#cage match wizard | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bootleg-nessie · 7 months

Text

Rating band names based on their accuracy:

(I keep updating this list so check back later)

The Beatles: 3/10. None of these people are beetles, they’re just a bunch of fruity guys from Liverpool with matching haircuts

(Edit: changed from 0/10 to 3/10 because John Lennon beat his wife)

Pink Floyd: 4/10. There is not a single person named Floyd in the band, but some of the members do arguably look kinda pink

Nirvana: 10/10. Getting high and listening to Nirvana is roughly what I imagine actual nirvana to be like

Foo Fighters: either 0/10 or 10/10. I have never seen foo in real life so either they’re pretending to fight a problem that doesn’t exist or they’re doing an absolutely fantastic job of fighting it

The Eagles: 0/10. Same as the Beatles, there is not a single eagle in this band. The name is misleading and we have all been lied to

Queen: 6/10. Partial points for Freddie Mercury

Led Zeppelin: 0/10. I don’t think any of these guys have ever even seen a zeppelin, let alone one made of lead. A lead balloon would crash faster than my hopes and dreams

The Rolling Stones: 3/10. There is not a single stone in this band. Some points added because I’m pretty sure they rolled quite a few

U2: 0/10. Despite what the name says, I am not a member of this band

Metallica: 9/10. Naming a metal band “Metallica” is like naming your dog “doggy”

Red Hot Chili Peppers: 2/10. These guys are not chili peppers. They’re not even that hot, let alone red hot

Guns N’ Roses: 0/10. How the fuck could a gun or a flower play music

Backstreet Boys: ?/10. Depends entirely on their current given location

Simon and Garfunkel: 10/10. No notes

The Doors: 1/10. Jim Morrison is kinda shaped like a door tho

Chicago: 4/10. The number of people in this band does not come even remotely close to the population of Chicago. Points added because it originated in Chicago

Earth, wind, and fire: 2/10. This is even more innacurate than Chicago. Points added because wind instruments were often used

Def Leppard: 3/10. There is not a single leopard in this band. Some of the members are probably kinda deaf by now tho

The Beach Boys: ?/10. Accuracy depends entirely on location

The Black Eyed Peas: 6/10. Not sure what the hell an ‘eyed pea’ is but the black part is pretty accurate

Imagine Dragons: ?/10. Depends entirely on whether or not they’re thinking about dragons.

Cage the Elephant: 1/10. Why would you do that. Let the elephant go

Green Day: 0/10. They’re not even green

The Police: 0/10. There is not a single cop in this band

KISS: 5/10. I’m sure they probably kissed sometimes

The Monkees: 0/10. Are you fucking kidding me

We Butter the Bread with Butter: 8/10. I can’t verify this but I have no reason to suspect that they’d lie. Butter seems like the most logical thing to butter bread with

King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard: 0/10. I got really excited about the concept of a lizard wizard only to be let down. My disappointment is immeasurable

They Might Be Giants: 5/10. I googled everyone in this band’s height, the tallest guy’s only 6’1 so I wouldn’t exactly consider him a giant. Then again, I can’t really argue because the claim was only that they MIGHT be giants

The Presidents of the United States of America: 2/10. None of these people are Joe Biden nor are any of them former presidents. This is incredibly misleading. I’m pretty sure “Lump” was written about my first girlfriend tho so I’ll give them a point or two

Gorillaz: 2/10 Not quite but we’re kinda close genetically so I’ll give them partial credit

The Killers: ?/10. I have no way of verifying if they’ve actually killed before but the fact that they’re not in prison tells me probably not

The Offspring: 10/10. These guys are definitely somebody’s offspring

Arctic Monkeys: 1/10. They are neither monkeys nor are they from the arctic

Thirty Seconds to Mars: 1/10. It takes WAY longer to get to mars than that

Beastie Boys: 8/10. They’re pretty beast on the guitar

Jimmy Eat World: 1/10. Slow the fuck down Jimmy, you’re biting off way more than you can chew

Hole: 9/10. One point deducted because I’m pretty sure they had more than one hole

Rage Against the Machine: 10/10. They did exactly that

Alice In Chains: 0/10. This is illegal. Let Alice go

The Band: 10/10. This could not possibly be more accurate

Nine Inch Nails: 1/10. I can’t find any good pictures of their feet but from what I can tell their fingernails definitely aren’t nine inches long

Bush: ?/10. Not quite sure about this one, felt uncomfortable asking

The Who: 2/10. I’m not dealing with this “Who’s On First” bullshit

Radiohead: 0/10. Not a single person in this band has a radio for a head

Queens of the Stone Age: 0/10. This band should be called “five random dudes from the modern era” but FRDFTMA is a bit of a mouthful

Soundgarden: 2/10. Sound does not grow in the garden

Sonic Youth: 5/10. They’re not exactly youth anymore but the sonic part checks out

Talking heads: 8/10. There’s more to the band than just a bunch of disembodied heads but the heads do tend to talk

The Cranberries: 0/10. Decent music but I only added them so that the Beatles and Freddie Mercury weren’t the only fruits on this list

The Wiggles: 8/10. They do tend to wiggle a lot

Blue Man Group: 10/10. Yep!

Weezer: 5/10. They all look like they definitely have asthma

Limp Bizkit: 3/10. While the visual image of baked goods playing the guitar is hilarious, Fred durst is not a biscuit. Points added because he probably has erectile dysfunction

Stone Temple Pilots: 0/10. None of these people are accredited as being licensed to pilot anything, much less an entire stone temple. Stone temples don’t need pilots anyways

Wasted Youth: 8/10. I guess it really kinda depends on how you frame it but yeah, they probably wasted a lot of it

Them Crooked Vultures: 3/10. These are people and not birds but Dave Grohl’s posture is kinda bad and John Paul Jones is so old that his neck kinda looks like a vulture’s so I added some points

Audioslave: 0/10. Slavery is illegal

Traveling Wilburys: 4/10. Sure, they traveled a lot but not a single one of those lying bastards was named Wilbury

D12: 6/12. There were only 6 people in this band

NWA: 10/10. I’m a little too white to safely comment on this one but I’d say they nailed it

Jet: 1/10. A real jet would be way too loud

Goldfinger: 0/10. Not a single person in this band has a finger made out of gold

No Doubt: ?/10. I can’t really be too sure how Gwen Stefani felt but I think it’s probably a safe assumption that she had some doubts

The White Stripes: 3/10. I bet if you stripped them down naked and made them stand shoulder to shoulder and squinted really hard they’d probably look more like white stripes

Screaming trees: 3/10. They scream occasionally

Garbage: 2/10. I think they’re being a little harsh on themselves, their music isn’t THAT bad

Butthole Surfers: 5/10. Not even gonna touch this one

Megadeth: 3/10. To be fair, some of the former members are dead but only a little amount of death, not mega death

Dead Kennedys: 2/10. Last I checked Kennedy was still dead but neither he nor his clones are members of this band

Cake: 0/10. The cake is a lie

Cracker: 8/10. Most of them are

Tool: 7/10. I don’t know much about their music but they sure look like tools

Counting Crows: ?/10. Is this what emo kids do instead of counting sheep? Accuracy depends on whatever bird they happen to be counting at the moment

Dave Matthews Band: 10/10. It certainly is

Oasis: 1/10. Their music is the opposite of an oasis

Blur: 2/10. They are not that fast

Barenaked Ladies: 0/10. If I wanted to be this disappointed I’d reestablish a connection with my biological father instead

Meat Puppets: 10/10. Technically, aren’t we all?

Live: 8/10. Apparently they still do live shows but I deducted some points because I’ve only ever heard their music on Spotify

ABBA: 9/10. I’m still not giving any points to Guns N’ Roses but that’s mostly out of spite

5 Finger Death Punch: 8/10 I guess it probably depends on how hard you hit them but this seems to be the usual amount of fingers to punch somebody with

All American Rejects: 9/10. They’re all rejects from America so I don’t really see any issue with this

T. Rex: 0/10. Even if any of these people WAS a T. Rex I don’t think their arms would be long enough to play their instruments

Free: 0/10. Unless you steal their music, in which case it becomes a 10/10

The Strokes: 3/10. To my knowledge, none of them have had a stroke but I still added a few points because the name was probably accurate for other reasons

The Smashing Pumpkins ?/10. Another thing I have no way of verifying but this seems like a waste of perfectly good pumpkins

Therapy?: ?/10. The hell are they asking me for? I don’t know their medical history

Twenty One Pilots. 0/10. There’s only two of them and neither is a licensed pilot

Finger Eleven: 0/10. Leave the poor Stranger Things girl out of this

Fall Out Boy: 9/10. I conferred with an expert on this one who confirmed that they are in fact boys who had a falling out

Cream: 8/10. Considering this was the OG supergroup I’m sure a lot of people did in fact cream when their music came out

Edit: humans aren’t fucking monkeys. Stop saying we are

50K notes · View notes

spectorgram · 16 days

Text

eyes wide open

pairing: theodore nott x f! reader summary: you discover that there is so much more to theodore nott than you thought. content: gryffindor! reader, semi-nsfw (characters are 18+) word count: 5.46k

You have never spoken to Theodore Nott before. You’ve him around a lot, usually with Mattheo Riddle or Lorenzo Berkshire, and he is a regular on the quidditch team — a chaser — so you’d see him zoom by during matches. He’s also in a majority of your classes for this year, which lets you observe him from afar. But past that, you’ve never really had much to do with him beyond seeing him with Malfoy and witnessing how he stands quietly — with either a small smirk or a look of complete apathy on his face — while Malfoy and your friends argue back and forth.

Having class with Theodore Nott has let you learn three things about him: he’s quiet, whip-sharp, and unbelievably handsome. You didn’t need classes with him to know the last one is a well-known fact; he’s constantly noted as one of the most attractive of your classmates. “Shame he’s a Slytherin,” Lavender Brown once said to you, which had made you roll your eyes and retort, “And what’s wrong with that?” It had gotten you into a big fight and you don’t think she’s spoken to you since, not that you’ve really wanted her to.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” Ron asks you as he, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny stand at the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. “Mum would love to have you. She’s always banging on about what a lovely girl you are and how polite you were.”

“And I’m sure Fred would love to see you,” Ginny adds.

You snort, “I’m really sure. But please give my regards to your mother and Fred.”

“Will do,” Ginny says with a two-finger salute.

Your friends say their farewells as they leave through the portrait hall. You flop against the plush velvet of the couch, staring at the roaring fire. Your parents were on a months-long that brought them to see famous wizarding landmarks so you’re stuck at Hogwarts for the holiday. You’re a little disappointed that you won’t be with your family but another part of you is excited to be in the castle when it’s less populated. You’ll finally get to make your way through the massive pile of books you have at your bedside since you’re usually caught up in listening to and gossiping with your roommates.

You head up to your room, empty except for you and your owl hooting in his cage. You wiggle your fingers inside, Ramses rubbing his feathery head against them. You grab the first book from the top of your pile, turning the leather-bound edition over in your hand. Hermione gifted it to you for your last birthday: William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. You shimmy into your gold and red striped sweater and tuck the book underneath your arm, walking down to the dining hall for dinner.

Students are scattered around the Great Hall, some chattering with their friends while others eat silently. The ceiling has shifted to depict a clear night sky, floating candles casting an orange glow. You spot Mattheo Riddle alone at the Slytherin tables but the way he keeps looking to the door makes you assume he’s waiting for a friend. You settle down on a bench all to yourself, piling your plate with the mouthwatering selections available to you.

You rest your chin on your fist, cracking open the play. You get only a few pages in when you hear a familiar low voice. “All alone, little lion?” His eyes examine you and you suddenly feel too exposed despite your layers.

You come face-to-face with Theodore Nott and his sea blue eyes. He regards you coolly and you ask, “Can I help you, Nott?”

He points at your copy of Romeo and Juliet. “Where’d you get that?”

You furrow your brow in confusion. Why in Godric’s name is Theodore Nott of all people interested in a Muggle book. You respond, “Hermione gave it to me. Why?”

“It’s hard to find Muggle books here,” he says. His eyes linger on the play. “Think I could borrow it when you’re finished?”

Your brain stalls, questions floating around your head. “Sure,” you finally answer. He nods and neither of you say anything more. The quiet that falls between you two makes you tense and you say, “Is that all, Nott?”

He considers and then says, “I think so.” He heads to the Slytherin tables without another word, sitting beside Mattheo, who’s been watching on keenly. You catch his stare and he smirks, raising a hand in a casual wave. Theodore smacks his shoulder and pulls Mattheo’s hand down.

You sigh, shake your head in disbelief, and go back to reading the play.

It’s been a few days since your encounter with Theodore, but the interaction sticks with you. Every time you open up the play, you’re reminded of it and your curiosity returns tenfold.

It’s odd being at school when it’s this empty. You’ve managed to occupy yourself by playing Wizard’s Chess with some fifth years, helping Professor Flitwick organize his classroom and the Frog Choir’s practice room, and working on knitting gifts to give you friends when they return.

You’re sitting in the Gryffindor common room, working on Harry’s scarf, when you spill a cup of tea one of the house elves had made for you. Cursing, you move your knitting out of the way and survey the damage to your sweatshirt. With a groan, you gather your things and bring them to your dorm, blotting out the growing stain with water and letting it dry over the edge of the bathtub.

You slip into a forest green sweater and throw a brown corduroy jacket over it. You grab your copy of Romeo and Juliet and head down to the Black Lake. The cold breezes nip at your cheek and carries the scent of pine trees, which you inhale gratefully. You plop yourself underneath a tree on the shore of the lake, reclining against the trunk and cracking open the book.

You’re not even a page in when you hear a familiar voice call your name. Your hold on your book tightens but you peer up, watching Theodore approach. He’s in a dark wool overcoat and similarly dark trousers, hands tucked into his coat pockets. His strides are leisurely and long, reaching you in only a handful of steps.

He stands tall in front of you, shadow cast long in the afternoon sun. His gaze roams over you and he says, “Isn’t wearing green considered treacherous for you?”

You’re confused for a second before you follow his line of sight and glance down at your own sweater. Right. You reply, “No more than it would be for you to wear red.”

The corner of his lip twitches up in a small, half-smile and he says, “High treason then.”

You echo your words from earlier in the week: “Can I help you, Nott?”

He ignores your question, instead choosing to tip his chin at your book. “What part are you at?”

“Mercutio’s died in his duel with Tybalt.”

He nods and recites, “‘A plague o’ both your houses. They have made worms’ meat of me: I have it, and soundly too: your houses.’”

You don’t bother to hide your surprise. “You’ve read it?”

“Haven’t most people?”

“Sure, most people know the story but they don’t usually read it.

“I’ve read it a couple of times,” he admits. He adds, “My mother’s favorite book.”

“I see. Is that why you want to borrow it from me?”

“Yeah.”

Silence falls between the pair of you. Distantly, there’s a cry of crows. Theodore is still standing above you, gazing down, and you squirm a little. He then says, “I always liked Benvolio.”

You’re reminded that Theodore’s half-Italian in the way he says ‘Benvolio,’ accent smooth and lilting. It suddenly feels a little too warm under your coat but you ignore it. You instead blurt out, “Of course you would. You’re kind of like him.”

Theodore raises one eyebrow and you feel your face heat even more, embarrassed, and you hope he doesn’t take it as a bad thing. He doesn’t seem offended though and asks, “Oh, how so?”

“I mean,” you say, “you are— well, you seem like the most reasonable of your friends. A mediator of some sort.”

“That sounds about right,” he says. “You remind me of Juliet.”

“Really? Why’s that?” You’re not sure if you should take it as a good thing or not.

“Well, she has a solid set of beliefs and stands up for them. She knows herself; she tells her parents that she doesn’t want to marry Paris, not just because she’s in love with Romeo but also because she knows she’ll be unhappy. What is it she says? ‘Now, by Saint Peter’s Church, and Peter too, he shall not make me there a joyful bride! I wonder at this haste, that I must wed ere he that should be husband comes to woo.’”

Theodore’s mouth lifts in a tiny, lopsided smile again and he says, “Plus, she’s the one most of the guys fawn over, right?”

You’re left to gape at him in shock and awe, processing what he just said as he turns and walks back to the castle along the shore, just outside the gentle lapping of the water. You watch his retreating figure, watch as he grows smaller and smaller and eventually disappears.

You don’t get much reading done, the book remaining open in your lap and your eyes fixed on the spot where Theodore once stood.

You sit there until the top curve of the sun is just peeking out over the horizon and you stand, still a tad dazed, and make your long walk back to Hogwarts.

It’s just past one in the morning and you can’t sleep, tossing and turning fitfully. Theodore Nott and his long shadow and his blue eyes keep appearing behind your eyelids, no matter how much you try to shove the thoughts out. You want to bang your head on one of the wooden poles holding up the canopy of your four-poster bed, but you opt for sliding on your slippers and going down to the kitchens to see if the house elves have any leftover brownies from dinner. Maybe they could warm up a mug of hot cocoa for you too.

You shuffle through the hallway, the chill of the castle waking you up. You rub your hands along your arms, wishing you had worn something over your pajamas. Since it’s break, restrictions about when and where students could go are essentially non-existent. You pass Filch, who scowls at you, clearly aggrieved that he can’t punish you for being out of bed, and Nearly-Headless Nick, who greets you cheerfully and questions you as to why you’re up at such a time. “Can’t sleep,” you explain. “I’m checking if the elves have any midnight snacks for me.”

He chuckles, “An excellent reason but don’t stay up too late, or you’ll wind up like me!” He laughs hard at his joke and you can’t help but giggle, bidding him a goodnight as you descend into the basement.

You nearly run right into Theodore as you approach the kitchens. You jump at least a foot, clasping your hands over your chest. “Merlin’s beard, you scared me!”

“Could say the same for you,” he says. “Nice pajamas.”

You forgot you were in a tank top and shorts. You cross your arms and say, “You seem awfully fixated on my clothes, Nott.” You try to look as threatening as you can but the slight tremble to your body takes away any effect.

Theodore rolls his eyes and slides the robe he donned over his striped pajamas off, holding it out to you. When you don’t take it, he just throws it over your shoulders, the weight comfortable and warm. You say, “You keep popping up out of nowhere. Are you stalking me or something?”

He snorts, “You would never know if I was. But no, Mattheo’s snoring kept me up. I figured I should take advantage of my insomnia and grab some brownies from dessert.”

“Great minds think alike then,” you say.

You and Theodore walk down the corridor towards the kitchen when he asks, “Have you finished the book?”

“No, didn’t get a lot of reading done after you left.”

“Did I distract you that much?” He looks smug, smirking, and it’s your turn to roll your eyes.

“In your dreams.”

“Yeah,” he says. “When do you think you’ll finish?”

“Bloody hell, you’re impatient,” you groan, rubbing your temples. You’re not sure what possesses you, if it’s your sleep-deprived brain or something else but you suggest, “How about this? You grab brownies and cocoa for us and I’ll get the damn book and we’ll meet in the Clock Tower and read it together.”

Theodore considers it for a moment before he says, “Alright. I’ll meet you there in fifteen.”

“Perfect.” You scurry back to the Gryffindor dorms. Nearly-Headless Nick queries as to where your snacks are but you don’t answer, moving swiftly. You enter your dorm room, only pausing for a moment to catch your breath. Your heart is pounding but you can’t tell if it’s from the journey or from the thought of sitting alone in the Clock Tower with Theodore Nott. You don’t let yourself dwell on it and you pick up Romeo and Juliet and climb the stairs to the Clock Tower.

Theodore has beaten you there, already sitting up against the glass of the clock. The frost on the glass obstructs some of the moonbeams streaming in but it’s just enough light to read. In the moonlight, Theodore’s hair looks lighter and more burnt golden than brown. He takes a sip of his cocoa and holds out a ceramic mug to you as you settle next to him. You accept it gratefully, plucking a brownie from the plate between you two.

You flip through the play to find where you left off, the page dog-earred. Theodore makes a sound at the back of his throat. “What?”

“Don’t you have a bookmark or something?”

“No. Leave my marking choices out of it.”

He snickers and leans over you to get a better look at the text. Your shoulders brush and you’re all too aware that he smells of chocolate and sandalwood. His smell is clean and distinct; his robe smells like that too.

As you two begin to read, Theodore tells you to turn back or move forward. You eventually figure out a rhythm, knowing exactly when to do so. You’re about ten minutes into reading when you feel Theodore’s gaze on you. You remain still, wondering if he’ll stop but when he doesn’t you mumble, “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Staring.” “Does it bother you?”

“It feels like you can see into my soul.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Does it bother you?”

You pause. “I don’t… I don’t know.” A beat. “Why are you?”

“Why am I what?”

“Staring at me.”

His voice drops, somehow deeper than you have ever heard it. “Because I like to.”

Your head whips to him but no words leave your mouth. He regards you carefully and asks again, “Does that bother you?”

You hesitate. Then, “No, it doesn’t.”

He hums and you think he’ll do… something but he just ducks his head back down to read and you let out of the breath you didn’t know you were holding, disappointment pooling in your stomach. You don’t know what you wanted him to do. You don’t know why you’re disappointed.

You two read until your eyes grow heavy. You struggle to keep your lids open, head jolting up when you realize you’re drifting off. Theodore taps your shoulder and says, “We can stop here. Pick up another time.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, standing and stretching. You stifle a yawn and remember you have his robe on. You begin to take it off but he says, “Keep it. You can give it back tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, tomorrow. Same time, same place?”

“Okay.”

It doesn’t take you long to finish the play with Theodore only two days later. You noticed that Theodore read slower than before, telling you multiple times per session to go back a couple of pages.

Your eyes follow the last line: For never was a story of more woe / Than this of Juliet and her Romeo, and you close the book with a dull thump. You sit in silence with Theodore, listening to the clock hand turn to the next minute. You stay like that for a while. You sip on the spiced hot chocolate the house elves prepared for you. You share sugar cookies with Theodore that are shaped like snowflakes.

“So,” you start, breaking the silence, “this is your mother’s favorite book?”

He nods. “I think she read it a lot when her parents arranged for her to marry my father.”

“Oh.” You don’t know what else to say, adding lamely, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Silence.

“Can I ask you something?” you ask.

“Yeah.”

“Why did you stay here over break?”

He stiffens, expression unreadable. He glances over at you and finally sighs. “My father’s trial is happening right around now. My family doesn’t want any of the kids around this so…” He motions to the Clock Tower, adding, “My siblings are either at their own schools or with my grandmother.”

Your heart aches at the frown on his face and you bite the inside of your cheek, unsure of how to proceed. You’re thankful when Theodore moves on. “What about you?”

“Oh, my parents are on a sight-seeing cruise so they’re not home. I got a postcard today, though, they’re in Japan now.”

“I’ve never been. How’s it look?”

“Pretty. They said their tour guide told them the best time to come is when the cherry blossoms bloom. I would like to go.”

“We’ll go together then.”

He says it with a finality that makes you shy. “When?” is all you can ask.

“Someday.”

You haven’t seen Theodore in a couple of days, an odd thing to try and get used to when you’ve just adjusted to him popping up wherever you are. You assume that he’s done with you now that you finished Romeo and Juliet.

It all makes your heart sink.

You’re alone in the common room, wrapping up your gifts for your friends. You stack Harry’s scarf on top of Hermione’s mittens, Ron’s socks, and Ginny’s hat, and you lean against the couch with a huff.

You think about the spare red yarn sitting in your room. You think there’s just enough to make another scarf.

Theodore’s face flashes in your mind’s eye and you run a hand down your face in frustration. Whatever weird thing you had with Theodore is over. He’s probably out with Mattheo at the Three Broomsticks or something. You’ve seen them there before along with Enzo, Blaise, Draco, and Pansy as well as just with each other, usually flirting with girls there.

You didn’t used to think much of it — just scoffed along with Ron and Hermione — but now the thought makes your stomach churn.

You think about the extra yarn in your room again and you almost can’t believe that, despite his disappearing act, you’ve decided you’ll knit a scarf for Theodore Nott.

Almost.

You’re greeted with a delicious Sunday roast for dinner on Christmas Eve: tender roasted beef, warm Yorkshire puddings, fluffy mashed potatoes, and a side of jus from the beef. You sit by yourself once again, the loneliness threatening to swallow you whole as you plate your dinner.

Theodore seats himself right across from you and places a parcel wrapped in brown paper in front of you. You look at it in confusion and he says, “Open it.”

“What is it?”

“Christmas present.”

You raise a brow. “You got me a present?”

“Yes, now open it.”

“Shouldn’t I wait until tom—” The sharp look he gives you makes you set your fork aside and tug on the string of the bow. There are two books inside. The first is a copy of Shakespeare’s Macbeth, similarly leather-bound like Romeo and Juliet, and the second one is an ornately-decorated collector’s edition of Romeo and Juliet.

Your jaw falls open and you whisper, “Theodore…”

He says, “Figured that we can read Macbeth together. It’s a personal favorite of mine.”

Your fingers trace the golden embossment of Romeo and Juliet, swooping down to follow the curve of the ‘J.’ “Where did you even get this?”

“Sent a lot of letters and had Mattheo help me pull strings at Flourish and Blotts.”

Your face is on fire but you grin at Theodore and say, “Thank you so much.”

“Happy Christmas,” he says and you catch the pink at the tips of his ears.

“I actually have something for you too,” you say and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “I’ll get it to you after dinner.”

“I’ll come with,” he says and you nod. You wonder if he’ll get up but he stays put, taking a plate and serving himself dinner.

You two talk quietly in between bites and something dawns on you halfway through. “Where’s Mattheo?” You look over your shoulder and can’t find the other Slytherin boy.

Theodore smirks. “Might’ve slipped him a couple of galleons to leave us alone.” Your cheeks heat pleasantly.

You two finish dinner after that and Theodore walks you to the Fat Lady’s portrait. She eyes him suspiciously, glaring at you. “You know students from other Houses aren’t permitted in the Gryffindor dorm.”

You disregard her and give her the password. Begrudgingly and with one last glower at you and Theodore, the portrait swings open and you step inside. Theodore peers around the common room and says, “Never been in here before.”

“Some Gryffindor girl hasn’t taken you back with her?” you ask but you instantly regret your teasing words. The thought of Theodore with someone else (Lavender Brown comes to mind and you scowl internally) makes you queasy.

“Can’t say that it’s happened,” he says, shooting you a cocky smirk. “You’d be the first.”

“I’m honored. Wait right here.”

Theodore flops on the couch and sighs in satisfaction. “So much more comfortable than Slytherin’s.”

“Yeah?” you ask as you retreat up the stairs. He shouts after you that Slytherin’s couches, while not wholly terrible, are stiff whereas your common room’s are plush and cushy.

Theodore’s scarf, knit in a red cashmere, lays innocuously on your bed. You’re abruptly self-conscious of it; Theodore got you two beautiful and likely expensive books and you knit him a measly scarf in colors that aren’t his House’s.

Merlin, you think, what if he hates it? Only one way to find out, you suppose. With a deep breath, you pick it up and hide it behind your back. You peek into the common room, where Theodore lounges on the couch, his figure long and relaxed. His shirt has ridden up a little and you spy a sliver of the toned muscle of his stomach.

“Close your eyes,” you say. You watch his eyes shut, unfairly long lashes brushing his cheekbone. You creep into the room, halting in front of him. The flames dancing in the fireplace are the only excuse you can come up with for why you’re so warm. “Hold out your hands.”

He sits up straight and does as he’s told. You say, “It’s not wrapped.”

“That’s alright.”

You inhale, exhale, and gingerly place the scarf in his hands. He opens his eyes and inspects the scarf, rubbing the knit yarn in between his fingers. You hold your breath.

His face breaks into the biggest grin you’ve ever seen on him. He looks—

He looks beautiful. He’s always handsome, yes, but he’s beautiful here.

“This is really nice. You make it yourself?”

You hum in affirmation and he loops it around his neck, standing and spinning around playfully. “How do I look?”

“I think red’s definitely your color,” you tell him, your own cheeks hurting from how widely you’re beaming.

Theodore takes a step closer, his shoes nearly knocking into yours. The glee in his expression morphs slowly into something different. It’s not anything bad, but it’s somehow more intense and softer than before. “Thank you,” he says.

“You’re welcome. Thank you again for the books.”

“You’re welcome.”

The fireplace crackles, embers spitting.

You’re not sure who moves first. Your mouths crash against each other like waves against a bluff, all lips and teeth and tongue. Your hands are everywhere, in his hair, clutching his shoulders, cupping his face. His hands are just as frantic, grabbing at your waist and hips, squeezing you tight against him.

You two come up for air but you don’t surface for long. Despite the way he’s worked up, he’s careful in unwinding the scarf from his neck and draping it over a nearby arm chair. Then, he’s on you again, pulling you flush against him.

He guides you to his lap as he sits back on the couch, lips never leaving yours. You straddle his thighs, tugging lighty at his curls. He moans into your mouth. Your hips move against his. His fingers, long and cold, creep under your shirt and send a shiver down your spine.

His mouth only leaves yours to latch onto your neck, sucking and licking and nipping. You whine and push yourself against him harder, your hands clumsily trying to undo the buttons of his shirt. He helps you, flinging it off his shoulders, and pulling your own off your torso.

“Fuck,” he groans, chest heaving as he takes in the view of you. He’s staring at you like you’re some sort of goddess. “Fuck, you’re beautiful, amorina.”

You melt under his gaze. His ocean blue eyes are a little glazed and his mouth is kiss-swollen and ajar. Godric, he’s one to talk. You lean in closer, tracing his jaw and letting your hand trail down his neck, his chest, down to his stomach. You graze the top of his trousers and lightly scrap your nails over the skin just above. He hisses, hips bucking, and before you can say anything to him, he’s yanking you down for a kiss.

It’s slower, no less passionate but less frenzied, and you only break apart to whisper, “Bedroom, Nott.”

He doesn’t say another word, springing from the couch, grabbing the scarf you made him, and dragging you up to your dorm. As soon as he’s inside, he sets the scarf on your bedside table and pushes you down onto the mattress, climbing on after you.

You squeal as he peppers kisses along your neck. “Theo,” he murmurs against the skin of your collarbone. “Call me Theo.”

“Okay,” you say, testing it out. “Theo.” His hips slot against yours once more and you cant your up. He slips a hand down your pants and when he presses his palm against you, you whine, “Theo!”

Another rumbling moan, “Amorina, you don’t know what you do to me.” Another long, hard kiss. Your hands move to unbutton his trousers.

You don’t care how sweaty and sticky you are as you lay panting against Theo’s chest, feeling the way it rises and falls in rapid succession. You listen to his racing heartbeat and he places a sweet kiss to the top of your head.

As you two catch your breath, Theo says, “I think Juliet should have gone with Benvolio.”

You look at him like he’s crazy. “That’s really what you’re thinking about?”

He winks at you. “Of course not. I’ve been thinking about it since we finished the book.”

You slap his chest playfully and ask the obvious question: “Why do you think so?”

“Well, you said I’m like Benvolio and I told you you remind me of Juliet.”

“Huh?” You think for a couple of seconds and then it clicks. “Oh!” You take in Theo’s half-lidded eyes staring at you. “Oh…”

He dips down to kiss you again.

Over the break, you’ve expanded on what you know about Theodore Nott. One, he’s quiet because he’s thoughtful, always observing, always analyzing, and storing away information for whatever purpose he’d like to use it for.

Two, he’s whip-sharp — you see it in the way he can quote Shakespeare plays like second-nature; in how he easily banters with you, always coming back with a swift reply and a cheeky smile.

Lastly, he’s unbelievably handsome. You knew this before but it’s different now. You admire the way he holds himself with an unflagging confidence, how he has these rare full-bellied laughs that make you crave the sound. But you think he’s most handsome when you sit together, cloistered away in the Clock Tower, reading Romeo and Juliet and now Macbeth together. You’re so close, you can smell the peppermint on his breath from the candy canes the house elves snuck you. You can see all the shades of blue in his eyes. You can count the beauty marks on his face.

This close, you can lean over and kiss him and delight in the way your heart thrums when he reciprocates, cradling your face and coaxing you into him.

You spend the majority of the rest of the break wrapped up in Theo’s arms. By the last day, you’re sure you have snuck each other into your dorms more times than either of you can count. You hang out a few times with Mattheo, who turns out to be not as bad as your friends make him out to be. He’s sharp and quick-witted like Theo with a tendency towards the dramatics that makes you laugh.

You’re sitting at the same spot underneath the tree at the Black Lake, Theo relaxing between your legs. He’s swaddled in the same black overcoat you saw him in before, only this time, the red scarf you knit is starkly bright against the coat. You card your fingers through his soft curls, ducking to peck his forehead. He tilts his head upwards and smiles boyishly at you and it makes you giggle, planting a kiss on his mouth. He brings your hand down to his lips, kissing each fingertip.

You relish the quiet with him, knowing that tomorrow will be a flurry of activity with students and faculty returning from winter holiday. It makes you sigh, the thought of leaving the little world you and Theo have created. Your relationship is only a couple of days old and you can’t deny that you’re anxious about your friends coming back.

As if sensing your nervousness, Theo sits up and spins around to face you. You attempt to plaster on a reassuring smile but it’s wobbly and uneasy. He cradles your face with one hand, thumb stroking your cheekbone. “What’s wrong, cara mia?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble. He tilts his head, raising an eyebrow with an expression that tells you he knows you’re lying. “What are we going to do when everyone comes back?”

“What do you mean?”

“Theo, our friends all despise each other.”

He replies, “So? Just because they don’t like each other doesn’t mean we can’t.” He kisses the back of your hand. “And I happen to like you very much.”

You smile weakly at him. “I know, and I like you very much as well. It’s just…” You can picture the dawning horror on Ron’s face and the grimaces on Hermione and Harry’s.

Theo’s mouth turns downward and he asks, “Why do you care what they think?”

“Don’t you care what your friends think?”

“No,” he says firmly, adding, “Plus, Mattheo likes you so who’s to say everyone else won’t?”

“Theo…”

He repeats, “Why do you care?”

“I just don’t want anything to ruin this, ruin us.”

“They can only ruin it if we let them and we won’t.”

“You don’t know that for sure! We’re still in the early stages of our relationship.”

“Do you not have faith that we’ll stay together?” he asks.

“I do! It’s—” You sigh in frustration, brow furrowed. “I just want to preserve what we have without outside influence. Please, can we just wait a little to tell everyone?”

You wish you didn’t see the way Theo’s expression falters, hurt passing across briefly before he wipes it away. He’s studying your face, eyes dark and unreadable but he nods. “Fine. But you have to promise me that it’s just for a little while.”

“I promise.”

“Alright. I’ll tell Mattheo not to open his big mouth.”

“Thank you, Theo,” you say. This time, you reach for his hand and peck his knuckles. His shoulders lose their tension and he bends towards you, mouth ghosting against your neck. You squeal and giggle and you feel him smile against your skin.

author's note: at long last, the theo nott fic i teased months ago... this fic was supposed to be a lot longer but i when i went back to college and hit a major writer's block, it just languished. i'm proud of what i've written, which is why i want to post it, but please excuse the kind of abrupt end. there is a potential continuation in the future <3

#theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #theodore nott #theo nott #theodore nott fic #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott scenarios #theo nott imagine #theodore nott x you #✶ NOVE WRITES

943 notes · View notes

j4gm · 10 months

Text

SPOILERS!!! REFERENCES AND EASTER EGGS IN F&C ep. 2: SIMON PETRIKOV

Let me know if I missed anything!

First of all the title sequence is fucking cool. I don't want to speculate about the various things we see in it, like the apartment getting blown up or the Fern tree growing into its 1000+ version, because I'm sure the show will get round to all that!

The first scene was an awesome reintroduction to the post-apocalypse, showing us the dynamic between Simon and Marcy. The button popping off Marcy's dungarees was a reference to young Marcy's first appearance, Memory of a Memory, when she removed one of the buttons herself to fix Hambo's eye.

Simon was show playing a live set at Dirt Beer Guy's tavern in Obsidian. It seems they've gotten to know each other quite well over the past twelve years. Dirt Beer Guy asks Simon if he's read his new book draft, about a character called Joe Milkshake who was first mentioned in the episode Root Beer Guy.

Despite the fact we saw Jake in the trailers, Finn and T.V. pretty much confirm in this scene that Jake is dead, and has presumably been dead since before Obsidian. I guess Bronwyn wasn't the only Jake descendant who Finn took on as an apprentice, but T.V. doesn't seem all that into it. The Finn and Jake we saw in the trailer are likely from an alternate universe that we have yet to see.

Finn uses his weed whacker to cut through these bushes. A nice way of showing he's fully recovered from his Fern guilt. The focus here is very much on Simon's problems instead of Finn's.

Finn parts with Simon to go and visit Huntress Wizard. The nature of their relationship remains ambiguous and I expect it to stay that way.

Simon has the Island Lady from The Party's Over Isla de Señorita in his phone. I guess they reconnected after he became Simon again. He also has Abracadaniel. I always liked Ice King's friendship with Abracadaniel and the rest of the Order of Giuseppe so I hope they're still friends!

Cute Bubbline scene. Back in the episode Bonnibel Bubblegum, Mr. Creampuff suggested he and PB get matching tattoos. Now she's (trying to) do the same with the girl she's chosen rather than some guy who was chosen for her! Also Marceline is using the same phone she's been seen with in a few previous episodes, including Go With Me and Be Sweet.

I think the flying human city is called Up-Ton.

Choose Goose! He keeps coming back! And he's evil now! People were joking about him being the antagonist of Fionna and Cake after that weird post-credits scene in Wizard City and the fact he was in hell in Together Again. I wasn't expecting that to actually come true. Glob knows why he's hanging out in a cage in Simon's house.

The pattern of GOLB's eyes is reflected in Simon's glasses during the ritual. He is doing the same dance that Betty was doing to summon GOLB in the finale.

Among the objects in Simon's GOLB shrine are the Farmworld Enchiridion, the flying carpet that Simon stole from Ash and was later frequently used by Betty, the crocodile clips that Betty used for her magic rituals, two effigies of GOLB, and what looks to be the shell of the snail who was seen throughout the original series.

In this credits sequence, Fionna and cake are dreaming about the mask being worn by the bear than Finn slew, and a butterfly with a smiley face on it. Perhaps symbolising Finn?

Tune in next week for episodes 3 and 4!

#adventure time #fionna and cake #easter egg posts

1K notes · View notes

talesofadragon · 1 year

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞

Summary: In the aftermath of the war, Draco is caged in an unrelenting spiral of distaste and distrust. The pervasive tendrils of hatred threaten to incinerate every aspect of his existence, edging ever closer to Y/N. A breakup seemed like the wisest choice. But a few bottles of Firewhiskey later, Draco is faced with something more daunting than his mind’s distorted illusions—a glimpse into his future.

Warnings: Allusions to sex

Pairing: Draco x Reader

Genre: Angst | Fluff

Word count: 4K

All Masterlists | Draco Malfoy Masterlist

𝐈𝐟 𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐤, the weight of guilt would have long since dissipated, evaporating into the vast expanse of time.

But tattoos, Draco had come to learn, lived on a polarizing spectrum—either itched by hope’s gentle caresses or marred by despair’s morbid claws. He liked to call them insignias because he knew that, either way, those brands never faded away. And even if, by Merlin’s stupendous power, their ink were to vanish, the tales behind them would eternally reverberate through the most somber corridors of time.

The choices made and the sacrifices offered in their creation were intricately woven into the curvatures of each tattoo, amplifying the weight of these indelible brands.

“Mate, I have never seen anyone treat Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey so foully.”

Draco’s silver eyes were unyielding in their pursuit of the black snake that slithered into his pale skin. He refused to look away, not when he heard Theodore Nott’s voice and not when he reached out blindly for the silver goblet, determined to drown the lingering traces of Firewhiskey within it.

As the scorching pace of the liquid coursed through his veins, his heart constricted, and his eyes stung. Yet, he paid no heed to the discomfort, having endured far greater pains in the past.

“Maybe if you weren’t a lightweight then you would have known that the whole Slytherin House and half of the Gryffindors treat it with indignation,” Draco retorted.

Theodore's arms crossed tightly over his chest, his gaze narrowing as he observed his best friend. Draco's weariness was evident, more pronounced than even during the days of the Dark Lord.

Letting out a sigh of resignation, Theodore settled in the chair by Draco's side. Taking the goblet from his hand, Theodore filled it with some more Firewhiskey. “Not that I am unhappy to host you, but isn’t it time to go back home, Draco?”

Draco’s fingers tightened around the goblet. If he thought the Firewhiskey was testing his endurance, then clearly he hadn’t anticipated the words that came out of Theodore’s mouth.

“I don’t have a home.”

“But you do.”

“No. I do not!” His voice ricocheted against the walls, pained echoes pushing against the boundaries that confined them. Draco’s voice shook, the rage in his words dissolving into meek submission. “Not without her.”

“Mate.” Theodore watched helplessly as Draco swung his head back to gulp down the entire goblet of Firewhiskey. He violently slammed the empty goblet against the marble of the kitchen bar, gaze stuck far ahead. “This is killing you.”

“Let it.”

“Draco—”

“I should’ve died long ago in that war, Theo. Maybe this is retribution for everything I did.”

“What retribution, you imbecile? Dooming everything you’ve both built after the war?”

“Do not mention her,” Draco seethed. His bloodshot eyes matched the color of his soul, a violent red that overwhelmed every one of his senses. He’s hated the war for so long—he failed to realize how much it seeped through his soul until he became one himself. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Theodore scoffed. He reared back, placing his weight on the back of the chair and studying Draco’s hunched posture. “I‘ve known you since we were brought into the Wizarding World, Draco. I know that you didn’t come here to escape the fray.”

“What finally tipped you off, oh brilliant Rowena? Was it the way I shut down every mention of her name? Or perhaps my defensive stance and guarded demeanor?” Draco mocked.

With an air of indifference, Theodore replied, “You don’t run away from battles, Draco. You wage them.”

“That was the old me.”

"If that were truly the case, then why did you declare war on Y/N? What suddenly woke you up, making you realize that you couldn't bear to be with her for another second?"

A flash of irritation crossed Draco's face as he interjected, "I told you not to mention her name."

Ignoring the warning, Theodore continued with a pointed intensity. "Her name itself is a battle, Draco. One you’ve ignited because of the conflict that rages within you, fueled by your selfish desires."

"Selfish?" Draco roared, his anger escalating. In the heat of the moment, he flung the empty goblet against the wall, the sound echoing through the room. His nostrils flared as he struggled to control the tempest brewing within him. "What part of letting her go for her well-being is selfish? She deserves better, Nott. So I gave her better!"

"Better, is a subjective notion.”

"It's the only notion," Draco countered, his composure slipping as he struggled to rein in his emotions. The veneer of false placidity he had tried to maintain for days proved futile in containing his anger. "You have no idea the price I have to pay for the blood that rests on my hand. For the mark that’s refusing to die with time.”

“I know,” Theodore whispered breathlessly.

Draco's head shook with a heavy burden of remorse. "No, you don’t. Because being a Death Eater's son and being a Death Eater are two separate realms. I would trade anything, everything, to return to a time when I was feared and hated. Because now, I have to watch the world extend their animosity to the only woman who was brave enough to try and pull me out of the Dark Lord’s dominion.”

Theodore pushed himself off the chair, his movements purposeful and determined. With each deliberate stride, the distinct click of his shoes echoed against the ground. "By pushing her away. By hurling venomous words at her. By replicating the very path the world forced upon you, dragging her through darkness and uncertainty."

“She deserves better! Better than a semi-stable man who was a servant of darkness. Better than a wizard whose father is serving a sentence in Azkaban and whose mother is a victim of delirium. She deserves better—”

“Than a man who is stripping her of her choices the same way his lineage stripped him of his.”

“No.” Draco negated. If only he hadn’t drank this much Firewhiskey, maybe his breath would have come out steadier and his words wouldn’t have grappled with conviction. “I left for her.”

“You left her,” Theodore corrected. It always amazed Draco how Theodore Nott, the epitome of reticence, became a forceful and impassioned defender when it came to matters close to his heart, including Y/N. “You left her because you’re selfish. Because you craved your twisted path of redemption. Retribution, as you have so masterfully termed it, should not come at the expense of hurting Y/N. She fought for you with everything she had. And if you are so keen on being a masochist, Draco, then have the decency to leave her out of your descent into madness!”

With a final venomous glare, Theodore took a step back and began to march away from the room. Draco, caught in a state of disbelief, felt his hands instinctively fall upon the cool marble surface of the kitchen counter. He pressed his palms firmly against the chilled stone, desperately seeking solace from the tumultuous emotions raging within him.

In an abrupt intrusion, Theodore burst back into the room. Draco barely had a chance to meet his gaze before Theodore snatched the bottle of Firewhiskey from the counter and swiftly left. There was no doubt in Draco's mind that he must have also cast a spell to lock the cellar to deny Draco access to any and every liquor stored in the Manor.

In that moment, Draco's vision was void of any specific color—not a glimpse of red, black, or any hue in between. His rage transcended ordinary perception, defying quantification by any shade or measurement. All that existed in his awareness was a hazy fog enveloping his sight, a world imploding upon itself.

With venomous intent, Draco's fingers slithered through his hair, viciously tugging at the strands. Curses and fury spilled from his lips, weaving a tapestry of disaster, painted with every twisted emotion inhabiting his soul.

The shattered glass before him mirrored his fractured heart, and the disarrayed furniture reflected the homelessness of his wounded spirit. If he excelled in wars and battles, then he might as well transform this space into a battleground.

He persisted for hours, tirelessly wreaking havoc until Theodore's once-familiar abode became unrecognizable. Yet, the knowledge that a mere flick of his wand could undo this chaos only fueled the flames of his fury even more.

How ironic it was that he could demolish a meaningless space in mere hours, only for his magic to effortlessly restore it in seconds. Yet, the home he had reduced to ashes remained irreparable, defying any spells he cast upon it.

With a heavy heart, Draco sank to the ground, embraced by the unforgiving coldness of the stone beneath him. Leaning back against the chilling marble, he stared vacantly at the ceiling of Theodore's dwelling. It was no longer the familiar dark maroon he had once known, but a mosaic of melancholic hues. It was in that moment, as the taste of salty tears brushed against his lips, that he realized his own hollow gaze had been the architect all along.

As his shuddered breaths gradually calmed, and the twitching of his fingers ceased, Draco couldn't help but feel his heart, exhausted from its rapid sprinting and relentless pounding against his ribs.

Standing up, he reached for his wand. "Scourgify," he commanded. Instantly, his magic eagerly clung to every surface in the room, diligently working to restore order and mend the damage he had caused.

While his magic busily repaired what he had broken, Draco made his way to the kitchen, intending to pour himself a much-needed goblet of water. As he approached the marble counter, his eyes widened in surprise at the sight of a mysterious black box neatly resting there.

“What in Merlin’s name?” It must’ve been hidden somewhere amongst the furniture because even in his stupor Draco would’ve recalled coming across it.

Gingerly, he pulled the lid up. What he found inside was something akin to a Time Turner, along with a couple of notes. Knowing well that all those magical devices had long been destroyed, Draco’s curiosity peaked. He reached for the notes, eyes trekking along the lines of Theodore’s handwriting.

“Temporal Surger, experimental prototype number five,” Draco read aloud. He briskly skimmed across the pages, absorbing more and more information. “Contrary to the Time Turner, the Temporal Surger springboards the wizard forward through time. Though the exact destination remains unpredictable, prototype number five provides a ten-minute window for the wizard traveling into the future.”

Draco discarded the notes in favor of picking up the device. It didn’t look any different from the Time Turner with an hourglass in the middle and golden outer rings surrounding it. Yet, when Draco tried to nudge the hourglass, it didn’t budge. He raised his brows, eyes narrowing down to investigate the object. His fingers lingered on the rings, the pad of his index finger tracing the surface.

Inadvertently, his fingers slipped, and the outer rings turned on themselves. Draco paid them no heed, though it became increasingly hard not to notice them when their momentum increased as they followed an unfamiliar rhythm. Draco didn’t have enough time to panic before a bright light emanated from the center of the Time Surger, engulfing him whole.

When the light weathered, Draco immediately sprung out of his seat. Taking in his unfamiliar surroundings, he blinked twice. At first, he thought it was his broken heart playing yet another trick on him till it became evident that the Time Surger had, in fact, transported him to another place.

“Merlin’s beard, Theodore is going to murder me,” Draco said aloud. He immediately clamped a hand over his mouth when it dawned on him that he didn’t even know where he was or who was in the same vicinity as him.

Draco hardly had a moment to register his distaste for the petrifying yellow curtains and cream-colored kitchen walls before he caught the sound of leisurely footsteps approaching from his right.

He sprinted across the room, his entire body whirling around itself until he spotted, what he hoped was, a door that led him to the pantry. He rushed in but left it slightly ajar, enough for him to peek through. A crease etched itself in the middle of his forehead when his eyes met a tall man with platinum blond hair tied into a bun.

The man was shirtless, tall, and well-built. His back was littered with scars, some seemingly thinner and more recent than the others. He moved seamlessly around the kitchen, without a wand in sight, opening draws and cabinets to prepare some food. Draco tried peering closer to catch a glimpse of his face when the sound of someone apparating startled him.

“What is Master Malfoy doing here?” a squeaky voice asked.

Draco’s eyes bulged out of their sockets, rivaling the size of the round plates that man had been filling with fruits. He bristled, the gears in his mind rushing to concoct an explanation. But how was he supposed to explain that he’s acquired a, possibly illegal, prototype of a Temporal Surger created by none other than his best friend?

“What does one do in a kitchen?” Draco heard himself say in a mirthful tone. He sighed in relief at the plausible answer, but his relief proved to be ephemeral when he realized that it wasn’t him who spoke.

He widened the door a bit further, revealing a house elf standing in the kitchen, gazing up at the shirtless blond wizard. With the man's face now visible, Draco was taken aback by the striking similarities between them. The man was a slightly older version of himself.

“Blinky serves the House of Malfoy. It’s Blinky’s job to prepare breakfast for her master.”

The house elf, Blinky, attempted to pry the spatula out of the Malfoy Patriarch's hand. He didn’t relent, keeping a firm grip on it and flipping whatever he was cooking in the sizzling pan.

“Thank you, Blinky. I do appreciate your efforts,” he said over the elf's loud huffs. “But I wanted to cook my wife a special breakfast myself.”

A loud gasp reverberated in the narrow space of the pantry. Draco stumbled even closer to the door, almost pushing it entirely open. His eyes widened, intently studying the Malfoy Patriarch's hand. And sure enough, a silver band adorned his ring finger, glistening in the light.

“Mistress Malfoy has woken up?” Blinky asked in her tiny voice. They must’ve not heard Draco’s shock over the sound of whatever it was that was cooking.

“Hmm,” the Malfoy Patriarch hummed. He had picked up a goblet from the cupboard, filling it with pumpkin juice. “Blinky, could you please get the Mistress’ favorite flowers? I’m sure she’d appreciate the gesture.”

Squealing in excitement at fulfilling a task for her masters, Blinky apparated out of the kitchen immediately. By the time she came back with some orchids in a small, round vase, the Malfoy Patriarch had already prepared a full assortment of food. From French Croissants to Quidditch Quaffles, he set them all on a tray and merrily exited the kitchen.

Using a disillusionment charm, Draco quietly followed after his older self. He noticed that the house, or rather cottage, was significantly smaller than Malfoy Manor, yet a million times more alluring. It had a cozy and welcoming atmosphere, adorned with bright colors and pictures from his Hogwarts days. Every decorative piece, whether a vase or an ornament, seemed to have been picked with care, making it evidently known that this house was not of his choosing. Whoever his future wife was, he was sure she had to be the one to decorate the house so quaintly and delicately because he could never fill any space with such beauty.

With careful steps, Draco ascended to the upper floor, his attention fixed on each stride. The walls, still adorned in their creamy hue, now bore intricate engravings of an evocative design. The sight of verdant trees and lush bushes lining the hallway welcomed him, instilling a profound sense of tranquility within him.

The Malfoy Patriarch pushed open one of the doors and casually entered. Fortunately, he left it open, making it easier for Draco to hurry inside. He found an equally charming interior, where sunlight streamed into the room, casting a beautiful glow, while the books on the bookshelf created a colorful display like a rainbow.

In the center of the bed, a woman laid peacefully under the covers. Her entire back was exposed, making a pink tint hug Draco’s cheeks.

The Malfoy Patriarch offered a winsome smile at the painting before his eyes. He placed the tray aside and walked to the bed, letting his thumbs trace the woman’s back.

“Angel,” he called in a soft voice. “Wake up for me.” When the woman didn’t give up her sleep, the Malfoy Patriarch bent down to plant soft kisses on her arm. They were featherlight and soft caresses as if coming out of a dream.

She sighed heavily, turning on her back. Draco watched his older self laugh, taking this as a chance to kiss his wife’s lips.

“Draco,” she whined. And Draco had to brace himself against the wardrobe to stop himself from falling to his knees. "Please, five more minutes."

“Y/N Malfoy, you know denying you anything is physically impossible. But I really need you to get out of bed and eat something for me. Now, my love.”

He heard Y/N say, “Don’t want to.” And Draco’s heart squeezed in his chest because he knew that she was pouting beneath the covers, and most importantly, she was wide awake but trying to get Draco to give her a few more minutes of his attention.

The Malfoy Patriarch pulled away, surprising Draco. He walked to the tray he had placed aside, grabbing the goblet of pumpkin juice. Y/N opened her eyes when she noticed her husband’s ministrations came to an abrupt end. She hugged the sheets to her naked chest, pouting when she saw her husband against the wall, sipping from the drink.

“This is delicious,” he teased. Y/N made a face.

“Give it.” She held her hands out, opening and closing her palms in anticipation. Her husband diligently took the whole tray to her side, positioning it on the bed. “I hate you,” she huffed while dipping one Quidditch Quaffle in honey.

The man in front of her beamed, shaking his head. “You must hate me fiercely, angel. Your ardor set my soul ablaze a million times over yesterday night. And I've got marks on my back to prove it.”

Both Y/N and Draco choked at the heat that permeated the air. Y/N’s gaze meandered across the room, trying to escape the heat of her husband’s scintillating eyes.

“Well, you set mine ablaze a million times over every day, Draco! Go put a shirt on instead of teasing me!” Y/N grunted while reaching for the goblet.

The Malfoy Patriarch’s laugh roared within the four walls of the room, and even Draco had to cover his mouth to avoid laughing at her retort.

“Is my wife looking forward to dessert already?”

Y/N let out a sound that was both a whine and a sigh. She pushed the tray aside and reared back, burying her body in the pile of pillows on her bed. Her husband laughed, studying her pout. Her hands rested on her stomach, and if Draco hadn’t been shocked to his core before, he was baffled at the sight of Y/N cradling a very noticeable baby bump.

“Draco, please.”

“Please what, angel?”

“Not that! You know if we do that now we won’t get out of bed for another three hours!”

“Would it be such—”

“Yes!” Y/N interjected. She looked like an angry little pixie with her narrowed eyes and pointed glare. “It would. Because we have so much to do today.” She went on to explain that she and Narcissa were supposed to meet for tea in the afternoon and that Draco had to finish setting up the nursery. Y/N kept on listing everything they had to do while her husband intently listened without saying a single word. Instead, he watched her, letting one of his hands wander to her stomach and cover hers. “What are you thinking?” Y/N finally asked, coming to grasp with the realization that her husband had zoned out.

He didn’t answer at first, noticeably lost in his wife’s beauty. “I’m not thinking. I’m feeling.”

Y/N let out a semi-laugh. “What are you feeling, Draco?”

“You,” he replied solemnly. He interlaced their fingers together, keeping their intertwined hands on her belly. “Time and time again, I only feel you.”

“Dray.” Y/N’s expression softened. She tugged on her husband’s hand, and even though she had lamented that they couldn’t stay in bed for long, she let him pull her to his chest while he made himself comfortable on their bed. “I love you.”

“I love you so much.” It was Draco who said it. With teary eyes and a battered soul, he surrendered to the images of his older self caressing Y/N’s lips and her cheeks.

“I love both of my girls. And I only hope our little princess can learn to love me despite all my flaws.”

Y/N shot her husband an indignant look, her gaze filled with disapproval. However, a hint of tenderness softened her eyes, conveying a complex mix of emotions.

“She does.”

“How do you know?”

“She's currently expressing her displeasure at your words by stirring up a commotion inside my belly.”

“Oh, yeah?” the Malfoy patriarch laughed. He tightened his hold on Y/N and pulled her even closer. One hand on her belly and the other in her hair, he peered down at her and locked his silver eyes with hers. “She’s a tornado, like her mother.”

Y/N chose not to respond, embracing a peaceful silence instead while staring at her husband. He arched an eyebrow in a silent question. “I’m feeling,” Y/N spoke out. “Time and time again, I only feel you.”

While her husband's gaze fixated on her lips, inching closer to his own, Draco's attention was abruptly seized by the Time Surger stirring once more. His eyes dropped downward, observing the rings spinning autonomously.

Torn between stealing a final glimpse and safeguarding the precious moment, Draco reluctantly withdrew from the room. Hastening his steps, he hurriedly exited, stealing one last glance at his future self tenderly pulling the sheet away from Y/N's body until a blinding light dissolved the scene.

The curtain fell, and he found himself back in Theodore's living room.

Draco struggled to catch his breath, hurriedly placing the Temporal Surger back inside its box. His restless eyes darted across the room, overwhelmed by the torrent of emotions surging through him, dragging him deeper into the abyss. Gasping for air, his head whipped around, desperately trying to make sense of his surroundings.

His eyes landed on the box, the notes still outside. Future, he read in Theodore’s perfect handwriting.

“Nott, you knobhead. If you were here right now, I would have kissed you with such intensity time would stop. And even your stupidly brilliant Temporal Surger wouldn’t have worked.”

The numbness of his heart dissipated, and the crippling guilt roaming across his forearm vanished. Draco breathed deeply, embracing the placidity around him. Maybe Theodore’s walls were grim compared to the ones his future self occupied. Yet all Draco could feel was the warmth of Y/N’s voice and the tranquility of the mornings they were yet to share.

He rushed to Theodore’s fireplace, not bothering to fix himself up. Tossing a handful of Floo Powder into the fireplace, Draco finally spoke aloud. “Take me to Y/N Y/L/N.”

He finally realized that whether time turned or surged, he and Y/N Y/L/N were bound by a string of fate that was unyielding in its war against the Sands of Time.

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

Draco Taglist:

@imabee-oralizard@ameliaphoenix@arcana-greenleaf@dittos-blog-dylanobrien

I have been wanting to write this one for a while! Feels good to be writing again for our favorite Slytherin!🪄

Let me know if you would like to be moved/removed from my taglists.🤍

For those who want to be tagged in my Harry Potter/Marvel works, head over to “The Owlery” section on my profile and send me a message!

#draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco x y/n #draco x you #draco malfoy fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine

#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco x reader #draco x y/n #draco malfoy #dad!draco malfoy #dad!draco #dad!draco x reader #husband!draco malfoy #post hogwarts #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy angst #time turner #future draco malfoy x reader #husband!draco x wife!reader

415 notes · View notes

princeofhummingbirds · 7 months

Text

no magic at all, just the world’s most obnoxious wizards trying to duke it out like two uncooked chickens slapping the shit out of each other in a cage match. which loser reigns supreme

#bg3 #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #solas #da:i #my favorite part about this is how both of these men are either actual gods or have the potential to become gods

233 notes · View notes

corrodedcoughin · 1 year

Text

little story about little Eddie and his 2 new friends | word count approx 2.5k | general audience rating | steve and eddie are kids and Wayne is a pushover

Wayne sometimes thinks it was a mistake, not taking in the boy. God no, he would never think of Eddie as anything other than an important and intrinsic part of his life, couldn't be without him, wouldn't want to be.

No, what Wayne worries about is how his readiness to help Eddie feel loved might contribute to the boy's difficulty in making friends.

It was an innocent enough request, Eddie asked for a pet as all young children do. He was so small and so wide eyed, just a scrap of an 8 year old with more feelings than he knew what to do with. Wayne knew he'd never hold up against any request Eddie made but he liked to pretend to himself that he could. And while technically he never pandered to the boy, yes Eddie usually got what he wanted but in a way that suited their means. Or so Wayne tells himself.

8 year old Eddie asked for a pet and a pet is what he got.

Eddie barrelled into the trailer door, backpack swinging off his arm and ready to be thrown into the corner. Planning to shoot off back out the door to do his usual; lift up rocks and inspect whatever bugs he could find, to grab sticks and imagine them as wizard staffs, to let his imagination finally run wild after hours of sitting still at a desk under too bright lights and too busy class rooms. In truth he wasn't really paying attention to the insides of the trailer, expecting it to be the same as always. It took a very pointed cough for Eddie to register that Wayne was unusually home from work, far earlier than normal, and a further loud clearing of the throat for Eddie to pay attention to what Wayne had placed on the kitchen table.

Right in the middle of the table, sitting in a beam of sunlight, was a cage and in that cage was what would soon become, Eddie's very reason for being. He crept up close, almost as if scared that any sudden movements would prove the whole thing to be a cruel illusion. He was brought out of his reverie by a pink nose wiggling at the bars, whiskers attached and twitching as the rest of the rat appeared.

'is he-? is he for real?' Eddie said with a gasp, hands inching towards the door of the cage.

Wayne had to suppress a laugh, trust this boy to be bowled over in wonder at a rat as if it were a puppy. He opened the contraption of the enclosure door and dipped his hand inside, allowing the rat to climb onto his palm. The guy from work assured him that this one was the most tame he had, inquisitive to a fault and oddly enough, desperate to be handled. Quite honestly, the perfect match for his well meaning but excitable nephew-near-enough-son.

'Yeah, yeah kid it's for real. And he's a she.' Wayne lets the rat sniff at Eddie's hands, little pink hands finding a platform on Eddie's palms, clearly holding himself a still as possible but if Wayne knew this boy, and he did, he knows that Eddie is so close to vibrating out of his skin, that containing that much excitement must be killing him.

'I don't care. Wayne, I don't! Can she sleep in my room? Does she know tricks? Can I teach her? What does she like? Can I take her to school? Please! Wayne!' He's started now, words pouring out of his mouth, tripping over himself to try and release every thought entering his brain at lightning speed.

'Woah, there' Wayne says pulling the rat up, cradling it in two hands, 'We got to be kind to her alright? She's only small. Doesn't know what loud noises are good and which are bad, okay?' He watches as Eddie nods vigorously, eyes never leaving the creature. 'Now you promised me you'd look after a pet so that's what's going to happen. She is your responsibility. That means cleaning, feeding and loving, got it?' Eddie nods again, tentatively reaching his hands up, the image of Oliver Twist springs to Wayne's mind.

Wayne comes around the kitchen table, crouches down to Eddie on creaky knees and hands the rat over, filling Eddie's small hands with a heartbeat and fur. Eddie giggles, watching as the rat surveils the new patch of skin its found itself on.

'Tickles, Wayne' and its said with such love and devotion Wayne almost feels his heart break

'Yeah son. She does, doesn't she?'

Of course it takes less than a week and Eddie and Sam are inseparable. As soon as Eddie gets home he's itching for his furry friend, delighting in the way she scampers around the room, over his arms and anywhere she can get. No matter what though, she always comes back to him. She can be digging in to a particularly interesting crevice behind the couch but she'll always come running back when she hears Eddie make a noise.

The thing is, Eddie is a pretty lonely kid. Not for lack of trying, don't get it wrong. Eddie tries to socialise he tries to talk to the other kids in his class, get them involved in his imaginary games and play pretend but being the new kid doesn't really do him any favours. Being the new kid that lives in the trailer park and a penchant for biting to show affection does him even less.

To Eddie, its him and Sam against the world. He can come home and know that his best friend will listen to all his problems, will stay close and won't run away even when he's extra loud or being 'a lot' as his teacher like to tell him. He's so tired of being told to use his 'quiet hands', his 'inside voice' and every other subdued phrase they try to press on him.

This particular day was a hard one, Sally Winters had said that Eddie was 'bad luck' and the word quickly spread around by recess. Eddie had thought he was making some progress with a couple of kids from the class, was thinking today might be the day that he finally got asked to play but that hope quickly got squashed. He had hopped up to the potential friends with a stick in his hand and a notion of being a pirate when they both looked at him like he was a monster, they couldn't get away fast enough. And Eddie couldn't find a place to hide quick enough before the fat and heavy tears fell from his eyes.

It was a long day and home time was his only saving grace.

Wayne knows somethings up, can tell in the way that Eddie isn't even really talking to Sam, hardly looking at the Tv despite the fact that Wayne very purposefully had put the cartoon Lord of the Rings movie on. The sure fire fall back he liked to keep in his back pocket. The trump card to get his kid happy. This time though? No luck. Looking at the kid makes a chasm open up in his gut, deep and full of overwhelming sadness that he just wants to stop, wants to find the solution to make this boy smile like the sun again. They don't talk much for the rest of the night but Wayne makes sure to stay close, stay awake in case he's needed. Eddie spends the time between dinner and bed sitting on the floor, side pressed up against Wayne's leg and playing fetch with bits of Wayne's whittling with Sam, not a word said.

Eddie wakes up the next morning with a plan and a devil may care attitude. Oh so carefully he maintains his usual routine; says good morning to Sam, carts her around the trailer as he washes his face and wanders into the kitchen, placing her in her secondary cage so she can eat breakfast with Eddie and Wayne - Eddie was adamant that they couldn't have meals without her, 'she's part of the family!' and soft hearted fool Wayne Munson agreed and an additional cage was sourced.

When breakfast is finished Eddie begins his usual rigmarole of dragging his feet to get out of his pjs and into his clothes, reluctant to grab his bag and go out the door. Same old protests as Wayne watches him walk out towards the school bus.

What is a new addition to the routine though, is Sam Munson hiding up the sleeve of a school boy and about to go on a secret and very dangerous mission. A mission to survive the school day.

Surprisingly, Eddie manages to keep Sam secret, keep her safe, the whole morning. He came prepared with snacks to make sure she was entertained and happy, he couldn't stand the thought of her being sad, her eyes get so big and her tail droops as well as her ears, it makes the whole of Eddie ache. But no, she's happy, or happy enough at least.

So the morning goes without a hitch, Eddie making noises to cover up any squeaks and keeping a hand in his pocket to reassure Sam, stowed in the pocket of his hoodie. He knows he's seen as 'weird' so what's a few extra noises? They are let out for recess and Eddie breathes a sigh of relief, thinking this is his time to let Sam out, knowing she's desperate for some fresh air. Sure, she's peed in his hoodie pocket, but he can't really tell with it's dark colour and the layer of t-shirt between the wet material and his tummy.

He runs off to his usual corner, stuck between a bush and a tree and gently tips Sam out of his pocket, she scampers around his feet and gratefully accepts a broken off bit of cracker between her hands.

'Thanks for coming with me Sam. Everyone is so mean, its so stupid. I don't care. You are a better friend than any of those losers' He crouches down, hoping to find a twig to play fetch with. A game that he delights in, is immeasurably proud of her for learning it so quickly. 'Gonna find you the best stick Sam. Promise. Best stick for the best friend'

He continues muttering to himself and doesn't notice that he's getting progressively louder after finding a twig and beginning the game. Doesn't register that he's drawn unwanted attention with his happy shouts and encouragement until a body is crashing through the shrub he's hidden himself behind.

Sam doesn't notice either until the unexpected form is right in front of her and she bolts, running as fast as her legs will carry her and Eddie is right behind her, muttering under his breath as he trips over his own feet in an attempt to catch her 'oh shit oh no oh no oh no' He's pushing himself as hard as he can but it doesn't count for much, he never was the fastest. He keeps trying though but then a faster body is accelrating past him, in a evident bee line for Sam.

Without thinking, Eddie lets out a painful 'NO!' terrified of what might happen.

He knows people think rats are dirty, thinks they don't deserve love and don't deserve life. He doesn't want to imagine what this person's intent might be. Sam reaches a dead end up against the wall of the school and the body, the boy, stops infront of her. Scoops her up? Cradles her into his chest? Eddie...Eddie doesn't know what to think, he's prepared to fight this kid but then the boy is looking up at him with curious hazel eyes. Stroking Sam's head gently and with intent.

He holds Sam out, careful with his motions, trying to blow his brown floppy hair out of his face without disturbing the animal in his hands 'is she okay? is she yours? did I hurt her? she looks okay, is she?' Eddie gingerly steps forward and plucks Sam out of the boys hands, gives hera thorough inspection as the other boy continues

'I didn't mean to scare her I swear! I didn't even know you had her! I won't tell, I swear I wont! You know...you shouldn't really have a rat in school. If I promise not to tell can I play with you? I'm Steve'

Holding her close, Eddie squints at the boy, at Steve, and thinks. Thinks about how he looks nice, about how soft his hair looks and how he asked Eddie, Eddie!, to play, that he didn't give him a wide bearth and that he held Sam with such care. It isn't even a hard decision.

They spend the rest of recess together. Eddie shows Steve just how smart Sam. That she can play fetch, that she can run across one arm to the next, over your shoulders without losing balance. That she can twitch her whiskers and it seems like she's laughing at the joke Eddie tells her. That she laughs at the joke Steve tells her! Steve learns that she's named after somebody called Samwise and it doesn't matter that he's a boy because Sam is brave just like Samwise and smart and cares just as much. That Sam is Sam and Eddie is Frodo and together they can take on the world.

Steve asks if he can have a name too and Eddie calls him Legolas, doesn't tell him why. Doesn't say that Steve reminds him of the pretty elves described in the books Wayne reads out loud to Eddie. It doesn't matter, not really.

Recess ends and they shuffle back to the school doors, both of them lagging behind the others.

Eddie steels himself, knows he has to bring his misfortune up so that he can own in, so that his new friend doesn't find out from someone else. 'I'm bad luck you know. Sally...she said it. now everyone wont talk to me. I wont be mad if you don't either. I've got Sam. We'll be oaky! So you can just go, I don't care!' He knows he's getting wound up, he can't stop himself. He just wants the bandaid ripped off so he can start feeling sad quicker, get it over with sooner.

Before he can register is, Steve is wrapped around Eddie in a flash of a hug, careful to keep his tummy away from squashing Sam.

'Not bad luck to me. See you tomorrow Frodo' Steve whispers next to Eddie's ear and shuffles through the school door.

Eddie is in a daze of joy and happiness, thoughts rumbling through his head but none of them sticking as he journey back into his class room. Pure happiness radiating out of his body, he takes Sam out of his pocket and holds her up to his face 'Sam you made my bad luck go away!' kissing her on the forehead as he hears his teacher scream

'EDWARD MUNSON IS THAT A RAT?!'

So Wayne thought the already unpopular kid having a rat would make things worse. Turns out, he was wrong. Very, very wrong. He might have to start pocket inspections before school though.

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

also on ao3 if that's the preferred reading format for you

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #wayne munson #stranger things #hello is this thing on? hi ummm so i didn't think i'd write again for a very long time if ever #but choco mentioned rat boy eddie and idk this sprang forth #and i KNOW okay i KNOW its rusty and not good but i finally just wrote!! i wrote because i wanted to!! and i had FUN!!! IT DIDN'T FEEL #FORCED OR PAINFUL!!!!!#anyway i am half thinking of a part 2 but who knows maybe possible maybe not #either way it is a relief to know that i can actually have fun writing and not feel like i owe something to someone!!!!#its like when i startd back in the summer of last year!!!!!#idk man its silly and these tags are silly but i had fun and creating is fun and i missed having fun WITH it #probably wont write again for a while but thats OKAY!!!!#thank you anyone who reads this and any one who has ever been nice about my silly words #choco shout out to the jestie #okay okay sorry GBYE

487 notes · View notes

faerievampling · 2 months

Text

Killing Time

Chapter 10: A Radiant Reunion

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Spawn Female Tav(Reader)

Word Count: 4k

Total word count: 48k

Masterlist

Link to AO3

Summary: Astarion and Tav finally reunite. Lots of fluff, Astarion reverent of and needy for his vampire wife.

Warnings: 18+. Mention of past SA, abuse. Light Dub-con. Lots of fluff, Astarion being in love with and obsessed with his consort.

You surrendered yourself to his arms: it was the only tangible thing to you in this moment, the only place where you knew you belonged. You want his blood, so badly, but a larger part of you just wants him to hold you. You’ve already begun trembling, evolving into violently shakes as your husband dashes through the portal. You don’t know if it’s adrenaline, trauma, shock, what-have-you, but your body just won’t stop.

You are home. The overwhelming scent of your territory envelops you, but it only makes you more frantic, your hold on your husband tighter than you had ever held him. You hadn’t remembered feeling this level of emotion, the intensity of the feeling of finally being safe just makes you…

You can smell Astarion’s musk when you’ve entered the master bedroom: the two of you collapse to the floor. Your head remained nestled in Astarion’s chest, your legs wrapped around his waist, your arms caging his neck, fingers gripping the root of his curls.

The motion between you is strange, so familiar and yet so new. His body felt good on yours, easing some sort of heated pain that felt like it coated your skin – but maybe that was just the dried blood. Astarion means to pull away from you, just so he can adjust so you would be most comfortable, but you don’t care about that. You only want him.

Astarion calls various healers into the room; but the moment they enter, you perceive them as intruders, hissing and growling at them over your husband’s shoulder. You can’t calm down, your irritation only rising as your reality dawns on you: the rape, the abuse, the scars, the obsession, the dead lover, the angel, the cat. Why am I thinking about the cat? And your husband is right here: he’s right here, so why do you feel so explosive? Your logical mind tows away from you.

“Stay away – he’s mine, mine, mine, mine, mine…” You growl, you and Astarion’s motion turning more into a wrestling match as you attempt to lunge at the help. You’re like this for a while, ignoring Astarion’s desperate pleas for you to calm down.

“Why can’t I feel you? I thought–” But you’re breathless, your voice coming out in near whispers. You continue, your words soon devolving to babbles as you reach exhaustion, your sobs wracking through your body as you flail about. There is so much you want to say, so much you need to say, but your mouth won’t move the way you want it to, unable to communicate anything but simultaneous suffering and relief.

Astarion tries to wrangle you in his arms. He doesn’t understand why he can’t feel you, why the two of you aren’t connected anymore. Both the gith and the palace wizards believed physical reunion and/or the death of Geldon Moth would bring back the mental connection between him and his consort: but his mind is silent. He quickly realizes you’re frustrated, like a child who can’t communicate, panicking and flailing about for him.

You were still undeniably filthy; Astarion hadn’t really paid any mind at first, because his only worry was being with you again, but he couldn’t stand the lingering state you were in. It strangles him, your desperate cries, the way you tangle yourself within him, represented in the way you reach for his hands, threading your fingers with his own for just a moment before he brings you into his lap, straddling him.

He hadn’t intended on placing you right on his hardened cock, but the moment you grind on him, reciprocating his need, Astarion’s hand flies to his trousers. His fingers stumble as he unlaces them before bringing his hand between your legs. He’s met with the cloth of your panties. Suddenly quite bothered by the smell of the clothing you wore, Astarion tears at the bloodied dress on your body, letting its rags fall to the floor. This frightens you, he knows, but he can’t help himself: your panties become the next victim of his rage.

Astarion can smell the others on you, and all he can think is that he must take you. It was indignant, offensive, ludicrous for Geldon Moth to have been the last man inside you. Astarion really can’t stand it anymore.

Lining himself up with your entrance, Astarion plunges into you; you take half of his length, the state of you meaning nothing between you as the warmth of his cock spreads through your core. It causes heat to reverberate throughout your body, feeling its tender rise in your fingertips. The tip of Astarion’s cock begs for more, pushing past your tight, gummy walls as your lover shifts you to the floor. You’re on your back now, Astarion bringing your thighs to a mating press as he pushes his full length into you.

Astarion knows exactly where to put it; knowing your body seamlessly, he’s already reaching for that sweet spot inside of you. The pressure of him feels delicious, and you cry out, savoring yet fighting against every thrust before you feel the contraction of his release; Astarion lasts for only a few seconds, but it doesn’t end your frenzy..

Astarion’s starts crying again, too. He can’t watch you like this anymore.

****

Astarion’s entire body sears with something in between excitement and pain, or maybe a mix of both: he finally has you back, your delicate form being treated so gently in his hands after you had finally passed out.

You fell under the spell faster than Astarion thought you would, your body being in a far weaker state than he first realized. The end of your fit brings him tremendous relief, but only for a moment as your husband starts to study the state of your body, his eyes sweeping over you. You were filthy, caked in mud and blood and guts. Astarion tries to keep his mind sound when he sees the evidence of violation on your body.

Your left breast has deep incision marks, likely where Moth had repeatedly fed from you. These same marks were all over you: your shoulder, your thigh…seeing how close Moth fed to your sex made Astarion grit his teeth. He had even bitten you on the curve of your ass, your arm, your calf. The dragonborn’s fangs were large, biting you down beyond his incisors, just as Cazador had done to him. A careless bite, one that was meant to scar and brand.

He feels far away as he takes off his own clothes: he needs to be close to you, to feel you against him, lest he go mad. He also thought it would be easier to clean you and more comfortable for you both. And he was glad he decided to join you, because your long hair required several washings to get fully clean, and even still, you smell like battle.

And other men. Several other men, by what Astarion could tell: it made his gut churn, causing bile to rise in his throat. Astarion realized he’s gripping you a bit too hard once you shift away from him, slurring words in your slumber.

“So sorry, darling...I’m so sorry,” Astarion whispered, knowing he would have to be far more mindful of himself.

You slur something incomprehensible, your voice coming out a hushed whisper as Astarion feels your cool breath on his chest, making him shiver. Every sign of life you gave him invigorates him. He is silent as his hands wash your body, not lingering too long at your intimate areas, feeling a bit guilty for taking you so ravenously earlier.

Astarion dries the two of you off once he feels satisfied with your bath, slipping a nightgown over your head before cleaning your teeth.

When the two of you are finally ready for bed, Astarion finds himself unable to look away from you. With your face clean, he studies the new additions: the thin scar, a line trailing from cheekbone to cheekbone: it’s rather straight, and Astarion can’t help but gently touch the end of it, the place where your beautiful flesh had only lightly been slightly marred.

Caressing your cheekbone, Astarion brings his lips to yours, lightly brushing them together. His thumb finds your lower lip, pulling down to expose a fang; so cute. So ceaselessly beautiful. He gently brushes his lips to yours again without making you stir. Drawing his thumb into your mouth, the pad moving along your teeth, Astarion felt oddly compelled to touch you somewhere intimate, somewhere nobody else could. He had inspected your teeth earlier, ensuring everything was still in good order: but even still, he can’t stop obsessing over your possible injuries.

Astarion isn't surprised when you bite down, breaking through skin as you begin to suck, drawing your lips around his thumb in a way that’s lewd. Astarion can hear his own heartbeat gradually increase as he feels the pleasure buildup in his body, his balls tightening as his blood pulsates to his cock, which is hard pressed against your thigh.

Doing his best to ignore his throbbing member, he let you feed until you released. Thumb still in your mouth, Astarion can’t help but kiss you so fervently, slipping his tongue between your lips to taste you; your lips and tongue and saliva, the hint of his coppery essence coating your mouth, and it was delicious to him – he wanted it all. The kisses were sloppy, his tongue fully exploring your lips and your mouth, causing you to stir.

You lazily return his languid smooch, your palms resting on his bare chest before nuzzling your face into his shoulder. You curl into him, bringing your knees to your chest, your shins pressed against his torso. “So warm…”

You feel his hardness against you. You only hold him closer.

“I plan to keep you in these warm arms as long as you’ll bear it,” Astarion whispers, pressing his lips to your hairline. He has so many questions to ask you. So many things left uncertain, but that would come in the morning, after you had properly rested and fed.

****

Your husband watches you sleep throughout the night. You’re more fitful than anyone under a sleep spell should be, your chin tossing and your fingers twitching. Astarion hasn’t let you go, but fury fills his chest at his helplessness. He caresses your face, runs his fingers through your hair; he can’t help but touch your body more.

When Astarion turns out the lights, extinguishing the roaring fireplace, the two of you are left in the dark of the night. You become more fitful, and Astarion can’t stand it; once the lights of the master bedroom shine again, your body calms down, becoming gooey in his arms.

Astarion begins to lose himself to the promises of rest. He finally has you in his arms, and the two of you are in your palace, in your bed. He can’t be happier. But sometime in the night, his eyes flutter open to see the image of a large, winged man standing over you, his hand wrapped around your ankle. He has a smile on his face, and he looks like he’s petting you with his other hand. Before Astarion can respond to the intruder (your husband is rather fast, too) the apparition disappears.

Astarion darts out of bed, scanning the master bedroom, swiftly commanding his spawn to do a quick sweep of the estate. But there is no trace of anyone, and Astarion decides to find solace by pressing up against your soft, perfect body.

****

Your eyes open just as the sun breaks dawn, and Astarion can’t help but smile. “Goodmorning, my treasured wife.”

You know you’re where you belong. When you look at your husband, he is so exquisite it makes your heart jump: his eyes are tired, his curls tousled in a way that was daringly sexy but indicative of his stress. The lines on his face looked deeper, somehow, and his eyes were already wet. Your hands fly to the sides of his face, your action more forceful than you had intended. Your hands land on his cheeks with a light smack, and you’re running your hands over him desperately, pulling his face to yours to smell him, to kiss him, to bite him.

Your leg burns, reminding you that you aren’t quite safe. Astarion allows you to climb atop him, your body quick and strong as you cage him beneath you. His blood was so sweet, thick like honey and as intoxicating as wine. You pull at his hair, his ears, your nails are digging into his shoulder, and you don’t know how long this goes on before Astarion’s pinned you beneath him, hand gently but firmly on your jaw.

“–I told you that was enough, Tav!” Astarion isn’t yelling, but his voice raised to get your attention. He had begged you to release your fangs after draining his lifeblood faster and deeper than ever before; but you hardly know the difference in his tone, your face twisting in shock and fear at your perception of his aggression.

“Tav, it’s okay, Tav,” He’s released your jaw, but you’re still pinned beneath him as tears break your lashes. “Please don’t cry, my love, I’m not mad, I promise I’m not mad at you, I never could be –“

But he should be, you think. He should be, because you had defiled your marriage bed thrice over, broken every single rule of your master and spawn relationship, and ruined the gift of beauty bestowed on you.

“G-get off me,” Your words are a demand, but your voice comes out like a question, as if you’re asking permission to be let go.

“Don’t make me let you go.” His words hurt you.

“Please…” You beg, looking away from him.

Astarion closes his eyes, taking a deep breath as he moves away from you. Astarion can sense your panic, and he doesn’t know what to do as he watches as you dart over to the full length mirror.

Once you had been in his arms again, Astarion desperately planned how he would react to these things: he tried to conceive of what you had likely been through, and decided on the most loving and spousal route he could go, knowing that he must concede and pamper you.

You study your reflection closely: one ruby and one golden eye stare back at you, that thin scar across your face looking fairly clean and straight in the daylight: the scar on your forehead was another story, thick and jagged, rather ugly.

“You look amazing.” Astarion’s voice is smooth and soft. You see him walk up behind you, attempting to put his arms around you, but you shy away, walking over to the fireplace. Your hand grasps the wooden frame of a lounger, your nails scratching the finish.

Astarion can’t stand the way you resisted his touch. He comes to you, his long digits slinking up the back of your nightgown, his touch becoming more assertive as his hands rest on your abdomen, pulling your body flush with his own. You turn, placing your hands on his chest.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on,” Astarion’s voice comes out harsher than intended. His touch becomes firm, more rough as he looks deeply into your eyes. The challenge in your eyes makes him want to dominate, to fully make you one with him again.

“I’ve been so lonely without you,” Is all Astarion manages to say before his lips crash into yours, his fangs cutting into your lip as his pushes his warm tongue between your teeth. His muscle swirls around your own, his hands exploring your body, thumb brushing over your pebbled nipple as you push him away again.

“Why do you bother? I’m scarred, hideous, I’ve been defiled…” Your voice cracks, and Astarion really can’t take this. He doesn’t know what you’re thinking. Pressing his forehead to yours as if he’s trying to meld your mind, Astarion’s touch only gets needier.

He needs you. He needs his wife. He needs to be enveloped in your sweet, tight cunt, to taste your blood and your come and whatever else of you he could manage to taste.

“No, that’s not right, Tav,” Astarion devolves before your eyes, dropping to his knees again. His exhaustion is apparent now, and you wonder how many days he’d been awake. “Please. Please just hold me. Don’t deny me, I can’t take it.”

Astarion didn’t beg like this, especially out loud.

You don’t think you have ever seen your husband on his knees before you, so desperate for your touch. He had certainly been on his knees for you for pleasurable things but this was different: a display of submission.

But every time you meet his eye, you know he’s looking at your ruined face. You look away again.

“Look at me, Tav,” He pleads, giving you only a moment to respond before reaching up and grabbing you by the chin, bringing you to meet his eye. “I love you.”

Something in his tone makes you quiver. You still don’t want him to look at you, but the way he stares deeply into your eyes makes you melt. You really do just want to be in his arms again.

“Let’s go back to bed. Please, my love. Please…”

“Okay,” You relent, your hands on Astarion’s forearms as you help him up before bringing you both back to bed. You guided him, his hands never leaving your body. Once in bed, Astarion pulls you under the covers, tucking himself into you as he lies his head on your chest. You put your arms around him, running your hands over his broad shoulders. You hardly realize he’s begun to cry until his body starts to shake, unable to hide his sobs.

You run your fingers through his hair, peppering gentle kisses on the top of his head. Pressing your nose to him, you deeply inhale his scent. Not the one that Astarion puts on, but the smell of his living body: his natural odor. He smells so good, and your bedsheets are silky smooth, soft against your bare legs, relief washing over you.

Astarion’s tears dry after a while, leaving the two of you laying in silence, only the crackle from the fireplace and the gentle thrum of Astarion’s heartbeat to fill the gap. Astarion starts to mindlessly massage you, his hands roaming your figure as his thumb swipes little circles into your skin.

“I missed you,” You say; you’re at a loss for words. You didn’t know where to begin.

And Astarion didn’t either. “I missed you so much. I still miss you.”

You frown, understanding his meaning: you, too, missed being nestled in his mind. Astarion touches your left hand, threading his fingers through yours.

“I think maybe it was time for a new set of diamonds, anyways. We’ll find you something even more dazzling, my sweet,” Astarion tries to put on a good humored attitude, but his melancholy is apparent in his tone.

You had nearly forgotten about your wedding rings. “He took my anklet, too.”

Astarion is quiet for some time. So long that you start to think he’s fallen asleep.

“I made him scream for a long time.” You still remembered the sound of his tearing vocal cords. “But I was screaming too. I screamed more than he did, definitely.”

“But you’re alive, and he’s not,” Astarion says, bringing himself to his elbow to meet your eyes. You fight the urge to hide your face.

“Only because I got lucky,” You say as you sit up, bringing your right leg out in front of you, surveying the silver band that still remains. It burns with every movement, but it wasn’t entirely incapacitating. Astarion is quick to find himself a comfortable position to adjust to yours, bringing your back to his chest as he rests on the headboard of the bed. His own legs are on either side of your hips, his hard cock resting between his abdomen and your back. It feels good just to have it pressed to you, and Astarion is pleased with this.

“They were on all my limbs,” You look at your wrists, swallowing your disgust for your scars.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, my love,” Astarion whispers in your ear, his arms briefly squeezing you, giving you a little hug.”You have eternity to open up…and I have many working on the cure to our little condition.”

Astarion’s finger moved under your chin, guiding your eyes to his. “We will be one again, soon, my sweet wife.”

Astarion places a gentle kiss on your lips, making you feel a jump deep within your core. He begins to nibble at your neck, leaving a trail of kisses before lovingly nipping at your earlobe. His affections have you feeling fuzzy, all your emotional and physical pain being eased by just the feeling of his plush lips against your skin. “Why don’t I have them bring us something filling, and maybe some wine?”

That sounding fucking amazing, and you excitedly turn to him, nodding at him as he smiles back at you. The servants are quick, and before you know it, the two of you are tasting the sweet and sour mixture on each other's tongues.

“Sweet…your skin tastes so sweet, my love,” Astarion whispers through excited moans. His tongue worked its way from your lips, to your cheek and jaw, your neck, before settling kisses at your temple and ear. His hand rests beneath your nightgown, cupping your breast as his thumb gently rubs across your nipple.

Astarion was careful not to touch the scar tissue on your body: he knew all too well how sensitive the skin was, even for a vampire. His hand moved slowly down your abdomen, his warmth making you shiver.

“I think I ruined every panty you had left in the palace,” Astarion says as the two of you giggle, drunk on wine and each other.

“Will you tell me again?” You whisper, and Astarion tenderly kisses your cheek.

“About how much I love you?” Astarion teases, his hand trailing down your side body, resting at your hip. “Tav, you are the only thing I love.”

****

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Astarion asks, briefly glancing up at you before focusing on the ties of your shoes. You sit on your bed, your foot resting on Astarion’s knee as he prepares you to meet with Lae’zel and your gith warriors. You wanted to see them despite Astarion’s protests that they should be coming to you.

“Yes. I promise,” You say as you give him a little smile, trying to animate yourself a little more so he knows you mean it. “I want to see them.”

After a pause. “Do you think I’ll frighten them?”

Astarion frowns, pulling your other foot onto his knee, beginning his work. “It will be your undeath that frightens them, not the way you look. You’re far too lovely, Tav. And your appearance is not so different, despite what you may think.”

“You speak as though I can’t see it,” You say, thinking about how jealous Moth was of this gift of yours.

Astarion puts both of his hands on your shoulders, squaring himself to you. But just as he’s about to speak, Astarion eyes go wide as he looks over your shoulder. Throwing you behind him, Astarion is silently telling you to turn into a bat and fly away, having briefly forgotten about the lack of your telepathy.

“Woah! No need to be like that, handsome,” Angel says with a smile, his hands on his hips as he stands in the middle of your bedroom. His wings are immaculate, beautiful and white, his smile brilliantly showing off perfect teeth.

Masterlist

taglist: @viowolf

#astarion x reader #astarion x you #ascended astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x female tav #ascended astarion x female tav #ascended astarion x reader #spawn tav #lord astarion #killing time

54 notes · View notes

cgogs · 6 months

Note

can you tell us about briar and silas now

okay, so. this outline applies to the original ending of awesamdad, where Briar runs away for good when he learns Dream is having another baby and never comes back, and becomes a mercenary/bounty hunter/___ for hire. Scream Eureka is an alternate ending of THAT bad end. Okay? Okay.

20 years ago, Dream dropped off the face of the earth when Briar was given to him by DreamXD, Punz was naturally absolutely dumbfounded to being ghosted in the middle of all their business. Instead of throwing in the towel, he left the server to keep studying the research they started. Necromancy, blood magic, all kinds of things. Picture a wizard in a tall tower. Kind of like that. Studying old magic nearly entirely from scratch.

He makes a name for himself working miracles and curing the sick, and lands himself as something of a baron. He has a son, a bastard really, and Silas's mother wasn't very interested at all in being a mother, so she leaves him with Punz and splits when Silas is about... mmh, maybe 5? Between 3-5. Punz is like. Alright. Guess I'm taking care of this.

He raises Silas to the best of his ability, keeping in mind that he isn't interested in parenthood at all. Silas lives a very comfortable life with maids and money. He has a staff of tutors and people to train with.

Punz is raising him to be his little lab partner. From the time Silas can handle it, he's in the autopsy room watching his father carve runes on the backs of rib bones to make them weld back together. When he's old enough to stomach it, he's being taught how to harvest organs, how to turn them into ingredients that can be put into potions, etc.

Silas. Hates this. He has very little interest in carrying on his father's life's work. He sneaks out often, is a bit of a flirt, and is regarded by staff as a disappointment. He's incredibly smart, don't get me wrong, but he's not the type of teenager to do well inside stone walls. In his eyes, Punz cares more about that damn book than he does about his own son. (This isn't true. Punz is just. Well.)

When Silas is maybe 17/18, he and Punz have a huge fight that starts with Punz trying to get him to show some incentive in his studies and winds up with Silas running away for good. (Who gives a fuck about any of this when you have everything anyway? What else could you possibly want? Who gives a fuck about the revive book, what about what I want?)

Silas becomes a pretty successful mercenary and proud vagrant, never staying in the same place for long. A bird free from his cage! He drinks as much as he wants, goes wherever he wants, and never has to recite 7 different dialects of a runic alphabet ever again.

Briar runs away from home when he is about 17. Silas is a few years younger than Briar, and runs away when he's 17/18, which would make Briar about 22.

Briar has gained notoriety in several counties. There's quite a price on his head. A famous thief with infamous aim. Silas aims to take this price for himself, and takes the bounty offer on Briar's head.

Briar outruns him for a long time, but Silas is patient. Silas tires him out until he makes a mistake, and not even perfect aim can save him when he's cornered in a cave. Briar is clever, though, and in an attempt to save his own life he tells Silas that he can pay back twice the amount the bounty office has offered him if Silas will just let him live. He'll give 70% of his own revenue to Silas until he can work off his own worth.

Silas is amused. More than amused, he's admiring his opponent! Briar's been more of an equal match. For what Silas lacks in his combat skills, Briar makes up for, and vice versa. He's smart, he's put up a good fight, he seems like an alright guy. So, Silas accepts his offer.

Briar and Silas are now a duo. Part of the deal is that Silas has to be in close proximity 24/7 (he even has Briar sign a contract! Honor bound! o7) and Silas is quickly enamored with him.

He likes Briar's mystery. He likes how fiery he is and how he complains about everything, and how he can shoot a bolt through someone's iris (bullseye!) a mile away. He's intrigued with how little he knows about him.

Briar fuckin' hates this guy. He's loud and stupid and drunk and has clipped his wings. Briar hasn't been around people in years. He hasn't entertained a real conversation since he told his mother goodbye. He doesn't remember how to do it... the whole friendship thing.

As time passes, they grow closer. Genuinely closer. Briar opens up little by little and his cold heart thaws against his will. Silas has a joke running about interest rates, adding on fees with every small slight. (You ate the last slice of bread. That's 50 more gold coins!) He doesn't want Briar to pay off his debt and split immediately. He likes him too much. And he thinks Briar needs someone to be around. He's not exactly... stable.

Briar doesn't want to lose him either. But he's absolutely scared to death of that. He knows what loss feels like. What is feels like to watch someone's back as they leave. (Silas has never known what it felt like to love in the first place.) Briar is torn between sinking his claws in or running away. He doesn't want to be vulnerable for someone again, but he doesn't know what he'd do if he lost this.

This isn't helped by Silas being obviously, stupidly, horribly in love with him. Briar might even love him back. But he knows what love does to people. He saw it kill his mother slowly. He's scared to death of it happening to him. He lashes out when he feels that warm bloom in his chest, but Silas never leaves. Briar doesn't want him to leave- god, god, please don't leave. Briar kind of wants to kill him sometimes just to make it all stop. He knows, whatever happens, that he will never marry.

Silas doesn't think there's a single thing Briar could do that would make him leave. They're in it together for the long haul, okay? Honor bound!

They don't really know what they are. Sometimes, Briar allows Silas to kiss him just to pretend he can love someone without it destroying him. He'll be mean, horribly mean, prickly, awful to him the next day. Go away, get away, get away. But Silas doesn't seem to mind.

Silas just genuinely loves him. Briar is so scared of becoming his mother that he tends to emulate his father instead. He's so angry, so hateful, and it's just because he's scared. Silas is covered in (metaphorical) scratch marks but still insists on holding his feral little fox. Like it can be domesticated.

(Foxes mate for life. Did you know that?)

Somehow in the chaos they meet a balance. They work together, sleep in the same bed, share nearly every waking moment together. They're not a couple in name, but Briar would sooner rip out his own eyes than see Silas stand near anyone else.

There's an unspoken plea. Please don't leave me. I know I'm cruel and angry and mean and more like a frightened animal than a real person but I need you to be with me. Even if I bite.

And Silas doesn't know how this is supposed to go, and he doesn't care. He has his person. He's going to stay with his little fox.

Briar lets himself stay in debt, but has the money to pay it all in his enderchest. More than enough to pay it, actually. In case he ever needs a quick out. He likes having contingency plans like that.

The original awesamdad has an end, one where Dream falls horribly ill, on deaths door, and Nettle (14) goes on a quest to find the brother she never knew so that mom can see him one more time. Briar comes home (Silas in toe. Obviously.) and Dream makes a recovery.

Some top tier bullshit happens afterward but this is already So long and also supposed to be about Silas. So I'm fuckin' cutting it here I have a fic I'm supposed to be writing!!

#silas #briar

34 notes · View notes

sailtomarina · 5 months

Text

I’d Give It All Up

Theirs was a fire that burned high, all consuming in its obsession. Mind altering. They lost their heads in the thick of it, turning their attentions wholly onto one another and forgetting the world outside.

Obligations: they both had them. She, to a man who waited for her, had been waiting for her since they were barely out of childhood. He, to a family and faceless fiancée that expected the heir to do as he had been raised to do.

Promises: the words they’d given to those same others in their lives. Words uttered in complete sincerity…at the time. Words that were now a distant memory, a whisper of what could have been.

Plans: once they had each known exactly the paths that laid before him. Careers, marriages, the same friends and the same faces at every holiday function. Predictable. Safe.

A cage.

Now, her mouth moved against his, hands glided across skin, teeth and lips marked paths against flesh that they wouldn’t magic away for all the gold in the world. Hermione was reminded of the Lestrange vault, the coins that cascaded their malignant revenge on a would-be thief, only this burn was one she’d asked for, one she’d crave again and again for as long as Draco breathed and walked and called her his own. Maybe even beyond then.

He’d made it impossible to ignore him over the past year. First, he was persistent in his gratitude towards her. The testimony she’d given on his behalf had been the final push needed to nudge him beyond the bars of Azkaban. He started with donations to her most passionate causes, then moved to supporting every one of the bills she presented to the Wizengamot. The Malfoy name by itself didn’t hold much stock in the opinions of the Wizarding world anymore, but their money did. Even after reparations, their coffers overflowed with more wealth than he could ever hope to spend within several lifetimes. When she caught wind of his involvement, oh, how she’d threatened and raged. She didn’t need his money, she said. She didn’t want justice bought with an exchange of coins.

He’d moved on to tangential avenues out of her periphery. The good he did elsewhere inevitably affected her causes for the better, and it took her a surprisingly long time to find the connection. Again with the yelling, her Howlers finding their mark every time. She didn’t realise he cherished the sound of her voice, no matter the tone. He continued to do as he pleased, and she continued to owl him.

Eventually, the nature of their correspondence changed.

Not too long after, she accepted his invitation to launch a new organisation, one aimed at a matter she’d long held close, but never dared hope to see a reality. At least, not in her lifetime.

Accidental touches, convenient closeness as one read over the other’s shoulder, an increasing frequency in meetings over meals where not a second of conversation was spent on the intended topic.

Then, their first kiss. She’d later say he stole it. If Draco was asked, he’s say she asked him for it.

She ignored him for nearly a month after, burning the envelopes before they could even touch her desk, sending a liaison in her place anytime both of their attendance was required. But Draco was nothing if not persistent, and he cornered her when she least expected it in the midst of a squall that nearly tore London to pieces. She couldn’t disapparate without taking him with her, those hands she both loathed and adored holding fast, his head bent down to look at her, always her.

He bared all to her, his hopes, his dreams. Every single one of them included her. Every single one of them matched the desires she’d been too cowardly to voice. Hearing them aloud, rain-soaked and somehow warm despite the chill in the air, Hermione felt her resolve firm and take root. This was the moment. She could shake him loose and continue the course she’d set long ago for herself.

Or.

She disapparated, and he went with her.

WC 685

Cross-posted to Tumblr and AO3 (eventually)

Writing prompt “I’d Give It All Up” taken from Twitter account DramionePrompts.

This was a bit of an experiment in avoiding dialogue, as well as my first go at not using the actual prompt in words, but as inspiration for what followed. I know this won’t be up everyone’s alley, but I like it. Hopefully it’ll help get me out of the slump I’ve been in lately.

#dramione #harry potter fanfiction #dhr fanfiction #dramione prompt #draco malfoy x hermione granger #hermione granger #draco malfoy

25 notes · View notes

arc-misadventures · 1 year

Note

What are those AU, you know I find it pretty ironic that Jaune is a dragon Faunus but is still training to be a knight, because in fairy tales it’s always the knight that slays the big bad dragon, but since Jaune is both it makes me wonder just what kind of big bad Jaune will need to overcome.

It’s Just His Nature

The Grimm Lands.

Salems castle was under attack by a combined force of Hunters from across the world along with the might of the, Atlas Army along with several high ranking, and highly skilled members of the, White Fang.

They were here to finish the centuries long shadow war between the witch, and the wizard, and upon this day the war would finally come to an end.

Just not how any of them expected it to end.

Ozpin: Come on! We’ve nearly won this war!

Dozens hunters,and soldiers ran to doors leading to, Salem’s throne room, but before they entered, Headmaster Ozpin of Beacon Academy stood before them all to given them a final speech before the upcoming battle.

Ozpin: We are here, just beyond these doors lay our dreaded foe! From here on out we will fight out enemy, and we will…?!

: Oh shut up will ya!

The fellow who interrupted, Ozpin’s little speech stared at, Ozpin with a highly annoyed glare with his sharp deep blue eyes. His gold hair was flanked by a matching pair off-white horns that ran up the side of his head, peaking into a crown of three points that bore a golden hue. Giving this rather extraordinary faunas his own natural golden crown.

For he was a king. For before, Ozpin stood, King Jaune Arc, Dragon King of the Faunas. And, he was not amused.

Jaune: You’ve given over a dozen speeches for every five meters we’ve manage to take. If I have to listen to one more long winded speech I’m going to take my forces, and leave you here. But, not before I cut up your face to the point that it makes an, Apathy look handsome!

Jaune flexed his hand letting his claws flash threatening before, Ozpin’s face. With a threatening glint in his eyes as he dared anyone to face him.

It had been years since, Jaune graduated from, Beacon Academy, and even longer since he was inducted into, Ozpin’s little cabal. He had long since lost his willings to deal with, Ozpin, and his bullshit as a result of it.

And, all, Ozpin could do was gulp nervously as a series of eyes belonging to the, King’s Guard agree with their, King, and glared dangerously at the old man.

Ozpin: …

Ozpin: Okay then…

The doors to, Salem’s throne room exploded open as several individuals came rushing in to find the Queen of the Grimm sitting upon her throne looking at the intruders as if they had just come in, and served her cold tea.

Salem: Ozma… I see you’ve finally grown a spine, and decided to take the battle to my door step. How kind of you…

Ozpin: Enough, Salem! You reign of tyranny ends now! Surrender, or face our wrath!

Salem laughed hauntingly echoed throughout the hall as she rose to her feet, and descended from her throne crystal throne. Her blood red eyes stared at, Ozpin’s as an amused smile spread across her face.

Salem: And, how do you plan to do that? You know I’m immortal; You can decapitate me, crush me, incinerate me, and so many other colourful ways you could kill a person, and I would simply shrug it off as a mild inconvenience. So, what could you possibly do to stop me?

Ozpin: I will trap you in a hell that you fear more than any other.

Salem: I’m a immortal who has lived for thousands of years; I have lived through a hell unlike any other! What kind of hell do you possibly think could be worse than the life I was forced to endure?!

Ozpin: Back to where I should have left you… Back to your cage in the high tower!

Salem’s eyes widened in pure fear. A emotion that she had not yet felt in millennia. Ozpin’s threat was one that struck at the heart of her. For how better to wound her more than she already was, but to be trapped in the cage she longed to be freed from, by the very man who once set her free. And, that thought stroked the flames of rage within, Salem unlike ever before felt.

Salem: You dare…? You dare…?! You dare to threaten me! Threaten me to lock me in a tower away for all time, and eternity?!! You will die a thousand deaths, this world would burn a thousand times over before I let you imprison me once again!!! I swear you will, Ozma!!!!

Ozpin: Bring it you foul fiend for I will…?!

Jaune: Hold up! Hold up now… Before we begin I have some questions I’d like some answers too.

The Dragon king walked between the quarrying couple with his hands out stretched in a non-threatening posture as he addressed the pair.

Ozpin: Mr. Arc?! What the hell are you doing?!

Jaune: You shut up, or I’ll gouge out your eyes.

Jaune glared threateningly at, Ozpin before he turned to address, Salem.

Jaune: Okay, Ozpin told me about your past relationship. Of which I blame, Ozpin, and the Gods for most of your problems…

Ozpin: E-Excuse me?!

Jaune: But: ‘Locked away in a tower?’ What is that all about? Ozpin told me most of the world’s fairytales were made by him, so would that mean that you are, ‘The Princess in the High Tower?’ Or, ‘The Girl in the High Tower,’ which ever title you prefer. The fairytale is a title of a difference.

Salem rage faded just ever so slightly as she gazed at the rather curious looking faunas before her.

Salem: Yes… Yes I am… Was! I was, ‘The Princess of the High Tower.’ Why does that matter? Who I was back then no longer matters; that life has long since been dead, and buried. It doesn’t matter anymore…

Jaune: I can gather that, but, Ozpin… Ozpin, was the knight who saved you from the tower…?

Salem: He was the one who saved me.

Jaune: I see…

A devious smile spread across, Jaune’s face as something, some deep unknown switch in his mind was flipped on.

Ozpin: Mr. Arc… Why are you smiling about…?

Jaune: Oh… Just realizing how many many stereotypes I tend to inhabit… Seemingly out of nature, and desire than anything else. Hmmph… Ain’t that a weird thought?

Ozpin: W-What are you talking about?

Jaune: Well, since I can’t be the knight who saves the princess, I’ll just be the dragon who steals the princess instead~!

Ozpin: What the hell are you talking about?!

Jaune: This~!

(CRACK!)

Ozpin: OH GODS?!!

(Thud!)

Salem: Ohhh… His next reincarnation is going to feel that~!

After, Jaune’s swift, and incapacitating kick to, Ozpins nuts, in the blink of an eye, Jaune ran over, and picked up, Salem who gave a startled shriek as, Jaune ran for the door.

Salem: W-What?! Hey! Put me done this instant!

Jaune: She’s mine! She mine: She minnnne~!

As, Jaune bolted out the door, his royal guard quickly followed after him, throwing a smoke grenade behind the to hide their presence as they disappeared. By the time Ozpin, and his combined forces could give chase, Jaune’s forces had sabotaged all of their aircraft engines, and made their escape.

And, as, Ozpin watched, Jaune Arc, and his forces make their escape with the, Queen of the Grimm, he made the one thought on his mind vocal for all to hear.

Ozpin: …

Ozpin: What the fuck just happened…?

~~~

One Year Later.

~~~

In the hills of, Menagerie, over looking the town of, Kuo Kuana, lay the castle, Ásgeirr, home of the Dragon King, and his brood.

And, the one place in all of, Remnant, Ozpin so desperately wanted to get into. But, considering the ever so watchful guards, Ozpin had not been able to get close in the slightest. And, fear from an uprising of the faunas population across the four kingdoms, Ozpin couldn’t persuade them for an all out attack. And, many of his students tended to come from, Menagire, and benefited greatly from the, Dragon King’s rule so it was impossible for him to have his students help him. So, he would have to brave this alone. And, this time, this time he would get into Arc’s castle!

And, he would!

Only he was bound, sorely beaten, dragged into the castle.

It wasn’t how he would have preferred to get into the castle, but it worked.

He was dragged up to a balcony that over looked the city of, Kuo Kuana. Standing on the edge was the, Dragon King looking over his domain. He stood there for a moment before looking down at the intruder that dared threaten his kingdom, and his family with his shear presence.

Jaune: You know… If you wanted to see me, you could have just scheduled an appointment. That would have been far easier to do compared to everything else you have been trying to do.

Ozpin: How could I trust you to let me in?! The last time I saw you, you kicked me in the balls, picked up, Salem, and ran away with her. I fail to see how, asking you politely if I could come in to see you would have worked!

Jaune: Mmm… Fair, fair. Sometimes I just lose my mind when what one would see as a dragon stereotypes comes into play.

Ozpin: And, that’s why you kidnapped, Salem?

Jaune: The Princess, and the Dragon tropes; Yeah, that’s pretty much why I did it.

Ozpin: And, then you refused to let anyone see her! Much less know what you did with her! Do you think that helped you win any battles!

Jaune: Well, actually she didn’t want to see you, or anyone else for that matter. And, she likes her privacy, so why should I tell you what we’ve been up to. Besides I was keeping you safe by keeping you away from her.

Ozpin: I can handle her, you didn’t need to concern yourself with that!

Jaune: No, I was keeping you safe from me.

Ozpin: Safe from you? Why?!

Jaune: I’ll put it to you simply; You so much as breath on her, and I will hunt your reincarnations down for the rest of my life. And, the only thing I would ever regret is that no matter how many times I could kill you, you would eventually get away, because you would outlive me.

Ozpin: What are you talking about?

Jaune nodded his head behind him, and Ozpin’s turned, and saw Salem resting comfortably in a fainting couch. A cool drink lay in her hand as she basked in the warm sun, and the cool sea breeze. She smile softly as she waved to, Ozpin. Her smile only growing as she saw his eyes widen in shock as he noticed the noticeable bump on her stomach.

Ozpin: Salem?! You’re pregnant?!

Salem: Quite an astute observation from you, Ozma. I’m impressed.

Ozpin: W-What… But, how?!

Jaune: Considering you were a father multiple times, Ozpin, one would think you would understand how it works.

Ozpin: Not that. How did you two get together?

Jaune: Well, while the urge to grab her, and run like hell was certainly something dragon faunas related, unlike you I knew what, Salem’s greatest pain was.

Ozpin: Her greatest pain.

Jaune: Yes. Salem’s greatest pain she ever had to endure : Loneliness.

Ozpin: Loneliness…?

Jaune: Yes, loneliness.

Salem: A pain that I never even fully knew I suffered under. Until my darling King pointed it out to me.

Ozpin: Why was that your greatest pain?

Jaune: Think, Ozpin think! She was trapped all alone in that towers for years. Then one day she is freed from her life of solitude, then you died, and she was all alone again. She fought the gods to have you back, but they refused, then they cursed her to live forever, alone. Years passed, and you finally came back, only to betray her, and leave her all alone once more. Salem’s life has been one of sadness born of loneliness, rage born from betrayal, and unjust punishment. And, pain from unobtainable dreams through no fault of her own. And, now I will right the wrongs that, Salem has been forced to endure. Not because I believe I must do so for the good of the world, or some other bullshit like that. But, because I love her, and I want her to be happy.

Salem shed a few tears of joy as her beloved husband came over, and gave her a passionate kiss filled with love, and compassion for such a broken soul.

Ozpin: But, she is still her, Grimmified version of herself! What is to stop her from becoming evil once more!

Jaune: Her family.

Ozpin: Family…?

Jaune: Me, my sisters, my mother, and my father. My many wives, and their children, and the child that grows within her. Salem will have a family that loves her, and even if I die before her, she will never be left alone ever again.

Salem: Oh, Jaune…

Jaune: My Queen.

The pair shared another kiss before, Jaune turned to face the dumbstruck, Ozpin as he stared, at the, Dragon King, and one of his many beloved wives, The Grimm Queen.

Jaune: So, Ozpin. Now that you’ve seen her, what will you do now?

Ozpin eyes fell to the floor, his mind lost deep in thought until he let loose a deep sigh before addressing the happy couple.

Ozpin: It appears I was never a good husband, much less a good father was I?

Salem: Considering what happened to our first born. You… No. We… We were not good parents. But, this time, this time I will be better, but can the same be said of you, Ozma?

Ozpin: Only time will tell. May I have your permission to leave your, Grace? I have much work to do back at, Beacon.

Jaune: You have my permission.

Ozpin:Thank you, your Grace. Goodbye, Salem. I wish you well.

Salem: Goodbye, Ozpin. It was… interesting seeing you again.

Ozpin smiled as he, and his guard detail took him away from the loving couple. The only words they heard from him, was him complaining that the were restraints still necessary.

Salem: You know… I never thought I would experience such joy as I do now. I am at peace with, Ozpin. And, I have a chance to have a new life with my family. This is perfect. Thank you, my King.

Jaune: Anything for you, my Queen.

Salem: Oh really? In that case, I want to break mom’s record of how many kids she had…

Jaune: Why does everyone want to do that?

Salem: And, the next time we do it: Can we have someone else join us? My hip’s can’t handle you all on my own.

Jaune: Ha… That would be my extreme pleasure, my dear~!

~~~

While there is a chronological order to my stories. This was just one I couldn’t pass up on.

I’m just going to mark it differently on the, Master Post.

Do Enjoy~!

#rwby #jaune arc #rwby ozpin #rwby ozma #rwby salem #salem x jaune #jaune x salem #rwby grimmknight

135 notes · View notes

jeeyonshim · 1 year

Text

sketch in progress of two dummies who want to kiss so bad it makes them look super stupid

#jeeyon shim art #cmwge #wip #natalia koutolika #hayden sorrows #sketch #chuubo's marvelous wish granting engine #the glass maker's dragon #cage match wizard #valedictorian godkiller

19 notes · View notes

seattlesolace · 2 years

Text

have you seen this wizard? // jay (ENHYPEN)

pairing: wizard!jay x teacher!fem!reader (Hogwarts AU)

summary: during your visit at the local bookstore, you encountered a mysterious man who, for some reason, made you feel compelled to assist.

content: sfw

word count: ~1.3k

author's note: yes, I made a fic based on this teaser. typed this in less than an hour. hope it made you feel things!

With a soft grunt, you pushed the door open to Flourish and Blotts. You wanted to catch up on reading for leisure, since teaching had taken up most of your time, but also there were a couple of books you needed to assist your private tutoring sessions. You were out here on a Monday evening, thinking that it would be the least crowded time of the week, and you were right.

Except for the clerk and a couple of students browsing, it was just you and piles and piles of books. People were not exaggerating when they say the books were stacked to the ceiling, and that some books were even the size of paving stones. You wonder what they were about. After asking the nice man to locate the book you were looking for, he pointed to an aisle in the corner. You thanked him immediately, claiming you did not need further assistance and you preferred to browse alone.

You heard another chime on the door as your eyes scanned the rack, assuming that it was another customer coming in to have a look. You finally spotted the specific title you wanted, so you stretched your arm to pull the book out. Unfortunately, you weren’t tall enough, so tiptoeing did not help. You were about to find a stool to step on when a tall figure towered from behind you, caging your body between his and the book rack.

“Here you go,” the man smiled at you. It wasn’t a smile, you thought. It was a lopsided grin, or maybe that was just the way he usually smiles. Whatever it was, you could not deny that it was extremely attractive. He was extremely attractive.

And you feel like you had seen him somewhere.

“Thank you,” you responded, taking the book from his hands and immediately inspecting it. You were hoping that by busying yourself with the book, the man would eventually leave you alone, making it okay to let the heat rush to your cheeks.

“Herbology, huh?” He continued to stand in front of you.

You looked up at him and saw that he was covered in the best-looking winter garments you could ever find. His black coat was wool, you assumed, and the dark green scarf around his neck seemed like cashmere. His brown pants matched the color of his boots, and because he just looked so good, you began to wonder if he was anyone famous.

“Yes. I teach,” you smiled politely before opening the book. You decided it was just best to give him short answers. You were curious, but something inside you was telling you to be cautious.

The man put both his hands in the pockets of his coat. He leaned to the rack behind you as he observed you. At least, that was what you thought. Maybe he was observing something else, or the books. You weren’t looking. But you felt like he was looking at you.

“Do you come around here a lot?”

You cursed yourself for asking that question. Your friends and colleagues had praised you for your extroverted side, your ability to strike up a conversation with anyone and make anyone open up to you within minutes. The man smiled at you again. This time, his smile looked more genuine, and you just hoped he wasn’t the type who could read minds.

“Actually, I’m on the run,” he said, warily looking out towards the shop’s entrance. By the window, he saw more and more people walking by, and he began to move, facing you and having his back face the entrance. There was now no way for you to walk away since he was basically blocking the only access into the aisle, but something in his stance made you want to trust him. Luckily, the feeling was mutual because the next thing you know he was offering his hand for you to shake.

“I’m Jay,” he said in a lower voice.

You took off your gloves, because that was one of the basic manners your father taught you, and shook his hand. He felt warm, and his grip on you was tight. “Y/N,” you said.

“I might need your help, Y/N.” Jay was now looking at you hopefully.

Your eyes shifted from his face to the scene out the window, and you spotted several men and women dressed in dark colors huddled, talking to each other and pointing in different directions. From the size of their presence, you guessed that they were Aurors, and at that very moment, it hit you.

You looked back at Jay, and he was no longer smiling. The way he licked his lips reminded you of the posters you had seen around the block. There weren’t that many, but there were enough to have your brain subconsciously plant his face in your mind.

“Oh my God,” you whispered, bringing a hand to cover your mouth.

“If you can help me, I promise I will explain everything to you,” Jay shifted in his place, carefully tilting his head to assess the situation. “But if it’s a no, then I have to leave now, and you need to pretend that we’ve never met.”

You felt unreasonably upset when you heard the last sentence. You did not want to pretend that you’d never met. Not when he was still here standing in front of you. Sure, he might be a wanted wizard, but something about him, and something in your head, was making you feel compelled to help him. Was he using a spell that you did not know?

You couldn’t form an answer fast enough, and you heard the chime of a bell as the door opened. You saw two Aurors talking to the clerk, and you quickly darted your eyes back to Jay. He was too cautious about turning his back around, so his gaze was fixed on you. You looked back at the clerk and quickly calculated the possibility of you running away with him out of the bookstore.

That would attract unnecessary attention, so you decided on a different move.

“Kiss me,” you said, your voice almost hoarse.

Jay frowned at you before smiling in disbelief. “What?”

He wasn’t making any moves and the Aurors were starting to scout around. You grabbed his scarf and pulled him into you, making him almost smash his face into yours. At first, you just placed your lips on his, keeping your eyes slightly open so you could track the movements of everyone in the store. However, Jay placed his hands on your waist and deepened the kiss, resulting in you falling back a step and holding on to his scarf tighter.

When the Aurors reached your aisle, they immediately took a u-turn, not wanting to deal with whatever was happening. They glanced around one last time before thanking the clerk. As they left, you placed your hand against Jay’s chest, pushing him away.

“Now, the tricky part,” you said as you cleared your throat, “is to get you out of here without the clerk recognizing you.”

You were still scanning the whole store and making sure nobody else was looking at the two of you. When you did not hear a reply, you glanced at Jay. He was staring at you in a way that could only be described as mesmerized.

“So you’re really going to help me?” Jay asked to confirm. Only then he realized his hands were still on your waist.

“I mean, you did ask,” you said, taking both his hands off you but holding one in your hand.

You swore the lopsided grin on his face right now meant a whole other thing, and if you squinted, maybe you could see him blush. But that was not important for now. You were about to drag him to exit the store when he stood in his place and squeezed your hand.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked.

Funny how in the beginning, you were the one who was questioning his presence. After the kiss, something between the two of you seemed to shift, and now you were the confident one who was determined to protect this wizard from whatever was coming at him.

“I’m already committed. Let’s go.”

-END-

#writtenbynana #fic: have you seen this wizard #enhypen #jay #enhypen jay #jay enhypen #enhypen jay fluff #enhypen soft hours #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #enhypen hogwarts #jay fluff #jay park #park jay #jongseong #park jongseong #jongseong park #enhypen hogwarts au #hogwarts au

375 notes · View notes

bridgertonbabe · 4 months

Note

In your hogwarts au when did Sophie get a crush on Ben?Was it like the first time she meet him or something that happen over time? Also could we get it from her pov????

Okay; breathe. Just breathe. Everything's fine. Sophie desperately told herself as she stood idle in the middle of Kings Cross station.

She had been there for half an hour, having been dropped off by Araminta in a rare act of her stepmother willing to be of any actual assistance - even though Sophie was well aware Araminta had only done so for her own benefit, gleeful to be finally rid of her for a whole school year. She and Rosamund had sat in the car while Posy helped Sophie get her trunk and belongings out of the boot and onto a trolley, unhelpfully snapping at them to get a move on. Only Posy had offered her an actual goodbye, with her stepsister squeezing her into the tightest hug and whispering how much she'd miss her. Sophie had then watched the car screech off as her stepmother couldn't wait to get away from her fast enough, and she gave a single wave to match the one Posy had turned and given her from the backseat.

Sophie had then pushed her trolley into the station and looked about for the platform where the Hogwarts Express would be - except, Platform Nine and Three Quarters didn't appear to exist. She stared helplessly at platforms nine and ten, as if hoping her platform would magically appear in between them if she stared hard enough but unfortunately it didn't materialise. She had then gone to a station attendant and asked for directions but he didn't take her seriously and in fact scolded her for wasting his time before marching off.

Fretfully she thought back over what Professor Danbury had told her a couple of weeks previously when the headmistress had appeared on her doorstop and informed her she was a witch, much to Araminta's shock and horror. Danbury had then escorted her to Diagon Alley, which had been Sophie's first glimpse into life in the wizarding world as they collected all of her necessary school items ahead of her first term. It had been an eye-opening and wondrous experience for Sophie, relieved to know there was finally a place and a community in the world for her who would welcome her more than her stepmother did; but it had also been incredibly overwhelming and Sophie began to worry that she hadn't properly listened to everything Professor Danbury had told her, particularly in relation to accessing the platform she needed to be on in order to go to the school of witchcraft and wizardry.

There were a couple of times that she spotted other children her age pushing trolleys along carrying trunks and owl cages, and she had tried hurrying after them to see where they were going but she kept losing sight of them altogether, as if they had vanished into thin air.

God, what if there's a spell I should have learnt to get to the platform. She thought to herself. She had eagerly pored over her schoolbooks for the last fortnight but she hadn't come across any information about Platform Nine and Three Quarters, and to her recollection Professor Danbury hadn't mentioned anything about it either.

Nervously she looked to the clock in the station, the hands informing her she had fifteen minutes left before the train departed, which did nothing to calm her down. She helplessly looked around, willing for some loud obnoxious sign to direct her to where she needed to be. She dreaded to think what might happen if she missed it, how humiliating it would be for her to return home to Araminta...

Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry. She insisted as she felt her bottom lip wobbling and felt a lump forming at the back of her throat just at the thought of having to endure her stepmother once more when she thought at long last she might get a chance of freedom from her. She had pinned all of her hopes on Hogwarts and her newfound identity as a witch because even though it was a journey into the unknown, she'd rather take the unknown over life back home with her stepmother every single time; but to think that she might have no other choice than to be saddled with the life she had wished for an escape from-

"Hello there."

Sophie turned her sorrowful gaze to the woman who was suddenly in front of her, a woman with kind blue eyes and a soft smile that provided Sophie with immediate ease.

"Are you trying to find the Hogwarts Express?" the woman asked and all at once Sophie felt as though all of her prayers had been answered as she nodded in response. "Come with me, sweetheart." she smiled, placing a hand on her back before guiding her towards platforms nine and ten where Sophie had been searching earlier.

As the kind woman led her through the constant flow of commuters, Sophie spotted a group gathered by the platforms and noted the two trolleys carting trunks and an owl cage each.

"It's our Colin's first year too." The woman informed Sophie as they drew up to the group.

"Hi!" a boy her age waved at her exuberantly, his chestnut hair, blue eyes, and rounded face matching his mother's.

"Hello." Sophie replied back timidly to Colin as she took into consideration the fact that this boy would be in the same year as her, and hoped they might have classes together so she could at least know someone in this brand new world.

"And what's your name, sweetheart?" Colin's mother asked her.

"Sophie." she answered, looking from the woman, to Colin who smiled affably at her, and then to the little girl perched on top of a trunk on the trolley that wasn't Colin's who stared at her curiously.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Sophie." the woman said, drawing Sophie's attention back to her. "I take it you're not sure how to get to the platform?" she figured and Sophie nodded, feeling self-conscious about not knowing how to access the platform to the Hogwarts Express. "Not to worry. All you've got to do is walk straight at the barrier between nine and ten." the woman explained - as if it was all so simple and straightforward. "Colin, why don't you show her?"

The boy grinned excitedly before taking a few steps back and then breaking into a run with his trolley. Sophie watched in bewilderment, expecting him to collide with an almighty crash into the barrier but just before she expected him to do so, he brought his feet up onto the trolley and sailed along without a care in the world.

"Yipp-!" he started to cheer - but Sophie never heard the end of it as all of a sudden he was gone, vanishing into thin air.

She gawped at the barrier, where she would have thought Colin would be crashed against, but instead there was no trace of him.

But how-?

"It's a portal charm." A voice piped up.

Sophie turned in the direction of who had spoken, and when she looked past the girl with the fringe sat on the trunk, she found the person who the voice belonged to; and as soon as she laid eyes on him her heart skipped a beat.

Leaning against his own trolley stood a boy who must have been Colin's older brother, seeing how much taller he was. His hair was a shade darker than his brother and mother's, his eyes a paler blue than theirs, and his face longer and more angular than theirs; but most notably to Sophie, he was the most handsome boy she had ever seen. She couldn't help the way her cheeks instantaneously flushed pink, utterly enamoured with him like she had never experienced with anyone before and she felt her heart starting to pound as he spoke further.

"That's how we have to access the platform. It's to avoid raising muggle suspicion."

She nodded in acknowledgement, remembering how Professor Danbury had referred to non-magic people as muggles, though Colin disappearing when he should have collided into the barrier still baffled her.

"A bit like the entrance to Diagon Alley." he added, providing her with a point of reference.

"Yes, except instead of finding certain bricks to press, you've got to just walk straight at the barrier."

Sophie looked to the man holding a baby, who was undoubtedly Colin's dad. She realised that while Colin and the baby (who gave Sophie an adorable gummy smile) looked like their mother, his brother took after their father and had inherited more of his features. Meanwhile the girl on the trolley was more of a mix of her parents as her inquisitive eyes continued their silent study of Sophie.

"And remember don't stop and don't be scared you'll crash into it." the family patriarch told her.

"Yes, it's better to do it at a run if you're nervous." his wife advised.

Sophie nodded and then realised the family were all watching her expectantly; it was now her turn to access the platform.

Squaring her shoulders, she tried to prepare herself and looked to the barrier where Colin had just disappeared from - but the thought of not successfully hitting the portal charm and instead crashing straight into the barrier made her tense up with apprehension.

Couldn't there be an easier way to reach the platform? she fretted to herself.

"I'll do it with you, if you'd like?"

Sophie turned instantly to the older boy, her cheeks rosying even more from his chivalrous offer and she quickly nodded. The boy smiled softly at her, making her heart flutter and relief washed over her knowing she wouldn't have to run at the barrier all by herself.

"I'll take your trolley through then, Ben." his father said.

Ben. His name was Ben. The first person to ever make her heart skip a beat, to smile at her and make her heart flutter, to know exactly what she was feeling without having to ask.

"Are you ready?" he asked her as he came to her side, his hand taking a hold of the bar of the trolley alongside her.

"I think so." she swallowed as she met his kind gaze, and as soon as she had she knew there was no need for trepidation, not with Ben by her side.

"Okay, on my count; three, two, one!"

Together they pushed her trolley, making a run at the barrier and though Sophie wanted to squeeze her eyes shut in fear of collision with the wall just in front of them, with Benedict's hand lined against hers she felt a jolt of courage and kept them open wide. The barrier fast approached them until suddenly it wasn't anymore and instead Sophie blinked in amazement as she looked at the brand new platform she and Benedict were now on. Grounding to a halt Sophie gazed in awe at the scarlet engine right before her and peering up she read the sign that confirmed she was right where she needed to be; Platform Nine and Three Quarters.

"This way." Ben said and steered the trolley around for her.

The platform was packed out and seemed to be filled with more people than the entirety of Kings Cross station as Benedict let go of the trolley to lead Sophie through the masses. As she followed behind him she got distracted by parents hugging their children tightly, younger siblings throwing strops that they couldn't go to Hogwarts, students cheering as their playing cards exploded, owls hooting and cats yowling, someone crying out that they had lost their toad, a man making his ears grow big and flapping them to the laughter of his kids, a mother warning her son not to transform the teacher's desk into a lion again...

When Sophie returned her attention up ahead of her she realised she had lost sight of Ben who was no longer in front of her. She tried craning her head around to see if she could find him but to no avail and with a sigh she continued pushing her trolley along the platform until she came across the luggage carriage. She parked her trolley and began the uneasy task of transferring her trunk onto the train. It was incredibly heavy, what with all her school books and a cauldron amongst other things weighing it down, and Sophie tried her hardest to haul it from the trolley and straight onto the carriage but the trunk ended up tipping onto the platform with an audible thud.

"Hey!"

She perked her head up at the sound of the familiar voice and once again there was Ben - and once again her heart skipped a beat.

"Here, let us." he grinned at her, a grin which made butterflies erupt in her stomach.

Another boy helped him pick up her trunk and right away Sophie noticed the family resemblance, realising there was a third brother who was older than Ben and Colin. As they assisted her she quickly glanced around and saw Colin with his parents stood a bit further down the platform and it was then Sophie observed two more girls and a little boy gathered altogether, and she was astonished by the vast volume of siblings that Ben and Colin possessed.

"There we go." Sophie turned back round as the eldest brother reappeared from the carriage and hopped down. "I'll put this away for you." he obliged with a friendly smile and pushed her trolley off.

Ben jumped down after his brother left and smiled warmly at Sophie.

"Thank you for helping me with my trunk." she said, though inwardly cringed as she heard how pitchy her voice was just from speaking to him.

"No worries." he beamed back.

"And can you thank your family for me, for being so nice and telling me how to get onto the platform." she added graciously.

"Of course." he nodded. "Did you need anything else?" he kindly asked.

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if it was okay if she could sit with them on the train but she stopped herself as she realised how sad that sounded. And besides, just because Ben and his family were lovely enough people to help her to the platform didn't mean they had to be saddled with her from here on out; they had done more than enough for her.

"No, that's okay. I'm fine." she assured him. "Thank you though. For everything."

"Any time." he nodded, his expression soft as he smiled at her.

She smiled back timidly before clambering onto the train and making her way along the carriage, her face tinged pink as she replayed Ben's smile in her head again and again and again. He had been ever so sweet and kind to her and seemed so genuinely considerate, and in spite of how nervous she felt, she found herself feeling a lot more at ease by his calming and assuring influence. While she had no idea what was in store for her attending a school for witchcraft and wizardry, and though there was underlying worry of not fitting in or being any good at magic, Sophie could at least take solace and a little bit of hope in being able to see Ben around school. Sure, for all she knew they might never exchange another word or be in each other's company ever again, but Sophie decided she could settle for admiring him from afar to make her days ahead a little easier - utterly unaware that this was the first day of being in love with Benedict Bridgerton for the rest of her life.

#asks #harry potter au

8 notes · View notes

redactedgoose · 9 months

Text

@phantasycentral

Hey, I remembered to do this at the start of the day instead of the end of it! Day 2, D&D. I was kinda stumped on what to do until I remembered that the Great Old Ones exist, and, well...

The sound of a battle is unmistakable.

The harsh clash of steel on steel, ringing out on impact, layered under shouts of exertion and pain. The creak of leather when fighters tighten their grips on their blades and when the rogues' lighter armor bends under their movement.

Spells have sound, too. Incantations, yelled or snarled; the fwump-woosh of flame and the whistle of bolts of magic, the crackling of ice and electricity.

It rages on. The two sides are more or less equally matched, if not in size then in skill. Paladins and fighters clash at the center of the battle, weapon to weapon. Rogues skulk around the outside, attempting to find openings to pick off enemies. Wizards and sorcerers fire from the back, suppressing their foes' magics and providing support for their allies.

The battle is even.

Then, the battle ceases in an instant. There is no slow progression, no tapering off of hostilities. In one moment, they fight. In the next, they stand still and silent as if they were statues, life belied only by the rising and falling of their chests and the frantic beat of their hearts.

The pulse rings out again, sending all to their knees. There is no sound; there is no force. To an outsider, the scene would look staged, with them falling with no real cause. No spellfire washes across the battlefield, no airborne toxins or any tinkerer's conceit.

No, the area around the battlefield is deathly quiet. Still. Even the breaths of the combatants are quiet and stifled, coming too fast. Not that any of them could hear their breaths over the pounding in their ears, the echo of their rabbiting hearts.

No birdsong rings from the trees; even the wind has stopped blowing, as if even it was too scared to approach.

The change in the scenery is almost too subtle to notice as the presence pulses a third time, the unnatural force echoing through their rib cages and stealing their breath.

High above them, there is a crack in the sky. It hangs there, a dark slit standing proud of the light blue that's slowly reddening with the approach of sunset, with no clouds to obscure it.

One... two... three... four... five.

Five dark points pierce through the slit.

Thud.

Another pulse. Some of the combatants fall the rest of the way to the ground, sorcerers and magicians falling with soft thumps, fighters and knights falling with great clattering crashes, dashing the silence for a brief moment.

Six... seven... eight... nine... ten.

Five more join the first group, neatly slotting between the first, and the sky darkens.

Thud.

Then the slit begins to widen. The ten dark points split into five and five once more, holding fast to either edge of the slit—the tear—in the sky.

The more religiously-minded combatants start to pray. Not aloud. They're unable to, bodies stiff like corpses from the pressure and the fear.

Something is coming. Something is coming and that something is wrong. Their base instincts all but scream in the back of their minds, screaming, pleading for them to run, to get away, that they need to leave now if they want to continue their existences.

And still the tear widens.

Only some of the still-kneeling combatants are able to see the first blushes of color through the tear. It had, at first, been blacker than black, an endless void stretching for a distance that only the gods knew—and then, even maybe they did not.

Swirls of red, purple, and pink flicker across the ever-growing tear, soon followed by orange, yellow, and blue. They dance within the void, shooting it through with sparkling veins, mixing and separating as they pleased.

Then came the green.

A single pinprick hangs in the void in the tear, fixed in place. A sword of Damocles hung in the sky, as weighty as a guillotine at the top of its tether.

The tear continued to grow, the dark pinpricks tearing the sky asunder becoming more defined. One huntsman, deep in his throes of fear and animalistic terror, recognized them as claws, more wickedly sharp than any animal's that he'd ever seen.

Not a single one of the combatants had succumbed to unconsciousness. All, whether they could see it or not, are forced to bear witness.

The green pinprick grows larger, brighter. This big, it's more defined. This close, it's more defined, for in the center of the green is an even darker void than the one it inhabits, painting horrifying truth.

It's an eye.

A large, luminous eye peering down at the assorted combatants.

Frozen as they are, fear locking their limbs even as their minds scram at them to run, to fight, they cannot do anything as the eye sweeps across them, considering them and dismissing them as beneath it's notice in the span of a breath, however stilled they may be.

The eye looks farther still, towards the edge of the battleground.

It pauses, resting it's gaze on the caravan that had borne half the combatants up until this point.

The caravan is large but dingy, the canvas cover weathered and the wood worn. The pressure on the combatants lift just slightly as the being's attention falls on it instead of them.

Then, between one blink and the next, the entire caravan is in shreds, bits of canvas and wood littered in a perfect circle around where it once stood. The only thing untouched in the circle is an oversized, wrought iron birdcage, a shredded cover just barely concealing what it holds.

"yacdilh yamy..."

Thud!

Darkness gathers in the tear, one set of claws pushing further into their reality. The air seems to warp around those sharp, dark tips as they push down, more inky black gathering behind them. The shadow clarifies into fingertips, which manifests into fingers, until a gigantic, dark hand is stretching down from the tear in the sky.

Doomed, doomed, we're all doomed...

The thing with the power to rip the fabric of reality asunder was now reaching down into their world.

It's hand, tipped with those wickedly sharp claws, descends. An arm, equally as black as the void from which it came, follows.

Their barest relief comes in that the hand is not intent on them. No. It reaches for the iron bird cage.

Tenderly, in as much as something as Other as it could be ascribed the word, it parts the last of the cover, a single claw splitting it down the middle to reveal the contents.

Inside the bird cage sits a young girl. Her hair is black, her skin pale. Her eyes glow that same green as the thing in the void's.

She tips her head back and calls out in that same language as the being, her voice nearly as painful to hear as the being's but so much younger and more tender. "yafrehta!"

All at once, the combatants feel their stomachs drop, realizing the depths of their transgression.

The current owners of the bird cage had only known the girl as a powerful warlock, drawing inhuman power from her patron, so much stronger than the norm. She was a commodity; a prize to be won. Controlling her would increase any lord's power by tenfold.

Such was the desire of the other party. Take her, take her power, and use her to their own ends.

The being taps a claw on top of the bird cage, neatly splitting it down the center. All at once, the girl morphs and transforms before their eyes. Her hair turns a glowing white, eyes becoming larger and more luminous. Her tattered traveling clothes almost sublimate into fine robes of a deep green, her hands turning that same inky black as the being's.

She was no mere warlock. She was the thing's child.

The few combatants who had come to the realization tremble where they kneel or lie. Was this their end? Even humans had killed for less of a reason.

The girl rises into the air, seating herself on the thing's hand.

It pulls her up into the tear, her white hair vanishing instantly in the void.

The eye remains.

It stares down at them, intent.

Impossibly, incomprehensibly, the other set of claws retreat from the edge of the tear. And then, it starts to seal up, edges pulling back to each other like the lacing of a corset.

Throughout it all, the eye hangs in the void, staring down at them.

Even when the tear finally closes, they stay as they are.

Kneeling or lying on the ground.

Terrified.

Very few of the combatants would ever talk of this day in the future. The day that they avoided their deaths—no. The day that they avoided their obliteration at the hands of the being with the power to rip reality apart.

It would have been so easy for it to have squashed them like the bugs they are, after all.

yacdilh yamy -> reverse -> ymay hildcay -> pig latin -> my child yafrehta -> reverse -> atherfay -> pig latin -> father

#danny phantom #dp #phantasy phest 2023 #day 2 dungeons and dragons #danny is a great old one and ellie is his kid so she's a mini great old one

12 notes · View notes

domaslut · 1 year

Note

Terribly sorry i couldnt pick just one, but either Chester or Felix with either The joker and the Queen or Unholy (sorry, I really tried to pick one but i couldnt! You can pick either one or maybe both, but thats totally up to you!)

THE JOKER AND THE QUEEN.

Starring: Chester Davies x f!reader

Warnings: none, just fluff. + mention to y/n father’s being a death eater.

Plot: you were a popular pureblood witch and, as a member of the exclusive club of wizards, you were most likely going to share your heart with a fellow pureblood. That was what everybody expected from you, at least. Nevertheless, you chose Chester Davies. Years later, you still do not regret your choice.

REQUESTED BY: @moonprincess101

VALENTINE’S DAY EVENT: “THE JOKER AND THE QUEEN”.

Quote: “And I know you could fall for a thousand kings And hearts that could give you a diamond ring When I fold, you see the best in me The joker and the queen”.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The moment your eyes locked for the first time ever, he knew you were the center of his world. Whenever you were around, he felt as if he was floating up above, gravity long forgotten, nonexistent. Your smile was dazzling and your voice melodic. You were truly a delicacy, an uptown girl far from his league, but he could not help himself and adored you.

“She’s a pureblood” one of his friends said, chugging down hos butterbeer, as he glanced at you in disdain.

He did not retort anything. He was too lost into contemplating the flawless girl that you were.

You were animatedly chatting with your friends, the superior and arrogant wizards whose reputation preceded them. They were right about your blood-status, but they were wrong about your personality. You were nothing like them and you loathed attending the balls and dinners your parents dragged you to. You felt like a spider in a cage and he knew it.

How? Well, you had told him everything about yourself.

It took nearly six months for Chester to approach you. You were not intimidating, but you were always the center of everyone’s attention. You incarnated everything that his friends despised, but all that he wanted. He saw the goodness in you, he saw your beauty and your cracks and, when he bashfully asked you if he could sit next to you in potions class, you blessed him with a bright smile he could not shake from his head.

“If we teamed up, we could easily win Piton’s competition…” you uttered under your breath, taking him off guard.

You were talking to him. You had asked him to work together. Was he dreaming?

“Are… Are you a-actually asking me to work with you?” he stammered, his glabrous face heating up to the point that the tips of his ears matched the Gryffindors’s uniforms.

You giggled and nodded your head at him “Do you see anyone else worthy of my attention at this table?” you softly asked, grabbing your book and dragging your stool closer to his one.

Oh, dear, the world stopped revolving for him.

Chester Davies had fallen badly for you and, when you asked him to study together in the afternoon, he had no trouble in trying his best to impress you. He could not let you slip from his fingers, else he would have never forgiven himself. Could he label you two as friends now? Well, acquaintances, at best. Yet, you were not strangers anymore.

It took it two months for you to open up to him. Soon enough, you ended up spending your whole days together. You told him everything about yourself. Apparently, the dark side of being a pureblood, your duties and the audacity your father had in writing you some letters in which he asked you to find another member of the upper class to ‘arrange a good, business marriage’ were doing numbers on you.

You did not want that. You were willing to be disowned rather than marrying someone you did not love.

“I will not surrender. – you commented one day, propping your chin on the back of your hand as you laid flat on your stomach in the fluffy, soft grass of Hagrid’s garden – I want to get married one day, of course I do… But I can’t bear the idea of spending my life with someone I don’t love. I want it to be different” you said, batting your eyes close and sighing contently, under the spring breeze.

Chester quirked a thick eyebrow up, his brown eyes staring up at the clear sky “What is it that you want?”.

“A man who loves me” you replied without hesitation.

“Pure-bloods can love too”.

You sighed, rolling down on your back to stare properly up at him “No, Chester, you’re wrong. – you mumbled – They love your last name, at best. They love your money and your position at the Ministry. But they never love you”.

He blushed, his eyes darting on the massive pumpkins in front of him. Was it the right time to say something more? Maybe dropping some other hints would have not been detrimental to your relationship. However, you took him off guard.

“They’re not like you” you stated, propping yourself up on your elbows.

“W-What?” he stammered, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat. You were going to kill him sooner or later.

You sat up, your cheeks now tinted in a bright pink shade and he could not tell if it was caused by the sun, or your proximity. Then again, when you curled yourself up in a ball and propped your chin on your knees, the gleam in your eyes was unmistakably, unequivocally the same he had when he looked at you.

“I like you… And not in a way a friend should love her friend. It’s something more. The way you make me laugh with that goofy smile of yours, whenever you talk about something you like, or the way I feel my heart drop into my stomach, if a girl is too close to you, have made realise that maybe I cannot find my perfect match out there because he is right under my nose…” you whispered, your cheeks burning even more.

Could you get a fever out of embarrassment for confessing to your crush? Yeah, you would not have been surprised, if you did.

Chester stared out at you in disbelief, his hand grasping your immediately as he shifted ti get even closer to you. You bit down on your lower lip, heart thrumming against your ribcage as you waited for him to reply something with the same anxiety of a guilty man waiting for his verdict.

“You could have literally fallen for one of the rich brats in your gang… They have everything, I have nothing to offer you beside my heart, Y/N. Are you sure about it?” he mumbled, locking his calloused fingers with yours. Your hand was so tiny compared to his one.

You felt tears well up in your eyes as you slowly nodded your head at him “Your love is everything I need. I don’t care about anything else. – you whispered softly, a small smile curling your lips – If I get to have you from now to the rest of our lives, I’ll feel like the luckiest person alive” you said, pressing your forehead against his one.

Chester chuckled, his free hand cupping your cheek affectionately. You, the smart, pureblood witch every student envied and craved for themselves, had finally picked your life companion. You had shared your golden heart, but with a half-blood, common Ravenaw student.

You had chosen him.

“You really are an unconventional, strong-willed crazy witch… – he said, a smug smile tugging the angles of his lips upwards – You beated me on it, I can’t believe it. But, yeah, for your information, I love you”.

You giggled, a sigh of relief leaving your mouth, as you smashed your lips against his chapped ones and pulled him down onto the grass with you.

Who would have thought that, five years after your graduation, he asked for your hand. Your father was mad at you for months. He never accepted your relationship, but the incoming war and the rumors running among the elite families about HIS return got him thinking. He knew that he would have been called too and he could not risk your life.

He gave his consent with the promise that you were both going to stay away from the battlefield and, if things got complicated, to never return again.

You did and now Chester kisses the small bump in your stomach, with the joy of a child blessing your lives, he knows that being a joker around a queen was the best decision he could have ever made.

AUTHOT NOTE.

Hi there!

I’m back at writing, thanks to god! I’ll take good care of your sweet requests in my inbox! I hope you liked this fluffy scenario. Chester is my baby and comfort character. Too bad I am a Slytherin and I could not lose house point to piss him off lmao xD

Next to come “Unholy + Felix Rosier” (smut, duh) 😏

24 notes · View notes