#mort : gets immediately stupid

[mabelstone]

La Petite Mort

hozier x f!reader

part four of lullabies <3 | part three | masterlist

cw: sex sex sex love making ❤️ no other warnings really, it's pretty gushy

word count: 2.6k

taglist: @princezty @somethinglikero @jimihendrixpopfigure @the-imperfectgirl-blog @l1nd3n xo

Hours later, the buzz of the alcohol had completely fled my system, leaving me with a residual fatigue and a love struck smile. It felt wrong, but simultaneously, nothing had ever felt so right or natural. Like the sense of deja vu that confirms you are exactly where you're supposed to be.

"Hey," he gently shook my arm from where I was sitting in a booth, almost unable to keep my eyes open. "You 'right?"

"Mhm," I grinned, fighting back a yawn. "And how are you, hotshot?"

"Overwhelmed," he huffed, extending his hand to me. He never enjoyed crowds despite their tendency to form around him everywhere he went. "Let's go home."

I let him lead me out, warmth flooding my cheeks at the simple gesture. The bite of the cold was sharper than earlier, my teeth instantly chattering. He, of course noticed immediately, shucking himself of his jacket, draping it over my shoulders.

"Andy," I shook my head trying to fight him off, but it was no use. "Now you're gonna get cold."

"I have at least three layers on at all times, the cold fears me," he joked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Thank you," I pouted at him, overwhelmed at such a small gesture. But it wasn't small to me. Everything Andy did was grand in my eyes. "So chivalrous."

"Well, you know me," he shrugged, stifling a grin of his own.

I started humming the chorus of tonights' song as we walked, unable to remember any of the words other than imagine being loved by me, and the beautiful melody that was sure to hang around for days.

"Don't do that," he laughed with embarrassment, slinging his arm around my shoulders and pulling me close.

"Why not? It's a beautiful song, after all," I shrugged, unable to hide my smile that stretched from ear to ear. "And wasn't I the inspiration?" I teased, and it was now his turn to glow red.

"Mhm," he grinned, eyes focused on the road ahead of us. We were nearly back at the car, and the adrenaline was beginning to flood my bloodstream. "That's why you liked it, 'uh?."

"So good," I agreed, walking a bit closer to him that now our arms bumped occasionally. "Did you mean what you said? In the song?"

"'Course I did," he chuckled, unlocking the car and opening my door for me. He even helped me buckle my seatbelt. "Don't worry, it's just a song."

He climbed into his side now, the faintest pink tint to his cheeks, but otherwise, unbothered. I, on the other hand, was trying to get my stupid heart to slow back to normal.

I was fighting the urge to climb over into his lap and beg him to do all the things he'd been imagining. Instead we drove in what would appear to be comfortable silence from an outsiders' perspective. Obviously I didn't know what he was thinking, but I can promise you there was no trace of innocence in my thoughts. The air in the car was thick with desire, leaving me on the verge of choking on the tension.

We exchanged few words on the drive back to his, stealing bashful glances here and there. When the car stilled to a park, I couldn't keep my mouth shut any longer.

"Andrew?" My heart continued to pound in my ears, his brows raising slightly in encouragement. "I want you," I confessed.

He turned to face me and I could see his quickening pulse through the thin skin of his neck. He swallowed thickly, pupils blown so wide I could scarcely see any green.

His gaze flitted between my lips and my eyes, and I'm sure I too was all pupil at this point. I couldn't help myself, leaning over the centre console to feel his lips on mine. My eyes fluttered shut, as did his, and I swear something inside of me had come alive for the first time in my life.

He was better than I had ever imagined.

Lips warm and soft, adding the perfect amount of pressure that made me crave more and more. His hand slipped up the back of my head, cradling its entirety in his palm.

He pulled back slowly, his hand still at the base of my skull. His lips were plump and looked absolutely delicious, my heart aching at the loss of contact.

"I want you, you know that," his voice was lower than before, our faces still close enough that I could feel the tickle of his breath ghosting my lips. "But you just got out of such a long relationship."

"You've treated me better these past few weeks than he did in six years," I reached my hand up to cup his face. His skin was warm and soft, the scratch of his stubble in my palm pulling me back down to Earth, reminding me that this wasn't just another daydream of mine. "Please, kiss me."

And he did, pulling me in as close as the confinement of his car would allow. It felt like coming up for air after holding your breath under water, like the relief you get when a siren finally stops blaring. His scent, his warmth, his gentle breaths exhaled through his nose, mingling with mine as we moved in synchronicity, as if we'd rehearsed this a million times. I'm starting to suspect he must have been having similar dreams of me.

I pulled away this time, giving him my best doe eyes through hooded lids as I suggested, "shall we go inside?"

Without a second thought, Andy was out of the car, opening my door for me. Within moments, our lips were connected again, my arms draped around his neck, his hands quick to grab my waist. He lead me into his house, our mouths moving fast, passion coursing through our veins like electricity. I squealed in surprise when he lifted me, wrapping my legs around his waist as he carried me up the stairs. We were a mess of giggles and laboured breathing, bumping into walls, and desperately grabbing at one another.

Despite the desperation in our actions, he softly laid me onto his bed, crawling in between my thighs before kissing me again. I ran my hands up the sides of his torso, feeling him shudder slightly under my touch.

I could feel his hard on digging into my thigh, and suddenly my clothes were the biggest inconvenience known to man. "Show me, Andy," I breathed in between kisses, his lips now on my neck, my knickers well on their way to being drenched. "All the things you've been wanting to do to me."

He let out a deep, guttural sound somewhere between a strangled moan and a whine. He reluctantly pulled himself from me, slipping his shoes off in two fluid movements. He knelt before me, my entire ankle easily in the grip of his hand. He unbuckled my heels, slipping them off with a kiss to each of my calves. He slowly ran his hands up my legs, planting a trail of kisses upon each inch of skin he touched, the heat in my core beginning to boil.

He looked up through his head of curls, eyes dark and hungry. "You sure you want this, darlin'?"

I nodded desperately, hands instantly finding their way into his hair to bring his lips to mine again. His tongue prodded at my bottom lip and I let him in my mouth without hesitation, allowing him to explore. This only caused my desire for his tongue elsewhere to grow insurmountably.

All of my senses came to life when I felt his hand moving toward my inner thigh, opening my legs wide for him to grant him full access. His fingers made their way to my core, a soft groan fleeting from his lips. "Fuck," he breathed against my lips, slipping a ridiculously long finger inside of me with ease. I moaned into his mouth, one of my hands reaching down to grab his wrist, encouraging him to insert another. He did, curling his fingers with such precision that if I my brain weren't staticky from the feeling, I'd question how many lovers he'd had. He continued to pump his fingers in and out of me, kissing my neck as he did so, eyes glued to my face as if he were memorising every expression he pulled from me.

"Need to feel you," I choked out breathlessly, desperately cupping his face. "Please."

He smiled wickedly, kissing my lips once more before pulling his fingers out, dipping them straight into his mouth. My jaw nearly detached from my face at the gesture, my stomach flipping harder than ever. I watched in awe as he pulled his shirt off, his pants soon to follow, absolutely shocked that the shy, awkward, nerdy Andrew I thought I knew did not exist within these walls. I could see the outline of his cock through his boxers, swallowing hard. How on Earth was that going to fit? I sat up to rid myself of my dress, allowing it to pool around my ankles as he watched on, cock twitching beneath the thin cotton.

I made my way to him, helping him remove the last bit of clothing keeping us apart, eyes nearly bulging out of my head when I saw him. All of him. He may be the most beautiful man I have ever seen.

His hands quickly found my face, reeling me in with those lips once more before laying me on the bed again. His eyes searched mine again for any doubt, not finding any, but something else. "You okay?"

"Yes, just preparing," I laughed, only half joking.

"You're okay, you can take it," he kissed my cheek softly, lining himself up with my entrance. I gasped at the sharp sting of the stretch, holding my breath briefly. He halted all movement, no doubt used to this happening. "Tell me when, baby."

I rested my hands on his shoulders, taking a deep breath before nodding. He slowly slipped the rest of his length in, our beautiful harmonisation of moans filling the air.

It was only painful for a moment before I was practically begging for more. He was as long and thick as you’d expect, but God, nothing could have prepared me. He began to form a steady rhythm, thrusting in and out of me while I whined under his touch.

To feel his body weight on mine, his warmth, his scent, his love - I had ascended from my human form. I caved, begging him for more, begging him to fuck me how he wanted to.

He captured my lips with his mid way through a thrust, his cock slamming into that spot that made my brain fuzzy. I dug my nails into his shoulders, gasping into his mouth, “just like that.”

He obliged, one of his hands steadying himself with the headboard, the other cupping the back of my head. I wondered why, until he really found his rhythm.

With each delicious thrust, he would effectively hit my g-spot, making me weak as jelly under him, barely able to form words. My head was hitting his hand with the sheer force of each thrust, and I’m sure the thought of him protecting my skull would make me swoon if I weren’t on the brink of tears, producing noises I didn’t know I was capable of.

“Andy, Andy,” I chanted his name breathlessly, unable to even open my eyes as pleasure cradled my entire being. I’d never heard my voice this desperate ever, to the point that I had no autonomy over my words and vocality, like my soul was speaking without getting confirmation from my brain first. “You- feel- so- good,” I was near crying between each thrust, my mouth completely dry from all the panting.

“You feel good too, darlin’,” he grinned, removing his hand from the bed head and dropping it down to my clit. “So fuckin’ good.”

My jaw went slack, no coherent words falling from my mouth, just rhapsodies of praise in the form of whimpers and laboured breaths.

"Want you to cum for me," he breathed, his thrusts growing sloppy ever so slightly.

"Keep going," I barely got the words out, the coil in my stomach tightening as he dragged me closer to the edge with every word, every thrust, every skilled dance of his fingers over my clit. "Andy," I warned loudly, the high pitch of my tone sounding foreign to my ears, unsure if had even fallen from my tongue. "Oh, my God, I'm gonna-"

Within an instant, I unravelled beneath his touch, moaning a string of curses I couldn't even hear as the static in my mind grew overwhelming. I shook uncontrollably, every muscle of mine growing limp yet tensing and spasming at the same time. My back arched and my toes curled, crescent moon shapes from my fingernails marking his beautiful skin; a reminder to us both of how euphoric he had made me feel. My orgasm rippled through me like waves in a storm, pummelling me over and over as I couldn't stop my eyes from rolling into the back of my head, unable to open them, unable to close my mouth as a slurry of cries dripped from my soul. Unsure of what came over me, I begged, “please cum in me,” wanting nothing more than to feel every ounce of his loving.

When I finally came back down to Earth, the waves crashed into him, the most angelic sounds flooding the four walls we were confined to. Overstimulation wracked my bones, panting into his mouth as he rode out the rest of his high, a clash of tongue and teeth as he kissed me once more. He pumped into me a few more unsteady times, his arms shaking as they struggled to hold his weight any longer.

He pulled out of me slowly, the loss of contact leaving me with a hollow feeling, immediately clinging to him the second his head hit the pillow beside me.

“Andrew,” I breathed in disbelief, titling my head to see the tired smile on his face. “I don’t even have words.”

“Could say the same to you!” He sighed, content with his arm around me, our bodies gently slowing back to normal. “What an angel.”

You are the angel, is what I wanted to say. Instead, I basked in his warmth, his scent flooding my senses as my soul unwillingly reconnected with my body.

“Write a song about this, would ya?” I laughed against his skin, tracing shapes into his chest, feeling like I was the main character in a cheesy rom-com.

“Way ahead of ya, love,” he grinned back, pressing a soft kiss to the top of my head. “Wanna have a shower? Or is that too much?”

I looked up at him with furrowed brows and pursed lips. “Andrew. There’s a chance you just knocked me up. No, showering together is not too much.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” he groaned, abruptly rolling out of bed, picking me up bridal style and carrying me to the bathroom. He laughed devilishly at the squeak he elicited from me, kissing my face while I smiled and giggled like a fool.

Fuck.

He towered over me, the beads of water dripping from his hair onto me. He looked beautiful, contented in serenity, similar to how I was feeling, I'm sure. He lathered my body in soapy suds, nothing remotely sexual in the gesture. I did the same for him, enveloped in the warmth of his skin, acclimated to the same temperature of the water. If this were my last moment on Earth, I would die happy. Andrew had a way of making me forget every bad moment of my life. Every poor decision, every tear cried for a man who only thought about himself. Surely, this was too soon to be labelled as love. But it sure felt like it.

"You are so beautiful."

i hope u liked it if u didn't tell me if u did leave requests of something you'd like to see in this next xo and i'm aware of all the run on sentences, i'm sorry if that makes it difficult to read. i will not shut up! even in text

[cantsayidont]

There are some things in DC's voluminous back catalog that they ought to properly reprint because they're good — gems of past eras. However, there are also some things they ought to properly reprint because they're delightfully stupid, like the Superman/Batman team-ups from WORLD'S FINEST COMICS. DC has actually reprinted all the stories from the '50s, through about 1961, but a lot of the '60s material has only been reprinted in the B&W SHOWCASE PRESENTS books, which is a shame.

The WORLD'S FINEST team-ups went through several distinct phases. Superman, Batman, and Robin had shared the covers of WORLD'S FINEST COMICS since 1941, but it wasn't until 1954 that shrinking page counts obliged them to actually share the lead feature. The '50s stories are pretty good of their time, with some lovely Dick Sprang art, and the presence of Superman meant the drift into science fiction was less jarring than in the contemporary Batman books. In 1964, editorial control of WORLD'S FINEST passed to Mort Weisinger and it became a Weisinger-era Superman book that happened to have Batman and Robin in it. Starting in 1967, though, things started to get stranger and stranger as Weisinger's stable of sci-fi veterans like Edmond Hamilton and Otto Binder gave way to Bob Kanigher, Cary Bates, and Bob Haney, who turned out some exceedingly weird material. Stories like the two-parter about Superman having died and willed his super-organs to various people (#189–190) aren't quite as ghoulish as the covers suggest, but their inexplicable weirdness is emblematic of the period.

For a little while in the early '70s, DC evicted Batman from the series, making WORLD'S FINEST a general-issue Superman team-up book. (DC reprinted those issues in trade paperback in 2020.) This apparently wasn't a big commercial success, but rather than immediately returning to the expected Superman/Batman format, WORLD'S FINEST began to feature the Super-Sons, the teenage sons of Superman and Batman in a hazily defined parallel reality — written by Bob Haney, whose stories consistently evoke the sensation of mild concussion. The "real" Superman and Batman also returned, although they had to alternate with their hypothetical future sons, appearing roughly every other issue through 1976. From 1976 to 1982, WORLD'S FINEST once again became an oversize anthology book, with a Superman/Batman main feature backed by a variety of other characters like Green Arrow and Hawkman. The stories in that period are not quite as ludicrous as the late '60s (although if you see Bob Haney's name in the credits, you know you're in for a wild ride), but even the soberer installments are consistently very silly, full of nonsense like Kryptonian lycanthropy and the return of some especially ridiculous older villains like the Gorilla Boss of Gotham City and Doctor Double-X.

It wasn't until issue #285 that Superman and Batman again had the book all to themselves. The late period dials back the zaniness and has mostly uninspired plots, but writers Doug Moench and David Anthony Kraft compensate with some eyebrow-raising and apparently deliberate "Superbat" ship-bait; my personal favorite is Kraft's "No Rest for Heroes!" (a short story in the back of WORLD'S FINEST #302), where Superman and Batman go to a dive bar in the middle of nowhere to talk about their relationship and Batman ends up throwing a knife at someone.

Very little of this stuff is actually good by any normal standard — although the 1964–1967 period is no more or less weird than any other Weisinger Silver Age Superman stories — and the artwork is only occasionally better than passable. However, it's so stupid and so ridiculous that it's consistently fun, in a way DC doesn't really do anymore, at least not on purpose. Assembling all the Superman/Batman stories (leaving the Super-Sons to their own TPB), omitting the various backup strips, and giving it decent color reproduction would make for a nice package, and the presence of Superman and Batman would make it more commercially viable than some of DC's more artistically worthy back catalog material. Low-hanging fruit, if you ask me.

[starrbitez]

Is it a coincidence that both Rick AND Beth abandoned morty for summer? Like father like daughter? And isn’t it interesting that in this universe she doesn’t regret not aborting summer? They way rick hugs summer back in the gotron episode. But he never hugs morty back until fear no mort, but even that has hesitation. He said summer reminds him of Diane. Does Beth think that too? would rick abandon morty for Diane if given the chance— morty clear thinks so from his pov in the hole, but the question is, would Beth give up morty and summer to see her mother? I really want to dissect why everyone in the family dislikes morty.

Jerry calls morty stupid multiple times, and always yells at him for not trying hard enough. I see this as projection, personally. Jerry projects his own insecurities onto his son because he cant be the Only one like this. Morty even says he’s just like his dad, when someone asks “is everyone in your family an idiot?” And morty says “well for sure me and my dad are” in the Pluto episode.

Rick dislikes morty early on because he is supposed to. He knows thats how Ricks are supposed to treat morty, but we clearly see that rick cares the most, especially in Close Encounters of the Rick Kind, where he cries watching memories of morty. Evil rick says that no rick cares about their morty, and from then on we see rick continuously overcompensate with insults towards morty. However, we see that rick truly cares in multiple episodes, to name a few; Meseeks and Destroy, Get Schwifty, Look who’s Purging Now, Rest and Ricklaxation. These are all episodes prior to season five, where rick realizes he is a bad partner and leaves. Something interesting is that in GoTron, Rick only abandons Morty when his ideas are not being backed, and are instead being backed by summer, who he says reminds him of Diane (in fear no mort). It’s interesting because we can assume that rick is looking for comfort and acceptance from Diane, and the closest person he can get it from is Summer. He also values summer in this episode because she has never really stood up to Rick on adventures, something Rick dislikes about Morty.

It’s also interesting to add to the mix that his Morty is Morty Prime, the grandson of the man who killed his family. Rick had no problem leaving the rest of the Prime dimension behind, but on some level i think he knew that he needed Morty Prime (before he had even really gotten attached). Rick values the one thing he has against Prime, but he knows that Prime is in Morty’s blood, and I think every time Morty stands up to Rick he sees a small flash of Prime in the kid’s personality, and it scares him to death. It’s a juxtaposition between one grandchild representing his dead wife, and the other representing his mortal enemy.

Finally, I want to talk about why Beth seems to dislike Morty so much, only really showing she cares when he’s in distress—and when she’s right. Beth obviously seeks Rick’s approval, and because of that she has a lot of the same traits. Again, Morty stands up to her, (i forget what the episode is called) but when Summer is turned giant, Morty tells Beth that she is just as arrogant and reckless as Rick, and that being like him isn’t going to make him like her more. Beth wants attention more than anything, and when she and Jerry are going through the divorce in season two, Summer immediately chooses her mother, refusing to talk to Jerry at all. Morty, however, talks to both of his parents. Beth values loyalty and trust over everything, and her abandonment issues are obvious when she appreciates people who stay more. In the Prime dimension, Beth Prime tells Jerry, “a real man stands by his woman,” and in the post credits scene they have this exchange:

Jerry: do you ever wonder what happened to rick and morty?

Beth: sometimes, but i hate to admit that now that they’re gone, im finally happy.

Beth knows that Rick would always abandon her, and on some level i think she believes that morty is betraying her by putting trust in rick, among her disappointment in a lot of Mortys actions in school and socially. This episode really shows that she values Jerry and Summer above Rick and Morty, because Jerry and Summer would always stay.

Beth and Summer both know that Beth had almost aborted Summer, and Beth wants to prove that she’s not like her father; that she wont suddenly abandon or betray her daughter. Choosing Summer over Morty in Morty’s Mind Blowers is Beth’s way of showing her devotion and loyalty to her daughter, saying that she wouldn’t leave. She’s better than Rick. Again, in the GoTron episode, Beth is willing to leave morty behind because she trusts Jerry, summer, and Rick more, because she knows they could leave, and she needs them to stay with her, because they have shown that they’ll stay with her. the only time Beth truly comforts and shows affection to Morty is in the Planetina episode, where she consoles him after the break up. In some way, this reminds me of something Rick would do, and has done. She and Rick had both at one point manipulated a loved ones relationship for their own benefit, or simply to hurt someone else. Rick sabotaged Beth and Jerry’s marriage multiple times, and Beth (even though she was right bc planetina was lowkey weird as hell) sabotaged Morty’s relationship—actually his happiness, and the first time he had felt valued—because she needed to feel valued more, the same way rick wanted to be valued over Jerry.

Idk if this makes sense im just kind of spitballing here but . I think everyone in the family has a distinct reason for disliking and excluding morty, and while they have their moments, i don’t really think they matter compared to the sheer amount of disrespect morty gets. I didn’t put summer here because they both have their own problems, and for the most part they value each other the same amount because they both want to break the cycle their family is stuck in.

If u read all of this thank u :) lmk what u think

[spopsalt]

Saying you're working on your anger vs actually working on your anger, a She-Ra and the Princesses of Power vs Rick and Morty comparison

I hateeeee how everyone congrats Catra for this scene. She can say that she's working on controlling her anger all she wants, but we can see that she isn't actually working on it like when she, oh I dunno, insulted Adora for trying to save the world.

Or maybe when she threw a hissyfit and didn't talk to Adora when Adora took the failsafe in a desperate attempt to save everyone

Or when she roughly shoved Adora to the ground and left her when she was on her deathbed

She isn't actually making an effort, she can say she is all she wants, but that doesn't matter if we don't see her putting in the work. You know who we see actually putting in the work? RICK FUCKING SANCHEZ! Again don't get me wrong, Rick is a horrrrribbbble person. I am not denying that, but we actually see him being better. For example, in "Mort: Raganrick", he gets mad when Morty messes up something, Morty has done this a few other times, the times I can think of were "Mortynight Run", "Rickdependence Spray", and lastly "Rickstar Ricklatica" each time Morty had good intentions (Aside from Rickdependence Spray but that was a garbage episode) and Rick was really, really harsh, some of the insults he says to Morty, coming from each episode, ahem, "Stupid ass fart-saving carpet store motherfucker." Then he proceeds to roughly shove Morty "MOVE!" next up, "Morty, you nasty lying little world-ending pervert!", "I always knew your hormones would end the world Morty, I just didn't know that it would be like this.", and last but not least "Yes, it was honestly all my grandson's fault." all in one episode! Next up "Move you sack of shit!" and "Reminding myself to commit even more to your fuck up." and literally PUNCHING MORTY in the after-credits scene of the episode, so that's fun.

But we see a clear change in "Mort: Raganrick" now when he finds out that Morty messed up, we see that he's very clearly frustrated since he says "No, no, no, no MORTY NO!" but he still lets Morty explain without interrupting, which is already a step up from the first times where he didn't let Morty explain at all.

Anddddd while he does insult Morty, which isn't ok, he only does it only after Morty insults him (Still isn't ok, but is a step-up) and immediately backs off when he could tell that Morty was hurt, and while sternly, reassured him, he seemed a lot more like a stern parent (especially with his head in his hands, it gives massive stressed parent vibes) than an asshole like how he did in earlier episodes and we actually see him calmly explaining why they can't go home yet to Morty, instead of just telling Morty to do as he says which is something he would do in earlier episode.

While Rick doesn't outright say that he's working on his anger, we can see him working on his anger, and actions speak louder than words, Catra. Saying that you are working on your anger doesn't mean much if we see you do nothing to actually show it, and Rick and Morty was able to actually show this well, meanwhile spop...

[made-this-cause-why-not]

Dorlene snippet I've been sitting on:

“Dorcas,” Marlene swallowed, “what are you?”

The girl grinned and something vicious and deadly and so very sexy flashing across her face as red lighting reflected on pearly whites. The girl leaned in close, much closer than needed, looming over Marlene despite the mere three inch difference the two had, and Marlene's head began to spin. Her hand reached out, resting on the back of Marlene’s neck and she could smell her perfume, something vaguely floral, not too sweet with a faint kick of spice. 

“I’m a siren, Marls,” she said, her face so close that Marlene felt her breath on her lips. “I sing, seducing sailors and pirates to their painful death.” Dull nails lightly scraped the nape of her neck and Marlene was sufficiently entranced. Three inches of air was the only thing standing between them and Marlene doing something stupid, like making a scene at Regulus Black’s Halloween Bash. “What are you?”

Marlene blinked, her mind scrambling to figure out an appropriate response to what the girl just said. Marlene was many things; single, gay, very horny and confused as to why she wasn’t already making out with the girl that was so very close to her who she has been in love with since she was thirteen. The light on Dorcas’ face shifted from red to orange and Marlene remembered they were at a party, a halloween one to be exact. “I am a pirate,” she finally said, not sure of exactly how long it had taken her to say something but aware that it was probably too long if Dorcas’ smirk was anything to go by.

“Like Keira Knightely,” the girl asked. Marlene nodded dumbly, staring at the black painted lips with rapt attention. “Hot. I’ve always had a thing for blonde pirates.” And with that she leaves, getting lost in a sea of bodies and leaving Marlene to figure out what the fuck just happened.

The music changes to something vaguely halloween-y and Lily and Mary walk over. “What was that,” Lily asks immediately, handing a drink to the flushed girl.

“I think she’s trying to kill me,” Marlene mumbles before taking a sip of a drink that’s sickeningly sweet, its sugar coating her teeth. She downs it with ease.

“Well to me it looked like she was five seconds away from fucking you in the bathroom but what ever you say,” Mary says, taking a sip of her own drink before her eyes light up. “You want to know what the French call an orgasm? ‘La petite mort’ a little death. So maybe we’re both right Marls.” 

[br1ghtestlight]

if tiktok is canonically a thing in s14 of bob's burgers can they PLEASE have an episode where teddy tries to get famous on handytok (handyman tiktok) making videos w/ tutorials of how to repair basic household items and the kids help him and they do stupid tiktok dances and bob thinks its the dumbest thing he's ever seen in his life. and then at the end its revealed that mort has a sucessful mortician tiktok with 500k+ followers and gives teddy a shoutout and he immediately goes viral

it would be so stupid and cringy and outdated almsot immediately but it would make me laugh very hard. teddy should be on handytok its where he belongs

(the kids know NOTHING about tiktok or social media due to not having cellphones so they're literally just making up random bullshit and teddy doesn't know better. all of tina's knowledge of tiktok is from tammy's second hand account of beauty tutorials she watches and recaps to jocelyn at lunchtime)

[amaltheafan]

For 2023MadagascarParty theme 7: Love

Logical brain: “Uncle King Julien x Zora makes no fucking sense! It’s just another stupid, lazy way of trying to justify the series being a prequel! And speaking of! Dare I say that it’s even worse then Clover x Sage because at least they had build up spanning multiple seasons! Piss poor build up but still, better then nothing! And if you have to make the series a prequel and you have to get rid of Zora and Uncle King Julien, there are better ways to do it! Zora should have just dumped Mort’s ass without needing another man to fall back on and Uncle King Julien should have been torn to pieces by the fossa or thrown into the volcano by the very lemurs that he once threw to said fossa or something! It’s not like other villains in the show haven’t been killed off before. Why not him!?”

Romantic brain: “Because then he and Zora couldn’t show that ‘ugly’ women can be loved for who they are no matter much how society says that they can’t and that it’s never too late to change for the better!”

Logical brain: “Bullshit! Writing brain, what are you thinking!? You know as well as I do that Uncle King Julien falling in love and giving up everything that he’s been trying to achieve for the entire series, since the very first episode, in the span of a single episode makes no god damn sense! Why didn’t you have Zora show up in The Sign and say that she dumped his ass!? Why do you keep indulging in this…this pea brained, bleeding heart, piece of horseshit ship!?”

Writing brain: “That is an excellent question! It’s true that Zora x Uncle King Julien came out of fucking nowhere and makes no god damn sense for either character, especially not Julien’s. I’m not gonna argue with you there. What I am going to do is make a case for how the pair makes sense in The Sign.”

“The contrast between them and Cla9e. With Uncle King Julien being the former villain who owns up to his mistakes. Who doesn’t fault people for hating him because he knows damn well that they have every right to after everything he’s done. Verses Sage the former hero who does everything he can to down play his mistakes. Who blames his reputation being in the crapper on ‘haters’ who rightly call him out on his crap. Including his own wife, Clover.”

“Who denied her feelings for him immediately after Exiled. Who seemed more excited to be a queen and have a big strong army and a bunch of cool weapons then being with the man she’s supposedly in love with. Verses Zora who, while she tried to hide her feelings initially, then proudly proclaimed her love for Uncle King Julien without caring who knew it. Who was happy at the thought of being a queen and living in a castle but then seemed perfectly content to live as a normal lemur with the man she loves.”

“How throughout The Sign, Sage and Clover’s relationship has taken and endangered lives while Uncle King Julien and Zora’s has created and saved lives. How much happier the latter couple are then the former. How this all eats away at Clover more and more as the story goes on.”

“For at this point in The Sign, Zora’s had more time to train Dr. S then Clover. It was Zora's idea to train Becca and Abner and it was her idea for the couple to make their own weapons. Which inspired the pair to make their battering ram. Which they used to save people before Clover’s very eyes. And that’s not even mentioning everybody else Zora has trained who possibly saved even more people offscreen. So arguably, Zora has done more to protect the lemurs of King Julien’s kingdom than Clover. The very lemurs who Clover, however unintentionally, left for dead to marry a man who couldn’t even be bothered to complete a sacred ceremony that Uncle King Julien could.”

"A ceremony that wasn’t sacred to the former king but was to Zora. A ceremony that’s supposed to be a promise that a groom makes to his bride to change his self centered ways for the better. A promise that Sage has broken time and again.”

“”This isn’t right!” Clover thinks to herself. Zora is the one who ran off with a guy she just met! Zora’s the one who wants to be a guy whose caused more misery for Clover and her friends and the entire kingdom then anyone can count! Zora should be miserable! Zora should be dismissed and criticized and patronized by her romantic partner! Uncle King Julien is the bad guy! Sage is the good guy! Sage is the one whose supposed to be loving and supportive and attentive and everything that Uncle King Julien is pretending to be!”

“Now do you see, logical brain!? It’s about the foils! It’s about the consequences of one’s actions! It’s about the misery! It’s about shattering characters psychologically into tiny pieces! Do ya feel me!?”

Logical brain: “…”

Romantic brain: “…”

Loves to torture my favorite characters brain: “…Yeah!!!”

.

.

.

So yeah, that’s my analysis/explanation for why I ship Uncle King Julien and Zora. Honestly, it was writing The Sign that made me enjoy this weird little ship so much. It just works so well for the story I want to tell, more then I ever could have imagined when I first decided to include them in it. So thank you to anyone whose read this whole rambling thing and happy Madagascarparty!

[nivq87]

@gloompun

Sorry for all the pings as I try to figure out wtf I wanna do formatting wise.

I’m uncertain what your starting knowledge of it is so forgive me if I’m rehashing stuff you’ve already heard. Discworld is a set of books written by the late Terry Pratchett, and they’re all fantasy (which is more or less relevant depending on the book), comedy, and satire that riffs on a bunch of topics. Reccing a starter book is always a fun and tricky time because if you ask literally any discworld fan for a reading order you’ll get a very long answer and it’ll be different from the next guy because we’re all Very enthusiastic to get people to read it and Very opinionated on the ideal path.

That’s because with one exception (sorta), every book really does just stand on its own? There’s a bunch of mini series that do have continuity, but knowing what happened before is nice but really important because each book deals with what it’s about and he’ll tell you any important context as it comes up. Like I honestly read them first in whatever order I could borrow them from my library and what I found in stores or on amazon (back when they primarily just sold books lol) and that really does just work fine. I’ve got more to say but if you wanted to just stop reading here with my blessing to go crazy go stupid and just read blurbs until something vibes that’s A okay.

That said I would steer clear of the first 2-3 books he wrote for discworld, not because they’re bad (I like them quite a lot!) but because they’re not really representative of what the series becomes. He’s still very noticeably figuring out what he wants to do with this space in the first two, and is more firm on it through the third. By the fourth book, Mort, the foundations of the world are a lot more defined and it starts the voice of the books that carries until the last couple books when his health went on the decline. So like, if come bell or high water you decide to follow him through his process from the beginning because starting in the middle feels too off putting, you Can go for The Colour of Magic which is immediately followed by The Light Fantstic, but just know that the vibes’ll change. But it’s about this wizard named Rincewind who very much wishes things would stop happening to him and the disc’s first ever tourist Twoflower who Loves when things happen so he can take a picture of it and remember it for his memoire. Meanwhile Rincewind is trying his very best to not let them die.

If you wanted to start where I did, you can start with The Wee Free Men which is YA, and since most of them are not, it like, doesn’t have much to do with anything else going on for the first couple books in the Tiffany Aching series. The first book is about the coming of age of Tiffany, who recently decided that she wanted to be a witch because she likes knowing things, and the people in her community somewhat recently killed this old lady for being a witch, but was really probably just old and lonely in her isolation. As she’s making these resolutions a faerie queen steals her younger brother and she takes issue with that, and with the help of some funny little blue men that really like to test the age rating of this book, go on An Adventure to get her brother back.

If you want a lot to chew on afterwords as far as fanfic goes, you can start with the city watch series in Guards! Guards! and follow Samuel Vimes on his road to recovery from his alcoholism as he tries to live up to his ideals of what a watchman should be and oh gosh oh fuck oh beans why the hell is a dragon here burning shit? Better consult an expert, except that expert is a lady who breeds dragons but those dragons are a sneeze a way from a messy alchemical explosion and the group of ladies whose hyperfixation this is are like if quilting groups were horse breeders. I’m sure this won’t be relevant. Tumblr girlies love love love shipping vimes so if fan content is something you want to be sure of, this is a good pick. The city watch books also happen to be my personal favorites.

Speaking of tumblr girlies, everyone seems to be big into Monstrous Regiment again? Very fun one off (not part of a series) about Polly who is trying to recover her brother who went off to war, and basically mulans it to figure out where he is if he’s still alive. Except whoops! The new recruits she’s trying to fake it amongst are Also women who joined up for one reason or another. There’s a lot of queer and trans vibes here honestly which is pretty cool for something that was published in 2003. (Although not what I would argue is the first, that one is in the city watch books and I’ll expand if you want.

If the Tiffany books seemed interesting but you’re not in the mood for YA, then the witches series is like that but more mature, where Wyrd Sisters is a comedic riffing of hamlet and macbeth. (Technically the second book in the witches series, but the first is Equal Rites and is pratchetts third book that I mentioned is somewhat tonally different from everything else.)

In a similar vein if Rincewind trying to survive sounded fun, but you’re deciding to not start at the Very beginning like most advise, then Sourcery is the third book in the Rincewind series, someone too OP to exist hits the scene like a brick in a sock to the face… and Rincewind copes by… running away. Except there’s problems literally everywhere? Maybe more running will save him?

There’s more than 40 books, and that’s some starting points, but if you wanna click around and maybe get spoilers if you scroll too far, there’s also the wiki (which isn’t fandom blessedly) most of these have lil blurbs on em and quite a few have plot synopsis so if that’s territory you’re willing to tread here’s Literally Everything lmao. The only things on here I haven’t read at least once are The Science of Discworld mini series, so if there’s anything you want further opinions on feel free to dm me or something.

https://wiki.lspace.org/Bibliography

[anonanimal]

the night house was ok i guess. spoilers if u care. i love rebecca but besides her. the premise was more fun than the execution. she had a near-death experience years ago and it wants her back final-destination-style so her husband starts serial killing doppelgangers of her to placate it in a copy of their house he built on the opposite side of the lake to confuse it. and he's doing this based on info from occult books he got at a bookshop. that's an incredible premise. a lot of the haunting stuff was kind of lame. and i'm not sure makes sense. the ending was kind of lame. she basically gets no time to think about and further explore the "my husband was a serial killer. to help me, sure. but still." the unraveling of the mystery was the best stuff. some scenes of beth interacting with other people were great character moments. the indents on her skin as Not Owen touches her were cool. the movie wasn't brave enough to have her fuck a ghost but whatever. not like everyone's favorite orgasm euphemism "la petite mort" wasn't right there the whole time for this movie to play with. i mean it tried a little when she touches the air where Not Owen might be and she swoons into the boat. there's scenes like these where the movie tries out a love continuing after death thing but has to throw it out because it's not actually her dead husband, and that's another thing she barely gets to think about before the end. think it suffered from a lack of details of the occult shit he got up to, details of why the house was built the way it was. suffers from the interior design of the house being kind of boring. if death is Nothing then how come it does things and talks to her and has like. a will. fun movie with some problems and a kernel of stupidity at its heart. ⭐⭐⭐⭐

wait i just realized what "death" meant when it was telling her villain-monologue-style that it never left her and then jumped to her husband + why she mentions she had a history of depression. r u telling me death trying to get her to kill herself manifested as said history of depression and it started trying to get her husband to kill her instead when she was too strong-willed or whatever. god that's kind of stupid i'm revising my star rating. ⭐⭐⭐ i need to watch something that's stupid on PURPOSE immediately

also owen was the dumbest character ever written how the hell did he think killing himself would get death to back off when he'd already made multuple sacrifices in exchange for her life that didn't work. guess you could argue it's unclear owen knew what exactly was compelling him to kill her and he thought killing himself would be the end of the danger she was in. BUT his note says "you were right, there is nothing." which either means Death gave him the villain speech too oorrrr... actually that's all i can think it means.

see if death's personification here and death wanting beth is a metaphor for her depression and grief...there's no analogue for making literal human sacrifices here. owen literally killed people. death as a character in this movie is like half a metaphor. if the death entity is analogous to her depression then owen keeping it at bay by being her loving husband should be analogous to him doing....something nice??

TLDR:

death: "i need u bad baby plz take me back 🤗"

rebecca hall: "i liked u better when i thought u were my dead husband 😒"

me: "can we talk more about serial murder and mazes for trapping and confusing entities"

[hearth-and-veil]

Handling Magical Liars

There are many, many people in magical communities who will lie about their abilities for gain. Whether it's money, status, or just awe, they want something from you. Try not to give it to them.

Please keep in mind that not everyone is a liar; some people just suck at communication. Some people are just assholes. However, these are typically some good indicators that someone is full of shit.

1. They're self-aggrandizing. Actions speak louder than words. People with real power and skill don't have to talk constantly about how great they are.

2. They blame you if you can't tell how powerful they are. Anybody who puts the burden of proof on you to know that they're ✨️special✨️ isn't. Just like all people who run around bragging about being special, different, quirky, unique... and they're actually basic af. Same here.

If someone is claiming to be powerful, but gets mad that you can't feel their power, and tries to blame it on you being weak/inexperienced/stupid/etc, they're not. Anyone truly powerful can demonstrate.

3. They claim to be more than human. If someone is trying to tell you that they're a god, a demi god, a spirit, an elf, an alien, a primordial, etc., they are completely full of shit. Worse than just being full of shit, they also think you're stupid or they wouldn't be trying to get you to play along.

4. Your intuition says something is off. Trust your intuition. Intuition is a primal, magical part of us. Allow it to help you.

5. They can make you powerful too, but only if you join their cult super special secret ancient tradition conveniently passed down without notice (or documentation) for thousands of years. All you have to do is pay them or serve them. Interesting how that works.

Still not sure? That's ok. Some liars are quite good at it. Some are using magic to influence you. Here's some steps to take to be sure.

1. Ask. Ask a trusted member of your community. Ask me. Hell, ask them. Some people will cop to their bullshit to save face when they're caught.

2. Play along for a while, providing false information. If they go along with your lies, you know they're definitely lying. I use this a lot with psychics and mediums. Oh my Grandpa Mort, who lost an arm in Normandy, is trying to warn me about a curse that you can lift for $500? Interesting. I don't have a Grandpa Mort. None of my family was in the European theater. None of my grandpas are amputees. Also, my immediate grandparents were all born after WWII.

3. Laugh. I'm not kidding. When someone makes some insane claim, just laugh. Their reaction will tell you a lot. If they insist, it probably isn't true. If they laugh too, or back off, or say they understand your skepticism, or something like that, they could still be lying but I would be a bit more favorably inclined towards them.

4. Tell them to prove it. They'll either flounder or argue. Don't let people bullshit you with talk about faith, or witchcraft not being evidence based. Substantiate or suffocate.

You've determined they're lying. Now what?

1. Ignore them. You are under no obligations here. Quoth Cardi B: If I see you and I don't speak, that means I don't fuck with you.

2. Don't ignore them, but ignore their nonsense. Ok, not everybody is quite as good as me at pretending entire people don't exist, especially when they stand in your presence. It's a learned skill. So still be nice to that person, and just pretend they never said anything so stupid.

3. Flat out tell them you don't believe it. My typical response, if any, is the good ole "Yeah, no." One thing: don't apologize or equivocate. You don't owe them your belief, and you have nothing to be sorry for.

4. Leave. If they won't stop bothering you, or they make you feel unsafe, remove yourself from the situation.

5. Warn others. You don't have to drag the liar, but if you know other members of the community, give them a heads up. It's only polite.

Warning: some people believe their bullshit. That doesn't mean it's true, but people get caught up in their own hype. People who really believe what they're saying can be dangerous if corrected. Nobody likes their delusions challenged. Be careful, be safe. Sometimes the best thing to do is walk away.

[allthingsmortalkombat]

Heya! I hope you’re doing good your writing makes my day! I was wondering if I could request how would the Kombatants react to their s/o who is mort of the time cheerful but then starts feeling down and tries to hide their anxiety from them. One that includes Hanzo and Kuai

Hanzo Hasashi

Hanzo would be quick to notice your change in demeanor. Mainly because he himself had gone through it before. He knew how hard it was to contain the inner demon, and from the moment he noticed any slight change, he was quick to talk to you about it. Hanzo let you know that he wanted to help you and was always going to be there for you.

Kuai Liang

It would take a moment for Kuai to understand what was happening. He did not know if you were maybe under the weather or simply exhausted. But it had been going on for a long period of time. Your smile was not true, neither was your laughter. He quickly became worried. You tried to hide it as much as you could to avoid worrying the Grandmaster, but it ended up with him bringing you to your room so you could try to talk about it.

Liu Kang

Liu Kang would be sort of oblivious and blunt at first. When you first began to lose the spark in your eyes, he did not do a whole lot. He did not fully understand what could make you unhappy. It took a while for him to say anything to you about your behavior, and did not really know how to go about it. So instead, he bluntly asked you what was wrong and told you he would listen to whatever it is you needed to get off your shoulders.

Kung Lao

Kung Lao had noticed that something was going on. He could not figure out what, but he noticed the slight change in the way you would react to the things he would say. You were good at covering it up, but he could see right past it. He notice the spark dulling from your eye, the way when you turned a small frown appeared on your face; not too noticeable, but noticeable enough. He did not want to make you uncomfortable by bringing it up, but soon realized he would almost have to. He could not deal with seeing you so down.

Johnny Cage

Hiding how you truly felt from Johnny was almost impossible to do. At first, your fake smiles were more convincing. Soon, Johnny began to realize that your eyes were losing their spark and that you rarely laughed at his stupid jokes. When he would look over at you, you oftentimes looked somewhat lost in your thoughts. Soon enough his worry about you became too much. He found you lying in bed one night and sat in front of you, gently confronting you about his worries, and held you as you told him everything.

Fujin

Fujin would notice your change in demeanor, but would not think too much of it. He knew the stresses you went through in your life and was willing to help out if you needed it. However, by him not coming to you about it, it seemed to only worsen what was going on in your mind. You did not smile as much anymore and your eyes slowly lost their shine that Fujin loved so much. This is when he decided to step in.

Erron Black

Erron was gone often. So it was not abnormal for you to get upset right before he was about to leave for a week. However, he was used to you being excited and so happy to see him. He knew immediately that something was wrong when he returned to you simply doing the dishes, hardly being able to muster up a smile for your lover. Coming up behind you, he would wrap his arms around you, whispering little nothings into your ear.

Raiden

Raiden would worry for a while before asking you what was wrong. He was not blind to the change in your demeanor; he noticed it quickly. But he hoped it was just a short happening and that you would be back to normal soon enough. When he came to realize this would not be the case is when he would ask you what was wrong in the gentlest way he could.

Shang Tsung

Shang Tsung was not good with stuff like this. Overall, talking about serious things such as mentality was a hard subject for him. But it hurt him knowing that you were hurting inside. So rather than sitting around and waiting for you to talk to him, he would muster all self control he could and slowly coax you into telling him what was wrong. He would make sure to be gentle in his words and his hugs as he held you throughout the night.

Kenshi

Kenshi could sense that something was off. He was used to not being able to see your expressions, but rather, he would listen to your voice and the tone you used. The way your voice had slowly grown quieter and slower worried him. It was much different than your chipper self, and he wanted to get to the bottom of it as soon as he could. And that is exactly what he did.

Nightwolf

You found it too easy to hide your real feelings from Nightwolf. He hardly noticed how your smiles slowly became fake, how your eyes were dull and cloudy. It was not his fault; he was not used to this quite yet. And you did not want to worry him by bringing it up. However, he slowly caught on and you noticed he would hold you tighter and closer to him compared to before.

Jax

Jax would notice but did not know how to bring it up. He knew you better than he knew the back of his robotic hands. There was no hiding your true feelings from him. You were his world, so clearly he would notice when your eyes began to cloud over and your whole demeanor went downhill. He would do whatever he could to help you through your situation, showing how much he cared about you.

[lilithdusk]

OKAY ANGST TIME BC SEASON 4 IS GOING TO BE THE END OF ME

Everyone talks about how Hack-San happens before Rockstar, Wishmaker etc etc and we all know the angst is building up to WRECK US (and Lb and Chat Noir) so here some Ladynoir/Adrienette angst (mostly Adrienette because Marinette has lost her partner and Adrien happens to look just like him)

So imagine if Chat Noir finally snaps and wants to give up his miraculous but he has no idea to give it back to Ladybug because he doesn't know her unlike some people (wink wink angst) and he just can't face her. So, he does the only thing he can as now, a side-kick. One night, he leaves his miraculous on Alya's balcony with a note. Because she's Rena Furtive and thus knows Ladybug's identity, unlike him.

The following day, Alya wakes up and freaks out. She runs to Marinette and explains to her how BAD the situation is. Immediately, Marinette asks her how could Chat Noir possibly know her identity??? And Alya has to admit that she lied and shared the secret with Nino. Marinette can't believe it and, betrayed, runs away. The realization hits her. She can't find Chat Noir. She has lost him for good this time.

So every night, when she finishes school, she walks in the Parisian streets, searching for her lost partner, in vain. Even if he wanted, Plagg couldn't tell her the identity of his owner because of the magic trick. She spends endless nights with her thoughts, the mistakes she had committed by taking him away from the fights and how bad she has treated her best friend when she actually just wanted to protect him.

After weeks, Marinette is on the verge of losing it. She has no one, except Tikki. The girls can't possibly understand the situation she is in and she hasn't forgive Alya yet. Her trust has been played with and her best friend isn't here to keep her calm. And Hawkmoth seems to have understand it because of his recent attacks. Ladybug has been fighting alone for weeks now, without the help of any others miraculous owner and, most importantly, without her favorite partner.

One night, like any others since Chat Noir gave up his miraculous, Marinette is searching. Well, barely walking is mort accurate. She's exhausted, physically and mentally. She can't even remember the last time she had dinner with her parents or her friends.

"Marinette, it's time to go home." Tikki whispered in the small bag.

The rain is now pouring. The girl can't even hear her. She wanders like a walking dead, losing sight of her objective. She can't do it anymore.

Yet, behind her, a car's door is closed and the sound of footstep is getting louder. A blond hair guy stops her by facing her, worried.

"Marinette, what are you doing here ?!"

Adrien is looking at her, concerned. The boy had noticed the girl's behaviour these past weeks and couldn't reach for her, she didn't let him. Well, she didn't let anyone.

He was getting home when he had noticed her walking in the deserted streets all by herself with the rain. He didn't waste time and ran out of the car to go after her. Now, before his classmate, his anxiousness seriously increases She isn't fine.

"Don't worry, I'll be okay."

Her answer is generic, like a robot. She's not even looking in his eyes.

"Let me take you home then. You're going to catch a cold otherwise."

"I said I'm fine Adrien. I'll do it on my own."

"Do what in your own?" He asks but the girl already walked past him.

He watches her walking away, debating about what he should do. A few seconds pass before he joins her side.

"Okay, I'll help you then!"

Marinette sighs. She doesn't know if it's her nerves or anything else but she can't stand having Adrien around, being so nice to her, while she's looking for her partner who's looking exactly like him.

"Adrien I said I'm fine. I don't need your help."

"I'm not saying you need it, I want to help you."

Marinette sighs again and shakes her head. He'll probably get tired and give up in a few minutes. So she continues to walk quietly, Adrien following her. After some time, he speaks up again.

"What are we looking for?"

Marinette stops in her track so suddenly that Adrien almost hits her. What are we looking for... She has been on her own for such a long time now that the feeling of teaming up with someone brings back sudden memories of her partner.

"Someone." She simply answers.

She walks up again with teary eyes. The softness of her friend starts to break the strength she has been holding on for weeks.

"Someone? Who are they?"

Marinette let a laugh escapes her lips. It's a painful one. What can she answer to that question? She has no idea who's Chat Noir.

"Someone who happens to look like you."

Adrien frowns, now confused.

"Me? What's their name?"

"I don't know!" She shouts.

She turns around to face him, now tears streaming down her face. She can't hold it back anymore. His interrogations make Maher realize how stupid and useless is her plan since the beginning. What could she think of? Walking down in Paris and meet her partner? How could she recognize him? She was always the one dragging the secret identity in their conversations!

Adrien has never seen Marinette like that. She is desperate and on the verge of breaking down. Thus, even if the situation and her wants stay unclear, he does the only thing he can think of. He hugs her tight against him. She cries against his chest while he's caressing her hair.

"It's going to be okay. We'll figure it out."

And he remains this calm figure until one of his hand touches hers. There, he feels the coldness of a ring he had never seen on her. She wears Chat Noir's miraculous. She wears his ring.

Next part

[lov3nerdstuff]

I've got you

*James Conrad x reader*

Parts: Oneshot/Drabble

Words: 1.7k

Prompt: "Imagine being on Skull Island (or somewhere equally as fucky) and Conrad shines a flashlight out into the darkness, only for several pairs of eyes to reflect back. His hand tightens around yours and every muscle in his lean body tenses. That deep voice gets low and quiet, warning you not to run. The second you try to bolt--because duh-- he tugs you against his firm chest and his lips are on your ear."

A.N.: This is a gift for @hopelessromanticspoonie who had this idea yesterday 💚✨ She (and her lovely anon) deserve some Conrad goodness! I hope you guys enjoy this quick little snippet 🖤 I am actually writing a longer Conrad series currently, but that will still take a while ☺️

______________________________

The low growling sounds outside your tent should have been warning enough, had they already sufficed to wake you up in the first place. If not that, then at least the distant screeching that carried through the cold night air at a bone-chilling frequency, haunting echoes in your mind filling the silence in between.

You should never have left your tent, should never have come on this bloody excursion to the middle of nowhere in the first place! But of course, you just had to be curious and go check on the noise by yourself instead of waiting for one of the men with the heavy guns to take care of it. Just had to prove to them that you weren't just the frail and frightened little thing they saw in you no matter what you did. You had to prove it to him. James Conrad, the man of both your daydreams and sleepless nights. Gods, you had been falling for him from the first day of this doomed mission. Him, with his incredible blue eyes and that unforgettable voice that could put the fear of God into every soul when he bellowed commands across any battlefield, and that yet would recite Shakespeare in the softest flowing melody like he was born to do nothing else. A voice dipped in liquid sin that should not be uttering compliments like languished breaths in the dark. Not without unravelling you softly in the sweetest torture known to man.

Well, you should have gotten a grip on yourself and your pathetic insecurities and just told him how badly you'd fallen for him days ago. Now, however, you were going to die lonely and frustrated, a mere hundred yards away from the well protected camp you'd been stupid enough to leave. Great job, idiot…

The same growling that had woken you up was all around you now, louder, so much louder than before and you couldn't believe that you had been so stupid to walk into this trap of… whatever was lurking in the darkness around you now. You didn't dare to move, didn't dare to make a sound… and simply clung onto the childish belief that if you couldn't see what was stalking you right now, it couldn't see you either. Not that you would've been able to see much anyway, with the stream of tears that was running down your cheeks now.

"Y/n! Are you out of your mind?! You shouldn't be out here alone in the middle of the night!" Conrad's scolding voice behind you, in that delicious British accent nevertheless, sent an immediate shiver down your spine, but unfortunately for more than one reason this time around. Gods, he was here… you only hoped that he had come as your salvation and not a second course to the hidden predators' nightly meal.

"James… They're everywhere, in the darkness… I'm so sorry." You whispered in a tear laced voice, too far frozen in your fear to turn around to him even when you felt his radiant presence coming up right next to you. So close that his warmth was almost seething on the chilled skin of your arm and shoulder. Gods… you had been so stupid indeed; you were absolutely bloody frightened and helpless out here, who had you been trying to fool!

When Conrad finally switched on his flashlight to shed some literal light onto the darkness ahead that you were still staring at relentlessly, you barely held back your startled scream by biting down hard on your bottom lip. There were eyes, so many eyes that reflected the light right back at you from the undergrowth in a glowing hollowness that spoke of nothing but hungry fixation and thus, impending death. Conrad next to you tensed in an instant, every muscle in his lean body coiling in a display of controlled strength, preparing to fight and defend himself. Or rather to defend both of you, for not even a broken second later his hand wrapped tightly around your lower arm as if purely on instinct, and your breath caught in your throat in return. A few deafening heartbeats long you both stayed frozen like that, until slowly, painfully, deliciously slowly, his hand slid down your arm to hold your hand instead, interlacing your fingers with his in the same unfaltering, strong hold.

"Don't move…" He drawled under his breath, commanding you with the deep tone of his voice alone to surrender his will no matter what he said. Thus you could only clasp his hand in a death grip in return, breath coming out in shallow pants as your heart thundered in your chest like the storm approaching in the distance.

And yet, when another loud growl announced that these beasts were drawing closer to you still, almost up your neck already with their teeth or claws sunk deeply into your tender flesh, the sound startled you so far beyond your reason that your flight instinct grew unbearable at last. Every fibre in your body burst in panic, and you bolted without thought, without reason, but you did not get far. Fast as lightning to match the thunder in your heart, Conrad's arm wrapped around your waist and he pulled you flush against his chest, holding you tightly against his strong body while your excess adrenaline merely caused you to whimper into the soft fabric of his shirt.

"Shhh... I've got you." His voice was surprisingly soft now, reassuring and calming almost as if just to soothe your fears, while the gentle brush of his lips against the shell of your ear caused you to shiver for entirely different reasons. A soaring heart and tingling exhilaration made for an odd mix combined with the prominent fear of death, but in the end it only heightened your every sense to the incredible. If you were to die now, you at least would do so wrapped up in the arms of the man you loved. La petite mort, only in the opposite direction of what you would have wanted for him and you.

"James…" You breathed into his chest, desperately trying to keep yourself from trembling too noticeably, which only made him tighten his hold on you with a sharp intake of breath.

"Shush now, darling, and listen to me…" He replied in an equally quiet tone, still staring into the hollow eyes of death with his head so closely next to yours. "I will throw the flashlight ahead into the forest as far as I can to cause a decent distraction, and then you and I will run back to camp without turning back. We should be safe behind the barriers we've set up. Do you understand?"

You nodded slowly with a shuddering breath, then turned your head ever so slightly to glance up at him with all those sharp lines of his stern features, while at the same time he dropped his arm from around you and instead took a tight hold of your hand again. Then in the matter of broken seconds, he threw the flashlight as far away from your path as he could, and finally dashed off back towards your camp while pulling you along by your hand. You were quick to comply, running as fast as you could while your lungs burned all the more, but both Conrad's death grip on your hand and the howling behind your back made for a magnificent motivation to keep running either way.

The hundred yards still were torture to your mind and body, but even without the light you could see the barriers drawing nearer and nearer. When you finally reached the gate of the improvised defenses, Conrad didn't waste any time to rush you through before it was barred off from the inside right behind you. The howling, however, remained right outside before the gates and still made your blood freeze over even now from the safety of your camp. Good gods… you really had cheated death. Again.

Panting, you finally dared to look up at Conrad once more. He was still clutching your hand as if he was afraid you would vanish if he let go, and when his burning gaze met yours in that undivided intensity, you couldn't keep your lips from trembling, nor your words from spilling over at last. "I'm so sorry, I… I really didn't mean to cause you so much trouble, I'm so sorry, I just… wanted to prove to you that I'm worth your-..."

You didn't get any further when his hand rose to cup your cheeks with a start, elegant fingers entangling in your hair as he pulled you close to him and pressed his lips to yours in every bit of passion and urgency you had been yearning for for so long. It took you but a broken second of surprise before you melted against him with a faint moan, returning everything he gave you and everything you had beyond. This was heaven… A heaven you were granted only after surviving in hell.

When you finally pulled back, both breathless far more thoroughly than just from your run, Conrad leaned his forehead against yours so very gently, and yet refused to release you from his incessant hold. "You are worth all there is and more, darling. I can bear absolutely anything for you, and with you, you must know that. All except for losing you."

"I'm so sorry." You breathed, eyes closed as you revelled in the roaring waves of unadulterated affection washing over both of you now. "You won't lose me, I… I won't let that happen. I've got you just the same."

Your words brought a smile to his face, you could feel it all around you, could feel it against your lips a second later. He wasn't a man of many words, you knew that, but the ones he spoke were always the most beautiful and honest to his soul. So you did know indeed, you both had each other and that was all you would need.

______________________________

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[pjisskullourful]

🦇make me your halloQween⚰️

HALLOWEEN-THEMED SMUTATHON STARRING MÅNESKIN

≿━━━━༺🦇༻━━━━≾

horror bloodthirsty vampires

damiano david-- petite mort ×part1 ×part2 [+ethan] ×extra feeding

ethan torchio-- first/last

≿━━━━༺🦇༻━━━━≾

nonsupernatural filthy fun based during spooky season

thomas raggi-- no chill

victoria de angelis-- yours cruelly

ethan torchio-- sharpest lives

ALL SPOOK ALL P0RN ALL TREATS☠️

special ooky kooky spooky extras

🎃First/Last- the witch subplot is stolen from my favourite vampire movie of alltime, so much so that I went to the cinema TWICE in one day to see it(both times in FULL VAMPIRE MAKEUP FANTASY)- Dark Shadows. Helena is named cos I was on a BIG MCR kick. Macklemore's wide arms when dancing is something my friend Rob & I used to do, we would celebrate getting lots of space on the dancefloor at a club by unleashing the Macklemore arms & going wide & taking up all the space. Decorating the xmas tree is something my friend Josh invented & rocked all our worlds with. You make the tree, you put the tinsel on, you add the baubles & then finish it with gifts under the tree. & I made this shitty gif of them demonstrating

🎃No Chill- there was going to be a discussion of how well all the members of må would do in a horror movie. Vic wouldn't make it to the end cos the gays always die. Dami would probably do something stupid that resulted in his death. If Freddy Krueger is there- Tom is dead IMMEDIATELY, how is he gonna stay awake to avoid Freddy?! Probably Ethan would be the Final Boy and he could lead humanity to salvation

🎃Yours Cruelly- Vic practising really hard to be able to pole dance like Lil Nas X in the video. She would have tits out. She would have her red wig slicked back in a wet-look moment cos she wouldn't do the braids to do any kind of cultural appropriation. Other Halloween she & gfs couples costumes have been: Marceline & Princess Bubblegum, the creepy twins from The Shining, undead cheerleaders, Poison Ivy & Harlequinn.

🎃Sharpest Lives- Ethan & gf do carve jack o lanterns & get covered in all the gunk & seeds. She carves a happy kinda goofy looking face. He carves a Jack Skellington-esque face. They remember to throw the pumpkins out before they start rotting (cos thats super fuckin gross when that happens)

🎃Petite Mort- a line that got cut was the protagonist saying to Damithan: sometimes I worry for the dudes who have to follow this. While Dami is impregnating the protagonist he cracks the headboard & he buys her a new bed, he buys her lots of lavish stuff. the protagonist ends up having babies for Dami & they continue their arrangement for awhile. He never falls in love with her but he is a great vamp dad. He keeps her around, continuing to refuse to turn her. After years, she is fed up & she talks Ethan into turning her, which he does, which pisses Dami off at first- but then they get a castle together & find they're good co-vamp parents

😈the fic i didnt write but wanted to- Demon Damiano back in ye olden times. It was believed that witches became such by making deals with the Devil, these had to be sealed with some fucking & then the Devil would leave His Mark. So just demonic Dami sauntering around, the lure of the dark side, getting everyone to sell their souls.

Happy Halloween- thanks for reading & im open to horror requests 24/7⚰️

[gh0ulbunni]

Aight bitches, headcanons for my version of the WATXM Cartoon's 'Mortimer Toynbee'

(TW: Death, suicide, depression, mental illness, body horror but it's not that bad)

-The stage we see Mortimer at in the show is most likely him as an 18 - 20 year old, still in the juvenile stages of his mutation as it occurred after the death of his mother Esmerelda. Esmerelda was a kind and meek but busy woman who ultimately died from a stroke caused by high blood pressure. She worked 3 high stress jobs in order to try and keep a roof over her and Mort's heads as his father gave up his rights because he "Didn't want a freak for a son and that he'd never be his son."

-When his mutation actually began to show after her death when he was 3, Mortimer's once ivory skin turned fully green and due to the neglect his hair became matted in chunks (the braids we see in the show), his hygiene dropped to little to no self-care because of the new allergic reactions he'd get when his new sensitive skin came into contact with the naturally chemical loaded body washes, deodorants, shampoo, and tooth pastes that he had. He turned to showering with just water and brushing his teeth with just water, but the water the brotherhood has access to was INCREDIBLY dirty and laced with chemicals that made him sick.

-Mortimer is actually incredibly smart, but others would feel threatened by him when he tried to show this so he mainly acts dumb and stupid as a way to avoid conflict and aggression from people (Specifically Pietro and Dominikos).

-At 22 he finally leaves the brotherhood after being there for 4 years and tries to take his own life only to realize he's developed superhuman durability and a healing factor. This immediately makes him frustrated because he feels he's been punished and forced to live a miserable life.. And in comes Spider-Man who talks him out of trying to jump and takes him to SHIELD.

-After a few days at SHIELD's holding cells he makes a bit of an impression on Fury who offers him a role as an agent. Mortimer, a people pleaser who'll take any chance to climb up the ladder in life, immediately agrees and sets to work training.

-As he trains, his mutation gets stronger and he unlocks more abilities he never thought he could have: Superhuman strength, durability, endurance, agility, senses, special eyesight, chemical and toxin production, flexible bone structure, superhuman lungs, telepathic communication with amphibians, acidic saliva, flaming tongue, and a venomous pheremone secretion that allows for mind control.

-The final step was when he fell extremely ill and it was discovered that his genetic makeup was severely broken due his involvement in an experiment called the Black Womb Project, ran by Charles Xavier's step-father/Juggernaut's father Kurt Marko. This left Mortimer's DNA and mutation severely unstable and it almost caused him to loose control of his new powers and have multiple mental breakdowns and even a manic episode where was on an extreme high before going through psychosis in which he believed Magneto was out to kill him for leaving his son's group.

-After having a hell of a few months, Mortimer is put through a new process called Genetic Rehabilitation designed for mutants who've been forced through experimentation programs and have had their DNA damaged.

-After a while his skin turns from 100% green to 40% green with lots of ivory patches. The tops of his hands, chest, stomach, inside of his legs, and the tops and bottoms of his feet are a pale ivory color while his back, neck, cheek and temples, arms, his sides, and the outsides of his legs are varying shades of soft green with patches of dark green ranging in sizes from small to giant patches on his joints and sockets (shoulders, elbows, knees, and hips) which he's self-concious about at first but comes to love his new look. The most shocking part is his eyes which become black with amber irises that have flicks of lime and gold in them.

-Along with getting therapy for his DNA and body, he gets therapy for his mental health which.. Hoo boy he was and still is strugglin (but not as bad). He has: BPD, C-PTSD, GAD, ODD, and Depression.

-Absolutely loves brushing and caring for his hair, which, after it's unmatted and cleaned of bugs and gunk is ass length and black with a silky shine to it. He still wears his old bandana thing

-Has picked up playing a musical instrument in his spare time. If he isn't working, tinkering with his suit, gear, and gadgets then he's playing... The violin?

-He's suprisingly good at it.

-After becoming a shield agent he starts to get more confidence before meeting a mutant who was currently in SHIELD's custody... Said mutant being the oc of @ohmygillygoshoppler

-Callista and Mortimer become close, he spends lunchbreaks with her, constantly volunteers to be her guard/escort when she's let out.

-Ok so, dad headcanons lETS GO

-Cal and Mort end up having a daughter named after his mom, and her thing is having her mom's monster mouth with mouths on her hands that can shoot out 13ft long flaming tongues. Esme (or Esmerelda) absolutely becomes a rescue hero

-Callie is into clown/circus lolita outfits and Mortimer is a grunge punk. Esme never gets dressed in the basic ass kids clothes, she looks like mini Wednesday Addams.

-This child never gets put down (physically), Mort or Cal are always holding her.

-Mort and Esme are the epitome of "Don't talk to me or my kid ever again" while Esme is copying her dad's glare.

-Alright, Mort's strong.

-Like, really strong. He didn't even know how strong until he was cornered on his first mission as a shield agent and he kicked his enemy with his leg so hard he decapitates them.

-He can kick hard enough to knock down concrete walls, snap people in half, crack and damage paved roads, and create enough air pressure to knock people over.

-His tongue can crush skulls

-He could get hit by a semi-truck and still walk away with a few bruises

-Develops a bite force of 1,000 PSI (Less than a polar bear)

-He bench presses 3 tons with his legs and 1 ton with his arms

-Develops retractable claws that can lengthen and shorten, he uses these to fight.

-Looks like he could kill you, can kill you but has the energy of a golden retriever puppy

-As he ages he becomes more.. Forgiving? Of the people who've hurt him, specifically Pietro. He'll forgive but never forget, it's like when you drop a mug. It won't ever be the same.

-I imagine he fights a lot like how Deku does? The leg based fighting and shoot style is a big part of his fight style.

-Legs for daaaaaaaays, they're so long. Also he's 5'8 now because Toad is canonically 5'8 - 5'10 and he'll hold it over Wolverine while snickering.

[panda-noosh]

odd one out {draco malfoy x reader}

Words: 11.3k

Summary: You’re known as the only Weasley without magic. Draco Malfoy has always taken great pleasure in teasing you for this, and you have always been ready with a retort. Your bickering with the Malfoy boy has gone on for years, but is it all done in bad blood?

Notes: support my writing or ask me about commissions! - i can’t stop writing for Harry Potter and that’s really just what you’re all gonna have to put up with. 

---

 You don’t want to be here.

   You don’t belong here, as you’ve been reminded a grand number of times throughout your seventeen years of living. To these people, you are nothing more than the unlucky one, a mistake. To these people, you are weaker.

    The halls of Hogwarts aren’t exactly unfamiliar to you, despite being the only person in your household who never properly attended. You’ve been here many times throughout your life, visiting sick family members, accompanying your parents when they don’t trust you enough to leave you at the Burrow. 

    It’s your twin brother, Ron, who is in need now.

    When you walk into the infirmary, he’s sitting up. Your mother squeals, throwing herself forward, wrapping her arms around his neck as you and your dad approach in a slow and careful manner, not wanting to startle Ron any more than Molly has already managed.

    But even as you walk in and scowl at him, you can’t deny the relief that floods your system; the owl sent by McGonagall hadn’t even been fully read before Molly was slamming it down on the table, gathering her robes and telling you to get ready to leave. You had been busy doing your own school work, tucked away in the room you share with Ron during holidays, but was now barren besides your stuff.

   He had been poisoned, according to your father. Nobody knows how, or by what, or by whom - just that Ron had drank something given to him by Professor Slughorn and had immediately started foaming at the mouth. 

    Now, however, he looks in good enough health that you don’t see it as a problem when you slip your hair tie from your wrist and flick it at him from across the room. He yells, flinching so fast he nearly takes Mum’s head off as she clings onto his neck.

    Mum spins, glaring at you. “He’s ill!”

   “He’s fine,” you reply, slipping onto the seat next to his bed. “How have you managed to poison yourself, then?”

   Ron scowls. “I didn’t poison myself. Someone else did.”

   “Who pays enough attention to you to want you dead?”

    “Y/N!” Mum hisses. “At least give it a minute before you both start bickering.”

  You and Ron roll your identical eyes before Ron sighs, letting his head fall back against the pillow. “None of you should be here. You know that, right? With all the stuff going on with You-Know-Who-”

    Dad waves a dismissive hand. “We won’t let something like that keep us from making sure you’re okay.”

  You raise your hand. “I personally said I wasn’t prepared to die just for you, but-”

  “Y/N!”

    But looking down at Ron, you see him smiling; you smile back. You know all too well the kind of boredom he must be feeling right now, all alone in the medical suite with nothing but his thoughts and Madame Pomfrey keeping him company. You remember all those Christmas’s when he would come home and tell you to be quiet when you complained about how lonely the house gets with everyone gone - now he knows how it feels.

    Mum and Dad move on, telling Ron about how Bill sends his condolences and how the twins will be popping in soon to see him; you sit back, gazing around the room. Although you can use none of the stuff hung around you - in fact, it would most likely kill you if you tried - you know exactly what each piece of equipment does and how it is used. You reach out and gently twiddle the lid on a jar of unicorn hairs.

    The door to the medical suite opens. You glance over your shoulder just as Madame Pomfrey peeks her head through the curtain, a grand smile on her rounded face.

   A grand smile that falters as soon as she sees you.

   This happens all the time; it’s one of the reasons you don’t like being inside Hogwarts if you can help it. You’re known by name amongst most of the staff, and none of them dislike you nor discriminate against you in any way - but they’re weird around you. They never know what to say, are never certain how much you understand compared to everyone else in your family. 

    “Molly, Arthur, Y/N!” Madame Pomfrey exclaims. “Minerva told me you’d all arrived a little earlier than expected.”

    She shoots you yet another glance, giving you an uncomfortable smile. “You’ve grown so much since I last saw you, Y/N. How is the - uh - studying going?”

    Muggle studies. She wants to say Muggle studies.

   “Good,” you reply, already standing up. “I’m just gonna go to the loo a quick minute. Give you more room to work around Ronald here.”

   Ron reaches for your hand. “Don’t leave me with-”

   “Get well soon!”

   You duck out of the medical suite and into the hallways, immediately pressing your fingertips to your temples; you hate it here, hate it so much, have never felt so out of place than you do right now, and it doesn’t even make sense. You know just as much - if not more - than some of the people in this god damn school. Just because you were never able to perform any of the hocus pocus bullshit they’re able to perform doesn’t mean you don’t know what you’re talking about. You grew up around it. You lived it - still live it.

    You sigh and start down the hallways. You aren’t even sure where you’re going - you just know you’re not heading in the direction of the bathrooms. You pass a few people on the way, people who don’t know who you are or what you are, people who see you within the walls of Hogwarts and don’t even consider that you might not have the same abilities as them.

     You smile; it might be your last chance to exchange niceties with them before they realise who you are and start avoiding you.

    You turn down into another set of corridors, these ones empty as everyone filters into separate classrooms. They look quite spooky when deserted, unnaturally clean with the brick walls encasing you; you run your fingers along them, mind wandering to what it would be like to be within these hallways every single day for ten months out of the year. 

     A ghost swooshes over your head. You close your eyes, letting out an exasperated breath, preparing yourself for the inevitable-

    “The Squib Weasley! The Squib Weasley!”

    “Afternoon, Peeves. How are you?”

    “All the merrier for seeing you!”

  “Oh, yes. You always do enjoy taking the mick out of me.”

    He swoops down and bunks your head; it doesn’t hurt too much, considering he’s a ghost, so all you do is glare at him as he kicks off the wall and bounces back up to the ceiling.

    “Do a magic trick, Squib! I want to see a magic trick!” The ghost cackles, the bells on his hat jingling. “What about a nice card trick? They’re popular amongst non-wizard folk.” A storm of playing cards suddenly rain down upon you, and Peeves laughs even harder.

    This is the kind of treatment you fully expect from Peeves. You look down at the puddle of cards, kicking them as you say, “I’m afraid I’m not that skilled. I can’t do any tricks, I’m afraid.”

   “Useless Squib Weasley!” He bonks you on the head again. You growl, jumping up and swiping at his foot, but he merely kicks away from you, laughing even louder. “Useless Squib Weasley! Useless Squib Weasley!”

   “Get out of here, you idiotic little corpse!”

    Your head snaps round, blood draining from your face at the sound of that voice; you know it all too well, of course, considering it’s coming from a person you would much rather avoid.

     Peeves cackles in your face one final time before vaulting down the corridor. His laughter only echoes so far before you and Draco Malfoy are left in complete silence, the only sound being his polished black shoes clicking against the marble floor as he walks towards you.

    You look up at the ceiling, squeezing your eyes closed. “Malfoy.”

   “Weasley.” He stops. Opening one eye, you can see he’s stopped directly beside you, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his robes, a smirk on his face. “What brings you here? I know it’s not the magic.”

    “How did you figure that one out?”

    “Just a hunch.”

   “Mm.” You look at him. “I was visiting Ron, if you must know. Not that it’s any of your business, of course.”

    “One thing I never understood about you was how you can have such an attitude with someone like me.”

  You raise a brow, pretending you have no idea what he’s talking about. “Someone like you?”

   He pulls his wand from his pocket and twirls it, casually, between his fingers. “A wizard.”

    He says it like he’s talking to someone who has never heard the word before. He’s smirking like he’s expecting you to gasp and say “Wizard?!” He’s acting like you haven’t heard the exact same comment a thousand times before.

    You nod slowly, watching his wand rotate. “Are you gonna try and hex me or something? Pretty cowardly of you, Malfoy, considering I have no way to defend myself.”

    His smile fades into his customary scowl; he tucks his wand back into his robes, instead choosing to intertwine his hands behind his back. “You shouldn't be walking the hallways on your own, Weasley. Security measures have been heightened since the Dark Lord came back.”

  “So I’ve heard,” you reply. The casual tone to your voice makes Draco’s eye twitch; you take a point for yourself in this silent competition the two of you have going on. “I felt like I was the safest one, considering Voldy-mort isn’t really interested in Squibs, is he?”

    “That’s not the point; I can’t just be letting outsiders walk about.”

   “I’m not an outsider. Dumbley-dore knows me just-”

  “Stop with the stupid names-”

    You lean forward, speaking louder just to annoy him. “Albus Dumbley-dore knows me just as well as he knows you. In fact, he probably knows me better considering he’s taught the majority of my family. How many Malfoys has he taught? Two? How many Malfoys has he liked? Zero.”

    Draco glares. You smile, enjoying how easy it is to wind him up. He probably approached you thinking you would find his mere presence intimidating; he couldn’t have been more wrong.

    “Well,” he drawls, straightening up. “I’ll be letting Professor Snape know of your presence, and the attitude you’ve taken with me. I’ll let him handle it.”

   “Oh, Snape! Goodness, it’s been a while since I last saw his ugly mug. Let him know my parents and I will be staying in the Hogs Head for a few days if he wants to pop in for a chat.”

    Draco growls, turns on his heel and stomps back the way he came; your laughter follows him, uncontrollable. It’s one of the few things you enjoy here at Hogwarts - seeing Draco, winding him up. You will never understand why he continues to approach you every single time you come and visit. He knows nothing he can say will affect you, as you grew up with five older brothers and a younger sister with an attitude - you’ve heard it all a hundred times before. 

  ----

    “See, this is so much more fun than Scrabble.”

   You scowl, glaring down at the chess board. The moving pieces seem to have something against you. No matter how hard you concentrate, or which direction you direct your little white pieces to go, you never seem to be getting any closer to winning this game.

    “Concentrate, Y/N,” Ron urges. He’s been laughing at you for the past hour and a half. “Where does your bishop need to be?”

    “If you don’t shut your mouth, I’ll be directing my bishop right up your-”

   “Y/N Weasley, enough of that!”

   You jerk upright, sending the chess pieces scattering. The curtain is pushed open, revealing your mum, dad and Professor Burbage. Mum stands with a scowl on her face whilst Professor Burbage and Dad chat animatedly to one another, barely even registering the people around them.

    “Honestly, who taught you to talk like that?” Mum grumbles, bustling over to Ron. She places the back of her hand against his head and scowls. “Your temperature is going up again, sweetie. Have you been drinking the potion Madame Pomfrey gave you?”

   “Yes,” Ron grumbles, swatting Mum’s hand away. “It’s just warm in here. She never lets us open the bloody windows, Mum. It’s like I’m in prison!”

    But Molly isn’t paying attention; after checking up on Ron, her attention snaps immediately to you. You meet her gaze and raise a questioning brow, freezing in your seat. It’s never good when Molly Weasley has her eyes on you.

    “You alright, Mum?” you ask cautiously.

    “Professor Burbage wanted to talk to you, dear,” she replies, and your heart instantly dips into your stomach,

   Your head snaps round to where Burbage and Arthur are stood; they’ve stopped their animated chatter now, Arthur with one arm around Burbage’s shoulders whilst pointing at you with the other. 

     “This is Y/N!” Arthur exclaims. “Our little Muggle-expert. Honestly, Charity, I’ve worked in Muggle Artefacts for ten years, but I’ve not learned half as much from them as I have from our Y/N here.”

     Your face flushes. “Dad.”

   “Oh, don’t be humble, dear!” Molly exclaims, gripping your shoulders. “We were just telling Professor Burbage here all about your little solo trip to London a few months back, how you navigated the trains perfectly - ordered their own food and everything!”

   Ron snickers. You slap his arm.

    Burbage looks at you. Her eyes look tired, strained, her hairline thin and hair itself even thinner. Her nimble fingers are twisted in front of her, and she says nothing as she continues staring at you.

    You glance at Molly, desperate for a bit of help, but Molly isn’t looking back. She continues massaging your shoulders as she says, “Of course, we don’t let any of them out on their own anymore - not with everything going on, but goodness, we were just so proud of Y/N when she came back in one piece. Apparently the train took an hour and a half to get from London to Birmingham! How bizarre is that?”

    “Oh, Molly, dear,” Arthur tuts. “How many times have I told you that Muggle transportation isn’t the same as wizard transportation?” He shakes his head, turning to Burbage. “I’ve told her a thousand times, I really-”

    Professor Burbage lurches forward and grabs your hand. You gasp, stumbling off your chair as she vigorously shakes it, nearly ripping your arm from its socket. Behind you, Ron has stopped snickering and is instead watching the scene unfold, clearly uncertain about what is actually happening.

    “Y/N Weasley,” Burbage says, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s an honour to meet you finally. I taught all of your brothers, so I did - all except Ronald, who apparently isn’t interested in Muggle Studies.”

    Molly sighs. “We told him-”

  “You didn’t tell me anything!” Ron exclaims. 

    Burbage ignores them both. “I know you’re no Muggle, of course - it would be insulting to say you are - but I did always find Squibs most interesting characters. They’ve got one foot in wizard life, one foot in the Muggle life. It really must be an experience, shifting between two very different worlds.”

    “Uh….”

   “Go on, Y/N,” Arthur urges. “Tell her about London. Tell her about the. . . the - What was it called? The peasant?”

  “The pheasant, Dad. It was a pheasant.”

   “Oh!” Burbage cries suddenly, making you flinch back. “I’ve heard of those! Birds, are they not? Quite ugly little things, but very big. Very big for birds…” She trails off, muttering to herself. The entire time, her hand remains firm in your own, refusing to let it go as if in fear of you running away from this seemingly important conversation.

    All you want to do is run away.

   “Anyway,” Professor Burbage bursts, “I’ve just come in to ask if you’d like to attend my next lesson for a few minutes. I’ve got a N.E.W.T. class coming in and I know for a fact having someone like you involved in their learning would do them a world of good.”

    Oh goodness, no. 

   The answer is immediate. The mere idea of standing up in front of a classroom of wizards to walk them through how you were the one genetic failure in the family is enough to make your stomach turn. You open your mouth to express this, but Arthur jumps forward before you have a chance.

    “That would be an honour, Charity. An honour for Y/N and the family!”

    Your eyes widen. “Actually-”

   “Wonderful!” Burbage exclaims, grabbing your arm again. She wrenches you out of Molly’s grip, already ushering you out of the infirmary, the sound of Ron’s uncertain grumbles following you out. At least your brother can see how uncomfortable this idea makes you, but his chunterings don’t make any difference.

   “Professor,” you beg, stumbling after her as she leads you through the crowded hallways. “Professor, I really don’t have anything to say to your N.E.W.T. students or whatever. I’ve been to London on my own once, and it really didn’t go as smooth as my dad is making it out to be. I nearly got mugged, like, four times, and there was this guy with a knife-”

     “Here we are!” 

    You glance over; lining up against the wall is a group of seventeen year olds, all of whom are staring at you in a mix of confusion and amusement. Some of these people know exactly who you are, considering they’re in the same year as Ron, whilst others merely see a very distressed individual dressed in casual robes.

    “Good afternoon, class,” Burbage begins, refusing to let you go into her classroom or to let go of your arm. “I hope we’re all well. Please enter, and take your books out.” 

   The line of students files into the class, and you and Burbage follow close behind. Your heart is racing, eyes flicking back and forth along the students currently scooping textbooks and wands out of their bags, whispering amongst themselves. Burbage’s classroom is decorated with moving pictures of Muggle buses and trains, Muggle supermarkets and schools - all of which you probably know less about than anyone else in this classroom.

    Burbage pushes you towards a seat in the corner, kindly telling you to make yourself comfortable. You give her your best smile and sink into the plastic, crossing one knee over the other, resisting the urge to bury your head in your hands. Every eye is on you. Every single one.

     You bite your lip and look around, and that’s when you spot him.

   Of all people in Hogwarts, you never once would have expected to see Draco Malfoy unpacking a Muggle Studies textbook. The boy from a family of Muggle haters. The boy who spends every waking moment ensuring every non-pure-blood wizard in his vicinity is completely miserable is stood in a Muggle Studies classroom.

    “Malfoy?”

   His name bursts from your lips before you can stop yourself. You slap a hand across your mouth, turning to Burbage with an apologetic look that she raises her brows at, but refuses to comment on. Instead, she barrels on with the lesson.

    You glance back at Malfoy, who is now staring at you with an open mouth; he’s going to laugh at you. Seeing you sat in the corner is going to bring him such amusement. You can already hear the jeers he’s probably going to throw at you as soon as this bell rings, how he’s going to make your life a living hell for the short period of time you’ll be here.

    “Okay everyone, now that we’re settled, I’d like to introduce you all to a special guest who has so kindly offered to overlook our lesson today,” Burbage says after her introductions. 

    “Actually, Professor, I’d rather-”

   “This is Y/N Weasley, one of the few Squibs I’ve had the honour of meeting.”

   The class goes silent. You bite your lip, ducking your head into your hands before anyone can see the horror that is currently rising to the surface - you want to scream. 

    “Y/N’s parents were just telling me a few minutes ago that Y/N went into Muggle London - remember our last few lessons on Muggle London? - all on their own! Isn’t that incredible?”

    “Terrifying,” Malfoy jeers. “What a hero!”

   You grit your teeth - it’s started.

   “Exactly what I was thinking, Draco! What an honour it is to be in the presence of such a brave soul.”

    You look up through a slit in your fingers, giving Professor Burbage a pleading look, a silent plea for her to just stop, to just get on with whatever lesson she had planned while you sit in the corner and mind your own god damn business.

    But she just smiles brightly. “Tell me, Y/N - how did the Muggle’s react to having a Squib walking amongst them?”

    You lift your head, purposefully avoiding a glance at Malfoy; even without looking at him, his snickers are unmistakable. “They didn’t know I’m a Squib, Professor. I just looked like a normal person.”

    Burbage’s eyes widen. “Really? They couldn’t even tell?”

   “But Squibs are so obvious,” someone jeers from the far side of the classroom - looking over, you’re pretty certain you recognise the man as Zacharias Smith, someone Ron has always taken a disliking to, but only because Hermione threatened to go out with him one time. “Could they not feel the uselessness coming off you?”

    You scowl. “Have you been paying attention in Muggle Studies at all? Squibs don’t give off a bloody scent, you dumb little-”

    “But I thought Muggle’s dress differently to us,” a girl in the front row interjects, raising her hand pointlessly.

   “They do, dear,” Burbage replies. “They tend to wear. . . shorter clothes. No robes. Correct, Y/N?”

   “Uh, yeah.”

   “So how were you not recognised as a Squib?”

    “I wore Muggle clothes-”

  “Your older brother told me Muggle clothes can make a wizards skin burn-”

  “Y/N isn’t a wizard, you idiot. They’re a Squib-”

  “They’re the same thing!”

   “No, Squib’s don’t have magic, wizards do.”

   “Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid, Gregg, or I swear-”

   “Alright, class, enough!” Burbage exclaims, but it’s too late for that now. Questions are being fired at you from all directions, questions that seem most innocent to the oblivious but which actually cut pretty deep into the thick skin you possess.

    The word Squib in itself doesn’t sit right with you - you’ve never identified as a wizard nor a Muggle, but there’s something about that word that just puts a bad taste in your mouth. Maybe it’s the way it’s spoken by others - like an insult, a sneer rather than a simple term. Maybe it’s the implications it holds - here is a person who comes from a family of people who can basically do whatever they want. Here is a person who comes from a family seen as mystical, but they are not the same. They were not blessed in the same way even though all odds were saying they should have been.

    You swallow thickly, glancing over at Malfoy for a reason you cannot pinpoint - it’s not like he's a source of comfort. It’s not like he will be any different than the ignorant wizards currently yelling question after question at you. Nonetheless, your eyes find his, and it’s with a jolt that you realise he’s staring right at you with an almost worried expression on his face. A tilt to his head, brows furrowed, lips pursed. 

     You don’t know why you do it. You mouth the word help in his direction, and immediately he stands.

   “Everyone shut up!” he hisses. “Giving me a bloody headache!”

   The class fades into silence. Malfoy grunts, sits back down and ushers for Professor Burbage to continue the lesson, which she does with only mild hesitance. It’s clear she now realises that bringing you here today was perhaps not thoroughly thought through, but you don’t make a move to leave. You sit in the corner of the classroom as she goes through the lesson plan, keeping your head ducked in an attempt to ignore the stares.

   Once the lesson plan has been explained, Professor Burbage tells the class to get on with their work before she says, “Y/N will be walking around to help anyone who needs it.”

    You roll your eyes; will wizards ever get the hint?

   You push yourself up from your chair and start your rounds of the classroom, ignoring anyone who actually asks for your assistance. At this point, you just want the lesson to be over so you can head back to the infirmary and play Ron in a game of Scrabble - you’re much better at Scrabble than he is, and winning a few rounds will boost your dignity after those horrific chess games you played earlier.

    “Excuse me, can you help me with question-”

  “Piss off.”

     “That’s not very nice, Weasley.”

   You stop dead. “What do you want, Malfoy?”

  “I need help with question three - as I just asked.”

   You scowl, glancing at him over your shoulder. He’s smirking, twirling his pen between his fingers in a way not unlike how he had twirled his wand only a few hours prior. You take a few steps back and glance down at his work.

    “‘What mode of transport should a Muggle use if they want to move a sofa from one place to another?’” you recite. “Oh, come on, Malfoy. You’re not that thick.”

    “Just give me the answer.”

  “No. You’ll never learn if I just hand it to you.”

    He scowls, kicking your shin beneath the table. “Are you alright?”

   The sudden subject change nearly gives you whiplash, though it’s not nearly as shocking as the soft note his voice has suddenly undertaken. Your gaze snaps to him, an eyebrow raising. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

    “You asked me for help literally two seconds ago. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

    “I’m fine. Just - uh - a little shy when I'm the centre of attention.”

   “A Weasley, not liking attention? That’s a first.”

   You flick his ear. Malfoy grunts, swats your hand away before saying, “Why did you agree to come here?”

    “I didn’t agree to anything.” Before you can think better of it, you tug the stool out from beside Malfoy and sit down, leaning over in an attempt to look like you’re just helping him with his work. “She came into the infirmary with my parents and basically dragged me in here - you know how my dad is with all that Muggle stuff. He wouldn’t let me say no.”

    Malfoy snickers, pretending to write something down. “Is it true you wore Muggle clothes?”

   “Don’t start….”

   He raises a hand in mock surrender, that stupid grin forming on his face. “I wasn’t going to say anything. I heard - what is it? - Adidas? I heard they’re very comfortable-”

    “You’re taking the mick out of me,” you hiss, slapping his arm. He bursts into laughter, and the noise seems to startle even him, as he immediately slaps a hand over his mouth, face turning bright red.

    “I hope it’s just Muggle Studies we’re discussing over there, Draco!” Burbage calls.

   Draco scowls, slowly lowering his hand before he glances at you and says, “I hate this bleeding class.”

    “Mm, I gathered that. Never took you as the type to be interested in what Muggle’s get up to.”

   “I’m not, but it’s an easy N.E.W.T.”

   “That’s what they all say.” You nudge his elbow. “Just admit it, Malfoy; you’re interested in Muggle activities.”

    “Shut up, Weasley, or I won’t help you out of your next ambush.”

    You snicker, pushing away from the table. “There won’t be another ambush. I’m not stepping foot back in this classroom if I can help it.”

   “That’s what I said during my O.W.L’s, and now look where I am.”

    “See, this is when my Muggle education comes in handy; no need for crappy lessons like this.” You clap him on the shoulder. “I’ll see you around, Malfoy. Have fun learning about vans.” You tap question three on his paper. “V-A-N. You’re welcome.”

  ----

Hogsmeade is a good place to be for a Squib.

    Magic isn’t necessarily expected. You can walk through the streets and nobody will be under any illusion that you’re different. It’s freeing, a rare experience when you spend half your life either not fitting in amongst wizards, or not fitting in amongst Muggles. There is no in between for you.

    Today, Arthur and Molly permitted you and Ron some time to go into Hogsmeade together before you and your parents are due to depart to the Burrow again, where you will grudgingly continue your Muggle classes, steeping in your own boredom. 

    The streets would be considered empty if not for the abundance of Ministry officials littering the area; they stand outside every shop, talking to passers-by, warning them of the danger they are in by simply being outside. Kingsley Shacklebolt - a good friend of yours - gives you and Ron a stern look when you pass him standing outside Olivander’s. 

    “I thought Molly and Arthur would know better,” he says. “You two should be inside at all times.”

  “It’s like the Order wants us to go insane,” Ron mutters when the two of you are walking away from what was undoubtedly about to turn into a proper scolding. “Honestly, what are the chances You-Know-Who is just going to turn up in the middle of Hogsmeade? I’m pretty sure I heard somewhere he doesn’t like the Saturday crowds...”

   You and Ron continue to shop for a little while, though none of the stores particularly interest you. You love looking at the architecture and the fancy colours of each shop, but when you can’t really use any of the stuff being sold, the architecture isn’t enough to keep your attention seized.

  Nonetheless, you trail after Ron because this may be the last time you are able to see him until Christmas, and you’ll be damned if you let your last few days of company go to waste. The colour is back in his face, that tiny sway to his walk returning now that the poison has officially cleared his system; though you will never admit it to him, the worry you felt sitting at his bedside these past few days has been eating you alive. To see him back on his feet and grinning again is like Christmas come early.

     “Oh!” He latches onto your arm, snapping you from your daze. You follow the direction in which he is pointing, throwing your head back to groan into the air when you catch a glimpse of Quality Quidditch Supplies, Ron’s favourite place in the whole of Hogsmeade.

    “Oh, come on!” Ron exclaims, dragging your protesting form forward. “Just a little look to see if they’ve got anything new in.”

  “Why would they have anything new in?” you hiss, pressing a foot against the door frame in your attempts to make Ron let go of you. “The Quidditch season started months ago! Everyone’s already got everything they-”

    “Don’t make me hex you!”

   You groan, letting your foot slip to the floor. Ron tugs you into the shop after him, a bright smile on his face as soon as he lays eyes upon the Quidditch sets propped up on the far side of the shop. He scurries off, leaving you to awkwardly pluck at the bits and bobs that - apparently - have something to do with Quidditch. Growing up, you always found the concept of Quidditch to be quite intriguing. Charlie would never let a single family dinner go by without ranting about some team or other, and you were always inclined to listen. 

   However, you were never able to properly play. The only way you could ever fly a broom was when one of your older brothers would get it off the ground first before placing you upon it - which never really had the same effect, and has left you in many bad states over the years. Your mum put a ban on it when you were seven years old, though that never stopped Charlie Weasley from letting you have a go on his broom every now and then.

    You glance over at the broomsticks as the memories pop into your head; they are magnificent looking. It’s with hesitance that you stalk over to them, running your fingers along the bristles at the end, imagining the magic seeping from your fingertips into the broom, watching it lift off the floor purely because you wished it to, because you want it to fly and nobody else. 

    You don’t even crave an expensive one, not like Harry’s, or Ron’s new one that he got when he was made a Prefect. You just want one - any of them would do, as long as they work, as long as it’s yours.

   But that will never be the case.

    You bite your lip and look down; this always happens. You’ve been able to push past these feelings of uselessness pretty well during this Hogwarts visit, but they push to the surface now. 

     “Oi! Weasley!”

    You stumble away from the brooms, very nearly knocking over a display case filled with different Quaffles as you do so. Draco laughs, wading towards you with that long-legged stroll of his, and that stupid smile plastered all the way across his face. Him catching you ogling the broomsticks, knowing full well you can’t actually use one, is really the thing that tops off this already quite disastrous trip.

    “What are you doing out of the castle?” you ask quickly, struggling to stop the display case from wobbling.

      “I’m a Prefect. I can do what I want.”

   “And you want to stand here and take the mick out of me, I suppose?”

   Draco raises a brow, glancing behind you to where the broomsticks are mounted on the wall by invisible bonds. He looks back down at you, tilts his head and says, “Feeling a bit envious today, Weasley?”

    You roll your eyes, hands still messing with the display case. “I really don’t - for the love of - I really don’t have the - Oh, my goodness, can you just use a spell and straighten this bloody thing?”

   Draco laughs, but does as you say. With a flick of his wand, the display case stops wobbling and you can safely lower your hands to your sides. 

    “Thanks,” you grumble. “As I was saying, I really don’t have the time to sit here and listen to you go on about your fancy spells. Mum wants me and Ron back at the castle in about half an hour, so-”

  “Oh, plenty of time!” And before you can pull away, Draco has wrapped an arm round your shoulders and is steering you back towards the wall of broomsticks. With his wand outstretched, he points to each one, uttering their names into your ear like a teacher giving a student a tour. 

    His breath tickles your neck, and you’re not sure why you’re so aware of it. His fingers are cold against the tiny bit of shoulder peaking from your robes, and again, it’s startling how aware of his touch you are.

    “Have you ever flown one of these before?” he asks, after telling you what each one is called - this is information you already know, of course, considering you grew up in a household of Quidditch fanatics, but you let him ramble on anyway.

    “No,” you reply. “Well, not on my own. My brothers had to get the broom off the ground for me and then I would ride around on it for awhile until the magic wore off and I - uh - landed.”

    Draco hums. “I didn’t know that was possible.”

   “Yeah. It is. It’s just stupid, and painful.” You shrug Draco’s arm off your shoulder and spin. “Quite like this conversation. Can I leave yet?”

  Draco raises a brow; it’s that facial expression that always gets to you, no matter how many times you’ve seen it. You and Draco have watched each other grow up in tiny little bursts - you came to visit Hogwarts multiple times within the school year, and every single time, you somehow managed to have some sort of run-in with Draco. The two of you have bickered with one another from day one, but this facial expression is one that has always, always made you want to punch him.

    “I’ll walk you back to the castle,” he says. He turns on his heel and starts walking before you have a chance to decline his offer. You splutter, frantically scanning the shop for any sign of your twin brother - it’s when you spot him talking to Seamus Finnigan that you groan and decide to give in to your fate. You have to jog to keep up with Malfoy.

    “I know the way back,” you say, stumbling over your robes. 

   “I’m sure you do. That doesn’t mean I can’t accompany you.”

  “I really don’t think I should be leaving without telling Ron first…”

  “Ronald will handle the journey back perfectly fine on his own.” Malfoy glances back at you. “Plus, I don’t think Ron would like to hear what I have to ask you. It’s probably best we’re on our own.”

  You falter, heart skipping. You don’t like the sound of those words, especially coming from someone as unpredictable as Malfoy. 

   You raise a brow, ignoring the way he smirks as he turns back, giving a passing group of third year girls a nod. 

   “Don’t look so worried, Weasley. The wand is staying beneath the cloak.”

  “It’s not the wand I’m wary of.”

   His smirk turns into a grin. “I was going to ask you if you’d fancy a trip to the Quidditch pitches later tonight.”

    You stare at the back of his head as if doing so will somehow unravel the joke he’s clearly trying to pull right now. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t correct himself, doesn’t even snicker, though you can’t miss the way in which he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his robes. 

    “Sorry,” you reply sometime after. “I just. . . Can you repeat that?”

  He groans. “It really isn’t a difficult question.” He looks over. “And it’s not a date, either. I just thought you might appreciate a little bit of flying time on the pitches before you leave.”

    Is this Draco Malfoy being nice? If you weren’t currently witnessing it first hand, you wouldn’t believe it to be possible. You pick up your pace a tiny bit, just until you’re walking directly beside him when you say, “I can’t fly a broom, and you know that.”

    “You just told me your brothers used to help you; I can get it off the ground, and then you take it from there.”

    “And you don’t mind me using your broom? You’re not scared I’m going to break it?”

   Draco shrugs. “I have more than enough Galleons to pay for a new one, Weasley, don’t worry.”

   “I wasn’t worried,” you mumble. “But I - uh - I guess I could do that. It doesn’t sound too bad.”

   Draco glances down at you. “I’ll meet you at the pitches at nine o’clock then.”

    “Nine o’clock it is.”

    ---

    You have to tell your parents you’re going to visit Ron.

   They’ll never let you leave otherwise, not with Voldemort still breathing. Honestly, you can’t even blame them for the protective pull they’ve put on you, though you also can’t help but notice just how much stronger it is over you than it is for Ron - your twin brother had been in the infirmary after being poisoned only a few days prior, and yet they let him roam about Hogsmeade as much as he wants.

     “You know it’s probably Ron they’ll go after before they come after me,” you recall telling them over dinner one night. Your mother hadn’t even looked up from her food, though you saw her jaw twitch with the idea you had just implanted in her head. “He’s the one that’s best mates with Harry.”

  “You and Harry are also good friends,” your dad says, pointing his fork at you. 

   “Right, but not - like - best friends.”

   “Y/N, we’re not discussing this over dinner,” Molly had snapped. “You’ll do as we say, and that’s final!”

   Now you feel like you have no choice but to lie.

    You inform your parents that Ron has asked for your company during his next study session in which he wants you to check over his essay and correct any spelling and punctuation he’s messed up on; a lie, of course, but Ron’s genuine lack of skill when it comes to basic spelling and grammar is an easy enough lie to ride upon. Your parents immediately permit you to leave, kissing you goodbye before sending you off to the castle under the moonlight.

    The Quidditch pitches themselves are magnificent when it’s dark.

    You’ve never been to a proper Hogwarts Quidditch match; you went to the Quidditch World Cup with your family a few summers ago, but you’ve always wanted to see Ron or Harry play.

   Or Malfoy.

    The rings stand tall, glittering gold in the darkness. The lights from the commentator’s stand have been kept on, and it’s almost as if night time doesn’t exist. You can see everything perfectly; the audience stands, the rings, the soft grass you are currently walking across to reach the very centre of the field where Draco Malfoy stands, his broom at his side, his robes fitting him perfectly.

     He gives you a smile when he sees you. “I thought you’d gotten lost. Navigating around this place without magic can be a real pain.”

    “As I’m so often reminded.” You nod to his broom. “A Nimbus 2001. Not bad.”

    Draco shrugs, though his smirk is evident. “It’s carried me well.”

   “Is that why you’ve never caught the Snitch?”

   He scowls at you. “Do you want to fly it or not?”

   You slowly reach a hand out, gently brushing your fingertips along the wood. It really is pretty - you can already imagine Ron’s face when you tell him that you somehow managed to have a go on a real Nimbus 2001, something Ron couldn’t even dream of doing.

     You lift your gaze. Draco is staring at you, watching the adoration on your face, reminding you that you will forever be unable to do as he does. You flinch your hand away and stuff it in the pocket of your raggedy robes.

    “Let’s have a look, then,” you say. “Get on it and show me how it works.”

  Draco sets everything up. You watch him closely, recounting the steps you have memorised for no reason at all, steps you are intrigued by but will never use. He gives you one final look before he mounts the broom and takes off.

    And he’s just as beautiful as you imagined.

    You’ve seen Quidditch matches. You’ve watched players soar through the air for hours on end, watched them swerve between hoops and dodge Bludgers with an efficiency similar to that of a bird. You’ve seen it all, but it’s quite different when you’re watching someone like Malfoy have the sky all to themselves. There’s no dodging, no jerky swerves, no expressions of frustration. It’s just Malfoy and his broom, swerving between nothing, grinning down at you.

     His blonde hair flashes silver every time he flies in front of the commentator’s lights. You place a hand on your forehead, blocking out the beams just enough to see him do a loop before he yells out your name and waves.

    You laugh, unable to help yourself. Jumping to be seen a bit better, you wave your arms violently back and forth, hoping for no reason at all that Malfoy can see you, that he’s smiling down at you, having fun-

     He does a final loop and then crashes to the floor, dirt flying up all around him, splattering his robes and his face, but he’s laughing and smiling as he jogs back to your side.

    “Wow,” you say, giving him a round of applause. “That was good, Malfoy.”

   “Thank you, thank you,” he replies. “Your turn?”

   You nod enthusiastically, watching Draco set the broom up until it is hovering in the air between you. 

   “The magic bits all done now,” he says. “I’m assuming you know how to work the rest?”

   You place your hand on the broom; immediately it deflates, becoming heavy in your hand when it should feel light as air. You frown, dropping it to the floor.

    “It stopped working,” you say.

   Draco hums in confusion, bends down and picks it up. He tries again, getting the broom to float before he steps back and you have another go. Once again, the broom deflates and crashes to the floor between you.

    “Well, that’s bloody annoying,” you grumble. “Walked all the way through Hogsmeade and this is what I get for it?”

    Draco picks up the broom again. “Don’t be so dramatic. If you want to have a go, I’ll just get on with you.”

  You falter. “What?”

   He swings his leg over the broom and motions for you to get on behind him; there’s plenty of room, but the mere idea of soaring through the air upon the same broom as Draco Malfoy is a bit intimidating.

   “Listen, mate.” You take a cautious step back. “I know my family can be a bit of a pain when it comes to you, but I never had any issue with you. If you want me dead, you could have just-”

  “Oh, for the love of-” Draco surges forward, grabs a handful of your robes and rugs you onto the broom behind him. You yelp, having only seconds to grab onto his waist before he’s kicking off the floor and suddenly you’re in the air.

     You bury your head in his spine, groaning against his robes; you were so prepared for this, and yet the abruptness with which he took off has your stomach reeling. The wind pelts your face. The world gets smaller and smaller and smaller below you…

    You peek an eye out from Malfoy’s robes, the breath leaving you in an instant. Hogwarts really is a wonderful sight to behold when you’re looking at it from above; the lanterns flicking subtly in the hallways, the shadows of passing students drifting by the window, the smoke billowing from the many chimneys dotting the castles exterior.

    “Bloody hell,” is the only way you can articulate your feelings. 

    Draco laughs, the noise reverberating against your cheek. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

   “It’s. . . more than nice,” you choke out, finally pulling away from him completely, though you keep your arms wound around his waist. “Is this what you see during every Quidditch match? ‘Cause you clearly don’t see the Snitch all that often.”

   Draco jerks the front of the broom. You simply laugh, even as you’re forced to tighten your grip on his waist to stay in the air.

    “It’s a little different,” he replies, shooting you a playful glare. “There’s always so much going on in a Quidditch match, it’s difficult to stop and focus on the scenery.”

    “That makes sense.”

   Draco hums, jerking his broom to go in the opposite direction. “I hope that’s not another dig at my Seeker skills, Weasley.”

   “If the shoe fits, Malfoy.”

    The broom is directed into an abrupt nosedive.

   You screech, pressing your head - yet again - into Malfoy’s spine, as if being unable to see the floor will mean you are not heading directly towards it. The wind whistles loudly in your ears, though not loud enough to cover Malfoy’s cackling laugh as he tugs and suddenly the broom is soaring back into the air.

   You pant, lifting your head, darting your eyes left and right. “What the hell, Malfoy?”

    “Did that scare you?”

    “Of course it did! Why would you do that?”

   He glances at you, grinning from ear to ear. He doesn’t even have to say anything - you get the message. He’s always had fun teasing you, and that isn’t going to stop tonight.

   You roll your eyes, slapping him on the back. “You’re the absolute worst.”

   “So you’ve told me.”

    It’s silent after that. The two of you fly circles round the Quidditch pitch until it gets too cold for Malfoy to grip the handle properly. He heads back to the ground, feet skidding against the floor, one hand winding around and gripping your waist to stop the impact from hurting too much.

    You stumble off the broom, grin evident on your face. “That was incredible!”

   Malfoy lazily picks at the handle, not looking up when he hums in agreement.

   Your excitement is palpable, screaming through your system at a million miles per hour. You clap your hands, doing a tiny twirl in the middle of the Quidditch pitch purely because you can, because you’ve just flew, because Charlie is going to be so damn proud of you-

    You open your eyes to see Malfoy staring at you. 

   He’s wearing an expression you have never seen him wear before; dazed, almost, like he doesn’t quite know how to process what he’s feeling or seeing. His lips are slightly parted, hands limp so his broom falls halfway to the floor. His blue eyes stare into your own, and slowly he starts to tilt his head.

    Your cheeks heat up, and you quickly look away. “Don’t look at me like that, Malfoy.”

    He doesn’t say anything for a number of minutes, and you’re suddenly much too nervous to look up to see why. You can still feel the burn of his gaze on the side of your head, even as you keep your eyes trained on the grass beneath you.

     And then suddenly Malfoy takes a step forward. Just a single step, but it’s enough to put you nearly chest to chest with the Slytherin. You can smell the wind clinging to his clothes, the fresh scent of grass and a slight undertone of sweat. You can hear his breathing, suddenly much more shallow than it was before.

    You risk a glance upwards, not entirely sure why you’re not moving away from him, making some remark about how weird he is or how badly he annoys you. All words have died on your tongue, and it’s understandable when you look up to see him staring right down at you, not a single flash of humour upon his face.

    His hand is on your cheek in seconds; your breath leaves you in one clean swoop, the feel of his palm making your heart jump.

    “Your smile is. . . very pretty,” he says, so quietly his words could easily be mistaken for the wind. 

    “Draco…”

   “Come back to the castle with me,” he continues. “I can convince McGonagall to let you stay in the Slytherin common room.”

    Your eyes widen. “Wait, really?” 

   His grin flashes in the dark, sharp and perfect. “If you want to accompany me. If you-”

    His words are cut short by Molly Weasley bellowing your name from across the Quidditch field.

   You leap away from Malfoy, very nearly falling over your own robes in the process. Malfoy himself looks suddenly flustered, running his ringed hands through his hair and looking away from the blinding lights in an attempt to hide the pink hue of his cheeks.

    “Y/N Weasley, do not ignore me!” Molly screeches, and then she is Apparating in front of you and seizing you by the shoulders, shaking you. “ARE. YOU. INSANE?”

   “Mum!” you exclaim. “Bloody hell, Mum, calm down!”

  “CALM DOWN?” she cries, voice cracking. “Don’t you dare tell me to calm down! Can you even begin to comprehend the fright your father and I got when we sent an owl up to the school to check how you and Ron were getting on, only to be told that you weren’t even in the Hogwarts castle?”

    Guilt falls heavily on your shoulders. “Sorry.”

   “Oh, you will be.” Molly grabs your wrist and starts stampeding across the field, muttering things like “early grave… grey hairs….can’t believe” beneath her breath. You, however, don’t even fully register what she is trying to say as you turn and glance at Malfoy, who is standing stock still in the centre of the Quidditch pitch, watching you go with his broom hanging limp at his side.

    Molly Apparates back to the Hogs Head, and that’s the last you see of him.

   ----

   “Please tell me it’s a joke.”

    You don’t even look up.

   “Y/N, please tell me Mum was just pulling my leg.”

   “I don’t-”

   “Oh, god, you can’t even look at me.” Ron falls into his chair and grabs a hash brown, stuffing it in his mouth. “You were out with Malfoy?”

    You wince; the volume with which Ron always insists on speaking has never made sense to you. “Not for very long,” you lie. “And what’s it to you who I hang out with?”

    “Good point,” Hermione chirps. “But Malfoy, Y/N? Really? You could do so much better.”

    Something burns in your chest, an overwhelming urge to tell the two of them to get their judgemental noses out of your business; however, you know doing such a thing will do nothing to persuade them that nothing is going on between you and Malfoy, so you instead choose to scoop some cereal into your mouth and pretend you hadn’t heard.

    “It just doesn’t make sense,” Ron continues. “Malfoy’s a Prefect, for crying out loud. What’s he doing sneaking out of the castle in the dark?”

   “Clearly he wanted to see Y/N,” Hermione says.

   “Well, yeah, but why? Y/N’s a Squib!”

  “Thanks, Ron,” you grumble.

   Ron groans, nudging your elbow. “You know that’s not what I meant; most people don’t have a problem with you. But Malfoy - he’s a different cup of tea altogether, isn’t he?”

    “How so?” 

   Ron shrugs. “He’s just a close-minded little weasel. Can’t see anyone being anything other than pure blood.”

  Hermione rolls her eyes. “How many times do I have to remind you, Ron? Y/N is a pure blood - they just haven’t got the magical abilities.”

    Ron waves a dismissive hand. “Either way, I’m surprised Draco hasn’t tried humiliating you a thousand times already.”

    “Have you ever actually had a real conversation with Draco?” The words are out before you can stop them. Hermione and Ron cautiously glance at you, eyebrows raised.

    “Oh, don’t tell me he’s buttered you up,” Ron says. “Not you. I have to bloody live with you!”

    “He hasn’t buttered me up,” you shoot back. “I just don’t see why I should completely boycott him just because you lot don’t like him. He’s nice to me.”

    Ron scoffs. “He’s nice to me. You know what that sounds like, Y/N? Sounds like you’re fraternising with the enemy; getting cuddly; abandoning the side that put clothes on your back-”

   “Oh Ron, honestly!” Hermione hisses, slapping his arm. “Give it a rest; Y/N can like whoever they want.” She nods at you, giving you a small smile. “I’m happy for you.”

  You smile back, even though her words do nothing but fluster you; she speaks of you liking Malfoy as if you outright said you liked him, but you never did. To be honest, you don’t even know what your feelings are for Malfoy; after last night, you will admit to feeling something, something that was always lurking beneath the surface but refused to make an appearance because every time it started to rise, Malfoy would say something to Ron, or you, or he would just be ignorant and you couldn’t bring yourself to admit what you were feeling for him.

    But last night, things took such a sharp turn. So sharp, in fact, that you haven’t even fully processed what any of it means, or what you’re meant to do now, or how you’re meant to approach the topic with Malfoy the next time you see him. 

     Breakfast finishes, and it’s nearly time to leave. On any normal day, leaving Hogwarts is the highlight; you can escape the stares and the uncertain questions. Now, however, as you, Ron and Hermione stand up from the table and get ready to go downstairs where you are due to meet your parents, you can’t help but feel a little. . . incomplete, as if you didn’t finish something you set out to do on this brief trip.

    Harry catches up to you all as you’re wondering down the staircase. “You lot couldn’t have waited?”

   “We’re on a schedule, Potter,” you reply. “Molly and Arthur Weasley cannot be left waiting.”

   Harry rolls his eyes, pulling you into a brotherly side hug as you arrive in the main hall; sure enough, Molly and Arthur Weasley are nowhere to be found, and not a single person is surprised.

    “Always late,” Ron grumbles. “I just want to get rid of you.”

   “Shut up.” You pull Ron into a hug. “Try not to get poisoned again before Christmas, alright? I won’t be able to handle Mum on my own if Percy doesn’t show up again.”

    “It’s not me we need to keep an eye on,” Ron says, pulling away. “If I put you on a leash, do you think that will keep you away from the Slytherin boys?”

    Harry splutters, head snapping up. 

  You groan. “Nothing happened with Malfoy and I!”

   “Oh.”

    Your heart drops.

   And it shouldn’t. The sound of Draco’s voice - that quiet, innocent little oh - should have done nothing to faze you, but it does. You whirl around and there he is, standing on the bottom step with his hands swinging by his side and his face strained with his attempts to keep that strong expression upon it.

     “Sorry. Looks like I’ve walked in at the wrong time,” he sneers. 

    “What do you want, Malfoy?” Ron spits. “Can’t you see we’re a bit occupied at the-”

   “Draco…”

   Malfoy’s blue eyes flick to you. A muscle tenses in his jaw before he shrugs, turns on his heel and starts walking back the way he came.

     Your heart is beating so fast. It feels heavy. Your eyes are burning, unshed tears rising to the surface even though none of it makes sense; you weren’t lying. Nothing did happen between you and Malfoy last night - nothing serious, nothing physical.

    But you would be a liar, a downright fool, to claim nothing changed. Soaring through the sky on the back of his broom, watching the stars glide past, laughing louder than you have laughed in many, many months - something did happen, whether it was physical or not.

    You turn, eyes finding Ron’s immediately. He’s scowling until he meets your gaze and notices the desperation there; his twin, the strongest of his siblings because you’ve been the most misunderstood your entire life, yet here you are, on the verge of tears because you don’t know what to do.

    Ron’s expression softens. He looks over at Harry and Hermione, neither of whom seem to have read the room and have since continued their chat about Harry’s Defence Against the Dark Arts homework.

   Ron sighs, steps forward and says, “Go. I’ll tell Mum and Dad you went to the loo or something.”

   You’re off in a heartbeat.

    If last nights endeavours don’t give away your feelings for Malfoy, then the speed at which you dart back up the stairs certainly does. The hallways are empty besides the odd stray ghost, all of whom you ignore as you search desperately for any sign of Malfoy roaming amongst them. It seems like all is lost until you eventually round the corner leading to the library and very nearly crash right into his back.

    He’s leaning against the wall, though he spins around as soon as you make an appearance. His eyes widen, mouth opening but you’re speaking before he can say anything.

    “For gods sake, Malfoy! Why do you have to be so dramatic all the time?” you pant, slapping his arm. “Do you know how difficult it is to run up those stairs when they’re moving like that? No, of course you don’t, because you can just Apparate or whatever it is you lot do to get from one place to another.” You groan, clutching the stitch in your side. “Please don’t let me leave here without an explanation.”

    Draco stares at you open mouthed, seeming too stunned for words.

   You close your eyes and say, “I didn’t mean what I said.”

    “What are you-”

  “I don’t think nothing happened between us last night.”

   Draco pauses. You lean forward, pressing your forehead to the wall in exasperation; your side is still aching, and time is running out, and you’re no longer all that confident in the fact that Draco feels the same way.

     “I think. . . I think we were very caught up in the moment,” you hurry on. “It was dark, and the lights were a little romantic-”

   “Romantic?”

   “And obviously we’re both very confused, because we hate each other, you know? That’s kind of like our thing! You take the mick out of me, and I take the mick out of you, and then we don’t see each other for a good few months and then it restarts, and-”

    “I don’t hate you.”

   “Yes you do. You always have.”

    Draco places a hand on your arm, gently easing you away from the wall. Your eyes open, hands trembling with anxiety but that doesn’t stop Draco from slipping his fingers between your own.

    “I don’t hate you,” he repeats, quieter this time. “Do you wanna know a bit of a secret, Weasley?”

   Your heart jumps. “Uh. . . Go on then.”

  “Last night when the broom fell every time you touched it? That was me. I was making it fall so I had an excuse for you to fly with me.”

    You blink. In any other situation, with any other person, that news would absolutely infuriate you. But now, you look up into Draco’s eyes and you see that soft, cheeky smile and you can’t even bring yourself to feel anything besides absolute fondness.

    Nonetheless, you scowl. “You really are a little rat, aren’t you Malfoy?”

    He throws his head back and laughs, and that does it for you. You grab his chin, pull his head down and kiss him.

    His hands find your jaw immediately, winding through your hair as the world disappears and trouble doesn’t exist. It’s a weird feeling to be so at peace with someone who is the definition of destruction, someone who was born and raised to cause havoc. You silently wonder who taught him to be so gentle. 

      Draco pulls away first, eyes still half-closed, tongue swiping so casually across his bottom lip, as if savouring the feel of you. You are less graceful, stumbling away from him enough to exclaim, “So that broom would have stayed up if you weren’t messing with it? I knew it!”

    Draco rolls his eyes, grabbing your hand to pull you back towards him. “Don’t pretend you didn’t prefer flying with me.”

    You scowl. “I would have preferred having the option.” 

   “I’ll make it up to you.”

   “You better; let’s see who can catch the Snitch quicker.”

   Draco pecks your lips. “Sounds like a plan.”

   ----

      “Draco, fly straight! Fly straight!”

   “Why would I do that? The Snitch isn’t-”

    “Just fly straight!”

    Draco groans, tugging the broom in the direction you’ve ordered. Up ahead, Ron and Charlie twist around each other, eyes scanning the garden for any sign of the little golden ball you’re all desperately searching for. Charlie is good - you know this, have seen him play Quidditch too many times to deny such a fact. Now, however, you’re determined to give your boyfriend a point.  

    “Has Weasley spotted it?” Draco calls over the wind. 

   “There’s three Weasleys in our vicinity, Draco, you’re gonna have to be a bit more specific.”

   “Ron. Has Ron spotted the Snitch?”

   You glance over your shoulder. “No, he still looks like he doesn’t know where he is.”

   “Oh, good.” Draco speeds up then; you cling onto his waist, keeping your eyes firm on Charlie up ahead. “What have you got planned, Weasley?”

   “Give me a minute.” You push yourself up using Draco’s shoulders; your boyfriend cries out, averting his eyes from the path ahead to look up at you as you balance on the back of his broom, a trick Fred and George taught you when you were only little.

    “What are you doing?” Draco yells, reaching round with one hand to grab your knees. “You’re gonna fall!”

   “Just keep flying straight!”

   “Oh my-”

  Charlie tries to whizz past, knowing full well what you’re planning to do - he’s seen this trick a million times before, has always claimed it to be cheating. In your eyes, you can’t really cheat if you’re nothing more than a bystander.

   And that’s what drives you to leap forward and crash onto the back of Charlie’s broom.

   In the background, you can hear Draco cursing, his own broom swerving left and right before he manages to get it together and spin back around. Ron is laughing. Charlie is fuming.

   “Get off!” your older brother exclaims. “You said you wouldn’t do that!”

  “Give Draco a chance,” you say through giggles, before you slam your hands into the front of Charlie’s broom, directing it to the floor. Charlie yells out your name, thrashing against your hands, but this is something you’ve been doing from the age of eleven, when Fred and George figured out they could use their younger sibling to their advantage, despite the fact you can’t actually fly a broom yourself.

    Charlie’s broom crashes to the floor and the two of you roll off it. You scramble up and sprint to the far side of the yard before Charlie can grab your foot and pull you back down for a scolding. 

    It’s with the professional on the ground that Draco is able to snatch the Snitch right out from under Ron’s nose. You cheer when Draco holds the golden ball in the air, jumping and clapping in your excitement. 

    “That was cheating!” Ron yells.

   “I said that, mate,” Charlie calls back, but neither you nor Draco are listening. Draco comes back to the ground, stumbles off his broom and rushes towards you, the Snitch still in his hand. You jump into his arms, giving him a hug as he laughs heartily in your ear.

   “That’s one way to win a Quidditch match,” he says. “Don’t do that again, though. Nearly gave me a bloody heart attack when you stood up.”

  You pull away, keeping your arms around his neck. “Aw, were you worried about me?”

    Draco scowls. “I’ll push you off the broom next time.”

  You chuckle and press your lips to his. He melts in that way he only seems to when it’s you he’s melting into, his arm tightening on your waist, the other pressing the Snitch against your neck. 

     “Oh, bloody hell, Y/N-”

   You pull away from Draco just as your mother appears in front of you, red-faced and furious. 

    “AND HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU TO STOP DIVING BETWEEN BROOMS? DO YOU WANT TO GET YOURSELF KILLED? HONESTLY, CHARLIE COULD HAVE DIED! Oh, hello Draco, dear - would you like some toast?”