#I’m rereading these pages screaming

[cokowiii]

Note to self: don’t try to draw and write shit with a migraine

Previous——More shenanigans?

[blue-boxes-magic-and-tea]

wondering about how lockwood feels that he doesn’t really have listening skills. and like especially how that ends up building up over the course of the series. lockwood doesn’t always hear what so strongly affects his friends. he has to take their word for it, and therefore he has to trust them SO fully.

TSS literally opens with lucy hearing a death so loudly that she has a strong physical reaction to it, while lockwood just leans against the banister bc he can’t hear anything

but do you ever think he worries about not being able to protect others bc he can’t listen?

[grapejuicestyless]

We Can Run Away

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Summery: She was everything he ever wanted, and she was clueless about everything he ever was. And somehow, they understood each other all because of the subway.

Harry usually wasn’t one to take the subway after a long night. Often, he was in some black van on his way to his bed minutes after he sang out the last note, the crowd still roaring with excitement from the set inside as he departed from the venue. But tonight, Harry was still wide awake after his set finished. Instead, he’d stayed behind, fixing things up backstage until the very last fan had left the arena, leaving Harry almost completely alone in the large space that was once filled with the love and laughter of anxious fans screaming his name.

So tonight, Harry decided to walk among the quiet folk and take the empty train back to where he was staying for the night. The subway only ran this late on nights like tonight. Nights where people were destined to be out late, living their young lives dancing in the pit and accompanying their children in the nosebleeds.

Harry hopped on the last train home, the emptiness of the car relaxing, his bag settled down beside him and a book on his lap. He found the atmosphere was a perfect place for him to wind down from his extended high, to tire him out and help him doze off peacefully tonight.

There was only one other person with him late at night. A young woman who wore frayed jeans shorts, boston clogs with bunched up socks, and the deepest red sweatshirt he’d ever seen. She looked like she wasn’t aware of the time, wide awake with a calm smile on her face as if the day was brand new.

The morning had just began to roll around, but darkness still covered the sky. Not even breaking three a.m. yet and still, she could have fooled him into believing it was nearly noon if not for the emptiness surrounding them.

She was no bother to Harry though, so he patiently flipped through his book, rereading some of the pages because his mind wandered off in the middle of the paragraphs and he couldn’t focus. But just before he decided to set the book down for the night and enjoy the rest of the ride, a soft voice spoke up.

“I love that book.”

Harry looked up to see the calm girl looking back at him. She had red lips and gentle eyes. The kind that pulled you in if you looked too deeply. The kind any person would trust blindly, and the kind that held a complex kind of innocence in them.

At first, he simply nodded, unaware of what he was supposed to say and not up for a conversation, but he couldn’t seem to pull his eyes from the captivating girl across from him.

“A Little Life, right?” The girl asked, persistently looking for a small conversation to fill the gaps of silence on the short ride across the city.

“Yeah.” Harry nodded, a small smile spreading across his face. “You have good taste.”

The girl simply shrugged.

“It’s a classic, right? I think everyone should read it at some point.”

“I don’t think everyone would enjoy it, it’s a little slow.” Harry commented, enjoying hearing the girls voice.

“Maybe.” The girl shrugged again, “But that’s what makes this one so good. It makes everything feel more real when it takes time for everything to crash down. The fall doesn’t happen overnight.” She defended.

“I take it you really love this book then.” Harry laughed quietly at the conversation.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

The train fell quiet again, but Harry couldn’t have gone back to reading if he tried. He placed the bookmark between the pages and instead took time to admire the way the book looked between his hands.

“I love the cover too. I wish I took that photo every day.”

Harry raised a brow, observing the cover more closely than he had before.

“I’m a photographer.” The girl added, and Harry hummed.

“What kinds of photos do you take?” He couldn’t help but ask.

“I mainly help with shoots for magazines. Vogue, Rolling Stone, Elle. I’ve been around the industry for as long as I can remember. Sometimes I help take photos for movies, which is cool, but mainly I just take photos for myself nowadays. You know, just letting my friends play dress up and creating the things I’ve been wanting to for a while.”

With the way she spoke about her job, Harry had not a single doubt that she held the most sincere love for the art she worked within. The kind girl talking quietly, but quickly about what she did and why she loved it, Harry wished she had kept rambling to him so he could have kept listening.

“What about you?” The girl asked suddenly, catching Harry off guard. He stumbled around for an answer before deciding on something vague.

“I work in music. I sing.” Harry nodded his head, watching how the girls eyes lit up in interest.

“That’s so cool, do you play shows ever?” The girl asked and Harry couldn’t help but bite back a laugh. He was sure he had glitter from his outfit he danced around stage in stuck to his face still and feathers from boas curled in his hair.

“Sometimes, yeah.” Harry smiled at the girls innocence.

“Do you play around here ever?”

“You ask a lot of questions.” Harry smiled.

“I’m just trying to pass time.” The girl responded quickly. “So do you?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, sometimes.”

The girl hummed.

“I’m Y/n, by the way.” She extended her hand, and Harry mouthed her name back to her after she’d spoken it. Just to see how it would feel on his tongue.

“I’m Harry.” She repeated his name softly like an echo as he took her hand in his to shake it.

The robotic voice announced the final stop, and Harry watched as Y/n stood in a way that mirrored his movements. He figured he didn’t mind the fact that his walk home wouldn’t be as lonely as he thought, and in fact, he found himself silently praying that she would walk the same way as him as they stepped onto the platform.

“I hope you’re not following me, Harry.” Y/n joked as their footsteps fell into sync, sweaty palms shoved into their front pockets and their eyes adverting each others.

“Maybe I just want to know more about you.” Harry smiled. He decided he liked the way Y/n made him feel. Like he was desperate for the next sentence to come out of her mouth. Like he needed to know what she had to say. But maybe he was just getting tired.

“There’s not much else to know. I live a pretty boring life, I think you’ll find.”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I didn’t say there was.” Y/n smiled, and Harry found himself blushing.

“I think the quiet can be good.” Y/n stated softly, looking at the way her feet fell between the large squares on the sidewalk. “It can be lonely, and that can be sad sometimes, but I don’t really mind it if I get to keep my peace.” She explained thoughtfully.

“Do you think about this often?” Harry couldn’t help but ask.

“When you live alone you have the time to think about a lot of things.” She responded, and Harry simply nodded.

“I like the quiet life too. It’s nice to step into the storm once in a while and see where you get dragged, but it’s nice to know where you’ll end up in the morning without a doubt.”

Y/n hummed at Harry’s response.

“I used to party a lot in college.” She laughed at herself. “Which is hard to believe now because I feel like my back was broken by a thousand bricks somewhere in my mid twenties but, I get what you mean. It was fun when it was cool, and when I had people I liked going out with. But I think I’d much rather prefer to know I’ll end up in my own bed in the morning.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh at the girl beside him. Her toothy grin and her crinkles by her eyes. Harry imagined her a few years back, he imagined taking her to all the best spots in the city he could rack off in his mind. He figured she would be the life of the party. She made him feel like the subway was some first class plane ride and the trash rolling beneath his feet was golden.

“Are you always this talkative?” He laughed softly.

She shrugged.

“My mom would agree. She said when I was younger I would talk to anything that had ears. Sometimes she’d catch me pulling the grass outside because I liked to braid it, and she said I would be talking to myself. But I always told her I was talking to the butterflies.” She laughed at herself.

“What about you? Do you always entertain strangers on the subway?”

“Well, we aren’t really strangers anymore.” Harry argued. Y/n smiled at him.

“I guess not.” She shook her head thoughtfully.

“I don’t, usually, though.” Harry sighed. “But you’re nice enough. Easy to talk to, I guess.”

“Anyones easy to talk to when they can’t shut up.” She joked, and Harry simply laughed at her for the millionth time.

“I guess so.”

As their laughter fizzled out into giggles, a warm silence wrapped around them, the humidity of the summer air sticking to their skin like glue. Harry caught Y/n’s eye every few steps, swallowing repeatedly as if by doing so, he would think of something else to say.

“Are you from here?” She asked softly.

“Somewhat. What about you?”

She shook her head.

“I’m from the east coast. The United States.” She said softly.

“Why’d you leave?” Harry couldn’t help but ask.

“The city wasn’t for me. I wanted to live by a beach so I left to where I could find that. But then I guess that wasn’t what I wanted either. I think maybe I was made for the city, just not…that one.” She sighed in the middle of her sentence, like the memory of home was daunting to her.

“What about London? What drew you to it?” Harry asked softly.

Y/n shrugged, her eyes flickered to the ground.

“It reminded me of home without having to be there.”

Harry didn’t know what to say to that, but she didn’t really seem sad when she said it. Almost like it was some kind of relief.

“My mom said there was something really wrong with me when I was a kid, but I’ve always liked who I am.” She smiled up at Harry honestly, holding her hands in her palms.

“You know, I like that I can talk for hours, I like that I apologize all the time, I like that I’ve lived out my twenties the way I should have. I like when my bangs grow past my ears, and I like running because it reminds me of running in the park, and I’m not sorry because I love the girl who looks back at me in the mirror because she’s a collection of everything she’s ever loved and I think thats neat.” She ranted, a smile on her face the whole time, and breathy laughter escaping her lips.

Harry wanted to say something, to smile and agree that he also enjoyed her sticking around, but she had stopped a few feet back, her shoes wiping against a small brown doormat with no welcoming message painted on it.

“This is my stop.”

“Will I ever see you again?” Harry asked desperately from afar, like he couldn’t enter her space if he tried.

“Maybe.”

“Well, I really like the person you are too, I’d like to see you again.” He added, his words quick and desperate.

“You know where I live, Harry.” She stated simply, a smile on her face.

And it was true, he did. But she wasn’t on his way home. He’d passed his house a few blocks back, and somehow he hadn’t even noticed.

“What if you leave again?” He couldn’t help but ask.

She simply smiled.

“We can run away together.”

[b3rrymilks]

𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 !

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 : a cute lil sleepover with your boyfriend miles :)

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 : <3 this was also requested by anon, so enjoy luv ! (sorry for all the angst on my page rn..💔💔) this is very short due to my mind not being able to cook anything longer up. my minds been a bit all over the place😭😭 sorryyy💔 ART CRED : thokzu on tt

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 : miles morales (1610) x reader

ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ

🕷️ while being conjoined at the hands, you both danced around in the pouring rain. your laughter filled the small space you danced in. miles was a nice change of pace in your life, ever since you’d gotten with him, things have changed for the better.

“you’re so beautiful” miles wasn’t usually the type to get all sappy without nearly having a nervous breakdown. “what did you do?” you replied, squinting and pointing an accusing finger at him. “nothing nothing, i just wanted you to know” miles laughed, watching you happily. this moment was cut short by his mother yelling. “MILES GONZALO MORALES GET INTO THIS HOUSE OR SO HELP ME!” her screams were louder than the rain. somehow.

when you two both walked into the house, rio had placed multiple towels on the floor so the rain wouldn’t get spread all over the floor. “you two—“ her lecture paused as she stared at the both of you. standing there soaked holding eachothers hands. “—get changed before you get sick.” she said, throwing even more towels at you two. “nowwww!” she added, watching you both still standing there, giggling.

what you two didn’t know, was that she watched the entire time as you two danced out in the rain. she found it heartwarming as her and jeff did the dame thing when they were kids.

miles wrapped a towel around you and rubbed it all around, creating friction to warm you up. “well, there’s no taking you home in this rain, my mom would kill me if either of us got sick.” miles spoke, looking around his room for a change of clothes for you. “uhh, here” he handed you one of his large white shirts, and fluffy pajama pants that his mom had bought a dupe of.

miles loved to draw, it was one of his favorite hobbies. he would often sketch you during class, as you would be nearly falling asleep at the boring lesson. no matter where he was or what he was doing he would always find himself drawing you. he had multiple sketchbooks already full, and every 2 pages there was a sketch of you.

there was something about the rain that was calming, making you tired. the rain definitely wasn’t going to let up soon, so you joined miles in his room as he completed his physics homework. he rubbed his temples in confusion. he had missed a few days of class, meaning he was behind in work. “you know it’s a trick question right miles?” you told him, giggling at his frustration. “no it’s not? it’s—“ he paused mid sentence, rereading the question. “no way…” he whispered, looking back at you. your giggling finally got to him, making him grab a pillow from his bed and toss it at you.

“hey HEY! it’s not my fault you missed class” holding the pillow up in defense. “you think it’s so funny hm??” he asked, picking up another larger pillow and threw it at you. loud laughter eventually filled miles’ room as you both began throwing pillows at each other.

his parents sat in the living room, listening to the laughter. “hope he’s done his physics homework.” his father spoke through an exhale, finishing his water. in honestly, they were all glad miles was happy and had someone to hang around with. (tehee.. get it? hang aroun? alr my bad don’t block me pls💔)

“okay okay fine! i’m sorry” you apologized to miles who was still hitting you with the large soft pillow. “i forgive you.. for now” miles spoke before falling onto his bed, pulling you close. his body heat quickly spread between the both of you.

soon the laughter died down, and the rain continued to patter against the window in his room. with slow blinks and miles caressing your face, you slowly fell asleep.

“i love you.” miles whispered pressing a gentle kiss onto your forehead, watching your chest rise and fall. “you are a lover boy huh? crazyyyy” his father peeked into his cracked open door. “dad! get—“ lowering his voice, “—get out.” embarrassment quickly setting in. as his father left, he closed the door. “he takes after his father.” he mumbled with a laugh.

[bubbiethesaur]

Hey, baby

Just a little sunhinged sketch for y’all

Laplace's Angel by Will Wood makes brain go brrrrrr

So this scene from Sun’s backstory made it into the start of chapter 16 of LRA, but it was originally much longer. I had pages and pages written, from Sun playing in the daycare with the kids to interactions with different people each time he woke up to scenes in Parts n Services. But each time I slipped it into the chapter, it didn’t work. It didn’t do justice to Sun’s story. So I took what I had and rewrote it, pulling in bits and pieces to create something that makes my heart ache every time I reread it.

But I also saved that original document. Once LRA is done (whenever that may be), I’m planning on releasing scenes, chapters, and ideas that never made it into the story on ao3, probably in a fic called The Scrapyard (lol). But for now here is a little excerpt from the original scene below the cut.

(tw: dissociation, graphic violence to human, reference to sa but not shown)

Sun looked at the bedroom door then down at his hands. There was something wrong with his touch sensors again. He was overloaded with sensations crawling over every inch of his metal coverings—the scratchy carpet and the tight leather harness and the horrendously gentle breeze from the air conditioner slinking through his rays. 

Too much input. Too much everything. He felt crushed and warped and overheated. He felt… he felt…

Angry.

So so so angry. His body shook, and the shriek of metal slicing across metal cut through the air. He caught his balance against the wall, digging claws into the off-white paint, as a second set of arms now extended from his waist. 

Strange. He thought those had been removed years ago.

The bathroom door opened and he singled in on the man entering the hall, shirtless and whistling in a way that made Sun’s audio input ring. With a startled double-take, the man froze, eyes popping wide and mouth hanging open in a ridiculous manner. 

“Hey, baby,” Sun simpered, waving all four hands. This time the smile that stretched across his face was genuine.

“W-what the hell, man?” 

Sun stalked forward as the man backed away, a lovely enticing hunger growing at the sight. 

“Are you ready to play something new?”

“What are you… sh-shut down, that’s an order,” the man stuttered, but Sun only crept closer. “I said shut down! Get away from me! Get away—”

The screams ended much too soon, even with Sun taking his time. The animatronic panted without breath as he peeled off the man’s skin, flayed him open like Sun had been every time he woke up. Blood soaked through the holes in the silicone around his hands, slick and warm in such a delicious way. He bit into the man’s neck just to taste it.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Silver Lining 8

Warnings: non/dubcon, speech impediment, bullying and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: silverfox!Bucky Barnes

Summary: You have an unpleasant encounter with an older man.

Part of the Silverfox AU

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You lose yourself in the trance of your work. Just like you used to in the office. You have a way of blocking out the entire world when it's just you and words. You have your fingers curled into your lower lip as you reread what you hope it the last version.

You have one leg crossed over the other, jittering as you scroll. A sudden squeeze on your shoulder makes you jump and you clap your hand over your mouth to catch your scream. You swivel in the chair to face the disturbance.

Bucky looks amused as he steps back, dragging his hand away, "sorry," his voice is low and gritty as he tries to upset the quiet, "I called your name."

"S-sorry," you nearly hiccup, "I was f-focused."

"Seems like it," he hugs an armful of books, "almost done?"

"Y-yeah, the doc-- sh-should be up-da-dated."

He dips his chin and his eyes narrow just a bit, "you alright?"

"Ye-yes, you d-don't ne-need to w-wor-r-ry," your voice cracks as you check that all the changes are saved and log out of your account.

"Just.... checking," he murmurs. "I just know..." he clears his throat and shifts the book in his arm, "when you're worked up, you tend to.... never mind."

"St-st-stutter," you click out of the session and the PC returns to the login page, "I kn-know."

"I wasn't meaning it as anything."

"It i-is what it i-is," you shrug and stand to pull on your coat then gather your purse and your zip up folder.

"I really hope you're not upset."

"D-do you?" You counter, "you d-don't have to p-pretend."

"I'm not," he frowns, "look, I know I was a bit of a prick before but I'm tryna make up for it."

"S-sure," you say dully, "i-it r-really is f-fine. Let's get th-this done."

He's silent as his nostrils flare. He looks around then looks at you, taking in your purse and your lilac leather folio.

"So... what happened to the computer?"

You look away, "y-yeah, it--it fell," you sniff, "I-I'll get s-something else."

"Explains a lot."

"Wh-what?"

"Why you're at the library. I get a very homebody type sense from you."

"Y-you d-do?"

"I'm the same way," he says, "I'm not a fan of the general public."

"F-figured," you agree.

He tilts his head, "I deserve that."

You don't reply. That's that. You're both socially inept.

"Ready to go? You wanna look around first?" He asks, sweeping back a grey swoop of hair as he it falls forward.

You shake your head. You're really not feeling well. You don't know if it's the lack of sleep or the dregs of your flashbacks, you just feel so off. Like something really bad is going to happen.

He gestures you ahead of him as he pivots on his heel. You take the lead and head for the front doors. He follows not far behind. He must've already checked out as the censors doing chime at his passing. Outside, you stop short, realising you don't know where you're headed next.

He collides with you from behind, grunting as his hand briefly clutches your side. He apologise and sidles away. The contact makes your face burn against the bitter chill.

"Parked over this way," He points ahead of himself.

You walk beside him and turn off into the lot. There aren't many cars and you wait for him to get in before you claim the passenger's side. He starts the motor and adjusts the heat, asking if you're cold but getting only a shrug in return. Your mind is far off and hard to rein in.

Before you know it, the car is moving. It isn't until the tires crunch of snow and he turns into a driveway that you fully process what's going on. You agreed to go to his place but why would you do that? Why didn't you ask yourself that earlier. Oh gosh, you need sleep. You need to get your head straight.

This is exactly why you're in therapy. It's why you're trying to change. You want to stop being that person who just lets things happen to them.

He turns off the engine and you just sit staring through the windshield. You want to go home but not really. Your family doesn't want you around to stain their perfect image. You're clearly better off with this man who can only tolerate you professionally.

“You okay?” He asks yet again.

“Yep, all g-good,” you shake it off. “Y-you said you h-had a re-re-recording set-up?”

“Sure, yeah, been working on it a while now but with the script coming together, I finally got my ass in gear and got the last few pieces,” he explains.

“Must h-have been ex-expensive.”

“Eh, I budgeted,” he pulls the handle on his door, “no use staying out in this cold.”

He gets out and you do the same. You trail him up the shoveled walk, glistening with a thin layer of sparse snow newly fallen. The house is pretty nice. It's not too dissimilar to your parents but there are no bright Christmas lights or ridiculous inflatable decorations on the lawn.

He unlocks the front door and holds it open, ushering you in first. You're mindful not to step off the mat as you bend to unlace your boots. He steps in close and slips out of his own bulky boots. He stands first as you balance your purse and folio in one arm.

“Want me to take all that?” He offers.

You shake your head and straight, “g-got it.”

“Right well, you want something to warm up first?” He unzips his jacket, “I have some tea or coffee.”

“No, th-thanks,” you unbutton your coat, shrugging off one sleeve at a time. He takes it from you and hangs it with his own.

“Okay, I suppose I should show you around,” he sighs, taking out his phone as a soft buzz vibrates the case. “Not this guy again.”

He ignores the call and slides his phone into his back pocket, “the studio is in the basement. Best place to soundproof–”

He stops as you hear a car outside. He brushes by you in the entryway and pulls back the curtain over the window set into the door. You huffs again.

“Can't take a hint.”

“I c-can g-go. C-come back later.”

“Nah, it's fine,” he dismisses you as he opens the door, “go home. I'm busy.”

“Ah, come on, Buck, you're gonna ditch me out in the cold,” the voice wafts back on the crisp air as treads mulch in the snow. The timbre makes your heart knot, you swear it's familiar.

“I can and I will,” Bucky avows as he starts to close the door.

“Wait, wait,” the footfalls pick up and a large hand catches the door, “I'm here on business–”

“I told you, Steve…”

The name plummets in your chest. No, no, it can't be. It can't be him. It's a coincidence. The peek of a rolex under his jacket sleeve is just a coincidence, the voice is not the same, just familiar.

“Just hear me out, okay? You're gonna love this project,” the man bulls his way through the door, getting a grunt from Bucky in return. “I'll even pay you this time–”

The man's voice halts as he senses your presence, your dumbfounded gaze, the whole word zeroing in as your ears ring. It is him. It can't be. This has to be a dream. He only comes in your nightmares.

He looks at you and you know. He's real.

[mistercrowbar]

I had a thought about an ascended to godhood Aldiirn and I think he’d be the god of a certain kind of fear.

I figure it’d be that kind of fear a fresh faced bard would feel looking out over a crowded tavern and realizing they’d never played infront of this many people before.

Or the anxieties of a diplomat trying to talk their way out of a deal while bound at the hands.

Or even some love drunk bastard trying to work up the courage to tell their paramour how they truly feel.

See it’s not just stage fright. It’s that deep down fear of failure and all that could be lost should you take that chance.

In those moments when those poor shaken sods think “by the gods please let this work.” That’s when Aldiirn arrives.

His help varies by situation. Some simply need the right phrase, the right chord, the right move, or even just affirmation that the only thing worse than doing it scared is being left with the “what if” for the rest of their days.

You may think a god like this would be one of courage and bravery, but you’d be mistaken. What it takes to turn fear to courage varies from person to person, but regardless if your audience is a band of killers, the love of your life, or an actual audience.

The fear is always the same.

He’d be the god of doin it scared. The Dalai Lama of the doubtful diplomats and dawning divas. The higher power of the hold my beers and anxious dears. He’s the little voice in the back of your mind saying “You can do it and here’s how!”

I can’t promise that he’d make the world a better place, but I can guarantee he’d make it far more interesting.

Anon how dare you write such beautiful things about my character. I’m blown away by this. Its so good. So spot on. It’s perfect. I’m gonna be reading and rereading all day. I’m printing it out and putting it up on my office art wall.

I keep wanting to joke that “you think Aldiirn is a scared neurotic guy now? Guess what he used to be WORSE,” but like, no, he still is “worse,” he’s just learned ways to cope and power through and get things done while scared. Not all his methods are healthy, and sometimes he falters, especially with the Rosymorn arc just piling on a bit too much for him to handle, but he gets through and comes out better for it.

And isn’t a tav there to help the other companions overcome their fears? What is Bardic Inspiration but a “you got this!” just when it’s needed? I’ve always loved bards for being a support class that uplifts the party, and Aldiirn is sure as hell gonna be there for his. He’ll be by their sides to give just the nudge they need to overcome their fears.

I actually just finished lettering a page form comic scene of Aldiirn and Lae’zel discussing the egg. And like. Yes I do play up Aldiirn’s fear of her for laughs. But the scene ended up becoming the epitome of “do it scared.” How Aldiirn was raised, subservience is survival, hence all the times he’s “yes, mistress” to Lae’zel. But to actually get through to her he’s gotta do things the githyanki way which is to flex your own clout and ooouuugh he does it but his mind is SCREAMING at him the whole way because this is how you end up ragdolling down the mountainside!!! But he does it. He does it scared.

Thank you for this anon, your writing is just, so eloquent. Writing’s always a struggle for me, but when comics I can just push an expression or all this feeling I have onto a page and hope someone picks it up and it’s just, so good when someone see it’s there.

Keep on keeping on!

[mazzystar24]

I totally get I just finished my exam week (I had to do a math test at 8am Sat😭). Wish you luck tho!

Also do you have any good buddies fics? Destiel too?

Math test at 8am is BRUTAL

Thank you I will definitely need it😭😭

Unfortunately I only have buddie fics to offer😔:

(Warning I do like a fair amount of angst)

Right where you left me - by hyacinthusbloom ( @thebloomingheather on here) - when I say I might be as big a fan of this fic as I am of the show I MEAN IT, you do not even understand how much I love this fic or how obsessed I am with it, I have reread it so many times despite it still being in progress that I think I may genuinely qualify it as addictive, me and @estheticpotaeto legit wait for updates like a dog at the author’s door istg, like everything about this fic is flawless and written with so much love and emotion and the way the writer captures the effects of trauma is just amazing because it’s so rare to find this level of diving into ptsd and the more uncomfortable aspects of it that are more taboo or less understandable to people, like I can yap for an hour about this fic but I’ll just say READ IT

Any fic by daisies_and_briars ( @cal-daisies-and-briars on here) but one of my favourites of his is Both blade and branch and muscle memory and four can keep a secret and appetency and the two she’s writing right now (change the prophecy and steal my sunshine) -wow at that point I should’ve left it as any fic because that’s a lot of favourites😭😭

Any fic by @loserdiaz plus with them you get enough lighthearted fics to even out the angst

Ooo I’m not sure what their username on here is but lizzybizzyzz is also another writer who I just love their fics

Fractals by hobbitprincess - one of those fics that make you squeak at how much love these fictional characters have for each other

Beneath my mother tongue by archerincombat - the angst the writing the way they hit every single emotional beat? Amazing

Anything by this_is_moony_lovegood

Leave the light on (I’ll be coming home) by HMSLusitania - the presumed dead Eddie fic of your dreams, a constant reread for me it’s just 👌

Anchored by adorkable_buddie - sorry Chris you gotta be injured sometimes just for us to get our buddie dreams hope you understand and we appreciate your sacrifice 😔🫶

empty, broken, lonely, hoping by daniweb - when I tell you I love the presumed dead trope you best believe I’m telling the truth because the ANGST?? Yes please, LISTEN it’s the closest you can get to the emotional beats of killing off a character without ever killing them off because you love them and happy endings too much so TIM MINEAR TAKE NOTES I KNOW YOU SAID YOU LOVE THEM TOO MUCH TO KILL THEM, anyways back to to the point this fic again is just flawless execution by the writer like absolutely love it

every time we stop talking (the universe starts screaming) by withmeornotatall - emotional destruction and I absolutely love it, divorce era 2.0 and it HITS

Home is where it hurts- by rileyblue2001 - can you tell I hate the Buckley parents because I HATE the Buckley parents

The one with the return of the sex addiction by buddiefication (pumpkincreamcoldbrew) - I’ve reccomended so much angst so have a funny little light hearted buddie fic with the father bobby vibes we all love❤️❤️

Okay back to the angst tho 😭😭- out of ashes by Ashavahishta - AHHHHHHH THIS FIC JUST AHHHHH STOP THE WAY I WOULD DIE FOR A FOLLOW UP FIC TO THIS AHHHH I LOVE IT SM AND ITS LEGIT A ONE SHOT I CRIED SO HARD

Falling Slowly; Sing Your Melody (I’ll Sing It Loud) by Princessfbi ( @princessfbi on here who I also love sm of their fics so highly suggest just going on their page and looking through all the fics) - absolutely love it, legit gave me brain rot and got me obsessed for a GOOD while

I'm comin' back, don't let me go by wikiangela ( @wikiangela on here also love love their fics again so check them out but this one is probably my favourite of theirs)

Okay this is looking more and more like a uni reading list so I’m gonna shut up now but I hope you enjoy these fics and that a few of them emotionally damage you like they did me because I love to spread the joy (see: pain and suffering) 🫶🫶

[training4theapocalypse]

Finders Keepers Ch 16. (Cormac McLaggen x fem!reader)

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: SMUT, PIV, Sex pollen / Love Potion so copious dub-con. Cormac calls Reader a Slut (during sex - not during an argument).

Summary: You want to celebrate Carmichael's return but you have anxiety. Thankfully McLaggen can always help you let some steam off.

A/N: We're really just killing time with the power of friendship (and smut) until the Battle of Hogwarts here.

Masterlist

Tag list: @countlambula, @ratsys, @aweidlich, @navs-bhat, @stainedpomegranatelips, @chiaraanatra, @xxvelvetxxxx, @ohnoitsrosie, @dracosisteer, @daisydark, @intense-sneezing, @lipstickandloveletters, @ichorai, @marmie-noir, @lolitstiana(let me know if you want removed at any point btw!)

Chapter 16: Relax

The party is in full swing as you sit anxiously on the couch, absently toying with the label from an unopened bottle of Madam Rosmerta’s mead in your hands. From here you can keep an eye on the front door and watch the others milling around in the kitchen.

You’re supposed to be joining in with the others, celebrating Eddie Carmichael’s release from Azkaban but when you look at the discarded Daily Prophet on the coffee table, a knot twists in your stomach.

Three photos dominate the front page under the headline “Mass Breakout from Azkaban: Quidditch Conspiracy?” Two professional headshots of Krum and Davies respectively, looking intimidatingly composed in their Lyon Quidditch robes and a picture of you in your Azkaban ones, looking quite the opposite.

You reread the caption underneath, although at this point it’s committed to your memory - permanently. 

‘Undesirables. Contact the Ministry of Magic immediately if you have any information concerning the whereabouts of the organisation known Dumbledore’s Army or the disappearance of Cormac McLaggen and Marietta Edgecombe. Reward five thousand galleons.’

“You alright, Keeps?” 

You look up when Alicia drops herself onto the sofa next to you. You nod and stop fidgeting with the bottle, trying to appear nonchalant.

“You’re not. I can still tell when something’s on your mind,” she says.

“I’m just keeping an eye out. I’m not sure it’s a good idea for us all to let our guard down.” You look edgily at the door. 

She chuckles. “You haven’t changed a bit. Always so serious - too serious. Relax. Enjoy the party.”

You purse your lips, holding back the rebuttal on the tip of your tongue. Her statement is half true but you can’t help feeling her assessment is an unfair one. You have changed. But to give yourself credit - this is serious. There’s a war going on and you’re all in here, partying as if it’s the end of term and you’ve just finished your exams. Nobody’s behaving like you’re wanted by the Ministry.

“I just think at least one of us should keep their wits about them. Just in case something happens.” Your eyes find the door again.

“What are you gonna do? Fight off the Death Eaters single-handed while we watch?”

“What are you gonna do? Get so wasted you can’t point your wand straight?”

“We’ll be fine.”

You look up at Carmichael and McLaggen, laughing together at the other side of the kitchen. 

Carmichael, even more so than you, bears the gaunt look of someone who’s spent time in Azkaban but his smile lights up his face so brightly that it’s almost easy to forget how recently he escaped. Your brow softens when you see him slap McLaggen on the back in reaction to some joke you can’t hear.

“Well, maybe something about you has changed,” says Alicia, watching you observe the two of them across the room.

“Oh, yeah?”

“I kind of had a feeling you’d settle down with a guy when your experimental phase was over.”

You snap back around to look at her. “It’s not like that.”

“What’s it like, then?”

You feel adrenaline rising in your chest, your body instinctively reverting to a state of readiness for one of your and Alicia’s notorious screaming matches.

“You know what, Alicia? You broke up with me so I don’t have to justify who I end up with or why.”

“Well, it might have been different if I’d known you’d resort to dating an idiot like McLaggen when there were no other lesbians left at Hogwarts. I could have at least warned you.”

“He’s not an idiot.” You hear scuffling at the other side of the kitchen and look up to see Carmichael and McLaggen play fighting, trying to put each other in a headlock. You close your eyes and let out an exasperated breath. 

Alicia laughs. “Come on, he’s everything you hate. Arrogant. Entitled. I heard he even got into an argument with Harry Potter when he wasn’t picked for the Quidditch team.”

“He was confunded!”

She pulls a face. “He was? He was reminiscing about the whole sorry tale with Wood and Angelina about it yesterday morning and never mentioned that bit. Just seemed to think Potter had just missed a trick, not recruiting the amazing Cormac McLaggen.”

Your stomach drops. He still doesn’t know. He doesn’t know that you knew Hermione Granger confunded him and never said anything.

“I’m not listening to you talking shit about my boyfriend - yes, boyfriend - when you’re staying here at his place,” you say and get to your feet. “You know, you haven’t changed either, Alicia.”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me why.”

“You’re still a dickhead.”

You hear her scoff behind you as you go to the kitchen and interrupt McLaggen and Carmichael’s boisterous laughter.

“Hey,” McLaggen says in a cautiously optimistic sort of way when you come over. “Do you need a bottle opener?”

“No. Do you have a minute?” you ask him and his expression becomes serious.

McLaggen puts down his drink and opens the kitchen door into the garden. When you follow him outside he shuts the door behind you and leans on the edge of a planter filled with lavender and sage.

“Everything alright? I saw you talking to Alicia. Didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Cormac, I need to tell you something.”

He straightens up with the demeanour of someone bracing themselves, pulling his shoulders back. “Cormac? Something must be up if you’re calling me that.” 

You take a deep breath. “Do you remember your Quidditch tryouts? How you missed the last penalty?”

“...Yes? Sort of?” he says uncertainly.

“Well -” You swallow nervously. “- Hermione Granger confunded you. And I found out and didn't tell you.”

“Okay?” His eyebrows knit together worriedly. “Then what?” 

“That’s it.”

“That’s what you came out here to tell me?” He laughs and runs his hands through his hair. “I thought you were about to break up with me or something.”

“What? No!” His palpable relief is confusing you. “You’re not annoyed with me?”

“C’mere,” he says, pulling you close to him. You stand between his legs and rest your forehead against his chest. His arms are like a warm, weighted blanket around your shoulders. “I’m not annoyed with you about school Quidditch tryouts. You’re acting like you confunded me - not Granger.”

“I should have told you or Madam Hooch or, well, anyone,” you tell his chest. “But I didn’t because I thought Ravenclaw’s chances would be better if Weasley was Keeper.”

He snorts a laugh. “Well, you were wrong. I was awful when I played in that one match, remember?”

“You’re really not mad at me?”

“You’re forgetting I already know how ruthless you are when it comes to Quidditch. I just can’t believe you’ve been feeling guilty all this time.”

“I sort of forgot about it until I was speaking to Alicia.”

“What else were you guys talking about? I looked over and, well, it looked deep.”

“Definitely not deep. She was just saying I’m too serious and that you’re arrogant and entitled.”

“Lots of opinions for someone who broke up with you and barely knows me.” McLaggen rolls his eyes.

“Do you think I’m too serious?”

He looks down at you, considering you for a moment. “I think you worry a lot and that it’s probably exhausting to live in your head. And don’t get me wrong, there’s a lot to worry about right now, but sometimes I think you think you need to be responsible for it all. And you don’t.”

You nod. “I don’t feel great about having a party when people like me are in hiding.”

“We’re still hiding. Or have you also forgotten you’re a fugitive responsible for my kidnapping?” He raises an eyebrow.

“And you’ll never escape,” you say, allowing yourself a small smile.

“I hope not.” He smirks. “What about me? Think she’s right”

“Entitled? No. Arrogant? Yes. But in fairness, you don’t have a lot to be modest about.”

“Lucky you,” he says, with that cocky look you love so much, waiting for your usual sharp retort. But you just bring your hand up to touch his handsome face.

“I am.”

“You’re supposed to argue and say I’m the lucky one. Now I do sound like an entitled dick.”

“I can’t believe you thought I might be coming out here to break up with you.” You’re not sure where you’d be without McLaggen right now. Probably holed up somewhere alone, or worse, still in Azkaban. 

“To be honest, that still sounds more plausible than you apologising for keeping a secret about Quidditch tryouts last year when there’s a war going on.”

“Yeah…” You frown when you hear raucous laughter coming from inside the lighthouse.

He kisses the top of your head. “How about you and I sit this one out? The Fidelious Charm is impenetrable. Everyone who knows about headquarters is in there right now. But if it makes you feel better, we can.”

And his words of comfort make you believe it in a way that Alicia simply dismissing your concerns and telling you to relax didn’t. Really believe it. That you’re safe. 

And that you’re not overreacting. That he gets it. 

Gets you.

You shake your head. “You’re right. I need to stop worrying. At least for tonight. Let’s go back inside and enjoy ourselves. Angelina, Wood and Alicia are going home tomorrow - when are we all going to get to do this again?”

He tilts his head. “If you’re sure?”

“I’m always sure when I’m with you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You weave your way through the party, chatting and occasionally accepting drinks thrust into your hands as music plays from McLaggen’s Uncle’s radio. You pass Davies as he leaves Krum on the sofa to get more drinks. You replace his empty seat next to Krum.

“I like this,” Krum says, looking appraisingly around the room.

“It’s all Carmichael’s doing. If there’s one thing he’s mad for, it’s a party. He was probably planning the whole thing in Azkaban.”

“Not the party. It is like having friends. Not just fans.”

You look at him a little sadly. He’s not expecting sympathy but the matter-of-fact way he said it makes your heart sink. You know what it feels like to not have many friends. It was only this year, after all, that you made your own.

“You can’t take part in a prison breakout without becoming friends at the end of it,” you smile.

He takes a sip of beer thoughtfully, looking at McLaggen. “At first, I am not so sure when he says you are his girlfriend. You are very bossy. But now I am thinking you are a good match. He is a good leader too. He fought vell in Azkaban.”

His unsolicited, backhanded compliment out of nowhere makes you laugh.

“Thank you. I think?”

Krum nods at Cho talking to Davies. She laughs hard at something he says and her long, shiny hair swishes in the dim light of the kitchen. “I also think your friend is very pretty. But I knew Diggory. They were together at the Yule Ball.”

“They were. But she can’t be expected to be alone forever. She’s had boyfriends since Cedric if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“This is good to know.” He stands up. “I’ll see you later,” he adds bluntly, standing up and making a beeline for Cho as if worried that any time she spends talking to Davies instead of him is an opportunity wasted.

Before you have time to be offended by Krum’s abrupt departure, Carmichael launches himself next to you, followed closely by McLaggen who slaps Carmichael’s head and squeezes between you. 

“Keep your bloody hair on. You could have just asked me to shift over,” says Carmichael, slapping him back. “You alright, mucker?”

You nod. “You’ve done it again, Carmichael. Some party.”

“It’s all I’ve been thinking about in Azkaban for the past month,” he says and you feel warm satisfaction - somehow knew that’s exactly what he’d have been doing without you there. “Needed something to think about when you done a bunk.”

“I’m sorry, Eddie -“ you start but absurdly he just laughs.

“Only winding you up.”

“I didn’t want to leave you there alone. I swear.” Even though Carmichael is just teasing, you still feel like you need to explain. 

“It’s true - it’s the first thing she said when she saw me,” confirms McLaggen with a slightly awkward look. “I wanted to get you out at the same time, it’s just that -“

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, alright? Maz got me up to speed, didn’t she? You broke into Azkaban for me. Can’t ask for much more than that.”

You nod. It still barely feels real. You did it. You got him out. And he’s doing… surprisingly well. “I can’t believe you’re so upbeat. I was a mess.”

“The Patronus every night kept me going. And I kept our old routine up.”

“What routine?” asks McLaggen, looking confused.

“You never told him about our very exciting schedule?” asks Carmichael.

“I’ve not told anyone anything about Azkaban, to be honest. Except the layout so we could draw up a plan.”

“Well, we’d recite facts all day and do burpees all night to keep sane. I think I’ve nearly remembered every plant from ‘One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi’,” reminisces Carmichael.

“That was basically all we did until the Patronus came. We couldn’t chat or anything or else the Dementors would sense us having fun. But when your Patronus showed up we could actually talk about things that mattered,” you add and squeeze McLaggen’s hand.

“You really did us a solid, mate.”

McLaggen nods at Carmichael and returns the squeeze of your hand gently.

As the night goes on, you, McLaggen and Carmichael are soon joined by Marietta as you catch up sitting on the fat leather couches. Leanne and Rodger Davies appear too and McLaggen pulls you onto his knee so Leanne can sit down, while Davies plants himself on a cushion on the floor. You look at the old grandfather clock - Krum and Cho have been conspicuously missing for almost an hour.

“You think they’re… they’re alright though?” you ask, looking at the kitchen window. You’re worried they’ve accidentally stepped outside the perimeter of the Fidelius Charm. 

“They’re fine,” insists McLaggen. “Trust me, you don’t want to stumble across something you can’t unsee.”

Just then, Cho and Krum burst through the back door in a more giggly fashion than you’d have expected from the internationally famous player.

“Oi, oi,” grins Carmichael. “Where you been?” They glance at each other and there’s an obvious silence as they hesitate. The only the sound is of The Weird Sisters coming through the radio.

“I remember this,” says Krum, changing the subject. “This vos the music at the Yule Ball.”

“Isn’t it funny that we were all at the Yule Ball?” asks Leanne. “Who would have thought three years later, we’d all be here together?”

Not you, anyway. For most of your time at Hogwarts, your only close friend was Cho and briefly, Alicia. Now you’re quite literally surrounded by friends.

A thought strikes you. “Who did you go to the Yule Ball with?” you ask McLaggen. You didn’t really know him back then.

He clears his throat. “Er, one of the girls from Beauxbatons.” You don’t fail to notice the sympathetic look Leanne gives him. Neither does McLaggen. “It’s alright,” he laughs. “I’m over it now. Really.”

“Wait, what happened?” you ask.

“Took his V-card and fled the country,” says Carmichael.

“Oi, it wasn’t like that.” Carmichael raises his eyebrows at him. “Alright, maybe that was the jist of it.”

“I hear that, mate,” says Davies and you give him a tight-lipped smile in commisseration, remembering how he was devastated when Fleur Delacour went home to France and never wrote back to him.

“What about you?” asks McLaggen. “Who did you go with?”

You shrug. “I didn’t have a date. I just went alone.”

“Yeah, but you never finished the night alone,” says Alicia, coming over with Wood, Katie and Angelina. “Remember?”

At the Yule Ball, Alicia noticed that you didn’t have a date either. And you hadn’t wasted time in finding out why she too had spurned invitations from the boys at Hogwarts. But you’d rather she didn’t flaunt it in front of your current boyfriend, who you notice, holds onto your waist a little firmer than before as you sit in his lap.

“I am thinking that I am not the only one who vos heartbroken after the Trivizard Tournament,” says Krum, and you’re grateful that the normally stoic Seeker has warmed up enough to change the subject again. He looks intently a Cho. “I vos sorry about vot had happened to Diggory.”

Cho smiles, a little sadly but she doesn’t look upset. “He would have been here too. At headquarters with us. He’d have loved being part of the D.A.”

As the night draws into the small hours of the morning, the group begins to retire to bed. Alicia, Angelina and Wood make their excuses since they’re getting up early to leave tomorrow. Soon after Katie and Leanne yawn and declare they’re tired and go upstairs too, shortly followed by Davies. 

“Right then. Party favours anyone?” asks Carmichael, wiggling his eyebrows at the five of you remaining.

Without waiting for a reply, he leaps off the sofa and runs up the stairs.

“Where’s he going?” you ask Marietta.

“Probably to get something from his bag.”

This perplexes you. “Where’d he get his bag?”

“I stole it from the Department of Magical Confiscated Items before I left the Ministry.”

“You did?!”

“Marietta Edgecombe.” McLaggen whistles, impressed. “It should be your mug shot in there.” He points to the front page of the Prophet, still open on the table. But Marietta just flips her hair over her shoulder with a proud smile as she hears Eddie trundling back downstairs with something clutched in his hand.

“Right, here we go,” says Eddie putting three heart-shaped vials on the table.

“Nope, no way,” you say. You recognise them immediately as love potion.

“Look, it’s different. You drank a whole bottle last time, didn’t ya? If you have half each it’s a better experience.”

You and McLaggen exchange glances. You don’t want to make a fool of yourself again.

“What was it like last time?” Cho asks you. “I’ve never had a love potion before.”

“What do you mean ‘what was it like?’ - you saw me.”

“No, I remember that. Vividly,” grins Cho, and you expect she too is remembering you trying to kiss her like a possessed maniac. “What did it feel like?”

“I dunno, I was in a weird state of mind.” You and McLaggen were broken up and you remember begging him to fuck you in the cubicle as he resisted your pleas. “But it still felt… good, I guess. Circumstances aside.”

That’s an understatement. It felt really good. You wonder what it’d be like if McLaggen wanted you in the same insane, feral way you wanted him that night. It’s not as if he’s shy when he’s feeling amorous but still, the idea makes your cheeks flush. 

“Should we?” you ask him.

“You want to?” He reaches across your legs to pick up the small bottle. “I’m not doing it right here though.”

“Good, I don’t even remotely want to know what your turned-on face looks like, mate,” laughs Carmichael before swerving a cushion that McLaggen tosses at his head.

“Are you guys…?” You look between Marietta and Cho. Marietta nods but Cho looks at Krum waiting for his answer. He shakes his head and Cho looks slightly disappointed. 

“Not tonight,” says Krum. “I vant to be lucid when I’m with you.”

She looks taken aback by his forwardness but it cheers her up significantly. McLaggen hesitates looking at the bottle but you press his hand closed and look at him meaningfully. Maybe, just maybe, using it with him could repair your so-far tainted relationship with the potion.

McLaggen tears his eyes from your hungry look and helps you to your feet. “Right, we’re turning in to get some rest. See you guys later.”

You squeal when he grabs your hand, dragging you towards the stairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You close the bedroom door behind you and lock it with a wave of your borrowed wand. You pause thoughtfully. “I’m gonna move the chest of drawers in front of the door - just in case.”

“A bit overkill, isn’t it?” asks McLaggen.

“I wanted to fuck anything and everything last time. It’s just an extra precaution.”

“Hmm,” he murmurs, turning the small vial in his hands and sitting down on the bed. “You sure it’s not going to be too intense for you? We don’t have to.”

“I mean, based on what happened to me last time, you know you lose most of your autonomy, right? All you’ll want to do is fuck me.”

“That’s all I want to do most of the time as it is,” he grins. 

“I’m serious. It’s like losing yourself and only listening to the horny part of your brain.”

He doesn’t look too concerned with this revelation. “Sure you want to do it again? You hate love potions.”

“I just hate bad experiences with them. Are you sure you want to?”

“I’m always sure when I’m with you,” he says as you sit down on the edge of the bed beside him. He opens the stopper decisively and takes a drink. You both stare at the bottle.

“That’s almost all of it…” you say, your pulse rate quickening, remembering how you felt when you drank an entire bottle. 

“It felt like barely a sip!” He holds it up to the light. “I think there’s about a quarter left.”

“That’s a generous estimate.” 

McLaggen is much bigger than you after all - maybe it’s fine if he has more. You take the tiny bottle, drink the last few drops and when the liquid spills down your throat you immediately feel it warming in your chest. The burning sensation sinks lower and lower into your pelvis.

You look at Cormac. God, he’s beautiful with his messy curls and his eyes focusing intently on your face. But his usually bright green eyes almost look black right now. 

“Your eyes…” you say, blinking up at him.

“My eyes?” He blinks a few times. “What about your eyes? They’re so pretty.” He cups your face with both hands. “So, so pretty.”

With difficulty, you tear your eyes off him and look at the door.

“Let me just move the drawers,” you say, turning on the bed to face the door so you can grab the wand lying on the other side of the mattress. “Wingardium Leviosa - oh fuck -”

Your careful movement of the drawers is interrupted when Cormac crawls behind you on all fours and clambers over you, squeezing your tits from behind and knocking your wand arm so they crash into the door with a thud.

“Wait - Cormac -“ The feeling of his hot breath against your ear as he nuzzles into your neck makes your cunt throb. You extend your wand arm towards the door again. “Muffliato.”

White noise buzzes around the bedroom door as you place your wand down and try to turn around to kiss him but his body cages you in, preventing you from changing position. 

Cormac roughly pushes your T-shirt and bra up over your head so he can grope the bare flesh of your chest from behind. 

“Fuck. You smell so good,” he says, breathing in the scent of your hair. 

You feel his cock pressing against your backside. You want his touch more than anything right now but there’s a niggling feeling at the back of your mind. The sensible, ‘too serious’ part of your brain is yelling at you. Calling you an idiot for locking yourself in. But the love potion flowing through your veins is shouting louder. Telling you to do whatever will ease the throbbing sensation in your underwear.

Your core burns when he removes a hand from your chest and you hear the gentle clinking of his belt unbuckling. He’s never asked to fuck you like this before - you don’t mean under the effect of love potion - but from behind. And without any preamble, insistence on eating your pussy first or sweet murmured words of how much he loves you.

Silently he reaches around and unbuttons your jeans and when his hand brushes over your pussy you let out a whimper. It’s only the lightest graze but your skin tingles in response. Cormac pulls your jeans and underwear down to your knees, not even bothering to remove them completely as you remain on all fours.

“Fuck,” comes his low, ragged breath when he sees your pussy - blushed pink, sopping wet and ready for him to do whatever the fuck he wants with you.

Suddenly his chest is pressed up against your back and the length of his cock rubs underneath you, along your lips and brushing your clit. Every sensation is heightened. From the way his hands find your hard nipples to how his stubble scratches your shoulder as he kisses and bites your skin.

You feel yourself getting stickier and wetter from the way he’s dragging his length along your cunt. Until you realise he’s barely moving at all - that it’s you who’s pushing back against him chasing the gentle friction while he sucks a fresh bruise on your shoulder blade.

Cormac’s hands cease their rough groping of your body and you feel him position himself at your slick entrance. The head of his cock slowly glides between your folds but you can’t wait for him to slowly sink into you. Full of longing, you urge your hips backwards, feeling a shiver go up your spine as he penetrates you.

“So fucking tight…” he groans as he grips the soft curve of your hips and you rock on your knees until he’s pressed flush up against you. You unsteadily bring your hand to your clit but he reaches round and pushes your own hand aside so he can toy with the pulsing bundle of nerves, begging for attention. The rough pads of his fingers, coated in your juices, dance against you in time with your rocking. 

Bright, white light - brighter than any Patronus - flickers behind your eyelids as you chase the sensation. You pant and whine under his touch, feeling like a wild animal in heat as you get yourself off on his cock. But why isn’t he moving? You had expected from the way he crawled on top of you that he’d be desperate to fuck you too. 

“Cormac, fuck - fuck me… please,” you babble, knowing how much he likes it when you beg for him. The steady rhythm of his fingers picks up, rubbing in circles all over your clit.

“I can’t - can’t -” He swallows.

You push your hips back harder, gyrating into him as far as you can, feeling the stinging stretch of his cock opening you up as your body cries out for him. You bounce back wildly against his still body and your pussy clamps and convulses around him. Cormac frantically works your clit under his hand, guiding you to the blinding light just out of your own reach.

“Why?” You sob, in a pathetic, drawn-out wail. You were sure he’d want you the way you wanted him in the Prefect Bathroom. The way you want him right now. But here you are, making an idiot of yourself again, the love potion making you act in a way that you know is embarrassingly unbecoming but your body doesn’t seem to care.

He grits his teeth. “If I start - I won’t - I can’t be gentle.”

Oh shit.

“Don’t be gentle, then. Fuck me - fuck, fuck…”

Pleasure floods through your entire body, the love potion setting every nerve ending ablaze as your orgasm takes hold of you. You don’t even realise how loudly you’re cumming until he grunts your name and you can barely hear it over your own mewling.

Your arms give way and your face presses against the sheets as you collapse in a dishevelled heap, catching your breath and feeling your cunt twitch helplessly in the wake of your orgasm. The feeling you’ve only experienced once before, of love potion evaporating from your consciousness and your thoughts becoming instantly coherent, washes over you as your chest heaves and intense clarity sets back in.

He pulls out of you and your hips slump down to meet the bed too. But the anticipated sensation of his cum leaking out of you doesn’t happen.

“Did you…?” You look over your shoulder and watch him silently remove his T-shirt over his head. He clenches his jaw as he takes off his jeans. Cormac straddles your lying figure from behind and his hands massage the flesh of your ass, roaming over your curves until his thumbs spread your pussy - still flushed and swollen for him.

“Are you okay?” you ask. He doesn’t reply - he simply adjusts himself, taking hold of his warm, wet cock. You suck sharply through your teeth when he forces himself down into your sensitive cunt. 

Oh, fuck.

You can barely move. You try to tilt your hips up, to find a better angle but his weight on your thighs presses down on you - hard. Maybe if you had a pillow to lie on…

“Let me just grab -”

His hand comes down with lighting quick reflexes and pins your outstretched arm.

“No.”

He grinds down on you, using his forearm to push on your back so you’re flat against the mattress as his cock rams undiscerningly against your G-spot. And you realise, as he ramps up pace, that he was fighting against the love potion, letting you cum first so he could finally give in to the urge to fuck you mercilessly.

Cormac’s hand laces through your hair and wrenches your head back. He kisses you desperately but you wince and attempt to pull back. He makes a shushing noise, his lips pressing against the side of your face. 

“Shh, just take it… take it… take it…” Every hushed insistence is punctuated with a thrust.

Jesus fucking Christ. 

Cormac is taking your permission not to be gentle seriously. Your pussy leaks as you forget to protest and your body willingly accepts the uncomfortable hold he has on you. His fingers remain firmly entwined in your hair as he fucks himself into you. You wonder if he can even register that you’re his girlfriend and not just a warm, wet fucktoy for him to do whatever he pleases.

You know he’s being too rough with you. He knows he’s being too rough with you. But right now he doesn’t care. You wonder if he’s always wanted to fuck you like this and it’s just that the love potion has made him lose all sense of how he should behave.

The thought makes your pussy clench - that he’s always been so loving and gentle with you because he knows he ought to be. That he makes himself hold back because knows he’s so much bigger and stronger than you.

And now…

You let out an involuntary whine and quickly feel yourself blush right down to your chest when he laughs in response. A triumphant laugh, with his teeth bared against your cheek as he continues to thrust down into your pussy, his hips slapping your backside so hard it stings.

Fuck, you’re going to cum again. Going to cum from being used as nothing but a hole for Cormac to empty himself into. His free hand slides under your chest and squeezes your breast roughly. It’s definitely going to leave a mark. 

Your thighs twitch as your G-spot is fucking pounded into submission. You can’t tense and squeeze the way you normally do so you just have to accept your fate and pray that his cock keeps hammering into that same exact spot that you’re so desperate for. You wonder if he’d listen if you told him to keep going.

“Please, Cormac - there. Keep - fuck - right there.”

“Yeah? Fuck. You’re such a slut. Such a pretty, fucking, slut,” he slurs his words right against your ear.

Oh shit.

He’s never called you that before. Probably because he knows under normal circumstances you’d curse him. But you’re in no position to do so right now. And what’s worse - for some reason, it turns you on in a way that you never imagined it would.

“Yes,” you breathe.

“That’s right,” he says, gritting his teeth. “You gonna cum for me like this?”

You try to reply in the affirmative but instead, a broken yelp is ripped from your throat. The bedsheets bundle up tight under your fists as another wave of ecstasy takes hold of you, dragging you by your hair under the surface. 

And then you feel the drop approaching without any indication of slowing down. 

An empty dark space filled only by Cormac fucking you so hard that his hips drive you right down into the mattress. So deep and so tight that the air is forced from your lungs under the sheer weight of him. Every part of your walls constricts around his cock, gratefully squeezing him, thanking him for making you cum like this.

He lets go of your hair and anchors himself to your body by holding onto your tits. He gasps and groans wildly, and with a few more deep, grinding thrusts he pushes as deep as he can, cumming deep into your cunt. You twitch involuntarily around his cock, the aftershock milking every last drop he empties into you.

Cormac’s dead weight collapses on top of you and he pants breathlessly for a few moments. Even though you’re crushed, you’re comforted by his warm body. But it doesn’t last long. He pulls out of you and lies on his side, quickly brushing loose strands of hair out of your face.

“Baby… baby, are you okay?”

You remain lying on your front and turn your head to look at him. His eyes are full of deep concern.

“Yeah, I’m - I’m more than okay… are you?”

“I dunno, I - I tried to hold back but… fuck -” He brings his hand to his head. “I - called you a slut,” he whispers.

You laugh and pull yourself close to him, lying on your side and feeling his cum leaking out of you onto your thigh.

“Are you sure you’re alright? The love potion’s not -”

“Yes,” you stress. 

He looks at your breasts, covered in blotches. “Oh, god.” Cormac moves downward and places soft kisses on your chest, so gentle it makes you giggle.

“I’m sorry.”

“I told you - it’s okay. Are you feeling alright?”

“Just - fuck - I never let myself lose control like that.”

Your suspicions are confirmed.

“You know… you’re allowed to lose control when you’re with me. I’m not that fragile.”

“But -”

“No, listen, I know you’re a gentleman and I love that you make me feel loved, even adored when we have sex. I do. But if I’d known you had wanted to just pin me down and fuck me hard before, I would have let you. Wanted you to.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You shuffle down to meet him and smirk. “I’m not saying all the time. You know how much I like being adored.”

He smiles and kisses the top of your head, before pulling you close.

“I don’t want to break you.”

“Psht, I can handle it.” you smile. 

You lie quietly, breathing in the warm amber and jasmine scent lingering on his chest. It smells like home to you.

“I can’t imagine what it was like for you that time in the Prefect’s Bathroom. I mean, after that, I almost feel bad for not fucking you back then,” he murmurs into your hair and inhales deeply. You wonder if you smell like home to him too.

You laugh. “It was rough. But you made the right decision.”

“I mean, fuck, I had you. And I still felt like… I dunno. Like I was going crazy. You were right in Slughorn’s class.”

“In Potions class? What?” Your eyebrows pull together in confusion, trying to recall.

“Way back in our first lesson together, when you said they should be banned -” He frowns. “- I feel sick thinking what would have happened if it was me instead of you who drank it at the seventh-year party. I was able to hold you but if it was the other way around you wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

You shrug. “I’d have done alright if I had my wand.” 

“Unlikely. I’ve seen you duelling, remember?”

“Nah, I wouldn’t have duelled you - I’d just have done a binding spell.” You mimic waving your wand. “‘Incarcerous’ - then you’d be tied up so I could just wank you off. Sorted.”

You said it as a casual joke but Cormac’s breath catches in his throat as he holds you. 

“What?” You look up and see his face has turned pink.

“I think…” He clears his throat and laughs. “I think that’s just awoken something in me.”

You gasp in mock scandalisation. “Cormac McLaggen tied up and forced to cum by someone who ‘wouldn’t have stood a chance’ otherwise.”

“It was you who suggested it!” He protests as he laughs and rolls on top of you, lying between your open hips. He presses his forehead against yours and you look in his eyes. They’re normal again. Devastatingly green. 

“Imagine the Daily Prophet found out that’s what I’d been doing to you the whole time you were here, kidnapped.”

“Stop, I can only get so hard,” he smirks.

Cormac kisses you and runs his hand down the back of your thigh. You suck on his bottom lip before grinning up at him wickedly. “Who’s a slut now?”

Chapter 17: Purpose

[swordfright]

do you have any c!awesamdream fics recomendations?

Honestly, I don’t have a ton of recs. c!awesamdream fic is mysteriously hard to find, and I also wouldn’t want to recommend you anything super E-rated in case that’s not your jam. Personally I’ve had more success searching the Sam & Dream gen relationship tag than the slash tag. That said, here are my no-brainer recs, most are gen with some exceptions:

inosculation by @theminecraftbox - canon compliant, reflection on how their relationship progresses during the prison arc, how c!sam’s authoritarian tendencies bloom in pandora, and the weird symbiosis he and dream achieve. technically not a slash fic but like it is To Me!!

saltwater on rock by @elmhat - also not technically a slash fic but it is a fun exploration of their relationship post-prison: who are they to each other, now that they aren’t prisoner and warden? what power has dream reclaimed, what power has sam ceded? or is it the other way around? fun stuff.

the trees deny themselves nothing by @lookinghalfacorpse - if you’re asking for recs you’ve probably already read this one (it’s basically THE awesamdream fic at this point) but i think it lends itself to re-readability! and if you haven’t read it: dream loses his leg in pandora, phil n techno conscript sam to make him a new one after the jailbreak, things get interesting. OP also wrote a post-fic oneshot which you can read here.

everlasting evermore by @elmhat - incomplete atm and also not slash but definitely awesamdream vibes. sam is a sad widower king who interrogates dream in his dungeon so it scratches the fantasy itch. this fic does some cool things with the cloning lab lore and i’m really excited to see where it goes!

21 steps in the desert by @airrec - banger. it's short so i won't describe it in detail. banger tho!

scream eureka by @cgogs - basically a post-canon domestic horror fic, sam and dream are married (with a kid on the way) but neither of them is able to move on from pandora. this fic deals with issues of bodily autonomy very well and it’s also refreshing to see trans pregnancy handled with tact, rather than treated like a fetish or a joke. IIRC this fic is an AU of an AU so be warned, it does come with like 30 pages of background lore which isn't necessary to understand the fic but does make it easier to follow.

all these lives by @lookinghalfacorpse - reincarnation drabble, plays with sam’s obsession in fun ways. not really sure how else to describe this one but i reread it sometimes! it’s good!

you don't have to be like that by @dr3amofagame - incomplete, i haven't reread this one in a while but i remember enjoying it at lot! dream gives sam the book in a moment of desperation and then has to navigate the fallout.

accident by @airrec - another fave. concise, fucked up, and very well written.

i’ve also been working on a multichap awesamdream fic (am i allowed to rec my own fics??? is that too cringe??) that’s gonna be wrapping up soon. pandora's vault gains sentience, that's the whole plot. like most of the other works on this list, it’s not technically ship fic but it is very much about sam and dream’s...situation. full warning tho, it’s long and rambly and weird, sorry for that!

i also wanna add that pretty much any fic that explores the scrapped lore is gonna have to deal with awesamdreamisms by necessity, owing to the nature of, well, the lore. there's a decent amount of fics about it, here's one that I found recently and enjoyed a lot.

Have fun, mind the tags. And if you find more then by all means, feel free to add to this post! I know there's a lot of tumblr-exclusive content floating around out there that can be harder to find than stuff on AO3.

Also, it's worth mentioning that some of the most compelling c!awesamdream content I've read were brief interludes in fics about much broader subjects in the fandom; I've read a lot of great c!awesamdream moments in c!rivals fics, prison trio fics, c!dnf fics, etc. So my advice is to cast your net wide, if that makes sense? Happy reading!

[mars-mystic]

Hiii Glance is something I hadn't considered before at all, wanna share some of the appeal?

I am very confused but intrigued

I’m gonna let you in on a little secret nonny, follow me. *takes you by the hand and leads you through many well lit corridors, ending with a final door. It is simple, but welcoming, already propped open for you.*

This is where the magic happens. *you step into a room. It is brightly lit, and filled with animate conversation. However, neither George nor Lance is anywhere to be found*

What’s this, you say. I thought you were gonna show me the appeal of glance. *I nod, cryptically*

I am. *as we walk around the room you begin to notice a large group forming around one corner. As we walk by, a massive cheer goes up, turning everybody’s heads*

What was that, you ask.

They did a thing, I say, grinning. We’ll come back once you’ve finished your tour. *we walk around the room in companionable silence, a few eyes on us, watching me, watching you.*

Do you get it now?

It’s just a bunch of people in a room, you say, confused. I wanted the appeal. Tell me about their history, their canon events. Do they even interact at all?

Oh that doesn’t matter, I say with a smile. It’s all about the people. The community. We built this place for ourselves, for our stories. So that we could share them with each other, and you. That’s the appeal. Glance is whatever you want to make of it.

***

Ok but listen up. They do have history. The raced together all the time as kids. They have a rivalry. They were somehow always around each other. They share a birth year. They never talk to each other anymore. Doesn’t it make you curious? Don’t you wonder what happened? What’s going on?

That’s the beauty of glance, how little we know about them. We don’t know their full history, but we know enough to be compelled. The rest is all guesswork babeyy, and it’s FUN. (I’m sure there are people out there who could give you a better idea of their history, but that’s not me. I’m not the historian, I’m the propaganda department).

Their capacity for rivals to lovers is unMATCHED. One sided hatred, one sided rivalries. They are opposites. They are the same. Uptight vs laidback. Cares sooooooo much vs doesn’t give a shit. It shouldn’t work but it DOES.

They are both insane, but in different ways. Insane4Insane. It’s about balance.

***

Shall we peruse the bookshelf? When I got here we only had one (maybe two) pages on ao3. Now we’re at five and counting (let’s go squad!). List is obviously abridged and also woefully incomplete. (I’m not saying this is y’all’s BEST fic (i mean it might be), I’m saying I’m just a girl. Also don’t ask what the categories mean. They are based vaguely on publishing dates but also vibes.

Early works

1. Parallel Players by crimandclove (@parallelplayers). This TOME was my first intro to glance and let me just say… it was convincing. Compelling. Some would say life changing (I would). This is THE glance bible. Pretty sure all of us have drawn at least a little bit of inspo from it for our own fics (I know I have).

2. cheque please by weegreenbean (@weegreenbean)

I would be remiss in talking about glance without mentioning my beloved. Doing god’s work over in strollonso but also over here in glance nation. Shoutout to this one because I read it last night, and it is textbook Early Glance™️. And because you couldn’t pay me to pick a favourite, there are too many to choose from.

3. Kamikaze by pitconfirm (@pitconfirm). Now with sequel. And both make me want to scream. One of the first fics I read when I got here.

4. The Worst Way to Love Somebody is Quietly by LilShiro (@lil-shiro). Ok I also read this one last night. But it’s soooooooooo them.

Post-modern Reformation (or whatever)

1. off-schedule by Anonymous. Always worth a reread. Always making me insane

2. good luck, babe! by Anonymous. Another fic I read last night. This might just be a list of fics I read last night, now that I think of it.

3. Superposition by girlcowboy3 (@girlcowboy3)

4. I tried so hard to remember where, when, why, how- by abovecalamity (@abovecalamity)

Special Notes

- There is an abundance of girl!george and/or girl!lance fics around. I mean… it is rule 63. Only fair. They are ALL amazing, go check them out

- glance is where I first found out about the soulmate goose trope. That was an… odd but fun period in my life.

- some of you guys have a lot to say (which I love), but you only get ONE mention. HOWEVER I would highly recommend clicking on the little author name button and seeing where that gets you.

Thank you for the ask nonny, hope to see you around (whoever you may be). My inbox is open if you ever wanna chat <3

[the-heart-of-a-monster]

Before I begin, I wanna say that I already sent an ask that was an unfinished version of this. I had to painstakingly go into Google Docs and copy/paste all my writing/theorizing on here because for some reason when I write a slightly long ask my tumblr just has a meltdown. I meant to delete that first ask and send this one instead, but I couldn’t see anything because of said meltdown and accidentally sent it. Hope you see this finished version instead! Would be really embarrassing if you didn’t…

So yeah. Everything after this is copy-pasted and then continued from the unfinished version. Thanks for your patience!

———

Yes yes, I’m back! I disappeared again for a while but I have returned once more to offer my theories and thoughts! And oh boy do I have thoughts…

Okay so first off I wanna disregard what I said last time about Sonic asking for Shadow to come inside earlier because uhh… Idk what I was thinking. Wow. Hot take from me lol. Guess I was losing the hype from rereading the page a buncha times in a row or something, because I don’t know what I was implying with that. So uh yeah sorry about that I guess.

Anywhizzle with that thankfully out of the way, I can continue on to the meat of these new pages! Sonic himself.

Bro needs himself a snickers-

I’m kidding, (No I’m not) but with jokes aside, this page just gave us something huge! Not only can Sonic transform in the daytime now with limited shade, but he can also transform if he feels just the slightest bit of negativity/anger, and he also doesn’t even turn into a Werehog anymore! He’s gone full Gaia mode now! He honestly looks like a coyote mixed with a wolf if you squint. Pretty cool! But this honestly just opens up so many more doors for so many more questions! What does this mean for Dark Gaia? Will it affect Chip? Can Sonic turn back into his hedgehog self? If so, is it based on a time limit, his emotions, or can he turn back whenever he wants to? Does he even know that he’s transformed yet? Does he know it’s him? AAAAAUUUUGHHGHHH SO MANY QUESTIONSSSSSSS!!!!! 😫

I do also wanna say that Sonic is so definitely right. I don’t really remember what Shadow said, but I do know it wasn’t this. Instead of Sonic ignoring his problems, now it’s Shadow, and that’s the exact opposite of what this whole entire comic has been about. Throughout this series, Shadow has always been the more level-headed of the three, (Sonic Chip and Shadow) and he was always the one to help Sonic get through the night when he transformed into the Werehog. I think he even wanted to spill the beans to someone once or twice, but refrained because he just couldn’t do that to Sonic. Pretty sure I’m remembering things wrong on that front though so. But you get the idea. Shadow ignoring his behavior and ignoring Sonic after everything they went through together… It isn’t like him. Yes, he’s a loner. Yes, he’s pretty edgy. Yes, he’s an idiot. But he isn’t stupid. He isn’t ignorant. Shadow is not like this.

Now Shadow trying to explain away his anger and behavior towards Sonic and his distance by saying “Oh, well, I just got really pissed and I lost control.” But then Sonic hits him with the Uno Reverse and transforms into his new Gaia form right in front of his face, snarling at him and getting all angry in front of the ebony hedgehog, hardly saying anything but a few clipped words. Sonic sees the hypocrisy in Shadow’s words and is not about to let him live it down. He sees the guilt, sees the negativity, and knows.

Which is why, when he turns into probably the scariest version of himself so far for the first time ever, he doesn’t scream or howl in pain or act irrational about it. Sonic, despite everything that’s been going on, remains in control of himself and his actions. He stares down at Shadow and says “And…?” As if he’s making a point. Like he’s calling someone out for their crimes or whatever. And he is. To Sonic, Shadow’s ignorance is like a slight on himself, a quick jab at Sonic’s character. And after everything they’ve been through and after what just happened in the cave, the blue blur ain’t gonna take such an insult very well. But again, despite his anger and despite himself and despite his brand new transformation, Sonic doesn’t really lash out at Shadow, instead showing him that “Losing control” is not a good excuse. Shadow may have lost control of his body, but to Sonic, that’s just an everynight thing now. He doesn’t care about that, doesn’t care about what Shadow looked like or how he felt, and instead cared about his actions.

I’ve been going on and on for a long while now with my “Sonic still is going to hide his emotions and feels like crap and still feels bad about himself” mantra, but this scene in particular is making me reconsider that. I feel like before all this happened, Sonic wouldn’t do what he just did now. I don’t think he would be so blunt/careless. I mean he isn’t being careless, there just isn’t really a better way to explain it. Beforehand, Sonic would’ve believed such an excuse and would’ve been like “Oh yeah I guess that makes sense.” But now he seems a lot more controlled, a lot more in his element. He seems more like himself. 

Despite everything, it’s still him.

So maybe Sonic is learning. Maybe Sonic is growing. Maybe he’s finally understanding that he’s still himself and that he doesn’t have to hide. Or maybe I’m being too hopeful and sleep-deprived to really get the true message. I don’t know. 🤷‍♀️ 

All in all, this took me half an hour to get through due to technical difficulties and because I had to put my sleep-deprived brain to work for this one so I am gonna leave it here and brush my teeth. Thank you so much for reading this hunk of junk, means a lot to me! Have a great day/night!

(I’m also so excited for the next page lol)

by chaos, despite everything, it’s still him.

[painted-fanbird]

In preparation for The Color of Revenge dropping in October, I’m rereading the entire Inkheart trilogy and oh my WORD I’m literally only one chapter into Inkheart and I’m going to SCREAM.

ITS SO GOOD <3

Cornelia’s prose is just as breathtaking as I remember, the scream I SCRUMPT when Dustfinger (my beloved <3) appeared on literally page 2, and I’m feeling a little insane about Mo’s distaste for fire. Of course it’s partly because book burning, but I do wonder if part of it is because it’s so heavily associated with Dustfinger he can’t help but think of him, and by extension Resa, whenever he sees it…

Also my books have what I believe is the OG cover, and I’m living for how part of the foiled decorative bits aren’t foiled. Like the book is old and worn. Love that <3

[ampresandian]

My (unofficial) PJO season 2 episode 5 script part 1/4 (connected to this post)

Please ignore any and all spelling/grammar errors, I thought about rereading/editing and decided not to so you're looking at basically a first draft. I would love to hear if you think anything is out of character or doesn't really make sense, but a lot of it is basically straight from the book.

Images of script and copied text (bc I'm lazy and don't want to write out alt text) under the cut, just in case I didn't get enough spoiler warning or people aren't interested <3

Annabeth Tries to Swim Home

FADE IN: INT. DARK VICTORIAN HOUSE - NIGHT. 

A YOUNG ANNABETH runs down the hallway. A storm can be heard outside. She stops, looking behind her, then frantically all around. 

YOUNG ANNABETH: Luke? Thalia? 

Someone in the house screams. 

Annabeth begins running again. She turns a corner, finding herself in a study. The walls are lined with half-empty bookshelves, books and loose pages all over the floor. The antique desk in the middle of the room is broken, the chair overturned. Heavy velvet curtains block the light out, but one sways, as if the window behind it is broken. 

Annabeth backs out of the room slowly, then runs back the other way. 

She gasps for breath, but makes very little noise. 

Annabeth runs up a flight of stairs, into a new hallway that looks just like the one she just came from. As she enters different rooms, she hears her friends over the storm. 

GROVER (O.S.): Luke!

LUKE (O.S.): Thalia!

THALIA (O.S.): Annabeth!

Annabeth is still running, turning corners over and over. She enters a nursery with a broken crib and wooden toys strewn all over the floor. She runs through a dressing room with a mirror shattered on the carpet. She backtracks out of a bathroom with a cracked claw-foot tub and blood dried on the floor. 

THUNDER crashes outside. 

CYCLOPS laughs ominously off screen. Annabeth runs faster. 

She turns a corner and has to catch herself with her hands to stop from running into a wall. She pauses, breathing heavily as she looks down another dark hallway. 

THALIA AND LUKE (O.S.): Annabeth!

THALIA (CONT, O.S.): Run--

Annabeth starts running again. 

DISSOLVE TO: EXT. QUEEN ANNE’S REVENGE – NIGHT.

Camera pans down from black sky, pausing on Hercules constellation. ANNABETH and PERCY are standing on the deck, near the steering wheel. 

ANNABETH: (Turning from the stars to look at Percy) Percy.

Percy, who has been looking out at the sea, watching for monsters, looks at Annabeth. 

ANNABETH (CONT): Can I ask for a favor?

PERCY: You just saved my life.

ANNABETH: Soon... We should be coming near the Sirens’ Island. When we’re in range of their song… (Staring at the tub of candle wax across the deck) I want to hear them.

PERCY: Why? Don’t their voices kill people?

ANNABETH: They lure people in, Seaweed Brain. The song doesn’t kill you, you die when you jump overboard. The myths say they’re so enchanting because they sing the truth about what you desire. Things you don’t even know about yourself. If you survive...

Annabeth looks out at the sea. Percy looks at Annabeth.

ANNABETH (CONT): You become wiser. I want to hear them. (Makes eye contact with Percy) How often will I get that kind of chance?

PERCY: (After a thoughtful pause) Okay.

ANNABETH: Okay?

PERCY: Okay. It makes sense. If anyone would want to hear it, it would be you. What’s your plan?

ANNABETH: You’ll have to tie me to the mast. And, Percy, I’m going to want to get free. I’m going to beg, but you can’t untie me. I’ll just go straight over the edge to drown myself.

PERCY: (trying for levity) Are you trying to tempt me?

ANNABETH: Promise me, Percy.

PERCY: You don’t have to worry about it, Wise Girl. You won’t get away from me that easily.

They look at each other. 

PERCY (CONT): How long until we get there?

ANNABETH: A few hours, I think. You should go below. Get some rest. (before Percy can argue) Go, Percy.

Percy heads below deck, settling into a hammock in the Captain’s Quarters. He closes his eyes and falls asleep.

CUT TO: INT. PRINCESS ANDROMEDA STATEROOM – NIGHT

PERCY stands alone in the dark room. Near the windows is the golden sarcophagus, glowing faintly.

VOICES (INDETERMINATE): Beware. 

VOICES overlap and echo.

KRONOS: (laughing) You don’t have the courage, young hero.

Percy uncaps his sword, but remains frozen in place.

KRONOS (CONT): You can’t stop me. 

Percy struggles against his frozen legs, clearly frustrated. 

THALIA: (appearing suddenly) Well? Are we going to stop him or not

Voices continue their echo in the background. Percy stares at the unknown girl, clearly trying to solve the puzzle of who she is. 

THALIA (CONT): Well? Come on, dude.

Percy remains frozen. THALIA approaches the sarcophagus, sword and shield at the ready. Percy tries to call out for her to stop, but no sound comes out of his mouth. The voices crescendo. 

Thalia opens the sarcophagus, staring down at the golden glow in horror. 

THALIA (CONT): No. No, it can’t be.

Kronos’ laugh echoes as Thalia screams. The light grows brighter.

(PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4)

[thecrenellations]

Top 5 Lymond ships?

I’m going to keep this to romantic* ships, but my list of top 5 Lymond relationships of any kind definitely includes some platonic and family ones (and is even more difficult to confine to 5).

*other or additional adjectives may certainly apply…

click below for spoilers and because my answers got long. Augh, these characters!

Francis/Will - The nicknames! The fights! The stars! Strip tarocco and its narrative implications! Then the wedding day sheep battle, the tactical cross-dressing, “everything there was to know about Lymond’s way with women” ?!?!, the ring, the way Will is there at Midculter when Francis comes home in DK… They’re such a disaster, in hilarious and serious ways, but they make it through to real trust and friendship in the end, and I just love them.

Francis/Philippa - Their relationship is always important and telling and entertaining, and after a certain point but before the suffering sets in, they just keep making each other smile and laugh, by accident and on purpose. Reading their scenes in RC is like genuinely being in the room with them, with banter and chemistry that is PALPABLE and makes me into a third wheel, but as a reader I also have insights that they don’t, so I’m in on it too? Or something. They love each other so much! And after everything, they get to be together. Francis, you fool, this is what you should be!

Francis/Jerott - if you’d told me when I was in the middle of reading the series that they’d be on this list, I’d be like, “Uh, ok, sure. Dorothy Dunnett has changed my opinion about characters before.” If you'd told me when I had just finished the series, I’d go, “Huh??” But here I am. There is so much wrong with both of them, and we know it all too well, but they are so important to each other, and Jerott is one of the characters closest to the story's heart. Getting Jerott safely out of the disaster that is DK is one of the things Francis promises himself, and he’s so glad when Jerott decides to stay. Their relationship, especially in PiF, becomes deeply devoted and strange and delicate and absolutely full of self-deception on both sides. But Francis never stops trusting him, even when he’s busy running away from all of his own feelings with increasing speed, even when Jerott is being awful to him. And all the desperate conflict within Jerott distills to the essential element of being there for Francis, every time it comes down to it. Also, the way Jerott calls him his first name more than anyone else (on-page, in the series’ scope) messes me up.

Marthe/Güzel - I REALLY wish we’d gotten to see more of them. For Marthe, PiF is (among many other things) this long, agonizing breakup, but we only get a few clear glimpses of it. That scene between them in Djerba! Marthe plays a song wishing misfortune on the brother she knows her girlfriend is zeroing in on, and she cries because Güzel has happiness (does she though 😬) and she has none! And I cry too! And the whole mess that web of relationships becomes is fascinating (and one of the clearest examples of how queer these books are, yay), and there's also the parallels with Francis and Margaret, to consider? Anyway, to quote @sophosthewisebunny, Marthe deserves better than the shadiest bitch in the Mediterranean/someone who would leave her for her brother, but their relationship is very interesting.

Francis/Güzel - Rereading RC, every scene between them made me feel dead inside, while also making me want to run around screaming and then return to my book to savor every word. There’s so much going on with them, hardly any of it good, and since I was just thinking about the previous ship on the list, I have to wonder how their relationships to Marthe affect how they relate to each other, because that’s an interesting question, too.

honorable mention to Francis/Míkál, entirely because of this, and Francis -ahem- Lymond/Richard Chancellor, because another thing that happened as I was rereading RC was that I realized just how much I’d missed about how important they are to each other, in such a rare and needed way (the first time, I was busy losing it about the brother prophecy and yelling at Francis to be friends with Adam and Alec again).

[2manyfandoms2count]

Message in a Bottle

Happy Valentine's Day! I'm a little late to the @theerasfestlovesquareversion party, but here's my submission ❤ Special thanks to @miabrown007 for beta-ing!

Happy reading!

Read on AO3

---

Marinette sat at her desk, one foot tucked under her, thoughtfully clicking her pen as she tried to organise a message. 

Her thoughts, which went a thousand miles an hour on a slow day, had come to a freeze about twenty four hours prior, when she’d seen – and heard – Adrien’s lips pronounce three little words she’d only ever dreamed of hearing from him. It was just her luck that they were tuned out by warning beep s, and followed by the Startrain doors clicking shut, as in slow motion, without her being able to do anything to stop them.

A part of her had screamed, urging her to chase after the moving vehicle, but her body had remained standing still on the platform, completely and utterly stunned. 

She still wasn’t entirely sure how she’d gotten back to her parents’ bakery. How she’d gotten to bed, fallen asleep.

All she knew, as she’d awoken in the morning, was that she knew something she didn’t before, and felt a sense of clarity regarding what she needed to do – but that was when her mind had woken up, too. 

And thus the calm before the storm had ended, her mind suddenly swept by a force faster than the wind, dispersing any coherence in her head, scattering words like autumn leaves, before they even got a chance to associate with each other. 

She slammed her head on the table, hoping it would help reset her brain; unfortunately it only brought on a throbbing pain. She winced as she rubbed the budding bump on her forehead.

“Screw it,” she mumbled, finally putting her pen to paper. 

Dear Adrien, 

My feelings since you’ve left have been all over the place, but it’s kind of frightening how happy the three little words you said as the doors of the Startrain closed, made me. They’ve been all I’ve been able to think about (which you know better than anyone might not be the best thing right now – but in a good way! I wouldn’t want you to take them back for the world. Unless you want to. Which would definitely not be a problem, of course. Although maybe just a little. But I’d get over it, I promise).  

Marinette’s hand hovered over the page. She was rambling – which could be fine when she talked, but felt pretty stupid to her in written form. This wasn’t her diary. She couldn’t afford to have a stream of consciousness run on her page; maybe Adrien would read it, and think she was crazy, rip up the letter, throw it in the fire, and she’d never, ever, hear from him again. And then what?

If anything, the reason he’d gone to London in the first place, to get away from the press following Hawkmoth’s (his father’s!) defeat, so he could focus on the latter’s upcoming trial, was enough to justify a clear and concise message. She didn’t want to burden him with her feelings when he surely had infinitely more serious things to think about. 

“Marinette, it can be just a first draft, you know.” Tikki’s soothing words snapped her out of her spiral. 

She looked up at the small divinity, who smiled encouragingly. She nodded, then turned her attention back to her words, biting the end of her pen as she reread them.

Little did she know that Adrien, a small body of water away, was doing exactly the same thing…

—

Dear Marinette,

I’m so sorry I panicked. I didn’t mean to say I like you . Partly, because it’s a little embarrassing that I blurted it out like that – but mostly, because I like you doesn’t even begin to cover how I feel about you. I just saw you, your freckles (the ones I thought I knew like the back of my hand – but that couldn’t be true now, could it? Else I would’ve realised who you were sooner), your smile, and the way you looked at me, and suddenly I got cold feet, and that was the extent of what my tangled brain could produce. 

Adrien spun in Félix’s desk chair, assessing what he’d written thus far. It was a good start, he supposed. His life had been turned upside down by the cataclysmic revelation that Hawkmoth was, in fact, his father, and arguably even more so by the fact that Ladybug was Marinette – he was allowed a certain amount of disorganisation. 

Although he’d obviously been surprised by the former fact, he had to admit that, retrospectively, it did make sense. He even felt stupid for not figuring it out sooner – or, rather, for figuring it out back when Hawkmoth’s powers were still fairly limited, and the damage done (both physical and psychological) was only a fraction of what would happen next, but being too much in denial of the kind of person his father was, and therefore falling for his tricks. 

But his father had grown cockier with his powers, sloppier. His desperation sent him in a slow, downward spiral, hijacking his every thought, eating away at him until one day, he’d stumbled out of what Adrien would later discover was his lair, straight into his atelier, holding his head in his hands – still clad in the purple suit that made most of Paris tremble.

Adrien had stood frozen in the doorway, at first not comprehending what he was seeing. Then, as his father – Paris’ most wanted villain – finally noticed him, the cogs in his brain had whirred again, and he’d made a dash for his room, knowing fully well what he needed to do.

Plagg had to go. Whatever happened next, he couldn’t end up in his father’s hands. 

He’d sent his best friend and his ring away just before the iron curtains had come down on his room’s windows. Just before the tears came streaming down his cheeks, as he cowered in a wardrobe, completely and utterly alone.

Until Marinette’s rescue mission, that is. 

Her being Ladybug, had come as both a complete surprise and an obvious conclusion to a mystery he’d done his best not to uncover since the day he’d first met his Lady. Adrien had obviously dreamed of figuring out who hid under his partner’s spotted mask, daring to ask every so often on the off chance that maybe she’d reconsidered her stance on the matter. But never, in his wildest dreams, had he ever made the conscious link between the two girls who brightened up his life. 

(Not that he remembered, anyway.)

Her plan had been so ingenious that he hadn’t clocked what was going on at first. He’d heard his father go on a rampage around the mansion in his search for him, half begging Adrien to listen to his explanations, half threatening him; and then there was silence as the doorbell cut through his words, and echoed through the house, once. Twice, insistent.

The silence was loud for a second, followed by footsteps running down the hallway. Gabriel opening the door. Voices, cordial at first, although Adrien couldn’t quite make the words out. He wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened, what Marinette had said, but somehow, she’d been invited in.

“Adrien?” His father’s tone was completely normal as he’d knocked on his door. “Adrien, your friend Marinette is here to see you. She saw the security system go off and came to check if everything was alright.” 

“I know how you feel about closed spaces,” Marinette had chimed in. Adrien had slowly crawled out of his hiding spot and made his way towards his room’s door, frowning, trying to remember when he’d told her about his fear. “It’s almost as bad as one of our friend’s fear of running out of cheese,” she’d added as he’d opened the door, turned towards Gabriel.

Adrien had stared at her blankly.

“Another one of our friends is worse about sweets, though,” Marinette had continued seemingly breezily, but Adrien had noticed the insistant glance she’d thrown him. “You should see her in January, she can’t get enough galette.”

Gabriel had chuckled politely, his shoulders tenser than usual, tearing Adrien’s focus off of Marinette’s words. “Well, as you can see, Adrien is very well, no need to worry. Now, if you don’t mind, I have an important matter to discuss with my son.”

Adrien had felt his blood run cold as his father’s fingers dug into his shoulder, which, from Marinette’s perspective, he assumed probably looked like a recreation of the painting looming over the grand staircase.

“Oh, of course, I’ll probably leave you to it, then,” Marinette had looked down, and fidgeted with her ring. 

Adrien had been torn between screaming out for her to make a run for it, to get as far as she could from the mansion and his father, somewhere safe, and begging her to take him with her. But something about her gesture had caught his attention.

Marinette didn’t wear a ring. And this wasn’t an Alliance ring, which he’d seen spread among his peers like wildfire. They didn’t have a common friend who loved galette. Or camembert.

The only person he knew who loved camembert was… 

He’d caught Marinette’s eyes, hoping she could read the question in his eyes. The way she’d nodded back, very slowly, led him to think she had. 

Swiftly, he’d turned around before his father could move, and grabbed the brooch he’d suspected lay beneath his scarf, tossing it to Marinette (Ladybug!), who’d caught it just as she called for her transformation. She’d grabbed his hand before jumping over the balustrade, almost dislocating his shoulder in the process (a small price to pay to get away, really). 

Adrien had heard his father swear after them, his footsteps rushing down, but he didn’t get very far. Ladybug opened the mansion’s door, and what seemed to be the entire Parisian police force rushed in, tackling him to the ground.

Just thinking about it again gave Adrien palpitations. He took a deep breath and got out of the chair, deciding to take a small break from writing. He owed Marinette so much.

—

Anyway, I know it’s only been a couple of days, but I haven’t had any news from you, and I feel like I’m going crazy. Realistically, I know that I like you, combined with our double… friendship, I guess?, must mean that I’m not just any friend to you, but I can’t help but wonder why you’re so silent. I guess I haven’t really been in touch either, even before your departure, but there’s just been so much going on with the trial… I don’t want to bother you, but you should know I’m here if you ever need to talk. Kwami, I wish we could talk right now. Even if I like the idea of sending you a letter, since there’s less chance of things getting lost in nerves.

Because I love you, Adrien. I’ve been trying to tell you for so long, but it never felt like it was the right time nor place to say it. I think I know why, now.

Marinette put her pen down and rubbed her face with her hands. The more she thought about it, the more everything made sense. All this time, she’d felt as if she’d been missing a piece of a puzzle, which threw all her confessions slightly off kilter – as it turned out, her feeling had been justified. 

What a shame the moment everything fell down like pieces into place had to be when Adrien had to leave. 

She shook her head. It was only temporary. She sat back in her chair with a sigh, looking out of her window. It was getting late; Notre Dame’s façade was illuminated, casting a comforting glow in the night. She wondered if Adrien’s view was as pretty as hers, and what he was up to. She didn’t dare bet he was thinking about her, but she hoped he did.

Do what you will with this information, she scribbled under her confession, sighing. I’m here if you need to talk, about anything you want. The weather, the upcoming trial, how you’re doing in London, how annoying I can imagine Félix being, what everyone in the class is up to, physics… You name it! I just really want to hear your voice again, especially your laugh.

You deserve to laugh, Adrien. So, so much. And I hope this letter brings at least a smile to your lips.

—

“Kid, you should be careful where you put your letters, I almost used it as a napkin for my extra mature pont l’évêque ,” Plagg yawned. 

“It wouldn’t matter much if you did,” Adrien sighed.

“Yes, I read it, you’re not sure you’ll send it, blablabla,” Plagg mimicked, holding up the piece of paper. 

“Hey! That was supposed to be private!” Adrien snatched it from his flippers with a huff. 

“It would be a shame, you know. It’s just the kind of thing Pigtails would love to receive.” Plagg shrugged. 

“You think?” Adrien asked, his voice suddenly hopeful.

“Trust me, Adrien, I know. ” 

Adrien couldn’t help the wide smile that spread on his lips at the thought. He went through his latest addition to the letter. 

You know, I feel like my neurons are a little less scrambled now, but Aunt Amélie is keeping me busy on this side of the Channel (I’m really discovering London, though, which is nice – I’d never been to Brixton, Camden or Hampstead Heath, but they’re great places to explore! I’d like to take you there someday, if you’ll allow me), and on the rare occasions I can sit down, which is generally late at night, I have to try and focus to go through the mess we’re going to be faced with. To tell you the truth, I much prefer sitting here writing to you, even though I don’t even know if I’ll ever even send you this letter. 

I keep thinking about the next time I’ll see you. I really want to run back to Paris, to you; I almost did, back on the train. I’m sure there would’ve been a way to stop it in its tracks, but in a way, I’m glad I didn’t. Even if there’s nothing I would’ve liked more than staying with you, putting a little distance between me and my father was quite welcome. If only there’d been a way for you to be with me… 

Sometimes, I think about calling you, but I’m always afraid that it’ll be a bad time, what with the UK being an hour behind you and all.  

He picked up his pen and added:

I hope you’re okay and that you know that I miss you and our hangouts, both in school and on the rooftops. I can’t wait to see you again, my Lady, whatever the circumstances. A small part of me hopes that it’ll be before the trial, or that we’ll get to be alone together for a bit afterwards. You and me against the world, and everything. 

(And maybe some of your dad’s chouquettes.) 

Lots of love, and hope to hear from you soon, 

Your Adrien

“There,” Adrien announced to no one in particular as he sealed his envelope. “I really hope you’re right, Plagg.” 

—

Anyway. I won’t hold you up any longer, but I just thought you should know how I feel. I’ll see you at the trial, at the latest – please don’t love London so much that you won’t come back… 

Forever yours, 

Marinette

Marinette dotted the i in her signature with a heart, and decided against re-reading the whole letter. Instead, she took out an envelope, neatly folded the page in three, and slid it inside. She wrote out Adrien’s name on the front of it, along with the Fathoms’ address, stuck a stamp at the top, and indicated her return address at the back. 

Then, she picked up her bag, and prepared to go to Alya’s. She’d post the letter on her way there; it would distract her from the wait that inevitably came with snail mail. 

She hoped her letter wouldn’t get drowned in the mass of mail Adrien surely received. 

Now, all she had to do was wait.

—

A week later, coming back from school, Marinette found a letter on her desk, and recognised the address’ calligraphy instantly. She all but tore the envelope open, her heart rate accelerating and a smile spreading wider and wider on her lips as her eyes progressed through the message. 

The date at the top told her that Adrien had written to her before reading her letter, but one thing was for sure: they were on the same page.

She placed the sheet back on her desk when she was done, feeling giddier than ever, and reached for her phone – it started ringing in her hands, Adrien’s face lighting up the screen. She almost dropped it in surprise.

“Hi,” Adrien’s voice breathed on the other end of the line.

“Hi,” she repeated, feeling herself blush. “How are–”

“I got your letter,” he blurted quickly, cutting her off. 

“I got yours, too.” She gently ran her fingers down the paper on her desk.

“Good, good.” He chuckled awkwardly. “Hey, I know this is a strange request, but would you mind going up to your balcony for a second?” he blurted quickly, cutting her off.

“Um, okay.” Marinette frowned a little, but still made her way up. Maybe it was a question of connection.

She swiftly pulled herself out of her skylight, and froze. 

Her balcony was covered in red roses: they were entangled in the wrought-iron, stood in vases on the floor, in a petal path leading straight to… Astrochat, sheepishly holding a single red rose. He hung up the phone.

“I love you too, Marinette,” he said. 

Tears welled up in Marinette’s eyes as she threw herself into his arms, hugging him as tightly as she could. 

“Don’t worry about me not coming back, I’ll always stay,” he whispered in her hair. 

Marinette looked up at him, feeling like her heart might burst out of her chest. 

“Glad to hear that, silly cat,” she said with a smile, standing on her tiptoes to brush her lips against his.

One of his arms wrapped around her waist while his other hand softly cupped her face as he deepened the kiss. Fireworks erupted in Marinette’s stomach. She wished time would stand still to let her savour this moment forever. 

Although her wish wasn’t granted, knowing that Adrien returned her feelings and would come back to her did make their parting a little easier. 

“You know, I don’t know what the future holds for us, my Lady,” Astrochat said as he was about to leave, gently taking her hands in his, “but one thing I do know is, if you’ll allow it, I’m never letting go of you, of us. Not if I can help it.” He brought her hands to his lips, his eyes boring into hers.

“I’ll hold you to that.” Marinette answered, pink dusting her cheeks. 

“I bet you will.” He winked. “See you soon, my love.” 

He kissed her again, gently, longingly, and then slid his visor shut and took off. 

Marinette wistfully watched him fly away, her chin propped up on her arms, leaning on her bannister. 

She truly was the lucky one.