content: dad!hiromi, mom!reader, domestic fluff, your daughter's name is harumi
hiromi stares at his phone buzzing quietly.
he lets out a tired exhale. it's noon, case files and paperwork are piled high on his desk, emails keep flooding his laptop, and now your daughter's calling. hiromi's jaw clenches—he was already focused and had already reached what you, his wife, would call flow state.
should he let it ring, or should he answer? he did tell the girls that phone calls are reserved for emergencies only. after another moment of hesitation, hiromi picks it up.
"yes, harumi?" he answers. "i'm at work. is something wrong?"
"i'm bored," harumi mumbles.
that's it. that's the emergency.
hiromi blinks. "...you're bored," he repeats flatly.
"yes."
"dad's at work."
"i know. daddy, watch me play roblox."
"harumi, dad's at work," hiromi repeats again, firmer this time.
"and i'm bored," she retorts, just as firm.
he exhales deeply through his mouth. with his free hand he rubs the bridge of his nose, keeping his irritation at bay.
"harumi," hiromi mutters, "can you bother mama for now?"
harumi turns her camera on and shakes her head. "she said bother you."
of course you did. hiromi takes a mental note to talk with you later about work hours needing to be separated from personal life.
"i'm in the middle of a murder case, princess," hiromi weakly says.
the little girl hums. "okay, but can the murder wait until you see my fairy princess wolf?"
hiromi purses his lips, sunken eyes flickering to the pink pixelated creature on his daughter's screen.
"...okay," he whispers. "okay. let dad see."
before hiromi knows it, they've been on call for three hours. harumi mutters things about her game, squeals when something exciting happens, giggles at her own jokes, then goes quiet again. sometimes she shows him something on her ipad before flopping back onto her bed.
hiromi's eyes would occasionally flick towards his phone to watch her even as his hands are busy signing papers and scribbling notes. whenever she asks what he's doing, he finds himself explaining parts of the case in simpler terms she'd understand.
it's the most relaxed he's felt all day.
and to think he almost just let the phone ring.
on the third hour, harumi turns her tablet off.
"my screen time is over, daddy," she simply says. "my ipad said so."
hiromi hums. "what're you up to next, baby?"
"maybe end the call."
"no—" hiromi clears his throat and straightens up on his chair. "i mean... can't you talk with dad a little more?"
"but you said you have to murder."
"to handle a murder case, baby," he chuckles. "and... i do, but... dad misses his harumi."
harumi tilts her head. "you miss me?" she asks. "silly daddy. we live in the same house."
"i know," hiromi laughs quietly, exhausted. "i still miss you."
"mm, okay," the little girl nods. she crawls under her blanket, and hiromi's heart almost bursts when he watches his baby settle down for a nap. "can you stay until i sleep, daddy?"
he visibly melts. "of course."
you scroll down through your husband's photo gallery, brow raised. there's an insane amount of screenshots of his call earlier with harumi—some of her roblox fairy character, her in-game pets, her smiling at the camera, and several screenshots of her dozing off.
"work-life boundaries, huh?" you flatly say.
hiromi takes his phone away from you, ears tinted red.
"yes," he murmurs. "you cannot redirect our children to me everytime they inconvenience you."
"you watched her play roblox for three hours."
hiromi goes quiet because... well, he did do that.
"she asked me to stay," he says. "so i did. and i'd do it again."
Hello my lovelies, the long-awaited Blaise Appreciation Event is underway! I'll be posting official event stuff under #blaise's banquet official, while all submissions can be tagged #blaise's banquet.
We are still taking requests! If you would like to submit a request, or participate as a writer, you can do so here (or DM me).
(For those of you who enjoy communities, you should also check out @leeny-leens' new Zabini Manor.)
Huge, huge shout-out to @obsessedwithceleste, who has spent hours helping me and reassuring me as I obsess (lol) over the specifics of the event; she's been an angel. Big thanks as well to @nottendo, @ravenclaws-stuff, @simplyastra, @yuunarii-arii, and @puddlesoffrogs for putting up with my rambles and million drafts!
Lastly, my DMs are always open for any questions anyone may have. Don't be shy! <3
𝕿heodore 𝔉austus 𝕹ott. Slytherin. heir of the Ancient house Nott. Dumbledores Deatheater Spy. Chess master. Riddles Brother in arms. Son of phoena nott. 6'3. February 17. 94' baby. Aquarius sun, scorpio rising, pisces venus, scorpio mars, taurus moon. star slytherin chaser. Skilled occulumens. Northern Italian. Non verbal magic Ace. astronomy. bright smoky green eyes, vivid but shadowed. smoke. observant gazes. ever dead eyes. English accent with slips of perfect deep italian. knight in shining armor. strong coffee. towering over someone. unflinching eye contact. book in hand. pool table. cooking. veiny hands. boyish grins. reading glasses. eyebrow raises. dog person but would ‘tolerate’ a tiny cute kitten with a scoff. sleeper build. Fuck authority. loose tie. mischievous streak. Family Recipes. Academic weapon. arts and literature enthusiast. Swimmer. fancy lighters. will give an annoying bitch the side eye/stink eye. INTJ with Strong sensing grip. thinks most people are absurd. Messy but knows his space. Annotating his books. charismatic if he gives a shit. self amusement. can bluff easily. annoying genius. soft half smiles. Niyas Teddy. fast runner. his Familiar is a Drog named Pax (cat sized dragon). sweet blueberries. closest to Matt and Blaise among the boys.
★⋆. —Family. Phoena Nott, mother, heiress of a wealthy italian pureblood house, passed away when theo was 8 due to illness and neglect. Gabriele Nott, Father death eater, aristocrat, cold, cruel, wealthy. Lydia Pavani, Theos nonna, lives in italy, phoenas mother, has slight amnesia but is incredibly sweet and homely, widowed, his favourite person.
★⋆. —His Persona. making you laugh or smile is peak flirting to him. ambiverted but confident. if he doesnt like someone he’ll make it known. Witty provocateur. stubborn. petty. competitive. mastermind strategist. melancholic. smug. unreadable. great spacial awareness and reflexes. eerily observant. undoubtedly loyal. filters his feelings alot. habits, people, thoughts, memories stick like cancer once he lets them in. perfectionist. messy but knows his space. indifferent to most things. introspective. will break rules, wont get caught. values authenticity, hates pretentious people. goofy ahh. annoyingly funny.
★⋆. —His patronus. Thestral. a strikingly rare and powerful patronus, the thestral is cast by those who have witnessed immeasurable personal grief to death and processed its finality. these patronus wielders are deeply misunderstood and come off as intimidating but beneath the facade they are deeply gentle and loyal. These individuals are observant, resilient and incredibly intelligent, they possess profound emotional depth and deep melancholy. Thestrals are strongly sovereign creatures who aren't violent until they or their herd are threatened and are sovereign creatures, much like unicorns.
★⋆. —His Amortentia. (his essence to another brewer) Cigarettes. Citrus. Mint gum. His Cologne. Toffee/burnt sugar. Freshly mown grass. Parchment. Black coffee. vs (what he would smell in his) Cigarettes, daanyas amortentia, his nonnas cooking and tiramisu.
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･His Soundtrack °❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･
Better. by dj Khalid
Scotty Doesn't Know. by Lustra
Futile Devices. by Sufjan Stevens
Stella Stellina. by Coccole Sonore(phoena's lullaby)
[ SYNOPSIS ] — You try to be the "perfect" partner to Megumi by hiding your own needs and pain so you wouldn’t be a nuisance. This habit becomes dangerous when you get badly hurt on a mission and lie about it, leading to a tearful confrontation when he finds you bleeding in secret. w.c: 4.8k
[ PAIRING ] — megumi fushiguro x people pleaser!reader
[ TAGS ] — gn!reader, established relationship, canon compliant (?), hidden injury, blood, reassurance, hurt/comfort, use of [Name] once, megumi is a sweetheart as usual. Lmk if I missed anything!
"You wouldn't mind taking care of these mission reports for me, would you? You're a lifesaver!"
Satoru Gojo didn't even pause to wait for an answer, dropping a stack of heavily redacted, coffee-stained files onto your already cluttered desk. His iconic blindfold was pushed up, a devastatingly charming smile plastered across his face—the kind of smile that made it entirely impossible for anyone to refuse him.
Your head was pounding. A dull, rhythmic thud echoed right behind your eyes, a souvenir from a consecutive string of sleepless nights. You had your own reports to file, a history exam to help Yuji study for, and Nobara had explicitly told you to be ready in twenty minutes to carry her bags through Shibuya. Your throat tightened, the word no forming perfectly on your tongue.
It was right there. All you had to do was push it past your teeth.
"Of course, Sensei," you heard yourself say, the voice sounding entirely detached from your own body. "I'll have them on Principal Yaga's desk by three."
"Knew I could count on you!" He gave you a cheerful salute and vanished in a blur of limitless space, leaving you staring at the mountain of paperwork. You swallowed the sigh building in your chest, picked up your pen, and started writing.
This was simply how you survived. You made yourself a skeleton key, filing down your own edges, your own needs, and your own exhaustion until you perfectly fit the lock of whatever anyone else required. If you were useful, if you were accommodating, if you smoothed out the friction in the lives of the people around you, they would never look at you and decide you were too much trouble to keep around, that's how it should be, right?
But nowhere was this exhausting performance more prevalent than in your relationship with Megumi Fushiguro.
Megumi with his quiet nature, Megumi with his storm-clouded eyes, Megumi who shouldered so much— with Tsumiki's curse, with the expectations of having a powerful cursed technique, Megumi who you were so so so afraid of losing.
You still have a hard time believing you two are dating. The way it happened was so casual it almost felt unreal.
It wasn’t a grand confession, just a quiet surrender to everything that made you fall for him. The hallway was still buzzing with leftover energy from Yuji’s and Nobara’s laughter, but at your door, the silence felt heavy. Megumi lingered, hands shoved in his pockets, before his fingers grazed your wrist as you were about open the door. When he leaned in, it was with the soft gentleness of someone who had finally found a place to let his guard down. The kiss was brief, but you both knew exactly where you stood in each other's lives.
Yet, being his partner did not cure your affliction; it magnified it even further. You treated your relationship like fragile glass sculpture you had to constantly balance on your fingertips. You altered your entire existence to fit the mold of what you assumed was his ideal, low-maintenance partner.
You drank your tea unsweetened because he preferred bitter things, forcing the astringent liquid down your throat every morning while secretly craving sugar. You slept rigidly on the absolute edge of his mattress, your muscles cramping by dawn, just to ensure he had the lion’s share of the blankets. When he was exhausted from a mission, you swallowed your own awful, lingering trauma from the day, hiding your bruises beneath long sleeves and painting a bright, serene smile on your face so you wouldn’t add to his mental load.
And Megumi knew.
He was incredibly perceptive, and the forced perfection of your behavior was beginning to wear on him like coarse grit against his skin. He saw the way your hands shook when you agreed to take a double patrol shift. He noticed the barely perceptible flinch when he absentmindedly turned the television to a channel you secretly hated, only for you to vehemently agree that it was a great program to watch. It frustrated him.
Megumi loved you, he loved you so much it pained him, but he felt like he was dating a shadow, only moving when he did. And he did not know how to bring it up without fearing for what you would do.
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──
The mission was supposed to be a standard Grade 2 curse eradication in an abandoned subway terminal. It was a joint assignment for the two of you, a rare opportunity to work together. But the intelligence from the auxiliary managers was flawed, as it so often was. The curse was a Grade 1, a massive, grotesque amalgamation of rusted metal and rotting flesh that moved with terrifying speed.
The battle was chaotic in the claustrophobic underground tunnels. Dust choked the air, illuminated only by the flickering, dying fluorescent lights overhead. Megumi had summoned Nue to provide aerial attacks, the electrical discharge illuminating the grim determination on his face. You were covering his blind spots, your own cursed energy manifesting in sharp and precise strikes.
It happened in a fraction of a second. The curse, recognizing Megumi as the greater threat, lunged toward him with a massive, scythe-like appendage. Megumi was mid-incantation, his hands clasped together, momentarily vulnerable.
Your body moved before your conscious mind could register the decision. The ingrained instinct to protect, to serve, to sacrifice, propelled you forward. You shoved Megumi hard, knocking him out of the trajectory of the blade.
The impact was deafening. The rusted metal sliced through the air and tore into your left side, ripping through your uniform and biting deep into the flesh of your waist. The agony was instantaneous, a blinding flare of white-hot pain that stole the oxygen from your lungs. You hit the concrete floor hard, the taste of copper flooding your mouth.
"Nue!" Megumi roared, his voice cracking with a rare, raw panic. The shikigami descended in a blinding flash of lightning, obliterating the curse in a concussive shockwave of cursed energy.
The dust settled, heavy and silent.
Megumi was beside you in an instant, his breathing ragged, his hands hovering over you as if afraid that touching you would shatter you completely. "Are you alright? Where did it hit you?" His eyes were wide, the usual cold indifference entirely stripped away, revealing the terrified boy underneath.
The pain in your side was excruciating, a throbbing, burning sensation that suggested the curse’s rusted blade had been laced with some kind of venomous energy. Blood was already soaking the fabric of your shirt, hot and sticky against your skin. You needed Shoko. You needed a stretcher.
But as you looked up into Megumi’s panic-stricken eyes, the old, familiar terror clawed at your throat. You caused this panic. You are making him worry. You ruined the mission. You are a burden.
The people pleaser within you seized the reins of your vocal cords.
You forced the agony down, burying it beneath a mountain of sheer, desperate willpower. You pushed yourself up on trembling arms, twisting your torso to hide the worst of the bleeding from his line of sight. You plastered on a smile that felt like it might crack your face in two.
"I'm fine," you lied, your voice painfully steady. "It just grazed me. I knocked the wind out of myself when I fell."
Megumi frowned, his dark brows knitting together in suspicion. He reached out to inspect your side, but you swiftly shifted away, standing up on shaking legs. The world tilted dangerously, black spots dancing in your peripheral vision, but you dug your nails into your palms to ground yourself.
"I swear, Megumi. I'm okay. Let's just report and go home. I'm exhausted." You kept your tone light, almost apologetic. "I'm sorry I got in your way. I should have been more careful."
The apology tasted vile. You had saved his life, yet you were apologizing for being in the way.
Megumi stared at you for a long, agonizing moment. The tension radiating from him was evident, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. He knew you were hiding something. He could smell the blood. But your adamant refusal to acknowledge the danger built a wall between you that he didn't know how to breach, yet he trusted your judgment, he trusted that you would tell him if the injury was serious.
"Fine," he muttered, his voice dropping an octave, thick with frustration and repressed anxiety. He recalled his shikigami, the shadows swallowing Nue whole. "Let's go."
The car ride back to the college was nothing less than silent torture. You sat pressed against the passenger door, your arms wrapped tightly around your waist, secretly applying pressure to the wound that was continuously oozing blood. Every bump in the road sent a jolt of agony up your spine, but you bit the inside of your cheek until it bled rather than make a single sound. Ijichi drove in stony silence, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, every now and then apologising for the mistake in the mission logs, and then expressing his relief at your well-being.
By the time you reached the dormitories, you were running purely on adrenaline and the need to lock yourself in your bathroom before you collapsed.
"I'm going to take a shower!" you announced the moment you stepped into his room, your voice breathy and strained. You didn't wait for a response, practically fleeing into the adjoining bathroom and closing the door behind you.
The moment it was locked, the facade crumbled. Your knees gave out, and you slumped against the cold tile door, an agonizing gasp escaping your lips. You peeled off your ruined jacket and the blood-soaked shirt beneath it. The wound was horrific. An angry tear across your oblique, the edges blackened with residual cursed energy. It was deep, bleeding sluggishly but persistently.
Tears of pain and exhaustion finally spilled over your eyelashes, tracing hot paths down your dust-streaked cheeks. You had to clean it. You had to wrap it. You couldn't bother Shoko this late; she had been pulling all-nighters all week. You couldn't bother Megumi; he was already mad at you.
You dragged yourself to the sink, turning on the faucet. You grabbed a washcloth, soaked it in hot water, and pressed it against the wound.
A choked, pathetic sob tore from your throat. The pain was blinding, a sickening wave of nausea crashing over you. You squeezed your eyes shut, your entire body trembling violently as you tried to scrub away the blackened, infected tissue.
Click.
You froze. The sound of the lock turning from the outside. You had forgotten Megumi kept a spare key on the upper frame of the door for emergencies.
The door swung open, revealing Megumi standing in the threshold. He had changed out of his uniform, wearing only a loose t-shirt and sweatpants. He looked exhausted.
But whatever exhaustion he felt vanished the instant his eyes landed on you.
He took in the scene in a fraction of a second: your pale, shivering form hunched over the sink, the blood-soaked washcloth in your trembling hand, and the gruesome, gaping wound on your side that was currently dripping crimson onto the pristine white tiles.
The air in the bathroom seemed to drop ten degrees. The shadows in the corners of the room physically writhed, reacting to the sudden, violent spike in his cursed energy.
"What," Megumi breathed, his voice barely a whisper, yet it resonated with the force of an earthquake, "is that."
Panic, cold and sharp, flooded your veins. You scrambled to cover the wound with your arm, backing away from him like a cornered animal, your eyes wide and terrified.
"It's nothing!" you stammered, the words tumbling out of your mouth in a desperate rush. "I was just cleaning it. It looks worse than it is, Megumi, I promise. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make a mess. I'll clean the floor, just—"
"Stop."
The command cracked through the air like a whip. Megumi stepped into the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind him. His face was a mask of cold fury, but his eyes—his deep, beautiful, stormy eyes—were wide with an emotion that looked terrifyingly like devastation.
He crossed the small space in two strides, grabbing your wrists. His grip was firm, inescapable, but agonizingly gentle as he pulled your hands away from your side. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth as he finally got a clear look at the injury.
"You call this a graze?" he demanded, his voice shaking with a terrifying, suppressed rage. "It's entirely infected with cursed energy. You need reverse cursed technique, immediately. Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you say anything in the tunnel?"
Your chest heaved as you struggled to pull oxygen into your lungs. The panic was taking over, suffocating you. You were trapped. You had failed. You had made him angry. You had become the burden you fought so hard not to be.
"I—I didn't want to worry you," you choked out, fresh tears welling in your eyes. "You were already stressed about the mission being a Grade 1. I didn't want to slow us down. I'm sorry, Megumi. I'm so, so sorry. Please don't be mad. I can fix it, I'll go to Shoko right now, you don't have to deal with this—"
"Stop apologizing!" Megumi yelled.
You flinched violently, your shoulders instantly hiking up to your ears, your head bowing in an automatic posture of submission. The silence that followed his shout was deafening, broken only by your ragged, hyperventilating breaths and the steady drip, drip, drip of blood hitting the floor.
Megumi stared at your cowering form, the anger draining out of him in a rush, leaving behind a profound, hollow ache in his chest. He realized, with a horrifying clarity, that you were not flinching because of the pain of your wound. You were flinching because of him.
He dropped your wrists as if they burned him, taking a step back, his hands taking place behind his neck.
"Why do you do this?" he asked, his voice cracking, the anger replaced by a desperate, agonizing confusion. "Why do you lie to me? Why do you let yourself bleed out in a bathroom rather than ask me for help? Am I that unapproachable? Am I that terrible of a boyfriend that you think I would be annoyed by you almost dying?"
"No!" you cried, your voice breaking, the absolute terror of him thinking he was at fault tearing at your heart. "No, Megumi, you're perfect. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. It's not you, it's me. I'm just… I'm just trying to be good. I'm trying to be easy. I don't want to be difficult."
"Easy?" Megumi repeated, the word sounding foreign and ugly in his mouth. He stepped forward again, crowding you against the edge of the sink, his hands gripping the porcelain on either side of your waist, trapping you in. He didn't touch you, but his presence was demanding your full attention.
"You think I want you to be 'easy'?" he pressed, his eyes searching yours frantically, demanding an honesty you didn't know how to give. "I want you to be honest! I want you to tell me when you are hurt so I can take care of you!"
You shook your head furiously, the tears flowing freely now, hot and unrelenting. Your entire body was trembling, your heart hammering against your ribs, threatening to break. You were breaking apart, the foundation of your entire coping mechanism crumbling beneath his gaze.
"You say that now," you sobbed, the ugly, deeply buried truth finally clawing its way up your throat, bitter and raw. "You say that now, but you don't know. You already have so much on your plate, I don't want to make it worse. If I don't do it, you will hate me, I don't want you to hate me."
The confession hung in the humid air of the bathroom, heavy and devastating.
You squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for the blow. Waiting for the agreement. Waiting for him to step back, to look at you with cold realization, and walk out the door. You had finally revealed the ugly, pathetic core of your soul. You were a coward, terrified of abandonment, buying love with servitude.
But the silence stretched. And then, you felt it.
The gentle, hesitant brush of his knuckles against your tear-soaked cheek.
Your eyes flew open. Megumi was looking at you with an expression that shattered your heart into a million irreparable pieces. It wasn't pity. It wasn't disgust, but heartbreak. His eyes were glassy, his lips parted as he struggled to find words that could possibly combat the magnitude of your self-hatred.
Slowly, carefully, as if approaching a wild, frightened animal, Megumi reached out. He didn't grab your wrists this time. He slid his arms around your waist, mindful of the gaping wound on your side, and pulled you flush against his chest.
He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath ghosting over your skin.
"You are so stupid," he whispered, the words muffled against your skin, devoid of any malice, dripping only with a desperate, heavy sorrow. "You are an incredible person, so beautiful, so incredible, but stupid."
You stiffened, your hands hovering uselessly in the air, terrified to touch him, terrified to ruin this moment. But Megumi just held you tighter, his strong arms wrapping around you like a shield against the very demons inside your own head.
"Listen to me," he murmured, his voice trembling slightly. He pulled back just enough to force you to look him in the eye. The intensity of his gaze pinned you in place."Stop acting like your existence doesn't matter, it matters to me. You don't get to decide that you're expendable."
You let out a choked gasp, your hands finally, tentatively coming to rest against his chest, gripping the fabric of his t-shirt like your life depended on it.
"I care about you, so much," Megumi continued, his voice dropping into that serious, unwavering tone he used when making vows. "I care about protecting the people who matter to me. And you… you are at the very top of that list. If you are hurt, my world stops. If you are in pain, I am in pain. Hiding your suffering from me doesn't protect me; it destroys me."
He raised a hand, his thumb gently wiping away the steady stream of tears falling from your eyes. His touch was warm, grounding.
"You are not a burden," he said, enunciating each word with fierce, desperate clarity. "And I am begging you, please… let me take care of you. Let me be the one who carries the weight for a while. You don't have to earn your place beside me by bleeding in silence. In fact, you don't have to do anything but be here."
The dam broke.
You collapsed against him, your legs finally giving out, and he caught you effortlessly, sinking to the bathroom floor with you held securely in his arms.
You wept. You wailed. It was an ugly, guttural, heart-wrenching sound that tore from the very depths of your soul. You buried your face in his chest, clutching at him desperately, crying for the pain in your side, crying for the exhaustion in your bones, crying for the terrified little child inside you who had spent their whole life terrified of being left behind.
Megumi didn't shush you. He didn't tell you to calm down. He sat on the cold tile floor amidst the blood and the discarded bandages, holding you. He rocked you slowly, one hand gently stroking your hair, the other resting firmly against your back. He let you fall apart completely, creating a safe, impenetrable fortress within his arms where you were finally allowed to be shattered, loud, and inconvenient.
Hours seemed to pass before the sobs finally subsided into heavy, exhausted hiccups. Your throat was raw, your eyes swollen and burning. The adrenaline had completely left your system, leaving you weak and painfully aware of the throbbing agony in your side.
You shifted slightly in his lap, sniffing pathetically. Megumi immediately loosened his grip, looking down at you with a softness that made your chest ache.
"Are you done?" he asked quietly, a tiny, sad smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
You nodded numbly, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. "I ruined your shirt," you rasped, noticing the dark stains of your tears and blood on the grey fabric.
"I don't care about the shirt," Megumi said softly. He gently shifted you off his lap, standing up and reaching down to help you to your feet. You swayed dangerously, the blood loss finally catching up to you. He caught you around the waist, easily supporting your weight.
"Come on," he murmured, his voice gentle but brook-no-argument firm. "We are going to Shoko. Right now."
The instinct to protest flared up instantly. It's 3 AM. She's sleeping. I can just bandage it tight. But as you looked up at Megumi, at the deep circles under his eyes and the lingering terror in his posture, the words died in your throat.
You swallowed hard, the word feeling foreign and incredibly heavy on your tongue.
"Okay."
Megumi let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for hours. He didn't say anything, but the relief in his eyes was blinding. He practically carried you down the silent, moonlit hallways to the infirmary.
Shoko was awake, smoking a cigarette out the window when Megumi kicked the infirmary door open. She took one look at Megumi’s pale face and the blood soaking your side and immediately crushed the cigarette, immediately tending to you.
The process of healing was agonizing. Shoko’s reverse cursed technique was a miracle, but extracting the foreign cursed energy from the wound before healing the flesh was a torturous sensation. You lay on the sterile white cot, your teeth gritted, a cold sweat breaking out across your forehead.
Through it all, Megumi sat beside the bed. He held your hand in both of his, his grip tight enough to bruise, grounding you in reality while the pain threatened to pull you under. He didn't look away, even when the wound looked its most gruesome. He stayed exactly where he promised he would be.
When it was finally over, and the flesh was knit cleanly together leaving only an angry pink scar, exhaustion hit you like a physical blow. Shoko handed you a clean t-shirt and kicked you both out, muttering something about needing sleep.
The walk back to Megumi’s dorm was slow. You leaned heavily against him, your body utterly drained. You felt hollowed out, incredibly fragile, like a glass blown too thin.
When you reached his room, he didn't turn on the overhead lights. He guided you gently to the bed, pulling back the heavy comforter. You crawled in automatically, immediately scooting to the absolute edge of the mattress, curling into a tight ball. It was muscle memory at this point.
Megumi stood at the edge of the bed, watching you in the dim moonlight filtering through the blinds. He sighed, a heavy, exhausted sound. He kicked off his shoes, discarded his ruined shirt, and climbed into the bed.
But he didn't lie down on his side.
Instead, he moved to the center of the mattress. He reached out, grabbing you gently by the hips, and physically dragged you away from the edge, pulling you across the sheets until you were flush against him in the very middle of the bed.
You gasped softly in surprise, stiffening. "Megumi—"
"Stop," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. He wrapped his arms tightly around you, burying his face in your hair. He tangled his legs with yours, pinning you to him, ensuring there was no physical way for you to retreat to the cold periphery. "You are exactly where you belong. Take up the whole bed if you want. Kick me out if you want. But stop going all the way there."
You lay rigid in his arms for a long moment, your brain struggling to process the sensation of being held so securely, of being allowed to take up space without apologizing for it. The warmth of his body seeped into your cold skin. His heartbeat thudded steadily against your back, a rhythmic, grounding lullaby.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, you forced your muscles to uncoil. You let out a long, shaky breath, letting your weight sink fully into his embrace. You closed your eyes, his scent surrounding you, pulling you down into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The next morning, you woke to the smell of brewing coffee and the sound of birds chirping outside the window. The sunlight streaming into the room felt unnervingly bright.
You sat up slowly, testing the newly healed skin on your side. It twinged slightly, a dull ache, but the agonizing burn was gone. You looked around the room. You were alone in the bed, the covers tangled around your waist. You were dead center in the mattress.
The door to the small kitchenette opened, and Megumi stepped in, carrying two mugs. He looked rested, his dark hair a chaotic mess, his eyes softer than you had seen them in months.
He walked over to the bed and handed you a mug.
"Morning," he mumbled quietly, sitting on the edge of the mattress near your feet.
"Morning," you replied softly, your voice still gravelly from crying the night before. You wrapped both hands around the warm ceramic mug, seeking comfort in the heat. You brought it to your lips, taking a tentative sip.
You immediately paused, your brow furrowing in confusion.
It wasn't black coffee. It wasn't the bitter, acidic brew he drank every morning. It was warm milk, steeped heavily with a sweet, floral chamomile tea, and generously laced with honey. It was incredibly sweet. It was exactly what you actually liked.
You lowered the mug, staring at the golden liquid, a sudden lump forming in your throat. You looked up at Megumi. He was watching you carefully, his dark eyes analyzing your reaction.
"You didn't make coffee," you whispered, stating the obvious.
Megumi looked down at his own mug, taking a sip of the black sludge he preferred. "I know you hate it," he said simply, not meeting your eyes. A faint, barely perceptible pink dusted the tips of his ears. "I noticed a while ago. You always grimace when you take the first sip. And you always buy that sweet stuff when we go to the convenience store, but you never drink it around me."
Your breath hitched. He had noticed. He had known, and he had been waiting for you to say something.
He reached out, his long fingers gently wrapping around your ankle over the blankets.
"I'm not asking you to change everything in one day," Megumi continued, his voice quiet, steady, and infinitely patient. "I know it's a habit. I know you're terrified. But I am asking you to try. With me. Just with me."
He paused, a tiny, teasing glint momentarily breaking through his stoic demeanor. "For example. I was thinking of making eggs for breakfast. But I know you like pancakes, even though you always say eggs are fine. So. What do you want for breakfast?"
It was a test. A small, seemingly insignificant question, but between the two of you, it carried the weight of the world.
The instinct rose up instantly. Eggs are easier for him to make. He likes eggs. Tell him eggs. The familiar panic fluttered in your chest, the fear of demanding too much, of being an inconvenience.
You opened your mouth, the word 'eggs' forming on your lips.
But you stopped. You looked down at the sweet, warm tea in your hands, the tea he had made specifically for you, acknowledging your preferences, honoring your comfort. You looked at the hand resting gently on your ankle, grounding you, keeping you safe. You remembered the desperate way he had held you on the bloody bathroom floor, demanding that you exist loudly.
You closed your mouth. You took a deep breath, fighting the tremor in your voice. You forced yourself to meet his gaze directly.
"I…" you started, your voice barely above a whisper. You cleared your throat, trying again. "I would really like pancakes, Megumi. If that's okay?"
The silence in the room stretched for a single, terrifying second. You braced yourself for a sigh, a roll of the eyes, a sign of annoyance that you had requested the more difficult option.
Instead, Megumi’s face broke into a smile. It wasn't his usual smirk, or a polite curve of the lips. It was a genuine, breathtakingly soft smile that reached his eyes, illuminating his features and making your heart stutter in your chest.
He stood up, taking his mug of bitter coffee with him.
"Pancakes it is," he said softly, turning back toward the kitchen. He paused at the door, looking over his shoulder at you, his eyes filled with a certain amount of serenity that was so rare for megumi.
"And [Name]?"
You looked up, your hands gripping the mug tightly. "Yeah?"
stepping into the same mistakes can lead to a fatal crack in the demeanor of theodore nott; his overwhelming past is much more of a reason for his closed-off persona than he believes, but what happens when his beloved decides enough is enough?
-You booked the night train for a reason
So you could sit there in this hurt,
Bustling crowds or silent sleepers
You're not sure which is worse-
The Hogwarts Express bristled slowly towards its destination, whistling through the cold, grey air of Scotland. The windows were foggy with the moisture of breath and wind, and Theo's blue eyes blinked into the distant darkness mindlessly, like scribbling on a page in a boring class. His mind played tricks on him, trying to lull him into sleep, but he resisted like a fish out of water and stared and stared.
The same thing would play in his wretched nightmares, which he now persistently wanted to avoid. Her bloodied screams, the ghost of life behind those eyes as he cradled his mother's body after, and his father's stillness, with guilt or with triumph, unknown. He opened up Advanced Potions Making, lit up his wand to distract his mind as he read through the various processes of some overly complex potions.
Glancing around, he saw his dorm mates and the only people close to family resting alongside each other, almost close to cuddling, and he smiled, very faintly, as Draco's head fell onto Mattheo's shoulder while he snored, much less aristocrat-ly than his father would've been proud of. Blaise was sandwiched between himself and Lorenzo as Theo always fought for the window, and this time, no one had even opened their mouths to protest, which would've been much better, as though now it felt like they were pitying him, which was the thing he hated most.
At least if he wouldn't get pity and concerned looks from his friends, he would feel much more at home, but it seemed everyone already knew what to say as they met him after the summer, 'I'd never think your father could be so cruel. I'm sorry for your loss. Your mom was an angel.' These words were being arranged almost a thousand times. He hated the fact that he could now potentially be the pity-party of the group, of the whole school maybe, because it's not every day a student whose parent has been taken to Azkaban and whose other parent has been murdered, has set foot on the Hogwarts grounds. He certainly was hoping that the ground swallowing him up whole could be a better freaking option than receiving looks of sorrow and fake-caring glances from people he hadn't even talked to before in his school life.
The next morning, he woke up with his brain performing damped oscillations in his head. Yes, he did drink the whole two bottles of firewhiskey after just stepping into his dorm, and no, his friends did not stop him because they still pitied him. And being seventeen and brimming with emotions on top of hormones just did enough to justify the drinking interrelation to them. So they left him breakfast and went to their classes, not knowing how to deal with the situation themselves. He was thankful enough and attended the second class, his favorite, Potions.
"Mio dio..." he huffed, walking to his seat as his eyes refused to follow any way other than his warmth in the cold mornings, his only sun, the only star in the sky. She beamed brightly as she helped a boy from their year add the dragon's teeth to the potion. He wasn't, oh no, he was not ready to face her. It's not like he wanted to avoid her, but seeing her, bright and shiny like an emerald, far better than the one she wore on her fingers, he didn't feel like bringing her down with his gloom and doom. He didn't want to see any emotion in her eyes other than joy. And knowing her, she would dim herself to comfort him. He didn't want pity from her either. He didn't want to seem weak in front of her, too.
-Because I dropped your hand while dancing
Left you out there standing
Crestfallen on the landing
Champagne problems
Your mom's ring in your pocket
My picture in your wallet
Your heart was glass, I dropped it
Champagne problems-
It had been almost a week since he had promised himself not to fall too deeply into her eyes and resisted her presence, anywhere and everywhere. Which also meant not attending any classes or stepping into a familiar place where she could find him. But Today was the worst of all. He was walking up the stairs leading to the astronomy tower and was laughing like a manic as he went around in the spiral staircase, and though he was one of the most intelligent wizards of his year and knew how to strategically avoid being stuck in the magical looping nature of the school's every staircase, this day was testing his patience and it was as if he thought reacting opposite to than what the situation expected of him, he was shielding himself from being affected. Old habits die hard anyway.
Y/n was making her way up when she heard someone laughing, no, wailing, no, no, it was a laugh that sounded empty and broken, like an old record. She could recognize it, it was an instinct, knowing him.
"Theo? Is that you?" and she ran, and ran, finding him while on the third roll of the stairs.
"No. No. Go away, bella-"
"Shh.. what's wrong? What are you doing here?"
She glanced at the half-empty firewhisky in his hand, his knuckles reddened from gripping it too long and just hard enough for it not to shatter, but to let it seep into his skin and make him numb. He mumbled incoherently, drooped eyes, but still maintained eye contact as if he was to pass out, she'd be the last thing he wanted to see.
"Theo, I came here wanting to talk to you too, and then I find you like this. How long have you been drinking, hm? You can't even stand straight..." She mumbled, taking on the role of a worried mother but failing to be mad as he gazed at her like the world had stopped to let him hear her talk.
"You know you can talk to me. I know what happened over the summer... Please, teddy, say something."
It was getting darker out; she could sense it, the crickets had started chirping. She forcefully led him up, making him sit down on a chair.
"Will you keep ignoring me like the plague? I've been going insane for the past week, but I knew you needed space and I gave it to you— but, right now, I want to hear you talk. I want to know what's going on in your head, Theo... Damn it, say something!"
"Don't touch me." He said almost so breathily, the words would've flown away with the wind if she hadn't caught them first. He shrugged off her hands from his jaw, almost like he was repulsed at her touch.
"....Excuse me?" She waited. Nothing. "What do you mean, 'Don't touch me'? Is that all you could think of saying right now? Don't piss me off, Theodore."
"What do you think you're doing, lecturing me like an old hag? Don't fucking act like my mother. You... you.." He looked at her, momentarily shaken at saying the word 'mother', like it was something unearthly, something impossible.
She reached for his face again, breaking at his stutter. But he just pushed her away yet again, feeling more embarrassed than needful, resulting in feeling all the more angry at his state. And taking out anger was all he ever knew, all he ever did, all he ever learned. He looked at her, hiding his trembling insides with his glaring scarlet eyes.
"It's not your fault, Teddy." She said, holding back tears in her strained neck.
"Shut up. Just shut up—"
"No, no, you're not listening, it's not your fault. It's not your fault." She repeated to him like a mantra, trying and failing profusely to get a hold of him, of anything that could hold her back from shattering completely in front of him.
"You— you— think you're so clever, huh? Don't...don't fuck with me, Y/n—"
"It's not your fault, amore."
But all he could hear was his mother's last scream as he stood there helplessly, coming in too late, as always. If only he had reached earlier, she would've still been making his favorite risotto in the kitchen, humming a song, away from his monstrous father's gaze. But he stood there, and he stood there as she bled herself dry and looked at him one last time. He could never believe someone say it wasn't his fault, when he thought he was just a minute away from saving her, from failing in being there for her when she needed him the most.
"It's not your fault, it's not your fault, it's not your fault—"
He broke, and he broke every second she said those words, hitting the spot that he was convinced he was at fault for. He didn't want to hear it, any of the truth; he couldn't not blame himself. He didn't know how not to.
So he did the thing he was the best at, out of everything else. Avoiding. Leaving. Running. Abandoning. So he retreated away from her words, her comfort, her love, because he convinced himself he wasn't worthy enough for such luxury, the only one he couldn't afford.
"Teddy, no— Listen to me, don't leave—"
He turned around and stumbled down the stairs, dropping his empty bottle on the way, it's shards echoing the hollowness that he left her with.
-You told your family for a reason
You couldn't keep it in
Your sister splashed out on the bottle
Now no one's celebrating
Dom Pérignon, you brought it
No crowd of friends applauded
Your hometown skeptics called it
Champagne problems-
A month. September. He didn't know how. He knew why.
"Sorry", she had muttered earlier that day when he accidentally bumped into her. It wasn't even her fault. But she apologized in a not-wanting-to-cause-a-scene way, like when you don't have time to waste sorting a fight with a stranger, so you avoid it by being respectful and ushering away. That was what she had done, with such unfamiliarity, it seemed as though he was not who he was. And that should've made him feel better; he was getting what he wanted. Space. But he didn't want her slipping away like that. It felt like when your favorite shoes don't fit you anymore, like they can't hold your weight in them. Exactly like that.
He glanced at the bottle in his hands again and his friends in the common room, trying to make sense of his reality. His father was a criminal. His mother had left him helplessly. His love was slipping away. The only people he had to rely on were his friends. His idiotic but understanding friends whom he had hurt. They knew something was wrong when he was all panicky and sweaty when he returned to the dorm a month ago, but they weren't sure how to comfort him, even. At last, they were all peas of the same pod, same upbringing, same downward glances, and same pursing of lips. So when he told them all of his story, they nodded and tried to talk him out of his guilt.
"It's okay, maybe give her time for now", Mattheo patted his shoulder.
"Yeah, that'd be for the best, you idiot. Anyway, you have us for anything you need, anything you want, you say." Blaise tried.
"Do I look like a toddler to all of you?! Why the fuck are you all babying me? I hate that shit!"
"Look, mate, we're just trying to help. Let us help you." Draco said softly.
"Help?! I don't need help. I'm Theodore Fucking Nott. I don't need help." He said lowly and left them behind, drinking away the guilt yet again, as he stared at her photo in his wallet, her brown eyes smiling at him. She really was a fucking angel, huh?
"Honestly, why does he have to be so hot-headed? And with us? Remind me how he is our Theo again. He's changed." Lorenzo sighed.
"It's just his drinking problem, mate. Don't worry, he'll walk right back someday." Mattheo said, already lighting a cigarette to clear his head off the mess.
-You had a speech, you're speechless
Love slipped beyond your reaches
And I couldn't give a reason
Champagne problems-
October. 2 months since the night. She had not made a move again.
He drowned himself in the bottle like a coward. Prefect's bathroom. 2 am. He knew how to sneak in, had known since the fifth year. It was the second spot he had made home to. He groaned, slipping deeper into the waters. He wasn't even scared of drowning anymore, if it felt as good as this. And nothing felt good enough anymore. He was like a body being forced to live. He could not hold onto anyone; everyone was slowly giving him "space", giving him time, but it wasn't what he wanted anymore. He didn't even know what he wanted anymore. But then he opened his droopy eyes and saw it. He knew. Her.
She had walked in after a long day of prefect's duty, and the person she was praying not to encounter was here, floating like he had a right over anything. He especially did not have the right to look like that for a boy who was practically living off of nothing.
She cleared her throat, wanting to prove that she wasn't affected, wasn't going to crumble like she did the last time.
"Theodore."
"Bella..."
And she melted. She had prepared a list of all the things she wanted to say— no, yell at him for. How dare he push her away? How dare he act like he didn't care? How dare he not even try? And how dare he look at her now, like that, like she still means something?
"Y/n... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry—"
"Save it." She pursed her lips.
"Listen to me, I know I don't deserve it—"
"No, you don't," She snarled.
"Y/n, please... I'm out of it, please..."
"You fucking bastard— No, I said."
"Why not?!" He snapped.
"You know why not."
"Baby... I only want to talk."
"Oh, so now you want to talk to me, baby?" She mocked his words, almost, almost giving in.
He just nodded, tearily, "Don't leave... please..."
She blinked away tears and knew what to do. Just what he had done. She knew it was selfish, but a part of her needed that revenge, needed him to feel as desperate as he had made her feel. She was there for him, always, so why'd he push her away? But right now was no time for reason; it was to get him back. So she backed away and hit the cold tiles of the bathroom with the pestering shoes. "I'm sorry," she said as she went out of the bathroom, acting cool, but running fast into her dorm and weeping till the morning in her bed.
It was all about what they wanted to do, not what they needed to. Slytherins, after all.
-Your Midas touch on the Chevy door
November flush and your flannel cure
"This dorm was once a madhouse"
I made a joke, "Well, it's made for me"
How evergreen, our group of friends
Don't think we'll say that word again
And soon they'll have the nerve to deck the halls
That we once walked through-
October 31st. Three days later.
Hogwarts, as stunning as ever, dressed in warm orange for Halloween. Balloons in the shape of skulls hung around every corner of the castle, eerily, a downcast horror. Candles in every fall color had been equipped to levitate in the great hall, and pumpkin pies became a common delicacy for the day. Everyone was cheery and enjoying, while some were pretending to.
There she stood, dressed in all her glory. She had embodied Morticia Addams for the day, a comic character she thought just looked like her, a black flowy dress with open hair and subtle makeup. Her sleeves reached her wrist and entangled in her fingers like a glove, as she tugged and tugged at it nervously.
Theodore had been snapped out of his staring as he was nudged by Mattheo. "You're very subtle, mate." He laughed. It seemed like he had walked right back to his company. He smirked and rolled his eyes, staying quiet. He knew she wouldn't give him a chance, but a boy can wish, he thought. Plus, he didn't even need to match her this year; it had happened unconsciously, well, as unconscious as you can get with just wearing a black suit. But he entertained himself by thinking he looked just like Gomez Addams.
He didn't know she had left him like that out of spite. But he knew she'd be the one he pursued, whatever the consequence.
She didn't know he had been dying to have her back. But she knew she'd be jealous if he as much as looked at another today.
"What if he finds another girl today? You know about those parties..''' She had ranted to Pansy anxiously.
"WHAT IF SHE COMES IN MATCHING COSTUMES WITH SOMEONE ELSE?!" He had shouted in horror at Blaise.
Y/n glanced at him for the first time that day, the room now filled with seventh years like bees in a hive. He blinked, catching her stare as she abruptly looked away, and he smirked. She rolled her eyes, making her way to the bar.
Bar can only mean one thing. Firewhiskey, Butterbeer, Firewhiskey, Butterbeer. Loop. She blinked, trying to focus now as her head spun lightly. Astoria gasped as she made her way to her, "Y/n? Girl, what the hell happened to you?", she said in disbelief.
"Are you okay? Can you sit still?" Daphne asked worriedly.
"I told you not to let her be on her own!" Pansy, ironically double drunk, grumbled at the two girls.
Dancing was not a subject the Slytherins aced in, but when they were all drunk, it tricked them all into thinking they were the best, and hence, everyone was now on the dance floor, acing moves, as they themselves would like to claim. Daphne huddled over Mattheo. Astoria and Draco were trying, really trying, to dance salsa drunk. Pansy and Blaise were playing a game of who could piss the other off more, as they did a good job consoling and fighting from time to time. Y/n bumped into Theo, his hands catching her by her waist. "Hey, cara."
"Teddyyyyy," She mumbled, holding onto him, drunkenly.
"Yes, baby, it's me."
"Hm.. teddy..." She nestled into his shoulder.
He froze. He hugged her before he could stop himself. He was much, much sober than all of them, and he wished he were more drunk to do the things he wanted to do, just so he had the courage and also a reason for doing them.
"Y/n, you're drunk.."
"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.." She mumbled sassily, holding his shirt to stay upright, wrinkling the cloth.
"So... we.."
"So, what?"
"So, we shouldn't, I mean, I shouldn't—"
"Shh.." She put a finger over his lips. "You're confusing, you know that? Very... hiccups confusing"
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."
"Oh, you're sorry, you didn't mean to? You're sorry! You're sorry... for what exactly?" She looked up to meet his hooded eyes.
"For all of it. You deserve... so much more. I'm sorry I pushed you away...I'm sorry I didn't reach out. I'm sorry I kept being a coward. You deserve better... someone better."
"Then... be better! I want better! But I want you-better! Be better for me." She cups his face pathetically, slipping.
"Darling, you need rest—" He held onto her protectively.
"Don't change the subject! Why can't you just be better? Stop being so insecure and let me have you, all of you.."
"I don't.. don't deserve—"
A slap, so weakly done, it made him feel bad.
"I deserve you. I'll deserve you. I deserved you. Now be a man and accept it or let go of me."
@softclementineblog is stealing my work if anyone sees it, they’ve blocked me so I can’t see but I am aware. Not fully sure on what to do about it so I guess it is what it is, just don’t support because it is not me and they have no permission by me to post. Thank you to everyone who has reached out to tell me, love you guys🥲😣
feel this perfectly shows how niccolò was essentially groomed by monica and people overlook that part a lot and yes, i do feel like she should've been hated moreee
dk why but I think lorenzo zurzolo's acting is underappreciated cause why else is no one talking about prisma or even la storia??? esp the poetry scene with useppe?? the entire thing had me BAWLINGGG
Translated works without permission (mine and possibly other tumblr authors)
3 of my works have been translated without my permission and it is among the 373 translated tumblr fics on this Wattpad account @ Mel_Potter_Black. Based on my case with them, I have a feeling that they also have not approached and asked for permission from a lot of tumblr authors.
Their translated works include: 186 Theodore Nott fics, 40 Percy Jackson tumblr fics, 50 James Potter fics, 25 Luke Castellan fics, 49 Mattheo Riddle fics, 23 Draco Malfoy fics.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
First and foremost, I have explicitly stated on my pinned Tumblr post that I do not want my works translated or redistributed elsewhere.
Long story short, there were a lot of red flags that this account has displayed.
They blocked someone who had questioned them if they had my permission to translate my works.
They have never even reached out to me asking for permission.
They translated my works even though I have stated very clearly that I do not want my works translated.
They never replied to me and even deleted my comment politely asking them to remove my work because they never had my permission and that I don’t want my works translated (though, fortunately they did remove the translated works as asked, so at least that’s the plus side). This once again wiped clean evidence of permission issue on their account, very much continuing a “covering up their track” behavior.
They also translated one of the original author’s usernames into Portuguese too, which is strange and improper crediting because that defeats the whole point of crediting overall, as readers won't even be able to trace back to the original author at all (especially if you are not linking to the original work or the original author’s page, which they are not doing).
Given their highly questionable and suspicious behaviors to my case (did not ask for my permission, translated works from an author who does not want their works translated, attempted to hide the fact that they have never gotten permission from me (the original author), blocked those who question it, shows signs of improper crediting), I have reasons to suspect that many tumblr authors of the other 370 translated works on this Wattpad account also do not know that their works have been translated, and that this Wattpad account have translated without their permission and/or improperly credit them.
I did contemplate for a while whether to write and publish about this too. However, I feel like it’s all too suspicious for me to just ignore and 300+ fics is a lot. Also, the fact that they straight up blocked the person who questioned if they had my permission implied that they must feel like what they are doing is not right.
So…if you are a tumblr writer of any of the characters mentioned above (especially Theodore Nott because 186 is INSANE if most of them don't have the original author's permissions and/or authors don’t want their works translated), just be aware that your works may have been translated without permission. And if the issue of translation without permission is personally important to you, maybe check to see if your works are on their account and ask them to take it down if you want to.
PS. Though, please don’t send them death threats or something like that. They could be a child who doesn’t know any better for all we know.
Horrified to find that SEVERAL of my fics have been stolen by this account despite my explicit disclaimer asking for my works not to be translated without consent.
Furthermore this user has incorrectly given credit to other tumblr users for MY WORK.
gummygunk
blakekathryn
theartofmadeline
janainaart
