Reactions to Trash Boss's Chapter 129
New title - 19. Something's Different Here
TLDR; Background info of Demon Cult and Heavenly Demon. Heavenly Demon reached the Profound Realm and realized that he himself was a Living Jiangshi.
Soos?
LSH = ❌
CJS = ❌
Today's chapter was intense. That big reveal in the end was such a plot twist. As you all know, Living Jiangshi were described in the early chapters as Jiangshi who look "alive" or "living" and were unaware that they were even a Jiangshi. And now, we have a Living Jiangshi who realized that he was a Jiangshi... Woah 😮
I would like to correct myself. With how much 'Angry' Demon has been showing off his intelligence, I believe that 'Brain' is actually the correct translation rather than 'Angry'... So I will be calling him Brain Demon from now on.
Moving on, most of this chapter was just background information about Heavenly Demon, the Demon Cult, and their relationship to the Central Plains.
Google Translate was such a pain and a clown in this chapter. 😂 You see, the Korean word for "demon" was also the same word for "horse." Thus, except for "Demon Cult" and "Heavenly Demon" that MTL got correctly, every instance of "demon" got translated as "horse"... 🤣🤣🤣 MTL, stop horsing around... 🐎
Some more MTL wrong translations:
Government => Coffin
Great War of the Evil Faction and the Demon Cult => Great War of the Four Horses
Chief Eunuch Wi => Merchant Line, Merchant Ship, Upper Brow
Blood Cult => Blood Bridge, Blood Ties
Young Master Kim => Princess Kim, Confucius Kim, Gongja Kim
Living Jiangshi => Ginger Poet
Some stuff about Heavenly Demon. He's in his late thirties. And he experienced that cliche of being one of the many children of a man with multiple wives and concubines, so he had a miserable childhood. Fights between the wives and concubines were common, and he lost his mother when he was a kid. 😢
Brain Demon at that time was just a mid-level staff officer back then. Or more like, he was stuck in that position because he was an illegitimate child of a famous family in the Demon Cult. However, after he became Heavenly Demon's mentor and right-hand man, his position and influence rose.
During Brain Demon's conversation with Jegal Mi Ryeo, he realized that the negotiation was just a cover and something else was up. So he requested a meeting with Young Master Kim whom he thought as the mastermind behind this. See... he really is the "Brain" Demon.
After this was the slow reveal about Heavenly Demon. Brain Demon revealed to Cale that Heavenly Demon reached the Profound Realm, the highest martial arts rank, last month and came to a realization.
Heavenly Demon realized that he had things he both wanted and not wanted to do. That he was now fighting against himself. That he had been brainwashed. That the Blood Cult was behind all these... That he was a Living Jiangshi himself.
Dang, reading that part was so shocking and sad. He did his best to overcome all the hardships in his past, and risked his life in training to become stronger. And what did he get in the end? The realization that it might be all for naught. And when Cale purifies him, he'll never be able to use martial arts again.... So sad 😭
Now, how much blood will Cale spill when he purifies someone with the highest martial arts rank? Will the two elixirs he consumed a while ago help lessen the backlash he'd suffer from the purification process?
To end, I'm excited for the next chapters and Cale's visit to the Demon Cult. The buildup for this murim arc is crazy, and I hope that the author will not disappoint us in Cale crushing those Blue Blood hunters.
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any girls! dark academia movie recs? i really struggle to find anything not about a group of boys (as much as I love them)
SO MANY!!! This is probably a far more detailed answer than you were expecting but this is a popular question and I want to keep a list for myself and others.
Feel free to add to it/give opinions. I've tried to give a tw for anything I can remember
Girls! Dark Academia Movies/TV Shows
Mona Lisa Smile (2003)
1950s Women’s college
Art professor! Julia Roberts
She’s legit the female Mr Keating of the art & college world
Feminism vs. Tradition
Maggie Gyllenhall x Ginnifer Goodwin; their characters were more than friends. Fight me.
Does not end how you expect
Strike!/All I Wanna Do/The Hairy Bird (1998)
MY FAVOURITE!!!
Free on YouTube under one of its various names
Comedy
1960s all girls boarding school
Young Kirsten Dunst
Group of girls plot to sabotage a merger with a boys school less prestigious than their own
Secret attic clubhouse meetings of the D.A.R aka Daughters of the American Ravioli (eaten cold, ew)
girls get political & advocate for their rights using ANY elaborate and chaotic scheme
TW: eating disorder, vomiting & creepy male teacher but the girls plot against him too
The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie (1969)
based on a short book I read for uni by Muriel Spark
1930s girls school in Edinburgh
Scottish teacher! Maggie Smith, controversial with a focus on romantic ideals
Spoiler alert, the liberal teacher is actually a fascist
Her group of fave students has cult- vibes and it’s fascinating
Picnic at Hanging Rock
1970s movie or 2018 mini series
Never watched either but I plan to
Wild Child (2008)
00s romcom every UK teen girl loves
Emma Roberts as the spoiled rich American teenager sent to a strict English boarding school
Plots to get herself expelled but oh no she’s making friends with the girls who help her
And the headmistress has a hot son, and he’s nice??? Double oh no
ICONIC SCENES
Everything! Goes! Wrong!
omg she burns the school down
Feel good, comfort, nostalgia
St Trinians (2007)
English girls boarding school
The kids are all criminals, no joke
So are the teachers
CHAOTIC
gay awakening for british girls
Art heist pulled off by school girls
Government tries to shut them down but oh no, the education minister & the headmistress are ex-lovers
Colin Firth x Rupert Everett in drag
Superior cast: Jodie Whittaker, Gemma Arterton, Juno Temple, Stephen Fry, Colin Firth, etc...
embodies the phrase 'problematic fave'
St Trinians 2: The Legend of Fritton’s Gold (2009)
Mystery, pirate ancestors, hidden treasure
omg Shakespeare was a woman
girls disguised as boys to infiltrate and rob the posh boys school
Villain! David Tennant in that ICONIC boat scene
Teen girls vs. ancient misogynist brotherhood
like the first film but MORE chaotic and BETTER!???
The Falling (2014)
1960s all girls school
best friends! but its unrequited love
Agoraphobic + distant mother aka mommy issues
Sudden death and the school suppresses/ignores the students grief, sparking mass hysteria & a fainting epidemic in the girls
Cast: Maisie Williams (GoT) & Florence Pugh (Little Women) & Joe Cole (Peaky Blinders)
TW: teen pregnancy, death, vomiting, underage s*x, sibling inc*st, past s*xual assault
READ THE PLOT SUMMARY FIRST
The Book Thief (2013)
Based on an amazing book by Markus Zusak
set in 1940s Nazi Germany
Daughter of a communist whose family were taken by the Nazis/died is fostered by an older couple who teach her to read & she paints a dictionary on the basement walls
Coming of age story about a compulsive book thief. No joke, this kid steals books from banned book burnings and breaks into the mayor's library through the window
Family hides the Jewish son of an old friend in their basement and he helps her to start writing about her experiences in the war
TW: death, bombings, WW2 anti-semitism
Mary Shelley (2017)
Overall good & roughly biographical
Pretty costumes and aesthetic
Modern feminist take on Mary Shelly in her own time period
So many INACCURACIES for the drama so don’t take it as truth
Percy Shelley slander and not all of it is justified
Cast: Elle Fanning, Douglas Booth, and Maisie Williams
The Secret Garden (1993)
Based on a fave childhood book
1901 colonial India & Yorkshire, England
Orphaned, spoilt & neglected girl sent to live with her reclusive Uncle in the English countryside
Gothic elements, mysteries, secret doors/passages/locked gardens
local boy with a flock of animals, magic, kids chanting around a fire and all around immaculate vibes
Happy ending!!!
Hidden Figures (2016)
African-American women as mathematicians for NASA
1960s space project
Women balancing a career and family obligations
Deals with racial & gender discrimination
Loosely based on the lives of Katherine Johnson, Mary Jackson, and Dorothy Vaughan who worked for NASA as engineers & mathematicians
Anne of Green Gables (1985) & sequel (1987)
Adaptation L.M. Montgomery’s ‘Anne of Green Gables’ books
Canada (late 1890s/early 1900s)
Highly imaginative & bookworm orphan is adopted by a reclusive elderly brother and sister duo
Small town & school years comedic drama
Unrequited Enemies -> Friends -> lovers
Inspiring new woman teacher
Girls re-enact Tennyson’s poem and nearly drown for the aesthetic™
Dramatic poetry reading with INTENSE 👀eye contact👀
Writer! Anne & English teacher! Anne dealing with unruly girls school antics
Collette (2018)
biographical drama on french writer Sidonie-Gabrielle Collette
Victorian & Edwardian era France
More talented than her husband so she ghostwrites for him
Fight for creative ownership of her wildly successful novels
Affairs with a woman called Georgie and also with Missy, born female but masculine presenting
Cast: Keira Knightly, Dominic West, Eleanor Tomlinson (Poldark)
Enola Holmes (2020)
Netflix book adaptation
Younger sister of Sherlock Holmes
Victorian era! feminism/suffragettes
Mother-daughter focus
Mystery, adventure, secret codes, teens running away & escaping from (and eventually fighting) assassins
Cast: Helena Bonham Carter, Henry Cavill, Sam Claflin, Fiona Shaw, Millie Bobby Brown
Ginger & Rosa (2012)
1960s England
best friends since literal birth navigating troubled teen years
poet & anti-nuclear activist! Ginger
off the rails but also catholic! Rosa
Shout out to Mark & Mark the gay godfathers we all want
family troubles
TW: older man has an affair with a 17 yr old
Testament of Youth (2014)
based on WW1 memoir by Vera Brittain
young woman (writer & poetry lover) escapes traditional family & goes to study at Oxford University
abandons to become a war nurse
romance, tragedy and war trauma
Cast: Alicia Vikander, Kit Harrington (GoT), Taron Edgerton (Rocketman), Colin Morgan (Merlin)
Little Women (2019)
Writer! Jo & Artist! Amy
Mother/daughter focus and sister dynamics
the March sisters’ theatre club is *chefs kiss*
champagne problems edits of Jo x Laurie are a mood
Ambivalent ending perfectly captures Louisa May Alcott’s dilemma with the book the movie is based on
set in 1860s America
ALL STAR CAST and a Greta Gerwig masterpeice
Lady Bird (2017)
coming of age in early 2002/2003 Sacramento, California
all girls catholic school
writer! Christine aka Lady Bird wants to get outta town and start her life again at college 'in a city with culture'
Mother/daughter dynamics - so realistic!
I live for that Jesus car stunt & the nun's reaction
school theatre program
Cast: Saoirse Ronan, Timothee Chalamet, Beanie Feldstein
Another Greta Gerwig gem
Beguiled (2017)
Virginia, civil war era
Girls school with only five students and two teachers left
Find an injured Union army soldier & bring him inside
Women & teenagers want his attention (v. problematic) before uniting against him
(tbh you'll either love it, hate it, or watch once & forget it)
Sofia Coppola film so its very feminine gaze
TW: violence, death, underage
Legally Blonde (2001)
No questions will be taken
Elle Woods was the blue print
TV series:
House of Anubis (2011-2013)
I know it’s a kids/young teen show but I still unironically love it
ANCIENT EGYPT!!!!
Modern day with Victorian era links to treasure hunters & Egyptian research expeditions (stealing from tombs)
Chosen one plot lines, curses, kidnapping, mysteries, secret tunnels under the school, elixir of life
Teens have investigate & protect themselves cus oh no the TEACHERS are involved in some shady stuff
new American kid at British boarding school is the actual premise not just a fanfic au
Nostalgic, light-hearted, funny, and kinda cheesy but I will accept no criticism
The Alienist (2018 -now)
Mid 1890s, New York
Woman’s private detective agency (Season 2)
Serial killer mystery
Woman secretary turns detective and teams up with a criminal psychiatrist and a newspaper editor to solve crime
TW: violence, child pr*stit*tion
Cast: Dakota Fanning, Luke Evans, Daniel Bruhl
The Queen’s Gambit (2020)
Woman chess prodigy
1950s & 1960s
TW: drug & alcohol abuse
Gentleman Jack (2019 - now)
Based on the diaries of Anne Lister
Victorian Yorkshire, England
Upper-class lesbians
Confident, suit wearing! Anne Lister x shy! Ann Walker
Business woman! Anne running the family mines
Cast: Suranne Jones (Doctor Foster) & Sophie Rundle (Peaky Blinders)
TW: violence
Gilmore Girls (2000-2007)
bubbly/ambitious single mom + intelligent daughter
bookworm! Rory Gilmore gets into a prestigious private school and then an Ivy League college
Small town drama is comedic gold
Fast dialogue packed with pop culture and literary references
Comforting & nostalgic
TEAM JESS
Anne with an E (2017-2019)
Loose adaptation of L.M. Montgomery’s ‘Anne of Green Gables’ books
they completely change the plot lines but it’s still very good content!
Orphan girl with trauma and a love of books/poetry is adopted by an elderly brother & sister duo, bringing light and fresh ideas to a rural community
Feminism, girls writing club, lgbtq safe spaces, girls eduction, black/indigenous representation
Miss Stacy as THAT inspiring teacher
Aunt Josephine’s lavish gay parties have my heart
TW: creepy male teacher tries to marry a student, racial discrimination, indigenous assimilation school
Victoria (2016-2019)
Adaption of Queen Victoria’s life
Victoria navigating her political, royal, and personal life
Albert’s involvement with The Great Exhibition, 1851 (on cultural + industrial innovations)
Alfred Paget x Edward Drummond is exquisite
Gorgeous costumes and aesthetics
TW: bury your gays trope
Derry Girls (2018-now)
1990s Northern Ireland during the troubles
Comedy, episodes 20-25 mins long
English boy sent to an all girls Catholic school with his cousin
✨Dead Poets Society parody episode ✨with a free-spirited female teacher
Sister Michael, the sarcastic nun who hates her job & reads the exorcist for giggles
Wee anxious lesbian! Clare Devlin (plus her friends wearing rainbow pins)
Badass with bad ideas! Michelle Mallon
Main Character! Erin Quinn
Lovable weirdo who would fight a polar bear! Orla McCool
Wee English fella & honorary Derry girl! James Maguire
Dickinson (2019-now)
Loose adaption of the poet Emily Dickinson’s life
Set in 19th century Massachusetts, US
Historical drama with modern dialogue & music that works SEAMLESSLY
gives a great understanding of Emily Dickinson’s poems
💕Vintage gays! Emily x Sue💕
Theatre club, writing, poetry, dressing as men to sneak into lectures, love letters, teen drama, feminism, and an underground abolitionist journal as a brief side plot in season 2
Wiz Khalifa plays death in a horse drawn carriage
TW: opium use
A Series of Unfortunate Events (2017-2019)
Based on great childhood books
Bookworm! brother, Inventor! sister, and baby sister with sharp teeth
Mystery, secret organisations, orphaned siblings figuring things out & fending for themselves against the villain after their fortune
Adults either cartoon evil, comedically incompetent, or SPIES
Boarding school, library owner, scientific researcher, and theatre episodes
Ambiguous time period which is really fun to try and pin point
Killing Eve (2018-now)
Classic detective who has homoerotic tension with the assassin she is tracking down
British Detective! Eve Polastri figures out the notorious assassin MI5 are investigating is a woman, is fired & then put on a secret MI6 case with a small team
Assassin! Villanelle, a psychopath with a tragic past and a mastery of both accents & fashion
Woman MI6 boss! Carolyn Martens, head of Russian section
Travel Europe following Villanelle’s killings and escaping the assassins sent by Villanelle’s organisation
‘You’re supposed to be my enemy and moral opposite but omg you’re the only one smart enough to get me and why am I obsessed with you????'
🚨 GO IN FOR A KISS AND THEN STAB YOUR ENEMY 🚨
Cable Girls/Las chicas del cable (2017-2020)
Spanish drama set in 1920s Madrid
Four young women at a telecommunications company form a group of friends and help navigate the difficult situations they are all in
Secret identities, dangerous pasts, murder, crime, lgbtq couple & throuple, trans man character, feminism/suffragists
girls commit crimes for humanitarian reasons and cover! it! up!
UNDERRATED SHOW!!!!
Gorgeous costumes and set
Haven’t finished it yet and I’m catching up
TW: abuse, violence, death
Outlander (2014 - now)
haven’t watched yet but plan to
Woman time travels to Scotland, 1743
Rebel highlanders, pirates, British colonies, American revolutionary war
Time jumps between 18th & 20th century
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Ginger Tea [Yandere L Lawliet x Reader]
Title: Ginger Tea [Yandere L Lawliet x Reader]
Synopsis: You’re sick. Unfortunately, your captor has no intentions of leaving you alone to recover.
For request: something concerning death note L?
Word Count: 1500ish
notes: yandere, kidnapped
You’re sick. Not sick-sick, not enough to land you in the hospital--which briefly makes you wonder what L would do if you needed serious medical attention. Would he take you to a hospital himself, spin some life about being a concerned spouse? Sneak you into some clinic on the opposite end of the country, so no one might recognize you? No, you think--if it came to that, he’d probably have the resources to bring in a team of private doctors to poke and prod you and hook you up to IVs until you somewhat resembled your old self again.
Not that he’ll be bringing in any doctors for your current mundane, yet wholly miserable condition: a nasty cold, maybe a sinus infection. Whatever it is, it has you feeling like absolute shit.
Your head feels so tight that you swear it’s pulsing. Your throat is scratchy and sore, yet thick with phlegm that has you coughing, chest burning and tight, until it makes its globby way onto a napkin. Even your ears hurt, which is the worst, and when you cried out earlier, L had practically bound into the room like a wild dog to check on you.
Part of you hoped he would avoid you, be afraid to catch whatever it is that has you stuck in bed, feeling heavy and tired. If he caught a terrible cold, it might derail him from the mission he refuses to talk about except in the vaguest of terms.
But you have no such luck. Instead of leaving, he hovers. He clings. He checks your temperature with a thermometer, then with his hand (an excuse to touch you, clearly, but when you grumpily called him out for this he merely ignored you).
He swaps out cold washcloths when they're warmed by throbbing forehead. He even brought in a humidifier, unceremoniously plunked down in a corner of the room; you can't complain, the warm, steaming air has been heaven for your aching lungs.
And a few minutes ago--or maybe more, you couldn't open your eyes to look at the clock if you wanted to--he asked if you were hungry. You weren't. He hmmed. And said he would fix you something, anyway.
It's funny. He has become so attentive, so caring, that you would feel flattered under different circumstances.
But it's hard to feel anything right now except sick, sick, sick. Weak. Helpless. In more ways than one. You hate being sick, as a rule; being sick at the mercy of your kidnapper is... not something you ever wanted to experience. Even if he is fawning over you like a mother fawning over her baby’s first sniffles.
You take a slow, deep breath, wanting to avoid the stings of pain that came with breathing normally. When you do, you realize that there's something else mingled with the hot air steaming out in intervals from the humidifier: ginger. Muted through your stuffy nose but noticeable enough to make you realize that he’s back from the kitchen.
You open your eyes and, sure enough, L is standing in front of you with a bed tray. He sets it on the nightstand and pulls the cloth, now warm, off your head.
"Do you want a new one?"
You nod. He hums, and quickly finds his way into the adjacent bathroom. You can hear the water running for a moment before he returns with a damp, achingly cool cloth that is refreshing and soothing as he places it on your warm, hurting head.
You want to go back to sleep, and half-close your eyes. Maybe if you just go back to napping, he'll leave you alone for a while.
The feel of the mattress dipping as L sits next to you on the bed destroys that thought. You open your eyes, weary, and see that he's opening up the kickstands on the tray so that it can easily (and safely) rest over your lap. How thoughtful. How annoying. He’s gone to a lot of work to make you food. He kidnapped you.
You glance at the tray. Hot ginger tea, you can see granules of sugar melting away inside; rice porridge with eggs, scallions. Your favorite sick foods. You briefly wonder if he somehow knew this but, barring his somehow developing actual mind reading powers, you tuck it away as a coincidence.
“I don’t want anything,” you say, voice scratchy.
“This will help with your symptoms,” he replies, lifting the cup of tea in his hands. “Drink the whole cup.”
You turn your head slightly and murmur, but all that comes out is a vague mm-nn before the cup is lifted to your lips. You can smell the ginger, warm and rich, before tasting its warmth on your tongue. With nothing else to do, you swallow. The liquid does feel soothing on your throat, in your chest, and you sigh, deflated, and gently take the cup from his hands.
You sip and sip, waiting for him to go. But he doesn't. He sits on the bed and stares at you. You have the nerve to glance up at him, and you wish you were as good at reading his expressions as he was at reading your... everything. Your motivations. Your personality. Even your thoughts, you swear, sometimes. But when you look at him, all you see is his focus, his interest. He always looks the most intense when he’s focused on something. At the moment, that interest is you.
The mug is halfway empty when you set it down. He doesn’t protest, so you consider it a small victory. But when he plops a spoon into the rice porridge and pushes it closer to you on the tray, you shake your head.
"M'not hungry," you murmur.
"You are hungry," he corrects. “You haven’t eaten all day.” He’s right--but it’s hard to think about hunger pangs when your head hurts so much, when your lungs keep you in coughing fits.
If you were feeling healthy, you might be able to banter. Argue. Get him going until he huffs and stomps off. But right now, there's no arguing with him, and no arguing with the firm yet gentle way he shoves a pillow behind your back, propping you into a better sitting position. You feel too weak to muster any further protest when he lifts a spoonful of porridge to your lips, and you open your mouth just a bit--feeling a twist in your stomach as you do--and meekly accept the soft mixture.
The taste brings back memories. Of your mom, of course, but even of your old life. Before he took you. Making yourself steaming bowls of porridge in your apartment, thumbing through recipes on your phone to find something to target ear aches or headaches or nausea. Back when you were free to leave and do and say whatever you wanted. Back when life was simpler, when you didn’t have to play battles of wits and walk on eggshells and find yourself plotting a thousand ways to escape only to find out that he was ten steps ahead of you the entire time.
Back when you weren’t struggling with the realization that someone on this planet was so obsessed with keeping you that they kidnapped you, and now, they’re hovering over you like a lover, making sure you’re okay.
You don’t know you’re crying until L’s thumb wipes away a tear. You don’t have the energy to flinch, so you just stare at him, eyes half-lidded.
“Is it your ear again?”
“No,” you murmur. It’s not your ear that hurts.
L looks away. He brings the thumb, still salty with your tears, and swipes it on his lip, before returning your gaze again. He lifts up the spoon brings more porridge to your mouth, spoonful after spoonful. You must admit: it is nice to have something in your stomach, something soft and filling.
When it’s nearly empty, you turn your head and he lets you, opting to set the spoon in the bowl and put the tray back on your nightstand. He gently removes the extra pillow and you feel yourself sliding back down, your eyes barely able to stay open. He takes the washcloth on your head without a prompt and returns with a new one, freshly cold and damp.
“Thanks,” you whisper, half-sighing from the cool comfort. It’s the first time you’ve thanked him since he started his hovering. The first time you’ve thanked him about anything, actually. Your eyes are shut before you can see his reaction--a quiet moment of surprise, then pride, before he lifts up the comforter on the bed and pulls it up to your shoulders.
You turn slightly, tucking yourself on your side for comfort. You can feel your head buzzing, feeling fuzzy and thick from your headache and need for sleep. As your thoughts dim and your mind begins to slip back into slumber, you can feel something soft, something light and slightly wet, press on your cheek.
He kissed you.
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Alter introduction
A list of common alters im familiar enough with i can sense when they front, and actually recall info on them.
Kiba: he/him. White wolf with black hair and markings, and yellow eyes. both feral and anthro forms, a bit edgy and likes to smoke weed. Host from middle school through about sophomore year of highschool. Created when i was about 8 from a stuffed wolf i named kiba, who was a character who was supposed to be the badass leadership woman i wanted when i was younger, then later he was influenced by multiple characters from wolf's rain(Kiba and Tsume). Easily a more common Fronter than most, friendly and social but relatively introverted. Married semi platonically to Mitten back in 8th grade.
Mitten: She/her. Young silver tabby cat with white underbelly and markings on her face, paws and tail as well as Blue eyes. Created in 6th grade(at about 11 years old) from thinking i could talk to ghosts, and i decided to help a friend say goodbye to her cat(Laric) and her cat's kittens(Mitten and her 5 siblings). Influenced heavily by Christianity, and is meant to protect me from my own suicidal thoughts. Trained to be a guardian angel and demon killer for years before we stopped believing in Christianity, and now she helps organize and protect the system from themselves, each other, and outside forces. A bit chaotic and crazy. Likes to use her wild energy for good.
Jesper: he/him. Young mutt with a brown coat, and darker patches similar to the children's book character Spot. One pointy ear and one floppy, and green eyes. Has a lot of traits of just an excitable young boy with intense puppy traits. Created based off of our first childhood plushie named Simba, who was a tiny white dog with brown spots and folded ears. Loves plushies and is very friendly and playful.
Charlie: he/him. 20's ginger man with freckles, wild hair, and often dresses like a pilot for the aesthetic. Social and outgoing, with more comprehension than others in the system and a lot more grounded than most. Fluctuates accents and sometimes cant speak clearly because so much changing is happening to his voice. Often speaks with a purposeful American accent (either midwestern or country) to hide his embarrassment. Influenced by Buck from the Ice Age: Dawn of the Dinosaurs in personality, voice, and energy, as well as our cousin who we looked up to.
Abby: she/her. Short and fat with big curly orange hair. Looks like a dwarf from LOTR and talks with a scottish accent. Outgoing with little anxiety about anything, including just talking out loud when fronting. We cant match her accent with our body yet but she is working on it. Based slightly on our childhood friend Isabel, but mostly on how we wanted to be around her.
David: he/him. Tall, lean man the same age as the body with short black hair. Based a lot on the cousin we looked up to, and is just as confident and understanding. Likes guns and tanks and fighting, strategy games, and being active. Can hold the body in a way that hurts less. Created so we could talk to our family without feeling so awful.
Clyde: he/him. Nondescript guy with scars and an aged look. Unsure of general age(it fluctuates). Werewolf, because we tried many spells growing up to become one. He fullfills our rage and desire to painfully become a beast who will fight back and kill violently without much remosre. Trauma holder. Doesnt talk or front much but carries a lot of anger reactions to things. Means well but accidentally lashes out at others.
Oli: he/they. Medium height chubby teen. Blonde hair, green eyes, and freckles. Is Mute but fronts a lot during work to do the cleaning and organizing. Has help from our Simon collective when words are actually needed. Warm and hearty, identifies with the body a lot.
Zeke: he/him. Taller pale boy, with freckles and brown eyes. No better way to say it, sexual alter. Trauma holder. A bit inappropriate at times and has lashed out a few times due to not being believed. Very cooperative and polite now but used to be persecutor. Identifies with body somewhat but he is thinner.
Kiara: she/her. Younger girl at about 10, matches up with what i looked like at that age. Apparently Normal Part who presents as what i thought i was before i knew i had trauma. Wears a specific outfit i wore to a town festival yearly for a while. Shy, sweet, loves to draw and MLP. Very shy and will only talk to people she recognizes and trusts a lot
Sam: he/they. Most like the body but shares Oli's face. Talkative and neutral on a lot, doesnt front often. Was created to exist in the body and feel specifically neutral about it to take care of hygiene and personal care.
Mikah: she/her. About 11 years old, with black hair and a bit of a hispanic tone to her skin(despite us being white. We think its based off a childhood friend). She is the main group artist, and is very good at her work. Will often be the one to switch in and work long hours on projects. Extremely shy, mostly mute, and unfriendly except towards her faves (Mitten, Zim, Kiba)
King Moa: she/her. A slightly older Kiara, with trauma memories instead of being an ANP. About 16 years old, and is a bit less shy but still very wary due to said trauma. Doesnt come out much. Her name is a heavily warped version of our dead name, and calls herself King due to the nature of our body's pronouns as well as being a base for a multitude of fragments who all stick close to her as if she was their caretaker. Though she doesnt do anything for them, just contains their memories and thoughts, and undertands.
Simon: he/they. Short and lean ginger with freckles and either green or brown eyes. Often called the Simon Collective, he is possibly not an alter yet, though has shown signs of existing. Is really just an occasionally fused combination of several fragments including but not necessarily limited to Raphael, Anthony, Ethan, Tyler, Alex, Conner, Nate, Nicky, Jamie and Grant. Most of which I'm a lot less familiar with, but i can recognize them quicker when they or some combination of them are together as Simon.
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dex, team bicycle
the following bullet fic has been in my drafts for over a year now and tonight i remembered it existed, read it, and decided to post it. why? who knows. don’t ask questions. just ~enjoy~
so i got an ask about how anon trusts me implicitly when it comes to writing bc they believe that dex is the team bicycle and eventually ends up with nursey and thinks i’m down with that too and tbh they ain’t wrong so like
here’s a bullet fic instead of me doing any of the work i SHOULD REALLY FUCKING BE DOING okie
first things first here’s the dealio this is crack-ish but also not so crackish that my dumbass couldn’t see it happening so let’s just suspend some disbelief and have a good time
first time dex hooks up with a teammate it’s not at a kegster
maybe a little later he’s a little too tipsy at a kegster not really knowing his own tolerance for tub juice yet and he’s dancing, a little more white boy than maybe one would like but he’s having fun with it and that’s half the game, and he’s sweaty and maybe some glitter from other dancers has rubbed off on him and he’s glittery and shining and he catches someone’s eye across the room (holster, i’m thinking holster) and holster sees him and thinks fuck and dex is maybe really into how big holster is and just like follows him up to the attic when holster grabs his wrist and pulls because why not--
but this is not about that (at least not yet) this is about how dex, new to samwell and ncaa hockey and everything, wants to be the best he can be in everything so naturally he goes to the best person to help him with every thing (for school he gets tutors and goes to tutorials and goes to all the profs’ office hours, for social stuff maybe he trails ransom around idk (that’s for later)) but for hockey he obviously goes to the person you go to when you need help with hockey
jack
LOOK OKAY I GET IT ZIMBITS FOR LIFE BUT HEAR ME OUT
jack likes hockey. jack likes people who like hockey. jack likes when people are really into hockey
so when the little angery frog that seemed real appreciative of his butt on hazeapalooza comes to him with this frowny face determination asking how he can be the best player he can be, a part of jack’s brain that’s very quiet and seldom acknowledged goes “huh.”
and maybe they start meeting up for their own practices, practicing drills and plays so dex can get his speed up and reaction time down and just get better and jack’s benefiting from it too in a way, like trying to help a defensive player makes him have to switch up his thinking about things a bit and it’s helping his defensive play on the ice
and so this goes on for a bit and maybe they build up some inside jokes in between all the intensity and maybe there’s some playful moments in the locker room when they bump arms or throw a few chirps around and it’s cute okay and not too serious, jack isn’t in love with the kid (he’s a kid, lord, okay a lil problematic but if y’all know anything about my oc luke dex has Problems with Authority figures so whatever)
but the truth is jack doesn’t really have many people he’d be comfortable “relieving some stress” with, like there’s shitty but he’s ridiculously straight, and Camila went and got herself a girlfriend so that’s no longer a thing, and dex is there and eager and fun and
and long story short they end up fucking in the locker room oops
it doesn’t happen too many times after that, maybe once on a roadie, a few times at the haus. it’s fun, not in a laughing way or whatever, but it’s casual and it’s nice to get off and it doesn’t make jack any more anxious and dex is probably working through some issues he has with tall dark haired captains and they both get something good out of it, which is the point, anyway
and it ends maybe before winter break, either jack decides to focus on the nhl and his thesis and dex totally understands or dex realizes that maybe his thing with dark haired captains isn’t completely healthy and ends things but either way it’s nbd and no one on the team ever really knows, though it’s not like they lie about it either but who’s gonna ask, right?
and so dex and jack were fuckbuddies. for a time. noice.
now let’s return to that kegster scene, hmm?
so the way i picture it is dex hooks up with holster at a kegster, realizes it probably wasn’t the smartest idea he’s ever had but doesn’t completely freak out because holster’s a relaxed kind of guy, dex is sure it won’t get nuts
meanwhile holster wakes up freaking out because he just fucked ransom’s frog and that is so not cool so then he panics and avoids ransom and dex for like a week and then decides okay okay it’s not a big deal he just won’t tell anyone, it won;t happen again, it’s fine
and then he walks in on dex hooking up with ransom and he’s like Wow Okay So the Fine Thing Didn’t Work Out Huh
turns out while holster was freaking out ransom was really mopey about it and dex, not really knowing how to fix it, tried to comfort him and ended up... in bed
look this version of dex is a little thotty and knows like two ways of comforting people and he didn’t think getting drunk in the middle of the day was a good idea
and so long story short after some brief HUHs going around dex ends up hooking up with both ransom and holster for a bit (sometimes both at once!) and eventually the both-at-once-stuff makes ransom and holster actually acknowledge the feelings they’ve mostly been ignoring since their frog year and they explain this to dex who’s like okie bc he’s really only there bc they’re both hot and so ransom and holster get together and dex sometimes helps them out on date nights and that’s about it
lbr tho they never tell anyone how they actually got together bc they would never live it down so they say nothing and dex doesn’t either bc it’s not his relationship and the world goes on never knowing
so now we’re getting into the middle of spring term dex’s frog year and he’s kind of maybe sort of acknowledged that he has some kind of emotions about nursey that aren’t helpful so he’s attempting to repress real hard, but he’s also learning to repress less about other things, specifically his enjoyment of baking.
yup. you guessed it.
Bitty.
so he starts helping bitty in the kitchen A Lot, and sometimes they talk and sometimes they don’t and sometimes they talk about important things but most of the time they don’t, but at this stage in bitty’s life he is crushing very hard on a certain dark haired captain and that’s kind of really apparent in, like, everything he does so it takes dex maybe two weeks to realize what’s going on
and okay so it’s a little awkward bc 1-the fuckbuddies thing but also bc 2-dex knows how it feels to have feelings for a friend and it kind of sucks like a lot and he wants to make bitty feel better and yeah maybe this is another case of dex being bad at comforting people with his clothes on
but maybe also one day they’re talking about relationships/being gay idk something and bitty maybe casually (southern euphemistically) mentions that he’s never, erm, never quite, uh, never done the dirty with a boy and maybe he sounds a lil embarassed about it idk and dex’s I Can Fix That brain switches on and he says, “I can help.”
and bitty’s like. what.
dex blushes and clears his throat and says it again. “i can help. i’ve, uh, done it before, and i can, like. show you.” then he pauses and, very uncasually, says, “casually.”
bitty, also pink at his point because he’s a sweet southern boy who doesn’t speak of such things, asks, “you’d be willing to do that?”
dex nods. he does not say that he’s done something like that before. he very pointedly does not say that.
and bitty, well, he’s pining and he’s been at college for a year and a half and the most action he’s ever gotten was with that boy who puked on his shoes and, you know, he came to samwell so that he could be who he is and maybe this is a way he can prove to himself that he is being true to himself.
it also doesn’t hurt that dex is v pretty, okay, bitty loves a boy with big shoulders and freckles.
and so dex and bitty start hooking up.
it’s somewhat like my The Arrangement fic where dex is sort of “showing bitty the ropes” but bitty, lbr, he’s a quick learner and he did his research so it very quickly just becomes hooking up for the sake of it
and it’s good. like. really good and both of them are benefiting from having someone to escape from their ~feelings~ in and bitty’s more comfortable in sexuality (like, his sexuality not his gayness ya feel me?) and everyone’s having a great time
then they lose the playoffs and emotions run high and bitty realizes how decimated he’s going to be by jack leaving and they don’t really have a conversation about it (let’s be real, neither of these boys talk about their feelings, at least not at this point) but dex goes home that summer with the understanding that he and bitty are no longer doing the thing, and that’s okay with him, really, because maybe now his feelings for nursey are becoming More of A Thing Than He Was Hoping They Would
of course bitty gets with jack at this time, so he’s kind of through the roof, and if, maybe, they have a conversation about their ex’s/past lovers and find they have.. more things in common than expected, well, at the least it’s a bit of a laugh and at the most well. let’s just say sometimes a ginger is mentioned in their bed WHATEVER OKAY MOVING ON
dex comes back in the fall ready to suppress the fuck out of his emotions and play some damn good hockey and who appears but this super eager tadpole
this now plays out as the first two chapters of my The Arrangement fic, though i guess now for canonical reasons whiskey ends up with lax bro and not tango, but that’s alright, we’re good at working on our feet here
for those who haven’t read the fic, dex shows whiskey how to gay sex while simultaneously gaining his trust and encouraging him to bond with the team and for personal reasons whiskey is a little shit but not as much of an asshole as he was in canon (look i love the guy but he’s a dick) and anyway go read my fic it’s good i promise #selfspon moving on
the latter half of dex’s sophomore year is spent mostly Not Pining for nursey and getting closer to him, friend wise, until the whole dib-flip, living together situation occurs, dex has a Freak Out, and ruins things a little
..this is getting off track, but long story short, his captains kiss each other on live tv and dex’s family starts to suspect that all those rumors that drifted around him in high school may have more truth to them than they’d been hoping and dex has a less than great summer break, coming back to school in the opposite of a good mindset
nursey also has a not great break (his parents are fighting, then he comes to school and breaks his wrist and can’t play hockey) and well we all know where this ends up
this leaves dex in a very mopey gross state and who to help someone feel better in their time of need than the sweetest little waffle you’ve ever seen in your life?
yes, it’s time for Hops.
now, this is a rather short lived affair, but over thanksgiving break, the entirety of the haus goes home to their families except for dex (who says he can’t deal with bus fare, and begs off any offers of help) and hops, who technically isn’t in the Haus, but stays there for the break while his parents are on a work trip during the holiday
dex ends up finding out just exactly how College Hockey Boy hops is when he almost burns the kitchen down trying to make a grilled cheese and dex decides then that he has to help this boy learn how to human, so they spend the first two days together with dex teaching hops all the basic skills dex thinks someone should know
this is included but not limited to: how to cook without making fire, how to change the oil in your car, how to hotwire a car, how to fix various different appliances, how to take the optimal notes, how to basic code, and how to sort and do your laundry
hops is enjoying the crash course (kid is just grateful to finally know where the detergent goes in a washer) but also, like, lbr. watching someone be competent in a thing--esp a thing you are yourself not good at--is a giant turn on, and so after two days of watching dex be really good at adulting, they settle onto the couch after doing the dishes and hops just gets on his knees and--
we aren’t smutting here on good christian tumblr but boy. hops is an eager kid.
anyway they spend a week fucking and then stop because hops falls in love with a girl in his intro class and then spends the next two months asking dex for advice on how to woo her, even though obviously chowder would be a better bet.
then comes the playoffs and everything is heating up and they’re on roadies nearly every weekend, still keeping up with their coursework, and it’s A Lot, and dex is really feeling it this year, especially with all the shit bitty’s been getting, and one night, on a roadie, he and bully get back to their room and dex collapses with a groan on the bed and bully, chill as anything, is like. “you seem pretty stressed. wanna fuck?”
and, you know what? dex is still his thotty (though more mature) self and he’s like, life sucks a little right now, why not get off
and so he does.
he and bully hook up through the playoffs and into the post-season (that post-final game sex is A Lot my dudes lemme tell you) but then dex gets elected captain and something twisty in his chest tells him that he should not be fucking someone on the team, especially not an underclassman, when he’s got that authority over him, and so he breaks it off with bully
who is pretty chill about it, since he’s bully, though he does miss the sex. the sex was p good.
and, to be quite honest, that’s it. dex wouldn’t fuck any of the baby frogs for the same reason he broke it off with bully (also ngl the senior-freshman thing doesn’t do it for him anymore) and so dex goes through his senior year of college without having any fuckbuddies--his first year of college so far, actually, where he doesn;t
the end
.
.
.
lol jk he and nursey start hooking up and it’s a Whole Bundle of emotions
in keeping with the rest of the fuck buddies, dex thinks that this is just like all the other times and nursey has no reason to think dex wants anything more and like. the sex is good, like very good, and neither of them are complaining per se but they’re also in love and haven’t said anything, and i imagine there are some ill-timed confessions prior to the final game of the playoffs and then they win another ncaa championship title and have sex in a janitor’s closet (but like,, emotional sex) and they live happily (thottily) ever after
i also like to imagine that there’s a point somewhere down the line when they all meet up for a reunion and something happens-- probably ransom and holster get a lil tipsy and finally tell the truth of how they got together-- and everyone basically does the spider-man meme but with “wait-you had sex with dex? i had sex with dex” and nursey--who knows bc dex told him when they finally got together-- is just sitting there all smug with his arm around a steadily reddening dex bc he’s fucking proud of the fact that everyone knows exactly how good his boyfriend is in bed
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Top 10 Perfumes for Men
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Tom Ford Ombre Leather
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R02 Flirting
Taif Al Emarat offers you a fragrance that you should only wear when you want to flirt (which is pretty much all the time). This perfume is not unique but also a great magnet. This perfume is from the romantic collection from Taif Al Emarat, here are the notes of rosemary and citruses
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Got Your Back - 002
Pairing: Atsushi x F!Reader soulmate au
Rating: 18+
Warnings: toxic thoughts, parental abuse, self-doubt/confidence issues
And that’s how you found yourself sat in an unfamiliar office, your clothing half burnt off and wrapped in Dazai’s large, beige overcoat. You watched the older gentleman sat across from you at his desk, with the blonde and Dazai accompanying him. The blonde man was watching you, stoic faced, his only movements since you entered the office was to either push up his glasses or check his watch. Dazai on the other hand, kept peering over the notes on the desk, and grinning to himself. Occasionally though, he’d hum a tune to himself that you’d never heard before.
“So,” the man sat in-front of you started after clearing his throat. “I’ll start with introductions. This here, is Kunikida,” he motioned to the blonde.
“I’m aware you’ve already met Dazai,” he continued, gesturing to the eccentric brunette you’d only met an hour ago. “And my name is Fukuzawa. I’m in charge of this group of misfits.” He said, offering you a warm smile. You nodded, subconsciously pulling Dazai’s coat tighter around you.
“Y/N L/N.” You spoke quietly to fill the silence. Fukuzawa nodded and wrote something down on the notes in front of him.
“And how old are you, L/N?” He asked, not looking up from the papers.
What month are we in? August? Yeah, that’s about right, hard to keep track when you can’t afford a calendar, or keep your phone charged for half a day.
“I’m uh… I’m eighteen… Next month, the 20th…” You replied and looked down. Surely your age would rouse suspicion within the group. Surely enough, Kunikida looked at you as he cocked his eyebrow, but said nothing. You felt a blush creep onto your cheeks under his stern gaze. Fukuzawa hummed and wrote down the new information.
“And Dazai told me you were searching for a job?” He asked, finally looking back up at you. You simply nodded, unsure of what to tell him. He nodded in return before straightening up in his chair.
“I’m correct in assuming you have a gift, L/N? A supernatural ability?” Fukuzawa asked with caution in his voice. Your eyes widened. Nobody had ever spoken so openly about your… nature before. Not like this. Not without poison, or malice. Not just out of curiosity.
“That’s not exactly how my parents described it, but sure… I have a…. gift,” you muttered sheepishly, tugging at the singed fabric of your ruined favourite jeans. Fukuzawa hummed in approval, almost as if he understood your predicament without having to ask.
“Well that’s what we call them here. Our organisation is the Armed Detective Agency. We’re run to help the police and government protect Yokohama from people out of their range of capability.” He explained, gauging your reaction.
You sat there in utter disbelief. You had been told you were a monster by everyone surrounding you in your old life. You were nothing but a freak, a monstrosity to them. But here you could not only be useful, but a good person? You head spun.
This has to be a fever dream or something surely.
With your silence, Fukuzawa sighed softly. He opened his mouth to say something and stopped when you shifted in your seat.
“I’m sorry, Fukuzawa, sir, but I really don’t understand what any of this has to do with me?” You said, or more asked. You scratched the back of your neck sheepishly, afraid you’d spoken out of line, only to be answered by Dazai giggling. Both Fukuzawa and Kunikida shot him a stern look, and he simmered down fairly quickly, the odd snicker still falling from his lips. The silver haired man then turned his attention fully back to you.
“We usually conduct an entry exam. This is an intense and stressful situation, although harmless, to bring out the best in people. It’s designed to show us who would be capable of giving their life for others if the situation arises. However, due to the circumstances that brought you here today, I believe you would have passed our exam. Dazai also believes so, as he was the one to inform me of your actions.” Fukuzawa flashed you another half-smile. You could only sit there in shock.
This is NOT happening right now.
“I-“ you started.
“We’d like to take you in, Y/N! We want you as part of the Agency! Come on, what do ya say?” Dazai sang, moving from behind Fukuzawa to wrap his arm over your shoulders, shaking you slightly.
You were about to gladly accept, until the memories came back to haunt you. The worst timing.
‘You’re nothing but a monster!’ Smack. Your father had screamed and hit you again. ‘You’re disgusting! You should die in a hole!’ Smash. Your mother had thrown her favourite vase at you, missing your face by inches. ‘Nobody will want you! You’ll end up in jail for being a disgrace to this earth!’ ‘We’d all be better off without you alive!’ They had both hurled insults, beatings and objects at you until the sun had risen.
You snapped out of your memories with a harsh flinch and glanced up at Dazai.
“I-I’m not sure… I just… Is it really true?... Can I be a good person, even as a monster?” You trailed off into a whisper, tears welling in your eyes as you looked at your lap.
A soft hand with slender fingers cupped your chin, and through blurry eyes, you could only just make out Dazai, who was now crouched in front of you.
“Hey, I get it… I promise I do. But even monsters have a chance to be good people. You do too, and I can also promise it’ll make your life a little more beautiful.” He spoke softly, wiping away a few stray tears that trailed down your face. You were in awe – the man who was an eccentric, loud and slightly strange character when you first met him only hours ago, was now giving you some of the most motivational words you’d ever heard.
You sucked in a large breath and steadied your whirring mind. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting your thoughts dissipate before looking at Fukuzawa.
“Okay. I’d like to accept your offer, Sir.” You said with a half smile. While Dazai returned to his odd self, whooping and dancing around the room, and Kunikida checked his watch again for what seemed like the hundredth time, Fukuzawa nodded, scribbling some more. Dazai threw an arm around you and pulled you into his side, a large smile plastered on his face.
“Welcome to the Agency, Y/N!” He sang, twirling with you. You felt your cheeks heat up immediately, and you couldn’t help but let a giggle slip from your lips.
“You’re so obnoxious, Dazai.” A deep voice piped up. You looked up to see that it was Kunikida who had spoken for the first time since you met him. His face was stern as he stared at the brunette prancing around you, but you noticed the look of fondness in his eyes. Fukuzawa stood from his position, and you looked up at him as he approached you.
Are they all this tall?... You wondered. With a slight bow, he handed you a small piece of paper – a cheque with a sum that made your eyes bulge from your head a little. You’d never been allowed to get a job due to your parents’ fears of your ability being found out – and they had only given you small amounts to keep you alive.
“I-I uh… Thank you so much…” You stuttered, still processing the amount in your shaking hand.
I’m certainly not going to worry about money now… A smile crept up onto your face.
“Consider it your first pay-check. Since my schedule isn’t fully booked today, I’ll be the one introducing you to the rest of our members.” Fukuzawa nodded and led you to the door of his office, where you could now here muffled voices and rustling behind it.
I suppose they must have just arrived at work.
A bubble of anxiety brewed in your stomach when a large hand patted at your shoulder. You looked up at Fukuzawa once more.
“They may look like a strange bunch, but they’ll become your family sooner than you think.” He finished with opening the door to the main part of the office.
Kunikida immediately returned to what was presumably his desk, muttering something about having to get back on schedule, pushing his glasses up and huffing.
Fukuzawa cleared his throat, and everyone, except Kunikida turned their attention to him, and you, the new girl.
“Everybody, this is Y/N, our new recruit. She’ll be working close with you all, do please take care of her.” Fukuzawa asked – or more instructed politely. At that moment, Fukuzawa’s phone started ringing. He sent a silent apology in your general direction and gestured for Dazai to take over, and with that he was by your side again.
“That’s Yosano,” Dazai pointed to a young woman with a short black hair style, legs crossed over one another, as she read today’s paper. She looked up and smiled, before returning to her paper.
“Kenji.” He pointed to a shorter blond boy in dungarees with a smile as bright as the sun. He waved to you with the hand that wasn’t occupied by a watering can, before turning to tend to the plants on the windowsill once more.
“We have Kyoka” A short, teenage girl with long dark hair and big eyes pulled her attention away from assisting Kenji and have a short wave before going back to her duties.
“We have the siblings, Naomi and Junichiro Tanizaki.” He pointed to an older teenage girl sitting at a computer, maybe high school age, sitting next to a sweet looking ginger male, who’s sweater sleeves covered his hands. They both offered quick ‘hellos’ and smiles before working once again.
“And the young lady with the pretty face and brown hair that you saw at the entrance of the building was Haruno. She’s our secretary.
And that’s everyon- wait. Where are Atsushi and Rampo?!” Dazai cried dramatically.
“Rampo wanted snacks and dragged Atsushi with him for help. You know how Rampo is getting about.” Yosano spoke without looking up from the paper as she turned the page. Dazai flopped against your shoulder, sighing into the crook of your neck. You patted his head awkwardly, sure that you’d have to get used to his affection quickly otherwise things could get uncomfortable.
“I suppose you’ll have to meet Rampo and Atsushi some other time. Give me your number and I’ll walk with you tomorrow.” He sprung up again. You chuckled softly at his antics and added your number to Dazai’s phone. As he led you to the door, Dazai flashed you the charming smile he introduced himself with.
“Can you find your way home from here?” Dazai asked, leaning against the door frame.
“I can, thank you. Would you uh… Like this back?” You gestured to Dazai’s over coat still draped around your shoulders. He grinned.
“Keep it until you get yourself some new clothes. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He blew you a kiss as you entered the hallway and you laughed, calling your goodbyes to the rest of the team, waving to Dazai as you walked off. As you got to the main entrance of the building, a young man, dressed in brown, a paper boy hat and glasses bumped into you. He looked lost.
“My apologies, are you alright?” You bowed slightly. He looked up at the building, then at you and cocked an eyebrow.
“I’m fine, thank you, Miss. I’m just waiting for a friend.” He dismissed you with the wave of a hand. You smiled and nodded before making your way through the streets to return to your shack – which seemed warmer and more welcoming than when you’d left it this morning.
Rampo and Atsushi. I wonder what they’re like. You hummed to yourself as the names of the two missing members settled in your mind, smiling to yourself. You shrugged off Dazai’s coat and laid it over the arm of your small sofa, and traced your fingers over it lightly, his words coming to the forefront of your memories, making your heart swell with hope.
It’ll make your life a little more beautiful…
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Kinktober Day 12
(As before, you can find a link to the AO3 version of this and the rest of my Kinktober 2020 prompts on the ‘Masterlist’ section of the blog.)
Time for some SWD?: Obey Me Undateable stuff (And this won’t be the only one in the prompts)! Was brainstorming for this trying to think what was a good excuse for a lapdance. Got Diavolo stuck in my head. Originally impairing substances came to mind, but a special present for Diavolo’s birthday (the second time around in the Devildom) seemed like a more fun idea.
Kinktober Day 12: Lapdance (Diavolo | Obey Me!)
That time of year in the Devildom had rolled around again and you found yourself once more in the tight spot of trying to figure out what to get Lord Diavolo for his birthday. Of course, this year you had a wider range of options for the demon prince. After much thought, you decided on a more traditional gift, as well as one you knew he wouldn’t be receiving from anyone else - at least that you knew of. That present hinged on being able to get him away from the throng of party guess you knew would be attending.
Surprisingly, when it came time to enact your plan, successfully prying Diavolo away from the crowd of revelers wasn’t as hard as you had expected. Slipping out off the room as inconspicuous as was possible in the company of the redhead, you led him off down the halls to one of the guest rooms. His chambers would have certainly been a much more private place - but that was part of the problem. if you had gone there you weren’t completely percent sure you would have been able to make sure it was a short time away from the party.
A curious smile settled over Diavolo’s lips as he followed and he was quick to speak once you stopped, obviously eager to know what was on your mind. “So what do I owe this moment alone to?” He asked, cocking his head to the side in a questioning manner.
You couldn’t help but return his grin. There had always been something infectious about and his attitude. “Just… take a seat for me for a minute,” You insisted, brushing your fingertips along the center of his chest and pushing gently.
His brow rose as his curiosity grew, but he did as asked, taking a seat on one of the nearby plush chairs, settling his hands casually onto the low armrests, and relaxing against it. You began to pace a circle around the chair, brushing your fingers along his chest again, more lightly, toying with the fur collar and gently touching the backs of his many soft, leathery wings. You felt the shudder that ran through him more than saw it, telling you the effect even your ginger touches had on him. You could hardly miss the way his golden eyes followed you as far as they could around without turning in his seat. You tugged at the collar of your dress, making the vee a bit more pronounced. and brushed the hem away from your legs a touch.
You about-faced and began to walk back, stopping behind the chair silently and leaning into Diavolo’s shoulder, careful to avoid his horns as he turned his head, and ran your hands, palms flat but along his chest. Avoiding the gilded pendant, you continued the stroke of your hands, running them along planes of his abs, the muscles twitching in response to the soft touch. When Diavolo turned his head, you flitted to the other head side, leaning past a horn once more and letting you breath puff across the shell of one ear. Pulling your hands away before he could turn to face you again, you sauntered to the front of the chair. You caught an excited, amused look burning in Diavolo’s eyes, his grin still wide, but more impish than before.
Leaning forward again you ensured the vee of your dress had your cleavage properly on display, but not quite fit to burst out. His gaze flitted toward it and back to your eyes briefly, but it was plain it was distracting as planned. You planted your hands in the decorative ruff again, easing yourself into his lap so that your knees pressed into the fabric of the chair, but your hips were only barely touching his. You pushed forward further, leveling your face a breath away from his and slowly, tantalizingly rubbing your hips against his. The motion was teasing and far too light to do more than whet his arousal and your own. His reaction was subtle, but instant, his eyes becoming molten and intense. You felt the jerk of something against your thigh through his pants. His hands rose from the armrests, returning the slow, soft touches you’d given him before when you circled the chair.
At first, you leaned in more, still rubbing your hips tormentingly again his own, tilting your head and ghosting your lips against his. Up so close, the intensity of his otherworldly colored eyes was breathtaking and for a moment you considered doing away with your plan. The want and affection in them were so very tempting, but your sense reminded you there would be much more fun to be had if you followed your idea through.
When he leaned in to press your lips together, you pulled back, wriggling away from his touch and smiled mischievously at him. For a moment his smile twisted into something almost like a pout until you dipped further, hands once more splayed across his skin, this time teasing your face dangerously close to the rising tent at crotch level, but foregoing any contact. You heard a catch in his breath, a slight, yet excited sound. Bringing yourself to the balls of your feet, you pushed yourself up, twirling around and planting yourself more firmly in Diavolo’s lap.
His hands moved to your waist, his grip a bit more demanding than before. Ignoring the restriction, you ground back against his lap, your motions more vigorous than before, but still tempting. Behind you, Diavolo groaned deliciously, dipping his head down and burying his face in the curve of your neck and shoulder, the tip of his gilded horns scratching at your skin. You could feel from the now much more prominent hardness beneath you that your little gift was starting to have the intended effect on the demon prince.
You leaned a harder into the motion, taking his hunched posture as an opportunity to caress the curved length of a horn and its golden cap. Another groan left Diavolo and another shiver rolled through him. You placed a kiss in his red hair before abruptly prying yourself away from his touch again and rising to your feet. Perhaps it was playing with fire, but your aim, for now, was to tease and entice - not give everything away, so you would have to cut things short, much to your dismay and his.
From the look on Diavolo’s face, he would have been easily content to carry on. “Just a little part of your birthday present,” You told him with a wink. “You can have the rest later once everyone has left, but for now shouldn’t we get back to the party?” You asked coyly.
Diavolo sat back in his seat and laughed, the sound as rolling and rich as it always was, though tinged with a huskiness that made a heat pool between your thighs. He nodded and hummed his agreement. But amused as he was, he also knew how to play your game. He rose, putting a hand on your waist and leaning down to purr into your ear. “I’ll hold you to that.”
You bit down on your lip and pressed your thighs together, trying to suppress the slowly awakening ache his words encouraged. The rest of the evening was going to be a test of wills for the both of you it seemed.
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OBSESSIVE TEACHINGS - DARK!TOM HIDDLESTON
CHAPTER FOUR: STEPHEN KING
SUMMARY: The first day back at school has tricks up its sleeve and Lynn tries to find optimism.
WORD COUNT: 2.4k
NOTES: I lost power for like six hours so happy new year to me. Okay, it wasn’t too big of a deal since the entire neighborhood did as well, so I’ve just been reading all day, which was a nice change.
WARNINGS: dark!tom hiddleston, teacher!tom hiddleston
OBSESSIVE TEACHINGS MASTERLIST
FROM TIME TO TIME, I try my best to stay positive, but considering bad things are always around the corner, it's difficult to uphold this standard of living. Needless to say, this strategy typically doesn't hold for too long, but right now, I'm doing my very best to stay optimistic. It's the last first day I'll have with all my friends and peers. This should be something to be excited about (with a dash of dread). And, so far, all my classes have gone according to plan, that being swift and without any issues.
My math class came after helping Mrs. Gibbons. While I do my best to stray away from stereotypes and clichés, I couldn't fight the overwhelming state of confusion and panic during the first lecture. There wasn't even a break-the-ice introduction or the what's-the-best-thing-you-did-this-summer questions. Albeit, I loathe those games, but I would rather sit through the awkward hellos and fun facts for the next year than jump right into a lesson on the first day back. At least give us a break; summer isn't long enough.
Following a near hour of torture came yet another. Alright, health isn't as terrible, but requiring every student take this class as a senior despite having a course similar to such since elementary is very annoying. Then again, does anyone who isn't interested in the medical field know the function or location of the pancreas?
But finally, after several hours of waiting, sitting on the edge of my seat in anticipation, I have a class to look forward to: 'Creative Writing.' Most might groan at the sound of a writing class, but I don't mind nor take offense. Not everyone finds passion on words or mental escape through storytelling. I consider myself one of the lucky ones. The interest comes so naturally as if I was born to have a pen in my hand. Maybe one day I'll find myself signing copies of my stories in a bookstore or on Good Morning America with Michael Strahan and Ginger Zee. I do my best to stay humble about my dreams, but staying positive in this is something I have to have in order to succeed.
Unfortunately, that idea of optimism is slipping away at this very moment.
I double check the crumpled paper in my hand. From what I wrote down, I'm right, but given the locked door with lights out, a sour feeling fills my gut. The last bell rings out, and I'm the only one who isn't a classroom, save the few stragglers making a quick dash into rooms. I'm unsure if I'm confused or frustrated as I stare down the door to an empty classroom.
"Jesus, fuck," I curse. Taking an exasperated sigh, I take a step towards the main staircase, deciding my only option is to figure out what's going on. Maybe the room moved last minute. After all, I wrote my schedule down three months ago; there's no telling how this hell hole has changed, little or small.
A typical stroll to the front office from the third floor might take two minutes, maybe three tops if you're dreading walking through the glass doors. Considering I leaped down several stairs at a time and finding myself at the bottom in all but twenty seconds, perhaps joining the track team isn't too terrible of an idea. However, after I take notice of my labored breathing, my legs also going limp, I put a pin in that thought.
"Hi," I breathe out reaching the front desk. As if I needed a reminder on how out of shape I am, my lungs heave heavy bursts in and out. I could have sworn the lady at the front desk gave me a startled look by my sudden appearance, but I don't dwell on apologizing. "I'm not sure if I have the wrong room for a class. I stopped by, but the room is empty."
Nodding her head slowly, the receptionist turns in her swivel chair to her computer, glasses resting on the bridge of her nose. "I gotcha, hon. What's the class name?"
"It's just 'Creative Writing.'" I pause, thinking of any other information. "I might be wrong, but I think Mrs. Walters teaches it."
The woman stops typing when I mention the name and turns to me. By her reaction, I assume the worst. "Your issue is that the class doesn't exist anymore. Mrs. Walters moved away this summer. Took us all a bit by surprise."
There it fucking is.
Well, there goes the last bit of hope I had for the entire school year.
"I, uh, um," I croak. My heart pounds and my hands suddenly begin sweating. An intense wave of confusion wash over me. "S-So what should I do? I need an English elective."
She clicks around the screen, as well as her tongue. The sound is slightly annoying, but you can't bite off the hand that feeds you, even if it's just a one time meal. Her long red fingernails dance across the keyboard. "What's your name, hon?"
"Carolynn Moore," I respond. I can't understand the receptionist, but I think she comments on my "pretty" name. That makes one of us.
A few seconds pass when she looks back in my direction. "Well, it appears you actually don't need any more English classes; you've got all your credits."
"Yeah, but I was hoping to do dual credit. I wanna go into writing, so I figured going in with credits for my major isn't too shabby of an idea," I explain with a smile to the short-haired redhead. She nods and turns back to her computer while making that clicking noises with her mouth again, only this time it sounds like she's smacking on bubble gum. It takes all willpower not to show any signs of discomfort.
"Well," she finally says. "You could just take English IV. The rest of the English courses are either filled, or you've already taken. If your set on English, this is your only option."
From inside my jacket pockets, my fingers crossed. "Who teaches it?" I ask. My fingers cross tighter that it's anyone other than Mr. Hiddleston. I'd rather take the mummifying old teacher who can hardly speak English himself. Mr. Hiddleston may be a nice guy and I know he's a good teacher, but I really don't feel great about being in a class full of girls who took the class just for eye candy. I do my best not to follow clichés, this being one of them.
It appears, however, I will never catch a break.
"Mr. Hiddleston."
I push a sigh through my nose. If this is my only option, I feel obligated to take it. Unfortunately.
"Alright, I'll take it."
══════════════════
I find myself standing outside of Mr. Hiddleston's classroom. I see resentment in my decision just after climbing to the third floor, knowing I will have to travel as far as Frodo and Sam did five days a week. Through the glass window, I see mostly females lining up the first two rows watching the front of the room intensely. With my position, I can't see him, but I have no doubt who they're staring at. To my surprise, I catch Ellie in the second row writing things on a notepad. Well, at least I have one sane people to partner up with.
Taking a breath, I twist the doorknob and give it a small shove. Instantly, almost every head turns my direction. I feel as though I have ten eyes by the looks I'm given.
That's when I notice Mr. Hiddleston leaning against a stool, his long legs outstretched and hands pressed far into his pockets. He gives a surprise eyebrow raise, most likely remembering our conversation this morning. I had told him I wouldn't be taking his class and yet here I am.
"Hello, there, Lynn. A pleasant surprise," he smiles.
My cheeks go pink. The last thing I needed was this ridiculously hot professor bringing up how we have already become acquainted. Perhaps I'm overthinking, but I really don't want people to begin rumors. It wouldn't be the first time I've heard made up stories of students sleeping with their teacher.
"I got switched," I inform in a low voice. Handing him the office's approval, I pass a small smile, doing my best to hide my true feelings. Mr. Hiddleston takes the note and quickly scans it, nodding his head twice.
"Well, I'm glad I have gained another brilliant student," he compliments standing. I take this as my cue to find a seat. My eyes immediately meet Ellie's. As Mr. Hiddleston passes me to his desk, I made a quick walk across the classroom to sit in the empty seat behind Ellie.
She instantly turns herself around. "What happened to 'avoid the stereotype'? And how does he already know your name?" She whispers. "I'm so jealous." Tossing a glance over her shoulder, Ellie flickers her eyes from packs of teenage girls who suddenly begin whispering among themselves. "And it appears I'm not the only one."
My eyes roll as I shrug off my backpack. "Last minute changes. The teacher for that writing class— the one I was telling you about earlier— moved, so I found myself landed here." I pull out a new notebook and a few pens just as Mr. Hiddleston finishes typing on his computer. He's bent over due to his towering height, quite a few pairs of eyes glued to a particular spot. Finding myself as one of those onlookers, I feel a tinge of red heat my cheeks in embarrassment. "And I, uh, helped him this morning."
Ellie, in a dreamy state, looks over to Mr. Hiddleston. Seeing how his posture has straightened, she begins to sit back normally on her desk. I would have been convinced this person was a clone of Ellie had a comment not been made. "I'd like to help him out anytime if you know what I mean," she whispers, biting her tongue teasingly. All she does is giggle as I slap her arm lightly.
I keep my cursing to a minimum now that the room has gone mostly silent. Clasping his hands together, Mr. Hiddleston stands at the front of the classroom, eyeing all of us down. "Alright, first day. How is everyone?"
A collection of groans erupts from the teenagers. While I take no part in the group's exhaustion, I smile to myself in agreement.
"That bad?" Mr. Hiddleston chuckles. "Well, it's about to get worse. Starting from this gentlemen," Mr. Hiddleston gestures to some kid on the opposite side of the room who has boredom written across his face, "we will go around the room with our names."
A panic arises in my chest. Of course, I've spent the last several years speaking in front of my classmates, but it never gets any easier. On more than one occasion has the slip of a curse or a stutter cause points to be deducted from an assignment. It's not entirely my fault that I enter a foggy state of anxiety when all eyes in a room meet me. Can't we all just share our names and our favorite movie with the person sitting next to us? I have no doubt I would have a much easier time with this.
My thoughts have torn me from reality for quite a bit of time, so it seems, as the person two seats away is now announcing their name. I manage to find myself listening in just at the right moment as if now is more convenient than, perhaps, a few minutes ago. My ever-so-sharp context clues lead me to believe we are also sharing who our heroes are if we're comfortable enough for the topic.
I find the bit interesting, but answerable nonetheless. The only problem is I have two: Stephen King and Ruth Bader Ginsburg. How does one compare the modern feminist iconic queen to the whimsical horror author who inspired my writing antics? I flip between the two, plotting out who had the most significant impact on my life, who I am, what--
The sensation of eyes all falling on to my face breaks my concentration. "Oh, okay," I say mainly to myself. Do the thing, Lynn, my thoughts scream. "Well, I'm Lynn Moore, and an idol of mine is, uh..." I stumble off, my brain cutting circuit.
I'm mad at myself for making this simple question out to be life or death. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Realizing I can't do any wrong with either pick, I let my mouth do the work for me. "King. Stephen King."
"Why am I not surprised in the slightest?" Mr. Hiddleston comments, sending me a smile.
"Not all of us can be mysteries," I retort with a shrug. I'm not sure if Mr. Hiddleston he hears me, as my voice decides to speak softly, but the way the corners of his mouth raise makes me think otherwise. My cheeks begin to burn, even after he moves on to the next student. I try to focus in on the girl's name and hero. I already know her first name is Kaitlyn, but the name of her hero goes past me. Maybe she said Beyoncé. Maybe Obama. All I know for sure is that my face feels flush and I can't stop thinking about Mr. Hiddleston's laugh from this morning or the smile he gave me minutes ago.
Thankfully, there is a clap of binders and notebooks slapping on desks to break my thoughts. The warmth in my cheeks leaks back into my body, the cool skin tone returning once more. Glancing around the room with my eyes, I see no one spotted my nervous fidgeting or have looked away from the blushing shy girl.
A pen in my hand, a notebook below the tip, and a smile tugging at the corner of my lips as Mr. Hiddleston begins to enthusiastically talk about the use and necessity of the Oxford comma leads me to a conclusion. Maybe this year won't be as terrible as I had been putting it out to be.
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
TAGLIST:
@khadineberry
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From Exile to King, or How Duncan Learns to Regret Banishing Halt
On the discord, @vilewile came up with a lovely au where Duncan banishes Halt for life and Halt returns to Clonmel and is crowned king there. Several years later, Duncan has to go to Clonmel to meet with the new king. It doesn't go at all the way he expected. Credit also goes to @lattereadsra (who wrote an EXCELLENT piece for this au in the discord) and @janaimaya who helped develop this au.
It had been a rough couple of years for Araluen and Duncan. The kidnapping of Cassie, Morgarath's return, the loss of Duncan's best ranger, and everything else in between. Cassie had been rescued and Morgarath had been defeated, but Halt never came back. Not that he could have, Duncan had given him an exile for life, something Duncan regretted every day. Exile had been the lesser of the two evils, but Duncan cursed Halt for putting him in such a position where he had to choose between sentencing his friend to death and making him leave his home forever. It seemed that Halt loved Will more than anything, more than Araluen and more than being a ranger. Halt loved Will enough to commit high treason and risk his life.
Duncan had to admit the ploy had worked. Will had been rescued, along with Cassie, and the both of them had been brought back to Araluen with Horace and allegedly Halt, though no one had seen Halt by the borders. Will had disappeared to who knows where shortly after returning to Araluen and no one had heard a word from him or Halt in years. There were often rumors of a ranger duo in the outskirts of the kingdom and in other states, Skandia was quite popular for Halt sightings, but whenever the corps investigated these sightings, there was no truth to them.
It didn't do Duncan any good to dwell on the past, not while he had a political trip to prepare for. Pauline had been pressuring Duncan into improving relations with Clonmel for quite some time now, especially after the new king had been crowned and she had pushed heavily for a meeting between the two kings. A treaty between Araluen and Clonmel would lead to better trade for Araluen and more military strength for Clonmel. Duncan had happily agreed and King Ferris Niall Cathan O'Carrick had agreed wholeheartedly, albeit with some demands.
Pauline had received a message from the king's Steward, a certain Sean O'Carrick, that under no circumstances was the meeting to be held on Araluen soil. The tone of the letter struck Duncan as odd. The man had written that if the meeting were to happen on Araluen soil, all the relations between the countries would be terminated and there would be no meeting. That part of the letter had been quite intense, but the next sentence had been extremely polite and understanding, saying that Duncan would be welcome to stay in Clonmel for his trip or if Duncan felt more comfortable, the meeting could be held in a neutral country for both of their sakes. It was bewildering letter and Ducan, while quite puzzled about why Ferris was so adamant about stepping on Araluen soil, was more than willing to accommodate the new king.
He wrote back and a meeting was arranged. Duncan was to leave tomorrow with an envoy, including Horace Altman as the lead knight, to take a trip across the sea to Clonmel in a show of peaceful relations. One final meeting is called to prep Duncan for the meeting, though he scarce thinks he needs it.
"Pauline, I've been meeting rulers and establishing relations my entire life. I can handle this on my own." Duncan was almost indignant. He trusted Pauline with his life and his country. He knew that she was in charge of relations with Clonmel but relations but he was no child. Pauline could have a little more faith in his diplomatic abilities.
Pauline merely hummed and tilted her head, ringlets falling around her face. Duncan was on a roll; it was better to let out his frustration now with friends than in meetings with strangers.
"Why aren't you coming with me? You're the one King Ferris has talked to." A fair point, but now Duncan was just trying to be petty.
A brief smile appeared on Pauline's face. If not for the ringlets blocking the way, Duncan would have said the smile was more of a smirk. Crowley seemed to be fighting a smile deep within his cowl.
"Believe me, it's best if I am not there for the initial meeting." If Duncan hadn't been so tired of talking, he would caught Pauline's phrasing. "Initial" meeting indeed. But, alas, Duncan did not.
Crowley pushed his cowl down, showing his ginger hair, and sighed wistfully. Crowley been instrumental in gathering intelligence about Clonmel and Hibernia.
"I'd give anything to be at this meeting." Now Duncan was sure there was something going on with this meeting with Ferris.
"You hate diplomatic meetings and you hate traveling by ship."
Another sigh. "Yes, yes, but it would be worth it. If only the gathering wasn't this week. The look on your face..." Crowley trailed off, eyes glazing over. Pauline elbowed him sharply and Crowley quickly snapped out of it.
"Obviously the look on your face when you read the reports from the gathering!" Another thing to add to Duncan's plate. Duncan mentally groaned. The ranger's gathering and the subsequent reports from the gathering gave him headaches. He waved his hand tiredly.
"Have we gone over all of the discussions and points for the meeting?" Duncan deliberately addressed Pauline, refusing to acknowledge Crowley for the moment.
"Yes, you're free to go."
"Good, I'm going to bed. Will I see either of you in the morning?"
"I'll be there to send you off."
"I wish I could be there. This meeting..." Crowley trailed off again, catching himself. "You'll do great Duncan. I'm sure you and this king will be great friends." Duncan could almost hear a chuckle coming the ginger. He couldn't take it much longer.
"Good night." With that, Duncan left the room and closed the door a little harder than necessary.
Pauline had been true to her word and saw Duncan and Horace, along with the crew and envoy, off. The trip had been fairly peaceful, there had been no storms and everyone's stomachs were quite sturdy. They docked at the royal port on a bright, sunny day. A good omen for the meeting thought Duncan. He hadn't been too worried about the meeting, but the more he thought about Crowley and Pauline's reactions, the more trepidation he felt. They knew something, heavens knows what they knew, that Duncan did not. But the day was bright and any odd feelings Duncan had were soon swept away when Sean O'Carrick, royal advisor and nephew to the king, came to greet them.
Sean was a likeable young man, able to chat just as easily with Duncan about grain policy as he was Horace about sword fighting techniques. The tension disappeared from Duncan's shoulders as Sean explained that his uncle was very excited to see King Duncan and how the Prince William was looking foward to meeting the famous knight of Araluen. It seemed as if Duncan had nothing to worry about. The meeting would go well and relations would improve.
The stroll through Castle Dun Kilty was lovely, with Sean pointing various features and establishment around the castle. The staff was on display, but there was no sign of thr oing or the prince. They did meet the crown Princess Caitlyn, who seemed more then delighted that they were here. Horace had seen a figure dart into the shadows wearing a familiar dark green cloak, but he hadn't mentioned it to Duncan. If Horace was right in his suspicions... No, he couldn't be. Could he? As they got closer to the throne room, Sean shifted a little, his body language becoming stiffer and more formal like he was preparing for something. Finally, at the doors to the throne room, Sean turned to Duncan and the envoy, his tone apologetic yet unquestioning.
"My king requests that only you and the knight enter the throne room at first, with no one else with you."
Duncan was startled at this strange demand, but he was a guest in King Ferris' castle. He would humor the man. He nodded at Horace and Sean opened the doors for them.
"Announcing King Duncan of Araluen and Sir Horace Altman." Duncan and Horace walked into the throne room, which was empty except for two men by the wooden throne. One was standing by the throne and the other was lounging in the throne, but stood up and when he saw Duncan and Horace enter. King Ferris was wearing kingly clothes of the finest order and nestled in the center of his chest was a golden oakleaf. The prince next to him wore a green cloak over his fine clothes.
Duncan's jaw dropped. He couldn't make a sound nor could he believe his eyes. Next to him, Horace was making some kind of squeaking sound unbeftting a knight on a diplomatic mission.
King Ferris Niall Cathan O'Carrick was Halt and Prince William O'Carrick was Will. King Ferris was the man Duncan had exiled from his kingdom years ago.
Halt grinned, larger and smugger than any of the men had ever seen him grin, and spread his arms out wide, letting Duncan get a good look at the king of Clonmel. Duncan felt a sudden shiver of fear run down his spine.
"Well Duncan, did you miss me?"
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[fanfic] of flavoured names and coloured sounds (chapter 1 of 2)
Summary: "He doesn’t question it at first, the fact that sounds have colours and words have flavours. He grows up with it, grows up seeing powerful ruptures of colour when his mother plays the piano and softer, translucent bursts when the people around him speak. His father’s voice fills his vision with sombre oranges and lilacs while his mother’s is a pleasant mix of delicate greens, blues, and greys. The word father tastes like wet wood and the word mother tastes like the pumpkin juice the house-elves frequently serve him."
In which Draco just wants to know what colour Hermione's moans would be. He also wants to know if her skin would taste as sweet as her surname or maybe as intoxicating as her given name.
LINKS
AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23567740/chapters/56541799
FFN: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13547597/1/of-flavoured-names-and-coloured-sounds
CHAPTER 1
synaesthesia: a condition in which two or more of the five senses that most people experience separately are mixed so that, for example, a person may see colour when they hear a particular sound or read a particular word
He doesn’t question it at first, the fact that sounds have colours and words have flavours. He grows up with it, grows up seeing powerful ruptures of colour when his mother plays the piano and softer, translucent bursts when the people around him speak. His father’s voice fills his vision with sombre oranges and lilacs while his mother’s is a pleasant mix of delicate greens, blues, and greys. They create a firework display in front of him whenever they talk, varying in intensity depending on the nature of their conversation. He falls asleep to soft shades of blue and wakes up to freckles of purple.
(The albino peacocks produce varying shades of reds and violets, the house-elves create splashy tones that have the tendency to give him a headache when subjected to prolonged exposure.)
It’s only later, when he grows up, that he starts to discover the names of these colours, stops referring to them as various shades of the same six hues he knows and combinations of them. He comes to learn that his mother’s voice is composed of aquamarine notes, interspersed with azure, Maya blue, Bleu de France, teal, and harbour grey. When he tells her this, she gives him a curious look and makes him promise he would never tell anyone about these sensory experiences of his.
Tasting words and names is an experience that is more peculiar and, sometimes, less pleasant. As a child, the flavours are fairly simple: words like absinthe, python, moth, and thunder taste bitter, while words like cheery, rye, and cutlery taste sweet. The word father tastes like wet wood and the word mother tastes like the pumpkin juice the house-elves frequently serve him. When he hears the word Dementor, he develops a sudden overwhelming urge to vomit as the word tastes like rotten meat and mouldy bread. The meaning of the word sends a chill down his spine and he thinks his taste buds hit the mark with that one.
(Pansy, his childhood friend, has a name that tastes like steamed broccoli, and the taste is so odd that he never says her name when he fucks her, much to the witch’s disdain. It doesn’t help that her moans are coloured like coal.)
Harry Potter’s name is a mixture of sweet and smoky. The name Harry is sweet, much like cheery and rye, but he finds the sweetness nauseating. Potter, on the other hand, is smoky, so he settles with that and decides to call the boy the smoky name. The name Ron tastes like milk that’s been left out for hours, better poured down the drain than allowed to linger on the tongue. The surname isn’t much better, reminding him of the time his father had made him eat some blue cheese and he gagged it all out, leaving his tongue and throat burning with stomach acid. Every time he says the ginger’s name, his face automatically pulls into a sneer of disgust, his taste buds protesting the abuse.
During their first year, most everyone’s voices make him see light colours, but as they grow older the male voices turn darker shades and the females’ a softer hue. Some voices grate on his nerves, the explosion of colours too vivid, with no sense of harmony, and he often finds himself snapping at these people to shut up.
That’s when he becomes certain that this condition is unique to him. If they could see the colours he sees and if they could taste the flavours he tastes, they would all be snappish too.
Then there’s Hermione Granger.
Hermione reminds him of a summer trip his family had taken to France before his first year at Hogwarts. His father, ever the champion of luxurious delicacies and drinks, always insisting that he must develop a taste for the finer things, had insisted that his mother let him sample a glass of white wine.
His eleven-year-old tongue quickly detected hints of white peach, dill, and coconut, but they were overwhelmed by the bitterness of the alcohol. He had not appreciated the taste then, not even trying to hide his grimace to the amusement of his parents.
“When you’re older, you’ll learn to value the flavour of an excellent Sauvignon Blanc,” his father had reassured him.
Now the intoxicating flavour is back, every time he hears Potter call her name and every time it flashes through his mind. The taste of it never changes throughout the years, but his reaction to it does. Understandably, his younger self only felt disgust, but the older he got the more willing he became to accept that his father had been right all along—he’s learned to value the taste of Hermione’s name, learned to savour the white peach along with the dryness unique to the drink.
Sometimes, he could convince himself that he could get drunk just from her name.
Granger was safer, and even in his younger years he had enjoyed the taste of the surname on his tongue. Granger tastes like green apples. It’s the first thing he grabs at the dining table every morning for breakfast, and it’s a flavour that he chases after constantly. His immature self had found a way to say it every chance he could get, enjoying the sudden burst of citrus inside his mouth with every call of her name. He would resort to taunting, teasing her about being a swot, insulting her and making sure to use her last name by the end of every sentence.
He had been foolish, he soon realises, and so he stops saying her name to her face all the time lest people notice that he has developed an unhealthy habit out of it. He says it in private now, in the confines of the baths and in the privacy of his bedroom. At first it had only been so he could taste the green apples, so he could relive over and over again the tangy sweetness of her name, but later on it became less innocent.
(Later on, he started to favour the alcohol of her given name over the fruit of her surname whenever he would stroke his cock through his sleeping trousers.)
Unsurprisingly, the word Mudblood tastes like dirt in his mouth. When he first hurls it at her, the sensation is so intense that he almost gags before the weasel can even attempt his slug-eating spell at him. It repulses him, but she had insulted him and annoyed him to no end, and not even the sweetness of her name could soothe the headache he got from the bursts of vibrant colours her voice made him see whenever she opened her filthy mouth. Potions quickly became his favourite subject, not only because his Godfather favoured him, but because he almost never allows Granger to recite in class.
He finds that his annoyance slowly dissipates over the years as her voice goes from irritating and migraine-inducing to almost melodic and soothing. The colours stop being so harsh, become muted shades or pastel versions of themselves. He finds that in the splashes of colour he sees every minute of his waking hours, he looks forward to seeing hers.
The first time he realises her voice has ceased to be a source of annoyance for him is during their third year. It’s an odd thing to feel, to suddenly yearn to hear the colours of her voice, when two years ago he had wanted to bolt from every room she was occupying. That annoys him, too, because all his life he’s been told that his kind should rule the wizarding world and her kind should not even be welcomed, so who is she to drive him out of a room? Throughout their first and second year in Hogwarts, he would stay, not only because he had no choice but to stay in classes he shared with her, but because he’s a pureblood and she’s nothing but that dirty word that makes him gag.
The sound of her palm connecting with his face is the colour of autumn leaves, a bright orange thunder-like streak that flashes behind his closed eyes. Everything is a sensory blur, and he finds himself running away from her, from them, feeling the shame welling in his chest and the taste of her given name still heavy on his tongue.
The word foul tastes like oatmeal and the word evil tastes like cold chicken soup.
The yule ball is a ticket to a night of sensory overload. The music they dance to causes him to nearly go into a catatonic state, his head thrown back and his eyes following the lights bursting in and out with every note and every chord. Pansy has been clinging to him ever since he had first fucked her three weeks ago, and now he knows what a colossal mistake it had been to ask her to be his date to this ball. She has somehow convinced herself that they’re exclusively seeing each other, much to his disappointment, so he’s been planning to “break up” with her despite his father’s approval of their supposed relationship.
He’s thinking of a way to tell her the sex is good (not good enough really, considering the taste of her name and the colours of her voice) but he’s simply not looking for a relationship when he catches sight of her again. Immediately the spiked punch is replaced by Sauvignon Blanc and green apples at the thought of her name. She’s a periwinkle blue blur from his vantage point, but from what he had seen approximately an hour ago, she’s an absolute stunner tonight.
He turns his head so he can fully watch her, difficult as it may be with the pulsing colours interrupting his vision, and all but forgets the witch hanging on to his arm. He watches her dance with Krum, ignores Pansy’s demands for him to take her to the dancefloor, and then barely notices when his date finally lets go of his arms and stomps away from him. He watches Granger skip over to her friends, then he watches her get into a row with the weasel before promptly walking out of the ballroom.
None of her friends move to follow her, and he doesn’t know what possesses him to do it but he’s rising to his feet and moving towards the direction she had gone to. He keeps walking down the hallway until he spots her, snivelling in an alcove and using her hands to wipe at her face. When he gets close enough, he sees that her makeup is ruined, but it’s the fact that he doesn’t seem to mind that gives him pause.
“If you’re pining after the weasel, don’t you think you should have gone with him as your date?” he asks, startling her.
She jumps up and whips around to face him, wand already tightly held in one of her hands, tear tracks still marring her face. “Malfoy? Did you… did you follow me out here?”
He shrugs, moving to plop himself down to take her abandoned seat on the alcove. “I think I may be drunk,” he admits, the colours still blurring his vision and the word alcove tastes like garlic in his mouth.
She eyes him, her gaze darting back and forth between him and the empty hallway. He can practically hear her calculating her next steps, can hear the cogs in her brain working double time to assess the conundrum in front of her.
He cringes, the taste of residual beeswax coating his tongue at the thought of the word conundrum.
“How can you be drunk? Alcohol’s not allowed—”
“We spiked the punch,” he cuts her off, reaching for the flask hidden in the inner pockets of his robes. She stiffens, her wand raising ever so slightly to point at him, but he just retrieves the flask and waves it at her. “Paranoid.”
Granger watches him return the flask and fold his wandless hands on his lap where she can see them. “Well, it was very bizarre chatting with you, Malfoy.” With that, she turns to walk away, the floaty periwinkle blue robes moving with the sway of her hips.
When he returns to his dorm room, he places about half a dozen silencing charms on his bed, draws the curtains closed, and for the very first time, wanks himself off to images of Hermione Granger.
They’re prefects, and he should have expected this to happen. Sooner or later they would get paired to do patrols together, he had known this, but he had been foolish enough to neglect to prepare for it. He knows that her voice will no longer make his head throb, has been familiar with the shades of her still-swotty voice for more than two years now.
The castle is quiet, and his eyes are blessedly free of colours bursting around his vision as he and Granger walk the castle grounds side by side. Neither of them speaks, but the silence isn’t antagonistic. Last month, they had been paired up for an Astronomy assignment, and although everyone in the bloody castle had been surprised by the pairing and had expected things to blow up, they miraculously did not.
Granger may be an insufferable know-it-all as his Godfather had put it, but her diligence, as he’s come to learn, perfectly complements his occasional bouts of perfectionism. He had fully expected them to buttheads, get into rows as bad as the one that had landed him that nasty slap back in third year, but they had ended up working quite well with each other. By the end of the two week-long assignment, he had to begrudgingly admit to himself that his father had been wrong to accuse her of cheating to get good grades.
It had hurt his pride and he had ignored her completely after that. He only resumed “talking” to her last week, when she had come up to him to ask if he was finished with the DADA book lying on his table in the library. He had wanted to say no, tell her to bugger off and find her own copy, but had found himself gesturing for her to take it.
The witch had instead taken the seat in front of him and began working on her own essay right there, in his space. He had floundered for a good minute or two, just staring at her furiously scribbling on a piece of parchment, getting ink everywhere. Nobody would have seen her sitting there with him, his little corner hidden from the heavy traffic of the library. After a while he had given up trying to understand what the swot was hoping to achieve by infringing upon his peace so he had resolutely returned to working on his Transfiguration homework.
When she had finally gotten up to leave, he noted that it was just a little over ten minutes before dinner time. “Thanks for letting me use the book, Malfoy.”
From what he can tell, the school isn’t abuzz with gossip surrounding the two of them so he can only assume that she had told no one of their little study session, nor the two that had followed the first. He doesn’t know what they’re doing but he knows that he doesn’t mind it as much as he’d like to fool himself into thinking.
“Draco.”
He knows the taste of his name, of course. Draco tastes like an expensive brand of chocolate that his mother had indulged him with when he was a kid, and Malfoy tastes like leather. The fact that his name tastes like chocolate had been the only redeeming quality he found out of having sex with Pansy. Every time she moaned his name, the taste of chocolate would make the flashes of coal slightly worth the trouble.
Hermione’s voice doesn’t bother him anymore. What does bother him is the fact that he has spent months imagining what colour her moans would be and what colour his name would take when it leaves her lips.
Now he knows the answer to one of those things. It’s salmon pink, much like what her other notes sound like, the ones she would produce when talking about a subject only she knows about in class and the ones that would leave her lips when something particularly good happens to her.
He can’t imagine a reason why she’s speaking his name like that, but he turns his eyes to her and gestures for her to keep speaking. He can only hope that she doesn’t notice the blood rushing to fill his cheeks in the darkness.
“Why did you save me last year?”
The question catches him by surprise, so much so that he stops walking and only stares at her for a long moment. He instantly knows that she’s talking about the world cup, about the warning he had given the trio. Slowly, his features harden, and he feels a scowl replacing his baffled expression. “Is that why you’ve been hanging around me? You think we can become what, friends, because you assumed that I had saved you that night?”
She doesn’t immediately respond, instead taking a step closer to him. He feels his chest tighten at the proximity, every word out of his father’s mouth about pureblood superiority suddenly swimming through his head and causing an explosion of varied flavours to occur on his tongue. She’s so close, close enough that he can see the freckles dotting her nose, close enough that he can detect the scent of coconuts from her hair.
“I didn’t assume anything, Malfoy. You saved me that night.”
Aunt Bellatrix trains him, and she becomes fascinated with his condition when she learns about it from his mind. It occupies her interests enough that she doesn’t stumble upon the thoughts of her, and he’s so frightened by the possibility of her finding out that he’s been lusting over a muggle-born that it speeds up the process.
He’s always been a quick study, but there’s nothing like the fear of your infatuation being exposed to your deranged aunt to really get someone to master a spell.
He had expected that the dark mark would affect his condition, make the colours duller and the flavours blander. He’s right—once the ugly black thing gets branded on his skin, he can instantly tell that the colours will be nearly transparent now, the various hues no longer as defined as before and no longer obstructing his vision. His aunt tells him it’s a good thing, as he wouldn’t want those silly hallucinations coming in the way of a successful Avada or Crucio. The thought of the Dark Lord’s name no longer brings up an overpowering seaweed flavour, the taste subdued now.
When his mother plays the piano for him, the colours are still brighter and more pronounced than when people speak, but it’s no longer a fireworks display. She looks at him with a forlorn expression, one that he hadn’t expected but can understand because, as much as hated the migraines he got from those colours, they had been his. They had been bright, sometimes blinding, sometimes erratic enough that he feared he would go into a seizure, sometimes causing him to miss the target of a hex, but they had been his.
With his Occlumency walls safely in place, he allows himself to think of her name. The Sauvignon Blanc isn’t nearly as potent as before, the flavour of the green apples no longer as crisp, but he tells himself he can only be thankful that it’s still there.
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[fanfic] of flavoured names and coloured sounds (chapter 1 of 2)
Summary: "He doesn’t question it at first, the fact that sounds have colours and words have flavours. He grows up with it, grows up seeing powerful ruptures of colour when his mother plays the piano and softer, translucent bursts when the people around him speak. His father’s voice fills his vision with sombre oranges and lilacs while his mother’s is a pleasant mix of delicate greens, blues, and greys. The word father tastes like wet wood and the word mother tastes like the pumpkin juice the house-elves frequently serve him."
In which Draco just wants to know what colour Hermione's moans would be. He also wants to know if her skin would taste as sweet as her surname or maybe as intoxicating as her given name.
LINKS
AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23567740/chapters/56541799
FFN: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13547597/1/of-flavoured-names-and-coloured-sounds
CHAPTER 1
synaesthesia: a condition in which two or more of the five senses that most people experience separately are mixed so that, for example, a person may see colour when they hear a particular sound or read a particular word
He doesn’t question it at first, the fact that sounds have colours and words have flavours. He grows up with it, grows up seeing powerful ruptures of colour when his mother plays the piano and softer, translucent bursts when the people around him speak. His father’s voice fills his vision with sombre oranges and lilacs while his mother’s is a pleasant mix of delicate greens, blues, and greys. They create a firework display in front of him whenever they talk, varying in intensity depending on the nature of their conversation. He falls asleep to soft shades of blue and wakes up to freckles of purple.
(The albino peacocks produce varying shades of reds and violets, the house-elves create splashy tones that have the tendency to give him a headache when subjected to prolonged exposure.)
It’s only later, when he grows up, that he starts to discover the names of these colours, stops referring to them as various shades of the same six hues he knows and combinations of them. He comes to learn that his mother’s voice is composed of aquamarine notes, interspersed with azure, Maya blue, Bleu de France, teal, and harbour grey. When he tells her this, she gives him a curious look and makes him promise he would never tell anyone about these sensory experiences of his.
Tasting words and names is an experience that is more peculiar and, sometimes, less pleasant. As a child, the flavours are fairly simple: words like absinthe, python, moth, and thunder taste bitter, while words like cheery, rye, and cutlery taste sweet. The word father tastes like wet wood and the word mother tastes like the pumpkin juice the house-elves frequently serve him. When he hears the word Dementor, he develops a sudden overwhelming urge to vomit as the word tastes like rotten meat and mouldy bread. The meaning of the word sends a chill down his spine and he thinks his taste buds hit the mark with that one.
(Pansy, his childhood friend, has a name that tastes like steamed broccoli, and the taste is so odd that he never says her name when he fucks her, much to the witch’s disdain. It doesn’t help that her moans are coloured like coal.)
Harry Potter’s name is a mixture of sweet and smoky. The name Harry is sweet, much like cheery and rye, but he finds the sweetness nauseating. Potter, on the other hand, is smoky, so he settles with that and decides to call the boy the smoky name. The name Ron tastes like milk that’s been left out for hours, better poured down the drain than allowed to linger on the tongue. The surname isn’t much better, reminding him of the time his father had made him eat some blue cheese and he gagged it all out, leaving his tongue and throat burning with stomach acid. Every time he says the ginger’s name, his face automatically pulls into a sneer of disgust, his taste buds protesting the abuse.
During their first year, most everyone’s voices make him see light colours, but as they grow older the male voices turn darker shades and the females’ a softer hue. Some voices grate on his nerves, the explosion of colours too vivid, with no sense of harmony, and he often finds himself snapping at these people to shut up.
That’s when he becomes certain that this condition is unique to him. If they could see the colours he sees and if they could taste the flavours he tastes, they would all be snappish too.
Then there’s Hermione Granger.
Hermione reminds him of a summer trip his family had taken to France before his first year at Hogwarts. His father, ever the champion of luxurious delicacies and drinks, always insisting that he must develop a taste for the finer things, had insisted that his mother let him sample a glass of white wine.
His eleven-year-old tongue quickly detected hints of white peach, dill, and coconut, but they were overwhelmed by the bitterness of the alcohol. He had not appreciated the taste then, not even trying to hide his grimace to the amusement of his parents.
“When you’re older, you’ll learn to value the flavour of an excellent Sauvignon Blanc,” his father had reassured him.
Now the intoxicating flavour is back, every time he hears Potter call her name and every time it flashes through his mind. The taste of it never changes throughout the years, but his reaction to it does. Understandably, his younger self only felt disgust, but the older he got the more willing he became to accept that his father had been right all along—he’s learned to value the taste of Hermione’s name, learned to savour the white peach along with the dryness unique to the drink.
Sometimes, he could convince himself that he could get drunk just from her name.
Granger was safer, and even in his younger years he had enjoyed the taste of the surname on his tongue. Granger tastes like green apples. It’s the first thing he grabs at the dining table every morning for breakfast, and it’s a flavour that he chases after constantly. His immature self had found a way to say it every chance he could get, enjoying the sudden burst of citrus inside his mouth with every call of her name. He would resort to taunting, teasing her about being a swot, insulting her and making sure to use her last name by the end of every sentence.
He had been foolish, he soon realises, and so he stops saying her name to her face all the time lest people notice that he has developed an unhealthy habit out of it. He says it in private now, in the confines of the baths and in the privacy of his bedroom. At first it had only been so he could taste the green apples, so he could relive over and over again the tangy sweetness of her name, but later on it became less innocent.
(Later on, he started to favour the alcohol of her given name over the fruit of her surname whenever he would stroke his cock through his sleeping trousers.)
Unsurprisingly, the word Mudblood tastes like dirt in his mouth. When he first hurls it at her, the sensation is so intense that he almost gags before the weasel can even attempt his slug-eating spell at him. It repulses him, but she had insulted him and annoyed him to no end, and not even the sweetness of her name could soothe the headache he got from the bursts of vibrant colours her voice made him see whenever she opened her filthy mouth. Potions quickly became his favourite subject, not only because his Godfather favoured him, but because he almost never allows Granger to recite in class.
He finds that his annoyance slowly dissipates over the years as her voice goes from irritating and migraine-inducing to almost melodic and soothing. The colours stop being so harsh, become muted shades or pastel versions of themselves. He finds that in the splashes of colour he sees every minute of his waking hours, he looks forward to seeing hers.
The first time he realises her voice has ceased to be a source of annoyance for him is during their third year. It’s an odd thing to feel, to suddenly yearn to hear the colours of her voice, when two years ago he had wanted to bolt from every room she was occupying. That annoys him, too, because all his life he’s been told that his kind should rule the wizarding world and her kind should not even be welcomed, so who is she to drive him out of a room? Throughout their first and second year in Hogwarts, he would stay, not only because he had no choice but to stay in classes he shared with her, but because he’s a pureblood and she’s nothing but that dirty word that makes him gag.
The sound of her palm connecting with his face is the colour of autumn leaves, a bright orange thunder-like streak that flashes behind his closed eyes. Everything is a sensory blur, and he finds himself running away from her, from them, feeling the shame welling in his chest and the taste of her given name still heavy on his tongue.
The word foul tastes like oatmeal and the word evil tastes like cold chicken soup.
The yule ball is a ticket to a night of sensory overload. The music they dance to causes him to nearly go into a catatonic state, his head thrown back and his eyes following the lights bursting in and out with every note and every chord. Pansy has been clinging to him ever since he had first fucked her three weeks ago, and now he knows what a colossal mistake it had been to ask her to be his date to this ball. She has somehow convinced herself that they’re exclusively seeing each other, much to his disappointment, so he’s been planning to “break up” with her despite his father’s approval of their supposed relationship.
He’s thinking of a way to tell her the sex is good (not good enough really, considering the taste of her name and the colours of her voice) but he’s simply not looking for a relationship when he catches sight of her again. Immediately the spiked punch is replaced by Sauvignon Blanc and green apples at the thought of her name. She’s a periwinkle blue blur from his vantage point, but from what he had seen approximately an hour ago, she’s an absolute stunner tonight.
He turns his head so he can fully watch her, difficult as it may be with the pulsing colours interrupting his vision, and all but forgets the witch hanging on to his arm. He watches her dance with Krum, ignores Pansy’s demands for him to take her to the dancefloor, and then barely notices when his date finally lets go of his arms and stomps away from him. He watches Granger skip over to her friends, then he watches her get into a row with the weasel before promptly walking out of the ballroom.
None of her friends move to follow her, and he doesn’t know what possesses him to do it but he’s rising to his feet and moving towards the direction she had gone to. He keeps walking down the hallway until he spots her, snivelling in an alcove and using her hands to wipe at her face. When he gets close enough, he sees that her makeup is ruined, but it’s the fact that he doesn’t seem to mind that gives him pause.
“If you’re pining after the weasel, don’t you think you should have gone with him as your date?” he asks, startling her.
She jumps up and whips around to face him, wand already tightly held in one of her hands, tear tracks still marring her face. “Malfoy? Did you… did you follow me out here?”
He shrugs, moving to plop himself down to take her abandoned seat on the alcove. “I think I may be drunk,” he admits, the colours still blurring his vision and the word alcove tastes like garlic in his mouth.
She eyes him, her gaze darting back and forth between him and the empty hallway. He can practically hear her calculating her next steps, can hear the cogs in her brain working double time to assess the conundrum in front of her.
He cringes, the taste of residual beeswax coating his tongue at the thought of the word conundrum.
“How can you be drunk? Alcohol’s not allowed—”
“We spiked the punch,” he cuts her off, reaching for the flask hidden in the inner pockets of his robes. She stiffens, her wand raising ever so slightly to point at him, but he just retrieves the flask and waves it at her. “Paranoid.”
Granger watches him return the flask and fold his wandless hands on his lap where she can see them. “Well, it was very bizarre chatting with you, Malfoy.” With that, she turns to walk away, the floaty periwinkle blue robes moving with the sway of her hips.
When he returns to his dorm room, he places about half a dozen silencing charms on his bed, draws the curtains closed, and for the very first time, wanks himself off to images of Hermione Granger.
They’re prefects, and he should have expected this to happen. Sooner or later they would get paired to do patrols together, he had known this, but he had been foolish enough to neglect to prepare for it. He knows that her voice will no longer make his head throb, has been familiar with the shades of her still-swotty voice for more than two years now.
The castle is quiet, and his eyes are blessedly free of colours bursting around his vision as he and Granger walk the castle grounds side by side. Neither of them speaks, but the silence isn’t antagonistic. Last month, they had been paired up for an Astronomy assignment, and although everyone in the bloody castle had been surprised by the pairing and had expected things to blow up, they miraculously did not.
Granger may be an insufferable know-it-all as his Godfather had put it, but her diligence, as he’s come to learn, perfectly complements his occasional bouts of perfectionism. He had fully expected them to buttheads, get into rows as bad as the one that had landed him that nasty slap back in third year, but they had ended up working quite well with each other. By the end of the two week-long assignment, he had to begrudgingly admit to himself that his father had been wrong to accuse her of cheating to get good grades.
It had hurt his pride and he had ignored her completely after that. He only resumed “talking” to her last week, when she had come up to him to ask if he was finished with the DADA book lying on his table in the library. He had wanted to say no, tell her to bugger off and find her own copy, but had found himself gesturing for her to take it.
The witch had instead taken the seat in front of him and began working on her own essay right there, in his space. He had floundered for a good minute or two, just staring at her furiously scribbling on a piece of parchment, getting ink everywhere. Nobody would have seen her sitting there with him, his little corner hidden from the heavy traffic of the library. After a while he had given up trying to understand what the swot was hoping to achieve by infringing upon his peace so he had resolutely returned to working on his Transfiguration homework.
When she had finally gotten up to leave, he noted that it was just a little over ten minutes before dinner time. “Thanks for letting me use the book, Malfoy.”
From what he can tell, the school isn’t abuzz with gossip surrounding the two of them so he can only assume that she had told no one of their little study session, nor the two that had followed the first. He doesn’t know what they’re doing but he knows that he doesn’t mind it as much as he’d like to fool himself into thinking.
“Draco.”
He knows the taste of his name, of course. Draco tastes like an expensive brand of chocolate that his mother had indulged him with when he was a kid, and Malfoy tastes like leather. The fact that his name tastes like chocolate had been the only redeeming quality he found out of having sex with Pansy. Every time she moaned his name, the taste of chocolate would make the flashes of coal slightly worth the trouble.
Hermione’s voice doesn’t bother him anymore. What does bother him is the fact that he has spent months imagining what colour her moans would be and what colour his name would take when it leaves her lips.
Now he knows the answer to one of those things. It’s salmon pink, much like what her other notes sound like, the ones she would produce when talking about a subject only she knows about in class and the ones that would leave her lips when something particularly good happens to her.
He can’t imagine a reason why she’s speaking his name like that, but he turns his eyes to her and gestures for her to keep speaking. He can only hope that she doesn’t notice the blood rushing to fill his cheeks in the darkness.
“Why did you save me last year?”
The question catches him by surprise, so much so that he stops walking and only stares at her for a long moment. He instantly knows that she’s talking about the world cup, about the warning he had given the trio. Slowly, his features harden, and he feels a scowl replacing his baffled expression. “Is that why you’ve been hanging around me? You think we can become what, friends, because you assumed that I had saved you that night?”
She doesn’t immediately respond, instead taking a step closer to him. He feels his chest tighten at the proximity, every word out of his father’s mouth about pureblood superiority suddenly swimming through his head and causing an explosion of varied flavours to occur on his tongue. She’s so close, close enough that he can see the freckles dotting her nose, close enough that he can detect the scent of coconuts from her hair.
“I didn’t assume anything, Malfoy. You saved me that night.”
Aunt Bellatrix trains him, and she becomes fascinated with his condition when she learns about it from his mind. It occupies her interests enough that she doesn’t stumble upon the thoughts of her, and he’s so frightened by the possibility of her finding out that he’s been lusting over a muggle-born that it speeds up the process.
He’s always been a quick study, but there’s nothing like the fear of your infatuation being exposed to your deranged aunt to really get someone to master a spell.
He had expected that the dark mark would affect his condition, make the colours duller and the flavours blander. He’s right—once the ugly black thing gets branded on his skin, he can instantly tell that the colours will be nearly transparent now, the various hues no longer as defined as before and no longer obstructing his vision. His aunt tells him it’s a good thing, as he wouldn’t want those silly hallucinations coming in the way of a successful Avada or Crucio. The thought of the Dark Lord’s name no longer brings up an overpowering seaweed flavour, the taste subdued now.
When his mother plays the piano for him, the colours are still brighter and more pronounced than when people speak, but it’s no longer a fireworks display. She looks at him with a forlorn expression, one that he hadn’t expected but can understand because, as much as hated the migraines he got from those colours, they had been his. They had been bright, sometimes blinding, sometimes erratic enough that he feared he would go into a seizure, sometimes causing him to miss the target of a hex, but they had been his.
With his Occlumency walls safely in place, he allows himself to think of her name. The Sauvignon Blanc isn’t nearly as potent as before, the flavour of the green apples no longer as crisp, but he tells himself he can only be thankful that it’s still there.
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In the General’s Bed - Regency!Hux x Reader - Ch. 6 - To resent a General
A/N - Hello, sweethearts! Here’s chapter 6 of ITGB. This chapter has a lemony scene, a bit more detailed then the others in this story xD I hope you like this chapter, it’s one of my fav, even more because it entails a bit of shift in this story and what I’m planning for future chapters xD Anyways, thanks for leaving notes and reblogging. I appreciate your feedback very much.
Story Summary: The General is cornered… Upon returning from a successful campaign in Battle of Waterloo, Armitage Hux knows he has no excuses left; he must produce the much-needed heir. The problem is, when the two of you parted five years ago, it was not in the best of terms. Now, he may not find his wife, you, so willing as he first expected, nor keen on taking part in any of his political games. [Hux x Reader – Hux x You – Regency AU].
Warnings for the entire story: Will contain at times; graphic violence, sex, drugs and manipulation, coarse language and OOCness.
AO3 Tags: Regency Era; Alternate Universe; Alternate Story; Alternate Universe - Historical; Arranged Marriage; Politics; War; Napoleonic Wars; England - 1815; Married Couple; OOCness; Smut
Wordcount: 7898
PREVIOUS CHAPTER
“THREE… TWO… ONE… THERE YOU GO, LITTLE LORD.”
You smiled as Lux positioned his chubby hands over the piano keys and played the brief song you had just taught him. He was a smart kid and learned fast. Part of you would rather if he did not catch onto things so quickly, as to delay his imminent parting as much as possible.
“Well done,” you said, before pressing your lips lightly to his forehead. You knew Rae Sloane was watching everything with her attentive eyes as she read a book in the nearby ottoman. “Well done.”
As he continued to play, you let yourself think of Hux’s words. Of his whispered confession last night.
My damned father made sure I will only have access to the total sum of my inheritance only when I have an heir of my own.
You remembered you reacted with a loud What? and that you told yourself there was nothing to be surprised about. Brendol Hux would do anything in his power to undermine his own son — flesh, blood… those were notions the previous General did not give a damn about. If he could jeopardize Armitage’s standing, he certainly would.
The very thought made you bit your bottom lip in anger. You did not know which father was worse, if yours — with his prejudice and blatant disregard of women — or Brendol — with his dubious character and… well, you could also say blatant disregard of women and his own flesh and blood.
There were days in which you were grateful for having barely interacted with the man himself. And in most of them, you pitied Hux for having had to put up with him for almost three decades.
Bad character aside, Brendol’s actions posed a problem for both of you. Armitage had the money, he just could not use it until…
You sighed.
And recalled Rae’s own words to you.
…give him a damned heir…
Well, it seemed now you had no other choice. It was either give him a damned heir or watch him making a deal with Lady Carise — the devil herself. Borrowing money from a banker was completely out of the picture.
“Mama… Mama!”
You were startled as Lux’s voice reached you. He had placed both of his tiny hands on your face, directing your attention to him. The piano keys — his recent fixation — completely forgotten.
“I am terribly sorry, Little Lord. I am…” You stopped yourself before you could lie. Rae cast a glance at you from her book, eyes narrowed. “Very much distracted today.”
He nodded, but his face hid nothing of his disappointment. You chewed your bottom lip; overcome with guilty, but feeling your mind racing with possibilities all the same. You had to find a way to get you out of this situation — to repay for his… understanding. To name it as kindness would be a bit too much.
The fact is… Hux had a meeting with his investors today — one in which he would be accompanied by Lord Mitaka — and only God could know what their reaction would be as soon as they knew how little profit the Arkanis Brewery would give them in the next few months — it is, if Hux found a way to pay for his debts. You admitted that in such devastating scenario, the was the fastest and safest way to get out of this predicament, without leading him to compromise his candidacy for Prime Minister, would be to accept Lady Carise’s money.
Nevertheless, you would have no way out if you did not get pregnant soon. Well, needless to say you were trying, but there had to be something else — something faster and precise — that could be done.
With a defeated sigh, you messed his ginger hair. He ran his fingers through his tresses and stared at you with a scowl — to which you did your best to muffle your laughter. He was just too adorable when he was mad!
“Mama! And Lord Hux?”
“What about Lord Hux, Little Lord?” You pressed a lovingly kiss to his cherub cheeks and watched with amusement as he wiped his face with the back of his hand. He was indeed mad at you.
Rae Sloane cast a glance at you; one that showed that in spite of her disapproval of Lux’s inappropriate behavior, she was still at least a bit amused with his frustration.
“The violin, Mama!”
Ah yes…
He had been talking excitedly for a good few minutes — a few days now — about Hux’s violin — you were still trying to wrap your head around the fact Lux had actually seen his uncle playing the instrument. It had been years since you last saw him near it — and you barely heard anything he said.
You sighed.
“I know you want to play violin, but listen to me, I myself don’t know how to play it and I’m not sure Lord Hux has the time to teach you.”
His face fell.
It was obvious he had developed some sense of… admiration to your husband. He worshiped him — honestly, Lux was a very lonely child and he had the tendency of looking up to anyone who paid him a measly few minutes of attention.
You left the bench and kneeled in front of him, adjusting his clothes and bringing him closer to you by his waistcoat.
“But I can keep teaching you how to play the piano.”
He smiled. Begrudgingly, but he did.
“Now?”
You were ready to answer the both of you should get ready to have lunch and later — after you got some well needed time to send a message to your contact in The Times — you could teach him a thing or two about the piano, but you were interrupted by the sound of someone opening the door of the drawing room.
Looking up, you were surprised to see your husband crossing the threshold. The boy beamed up as he saw Hux and he quickly left your embrace to run towards his new idol.
You rolled your eyes.
“I want your violin.”
“Lux Dameron!” Rae admonished him; her voice was harsh and hid nothing of her disapproval. “That’s no proper way to ask for anything.”
He lowered his head, ashamed and muttering a small, feeble apology. You could barely hear him saying I’m sorry, Lord Hux.
Armitage, however, did not seem to mind the boy’s lack of etiquette. Blue eyes focused on you — and the intensity of his stare made you shiver; it felt as if he could read your thoughts and what you were planning… or thinking about planning… —, he dismissed Lux’s apology, “I’ll teach you how to play it one of these days.”
Lux looked up at him with adoration in his chestnut eyes. Your husband was doing a hell of good job of turning the boy against you and Rae. Firstly, he promised to teach him how to ride a horse and now… he promised violin lessons.
With a sharp intake of breath, Rae fixed her dark eyes on him, making Lux hide behind Hux’s long legs.
“Really?”
Hux nodded, dismissing Rae’s stare as if it meant nothing. You wondered how many times she terrorized him in his childhood — and how many times she did not act on those stares, if Hux treated it so lightly. “Now, you must go with Lady Rae and get ready for lunch.”
“Yes!”
He was so excited at the prospect of spending more time with Hux, he paid Rae little to no attention — a fatal mistake if your memory did not fail you; Rae would probably ground him for the entire week and only you knew how terrible Lux’s mood got whenever he was banned from visiting the stables and his beloved friend horses, but at the moment, he did not seem to even remember how devilish Lady Sloane could be.
Accepting her hand, he followed her out of the drawing room humming to a childish song. You were ready to trail after them, when you felt your husband’s hand enclosing around your wrist.
“I never allowed you to leave, Lady Hux.”
A happy sigh left you as he brought your body closer to his and his lips fell upon yours in a slow, seductive kiss. He entangled his fingers in your hair — and if he did not know how to drive you mad with want, you would have scolded him for undoing your perfect hairdo — and angled your head for his better pleasure; his tongue running enticingly over the rim of your lips.
Placing your hands on his shoulders, and then slowly sliding them into his ginger locks — you almost expected him to trap your hands between his, but this time he did not seem to mind a disheveled appearance —, you gladly let him in, stroking your own tongue boldly against his.
He let you go after what seemed a good few minutes and pressed a kiss to your temples. You fought to reign in your breathing as he lowered his forehead to yours.
“I know what you’re thinking…” You wetted your lips nervously. “He isn’t a Dameron and you dislike seeing him being addressed as such.”
There was a minute of silence as you caressed his face.
“No. He isn’t,” he replied as he put some space between the two of you.
A tired sigh left your lips.
You could have pointed out he could never be a Hux — not if he wanted to become Prime Minister in the near future — and that he once hated his family name, but you understood what he meant. After Brendol passed away, the name Hux gained a new face: his — and later on yours —, and with it a new blank chapter; one he was willing to write differently, for the sake of his new family. And Lux is family.
Part of you wondered if the desire to recognize Lux as family came from the desire to right his father’s — and yours too — wrongs. If not for you and Rae, his fate would be… probably worse than Hux’s.
However, you both knew that if anyone just dreamed about Lux being his nephew and your little brother it would be the end of his aspirations. Your standing in the town would be compromised and no sane King would approve of him as the Head of the Parliament. And that position meant a great deal to Hux.
You walked to him, until you invaded his personal space.
“Would you rather if he were your son?” you whispered against his lips, but as soon as the words were out, you realized how stupid that question was.
He chose silence.
You swallowed.
“How did it go?” you said, trying to change the topic and get some control over the situation. “What did the board say?”
It was all it took for him to break apart. Again.
You pursed your lips, trying not to let his actions get to you so easily. It was obvious he did not like to be further inquired on his meeting with his investors. It must have gone horribly if he was so against talking about it. That… or he did not like to talk about business at all.
Part of you understood where he came from. Most husbands did not talk to their wives about… Well, they simply did not talk. Most wives were there just for the show. Very few of them ran their estates and even fewer understood about business and politics. Even if they were interested in such topics, it was expected of them to shy away from them. Except for the Ton politics, noble ladies… Wealthy families, it is… they did not — should not — waste their precious time with the intricacies of business and income… They just… spent money as if there was no tomorrow and in case they lost it, well… they simply gained it back through marriages.
An accomplished lady knew about dancing, playing the piano, embroidery… but never about income and basic taxation. And the few men who understood the intricacies of the business world, probably came from the lower classes, working class, as Armitage’s family did. Your father, for one, knew nothing of business. He ran his estate with the same regard he showed your mother: which is to say, almost none. When he realized he spent all his wealth on courtesans back in London, he decided to regain it at the gambling table.
But you were no trophy wife. You refused to be. You would not back down. Sitting beside him on the setee, you took his hand between yours. Slowly, you traced the gold band on his finger.
“What did they say, Armitage?”
He narrowed his eyes at you; a clear warning. You should tread carefully when looking for answers, pressing him would not do. You rolled your eyes. You were not scared in the least.
“We’re not having this conversation, Lady Hux.”
You snorted.
“Well then, Lord Hux, perhaps you’d like to tell me what you’ll tell Lady Sindian.”
He inhaled sharply at your words.
“Or you’re not having this conversation with me either?”
“Careful, Lady Hux.”
You knew you were playing with fire, but you were not about to back down. Not now. Not ever. You told him you were in this for real — you told him that if he wanted to be Prime Minister, he would need you and you stood by that. If he wanted to get out of this debt, he would have to start trusting you.
If he thought you would not understand about his business, the least he could do is to tell you about how he would approach Lady Sindian. He would have to be smarter than her with his excuses — a simply refusal would not do.
You knew and he knew Lady Carise was dying to get back at your family — at you — for years now. If not having you pressing your father to let you marry Armitage, she probably would be your stepmother now… A Marquise. Having Lord Hux owing her a large sum of money seemed the right way to go. It did not seem to you she would let such matter go that easily. Unless… Unless she had something else in mind to use against the two of you. Something bigger. Something better.
That’s why he would have to be smooth. Lady Carise was not just any woman. Just like you, she did not bow to other men — she did not take no for answer.
You were ready to inquire him further, when you felt him bringing your wrist to his mouth. Your heart quickened as got a brief taste of your skin. A gasp left you as he pulled you to him, forcing you to straddle his hips. His lips quickly found yours in a searing kiss. You knew what he was doing and even though you thoroughly disliked it, you would let him have his secrets.
For now.
You woke up later with a strong headache.
There was no need to look for Hux’s watch-pocket to know it was late afternoon — he had left you spent, and you slept more than you usually did whenever you took an afternoon nap — and that you had gone by without lunch once more. No wonder your head felt like exploding, yet you felt no hungrier than before. To your surprise, he was still by your side. But, this time, instead of relief, you were disappointed.
You left the comfort of his arms and rolled on your back.
“Ugh… Why is it so clear? And who’s playing Schubert?”
As expected, there was no reply from his part. There was no need to. In spite of Rae’s misgivings about the piano, she was quite proficient at it. She put many of the accomplished ladies of the Ton to shame with her skills — after five years living with you and seeing you practice, she became quite fond of the instrument, even though she would not admit it.
Since the two of you disappeared to your chambers before lunch, you imagined she would take it upon herself to keep Lux busy and out of your hair. By now, you thought the poor boy was probably sleeping in the setee, while Rae played to her heart’s content.
You closed your eyes — as if it could relieve the pain and ease the guilt —, but they quickly snapped open when Armitage moved over you, his nose touching yours and his breath caressing your face.
He kissed you.
Slowly.
Sweetly.
A mere brush of lips.
“You worry too much.”
With a gasp, you let him in, stroking your own tongue against his. He let you dominate it — dominate him —, not caring once more that you had slid your hands between his ginger locks. His fingers traveled the extension of your legs lightly, prying them open, so he could slide between them. He did not stop until he reached your hips, applying the slightest of pressures.
The kiss did not last long. He let go of your lips and moved downwards, placing open-mouthed kisses on every inch of exposed skin. Your breath grew heavier as he paid thorough attention to your throat at the same time his hands traveled upwards, in a quest for your breasts.
“We’ll be late for dinner.”
He paid little no regard to what you said. And in spite of what you said, you, too, could not care less about your lateness. Even the melancholic sound of the piano downstairs did not deter you from your quest for the astounding heights of pleasure you could reach together. A moan left you as you tried to move your hips, seeking the much-needed friction. He was so hard, and you were… so ready to take him, you moved your hand from his shoulders and tried to reach his cock… Just to have your wrists trapped. You grunted in disappointment, but he merely lowered his head to your chest and pressed light kisses to the undersides of your breasts. Quite but never touching you were you needed most.
“I won’t beg.”
His lips tilted in the shadow of a knowing smirk.
A gasp escaped you as he placed a small kiss over your nipples. First, on the right breast and then the left. He did not take his time to worship them, however. He kept on lowering his kisses, going past your ribcages, your belly, your navel, till he reached your hipbone.
You pressed your lids together, waiting anxiously for what was to come. For a man who did not enjoy small talk, he surely knew how to put his mouth to better uses than to those of meaningless discourse.
Squirming in his hold, you tried to get your hands free — to fist the sheets, to grab onto his hair —, but he did not allow you to. His lips ghosted over the insides of your thighs — it was so light you could barely feel it. You arched your back, lifting your hips — offering yourself to him. He ran the tip of his tongue over your clit.
“Yes! Gods, yes!”
With a smirk, he drew away. His lips glistening with your wetness. You bit your own bottom lip, frustrated beyond measure.
“You won’t have me begging.”
He ran his lips over your left calf, letting go of your wrists — to which you checked for marks and thanked the old-fashioned use of gloves; the General had a penchant for leaving you marked. With his left hand he held your leg close to his mouth and lazily pumped himself with his right hand.
You inhaled sharply at the sight. It was indeed a feast to the eyes. Armitage knew how to please your every sense — vision, hearing, smell, taste, touch… none was left unattended for too long.
“Touch yourself.”
You bit your bottom lip, unsure. It is not to say that in the five years you were apart, you never sought to pleasure yourself — but to have him watching you was completely different. The intensity in his eyes made you warm all over. Your lids fluttered closed as you reached down, tracing your own thighs, approaching your center very slowly… outlining your lips… testing your wetness… quite but not entering yourself, as you knew he wanted.
“Look at me,” he whispered against your calf; his lips were almost on your knees, kissing the underside of it. “Keep your eyes open. I want to see them when you come.”
His words had you breathing deeply through your nose.
You opened your eyes, looking at his face and then sliding down… to the path of ginger hair leading to his engorged, beautiful shaft… Your mouth watered — you moaned — at the sight of precum oozing from his head.
Under his attentive gaze, you slid one finger inside of you and then a second; the heel of your hand applied a sweet pleasure to your clit. More than once, you thought about closing your eyes — the intensity in his blue orbs too much for you —, but as you lost yourself to the growing pleasure, you realized you could not shift your attention from how he stroked his shaft, timing it to the rhythm of the music. The feel of his lips, inching closer and closer to your center forced you to keep your eyes wide open and focused on him.
As the piece of music reached a crescendo — and you could swear you would never be able to play or listen to Schubert without reliving this very afternoon —, so did his movements — and yours too. Your breath grew heavier, beads of sweat pooled in the valley of your breasts, sliding down your skin. You were close and he knew it.
Armitage lowered himself on the bed and placed one of your legs over his shoulders; your hands were put aside. His heavenly mouth ghosted over your clit, his warm breath making you clench around nothing. This time, the thought of not begging flew off your mind as you uttered a broken please.
With a smug smirk, he took your clit between his lips, sliding two of his fingers inside you. Losing no time, he looked for that sweet spot that would have you singing for him as he worked you towards an earth-shattering orgasm.
As it hit you — just a marvelous, indescribable feeling that had you arching your back off the bed and your eyes filling with unshed tears —, you sought his hair — to keep him in place or to pull him apart; you were so sensitive you thought you could not take any more stimulation —, instead, you felt the fingers of his left hand entwining with yours as he continued to lap at you; allowing you to ride your orgasm fully.
The piece came to a diminuendo and so did the movement of his fingers and his tongue against you, until they completely stopped. A deep, contented sigh left you as you looked at him through half lidded eyes. Your legs were trembling; you were so weak you thought that if not for being laid over the mattress you would fall on your knees — exactly like last time when he ate you out against the door of his study. The mere remembrance made your face hot.
With the final notes, he entered you without warning.
Both of you gasped.
He took the opportunity to slide his tongue inside your mouth — letting you taste yourself. Part of you expected him to give you a moment to adjust to his size or at least to recuperate from the last orgasm. Instead, he set a punishing rhythm against your hips.
It did not hurt — and even if it did, you learned how to find pleasure in a bit of pain — but you were so sensible, the second wave of pleasure found you without voice. Your nails punctured his flesh as he sought his own release.
He was so worked up, it did not take him long to abandon the timed strokes. His mouth was against your throat, and broken moans and grunts escaped through his opened lips. You brought his hand to your breasts and he kneaded the pearls between his fingers, with his right hand he stroked your clit in a circular movement, to the point you were sobbing.
As your second orgasm came to an end, his own started. He pressed a kiss to your breasts, and you pulled onto his hair till a grimace of pain took over his features — exactly like he enjoyed. He grunted your name; his eyes fell closed as his hips jerked forward one last time.
It felt like ages had gone by as he emptied himself inside you. His lips worshipped the column of your throat and his hand travelled over your thighs in a slow, sensual caress as you both tried to recover.
His breath became normal before yours. He kept on placing small open-mouthed kisses to your glistening skin, whispering words you could not understand — or care less. Your eyes were heavy, and you were so tired all you wanted was to doze off at least a bit. He softened still inside of you, but you were so comfortable in such position, you did not want him to move an inch.
He did not.
“You should get ready.” He captured your lips lightly. You sighed happily. “I’ll bring you something to eat.”
“Thank you, my love,” you whispered against his mouth. You pressed a light kiss to his lips, but he did not kiss you back. Your words had him drawing apart — it was impossible not to be aware that it was all because you addressed him in a novelettish manner.
Armitage slid out of you and sat on his side of the bed.
You bit your bottom lip.
He stared ahead. His mind, however, was distant. You closed your eyes, running your hands over your face, as if it would just erase what you just said; you heavily regretted your form of endearment.
“I didn’t mean to upset you.”
His impossibly blue eyes snapped back to you. He breathed deeply through his nose.
“Think not of it. My mind is just busy.”
His words — so detached — coupled with his facial expression — so perfectly schooled —, made you flinch. You bit your bottom lip, realizing what you did not want to acknowledge before: whenever the two of you made love, his heart was not into it. He enjoyed the physical act to its fullest — he ensured you did too —, but like he said… his mind — and heart — was elsewhere.
You chewed the inside of your cheek and sat on the bed, wrapping the sheets wrapped around your body. You seized the moment to introduce a topic you were dying to discuss with him a while ago.
“We should sell the estate in Southampton.”
His answer came quicker than you expected; his voice firm — not loud or authoritative, “Absolutely not.”
Coupled with how still his body went, you quickly understood he did not want to talk further about the topic. It did not mean you would concede defeat so easily, though.
“Please.”
You sought his fingers. He caught your wrist, running his thumb over your palm. He brought it to his lips, bestowing upon your knuckles a small kiss.
Biting your bottom lip, you focused your attention on his face. The slight tilt of his lips indicated he knew what he was doing to you and what exactly were your thoughts concerning it.
You snatched your hand away, focusing on the present issue. You spent a great deal of the afternoon being distracted — fooled — by him. You dismissed it before, letting him have his way with you, but now, you could not avoid the politics and the sensitive topics concerning his imminent bankruptcy.
“Hear me out.”
“My answer is final, Lady Hux.”
The fact that he did not call you by your name indicated he really did not — and would not — want to discuss such topic any further. Your shoulders slumped, but you did not concede defeat. Not so quickly.
“That’s my house and therefore my decision to make.”
He pursed his lips into a thin line. It was obvious he was getting tired of it. Getting tired of your insistence — it was clear he was not in the least inclined to share a few things with you. His business was one of them.
And honestly, he was not wrong. Actually, he was — but not legally speaking. According to British law, you were his property to do as he pleased and talking or not about business as his decision to make. Selling your house was his decision to make — not yours.
How you hated being a woman most of times!
“Armitage.”
“(Y/N)”.
You rolled your eyes. He was going to make this hard for you — he could be very difficult when he wanted to. Displeased, you watched as he rose from the bed and slipped inside his robe. Shoulders down, your mind raced with possible arguments as you waited for him to go fetch his cigar and a glass of brandy.
It was needless to ask for him to pour some for yourself. As you were trying to conceive, anything alcoholic was out of the picture. And yet, you could feel your mouth watering at the mere thought of the amber liquid running down your throat.
After a few minutes went by, it became strikingly obvious he chose not to return to the bedroom. You slipped inside your robe, already sure he would admonish you for leaving the bed — the family’s physician had recommended for you to lie down after the two of you engaged in sexual relations; according to him, it would increase the chances of fertilization. Rae had rolled her eyes at the suggestion, but you were not one to disobey doctor’s orders that easily when there was so much at stake.
However…
This was an entirely different situation.
You were no expert when it came to finances, but after managing your father’s estate for five years, it was crystal clear the situation at the brewery was quite complicated — and it was you putting it mildly. He needed money — a large sum of it — and although a pregnancy and an heir would solve the problem easier than making a deal with Lady Carise, you were not so naïve as to think you would get pregnant that quick.
For that, you would have to count on luck and that was not something either could afford right now. That’s why you should convince him to sell your summer manor. That was the fastest way to solve the money problem without recurring to Lady Carise and her… less than adequate intentions towards your husband.
The mere thought of the woman made your entire body shudder.
You did not trust the her. You never did. Not even when she was to marry your father and become your stepmother. Something about her smelled fishy. And, God, it was in no way jealousy.
There was just something about her… that simply did not sit well with you.
And when your guts told you to stay away from something or someone... You would rather pay attention to it.
You dismissed such thoughts as you tightened the knot at your waist and ran your fingers through your messed hair — in case you met a servant in your way. Nevertheless, there was no need to go that far, for he was in the anteroom. Back turned to you, he exhaled the smoke, before bringing the cigar back to his lips.
Carefully, you approached him, encircling your arms around his waist. He stilled in your embrace but did not move away from you. With a relieved sigh, you tightened your hold and leaned your forehead against his back.
For a moment, all you could hear was the cadenced beating of his heart. It was calm and so very comforting. He placed his cigar in the cinder-box and entwined his hand with yours. It did not take him long to turn around in your embrace and face you.
“We’re not selling the Southampton manor, (Y/N).”
You could have asked why, but you were too tired for that. Suddenly, all you wanted as to get some sleep and forget that disastrous afternoon — dinner be damned. Aside the fact he could tell you he had a monetary problem — more likely he did not have a choice to begin with — it was obvious he did not want you having a part in solving it.
“I refuse to be the kind of husband that relies on his wife’s heritage to solve his problems.”
You snorted, ready to pretend you did not hear that. Or ready to ask him how it could be so different to borrow Lady Carise’s money, but not yours. After five years living only with Rae Sloane — a remarkably independent woman — and Lux — and a few servants, of course, but they would not meddle in how you decided to run the house or your life — it was easy to forget how men behaved and how societal expectations weighed heavily on their shoulders. Truth is, Rae taught how much free a woman can be making her own decisions and you were not ready to give up on that.
Instead, you settled on, “I don’t want that heritage. It has brought me nothing but pain.” You realized your mistake as soon as he broke away from you, but now… Now you could not back down. You looked at him, at his impossibly blue eyes as you continued, “The happiest moments I have in that house are related to Lux.” And Rae, of course. But that was a given. Honestly, even if there were happier memories from the house, it was not something you could so selfishly hold onto in times of need. And this very situation configured as such, in your opinion. You just had to make Hux see that.
He nodded…
…and you breathed slowly…
…relieved…
He was finally seeing things your way.
“The manor in Southampton is not to be sold. That’s final.”
Oh, dear God!
With that, he brought the cigar back to his lips, his eyes focused on the quickly darkening sky outside. “Now, go get ready. I’ll wait you downstairs.”
Seething with anger, you bit your bottom lip, but decided not to give him the answer you desperately wanted. He was right, you should get ready. You should leave his presence and stay alone for a while, least you wanted to end up killing him.
“Like this, Mama?”
You pressed a small kiss to Lux’s forehead and nodded. You were a bit distracted, but more focused on him than that morning.
“Yes, exactly like this, Little Lord.” A small smile blossomed on your lips as you ran your fingers through his ginger hair. He was very enthusiastic about you having dinner with him and later keeping him company as he played the piano. You dismissed his tutoress, giving her an earlier respite.
Part of you — the childish part — was dying to know how Hux reacted to your absence. Even though the Lady of the House could indulge in the luxury of having breakfast in her chambers, dinner was an entirely different story. And part of you — the part that was trying to behave like the grown woman you were — just wanted some peace and the opportunity to sort your thoughts.
Spending some time with Lux gave you exactly what you were looking for. Not to mention, you felt bad for neglecting him during a great deal of the last few days.
“Promise me that if you ever get married, you will listen to your partner.”
He stopped playing and removed his chubby hands from the keys. He looked at you with a confused face, as if he had no idea what you were talking about — and how could he? Lux was just four — sometimes it was easy to forget.
“Never mind.” You placed both of his hands back on the keys and instructed, “Keep going, you’re doing great!”
Lux beamed up at your words — a genuine smile curving his lips and highlighting his dimples. You felt tempted to pinch his cheeks, but you knew he would get mad at you. And he was doing so well, you did not want to distract him right now.
“Rae is no fun,” he commented when he got bored of the melody you were teaching him.
You smiled once more.
Yes.
He was right.
Rae is no fun.
“Adults are no fun,” you commented, placing both hands on the piano and inventing another melody just so he could copy you and thus you could extend your time together — even though it was way past his bedtime.
“No! You are fun, Mama!” His vehemence made you laugh a little.
“Lord Hux would probably say I’m no adult at all.”
And with your recent behavior, you could say he was right. And as soon as he knew what you did, he would be even sure of it. You bit your bottom lip, expecting him to chew you alive next day when he read the newspaper tomorrow morning.
No.
You did the right thing.
If he was not willing to see things your way, you just had to force him to. You had done it before, and it worked. There was no way it would not work now.
“You should not speak for myself.”
Both you and Lux looked up to see the figure of your husband leaning against the threshold. He unfolded his arms and approached you in a few, firm strides.
“Lord Hux!” Lux exclaimed, shifting on his seat. He moved closer to you, giving space for Armitage to sit beside him.
“Lord Hux,” you acknowledged his presence with pursed lips. Not keen on talking to him in front of a small child — you still resented him for his behavior earlier —, you moved your fingers over the keys.
He seemed to think of it as an offer, for he, too, accompanied you in the music. After years of watching him playing his violin, you almost forgot how proficient he was at playing the piano.
Biting your bottom lip, you removed your fingers from the keys and rose to your feet. Still playing, Armitage looked at you with could almost pass as a surprised expression. You knew better.
“Let’s go, Lux,” you said, outstretching your hand. “It’s way past your bedtime.”
“But Mama—
“Lux!” You did not let him finish his plea. At some point, you knew you would give in. “Come.”
“But I don’t wanna go,” he pleaded again, his intense chestnut eyes shining with unshed tears. He looked at Armitage, trying to get him on his side.
You sighed.
“Leave him be,” Hux said in an even tone, even if firmly. “I’ll get him to bed later.”
“No.”
If he was not willing to share things with you, you would not share your authority over Lux. Besides your unwillingness to do as your husband said, it was very late, and Lux was tired. If he was irritated at the mere possibility of going to bed, it was because it was way past his time to sleep.
Rubbing his eyes, Lux climbed down the seat and walked to you, not taking your hand, but not completely dismissing it either. As soon as you opened the door, you spotted the governess walking down the corridor.
She stopped as she saw you and subconsciously adjusted her clothes. If you were not so mad at Hux, you would probably have smiled at her gesture.
“May I help you, Your Ladyship?”
You shook your head, but your husband was behind you, a hand on your shoulder as he forced you to step back to his arms. His hand over yours prevented you from breaking apart.
“Take Lux to his room.”
“Yes, my Lord,” she replied, offering Lux a hand. The boy quickly took it, casting a final glance at both of you. “Come, Lord Lux.”
As the two of them disappeared in the dim lighted corridor, you stepped away from Hux’s embrace.
“If you kindly excuse me.”
Before you could even leave the room, he had closed the door and pressed you against it. You inhaled sharply but refused to look at him over your shoulder.
“Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”
His imperative tone made you snap. You shifted in his embrace and raised your chin, “Why should I talk to you when you don’t show the same consideration to me?”
He did not reply, not immediately. With the back of his hand, he traced your jawline and with his thumb he traced your bottom lip.
“I hate you.”
“I thought we were past that,” he replied lowering his face to yours. As soon as you felt his breath so close to your mouth, you turned your face away from him, letting his lips brush your cheeks.
“We have never been past that.” You moved from under his arms and put some distance between the two of you. He was ready to follow you when you said, “Don’t touch me without my permission.”
He stopped immediately, his hands falling to his sides.
You looked away, your eyes full of unshed tears.
“I thought we were on talking terms now, but it seems I was mistaken.” You drew in a sharp breath. Pressing your fingers firmly against the fabric of your dress, you raised your chin again, “A word of advice, Lord Hux, if you want to convince the King to appoint you as Prime Minister—
His snort made you stop momentarily. However, there were a few things to be said, and be damned his unwillingness to hear them.
“If you want to be Prime Minister,” you repeated; your eyes narrowed at him. “You should start talking to your wife. Your opponents will constantly do their best to put us against each other and I can’t simply take your side every time if I don’t know what’s going on through your head.”
He approached in purposeful strides. He forced you to release the fabric of your dress and placed both of your hands on his shoulders.
“They will undoubtedly do that,” he said, running his thumb over your cheeks. “And for your and Lux’s sake, you should be ready to turn on me if the time comes.”
You furrowed your brows.
What was he talking about?
“A word of advice, Lady Hux.” He mimicked you, running his thumb over your bottom lip to prevent you from biting it. “Perhaps you should watch whom you make alliances with. Perhaps siding with His Highness won’t bring the expected results.”
Your eyed widened.
“It’s treason.”
He broke apart.
“It’s only treason if I get caught.”
You followed him, your mouth agape. That was a dangerous game — this one he was playing. When you reached him, you put your hand on his face, forcing him to look at you.
“Armitage, hear me out, if you get caught—” You shook your head and lowered your voice. “No. When you get caught, you’ll be hanged.”
He kissed the inside of your hand.
“That’s why you’ll have to make them believe you knew nothing.”
You shook your head.
He was not listening to you.
He was not fucking listening to you.
“There was no meeting this morning with the board, right? You met with the Prince.”
He shrugged.
“The Kings is dying.”
“He isn’t dead yet,” you retorted. “Your personal interests should not interfere with those of the Crown. Listen, I know you want to become Prime Minister, but betraying your King will nev—
He snorted.
…and pulled your head back by your hair, exposing your throat to his lips.
“You don’t fool me, Lady Hux.” He brought his lips to yours. “You pretend your loyalty lies with the King, but I know you want this as much as I do.”
“Yes.” You replied breathless. “I want it, but I am being reasonable here while you are not. You’re loyal to no one, but yourself!”
Placing both hands on his shoulders, you tried to force him to break apart. His hand wrapped around your neck, applying the slightest of pressures to your windpipe.
“Yes… You’re right. I’m loyal only to myself.” He kissed the corner of your lips. “But what about you, Lady Hux? Where your loyalty lies?”
“With—
“Think carefully about your answer.” Your answer had his fingers tightening around your throat — not to the point of hurting you.
You wetted your lips.
“With the Crown, obviously.”
“Why?”
He pried his fingers open a little bit, allowing you to draw in a breath and reply — you were not so sure he would not like to hear it, “Because it’s the right thing to do.”
You bit your bottom lip, relieved that he seemed pleased with your answer. You thought about going on differently about it, but you knew he was talking hypothetically — just in case he was caught in his own game, something he did not plan on happening.
“Exactly, Lady Hux.” He kissed your throat softly. Next, his lips were upon yours in a brief — so very sweet — kiss. After it was over, he pressed his forehead to yours.
“You shouldn’t have to ask it. You know my loyalty lies with you. Because I lo—” You closed your eyes and drew in a breath. It was time you were honest, not only with him, but with yourself. “Because without you I can’t get what I want.”
“And what do you want, Lady Hux?”
Looking into his eyes, you replied, “Power.”
You loved Hux — you really did —, but you also loved the many possibilities a relationship with him represented. Knowing that he coveted — and could possibly be chosen — the position of Prime Minister opened a lot of those possibilities for you. You knew that without him, you would never reach a position of power — at least, not one like this.
“I want power.”
This time, his lips fell upon yours passionately. His hands slithered to your waist as he brought your body closer to his. You gasped, giving him the chance to slide his tongue over yours and deepen the kiss. He walked you back, till you met with the piano bench. He made you sit down, kneeling before you.
Biting your bottom lip, you drew in a sharp breath. He kissed your throat, his hand slithering under your dress to caress your thighs. You watched in awe as he removed your shoes and then your stockings. You knew that as soon as he touched your undergarments, he would find them dripping wet.
“Tell me what you want, Lady Hux.”
You allowed him to remove the offending article of clothing that kept his glorious fingers from you. Arching your back, you offered more of yourself to him.
“You. I want you.”
He removed his lips from your throat and shook his head. His fingers — oh, so close — stopped their caress over your sensible, burning skin.
That was not the answer he wanted to hear.
You drew in a breath…
…and wetted your lips.
“I want power.”
It was all it took to have his fingers caressing you in the way he knew you needed it and to have his lips falling upon yours in an overpowering kiss.
“And you shall have it. Power suits you.”
A/N - And that’s all for today. I’m still working on my stories. I hope you forgive me for taking so much time between updates.
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English Translation of Korotan B: Chapter 4
In this chapter, Pui meets Isogai’s family! Apparently, they have a traditional household sauce. I wonder what it’s made of? Other highlights include Terasaka, Itona, and Korosensei getting duped, Chiba, Hayami, and Nakamura discussing catchphrases, and Pui’s backstory finally getting revealed!
Also, unlike last chapter, while boobs are mentioned, there’s no sexual harassment this time (phew!)
Chapter 4: An Assassination You Can Be Proud Of Time
“This is my house. Go ahead and come in!”
Isogai brought Pui to his house after school.
When Korosensei asked his students if there was anyone willing to provide a home-stay for Pui, Isogai was the first to raise his hand.
“Isogai-kun, you’re good at taking care of others, making you more than qualified for the job. Obtaining an understanding of each other will be a boon to your assassination attempts.”
Korosensei, too, indulged in Isogai’s offer.
When Isogai opened the door to the entrance, he found two primary school-aged children waiting for him.
“Welcome home, big brother!”
“Wewcome hoowme!”
Isogai patted his little brother’s and little sister’s heads.
“I’m home! Where’s Mom?”
“She’s asleep now!”
“I see. Then, let’s be quiet so that we don’t wake her up, okay?”
“Okay!”
Isogai took off his shoes at the entrance and explained to Pui,
“You take off your shoes and then you come in.”
After watching Isogai’s example, Pui timidly entered his home.
~~~
The Isogai household was having hot pot tonight. Pui prepared some wild hare he caught when he was deep in the mountain, while Isogai added some Kawahara* grass.They flavored the hare meat with wild perilla and ginger and seasoned it with the Isogai household’s traditional sauce. Everyone circled around the now finished hot pot. This was the first time Isogai had ever eaten hot pot made with hare meat, and he was struck with admiration for the taste,
“To think hare meat would taste so good! We’re able to try new ingredients all thanks to you, Pui!”
Pui made a satisfied expression upon receiving appreciation from Isogai and stuffed his cheeks with meat.
When it was time for bed, Isogai put away the dining table and pulled out futons from the closet. His little sister and brother were put to bed in one futon, and when Isogai placed the other futon down, the floor became fully covered.
“Sleep here. It’s narrow, but it’ll have to do.”
Pui got into the futon as Isogai told him.
“Where will you sleep, Isogai?”
“I’ll sleep at the entrance.”
Isogai pointed to the entrance with a smile and started to head toward it.
“No way. I doesn’t want Isogai to sleep at the entrance.”
“Don’t mind me! I can sleep just fine even at the entrance!”
However, Pui wouldn’t listen to him and shook his head.
“If Isogai sleeps at the entrance, I won’t be able to sleep. Sleep with Pui.”
“Eh?”
“I always sleep in the same bed with my little brothers and sisters. I won’t mind.”
Pui grabbed Isogai’s arm and pulled him to the futon. Isogai gave in to his pushiness and reluctantly got into the futon with Pui.
Isogai’s younger siblings fell asleep in no time at all. Isogai, on the other hand, being in the same futon as Pui, a killer whose age wasn’t too different from his, was too nervous to feel drowsy.
‘Even if he’s a killer, he’s almost the same age as me, and we’re both human, right? What am I so afraid of?’
Isogai told himself to break the walls in his heart.
Suddenly, Pui began to speak.
“Isogai, I have one little brother and two little sisters.”
“You have even more than me? They must be quite the handful!”
“My brother is nine-years-old. He’s more useful at home than Pui. I want to protect them…”
Pui abruptly stopped talking.
“Pui? What’s wrong?”
Pui didn’t answer his question. He turned on his side and stayed quiet.
Although Isogai could practically feel Pui’s silence, he hadn’t yet closed the gap between them, so he felt that he couldn’t press on further.
‘I wonder if I was being too intrusive. However, I want to say one more thing.’
Isogai spoke to him one more time.
“If you’re ever in any trouble, let me know. My friends and teachers in Class E are pretty reliable.”
After saying this to Pui’s back, Isogai closed his eyes and fell asleep.
~~~
The next morning, there was a crowd of students in front of the classroom. Pui was showing off his talents on top of a platform. He prepared three empty boxes of caramels. One of the boxes had a mark on the inside. It was a game where Pui shuffles the boxes, and if the spectator chooses the box with the mark, they win. However, Pui’s judgement was brilliant, so it was hard to win against him. Terasaka was an easy mark for Pui, and he lost one game after another.
“Goddammit, I thought for sure it was the middle one! You’ve gotta have a trick set up in these boxes! Show ‘em to me!”
Terasaka took the boxes from Pui, flipping them over and tapping them as he searched for some hidden trick. Muramatsu laughed at the sight with his trademark “Shi shi shi”.
“Only Terasaka would be dumb enough to be caught in such a simple trick. You should be angrier at yourself.”
Frustrated at having been made a fool of by Itona as well, Terasaka made a face and yelled,
“If that’s what you think, then how about you try!? Tryin’ to make a fool outta other people…”
“Sure. I’ll show you a good example.”
Itona switched with Terasaka and stared at the platform closely. Pui grinned as he shuffled them, changing each box’s position one after another.
Pui movements were mysterious, giving the illusion that he had three, or even four, hands. Itona watched so closely it seemed as if his eyes would become bloodshot, and at Pui’s call he immediately pointed to the box on his left. Pui moved to touch the box, but stopped when Itona told him to wait.
“I’ll be the one to flip it open, okay?”
“If you want.”
Pui did as Itona told him and raised both his hands in the air. Itona opened the box, only to find that there was no mark.
“How lame! You can’t make fun of other people now, can ya!?”
“……There must be some kind of mistake. I’ll get the next one right for sure.”
Pui grinned, showing his white teeth to Itona and Terasaka.
“You’re all quite noisy today. It’s almost time for class.”
Korosensei had entered the classroom. The sight of Pui playing with Terasaka and Itona put a satisfied smile on his face.
“Pui-kun, is it alright if sensei has a try, as well?”
“Sure!”
Pui lightly shuffled the boxes, showed him the box with the mark, and then mixed them together again so that he wouldn’t know which one was which.
“This is a type of street gambling common in many countries outside of Japan. You’re quite experienced with it, I see. However, you cannot deceive the eyes of a Mach 20 super-creature!”
When Pui stopped his hands, the three boxes were side by side.
“Pick which one you think is right.”
Without hesitation, Korosensei chose the box in the middle. When Pui opened the box, there was no mark to be found.
“Nyu-yah!?”
With a calm face, Pui began shuffling his boxes again.
“My eyes must have deceived me…… though, there’s no way that should be the case.”
“Let me try again!”
Pui flipped all the boxes open to show that there was only one box with a mark before shuffling them again.
“I won’t make any mistakes this time. I can clearly see which box has the mark!”
When Pui stopped his hands, Korosensei exclaimed, “It’s this one!”, and held down the left box with his tentacle.
“May I be the one to open it?”
“Go ahead.”
Pui let go of the box. Korosensei carefully opened the box, which, as one would expect, didn’t have the mark on it.
“Nyu-Yaaaaah!!?”
The whole class erupted in laughter.
“T-this can’t be……..”
Korosensei was staring at the boxes so intensely he could bore a hole through them. At that moment, a knife flew at him from the back of the class. Korosensei managed to dodge it by just a hair’s breadth, panting as he shouted with a hoarse voice,
“W-Who did that!? Sensei’s kind of in the middle of something right now!”
“Huh~ Your reaction time was pretty slow this time. So, if you’re absorbed in gambling, your reaction time falls.”
“S-so it was you, Karma-kun!? Good grief……”
Korosensei fixed his necktie and turned toward Pui.
“Pui-kun, your technique is magnificent, but don’t become too involved with gambling. There are people who have gone crazy with gambling in every country.”
“I understand, Korosensei. I’ll be careful.”
Pui pretended to bow before thrusting at Korosensei with a knife he kept hidden from view. Even if the first strike is dodged, he would press on with his attack and swipe at his sides. This would push Korosensei to the door, cornering him. Or, at least, that’s what was supposed to happen, but instead, Korosensei was back at his podium in a flash. Struck with a sense of powerlessness, Pui’s hands dropped to his sides.
“That attack was quite good. You’ve certainly made a lot of progress in the past two days. However, it’s not quite enough for that flower-circle.* Let’s polish your blade even more!”
After dodging Pui’s knife attacks, a flower-circle mark appeared on his face. Pui’s suddenly began to glare at Korosensei, eyes filled with hatred. This sudden change in his demeanor piqued Nagisa’s curiosity.
‘I wonder why Pui is so obsessed with him? If he was just driven by a pro’s sense of responsibility, I don’t think he’d look so vindictive.’
While Nagisa’s head swam with doubts, he pulled out his notebook for class.
~~~
Once class was over, Pui finally sat down in a chair. He made many attempts on Korosensei’s life during class, until Korosensei ordered him to stand for the rest of the lesson. Seeing Pui stick out his lips and pout, Karma smiled gleefully and said,
“You want me to spell it out for you? One of the rules of this classroom is that our assassination attempts are not to hinder his class. If you want the 300 billion yen reward for assassinating that octopus, I suggest you follow them~”
“……300!? Isn’t it 100!?”
“If a group assassinates him, then the reward is 300. It’s so we combine our powers to assassinate him rather than try to trip each other up.”
“I see…… Then, Pui won’t lose anything if Pui cooperates with you guys?”
“That’s right.”
Nagisa joined Karma’s and Pui’s conversation.
“I’ll teach you about Korosensei’s weak points. They’re all things we’ve noticed while together with him.”
“Please, teach me.”
Nagisa flipped through his memo pad.
“First of all, Korosensei’s speed decreases when he panics. He exposes his weaknesses when he tries to act cool, and he has a surprisingly short fuse. Also, he’s weak to big boobs, so it’s good to aim for his life when he’s lovestruck by them.”
“……Every guy is weak to big boobs.”
Okajima and Itona instantly held their thumbs up in approval of Pui’s opinion.
“That’s your only reaction!?”
Nagisa couldn’t help but comment on the two’s reaction to Pui. Chiba, who was sitting in front of them, turned around to speak.
“Hey, if you’re working together with us, you’ll share any new information if you happen to get any, right?”
“Sure, Chiba!”
Pui nodded with a convincing look on his face.
“Ah, that’s right! This is important. Suicide attacks are no good. That was my first assassination attempt, and Korosensei got angrier than you could imagine!”
“How’d you try to kill him, Nagisa?”
“I put a toy grenade around my neck, which would scatter anti-sensei pellets everywhere, but he covered me with his molted skin, so I failed.”
Pui opened his mouth wide with shock.
“He can molt!?”
“Yeah, it’s his trump card, which he can use once a month. His speed drops after he molts, so it’s also something we aim to make him do.”
Pui’s eyes shone brightly.
“That information about molting is really valuable. But why are suicide attacks no good? It should be fine as long as you kill him.”
Nagisa felt that Pui’s question was only natural. Nagisa had a hunch that the reason lay with Korosensei.
“Korosensei told us at the start to, “Have an assassination that makes you smile and puff out your chest with pride”. We don’t really understand his reasoning, but it’s the major premise of this classroom.
“An assassination that makes you puff out your chest with pride…..? I am always doing assassinations that make Pui puff my chest with pride. I kill for my family.”
After Pui said that, he fell silent.
‘I think I put him in a bad mood.’
Worried, Nagisa wondered if he had somehow angered Pui.
“Just leave him be, Nagisa-kun.”
Upon being told by Karma, Nagisa quietly separated himself from Pui. Pui wasn’t angry at all. In fact, Nagisa’s words were echoing inside Pui’s head.
‘I wonder if, this time, I can have an assassination that makes me puff out my chest with pride?’
~~~
“Your English is improving quickly, Pui!”
“As one would expect, the concentration power of a pro assassin is something else.”
Chiba and Sugaya started praising Pui after English class was over.
“Hey, hey, Pui!”
Nakamura approached Pui’s seat, peeking at his face as if she was dying to ask him something.
“You’ve done a lot of work up ‘til now as a killer, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you have a catchphrase you use when you kill someone?”
“A catchphrase……?”
“Like, words you’ve decided your targets will hear as they’re dying. I wanna know what it’s like to hear one from a real killer.”
Pui was stumped by Nakamura’s surprising question. Hayami took that chance to interpose herself into the conversation from the side.
“I don’t think that a real killer would say anything like what you see in manga or movies.”
“I wonder. I think that different killers would have different traits and styles, so there must be a few in this world that have a catchphrase. For example, something like, “If you’re feeling resentful, resent my client”.”
Chiba also got onboard with the conversation.
“In a drama, the assassin would say, “Someone wishes you dead, so please die,” or, “Allow me to explain the reason behind your death. It’s because you said too much”.”
“They’d be focusing on their work, so I don’t think they could afford to do something like that. Even so, they might bluntly say “Sorry” or “I was asked to give you a present”.”
Hayami was thinking more realistically.
“You’re so persuasive, Hayami-chan! It’s because of that professional air you have!”
Nakamura nodded her head to everything Hayami was saying.
After having time to think, Pui finally replied to Nakamura’s question.
“When it comes to catchphrases, I…… don’t really have anything in particular. I press my hands together in prayer, then I kill them. That’s all.”
“So, you’re the kind of guy who works in silence, huh? That kind of stoicism is cool, too~”
Pui became sullen upon being told he was cool by Nakamura and hung his head down in shame.
“Hey, Pui, can I see your knife?”
“Sure.”
Upon Chiba’s request, Pui took out his knife from the bamboo scabbard he had hanging on his belt. Chiba examined it thoroughly, flipping it over and touching it in various places.
“It looks incredibly sharp.”
“Don’t touch it too much, or you’ll hurt yourself. It cuts better than a standard knife.”
“Seriously? You must take great care of it, then.”
Chiba carefully returned the knife to Pui.
“Hey, hey, who taught you how to be a killer, Pui? You must have had a teacher, right?”
“Half of my skills I taught myself, the other half I learned from my master. There’s a lot of martial artists in my village. My master is really good at splitting people’s heads open with his elbow and skewering people with tree branches!”
“Skewering people with tree branches……”
“Master always makes his own weapons. There’s always tree branches, nuts, and stones lying around, and those can be turned into weapons you can use to kill others. Even that grass over there can be used as a knife to slit your opponent’s throat. The most amazing technique my master can use is to shoot and kill people with pebbles he flicks with his fingers. He can flick them away like a gun shooting bullets!”
“Are you serious… no way…”
“You don’t believe Pui? Want Pui to do it to you?”
Pui threatened before laughing and lightening the mood with a “Just kidding!”
“Hey, don’t scare me like that.”
Chiba let out a cold sweat.
“Though, I guess a lot of things must have happened up until now for you to become a killer at your age. Why did you become a killer, anyway?”
“There was no other way for Pui to make a living. My village is close to the border of my country, and we’re constantly at war. My father got hurt when he stepped on a landmine, and the fields are all burned down.”
The classroom fell silent as Pui told them his harsh personal story.
“I didn’t get to go to school very much. A lot of my friends got involved with the war and died. I also have friends who were shot by my country’s own soldiers. I learned a lot from my master so that I could protect myself. I learned martial arts and English so that I could kill those soldiers when I needed to. I’ve killed them with traps made from bamboo spears and knives. It became my job. In order to feed my family, I’ve continued that work. But, this time, my job is different.”
Pui pulled a photograph out of his pocket. In the photo, two adults, one man and one woman, and three children were tied up and restrained. There was also a man wearing a black suit and sunglasses and another man with a scorpion tattoo on his upper arm who was holding a gun.
“This is my family. We are being threatened. If I don’t kill the target and win the 100 billion yen bounty, they will be killed.”
The students of 3-E froze. The color drained from Isogai’s face as he listened.
“The money is due in three days.”
“You should’ve said so sooner!”
Nagisa blurted out in Japanese without thinking. He took the photo and ran to the staff room. Korosensei was flipping through a book called “Guide to Conquering the World’s B-Grade Gourmet* Foods” before lifting his head.
“Oh? Well if it isn’t Nagisa-kun. And everyone else, too. What on Earth happened?”
“Please do something, Korosensei! It’s your responsibility!”
“Wha-What!? I have no idea what’s going on! Please explain from the beginning!”
“Here, look at this! Pui’s family is in this picture! If Pui doesn’t assassinate you in three days, they’ll be killed!”
Korosensei was overcome with a cold sweat as he looked at the photograph. After taking a moment to examine the photo, he placed it on his desk and turned toward the window.
“Pui-kun is a killer. This may sound cold, but when you make killing a business, such dangers are an unavoidable part of the job.”
“But that’s…! That’s terrible! Are you just going to abandon him!? Can’t you at least give him a chance!? He studied to together with us over these past two days and improved his English so much!”
Nagisa tenaciously appealed Pui’s case.
“……I guess I did tell him to study and assassinate together with you all. I’ve given you students a chance to hone your blades and assassinate me, so I suppose it would be unfair of me not to give the same chance to Pui-kun.”
“Right!?”
“Then, let’s test him to confirm that he has been polishing his blade properly. I will hand him a test to measure the progress of his English. If he passes, then I promise I will give him a chance to assassinate me.”
A smile flashed on Nagisa’s face.
“It’s a promise!”
Nagisa and the others quickly returned to class. Korosensei once again examined the picture of Pui’s family left on his desk.
“So, his family is being held hostage…… It appears there are some people in need of help.”
~~~
After class, Pui alone remained in the classroom to take Korosensei’s test. To ensure that his students don’t help Pui cheat out of pity for his circumstances, Korosensei chased the other students out of the classroom and supervised the test alone. Worried about the results, the students of 3-E loitered outside the school building, quietly waiting for the results.
“……Do you think Pui will make it?”
Nagisa anxiously asked Isogai.
“He made a lot of progress in such a short period of time. I’m sure that’ll show in his test results!”
‘If only I had listened more to what Pui had to say last night. Please, do your best.”
Recalling the impact Pui’s confession had on him, Isogai continued to wait for him, praying for his success.
“It’s almost time, I guess.”
Sugino couldn’t stay still, frequently checking his watch as he stretched. Then, the window to the classroom opened with a rattle, and Korosensei’s head popped out.
“The test is over. I will be announcing the results of the test, so those of you who are interested should head inside.”
And so, the students who were scattered outside the school building all ran inside.
~~~
“Pui-kun, please come here. I will hand you your test.”
Pui was almost pitifully nervous as he walked to the front of the class. His fingers trembled as Korosensei handed him his graded paper.
“You scored 95 points. A magnificent job. The passing limit was 90 points, so you easily cleared this test.”
“Alright!”
Class E cried out with joy. However, as for Pui himself, his expression relaxed only a little. He didn’t show any joy.
“Korosensei, you’re gonna give him a chance like you promised, right?”
“Yes, of course! A promise is a promise!”
“What kind of chance are you going to give him?”
“Preparations are already complete. Look!”
Korosensei pulled out a hemp rope.
“I’m going to use this to tie myself to a tree, and–
Class E all began to boo at him.
“Nyu-yah!?”
“What!? That’s not even a handicap!”
“That’s totally unfair! You should give him a better chance than that!”
“You better not run away from this, you damned octopus!”
Isogai, Nakamura, Terasaka, and the others all hammered Korosensei with complaints. Korosensei nodded thoughtfully.
“Pui-kun, everyone in Class E is telling me I ought to give you a big chance. Are you prepared to bet on it?”
“Of course!”
Pui answered immediately.
“Good. Then, let’s move to a place more befitting of such a big chance. I’ll also allow those who have supported you up until now to help you.”
Korosensei brought out a huge travelling bag out of nowhere. While everyone was taken aback, Korosensei stuffed Pui and several of the students into the bag in a flash and flew away.
“They’re gone!?”
The remaining students could only look around, wondering where they had gone.
Notes:
*Kawahara (河原) was a town located in Yazu District, Tottori Prefecture, Japan. It merged with other cities to form the city of Tottori.
*The word Korosensei uses is 花丸, which means flower circle, which is used in Japan as an equivalent for those gold star stickers you earn in primary school for doing a good job. It’s the mark you see him use a lot when he grades 3-E’s papers. Personally, I always thought it looked like a Naruto.
*B-Grade gourmet refers to dishes that are delicious, inexpensive and provided in abundant amounts.
Ughh, this chapter was long... Pui’s home country sounds a lot like Korosensei’s. Can you guess who Korosensei packed in his bag? I’ll give you a hint: there are six students accompanying Pui.
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Sanders and Weasley : Chapter 4
Chapter 4 : Gobelet of fire :
POV Khalla
It was Ginny's awakening that woke me up from my sleep:
-Come on, girls, we're gone, she cried.
How did she get so energetic so early in the morning? Hermione and I stretched at the same time while Ginny was already putting on clean clothes. I dressed and combed my hair before putting my stuff in my hiking bag. I put on my sneakers and went downstairs to join Ginny and the Weasley parents downstairs:
-Hello, girls.
-Hello Molly, hello Arthur.
We started having lunch and talking until the boys joined us:
-Hello, everyone.
-Hi.
From then on, the table was much more animated:
-Are you ready, asked the father of the family.
-Yes. But where are we going?
-You will see. Come on, we're gone.
We loaded our bags on our backs and set off. The twins slowed down their steps to come and supervise me:
-Did you sleep well?
-All right. And you?
-Super good.
-You don't know where we're going either?
-If. But we won't tell you anything.
-Thank you very much, boys. I feel even less reassured.
-You are safe. We're protecting you.
-What a chance to have my two knights in armor at my side, I replied by passing an arm around one of theirs.
-In your noble lady's service, Fred replied, kissing on the back of my hand.
-Oh, please, sighed his twin brother. Ask him for God's sake.
Fred turned red like a tomato:
-Ask me what?
Arthur Weasley turned around:
-Ask you to go out with him.
-Daddy, he cried.
The father raised his hands as a sign of peace before getting back on track. I was quite amused by Fred's discomfort:
-Hey, you should try it. Maybe I'll say yes to you.
He looked at me with big eyes as I winked at him.
A few moments later, we met Amos Diggory and his son Cedric. Hermione, Ginny and I looked at each other and exchanged smiles when we saw the young man. He wasn't bad, but I preferred a certain ginger. In fact, when I slipped a glance at him, he was grinning at our reaction. We continued on our way to a portoloin. I was hoping not to get sick on the way. Portoloin trips made me so dizzy that every other time I threw up. But this time, no, which was a miracle:
-Drop all the children!
-What?, shouted Hermione.
-Let go. Let go.
And we did it. I started kicking my legs to pretend I was walking and land on my feet, just like the two adults and Cedric. The rest of our group having laid lamentably on the ground. I helped the twins get back on their feet:
-Is there anything on Earth you can't do?
-Coffee.
They smiled and we followed Arthur and Amos. They took us to the top of a small embankment and we were able to see the Quidditch site in London, surrounded by I don't know how many tents. We were at the Quidditch World Cup! :
-Come on, children, Arthur said.
There were so many people there. So that no one would get lost in the crowd, we stayed together. I was surprised when Fred's hand came to take mine. I had every chance in the world to lose myself since I was looking from everywhere. I had never seen so many activities and people gathered in the same place before. So I tightened my fingers on hers while continuing my observation of everything around me:
-We'll meet again later, Arthur?
-See you later, Amos. Cedric.
Our small group headed for a particular tent. She was small but I was sure she was doubling in size inside. And I was not mistaken:
-Girls, choose your beds and settle down. Ron comes out of the kitchen, we're all hungry.
-Yes, Ron, came out of the kitchen, said the twins at the same time.
-No feet on the table.
-No feet on the table, they repeated, removing and then putting their feet back on the table.
Once we were settled, Arthur told us that we had to go. He surrounded the tent with magical protection to prevent the theft of our belongings as we left the tent. On the way to the Quidditch field, Fred once again took my hand. I didn't say anything.
When we arrived in front of the stadium entrance, we decided to choose our colours. Only Harry and Ron were chosen to support the Bulgarians. We chose the Irish:
-At what level are we placed Arthur?
-You're going to see. Get in the car. Come on. Come on.
And we did it. Always higher. Ron was growling that his feet were starting to hurt:
-We're going to be all the way up, Harry asked.
-At least, if it rains, you'll be the first to know.
We turned our heads to see Lucius and Drago Malfoy on the bridge opposite down below. Merlin I hated them:
-Father and I are in the minister's dressing room. By invitation of Cornelius Fudge himself, Drago bragged.
-Don't brag, Drago. With these people there is no need....
We all frowned and turned our backs. He used his cane to block a piece of Harry's jacket between his silver snake and the metal ramp on the platform. My fingers instinctively slipped towards my wand. Try anything Daddy Malfoy and you'll feel it passing:
-Have a good time, Mr. Potter. While you still can, he said before giving a fake smile and releasing Harry.
I didn't like his insinuation at all, but we didn't say anything and shot Harry with us to ignore the Malfoys.
When we reached the top, we found Amos and Cedric. And before I knew it, I found myself between Ginny and Fred. It's been a long time since I've had so much fun.
I couldn't help but smile at the twins and Ron's idiocies. They had completely cracked. Almost everyone does, by the way. The excitement outside has become more intense. Arthur went out for a moment to see what was going on:
-The victory is loud, Fred said.
Father Weasley came back in a hurry:
-Stop, he shouted. It's not the Irish.
We all kept silent:
-We have to leave. Now.
Hermion, Ginny and I looked at each other, worried:
-Come on. Come on. Leave everything there, we'll come back later.
I still took my wand before leaving the tent:
-Fred! George! George! Ginny is your responsibility. Go to the portoloin. And stay together!
Fred grabbed my hand, George Ginny's hand and we started running, the trio on our heels. We suddenly stopped between two tents to avoid a crowd movement. I was afraid:
Harry! -Harry!
We all turned our attention to Hermione, then to Harry whom we saw as being far from our group by the crowd:
-Damn it.
-We have to get out of here.
-We can't leave him here, shouted Ginny.
-We'll come back for it later but if we stay here, we'll get lost and maybe even killed.
We took advantage of a slightly quieter moment to get out of the festival. We found ourselves facing a man dressed in black, wearing a skeletal mask. He pointed his wand at us but didn't have time to do much. I immediately launched a Reducto that sent him very far from us:
-Whoo. Nice Khalla.
Thank you.
We returned to the portoloin and looked back. Many tents were burning:
-I hope Daddy is fine, breathed Fred.
-I'm sure, I answered.
I instinctively snuggled up against Fred and he put his arm around my shoulders.
When all the excitement had subsided, we went down to the ruins to find Harry. We almost had a first cardiac arrest when we saw the mark of darkness forming in the sky and a second when we were surrounded by Aurors. Fortunately, Arthur was there to save us...
I think I've never been happier to return to Hogwarts in my life. But after what happened at the end of the holidays, I needed to regain the security of the castle walls. It was going to be a quiet year and I was going to be able to work on designing new potions and products for Fred and Gorge. Nothing at all, yeah. This year, the 3 Wizards Tournament was held at Hogwarts. We were now housing the boys from Durmstrang and the girls from Beauxbâtons. Ginny, Hermione and I frowned when we saw the boys almost drooling on the girls from the other magic school. And no doubt our male friends felt uncomfortable with the boys from Durmstrang:
-No student under 17 years of age may submit their name to participate in the tournament.
Almost all students under the age limit began to boo the decision, even the twins. But I was happy that they couldn't participate, at least they would survive another year. And this new professor of defense against the evil forces was really shady.
-Please Khalla, begged me again Gorge.
I sighed:
-The answer is no.
-But why?
-It's an easy potion for you.
-Yes, it's just an aging potion.
-Because I don't want to be a part of your death.
-You don't do anything like that.
-No. On the contrary, you are helping us to embark on a great adventure that could bring us quite a bit of money.
I turned around suddenly to the twins and struck them with my eyes:
-I won't help you. I would rather you hate me for not helping you potentially get money than knowing that I helped you kill yourself.
I saw Fred open his mouth to answer, but I lifted a finger to make him silent:
-I don't want to hear from you. Neither you nor you, I concluded by pointing at Gorge.
I put my book away and left the library. They had pissed me off both of them. So in order not to be mean to them, I preferred to stay away. I went to find Hermione. She was reading in the park at her usual place:
-Hello. Can I join you?
-Of course, of course.
We talked for a long time before returning to the castle. If Hermione chose to go to the cup room to spend time with some of her friends, I chose to go to the dormitory to rest for a while. I wrote a letter to Hugo and one to my parents. I had just sent the latter thanks to my owl when I heard the common room frame open:
-You'll never guess.
I looked up at Harry:
-Fred and Gorge made an aging potion and Dumblerdore's protective spell made them old.
I couldn't help laughing. It was well done for them. I wasn't going to feel sorry for them:
-Did you make them the potion?
-Certainly not. They did it on their own. I'm not going to feel sorry for them.
Harry smiled before he sat beside me. We talked until dinner. We went down together and joined the rest of our friends. The twins were not there. Probably in the infirmary or trying to get back to normal.
I had just sat on one of the benches in the enchanting room when Fred sat on my left and Gorge on my right, after jumping the table:
-You're back to normal as far as I can see.
-Are you mad at us?
-Not really. I must admit, I'm glad you were set up.
-Do you still love us?
I smiled as I looked up to the sky:
-You're still my two favorite idiots if that's the question.
They exchanged a relieved look before asking me if I had any ideas for new compositions. I was happy to meet my regular Weasley twins again.
We were all shocked when Harry Potter's name came out of the Cup. There, now I was worried about him.
Ginny and I were upset that Fred and Gorge were making bets on the first task. They were dragons for God's sake and human lives, not a game. I stayed with Ginny for the whole event. I didn't want to be near those two idiots. Needless to say, I was most relieved when Harry came back alive from his chase with his dragon that had broken his chains. I celebrated with the rest of Gryffindor his victory. Fred didn't let go that night. He wanted to make amends for everything that had happened lately:
-I promise you I'll make it up to you soon.
-You don't need to do it. I don't blame you... Too much.
-So you're a little angry with me. I'll make it up to you.
He kissed my cheek before I went to sleep.
McGonagall was far too happy to show us how to dance. I couldn't help but smile when Ron was chosen to dance with her. I stood perfectly still in my chair when our house manager invited us to dance together. I didn't particularly like it. At worst, if I don't go to that dance, it wasn't a big deal.
We were in the main room working. Professor Snape was in charge of watching us. I was just writing the assignment he had asked us for when Fred sent a note to Ron in front of me:
-Who are you going with?, he asked him in response.
I thought he was going to ask me, everyone thought so... Fred folded a paper to form a ball and sent it to... Angelina. I couldn't believe it. He asked her to go to the ball with him under the stunned eyes of his two brothers, Harry and Hermione. And mine of course. I couldn't believe it. I naively thought he would ask me. I had it... Hopefully. I clenched my teeth, swallowed my tears and finished my writing before getting up without a word more. I handed Snape my homework before I took my book and left the main room. I needed some air and not see Fred for a while to digest my disappointment. Didn't he say he'd make it up to me?
I was sad to know that Fred had asked Angelina rather than me. And Angelina, why did she say yes when she knew I had feelings for Fred? What about her for George? I couldn't concentrate on my book:
-I'm as disgusted as you are.
I jumped when I heard George's voice. I turned my head towards him:
-What are you talking about?
-I wanted to go to the ball with Angelina and you with Fred... And they went together... We go together?
I thought about it for a moment:
-I suggest we make them both jealous.
George gave me a huge smile:
-With pleasure.
It was a plan I liked.
I had chosen a long red dress tied around my neck, with a rather plunging neckline and a naked back that only stopped in the hollow of my back above my buttocks, and this naked back was completed by some thin golden chains. I had pulled my hair up into a bun from which a few strands escaped. I had lightly made up my lips with a red matching my dress and my eyes were highlighted in black:
-You look beautiful Khalla, Ginny breathed.
-Thank you. You look very beautiful too.
-Thank you. I'm sure Fred will be blown away.
-I'm not going with Fred, miss. I'm going with George.
-What? But I thought he was going to ask you.
I looked sad:
-I thought so too. No, he's going with Angelina.
-But what an idiot, grunted Ginny.
It made me smile. I was thinking the same thing. Ginny and I stepped down together from the dormitory and when we reached the main hall, most people looked at me. I thought George's jaw was going to hit the ground:
-Made her wish she hadn't invited you, Ginny told me.
-I'm counting on it.
I kissed him on the cheek before heading to my rider, under the dazzled eyes of many students. I put two fingers under George's chin to make him close his mouth:
-You're... Woha.
-Thank you George and you're very good too.
He smiled:
-Let's make them regret their choice of partners for tonight," he said as he introduced me to his arm.
-With joy, I replied by placing one hand on his arm.
To say that our entrance was noticed would have been a euphemism. All eyes were on us. From the corner of my eye, I saw Fred's face. He seemed shocked and surprised and... Jealous. Just like Angelina who struck me with her eyes. Our bet was on track to succeed:
-I didn't tell him who I was coming with, George whispered to me.
-You did the right thing. His current head is totally worth it.
It was his turn to look discreetly at his brother:
-You know we both have a chance of being killed.
-So let's enjoy this evening.
My date smiled at me:
-I couldn't have said it better myself.
We headed towards Fred and Angelina:
-Evening, I said friendly.
-Evening, creaked Fred as he looked at his brother as if he was going to kill him.
-You look beautiful Khalla.
-Thank you. You too.
I could see in her eyes how envious she was of me right now. I loved Angelina, we were very good friends, but right now I hated her and she probably felt the same way about me tonight. We had stolen our dream partners. All because of Fred:
-You didn't tell us you were coming together, grunted Fred.
-It was obvious, George replied.
And he kissed my hand:
-Finally a true gentleman.
Fred clenched his right fist while Angelina was grinning. Oh, I feel like I was going to have a great time tonight. Dumbledore placed himself in the center of the room:
-And now we will welcome our champions.
We formed an alley around the door to let Fleur, Krum, Cedric and Harry in. I was happy for Hermione. She herself seemed very happy to be on Viktor Krum's arm. Ron, on the other hand, looked disgusted. Was it the missed couples' night tonight or was it me?
POV Fred
I just couldn't believe it. My own brother had just turned my own game against me. Angelina and I wanted to make George and Khalla jealous by going to the ball together, but it seems they had decided to put our projects on the ground by going together. And now we were the ones who were jealous of their complicity. George whispered things to her that made her laugh softly as the champions opened the ball. Khalla was beautiful in that dress and Merlin knew that I didn't like all the looks that were slipping on her tonight. I almost choked myself when George and Khalla went on the dance floor at the same time as Ginny and Neville. I envied his hands on his pale skin and the proximity of their bodies as they danced an almost perfect waltz:
-I think our plan turned against us, Fred.
-I haven't said my last word, Angelina. We'll have what we want before the end of the evening, Weasley's faith.
She smiled as I took her with me on the track. After a few laps, I interrupted my brother and Khalla:
-Can we exchange our riders for the time of this dance?
She and George looked at each other:
-Do not ruin it for me, I took it from you," he replied, presenting me Khalla's hand.
It's your nose I'm gonna break, bro. Khalla put her hand on my shoulder as I put mine in the hollow of her back and our hands joined. We started dancing without talking and then I snapped:
-Why George? Why George? You could have gone with anyone else.
She looked at me with... Fun? :
-Are you jealous, Fred?
I squeezed my fingers on hers:
-I'll take that as a yes. Well, next time, you'll think about your choice of partner.
She turned her head towards George and I couldn't help but want to put my lips on her white skin to affix a hickey. I swallowed before I looked at my brother. He and Angelina seemed to be having a conversation similar to the one I had with Khalla:
-Go out with me.
I didn't think for more than two seconds before I said his words. And I regretted a little when she brought her attention back to me, with her eyes wide open.
POV Khalla
Did I hear you correctly?:
-What did you just say?
-I... Go out with me?
I let go of his hand to put both my hands on his neck. Then I forced him to bend down to kiss her. Fred squeezed his hands on my hips before wrapping his arms around my waist and deepening our kiss. We detached ourselves to breathe:
-Is that a yes?
-That's a yes.
And he kissed me again. We spent the rest of the evening stuck together dancing slowly and hugging each other. I could see that Gorge was also moving forward on his side, more slowly but it was better to move forward small steps by small steps.
The following weeks were the most beautiful of my life... Until the end of the Tournament... And the death of Cedric Digory and the return of Voldemort according to Harry and Dumbledore.
The following years were not easy but we all remained in solidarity with each other and we won. Now we are happier than ever.
miss-gleek-freak-geek, this is for you.
I hope you enjoyed the story to the end.
And thank you for giving me the courage to finish this translation.
Masterlist
© 2019 - Happy Umbrellla - All Rights Reserved for this text. No reposting and/or modifying of any form on any media is allowed. No translations allowed.
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OUT OF EXCUSES. Johnlock prt1 (a scene from a story I might make into a full fanfic)
The atmosphere was thickening by the second. It was becoming to tight, it was as if the air itself was trying to strangle them both - though Sherlock looked only slightly flustered from his uaul composure, staring at john scared as to what would happen if he moved and john looked as if he was going crazy, biting his gums as he usually does to hold back his frantic reactions so he was staring sternly as usual back at Sherlock.
An unknown amount of time passed between them. John took a sharp breath through his nose as if finalising a decision, sherlo is eyes married at this. John opened his mouth to speak but was cut off as Sherlock swiftly closed the gap in the room - stopping only a step from his faithful companion. This was the ultimate choice - john could simply stand there and wait for Sherlock to move or he could take a step back or... A step toward him. This was the final moment of decision and Sherlock would have his final answer.
They stared intense at eachother, not just in their eyes but eachother faces. They closely studied the faces they had become well used to by now and nothing new jumped out or surprised them, just the same lovely faces they adored... They really did adore eachother didn't they.
They air somehow got even thicker, john found it hard to even swallow. Especially as he noticed the way Sherlock facial expressions changed ever so slightly as he studied him. That's it, this is enough.
John lunged toward wrapping his arms around Sherlock any way he could to bring him down to meet his face as he smashed his lips into his. Sherlock wasn't surprised or shocked, he was released and instantly wrapped his arms around him letting out a small grunt as their lips smacked and slurped against eachother in a messy, desperate embrace. Their arms tangled around eachother almost as if they where a tempting to wrestle, john grunted pulling his body out of Sherlock arms but never leaving his soft warm lips, he grabbed him by the suit jacket and shirt spinning him around and slamming him back into the table for support while he increasingly got dominant with the kiss.
This action surprised Sherlock, john was getting really physical really quickly. He wasn't going to complain but he had no idea john was this depraved of him. Sure his subconscious obviously shoved his love for Sherlock into the wrong relationship box but again he didn't know johns desire for him had grown so large. He was almost attacking him, Sherlock didn't want to hold back himself if john wasn't going to, he began to attack back. Roughing his hands all over anywhere and everywhere of john, pinching, squeezing, hugging all of him. John was only further filed by this and continued to do the same while pushing Sherlock further into the table with determination.
The table was starting to get sore digging into his back, so Sherlock pulled a john and lively pulled john around by his jumper and sat him on the table. Their lips yet again never leaving. This position was a lot less strenuous on Sherlock neck as it was for johns legs. Though this may of put john in a more submissive position it help no bound over the soldier who continued to dominate and fight for complete domination of the kiss from Sherlock.
They stayed like that for a few moments, Till john pushed Sherlock away slight so he could jump down. He grabbed him by the shirt again and continued to kiss with his swollen lips pushing him more and more in the direction of the hallway. Sherlock realised where this was going and was excited but wanted to drag out the foreplay a bit longer - after all this moment was years in the making and he would be damned if he wasn't going to milk it for every damn second it had.
Sherlock swivled john around and slammed him up against the wall much like he did to him but with a lot more force - he knew his army doctor could handle it. They both held a mischevious smile in a second of lustful eye contact as Sherlock took a step closer to john instantly reconnecting their lips. John tasted of honey Lemmon, and Sherlock tasted of tea and ginger. Their embrace against the wall was more soft than before yet it held all of the passion and rush for touch.
John reluctantly moaned into Sherlock mouth, he went bright red especially when he briefly opened his eyes to see Sherlock staring at his lewd expressions with lustfully dark, bright blue eyes. He pulled away for a short breath, then picked john up, supporting his back against the wall. John complied wrapping his legs instinctively around Sherlock waist as to not fall. Neither of them cared to feel embarrassed or anything at all apart from eachother body warmth and taste, they hurrily stuck their lips back together. Sherlock taking over a bit more romance as he pushed john into the wall now and again eliciting delicious moans that where muffled by his own lips and tongue.
Unfortunately they had to part again as Sherlock bent his neck back legit g out a longloud groan, Mrs Hudson had called up.
"Sherlock your brother said he will be over shortly should I make some tea"
It was then they both became disturbingly aware that the door was wide open the whole time.
"Tell him not to come over I'm busy right now"
John began kissing Sherlock throat, dragging his teeth reading across his neck but not boring yet. This made Sherlock body shiver all over and he couldn't listen to anything Mrs Hudson was shouting up at him. He groaned again, letting johns feet again hit the ground. He scolded in confusion at Sherlock as he moved completely away from him. Sherlock grbed the door and shouted down.
"Mrs Hudson tell him not to come here, I'm busy, and don't bother putting on tea or coming up here you will ruin my... work now stop distracting me" with that he slammed the door shut and his breathing was heavy, his eyes sharply looked at john who also had elevated breathing.
"A bit harsh don't you think?" He rhetorically asked Sherlock
He raised an eyebrow "problem?"
"Not at all"
They stated at eachother as a small silence waved through the room. "John-" Sherlock started but was swiftly cut off by a fast approaching john "shut up Sherlock" again he was grabbed by the suit jacket and shirt into a passionately desperate kiss. He was pushed back I to the sofa, john used his strength to knock him over the arm of the sofa so he was laying on his back and he crawled utop nibbling up his neck to his ear.
"John.." Sherlock tried to speak his mind from a moment ago but it came out a slight moan as his body shook with overwhelming waves of pleasure from his dominating doctor, at this time he was giving into him for now...
"I said shut up" john basically demanded as he bit Sherlock lower lip extracting a better moan and kissing him deeply untill their lungs where running out of air.
Sherlock took this opportunity to change their position, sitting upright and pulling john onto his lap, so he was straddling him chest to chest. Foreheads resting against eachother as they tried to regain their breaths.
John went in for another kiss but Sherlock leaned back a little. "Wait" he whispered, john pulled back completely to properly look him in the eyes fear spiked in his face briefly. Sherlock felt terrible for doing that but he had to speak.
"Is this really what you want"
John let out sarcastic laugh "you're seriously asking me that now? As in half way through heavily making out with you? Jesus, Sherlock... if sticking my tongue half way down your throat isn't enough to show you that this is what I want then surely this should."
Red crept across johns face but he stuck to his guns and rolled his hips against Sherlock, allowing him to feel the half mast resting in his trousers, this to his surprise allows dhim to feel much of the same happening with Sherlock. It took everything in Sherlock not to punch this moment into full throttle but he held himself back, john was too important too special to simply take advantage of.
"Yes well clearly right now of course. However is this something you are willing to commit to or is this just a now thing that's happening? How are you feeling? I mean comparing now to the other day it's a little hard to comprehend the turn of events I want to make sure you are in control of yourself and are making the right decisions. I really do care deeply for you john."
Without missing a beat john spoke with clear confidence " Sherlock, I have never been sure of anything in my life. Even when I thought I knew what I wanted when I got it, the reality of living it never held up to the dream I set for it. There has been a lot of conflict within me when it come to certain things and I've never been able to fully understand that but now I know. I have been jealous of the people who are attracted to you because I feel scared they are going to take you away from me and I feel that way because I deeply care for you too. I mean I thought I deeply cared for you before but now it's as if I've just been hit with a brick of realisation of just how much you mean to me and now in this moment I can confidently state that I am completely sure that you Sherlock live up to more than a dream and I never want to be anywhere if it's not by your side. Just you me and Rosie, that's real perfection but of course there will always be a special place in my heart for Mary, but somehow I feel as if she wouldn't mind this turn of events. So to answer your question this, you, us, is something I'm willing to commit to. This doesn't male me gay though... I'm possibly bisexual."
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