#ns: plot

[nobodyssoldier]

we're  so  excited  to  say  that  we’re  finally  open  for  interactions,  so  please  feel  free  to  post  and  respond  to  starters  and  starter  calls  !  below  the  cut,  you  can  find  further  information  and  instructions  regarding  our  opening  &  our  first  plot  drop  !  hope  you  all  have  fun,  and  we  can't  wait  to  see  all  of  you  on  the  dash  !  happy  opening  !

please  make  sure  you’re  following  everyone  on  the  blogroll  here.

please  be  sure  to  mark  the  date,  time,  and  setting  in  all  of  your  starters  and  replies.  at  the  moment,  our  timestamp  is  december  22,  2030  to  january  12,  2031.  (  please  note  that  hogwarts  university  is  currently  on  winter  break.  )  you’re  more  than  welcome  to  do  flashback  interactions  –  just  make  sure  you  mark  the  date,  time,  and  setting  in  your  posts!  but  do  not  set  any  threads  after  the  current  timestamp.

remember  that  you  must  post  an  introduction,  so  everyone  can  have  something  to  refer  to  if  they  want  to  know  more  about  your  character.  it  doesn’t  have  to  be  long  at  all,  just  enough  to  give  us  a  sense  of  what  they’re  like.  if  you  haven’t  posted  your  introduction(s)  yet,  you  may  still  start  interactions,  but  please  try  to  post  it  as  soon  as  possible  because  it  makes  plotting  a  lot  easier  for  everyone.  when  you’re  finished  with  your  introduction,  be  sure  to  tag  it  with  #ns: intro  and  post  it  in  the  introductions  channel  of  our  discord.

please  remember  to  tag  all  open  starters  with  #ns: starter.  please  do  not  tag  closed  starters  with  that  tag  because  we  don’t  want  to  clog  it.  since  the  tags  tend  to  act  up,  i  ask  that  you  also  post  any  open  starters  in  the  starters  channel  of  our  discord.  please  make  sure  to  respond  to  others'  open  starters,  especially  if  you  write  your  own  open  starter.  you’re  more  than  welcome  to  post  private  starters,  but  please  make  sure  there  are  still  open  starters  for  everyone  to  respond  to  so  no  one  feels  left  out.

our  tracked  tags  are  ns: follow,  ns: unfollow,  ns: admin,  ns: update,  ns: intro,  ns: starter,  ns: task,  and  ns: plot.  please  be  sure  to  follow  them  if  you  aren't  already  !

if  you  have  any  questions,  please  feel  free  to  just  ask  !

i. plot drop

the date is 22 / 12 / 2030. the sun has set on the winter solstice and darkness settles over the ministry of magic like a curtain falling — the conclusion of the final act, the ceasing of applause, and the end of all things. all is well. lights are out in the ministry and posts abandoned, save for a select few unspeakables who work in terse silence some nine levels below london. all across the city, wraiths and knights alike are taken by a deep and dreamless sleep that creeps in through open windows; a quiet thief in the longest, darkest night.  meanwhile, as yet unseen and unheard, death itself stands on the opposing side of the veil — a lonely sentinel whose charge has been violated beyond all reason. it brushes one bony finger across the whispering curtain, stirring up a thrum of excited keening at its very touch. here, the barrier is thinnest. here, it stands in careful contemplation. as it ponders, the air around the archway beyond grows suddenly thick and impossibly more still.  it is the quiet before the storm.   whether in gold or years or mortal souls, the ferryman will have his due. for without night, there is no day. without death, there is no life. pretending otherwise is folly —but is that not the cardinal sin of the living? try as they may to hide or to barter, there is always a score to settle. through the hubris of children, the hand of the the very primordial force they sought to cheat and evade has finally been forced.  death hums, and the sound resonates throughout the chamber as though coming from within the walls of the ministry itself. the thrilled chattering of spirits lurking beyond the curtain matches its cadence. the ground begins to tremble and the select few witnesses on the mortal plan are forced to avert their eyes as the curtain begins to fall inwards; once empty space forced into a vacuum of blinding light.  for a single moment, there is silence. then, the suggestion of a form approaching from some far-off place. and then another. the dead walk again en masse and in perfect form. they are vibrant, and they are real, but they will never again enjoy the peace of eternal slumber. they are equal parts promise and threat. death's voice, when at last it speaks, is sly and reproachful. "you wished to understand mortality? then understand it fully."

ii. plot points

22 / 12 / 2030 : the veil shatters and the dead return. the newly resurrected, once loyal to the dark lord, take to the streets of london to exact their revenge on wizards and muggles alike. no one is safe, and the erinyes, the knights, and the order must all band together to put an end to the violence.

25 / 12 / 2030 : the members of order of the phoenix host a christmas dinner at number 12 grimmauld place. they are joined by loved ones from both the land of the living and beyond; a glimmer of hope and a moment of peace and joy in these uncertain times.

31 / 12 / 2030 : amidst the chaos, the wizarding world's new years eve celebration takes place in hogsmeade. referred to as hogmanay, it is an annual tradition among the scots.

01 / 01 / 2031 : there is a feast at lestrange manor, where voldemort reveals his plans to use the newly resurrected as a means to his own nefarious ends.

[lonerslug]

i loved the shane smut... drop some more for the shane gooners pleaseeee

ay ay ay, ur filling up my inbox, chill anon… it’ll come soon 😔 u must be feral for shane… that’s a shame 😜 just kiddin

Can’t Help Herself

18+ smut, men dni, top reader, bottom shane. sub!shane.

She likes to act like she’s got it together. All that swagger, all those half-lidded glances and slow fucking grins, like she’s the one always in control.

But right now?

Right now Shane’s spread out under you, chest flushed, hips rolling against the bed like she’s chasing something she’s too stubborn to beg for.

You haven’t even fucked her yet.

and she’s already ruined.

“Fuck,” she breathes, one arm slung over her eyes like she can’t handle being seen like this. But you don’t let her hide. Not tonight.

You hook your fingers around the waistband of her boxers, already low on her hips from how desperate she got grinding on your thigh earlier. “Look at me, baby.”

She exhales like it hurts. Like you’ve got her on a leash made of words.

“Y-Yeah,” she mutters, eyes fluttering open. They’re glazed and heavy and a little dazed, like she can’t believe this is happening to her. Like she can’t believe how much she likes it.

Your palm flattens against her thigh. Warm skin, sharp bone, the twitch of a muscle like her body’s waiting for orders.

“So fucking pretty,” you murmur, sliding her boxers down and tossing them aside. “You don’t even know, do you?”

Shane’s throat bobs. “You’re killing me.”

“You like it,” you whisper, crawling up over her.

Your strap brushes her inner thigh and her breath hitches.

“I do,” she admits, voice cracking just a little. “You already know I do.”

You kiss her then, slow and deep and possessive. You make her feel it, how much you want her like this. How good she is when she lets go.

Your hand finds her again, fingers sliding between her legs. She’s soaked. Messy. Needy. Her hips lift into your touch like a reflex.

“You gonna let me fuck you tonight, Shane?”

She groans, nearly whimpering, her voice fraying into something pathetic. “Please. Don’t fuckin’ tease.”

But you do.

You drag your fingers through her slowly, just enough to make her arch, to make her mouth fall open, to make her gasp.

“Fuck.” She bites her lip, eyes fluttering closed again.

You lean down, pressing your lips to her throat, murmuring against her skin, “You gonna be good for me?”

Her hands grip your arms, hard. “I’ll be good. Just—please, come on.”

You don’t make her wait much longer.

You slide the tip of your strap through her slick folds, and she goes still. Too still. Holding her breath like she’s bracing herself for impact.

You smile against her jaw. “Relax.”

“I am relaxed.” She’s not. She’s trembling under you.

You push in slowly, savoring every second, every inch, every strangled sound she tries and fails to muffle.

“Oh fuck!” Her head drops back, fingers curling into the sheets.

You bottom out, and for a second, all you hear is her ragged breathing.

Then: “Jesus Christ. Don’t stop.”

You don’t.

You fuck her slow at first, letting her feel it, feel you, grinding into her just right, watching how her jaw clenches every time you thrust in deep.

“Feels so good, baby,” you whisper. “You’re taking it so well.”

“Yeah?” she gasps, legs tightening around your waist. “You like seeing me like this?”

“Love it.”

You speed up, driving into her harder now, and she moans, loud, unfiltered, wrecked. She sounds like she’s not used to giving it up like this. Like she’s never had anyone make her let go.

You grab her wrists and pin them above her head.

That does it.

She arches up, mouth open, eyes wide, like she doesn’t know whether to fight it or come on the spot.

“You’re mine tonight,” you growl into her ear.

“Yes.” She gasps it like a prayer. “Yours. Yours. Fuck, I’m—”

You kiss her to shut her up.

You fuck her harder.

She takes it.

Messy, wild, perfect. Her hips jerking, her thighs shaking, her words dissolving into noise.

And when she comes?

It’s not soft.

It’s loud. Guttural. She breaks apart under you, legs clenching around your waist, whole body arching as she cries out.

You keep fucking her through it, whispering how pretty she is, how good she feels, how much you love making her fall apart.

And afterward, when her body’s limp and her skin’s sticky with sweat and her lips are red from biting them, she drags you down and kisses you like she can’t believe what just happened.

“You,” She exhales, blinking up at you like she’s seeing stars. “You wrecked me.”

You smile against her mouth. “Good.”

“You gonna let me get you back for that?”

“Maybe.” You kiss her again. “But not tonight.”

Shane laughs, soft and wrecked.

And pulls you into her arms like she never wants to let you go.

[bisexualiteaa]

Hello, Lover

Shadowheart x FemTav! Reader [MDNI!!]

CW: established romance, lesbian romance, slight game spoilers, brief mentions of religious trauma, fluffy themes, mentions of alc0hol, suggestive themes, talk of the female anatomy, mentions of f0replay, implied smut, slight deviance from the plot, slight OOC shadowheart, possible grammar/spelling errors, lightly proofread.

Synopsis: Shadowheart shows you a journal entry of the night after you taught her how to swim, showing her that perhaps you’d opened her eyes to more than just how to swim that night.

Words in bold are her writing. Enjoy! 🖤

It was a night like most on the road to Baldur’s Gate, one rested on the same old bedroll you’ve been using since it all started. Resting atop the dirt and cobble beside the dim light of the campfire’s hearth. It was just before you were bunking down for the night that you stopped by Shadowheart’s tent as you normally do.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes” she spoke flirtatiously as you strode up to her, delighted smile on her face to match her tone. You could only smile the same in return, offering a slight giggle in response. “Say’s you, how are you faring?” You asked, genuinely wishing to know how she was feeling after such a long, and emotionally taxing day. “The same as everyone else I’m sure. Tired, anxious, ready to get this tadpole out of my head. Although, I will miss eavesdropping on your thoughts once it’s gone” she teased, making you chuckle. “Nothing a simple detect thoughts spell couldn’t cure, and with less…tentacles for side effects. Though bold of you to assume I wouldn’t just tell you” you replied in kind, making her hum with delight at your response. “True. Speaking of reading thoughts, I have something to show you, if you have a moment?” She asked, reminding you truly of just how far along she’s come and how close you have gotten for her to voluntarily tell you such a thing. “For you? Always” you replied, despite its cliche nature, making her laugh.

You followed her into her tent, ever curious of what she was wishing to show you. For a moment you’d thought she wanted you to link minds with her via the tadpole to show you a memory, but your questions were answered upon watching her pick up a book instead. Only then did your mind begin to form other questions, ones you knew would be answered soon. As she brought out the book, she also grabbed a carafe of wine and two glasses for you to share, a nightly ritual you both have begun to indulge in together as opposed to indulging apart. “Are you wanting to read me a bed time story?” You asked teasingly, but as you watched her sit down before you, you realized maybe you had been correct in that assumption. “Actually? Yes” she replied, patting the space next to her as a gesture for you to join. One you were quick to heed.

As you sat down next to her, she poured wine into the goblet next to you before pouring some into her own. “Fancy, are we starting a book club?” You asked, making her laugh. “While that doesn’t sound unpleasant, the wine is more for me to drown out my embarrassment” she replied, making you look to her as she handed you the book. Upon closer inspection it appeared to be a journal of sorts, and that’s when you put the pieces together. She was showing you her journal. Her personal journal. “I’ve carried this with me since nearly the very beginning of our journey together. I was told by someone once that journaling could help heal, allow you to look back on yourself and see how you’ve grown” she stated. “Well, one night I’m afraid I had too much wine and fancied myself a writer. I thought you might enjoy it” she finished, making you look back down to the leather cover that has certainly seen better days before it’s time spent with you all on the road. “Are you sure? It’s a personal thing, I can understand if you’d rather keep it to yourself” You asked. “As much as I would, I think this is simply too good not to share” she said playfully, making you giggle with her as you had a sip of your wine.

As you opened it, you marveled at her handwriting. It was elegant, the ink neatly applied to the pages without so much as a smudge and smelled faintly of wine, flowers and something a little deeper. Just like her. The first handful of pages were the typical journal entries, recounting the earlier days of your travel together. As you pressed further however, you stumbled upon a few pages of something different. Poetry. It was something you wouldn’t have guessed she’d have dabbled in, but her writings were delightful and well spoken nonetheless. “I didn’t think you to be a poet” you said playfully, turning to her as she sat next to you, reading the pages over your shoulder. “I didn’t either, you’re quite the inspiration” she said, making a heat rise to your cheeks in fluster at her compliment. “Keep going, it gets better” she said, making you turn through the pages in search for the one she seemed to be pointing you in the direction of. Page after page of poetry, attempted love letters, attempted notes, you’d finally stumbled across an entry that seemed to be the one she was trying to show you.

You looked to her before reading it, almost as if asking her permission only to earn a gentle “go on” in response. You saw the date of the entry, remembering it to be the night in which you shared in one another for the first time. The night you taught her how to swim.

How lovely she is. To think she was nothing but a stranger not that long ago, and to know now that she owns my whole heart, is truly the most unexpected gift. You read, your heart feeling warm in your chest as you read it, bringing a smile to your face. Now as I gaze upon her, watching as her frame sits beside the campfire, all I can think is how I love her. How the fire emits a golden glow against her skin, how it dances in her eyes that have had me transfixed. Her gaze which sends my heart to a frenzy. She makes even the smallest things seem so simple, so easy, reminding me that nothing is impossible. you continued to read, feeling your chest swell at the thought of her finding you so inspiring, that she looked up to you. That she trusted you. It was a gift you would never take for granted.

Today, she taught me how to swim. While the others were asleep, her and I snuck off down the coast a little to the water. I could still feel the cold, dark hands of the shadowfell all over me, could still hear the vile whispers of Shar in my ears. I’d felt unclean. She apologized to me as if it were her fault, as if she hadn’t brought me to the light. As if she hadn’t seen more within me and guided me to the much happier path I now lead. There was something I knew that would help that feeling go away, and I knew more than anything that I wanted to experience it with her. So as we made it to the beach, I sprung upon her a swimming lesson, telling her to strip of her clothes to join me. If I was to do this, I most certainly wasn’t going to be going in it alone. Yet I knew I needn’t fear, despite her shocked expression, she indeed joined me. Though I will admit, I rather enjoyed watching her undress before me, a detail I’m sure hadn’t gone unnoticed. you read, making you chuckle to yourself a little. “My, you have quite the way with words, how come you never tell me such things in person?” you said, making her flush a little as she read that last line with you. “Like I said, perhaps I was a glass too many in. Besides, what fun would it be if I told you all the time? Your ego would be far too big” she replied, making you both laugh. “Trust me, it gets better” she added, so of course you turned your attention back to the book.

I watched as she turned around, her hands grasping at the bottom of her shirt before pulling it over her head. I wished she hadn’t, getting to see her in all her glory is something I’ve spent a fortnight thinking about. However, in that moment, the saying “good things come to those who wait” spoke volumes. Soon I watched her glance at me over her shoulder with a flirtatious grin, one I could only return in kind before watching her bend down to strip herself of her pants and leathers. Gods she’s marvelous. Watching her hands run down her hips as she undressed herself left me almost jealous. How I craved to touch her in that moment, to run my hands along her frame, to watch as a blush would tint her cheeks at the closeness. It was then I knew that tonight was to be the night. You you continued to read, feeling a heat rise up your neck to your cheeks. You picked up your goblet and brought it to your lips for a sip, making a sound of intrigue at the passage you’d just read. “This is good” you said, earning a chuckle from her as she rested her chin against your shoulder, taking the occasional sip from her own glass.

It was as her eyes trailed my form, standing bare before her that I’d never felt so vulnerable. She gazed upon me like I once used to look upon every statue of Shar. With worship. It send tingles beneath my skin and gooseflesh along my body. I was vulnerable, but I wasn’t alone. I remember her telling me that I looked beautiful, almost seeming to take the words from my mouth that I wished to tell her. It’s certainly a moment I will never forget. The way her gaze fell on me caused a burning ache within me I fear I may never rid of. Nor do I want to.

She led me into the water, her hand gently enveloped in mine, helping me tread deeper and deeper into the depths of the water. It was cold, bitterly cold. The sort of cold that chills you to the bone, yet I’d felt so energized. I remember when my feet no longer touched the bottom, no longer feeling the sand beneath my feet. It was both terrifying and exhilarating. Just a moment prior I doubted I’d be able to even enter, but with her there with me, I knew I could do it. All she could do was watch and smile, as if silently cheering me on. Though I could sense there was more than that in her gaze. Before I could come up with something truly witty, she splashed me with the water, making me turn and laugh before I retaliated with the same. Taking it in stride, as she does with most everything it seems, she leaned back into the water, dipping her full body into it before rising back up, leaving me to sit and admire her.

Her hair was now damp, slicked back from her face as water cascaded down her neck to her chest, trailing between her bosom. Her nipples sat hard from the frigid temperature, a symptom I no doubt shared in. It made her all the more ethereal. It was then that I could no longer keep denying myself, if she would have me, I would have her. And have me she did. you continued, enjoying her recounting of your moment together.

I beckoned her closer, watching her swim to me to close the distance between us. Her hands came to rest against my hips beneath the water, and suddenly all fear was lost. She pulled me close, her eyes searching mine, waiting perhaps for me to make the next move. So I did. The feel of her plush, soft lips against mine will always be the perfect remedy. Suddenly the water wasn’t so cold anymore, perhaps it was the heat of her skin against mine, or the warmth rising within me from the contact. I’ll never be sure, but I knew then that I didn’t want the night to end. Not just yet anyway. She taught me that I could face anything on my own, that I could do it without Shar. In that moment my heart and soul felt truly free. No longer did I need to worry of Mother Superior and her demands, or of doing all the things that would appease her, I could instead focus on my own happiness, my own life.

I hadn’t imagined she would take me on the beach that night, or how enjoyable it would be. I’d read stories of lovers intertwining upon the sand as the sun would rise or set, but this was nothing like that. It was better. There was little fear of us being out in the open, we were far from our companions back at camp, and far enough away from town to be happened across. Despite the pebble beneath me, nothing stopped us from showing each other how we really feel. Her kisses lit my skin ablaze, feeling her bare skin against mine as she sat atop of me only made me want her even more. It was heaven the way she littered them down my neck, leaving my eyes to flutter shut as she made her way to my chest. There her hand toyed with one, as her lips indulged the other, her fingers pinching and rolling my sensitive bud as her tongue circled the other. How it had been so long since I’d been touched like that, how it had been so long since anyone stoked the embers brewing within my belly. With her they rose to flames, cascading through my veins like lava.

If her lips were soft and sweet, her tongue was most certainly the most sinful indulgence I’d ever partaken in. Her gaze fell upon me as she descended, her lips pressing sweet butterfly kisses along my skin as she moved, soon her tongue was dragging along my stomach before she was resting between my thighs. Her eyes looked up at me for permission, I’ll never forget the fire in her eyes. The look of being wholly and completely desired by someone. Nothing compares to that feeling. Nothing compares to her. Her heart, her mind, her bravery, her surprisingly…dexterous nature. As I bunk down tonight, I know I will dream of the way she held me, dream of the way her hands ghosted my body, how she brought me pleasure in ways I’d never been given before. Most of all, I’ll dream of the life we will have together after this adventure comes to an end, my only hope is that she shares that same dream. You finished reading, a smile resting on your lips as you turned to her. “You’re quite the romantic when you’re wine drunk” you quipped playfully. “You pest, I’m a romantic all the time” she joked in return, making you both laugh as you set the journal to the side. “That was lovely” you said turning to her, smiling as a slight blush creeped to her cheeks. “Do you really think so?” She asked timidly, almost as if she was shocked to hear it. “I do, your writing is quite elegant. You speak of our romance in the way poets and bards dream to encapsulate in their writings. Hells, I’d go as far to say you even put Gale’s verbosity to shame” you said, making her giggle again as she rested her head against your shoulder, both of you having well cleared through the entire carafe of wine by now.

“Tell me, did you dream of me that night?” You asked, making her grin as you grabbed her empty goblet from her hand and placed it to the side with your own. “Bold of you to assume, but yes, I did. You?” She asked, curiosity in her tone. “Every night. I often think back to that night, or to the night we shared after the tiefling party when we saved them. I think of you always because I share that same dream” you answered, grabbing her hand in yours with a delighted smile. “Good, because I don’t want this to end” she replied, looking to you as she said it, making you chuckle. “I’d never dream of it” you replied truthfully. “Best not, and that’s a threat, not a warning” she quipped in response, making you laugh before you pulled her in for a soft, sweet kiss. “Shall I prove it to you like I did that night?” You asked, making her grin into it. “I thought you’d never ask” she replied, her arms wrapping around you before she pulled you down with her as she fell to her back. Neither of you got even a wink of sleep that night, but it was well worth it.

[sjellyfish]

Manhwa: Hottie's Heel

Genre: Drama, Slice-of-life, Romance, Yuri, GL. Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐✨ (4.5/5)

The art is absolutely beautiful, and the story is pretty funny too. But the hot scenes? Insane! I loved reading this, and it was a quick read as well. Totally worth it! 4.5 stars!

[marigoldenblooms]

Thinking of FilmProfessor!Wanda taking fem!Reader home after class.. safe to say, An Important Lesson is getting another part >:) If you wanna be tagged when it comes out, lemme know! Read the first part here!

~~~

Her studio would be beautiful, yet you couldn’t even care about it as you feasted on her gaze. Heavy and dark, Wanda’s eyes would hardly know peace she’d take you in, kneeling naked by her bed.

Her fingers would raise your jaw up to meet her eye, crooning to you. “Look at you, Mommy’s perfect little doll..” Her voice was breathy and laborious, jaw flexing as you’d look at her with those doe eyes, and how your bare pussy had dripped arousal onto her floorboards.

She’d pull something from behind her back, and your pupils would blow at the implication. A camera.

“Want to make a movie with me, baby?”

[yandere-daydreams]

hey there, i have a couple writing questions i would love your advice on if you don’t mind answering!

do you have any advice for what to describe in a scene? i find often i’m writing the scene as a plot point but when i try to add richness to it i can’t figure out what i should be describing that isn’t action and doesn’t sound unnecessary to the scene itself

also, do you have tips for writing reader-inserts specifically? like reader characterization, perspective, etc.?

hmmm a question worth chewing on,,,, personally i have Can't Stop Describing Rooms disease and it is in fact terminal, but if you'd like to be a little more focused, you should generally stick to what would be important to the point of view character at that moment and how their personality would tint that description. for example, i'm currently working on a project with a main character who was formerly homeless, and she makes sure to note the amount of people, the number of exits, and the most ostentatious/expensive item whenever she enters a new setting in pretty sterile terms, since it's something she does automatically for a purely utilitarian purpose. also consider what would be expected/common place to a certain character. you probably don't look at your best friend and go 'that's joe. he's a red-head :)' every time you see him, but if you were meeting someone entirely new, you would probably note their hair-color/something about their appearance.

and just because i see people make this mistake a lot, do not!!! forget!!! to have your characters!!! interact with the scenery!!! even your most plot-heavy scenes don't happen in a white void, and your characters should be reacting physically/moving around throughout. just having someone pause to sit down or fidget can add a little depth to a scene that might otherwise seem pretty flat. writing is a 3-dimensional medium and we simply cannot let ourselves believe otherwise.

[violet-petals-in-the-rain]

If I had a nickel for every time non-consensual tentacle mpreg was plot relevant in officially non-smut novels, I'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot but its weird that it happened twice.

[castlebyersafterdark]

oh come ONNNN

person mentions him and finn being their fave and he doesn’t even acknowledge himself there he just goes on to be like yeah finn IS great

https://www.tumblr.com/finnoahsource/777096994208514048/little-mention-of-finn-with-noah-in-a-chat-with

i cannnnnnot

Wait that chat's actually real???? I can never tell with social media these days but oh my god. He's the best. Boyyyyyy 🫢

Also Noah is so sweet, love him.

[stevenose]

Eddie definitely throws little kinky sex parties. 60’s style where everyone throws their keys in a bowl and drawls.

no for real he gets down and dirty with them… he has a drug charcuterie out on display

[mcnored]

━━     ˊ     𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘺, 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝙙𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙤 𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙛𝙤𝙮. 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵.

general : 

full name: draco lucius malfoy. nicknames: draco.  age: forty-nine. date of birth: june 05. pronouns: he / him. blood status: pureblood. house: slytherin. alignment: the order of the stag ( undercover ). code name: dragon. occupation: auror for the ministry of magic.

physicality : 

faceclaim: joel kinnaman. hair color + eye color: blonde & silver. height: 5’9. other notable features: hallowed looking cheekbones, dark circles surrounding his eyes, pale complexion, & hidden/faded death eater tattoo on his left forearm.

magic : 

daemon (patronus) : dragon.  mirror of erised : there is peace within the wizarding world with his son finding the happiness he deserves. draco just gets to watch him grow & lead a life he never could or deserved.  wand type : hawthorn, 10” inches, unicorn hair. boggart : when he was younger, it was disgracing his father / today, it’s his son hating him or losing him to death.  amortentia : to be determined. 

family tree : 

mother : narcissa malfoy ( resurrected ). father : lucius malfoy ( resurrected ). partner : astoria malfoy (née greengrass) resurrected. children : scorpius malfoy ( adopted ).

head canons to add : infertility, trauma, death, dismembering mentions, & grief tw

when the second war came to a close, the malfoy name remained tarnished due to his father's unyielding faith in the dark lord. even with the pardon's that came following his mother's help toward harry, draco knew that there would be a cast over his name for the remainder of his life. at least, that's what he'd firmly believed with his father still alive. due to the family wealth, he did not have to hold a profession. for a great deal of his early twenties, he spent it without a job -- living off the family means. social gatherings came as a means for draco to mingle but with the lingering betrayal of the dark lord, most pureblood families turned their noses to him. lonely was the heir of malfoy manor. 

astoria greengrass came into his life unexpectedly. having been daphne's friend in school, he never looked at the younger of the greengrass sisters. she'd been a year his junior and his interests had always lied elsewhere. she was inviting. warm. her wit was as sharp as her tongue and he admired that she didn't dote over him. at least, not at first. she was different from most pureblood women. she had a kindness that seemed to be unrelenting, unlike her sister. it took about a year but in time, draco malfoy found himself in acceptance. he loved astoria more than he believed he was ever capable of love. 

they wedded at the manor one spring evening. despite both his parents being unsure of the marriage to the youngest greengrass, in time acceptance was met by them as well. he loved her fiercely. defended her honor even for the smallest of things. it was summer into their first year of marriage when she told him that she wanted a child. it was the summer that followed when they discovered that she was barren. 

it took them time to process that they were never to have their own biological child. astoria took it hardest, knowing that she wasn't able to provide draco an heir. he didn't take it as hard. he believed the malfoy bloodline should end with him. that was until the idea of adoption came into astoria's mind. she pleaded with draco to consider and it took him no time to oblige his wife, knowing that she wanted more than anything to be a mother. while he never saw himself fit to be a father, he couldn't ever argue when it came to her. 

for never believing in being a father, draco seemed to eat his words when scorpius came into their lives. a bright eyed, gentle baby boy that had a curious resemblance to draco despite not sharing genes. he was intelligent and persistent. stubborn yet timid. he was everything that draco wasn't and yet all he hoped to be. the malfoy parents fell in love with their boy. and oh, did draco love him. he was convinced he would never love anyone so much as he loved his son. he vowed from that day on that he would never be anything like lucius was when he was a boy. he would be patient, even when he had none. he'd be understanding, even when he disagreed. he would be gentle, even though his hands were stained with war. astoria would convince him that they would raise him to have no pureblood ideologies. that he would be accepting and honorable to all wizards and non-magical folk alike. never did he think it would be possible but -- draco malfoy agreed. 

there were many times after the second war that draco considered removing the tattoo that felt like a weight along his arm. though he knew that it was nearly impossible with the blood oath that he took when the dark lord graced him with the burning ink on his arm. he chose it, like the dark lord chose him. he often even considered dismembering it in the effort of turning away from all that his bloodline — that his father — got him into. when his son was born, he debated heavily on it. never wanting the curse of his family’s name to harm him any more than it already would. it wasn’t until scorpius was older that draco showed it to him in an effort to show him that he must always stand up for what was good. a lesson learned. a generational curse broken for a better life for his son. 

narcissa passed in the autumn before scorpius would begin school. her death came quickly. in few short months, he was grasping at the idea of letting go of his mother until it hit. draco never had been less prepared. she was buried in the malfoy cemetery, his father beyond himself in grief to the point where he was inconsolable. draco tried to extend the consolation to his father but in the end, their feud was years past the point of reconciliation. even if narcissa wanted it for them. he would grieve narcissa for a year after she took her leave from this world.

parenthood fit draco well, even if it took him a while to get his footing. he invested in every interest scorpius had. every talent, he wanted to help mold into brilliance. astoria and draco would soon find themselves awaiting every moment that he was in school at hogwarts to hear from him by owl. they would never miss a response to his letters. 

it was the spring of scorpius' rest from school in his third year when draco would come home from an outting at hogsmeade. astoria had explained her plans of gardening with their son while he was home, knowing that he'd enjoy sitting with a book while she tended to the garden as she always liked to. long forgotten was the headaches that were so persistent when their son returned from school. as he apparated back into the manor, the stillness was eery. the quiet outside the trees that swayed in the sunlight found itself to be dreadful when he called out again and again for his wife. for his son. no answer. just quiet. entering the garden was a memory that would replay in his mind for years and years to come. the blood that pooled out of his wife's ears, sticking to her ebony locks. life was gone from her eyes as their son sat still in front of her in a case of shock. ' what happened? scorpius, what happened?! ' his son wouldn't have the words to tell him until a week after they buried astoria in the malfoy graveyard. he would grieve his wife until his final breath.

lonely were the halls of malfoy manor. with just him inside, draco found that grief was all consuming when half of a person's heart was in the ground. sleep never came and when it did, it never fully took him. memories became taunting and the bed that was once shared in union seemed to grow cold. he would make his bed in his study. unable to share the same bed that once served as refuge for both him and his love. for a while, he felt like the ghost of malfoy manor -- roaming the halls until he found solace in numbing the pain with a tonic or two. he waited for scorpius' letters. he would reply hurriedly and would lay in waiting for the next to come. time never healed but with scorpius' aid, draco soon began to stand on his two feet once more. 

despite many efforts to rid himself of his past, he was met with quite a few challenges at first in the ministry. though draco had all the familial wealth to never work, he intended to become an auror to shed himself of the death eater name. with every challenge came the acceptance that he wasn’t doing this for anything or anyone else but for his family. he eventually moved up in ranks and when he finally was able to be trusted by the ministry, he was shockingly met with a dinner at malfoy manner made by his son. the pride that swept through him was enough to make him realize that even if his parents old, closed minded ways never changed — his true family would always be with the youngest malfoy.

[sultrydxrling]

Cool- but when I get bottom surgery, WILL you be on your knees tho?

[nobodyssoldier]

abigail  'abi'  wood's  story  began  with  a  romance  that  scandalized  post-war  britain  —  oliver  wood,  the  celebrated  keeper  whose  passion  for  quidditch  was  legendary,  falling  irrevocably  in  love  with  marcus  flint,  former  slytherin  captain  and  heir  to  the flint name.  they  met  again  at  a  professional  match,  oliver  playing  for  puddlemere  united,  marcus  newly  signed  to  the  falmouth  falcons.  what  started  as  fierce  rivalry  on  the  pitch  evolved  into  something  deeper,  more  complex.  their  relationship  played  out  in  newspaper  headlines and vicious rumors.  the  prodigal  son  of  the  flint  family,  dating  a  blood  traitor?  oliver  wood,  throwing  away  his  rising  star  status  for  a  former  death  eater's  child?  but  they  weathered  the  storm  of  public  opinion  with  the  same  determination  they'd  once  brought  to  quidditch  rivalry. 

their  marriage  blazed  bright  but  brief,  six  years  of  fierce  joy  before  marcus  abandoned his new family to return to pureblood society.  perhaps  it  was  the  constant  pressure  from  his  family.  perhaps  the  weight  of  defying  his  upbringing  simply  became  too  heavy  to  bear.  the  end  came  not  with  a  bang  but  with  a  letter,  left  on  their  kitchen  table  one  morning  while  oliver  was  at  practice. abi  and  her  twin  brother,  elliot,  were  barely  five  when  their  world  split  in  two,  too  young  to  fully  understand  but  old  enough  to  feel  its weight.  the  prophet  ran  headlines  for  weeks:  "FLINT  HEIR  ABANDONS  FAMILY"  and  “WOOD-FLINT  MARRIAGE  DISSOLVES”  oliver  responded  by  pouring  himself  into  both  parenting  and  quidditch  with  equal  fervor.  he  took  a  coaching  position  with  puddlemere's  reserve  team  to  maintain  more  regular  hours  and  never  missed  a  single  one  of  his  children's  milestone  moments.  he  was  determined  that  his  children  would  never  question  their  place  in  his  heart.

when  abi  arrived  at  hogwarts  years  later,  oliver's  reputation  preceded  her.  but  so  did  the  shadow  of  marcus's  choices.  her  dark  hair  marked  her  as  marcus's  daughter,  though  she  carried  herself  with  oliver's  quiet  confidence.  when  the  sorting  hat  touched  her  head,  the  great  hall  held  its  breath,  but  the  hat  didn't  hesitate  before  crying  "ravenclaw!"  abi  found  her  true  home  among  the  eagles.  there,  in  the  tower  where  creativity  and  ingenuity  reigned,  her  quiet  intensity  and  innovative  spirit  flourished.  abi  absorbed  knowledge  with  fierce  selectivity.  her  obsessions,  when  they  took  hold,  burned  bright  and  deep  —  she  cared  not  for  subjects  that  failed  to  ignite  her  passion,  but  those  that  did  consumed  her  completely.  a  fiend  for  magical  theory  and  application,  she  became  known  among  the  knights  as  their  most  innovative  spell  inventor,  crafting  both  wicked  curses  and  potent  defense  charms.

when  the  montrose  magpies'  scout  approached  her  during  her  first  year  at  hogwarts  university,  abi  knew  her  path  would  not  be  a  simple  one.  the  scout  had  watched  her  captain  ravenclaw  through  three  undefeated  seasons.  "once  in  a  generation  talent,"  she'd  said,  pushing  a  contract  across  the  table  in  the  three  broomsticks.  "we  can  work  around  your  studies."  but  abi  understood  the  reality  behind  those  words  —  the  brutal  training  schedules,  the  constant  travel,  the  impossible  balance  between  pitch  and  classroom.  she  found  herself  in  headmaster  longbottom's  office  late  one  night,  torn  between  her  two  passions.  he  opened  a  drawer  and  pulled  out  a  small  hourglass  on  a  delicate  chain.

headmaster  longbottom's  gift  of  a  time  turner  came  with  grave  warnings  about  its  use,  but  abi  approached  it  with  the  same  methodical  precision  she  brought  to  everything  else.  she  crafted  elaborate  schedules  that  allowed  her  to  attend  morning  practices  and  afternoon  lectures  simultaneously,  to  spend  evenings  in  both  the  library  and  the  knights'  headquarters,  working  towards  a  bright  future  that  would  never  come  to  pass.  she  wore  that  time  turner  around  her  neck  until  the  end,  though  she  never  used  it  that  fatal  day  in  the  dungeons.  after  her  death,  the  device  was  found  shattered,  its  sands  scattered  across  the  floor  like  fallen  stars.  the  knights  would  bury  it  with  her.

she  had  her  father  oliver's  tendency  to  get  lost  in  strategic  planning,  often  filling  entire  notebooks  with  quidditch  plays  and  spell  modifications.  her  roommates  would  find  these  notebooks  everywhere:  under  her  pillow,  in  the  dormitory  bathroom,  tucked  between  textbooks.  she  claimed  her  best  ideas  came  at  random  moments.  throughout  the  years,  she  developed  her  own  personal  shorthand,  making  her  notes  nearly  impossible  for  others  to  decipher.

she  inherited  both  her  fathers'  competitiveness  but  channeled  it  differently.  where  they  had  been  openly  aggressive  on  the  pitch,  she  was  calculating  and  precise,  preferring  to  outsmart  her  opponents.  determined  to  play  professionally  from  an  early  age,  abi  knew  the  ins  and  outs  of  every  position.  she  could  recite  the  strengths  and  weaknesses  of  every  professional  player  in  the  league  and  had  studied  recordings  of  matches  dating  back  decades.  during  practice,  she  would  often  switch  positions  with  her  teammates,  believing  that  understanding  every  role  was  key  to  being  a  better  captain.

in  her  section  of  the  ravenclaw  dormitory,  she  had  a  "wall  of  impossibilities,"  a  collection  of  supposedly  impossible  magical  theories  that  she  was  determined  to  prove  wrong.  the  wall  was  a  complex  web  of  parchment  scraps,  theoretical  diagrams,  and  color-coded  strings  connecting  related  concepts.  after  her  death,  several  of  her  theoretical  solutions  were  discovered  by  the  knights  to  be  viable.  the vast majority of her  work is kept  in  the  room  of  requirement as the knights work to properly develop her research.

her  collection  of  quidditch  goggles  became  a  timeline  of  her  career.  each  pair  was  meticulously  preserved,  with  details  about  the  specific  breakthrough  or  match  they  represented.  the  last  pair  she  wore,  still  hanging  in  the  ravenclaw  changing  room,  bears  the  simple  inscription  "for  the  love  of  the  game."  her  locker  remains  untouched,  her  last  set  of  robes  still  hanging  inside,  her  strategy  notes  still  pinned  to  the  door. her firebolt 7000 broom, modified with several charms and enhancements by abi herself, has been permanently retired.

upon  abi's  death,  her  younger  brother,  callum,  left  the  erinyes  to  rejoin  the  knights.  callum's  relationship  with  his  older  brother,  elliot,  remains  strained from callum's initial departure. unbeknownst to the remaining woods, elliot fell to the dark side years ago, acting as a spy and informant for the wraiths.

[lonerslug]

Hi! This is my first time sending an ask but I really have to cuz your work is SOO GOOD omgomg I love you smsmsm🩷I look forward to EVERY one of your posts especially spamming in the comments hehe🤗Would you ever consider writing something for Shane from the L word?

heyy! THANK U SO MUCH?!! u guys need to send me more requests 😔😔

i don’t really know if u want her to top or bottom.. BUT ILL TRY OK.

and i’m so sorry if it took along time for me to respond 😭 i’m busyyy

You Knew What This Was

You don’t know who kissed who first, but her mouth is on yours before the door even shuts. It’s messy and hard, her tongue sliding past your lips like she owns you already. You stumble back into the dark of her place, caught between laughter and heat, the taste of whiskey and smoke on her breath.

“You’ve been looking at me like you wanted something,” Shane mutters, voice low, biting the edge of your jaw. “You gonna tell me what it is, or do I have to drag it out of you?”

You smirk, tugging her belt. “What if I like it rough?”

Her grin is wicked. “Yeah, I fucking figured.”

Shane spins you around and slams you back against the wall, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make your breath catch. She pins your wrists up, body flush against yours, knee parting your thighs. Her mouth drops to your neck and she bites, open and hot, teeth dragging just enough to make you squirm.

“Already soaking through,” she hums, rocking her leg up just right. “Didn’t take much, huh?”

You let out a breathy curse, hips grinding against the pressure of her thigh. Shane releases your wrists, just to flip you around and shove your chest against the wall instead. One hand slides up the back of your shirt, yanking it over your head while the other pops your button, drags your pants down without ceremony.

She doesn’t undress you, just leaves you bent over, panties crooked, ass bare. “Fuck. Look at this,” she breathes, running her hand over the curve of your backside. “So ready for me and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Her palm smacks your ass once, sharp and sudden. You jolt. Gasp. She does it again, harder. “Count.”

“What?” you pant, turning your head.

Shane smiles. “Thought you liked it rough, baby. Count.”

You swallow hard. “One.”

Smack.

“Two.”

By five, your legs are shaking and she’s pushing two fingers between your legs, dipping into the mess you’ve made. “Fuck, you’re dripping,” she growls, teasing your entrance. “Beg for it.”

no answer.

She chuckles, low, dangerous. “Wrong answer.”

She pulls back and leaves you hanging for a full, torturous minute. You squirm, clench around nothing, desperate for anything.

“…Please,” you whisper. “Please, Shane, just fuck me.”

“There she is.”

You hear the rustle of her grabbing the harness, the click as she straps in, thick. The sound alone has your walls fluttering. She steps in close behind, one hand gripping your hip tight enough to bruise.

“Hands on the wall. Don’t move.”

She pushes in, slow, but deep, stretching you open in one smooth thrust. You cry out, forehead dropping to the wall. Shane doesn’t wait long, she pulls out just to slam back in, hips snapping against yours with a rhythm that leaves you gasping.

“God, Shane—”

“You can take it. Don’t act like you can’t.” Her hand wraps around your throat, just enough pressure to make your knees go weak. “You asked for this, remember?”

Your moans turn messy. Obscene. You can barely hold yourself up as she rails into you, her pace relentless, grip bruising, breath hot against your ear.

She pulls you back by the hair, forces your spine to arch so she can hit deeper. “You wanted it rough. Now take it.”

You come undone with a choked cry, legs trembling, body spasming around her cock. But Shane doesn’t stop. Not yet.

“Not done with you,” she growls, fucking you through the aftershocks. “One more.”

You whimper. “Can’t!”

“Yes you can.”

Her fingers slide down and rub fast, merciless circles over your clit. Your body jerks, overstimulated, but fuck, it’s too good. You break again, harder, vision white, voice raw.

finally. she slows, hands trailing down your sides as you slump forward, boneless.

Shane leans in, kisses your shoulder, voice low and smug:

“Knew you’d be a good girl for me.

_

Your body is wrecked.

You’re still pressed to the wall, bare from the waist down, breathing like you just ran five miles. Your thighs are shaking. You can feel the slick between them, the sting of her handprint on your ass, the throb of overstimulation still echoing in your core.

And then, warmth.

Shane’s hands slide up your sides, slow and steady, until she’s wrapping herself around you from behind. No more roughness. No more teasing. Just solid, grounding heat.

She presses a kiss to the back of your shoulder. “Hey,” she murmurs, voice soft now. “You okay?”

You nod, slow. “Yeah… yeah, I’m okay.”

Another kiss, this one higher, near your neck. Her nose brushes your skin as she exhales, almost like relief.

“Let me clean you up,” she says quietly. “Stay right there.”

You hear her move away, and for a second, you miss the contact, miss her hands, her heat. But she’s back quickly, towel in hand, her touch careful as she gently wipes between your legs. She takes her time. No rush. No rough edges.

“You were…” she starts, then stops. Looks at you, eyes darker but soft. “Fuck, you were so good for me.”

Your chest swells, the praise hitting somewhere deep. “You too.”

Shane laughs under her breath, she leads you over to the bed. She tosses the towel aside, peels off her harness and shirt, and crawls in with you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You expect her to grab her phone or light a smoke, but instead, she pulls you into her chest, tucks your head under her chin.

You blink up at her. “Didn’t think you were the cuddling type.”

She shrugs, fingers sliding lazily over your arm. “I’m not. Usually.”

You smile. “So I’m special?”

Shane looks down at you, smirks. “Maybe. Don’t get cocky.”

You both fall into a quiet hush. Her hand drifts down, splaying over your stomach. Her thumb brushes slow circles into your skin, and she hums, low and soft, like a song she doesn’t know she’s singing.

Then, out of nowhere, she whispers:

“You let me have you like that. Trust like that… it means something.”

Your heart stutters.

You don’t say anything for a long beat. You just press closer, hand curling around her wrist, grounding yourself in her touch.

“It meant something to me too,” you finally whisper.

Shane nods once. No jokes. No smirks. Just that look in her eyes, honest, wide open.

She leans in and kisses you slow, no rush, no hunger. just warmth. Her lips move against yours like she’s savoring it. Like she wants to make you feel wanted, even after the storm.

And you do.

Wrapped in her arms, skin still tingling, you let yourself believe, for tonight, at least, that maybe Shane is capable of something more.

Even if it’s just softness in the dark

[zolanibor]

Two more chapters. Including a three way and a rant on the physics of the multiverse

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61973245/chapters/158475352

[watcher-ofthe-sky]

haven't watched any episode so I cannot comment on the animation, but—and I realize it's a matter of personal taste—idk how people like 100yq anime's style. 😭 like I straight up abhor the desaturated colours because they make them look very static(?) and the characters look very moefied. (which, to be fair, they do in manga's art style too so I guess anime is adapting from that. but. still. you can do SO MUCH BETTER. make them look their age please)

[sexysilverstrider]

im happy that pokemon is a japanese game coz then i get to see tropes used in japanese media like silver being the tsundere. red and leaf being the silent protags. Ns existence in general. green being the cocky asshole turned big brother mentor. hop being the genki character with a tragic development. hikari being isekai-ed. cynthia being the beautiful big sister mentor. kotone-the protag-being the bubbliest sunshine who can have such dangerous pokemon. touko and nemona also being genki girls. lusamine being the hot sexy evil woman. wally being the shota who people will love and protect. steven being an oblivious heartthrob. the fact in every region we will have an ikemen character.

and then we have what is clearly the yandere trope: volo and kieran