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cainrising · 1 hour ago

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Hey! I come to you with a prompt : role reversal choscar where Oscar starts lowkey flirting with everyone and its only then that Charles realises what he's like

this took me an age because my sleep schedule has been ABYSMAL these past few days and ive been unable to get anything done, but! sub 2k drabble of role reversal choscar ^^ i feel like i barely complied w this prompt but 😭 my brain got stuck on this, and this is all i have to offer

19. role reversal, additionally: magical realism

"Mate," Lando whispers. Charles has never heard a man sound so viscerally frightened. "What the fuck is wrong with him."

The ‘him’ in question being, of course, Oscar, who for once is not trying to meld with the wall, but is instead smack in the centre of the dance floor, moving like—

Charles doesn’t have the words to describe it. The cognitive dissonance is crippling. His eyes are telling him yes, that is indeed Oscar, pressed back to chest with a stranger, flushed face alight with delight, but Charles’ head is—well. His head isn’t telling him anything. It’s too busy blowing itself up.

Without looking, he fumbles for his drink. Ends up pouring ice cubes into his lap, because he’s a fucking idiot who finished it ten minutes ago when he first saw Oscar grinding on some random woman and consequently forgot everything else. Charles is so far past caring; he scoops the ice cubes up and shoves them into his mouth.

Desperate for something to focus on that isn’t—whatever ill-timed awakening is happening in his nuclear reactor of a brain, Charles clasps his condensation-slick empty glass and asks Lando, a little thinly, over the dizzying thump of music, "How long will this hex last, do you know?"

Hexes are far from a foreign concept. Charles has had his fair share of experiences, some better than others, as have most drivers on the grid. This, however…

Max got hit with a jinx that only allowed him to speak in meows, and even that was easier for Charles to wrap his head around then Oscar under the effect of a personality curse.

“Do I look like his mother?” Lando snipes distractedly, craning his neck to peer into the writhing mass of bodies, where Oscar—and his latest partner—have been swallowed entirely.

Charles tugs at his collar. It’s already unbuttoned halfway down his chest. Still, he’s overheating, almost feverish. Sweating like he does when he’s ill and fighting off an infection. Not too dissimilar of a comparison, Charles thinks, faintly. Except this time, he’s fighting off ill-timed attraction to his colleague in the middle of a sweltering Miami club, and his only moral support comes in the form of Lando, who is too busy having a different sort of breakdown to be of any use at all.

“The witch at McLaren said—” Lando says, leaning towards Charles without turning. Unable to lip-read, Charles has no hope of understanding him. He pokes Lando’s shoulder, gestures to his ear when Lando glances over, and Lando obligingly shouts, “The witch said it’s only 24 hours! So he’s got, like—seven left!”

Oh, thank god.

“Ayy, cabrón!”

Charles swivels around. Carlos is leaning over the back of their booth, a wild, wide glint in his eyes. He looks, quite frankly, like he’s been rolling in the hay with a rabid tiger. Sweaty and rumpled in the skewed sapphire lighting, perspiration gathering in the hollow of his throat. Charles empathetically relates; he, too, is sweating enough to fill a swimming pool.

Whatever Carlos says is lost beneath a swelling cheer as the music changes, and it’s rather cinematic, how the crowd opens up again, and Charles’ gaze wanders without him really meaning for it to. A big mistake. A dire, unreversible mistake.

His breath leaves him, in a pathetic, croaky rush, all at once.

“Oh, what the fuck,” Lando whimpers, aghast, and—yeah. Yes. That.

Neon lights pouring everywhere, splintering against martini glasses washed up on the frays of the crowd, and cradled within it all, haloed, Oscar’s head is tipped back, alcohol dripping down his throat as some girl licks her shot straight off him.

“Er,” Carlos says, after a stunned moment. Lando rubs the side of his eye with his palm. He looks like a traffic light. Charles can’t tell if he’s about to explode, throw up, or faint. “Something has happened to Oscar, I think.”

“Do you,” Lando says dully. “What on Earth could’ve given you that idea, I wonder."

Charles is one stiff breeze away from making things very awkward.

He seizes his glass in a fit of desperation, and just barely manages to garble, “Drink. Going. Now.”

Carlos calls after him, confused, but Charles is already long gone.

It’s cooler away from the pit of body heat and the awful stickiness of leather seating. Charles pushes his hair off his forehead, tugging repeatedly at his collar, tries to fan himself. The bartender, a harried, young-looking woman, is serving a cluster of gentlemen at the far-left end. Charles collapses, elbow-first, onto the bar, and blows out a long, long breath.

He isn’t quite sure what it is. Never in his life has Charles thought twice about Oscar beyond the narrow lens of competition. They had their adoption joke, a year back in Monaco, they’ve played padel together a few times—Oscar has even met Leo, during one of his excursions to the paddock—but it’s this that has thrown the doors wide open. Made the floodgates burst. The dam break. Whatever metaphor: the result is the same.

A behavioural hex, focused on flipping personality traits, the doctor at the medical centre patiently explained to Charles. So Oscar’s usual calm temperament would be overtaken by recklessness, maybe even brashness. His quiet confidence would steadily become louder. He may be quicker to anger. It’s nothing to worry about, the doctor clarified. The hex has such a short duration, and the root of it is so harmless, there’s no point wasting hours crafting the cure. Oscar will be back to normal in no time. It’s a matter of waiting it out.

It's a matter of waiting it out, Charles thinks, repeats. This is all it is. Harmless. So harmless. The most harmless. Oscar acting like the star performer at a Magic Mike show won’t kill him, or Charles. Hopefully.

“Sorry for making you wait so long, sir,” the bartender hastily grabs a glass. “What can I get for you?”

Charles drags up a warm smile. He asks for another of what he had earlier, though, privately, he wonders if it’ll be strong enough to get him through the night. Officially, Lando, as Oscar’s teammate, is on chaperone duty, but because Charles is the one that noticed the hex in the first place, Lando insisted he stuck around. Charles doesn’t quite get the logic, but Lando promised to lend him his Porsche Carrera for the month, and needless to say, Charles immediately cancelled dinner with Lewis. Guiltily, he thinks again, sorry, Lewis.

As his drink is slid over to him, Charles wraps a hand around the stem and reaches into his back pocket for his wallet.

But somebody else gets there first; a card is pressed to the reader, and Charles jerks to protest, mouth opening—

“This one’s on me,” Oscar says.

He is—very close. Charles can feel the heat radiating from him. Can smell the layered amalgamation of bitter perfume and sharp cologne and sterile vodka, and beneath it all, euphoria. Lit up technicolour, the straight line of his nose, slash of his cheekbone, and Oscar’s eyes, wide open.

Charles had never noticed before; always, Oscar has this tired, half-lidded look about him. Calm, maybe. Brief bursts of animation before he droops back to baseline.

Oscar slips his card back into his pocket. He glances over Charles, mouth tugging upwards, before he easily pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes sliding back to the bartender. He looks, Charles thinks, with an odd squirm in his throat, devastatingly alive. He looks unreal.

“Do you mind if I try some?” Oscar asks, head ducking down. His breath is hot on the cartilage of Charles’ ear.

Charles bites around a shiver. Makes a pitched, agreeable noise. Maybe another drink wasn’t a good idea.

Definitely not a good idea, he corrects, as—helpless to stop himself—his eyes drift to watch as Oscar leans a hip against the stool and takes a swig. His lashes flutter over his rosy cheekbones. Charles feels insane with it. Feels like he might be going crazy, because the valley of Oscar’s throat is smooth and long and thick, and it’s still glimmering sticky, and so badly, Charles wants to sway forward and taste. Restless, wants to know if Oscar’s pulse would throb against his lips, if it would be hummingbird fast. If he would be steady, even in this, or unravelled.

Maybe his first drink was spiked, Charles reasons hysterically. Maybe he’s not actually drooling over his nice, polite coworker. Maybe he just really needs to get laid. It has been a while since he and Alex broke up, after all. This is merely—a spell. A phase. He has this all under control.

“It’s good,” Oscar decides, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I thought it might be.” Oscar’s eyes are blown and black. He licks along his lip, scrapes the crystal remnants of sugar off with his teeth. “You’ve always had good taste.”

Charles does not have this all under control.

“Yes,” he says, strangled. Abort, abort. “I like, um. Sweet things.”

Oscar blinks. His damp hair flops over his forehead when he tilts it, and it looks casual, when he idly slumps to rest his chin on his palm, but it certainly doesn’t feel it. Charles can’t shake this idea that he’s locked in a cage with a—a panther, or a jaguar, or just—some sort of beast, and it’s finally deigned to notice him, even though this whole time, Charles has made no secret of himself.

This is Oscar, Charles furiously reminds himself. He’s a giant teddy bear. He doesn’t flirt and unbutton the top four buttons on his shirt, and he certainly doesn’t let strangers spill their shots over him.

Usually, Charles realises, with dread. Usually, Oscar doesn’t do that. Oscar under a hex—Charles doesn’t know who he is.

“That’s funny,” Oscar comments. There is this drag in his voice, like he’s playing with his food. His eyelashes are long as he looks up at Charles. “I also like sweet things.”

Charles squeaks, “Um?”

Maybe he’s having a stroke. Miami is hot, of course, and Charles’ vision is undulating, and his tongue feels useless and stupid, and he can barely feel his limbs, and that’s a stroke, isn’t it? Does he need a defibrillator? CPR? A lobotomy?

Lando. He needs Lando to call him an ambulance. Right now.

“Booth,” Charles blurts, taking a hasty step back. “I need to get back to. The booth. With Carlos. And Lando.”

He doesn’t catch Oscar’s response. There’s so many people surrounding the bar, idling, chatting, bopping their heads to the bass. It’s beyond a mild inconvenience. Charles is bathed in unbearable heat, so many conflicting scents, but superimposed over them all is Oscar. An exhilarated, non-insignificant part of him feels like prey. Or—not exactly. A carnivore staring into the looming void of a bigger predator and learning, for the first time, what it is to fear.

The worst part about it, Charles thinks, is that he fucking loves it. He’s never felt so frightened, nor so alive.

He finds a gap and goes for it, is almost into the thick of the crowd, halfway to the booth, when someone catches him by the waist. Charles knows who it is before he even turns—sharp-sweet-ecstasy. A very bad idea. Maybe the best he’s had in a long time.

“Charles,” Oscar says warmly. His touch is blazing. “Are you forgetting something?”

Is it really so wrong to bear attraction for someone who wears a familiar face, but acts in unfamiliar ways? If you think about it, can he truly be Oscar, if what’s inside is flipped and wrong?

And even if it is wrong, Charles thinks, even if it is wrong—

It is very tiring, to be good all the time.

#my weird writing slump is over so i probably wont fill anymore prompts for a while #but i will eventually answer them all #probably #hopefully #maybe #u can never trust anything i say #except this #bc i swear ill do it #choscar #charles leclerc #oscar piastri #f1 rpf #my writing #prompt fics

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2024-grimoire-challenge · 1 year ago

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February Week 2 - Types of Magic

So this week we will be looking at a few types of magic, and the next week or two will have even more! There will be a lot of definitions and new pages this coming month! Hopefully the start of a lot of fun pages for you all to work on and add to over time!

Without further ado, let’s begin!!

Monday

Definition- Taglocks and Magical Anchors -in regards to spells and magic in general, what are tag locks and spell anchors? Define them. What purposes are they used for? What things can you use for them? Are some stronger than others?

Introspection/ Journal- Morality of magic - Where do you stand, morally, on using magic for/ on other people? Whether it is with good intention or “bad” intentions, what do you feel personally about using magic on others, whether it is a protection spell, a curse or hex, or even love magic or something that you hope influences another person? Why do you feel that way?

Tuesday

New page - Cleansing - define cleansing in the context of magical workings and witchcraft. What is cleansing? How does it work? Why do we do it? What things do we cleanse? When should you cleanse? What are cleansing magic associations? How do we cleanse?

New page- sigils/ petitions - Define sigils and petitions in the context of magic. What are sigils? What are petitions? How do they work? Why do we use them? How do you make them? How do you use them? What are their associations? Where do you put them? Is there a history to their use?

Wednesday

New page - Charms - what are charms, magically speaking? When do you use them? Why do you use them? How do you use them? What makes a charm a charm? What are things associated with charms? Is there any historical use or examples of charms?

Study/ new page- pick one of the herbs from your list and study everything about it! Magical, mundane, medicinal, culinary, history and how to grow! Myths and legends! All of it!

Thursday

New page(s) - Curses/ hexes/ jinxes - define each one individually. Then describe their differences. What are their associations? When do you use them? Why do you use them? What is the morality of using them? What are some historical or pop cultural examples of curses hexes and jinxes? How do we use them?

Study/ new page- gemstone/ other study prompt. If you’re looking into gemstones for spellwork, study one! If it’s something else, study it! Associations, reasons for the associations, how they are formed, chemical makeup, where they are found and so on!

Friday

New page- Binding/ unbinding - define binding and unbinding in a magical context. What are different kinds of binding? How do you do a binding? Why do you bind? When do you bind? And unbind? What are some binding associations? Are there any historical or pop cultural examples you know of?

Practical- do a spell! Find one online or even write one and perform it. Write it out in your lab notebook so you can look back at it and edit/ change it if need be. Fill out as much information as you can. From the time of day/ season etc that you perform it, every step in the process, the tools and ingredients you used, all of it. Then journal how you feel about it after!

Whew! That was a lot huh? This whole month is gonna have a lot of examples and a lot of definitions! But that’s why we’re doing the challenge right? To learn! I hope you’re all well and ready for more! Bonus prompts start this coming week and I am thrilled to see all the participation posts!

Good luck and happy crafting!

-Mod Hazel

#2024 grimoire challenge #grimoire #grimoire challenge #paganism #witchcraft #witchblr #2024 gc #book of shadows #dark academia #occultism #2024 grimoire challenge prompt #witch prompt #witchcraft prompt #witchy prompt #magic #magick

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reachoutandtouchfaith-pccw · 3 months ago

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The Five Finger Fillet Pact

On the fateful night of April 1, under the insidious glow of a waxing moon, when earthly and nether energies align, this ritual is invoked. Beneath an alignment of dread, two forces converge: the witch, henceforth dubbed “The Client”, and the enigmatic harbinger of malevolent retribution, known as “The Hitman” — the outlawed energy of Micah Bell. In this grand rite, a pact is sealed that shall bestow upon The Client access to malefic reservoirs of power, granting the means to exact vengeance through unholy magic. This is no simple exchange, but a thorough covenant written in blood, pain, and reckless abandon. In accordance with horrific principles, this contract is written not with quill and ink, but with crimson vitality. Thus begins the ritual where every drop of blood consecrates the dominion.

Picture credit goes to @wingeddonkey.

Participants:

One principal. This is just between the Client and the Hitman.

Articles of the Covenant:

Grant of Power. The Hitman — Micah Bell’s ruthless magic — hereby bestows upon The Client access to the wells of malevolent power. Ways to channel this energy, potent and chaotic, are not tethered solely to dark dreams but may manifest through visceral visions, cryptic portents, and direct interventions. In the darkness following sleep, as dreams become portals, The Client may find themselves in landscapes marred by blood and fire, populated by The Bell Gang and the ever-watchful gaze of The Hitman, which shall guide the path of vengeance and help them gain insight into their enemies. This magic is ruthless, and as they are granted a share in this infernal arsenal, they must be prepared for the line between the tangible and the supernatural to blur into insignificance.

Obligations of The Client. As per the terms of the agreement, The Client must spread The Hitman’s influence in the normal realm (every curse, every twisted miracle, every shattered adversary should bolster his prestige) and go along with his commands without question (but may ask for clarification). This contract must remain a secret pact between the designated participants, and for The Client to reveal its mysteries to any soul, save those explicitly sanctioned, will lead to drastic consequences against them. This secrecy is not simply for the sake of mystique, it's so The Client can avoid drawing judgment and condemnation. It is also to not piss The Hitman off which the Client doesn't want to do. By keeping this pact hidden, they safeguard themselves from both circumstances.

Price and Consequences. With every jinx, hex, or curse unleashed upon an adversary or any target, there is an insidious toll on the spirit and heart of The Client. A portion of empathy is drained, and over time, this may lead to an existence where mercy becomes but a distant and almost forgotten memory — a casualty of the relentless pursuit of vengeance and power. Also, should The Client fail in upholding the aforementioned obligations — whether by faltering in dedication or exposing the pact — the penalties will be exacted through physical torment: scratches, burning sensations, searing pain, a permanent disintegration of the self (the accumulation of offenses against the pact may eventually manifest as permanent scars both on the flesh and soul), and you know how creative he can be.

Duration and Termination. Unlike most occult pacts, this contract is uniquely finite rather than eternal, so you don’t have to worry! The pact shall persist for one year from the date of inception. At the end of this period, the contract may be renewed or terminated by mutual consensus. However, unilateral termination by The Client is strictly forbidden; it is not within their rights to declare an end to the pact unilaterally, for such an act would prompt immediate and unpredictable repercussions. Upon termination, the connection to The Hitman shall cease, and all avenues for unholy recourse will be closed. Nevertheless, the lingering curses and hexes shall remain as a testament to the bargains struck, as these cannot be reversed (but, fortunately, will not come back upon you thrice).

Binding and Witness. To seal the covenant, every clause must be etched in the ol’ language of peril. Before initiating the incisions, picture each finger as a distinct aspect of your soul, and with every successful stab, mentally acknowledge that both a fraction of yourself and a clause of the covenant is now bound to darkness. Every precise strike, every bead of spilled blood (if any), is marked by the ominous glint of the blade and the surge of adrenaline. These tokens serve as the silent witnesses to the unbreakable vows. The very act of binding in blood and intent exposes valor intertwined with cruelty, vengeance with retribution. The pact is voluntary, yet its effects are as inexorable as the pull of gravity. In every act, fate and free will shall become one, leading to both liberation and subjugation.

Ingredients:

Blade. The first necessity in the forging of the pact is the selection of the instrument — a sharp knife or any bladed implement that resonates with you.

Liquid Libations. Select beer (or root beer in lieu) as the primary liquid. For further potency, mix in a measure of Jack Daniels (or cream soda in substitute). The combination is not arbitrary as its blend transforms into an offering Micah would certainly enjoy.

Dirt. When enriched with charcoal and campfire ash, they are a physical representation of chaos and raw power.

Bucket. A bucket that is dirty and rusted lends itself naturally to the ritual. It is a concrete vessel that holds the essence of filth.

Stick. A sturdy branch can serve as the stick that stirs the abyss, and natural imperfections lend it an authenticity that aligns with the haywire essence of the pact.

(Optional) Animal Blood. If your skill turns out to be way too good to inflict any sort of cut on your fingers, animal blood will suffice (he likes dog blood for very obvious reasons, but any will do).

(Optional) Rats. Yes, rats can drink alcohol. Ingesting the liquid, these creatures represent the untamed wilderness.

(Optional) Wetland. Here, the libations are absorbed by the mire — their fate forever intertwined with the earth’s dark secrets.

Instructions:

Five Finger Fillet. Prove your grit by laying your hand on a flat surface with fingers fanned out. With the blade carefully in hand, proceed to stab swiftly between each finger. Precision is paramount: a successful stab that avoids drawing blood from the finger itself is symbolic of your dedication. Each successful insertion declares a binding clause within the covenant. Should you falter — if the blade grazes or pierces a digit — the blood that escapes must be collected and preserved for the ritual’s next steps. The game is unhurried, yet time is a critical companion. Micah does not abide hesitation or yellowness, accelerate your movements but never at the expense of precision. For every misstep, repeat the action. The more intricate, the more potent the binding of the pact becomes.

Make the Mixture. Once the fillet game is complete or the animal blood is obtained, you now possess the sacred blood required for the ritual. This is when the mixing of the unholy brew commences. Gently allow the crimson droplets to pool. Use a small vessel or your very hand to guide the blood into the awaiting rusted bucket. Immediately add a generous measure of beer (or root beer) into the bucket, and take a handful of dirt — preferably earthen soil enriched with charcoal and steeped in the relics of past fires — and add it with resolute force. Now, add several drops of Jack Daniels (or cream soda). Finally, with a sturdy branch in hand, stir the mixture vigorously. Each swirl must be deliberate, ensuring that the elements merge into a chaotic whole, forming the very essence of the pact.

Make an Offering. With your brew prepared — a representation of blood and defiance — it is time to offer this to The Hitman. There are multiple avenues through which the offering can be delivered. If feeding to wild rats, identify a location they are known to roam and, in the dim light of the night, quietly beckon these creatures closer and offer small sips of the brew to each rat, which both honors the untamed wild and the Legendary Rat. If pouring into a wetland, locate a waterlogged area where stagnant waters reign and slowly pour the brew into it, allowing it to seep into the mire and the elements to become one. Alternatively, if neither of the above proves feasible, set it in a secluded space near where the ritual was conducted and let the substance evaporate slowly into the night.

The Conclusive Incantation. "Blood… it's all the same, ain't it? I, the bearer of sin (well, ain’t we all? I ain’t hidin’ nothin’), bind my fate to the shadow realm. By the sharp edge of this blade… and the stirrin’ of untamed wilderness… I invoke thee, Micah Bell (don’t expect me to start cryin’ or nothin’. Just… hear me out. I know you know how to get things done). For your lessons, I willingly obey (as long as they work). Let each drop of blood seal a bond and let each whispered incantation command the wrath (I got plenty of wrath to go around). In darkened nights and cursed days… I'll get my vengeance. One way or another. Through the maelstrom of your power — or by sheer dumb luck — and my own. I hereby commit… to the unyieldin' covenant… of the Five Finger Fillet. So it is stabbed… so it is done.”

Aftermath. As the final words echo away into the night, pause and observe the shifting energies in your environment. In the days following the ritual, visions of your enemies and their impending doom, and the figure of Micah Bell will occupy your sleep — guiding your hands in further acts of revenge. With every malefic act cast, The Hitman’s presence intensifies, and his approval and disapproval will be subtly imprinted in daydreams and in the sudden shifts of fate. Remember to remain ever vigilant: heed his commands and maintain secrecy, for breaking the bond will lead to consequences more harrowing than the sum of its parts. A period of solitary vigil is recommended to allow the aftershocks of the pact to settle — both for calming the rage within as it is for receiving any cryptic answers.

Additional Notes:

The Five Finger Fillet Pact is not merely a ritual — it is a transformation. Its successful execution reanimates the dormant embers of vengeance, channeling the realm of the forbidden into a force that pummels your enemies in ways they could scarcely fathom. But the harsh truth of vengeance is that, as granted by the pact, it’s not a benign servant but rather a relentless master. Its fulfillment is as merciless as it is inevitable. Each curse, hex, and jinx is a double-edged sword — providing power while chipping away at the very essence of your humanity. But, then again, we could all use a little less benevolence now considering the state of the world. With that being said, I’d probably do a few good deeds before playing — I wouldn't want my karmic record to look too bad.

The essence of Micah Bell, The Hitman, does not merely vanish once the incantations have been uttered. Instead, it is a constant monitor of every action and every spell. His presence is felt in every tremor of the night, and his commands echo in the corners of the heart. Through your actions, his power is both manifested and magnified. As his name is restated, his influence grows stronger, ensuring that the pact resonates. Every subtle sign from The Hitman is a beacon that must be followed, whether it is to exact a curse upon a scorned enemy or not. As The Hitman’s presence intensifies, so too must your vigilance. Voices in your periphery may signal that he demands further acts of occult retribution. Every command is a thread, neglecting even one thread can lead to the unraveling of the dark tapestry.

However long you want the pact to last is up to you, just make sure to remember the day when the covenant may be renewed or terminated. The act of renewal further deepens the symbiosis and the longer the pact endures, the more pronounced the apathy becomes. Should despair or the insatiable hunger for vengeance compel you, the contract might be renewed — and you’ll have to play Five Finger Fillet again. Renewal is both a continual test of resolve and an opportunity to further embed dark power into the very core of your being. Whether renewed or ended, the finality of the year marks a crucible in which your essence is forever altered. The transformation wrought by the pact leaves an indelible mark — a constant reminder that you danced with demons and emerged changed, for better or for worse.

In regards to environmental concerns, I’ve got you covered. I’m a bit of an environmentalist myself, so I’ve done careful research about both obtaining the blood and giving the offering, and how it might affect the ecosystem. The blood should only be obtained from an animal already found dead if not obtained from you, such as roadkill or forests and swamps. Speaking of wetlands, if pouring the brew into it, make sure to use only charcoal and small amounts of ash from a controlled burn, and vodka dose it (don’t use the liquid libations listed above) along with the blood. As far as the rats go, they will avidly consume beer and Jack Daniels in healthy doses, but they obviously cannot eat charcoal, dirt, or ash. However, if you still don’t feel safe about either option, then just leave it there.

For the daring soul who has chosen to traverse the path delineated in this post, may the energy of Micah Bell guide you. Embrace the darkness fully, for in your every action lies the potential to reshape destiny — to wield a power that is as merciless as it is magnificent. Should you ever find yourself tempted by notes of retribution in the corners of your mind, recall this promise of unholy power. But remember that the pact demands total commitment — a full embrace of defiance and the relentless pursuit of vengeance. When executed with precision and grit, the ritual not only bestows upon The Client the ability to exact said retribution but also leaves them temporarily imprinted with the occult mark of Micah Bell. Hell, you may even find yourself haunting your enemies in their endless, forsaken dreams!

But for those who are a bit more yellow and cannot find themselves playing this knife game, there are other ways than a pact to encourage him to help you. Rather than committing to a long-term contract, you can offer him the familiar libations to get his attention and cooperation when you perform a jinx, a hex, or a curse. He also takes sex dream magic as a form of payment (I think he's bisexual so… there's that). Again, though, he is known to have a particular disdain for those who lack valor, so the generous offering of a sip of beer might not be enough to fully activate his interest or secure the results you desire. His partiality for more daring or resolute practitioners means that those considered less brave may experience outcomes that are less potent, less reliable, or simply not as effective as hoped.

And with that, I leave these pieces of information here so you can do what you want with them: either make a pact or not. The choice is yours. Just be careful which path you decide to take. And feel free to ask me questions in the comments section down below. Take care and beware Micah Bell the Third. - Alfie

#bookofbell #pop culture clown witchcraft #pop culture witchcraft #micah bell #rdr2 micah #red dead redemption micah #Spotify

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argentaur · 2 years ago

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Prompt: Hex

Sirius had long since realized that he measured the weight and impact of things differently from others.

Back at Hogwarts there had been the loose guideline of do no more than jinxes to first and second years, blood purists are free game for hexes and do no curses if you didn’t want to get arrested, though he’d always liked to add that Death Eaters might rightfully deserve it, whether he would have been able to go through with it or not.

Vagueness aside, he’d thought it was a nice consideration to give the first years especially and it was something a prefect or Head Student might recite, but it was, you know, an understanding for the rule-abiding.

Which just meant it was entirely meaningless in face of students that really meant to do harm, they sure weren’t going to abide by those nice rules. And secretly, Sirius had to admit that he’d found it difficult to accommodate them, well-intended they might have been.

Sirius would always orient himself by others, matching James and taking cues from Remus, two ends of a spectrum. One daring enough to toe the line, and one too skittish to overstep too much, but deep within himself he really couldn’t see the problem, so he made others his measuring stick.

He sometimes wondered if he really wasn’t his parents’ son, and then he wondered if it should bother him more that he might be. He would not follow them in their intolerance and hatred, but he absolutely carried their ruthlessness, and in his bid to defy them, he wondered, if he wasn’t too tolerant of some things.

Case in point, he should probably be more bothered by the possibility of Remus being the traitor.

And he was, he was supremely bothered, and it hurt and it broke his heart, and he didn’t like thinking what he might be forced to do if it turned out to be the case. But it also changed very little between himself and Remus, he thought.

If it was true, he couldn’t and wouldn’t be trusted with James, and Lily and Harry. Not when their lives were at stake. It would change them all, their group, their little family. It would ruin their memories and remain a bleeding wound, he would not be able to stand his presence, not unless he was able to explain himself.

But it changed little of the depth of his feelings and his attachment to Remus. But then again, Sirius had always known that his love was a little rotten.

@wolfstarmicrofic (424 words)

#wolfstar #wolfstar microfic

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perfectioninpurity-blog · 8 years ago

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Curses, Jinxes and Hexes Prompts

Crucio - My character's most painful memory or fear.

Fiendfyre - The first person my character "had the hots for."

Imperius - Ever been forced to do something you didn't want?

Lycocomia - Views on werewolves, vampires, half-breeds etc.

Alohomora - A secret my character has kept locked away.

Cheering Charm - 3 things that makes my character happy.

Obliviate - Something my character wishes they could undo.

Geminio - What my character would do if cloned for an hour.

Morsmordre - My character's thoughts on the Dark Arts.

Nox - 1 thing my character regrets the most.

Portus - The best place my character has visited or lived.

Avada Kedavra - My character's reaction if yours died.

Expecto Patronum - The happiest memory my character has.

Langlock - Something my character wishes they could say.

Unbreakable Vow - A promise my character will never break.

Mucus ad Nauseuam - What my character is like when sick.

Lumos - 1 thing my character is proud to have done.

Confringo - How good is my character at duelling?

#cbasks #Curses Jinxes and Hexes Prompts

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sarcxsmqueen · 3 years ago

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Hauntober 31st/Friday the 13th

#aesthetic #hauntober #halloween aesthetic #hauntober prompts #forest #creepy aesthetic #halloween #spooky #jinx #friday the thirteenth #Friday the 13th aesthetic #curses and hexes #superstition #tw blood

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l0vegl0wsinthedark · 4 years ago

Note

I like your writing so much and wanted to send you a prompt for so long . Whenever you feel like writing, here a fic request based on this prompt :

“open the door, i’m outside”

Thank you.

Hi nonnie. Here's a little something ❤️

It was during Auror training that he first noticed. The flash of a hex flying, the sizzle of a jinx - Potter always ended up overreacting and sending out Protegos that were strong enough to make the windows rattle.

Draco learnt quickly to stay within Potter's line of sight as they trained. He didn't fancy being hit with something just because Potter was feeling jittery.

But then it didn't stop.

Potter was always bursting at the seams with magic, always on the verge of a duel. He drank too much coffee. He walked too fast, always looking over his shoulder every few seconds. His wand was nearly always clutched at the ready.

And his hands shook all the time. He probably thought people didn't notice but Draco noticed.

Auror partners - great. Just what Draco needed. A skittish, jumpy, paranoid idiot of a partner who clearly needed to avail himself of the free Mind Healer sessions every Auror was entitled to.

Potter was always multitasking during missions. Dueling while constantly watching Draco's back like he didn't trust Draco to be able to wield his own magic.

Draco wanted to be angry with him but everytime he caught Potter striding around after a mission, trembling hands clenched, jaw set, eyes wild, he felt a random flare of sympathy and just dropped it.

They talked. About cases. About what they did over the weekend. About the fucking weather.

Potter always had dark circles. They're visible every time he took his glasses off to rub at his eyes with the heels of his hands. Draco wanted to ask him when he last got some decent sleep.

He still drank too much coffee. Draco thought that it probably didn't help with the jitteriness. He mildly suggested that maybe Potter should switch to tea instead - it just seemed like a more refined beverage than the disgusting swill the Ministry coffee machine spewed out.

But Potter misunderstood and started bringing Draco cups of perfectly brewed tea while continuing to drink too much coffee himself.

Draco always drank the tea.

They start spending Friday evenings together after work. Potter doesn't go beyond a pint, sometimes two, of beer. And even when he's two pints down, he's constantly looking over his shoulder, scanning the pub, wand just under his sleeve.

Draco used this as an excuse to touch Potter (lightly, on the arm) to get his attention.

Potter always smiled at him when he did that.

"Do you want to take the day off and go get some rest?"

Draco blurted it out before he can help himself. But seriously, Potter looked terrible. Deep purple shadows under his eyes, his whole form trembling, quills snapping every time he tried to write - Potter wasn't okay.

And he looked mighty offended by Draco's question.

"No. I'm perfectly all right. Why?"

"No reason," Draco mumbled, not looking up.

He bought Potter lunch and watched as he didn't eat it; watched as he twitched in his seat and looked around the cafeteria with the wild eyes of a man awaiting a fatal attack.

Draco felt helpless.

They kissed one night.

It was Draco's fault, really. He'd had that fourth scotch when he knew he shouldn't have. But Potter seemed amused by Draco's tipsy drawl, his idiotic jokes. And he'd taken it upon himself to see Draco safely home.

So Draco kissed him. And Potter kissed him back. And they kissed for a while, standing outside Draco's front door.

It was very sweet and Draco was scared.

Potter started hovering around Draco during missions and barely watched his own back. Draco argued. Potter ignored him.

He watched as Potter started looking worse by the day even as they both get closer by the hour.

"I think you should talk to someone," he said quietly one evening. Potter blinked.

"I'm talking to you," he said, smiling.

Draco shook his head. "You know what I mean."

Potter ignored that too.

It's a raid they'd planned for months. A dozen Aurors broke into the underground potions lab. There are curses - actual dark magic - flying.

Potter singlehandedly brought down group after group of dark wizards all the while looking over his shoulder for Draco.

And Draco knew. And this distracted him. And Draco was hit.

Potter stayed at Mungo's for three days straight until Draco was safely discharged. Then Potter went home and didn't come in to work for a week. He didn't respond to owls and his Floo remained warded shut.

Draco had never used the little Muggle appliance Potter bought him. It was a strange looking thing with tiny buttons on it. He asked Granger to teach him how to use it.

Potter answered on the fifth ring.

"Malfoy?"

"You're alive."

"How are you calling me?"

"Muggle technology is not totally beyond me, Potter."

"How-- How are you feeling?"

"I was about to ask you that."

A pause. Then Potter replied and he sounded like he was barely holding on. "I'm-- I'm fine."

"Very convincing. Can you open the door?"

"Wait, what?"

"Open the door. I'm outside."

Potter opened the door and Draco's heart nearly broke for how desperate he looked.

"You're here."

"Yes. May I come in?"

Potter looked as though he'd been asked to hand over his wand. But Draco never looked away and waited.

And waited.

And then, after months, Potter finally let Draco inside.

#my tenses are just all over the place #I'm sorry #i hope you like it #drarry #my writing #cw ptsd

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theresthesnitch · 3 years ago

Note

Would love to know more about Moonchaser DADA professors and PolyJames(I’m assuming it’s not WSB?)

Oh, absolutely, darling.

Moonchaser DADA professors is actually my (second) fic for @hprarepairfest. The prompt was anonymous, but after discussing it, I happen to know that the responsible party is the same person who generally bullies me into writing fics (who knew her bullying works even when her name isn't on it?). The prompt is: Remus is hired to co-teach DADA one year, alongside the absolutely insufferable James Potter. What could go wrong?

The fic has Slytherin!Remus who's best friend is Regulus, background prior Jily, resulting in Harry. Set in Harry's third year. James and Remus were rivals at school, and they don't get along now.....yet. anyway, snippet below (and Poly James below that).

***

“Mr. Potter stepped through a moment before you called, Mr. Lupin. We’re lucky you waited a moment, or you might have crossed paths, quite literally.” Dumbledore chuckled like he told some sort of joke, and Remus had to physically restrain himself from rolling his eyes. “I can only assume you’ve both received your letters.”

Potter cleared his throat. “I did, actually, and it’s not exactly what we discussed, Albus.”

Albus. Because of course Potter is on some sort of first-name basis with the fucking Headmaster.

“Is it not, Mr. Potter?” At least Albus has the decency to be professional.

“You know it isn’t.” Potter sat forward a bit, hands folded but elbows still leaning on the armrests like an uncultured flobberworm. “You agreed to let me teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

Dumbledore swept his hands wide in front of him. “And so you are. Defense Against the Dark Arts: Creatures and Beings.”

“Half of the curriculum?” Potter scoffed, sitting back and crossing his arms. “What, do you have no confidence in me to run a full course?”

Dumbledore chuckled. "Quite the contrary, Mr. Potter. The Board of Governors have decided that, given the current climate, the Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum should be expanded. There are now two full faculty positions."

"And you've thought the best use of my skills is to teach Creatures and Beings?" Potter indicated his head at Remus. "What is he teaching then?"

"Curses, Hexes and Jinxes." Remus spoke without turning to look at Potter, who snorted.

"Surely that would be a better use of my time," Potter said.

"As you may recall, Mr. Lupin has a curious aptitude for this branch of defensive arts, wouldn't you agree, Mr. Potter?" Remus couldn't hold back the smile at the indignant sound Potter made. He was a frequent target of the business end of Remus’s wand during their school years. "Plus, you have studied Care of Magical Creatures, which I expect will have significant crossover. Mr. Lupin did not take it."

"If Mr. Potter feels that he is incapable of teaching Creatures and Beings, I would be more than happy to switch." Remus added particular inflection to the word, and smirked when Potter bristled under it. "I'm confident in my ability to teach either section. Or both, if you would like to rethink this arrangement."

"I didn't say I wasn't capable–"

"Wonderful!" Potter's protest was cut off by Dumbledore's exclamation and clap of his hands. "That settles it then."

~~~~~~~~

PolyJames is not just WSB, though WSB is part of it. Basically, it's during Hogwarts, James falling for his best friends and realizing that he has a lot more love to give. Basically, James is Poly because he is made of love. It'll be "casual" Moonchaser and Prongsfoot until Wolfstar gets together too, and then some WSB. Then James/Others, and eventually Jily as well, and Lily coming to terms with James and his boyfriends. Pooooosibly also some Moonflower, though I'm not sure yet. (Sirius is very gay and very happy with just his two boyfriends, thank you very much.)

Anyway, I don't have much written, and I've shared this before, but here's a snippet:

***

He falls in love with the boys in his dorm at eleven years old in that way that young boys fall in love. It's best friends closer than brothers and solemnly swears and blood oaths (that Remus refused to participate in, no matter how hard they pushed him). It's sneaking extra dessert when one of them is out sick and finding the way into the kitchens and wandering around the castle at night. It's pretending they don’t see each other cry in the daylight and holding each other through nightmares in the moonlight. It’s secrets, hidden and shared, and burdens halved and divided. It’s knowing that he would do anything, give anything, for these boys as they grow into men.

#snitch answers asks #fic wip game

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witchings-ofkoi · 3 years ago

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Toadstool's Grimoire: Page One.

The Introduction

Toadstool's Grimoire is a post series made by me! (koi)

In this series of posts there will be things like:

Spells i have found and tried out

Spells i made myself and liked

Potions i like

Grimoire tips and prompts

Some pages from my physical Grimoire

and more!

What you wont find:

Hexes, curses, jinxes and the like

Stuff relating to c/lts (u)

Stuff about d/mons (e)

Anything about the chr/stian (i) satan/devil and worshiping them.

anything about r/ligion (e) that isnt paganism/wiccan

Anything about love magick that isnt self love.

I dont mind making pages dedicated to answering people questions or even taking requests to look for specific potions or spells so long as they are harmless.

If you ever feel like adding on to one of my posts youre always welcome to do so! i love hearing people share their findings, ideas and experiences!

However! What i wont accept from people is the spread of misinfo, telling me or others off for being witches/practicing our craft, saying we're going to hell, antagonizing of witches, witchcraft, paganism or wicca, and appropriation. If you do any of that or dare force your own beliefs on me or anyone else for that matter, you will be blocked.

Please be respectful while interacting! And look out for future posts of Toadstool's Grimoire soon!

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keijislove · 4 years ago

Note

Hello ! Could you do a harry × hufflepuff!reader with the promps 6 ans 14 ? Thank you !😊😊

A/N: Hi! Sorry if it’s a bit long... This was the first request I got off anon, lmao

ENJOY!!

Prompts used:

6. 'Don't make me hex you into the next year! ' 'I'd like to see you try.' 14. ‘My Ammortentia smells like you...’

Strawberries: Harry Potter X Hufflepuff!Reader

It was just another day in Slughorn’s Potions class, you stirring your cauldron while daydreaming.

‘Who do you think yours will smell like?’ asked Luna. ‘I feel mine is going to be a Crumple-Horned Snorcack.’

You stuffed your knuckles into your mouth to prevent yourself from giggling. ‘I, um, don’t know.’

‘What do you smell? I know it’s weird... for you, having a soulmate or whatever.’

See, that was one of the things you adored about Luna.

You couldn’t possibly keep a secret around her, somehow, she just knew. But it also allowed you to seek her consolation at times without having to embarrass yourself by telling her what it was.

Why?

Well, she was Luna Lovegood after all.

You were one of the best potion students, and were fairly good at all your other classes, Luna and Cho kept asking you why you weren’t a Ravenclaw.

You just hoped your Potion skills could help you find out who you were meant to be with...

You swallowed, snapping out of your daze. ‘Uhm, yeah, not sure. Hope it’s someone nice.’

‘That’s sweet.’ Luna remarked in her same, breathless voice.

You smiled.

‘Alright, now, time’s up.’ Slughorn clapped his hands together. ‘Who wants to share what their Ammortentia smells like? Miss Diggory?’

You cursed internally. ‘Yes, Professor.’

You took a sniff. ‘Sir, it’s, um, treacle tart, um.... pumpkin juice? Yes, and...’

You sniffed again.

‘... muddy grass?’ You spoke.

‘Very good, miss Diggory!’

‘What was it?’ Luna asked as you left. ‘The muddy grass?’

‘Can you stop doing that?’ you joked. ‘It’s freaky.’

‘Don’t change the subject Y/N.’

You sighed. ‘It smelled like, I dunno like quidditch robes or something. Maybe it’s a sporty guy.’ You mumbled.

You didn’t have to specify who, it was Luna.

‘How do you know what boys’ quidditch robes smell like?’ Luna questioned as you whacked her with your book.

-----------

You traced shapeless patterns on the grass, softly caressing your yellow scarf with your other hand.

It was a scarf you were very proud of.

Your brother had given it to you, and it was the last thing he ever did give you, to be completely honest...

Your tiny ‘revisit’ was interrupted by a sneer behind you.

‘Hey Diggory, who did your potion smell like?’ Malfoy asked in his horrible, drawling voice. ‘Longbottom?’

‘I seriously don’t understand what you’ve got against Neville.’ You spoke. ‘And no, if you must know. It smelt like someone else.’

‘Bet it was a grave.’ Malfoy sniggered. ‘Oh, where’s your brother?’

You tensed up immediately, but stroked your scarf to calm down.

‘Patience is one of the most important qualities a true Hufflepuff should possess,�� Cedric had told you. ‘And you, Y/N/N, are one of the best Hufflepuffs I know.’

‘Where is he?’ Malfoy continued.

‘Shut up.’ You spoke through gritted teeth.

‘It’d be nice if he’d passed some of his qualities onto you.’ Pansy lazily called. ‘At least he was good-looking. Look at you, bag of pickled toads.’

‘Shut up, prat.’ You warned.

‘Blimey Diggory... is your brother dead?’ Malfoy asked. ‘I didn’t even notice...’

That was the last straw.

‘

Oh, fuck patience.’ You muttered under your breath, lunging at him.

‘Argh!’ Malfoy groaned as you socked him square in the stomach. ‘Geroff me, you lunatic!’

‘What’s going on?’ Harry, Ron and Hermione had approached you.

Understanding the situation, Ron and Harry both seized either arm of yours while Hermione ripped Draco off of you before both of you could hex each other too badly.

‘Get-off-me!’ you snarled in Harry’s face.

‘No.’

‘GET-OFF-STUPID-PRAT-’ you struggled against his firm grasp. ‘IDIOT-CEDRIC-NOT-FUNNY-’

‘What exactly are you trying to say?’ Hermione asked, confused.

‘Shut up Granger, I don’t want to talk about this.’ You spat, snatching your bag up and ‘accidentally’ whacking Harry with it, before leaving.

-----------

‘What happened?’ your friend, Hannah had asked when you had stormed into the common room.

‘Malfoy.’ You curtly answered. ‘And Potter.’

‘You know, I don’t see why you hate him so much.’ Ernie walked up.

‘Who doesn’t hate Malfoy?’

‘No, no, I meant Harry.’ He spoke.

You groaned.

This was a subject they’d brought up millions of times.

‘He is a prat, for one.’ You began. ‘He’s so bloody proud... all the teachers fawning over him, Slughorn calling him ‘special’, heck, even Snape would be happy now that he’s suddenly become excellent at Potions. I reckon he cheats off Granger.’

‘Nah, Hermione isn’t like that.’ Hannah said.

‘And he is thick-headed.’ You finished.

‘Oh, is that it?’ Ernie smirked. ‘You’re jealous of him?’

‘OI!’

-----------

‘Good morning.’ Professor McGonagall crisply greeted. ‘In the five years you’ve been with me, you have learnt that Transfiguration is not a topic to be messed around with. And as you start your sixth year, I expect you all to behave more mature with this subject, especially you, Mr. Smith.’

Zacharias Smith scowled at her.

‘Now.’ She continued. ‘Who remembers what I had told you all at the beginning of your first year at Hogwarts? Miss Diggory?’

‘Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts,’ you recited, trying to imitate her voice. ‘Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned.’

The class howled with laughter.

‘Charming, Miss Diggory.’ Professor McGonagall sarcastically remarked, but you could’ve sworn you saw the corner of her lips twitch.

You grinned to yourself.

‘Now, as Miss Diggory said.’ She spoke. ‘There will be no messing around. I demand silence as I declare... the Gryffindors shall be joining us today.’

You knew by ‘silence’ she meant your groans.

You stuffed your handkerchief into your mouth before groaning quietly.

The red-scarved students made their way in.

McGonagall began assigning partners.

‘Weasley with Macmillan, Brown with Smith, Granger with Abbott and Potter... with Diggory.’

‘Not with him!’ you yelled at the same time as Harry yelled ‘Not with her!’

‘Yes, definitely together.’ The Professor mumbled.

You scoffed as Harry sat next to you, both of you glaring daggers at each other.

‘Look, I don’t want to fail this subject.’ You warned. ‘My career depends on it, so will you try to act civil?’

‘Yeah, I’ll try.’ Harry sneered. ‘Do you even have a career plan?’

‘For your information!’ you hotly began. ‘I do. I want to become an Auror.’

‘Auror?’ a small flicker of interest flashed in his eyes but vanished as you rolled your eyes and turned to your work.

Harry sniffled.

He paused, terror rising up inside him.

He croaked out. ‘Do you... can you smell strawberries? And vanilla?’

‘Oh.’ You frowned. ‘Um, yeah, the strawberries would be my shampoo and... the vanilla would be my lotion, why?’

‘No reason.’

---------

‘Oh, merlin’s arse.’ You muttered, trying to get past a horde of boys wanting to ask you to Slughorn’s Party.

You knew they didn’t like you; they just wanted an excuse to attend it.

‘FOR THE LAST TIME, SOD OFF!’ you yelled, shoving past.

They still followed you.

You ran to the library, where you met a certain Chosen One.

‘Don’t mind me.’ You huffed. ‘Please, I’ll do anything, just don’t tell them I’m here!’

Harry opened his mouth to say that it was alright, but stopped as a smirk settled on his face.

‘No.’

‘What?’ you asked. ‘Merlin’s arse, please! I told you, I’ll do anything!’

‘Anything?’ he cheekily asked.

‘Anything.’

‘Hmm... let’s see.’ Harry smirked further, thoroughly enjoying himself.

'Don't make me hex you into the next year!' you warned.

'I'd like to see you try.'

Brandishing your wand, you tried thinking of a jinx while Harry stood there with an amused expression on his face.

‘I’ll tell them you’re here.’ He said lazily.

‘Oh, alright!’ you snapped. ‘You win, I’ll give you whatever you want, now let me hide!’

‘Promise?’

‘Promise, MOVE!’

You dove behind a shelf and stayed.

Meanwhile, Harry was having the time of his life.

He wasn’t going to rat you out to those guys anyway, but there was something on his mind and he couldn’t pass up the perfect opportunity.

As a stampede of boys rushed over, Harry realised why you were so desperate to hide.

‘She’s not here.’ He coolly spoke. ‘Try the Hall.’

‘How should we know you’re not helping her hide?’ a Ravenclaw demanded.

‘Have you met me?’ Harry sarcastically said. ‘I don’t help my enemies.’

Yes, as lame as it had sounded, they seemed to buy it.

‘I don’t help my enemies?’ you questioned, climbing out of the shelf.

‘It... it sounded cooler in my head.’ Harry muttered.

You supressed a giggle. ‘Well, O’ Chosen One, what can I do for you?’

‘Er, about that.’ Harry began. ‘I wanna ask you something first?’

‘Yes?’

He smirked again. ‘Do you actually have a date?’

You covered your face and groaned. ‘No, they don’t even like me, they just want to get out of detention or come to the party, most of them.’

‘Mmhmm.’ Harry said distractedly.

‘Do you have a date?’ you shot back.

‘I will, by the end of this hour.’ Harry nonchalantly replied.

‘Whatever.’ You huffed. ‘What do you want.’

‘Be my date for Slughorn’s Party.’

If you had been drinking water, you were sure you would’ve spit it out.

You opened and closed your mouth like a goldfish.

‘What?!’ you finally sputtered.

‘Be my date for Slughorn’s Party.’ He repeated.

‘No.’ you stated. ‘No, no, no way, no.’

‘You promised!’

‘WHY DO YOU WANT TO TAKE ME?’ you yelled. ‘Take Ginny Weasley or Cho or something.’

‘But I want to take you.’ He said.

‘Why?!’

‘Our deal did not include so many questions.’ Harry cut off. ‘You’re coming, that’s final.’

‘Oh, well, fine!’ you snarled, stomping off.

Damn your loyal arse.

----------

‘I look ridiculous.’ You remarked, looking in the mirror.

‘Nonsense, you look amazing!’ Hannah squealed. ‘I’m so jealous, I wish I could go too.’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ You muttered.

You were wearing a(n) F/C dress, complete with your H/C hair falling elegantly onto your shoulders.

‘Oh, I forgot to ask.’ Hannah spoke, ‘Who’s your date?’

‘You do not want to know the answer to that question.’ You said. ‘Believe me.’

Hannah shrugged. ‘You look hot! Have fun!’

You walked in the direction of the Gryffindor common room, waiting for your ‘date’ to come along.

‘Hurry up, Potter.’ You muttered.

As if on cue, a voice sounded behind you.

‘Someone say my name, Diggory?’

There he stood, in all his glory, Harry Potter, the Boy With a Large Smirk Plastered Across His Face.

‘Can you not do that?’ you whined.

‘What?’

‘That weird face.’ You spoke. ‘It’s annoying.’

‘My apologies. Shall we, m’lady?’ he offered you his arm in mock-kindness.

‘Of course.’ You played along, taking it.

‘Where is this positive energy when you threaten to break my arms almost ten

times a day?’ he quizzed in amusement.

‘Shut up.’

---------

Boring.

That’s how you were feeling.

You desperately wished you hadn’t agreed to come to this stupid party.

Harry seemed to notice your gloomy mood.

‘What’s wrong?’ he whispered.

‘Look at this.’ You muttered in disgust. ‘Look at all of them, sapping over each other when they barely know the other.’

He laughed. ‘Wanna slip out?’

‘Where are we going to go?!’ you asked in exasperation.

‘I know somewhere.’

---------

‘The Astronomy Tower?’ you questioned.

‘I like coming here when I’m bored.’ Harry shrugged. ‘Looking at the stars calms me.’

You nodded, understanding.

‘Let’s... sit.’

You sat down as Harry copied you, settling down next to you.

‘This is nice.’ You remarked.

‘What is?’

‘Not having to fight with you.’ You explained as Harry laughed.

‘Maybe we just assume too much.’ He suggested, causing you to giggle.

It was a sound pleasant to Harry’s ears, and for some reason, he wanted to hear it again.

‘I never asked.’ He began. ‘And I’m sorry. How have you been, er, holding up?’

He didn’t need to explain, you understood.

‘I’m fine.’ You answered. ‘I do miss him, awfully so, but... nothing’s changed much.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that it’s still the same.’ You explained. ‘Nobody comforts me. Nobody knows me as Y/N Diggory, my best friend or Y/N Diggory, the girl from Hufflepuff, none of that. I was always Y/N Diggory, Cedric Diggory’s stupid younger sister. And now I’m Y/N Diggory, the late Cedric Diggory’s mourning sister.’

‘Oh. That’s... well, at least you’ve got your parents.’ Harry mumbled.

You let out a mirthless laugh. ‘I’d trade places with you, then. See, it’s the same at home. I’m just... an extra waste of space. Even mum and dad preferred Cedric. I’m the useless one, you see. Next to their beautiful son Cedric, I was always second best. Y/N. Their second-born. The less talented one. The stupid one. The non-attractive one.’

Your voice cracked a bit at the end, but you composed yourself. ‘I’m being thick, you probably think I’m stupid.’

‘I don’t think you’re stupid.’ Harry muttered. ‘How come you never cry? Like Cho, I mean.’

‘Because I don’t want to appear weak for him.’ You sighed. ‘You see, as much everyone preferred Cedric over me, I still loved him. I loved him quite a lot, actually. He hated it when I cried. I remember once when we were young, Cedric fell out of a tree and hurt his leg so badly, I started crying because of how bad it looked. He didn’t have any of it. He always told me, ‘Whatever happens, Y/N/N, don’t cry. You’re strong. You’re tough. And I can’t bear seeing you in tears. If and when a day comes where you cry because of me, I swear I will never forgive myself.’ And there he was such an idiot. Put his name in the Goblet. Went along and got murdered by Voldemort, didn’t he?’

Harry didn’t speak, so you continued.

‘I just wonder.’ You whispered. ‘You know, if he’s watching us this very moment. Somewhere from up there.’

You gestured to the stars.

Your head was turned towards the sky, but Harry couldn’t stop staring at you.

‘And so I know.’ You said, ‘I know if I cry, he’s up there somewhere, feeling disappointed in me. I don’t need anymore of that. I’ve had enough of ‘Diggory’s sister Y/N’ and ‘The ugly one’ or ‘the useless one’ it’s maddening.’

‘I don’t think you’re useless.’ Harry whispered. ‘Nor ugly. And you always were Y/N Diggory to me.’

‘That’s a bit consoling.’ You mustered a weak smile. ‘Thanks.’

At that moment, a familiar smell made it’s way to your nose and you gasped.

‘Your hair.’ You shakily whispered. ‘It... it smells like fresh, muddy grass.’

‘Oh.’ Harry flushed. ‘Er, yeah, sorry, I had Quidditch earlier this evening.’

‘Oh my god.’ You muttered. ‘No way.’

‘What?’

‘If I tell you something, Potter.’ You began. ‘Don’t make fun of me.’

‘I would never.’

You swallowed. ‘I think...My Ammortentia smells like you...’

Harry didn’t speak.

‘Go ahead, laugh.’ You muttered, trying your best not to cry then and there. ‘Run away. Hex me or something.’

Harry couldn’t think straight.

Your delicious scent was ever-so inviting, the strawberries fresh in your newly shampooed hair.

His gaze kept unwillingly flickering to your soft-looking lips, covered in a light tint of cherry lip-gloss.

As the lips he was looking at pressed themselves into a think# line, his gaze shifted towards the rest of your face, and to his horror, you were crying.

‘No, no, no, no!’ he said quickly.

‘What?’ you hiccoughed a little, ‘Go ahead, call me names or just leave.’

‘No, Y/N!’ he pressed. ‘Don’t cry, no please. I didn’t mean... no, I was just thinking. I think my Ammortentia smelt like you too.’

You let out a tiny gasp.

Neither of you knew what you were doing, somehow, your lips had messily collided and were now moving in sync.

You brought out a hand and tangled it into Harry’s untameable hair as he softly caressed your cheek.

Both of you parted, lips swollen, gasping for breath.

‘Well...’ he began. ‘That was unexpected.’

#harry potter #harry potter x you #harry potter x reader #imagine

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adenei · 4 years ago

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Training Duels

Written for @jilytoberfest's 31 Prompts for 31 Days.

Day 13. (I know I'm behind, but...life.)

***************

“Potter and….Snape. You’re up.”

“Well, this should be good,” Mary nudged Lily.

Mary may have been excited about the match-up, but Lily was anything but.

James’s face was blank, and Snape looked murderous. The boys were instructed to review the list of banned jinxes and hexes and then the duel began. Lily clutched Mary’s arm as she watched James block every hex Snape threw at him with a strong Protego.

The match-up seemed to go on forever until the professor called a draw. James had kept true to his word, honoring Lily’s request and not provoking Severus. She exhaled a quick puff of stale air, relaxing as another duo was being called up.

But then a flash of light came out of nowhere, and James was hit square in the back with some unknown spell and blood was pooling on the floor around him. Lily screamed and dove for James. The rest of the Marauders rushed to his side, but Lily beat them.

She looked up at Severus in desperation. “What did you do?! Fix it! Take it back!”

Severus’s blank stare met Lily’s gaze, and despite his slow reaction, he eventually muttered the counter-curse.

Lily offered no thank you, and after ensuring that James would be okay, Severus became invisible to her. The moment not only marked the end of a friendship, but also the moment when Lily realized she couldn’t live without James.

#jily #jilytober

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yellowsuitcase · 5 years ago

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Detention // Draco Malfoy

A/N: This is a request for @youknowiloveyou-so I hope you like it! The prompts you choose got me super excited. The beginning is rough because we have limited knowledge of what really went on inside Hogwarts during the Deathly Hallows, but I did my best.

Summary: During Y/n and Draco’s 7th year at Hogwarts some of the Professors aren’t very forgiving, and Y/N gets punished by one of them. Angst and fluff follow.

Warning(s): SPOILERS!!! Graphic descriptions of violence(tw: knives are used to cut character’s arms), mentions of blood, swearing

Word Count: 3.4k

Prompts: #2 #10 #19 #29 #58 #96

{Prompt list}

This is not what Y/N imagined her final year at Hogwarts to be. To be fair, it wasn’t what anyone imagined it to be. Now with Snape as headmaster, things weren’t exactly pleasant. Not to mention the fact some of their professors had been replaced with Death Eaters.

Y/N was lucky to even be attending Hogwarts. Her muggle-born friends had not been allowed back into the castle. But perhaps that was better for them. That way, they wouldn’t be forced to cast the unforgivable curses onto other students.

The only thing bringing Y/N joy during these times was her boyfriend, Draco Malfoy. He was higher up on the totem pole than most students, due to his status as a Death Eater. Y/N thought at first that being his girlfriend might prevent her from being bullied by the professors. She was wrong. This seemed to make her stand out more to her professors. They loved calling on her for almost every question. They would sneer at her when they called her name, and when she didn’t know the answer to their inquiry, they would say demeaning things like, “Would you look at that, Malfoy’s toy isn’t very smart is she?” The class would then be forced to laugh at the professor’s joke.

Somehow, Y/N had managed to make it through the first of three terms without getting in trouble. But that changed when she walked into her Muggle Studies class with Professor Alecto Carrow.

“Sit down. Hands out in front of you on top of your desk, you know the drill,” Professor Carrow said.

Y/N dreaded Muggle Studies. The class consisted of Carrow spewing complete lies about muggles and the muggle world. Almost every lesson would begin with calling on a pureblood student and then asking them to pick a half-blood student to practice hexes and jinxes on. Y/N had avoided being chosen to do this because many of the students selected by Carrow would refuse. This resulted in them receiving detention, not to mention continuously being called on every class until they caved and did what Carrow had demanded of them.

Y/N could only imagine what was done to those students in detention. When they’d come back to class the next day, they’d have numerous cuts all over their faces. Or sometimes they’d be limping around. On a few occasions, they’d come back without a finger. Poor Madam Pomfrey could only heal so many students.

But today, when Y/N sat down at her desk and placed her palms face down on the cold wooden desk, she knew something was up. She watched as Professor Carrow scanned each student's face before her eyes stopped on Y/N’s.

“Ms. Y/L/N. Why don’t you do the honors of picking a half-blood? You haven’t got to choose anyone yet, and I believe it’s about time you did.”

All eyes turned to her. Y/N begrudgingly rose to her feet, but she stayed silent.

“Pick someone before I pick for you,” Carrow commanded.

Y/N remained silent. There was no way in hell she was going to hex anyone simply for the amusement of a Death Eater.

“Pavarti Patil. Stand up.”

Y/N’s heart stopped. Parvati was one of her closest friends. They’d grown up in the same neighborhood, they used to play gobstones every Sunday. Y/N thought of Parvati as a sister. There was no way she’d ever be able to hurt her.

Y/N heard Pavarti rise from her chair. She couldn’t bring herself to even look at her friend. It would’ve made the situation that much more real. But Carrow didn’t like this. With a flick of her wand, she forced Y/N’s head to turn. Pavarti looked utterly terrified. The pit in Y/N’s stomach grew.

Carrow smirked as she said, “Cast the stinging jinx.”

“No,” Y/n said firmly. A few gasps could be heard. Nobody had explicitly told Professor Carrow no.

“The sea urchin jinx, perhaps?”

“No.”

“I’ll suggest one more, Densaugeo.”

Densaugeo was a hex that elongated a person’s teeth. It was an awful experience for the unlucky victim, and Y/N was not about to cast it on Pavarti. So once again, she said,

“No.”

It was like a switch flipped, and suddenly Carrow raised her wand and shouted. “Imperio!”

An eerie sense of calm overtook Y/N. Without thinking, she raised her wand towards Pavarti and said, “Densaugeo!”

Pavarti squeezed her eyes tight as the spell was cast. Then she began to shriek. Her teeth began to grow and grow. Students gasped as they watched the horrific sight in front of them. Some of the Slytherins laughed when Parvati started to cry. Her two front teeth were now past her chin.

Y/N lowered her arm, still feeling calm. Once the laughter died down, and Pavarti was able to catch her breath and stop her tears, Y/N cast another spell; the sea urchin jinx. Little spikes began to burst out from underneath the Gryffindor’s skin, her screams once again filled the air. Spikes burst underneath her eyes, in between her fingers, and even around her neck. One wrong move and she could seriously injure herself. She stood with her arms outstretched, tears once again falling while students covered their eyes to avoid looking at her.

Y/N only watched as Pavarti cried. She felt no inclination to help her friend.

“Let’s do one more, shall we class?” Professor Carrow asked. This time, she gave her command to Y/N out loud.

“Crucio her.”

Y/N once again raised her wand. Parvati was in hysterics now, pleading for Y/N not to do it. But it was to no avail.

“Crucio.”

Parvati’s body spasmed as jolts of agonizing pain coursed through her veins. Nobody made a peep. The only thing that could be heard was her anguished screams. The spikes on her body pierced her skin every time her body convulsed. Her blood quickly gathered into a puddle on the floor. Y/N didn’t feel anything as she watched the girl howl and writhe. She felt numb almost.

Until Carrow lifted the curse. Parvati collapsed onto the ground, her teeth, and the spikes slowly shrunk in size. Y/N stumbled backward, nearly tripping over her chair as she came to her senses. “I just cast an unforgivable curse,” she thought to herself.

Her heart began to pound as the reality of the situation set in. She looked up at Carrow, who was smiling at her.

“Detention, tonight at eight in my office. Don’t be late.”

---------

Y/N looked at the clock. It was seven forty. Twenty minutes until she was expected in Alecto Carrow’s office to receive her punishment. Her stomach churned at the thought.

She purposefully avoided Draco for the rest of that day. Whenever he saw her in the hallway, Y/N would turn the other way. She knew Draco would be able to tell something was wrong, and she didn’t think she’d be able to speak the words out loud to him when he asked.

She decided that she ought to arrive early for her detention. Maybe that way it could end sooner. She shifted her bag onto her shoulder and started the walk to Carrow’s office. As she was walking, she heard footsteps behind her.

“Y/N, wait up,” Draco called.

“Fuck,” Y/N muttered as she came to a halt, allowing Draco to catch up to her.

“Where are you off to?” he asked.

“My dorms,” she answered curtly.

“Are you alright, darling?” Draco asked, his voice laced with concern.

“Yes, Draco.”

“No offense but that wasn’t very convincing.I know you’ve been crying. Are you okay?”

“Fuck off, Draco. Leave me alone.”

Draco looked as if he’d been slapped across the face. His eyes flashed with hurt. Y/N instantly regretted her words.

“Shit, I’m sorry. You’re right, I’m not okay. But I can’t talk to you about it. Not right now.”

Draco pursed his lips. He nodded without saying a word, obviously still reeling from her outburst.

Y/N took this as her cue to leave. She didn’t want to cause any more damage. “I’m sorry. I’ll see you later,” she said as she rushed off towards Carrow’s office; she only had a few minutes left to get there.

Draco stood in the hallway, watching her run away. He took note that she took a left turn instead of a right turn. Meaning she was lying about where she was going. His eyebrows knit together. What was she hiding from him?

--------

Inside Carrow’s office, there was only a desk and a chair. The walls were bare. Carrow paced on the other side of the desk.

“Ah, Malfoy’s toy, you’ve finally arrived.” Carrow walked over to Y/N and promptly gave her a jarring slap across the face.

“That’s for almost being late.”

Y/N kept her expression blank, not wanting to give her any sort of reaction.

“Sit. Hands on top of the desk.”

Y/N obeyed, fear started to settle in her gut. Carrow walked around the desk, running the tip of her wand up Y/N’s jawline as she circled her. She did her best not to tremble, but she couldn’t help it.

“Aww, look at you. Are you scared of me?” Carrow taunted. “You should be.”

Carrow returned to the opposite side of the desk, where she reached inside a drawer and pulled out a bottle of dark purple liquid.

“Drink up,” she said with a smirk.

Y/N knew she didn’t have a choice. She picked up the bottle with shaky hands, pulled the cork off the top, and downed the potion. It tasted like Bertie Bott’s rotten egg flavored jelly beans. She lowered the bottle back onto the desk and wiped her mouth with her sleeve.

Her body began to feel cold. Her skin started to turn purple. With every second that passed, she grew more and more chilly until her skin felt as though it had turned to ice. Her teeth chattered, and she began to bring her hands to her chest, but they were abruptly slapped by Carrow.

Her body was shaking uncontrollably, desperately trying to create warmth, but to no avail. Carrow observed Y/N with an evil glint in her eye.

With each minute that passed, her body grew tighter and tighter. First, she lost mobility in her toes, then her legs, then each of her fingers one by one. The panic in her chest rose as the burning cold spread throughout her body. Soon enough, she was unable to move from the neck down. Y/N felt as though she was suffocating, her chest barely rose with her shallow breaths, and her body felt like it was frozen from the inside out.

But before her head froze, Carrow dissolved the effects of the potion with a simple wave of her wand. Y/N let out a huge breath as she began to regain feeling in her body.

“How was that? This potion was banned back in 1954, but I thought it would be nice to brew it just for you. You’re lucky I didn’t let you experience its full effect. Legend has it there are people currently buried underground, presumed to be dead. However, in reality, they’re just frozen solid, but still alive, still conscious.”

Y/N pushed the mental image of being buried alive away. Instead, she began to prepare herself since she knew this wasn’t all Carrow had planned for her. Her suspicions were confirmed when she tapped her wand to Y/N’s arms, sticking them to the desk.

When Carrow pulled a knife from her desk drawer, Y/N really began to panic. She desperately tried to yank her arms off the desk. Carrow seemed to get a real kick from the sight of her struggle.

Slowly and steadily, she pressed the blade of the knife into her outer forearm. Y/N felt the knife break her skin, and she could only watch as blood flowed from the fresh gash. Carrow lifted the knife and once again made another cut on her arm. She did this again and again until Y/N let a sob fall from her lips. The desk was now covered in her blood.

Carrow laughed maniacally as she flipped the knife around, the butt end of the handle facing Y/N’s arms. Without warning, she raised it up and slammed it into the first cut she’d made. Then into the second, the third, the fourth, and so on until she’d dug the handle into every wound on her arms.

Y/N could no longer hold back any of her screams. The sensation of the heavy metal handle being driven and twisted into her cuts was more than she could take. Every time Carrow slammed it onto her forearms, white-hot flashes of pain would jolt through her body.

“What a pathetic excuse for a witch, you are. I mean, really, what does he see in you? You can’t truly mean anything to Draco. I bet he keeps you around just to play with you and use you. You’re just a toy to him. And one day, he’ll grow tired of you, won’t want to play with you anymore. Then he’ll throw you out. You’ll be nothing without him. Won’t you?”

Y/N bit her lip to stop a cry from escaping her throat. Carrow’s words cut deeper than she cared to admit.

“How about we make sure you always know your place, hmm? Let’s give you a permanent reminder of what you are,” Carrow said as she picked up the knife once again and flipped Y/N’s right arm over so that her inner forearm was showing. She dipped the blade of the knife into a jar containing a black, jellylike substance. Then she dug the tip of the knife into Y/N’s flesh and dragged downwards. “This will be good for you. I wonder what Draco will think when he sees it.”

Y/N nearly fainted from the pain of the blade gliding through her. Her arm tensed viciously in reaction to the dark magic being embedded into her skin. At that moment, all she knew was pain. When Carrow had finished, she smiled, “Done. Take a look.”

Curiosity got the best of her, and Y/N let her eyes drift over to her arm. There on her arm, carved into her bruised skin, was the word ‘Toy.’

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Carrow asked.

All Y/N could do was cry. She cried and cried until suddenly, everything went dark.

----------

Y/N awoke to the sounds of someone weeping. She gradually opened her eyes. There sat Draco, his head in his hands.

He sensed eyes on him and lifted his face.

“You’re awake! Oh, thank Merlin,” Draco said while he wiped away his tears.

Y/N’s first instinct was to look at her arms, they were covered in bandages. She rushed to lift the one around her right arm. She needed to see it, see if it was really there.

Sure enough, the word was still carved into her flesh. The other cuts Carrow had slashed onto her skin were nearly gone, the effects of dittany preventing them from scarring. But it seems ‘Toy’ really would be permanent.

“What’s wrong?” Draco asked, reaching for Y/N’s arm. She pulled it to her chest, not wanting Draco to see. He looked at her with a perplexed expression and reached for her arm again.

“Don’t touch me,” She said firmly. Draco put his hands up in the air, trying to show his girlfriend that he meant no harm. But she wasn’t in her right mind. Whatever happened to her had gravely impacted her. She had never refused Draco’s touch before. He felt his anger grow, his chest began to heave the more he looked at Y/N’s trembling shoulders as she wept silent tears.

Before he could say anything more, Madam Pomfrey came to Y/N’s bedside. She looked at her pitifully and then turned to Draco. “Give her this if she’s unable to calm down. You can escort her back to her dorms now,” she said as she handed Draco a draught of the living peace potion.

The sight of this seemed to frighten Y/N even more. “What is that? What will it do to me? Don’t make me drink it, I don’t want it!” she exclaimed, her panic-stricken eyes shifting back and forth from Draco to Madam Pomfrey.

“Ms. Y/L/N, this is the draught of the living peace potion. It’ll soothe your anxiety and put your mind at ease. It will cause you no harm, I promise.”

Y/N nodded and began to relax, but her shoulders were still rising and falling at a worryingly fast pace.

“Let’s get you out of here. Come on,” Draco said gently, his volume barely over a whisper. Y/N complied and pulled back the covers on the medical bed. She allowed Draco to take her hand as she slid off the cot. He grasped it, softly, wanting his grip to be grounding for her but not aggressive.

He led her through the halls, shielding her from the gaze of onlooking students. All he had to do was look at them, and they’d immediately avert their eyes.

Soon enough, they arrived at Y/N’s dorms. But to her surprise, Draco took her right past the entrance.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“My prefect room. We can talk freely there.”

And so they took a few more turns and headed up the stairs to Draco’s room. His bed was big enough for both of them to sit across from each other, legs crossed. They did so in silence for a few moments before Draco asked,

“Who did this to you?”

Y/N looked at her lap. “Professor Carrow. She gave me detention for refusing to hex Pavarti.”

Draco sighed angrily. He knew there was nothing he could do about Carrow. Quite frankly, she and the rest of the Death Eaters didn’t like him and his family. They thought the Malfoys to be cowards. Confronting Carrow would only result in more taunting of his family, and likely more detentions for Y/N.

“I’m sorry, love. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you.”

“There was nothing you could’ve done. I knew what I was getting into when I refused. And it didn’t matter anyway, she imperioed me. I had no choice but to hurt Pavarti. I’m sure she hates me now,” Y/N said solemnly.

“Don’t talk that way, Parvati would have to be thick not to forgive you. You were under the imperius curse. She can’t blame you for anything you did to her while under that spell.”

“I suppose you’re right. I still feel bad about it, though. Carrow made me crucio her, Draco. And did you not see her in the hospital wing? She’s got marks all over her body. I did that to her.”

“Stop that right now, you don’t get to blame yourself for this. You said it yourself, you had no choice. You’ve got to forgive yourself, or you’ll never be able to move on.”

Y/N looked up at Draco. He was staring at her intently. He needed her to believe the words he was saying were true.

She nodded and ran her hands through her hair. This seemed to put Draco at ease until he caught sight of her arm. He reached out his hand, silently asking her if he could see her wound. Y/N hesitated but turned her inner wrist outward so he could see. He gently held her arm in his calloused hands. A deep frown settled on his face when he read the word. “She did this because of me, didn’t she?” he asked.

Y/N only nodded, but the confirmation of his question lit a fire in Draco’s eyes. “I’ll kill her,” he said while getting to his feet. “One of these days I’ll kill her,” he was pacing now. “How dare she do this to you.” His voice was laced with venom as he spat his words.

“Draco, you know you can’t do that. And it’s not your fault. I knew what I signed up for when I asked you to be with me. It’s okay. I’m here now.”

“I know I just thought… fuck I’m so angry I —” He stopped mid-sentence and sighed.

“Can I hold you? I need to hold you.”

Y/n smiled softly at him. She held out her arms, and Draco didn’t skip a beat before rushing into them. He lifted her up, putting his hand beneath her for support. Y/N rested her head on his shoulder, finally feeling a sense of calm.

Draco swayed side to side, soothing the girl in his arms. “You’re safe,” he whispered into her ear before placing a tender kiss on her nape. He felt her relax in his hold. They stayed this way for quite some time, swaying. Draco made sure to remind her she was safe and gave her many kisses. He then began to hum, hoping it would lull his girlfriend to sleep. It eventually did, but just before she drifted into dreamland, Draco heard her whisper a soft “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

#draco #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x you #draco fanfiction #alecto carrow #death eaters #angst #fluff #request #draco x y/n #7th year #deathly hallows #pavarti patil

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gertrudepetronella-blog · 3 years ago

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🖤 Snalentines 🖤

Inspired by this post by @staypee. And @snapecelebration

This is part of The Comeback series. Post war, Snape survives AU.

Read the full story on Ao3.

A/N: Ted (Tonks) is the Hogwarts school counsellor. Minerva is Headmistress. George is teaching potions to lower years.

This had to be a joke. A tasteless joke of the kind that people liked to call “pranks”, as if that somehow excuses the behaviour. Muggles had a saying about a magic word – which they thought was please. But if there were such a magic word, it would most certainly be prank. The ultimate excuse for whatever nasty, ill conceived action one wishes to perpetrate. “It was just a prank!”

“Oh well in that case I must have imagined the parchment stuck to my back saying kick me, and being nearly mauled to death by a werewolf, and being hung upside down and…” That thought remains unfinished. Severus had not tackled that particular nugget with Ted yet.

Minerva is very obviously trying not to look at him, and is failing even worse at hiding the smile tugging at the sides of her mouth. If one of these were from her he might just have to reconsider his acceptance of her apology, and his relinquishment of the Headship. Pomona and Filius are far less subtle, although that is in some ways preferable.

‘Ooh! Very popular this year Severus!’ The Hufflepuff beams.

‘You old dog!’ The Ravenclaw winks.

Severus clenches his jaw and reminds himself that he is in the hall, in front of the students. He glares around the room, searching for the eyes that flick away suddenly or the head that quickly turns back to its breakfast. There are plenty that do exactly that, but not precisely in the manner he is looking for. Not in the guilty way.

If the twins were still students of Hogwarts he would have suspected them immediately. But they were not. Nor were they twins any more. There was only one. The one he had accidentally caught with a sectumsempra. The one who was now seated two places to his left, and was in no frame of mind for pranks.

‘Well; aren’t you going to open them?’ Pomona prompts.

Severus raises a brow and looks with disgust at the large pile of envelopes piled over his breakfast plate. Most inconvenient. The simplest solution would be to eviscerate them all right now.

‘Oh no you don’t!’ Minerva intones. Her reflexes were far too good for a woman of her age. That had been a good thing when he had had to fight her and make it look real. Now however… The Headmistress has cast a protective charm over his post before he is able to send them up in smoke. Probably for the best. No knowing how a fire spell might interact with whatever potions and curses were laced into the parchment of these… things.

Severus sighs and begins the task of checking each envelope for nasty surprises. He manages to ignore the looks of bemusement on his colleagues faces for a minute before looking up.

‘What are you doing Severus?’ Minerva questions. The Headmistress and her deputy stare at each other in a stand off of mutual incredulity.

Why would I not check this highly suspicious pile of mail for curses? Severus' face says.

Are you really so paranoid that you think someone might try to kill you with a Valentines card? Minerva’s frown responds.

The Potions Master gives a last dismissive eye roll and turns back to his task. What he discovers are: ten gold envelopes, ten pink envelopes, four purple envelopes, two baby blue, and one a rather garish lime green. None contain any curses as such, though two are steeped in amortentia (as if he would not notice, who were these imbeciles?) and the contents of the rest are so pathetically tawdry they might as well be.

Surprisingly none contain a deadly curse. Nor even any lesser hexes, or jinxes. No poisons, no potions to turn one’s hair green, or cover one in boils. Amortentia not withstanding, as pranks went it was rather uninventive. He collects up the envelopes and tucks them into his robe pocket for later study. The handwriting might reveal who is responsible for this tasteless joke.

He gives a last glance around the hall, and stalks off to his office.

Continue reading on Ao3

#snalentine #snape community #snape fandom #severus snape #pro snape #severus snape love #snape love #harry potter fanfic #snapecelebration2022

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mrfancyfoot · 3 years ago

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WIP Wednesday!

The fics and content below are NSFW, so please do not interact unless you are 18+.

I have a number of things that I’ve been working on! Chapter 10 for Community Magic (Obey Me) should be up in the very near future - it just needs some ironing out and editing. I also have another prompt fill that I’ve been working on for CM, and I’ve been making strides on picking up Some Assembly Required (Dragon Age) again (which has had its own difficulties related to my health).

Teasers for Community Magic under the cut!

This Obey Me fic and spin-off are both rated E(xplicit) primarily for smut. There is no explicit content for the first teaser below, but there is for the second (asking the important question of “What’s Devildom porn like?”). Relationships: Diavolo x f!OC x Barbatos (and combinations of) Please read tags/warnings on linked fics.

Make sure you follow me here or on AO3 for notifications when these get posted. :)

Community Magic Ch. 10 (Teaser Excerpt):

Director Thrallhammer let out an exasperated sigh and dug his DDD from his jacket pocket. “Apologies, someone’s been messagin’ me.” He moved his glasses from atop his head to the bridge of his nose. “An’ tha someone’s…Evie. Missed ‘er call a bit ago.”

Diavolo’s brows raised in interest - hearing of his exchange student was far more captivating than incident reports. “Oh? How is she doing? This would be her first day on the job.”

He watched the orc scan over the messages with a scowl, make a false start, then finally roll his eyes. “Yer exchange student’s adopted a poltergeist. Its name is Frank. …She named it.”

Thrallhammer tossed him his DDD, showing the bevvy of messages he had received from Evie over the past few hours. “I tasked ‘er with gettin’ inta tha cursed office next to mine. Mostly been vacant ‘cause no-one wants to deal with the mess. Hones’ly thought it would take ‘er a coupla weeks to get in there.”

He knew the room. Was such a task a bit much for a new student? Perhaps Thrallhammer had been counting on that to keep her busy while he was unable to supervise. His thoughts shifted once he read her messages. Though it had been overrun with curses, it didn’t appear to have been a match for their exchange student after all.

Evie: [Good Morning. Are there any records about the office or anyone here that I could ask about its history?]

[It’s covered in all sorts of curses but also pretty strong containment magic.] [Def at least 2 different sources.] [I can def undo all of this but] [Pretty sure something’s contained inside. Is that safe to release?]

[Okay, so I’ve removed all the curses, jinxes, hexes, etc etc] [Whatever’s in there went quiet while I was working.] [Can’t feel what it is b/c of the barrier] [But I haaave Suspicions.]

[Okay, I opened the room!] [It’s an absolute mess.]

[Can I keep the poltergeist?]

He couldn’t stop the laugh as he pictured her standing there like a child holding some wild animal and asking if she could please keep it. A sentiment that he himself knew much of from doing the exact same to Barbatos over the years.

To be continued...

Catch up on Community Magic here so you’ll be ready when this chapter’s posted!

Community Magic: The Extras - The Toy (Teaser Excerpt) The next prompt entry for my CM spin-off. Not CM canon. This is a long one and may be broken up into a two-shot. I’m also considering a continuation for Barbatos.

Tags (subject to change): smut, non-con becomes con, magic sex toys, size kink, knotting, demon anatomy, angst, soloF, M/F long distance play, phone sex, PIV sex, desk sex, AFAB f!OC, she/her pronouns, named f!OC

Regarding non-con tag, by virtue of the magic toy’s design, none of the parties can consent to What’s Happening because they aren’t aware - once Evie/Diavolo are made aware, it becomes consensual.

Primarily Diavolo x f!OC but others are implied/background.

Summery: After having his toy supplier reverse engineer Evie’s broken vibrator, Asmo gifts her with the first prototype to try out. He also happens to receive a set of fleshlights made from the same material that he gifts to some of his favorite people, not realising that they had been charmed as a set to calibrate to the user of the bullet vibrator he had given Evie.

Evie’s excitement at finally having a new toy to use managed to outweigh the embarrassment of receiving it from an overly jubilant Asmo. He bid her a giggly, “Have fun! Hope you think of me~” with a wink when she waved him off from her door.

It wasn’t until a few days later, a Friday after a particularly trying day of event planning with the boys, that she finally got a chance to try it out. Getting home, she beelined for her bathroom to scrub up and then fully planned on falling asleep to some self-indulgence. The others were mostly out and about, so there shouldn’t be any interruptions. Her door was locked and warded just in case.

She spent some extra time under the hot spray of water, feeling it begin to melt away the tension from the day. After hopping out, she wrapped herself in a fluffy towel and padded to her bed and dug the bullet toy out of her nightstand. Flinging herself onto her bed, she finally had a chance to examine it closer. It looked and felt very similar to her old one as she turned it in her hand and located the button to power it on.

It rumbled to life on a low setting that increased or ebbed as she scrolled through the patterns. She held the button to turn it back off until she needed it.

Now…did the Devildom have porn? Like, it was always an assumed thing that Hell would have tons of kinky stuff. That could be…exciting. She wondered how different it would be from human porn. Though she did worry briefly about coming across anything else. What was considered taboo or problematic in Hell? She already knew that many demons fetishized humans and demi-humans.

She felt silly typing just the word 'porn' into the Crow browser search on her DDD but it wasn't like she had any idea of where to start. But oh, were there results. XDevil, 666sluts, DemonsDen, HellXXX, SuccubusLovers, Hellfiretube, Fuckdevil… And niche sites for everything imaginable, including just normal, vanilla human porn…through the lens of it appealing towards demons. That was a whole mental exercise she didn’t want to deal with right now.

Clicking on the top result, she was greeted with a screen full of lewd video previews and recommended tags and categories. Interestingly, and what shouldn't have surprised her at all, there were categories and tags for demon features like horns and wings and tails. Demon ‘types’ was new to her and she wasn’t quite sure what it meant in this context. Following the category link only led to more questions. Did type of demon really affect their anatomy that much or was it just aesthetic preferences? Even ‘horns’ and ‘tails’ had subcategories. Straight, curly, sharp, dull, big, small, fluffy, scaly, slimy…

This was overwhelming and more worth inspection when she wasn't actively trying to get off, otherwise she would just keep following tags and related content forever for the fascination while neglecting her goal of getting off. Fifteen minutes on the site and she hadn't even watched anything!

A preview caught her eye, a teacher-student roleplay it looked like, featuring an attractive pair of demons. She opened it and was greeted with a video player showing off a much larger male demon dressed in a suit lecturing a smaller student dressed in an unfamiliar school uniform.

Making a decision, Evie reached for the vibrator again, turning it on and finding a setting she liked. Leaning back into her pillows, she pressed the rumbling toy to her clit and sighed happily, unaware of the momentary glow of the toy and a sigil embedding itself intimately as she did so. Opening her eyes, she returned her attention to the video paused on her phone.

To be continued...

#obey me #obey me smut #Diavolo #diavolo x f!oc #WIP Wednesday #community magic #MrFancyfoot #obey me prompts

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