#that even attempting a list of them is gonna end up with a lot of very generic stuff

[fiercestpurpose]

A complete list of books with female protagonists:

Pride and Prejudice

The Hunger Games

The Locked Tomb series

The Haunting of Hill House

Wonder Woman comics

[the-maid-of-witchwood]

Gimme your favourite au ideas and who you'd throw into them (or like one au idea you like because you have like the neatest ideas)

Again, I’m gonna pull out a list of AUs I have previously written because I’m way too prepared for this.

Carrie AU 2.0

Has no relation to the first beyond being another play on Carrie. The whole thing takes place at the Starlight Theatre where Ruth ends up playing the lead in Cinderella’s Castle. Zoey, pissed and bitter about playing second fiddle to some dorky soprano, just decides to trash her opening night. Or the one where Zoey takes method acting as the Stepmother too far. (If you’ve seen CC, you’ll know what I’m hinting at). Ruth snaps and wipes out half of Hatchetfield before curtain call.

Also Lautity are here just flirting in the background the entire time. Like, they are the only survivors because they thought the other looked good in this hot all done up and left to make out.

Cinderella’s Castle

The one where Stephanie doesn’t have a good time. I’ve already spoken about it on here but it’s essentially the plot of CC but set in Hatchetfield, with some of the lore weaved in. Just for fun and angst. So you know she’s being dragged through that ringer.

Corpse Bride

Pete is Victor, Grace is Victoria, Steph is Emily. Need I say more?

Crossed Timelines

Having been killed by Max, Ruth and Richie wake up in some random location with Pete, Steph and Grace. But it’s not their Pete, Steph and Grace. It’s the ones from another universe where Max killed them three instead of Ruth and Richie. Basically everyone argues who had it worst and trauma bonds. Essentially reincarnation.

Dæmons (His Dark Materials)

Just shenanigans involving everyone having dæmons. That’s it. Mainly fluff and chaos.

Dirty Dudes Must Die

Written as a mock Nightmare Time episode. Essentially follows Steph discovering the guys at school being shitty to Grace, the school refusing to do anything, Grace getting kicked out of home for ‘sleeping around’ and subsequently her deciding to take revenge. Only things go horribly wrong and she ends up with four bodies on her hands. Fortunately the nerds who keep getting in the way are more than happy to help.

Hatchet Swung the Other Way

Gabe is the bully and everything changes. Not really. Essentially just a role swap: the cool kids are now the losers and vice versa, Gabe - Max, Grace - Steph, Steph - Pete, and so on and so forth. Potentially might take place at Abstinence Camp.

Heathers

When Richie said he hated Stephanie Lauter and wanted her dead, he didn’t mean it literally. Would be nice if Max knew that. Also it’s totally unfair that he has to put up with her annoying ghost instead of Max when it wasn’t even his fault she was stupid enough to drink drain cleaner in the first place—

Ride the Cyclone Tearjerker

Six teenagers die at Watcher World. However, Miss Holloway refuses to let Blinky torture all of them - so they reach a deal, she can bring one back to life. However, rather than pick herself, she leaves the decision to the teenagers. Aka, Ruth lets out her inner theatre kid for an hour and a bit; Steph and Richie attempt to kill each other a second time; Grace has a mental breakdown/crisis of faith in the corner; Pete is literally the only ‘normal’ one; and Max honestly doesn’t know why he’s here.

Sail Away to Canada

An alternative NPMD ending where they do actually sail away to Canada and get new identities. A lot more slice of life and silly scenarios of them trying to remain undercover… until Solomon drags them back to deal with the mess (Max’s ghost) they left behind. Only there’s one issue: Grace may or may not have lost the winning card of her chastity to Lautski and they might have to aggressively play Rock, Paper, Scissors to decide who’s taking the bullet.

Something Fun, Something Tasty

Another alternative NPMD ending where Steph’s sacrifice isn’t the death of what she cherishes most, but they’re humanity. Pete and Grace struggle to adapt to their new life as… whatever the heck they are now. Monsters? Pets? Vessels? Steph just feels incredibly guilty; she’s also kinda the new Miss Holloway.

Take a Walk in My Shoes

Steph and Grace wake up in each other’s bodies in what they think is just a random nightmare. With the help of Pete, they slowly uncover that there’s something a lot more sinister going on at Abstinence Camp. And maybe a certain deal that was stuck between Mayor Lauter and the Jerries over a black book…

The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals

Essentially TGWDLM but Pete is Paul. And he has the unfortunate fate of losing one girlfriend to the apocalypse, while trying to escape with the other. This definitely isn’t something that’ll be used against him in the final act…

[crushmeeren]

ᝰ KATSUKI FUCKING YOU IN THE PORSCHE .ᐟ

̽ ⋆ ﹒♡﹒ inspired by this from @with-my-calamitous-love !

ᯓ★ dividers created by me.

master list ‣ ‣ @zennypiee

“We’re gonna be fuckin’ late.”

It’s the third time he’s repeated himself, and Katsuki’s weak attempt at convincing you to be on time for yet another stuffy heroes banquet isn’t working. He’s been trying to show his face in public more, courtesy of his PR manager. But you know that you’d both much rather park in an empty lot so you can bounce on his cock.

Long, thick fingers tap the steering wheel in a quick rhythm, the muscles in his forearms flexing with every small movement. It’s the end of summer, and Katsuki’s skin is a bit tanner than usual. You thank God the weather is still warm enough that Katsuki’s rolled the sleeves of his silky black button up to his elbows.

Your stare is open and shameless, biting the inside of your cheek as he rolls the wheel with one hand to turn right. “So what? C’mon baby, the banquet will continue whether we’re late or not. Besides, you didn’t even want to go, Kat.”

Katsuki laughs, a short and rough sound. You glance at him and he meets your gaze, smirking, then returns to watching the road, flicking on the turn signal. “Fine, fuck the banquet. You love gettin’ your way, don’t ya? Spoiled girl.”

He’s teasing, but heat sinks low into your belly anyways. “Say whatever you want, but I know you love spoiling me, Katsuki.”

Katsuki hums in response. The hand that’d been resting on the gearshift lands on your thigh, palm warm and melting through your dress like butter. He squeezes once, gripping the fabric and tugging until it starts to bunch around your upper thighs.

Silently, you check your purse in hopes of finding a hair tie. You’d like to be somewhat presentable for the banquet afterwards.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

The backseat of the Porsche is quite small.

Katsuki’s too tall, and it’s not realistic for you both to be able to bend and twist to get the right angles. Not that the front is much better, but at least Katsuki can scoot his seat far back enough that you’ll fit snug in his lap. Even if the steering wheel digs into your back every now and then.

One of your knees is trapped between Katsuki’s thigh and the center console, pinching it to the point of being annoying but easy to ignore. The other presses against the door. You shift your weight, adjusting your feet so the tops of them are propped up Katsuki’s thighs and it relieves the ache on your knee.

Your pussy drags along his shaft as you do, the only thing keeping him from sliding inside is the fabric of your panties. He’d shoved his slacks and briefs to mid thigh before you straddled him and now the heat of him is unbearable.

“Fuck,” Katsuki chokes out, gripping your waist out of habit as his dick twitches. “You’re goddamn gorgeous, I wanna see your tits.” He moves one hand up to your chest and yanks down the collar of your dress, breasts bouncing free, and he seals his lips around one of your nipples, sucking so hard your hips jerk forward.

“Oh god, Kat, don’t tease,” you warn, fingers fisting the silky material over his shoulders. Katsuki’s tongue flicks your tender nipple, skating his hand up your ribs and down your waist, over your thigh and between your legs. He pulls your panties to the side, letting cool fingers slide between your lips. They briefly dip inside, and you rock down only for Katsuki to retreat.

Katsuki frees your nipple with a pop and leans back to speak, more than likely to antagonize you, but you surge forward and cut him off with a bruising kiss. Katsuki’s head knocks into the seat from the force of it, punching a groan from his chest. The clean, citrusy scent of his cologne curls in the air and tickles your nose.

You shove your tongue into his mouth, reaching down to circle your fingers around his shaft. Tightening your hold causes Kastuki to suck in a sharp breath, and you break the kiss to rest your forehead on his.

Rising up on your knees, you use your grip on his dick to tap his tip against your clit, a prickle of heat shooting up your spine, before you line him up and start to sink down. The soft heat of your pussy locks tight around him and Katsuki tenses up beneath you, latching onto your hips.

Your breath catches in your chest until you bottom out, ass meeting his thighs. Your pussy throbs from the burning stretch.

“Jesus,” Katsuki breathes, lids fluttering as he struggles to keep them open. “Feels too fuckin’ good, babygirl.” You nod your agreement, slack-jawed, and straighten your spine. It’s like Katsuki’s cock is in your stomach.

“Help me Kat,” you demand, bracing your hands on the seat behind the blonde.

One side of Katsuki’s mouth lifts into a smug grin, shifting himself a bit lower into the seat. Large hands cup your ass and squeeze tight enough to leave marks. “Hang on tight, princess.”

The first thrust sparks pleasure deep in your pelvis, heat rushing to your toes. After that, each time you push back to meet him, it’s slick, loud, and frantic. He fucks you fast and hard, this being one of the few times Katsuki’s agreeable to a quickie. The heat rises until the windows fog up, your handprint becoming very visible to the outside eye.

Once you’ve settled back into the passenger seat you touch up your makeup, thankful it wasn’t ruined. Although, your hair tie does get put to good use.

[earthsparked]

I’ve been thinking about this all day

An au where the cybertronians aren’t the first extraterrestrial visitors. You can imagine it with any well known aliens, but I’m fixated on the idea of the autobots arriving on earth during A Quiet Place.

Like imagine some human survivors cautiously making their way to the ark crash site, seeing the dead death angels that attempted to attack the bots, and just breaking down crying because *the monsters can be killed*. Optimus would promptly adopt them.

Or maybe the death angels resist cybertronian weaponry the same way they do human’s, and now there’s another addition to the long list of things the bots need to worry about.

Idk I’ve just had this thought stuck in my brain and I needed to get it out

That is a KILLER premise. Seriously, one of my favorite tropes is that somebody came and fucked up Earth REAL bad and the arrival of the Cybertronians saves the day and gives the survivors another chance. Post-Apocalypse scenario where they come looking for energon and get a lot more than they expected.

Imagine getting saved from the monsters by this giant terrifying being who, you have no idea is friendly. Your life hasn’t had a lot of friendliness in it for a long while. And you’ve gotten used to running and hiding, perhaps haven’t even seen another human in so long. So when you realize you’re getting hunted by the huge metal being, you end up playing cat and mouse.

You have no idea what it wants with you. But you aren’t inclined to think it’s anything good! Because since when do you get a break?!

Meanwhile Optimus is pretty sure you’re the cutest and most pathetic thing he’s ever seen. And he needs your help to figure out what the hell happened here. (Maybe this is one planet where it’s not their fault, one planet where they can actually help.)

He is going to treat you like a feral kitten. You’re gonna get burrito’d and re-socialized against your will.

[sectumsempraaa]

Luck & Stardust

Pairing: they’re all in love with you 🤭 x fem!reader (not house-specific)

Featuring: Draco, Theo, Mattheo, Lorenzo

Word count: 2.4k

Based on this request! Thank you :)

TW: none lol welcome to fluff city

Summary: With February 14th quickly approaching, the Slytherin boys fight for your affection in pursuit of being crowned your valentine. Some attempts are better than others, but only one can be the best… and it’s one that you never saw coming.

“Don’t even think about it, Diggory.” Theo snaps, giving the Hufflepuff a look of utter doom.

With Valentine’s Day right around the corner, your favorite group of Slytherins have taken it upon themselves to act as your own personal Queen’s Guard.

Many of the Hogwarts boys are scrambling to make you their valentine, each attempt failing as miserably as the last, not unlike this one. The boys can’t fathom sharing you, and they won’t. It’s them, or no one. Cedric silently backs away with his hands raised in surrender.

Mattheo’s got his eyes buried in a book, keeping his stare down as the next suitor approaches you from behind. His voice is threatening enough, there’s no need for him to make eye contact.

“I wouldn’t, McLaggen, if you’d like to keep your neck straight.” Mattheo says, lethally monotone. Cormac scoffs and opens his mouth to retaliate, but not before Mattheo can interrupt him.

“Neck. Straight.” He spits, absent-mindedly making a fist with his right hand. It’s safe to say McLaggen got the message. Theo and Mattheo share a look, shaking their heads in annoyance.

“Oh for fucks sake.” Draco groans, standing from his position to size up one of the Weasley brothers headed your way. “Try and see how quick I’ll make Fred an only-twin.”

“I am Fred, you filthy snake.” He replies, an uncommon bitterness in his voice. His retort admittedly makes you laugh, no one is usually brave enough to fight back. Draco notices your reaction, a muscle flinching in his jaw.

“I care less about your identity than I do about the slugs you’ll be coughing up if you even entertain the idea of asking her.” Draco says, the tension reaching a high.

They stare at each other for a long moment, performing the standoff of a lifetime. You decide it’s time to interfere.

“Sorry, Fred. Maybe next year?” You say apologetically, giving the boy a sympathetic look.

“Over my dead body.” Draco mutters.

When Fred walks away, you glare at each of the boys, rolling your eyes in irritation. “You know, this is why we don’t get invited to things.”

“The missing out is worth knowing you won’t end up with a bloody Gryffindor.” Draco grunts, his eyebrows furrowed and mouth in a scowl. Theo chimes in, throwing an arm around your shoulder.

“Sorry, amore. This is what happens when you’re under our wing.” He laughs, placing a dramatic kiss on the top of your head. Lorenzo nearly spits out his tea, giving the boys a baffled expression.

“You lot are mental if you think we’re not the ones under her wing.” He exclaims, nudging your arm with his. Theo argues with him, listing off all the instances where they’ve protected you.

“I’m gonna stop you right there, mate. You’re literally wearing a bracelet, that you made because she asked you to, with her name on it.” Lorenzo gives Theo a smug smile and laughs to himself.

You shrug to Theo and stand up to leave, taking your bag with you. Mattheo grabs it from you, always being the one to carry your things. You don’t even think about it anymore, it’s just what he does.

Draco walks you to your next class, stopping you at the doorway and turning to you with a defeated look. You already know what’s bothering him.

“You’ll survive.”

“I can’t stop them when I’m in another room.” He grumbles, glaring at the handful of boys entering the classroom. You take his face in your hands, directing his gaze to yours.

“It will take a lot more than a couple of heart-eyes to be my valentine.” You assure him, pinching his cheek before pushing past him into the classroom.

“Oh, if you only knew what’s coming,” he starts, his words dragging on with satisfaction. You whip your head around in suspicion.

“What’d you say?” you ask.

“Oh nothing, love. Go on.” He sends you off with a small wave and a smirk that tells you trouble is coming.

—

The day has finally arrived and you have long since forgotten Draco’s little quip from that day before class.

You’re all dressed up, your hair styled your favorite way, a glow emitting from your face. You clasp a heart-shaped necklace around your neck, laying it gently on your chest.

Upon entering the Great Hall, you’re immediately swarmed with dozens of boys holding cards and candy, yelling and reaching out to you in desperation. Your eyes widen with panic, your feet staying frozen in place from shock, your books fall to the floor, mixing in with other lost belongings.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Mattheo shoving through the small crowd, pulling you into him when he finally gets to you. The rest of the boys go utterly silent at his intimidating presence.

“Go.” A single word, yet you’ve never heard him so threatening before, a look like hell in his stare. His arm snakes around your waist, your heart still coming down from the sudden attention.

Neville throws you a small smile and a subtle wave as he picks up his blue quill and his wand, before he disbands with the rest of the group.

Mattheo turns to you, the bitter glare melting into a nurturing gaze. “I’ll really do it.” he says, you have a feeling you know what he’s implying.

“I don’t doubt that.” You smile up at him, grabbing his hand and letting him lead you to the Slytherin table where Theo, Draco, and Lorenzo have taken place already. They give you your space, creating a seat for you between Draco and Theo.

You look down to the table to discover all your favorite breakfast foods laid out before you, a tiny gasp escaping your mouth. The surprise comes to you pleasantly after the overwhelming ambush. A blushing Theo presents you with a cup of steaming liquid.

“Your favorite meal, and your favorite drink.” He murmurs, carefully placing it in front of you.

“You’re kidding. The coffee we had in Rome?” You asked, your voice coated in disbelief, your eyes still running over every pastry and fruit before you.

“Had it delivered here just for you, bella. And maybe I bribed the house elves to make your breakfast extra special.” He brags. Before you take a bite of your danish, you plant a long, dramatic kiss on his cheek.

“Buon San Valentino, cara mia.” He whispers near your ear, taking in the grin of joy on your face. The other boys start scoffing, making disgusted faces and pretending to be sick as they dig into the treats.

“Let me get this straight- you’re asking our beloved and most precious Y/N to be your valentine by making her scrambled eggs?” Lorenzo jokes, shaking his head in disbelief. Draco’s laugh chimes in, earning a grimace from Theo in return.

“Grazie, love. You’re the best.” You hum, finishing your meal and getting up to leave, Mattheo once again carrying your belongings. You run a hand through Theo’s hair, bidding him a gracious goodbye.

—

“Who on Merlin’s sacred earth…” a student’s voice echoes behind you as you take in the spectacle.

“The only one who can afford it.” You respond, your voice full of knowing and awe. One minute you were in the hallway, sending Seamus Finnigan away with another valentine rejection.

The next, you were in your common room, every inch of which was adorned with white violets, yours and Draco’s mutual favorite flower.

You feel a presence behind you, a pair of arms wrap around your torso, pulling your back against him.

“Draco, how?” you turn your head up at him to ask, his grip on you tightening until you’re snug against his chest.

“I’d make anything happen for you. It doesn’t matter how. Happy Valentine’s, you perfect pretty thing.” He squeezes you extra hard, earning a bout of laughter from you. The satisfaction on his face is evident by a warm expression.

“I think they make me look rather ravishing,” Lorenzo appears, a handful of the white violets tucked into his hair. Draco sighs in frustration, the moment tarnished by his friend. “It’s too bad they’ll all be dead in two days.”

You release yourself from Draco’s hold, his eyes filled with anger and defeat. He takes an aggressive stride towards Lorenzo, teeth gritted.

“Good, I can bury them with you seeing as you’ll be sharing an expiration date.” Draco retorts.

“You think she’s gonna fall into your arms because of some bloody plants?” Lorenzo mocks.

You let the two boys fight it out, throwing empty threats and cheap insults at each other. In the meantime, you sit on the couch, braiding some flower crowns for you and your friends.

When you brought one to Professor Sprout after lunch, it made her entire day.

—

Later, your group is sitting in the courtyard enjoying a rare sunny winter day. The heat gives you chills, your skin basking in every second of sunlight.

The boys sit around you in a circle, facing you while sharing gossip on the day’s blossoming couples. Your ears pick up their conversation.

“Yeah, well not everyone wants a damn teddy bear, Theo. It’s not very original.” Mattheo snickers. You find it quite adorable, the sound of them arguing over what makes a sentimental gift.

“Original, hmm. You mean like this?” Lorenzo straightens up while handing you a gift-wrapped box. “Open it, baby.”

Lorenzo may be sweet, but he loves to cross the line, purely for the personal fulfillment of bothering the others. The nickname earns him an immediate smack on the back of his head from Draco, but he only laughs at the blow.

You open the gift wrap to reveal a moving picture frame, the first photo taken a couple summers ago when he was carrying you on his back into the lake by his family’s estate. The way your head is thrown back, and the way his cheeks are marked with sunburn takes you back to a happy time.

You hear an envious whisper come from behind you, no doubt belonging to Theo. “Fuck, that’s a good idea.”

Draco leans his head over your shoulder, giving him a better vantage point. Then, the photos begin to cycle through a gallery of… well, mostly just Lorenzo.

“How are you this thick, Enz? These are just pictures of your putrid face,” Draco jabs, causing Mattheo to grab hold of the frame. He literally falls over laughing, his hands covering his face.

You turn to Lorenzo, a slight embarrassment hinted in his eyes, but proud, nonetheless. “I will treasure this forever. It really screams… you.” You joke, brushing a thumb over his cheek and giving his arm a squeeze, appreciating the attempt.

He mumbles to himself, swatting at Mattheo. “Foul gits.”

The frame later finds a spot on your bookshelf. You meant what you said.

—

After dinner that evening, Mattheo leads the group out to the pitch bleachers and sits behind you, placing a leg on either side of you. He wraps his robe around you, keeping you warm in the February night, leaning your back on his chest.

A sudden gust of wind blows, knocking over your book bag. Draco scrambles for your stuff, stowing the items away.

A stray piece of crumpled parchment lands next to you, your hand grasping and smoothing it out before it can fly off.

Just as your eyes read the words, an eruption of light explodes in the sky, the colorful shards falling gracefully down. The next few are heart-shaped, reds and pinks illuminating the clouds.

“Are you a firework? Because you make my heart burst.” Mattheo says playfully, nudging his head into the crook of your neck. You scoff at the lame joke, shaking your head.

“You’re the worst and I love you for it.” You poke fun at him before planting a kiss on his temple. “This is really gorgeous, Mattheo. If only my valentine were here to see it.”

“Yeah. Wait, what?!” He exclaims, surprise etched on his every feature.

The others quickly look to you for direction as you beckon them closer. “Look,” you say.

You unfold the piece of paper you found before. “I think my books got mixed with someone else’s when I was flocked this morning.”

Lorenzo grabs the paper, then Draco. He stands up and reads it to himself, his face filled with jealousy and resentment. “It’s got her bloody initials on it.” He states before passing it around, each one reading the passage to themselves:

your heart is cosmic fire

wicked stardust

and I am but pieces of you

“It’s… poetry.” Theo remarks, earning a questioning look from the others, like they’ve never heard of it before. “Romantic poetry. From who?”

“Which one of you did this?!” Mattheo yells, giving each boy dagger eyes.

“It was me, Y/N.” Theo admits, followed by a brief and tense moment of silence.

“With no due respect Nott, you couldn’t even write your own name this nice.” Draco drags. “The handwriting is nearly better than my mum’s. Weird though, quill ink is usually black. This one is blue.”

And then it hits you. The Great Hall. The books on the floor. Everyone’s things getting mixed up from the crowd crush. Mattheo’s rescue, the blue quill, and that soft, endearing glance from…

“Longbottom.” You whisper. The name rolls off your lips, bringing you arguably the biggest smile you’ve worn today. The thing is, the boys know you’re right. Neville the sensitive, Neville the sweet.

“Well that’s just diabolical.” Lorenzo sneers, the group huffing and puffing in defeat.

You read the words again and again, every word imprinting in your memory. He probably didn’t mean for this to get in your hands. In fact, he’s probably off somewhere right now frantically worrying that you found it.

So you won’t tell him. Neville: the unwitting valentine.

You fold the paper up, storing it in your pocket. One by one, you pull each of the boy’s arms towards you, creating a huddle in the bitter cold. Their body heat keeps you warm, their heads all resting on your shoulders and lap.

“I love you guys.” You say, meaning each word as you all continue to watch the fireworks above you. Their collective bitterness was quickly replaced by the desire to be near you.

“And we are very lucky to be loved by you, Y/N.” Draco professes.

As you watch the colorful display, the best memories you have with the boys start to play like a film reel in your head.

All the brawls they’ve gotten in for you, all the times you rescued them from detention, all the pranks you’ve pulled on each other and the countless times they fought over who would marry you… and all the times they promised to keep you safe.

The glow of the fireworks reflects on their faces, unknowing of your loving gaze on each of them. You repeat the sentiment to yourself, the altered phrase hitting closer to home this time.

and I am but pieces of them.

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

[sitp-recs]

hi liv!!! what are your favorite underrated 8th year fics? any hidden gems you'd recommend?

Hi anon, always! I was gonna start off by saying that I haven’t read 8th year much, but this list is evidence to the contrary so maybe I should stop saying that 😂 here are some recs for you, I’ll also highlight two personal favourites: Matched Set by astolat and Like Lightning at Your Fingertips by potterwatch, while not exactly underrated I don’t see them recced often enough. Enjoy!!!

Snug by @moonflower-rose (E, 6k)

Potter can't keep his hands off himself. Draco can't look away.

The Pensieve Project by curiouslyfic (T, 7k)

Of the 116 Hogwarts students who took part in the final battle, only five are officially invited to the Ministry's first annual memorial. For everyone else, there's the Pensieve Project.

Champion by @shealwaysreads (T, 7k)

Harry thought his Eighth Year would be simple and easy. And it sort of is, though not in the ways he expected.

What Country, Friends, Is This? by khalulu (M, 8k)

When Harry and Draco are paired up for a nebulous “capstone project” in 8th year, Draco suggests they use it as an opportunity to take a free Grand Tour of Europe. Harry isn’t interested in being grand, and they soon veer off the beaten path.

Good Company by Greenflares (T, 8k)

With Hermione and Ron always together, Harry's return to Hogwarts to complete his education isn't exactly fun. Somehow, it's his unlikely friendship with Malfoy that keeps him sane.

swallow your words by icarusinflight (E, 9k)

The truth is, not many things are known about the magic that is behind soulmarks. They'll turn up when they want and not before.

Heliomancy by Leela (E, 10k)

A teasing mirror that came from Grimmauld Place and the emphasis on inter-house relations during his eighth year at Hogwarts change everything for Harry.

warmest part of the winter by warmfoothills (T, 11k)

It’s not even a balcony, it’s just a window with a bit of a ledge, and Draco’s read Shakespeare anyway, he knows how this one ends.

Said and Unsaid (or, The Value of Knowing When to Stop Talking) by bryoneybrynn (T, 15k)

When the Interrogator asked if he had anything to say on his own behalf, Draco shook his head, his lips pressed tight in a thin line. There was nothing to say that wouldn’t sound like an excuse.

Find The Balance by lauren3210, Obliviate_Amores (M, 15k)

After Harry gives Draco his wand and goes back to using his own, they both start having trouble making them work. Finding out why is a lot simpler than fixing the problem.

Equally Cursed and Blessed by @moonflower-rose (E, 18k)

Harry's back at Hogwarts to attempt his final year, again. This time he's sure there'll be no shenanigans. Well. Maybe there'll be a few.

Edificabo by @doubleappled (E, 18k)

Numb and exhausted after the war, Harry returns to the only real home he’s ever known. Hogwarts needs help, too.

Silver Linings by @sorrybutblog (M, 21k)

Or: Harry's gone back for eighth year at Hogwarts and nothing is quite the same, save his inability to leave Draco alone. But then he finds that Draco isn't what he expected either, as they spend the month of December stuck in each other's orbit.

Colloquy by @dracoladon, @lazywonderlvnd (E, 30k)

Harry's not gay, Malfoy just smells good.

On Our Way by evils (E, 30k)

Draco is trying to spend the summer keeping his head down, but a repair project and a certain snowy owl have other plans for him.

All Things Go by @sorrybutblog (E, 32k)

Draco’s back at Hogwarts by court order. Harry’s back for no particular reason at all. Some things change, some stay the same. Neither expects to spend eighth-year living in close quarters, playing rugby (poorly), staying up late, sneaking around, and finally figuring it all out.

Eager for the Sky by @oknowkiss (M, 35k)

It was announced, just as the Triwizard Tournament had been, at the start of term feast. A year-long, international Quidditch varsity match — the inaugural Wizarding Academy Cup.

Inside Your Mind by @lazywonderlvnd (E, 36k)

Goyle's taken it upon himself to act as Malfoy's personal, one-man guard and Harry can't help but feel like it's only making the bullying worse.

Seeker, Chaser, Keeper by VivacissimoVoce (M, 59k)

Rumor has it that a wealthy investor is starting up a brand new professional Quidditch team and he’s looking for players. Harry and Draco both want to make the team, but there can be only one Seeker. Will competing for the position bring them closer or drive them further apart?

Inertia by @cavendishbutterfly (E, 83k)

It’s three months after the war. Harry has already mucked up all his plans. Draco is no longer the prince of Slytherin house. And they sure as hell didn’t both mean to go back to Hogwarts at the same time. Cue snarking, long conversations…and unexpected snogging.

Reparo by amalin (E, 85k)

Voldemort's final defeat does not mean Harry Potter's troubles are over; far from it. In the aftermath of war, he returns to a Hogwarts that is fractured and divided, but this is no break that can be fixed with a spell. New owls, fading scars, surprising alliances—and along the way, the hardest task of all, to live with it.

Bonus: Harry/Draco/Theo 😌

just call this what it is by queens_crown (M, 27k)

Upon returning to Hogwarts after the war, Harry can't sleep. He's not the only one.

[wildemaven]

chasing stillness | jack abbot

pairing - jack abbot x ofc!alix miller, rn word count - 2587 content warning - 18+ blog; lots of self reflection, use of ‘you’, Alix :39, lighter skin tone, has an a good amount of tattoos covering her body, has short hair that’s long enough to be pulled back, an avid runner:, established friendship, lots of feelings— but neither of them seem to be brave enough to share with the classroom, sarcasm and friendly banter, mention of divorce, mention of blood but nothing too serious, no y/n, please let me know if I failed to list something. a/n - I originally had something completely different I was going to post for these two first and then I started writing this and things went in a different direction. So you’re getting this first and then other thing will come later. I feel rusty with my writing but it was fun to dive back into it. Anyways, gonna go hide now! Next | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The notebook sat open on the kitchen counter—the one filled with countless grocery lists, to-do tasks and other personal details worth noting—next to your keys, ball-point pen and the bland energy bar you still needed to scarf down. 

Outside the sky was beginning its transition from late afternoon to early evening— clouds backlit in a soft gold as the sun slowly inched toward the city’s skyline. 

You stood in a pocket of fading light that filtered through the kitchen window, one foot on the bottom rung of a stool as you finished lacing up your well-worn running shoes. With both feet now firmly planted on the hardwood floor, your eyes drift to the blank page. You grab the pen, clicking once, twice writing a single line: 

Goals, Guts & Zero Guilt— Just Fucking Do It

You stared at the words for a while. The way they loop, cross and connect with purpose. 

It’s not the first time you’ve attempted this list. You start it every week, chickening out and turning the page allowing other lists to become your priority in the following days— you were a pro at hindering your own growth. There were times you’d flip back to the page, reading the words over before leaving on your run to work then flipping to the first blank page pushing it off for another day. 

But today felt different. And so you add:

run because it feels good, not because I’m outrunning anything

I’m not a failure because my marriage failed 

Starting over is a new beginning, not a punishment 

Stop hiding from the idea that someone might care

You pause. Pen hovering as you internally debate the last point, then adding: 

“Because You Matter” - Ask Jack, someday. Maybe

Because you matter. Those three words had been tormenting you since he’d said them to you the night of PittFest. There was a softness in the way he had spoken to you in that moment, dialing back his grit and satirical tone. This wasn’t an Attending giving his post-mass-casualty speech. It felt vulnerable and raw— like there was more he wanted to say than he allowed himself to. 

Because you matter to the hospital? Because you matter to us? Because you matter to him? 

Your fingers trace over the edge of that last line. Not crossing it out or underlining it or avoiding like you had been for the last year. Just acknowledging it— a possibility, at some point. 

The vibration from your watch pulls you from your thoughts. It’s an hour before your shift starts. You grab your keys, bag—tossing in the forgotten energy bar you’ll now contemplate eating mid-shift—and zip your hoodie halfway. 

Running to work wasn’t efficient. It didn’t make sense, especially before a 12 hour shift in the emergency room where you were on your feet for hours on end. But it made you feel something. The closest to being in control you’d felt in a long time. 

It gives you time to carve out space in your head— clear the static. Respite from your psyche and the stress of work you sometimes carry longer than you should. The hum of the city and the rhythm of your feet pounding against the pavement always made the perfect soundtrack as you descended the steps of your apartment building and head toward Pittsburgh Medical Trauma Center. 

*

The sky had deepened to a darker shade, streaked with ash-blue clouds. The first stars were just beginning to emerge—faint little beacons welcoming you to the night shift. 

As the hospital comes into view, you slowed to a jog. Breathing steady. Legs warm and heavy with a pleasant fatigue. You wipe the sweat from your forehead with the sleeve of your hoodie. 

A single bus sits in the ambulance bay— vacant and waiting for the next urgent departure. 

You're five minutes past your normal arrival time, but take a moment to fully collect yourself. Eyes closed, you draw in a long breath, then exhale deeply. And again. 

The whirring of the mechanical door sliding open cuts through the air, the bustle of ED spilling out and echoing across the concrete that surrounds you. Your pulse is a deafening thud in your ears— not from exertion, but the flicker of movement in front of you. 

Jack. 

He stands just beyond the entrance doors. A cup of coffee in one hand, badge clipped to its usual spot on his pants pocket and his gaze fixed on the watch strapped to his left wrist—an old relic from his service days, still faithfully ticking. 

“Five minutes slower than the other day.” Jack says, finally looking up at you. Surprise flickers in his eyes, quickly replaced by a smirk. “Should I be worried you’re losing stamina… or just trying to give me a head start?”

“Is this where I start regretting sharing my location with you?” You ask, entirely teasing. Cold air nips at your bare skin as you peel off your damp hoodie. The ink on your arms rises beneath a trail of goosebumps as a breeze sweeps through the emergency bay. 

You’d been working together for the better part of five years, riding the unpredictable waves of ED nights that swung between full-blown chaos and ghostly quiet. Him, Jack Abbot— the cool-headed Senior Emergency Medicine Physician that everyone turned to when things fell apart. You, Alix Miller—  the well respected R.N. and anchor who always knew where everything was, anticipated what needed doing and had the kind of deadpan wit that made Jack look forward to shift change.

Somewhere along the way, between split-second triage calls and vending machine raids at 1 a.m., you’d carved out a rhythm— easy, constant. The kind of friendship built on trust, sharp banter and just enough stolen glances and lingering silences to keep you both pretending it was still just that.

Jack chuckles, shaking his head, slipping his free hand into his pocket. “If you didn’t want me keeping tabs, you shouldn’t have accepted the request.” His eyes skim your ink, but he keeps his tone light. “Didn’t want to crush your spirit two runs in a row.”

He pauses, his smirk softening just a touch. “Miller— you good, though? You look like you ran more than just miles today.”

Because you matter. 

“Yeah— yeah I’m fine. Got a late start. Slept like shit and probably should have stretched out more. Nothing I can’t handle.” You say with your best convincing tone, hoping it’s enough that he buys into it.  

“You sure?” Jack’s head tilts slightly, offering you an opening— a quiet invitation to lay it all out. You’re not surprised he doesn’t buy it. He knows you too well. All you can offer is a reassuring smile and a nod.

“I need you in there.”

“You’ve got me, Abbot.” You say, giving his shoulder a brief squeeze as you pass him and step through the doorway.

*

It was 3:45 am when you found a moment to sit, most patients waiting on lab results or family to be released to. You sank into the chair, muscles heavy, mind foggy with the weight of too many hours and not enough rest. At least it was Friday— the end of a long, punishing week finally within reach. You held onto that thought like a lifeline.

Jack was taking advantage of the brief lulled atmosphere leaning against the counter of the nurses station with a half-drained cup of sludge, watching as you scribbled down notes onto your beloved fluorescent pink square sticky notepad with the same energy as a dying flashlight— your use of them was prevalent, adorning all surfaces around the hub of the Emergency Department. 

“Is it your pen giving out or is that your soul?” Jack asked dryly before gulping down the last bit of his black coffee and tossing the paper cup into the overflowing trash can. 

You didn’t look up as you peeled another square from the pad, crumpling it in your hand and tossing in the same direction. “Both, unfortunately.”

“You’re ridiculous.” He shook his head and grinned at your quick response, huffing out a snort just barely audible over the patient monitors and hushed murmuring among the other nurses and residents. 

“Go home, Miller. That’s the third time you’ve written ‘Abbot’ with two T’s.” He says, eyeing you with mock seriousness. “Pretty sure there’s a 23-gauge needle around here somewhere. I could drain whatever ink is left in that pen, take you behind Curtain 4, and make it permanent.” He unfolds his left arm, pointing to a spot on yours. “Right there, just above that little leaf thing on your forearm. You’ll never forget it.”

“That would be a bird wing, and I’m just seeing if you’re awake enough to catch it. As thrilling as that infection sounds— I’ll pass. Besides, it’s Friday—  I leave when you do.”

Jack’s house was a charming Craftsman bungalow located exactly two miles from the hospital. With two bedrooms and a small tiled bathroom, it was furnished in a way that perfectly reflected his laid-back personality, subtly underscored by the crisp precision of his military background. Every detail, every piece of his life arranged throughout the space, felt intentional—quietly ordered, effortlessly him.

Your house was on the opposite side of town— ten miles from Jack's and twelve from the hospital. 

It had become a normal occurrence since PittFest. 

Just crash at my place, Miller. It’s closer. You shouldn’t be running home like this.

You hadn’t argued. Too tired. Too wrung out. And maybe—though you hadn’t let yourself think it at the time—too grateful for the way he’d said it like it wasn’t a question.

He’d drive. You’d ride in silence. The blackout curtains made it easier to fall asleep fast and hard the second you laid on the couch. You’d sleep a few hours, pull together some sort of meal for the two of you from whatever he had in his fridge, then call a rideshare, or sometimes—on the rare days he wasn’t back on shift—he’d take you home himself.

He told you it was for convenience. That it wasn’t safe to run home after a twelve-hour shift, not with the streets as empty and strange as they were before dawn.

But the truth was quieter, heavier.

He just wanted to make sure you were safe.

Little did you know it eased something inside him— like he’d tucked you into a space where the world couldn’t get to you, at least not for a few hours.

Now, over a year later, it was just a normal routine between you two. 

“Fair. But I’ll have you know, it wouldn’t be my first.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “I was pretty popular in the barracks for my stick-and-pokes. Practically a professional.” he murmured, eyes drifting back to the monitor above the nurses’ station, reading and rereading the stats, analyzing each one to see where his presence was needed most, mapping out his next move. 

“Oh, I’m sure you were,” you said with a teasing smile, eyes lingering on him as you rolled them just enough to let him know you weren’t entirely unimpressed. “Alright. Go do your thing and work your doctor magic, Abbot.” Peeling another square, wadding it into a ball before tossing it to where Jack was still leaning with his arms crossed over his chest, hitting his bicep and falling to the floor. 

“That’s what I do best. And I look damn good doing it.” Propelling himself forward and smacking the top of the desk with a grin before heading around the counter toward the patient in room twelve.

*

Some people dreaded night shifts, but you had grown accustomed to them—thrived on them. The darkness brought fewer questions, fewer forced smiles. While the world slept, you became an expert at stitching things back together— arteries, skin, and the real-life stories unraveling at 2 a.m. in multiple trauma bays. A nightly rhythm of chaos that gives you purpose.

When morning arrives, as it always does, you trade the steady hum of machines, overhead pages, the metallic tang of blood, and the sharp sting of antiseptic mingled with burnt coffee for the quiet calm of the city as you step outside.

Jack walks ahead, as he always does, his canvas bag slung high over his shoulder. The morning light casting long shadows across the walkway leading to the hospital’s parking garage. He scans the path without thinking, eyes sweeping over every corner, every parked car— familiar or not. It’s the soldier in him. Those instincts etched deep in his bones, even in peacetime. There’s no threat here, not really, but he still walks like there might be. One step ahead. Always ready to shield, to take the hit before it ever reaches you.

Because you matter.

The flick of Jack’s unlock button sets off a rapid series of beeps as you near the black truck. He’s already at the passenger door holding it open, leaning casually against the frame. He doesn’t say anything as you approach— just observes you quietly. Your dark grey scrub top is rumpled and half-tucked and the loose waves of your hair are barely contained in your favorite clip— clear signs of a long shift.

Somehow, he always looks like he’s stepped out of a GQ centerfold— every curl perfectly in place. The greying five o’clock shadow doesn’t take away from his looks— if anything, it makes them worse in the best way. Like he needs the added charm on top of everything else he’s already got going for him.

There’s a flicker of nervousness in him that catches your eye just before you climb into the truck. His head is angled down toward his boots, his weight shifting from one foot to the other, only lifting his gaze once you’re standing right in front of him. And when he looks at you—really looks—it’s as if time stalls just for a moment. His head tilts in that signature way of his and he gives you a little nod that seems to say, I’ve got you now.

You toss your bag on the floor and slide into the seat. Your legs feel unsteady, almost jelly-like..

The sun glares harshly through the windshield as Jack pulls out of the garage and merges onto the busy street, making you wince. You groaned, quickly flipping the visor down, trying to block what you could. Jack chuckled quietly to himself, turning the dial on the radio up just enough for a country ballad to fill the truck cab— something about a neon moon. 

You slump back in the seat with a quiet sigh, searching for some semblance of comfort to get through the last stretch of the short drive. Your thoughts start to dissolve into that familiar haze that always follows the slow burn-off of post-shift adrenaline. And like clockwork, your eyes are already drifting shut by the time he turns onto his street.

Jack glances over once, careful not to wake you, then pulls into his driveway. He let the engine idle for a second longer than necessary, just watching you breathe— steadily now, not like earlier when you were leaning over a coding patient with shaking hands and blood coating your gloves.

He didn’t wake you until he absolutely had to.

You stirred with a soft sound, slightly dazed as if you’d just woken from a year long slumber, blinking slowly at the front door.

“You’re home,” he said.

You smile sleepily at the the sentiment, but don’t bother to correct him.

[eringobragh420]

➺ pairing — damian priest ♥︎ f!reader ➺ summary — damian is betrayed at summerslam and he seeks revenge. ➺ words — 2.4k ➺ warnings — nsfw. hatefuck (this is a hatefuck, not just rough sex, the characters do not like each other), unprotected p in a, name-calling, spit/spitting, cum 18+ ➺ notes — spanish translations are at the end of the story provided by google translate. ➺ taglist — if you’d like to be added, please click here! ➺ requested by — @miss-kuki-nz. hope you enjoy!

➺ MASTERLIST ➺ DAMIAN PRIEST KINK LIST

Damian’s middle finger corkscrewed its way inside her, plunging in and out roughly, no regard for whether it was painful or pleasurable for the woman bent over the back of the plastic couch. The whimpers falling ruefully from her lips, the squeezing and clawing at the formidable couch cushions, they were all he needed to hear. Allowing her even just a hint of euphoria would have been counterintuitive to his mission.

“Shut up,” he hissed. He removed his finger from her tight little asshole, catching her sigh of relief in the air, and he slapped her ass, this time delighting in the wretched scream he ripped from her throat. He reached forward, shoving his index and middle fingers in front of her face, the latter of which had just been buried to the root inside her ass. “Spit,” he ordered.

“Fuck you,” she retorted.

Damian snatched a handful of her hair and hauled her head back. Her hands supporting her upper body nearly came off the couch. “No, fuck you. Traitor bitch.”

In spite of her situation and current position, she giggled softly, moving her head back a bit in an attempt to put some slack between her hair and his hand. He noticed, tightening his grip, and he knew it wouldn’t take much more power to start severing hair from scalp. 

“I’m the traitor?” she replied, breathless. “You chose Rhea over me, not the other way around.”

He leaned forward, nostrils flaring, and his teeth scraped the shell of her burning ear. “I said fucking spit.” And he tugged on her hair just a bit more.

She cried out this time, and he smirked, watching with blown pupils as her mouth worked to gather as much saliva as she could before she spit onto the two fingers he was offering. He brought them back around to her ass and slipped both inside a hole he’d never been in before and was desperate to fuck. He met resistance, a lot of it, and her hands reached for the edges of the cushions so she could pull away. He wrenched her head back, receiving another squeal. 

“What, does it hurt?” Damian taunted, forcing his fingers further inside. 

“Yes, it fucking hurts, you prick!” she hollered.

“Good,” Damian mumbled, watching with childlike wonder as his two thick fingers vanished within her hole. Her legs were fighting now—not kicking him, though she had several opportunities to cause significant damage to one of his knees with her boot—and the only real outcome was the pleasure and amazement he experienced as her ass tightened around him every time she struggled. He released her hair and she collapsed forward as he reached down to adjust himself in his blue jeans, finding the biggest lump he’d ever felt. He was going to teach this bitch a lesson once and for all.

“I’m gonna miss this,” he mused, fucking his fingers as far into her as possible, scissoring, before pulling out and doing it again. “I finally get this ass, and you gotta go off and do some dumb shit.”

“I did what I had to do,” she growled through clenched teeth. “Everybody is done living in Damian and Rhea’s shadow.”

“Fine,” Damian shrugged, shoving her down onto the cushions, skin slapping against the plastic. “No more shadows for you, felicidades.” He removed his fingers from her swollen hole. “And after tonight, no more dick.” He started work on his belt.

“Wait,” she stammered, eyes snapping shut. “That was only two fingers.”

“I guess you can add math to your resume since you probably won’t have a job very soon.” The buckle of his belt clinked as the pieces separated, he pulled the button through, and finally the zipper came down. Even he was impressed with the bulge bursting through the opened zipper.

“Go to hell, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied. “And I’m fucking serious, Priest, that was only two fingers.”

“So?” Damian lasciviously asked. “I stretched you out.”

“Not enough!”

“And why is that?” he wanted to know, grinning from ear to ear.

“Priest …”

“Just tell me why.”

She huffed. “Because you’re fucking huge, okay? It’s not gonna fit, and you fucking know it.”

“Ohh, I see,” Damian said, then after a beat, “Well, I’ll just have to make it fit, won’t I?”

“Priest, listen …”

“Are you gonna apologize? Say you’re sorry?”

“Fuck no, I have nothing to be sorry for. You and Rhea—” Damian pressed the blunt, weeping head of his cock against her puckered hole. “No, okay, wait!” He stopped just before entering. “Just … one more finger …”

Damian rolled his eyes, shaking his head, and he planted his feet on the floor, her legs dangling between his and the back of the couch. She couldn’t even say she was sorry to prevent what was probably about to be a fairly brutal assault on her asshole. She could leave anytime she wanted—anytime she wanted to speak the safe word—they both knew that, but she was still here, face down, ass up, silently begging for the punishment she deserved. Begging for one last ultra fuck before they inevitably went their separate ways. 

“Just say you’re sorry, and this’ll all be over,” he breathed, unsure if he could stand by that statement for much longer. He grabbed handfuls of her ass cheeks and pulled them apart, staring at not only the forbidden fruit that was her asshole, but the perfect, dripping pussy just below. Fuck, he was gonna miss that cunt, so hot, wet, so tight. He’d come inside her so many times he was sure her inner walls were permanently white. He’d never been so sexually compatible with someone he’d utterly detested since Jump Street, and if history was any indication, she didn’t care for him much further than the mind-blowing orgasms he’d given her.

“Fine!” she said. “Fine …” Damian paused, brows knitted together, and he looked at the back of her head and then at the head of his desk pressed against that pretty hole, and Jesus fuck, would he be able to stop if she did speak the safe word? “I’m sorry,” she quietly said. Damian’s stomach dropped to the floor and his heart was beating so fast it felt like one long continuous beat. ”Sorry I didn’t fuck you over sooner.” And she cackled. The bitch cackled, and Damian’s vision went from a lustful haze to a bloody red, and his lips pulled back from his teeth.

He pressed the head of his cock against her hole again, this time pushing past the resistant ring of muscle, stretching her asshole more than it was intended, and she screamed, a primal roar from deep in her diaphragm, and Damian didn’t care if anyone heard them or if they complained. Security could be called and demand he open the door, which he would refuse, and then they’d unlock the door themselves and enter to find a desperate WWE superstar taking it up the ass like she owed him something. Hell, they might even watch. His cock twitched inside her, and her body spasmed.

“I fucking hate you,” she sobbed, ass clenching around him as he continued his journey. “I’m so happy you lost the title. Gunther looks so much better wearing it than you do.”

Damian winced, scowling, and he grabbed her hips, stuffing his dick so far in her ass he felt heaven. She screamed, clawing at the cushions, kicking her legs. Damian fought to capture her hands, crushing her wrists within his grasp, and he pulled, straightening her arms behind her and bowing her spine enough to hear a bone pop.

“I’m gonna rip your fucking ass apart,” he threatened, thrusting in and out now, groaning between words as that tight muscle did everything it could to remove the foreign object from its passage. “I’m gonna ruin your ass for any other man just like I did that pussy.”

Her struggling was becoming less and less, and Damian wondered if it was from exhaustion, pain, or pleasure. Because while this was the best his cock had ever felt and he would likely, embarrassingly, unload inside her in not but a few minutes, he didn’t want her getting any satisfaction from the situation. He wanted her to hurt so she would always remember what she did to him, what she did to them.

“Good,” she replied, glancing at him over her shoulder. Damian intrinsically met her gaze, promptly regretting it because he would miss the beautiful shade of her eyes, the coquettish way she smiled at him, much like she was doing now, and this wasn’t going how he’d planned. “But you’re still gonna be a loser,” she crooned, tilting her head this way and that.

Damian’s vermillion vision now became tunneled. He yanked his cock from her asshole, the head stuck in her tight ring for just a moment, her body squirming as she whined until he was able to work it loose. He relinquished her wrists so he could take another handful of her hair, and he guided her to the bed, shoving her onto the mattress. She laughed into the sheets, landing on her elbows and knees, and Damian thought he might throttle her, but he held back. He could do much more damage in her asshole.

“Get on your back,” he commanded. When she didn’t listen, he tossed her into the position he desired, flinging her legs apart and pressing her thighs into her chest, bringing her ass off the bed. “I want you to watch while I split you in half.”

“Hit me with your best shot, big guy,” she taunted, but he saw her eyes before she closed them, feigning ecstasy. He saw the trepidation there—unfortunately, there wasn’t quite enough of it to satisfy him.

He lined his fat cock up with her puffy hole, still holding her thighs, and he pressed in slowly just to be sure he was completely inside before he drove his hips forward, shoving everything he had within her, and she cried out, reaching back to flatten her hands against the headboard. He’d torn her shirt earlier when he’d snatched her from the hallway and drug her into his hotel room, so he grabbed the ends and ripped it open, revealing his favorite set of tits, both in real life and in porn. She never wore a bra, and he knew it was because she wanted men to look at her and get flustered, or maybe slapped by their wives. Fuck, Damian hated this girl. So why did she have to have the most perfect breasts? Why was her pussy the tightest and the wettest and the fucking prettiest? And why, god, why did her asshole have to be just a few sizes too small for his dick, which, in his opinion, made it the ideal size.

“This what you wanted?” he panted, fucking her ass unreservedly, pressing almost his full weight on her thighs and hips. “Your disloyal ass filled with my cum?”

“I wanted you to lose the match,” she heaved with each thrust. “My ass filled with cum is just a bonus.”

“Stupid slut,” Damian chided. He wrapped one huge hand around her throat and lifted her head and shoulders off the bed. “Open your mouth.”

Lost in the moment, or eager to get this over with, she obeyed, dropping her jaw, even letting her tongue fall out. Or was she trying to best him at his own game? Shoving the question to the back of his mind, he amassed a mouthful of saliva, a feat easily achieved by thinking about how juicy her pussy was even though it hadn’t been touched once since this entire ordeal had begun, and he brought her closer to him before spitting in her waiting mouth. He released her throat so he could lift her jaw and close her mouth to keep his wad of spit exactly where he left it, dropping his forehead to hers as his straining cock fucked her out.

“You know we’re done after this, right?” he respired. She was only able to nod, and he hadn’t felt her swallow yet. She was still tasting his saliva on her tongue, and his dick twitched deep in her asshole. “And I can’t fucking wait to be rid of you.”

She grabbed his hand and moved it from her mouth, placing it on a bouncing breast. He released her other leg, and she wrapped them both around the backs of his thighs. “You’re gonna miss this pussy,” she whispered, “and now you’re gonna miss my ass. Aren’t you?” To emphasize her inquiry, she used the headboard and the grip on his legs to  start bouncing her ass on his cock.

“Ah, fuck,” Damian sighed, eyes closing, letting her impale her own asshole with his turgid dick.

“I helped cost you the title tonight and your cock is still buried inside me,” she continued taunting, rolling her hips in circles, giving his cock the opportunity to experience every inch of a hole he’d never be inside again. “Because you’re pathetic, Priest.”

He pulled his cock out of her ass with a slight sucking sound, and roughly rolled her onto her front. He kept her thighs together as he mounted her, spreading her ass cheeks so he could see exactly where to plunge his rigid member. Once completely inside, he felt her knees bend and feet kick, and he jammed her face into the bed with a meaty forearm as he rode her into oblivion. She groaned, though it was difficult to tell if it was from pain or pleasure, so he fucked harder, and that’s when he saw a tear growing in the corner of her eye. Somehow, somewhere, he found it within him to slam his hips into her with even more gusto. 

“Who’s pathetic now?” he bit, moving his forearm so he could spit on her cheek. She opened her mouth and stuck her tongue out to catch it as it rolled down her cheek. “Fuck!” he yelled. He pulled out of her ass and climbed her body quickly, jerking his cock over her face until he came all over her cheek, nose, forehead, and still extended tongue. “You may have cost me the title,” he started, slapping her face with his softening cock, “but I’m not the one with a fucked out asshole.” He stood from the bed, tucked himself away, zipped, buttoned, started working on his belt. She rolled onto her side, wiping cum from her eye. He leaned his fists on the mattress. “And I’m not the one wearing some loser’s cum on my face.” He winked at her before pushing off the bed and heading for the door. “See ya around.”

“Not if I see you first,” she called after him. 

Damian smirked, closing the door behind him.

➺ Felicidades — Congratulations

[burningcheese-merchant]

Things I would like to see in the Eternal Sugar update (Greek mythology edition)

Just gonna go ahead and write these down ahead of time to see if any of this actually comes true. Note right away that I expect a lot of Greek mythology references lol

Minotaur mini boss somewhere on the map (or as the beast raid boss idk)

Beast Raid boss looks like Medusa/a hydra/the Nemean Lion/a cyclops/the minotaur

Regular level enemies that look like creatures from Greek myth. Like any of the ones listed above and/or others (like... sugar griffins or sugar harpies or sugar satyrs. And so on and so forth)

Something something Holly being implicitly compared to Atlas carrying the weight of the world on his (her) shoulders

Holly and co. (mostly her) going through things that mimic the 12 trials of Heracles (HIS NAME IS NOT HERCULES! IT'S HERACLES! HERCULES IS HIS ROMAN NAME! THE MYTH GOES OUT OF ITS WAY TO EXPLAIN THAT ZEUS PUT "Hera" IN HIS NAME IN A FEEBLE ATTEMPT TO APPEASE HERA BECAUSE THE KID WAS AN AFFAIR BABY (one of ten hundred thousand bc Zeus is a shameless whore)! Disgruntled Greek Mythology Fan Rant™️ over)

Eternal Sugar's lair either looking like the Garden of the Hesperides or straight up like Mount Olympus (or even Elysium ig. It's called the Forgotten Sugar Paradise, after all)

Some sort of food is found that Holly's gang is tempted or tricked into eating that puts them to sleep, drives them temporarily insane, or otherwise incapacitates them, referencing the Lotus Eaters from Homer's Odyssey (this would probably happen to Pitaya tbh)

Eternal Sugar gives Hollyberry a pomegranate to eat during their "in the end, you will become me" scene, insisting that Holly have something decent to eat and then rest because she deserves it after pushing herself so hard for so long. Since this is supposed to be the "Ancient's moment of weakness" part, Holly ends up eating it and either falling asleep or being put under some sort of mind control; submitting to Eternal Sugar's will either way. All of this as an allusion to the myth of Persephone and Hades, where the latter tricks the former into eating a few pomegranate seeds thus chaining her to the Underworld forever, as is what happens upon eating any Underworld food (seed count differs with retellings but it's usually 6 months, autumn and winter, where Demeter makes all plant life wither as she mourns her daughter's absence. The myth is supposed to explain where the cycle of seasons came from)

Eternal Sugar should be an Aphrodite-esque figure with siren powers or something

The "ally of the Ancient" cookie that shows up in ep 10 is an oracle-type figure that predicts the eventual outcome of the adventure (Holly awakens and defeats Sugar). Bonus points if the oracle speaks this prophecy to Eternal Sugar or any of her minions and is punished for it (common motif in Greek myth is oracles and other fortuneteller types being rebuffed or even outright persecuted because their prophecies upset people. "The harder you try to challenge or prevent destiny, the sooner it will arrive" is a common lesson. Every single time somebody tries to subvert a prophecy, they only ensure that it happens. Like trying to bust up a coffin with a hammer, except every hit lands on a nail and drives it further in)

Bonus to above, it would be funny if this character was specifically like Cassandra (priestess of Apollo cursed to receive visions of the future (specifically disaster) that no one would ever believe no matter how hard she tried to convince them) and an ally of Sugar's that was only trying to help her master, only to be punished for it. And then she eventually sides with Hollyberry, because Holly is a kind person who would probably try to help or comfort her in some way despite being an enemy (Holly would always rather have friends than enemies. She even made a friend out of Pitaya), and helps her win. "Cassandra siding with the one person who ever actually listened to her" sort of deal ykwim

Desperately need Hollyberry's awakened form to be a nod to Demeter like in this post made by this awesome artist (I originally thought of Holly's awakened form looking more "royal" and having a huge assortment of berries all over, as a nod to her uniting the warring houses in her land (which is what earned her her Soul Jam in the first place. Remember that every Ancient's awakening has nodded at what they did to earn the Soul Jam in the first place) and her always preaching friendship and unity. Her taking after Demeter is that but 100x better because of the nod to Greek myth + as the artist says (which I agree with 100%), Demeter is a harvest/agriculture goddess and agriculture (which Holly's kingdom is actually known for, a la the berry fields) takes a lot of hard work and diligence, aka the opposite of sloth, which is perfect for Holly)

These are the ones I thought of off the top of my head. If I think of more I'll reblog this post with them

Also gonna make a separate post talking about more general story beats I'd like to see since that's a whole other ramble lol

[hedwig221b]

hello !! i’m looking for a fic and hoping someone can help me :) i remember the general premise is that derek moves away by himself, i think to somewhere in Oregon or washington? and the story is centered him healing from his life traumas. stiles comes up to visit occasionally and their relationship develops. also derek volunteers at a small community library and reads a lot, and the old lady who runs it is very nosy/awesome and eventually derek ends up having thanksgiving dinner at her house w her friends and stiles finds it all amusing. i think derek also ends up going to therapy at some point. thanks for all you do for the community!!

Hi! You're welcome! I love finding fics 🤍

I think you are looking for this:

The Moon's Gonna Follow Me Home by turningterrific

Derek doesn’t want to call the window repair guy. He doesn’t want to sweep up the glass. He’ll inevitably miss a few shards and pull them out of the bottom of his bare feet for weeks.

He doesn’t want to try to make this place feel like home when it isn’t.

Derek stayed in Beacon Hills and tried to make it work because he wanted pack, wanted purpose. He gave his best effort and found himself back where he started: alone, with a few begrudging allies. He’s tired, and even though his werewolf body heals quickly, he feels the weary ache down to his center.

He packs his car with the few things he cares about enough to drag them from place to place. He locks the loft and calls a realtor about listing the building he’d bought in a misguided attempt to secure a future.

And then he leaves.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Dinkscrump Linkdump

I'm about to leave for a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me on Feb 14 in BOSTON for FREE at BOSKONE , and on Feb 15 for a virtual event with YANIS VAROUFAKIS. More tour dates here.

Well, Saturday's come around and I have a gigantic list of links that didn't fit into this week's newsletter, so it's time for another linkdump, 26th in the series:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/

My posting is about to get a lot more erratic, as I'm days away from leaving on a 20+ city book-tour, which starts in Boston on Feb 14, with a sold-out event at the Brookline Booksmith:

https://brooklinebooksmith.com/event/2025-02-14/sold-out-cory-doctorow-ken-liu-picks-and-shovels

But Bostonians get another bite at the apple: I'm appearing at Boskone, the city's venerable sf convention, a few hours before my Brookline gig, and admission is free:

https://schedule.boskone.org/62/

The rest of the tour (including a virtual event with Yanis Varoufakis on the 15th) is here, and more dates (New Zealand, possibly Pittsburgh and Atlanta) are being added all the time:

https://craphound.com/novels/redteamblues/2025/02/06/announcing-the-picks-and-shovels-book-tour/

Of course, even as I scramble to get ready to hit the road for months, I'm regrettably forced to give some rent-free space in my head to Elon Fucking Musk. This week, I wrote about DOGE as a government-scale private-equity style plundering of the nation:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/07/broccoli-hair-brownshirts/#shameless

But that was before I read Henry Farrell and Abraham Newman's Lawfare article about how Musk's seizure of payment chokepoints will allow him (and Trump) to surveil the entire economy and wield unilateral, unaccountable power:

https://www.lawfaremedia.org/article/elon-musk-weaponizes-the-government

In 2023, Farrell and Newman published an important book called Underground Empire, explaining how, during the War on Terror, GWB (and then Obama) weaponized global payment processing systems (most notably SWIFT) and other boring, technical systems, and then used them to wield enormous power around the world:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/10/weaponized-interdependence/#the-other-swifties

Farrell and Newman's point isn't merely that this power was used unwisely or cruelly, but also that the co-opted systems had an actual, useful, important job to do – a job that was only possible if these systems were widely viewed as credibly neutral and apolitical. The book ends with a sobering message about the chaos on the horizon if (when) other countries walk away from these system, leaving infrastructure vacuums in their wake. In their new Lawfare piece, Farrell and Newman imply not just that Musk and Trump are fashioning a powerful weapon out of the nation's digital infrastructure, but also that this could permanently undermine the vital national systems they're seizing control over, with no obvious candidates to replace them.

Meanwhile, the Democrats are still trying to find their asses with both hands, even as voters across the nation bombard them with demands to actually do something. I'm gonna call my senators and rep right after I finish this and remind them that when South Korea's autocratic president attempted a coup, lawmakers stormed the capital, leaping the fences while livestreaming to voters:

https://www.axios.com/2025/02/06/democrats-congress-trump-musk-doge-calls

But not everyone is taking Musk's bullshit lying down. The AFL-CIO has led a coalition of unions in suing DOGE:

https://gizmodo.com/americas-unions-sue-doge-launch-the-department-of-people-who-work-for-a-living-2000559998

And they've launched a counterinitiative with the delightful name of "The Department of People Who Work for a Living":

https://deptofpeoplewhowork.org/

It's nice to see some inside/outside strategy underway. After all, Musk is cruel and disgusting, but he – and the lawyers and creeps who back him – are also very, very stupid, and they're fucking up all over the place.

Take shutting down the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau, the agency charged with defending America from financial predators (e.g. would-be usurers hoping to turn their social media sites into payment processing platforms). Under Biden's CFPB chief Rohit Chopra, the Bureau was an absolute powerhouse, adopting rules, investigating scammers, and punishing wrongdoers, all in service to the American people:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/26/taanstafl/#stay-hungry

So naturally Musk and Trump have shut down the Bureau. But, as Adam Levitin writes for Credit Slips, this was a profoundly stupid move. You see, under Dodd-Frank – the post-2008 financial crisis law that created the CFPB – state attorneys general are empowered to enforce its rules. Those rules can't be amended or rescinded for so long as the CFPB is in a coma. What's more, any "violation of an enumerated consumer law is a violation of the Consumer Financial Protection Act," which can be gone after by state AGs. Another thing: the Truth in Lending Act has a threshold for small loans, below which the Act doesn't apply. The CFPB is supposed to adjust that threshold for inflation, but without a CFPB, that threshold will be frozen in amber like the federal minimum wage, bringing every-larger constellations of financial activity within scope for AG enforcement in any or every state in the Union. Also: none of this can be changed without a 60-vote Senate majority. Nice one, Elon:

https://www.creditslips.org/creditslips/2025/02/shutting-down-cfpb-is-not-like-shutting-down-usaid.html

That isn't the only way that Trump shot himself in the dick last week. As Luke Savage writes, threatening to put tariffs on Canadian goods (and to annex Canada and make it the 51st state) had a profound effect on Canadian politics:

https://www.lukewsavage.com/p/all-bets-are-off

Before last week, Justin Trudeau's political legacy seemed assured. His many leadership failures, along with a billionaire-funded dark-money hate-machine that targeted him with culture-war nonsense and climate denial all added up to record low approval ratings. It was so bad that Trudeau actually sent Parliament home (recklessly leaving Canada without a legislature on the eve of Trump's presidency) and resigned as Liberal Party leader.

A week ago, pretty much everyone in Canada figured that the Conservative leader Pierre Poilievre was about to romp to victory with a Ba'ath-style Parliamentary majority. Poilievre was and is an extraordinarily weak candidate, a guy who has literally never had a job except for "politician," who nevertheless ran as a political outsider, leading a coalition of racists, climate exterminationists, xenophobes, forced-birth militants, and other cryptofascists and low-tax brain-worm victims. The threat of a Poilievre government with a commanding majority was frankly terrifying. Think of him as someone with Trump's agenda and Mitch McConnell's ruthless administrative competence. Trump is bad enough – but smart Trump? Nightmare.

Then came the Trump tariffs and the annexation threats, and overnight, the Tories' 20-point lead narrowed to a two-point lead, which continues to shrink. Poilievre's brand boils down to "Make Canada America Again" – dismantle medicare, smash unions, punish immigrants, ban abortion. With Canadians booing the American anthem at NFL and NBA games and Quebecois demonstrators waving maple-leaf flags, this is not a good time to be running as the America guy.

Don't get me wrong. Trudeau is terrible. Bill Clinton terrible, say. But Poilievre? A fucking monster. Canada's political future may just have been rescued by Trump's big, stupid mouth. Thanks, eh?

Meanwhile, south of the border, our American cousins keep getting fed into the corporate woodchipper. It's been just over a year since Mainers went to the polls and voted in a Right to Repair law with an 83% majority. But a year later, the law is foundering, amid a corporate legal blitz led by the automakers, who have also put Massachusetts' massive popular 2020 Right to Repair law on ice with endless lawfare. :

https://www.techdirt.com/2025/02/07/automakers-sue-to-kill-maines-hugely-popular-right-to-repair-law/

This is the status quo in America. As a highly influential, widely cited 2014 peer-reviewed study found:

economic elites and organized groups representing business interests have substantial independent impacts on U.S. government policy, while average citizens and mass-based interest groups have little or no independent influence.

https://www.cambridge.org/core/journals/perspectives-on-politics/article/testing-theories-of-american-politics-elites-interest-groups-and-average-citizens/62327F513959D0A304D4893B382B992B

In other words, the only time the American people get what they demand is when giant corporations and oligarchs want it too. But when the plutes want something that the people despise, they almost always get their way.

Speaking of which, how's things going with Uber?

This week, Hubert Horan, the aviation industry analyst whose writings on Uber are the most important analysis of the company's business, investor scams, wage theft, and lobbying, published his long-awaited 34th research note on the company:

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2025/02/hubert-horan-can-uber-ever-deliver-part-thirty-four-tony-wests-calamitous-legacy-at-uber-and-with-the-kamala-harris-campaign.html

This edition is devoted to Tony West, Uber's Chief Legal Officer, and also brother-in-law to Kamala Harris, as well as manager of her disastrous failure of a 2024 election campaign. West may have run a Democratic presidential campaign, but he epitomizes the corporate corruption that gave rise to Trump. As Horan writes, West's first major accomplishment at Uber was to get the company exonerated for intimidating customers who were raped by Uber drivers. But his obituary will lead with the fact that he got Prop 22 passed in Calfornia, legalizing Uber's worker misclassification gambit, which allows the company to pay well below minimum wage and evade all workplace protection laws.

It was West who tapped Silicon Valley's tech oligarchs for large-dollar donations to the Harris campaign, which presumably played a substantial role in Harri's unwillingness to take a tough line on Big Tech while on the trail, creating the (correct) impression among voters that Harris would stand up for big business over their own interests.

It's an important read, and it's a reminder that the Democrats lost the last election every bit as much as Trump won it, and that their paralysis in the face of a national crisis is absolutely in character for the Democratic Party.

But on the other hand, the antitrust surge in the US, UK, EU, Canada, Australia, France, Germany, and China (!) over the past five years are all the more remarkable and heartening in light of the dismal and corrupt state of world governments. After all, there is no billionaire-backed dark money lobby whipping up support for smashing corporate power. The antitrust victories of the 2020s marked a turning point – the first time in my memory when extremely popular policies that the wealthy hated triumphed.

Decapitating the agencies that made those policies won't change the enormous political rage that led to the antitrust surge. If anything, it will only feed it. Enforcers like Rohit Chopra, Lina Khan and Jonathan Kanter did brilliant, important work – but they were only able to do it because of us. They're out of office, but we're still here. Don't ever forget that.

I certainly won't. This week, I turned in the edited manuscript for my next book, a nonfiction title called Enshittification: Why Everything Suddenly Got Worse and What To Do About It, which Farrar, Straus and Giroux will publish next October:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9780374619329/enshittification/

The day I turned it in Ars Technica ran a huge package called "As Internet enshittification marches on, here are some of the worst offenders," reeling off the most disgusting high-tech ripoffs trying to worm their way into your home and wallet:

https://arstechnica.com/gadgets/2025/02/as-internet-enshittification-marches-on-here-are-some-of-the-worst-offenders/

This sparked an epic Reddit thread on r/NoStupidQuestions:

https://www.reddit.com/r/NoStupidQuestions/comments/1ij42yh/what_are_some_other_examples_of_enshittification/

I love to see how giving a name and a description to this phenomenon has captured and directed some of that rage. And for the record, it doesn't bother me at all that some of these people are using "enshittification" to mean "corporations fucking shit up" without regard to my formal definition of the process. As I wrote last October:

Many people apply the term "enshittification" very loosely indeed, to mean "something that is bad," without bothering to learn – or apply – the theoretical framework. This is good. This is what it means for a term to enter the lexicon: it takes on a life of its own. If 10,000,000 people use "enshittification" loosely and inspire 10% of their number to look up the longer, more theoretical work I've done on it, that is one million normies who have been sucked into a discourse that used to live exclusively in the world of the most wonkish and obscure practitioners. The only way to maintain a precise, theoretically grounded use of a term is to confine its usage to a small group of largely irrelevant insiders. Policing the use of "enshittification" is worse than a self-limiting move – it would be a self-inflicted wound.

And also: there's a lot of stuff that's just shitty right now, which is one of the reasons my word's putting up such great numbers. People are getting fed up with it, in ways large…and small. Take the post-pandemic trend of using your phone in speaker-mode in public places. I'm a prison abolitionist, but I'll make an exception for people who do this. Display 'em in stocks. Chain 'em up by their wrists. Or, you know, do what they do in France: fine them €150 for using a speakerphone on the train:

https://www.thelocal.fr/20250206/french-train-passenger-fined-e150-for-using-phone-on-speaker

Speaking of gruesome tortures, the essential Long Forgotten blog has posted its extensive, thoughtful review of the changes to Disneyland's Haunted Mansion. Very few people can write about built environment entertainment like Long Forgotten (the only other person who comes to mind is the excellent Foxx Nolte). Long Forgotten's verdict is "mostly good, but man, that new gift shop *suuuuucks:

https://longforgottenhauntedmansion.blogspot.com/2025/02/beyond-bride-other-changes-in-2025.html

OK, it's time for me to go and make my packing list for the tour. I'm going to leave you with a song. Last night, my pal Cynthia Hathaway turned me on to the Shotgun Jazz band, led by trumpeter/frontwoman Maria Dixon. If you like Louis Prima-style shout-singing, you'll love 'em – I bought everything they had on Bandcamp this morning:

https://www.shotgunjazzband.com/

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/08/commixture/#petardhoists

Image: i ♥ happy!! (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Messy_storage_room_with_boxes.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

[kurooandkenmasslut]

𝐒​𝐂​𝐄​𝐍​𝐀​𝐑​𝐈​𝐎​:​ silly toru was js joking abt :,( he didn't mean it, he swears! what happens when reader takes his comments to heart?

a little errors here n there, petnames (baby, angel & darlin) suggestive at the end

⭒​𝐆​𝐎​𝐉​𝐎​ ​𝐒​𝐀​𝐓​𝐎​𝐑​𝐔​ ↫​

based on this link!! tysm nonnie for requesting! love ya lots luv, hope ya enjoyy!

​╔═════ஜ۩۞۩ஜ═════╗​

flicking through the list of shows blankly, you dropped the remote next to your boyfriend, Satoru Gojo, who was staring at the tv in boredom.

"there's no good shows to watch, put something on, and not something stupid like last time. I mean it, satoru." You say, swiftly moving your feet to help yourself to something to eat.

"jeez, you're so boring."

you stopped in your tracks, craning your head to look at the white haired male on the couch.

"What did you say?" raising an eyebrow, you now faced him fully with your arms crossed.

"I mean, you have bad taste in fashion. your clothes are something my granny would wear!" satoru chuckled, his crystalline eyes staring at your clothes. you looked down at the clothing you wore. did they really look like that? you soured your face at the memory of being excited up at the till buying it. Is this really what he thought?

"And your hair! it looks so unkempt, you look like you just got electrocuted! Haha!" He sneered. you flattened your hair, you didn't think much about your hair when he texted that he was coming over.

"And not to mention, your face! Did you take a trip in the toilet or something? Why do ya got brown on your face, hah?" He smirked, seeing your frowned lips. You were gardening earlier, it must of slipped your mind to check up on your face. wiping your cheek, the dirt smeared on your palm.

Clutching your hands, you decided you weren't gonna let you discriminate you like that. Opening your mouth, but the lump in your throat didn't budge. Nothing came out. No voice you were expecting to ring in the room. Nothing.

Biting your lip, through a blurred vision, you hurried to the bathroom, closing the door behinf you and locking it.

Gojo's smirked widened, thinking he had the upper hand. That judging grin quickly faded when he heard a whimper and sniffing. Cursing himself, he wondered what he should do.

A. Ask you if he can come in and comfort you.

B. Wait until you calm down and leave the bathroom.

after pondering for a bit, Gojo decided to grab your favourite snacks, the ones where you were originally going to eat.

With his free hand, he gently knocked on the door, trying not to startle you.

"Hey darlin, I uh.. brought your favorite!" Gojo beamed, his attempt of brightening the tension even just a little.

After about a minute, he heard the door click open. He didn't mean to, but he unintentionally rushed in immediately.

He saw you hunched over the sink, washing your face. You looked at his tall frame in the mirror. It doesn't take a genius to realise that you have been crying. A few tissues decorated the edge of the sink, but you quickly threw them in the bin. Your eyes were red and your nose & cheeks were tinted a pink shade.

Dropping the snacks on the closed toilet seat, Gojo wrapped his arms around your waist, leaning his head on your shoulder. The eye contact through the mirror was intense.

"You know I didn't mean it right? I was just trying to get something out of you, ya know? you've been less talkative than usual n' I didn't mean it, baby." He mumbled, massaging your hips with his fingers. Finally breaking the eye contact, you took sudden interest of the cracks in the tiles.

"I didn't mean it, 'm serious. You're my cutie, ain't that right, angel?" You slightly nodded your head, not really believing him.

Gojo sighed, then took you in his arms, carrying you in bridal style. His long legs weren't long taking you two out of the bathroom. "If ya don't believe me, ill show ya, angel."

Looking at his face and over his shoulder back and forth, putting your hand on his chest.

"H-Hey.. wait! The snacks!"

"I have my snack here, we'll be alright.."

𝑫​𝑰​𝑫​ ​𝒀​𝑨​ ​𝑬​𝑵​𝑱​𝑶​𝒀​?​ ​𝑫​𝑶​𝑵​𝑻​ ​𝑩​𝑬​ ​𝑺​𝑯​𝒀​,​ ​𝑹​𝑬​𝑩​𝑳​𝑶​𝑮​𝑮​𝑰​𝑵​𝑮​ ​𝑶​𝑹​ ​𝑪​𝑶​𝑴​𝑴​𝑬​𝑵​𝑻​𝑰​𝑵​𝑮​ ​𝑰​𝑺​ ​𝑨​𝑳​𝑾​𝑨​𝒀​𝑺​ ​𝑯​𝑬​𝑳​𝑷​𝑺​!​ ​

​╚═════ஜ۩۞۩ஜ═════╝​

[reyrapidsbutgayer]

Ranking all Elden Ring Base Game NPCs by Fuckability. PART 4 of 4 THE TOP 10 MOST FUCKABLE

Why are we here just to suffer? Tumblr has a 30 image limit and there are 91 characters to get through. Don't blame me, blame @azothinc

[PART 1 (91-66) | PART 2 (65-37) | PART 3 (36-11) | PART 4 (Top 10)]

Time for the top 10 finalists, place your last bets now. I think it's obvious what my preferences are.

#10: Millicent

Pros: Badass Valkyrie warrior woman. Cons: Is rotting a little, but not a deal breaker

Reasoning: What is there to say? She's cool, she's tough, she's honorable, she has the pride to hold onto herself even in death. She fights by our side, she sees us an equal. She has just a hint of crazy in her, but not enough to end up killing me. She's like a travel sized Melania but less likely to stab me with anything I don't consent to being stabbed with. Peak lesbian warrior woman, I am down on my knees for her. For sexual purposes? To propose? Why not both?

#9: Iron Fist Alexander

Pros: Perfection personified. Cons: Technically not fuckable.

Reasoning: I don't think Alexander is capable of sex. When it comes to livign Jar biology, the clay seems to be their actual body. The innards are kinda incidental. They can seemingly removed and add them as they see fit, and can exist just fine without them.

Alexander wouldn't want to engage in sex even if offered. He'd probably laugh and say something like "Ah ha! I've heard of this sort of thing between you and your compatriots. A melding of flesh and emotion as it were? Ha ha! Not unlike our innards I bet! I wouldn't bother with such behavior, it's unbecoming of a warrior such as I. Besides, that kind of melding seems to be far less permanent than ours."

However, I am certain that he would let me fuck someone else inside him. He wouldn't even bat an eye, he'd just enjoy the experience of two warriors bonding inside him. "Quite a display of trust to include me in such an intimate little tarry! Hah ha! How wondrous!"

#8: Lunar Princess Ranni

Pros: Mean Sexy Evil Witch Lady Who Kills God Cons: "Are we the baddies?"

Reasoning: I didn't want Ranni to end up this high on the list. She technically can't have sex since she is a doll puppet, and doesn't seem particularly interested anyway.

But I mean... she's the daughter of Radagon and Rennala, two of the horniest most bisexual characters in the entire FromSoft catalogue. (only surpassed by Marika, who is also Radagon.)

If she was in her original red-haired 8 foot tall body, she would literally clench and rip your dick off in a millisecond. She'd bend you over and fuck you so hard your spine would be curled into a pretzel.

No matter how fuckable she was in the past, we have to come to terms with the fact that she is pretty evil. She gets a lot of innocent people killed in her "ends justify the means" methodology. (Her means are pretty good, I mean, killing the Greater Will benefits literally everybody.) But we can't overlook just how many innocents she tramples underfoot. She allies with Rykrad, abuses Albinaurics, and creates the Deathblight plague in her attempt to escape her fate.

It's gonna happen, she's gonna rearrange your guts like an origami calendar no matter what you do. So you might as well steer into the skid.

#7: Fia, The Deathbed Companion

Pros: Enjoys some good warm, lifely vigour Cons: Skeleton Skeleton Skeleton Skeleton Skeleton

Reasoning: Fia is rather complex. She supports the downtrodden, cares for those who need her, and seeks to reshape the word into a kinder place...

But she is also full of bugs. And skeletons. And the lifely vigour of many champions. And you are next.

She is a huge creep, but she fucks so good she brings back the dead. You are legally obligated to obey her and partake in the sweet nectar of the Baldachin Blessing at least once before you become a skeleton, even if it results in you becoming a skeleton way faster than anticipated.

#6: Latenna the Albinauric

Pros: Loyal Companion, Loves Dogs Cons: None, don't you dare say otherwise.

Reasoning: Weirdly enough, Latenna won out against a LOT of other NPCs. She's just a good person with genuinely no faults. Is that boring? Or marriage material? I know my answer. She hates Gideon, she loves dogs, she wants to put a birthing droplet (cum) in Phillia. We have so much in common it's crazy.

#5: Rennala, Queen of the Fullmoon

art credit: @chaospyromancy https://www.tumblr.com/chaospyromancy/679194108441608192/rennala-took-the-dog-in-the-divorce?source=share

Pros: Giant depressed bisexual witch lady Cons: Extremely Divorced

Reasoning: Rennala is the poster child for sexual prowess in the Land's Between. Literally the only feasible way for Radagon to trade up was to marry himself. She can rip a hole in a man's bussy from 50 meters away, and that's WHILE she is depressed.

In her prime, there wouldn't even be a list, because she would have fucked everyone else to death already.

#4: Sorceress Sellen

Pros: Mean, Heretic, Creepy, Crazy Cons: Mean, Heretic, Creepy, Crazy

Reasoning: I really didn't expect her to get this high in the rankings. Sellen is mean, she has committed war crimes, she probably holds the same racist beliefs towards albinaurics and misbegotten that the rest of the Carians do, and she made me kill an old man in silly pants.

But I can't say no to her. Could you? My fist has been inside her soul, that's a bond you can't break even after being smashed into a giant ball of screaming mages.

She is the toxic ex who keeps hitting you up whenever your life is finally back on track, only to ruin it the moment she leaves your bedroom. And you'd do it again happily, no matter how many times it happens.

#3: Patches

Pros: He's Patches Cons: He's Patches

Reasoning: There was originally a different NPC for #3, but Patches stole the position, sorry about that.

Even still, you are already fucking Elden Ring characters. You aren't a real fan if you don't make an exception for him. He's slightly below average in terms of sexual prowess, but I mean... You have to try it out at least once.

#2: Nepheli Loux

Pros: Everything Cons: Nothing

Reasoning: Nepheli is the most morally upstanding character in Elden Ring. She fights for the little guy, she questions her own morals, she tells Gideon to go blow himself, she apologizes to her enemies, she upholds the values and traditions of a vanished civilization.

Plus she is fucking ripped, and is as close to banging Hoarah Loux you can get while managing to survive afterwards. There are more compelling characters, more dangerous characters with more dynamic sexual aspects, but Nepheli has literally no drawbacks as a partner. She's more of a hero than the player is, and that's honestly a sexier quality than most people give it credit for.

Is she is a little bit sad? You fool, you absolute fool. Give her a bird and she will come back as a fucking Queen of an entire kingdom.

She's the #1 sexiest Elden Ring Character for a reason. If given the choice between every other NPC, she is the obvious choice and always-

what do you mean I miscounted? She isn't #1? Well the. who the hell is?

#1: Miriel, Pastor of Vows

Pros: Turtle Pope Cons: Not even gonna consider any.

Reasoning: Not even in a sexual way. He's ascended beyond the need for sex.

But he is our pastor, and all of the NPCs I marry on this list will be officiated by this Turtle. And the consummation of all those marriages will also occur directly in front of him at his request. "All things yearn to be conjoined" indeed.

Rapid-fire list of all the NPC's I'd actually want to marry:

Nepheli Loux

Latenna

Millicent

Yura

Boggart

Melina

Diallos

Blaidd

Roderika

(all of the Valkyrie sisters)

Rogier

Rya

Kalé

Hewg

Boc

Thops

I've noticed that this list was definitely influenced more by "are they a good enough person to justify sex" rather than strictly just "are they hot?" I guess it's because I genuinely don't find jerks attractive. That might be a healthy mentality, but then again I also made these posts, so stable mental health isn't really something I can claim with much confidence right now.

And it is finished... I can't believe I wrote all of this (i mean I can, i just don't like it.)

If this gets enough likes and reblogs I'll... I don't know, rank all the spirit summons by how long they would survive squid game, or be able to catch Kira, or which degree they would get if they went community college. I'll figure it out when I figure it out.

<- Part 1 <- Part 2 <- Part 3

[nemesis-writer]

[Unwanted Ransom (Chapter 5)]

Hollaback Girl TW- Mentions of cheating, a lot of mentions of sex MDNI Masterlist

I always knew that Bruce was never a good father as I've stated before. He technically fucked and cheated on Talia and Regina for fucks sake. He predisposed the others into neglecting me for the 4 years I've stayed with them.

Now they want forgiveness? That's just lazy writing if this goes to Disney. I mean come on I've got a lot of shit to deal with, I don't know why they want me now. I was never a Wayne, first of all, I'm not even a virgin.

They always see me as weak bitch, they "dealt" with a lot of shit. The girls, on the other hand, learned that "you gotta learn jiu jitsu, just to get some dick in you." They think their whole life is some Korean drama movie.

That's why I'm glad to meet someone like Tony, my true father. I learned hacking faster than Bruce Wayne could pull out. So far the only Bruce I love is Banner. I call him uncle Banner, cus' God I hate the name Bruce.

I even got kidnapped once, and they didn't give a shit. Well I kinda lied to dad that I was going on a school trip so...

6 years ago...

Alright so I'd like to take a minute and just sit right here, I'll tell you how I got kidnapped by a girl named Harley.

She threw me on the bed and tied my hands up.

"Alright listen here little bat." She pushed my head into the comfy bed.

"Rich Corinthian leather" was all I could muster out.

"You don't seem scared as I thought you would" she proclaimed. With anger she choked me.

"Listen lady I'm not a fuckin' Wayne. My dad is Tony Stark for fuck's sake"

"Bullshit I've seen the papers"

"Then why would I not be scared?" She then let go of me.

"God, I thought you were gonna kiss me for a second, just know I wouldn't stop you if you did."

"You intrigue me."

"Bitch you just kidnapped me and try to choke me." She then looked at her guards and yelled, "Untie her."

"No need I did it 5 minutes ago." Showing her the ropes, she scoffed at me and had one of them open the door.

"I had a nice time today, plus I only came to Gotham to see Alfred." I winked then left.

"Ms, Jennifer Amala Stark!" a voice yelled. Oh fuck nah men.

"Hey dad. " I scratched my head out of fear, he brought his suit.

"Jennifer" He cocked his eyebrows and looked at me.

"Alright I went to Gotham because I wanted to see Alfred, because he was the butler and wanted to take care of me, and I'll go kill myself." I breathe in.

"You could've told me alright you're my daughter for crying out loud."

"Sorry dad." I looked down like a little child. He wrapped his arm around me and led me to the car.

"It's ok just inform me where you are actually going ."

After that the car ride was silent..

Present...

Alright so technically the when I was a Wayne, the only time I felt truly wanted was when I was kidnapped, ironic huh. I was kidnapped like 7 times, and I laughed at all of their attempts to use me as bait for Batman. So here is my list...

Catwoman, 6 years old. (Let me go)

Penguin, 6 1/2 years old (Let me go)

Joker, 7 1/2 years old. (Jason saved me)

Scarecrow, 8 years old. (Scared him for laughing at the fear toxin)

Two-faced, 8 1/2 years old. (Kept on insulting his Barbie lookin' face)

Random thug #1, 9 years old (shot him in the face)

Harley, 12 years old (Just mentioned now. Plus saved by dad)

To say the least, kidnapping got normal during my time as a Wayne. I used to be so scared of a shithole and ended up in one. This all happened for me to become a Stark.

So back to the story...

I went back home to my bedroom and felt like shit when I saw Jason there. I couldn't help but wonder, why?

Why did Bruce adopted me when I could've gone to a health center?

Why did Bruce adopt me, to neglect me?

Why didn't he save Jason?

Why did he care about shit-head?

Is it because I'm not pretty? Nah, not true, probably because he's gay or some shit. I am irritated of the fact that I was dumb enough to try and impress rocks. This blows.

Oh gosh I remember one of the fights me and shithead had.

9 years ago...

"Hey! That's my seat bitch." Shit head yelled.

"Listen shit head, you don't own the fucking chair." I screamed back, spitting on his face.

"I own the house loser, you don't own shit."

"Alright, so you call the couch, and I call the couch. And we'll see who it goes to."

And then in a blink, I'm trapped in the *white room*, better known as the greenhouse. I hate the smell of pesticide and the fact that the plants that they own aren't even growing.

So, since the door is locked I actually took care of the plants. I'm surprised that they are still alive, I mean they are vigilantes, how would they take care of plants?

I saw one rose wilting, so I quickly poured some water and fertiliser. and I realised how much I related to it. Plants wilt when they're not taken care of properly, just like how I was estranged when they neglected me. Even if others take care of it sometimes, they still need proper love and nurture. Gosh, I look at one fucking plant and all of the sudden I became Socrates.

When Alfred got me out of the greenhouse, he brought me back inside to clean myself up.

"Master Xerxes, I made you some lasagna for dinner."

"Thanks Al, I feel like hell today."

"My pleasure Master Xerxes." And with that he left. I went down just to bring up the lasagna to my room, while eating, I binged watch the Saw franchise. And I can tell you Mark Hoffman and Amanda Young is lookin' fine.

I got bored and when I thought I would fall asleep a message appeared on my phone. I grinned a bit when I thought it was Vincent but by the time I looked on my phone I saw this...

Unknown Number- Hey little bird how are ya' doin?

For fuck's sake now I gotta deal with this bitch now? I quickly blocked him and reported him on my whats-app.

Unknown Number- Come on birdie don't do this to me.

Now he's on my discord wtf is wrong with these people. I blocked him again and then I hacked into their bank accounts and social media accounts. I froze all of their accounts and deleted all of their social media accounts.

Jesus, Tim, you were supposed to put up a fire-wall. Dumbass. And with that I went to sleep in peace...

Taglist-

@lunayaps, @not-aya, @iluvcatzz, @vanessa-boo, @ivyrose9194

{A/N- I'll be sending pics of her room just for a little more detail, but I hope y'all love this chapter.}

[sofiaruelle]

Oh wow, I was not expecting a whole drawing of them trying the dance and falling around. It's very beautifully done, I rmmbr just staring in awe for a while at first 🩵

I have another odd question about the she trio/ass gang, which u don't have to draw

Cause I saw a little video of Harvey going hard; dancing to MiseryxCPR(xReese's Puffs) and it had me laughing for a long while, and I wondered who would be the ones singing the song if say the stardrop saloon had some kind of karaoke night

My head tells me both Sam and Abagail would end up doing Reeses's puffs, but that would leave one of the other songs without a host :/

Harvey would probably end up saying stuff about how cpr doesn't require mouth-to-mouth anymore or smthn, and Shane probably worried Marnie would walk in-or just, too drunk off his ass having fun to care 🤔

nah man i just have to draw them. and oh look I even have another essay under readmore! 😂 😂 😂 😂 😂

✨Also my commissions are open! ✨ if anyone is interested! :D< please reblog/share the og comm sheet ,if you can! it would help me a lot thank you!!!

Honestly i can imagine them all just being pissed drunk before attempting to sing the song😂. i know fersure the SHE trio would require more liquid courage for it (heck even to join/start a kareoke sesh!)

Shane gives of major Kareoke Tito (uncle) vibes~. Yknow that one tito who specifically sings “My Way” by Frank Sinatra and has a bunch of classic rock songs under his belt. He’s not good at singing perse but he can at least carry a tune. He and Sebastian would totally connect with singing Misery. but like Shane vaguely knows the song (he’s heard it on radio a bajillion times but he doesnt know the name of the song so its not quite on his playlists) so he when he’s super sloshed and can barely read the screen, he tries to sing it from memory and misses a couple of the words. but hey! at least he knows the chorus and is in tune.

Meanwhile Sebastian has Misery “secretly” on his go to playlist. He doesnt admit it (the songs is too main stream and overplayed but he stumbled upon a vocaloid cover and rest is history.) He definitely always chooses the song every kareoke sesh (although not his first choice) and he’s passionate about it even has a little performance too(lots of head bangs, fist pumps and that classic 2000s disney knees bent together, feet wide apart moment)! For his duet with shane he’s the first to shed a lil tear and that gets shane going and they cry through most of the song in their own lil misery world ignoring the chaos around them.

Sam is a fucking menace for singing CPR and I do agree He and Abigail would go off on Reese’s Puff BUT i can definitely imagine being commited to singing CPR (we all know he’d awkwardly twerk). Especially if it was to troll on Harvey who probably thought it was a wholesome song about doing CPR at a specific BPM. 😂

Harvey good lird poor harvey! He’s probably the most sober out of everyone. It doesnt help that he’s no light weight + lowkey becomes designated baby sitter everytime (he’s soooooooo going charge them extra in the morning if they come stumbling into his clinic asking for some hangover cure). He was so excited about adding a new song to CPR tempo list he was gonna teach at the nex first aid classes!! Who would have thought that a singer with a cute wholesome name like Cupcakke was just so… sooooo SCANDALOUS!!! He should have known Sam was up to something the moment he grabbed him by the shoulder!!! “This is medical malpractice, Samson!!!” He spends the whole trying to sush Sam who’s having so much fun laughing at Harvey’s reaction 😂

Abigal. F e r a l.

Help! Elliot has fallen over! He honestly just has a mild peanut allergy but he has been drinking and hooo boi. thats not good. thank goodness Harvey is sobered up (with the help of Sam ofc) and has an epipen on hand! Catch Leah cackling from her seat by the bar before assisting Harvey.

[kaciebello]

Money tree

Masterlist Money mail ☼ Slytherin boys x Hufflepuff!reader (fem) Summary: Sell it or wear it Warnings: no use of y/n Authors note: Mrs. Zabini is a icon word count: 1.5k Song: I like it - Stray Kids

The girl was sitting on Blaises bed. His mother was kind enough to give them some clothes she no longer wears. Blaise was simply gonna throw all of it away. Luckily the girl is better than that. It has been about 3 hours since that encounter and they were still going through it. Starting out what they can and cannot sell. Most of it they could as Mrs Zabini does not wear things twice. Blaise has been taking pictures of some of the jewellery as it was easier than anything else. Shoes were next on his list.

Fain ‘ hello boys’ misses both of them. That's why they are surprised when the door bursts open and a pile of teenage boys spills in.

“There you are! Blaze mate, please don't hog my girlfriend.” Enzo says first thing in the room. Taking huge steps to the girl and spinning her in a hug. Not even a gagging sound from Theodore can stop him. Blaise just looks up from his phone with raised eyebrows. 

“What the fuck is all this.” Draco chimes in, gesturing to the not-ending pile of clothes on the bed.

“Our next few thousand,” Blaise answers, very aware that they can all of it for way more than they actually need. The boys just nod. Theodore dived in and rumbled through the pile. 

Back to taking pictures neither he nor the girl noticed Theodor and Matthew putting various items on. Giggles from Draco are what caught their attention.  They both snap their heads to them. There stood Matheo, in a vintage Chanel short dress while Theodore was trying to put on Versace platform boots. stopping in their tracks when he noticed them staring at him. Blaise just let out a sigh and went back to take a picture of the jewellery. The girl just stood there, mouth hanging open. Enzo closes it for her. 

Shaking her head to recover. She has regained her composure.

“Boys, are you serious right now?” she asked, struggling to hold back a smile as she looked at Mattheo, who was attempting to adjust the straps of the dress.

Theodore grinned mischievously as he wobbled around in the Versace boots, nearly toppling over.

 “Serious as fashion week, darling,” he quipped, striking a dramatic pose. Draco rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his amusement. 

“If you lot are done playing dress-up, maybe we could actually help. That’s a lot of stuff, Blaise. Are you really going to sell all of it?” Blaise smirked, still focused on photographing the jewellery. 

“That’s the plan. Mom has expensive taste, and there’s a market for this stuff. Why not make some money off it?”

Enzo, still holding the girl close, nodded approvingly. “Smart move, mate. But don’t overwork her. You’ve got to let her breathe, too.” He gave her a playful squeeze, earning a light shove from her in return.

The girl smiled up at him, appreciating the gesture but still shaking her head. 

“You guys are impossible. But if you’re going to stick around, you might as well make yourselves useful. There’s a lot more to go through.”

Draco, still examining the pile, picked up a sleek black dress and held it up to the light.

 “This one looks expensive. Maybe I should try it on next,” he teased, earning a round of groans from the others.

The room filled with laughter, the tension of sorting through Mrs Zabini’s wardrobe easing as they all fell into a rhythm of playful banter and teamwork. The girl, now back in control of the situation, couldn’t help but feel a bit more at ease with this odd but endearing group of friends.

As the laughter settled, Blaise finally looked up from his phone, satisfied with the progress he'd made with the jewellery. 

"Alright, enough fooling around," he said, though there was a trace of amusement in his tone. "Let’s get serious. The faster we sort this out, the sooner we can get it listed."

Theodore, who had finally managed to wobble out of the platform boots, nodded and tossed the shoes back onto the pile. 

“Fine, fine. But just so you know, if I end up modelling any of this stuff, I’m charging extra.” Draco snorted, folding the black dress over his arm. 

“You wish. I’m pretty sure no one wants to see you in a dress, Theo.” Matheo, still in the Chanel dress, struck another exaggerated pose.

 “Speak for yourself, Draco. I think I could start a trend.”

The girl, rolling her eyes but clearly amused, stepped between them.

 “You're acting like all of this is not going to the bouncy house. We need to organize this stuff by type—dresses, shoes, accessories—and then by brand. Blaise, you keep taking pictures, and we’ll make sure everything’s sorted.”

Enzo, ever the doting boyfriend, grabbed a handful of scarves and started folding them neatly. “You heard the lady. Let’s get to it.”

The group fell into a rhythm after that, the initial chaos giving way to a surprisingly efficient operation. Blaise continued photographing the jewellery, expertly capturing the shine and detail of each piece. Draco and Theodore focused on sorting through the clothes, occasionally tossing an item at Matheo, who was still hamming it up in the Chanel dress. The girl and Enzo worked together on the shoes, organizing them by size and style.

As they worked, conversation flowed easily between them, punctuated by the occasional joke or comment. The girl had found some red bottoms sues and turned to Blaise.

“Can I keep these?” She motions to them. The boy stops for a minute before nodding. They have more than enough. One pair of sues is not gonna make a dent.

“It’s not like Mrs. Zabini will miss any of this. She probably doesn’t even remember half of it.” Enzo metined.

They all shared a chuckle at that, but the girl couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. Despite their playful banter, they were all contributing to something bigger than just making a quick buck. There was a sense of purpose in the room, a shared goal that brought them together. The last time she saw them work together so well was when they all decided to learn Morse Core to cheat on an exam.

A couple of hours later, they finally finished sorting everything. The bed was now neatly organized into sections—clothes, shoes, accessories, and jewellery—all ready to be listed for sale. Blaise put down his phone and stretched, satisfied with their progress.

“Not bad for a day’s work,” he said, glancing around at the others.

“Not bad at all,” the girl agreed, her eyes shining with excitement. “This could actually work.” I can almost feel the plastic of the bouncy house.”

“ Girl that's weird.” Chimes Matteo but lets it go regardless.

The boys agree with her in a way, the weight of what they’d accomplished settling in.

Matheo, who had finally changed out of the dress, grinned. “So, when do we start counting our millions?”

Blaise chuckled. “Soon. Very soon.”

With that, the group began to clean up. Theodore lets out a gasp. The group of teens turn to look at him. There he stood, a bag made out of cow leather in his hand. Horrified expression on his face.

“Maybe don't show this one to Betsy.”

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Taglist @klimovatereza-blog , @lafrone ,@enfppuff , @rafegfs , @frogtape , @lovelyygirl8 , @catiwinky, @leeleecats , @ghostgardn , @reverse-soe , @ultramarinetovelvet @jazz-berry , @justatadbonkers , @partnerincrime0 , @schaebickel , @deluluassapocalypse , @adreamingpendulum, @imobsessedwitholiviarodrigo , @happydragonfrog , @harvey-malfoy , @helendeath , @caffeine-addict-slug , @mrvlfanman , @pink-heartz , @feistyfox47 , @nickspotatoesalad , @elltheawkward , @myunperfektstorys . @mxryxmfooty , @hoeforvinniehackerrr