#distressed wood shelf

[fysanayairani]

Beach Style Bedroom - Guest

[julianaspringer]

Enclosed Orange County Example of a mid-sized transitional formal and enclosed light wood floor living room design with brown walls, a standard fireplace, a stone fireplace and a wall-mounted tv

[geniewithwifi]

Single Wall - Rustic Home Bar

Mid-sized mountain style single-wall medium tone wood floor home bar photo with glass-front cabinets, beige cabinets, granite countertops, beige backsplash and travertine backsplash

[undohersad]

Transitional Home Bar Inspiration for a small transitional single-wall medium tone wood floor dry bar remodel with flat-panel cabinets, medium tone wood cabinets, quartzite countertops, blue backsplash, glass tile backsplash and white countertops

[rickor-mortis]

Single Wall - Rustic Home Bar Mid-sized mountain style single-wall medium tone wood floor home bar photo with glass-front cabinets, beige cabinets, granite countertops, beige backsplash and travertine backsplash

[newtonlara]

Enclosed Orange County Example of a mid-sized transitional formal and enclosed light wood floor living room design with brown walls, a standard fireplace, a stone fireplace and a wall-mounted tv

[eilidh-eternal]

Touch Up

Part of the Martyr in the Making series | Part 1 | Masterlist |

| 18 + MDNI | TattooArtist!Ghost x f!reader | cw for dub con/non con themes and heavy implications of grooming |

There's an insatiable itch beneath your skin that has nothing to do with the fresh ink and plasma that seeps from punctured flesh, and everything to do with a smug bastard named Simon fucking Riley.

Five days earlier…

“How ya doin’ sweetheart?” He has no right to sound this way. No right to let honey and smoke mix in his throat and spill from his lips in dark, dulcet tones. You blame the buzzing in your head, ricocheting off of your skull with each searing stroke of the needle he wields.

“Fine,” you say in a whispery breath. The hum of the needle goes quiet. That’s okay. The trilling heart in your chest is doing a fine job of replacing it. 

Pools of liquid amber, dark and rich like brandy, slide from the nearly finished linework to your face, half hidden in your hoodie, and flood your gaze with an intoxicating warmth. There’s no running from it, from the fire he’s started. The flames he fans and tends to with each murmuration of praise licks up your spine in searing tendrils, smothers the remnants of a fragmented rationale in a blanket of smoldering cinders.

A pierced brow glides up towards the fraying hem of his black knit cap as he straightens from his hunched over position. “I’ll ask one more time, an’ I expect an honest answer—d’ya need a break?” Amber petrifies under his scrutiny, as if you’re some antediluvian creature, suspended in the thrall of his gaze. Something pretty to perch on a shelf and marvel at.

Your eyes dart away, searching the patterns in the woodgrain of the cabinets for answers, divining particle board like a tarot spread. As if any of them would sound less pathetic than the truth. 

His hand slides, branding weight upon your skin, away from your waist and you fight the whine clawing up your throat. Swallow it down with the rest of the bad ideas right behind it. Plastic wheels scuff across fading concrete floors and the frayed edges of distressed denim replaces wood. Black, like everything else he wears, down to the powdery gloves and surgical mask. Bet his boxers are black, too.

When your eyes dare to meet his again the flames licking up your spine splutter, send sparks dancing up your vertebrae in shivery, glittering plumes. “I’m okay. Could use some water,” you settle on. It’s a shaky truth, flimsy and liable to crumble, but a truth nonetheless. You’d rather suffer whatever consequence comes with lying to him than lay yourself bare.

As if you aren’t already half naked in front of the man. As if he hasn't been toying with the waistband of your thong the entire session.

Your admission seems to mollify him, but the black titanium bar curving through a dusting of blond twitches. Remains cocked as he rocks back, leans across the counter in a truly obscene display, long tee clinging to every dip and curve, and plucks your water bottle from your bag.

It looks silly and small in his hand, dented metal covered in a collage of overlapping stickers, no trace of the scratched black paint besides the exposed underside. The tendons in his forearms shift beneath fabric as he turns it over to study the sticker Gaz had given you, ‘141 collective’ printed in a gothic font. There’s a similar font inked across the sliver of skin peeking out at his wrist, black ink still richly pigmented even though it looks to be more than a few years old. Must not get a lot of sun.

“Open.” You blink, several times, and come to the hazy realization that while your eyes have been busy mapping every groove and plane, tracing the prominent veins on the back of the hand draped over his knee, he’s maneuvered the water bottle to your lips. 

They part at the subtle pressure of the spout, and he tips it forward, pressing plastic between chapped lips that close around it to take a hesitant sip.

“Another,” he demands, and you try not to notice the way his focus settles on your throat, tracking each contraction of delicate muscle as you drink. “Good girl.”

You nearly choke.

And he pays it no mind. Gives no pause to the widening of your eyes, pupils flared to the limbus, or the palpable heat radiating from your skin. He merely sets the bottle back on the counter and folds his arms over the bulk of his chest.

“Just water?” he questions, and you start to nod in answer, but quickly remember your—or rather, his—rules. 

“Just water,” you echo in confirmation, and it’s received with a critical grunt. Like he can see through the paper thin restraints you cling to, the only thing keeping your lips from speaking on behalf of those between your legs.

He shifts back to his tray of inks with a glint in his eye that makes you wonder if maybe you should have said something more. Feigned hunger or fatigue.

“Just this section here–” He taps at the remaining carbon stenciling over your hip. “–and we’ll move on to shading.”

“Okay,” you mumble, and a gloved thumb brushes over raw, freshly tattooed skin. Traces his work in a gesture akin to reverence, sweetened by the lingering sting left in its wake—and you fail to stifle the moan that’s been building in the back of your throat for several hours.

When he repeats the motion and receives an identical response, the mask stretches over his face, pulls taut over the prominent bridge of his nose, and he curls his fingers into your hip. His chest rumbles with muted laughter at the whine that punches out of you, thighs clenching around the pillow wedged between them. 

“Gonna need ya a bit closer,” he croons, and gives you no warning before he hooks his fingers through the elastic pulled taut over your waist, giving it a sharp tug. “C’mon, on your tummy for me…atta girl.” He takes to arranging your limbs how he wants them, left leg practically in his lap to keep the skin from creasing, ass on full display.

You bury your face in the pillow and crook of your own arm, vehemently ignoring the way he grips your backside to work on the remaining outline, and the surge of wanton arousal warming your neck and cheeks.

Present… 

Delicate, looping letters, woven seamlessly into the outline. Hardly noticeable if you aren’t looking for them. 

They glare at you in the mirror, the memory of strong hands a phantom touch against the surrounding tender skin.

S.R.

Simon fucking Riley.

It’s not enough that he’s under your skin, he has to be inked on it too.

“Well, angel, I know you come often, but I didn’t expect to see—”

“—Where’s Simon?” You cut John off, in no mood for his dilatory remarks, and he cants a quizzical brow.

“He’s finishing up a consult right now, is there—”

“—I need to speak with him. Now,” you demand, trembling fingers curling into fists at your side. 

You couldn’t care less what he’s doing presently. You’ll drag him off the studio floor by that stupid spiked bar in his damn brow. He’s going to—

“Hey, hunny bunny!” Kyle appears behind him, walking out of what you assume to be an office with a tablet in hand and his usual sunny disposition. Rhinestones and pointed canines catch in the studio lighting when he smiles and tucks his tablet under his arm, coming to stand beside John. His gaze dips to the healing skin of your thigh. “That the piece Si did?” It’s barely visible below the hemline of your skirt.

“Yeah,” you grit through your teeth, jaw tense with the effort to maintain a modicum of decorum. “It needs touching up in a few places.”

His eyes catch on something behind you, and you’re about to reiterate your demand, but you fall short when an all too familiar weight settles on your nape. 

“‘S all this fussing about?” Simon questions, and you jerk away from his grasp.

Your first mistake.

“You—” you hiss and lift the hem of your skirt, “—need to fix this.”

He tilts his head to study the healing tattoo. “What about it?”

“You know damn well what I’m talking about.” You know he does because the smug bastard is smirking beneath his mask, fabric stretched tight over his jaw and eyes narrowed in amusement.

He motions towards the hallway, “Let’s have a look, then,” and doesn’t wait to see if you follow him. Knows that you’re on his heels as he leads you back to the same private room. You don’t sit on the chair, electing to stand beside it instead with your arms folded tight to your chest, and you scowl at where he leans against the counter, posture mirroring yours in a decidedly mocking manner. “What’s got ya all riled up sweetheart?”

Definitely mocking

“This isn’t the design I agreed to,” you huff indignantly.

“Sure it is.”

“No, it isn’t.” You take a step closer, the toes of your sneakers nearly touching his beat up combat boots. “I never fucking agreed to have your name tattooed on me. I’m not some tramp for you to—”

“—‘S not my name,” he corrects, and you don’t know what heats your blood more; the fact that he has the gall to correct you or that he isn’t even trying to deny what he’s done. “Jus’ my initials.”

“Same fucking thing,” you seethe, jabbing an angry finger into his chest.

Your second, and final, mistake.

Calloused fingers curl around your wrist and pull, yanking you further into his space until you’re standing chest to chest. He holds you there by your wrist and the firm grasp he has on your jaw, cheeks pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

“Someone needs a reminder about manners,” he tuts, and you whine against the pressure on your jaw. “A reminder about her rules.” His hand drops from your face to settle on your shoulder and the scathing retort coiled on your tongue withers to ash amid disbelief when he pushes down against your shoulder, forcing you onto the stool beside the chair. “Stay,” he warns when you shift forward, already halfway onto your feet again, and the undercurrent of a growl is warning enough.

“What are the rules I gave you last time?” He leans back against the counter again, arms folded loosely over his chest, and his fingers tap rhythmically against his bicep, staring down at you expectantly. 

You glare up at him, fingers curling into the fabric of your skirt on top of your thighs, and he cocks that stupid pierced brow.

This is ridiculous. 

But if there’s any chance at getting him to erase the brand he’s inked into your skin…

“Give a verbal answer,” you bite out.

“And?”

“Tell you what I need.”

“Good girl. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He stalks forward to press a finger under your chin, tilting your face up to his when you don’t deign to look at him. Amid the infuriating rush of warmth to your core, you briefly consider what would happen if you were to rear back and bite him.

“No,” you admit reluctantly, and he hums low in his chest, clearly pleased with your answer. 

“So tell me what you need.” His thumb sweeps over your chin, traces the contour of your bottom lip, and you press your legs further together. 

All the anger, hot and swirling in your chest, mixes with the smoky whorls of his words until you can't distinguish between the two. Can’t untangle the intrepid need to rebel from the desire to yield in supplication to the enigmatic man towering over you. 

“I- I want…” Your words get tangled up with it, coming out in a stuttering mess. “Fix it.”

“Fix what, sweetheart?” The way he stares into your eyes is nothing short of maddening. Fathomless pools of amber, beckoning you to bathe in their warmth, and like a moth to a flame you go willingly.

“Fix me,” you croak, and he shakes his head. “Please.” 

“Don’t need to fix ya, sweetheart. You’re mine–” He crouches down before you and slides a roughened palm over your knee, up your thigh to the tender skin beneath your skirt. “–Says so, right here.” He traces each letter of his initials inked onto your skin. “And what’s mine is perfect. Just the way it is. Understand?”

No. But you nod anyway.

“Words,” he insists. “Need to hear it.”

“I understand,” you murmur, still sifting through the haze in his eyes.

“Good girl,” he croons, sickeningly sweet, and pets a hand over your hair, thumb tracing the shell of your ear and sending a shiver skittering down your spine. “All soft and sweet for me, told ya we’d get ya there. Just need a little training, hm? Gonna let me train that pretty, empty head, aren’t ya?”

“Yeah,” you respond absently, and his eyes flare with a molten, ravenous desire.

Next>>>

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

[cuffmeinblack]

A Library Defiled

Garreth Weasley x f!reader

Summary: An tense encounter in the library shatters the barrier between friends and lovers. Tags: explicit | fingering | semi-public sex | friends to lovers 1.7k words

A/n: Just a quick smutty drabble from me but it's been a while since I wrote anything for Weasley Wednesday! I was inspired by this art which sent me slightly insane yesterday (help, he's so fucking tall).

The gold embossed spine winked down at your from its perch, far out of reach amongst the teetering heights of the stacks. Your instinct was to grab your wand and cast a quick summoning charm, but that idea fizzled out with a quick glance at your surroundings. The signs that Madam Scribner had hung earlier that year usually went ignored, but the stern librarian was only feet away now, shuffling through a cart of returned books. Forbidding the use of magic in a magical school was preposterous, though you could quite easily see Professor Black agreeing with her madness. No doubt it had been in response to that business with Cressida and her damned flying diary. 

You rolled your eyes before standing on tiptoes, fingers merely inches away from your prize, and yet it was to no avail. That extra height eluded you. The thought occurred to you to start climbing the shelves until the very book you needed was snatched from above.

“Wait, I-...”

“Is this what you wanted?”

You needn't have turned to discern who'd spoken—his voice was as familiar as his densely freckled face—but you fixed your face with a suitably irritated expression. You came face to face with his chin, having to crane your neck to meet the towering redhead’s eyes. Garreth held the book out for you with a smile that looked far too self satisfied for your liking.

“Yes, it is. Well done for being so tall,” you replied, casting another mutinous glance at the librarian. “How does she expect us to get anything down without using magic?”

“I think she'd be happy for nobody to touch the books ever again. However, I'm always happy to help a damsel in distress.” You could practically feel the implied flirtatious wink.

Shadow eclipsed your face, an arm braced against the shelf beside you. Your heart stuttered, arms clutching the book tightly to your chest like a shield in case the organ burst from your ribcage. The reaction he elicited wasn't new or unexpected—in fact, he played into it as much as he could these days. He knew how to stand, how to speak and what to say to send your heart racing, hoping that one day you would end the torturous game you played and let him fulfill those desires you both knew you held. The chase was fun but your patience and self restraint grew thinner with each passing day.

“Is that what I am?” you asked. Your voice quivered as you felt him envelop your back, his warmth seeping through your shirt. He ran hot like a furnace. You'd forgotten how to use your limbs, how to think; every sense was acutely aware and attuned to his movements. 

“You looked pretty distressed before I got here,” he chuckled, his mouth so very close to your ear. His fingers flexed against the wood, warm breath slipping down your collar. Another inch and his lips might brush your skin.

Garreth knew when to stop. This invisible boundary you'd drawn lay somewhere on the hair's breadth between your bodies. You still felt everything—the steady rise and fall of his chest, the copper curls that barely ghosted your forehead and his gaze lingering on your neck. 

Sweeping the hair away from that spot, you heard him inhale, dizzy from the slightest show of skin; not quite an invitation, only an enticement. If he insisted on teasing, you would repay him for his efforts. When he stepped closer you knew it had been foolish.

There was no more room between you anymore, only his muscled chest and the hint of softness at his midsection. “Are you going to let me leave or keep me pinned here forever?” you asked, hoping that the answer might be ‘yes’.

“I'm not stopping you.” He shoved his free hand into his pocket. He was quite correct—there to your right, was a route of escape. You could turn and leave, but your legs had suddenly atrophied. And then Garreth dipped his head further. To an outsider it might look as if he were whispering conspiratorially in your ear, his billowing robes and broad shoulders masking just how tightly your bodies pressed against each other. “You can go, or you can stop pretending not to want this,” he said.

“And what is this, exactly?”

Garreth shifted his weight ever so slightly, enough for you to feel an unmistakable twitch in his trousers. Cheeks blazing, you inhaled sharply whilst suppressing a whimper, clutching the book so tightly you thought the spine might crumble.

“You drive me crazy,” he replied with what could only be described as longing lacing his voice. Garreth wasn't the type of person to manipulate others; you knew he was being sincere. “Just give me a chance to love you.”

You finally looked at him then, shocked to hear that word slipping from his lips. He didn't seem to have noticed, or perhaps he held no shame in laying his heart on the line for you then. His eyes were full and earnest, unwavering as they held your gaze. In response to your shocked silence he asked, “Did you think I just wanted to sleep with you?” 

“Maybe,” you muttered. Despite every rational thought imploring you not to, your eyes dropped to his lips, and his own quirked into a smile at his victory. When he kissed you, he finally let go of the shelf to tilt your chin to meet him. The hand in his pocket came to encircle your waist, swivelling you around to face him. The book you'd held as a shield that signified the final barrier between your coupling fell to the floor with a thud as you gave into him completely. 

Your heart pounded so fiercely you didn't hear Madam Scriber shouting or the students whistling—there was only Garreth and his gentle touch and soft lips, tongues swirling in an endless caress. The battle had been long-fought but your surrender had made winners of you both. The whimper you'd forced down threatened to escape the tighter he held you, the longer his tongue teased your lower lip. 

Perhaps it had been a blessing when the librarian broke her own rule and blasted a hex at the pair of you, rendering you speechless and unable to move. Saving you from further embarrassment had been a steep price to pay and had made Madam Scribner enemy number one.

-

A month later, you found yourself in that very same spot again, except this time it was under the cover of darkness. Tonight you would exact your revenge on Madam Scribner by defiling her precious library. The room was still and blissfully quiet except for the rustle of fabric and lustful moans that spilled from your own mouth. Garreth's lips were just as sweet as that fateful day one month prior, his hand braced again on the shelf next to you—but this time his slick fingers teased your clit with precision as you pressed against his chest. 

Your head fell back on his shoulder, back arching into his touch as the circles grew faster and tighter. You whimpered unbidden, met by a breathy chuckle in your ear before Garreth's mouth returned to your neck. You guessed there would be purple bruises there tomorrow, by the way your skin now tingled and stung so deliciously.

“Fuck, Garreth…” Stars perforated your vision as every drop of blood rushed south, preparing for a mind-shattering orgasm only minutes after your arrival. Everything was so intense, so passionate with Garreth; years of tension finally culminating in the moments you joined bodies.

“That's it, let it go,” he whispered in your ear, silky smooth and commanding. “Come for me.”

You gripped his hair as those final slippery strokes sent you over the edge, coming hard with a loud moan that echoed along the rows of books. If they could talk, they'd have quite the tale to tell. Your thighs clenched around his hand, hips grinding against his fingers. His cock was already nudging against your behind whilst you writhed in the throes of pleasure.

“I can’t wait to be inside you. Fuck, you’re so wet.” Another nudge from his stiff length, his arm abandoning the shelf to hold you tight against him. You’d barely caught your breath before Garreth was tilting you forward, angling your hips just right as he slid between your folds. “This is exactly what I wanted to do to you that day, you know.” His voice had become gravelly, laced with want. His cock twitched eagerly at your entrance.

“I wanted it, too,” you sighed, gripping the shelf in front of you hard as books shifted and dust invaded your nostrils, yet nothing could overpower the heady aroma of musk that had you salivating at the thought of Garreth’s dripping cock. “Please…”

Garreth entered you in one swift motion, stretching you until you were blissfully full. He groaned and nipped at your ear, sending shivers down your spine before retreating and plunging back inside. Harder, faster, deeper; he fucked you until the books fell all around you and coherent sentences were a thing of the past. 

All you knew was him, and his name sighed to the heavens as he pulled your hair and bared your throat. The sting of your skin felt like promises, made to linger. He was everything, and he was yours.

Garreth’s long fingers trailed your collarbone under the open fabric of your shirt before wrapping around your throat. Calloused fingertips grazed your pulse and the corner of your jaw. You were close again; tension coiled so tight it almost hurt. He must have felt your body twitch, your muscles contract—he responded with a shuddering groan, his hips grinding relentlessly against your behind as he met his own release. 

Your climax followed soon after, every pulsing wave around his cock filling you further and further until you were dripping, happy and satiated.

The dim light of the cavernous room made for quite the relaxing atmosphere, and your eyes blinked slowly at the ceiling as you came down from your high. You could have curled up there and slept, warm and safe in Garreth’s arms. 

He was busy nuzzling against the crook of your neck when he finally sighed contentedly. “Happy anniversary, sweetheart.”

[backtotheshitshow]

Wood & Words (part2)

Woodworker! James Potter and Princess! Reader.

Warnings: angssssst. James being kind of a dick? Kinda proof read.

Part1 part3

For the third day in a row there was a knock on the wood shed door.

Upon entering the shed Y/n was surprised to find James not in the middle of his work but leaning against the wall gazing at the book she had given him.

“Oh your majesty. Good morning.” James said closing the book quickly and placing it on his work bench.

“Good morning Mr Potter, I see you’ve been practicing.” She smiled.

“Oh um yes:” he glanced over at the book with an annoyed expression.

“And how is that going for you.” She smiled rocking on her heels with excitement.

“I believe I had enough for today.”

James had been studying the same couple of pages for two hours this morning and had picked up none of it. The words made no sense and the sentence all mushed together.

James had a tendency to get irritable when he was embarrassed or self-conscious.

It was only natural that he was fed up after two hours of not learning to read a single word. He looked up at the princess, frustrated.

“Oh I see. Are you having trouble.” She asked.

This only made James more frustrated. “I’m not having ‘trouble’ I’m not a child.” He said bluntly.

He turned to his work bench, it looked as though he was working on the shelves of the book stand.

“I didn’t mean it that way..” she scrunched her brows growing slightly annoying at his dismissiveness towards her but she tried to stay calm . “Would you like me to help, perhaps having someone else explaining things will benefit you.”

James did not respond to her. He continued sanding one of the shelf slats.

“Mr Potter?”

“I’ve told I don’t want your help. I’ve excepted the book as a gift and now I’m studying it. Is that not enough for you?” He said not taking his eyes of his work, his voice filled annoyance.

She looked at his profile in shock, why was he being so rude.

“I’m only trying to help.” She sounded both hurt and angry by his out burst.

“Perhaps it’s best if I just leave you be then. l’ll return in a week to fetch those things I asked you to make…I won’t bother you beyond that.” She was quick to turn on her heels and head for the door.

James saw how hurt she was at his reply. He’d felt embarrassed, but he hadn’t meant to cause the Princess so much distress.

In one abrupt motion, he stepped forward and grabbed her hand, stopping her from leaving.

“Wait!” James froze when he realized what he’d done. Touching the princess without permission not to long ago would have gotten him hanged. Thankfully those rules do apply anymore but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t face serious punishment if she reported it.

He was embarrassed but he didn’t dare pull away, even if it was probably the more appropriate course of action.

“Let go of me.” She said in an annoyed tone.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have touched you. Forgive me.” James rambled.

“It’s alright James..” she sighed. The sound of her calling him by his first name was sweet to him.

James was speechless for a few moments, having not expected to hear the Princess calling him by his name, again.

It was a nice reminder that she did in fact viewed him as an equal.

“You’re not bothering me. I just…I get embarrassed rather easily when it comes to my... illiteracy, You've been nothing but kind and I’m so very sorry for my behaviour." He explains.

“I…if you don’t mind I would like you to help me.” He admitted looking away from her.

“You do?” Y/n had the biggest grin on her face and look of hope in her eyes. James simply nodded.

“Come sit outside then.” She grabbed his hand and the book, pulling him outside quickly. After a few steps she took a seat on the ground near a tree.

She pulled him by his arm to sit next to her.

“Okay now where was it that you were up to?” She asked pending the book and scooting closer until their shoulders touched.

“Page 6, I believe.”

Y/n tuned to page six. ‘Silent Letters and Homophones.’ She simply smiled.

“Ahh I see…you know I’ve had several private tutors and to this day I this find these to be a pain in the back side.” She confessed.

“Really?” James asked raising an eyebrow. Her confession made him feel a little better about how hard he had found that section to understand.

“Yes I mean your telling me, that when they made the English language no one sat and thought ‘hmmm maybe we don’t need three different theres or a silent k at the beginning of knock.’ It’s ridiculous.”

James only laughed. Y/n began going over a few pages with him explaining the topics as best she could.

“Does…does that make sense?” She asked.

“So ‘ee’ and ‘ea’ are the same?” James responded chancing at the book from over the princess shoulder.

“Yes.”

“Then what’s the point of having both.” James said

“I don’t know..” she laughed turning towards him.

Their noses were only a few short centimetres apart. She examined the specks within his hazel eyes. He had such kind eyes.

“Thank you for helping me, I’m sorry I was so harsh.” He whispered to her not breaking eye contact.

“It’s no problem at all.”

They held there places, a thick tension sat in the spaces between the two, for only a second he glanced down, the princess’s lips ever so slightly parted. He leaned forward, the tips of the nose just grazing each other….

“Y/n!! “ the voice of her mothers lady in waiting, Ms Anne, startled the both of them. “Where are you it is almost supper?!”

“Christ. Where did the time go?” Y/n was quick to her feet. “I’m sorry I must go.” She said dusting off her dress.

“No it’s alright.” James said.

His head felt cloudy. still a bit dazed by how close they had been only moments ago.

Within the blink of an eye the princess was dashing away. He watched has her hair moved along with her in the light breeze. She always look so heavenly.

…..

The following morning Y/n was preparing for the day. She thanked her lady in waiting for assisting her with her dress and sat at her desk.

"Good morning my dear." The queen entred the room.

"Oh good morning mother. Lovely day outside don't you think?" Y/n said with a happy smile.

"Yes it is. Planning on taking a stroll are you?”

"Yes actually I was.” She smiled.

"Hmm, Off to see Mr Potter I suppose." The queen gave a little smirk of amusement.

Y/n's face dropped, her mothers comment caught her off guard. "I- mother it's not... I can explain. He's simply..."

"Oh yes simply making a book stand correct?" The queen smiled with a light laugh. Y/n only nodded.

“That’s not what Ms Anne seems to think. “ the queen took a seat in the edge of y/n four post bed.

“Ms Anne?!”

“Yes she said you too seemed very close when she came across the two of you yesterday afternoon.” The queen said with a smile.

"Mother I-"

"It's alright my dear. You never did seem suited to all those stuffy princes anyway."

"Mother it's not like that. There nothing.....romantic about the situation." Y/n explained.

"Perhaps not. However have a sneaking feeling you're not happy about that" the queen stood once more.

Y/n looked to the floor. As usually her mother was right. "Mother I've known him for three days."

"Your grandfather meet your grandmother at breakfast and had proposed to her by supper time. If anything you two are dragging this out." They both laughed.

"Alright then off you go... he's probably waiting to see if you'll show up again."

Y/n hugged her mother tightly. "Thank you" she said before darting out of the room and heading towards the castle exit.

————

I love this series so much already.

[ohbo-ohno]

“gets him fucking you harder, saying more and more in your ear about how they're never letting you even look at another person again, never letting you off their property.”

ugh this is just so 🫢 possessive serial killer ghoap and their pretty little innocent reader. They earned you the instant they killed your last friend.

Johnny is always growling in your ear about how you’re never going to look at another person again, constantly reminds you that it’s bad to look at anyone but him or Simon.

And then they use you as bait when they’re bored and want to kill again. As soon as you make eye contact with someone as they’re trying to figure out how to get you out safely (maybe you’re loose in the forest, but have chains between your ankles and wrists and connecting your wrists to your neck) and you’re trying to explain everything to them but it’s too late, johnny and Simon are already shooting, sending the group scattering while you’re left sobbing, begging them not to leave you. Your punishment after the victims are all dead is brutal that night because you don’t get it!! You’re supposed to participate in the game!! And you looked at every single one of those strangers, don’t you remember you’re not allowed to look at anyone but Simon or Johnny?

The next time they use you as bait, you cower and refuse to look anyone in the eye. Johnny praises you and lovingly bathes you that night for being such a good girl and doing as she was told.

🌚 anon (I have so many thoughts about serial killer ghoap and not enough brainpower to verbalize them all)

this is sick and twisted i love it

i also have so many thoughts about serial killer ghoap, it's a disease. will probably end up writing a most dangerous game au and plop some of these scenes/scenarios right in it

they EARNED YOU!!!!!

taking you into town, telling you anyone you look at is fair game for them to kill. makes you keep your head ducked real low, eyes wide and hands trembling as you fight every instinct screaming inside you to look up and beg for help. they tease you with it, too - you'll glance at something on a shelf and ghost will raise an eyebrow, go "him? whatever you say, doll." and it's a guy like 6 feet away who you barely saw in your peripheral. tortures him and turns to you, says "you picked a good one, don't you love the way he screams?" and relishes the way you sob. really helps beat it into your head that looking at anyone else ever is Bad.

sometimes they like to play the game with just you, no other distractions. if you try to avoid running, they'll force you. fuck with your flight instinct until you give into it and let them chase. shoot at the ground right near your feet, bit the air right near your ear, shout right behind you, all the kind of things that force you straight into adrenaline. you know they're making you run because they want to chase, know there's no universe in which you actually get away from them, but the fear drives you and you can't help but run.

being used as bait during the game and not tied up... oh my god

the chains are meant to hobble you, like you said. they're not risking you getting away under and circumstance. and maybe they lock the other prey into kink gear too (a la The Hunt, good movie pls go watch). you have to stay hunched a little bit not to hurt your joints, makes you real cautious and scared of everything like a real prey animal. any time anyone comes to help you you get so distressed, beg them to go and leave you alone. you try to tell them it's a trap, but they're dead/grabbed as soon as you manage to get the words out. get a nasty glare from johnny or simon in response, but they just wander back into the woods and leave you there to draw in more victims for them

"Your punishment after the victims are all dead is brutal that night because you don’t get it!! You’re supposed to participate in the game!! And you looked at every single one of those strangers, don’t you remember you’re not allowed to look at anyone but Simon or Johnny?" do you think it's funny to try and kill me, smirking moon???? you won't be laughing when im found dead from a heart attack after reading this i can tell you that!!!!

johnny in particular gets mad at you. he'll grab you by the shoulders, shake you and shout in your face. why are you being so fucking stupid? don't you get it? if you don't play along, the game isn't nearly as fun. why are you ruining this for them?

but simon gets it, he understands that your heart is near bursting from fear. uses that to his advantage, cows you into doing whatever he wants. it's easier when you're nearly pissing yourself in terror

johnny would be so happy once you finally gave in and played along, and simon would be horribly smug. johnny would be scooping you up with a big grin, telling you how proud he is of you, how glad he is you finally gave in, how hot it was to kill people with you watching. and simon is just right in your ear, purring about how good you are for doing what you're supposed to, for finally giving in to your urges (that you don't have, you don't, you hated seeing those people die, hated hearing their screams, feeling their blood-)

[cherryslyce]

The Avarice Files (III) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Boundless uncertainty ensues when you’re tasked to complete a mission requiring time travel for the Ministry. The best part? Your partner, acclaimed hero of the Great Wizarding War, Regulus Black, a man who was supposed to be long dead.

— Chapter Synopsis: A confrontation ensues and Regulus provides enlightening truths.

Part II / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader

Notes: Exactly 5.2k words. Apologies for the wait!

Every fiber of muscle in your body draws taut with primal fear, adrenaline bleeding into your senses as you stare at the wand pointed at you. Despite the physiological distress surging through your being, your face slackens into an unimpressed scowl. The mystery man sneers at you and emphatically jabs his wand toward you, eyes narrowing further. “I said, who the hell are you?”

“And what the hell are you saying?” You cross your arms, eyebrows drawing together as you steadily hold his gaze. 

The man faintly lowers his wand, beginning to circle around you with an intrigued gaze. “Fascinating. You really have not done your research.” A derisive chuckle crackles into the stiff air as your eyes find him again. 

Even if you could, there was no use trying to convince the man, you couldn’t leave any witnesses anyway. Spinning on your heel, you frown and move across the room toward the bar, snatching a decanter containing amber liquid and a whiskey glass from the shelves. “How insulting.” 

Your musing has the man raising his eyebrow, wand dropping to his side as he cautiously watches you. “Insulting?” He echoes, voice tinted with unadulterated curiosity. The change in his demeanor has you sniffing into the air as you pour yourself a glass. 

“Yes. To be confronted by someone like you of all people.” You hum, taking a sip of the alcohol. Scotch. 

Tipping back the rest of the drink into your mouth, you slam the glass onto the polished bar and smile caustically at the man. Slipping your wand into your hand, and concealing your movements behind the wide bar, you tilt your head and hum out to him in your normal voice, “Who are you anyway?” 

“Henry Mulciber.” The man’s knuckles whiten as a triumphant grin mars his face, “Decent accent, by the way. Pity that you couldn’t fool me, hm?” 

“I’ll give credit where it’s due. How’d you know?” You ask with light curiosity, running your thumb along the handle of your wand. 

A chuckle slips past his lip, “Asking to move to private quarters? My dove could have cared less about being found out.” He twirls his wand and gives you a look of deep consideration. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you too bad. I’ll let Clyde decide what to do with you, you did break into his home after all.” 

“Charming,” you snark back, licking your lips as you discreetly cast a silencio over the room. “But apologies, you know how business can be.” You smile cryptically at him, momentarily relishing in the confused look that flashes across his gaze. Before he can retort, your hand flies over the counter and the words are streaming from your mouth in a flat mutter, “Petrificus Totalus.” 

To your dismay, Mulciber manages to duck quick enough to avoid your jinx, the spell missing him by a hair’s length. The man flies up from his crouch not a second later and has you taking cover as his arm snaps towards you, a reverberating Crucio spewing from his mouth cruelly. 

The red bolt crashes into the shelf behind you, splintering the mahogany wood and sprinkling the floor around you with pins of polished red. You grit your teeth and swiftly shuffle to the end of the bar, leaping up from your new spot as you throw a potent reducto at the glass coffee table beside him. The thick panes burst into the air in shimmering fragments before evanescing as they flee the light of the chandelier. Mulciber instinctively raises his arm to guard his face as his body tilts away from the destruction. 

“Incarcerous!” You grit out, rounding out of the bar as the spell knocks the man off his feet, his body crashing into the glass-strewn floor with a resounding thud. The binds around him tighten as he begins to wiggle and grunt, but just as you point your wand at him again, the door bursts open. 

Your head snaps up in shock as you peer at the intruder, breathing out a sigh of relief when you see Regulus with a deep purple tome tucked by his side. “Dear merlin. You’re finally here. I may have made an error in judgment.” 

Regulus goes to say something, eyes wide with disbelief as he takes in the scene, but he is interrupted by a strangled yell from Mulciber. “Diffindo!” 

The orange beam shoots toward your neck and you feel your entire soul evaporate away before a thundering stench of impending death wraps itself around your body. Throwing yourself away from the approaching cutting spell, you grunt out as it slices through the muscles of your shoulder. 

Molten pain erupts from the flowing laceration, warm blood pouring down your attire as you feel a biting chill drip down your spine and to your toes. Regulus flies from the doorway and toward Mulciber’s body just as a million tingling needles settle down your arm. Assessing your injury, you nearly reel back in shock as you see red everywhere. The spell probably severed a few ligaments—and Merlin, is that your bloody bone? 

You pay no mind as you hear a loud grunt from in front of you. Regulus could be kicking in the man’s face for all you know, but you are too enraptured by the sight of whatever was left of your shoulder. 

Another day at work, another injury. 

Huffing, you raise your eyes just in time to see Regulus releasing the binds from an unconscious Mulciber. “Thanks.” You mutter, moving your gaze to fixate on the artifact that was now lying on one of the lounge chairs. It was emitting a faint pulse of magic that whispered indecipherable promises through your head, causing you to step back in wonderment. 

Definitely not an ordinary artifact.

Regulus maneuvers Mulciber from the floor, propping him up on the opposite chair before turning to face you. “You’re bleeding.” 

“Astute observation.” You huff out, grunting when Regulus gently pushes you to sit down by the tome with your good shoulder. 

He lifts his wand up to the wound, muttering a quiet Vulnera Sanentur under his breath and only releasing a pleased hum when your wound begins to heal under the coat of your blood. “You handled it well.” He swiftly follows up his words by repairing the tear through your sleeve.

You smile wobbly at the man and sink into the cushions behind you. “I’m surprised as well. You’re good with healing spells, do you get hurt a lot?” Your curious eyes flicker from the tome beside you to Regulus as he holsters his wand. 

“Not too badly anymore.” He grunts, turning to face the unconscious man across from you. You both grimace as a trail of drool slides down his chin, hair now resembling disheveled foliage as his head tips awkwardly onto his shoulder. 

Gently rolling your newly healed shoulder, you get up and prop a hand on your hip, shaking your head in amusement at the sight. “Oh how the mighty have fallen so.” 

Regulus shakes his head, but you can see the inkling of a self-satisfied smirk on his face. You walk over to the obliterated shelves and search for any surviving bottles of alcohol, bringing your wand up to repair the mess. “Reg, can you undo his collar a bit?” 

You huff as you clear the mess of glass fragments and spilt alcohol, eyes frantically scouring over the never ending mess. 

“Aha.” You mutter to yourself, wrangling a hefty wine bottle from a lower cabinet. Regulus complies with your previous request wordlessly, only offering a look of bemusement when you wander back over with the bottle and a glass.  

“Oh. You fixed it.” You falter in your steps as you see the glass table sitting spotless in its original spot. 

“Are we toasting?” He quietly hums, standing back as you crack open the bottle. 

“Not quite, maybe later.” You reply, pouring the wine into the cup. Pushing the glass in front of Mulciber’s unconscious body, you pull your wand out and dispel the rest of the wine from the bottle. 

Putting the empty bottle in Mulciber’s slack hand, you turn to look at Regulus with a proud grin. “Do you want to do the honors of waking him up?” 

“Sure.” Regulus says, raising his eyebrows at your elaborate set up. The man shuffles by you before raising his wand up and casting a swift Rennervate. You ready your wand as Mulciber’s eyes fly open in panic, pupils darting from side-to-side before they settle on you both. 

You were sure that if he had the energy, he’d be frothing at the mouth. “You!—” 

Before he can continue, you point your wand at his sluggish figure, “Obliviate.” You channel all your magical energy into ensuring that any suspicion of your infiltration and duel is wiped clean from his memory. The man slumps back down in a daze and Regulus gives a low huff as Mulciber’s expression droops with a glassy-eyed look.

“Best we get going then.” You mumble, beginning to retreat from the room as Regulus strides after you with the file. “Does this place have a back door or something?” 

Regulus takes another once over of the room to check for missed damage before shutting the door behind him with a small exhale. “Yeah, we should hurry before the potion wears off.” 

“My joints are tingling a bit.” You quietly confirm, falling back to let Regulus lead you through the maze of hallways. 

The winding corridors eventually come to an end once Regulus locates a narrow entryway seemingly at the end of the west wing. The walls are noticeably less vibrant, with a haze of dust dimming the atmosphere around you. Regulus continues forward through the slim doorway, turning to peer at you once he steps through. “Watch your step, these stairs are a bit worn.” 

Mutely nodding, you both swiftly descend down the stairwell until you step onto a small landing between two sturdy green doors. Regulus deftly twists the right door open, cautiously peering through the crack before swinging it open for you. 

You have to squint as you make your way through, the bright light of the daytime sky stinging at your eyes as your shoes crunch against the verdant grass. “Where did the other door lead to?” You ask smally once Regulus falls into step beside you. 

“The kitchen.” Regulus mutters, sighing once you both near the wards, likely tired of the repetitive process. 

You pull out your wand and perform the interception charm again, feeling a shiver vibrate across your body as the Polyjuice Potion in your system nears the end of its life. Regulus waits for you to step through and into the edge of the forest before he continues behind you, “I’ll go fetch those two.” 

He hands you the file before disappearing into the dense forestry with one last glance toward you, beginning to undo his overcoat as his body starts to morph back. You clear your throat and make your way over to the tree hollow, relieved to see that your bag is still tucked away inside the inky pocket. 

As you haul the woven bag out, the sound of heavy footsteps echoes toward you, indicating that Regulus had arrived with the two stunned Italians. Turning around, you smile faintly as Regulus hurries over, the two bodies resting along his shoulders swaying as he carefully lowers them to the ground. 

You begin to pull out all of your clothes, remembering to be careful with Regulus’ mask as your fingers graze against its hard surface. The next few minutes are painted with a busy silence as you both work to tear off your outfits before you both completely transform back, a mutual understanding blossoming as you both turn away from each other to get situated. 

“Are you decent?” You ask awkwardly, relief sinking into your muscles as you adjust to your familiar robes. 

“Yeah.” Regulus replies back, his cadence indicating that he had already put his mask back into place. 

You turn around and step toward the two limp bodies between you both, placing the formal wear down beside their feet just as Regulus slowly spins on his heel. “I can do it.” His soft mutter has you agreeing easily, opting to instead move away to place the retrieved file into your bag. Just as you close the opening of the bag, Regulus’ wordless Rennervate has the body beside your feet twitching before you see his eyes slowly peel open, eyebrows furrowing from the light. Before he has the opportunity to regain awareness, you watch as Regulus raises his wand again. 

“Imperio,” He firmly commands, one hand tucked away inside his robe pocket, as if his actions were the most casual thing in the world. The man’s eyes glaze over immediately before a milky fog stirs across his iris and pupils as he awaits Regulus’ commands. “Get dressed, head back inside using the back door, and grab yourself a couple of drinks.” 

Like a doll being maneuvered by strings, the man silently complies with stiff movements and unwavering precision in his task. Regulus barely bats an eye before repeating the same process with the second victim, watching as they both slowly rise up and walk out of the small clearing and toward the door you both exited from. 

“One file down, two more to go.” You huff out with a tired smile, fiddling with the chain of the time turner. 

Regulus nods quietly and strides toward you, throwing the chain around him before releasing a patient hum as you continue to turn the handle of the device. Lifting your fingers away, the rings of the artifact begin to spin sporadically and you feel the ground beneath your feet rumble faintly. 

Your eyes squeeze shut as the spinning of time rapidly picks up speed, melding together days and nights and weeks to years. After a flurry of arbitrary thoughts to busy yourself, you feel Regulus’ gloved hand fall against your shoulder, “We’re here.” 

Nodding, you slowly open your eyes and roll your shoulders back. “Thank you.” 

The forest remained as lively as ever, the only decipherable change to your environment being the position of the sun in the sky. Tucking away the time turner, you turn your gaze to Regulus’ masked one as he offers up his arm again. 

“Do you think Gawdry will tell us why the files are so valuable?” You ask, looping your arm with his. 

“Not a chance.” Regulus muses, his words followed by the swift pull of apparition. 

Wind bats against your ears for a few moments before you feel smooth tile press against your feet, spurring you to fall back into reality. Blinking, you step back and survey the area Regulus brought you both to: a dim alcove in the Ministry atrium. The walk to the Department of Mysteries was a far one, but you both would be able to hug against the shadows nearby to avoid wandering eyes until you reach the elevator. 

“How do you navigate around the Ministry without being seen?” You hum out curiously, treading by the tall brick pillars. 

Regulus seems to slow his steps to match yours as he tugs his hood down further once your passage conjoins into the main chamber of the Ministry. “I don’t. Not usually, anyway. My assignments are delivered to my place of residence.” 

“Aside from work, you don’t get out much, do you?” You huff out in both consolation and worry. “We’ll have to change that.” You mutter under your breath, feeling Regulus’ eyes dart to your face. 

The buzzing of chatter and clicking of shoes against the polished floor grows in tandem with the illumination of your surroundings, thrusting you and Regulus into the milling clusters of Ministry workers. 

“Might want to keep your head down.” You sigh out, holding your elbow out once you are both near the elevators. 

Regulus wordlessly grabs onto your sleeve and drops his head, allowing his hood to fall over and veil the glow of his mask. You lead him to stand in line, keeping an eye out for any suspicious looks or double takes. 

By the time you both manage to clamber inside one of the lifts, you can feel the remnants of adrenaline in your body dissipate, leaving you feeling boneless in the cramped box. Regulus shuffles behind you, slotting himself into one of the back corners as an older man turns to you. 

“What floor?” He asks pleasantly, eyes never straying to look at your cloaked companion. 

“Ninth, please.” You nod at him, shooting a small smile in thanks. 

He simply nods back before punching the milky button just as the golden grille door slides across the aperture. A peaceful lull ensues as the lift jostles slowly from floor to floor, the faint creaking of the grille and the melodic announcement of each floor number occasionally flowing into the air. 

When the lift begins to ascend past the eighth floor, only you, Regulus, and the man at the button panel remain inside. You shift your weight from foot-to-foot as you can sense the man’s growing anticipation. The jangling of chains shoves itself into the peripheral of your mind as he finally turns to face you, a cryptic gleam casting over his eyes. 

You’re able to get a good look at him now that he’s fully facing you, eyes running across his worn expression and grey-streaked combover that evidently used to be tinted a deep tawny.

“Apologies for my frankness, but do you happen to be Auror L/N?” He asks, head tilting imperceptibly as your eyes widen at the unexpected question. 

Nodding slowly, you plaster on an uncertain smile. “Yes, I am. I don’t believe we’ve met before though?” 

“Ah, how rude of me, I am Lord Grey.” He clears his throat, just as the lift halts in its movements. “I just wanted to introduce myself to such an esteemed Auror. I’ve heard such high praises about your ability to find things.” 

You incline your head toward him and release a sheepish chortle, “That’s me. Just a little penchant for tracking is all… Well it’s nice to meet you, Lord Grey.” 

The grille doors are wrought aside not a moment later, and you turn to gesture for Regulus to exit first, much to his confusion. Just as Regulus steps out of the elevator, Lord Grey leans towards you and shoots you an indecipherable grin, “You are also renowned for your…  impartiality, Auror L/N, no?” 

“Yes?” You confirm lightly, masking your disconcertion with the sudden eerie atmosphere. Lord Grey simply nods before he slides something toward you, and one glance downward has you realizing it is a business card. 

“I hope you give it some thought.” He mutters equivocally. 

Raising an eyebrow, you take the card and slide it into your pocket before shuffling away. “Good day, Lord Grey.”

“Yes, good day.” 

The odd exchange imprints itself into your mind as Regulus shoots you a questioning look once you reach him. His eyes slowly move from you and over your shoulder, gaze narrowing and causing you to peek back around. You aren’t able to catch another glimpse of the man, but the lift continues to descend until the echo of chains fades away. 

“Are you okay?” Regulus asks once you trudge over to his side. 

You nod and fiddle with the card in your pocket before making up your mind. “Yeah, he just handed me this all ominously.” Regulus eyes you as you slip the card out of your pocket, remaining soundless as you bring the thick rectangle between you both. 

Your eyebrows slant further down as you realize that the card is blank save for a black emblem at the center. The symbol sends a shiver down your spine as you continue to stare at it; a thick black line curves uniformly into a soft, open triangle, the proud snake head at its end seeming to jitter against the ivory paper. 

“Bloody hell.” You murmur dryly, “Not creepy at all.”

Regulus looks just as confused as you feel, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to hide the mounting tension in your posture. 

“Let’s keep this between us for now.” Regulus mutters, straightening up to turn away, but even as he moves forward, you can still identify the calculative glint in his eyes. 

Tucking the card away again, you readjust your hold on the woven bag on your shoulder as you both pace through the looping corridors. You aren’t even aware of your proximity to your destination until you’re nearly pedaling into Regulus’ back as he waits for the imposing doors to flutter open. 

Gawdry’s office is a welcomed sight, the nebulous glow from the light beams enveloping your fatigued figure. The dour expression across his face lifts slightly once he takes in your approaching figures, eyes immediately connecting with yours as he gazes at you with heavy expectation.  

“Agents, what a surprise.” He grumbles out, leaning back against his chair as you both stop a few feet short of his desk. 

“Save the confetti and cake for later,” you hum out, beginning to dig in your bag. 

Gawdry remains unfazed as his attentive eyes lock on your movements. “If you wish,” his drawl is accompanied by a wry smile as you wrestle the thick purple tome out of your bag. Handing the sturdy object to the man, you suppress the chill that storms through your body as you feel the densely packed magic ingrained in the file.

“By the way, a warning would have been nice. A patrimony ball of that degree was hardly an ideal event to blindly jump into.” Your tone is light despite the visceral feeling of doom that still crawled around the cavity of your chest. 

“You’re both here in one piece, aren’t you?” Gawdry raises an eyebrow, bringing a hand up to wave you both off, “Nicely done, though. It seems that I chose wisely.” 

You hum out in agreement before you glance at Regulus’ indifferent gaze and nod your head toward the doors. “Right. Well we’ll be back tomorrow, boss.” 

Without waiting for a response from the preoccupied man, you and Regulus spin on your heels and retrace your steps toward the exit. As your badge’s magic tediously weaves through the locks of the doors, you bring your palm up to rest on your chest, feeling the imprint of the time turner jump against your skin. 

“Ten hours to cool down, I think.” 

Regulus glances at you and shoves his hands into his pant pockets. “Sounds good.” 

“Yeah.” You nod in agreement before releasing a small breath of exhaustion, “Right, well, see you later.” Your shoes beat against the tiles as you begin to make your way down the hallway. 

“What?” You slowly turn around at Regulus’ voice, watching as he blinks at you through his mask, eyes blank with blatant confusion. 

“Oh, well ten hours of downtime…” You trail off, hands awkwardly gesturing to your right.  

Regulus blinks at you before humming, “Yeah.” 

You clear your throat as you feel a flush of heat bloom across the blades of your shoulders. “Uh, but… Actually, I’ll go with you. It’ll be quicker that way, anyway. Y’know to get moving onto the next assignment.” 

“Yeah.” Regulus agrees plainly, eyes darting away as you shuffle back over to him. 

Somehow in the whirlwind of your lethargy and incessant thoughts, you and Regulus manage to make it back to the elevator and down toward the floo networks in record breaking speed. You tilt your head as Regulus juts out his elbow for you to take, and you wordlessly comply as he leads you to the farthest network all whilst keeping his head down. Once you both step into the wide space of the network, Regulus grabs a handful of floo powder before throwing it onto the ashy ground. “Abscondita terra.” His voice rumbles out lowly and the clear words spur green flames across your vision. 

When the lurid fire flees into nothingness, you’re left standing in front of a dim living room. Regulus shifts out of the network first and offers you an assessing look before gesturing for you to sit on the grey couch. You barely contain the gape threatening to materialize on your face as you swallow harshly, “Is this place yours?” 

The man merely nods and watches as you teeter toward the plush cushions, dropping down stiffly onto the firm seat. You clear your throat and look to Regulus as he moves to lean on the doorway to your left. “Thank you for bringing me here.” 

He bats his hand in a show of casualness before cracking his neck. “You can only come here if I allow it, so.” 

“Right, witness protection and whatnot.” You say quietly, clasping your hands in your lap. 

Regulus nods jerkily and gazes at you for a moment before speaking up again, “You could have died earlier. With Mulciber’s attack.” He mutters, eyes sliding to look at your shoulder. 

You hum and hug one of his throw pillows to your chest, “I dodged in time. Luckily, he didn’t hurl the killing curse at me.” 

“Because he wanted you to die a slow, agonizing death in front of me.” He quickly retorts, clearing his throat as he kicks off from the doorway. “That spell would have severed through half of your neck.” 

A shiver blooms from the base of your spine as you envision the gory picture. “Ah… Well, that’s the risk of the job.” 

Regulus keeps his eyes on you for a few more seconds before he sighs and disappears somewhere off into the kitchen, momentarily leaving you to your devices. You hear distant clanking and the sound of cabinet doors being shut, lulling you to reminisce on the day’s events. 

He soon reemerges into the room with a glass of water, blinking sluggishly as he approaches you. Somehow, seeing him in his tired state eases the awkwardness in the air and you slouch back to get comfortable. 

“But are you okay?” You couldn’t help but prod, still remembering his tense demeanor during Clyde’s toast. 

“Yeah,” Regulus hums, gently placing the cup of water in front of you. He sits down on the opposite side of the couch as you quietly thank him, and you nearly break your neck when you see him slowly push his cloak off. 

Turning away with wide eyes, you swallow harshly before trying to distract yourself by breaking the silence. “So, Clyde’s toast was a bit…”

“Creepy?” Regulus supplies, tone lilted with amusement.

You shake your head and lean over to grab the cup, “Yeah, I thought I’d accidentally joined a cult.” Bringing the rim of the glass to your lips, you chance a side glance to your companion and see the glow of flesh in the dimming room, a stark contrast to the perpetual veil of black that always covered his skin. 

Sipping your water, you relax against the cushions behind you as Regulus clears his throat and shifts in his seat. “You remember my father, right?” His voice is level, growing serious as he departs from his previous amusement. 

You nod, it was unlikely you’d ever forget the stern man—and then realization dawns on you. “The man who stepped out during the toast… that was Orion?” 

“In the flesh.” Regulus says, cracking his knuckles as he leans his elbows on his knees. 

Frowning, you place your half-empty glass down on the table as you debate over what approach to take in the conversation. “I’m glad you got out.” You admit honestly, unable to suppress the images of twelve-year-old Regulus’ mischievous smiles and twinkling eyes from your mind. 

“Me too.” Regulus breathes out, “Only killed him in the process.” 

Your eyebrows furrow at his words and you lean back, turning to him and gesticulating slowly  with your hands, “Like, run out the door and throw an expulso behind you—kill, or…” 

Regulus’ shoulders shake as he muffles a laugh, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the toned muscles of his arms, webby veins trailing down from his forearm to his hands. Your mouth parts slightly at the sight, but you quickly dart your gaze back up, grateful that Regulus was still looking straight ahead and not toward your gawking face. 

However, it seemed that you couldn’t catch a break. 

As your eyes stray from his arms, they catch themselves on the raven tresses which were slightly disheveled from his hood. The flowing waves fall a bit past his ears, not unlike how he maintained it when you were both younger. 

Before you can fall into a mental tangent about the sight in front of you, Regulus’ head turns to you, eyes practically glowing behind his mask. “Not quite as exciting, I’m afraid. When he got the news that I helped Dumbledore take down the Dark Lord, his heart stopped on the spot.” Regulus breathes out harshly and pushes a hand through his hair, “At least that’s what I was told.” 

“Merlin.” You mutter, fully turning to Regulus now. Bringing one leg up onto the couch, you tilt your head as you and Regulus maintain eye contact, “Are you alright, though?” 

Regulus nods slowly and mirrors you by sitting up and tilting his body toward you. “I made peace with it. Seems he couldn’t handle two rebellious heirs.” 

“Inbreeding tends to promise a life with faulty organs.” You say offhandedly, only freezing when Regulus’ eyes light up in humor. Backtracking, you let out a small laugh, “Uh, no offense.” 

“You’re not wrong.” Regulus admits, throwing an arm across the back cushions. 

You flash a small smile as you lay your head against the pillowy surface, eyes falling to the single cushion of distance between you both. “Do you ever miss Hogwarts?” 

Regulus’ eyes close for a few moments before he opens them again and you’re greeted with a faraway look. “Sometimes. You?” He hums out, fingers aimlessly drawing patterns against the cushion. 

“Sometimes,” you intone quietly. “I miss all the Quidditch games and even the late hours in the library. Helga, studying for our N.E.W.T’s was so taxing.”

Regulus nods and blinks slowly, his silence prompting you to continue. “Anyway, I’m glad our paths crossed again.” Your words are firm with genuinity, but you can’t ignore the flutter of bashfulness that pulses through your veins at the admission. 

“I always thought you were going to be a Curse Breaker.” Regulus whispers, dropping his head back onto the couch cushion to rest. 

You muffle a yawn as you peer at the man in inquiry. “Maybe at first. How’d you know that?” 

Regulus fixes you with a light look, and you feel your breath leave your lungs as he pins you down with a warm gaze—one you haven’t seen in years. “It was hard not to be intrigued by someone who watched me from a distance so diligently.”

Your words get caught in your throat as you blink owlishly in surprise. “And now? Are you still intrigued by me?” You breathe out with searching eyes. 

Regulus holds your gaze before quietly replying, voice barely a whisper: “Even more so now.”

TAGLIST: @tomo-tofu @night-fall-moon @darkenwolfie @eliz-eia @justkiyomi @idkwimdahyd @googie-jeon @littleshadow17 @doux-ange @moni-cah @valsarchives @that-bitch-bri @tiana76 @jsjcue @younmey @novella12nite @littlefrogiefairy @rainfell-m @user2772636 @mischiefmanaged71 @friendly-neighborhood-boricua @vauxxy @xpink-teax @cherryflavoredcoke

[joannasteez]

crying, laughing, loving, lying - being comfortable is no good

pairing: roman reigns x angel (black oc) warning: this little chapter is all angst and unfortunately barely features angel. but i'm giving backstory!! no other warning besides swearing and talks of divorce. authors note: i love imperfect characters. so yummy. first chapter found here. word count: 1700

roman loves his job. he loves the campus. and he loves his office —which to him, despite seth's modernistic sneering, is wholly traditional—outfitted tirelessly to suit a timeless sense of taste. dark wood furnishings and overly warm lamp lights. deep shelf walls and old brass ceiling fans. the neat clutter of sports paraphernalia surrounding unread midterm papers —which detailed in their own ways and intellectual fashions, the steady rise of sociopolitical tensions of pre-world war-two society through a 1936 olympic games lens — and once looked over defensive plays meant for forthcoming football games. and this here was his little heaven, his peace, but said peace was being tainted. squandered and spat on. because of all the days he'd chosen to settle in at the office on campus versus doing work from home, she, had stopped by to see him this day. to parade around that pitiful frowning in her lips and the beautiful, un-useable ring she'd never bothered to just get rid of.

and he was very specific about not getting it back. about not wanting it back. about her even selling it, if thats what she wanted. since she'd always done what she wanted anyways. what difference would it make if she sold the eighteen karat in exchange for whatever dress or lamp or table caught her eye? roman really couldn't give less than a shit what she exchanged it for, just as long as he'd never have to see it again. because all the memory is stored there, in the all those beautiful cuts of diamond. but then again, as he said to himself, 'amina does what she wants', including showing face when showing face was exactly what he didn't need. 

he seems to be the only tired one in all this. the only struggling survivor, hell the only survivor really. amina's face feening to look written in a perpetual state of guilt which was complete, utter bullshit. but then again disingenuous was her forte. and roman was sure that the divorce lawyer was the happiest they'd ever been. maybe even eating off the money they'd made at the expense of his failed marriage. but who knew. at this point, who fucking knew. 

his glasses give the ring clarity. a shine. making his jaw twitch and his foot shift till his knee jumps. all of which are involuntary. and this burns his core, the very base of his belly, because why does the discomfort take him so wholly?   unsullied and lacking compassion as it travels his skin. 

he can feel her eyes fixing into him. screwing hot over every line and detail of his freckled face as she waits. and oh does roman make her wait. letting the silence drown the room till theres nothing but the whipping spin of the ceiling fan and the warm lamps singing with a buzz.

"are you gonna say something?"

and all he can remember is his bed. the distress of the sheets and the boiling heat in his body. her moaning and then the absolute fright. the guilt as she forced her body away into the wall, the sheets surrounding her, drowning her up to her neck. his fingers cold from the breeze. 

the ring still on her finger. why even keep it on?

something in roman's skin flares. a burning irritation. an anger bought on by the existence of anger itself. because why should he be reduced to something this wild and ill-controlled? why should he be the one suffering, feeining stability. why should a simple ring bother him so much. he was, is, better than this, better than the pity written in her eyes. he hated this. why didn't she just fucking sell the damn ring. 

"hows terry doing?", that name like poison on his tongue. the whole memory of it coming up to dry his throat till he's tasting bits of bile. his fingers flexing as he takes to fingering over the stacks of papers at his desk. "still enjoying my headboard?" 

"don't do that...", amina's eyes averting. guilt, guilt and more guilt. "...don't, don't bring him up like it's on him". 

"oh?". a scoff but a laugh too. disgust and amazement. but he's irritated too. surprised. "is this accountability? are we in the end times finally?" 

she sighs exhausted. "roman". 

"amina", exhausted too but wryly so. to dig into her skin in any way he could. 

and when she takes her beat, which he finds annoyingly dramatic, staring into his eyes with all the sincerity drawn up from her gut to say "i'm sorry", he still can't find the will to care. 

and he tells her as much.

"i. don't. care", pushing the ring with his finger over toward the edge of his desk. the fast motion threatening to knock it off the surface if not for amina snatching it mid drop. "take the ring back. pawn it. sell it. shove it in an envelop and burn it", rising from his seat to take a stack of book at the side of his desk to the deep shelf wall. his body tall and wide and rife with anger. "i don't give a shit. i don't want it". 

he can hear her shifting to get up too. her heels clicking small. cautioned steps. not so far but not too close. and now he's sees that's just been the regular state of affairs for everything concerning them. an arms distance of romance. 

"it belongs to you". 

one of the books tighten in his hand. a hard cover stress ball. "the simple fact, that i keep saying i don't wan't it, and you keep shovin' it in my face, really just lets me know you’re here to twist the knife". he shelves the books impatiently, the slotting of them ending, each, with a thud into the wood. "just give me this one thing. listen to me this one time". 

amina takes her turn to bristle. to advance at him and laugh. mirthless and mocking. 

"you wanted the wedding in the summer, so we planned it for july. you wanted to move back home, so i followed you", each click of her heel harsh against his office floors. straining to creak till it's edging into his skin. "you wanted the bigger house and you didn't want me to work and you didn't want me to hang around certain men. i always listened to you". 

'no', roman thinks. whipping away from the shelf. his ears scorching. "wrong", his pointing finger toughing into his chest. "i didn't want you around terry because he was a dog in fucking heat every time you were near him. and everything was always negotiable. i never forced anything". his blood pumping sharp and wild. "you liked me making decisions. you liked being taken care of. i made shit a playground for you, and you ran it to hell till you got caught". 

"negotiable? really?", amina's voice shrill and wavering. "like its a fucking business deal? well so much for a fucking merger of equals”. the ring clutched in her fist, her balled fingers pushing into his chest as she clicks up to him. no longer an arms length away. "you just knew that you knew what was best all the time". 

and when he refuses to accept her forcibly pushing against his chest, the ring falls. 

"and the one thing i didn't know?", his face a breath away from hers. the warmth of vanilla filling his nose. making his screen cringe and his jaw tighten. "that my wife was getting fucked cervix deep in my bed by terry, every other weekend since the night of our wedding". 

"it wasn't every other weekend". 

he laughs. from his belly and with a soft trembling in his nerves. his body uncomfortable still. bothered by the shake of his own anger. "but it was in my bed, in the sheets i bought".

she sneers. her eyes rolling harsh.

"everything with you is always, i and me". 

"yes amina", his tone patronizing. "because you cheated on me. you never even tried", his head shaking. "im not the villain in this". 

her eyes glisten. welling to threaten the breaking out of tears. 

"i had no voice. no say. no room to make mistakes with you. everything was always handled. i couldn't breathe". 

"why not say something?"

"you wouldn't have listened". 

he scoffs. "you don't know that", walking briskly to his desk. collecting the stacked papers to shuffle them inside the thick leather of a messenger bag. he needs desperately to leave. to come from under the thick air of the room. "because you never considered trying. and thats the one thing you can never say i didn't do. i always tried to make you happy. making things comfortable". 

"being comfortable isn't this good thing you keep making it out to be". 

he was over it. over the heat boiling his skin. over the aching in his chest. the lumping in his throat. the sharp pricks in his eyes. the mindless way his jaw twitched to tighten. and he was over seeing amina. he needed something liquid, strong and relieving. and he had papers to grade, he didn't need this. not now. not ever again. 

"if no one has ever told you before, i need you to know that you are filled with a concerning amount of bullshit". 

amina snatches up the things she came to his office with. being sure to leave the ring. "well look at us being two peas in a pod". 

her heels click out of his office. the silence enveloping him again. his shoulders heavy and his eyes tired, from the lateness of the day and the threat of tears. 

and the ring is still there. still and unmoving. his fingers curling to fist but lacking the heart to pluck it from the floor. 

his phone buzzes. angel's name popping up against the screen. a warmth fighting greatly to overtake him as he opens up an image she's sent, but it fails to do anything worthwhile. the chill in his bones icing over so easily that his nerves feel beholden to deaden with a cooling. 

text message | angel : ready when you are

and the heart to reply is void in him. more piqued that amina had destroyed his mood so much that it'd left him hollow enough to leave you unanswered. and God was the urge there, just not great enough to overcome the anger pushing deep in his skin. 

[apiratefellinlovewithastar]

Prickcest prompt!!! Yayy

Ok, here it is: Morty wearing Primes jacket

(also tysm for sharing the post <3 my typing hands are getting tired, need more hands on deck!)

HI SWEETIE <3 sorry I’m just answering this 🥹 life has been hectic OTL (that’s great!! you deserve the attention!! your drabbles are SO Good, I love them. <3)

He finds it by accident.

Morty just turned thirteenth and he’s all alone at home; his mom was out the door before she even finished saying happy birthday, Summer went out with her friends after tousling his hair and wishing him a good day, and his dad promised to bake him a cake after buying the ingredients. They’re all going to take hours to come back, and he’s bored out of his mind.

What are lonely and bored thirteen-year-olds supposed to do if not explore?

The garage has been locked for as long as he can remember. Neither of his parents ever uses it, always parking in the driveway. Usually, his mom doesn’t really mind what any of them does, but the door leading to that part of the house has always been a no-no in her books. His dad tried to open it once and she got so mad not even Summer dared to make snippy comments about it afterwards. Dad never tried it again.

So nobody ever goes in there. Not even her, not really—Morty has only ever seen her try to once, and it was late at night when she was really drunk. He had gone down to the kitchen to get a glass of water but stopped short when he saw her standing there, trying to get the door to open, but she kept missing the keyhole and soon she gave up with a soft thunk of her head against the wood. Morty had silently gone back to bed with his mom’s distressed expression ingrained in his brain.

It’s safe to say Morty is really curious about whatever’s behind it.

Lucky for him, he knows exactly where his mom keeps the garage keys hidden.

He closes the door behind himself in case anybody gets home earlier than expected; better to make them think he’s out as well than to get caught in here. Mom can get really scary when it comes to this place.

However, it proves not to be the smartest move. While it is not yet the summer, maybe Morty should have remembered that the A/C doesn’t redirect here and that the place has been sealed for who knows how long.

He’s been stuffed into worse places and for longer periods of time at school, though, so he can suck it up for a little bit. Especially when Morty’s high hopes and exhilaration taper off when he realizes it’s just a regular room.

Morty doesn’t know what he was expecting, but after the big deal his mom made about it he didn’t think it would be just that!

There’s nothing extraordinary about it. There’s a shelf with things strewn all over, boxes stacked on top of each other, and a workbench on the opposite wall. The floor has a thick layer of dust and that only confirms what Morty already knew: nobody has been here in ages.

He’s about to turn around to go sulk in disappointment in the comfort of his room—geez, is it stuffy in here—when a box high up on the shelf catches his attention. Something has been completely blacked out only for DAD’S STUFF to be scrawled under it in black, thick letters.

Morty immediately knows that’s what he’s looking for, without even having known he was doing so up until now.

As all thirteen-year-olds do, naturally, he has to check it out.

It turns out not to be much. There’s an empty box of cigarettes, a wallet and a broken wristwatch. He opens the wallet to find a picture of his mom when she was a little kid being held by who he now knows is his grandfather. Mom is smiling widely into the camera, and while his grandfather does the same, there’s something about his expression that makes Morty uneasy. He chalks it up to the discomfort strangers always bring Morty and decides to let it go to focus instead on the last item at the bottom of the box.

It’s a jacket.

Morty stares at it with wide, curious eyes. He bites his lip, looks towards the door leading back into the house. He taps his foot on the floor.

Morty puts on the jacket.

It’s almost a fit. Apparently he and his grandpa share a similar bulk—that is to say, lanky as hell—if not for the sleeves swallowing his hands by a long shot. The jacket is mostly dark, sans the magenta patches adorning the sides.

It’s a comfy jacket. He starts cooling down, somehow, but he ignores it in favor of noticing the many inside pockets it has, which is fun and has him wondering about all the things his grandfather could have used them for. It even feels good against his skin, unlike most of the clothes his parents keep trying to buy him.

Morty looks back at the door.

Nobody ever comes in here…

The sound of the car pulling into the driveway has Morty hastily putting everything back in its place. He locks the door and hides the keys in record time and then books it upstairs just in time for his mom to call out his name.

“My room!” Morty calls out, only to stare down, horrified, at the hand holding onto the doorknob.

The hand covered in an oversized sleeve.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit.

He can hear his mom walking up the stairs. Morty rips the jacket off, panics for a second. He looks around. His eyes fall on his bed and like a light bulb going on, the word association in his brain kicks in.

Bed. Under. Secrets. Yosemite shirt. Hiding nook!

He’s innocently sitting on his bed when his mom opens his door.

“Hey, sweetie.” She looks tired, but she still manages a smile for him.

Something warm unfurls inside his chest. It’s moments like this that make him feel wanted, even if a little.

If she didn’t love him she wouldn’t even bother, right?

“H-hi, mom.” He smiles back, fiddling with his Rubik’s cube. He’s suddenly grateful for the mess he left on his bed before going down to snoop. “How, how was the emergency surgeries?” He frowns, suddenly worried. “Are th-th-the horses okay?”

Her smile turns a little warmer now. “Yes, sweetie. They’re alright. I just had to stay back to help Davin with the paperwork.”

“Oh,” Morty relaxes. “What’s up, then?”

“Your dad called me on the way here.” She turns her head sideways to crack her neck; Morty flinches slightly, but her eyes are closed and so she doesn’t notice. “He was asking if you wanted a vanilla or a strawberry cake.”

Morty feels himself light up. “Vanilla!”

His mom turns around as she gets her phone out. “Vanilla it is.”

Morty doesn’t have a chance to wear the jacket again until exactly a year later, when Rick comes crashing into their lives—literally—and sweeps him off his feet with the promise of a birthday adventure.

Except.

Rick stares at him blankly when he meets him at the spaceship—a spaceship! How cool is that?!—and for a moment Morty thinks he’s going to get mad at him—it is his jacket, after all—but all he does is frown and look out the windshield, tighten his hold on the steering wheel—and oh, Morty understands now where his mom gets it from—before telling him to buckle up.

That’s the first of many yet-to-come near-death experiences he will have in his lifetime. He’s too busy having a meltdown about it to notice that the jacket is still in one piece and so is the skin underneath it even though his jeans are ruined and his legs scratched. He never gets a chance to either, afterwards, because once he passes out he forgets about the jacket completely.

[sweeethinny]

cramps

to my little girl who fell asleep on my arm today <3 godmother loves you so much, little Tetê

--

Little Harry had cramps; terrible cramps.

Lily had tried everything, every medicine and potion, but nothing worked.

James had needed to go to Order HQ, which resulted in the two of them alone in the house, and Harry seemed to disapprove of this even more, because every time he stopped crying and Lily laid him down on the bed, he would cry and scream as if she was leaving him to die.

Apollo looked as distressed as she did, because when Harry started crying again and she had to get off the sofa to try to calm him down, the cat started meowing and jumping across the furniture until it was on the highest shelf, behind Lily, watching Harry up close as if he were his child.

The clock seemed stopped in time, Lily hadn't had lunch and it was almost time for dinner, her breast hurt - Harry wasn't able to breastfeed, probably because of the pain that was bothering him - and her blouse was once again starting to get wet in the area of her nipples.

When she sat down to try to breastfeed him, this time in the garden, thinking that maybe the fresh air and the noise of nature would calm him down, the fight continued as before. Harry kept crying to much to focus and find Lily's nipple, and even if she dropped the milk into his mouth, wet her nipple, tried to shift her position, it was no use, and once again they kept fighting until she was sweating, crying, shaking, and he was red, angry, and in pain.

She walked him through the garden, showing him the flowers that had bloomed, the birds feeding near the tree house that James hadn't started building yet - there was just piled wood and the tools in a suitcase, Lily told them to use magic but James wanted something more muggle - and she had Harry sit down on the grass, next to Apollo, who was watching him like a guard dog.

Obviously the boy cried as if Lily had spanked him, but for a few seconds he seemed to enjoy the feeling.

As soon as she re-entered the house, wiping the tears that had leaked from her eyes for a few seconds of despair, James emerged from the fireplace, a burst of green and gray flames flying through their living room, but Lily was so tired that she didn't even bother with the dirt, just sighed relieved to have someone to share that arduous task with.

''Hi,'' She said almost like a ''finally, hi.''

‘'Hi, sorry for the delay, Dumbledore kept talking and–'' Lily cut him off, she really needed to pee and her arm was numb, and she wanted to take some medicine for muscle pain because her back hurt more than she would like to put into words.

''Please make him stop crying.'' Was all she said, handing Harry to James and then leaving the room, running upstairs to their room, wanting ten minutes of pure silence and peace.

She loved her son, but the job was fucking exhausting, and Lily many times a day felt like a failure.

After fifteen minutes — a Silencing Charm preventing her from hearing Harry's screams from downstairs, and only complete silence surrounding her as she was just quiet — Lily came back into the living room. Everything was silent, and she even thought that James had also applied a spell, but when she entered the room, she saw her husband humming a lullaby with Harry lying face down on his forearm, Apollo was sleeping in the armchair next to the radio that was on but very low, and James didn't even notice that Lily had returned.

Harry was clinging to his father's arm as if that was going to save him forever, his eyes were open but starting to feel heavy and drooping — Lily knew it wouldn't last long, he was hungry, but for a few minutes, it would be good for him to sleep — and James looked out the window with the calm of a man who had a gift with children that Lily would never understand, for someone who was an only child.

''He calmed down.'' She said, softly, not wanting to break the bubble of peace.

''Yes,'' James looked at her. ''Moody taught me that before I left,'' He shrugged. ''I tested it and it worked... Do you want to take a shower? I'm going to prepare dinner...''

''Are you going to try to put him to bed?'' Just thinking about it made her shiver.

James denied. ''I'm going to cook with a Sous Chef today,'' They chuckled softly. ''Go there, I'll take care of here.''

[dolorum-magne]

My tgs headcanons! I tried to do 5 each for each main character!

Henry Jekyll

-will absolutely talk your ear off about science if you let him. Mention literally anything about science or alchemy or any of his other interests his face will light up and he'll talk for hours. Robert loves it

-if there isn't already a library in his old house or the society I bet he'd want one. His prized possession aside from his science stuff hes collected over the years (like his glass cabinets full of poisons and such) is probably an old copy of frankenstein from when he was a kid. It's worn, faded, and almost falling apart from being read over and over again for years. He probably doesn't read it much anymore (both from lack of time and probably wanting to keep it in the best condition possible) but keeps it on a shelf somewhere as a little keepsake.

-definitely some kind if ND in my opinion. Maybe I'm projecting a little, but I believe it wholeheartedly

-his favourite seasons are autumn and summer. He liked the leaves and the colours and sitting with a hot drink by the fire when its a bit chilly during the fall, and probably enjoys the warm weather. I think it'd be nice for taking zosi for walks

-Dislikes winter but for a different reason than Lanyon. His immune system is canonically shot due to his issues with insomnia so he'll get absolutely taken out during flu season (learned that from the story sketchbook from SabCots online store!) I just imagine him and Robert holed up in an office or one of their houses in front of the fire absolutely swamped with blankets while Henry's got the sniffles and Robert's just cold lol.

Edward Hyde

-headcanon him as a shameless flirt but his brain would probably short circuit if someone flirted back lol

-loves science just as much as Henry even if he won't admit it.

-(this was commented on my other post and i loved this one so I'm adding it here) Hyde is double jointed and uses it to freak people out.

-collects random things like trinkets and spare change.

-hides thing in weird places for Henry to find later to annoy him

Robert Lanyon

-I think he's a dog person I think about this headcanon a lot actually, and there is a reason behind it! In the bleeding heart (tgs prequel comic) he tells Henry he "has no idea how many dogs they've lost in those woods" when talking about the woods outside his families holiday home in Lausanne. I know hes most likely talking about hunting dogs (probably foxhounds or similar breed since fox+game hunting was a common sport for centuries. Maybe still is idk) , bit either way its easy to assume he may have grown up around them (and as I'm a huge dog person) it was easy for me to assume he's at least fond of dogs, also since Henry has a dog and Robert doesn't seem to mind at all. Either way i think Robert is a dog person and even though I only have a tiny bit of evidence to base it on but it's probably my favourite headcanon.

-I think he has a sweet tooth. No explanation for this one. -favourite colours is purple.

-has an eye for detail in different arts. Fashion, architecture, music, etc. I think he enjoys art

-favourite season is definitely summer

Rachel Pidgley

-cooks people things to show she cares about them. It's why she let's Edward steal cookies when she bakes them, why she made all that food for Jasper.

-she used to be Henry's personal cook at his house before he started the society and she became the day manager. I think that when Henry spends the night on his couch in his office (which is probably very often) she probably leaves breakfast and tea outside his door in the morning because he'd probably forget to eat otherwise.

-enjoys baking more than other types of cooking

-helped Hyde distress the end of his cape to make sure he didn't tear it too badly and fray check the edges

Jasper Kaylock

-probably would let Christopher the mud phoenix sleep in his bed with him during the colder months both because he loves his creatures and because hes his own personal heater. Wouldn't be surprised if this had cost him a few sets of sheets in the past.

-someone commented this on my original post about headcanons and I loved it so I'm adding it to mine but Jasper tilts his head to the side like a dog when he's confused.

-probably would enjoy a good scratch behind the ears lol

-definitely has too many creatures, loves all of them

-collects rocks and trinkets. His pockets are probably always full of random things

[world-of-jademountain]

Artemis Jellyfish Fisher

Artemis ran through the halls with a group of  four students.She had been called in from the talons of wisdom to help with the situation in the academy.She was currently evacuating a group of students who were in the library when a shelf was knocked over by a troublemaking dragonet.She looked back to the students who were huddled together comforting the youngest of them who was tearing up.

“It’ll be ok! The overseer has asked me to help look out for students and I won’t fail her!”  Artemis reassured them trying to remain calm and confident.

“But Miss Artemis they're in dragon form and we’re not in dragon form!” one of the students replied whimpering then whispered something to the youngest student.A loud crash came from behind as a light fell down right where they were standing earlier starting to spark and set the floor ablaze.Artemis gasped as her instincts set in and she knew she had to get these kids out now

“There’s an exit up ahead, run to it and get into your dragon form!” she yelled breaking into a sprint and forcing open the door making sure the students were out first then she closed the door and sighed.She lightly pulled off her bag of life placing it in her satchel.she changed into her dragon form ,a sky blue,lilac and pastel pink seawing rainwing hybrid called Jellyfish.By the time her wings had flared out the students had also transformed.The younger student turned into a brown and emerald leafwing,the student who spoke to her a grey-blue and purple seawing and the other more quiet student a blue and white icewing silkwing hybrid.

“We need to fly just over that peak there then you should all be safe” Jellyfish commanded leaping into the skies.Her wings caught the gusts as she passed over the fields and woods and peaks gliding happily as she knew she was safe now.She flew down to a small valley waiting for the students to land behind her

“We’re safe now,unless they followed us” she sighed looking back to the group who were starting to relax.It was calm here a small river flowed next to them and the trees rustled in the wind.But the bush near them started rustling louder,louder,louder and then a rabbit ran out.Jellyfish sighed in relief then something ran out of the bush on her other side.it was two of the trouble-makers Ocea and Oxyn 

“Stop, don't take another step towards the dragonets!” she exclaimed  and they suddenly stopped immediately following her orders That’s odd 

“You three go get further away to safety” she commanded and the students flew off immediately.That’s weird everything is doing what I say. Am I maybe…an animus?! But surely not I’ve tested myself many times but then maybe I did it wrong and this time I really meant it she gasped it had been her childhood dream form when she read the stories of the icewing gifts and the great seawing animus fathom,dreaming of what she would do if she only had the power but now she had to test it again.She picked up a small pebble “Fly into the river” she whispered as the stone shook out her talons and into the river I’m an animus! I could easily just enchant them to leave us alone but that’d be wrong I shouldn’t enchant other dragons. I should try to convince them instead.I’ll enchant something to bring all the trouble makers here so I can explain why they should stop. She picked up another pebble

“Bring all the troublemakers to me” she enchanted it and it flew off.

“Are you an animus?!” Oxyn asked in shock “Please don't hurt us!” 

“I wont do anything to you, I just want to explain why you should stop.” she explained calmly.A third dragonet appeared from the bushes as the pebble flew back into her talons.

“Now you three have been causing a lot of problems in our school setting fires,causing cave-ins,scaring both our students and staff and causing a bookshelf in the library to fall over nearly crushing three students.This is causing distress in our academy which is meant to be a peaceful school where students from all tribes can learn to be friends and co-exist with scavengers as well.Our school has helped bring peace to the continents but you are disrespecting and ruining this harmony” Jellyfish expressed.The three troublemakers looked to each other 

“Why should we care?!We can do what we want, you're not our queen!” Huricus exclaimed stomping their foot

“She’s an animus!She might enchant us if we don't comply!” Oxyn interjected nudging her

“I think we should stop a school like that sounds really nice actually,” Ocea replied.

Jellyfish smiled at them “Thanks for cooperating though I wouldn’t do anything to you if you said no.If you’d like I could ask the overseer if you could attend.” she assured them.

“Thanks miss! We won’t do it again,” they all said simultaneously and flew off.

Now what was left to do was to bring the students back to the academy.She considered enchanting something to help her find them but she knew the way they flew.It would be fine.She eventually spotted them on a peak and landed by them.

“We’re safe now.I talked to them and they agreed to stop though they might have only agreed because they were scared.” she explained 

“Why would they be scared?” The leafwing student asked curiously now having calmed down

“Well I might have figured out I’m an animus..but no one else knows for now,” she replied

“An animus! That’s great! You could help repair the damage and make sure nothing like that ever happens again.” The seawing student exclaimed

“Repairing the school would be a good idea but you shouldn’t push yourself too far miss,” the icewing hybrid muttered quietly.Jellyfish thought then nodded

“Yep I’ll do that.Don’t worry I’ll be careful.” She smiled at the three students “Let’s fly!”

Once she had returned to the school with the students she pushed her talons against the school wall “Enchant Jade mountain academy to repair from any damage caused by the dragonets Huricus,Ocea and Oxyn.” she said.The school began to repair itself caved in areas unblocking and fires putting themself out.Then she turned around pulling on her bag of life and running off to tell others what she’d discovered.