman seemed striken, her eyes even getting a little misty.

"I'll- I'll go now, sorry to bother you..."

Then he was out.

But he wasn't done.

He snuck around the side of the building, watching as the front desk woman and an attendant went up to a building and unlocked it.

"Y/N? Sweetie? Can you come out here?"

You perked up from your space on the bed at the voice and headed to the door.

"I'm sorry, Sweetie, but at Kitty Hawk, we feel you have the strength to hear all the news," she said when you were in front of her. "Including bad news."

Your stomach sank. "What happened?"

"Well, your cousin was here a minute ago."

Your face flashed with confusion.

As far as you knew, you didn't have any cousins.

"What cousin?"

"A young man, blond."

Your eyes widened.

JJ?

"He asked me to tell you that...that they found your brother."

"Wh- what?"

"He said they found him this morning...that he didn't make it."

Your legs felt like they were going to give out.

No. No, no, no no.

"They- He-" Tears were swelling up in your eyes.

"Oh, oh, honey, why don't you go sit down," she said.

JJ, who was pressed against the building as tightly as he could, felt guilty for using John B. (who wasn't dead) as a way to get to you. But it was the only thing he could think of.

"Take all the time you need."

You went back inside the cabin and dropped on the bed.

JJ. He was there.

And he wouldn't leave you there, would he?

You needed him now more than ever.

That night, two attendants came by the reflection cabin, where they'd placed you for that afternoon.

"Y/N." the woman said. "We know your greiving and feel you're best supported by your peers. So, we're going to relocate you."

Your heart started pounding.

"I- I really feel like I need some more time to reflect," you said.

"No stalling," the man snapped. "Come on, we're putting you in a dorm. Cabin six. Let's go."

You could only hope that if JJ was still there, he was watching closely.

You followed them into Cabin Six, where girls of all kinds turned to look at you as you walked in. Like they were eyeing up the new meat.

"Girls. This is Y/N." the woman said. "She's had some tough family news. Let's show her some empathy and love, okay? Can we do that?"

The way they were looking at you, you guessed the real answer would be no.

They whispered and smirked as one of the male attendants walked you to your bed. It was a top bunk, near the middle of the room.

Not at all like your cosy, window side bed back home.

It made you feel like a trapped animal. And the girls didn't help.

It seemed like love and empathy were the last things these girls wanted to offer you.

At least they didn't taunt or bully, like the Kooks. At least they gave you the peace of being left alone.

You rumaged through your bag as the sun had nearly set and all the girls were getting ready for bed.

You pulled out the photobooth strip of photos you had with the pogues that you'd take on your birthday last year, before everything went to shit. One with each of them and one all together.

You heart ached as you looked at the picture of you and John B. and you felt the tears start to swell in your eyes.

You quickly wiped them away, not wanting to be caught crying around everyone.

Then, your eyes landed on the one of you and JJ.

God. JJ.

If he was there, if he was really going to save you, god, you'd kiss him.

You wanted to go home.

The night settled in and you closed your eyes, but didn't sleep. Waiting and hoping with all your might, that he was going to find you.

And JJ was hoping with all his might that none of these guys with flashlights stumbled upon him.

He carefully made his way to the building labeled "Cabin Group #6" and quietly tried popping the door unlocked with an old card he had in his bag.

It worked, but it also made a loud noise as it opened, causing him to swear under his breath as he eased it open, slipped inside, and eased it closed again.

There were rows of beds there and he had no way of knowing which one Y/N was in.

So, he started asking "Y/N?" as quietly as he could.

Unfortunately, in the otherwise pin-drop silence of the cabin, it was still loud.

One girl clicked on the light and he froze.

"What are you doing in here?" she asked.

Fuck.

"Uh, evening, miss," he tried. "Sorry- Sorry to bother y'all."

Other girls started sitting up and looking at him, none of them so far Y/N.

"Shit. I know this looks bad, but I come in peace," he insisted. "I'm just looking for someone, I'm looking for-"

"JJ?"

He turned at your voice, his heart jumping in his chest as his eyes finally landed on you.

Your eyes were puffy and your hair was messy but you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Y/N." he breathed.

You moved, leg swinging over the bed and climbing down to see him. You rushed into his awaiting arms, hugging him tightly.

"JJ, what're you- how did you- did they really find-"

"No!" JJ assured, a little louder than he meant. "No. No, he's alive, Y/N. Him and Sarah, they both made it. They're hiding out in the Bahamas and Pope and Kie are in Charleston getting something to clear his name so he can come home."

The information hit you like a train. "Are- are you serious? JJ, I-"

"Look, we gotta go, okay? Before someone catches me- or us. Okay, we just gotta," he started moving towards the door.

You quickly grabbed your bag from the side of the bed and rushed after him.

"Ladies," JJ said. "Thank you for your cooperation."

And then you were gone, leaving the other girls with an unlocked door.

You and JJ rushed through the trees, hand in hand.

"I can't believe you did this!" you cried, absolutely elated.

"You thought I was just going to let you rot in there? When John B.'s alive? No way, man. Never."

"JJ," you stopped him in the middle of the trees. "Thank you. Really, thank you. Thank you so much."

He grinned. "You can thank me later, let's just get out of here before they send someone after us."

You both continued running, bags bouncing and hearts pumping, towards the place he'd stashed the twinkie before sneaking back in.

You saw the old van and felt your heart swell. It was just as much home as the chateau.

JJ jumped in the driver's seat and you in the passenger.

"Hey," you said, getting his attention.

When he turned his head, you kissed him.

He sucked in a breath, surprised at your action, so the kiss lasted only a short moment.

"Thank you, again," you said, smiling.

He blinked a moment, trying to get his brain back on line, and cleared his throat. "Yeah, you're- uh. You're welcome. Let's get out of here, yeah?"

His face had flushed, though you couldn't see it in the dark, and he drove off, back towards the Kildaire.

You and JJ were definitely going to need a moment to talk about your feelings later, but for now you were out of Kitty Hawk, your brother was alive, and he was going to be coming home.

You felt more alive on that drive back than you had since your dad went missing.

[ghosthoard]

LU theory: Twilight is still dead

🌀 and it's all a dream ��

xD i wouldn't do that to you guys

but okay this is my wacky theory that i don't really believe in but it's fun anyway

cause obviously the common thought would be that the shadow has some control over twilight now that he has black blood in his system. the comic itself directly addresses that theory cause based on the links experience it would be silly if they don't consider that

Dawn pt 5

but i'm doing a fun little twist on the whole "twilight is being or going to be controlled by the shadow"

here's what i'm puttin down

this is what happens right:

twilight gets a wound that wouldn't have been deadly if they could heal it

(shifting shadows pt 7)

(sunset pt 3)

wild and the others inspires the fighting spirit into Twilight (sunset part 13)

sunset part 14, we end with twilight essentially having his life flash before his eyes but in a inspirational, i'm gonna live kinda way

and then it cuts to night when we see the shadow ressurrect

night

and of course the panel where Twilight is emerging from shadow now that he's miraculously, quickly, and suspiciously better the morning after (Dawn pt 1)

isn't it convenient that when the shadow resurrects, twilight also “resurrects” 🤔🤔🤔

here's what i think:

twilight and the shadow are (ironically) soul linked

the wound twilight got from that strange bad vibes emitting weapon did something to tie him and the shadow together

so when the shadow came back to life, that meant twilight had more strength

i think if they attack the shadow again, and "win" again, twilight isnt going to take that well

then the shadow will resurrect itself once more, bringing Twilight back to health, and oh boy would the dots connect

so essentially, twilight is still dead, he's living on borrowed time.

and we all know that Twilight becomes ol grandpa wolfie somehow in the future, and from i understand he's a spirit similar to the 3 champions who helps champion in his adventure

wouldn't it be fun if when they defeat the shadow that means that Twilight will stay dead. >:)

and like many others have pointed out these two ominous scenes from the more recent updates:

central room pt 4

Twilight moving into shadow with an ominous red light

South East Basement 1

twilight standing over what could easily be mistaken as sky

both instances more easily points to the whole "being controlled by the shadow", than my silly little theory but wanted to include them because they're related.

there are a lot of holes in this theory but it popped into my head and thought it would be fun to share.

Thanks for readin

[calaisreno]

Victorian Edition, Part 2: Five Recs + 2

I promised a second part of this edition of RRR, and it looks like Part 2 won't be the last. I've read so many fantastic ACD fics that I'd like to share:

The Beginning of Always / @mydogwatson : John Watson wants to be a doctor. Sherlock Holmes wants to be a consulting detective. Most of all, they both want to be loved. Author note: The idea of using Joseph Bell [the inspiration, in part, for ACD in creating Holmes] came to me from @thegildedbee and I was excited to run with it. 

My note: If you're looking for well-written, fully imagined ACD stories, you could go to no better author than @mydogwatson. Mostly short stories, lots of Christmas ones.

Bad Dog by RatTale: During a hard case Holmes and Watson part ways after an argument, and now Holmes suddenly has more to worry about than missing children.

My note: RatTale has written a number of stories, all of them loved by me. This one was taken down for a while, but has recently been restored.

A Pertinacious Idea by @victorianpining : "I am compelled to admit that, having taken my pen in my hand, I do begin to realize that the matter must be presented in such a way as may interest the reader."

Summary: One wintry evening, Dr. Watson returns home to find that Holmes has rekindled their most longstanding disagreement by creating his own rendition of one of Watson's narratives. Braced for criticism, in reading Holmes' story Watson instead finds the one thing he had long believed Holmes to be incapable of giving.

My note: Go read this! Beautifully written.

Heaven and Earth by @a-candle-for-sherlock : At first, the wonder of his resurrection had blazed so bright that I saw nothing else. Joy, joy impossible had been returned to me; death itself had been undone. But as the miracle faded into everyday light I began to see that time had not been likewise reversed; time had done its implacable work. He was not the same as he had been. 

My note: tender, beautiful. I've reread this one a thousand times.

Rewriting History by rachelindeed ( @educatedinyellow): A correspondence between Holmes and Watson in the immediate aftermath of the Great War in which they discuss questions of history both public and personal.

My note: another one I've reread over and over. Developing relationship, Thucydides. That says it all.

Plus two of my own:

The Silence Between Us by @calaisreno : Watson is a proper Victorian man, a stranger to himself, unwittingly complicit in his own unhappiness. On a journey to London to see Holmes after ten years of silence, he tries to understand their broken friendship and his own grief.

My note: This might be my single favorite ACD story I've authored. This unhappy, conflicted Watson finally breaking down and realising he loves Holmes is one I cherish.

Bodyguard by @calaisreno : Captain John Watson, wounded in Afghanistan, is looking for employment. Sherlock Holmes is looking for something else. Fortunately, they can solve one another's problems.

My note: One of my oldest stories on AO3, this one doesn't get read much, but it's funny! A casefic, with an enthusiastically involved Watson (in drag for one scene) and an indulgent Holmes.

Thank you for reblogging! Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged.

@totallysilvergirl @lisbeth-kk @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes

@redmondcollege @raina-at @7-percent @lhrinchelsea

@a-victorian-girl @ghostofnuggetspast @friday411

@meetinginsamarra @inevitably-johnlocked @copperplatebeech

[cynthiav06]

https://www.tumblr.com/lilislegacy/777117213311336448/httpswwwtumblrcomfate-of-the-envious74879588?source=share

Ah, that's a good one. The source post that is. Not op's take on it. Nothing against the op. They have some good Percy takes. I am not sure why anon didn't send this to @fate-of-the-envious themselves considering they would probably have a more apt reply for this as the source post is theirs. But I will do my best to break it down instead.

Before we begin, to those who have been sending me similar asks may have missed my recent post on going on a hiatus again soon. It would be beneficial for both me and the anons/followers to use the navigation bar on my blog page to search all the posts relevant to anti percabeth tag or any other tag you want. Because I assure you at least for anti percabeth whatever post you think you want made chances are I have already made it. I have made a lot of posts so a nav page is a bit hard to make, I am in process of making it but please until then utilize this method.

-------------------------------------------------------

Now, the post (which I implore you to check it out first) is about the scene in Chalice of the Gods where Annabeth pushes Percy of a cliff. Op links that to the Judo flip scene and says neither is abuse and normal rules can't be applied to demigods like Percy and Annabeth but she does agree that it was an inappropriate reaction from Annabeth both times so at least that’s something. Let's deal with this one at a time.

Let's get the Judo flip out of the way. I don't know why everyone focuses on the wrong thing with the Judo flip. Annabeth was high on emotions and the Judo flip was definitely a terrible response considering she was also unaware of whether Percy still had his Achilles curse or not given that she flipped him on the small of his back where his mortal tether is. Even if she knew the curse was gone that is in no way a response of someone who has been intensely missing their boyfriend and was in great pain without the said boyfriend. But I am willing to ignore all of this even because funny enough that's not the most concerning thing about the Judo flip. The MOST CONCERNING part of the Judo flip is that Annabeth BLAMES Percy for getting KIDNAPPED and having his memories BRAINWASHED. That's where I draw the line.

Also if op wants to point out the actual terrible implications in Chalice of the Gods about percabeth, not only does Annabeth do all of the above, she MAKES PERCY APOLOGIZE for what was clearly assault against him as evidenced by Percy's conversation with Grover.

She is putting her own distress at him being missing ABOVE PERCY'S PAIN AND PERCY'S SITUATION. We don't get a single scene where Annabeth comforts or consoles Percy about everything that happened to him. Being dropped in the middle of no where, constantly hunted by creatures that kept resurrecting, being in enemy territory with no memory and a thousand other horrible traumatic situations that PERCY HAD TO FACE.

Okay now getting back to the scene in Cotg where Annabeth pushes Percy off the cliff.

First, the op goes on about how Percy was unhurt and fine, and he is powerful so he can heal himself and so on. Yes, obviously, yes, he's bloody Percy Jackson. But I think everyone's missing the point. Just looking at the start point and the end point isn't enough. What happened in between is just as important. Yes Percy can heal himself, yes he is the strongest demigod but he is also just a teenager who feels pain just as acutely as a human [mentioning this cause op says that we don't know if demigods feel pain the same way] and it's not just me. Percy himself mentions this.

It was obviously painful. He goes far enough to call it worst case of heartburn. Sure it healed right after but it was very painful.

And let's get to the worst part. Percy was quite literally having a very traumatic experience especially if it made him feel like his child self, scared and powerless.

So we have disproved the first point which stated that he was completely fine and it wasn't painful. Yes he healed, but he wasn't at all fine and it was definitely painful. My guy was having a breakdown from it. Which part of that seems okay?

Now the op says that Percy had priorly said yes to a suggestion to jump, let me emphasize jump. Annabeth pushed him off without warning but I am sure she thought it was fine, Percy was a bit irritated but he let it go. We will let this one pass. What however should have been Annabeth's response is that she should have checked on Percy, she should have been at least a bit guilty that Percy was going to have to do all the painful stuff. Because as op says the river god was going to attack anyway and Percy was the only one who could deal with that but there's no acceptance on Annabeth's side for the gravity of what's she made Percy do. Because she was right there watching him being thrown around and beaten up heavily while having a tea party with the river god [not her fault it was a good distraction] but all she did was tap on her watch and tell Percy to hurry up. No consideration for his pain or what he was going through, not during the situation nor after it. Now Annabeth out of everyone should be attuned to Percy's emotional state. Given the sheer scale of his out of control response she must have been able to tell it was not an okay experience. Percy pulled the entire river bed off and completely rearranged it. So that should have been a clue but not Annabeth, she calls it GOING OVERBOARD later on.

Also let's go back to the part where she pushes him off. Percy wants to take it slow. He says he does but nope Annabeth just straight up pushes him off. Op says it's Annabeth being sarcastic or funny but it's obviously not what Percy wanted to do in that moment.

And we all have seen Annabeth repeatedly getting physical with Percy, and it's completely one-sided to the point where Percy just has to tolerate and get used to her hitting him. There are various books where he says he was afraid she was going to hit him. Now the problem with that is Annabeth's medium for expressing rage is also her medium for having fun with him and that's not a healthy thing cause Percy obviously has bad experiences with physical abuse and latent trauma from it and he shouldn't have to get used to Annabeth's unhealthy ways of expressing herself at his own expense. Annabeth loves him, so she should do better because Percy has gone above and beyond for her every time. surely he deserves Annabeth being soft with him and surely a relationship should have healthy and positive emotional expression medium between them. Shouldn't Annabeth as a person deserve to be able to move on with some of her unhealthy coping mechanisms as a sign of recovery from her own trauma as well? For herself and for Percy? Between Annabeth teasing his intelligence and hitting him constantly, we see zero to none.

So yes it may not be outright abuse but it is heading towards it because at what point are we going to acknowledge Annabeth has a very bad way of expressing herself to Percy and it has consistently involved violence and or demeaning remarks? She literally punches him in the stomach in The Titan's Curse because Percy doesn't ask her to dance when she was the one who wanted him to do so while not giving him any hint and or idea that she wanted such a thing.

I know why everyone in Percabeth community gets defensive over the word abuse as they should because it's not a small thing but surely we can acknowledge that there's some disconnect between what Annabeth wants to convey and how she conveys it that stands contradictory to her orignal intention and also that she fails to see the harm in this?

Now we might have different takes on how a relationship goes but I firmly stand by my own. I have nothing against those who ship it but that does no mean those of us who do not ship it are doing so on baseless grounds.

[rei-ismyname]

Resurrection of Magneto Highlights 1

RoM is a book that loses something in the highlight format as the big moments are truly earned and impactful. There's an ongoing narration, dialogue or soliloquy running through each issue tying everything together and to truly give context I'd have to annotate it. Lucky for us, Al Ewing and Luciano Vecchio are masters and every panel serves as a coda for Storm or Magneto from SWORD and X-Men Red. This is easily my longest Highlights yet, there's just so much to say.

I wish I dreamt about Magneto

Ororo has a dream of a full page splash - Magneto, Max, saying 'I was wrong' surrounded by five of his iconic helmets. 3 red ones, bloody and facing towards the world. 1 black, 1 white upright behind his back. It's been quite a while since Uranos the Undying tore his heart out on Judgement Day but it's good to see Ororo has some measure of peace and love on Arakko with Craig of NASA.

She's the deuteragonist of RoM so she chooses to follow her dream and seek Max in the afterlife. Ororo shows up at Adam Brashear/The Blue Marvel's underwater base and asks for help with exactly that. He lampshades how bozos like Reed would deem it impossible and leads her to a portal. He's in the middle of explaining how dangerous it is and requires... we don't hear because Storm takes a running leap and YOLOs into it. Tarn the Uncaring and a who's who of Marvel cosmology are there to greet her. Tarn is insulted that Ororo has come for the guy who exploded his head, but as above, so below - he loves to talk and she outwits him.

Ashake is often obliquely referred to but very rarely directly, so it's lovely to see her magical ancestor here to help. As Ororo pets her black cat, Ashake confirms this is a place of magic. Symbols and metaphors are powerful here - something Mags could use help with in his current state. It's also connected to the Kabbalistic tree of life, but I'm not very knowledgeable about that.

Two redrawn and recoloured keystone moments of Max and Ororo's relationship down the bottom.

She resolved to see this through and her thought carries her towards the Sphere of Judgement. Unexpectedly a bunch of Dominions bar her path, though luckily the two mutants are too small to truly be of interest to them. Still, a single mortal arriving in Overspace is significant and they prompt her to ask questions. The face of Dominions are shown but it's still fairy tale rules. The most important thing she learns is about Enigma, though she doesn't know it at the time.

The Sphere of Judgement is hostile, everything is inverted. Lightning is red, the river is lava, clouds are black, everything is broken. She notices this spot from her dream and the charred frames of Max's five helmets still sit in blood. Magneto has been here for months by choice, bypassing the Waiting Room Wanda built but refusing to move on. He believes he deserves this.

Finally she reaches Magneto weeping blood in front of a wall of names. Everyone he ever killed and he's counting every one, remembering their name. He's judging himself, punishing, and doesn't think he deserves to leave.

He shares his greatest shames, his most recent cruelties. Worst, the ones he convinced himself was necessary. He's overwhelmed by the red in his ledger and in this place of judgement lashes out, flinging names off the wall at Ororo while naming the person. What snaps him out of it is the mention that something happened to Charles, heh.

'The no-place of his heart' 👌

Max turns the judgement on Ororo but she rejects it, calling him out for extending Charles the grace he won't extend to himself plus a little hypocrisy. Magneto has always been prone to drama and that tendency can hurt as much as it heals.

That really gets him going, but he's judging himself more constructively now. Love, friendship, accountability. The things that are keeping some part of tethered to the living world. He pulls one more name down to say the name aloud before he sends it at Ororo - it's his - Max Eisenhardt. Still, he cries 'it's out of our hands.' He truly wants to give up but I think a part of him knows his story isn't done.

Ororo disagrees. Displaying why she's the only person who could assist in the resurrection of Magneto, she covers his eyes and remembers the rules of this place. The wall of the dead becomes its opposite - the wall of the living. Not those he killed but those he saved. It's enough to pull him out of punishing himself. Neither group should be forgotten but he can choose to save life rather than take it - to change.

Torturing yourself in a personal hell might appease some of those dead, but accepting responsibility to the living should be what comes after judgement. Suffering helps no one, and as he says to Logan as he's about to kill Charles much later - 'no more martyrs.' Part of why I enjoyed Magneto identifying Logan Behavior is because he himself is the king of it. Charles too. All three are prone to martyrdom but dying is easy. It's living that's difficult and worthwhile. Secluding yourself from the world, whether it's in the Sphere of Judgement, a mega prison, or with a pack of wolves - is senseless and selfish. Living is better.

Next time - what does that actually mean for both of them and how do they get out of this place? It's not as simple as turning a key. Choosing to live is hard work. Metatextually, change and rebirth requires a tour of all that he is, all that he's done. What's the point of killing a character and then bringing them back the same as they were? Comic books do it all the time, but Magneto's long history is a study of opposites and extremes. He, the writer and the reader all need to deconstruct Magneto so he can be reconstructed as a better person. With the benefit of hindsight we know he succeeds, but what does that actually look like for him? 60 years of his oversized influence on the world is a lot and it only gets better from here.

[flowerandblood]

Death and Resurrection

The Gate of Salvation Universe Oneshot

[ young pope • Aemond x catholic • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, sexual tension, anxiety, doubts related to faith, religious guilt, breaking celibacy ]

[ description: When the Pope decides, after drawing inspiration from TV series, that they will go on a date, she knows that she cannot refuse. However, it turns out that their adventure ends differently than they both expected and a boundary is crossed from which there is no return. Main theme: sexual tension & holy touch. ]

This oneshot is the events that take place a few months after The Gate of Salvation and The Songs of Songs. It can be read as a oneshot, but at the same time it is a complement to the entire series.

Aemond as a Pope Edit Series Characters Moodboard Aemond NSFW Alphabet

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

"Where are we going?" She asked apprehensively − they had never gone underground together before, the cramped, dark corridor beneath the Papal Residence through which he led her while holding her hand smelled of centuries-old dampness.

His attire also made her uneasy − he was dressed all in a white tracksuit, a hood over his head and sunglasses with white frames on his nose.

He wore this outfit whenever he wanted to get away somewhere.

"We're going on a date." He communicated softly, as if he was just explaining to her what they were going to have for breakfast. She shook her head, looking back in horror, feeling her heart pounding like mad.

"Please, Holy Father. We can't." She mumbled helplessly, knowing that usually when he came up with an idea it was difficult to dissuade him from it.

She thought with horror that it was because of a TV series they had recently watched. He insisted that she show him the blockbusters she loved as a child on her laptop, so she decided to show him The Office for fun. She turned on a random episode and the main characters in it went on a date, leaving him bewildered.

She thought he would be disgusted by the jokes and humor in this series, but he was intrigued by something completely different.

"What's so great about dating? What's the point of it? Why can't they just meet up and talk about what's important to them?" He asked with a frustration that surprised her.

She realised that his years in the church and convent had completely disconnected him from the life he could have lived as a teenager.

She wasn't sure how she should explain this.

"It's true, however, you can't be serious all your life. Sometimes, as we are doing now, a couple feels like watching a film and just being together. It's pleasant then, for example, to go to eat ice cream, to take a walk in the park, to have shared memories, shared moments." She muttered, feeling embarrassed that her explanation was childish and that he certainly thought she was silly.

He, however, only pressed his lips together at her words, as if something in her words troubled him, his fingers beginning to play with the fabric of her dress covering her knees, trailing over her bare skin after a moment.

"Would you like to experience something like this?" He asked as if unwillingly, tense.

She knew she couldn't ask that of him.

What they were doing was too much anyway, and they both knew it.

She smiled at that thought, squeezing his fingers in hers.

"No, Holy Father. You give me more than I would dare to ask. I am happy and fulfilled." She said softly. His gaze lifted to her as if to see if she was telling the truth − his arm finally embraced her and drew her close, her cheek pressed lightly against his chest.

She was sure he'd forgotten about it, but he'd clearly taken her words so personally that he couldn't get over it.

"I had it all planned out. We’ll blend in with the crowd, have an ice creams, walk around the Vatican and come back. After this we can kiss if you want." He added after a moment, as if he thought that might be part of her ideal image of the event.

She swallowed loudly at the thought, feeling at once terror, discomfort and warmth in her heart, love for him, gratitude at how much he cared, how much he wanted to give her everything she could possibly need in his mind.

She pressed her lips together at the thought that when they stepped outside he hadn't let go of her hand − he intertwined their fingers together as they headed quickly down the main street between the cramped tenements, looking around.

"It should be somewhere in there. I checked on the map." He said excitedly, like a little boy pulling her behind him towards a café that held a huge fridge outside, where you could actually order ice cream.

She looked around as they got closer, afraid that by some miracle even though no one knew what he looked like, someone would connect the dots, someone would recognise him.

As if he always had to wear that bloody white tracksuit.

"Good evening." The girl standing at the counter greeted them, waiting for their order.

"Good evening. We'd like five scoops of ice cream in two different cones, please. What flavours do you want?"

"Five? That's too many, we won't eat it all." She muttered surprised, looking at him in disbelief. He turned towards her, his eyes hidden behind his glasses, all she saw was that he furrowed his brow.

"No? Are you sure?" He asked with disappointment, from which she scratched her cheek.

"I mean…if you are sure you can eat that much then, take it. I'll stick with two."

Holy Father seemed displeased, however, he cheered up when he saw the size of his cone with scoops in cream, vanilla, strawberry, toffee and blueberry. She watched with amusement as he struggled to eat with a plastic spoon what had started to run down the waffle into the bottom of his cone, herself taking her ice cream from the seller.

"How is it? Do you like it?" She asked with a laugh, seeing him lick his fingers, all sticky from the berry cream.

"Very much. It's delicious. What should we do now?" He asked, looking around, eating and at the same time trying not to stain his snowy white tracksuit.

"Let's just stroll."

They moved ahead arm in arm, looking around the evening skyline of the Vatican, focusing only on the food and this surprisingly pleasant moment.

"Have you done this before? Dating and all?" He asked reluctantly, as if the thought that she might have done it with another man before him made him uncomfortable. She looked at him indulgently, trying to hide a smile of amusement.

"Not really. I haven't had the opportunity. I have never been as close to anyone as I have been to you, Holy Father."

"Aemond."

"Pardon?"

He shrugged his shoulders, taking a bit of strawberry ice cream into his mouth.

"That's my name. I won't mind if you use it when we're alone." He muttered, visibly tense, as if what he'd said, the fact that he'd exposed himself to her terrified him.

She smiled involuntarily at his words, embarrassed.

"Very well."

After a few minutes, she could clearly see that the portion he'd ordered for himself had outgrown him − he was eating slower and slower, and it occurred to her that he'd gone pale when she'd long since finished eating her ice cream. He wanted to share his portion with her, but she shook her head.

"I can't fit any more. But if you don't have the strength to eat it, don't force yourself." She muttered, seeing him sigh heavily.

"Wasting food is a sin." He mumbled and continued eating, apparently trying not to think about the discomfort in his stomach.

It wasn't even a few seconds after he had squeezed the last bit of cone into himself when he vomited the entire contents of his stomach into one of the bins.

She ran up to him quickly, horrified, stroking his back, taking from his face the glasses that had rolled down his nose so they wouldn't fall right into his puke.

"Oh dear. Are you okay?" She asked tenderly, at the same time unable to hold back a smile of pity thinking that she had warned him after all.

He was like a little child.

When they returned back to his residence by the same route they had fled he wanted to go back to his room, although he usually insisted that she let him sleep in her bed.

"Let's go to my place. I don't want you to spend the night alone when you're feeling unwell." She said softly, grasping his fingers. He pulled down the hood from his head, all pale, fatigue in his eye.

"I ruined everything."

Though reluctantly, he followed her as she began to pull him towards her room. After he had brushed his teeth and brought himself to order, he lay on the bed without strength − he watched indifferently as she changed into her pyjamas, closing his eyes, as he always did when she revealed her naked flesh.

She was touched by how much respect he had for her, how important it was for him to treat her body with proper reverence.

She lay down beside him, turning off the lamp beforehand, his face immediately snuggled against her soft breasts.

"Do you love me?"

She froze and swallowed loudly, feeling her heart begin to pound like mad under his cheek, her hand that had been stroking his hair stopped in mid-motion.

"I love you. You are the love of my life."

She pressed her lips together when she heard him gasp, an indication that he was crying but didn't want her to see it. It took him a moment to get more out of himself, her lips placing warm, reassuring kisses on his head.

"Forgive me for not being able to give you what you need."

"You give it to me."

"You know what I mean. Sometimes I wonder…" He began and hesitated, swallowing heavily, as if afraid to say his words aloud.

"…I wonder what would happen if I left, if I married you. I imagine we would have had children, a house with a garden. That we would have had a dog. That we would pray in the evening and then make love and it wouldn't be a sin."

She shuddered at his words, feeling a drop of cold sweat run down her back, her body tensed, all hot.

"− I − you would not forgive me for that −" She muttered helplessly. She felt him rise up on his elbow, his lips parted in an accelerated breath, his cheeks swollen from tears.

"− for what? −"

"− that I have destroyed your life − pulled you away from God and your destiny −" She whispered in a trembling voice, feeling a warm tear fall from the corner of her eyes onto the pillow under her head.

He looked at her with a gaze filled with pain, breathing heavily, playing with the fabric of her shirt between his fingers.

"− but it is in your presence that I feel his presence most strongly − as if he were in the room with us −"

"− the devil takes the form of angels −" She mumbled wearily, letting the air out loudly, feeling that her throat was squeezed with pain.

Was this the moment?

The moment when she would have to say farewell to him, do the right thing?

"I have deceived you for too long. Forgive me. I will give my official notice tomorrow."

He looked at her dully, as if he didn't understand what she had just said, his breath stuck in his throat.

"− you said you love me −"

"− I do −"

"− that you won't leave me alone −"

"− I won't leave, not in my prayers − but I'm destroying your life, pulling you away from what matters −"

"− is it because of this stupid date? − I regret ever taking you there −" He hissed, as if he was furious at his idea and the woman who sold them ice cream.

"− no, of course not − Holy Father −"

"− Aemond −" He growled.

She pressed her lips together, swallowing hard, the first time she had seen him like this − his jaw clenched, his nostrils twitching in accelerated, anxious breathing, his gaze dark and cold.

She didn't recognise him.

"− don't you remember what I said to you when I first met you? − there is no greater sinner in the world than me − because I am eternally, eternally thirsty −" He said slowly and carefully, like a predator who was just slowly preparing to lash out at its prey.

"− do you think you know what I desire? − what I really need? − I'll show you −" He said lowly, not even giving her time to reply − his lips immediately clung to hers in an aggressive, impatient kiss that took her breath away, a startled, muffled squeal escaping from her throat.

She felt his body pressed her back against the bed as his hips began to rub his hard manhood hidden under the material of his sweatpants to the spot between her thighs making her shake with a strong, wonderful shiver of pleasure.

"− mghm −" She mumbled out, clenching her fingers in his hair as she felt his slick tongue invade deep into her throat, licking her with its tip − she was panting into his mouth, shocked, involuntarily responding by rocking her hips to his movements.

"− undress −" He breathed out, rising up on his knees, pulling the material of his sweatshirt over his head with a quick, impatient swipe of his hands − she stared at him with wide eyes, feeling her insides clench greedily around nothing at the sight of his bare chest.

Her trembling fingers quickly rose to the buttons of her shirt, undoing it one by one, exposing her skin piece after piece. She shuddered and moaned, surprised, as his hands pushed the material aside, revealing her breasts and stomach.

His lips parted in desire at the sight − his hand tentatively rose higher, running gently over her bare flesh, kneading and massaging her breast between his fingers.

For the first time he was looking at her naked body, at what he was doing, and she felt like she was going to die of desire. It seemed to her that everything that happened next was like a dream − his swollen lips that clung to hers, their panting as they impatiently slid every piece of their clothing off each other, when at last his bare skin pressed against hers.

"− Aemond −" She gasped out into his mouth, feeling his thick length rubbing against her achingly swollen folds, their hands trailing blindly over their naked, sweaty bodies, pressing into their exposed skin as if to melt them into one.

"− fuck − so warm − so soft − like silk −" He murmured, sliding his lips down to her jaw, neck and shoulders, leaving wet, sticky trails behind − her body arched back with her innocent, surprised whine as his mouth finally pressed down around her puffy, hard nipple and began to suck on it.

"− yes − God, yes −" She mumbled, involuntarily spreading her legs in front of him − she heard his grunt of delight as he moved his hips back in a soft motion so that a moment later she could feel the fat, leaking head of his cock begin to push against her slick opening.

She guided him with the movement of her body to where he should slide in, only to hear his sigh of delight a moment later as he thrust deeply into her with an impatient, desperate push of his hips.

"− yes − yes, yes, yes −" She panted, tilting her head back with her eyes closed, digging her fingers into the hot skin of his buttocks, startling him as she threw her legs around his waist, crossing them over his back.

Nothing but grunts and noises of pleasure left his throat as, with his lips pressed against her nipple, he pounded into her again and again with deep, greedy, fast thrusts, from which their bodies slapped against each other again and again with loud, sticky splats.

For the first time in her life, she was experiencing something so animal and spiritual at the same time − him deep inside her, stretching her tight, fleshy walls apart, doing what was natural to man, what Adam had done to Eve back in Eden.

"− forgive me − I −" He breathed out at last, as if with each successive brutal thrust of his hips he understood that there would be no turning back from this, that they had crossed a line after which nothing would be the same again, that he would take her for himself in every sense of the word.

"− inside me − please, inside me −" She mumbled helplessly, thinking only of the fact that she craved his seed inside her, that she could be his lover, his whore, bear his children if it meant spending her life by his side.

By the side of the man she loved.

She reached her peak with a sweet little moan of relief at the thought, at the image of herself and him, holding their children in their arms. She heard him gasp loudly at her words and closed his eyes, panting heavily as she suddenly felt something hot and sticky squirt out of him deep inside her.

"− f-fuck − fuck, oh, God −" He mumbled out, rocking his hips inside her with a loud click of their shared wetness for a moment longer, his mouth wide open, his eyes closed, as if he wanted to remember this moment forever.

After a moment, he looked at her − there was a calmness in his eyes and some kind of certainty, as if he already knew what was right.

"− marry me −"

[luciaintheskyainthi]

author I know you've probably been asked this before but what are your comic recs for understanding ECM better? I genuinely don't know where to start... (-_-")

You know what?! I get asked this a lot less than you'd think!

I use footnotes to make the background in Existential Crisis Mode as accessible as possible, but I'm more than happy to share my reading list!!!

In regards to DC, there's a great deal I'm not counting, but if you're interested, these are my recs!

In terms of core texts related to Jason, there's the following for you to peruse (in order!):

Death in the Family: it contextualises Jason's death (which in the DC revamps like New 52 and Rebirth has since been retconned to a lesser [Rebirth] or greater [N52] degree). I'm working on this as the core events that led to Jason's death.

Red Hood: The Lost Days: an excellent volume, it documents the time between Jason's resurrection (which was NOT via Lazarus Pit as a lot of fanfics claim!) and his return to Gotham as the Red Hood. It's critical for understanding Jason's motivations, his training and personality.

Under the Red Hood: honestly I think this could be watched or read, although Jason's resurrection in the animated version is credited to the Lazarus pit (and Talia Al Ghul is erased from the narrative), so just keep that in mind. BUT Jensen Ackles voices Jason in the animated version which is scrum-diddly-umptious!!! And the opening scene?!?!?! Lives RENT FREE in my head. My GOD it fucks me up!

There are plenty of other comics with Jason in them before first of the Red Hood and the Outlaws were published, but I'll be honest, I've not read them. Largely due to access (I have a friend from work who was kind enough to share their collection with me!). For the purposes of understanding Jason's history, his personality and motivators as a vigilante, the above three are a solid start.

Beyond these, you've got both the New 52 (came first) and then Rebirth runs of Red Hood and the Outlaws.

I'm not the biggest fan of the New 52 run, largely because I Did Not Enjoy the in-your-face sexualisation of Koriand'r, however world-building elements like the All Caste, Jason's magic soul-consuming swords the All Blades (fun fact! They only work on people/creatures of pure evil), along with Jason's friendship with Roy and Kori are of worth!

As the All Blades have already been mentioned in ECM, so there's benefit to checking the New 52 RHATO volumes out. New 52 RHATO is also what birthed my headcanon of Jason being demisexual!

I much preferred the Rebirth RHATO, and Artemis and Bizarro (he's actually a clone of the OG Bizarro) are planned to appear at some point in ECM. A lot of the most recent events in Jason's life from ECM tie back to Rebirth's RHATO, along with Red Hood: Outlaw (which is what the run was called after volume 4), where Jason works mostly alone.

Other DC comics of interest include:

The "We Are Robin" series, "Robin Wars" and "Batman and the Signal": all great for learning more about Duke, but we see all the former Robins working together in "Robin Wars". The events of these volumes/series aren't likely to be used much in ECM, but good for characterisation!

Juni Ba's "The Boy Wonder" is excellent for characterising Damian! He's someone who gets Flanderised about as badly as Jason does in a lot of fanon, so it's nice to be reminded of his complexity!

In regards to Peter and Spider-Man, as he's from the MCU, there's no comics needed to be read for his background. But I WILL say, for reasons I will not disclose, I have read / am in the process of reading through...

Spider-Man: The Other. 'Evolve or Die'

Spider-Verse, Spider-Geddon and End of the Spider-Verse

My first recommendation for any of these comics would be to see if your local library has them!

(Though admittedly, I've purchased quite a few on Kindle, mostly for my own convenience since I'm using it as canon.)

[somerandomdudelmao]

Howdy!

First off, I love your comic and the way you make everything flow almost effortlessly. You are a strong story teller and your characterization of every character feels like it could be from the show.

My question is about your recent post about Bug Mama. You mentioned that you wanted to include her in some chapters but didn’t because she speaks weird. If you don’t mind sharing, how would she be involved?

Thank you!

When Donny and Casey broke into the EPF lab. I originally wanted Big Mama to have the resurrection ingredient they needed. So Casey would have to break into the Nexus Arena and have an epic battle. And I was like, oh, man, this is gonna be so cool and epic and beautiful.

But then I realized I couldn't write a line of dialogue for Big Mama...bc...uh...WHY Is she talking like this?? I mean, It's cool, and it fits her, but bruh. I can't just imitate something I barely understand :l

So...haha yeah. Now it's Bishop instead

[ar-cadez]

Count Duckula Fan Rewrite!!

Recently I’ve been working on a Count Duckula rewrite that aims to give it a slightly more serious tone and semi-serialized story like many modern cartoons! It took some time, but I made redesigns of the main cast. I had fun making this project and I REALLY hope you do too! Because I’m extremely nervous that the small fan base Count Duckula does have will hate this

I haven’t actually finished the show btw so if there’s an antagonist or smth that shows up later I should’ve redesigned.. lmk! I’m open to suggestions I really like this show..

—————————————————

Basic Concept

Practically the same as the original show! There is a long line of reincarnations of a wicked vampire duck named Count Duckula, the most recent reincarnation went wrong and now the current Count is a vegetarian and much more interested in becoming famous than being evil.

Some major differences include the tone and story structure, being semi-serialized and having more serious arcs mixed in with the antics, along with a lot of changes in characterization. A big story change is also that Nanny was not hired until AFTER Duckula was reincarnated so Igor was the one who screwed up the ritual.

Tone wise I’d also like to slightly age up the target audience so it could get away with a bit more dark humour. My favourite part of the original show was moments that were just so morbid and completely brushed past. 13+ would be fine methinks.

Basic plot of the average episode would be about the count’s hyperfixation of the week and trying to get famous or profit from it. Not every episode would follow this structure though.

The grander themes of the series would be all about expectations from family and strangers and how those expectations can be completely false.

—————————————————

Characters

^^ Final lineup! ^^

Sketches (less interesting poses but shows off some things better)

Count Duckula!

What I wanted to change

I feel like Duckula from the original spin-off was already a really strong character! There is a lot to him and really all I would want from a more emotional reboot is to dive into what’s already there. I did kinda project on him a bit in this rewrite though… gotta write what’cha know!

I also changed his design quite a bit. I never thought the suit fit his personality and I wanted to go with something a little more bright. If I go back again I might saturate his shirt a bit more. I also wanted all the residents of castle Duckula to have purple in their designs and for duckula and Towser to share similar colour’s inversed

Character Traits

Hatred of his legacy

Duckula is the first member of his lineage to not be an evil vampire and he hates that role that is expected of him. This is partially what drives him to be the nicest duck he can be, in hopes of shaking off his legacy. This also causes him to reject anything that's “spooky” or has to do with vampires. He physically can't eat meat or blood due to his botched resurrection, but even the sight of either distresses him.

Attention Drive

Due to his infamy, all Duckula wants is to be liked by the general public. Everyone in his town is automatically scared of him and he tries really hard to change their opinions on him whether that be through attempting to bea good samaritan or by performing in town. (Both tend to end poorly for him)

ADHD and Theatre Kid Behaviour

Duckula is constantly picking up and putting down new forms of art and performance. This can be anything from oil painting to American football. He does tend to get frustrated or distracted and abandon projects or crafts entirely. His favourite artform is acting and music so as you can imagine he's very into musicals. His musical talents are decent but his acting is awful. He’s also known to loud and overly excited over his interests

Ego and Cowardice

Being given a position of power the day you came into existence does have the tendency to make you… immature to say the least. When in danger, if he even realises there is any, Duckula’s first move is to use his title as leverage. If that doesn't work, his second is to beg, grovel, and lie his way out of the situation. That, or hide behind his much more intimidating companions.

Rich Kid Syndrome

Having the majority of people you know be your house staff really messes with your sense of responsibility. Duckula can hardly do many basic life skills on his own because of this. It's not like he is completely lazy but he does have executive dysfunction and has yet to realise that fact, causing him to procrastinate on many things and completely forget or just get someone else to do it.

Not Naturally kind

Being his father’s reincarnation, it only makes sense that Duckula would inherit many traits from his past lives. Many of the other Counts were ego-driven cowards with desires for fame. They just went about it differently. Duckula actively tries to be kind and polite but a lot of passive aggression and snark slips through the cracks of that veneer. He would never want to admit that he has ANYTHING in common with his ancestors and he hates that being nice doesn't just come naturally to him. Being an immortal, Duckula also has a skewed sense of mortality and often doesn't understand the severity of certain injuries and situations.

This Duckula has ADHD and Autism in this rewrite and he struggles most with executive dysfunction, restricted interests, memory issues, atypical empathy (not specifically low or high), sensory issues (mostly with eating and some sound), and social cues. He also stims.

Towser!

What I Wanted to Change

Towser isn’t even really a character in the original. Just a running gag without a face. I wanted to balance out the main cast by adding another female character since I have feelings on Nanny as a character and i didn’t know if i would even be able to salvage that.

I really like what I came up with! She’s fun to me and I’ll probably flesh her out more later.

Character Traits

Family drive

Towser has little interest in birds that aren't close to her and it usually takes awhile for her to get used to new people. However, she’ll protect those that she does care about with her life. She is the castle’s guard dog and will do whatever’s necessary to protect it. This often comes at the cost of her sleep, because she feels like she always needs to be awake to protect them.

Tag Along

Following Duckula around like a puppy is what Towser does best! She might not fully understand his enthusiasm on certain subjects, but she's always up to backing him up on his newest fame seeking endeavours (though she herself prefers physical activity over creative works). She never expects anything to come of it, but hey, at least it's something to do. She also likes to hear Duckula rant to her about his interests.

Big Sister

Towser is of a much more stable mental state than Duckula, and as his only friend around his age, he trusts her more to be someone to talk to about his identity issues and issues in general. The two are a lot warmer towards each other than they are anyone else, and can also get away with messing with the other a lot more.

Big ol Lap dog

When in werewolf form, Towser tends to forget her size and often crushes them with her size. This usually wouldn't be a problem if it weren't for the fact that she's always a lot more cuddly and energetic in wolf form than bird form. This is because, as a werewolf, she's only in wolf form at night and being a fully nocturnal bird that should only be awake at night, this messes with her sleep rhythm a lot.

Igor!

What I wanted to Change

Personality wise Igor is already really strong and I didn’t change much of that. You’ll probably notice from the sketches that Igor has a skeleton hand, that’s because I made him undead in this version just to give a reason to how he’s been able to live this long since the original doesn’t really have one (which is fine)

Character Traits

Devotion to the role

Igor has been the Count’s butler since the first incarnation. He was assigned to keep the Duckula legacy alive by reincarnating his master every time he meets his fate and helping him readjust every time. Helping each new reincarnation bring misery and fear to the town they reside by with a smile… Until the most recent incarnation of course. He’ll stick it out though, because he still has hope for him.

Taste for the macabre

Whether it be killing innocents behind the back of his new master, decorating the castle with cobwebs and bones, or using his undead nature to scare and torture those around him, Igor certainly has an interesting idea of fun. Igor gets a sick enjoyment out of causing others distress and despises all things kind and cute, something which definitely frustrates Duckula, who's desperately trying to fix his own image.

Bitter Traditionalist

Having lived through the centuries in castle Duckula, Igor has gained an appreciation for the history of the place and the vampire ducks that have resided there over the years. He’s rather invested in the lives of his previous masters and is extremely cross with the newest incarnation for not only not caring about that past, but also completely disowning it. Igor tries desperately to get Duckula to be a normal vampire, truly believing it could work with enough effort. Less he spend the next few centuries with a vegetarian for a master… Igor would not have a problem with Duckula pursuing fame if it weren't for the fact that he thinks it's distracting him from true vampirism.

Tired old man

Igor has lived for many centuries and he does not feel as if he should have to babysit for an immature man child like Duckula. He would rather ignore or snark the young count rather than actually talk to him. When the two argue its a constant back and forth of passive aggression and personal jobs that they almost always forget what they're actually arguing over. Duckula is physically and mentally very young (17-early 20s) compared to Igor’s other masters due to the botched revival and he doesn't know how to, or want to, deal with it.

Nanny!

What I Wanted to Change

I’m sorry to any hardcore Nanny fans out there but this is practically a whole new character. I find Nanny to be frustrating and annoying in the original and who I personally feel is a very sexist and mean spirited character. There’s absolutely nothing I would want to write with a character who’s just “big stupid fat woman inconveniences everyone around her” it’s just uncomfortable after a certain point.

My idea for a new take was just an extremely kind older woman who’s a little airheaded but is a lot smarter than people give her credit for. This sets her up as a foil to Igor. She’s also the only non-monster resident of the castle in this version which I personally think is really interesting.

Character Traits

Only good influence

While Igor actively sets out to make Duckula a bad person and Towser couldn't care less about how Duckula acts, Nanny is the only direct influence in Duckula’s life who pushes him to do better. Nanny believes Duckula is a good person at heart and pushes him to take more responsibility in his life. She wants him to learn a good work ethic and is fully supportive of him trying to better himself.

Good Christian Woman

Nanny is, in fact, a christian. She is fully aware of the demonic nature of her companions but believes that everyone can better themselves no matter their circumstances and attempts to better those around her. Igor hates her for it but she’s totally ignorant to that fact.

Assertive Mother Figure

Though Nanny is a very kind woman, she is also not a pushover. She will assert authority over Duckula and anyone else if necessary, and most are compliant once she puts her foot down, if they aren't, however, Nanny does pack a punch and won't hesitate to use her strength to protect her family.

Smarter than she seems

Nanny is an airheaded optimist with a big heart and those traits make her come off a lot more clueless than she actually is. She may seem like she has no idea what’s going on but she’s actually very observant and is fantastic at assessing a situation and finding the best course of action.

Dr. Von Goosewing

What I Wanted to Change

I really liked the idea of the antagonist to Duckula was in a liniage of vampire slayers and that their ancestors have been fighting for generations. It gave me the perfect set up for a ✨SHADOW ANTAGONIST✨ I wanted to make this rewrite have the two reflect each other a lot more. To do that I wanted Goosewing to still be a really cooky guy but I didn’t want the public to know that.

Also I have no idea why he’s dressed like Sherlock Holmes in the original if he’s a Van Helsing parody and also an inventor. You could’ve leaned into either of those ideas but for some reason he’s dressed like a detective? so I tried giving him a more fitting outfit but keeping his colours for recognisablity.

Character Traits

Playing Village hero

Goosewing is considered a big deal in town because of his family of vampire hunters. He’s prepared his whole life to kill Count Duckula the moment he comes back and to protect the common folk from the paranormal. Despite this, Goosewing isn't actually particularly skilled at his job and usually ends up failing his assassinations due to his own incompetence. He feels like he has to play the role as a hero to continue his family’s legacy despite not particularly enjoying it or being good at it.

Overestimating the enemy

With how cunning and malevolent the past Duckula incarnations were, Goosewing expects the same from this one. Goosewing believes that Duckula is a dangerous and clever foe completely focused on causing others pain. In reality, Duckula is the most incompetent bird in all of Transylvania, aside fromGoosewing himself, of course. Goosewing also comes to believe that Duckula is only acting nice to later betray the public, a belief he is not quiet about and that keeps the public from trusting Duckula.

Mad Scientist

Goosewing definitely falls into the eccentric scientist trope with his innovative but scatterbrained nature. He would much rather be working on an invention than actually doing his job. The public sees him as a hero but while hunting vampires or when hes alone he comes off as more of a mad scientist than the hero character he plays. His intentions are ultimately good but are completely based on the assumption that he’s the wholly good protector of the people and that Duckula is a cunning villain who's out to get him and everyone else.

Shadow

Goosewing and Duckula reflect each other in a lot of ways. They both have a legacy they are expected to uphold despite not wanting to or even being able to, they both care deeply about the public’s opinion on them while the public has an incredibly incorrect view of the both of them, and they both have creative interests outside of the roles expected of them that they'd rather be persuing. Duckula fully rejects anything to do with his ancestry, while Goosewing is actively trying to fulfil despite not enjoying it.

The Murder Brothers!

What I Wanted to Change

Haha I called them the murder brothers bc they’re crows and criminals Im actually so funny… anyway. I don’t know if I should’ve even done these guys but I really like them as antagonists so!!

I gave the younger two names and a personality. The wiki said they didn’t have names but if they do lmk and I’ll just fix that. Other than that I didn’t change much except try to give ‘em a bit more depth and changing their physical designs a ton for fun.

Character Traits

The Murder Brothers, as a whole, are a tight knit family of con men crows who pull any grift they can to get their hands on some cash. Though they may act like their only loyalty in life is to money, they do genuinely care about each other's well being

Ruffles

Ruffles is the short tempered and eldest leader of the group. He’s constantly frustrated with his brothers’ incompetence and isn't quiet about it. He believes that if it weren't for them he'd probably be a lot further in life by now (which isn't true) and he’ll say he doesn't care about them, but he actually does.

Burt

If he didn't insist on helping his brothers, Burt would be the most likely to be living an honest life. As the second oldest sibling, Burt holds a position as right hand man. He’s a naturally kind and enthusiastic bird who, while a bit dumb, does openly express his love for his brothers. He takes on a lot of the abuse from his older brother and is often used by the group to talk to others, because he's so naturally trustworthy.

Reggie

Reggie is the second youngest of the brothers and the most relaxed out of all of them. He has an impeccable sleight of hand and is the go to for lockpicking and such. He’s a decent smooth talker and is often the one to break up fights, though he's not above getting angry at the others himself.

Leroy

Leroy is the youngest of the brothers and by far the least skilled. His speech is incomprehensible from under his mask (although he can see through it for the most part) and he’s often left with the worst jobs during their cons because of that. He’s the most timid out of all of them but I’m sure if you took that mask off of him he’d be really talkative.

—————————————————

Ending Words

Well that’s all I got! I spent way too long on this project that maybe two people will care about and one of them is me 💔 Anyway if I make anything else for this rewrite/au I’ll tag it with #wbcd . I wouldn’t count on it because I mighttt get burn out from this but im just so glad I finished it! I’ve thought about writing a pilot script just for fun but idk. I’d like to do more long format au stuff, I was going to make a YouTube video about this but I almost cried trying to record myself so I gave up 💔

[fics-by-noworriesifnot]

Chapter 10/19: "Undeniable Chemistry." now up on AO3

Hermione poked her head around the corner of the sitting room to observe Draco on the couch watching television with a glazed over expression. He’d been sat there for the past several days now, consuming the episodes of Charmed she’d painstakingly downloaded for him. 

Hermione took a deep breath and approached, channeling all her positive energy into her next sentence. “I have some exciting news that might cheer you up!” She announced, leaning with both hands on the arm rest, her leg kicking up behind her in the momentum of it all. Draco looked at her askance, raising a single brow before his eyes flitted back to the screen. “Is it about whether Piper and Leo develop chemistry at any point in this show? Because I’m struggling to believe they like each other at all… Charmed?” He said. “Hardly.” “No…” Hermione said, battling a grin. “It’s about the potion.” Draco sat up, his eyes brightening. “Oh, you’ve made a break-through to revitalise the wizarding world already?” He asked, as Hermione plopped into the couch beside him. She hadn’t meant to sit so close, with his arm still resting over the back of the couch, she felt enveloped in him. “Erm-” she swallowed. “No, not that potion… your father’s Ambrosia Elixir.” She said, shrugging her shoulders in anticipation of his annoyance. 

Draco sighed and brought his hand to his temple. “Not this again.” He said. “I told you not to waste your time on it.” Choosing to ignore his petulant response, Hermione continued to explain her discovery. 

“I’ve figured out what I need to complete it -well- your father did most of the leg work, I just connected the dots really.” She said, punctuating the air with her finger. “All we need is ash from a resurrected phoenix.” Draco visibly recoiled, but Hermione continued, undeterred. “Proteins found in phoenix ashes will bind to the reactant molecules in the elixir and catalyse the reaction. Usually catalysts only accelerate the reaction, and wouldn’t contribute to it- but this is where magic comes in! After the reaction the properties are extracted; phoenix proteins are just built differently to regular proteins. Currently the reaction is happening too slowly, but with a catalyst, this magical catalyst… Malfoy, I really believe it will work!” Draco merely blinked in response, chemical equations might well have been floating around her head for all he could make of what she was saying.

“Essentially your father has synthesised phoenix resurrection magic!” Hermione exclaimed, simplifying her explanation. “Very clever Granger, but when was the last time you saw a phoenix? Let alone a recently resurrected one.” Draco replied, guilt spiking as he watched Hermione deflate. “Well-” she sputtered. “I know they’re incredibly rare, but-” “There hasn’t been a phoenix sighting since Dumbledore's hen flew off, and before that, who knows how long?” Draco said, folding his arms over his chest. “Sure.” Hermione countered, willing herself to keep her voice level. “But I’m speaking to someone in an online forum who says they have some ashes and they’re willing to share them with me to support my cause!” “An online forum?” Draco blinked, feeling, not for the first time in this short conversation, completely out of his depth.

“A chat room on the net. They say they’re located in Egypt and if I were to visit, they’d be more than happy to help! I was thinking that perhaps I could plan a trip after Christmas?” Hermione said, her excitement building at the prospect of an academic research adventure.

‘Ah.’ Draco thought, recognising some of the lingo he’d learned over the past few months, used in association with Hermione downloading television periodicals for him to watch. “So you’re talking to a complete stranger on your computer who is promising you, what could possibly be, one of the rarest magical items in the world- for free mind you- if you just hop over to the transcontinent real quick on an international portkey? And there is nothing suspicious about this to you?” He said, raising his hands in question at her. “Erm…” Hermione shrugged, her eyes rolling backwards as if just realising this for the first time. Draco could not understand how she figured out how to synthesise phoenix resurrection magic, but remained completely obtuse to matters of her personal safety. Sighing and closing his eyes, he asked. “What about your real research Granger? Are you just abandoning it?” Hermione felt a prickle of annoyance at that, but tamped it down. She was desperate for Draco to understand her point of view, but didn’t want to descend into a chaotic bickering spiral that came so naturally to them.

“Of course I’m not abandoning it… but I can do both,” she said. “You know I can practically multitask in my sleep. Besides-  phoenixes are endemic to Egypt and the Arabian Peninsula; it makes sense someone there might have some ashes.”

“What do Potter and Weasley think of this plan?” Draco asked. Mumbling, Hermione replied, “I haven’t exactly told them…” She said, avoiding his eye. Suspicions confirmed, Draco turned to her in full, trying to appeal to her sense of reason. “Granger. I want you to stop. This is going too far.” He said, any sense of agitation leaving him as he looked at the witch now kneeling before him on the cushions, her eyes wide and slightly crestfallen. “You don’t owe this to me.” He continued. “My death is entirely Bellatrix and The Dark Lord’s doing. We’ve talked about this.” He said softly, wishing he could take her hand.

Hermione turned away from him slightly, resting on one leg while the other swung over the edge of the couch. She took a deep breath, not wanting emotion to get the better of her. “You stopped Bellatrix when she had me under her knife... I just wish I could have done the same for you.” She said, blinking against the memories of Bellatrix digging a blade into her throat. “So that is what this is about?” Draco replied. “It’s not just that, Malfoy…” Hermione said, chewing her lip. “Am I another project then? Another problem for the brilliant mind of Hermione Granger to solve?” He asked, his voice solemn. “A problem? No, how could you think that? It’s not that I couldn’t save you at the battle and I’m certainly not in this to give myself more work to do... it’s more than that.” “Then what is it?” “I- Well-” Hermione felt heat blooming in her cheeks. “I’ve grown rather fond of you.” She blurted and immediately wished she could take it back, as the corners of Draco’s mouth pulled up into a smirk. “You’ve grown fond of me?” He said, his voice carrying a note of disbelief, as he sat straighter, taking in this surprising tidbit.

“Don’t preen for Heaven’s sake!” Hermione said, her cheeks brightening further. “I care for you, and I think you’re accepting your death too readily. I just don’t understand how you can be so blasé about your circumstances when the opportunity to change them is within our reach.”

“If you do care for me, you’ll respect my wishes and autonomy over my own life, or as it currently stands, death.” Draco said.

“Why won't you let me do this for you?” Hermione asked, as Draco felt his stomach backflip, knowing he’d have to confess to the same feelings if he was going to get this witch to relent. “Have you thought that perhaps I care for you too? And that I don’t want to see any harm befall you on your feckless mission to finish my father’s potion? If you can find a solution that doesn’t jeopardize your own life or career, then by all means, carry on.” He said in one breath.

“I do think you’re overreacting about my meeting this person from the forum…” Granger pouted, her arms folded over her chest. Emulating her pose, Draco replied curtly. “I think I’m reacting perfectly reasonably… you’ll simply have to find another way if bringing me back is so important to you.” “But there is no other way!” Hermione said. “You’re Hermione Granger. There is always another way. Now. Promise me you’re going to drop this travel nonsense.” Hermione inhaled sharply, about to fight for what she wanted, to push further and make demands, knowing he couldn’t really stop her. But she felt the strength of her convictions leave her as she looked at Draco. He was smiling for the first time in days. Perhaps he was right, it was his death, as much as she wished she could change things, it wasn’t for her to decide. “Fine.” She acquiesced. “Good girl.” Draco said, stretching his arm out behind her on the couch and turning back to the television. Hermione felt her heart rate spike at his words and proximity; even though she knew she couldn’t touch him, she had the sudden urge to bury herself in his jumper. 

“Now, turn the sound back on.” Draco said, gesturing to the remote. “Chauncey has queued up Buffy for us. Even though these muggle directors got the wrong end of the stick when it comes to vampires, at least they have undeniable chemistry.” Hermione’s heart clenched upon a realisation as she unmuted the television. “Undeniable chemistry.” She repeated under her breath, feeling that she’d just understood how it felt.

[icepoptroll]

So I've been heavy into RTC in recent months. As well I work as a nurse. So naturally this idea came to me:

Everyone Lives AU where the choir kids survive the Cyclone accident, wake up in the hospital, and come to find out their nurse is a guy named. . . Yep. Karnak

Ricky wrote him a lengthy note between hourly rounds about how they all had died and they were in limbo and he was there too, and while he was there he was a magical mechanical fortune teller with prognostication and resurrection abilities, and how he's not sure how he's there with them now because a rat had killed him by chewing through his power cable. Karnak reads it and responds with a chuckle and "ah yes, your parents DID mention that you have a very active imagination, Richard." *Queue gobsmacked Ricky face*

Ocean is more scared and freaked out and still not past her initial stress response, all "How are we all still alive? How are YOU alive? You just DIED back there. And I thought you could only bring back one of us! That WHOLE TIME you were just testing us??? What kind of messed up game are we playing now?"

"I'm sorry. I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oooooh yes you do! You were some kind of. . . Ominous novelty machine just before all this!"

"Ah. Curious, one of your friends accused me of the same thing. Quite an interesting phenomenon, how multiple people are on occasion found to somehow suffer the same exact nightmare. This is likely a result of your shared trauma--- I assure you I am just a med-surg nurse. I am not now, nor have I ever been, an 'ominous novelty machine.'"

"So it's just some wacky coincidence that we all remember someone JUST LIKE YOU from the afterlife and now all of a sudden we're all assigned to you? You had no part in that?"

"If I had my way, Miss Rosenberg, I would be assigned to only three of you. Unfortunately, though, safe nurse/patient ratios have really fallen to the wayside in recent years. Now. . . Before I continue my rounding, do you have any questions about your medication?"

The kids convene and question whether maybe he IS just a dude with the same name but COME ON his voice and mannerisms are all the same and he even kinda looks like him and the timing is just too perfect to be coincidental and the way he cracks a smile when someone calls him "Mr. Whatever" like it's him it's gotta be him

Definitely gonna think of more and most likely gonna end up drawing/writing stuff for this lol I just can't resist letting my work influence my hobbies haha

[the-golden-comet]

✨🌺 Writing Share and Questionnaire Tag 🌺✨

Hello, everyone! Thank you so much for tagging me! If you’ve done so recently, know that I appreciate you and was probably not alerted (sorry if I missed any!) HOWEVER, I did catch a questionnaire tag here from @willtheweaver ! Thank you for the tag! 💛✨

I’ve written some progress from ITROG, and I’d figure I’ll share a little more of Tyrell’s personality through these questions. Stick around for a story snippet at the end 💫

My questions:

1. What would it take for you to forgive someone who wronged you?

Tyrell: (snorts in a sneer) Hel if I know. Usually if someone crosses me, they’re not comin’ back into my good graces anytime soon.

2. You are given the chance to resurrect someone you loved for 24 hours. Would you do it?

Tyrell: Já, of course I would! Who wouldn’t? Odin’s blessing, I’d keep móðir alive a lot longer if I had the chance.

3. What is the one job you don’t want?

Tyrell: Probably being second in command to a man like Bartok….ugh, nei. Someone with a stick shoved that far up their own ass would be tastin’ tree bark on their tonsils. Nei, þǫkk.

And speaking of Bartok, here is a bonus writing share from ITROG! ✨

On the route to the food storage, Bartok snickered over his shoulder: “What’s wrong with yer sonr? Did he have another faint?”

“That’s none of your business.” Stefan answered curtly.

The warrior whistled through his teeth. “Ah, it’s a shame….you aren’t thinking of enlisting him in the Ursyne Trials, are ya’?”

“Haven’t decided yet.”

“Ya’ can’t be serious, Chief.” Bartok scoffed. “Imagine: Tyrell climbs up Feldin’s Peak, and halfway his heart gives out….”

“…..” Stefan ground his teeth in silent seething.

“…..Or when he has to duck under the icy wake. If the cold isn’t enough to shock his system to shutdown, the faint’ll due him to drown 30 deep until his skin’s the color of a Frost Jötunn—”

“—Enough, Bartok! Must you be so descriptive about my SON?!” The viking chief lashed out. “And keep those Hel-forsaken demons off of your lips before I sew them shut with runic thread.”

A nervous laugh crested Bartok’s voice “My apologies, chief. I don’t mean to rattle you. Only meant to warn….” He shrugged in nonchalance. “…..I’d be rightfully worried, though. These trials are no joke.”

“I know. They’re to train warriors—the strongest to lead the Bear Clan…..” Stefan nodded in conviction. “…..of which my son shows heart.”

@gioiaalbanoart and @wyked-ao3 , you’re gonna need the shovel for THIS one 😂

Thank you everyone! If you’ve previously tagged me, make sure to poke me twice—Tumblr notifications can be hit or miss sometimes, and I love seeing what everyone’s working on! ✨

Speaking of tagging, let me tag the following (no pressure, join if you wish ✨): @wyked-ao3 , @gioiaalbanoart , @jev-urisk , @tragedycoded , @autism-purgatory , @finickyfelix , @theink-stainedfolk , @drchenquill , @deanwax , @the-inkwell-variable , @mysticstarlightduck , @illarian-rambling , @leahnardo-da-veggie , @ominous-feychild , @mrbexwrites , @sharkblizzardblogs , @agirlandherquill , @rhikasa , @houseplantblank , @justabigoldnerd , @justanotherchangeling , @pippinoftheshire , @noxxytocin , @alinacapellabooks , @seastarblue , @talesofsorrowandofruin , @theaistired , @paeliae-occasionally , @aurumni-writes , @smellyrottentrees , @lavender-gloom , @cowboybrunch , @aziz-reads , @dyrewrites , @kaylinalexanderbooks , @theeccentricraven , @birdycage , @nczaversnick , @honeybewrites , @somethingclevermahogony , @topazadine , +open for whoever else wishes to join! ✨

Your questions for your OCs (in cut/paste format) 👀✨

1.) What location is always considered a home to you? 2.) Do you enjoy traveling with company, or alone? 3.) How many landmarks in your world have you visited? Were they fun? Horrifying? A place to remember?

Thank you all again! I’m excited to pick up ITROG and (hopefully) answer more questions and games about the story! Have a great week everyone, and Happy New Year! 🎊✨

[utilitycaster]

Been burning through the third campaign of NADDPOD recently off of your recommendation and it's been incredible. Though it has made me think of what exactly makes its callbacks and references to the previous campaign work so well compared to C3. As you pointed out in your post about the podcast, they share more than a few similarities. I'd guess that the lighter tone overall helps quite a bit, though the Irondeep Saga and Hardwon's return to the adventuring life is genuinely very effective!

To me, most if not all of C3's returning characters and callbacks were self-aggrandizing and distracting. The initial return to Whitestone for Laudna especially.

I have not finished NADDPOD's C3 yet so maybe I'll be proven wrong, but I was just wondering if you had any insight on why it just, works better than its counterpart? Also, big fan of the blog! Your meta post have kept me sane during the various errands that Bells Hells half heartedly accomplish.

So I do want to note my issue with Whitestone and Laudna's resurrection isn't so much seeing Percy and Vex and Pike and Keyleth; it's much more that having that available so early cut off some notable opportunities in Marquet. Going to Jiana would have probably made the Delilah issue much more of a factor (since I doubt anyone she'd have known would have been a L20 cleric familiar with Delilah), would have done interesting things for Ashton's story, and would have kept the party on the continent and in the city, possibly spending more time with Eshteross and maybe even giving them an additional chance to encounter Otohan in person. In retrospect this could have fixed like five different things. I actually found that the previous character callbacks were one of the strongest elements and increasingly I also feel the original NPCs of C3, Otohan and Ozo aside, while few and far between, would have been great if Bells Hells like, cared about them and spent time with them.

I think the more important part is that Murph is not trying to wrap up an overarching plot across multiple campaigns; he's simply telling, well, the campaign after the campaign. He was pretty clear about that in the initial discussions for NADDPod C3 - it's heavily influenced by the decisions in the initial Bahumia campaign but like, the plot isn't to end the astral plane god-battles that set off; it's to save Bahumia from Mothership (and those two factions evolve to have other implications, but the core conflict is introduced early and remains as is). Now, I also think that having a smaller party that is generally absolutely fearless when it comes to decision-making is an important part and they deserve credit (just as, while I think Matt's errors were most significant for C3's issues, the cast's waffling and fear of picking the wrong choice is a factor - even a "wrong" choice would have been better in most cases), but a lot of it is that it's a pretty standard D&D style plot executed well. (This would be another really long post but I really do think D&D can handle a range of plots and genres, but it's still a limited range of plots and genres, and if you try to subvert it, as people increasingly try to do, it will not reward you for cleverness but rather backfire. I don't think C3 tries to subvert D&D nor do I think D&D is the problem here; also just to stave off dumb comments, Pathfinder has the same exact limitations and Daggerheart likely will have very similar ones - this is about a combat-skills-forward fantasy game with level progression in general of which D&D is the most prominent but by no means only example. However since I just answered about Neverafter, while that's not the question, I think Murph has a particularly good understanding of what D&D can do.)

I think it's a few things but I think one reason Murph has such a track record is first, he identifies pretty strongly as a comedy writer, though he's also obviously a performer; secondly, he is as far as I can tell cautious and surly and he came to TTRPGs as an adult; and thirdly, two major influences he has that others tend not to cite are gaming and wrestling, and I really think this is important.

I think as a writer, he tends to have a good sense of narrative and where things have to go. That doesn't mean there aren't unexpected turns, but I think he does a good job of planning for contingencies and having a confident hand in turning the story back. And again, I think having a 3-person party makes it easier to get back on the rails (or to build a new track very quickly) but I think he, to quote a truly stupid but not entirely wrong self-help quote, begins with the end in mind.

The cautiousness and surliness are in my opinion the secret to NADDPod. Look. Niceness is, well, nice, though Brennan has a great bit that I watched recently and have since forgotten the source of about how kindness and niceness are two separate concepts. I think Murph is really willing to tell his players "No" and I think it is always to his benefit. I think making your players explain what they want to do, or being willing to turn your player's riffing into something that might not be their intention (Sol and Albie and the whole reveal that the Academy made everyone feel like a hero while essentially churning out manufactured duos stands out to me) is important. I don't want to say every home game should have this because it shouldn't - if you are playing at home casually and just want to make your friends feel like the coolest people ever, you don't have to do this! But if you are an actual play show you should be telling a story, and to tell a good story you do have to kill a few darlings and make a few edits, and Murph is willing to do that and Matt is sometimes too generous for his own good to the detriment of story (and, imo, I think it's ultimately less rewarding for the players in the long run much of the time too!)

And thirdly, games and wrestling. Now I am obviously no expert in games, but from a complete beginner's perspective, something that keeps striking me is how many people become affronted when the side quests (or, more accurately, ignoring the side quests) impact the main quest in significant ways, even though it's simply good writing to have side quests that enhance your understanding of the main quest and make you stronger or better able to approach it because of your experiences. This is in fact one of the biggest reasons why C3 is so weak, and one of the reasons why I think NADDPod is consistently strong. And then as for wrestling: I am even less of an expert here, but wrestling requires clear storytelling and especially clear motivations, (hard to be subtle in that medium) and story told primarily through combat that better have a great conclusion. It's also, notably, a remarkably unpretentious thing to be into, even though it's popular with a lot of nerds (Danielle Radford is the guest from last week; Ify's a wrestling fan as well). As a result, I think Murph isn't afraid to be blunt and unsubtle in service of actually making something good and entertaining and cohesive, instead of trying to say something deep and failing. Because nothing crashes to the ground and burns than trying to say something deep and failing. I mean I love pretentiousness, but I know when to drop it, and I think NADDPod on the whole does too.