#i just really needed to jot this down somewhere

[nomiyakazehaya]

random au idea where megatron is a walking wasteland (literally based on that same trope) because of his antimatter

what's the reasoning behind this au? solely an excuse to see a horrendously depressed, melancholic, and sad despairing megatron who's a victim of her own circumstances. that, and some musical brainworms but we don't talk about the brainworms i just love the idea of such a sweet and gentle megatron progressively growing so solemn and despondent, and actively having to avoid people and isolating herself or even going as far as self imprisonment so much as to not bring harm to others

[indigodawns]

.

[shotmrmiller]

simon who can afford a better flat than the budget friendly flat he lives in but won't move. johnny doesn't understand. he wants to blame it on simon being the enigmatic, intentionally perplexing man he tends to be but he has a flat.

he doesn't have to. he's got no significant other, no kids (that he knows of, god only knows if simon's got a bairn somewhere. it makes him heated thinking about it. he's it's uncle, damn it.) why does he rent here when living in base is free?

the question answers itself when he's over one evening, empty beer bottles on the table, amber glass reflecting the warm glow of the lone lamp overhead. the television is on, volume turned down, blending with the other sounds of the night— the distant barking of dogs, the quiet hum of simon's fridge, the occasional car passing by outside.

the conversation had died down already, not like they don't spend almost every waking breath with each other at work and they'd been sitting in a comfortable silence when there was a sudden, sharp knock at simon's door.

it startles johnny, reaction instinctive as he reaches for his hip, hand curling around the grip of his holstered gun but simon seems relaxed. he pins him with a look and mutters, "s'alrigh'."

what does he mean it's alright? it's 'witchin' hour'' as his mam calls it, who could possible be at his door? he cranes his neck to look and—

it's you, standing up here with a flour-dusted apron, small hands holding a warm pastry, the steam twisting and curling off of it. you're exude homely charm, soft face glowing from the corridor's light (or maybe it's at the sight of seeing simon, who knows?) he can smell it in the air, sweet, inviting.

what johnny finds interesting enough to send a quick text to kyle is how simon is looking at you. as if you're handing him more than just a custard tart, but also a little piece of heaven, a fragment of a dream he hopes to have one day.

"'m sorry, simon. i wasn't aware you had any company. i just really needed to stress bake or i would've gone off the deep end and end up in prison."

violent little bonnie. he can see the appeal.

simon cups his hands over yours (he definitely did it as an excuse to touch you) as he takes the treat. if you make food to unwind and give it to your neighbors, johnny oughta move in next door too. he'll never turn down free food.

"don't worry about it." johnny's eyebrows shoot to his hairline at the softness in his tone, bottle halfway to his lips.

clearly more than a passing fancy.

"i'll just uhm, if you're friend wants some too—" but simon gently interrupts you before he can ask for some of that sweet comfort too.

"he's not hungry."

cruel, cruel bastard. he'll remember this day, jot it down in his calendar. when he gets a girl of his own, he'll be sure to do the same.

johnny wonders if you've got a crick in your neck from looking up at simon as you speak hushed words, meant only for him. can he get at least a nibble of that tart?

you shoot johnny a shy ㅤsmile before turning around and simon closes the door, turning back to the warming beers, golden tart in hand.

even the plate it's on is cute.

"ah can see the hearts in yer eyes, lt."

johnny can practically hear the air parting as simon's fist cuts through it, aimed at his head. he avoids it with practiced ease. "ooh, touchy. ah'll leave ye be if i get a bite o' tha'."

he doesn't gets not even a crumb because simon is selfish.

(simon moved here purposefully because he knows you live here and can't be at peace without knowing where you are at all times. there's a tag inside your favorite pair of shoes you left out in the hall once to dry after a hard downpour. the bakery you work at is down the street, if he looks out the south facing window, he can see you going in and leaving work. he likes to let himself in your home and smell your cushions. took one of your shirts too but at least made sure it wasn't one of your faves. he has to wash it every other day)

[feyburner]

I ??? woke up at 3am with this scene fully written in my mind palace and quickly jotted it down in the Notes app

*

Clark’s shaking his head before he realizes he’s doing it, and feels a twinge of embarrassment at his own bad manners when Bruce stops mid-word to look at him, brows raised.

“No?” he says.

“No,” Clark says, again without thinking, and again with the reflexive urge to apologize. Somewhere his mother is tutting without knowing why. But he doesn’t apologize, because he’s already saying, “No, it can’t—it can’t be that.”

“Okay,” Bruce says slowly. “Can you elaborate?”

He is, honestly, having trouble taking his eyes off the screen. The mockup design of his new suit is there, dark and sleek, ridged like tactical gear. The blue is like the last shade of evening before you can’t call it evening anymore, the color of nine PM in Kansas in July, so exact there’s a strong chance Bruce color-picked it from a photo. The yellow accents are the cool fluorescent yellow-green of lightning bugs. The red is dark as arterial blood. Every aspect of the suit has been updated—the colors deeper, the angles sharper, the S extending to the corners of its frame—but Bruce has done it without changing the fundamentals. It’s immediately recognizable as the Superman suit, just… well, a little cooler, maybe. A little more of the times. Even the tailoring is modernized. The neckline. The shape of the boots. Where the belt hits at the waist. Clark can tell just by looking that Bruce has not only spent a lot of time on this in general, he’s spent a lot of time designing it specifically with Clark in mind, Clark’s needs and preferences and the small discomforts of his current suit, things he might have mentioned offhand after a mission but never with the assumption that Bruce was listening or filing it away. No doubt the next slides of this presentation will detail all the hidden features of the new suit, and they’ll all be incredibly thoughtful if not slightly overkill, and Bruce will pretend his sole motive here was practicality and risk reduction and respond to any thanks with a curt nod.

And Clark wants to thank him. He will. It’s just.

“It can’t be… cool,” he says, inane. Bruce is watching him with that steady look that used to feel clinical, piercing, and now mostly reads as attentive. “It can’t be—like yours. Tactical, military-grade.”

“Lightyears beyond, actually.”

“It has to—Ma said once, a kid should be able to draw it with crayons. You know? I can’t look like a weapon. I have to—I want to look like a friend.”

He can feel himself flushing. It’s rare that he speaks like this, and rarer still that he does so while being stared at intently. Bruce may think of himself as the darkness, but his gaze is a spotlight: unwavering and revealing and more a little sweat-inducing, for one reason or another.

“Sometimes, when I show up, people laugh,” Clark says. “If it’s somewhere out of the way, where they haven’t seen me before. I show up and I look like a festival performer. It’ll be the worst day of their lives, and they’ve got no reason to trust my face, but when they see what I’m wearing—it goes from ‘Who are you?’ to ‘Who is this guy?’ And that’s a good thing.”

“Hard to be afraid of a man dressed in primary colors,” Bruce says, almost to himself.

“Exactly.”

“I see. Thank you,” he says, “for explaining.”

Clark tries not to show how surprised he is to hear that. Judging by the crook of Bruce’s mouth, his success is negligible. “Of course. Sorry I didn’t—I mean, thank you, obviously, for going to such trouble. I didn’t mean to come in here and—I really do appreciate it, I can tell you put a lot of work in—”

Bruce’s eyes cut away. “No. No need. I didn’t ask, before I…. It was only a first draft. If you’re amenable, I’ll incorporate your feedback into the second one.”

“Oh! Yeah. Yes, of course, but you really don’t have to—”

“If you have any further notes, I would like to hear them.”

There’s something determined in the lines of his face. Clark has the sense that this moment is important, that it’s a turning point, even if he’s not sure why. It feels like striking out into a sea of ice, a blank white expanse under which something precious and vital is hidden, has been hidden all along, just waiting for him to find it. To want to.

“Sure,” he says. He looks back at the suit and swallows, and knows Bruce will see the flicker of his throat and take some meaning from it, and wishes he knew what the meaning was. Or maybe Bruce won’t notice or read into it at all. Maybe Clark needs to calm down, in fact. “Um. I don’t want to assume, but does it… do things?”

“It does things,” Bruce confirms, after the barest pause. “Let me show you the next slide.”

[urdepressedslut]

I Get Scared Too

♡ Pairing: tfatws!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

♡ Summary: You have a close call during a mission, and back at the compound Bucky seems to be distant and cold towards you.

♡ Warnings: angst, fluff, reader injury, mentions of gunfire, hints to anxiety attack

A/N: this idea was from a dream i had (im a lucid dreamer). i have been writing in a dream journal since elementary school, so you can imagine the dreams i have jotted down 😭

The mission hadn’t gone to plan, shocker, but everyone kept all their limbs and were able to walk back to the quinjet.

You had a close call, you didn’t see the previously passed out agent sitting back up raising his gun to your back. Obviously before he could fire somewhere vital, Natasha had taken him down, faltering his aim. Although the bullet had skimmed you deep on your hip.

It was hardly life threatening, but Natasha being a protective best friend, scolded you for being reckless. You knew her intentions were good, and that she cared about you, but it didn’t stop you from being annoyed at her treating you like a kid.

She eventually walked to the other side of the quinjet, leaving you to your thoughts. You thought you had done really well, taking down twice as many enemies than last time. But of course, everyone always focused on your flaws, what you had done wrong.

When the quinjet finally landed back at the compound, you were the first one out, having a slight limp from the discomfort in your hip. But otherwise didn’t mind it, you wanted to find your favorite person and tell them all about the mission.

“FRIDAY, where’s Bucky?” You called out to the air once you were inside.

“Bucky is currently in his room, Miss (Y/n).” She announced, making you smile in excitement.

The mission had only been a three day trip, but you had missed him the second you stepped on the quinjet.

Arriving at his door, you knocked three times, hearing shuffling from inside. The door swung open to reveal an unhappy looking Bucky, causing your smile to waver. Assuming he was just having a bad day, you smiled wider and stepped forward to hug him.

“Hi Buck, I missed you.” You mumbled into his chest, squeezing him tighter when you didn’t feel him hug back.

His body tensed, and immediately you released him and stepped back. You were confused at what was wrong, his face was cold. You were hurt that he hadn’t hugged you back, wondering if you had done something to make him mad.

“Missed ya too um... You should go (Y/n).” He spoke finally, his voice holding annoyance.

You blinked up at him and shook your head, fully confused now.

“Buck wha— what’s going on?” You asked hesitantly, anxious that Bucky was being so short with you so suddenly and you didn’t know why.

“Nothing, I just wanna be alone.” He told you, and your heart broke for two reasons.

One, the thought of Bucky having an episode and you weren’t here for him made your heart hurt.

And two, he always came to you when he was upset and the fact that he didn’t want you with him… It stung.

You stared at him as your eyes started to water, your bottom lip starting to quiver. Your heart ached, but you wanted to respect his need for space. You didn’t know what else to say, and considering the lump forming in your throat, you decided to keep it short.

“Alright yeah, of course. I’ll… See you at dinner then.” You told him, watching him retreat back into his room and slam the door, making you flinch.

You were frozen in place, staring at the door expecting him to come back out and tell you it was all a prank. But several minutes passed and you were still staring at the door.

_____________________

You pushed the food around on your plate, keeping your eyes casted down. You had tried to get Bucky's attention, ever since you watched with glossy eyes as he passed his usual seat next to you, and instead sat at the other end of the table. He was avoiding your direction and never attempted to make eye contact.

Bucky giving you the cold shoulder, being silent with you was extremely painful. Considering how well you two communicated and talked, you were the one who had brought him out of his shell. It hurt so bad your chest ached physically.

Out of nowhere, you were slamming your fork down on the plate with a loud clank, causing everyones attention to snap to you.

"What's the matter with you cupcake?" Tony asked you, taking a sip from his wine glass.

Feeling embarrassed from everyones stares, you snuck a glance at Bucky at the end of the table, surprised when you met his concerned eyes.

You scoffed, shaking your head in bewilderment. He had no right to act concerned, after ignoring you. You almost felt bad for him, thinking he was having a bad day, but after you watched him chatter playfully at dinner with everyone, you realized it was only you he didn't want to speak to.

"Hello? Earth to (Y/n)!?" Tony announced, banging on the table to get your attention when he noticed you spacing out.

Everyone was concerned about you by now, all watching you carefully. You glared at Bucky and stood up without answering Tony, pushing your chair back and quickly exiting the dining room.

"Must be her time of the month." Tony mumbled, earning a slap to the back of the head from the redhead next to him. "Ow... What?!"

"Shut up Tony." Natasha rolled her eyes, turning to Bucky and giving him a 'What did you do' look.

_____________________

Laying in bed on your side, you pulled the blanket tighter to your chest with a sniffle. You began to turn over on your other side when your hip throbbed painfully at the movement. The waves of pain had your body shuttering, your eyes filling with fresh tears, rolling down your flushed cheeks.

You blamed your tears on your hip pain, but all the emotions you’d piled up since you’d gotten back from the mission was weighing on you now.

Light knocks sounded from your door, causing you to tense up and turn your back to the door. You didn’t feel like talking to anyone, especially if it was him.

“(Y/n)? I know you heard me.” Natasha muttered, opening the door, letting herself in.

“What do you want Nat?” You snapped, not meaning to take out your frustrations on her.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on? Your little scene downstairs has everyone worried.” She told you, earning a scoff from you, still refusing to face her.

“It’s nothing.” You sighed, wishing she could leave so you could attempt to sleep your issues away.

“Didn’t seem like nothing.” She retorted, huffing in annoyance when you stayed silent.

You were staring at the wall, biting your lip, trying to hold in your built up emotions. Too busy to notice Natasha whispering to another person entering the room. It was when you felt the edge of the bed behind you dip down that snapped your attention back.

“Hey doll,” Bucky greeted, “How’s your hip?”

You twisted your body back facing his worried form, but your eyebrows were furrowed on how he even knew about your injury.

“How did you…”

“Nat told me.”

Rolling your eyes, you were cursing under your breath. Throwing the blanket over your head in attempt to hide.

Your blanket cocoon was quickly ripped away by Bucky, pulling the blanket all the way down below your knees. His eyes dancing around your bandaged hip, clenching his jaw at the red seeping through the white gauze.

“(Y/n), is your hip feeling okay? Do we need to change it—“

“I’m fine!” You snapped, “Now go away.”

You we’re looking everywhere but his eyes, knowing you’d break down if you saw the disappointment in them.

Bucky was taken a back, but he couldn’t be all that angry when he’d brought all this on himself. He just got into this weird headspace when he’d heard the mission report, hearing that you’d been hurt. He realized it wasn’t fatal, but he didn’t like seeing his girl hurt at all. He realized he took it a little too far, he didn’t mean to make you upset the way he did. He’d shut you out and he felt like his old self when he’d first arrived at the compound again. Anxious and closed off, pushing you away when he really wanted to pull you into his arms and tell you how much he loves you.

“Doll, talk to me.” He practically begged, his metal arm whirring, having to stop himself from reaching out to touch you.

“Why are you ignoring me?” You rushed out, your voice louder than you intended it to be, “Is it because I messed up on the mission? A-are you disappointed in me or something? Huh?”

Your chest was rising and falling in a fast rhythm, your mind going haywire at the possibilities of why Bucky was suddenly indifferent with you. Your throat felt like it was tightening up.

Bucky stayed silent, his heart hurting, feeling terrible for making you feel this way.

You couldn’t stop your mind from producing the awful thoughts, and like a switch had been flipped, the dam inside of you cracked. The tears wouldn’t stop, your sobs painful sounding

“Is it… Is it because you— I— Do you not love m-me anymore?” You wheezed out.

Bucky snapped out of his silent trance, his hands cupping your face, brushing away the tear streaks.

“Baby no…” He hushed, trying to stop your mind from torturing yourself.

“I’m so sorry Buck, I-I love you so much and I…” You hiccuped, “If I did something— If I’m not good enough—“

“No Doll hey… Stop that,” He cooed, “You haven’t done anything wrong, okay?”

“Bu-but you…”

“I know baby, I’ve been a dick. I shouldn’t of shut you out like that I was just… I was scared.” Bucky confessed, your tears and breathing slowing down, you sitting silent besides the occasional hiccup.

“I still… I don’t understand?” You thought out loud.

Bucky breathed heavily, swallowing the forming lump in his throat. He scooted closer to you, pulling your form closer to him, and you let him.

“(Y/n), you have no idea how scared I was when I heard you had gotten hurt.” He started, watching your face soften at his wavering voice.

“Buck, I’m okay though.” You reassured him, grabbing his palms, rubbing your thumb comfortingly over the back of his hand.

“I know baby, but… I couldn’t help but think if you got hurt on a mission and—“ He panted out, “And you didn’t make it.”

Your heart ached at the pain laced in his words, him holding onto your hands in a desperate grip.

“Buck..”

“I know that doesn’t give me an excuse to be a dick to you I… I just get into this headspace every time you are headed back from a mission, when I’m waiting to hear that you’re alright and… When I heard you had gotten hurt— I just assumed the worst.” He finished.

The disappointment was clear on his face, but it wasn’t directed toward you, it was directed to himself.

You understood that he meant no harm, and you felt incredibly bad that he suffered so much while you were gone, you thought it was the other way around. You felt extremely loved in a sense, feeling lucky enough to have someone worry as deep as he did for you.

“Buck, you should’ve just told me how you were feeling from the start. You know I’d listen,” You paused, doubt clouding your thoughts, “You still trust me enough to talk to me… Right?”

Bucky immediately nodded his head, cupping your face, hearing your faltering voice.

“Of course I do baby, I trust you with my life.” He reassured you, “I don’t know why I got like that.”

“I know why,” You started, cradling his face, watching him snuggle his cheek deeper into your palm, “You have a good heart, and sometimes having a good heart can be overwhelming, because you can care so much about something.”

“I don’t want a good heart if it’s going to make me act that way.” He whispered sadly, lowering his eyes.

“That’s the thing about having a good heart,” You lifted his head slightly so his eyes met yours, “Its not something you can just change, it’s a part of you.”

He gazed from each eye, to your lips, then back up to your eyes, mesmerized by your beauty and soul. How could you be so forgiving and caring towards him?

“I’m so sorry I shut you out (Y/n), I love you and I will never do something like that again.” He promised, lifting and pulling you into his lap, curling his arms around your frame. Sitting his chin on top of your head.

You snuggled your face into his neck, wrapping your arms around him protectively.

“It’s okay Buck, I get scared too.”

[compact-turtle]

How would all three yans react to having children? Good or bad?

This is actually such a fun prompt and ask! Thank you for sending it in. I'd actually love to write a full post sometime instead of a small little drabble about this! It'd be so much fun imaging one of their daily routines and lives with a family.

Atticus:

-Isn't really that interested in kids unless his darling wants them. At first, he'll try to talk his darling out of it. Gives lists of reasons on why he can't be a dad. Eventually, comes around to it if his darling really wants them.

-He's a strict and stoic father. Makes sure the kids go to bed at a certain time, finish their chores and do their homework. The kids have to be punctual.

-Not a fan of extreme harsh punishments at all. No taking away meals, locking in closets or any of the sorts. Especially, hitting if they don't listen. (His parents used to do it to him which has resulted in a traumatized farmer)

-More type of look at the consequences of your actions. You don't do your homework, then you fail your class. You don't collect eggs from the chicken coop, no eggs for breakfast. You don't feed the dogs, look at them go hungry. (The doggies don't actually go hungry since Atticus secretly feeds them, they're just always begging for food)

-Shows he loves them through his actions instead of words. He'll take them special getaway trips, go bird watching, catch bugs, make presents, etc. He wants his kids to know that he loves them despite his strict behavior. He's trying to break the cycle of generational abuse that came from his parents. It's hard ngl but he makes an effort every day to overcome it.

For readers who imagine pregnancy:

-kisses your belly when you're asleep. Reassures the baby that he'll always take care of them. He would never do it when you're awake since he's nervous you'll deem him as less than manly or "strong".

-Does not let you work on the farm at all!! He hires extra farmhands to replace your usual help. Lectures and scolds you when you try to do anything. Don't you know that an accident could happen any time especially somewhere dangerous like this farm??

-Your safety and the baby's safety are top priority at all times.

-Watches films and tv shows about pregnancy and families. He makes sure to remember all the details so he can be the best father just like on the tv!

-No sexy time at all when pregnant! He's afraid it'll injure the baby. Only complies when his darling coaxes him into it but even then, it took a while.

Orion:

-Hella yea. The only one who's willing to jump on board and be excited for them. Takes the kids out on daily foraging and exploration nearby the home. Teaches them how to jot down information.

-Shows them his notes on all different types of plants, creatures and landscapes. Tells them which things to avoid and how to survive if in contact with dangerous creatures.

-Kids grow an immunity to his terrible cooking. Actually, enjoy it and treat is as an odd delicacy to be savored.

-The children are taught both languages. Darling's for communicating with other members of the species but his in case they need to talk, and others are listening in.

-Reminds the kids how much he adores them and their mother every day. Tells them tales about his home world and adventures with their mother.

-However, his favorite story to tell is about how their mother heroically saved him from death and starvation. Sometimes he embellishes details like

"Oh, your mother also fell in love at first sight with me. They were just too shy to admit it, but I could tell."

-The real question though, are human species able to get darling's species pregnant???

For readers who imagine pregnancy:

-Does darling get pregnant like a human? Orion will have to find out. However, I imagine the way of getting pregnant to be similar, but they don't give birth. Instead, an egg like thing forms within their reproductive system and they push out something similar to an egg.

-The egg would hatch within two months after growing to full term.

-Orion has built a nest for the egg and watches it every night. Proudly tells the egg about all the adventures they'll go on as family.

-Darling insists that Orion doesn't need to baby the egg since the shell is quite strong. Still, he doesn't listen and frets over any small movement from it. Makes little hats and scarves and dresses the egg in it.

-Orion makes sure to take so many notes during this period. What color is the egg? How long before it hatches? How many times does it move in an hour?

-He takes notes in case darling and him decide to have another egg baby. He'll be more prepared second round.

-Enjoys setting the mood up for some sexy time. He feeds you the right food, sets up the small hut just right and everything. Ofc he'll makes sure to cover the baby egg with a blanket. He doesn't want your baby egg to see anything inapposite after all.

Ivar:

-He'd want to wait a few years into marriage. The idea of kids is daunting. He's seen the worse of man and how destructive the world can be. Really nervous about letting kids out into that type of environment. Still, he does desire a family that you'll raise together.

-He's a fun goofy dad. Takes all the stress of the kids when he arrives home. Plays with them, teases them and drains all their energy so you can relax. I'd imagine that Ivar insists that you be a stay-at-home mom while he goes to work.

-Listens to his kid's problems from boyfriend issues to " I can't believe they cancelled my show". Actively enjoys listening to his kids talk about anything and everything.

-Signs his kids up for self-defense classes. He's aware that there's so many dangers in the world and he can't always be there to help. They've got to be prepared for anything that could happen.

-Supports his kids in all their activities. Shows up to every single game, recital, spelling bee, etc. Whatever it maybe, he'll be there. Wants them to know he cares about them and their interests.

-Doesn't really enjoy mentioning stories from his time at war to them. He's afraid it'll corrupt their world view and he want them to live a peaceful life :(

For readers who imagine pregancy:

-Ivar reads up on all those mom-blogs and pregnancy books. Puts headphones on your belly so your baby can listen to Mozart. Does it actually do anything? Idk the mom blog says it stimulates baby growth or something like that.

-You have a strong craving at 1 in the morning? He's on the case to get it for you. If he can't find it any stores, then he'll drive over to the next few towns to get it. He's so determined to find it.

-loves decorating the baby's nursery. He'll put up decorations and different decals for the baby. Also enjoys building things for it such as dresser and the crib.

-Also doesn't let you by yourself. You want to talk a walk around the neighborhood by yourself? Nope. He's right there holding your hand or pushing you in a wheelchair.

-loves to initiate sexy time with you. During his mom blog reading, he read that it was a great past time while pregnant. Plus, he loves you no matter what you look like even if you're insecure about your changing body.

[deception-united]

Here, have some writing tips.

Celebrating 1000 followers! Love you all ❤

Your first version doesn't have to be permanent.

A lot of writers—myself included—may feel a sort of connection or duty to their original story, draft, plot, or characters. But being afraid to change what you already have will only hinder you. My current WIP (which I'm working on with @leisureflame, check out her blog!) has been changed—and I mean completely flipped around—countless times. We started out in a medieval setting with kings and queens and burning witches, and now it's a dystopian novel set in the future in a country they're forbidden to leave. Our main character was originally dark haired, olive skinned, reserved, fierce, independent, and now she's a sunburn-prone ginger with a sanity deficiency. We've scrapped and replaced multiple characters and sacrificed plot elements we loved to attain what is best for this story. It's incredibly sad, but sometimes, it's necessary.

Don't delete your ideas.

Or excerpts. Or character ideas. An idea's occurred to you at three in the morning? In the shower? At work? Write. It. Down. Immediately. The top surface of my bookcase is littered with random notes in smudged pencil that I've jotted down. Referring back to the last point, if you change or scrap a part of your story, keep it somewhere. I like to keep a notes document that I perpetually add the most random things to: out-of-context lines of dialogue, phrases I like, new vocabulary, character descriptions—anything, really. Even if you know you're probably never going to have occasion to use it, take note of it anyway. You never know when a previous idea will be just the element you need in your story. And if not, well, they're fun to read over later.

Free write.

I know I covered this in a recent post, but I'd just like to stress on it again. Open a document or a page in your notebook and just start writing. Whatever comes to mind. Doesn't matter how nonsensical or embarrassing or muddled, as long as you're writing. This exercise can really help regain or maintain your creative flow. You'll end up with some passages that are horrible and that you will never deign to set your eyes upon in the rest of your years, and others you'll cherish. In any case, whether the result is good or atrocious, you'll have written something. It's a good way to combat writer's block, or boredom. I recommend it.

Hope this helps. Thanks for all your support!

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[meanbossart]

Another much overdue ask compilation! Some short-ish lore asks (Gale, Gort, DU drow relationships and pet-companion preferences) and a couple of art/advice ones sprinkled in. THIS IS BY NO MEANS ALL OF MY ASKS so as usual I appreciate everyone's patience!

I actually think he'd give them a pass entirely as soon as he noticed. Correct me if I'm mistaken but half-drow get No love from underdark drow and are usually surface babies right? So that fruit is miles away from the tree lol. I think he generally has a bit of a soft spot for mixed kinds since he himself feels like an amalgamation of sorts.

Thank you! They're kind of a pain in the ass to draw at times for that very reason but man I do like the look 😩if other people like it too then that makes it all worth it!

THAT'S TRICKY TO ANSWER BECAUSE OFTEN TIMES I'M NOT... REALLY TRYING. I've draw a ton of horror comics for mine and my partner's series' SAD SACK and SORTIE, so I think it just comes naturally to me 😅 also I do genuinely find expressive and, uh, rugged faces more attractive? (I think they look rugged, again that's what people tell me at least.)

I think the secret might be adding bits of realism in there. I get a lot of comments about the wrinkles and eyelashes I add to my art, as well as the way I draw individual teeth (though I've lately been making an effort to simplify my style in favor of drawing faster, so I haven't done that as much or in as much detail.)

Both symmetry and the lack of it can also add to that effect. I have employed both facial unevenness and almost point-perfect symmetry to achieve something a little frightening or otherworldly in my work. [MORE UNDER THE CUT]

Thank you so much!!! The contrast is very much intentional, that's what DU drow's character is all about ;)

Hahah well I somewhat doubt Bhaal would care that his spawn gets named, but either way he stripped himself of his name as soon as he killed his foster parents and abandoned the Underdark. He had a drow name that I jotted down somewhere but it's completely irrelevant because nobody has used it since he was a child, and he doesn't remember it (even pre-tadpole/having his brain scrambled.) Here's a little write up about his origins that might shed some more light on that: https://meanbossart.tumblr.com/post/739688837431836672/did-drow-ever-have-a-childhood-before-the-temple

And about his original drow-given name and the reason behind it: https://meanbossart.tumblr.com/post/741350986692591616/drow-had-to-have-been-given-a-name-by-his-adoptive

Everyone just referred to him as his supposed race, or as Bhaalspawn or Bhaal's child, and any other similar titles. Orin called him "kin" and "brother" and Gortash likely called him his associate. Post-tadpole the camp grows entirely used to calling him "the drow" and he has no desire to change that or to choose a proper name.

THANK YOU BOTH SO MUCH😭 no reason to be intimidated, I'm just some rando drawing BG3 fan art LOL I've been drawing since I was a child, and started taking it semi-seriously when I was 16 years old, so twelve years ago! That's around the time where I got my first non-display tabled and used that well into my twenties, prior to that I only did stuff on paper and liked to do inks color with pencils. I never really ventured into traditional painting at all except for a little bit of water-coloring in college.

Traditional and Digital art are very much different beasts. Which one you want to start with is, in my opinion, just dependent on what you want to do. Digital art gives you a lot of tools that makes learning easier, but you might find yourself having much steeper of a learning curve if you ever decide to do traditional art instead. If you want to be good at both, you need to practice both, since the skill doesn't entirely translate from one medium to the other.

Naturally you will be able to draw well on either, it's just... Different. I will say though, that I think if you're still learning you should use whatever allows you to look directly at what your hand is doing, so either traditional or display tablet/Ipad. I have no idea what a non-display tablet would do to a beginner, but remembering my experience with it I feel like it might be a huge detriment to developing the skill (feel free to share your experiences in the replies if you disagree, as I would definitely be curious to read them!)

YOU KNOW ME BABY IT WAS MESSY AND COMPLICATED the tldr.: is that they were "buddies", absolutely no romance intended there on either mine or DU drow's part, but due to his nature the friendship was extremely weird.

Here's a couple of replies where I go into more detail about it: https://meanbossart.tumblr.com/post/739191190871818240/i-dont-have-a-particular-question-in-mind-sorry

https://meanbossart.tumblr.com/post/744952815768764416/so-not-sure-if-youve-covered-this-but-i-thought

That's definitely reserved for the vamp LOL DU drow very much enjoys when Astarion teases and fusses over him, and while Astarion probably got a kick out of acting that way around such a big and scary looking guy at first, I think by "now" (later and post-game) he's pretty much immune to DU drow's looks and just enjoys doing it in earnest.

He's not at all averse to being touched (even rather intimately) by close friends, but he wouldn't be quite THAT vulnerable with anyone else.

HE REALLY DISLIKED GALE... He irked him out by seemingly fostering a rather persistent romantic interest in him for at least half the time they spent together (very much based on my interpretation of their in-game interactions at the time, though my Gale might have been a little bugged.)

But also they had a... Fairly in depth relationship still? Gale was a staple in my party, and even though I antagonized him constantly by the end of the game it still felt like they had so much weight in each other's lives, if that makes sense. I might need to do a bit of an "update" on the DU Drow/Gale lore sometime, I feel like I've had some thoughts since that warrant more exploration of their dynamic (you can find a lot of old asks about it if you just search the Gale Dekarios tag in my blog though).

The gist of it is that DU drow found him arrogant and duplicitous, his constant optimist irritated him to no end and felt like it veiled a stream of self-pity (two things DU drow despises) Gale's attempts to get through to him only added insult to injury. By the end of the game he decided to pursue the crown of Karsus and this only lost him even more respect in Drow's eyes, seeing as he doesn't value godly power at all.

I was pretty overwhelmed by the game at the start so I actually missed a lot LOL including Scratch. I did get the owlbear cub though, which DU drow gladly welcomed into camp since it was injured - but I think he would have wished for it to remain a wild animal and to return back to it's home after it had grown up a bit. He didn't really make a "pet" out of it more than he just looked after the little guy in the way it's mother might have, probably with Shadowheart's help.

He wouldn't be opposed to proper pets though if one were to stumble into his life. He'd definitely be more of a cat guy because of their independence and strong little attitudes.

It is very hard to build proper rapport with him. He will be "friendly" to most people who have a good sense of humor about them, but friendSHIP is another thing entirely.

I think it's kind of circumstantial. He's very economical in his relationships and doesn't really seek them out at all - so a situation where he's forced to be in someone's company might be the only way to develop a bond with him, as he doesn't appreciate insistence either and that's more likely to push him away. He doesn't value status or titles either (kind of looks down on them really) so that won't help.

I think he just likes people who are true to themselves and their nature, sometimes even if the nature is one he disagrees with at it's core. This is why he liked Gortash, why he and Shadowheart got along so well, and why him and Astarion fit together so seamlessly despite seeming so different. Likewise I think it's why he didn't jive with people like Gale or Wyll, because they seemed to be rather... Dishonest with themselves and their own end-goals.

[vidavalor]

The Hoff

I think that we've seen that very distinctive and unusual, capital F in Fell in the the note inside Aziraphale's copy of Modern Magic before...

What could explain that? 😊

Ok, so, first things first... to be clear: there really was a Professor Hoffman who published a book called Modern Magic. His real name was Angelo Lewis and, until its publication of Modern Magic in 1875, there wasn't really a major book in English that acted as a guidebook in for teaching aspiring magicians what they would need to know to be able to perform. It is seen as the first magic textbook, basically. So, the book really exists but this is where we have to talk about the apparent "autograph" that we were shown in 1941.

If you've ever had an author inscribe their book to you or received an autographed book as a gift, you probably have noticed that the author almost always signs the book on the title page or, if not that, on some other page on which there is type in the very early part of the book. They usually do not autograph books on the 1-2 blank pages of paper that are included at the start of most hardcover books... which is the spot where we can see that the note in Aziraphale's copy of Modern Magic is written. There are a couple of reasons why authors do not autograph those pages.

The first is that autographing one of the printed pages of the book helps to ensure that the author's signature stays with the book. If they sign a blank piece of paper at the start of the book, the signature can be more easily ripped out of the book and potentially used by someone for something illegal-- especially true of the pre-computer & cell phone eras but something which holds over into today. There is also that one of the reasons why the blank pages in the front of the book are included in the first place is to help keep the book clean in order to preserve it for longer, with the idea being that the blank pages can be removed if the book gets dirty over time from dust and dirt falling inside the cover.

The last reason, though, is the reason most relevant to what we're talking about here and that's that the blank pages are also meant to be a space for personal notes. Not just for something the reader might wish to jot down but for a message to the reader from the person who gifted them the book.

If you gift a book to someone, the tradition is that you write them a little note on the inside of the book. In a hardcover book, this is meant to be written somewhere on the blank pages. We are specifically shown Aziraphale opening his copy of Modern Magic to the very first, otherwise-blank page and reading the note that is the only other thing on the page, in the upper right hand corner.

Ok, you might say, but the note is written from Professor Hoffman and mentions Aziraphale being a 'wonderful student', so even though the unique and significant capital F's are a match... how could Crowley have written the note?

The note is actually signed The Hoff and there is already some wordplay in the 1941, Part 2 minisode in which Aziraphale uses that word while referencing Professor Hoffman on the surface but in such a way as to really be referring to Crowley.

Later on in 1941, when the two are drinking wine at the end of the minisode, their whole conversation is word-nerdy flirtation and Aziraphale responds to Crowley's inquiry as to how he got the photo back from Furfur with this line: "Who needs miracles when you've had private lessons from The Great Prof. Hoff. man himself?"

Here's where that Crowley-mentioned "tone of voice" from the start of 2.01 comes into play a bit...

In this post, we looked at how Aziraphale's emphasis in the "Prof. Hoff.man" sentence suggested he was using Professor Hoffman's name as wordplay to really be referring to Crowley. Prof, short for professor, is rooted in profess, which is to state something, while hoff is a Welsh term of endearment that means my dear and my beloved. (Some Welsh pet names in this show starring Michael Sheen? Couldn't be! 😂)

Used in that way? Prof. Hoff.man, spoken the way Aziraphale did in the wine scene in 1941, is actually referring to Crowley and calling him his dear (and deer) man and his beloved. It's "my dear" and "my love" but in Welsh. This, then, is Aziraphale referring to Crowley as his hoff... which is how the note in the Modern Magic book is signed.

Further emphasizing this are the other words being used in the wordplay in the same sentence that talks about private lessons from The Great Prof. Hoff.man.

The first is Aziraphale adding the adjective of great ahead of Prof. Hoff.man. In a couple of other posts, this word has come up already but to sum it up, great in their speak is dry use of the adjective used to describe The Great/Ineffable/Divine/Whatever Plan to describe their relationship or one another, instead. It basically means what we all know great to mean but with added humor within their speak being that it's blasphemous to use it that way in their supernatural world and that it comes from the root words related to to rub or to grind together. It also contains the word eat-- self-explanatory for the food-obsessed Crowley and Aziraphale.

In the Odegra scene in S1, in which basically all of Crowley's work presentation is in his and Aziraphale's vocabulary, he refers to the Biblical Great Beast on the surface which, in their vocabulary, they've actually jokingly made a phrase that refers to Aziraphale between them. When Maggie tells Crowley that he and Aziraphale don't say how they really feel, Maggie doesn't realize it but Crowley responds to her in his and Aziraphale's hidden vocabulary, because he's understandably a little put off. His response concludes with the deceptively simple summary of his and Aziraphale's relationship as a whole: "It's great."

In the Prof Hoff scene, Aziraphale refers to having had private lessons from "The Great Prof. Hoff.man" himself. If the wordplay in the scene has The Great Prof Hoff.man here being a reference to Crowley then so, too, are the private lessons. This is not to say that Aziraphale might have never taken magic lessons with Angelo Lewis aka Professor Hoffman. It's just to say that he is happily using Professor Hoffman's name here as wordplay to refer to Crowley in this moment. It's using Aziraphale's human magic as euphemistic for their romance, which also what The Bullet Catch and many other scenes have done. While private lessons manages to sound quite innuendo-y just on the surface alone, there's also some other layers that make it especially top shelf.

Lessons, in this case, are a mixed French-English phonetic joke-- they're les sins, or the sins. Crowley and Aziraphale don't see sex as sinful but referring to it that way with tongue firmly in cheek is their type of blasphemous humor, yeah? Even funnier is the fact that the French word for sin is peche, which also can refer to both a peach (so, a fruit, which also happens to be pretty uniformly euphemistic for an ass) and, even more amusingly, for the act of fishing.

Additionally, lesson comes from legere, which is the root of many words related to act of reading. Originally, the word lesson referred only to a reading aloud of The Bible. The word private in Aziraphale's sentence does just refer to a sense of privacy in the way that we know it but there are also the words it contains.

Besides the food-related ate, there is vate. The Latin word vates meant a prophet or a seer. By sometime prior to the 1600s, though, the word vate had splintered off from vates and had evolved to mean something that Crowley already canonically is-- a poet.

"Private lessons with The Great Prof. Hoff.man himself" on a wordplay level is really Aziraphale referring to romance and lovemaking with his dearly beloved poet.

Ok, so, we've established that Crowley can easily be The Hoff who wrote the note. Now, let's go back to the note written inside Aziraphale's copy of Modern Magic and look at the romance and humor of it being written the way it is if we're saying that it's written by Crowley and not by the Angelo Lewis version of Professor Hoffman.

Let's start with "a wonderful student." Here's the thing... you wouldn't need to be instructing Aziraphale on anything to refer to him that way. A student is a person who seeks to and works to gain knowledge and Aziraphale is constantly doing that. He is a curious, life-long learner, as we all should try to be, right? From knowing Aziraphale as the story shows us, all of us could say that Aziraphale is a wonderful student, could we not?

There's a sweet sense of humor in using the adjective wonderful in there as well. A person who is wonderful is full of wonder, which is to say that they are miraculous. They inspire pleasure, admiration, and a sense of delight. Synonyms for wonderful include other words associated with Mr. Fell and his magic-- amazing and marvelous.

So, let's say that Crowley bought Aziraphale his much-beloved copy of Professor Hoffman's Modern Magic and so is part of the reason why Aziraphale has a human magic act in the first place. He wanted to write a note to Aziraphale in the book but obviously could not write something that isn't a bit oblique because they're a secret. There is a very Crowley-esque humor in hiding that he is the author of the note by making what he wrote at the start of the book sound like a note written by the book's author.

Crowley signs the note "The Hoff" and there are actually additional meanings to that besides the Welsh term of endearment one we looked at above-- all of which are extremely Crowley.

Hof and Hoff are Old Norse words that evolved into Dutch and German to refer to, over time, a wide variety of buildings. Originally the word meant a hall and, at that time, that was less in the sense of a passageway between rooms inside a building and more any roof-covered building. It is still present a bit in what we call a couple of types of buildings (a town hall; a music hall, etc..).

Because the word comes from the Proto-Indo-European root words meaning to cover or to conceal, a hof or a hoff began to mean basically any kind of building covered by a roof-- including both a court (as in, a royal court), a temple, and a farmstead. It also began to mean anyone working any jobs associated with life beneath any of these roof-covered structures. From this also formed the term heathen hof, which referred to a Germanic pagan temple.

A hof or a hoff, then, is a roof-covered place of protection and concealment from the elements or someone occupied under one of those roof-covered places.

A hof or a hoff? Is a canopy...

But we're not at all done... Because of hoff relating to places like royal courts and farmsteads, it also evolved to mean the person who manages the domestic affairs of a household and the person whom a monarch or the owner of the building has given authority to represent them, to rule in their name and to guard their assets and reputation. The word that we use today to mean this derived away from hoff and came about in a messy way that involves so many language overlaps that people are honestly still kind of trying to fully puzzle it out and aren't entirely sure of the results. For quite a few centuries now, though, what was once referred to as a hoff-- in terms of people and not structures-- has been more commonly referred to as a steward.

A steward can be someone who keeps watch over a household and guards its inhabitants and one who can manage the affairs of an estate for the person who is, technically, that estate's owner.

A steward is also the officer on a ship who is in charge of meals and provisions. This also later applied to trains as well, once they were invented.

In fine dining, a wine steward, for example, is another name for a sommelier-- one who provides knowledge of wine and serves it.

It also refers to someone who oversees the social arrangements of a household.

The occupation of steward is also the root of surname Stewart and its alternate, French-originating spelling of Stuart. Stuart is also a first name for which Stu is a nickname and that nickname is one of the words contained in The Steward/Hoff's love note to Aziraphale: the stu within student. Also within student? The word den. Meanings include a dwelling for animals (a fox den), a recreational or study room in a house, and, especially applicable to Crowley and Aziraphale: a place in which people meet to engage in illicit activity in secret in order to evade detection.

So, within the letter Crowley signs The Hoff is the word student, which contains words referring to the role of a hoff/steward (stu) and the den he serves and protects in that role. It's clever. 😊

For some funny, food-related bonuses: the word steward also obviously contains stew and, depending on where you are in the world, the word hof today can evidently refer to either Carlsberg beer or a Korean-style bar or pub. In Danish, it also refers to a garden and, apparently, the history of hof referring to a royal court also led to an evolution of hof referring to admirers as a result of crossing over with the use of court as a verb-- as in, to court a person.

Fish stew. Anyway!

But you might be saying: but why not inscribe the book to Aziraphale? What's with the 'To Mr. Fell' and this weird capital F?

For that, we have to bring in two of the most romantic things you can think of: a little grammar and Hastur.

Just bear with me. 😂 It's worth it, I promise...

Back in S1, we had a bunch of scenes that illustrate that the demons are seen as a collective who all belong to Satan and are not to have any sense of autonomy that overrides that. It's best summed up by Hastur harassing Crowley through his tv by reminding him that, collectively, they are known as The Fallen and only their shared goals of servitude to their master, Satan, should be what matters:

When Crowley is in public and at risk of being overheard, he will speak that way about Hell, such as in the case of "Mozart's one of ours" or "was that one of yours or one of ours?" with regards to The Reign of Terror in 1.01. In this post, we already looked at how, on a hidden language level, Crowley is crafting those public sentences to Aziraphale to really work as being about the two of them on another level while sounding like they're about Hell on the surface level because, as we know, he does not actually wish to be part of The Fallen.

This is where the little bit of irregular verb grammar comes into play. It relates to tenses around the verb to fall. As most of us know, both the future tense and the present tenses of the verb to fall is fall. If it's a fall that has yet to happen, you use fall. As in: "She should be careful as she could fall out of that tree." If it's a fall that is currently happening, you also use fall, as you would say: "She is falling." It's when you start to talk about a fall that already happened that things get a little more complicated... and if you don't think Crowley and Aziraphale would find that relevant, may I direct you to them flirting by way of pretending to be confused over the irregular past tenses of the verb to smite in S2...

Fallen is the past participle tense of to fall. The simplest way to explain that for those who are grammar-averse and find this confusing (and it is confusing-- English is a nightmare lol) is that you use fallen as 'has fallen' or 'have fallen' to describe a fall that took place at an unspecified time in the past, as well as a fall that happened already but may still also be an ongoing thing.

For example: your friend might refuse your request that she climb a tree with you by saying something like: "No, thanks. I have fallen out of too many trees before." This indicates falls that happened to your friend in the past that are now over and done with but are just not being referred to in such a way as to reference a specific point in time. If your friend wanted to refer to a specific fall she had at a specific time, she would use fell, not fallen, and would say something like: "No, thanks. I fell out of a tree last Thursday and I'm still feeling it."

Meanwhile, though, you could be thinking about investing in a company, say, and, in researching the company, read a sentence like: "The stock price average has fallen x percent over the last x months." This indicates something that has taken place in the past-- the descent of the stock price average has already happened. However, fallen is being used because that falling stock price average might still also be ongoing, as it could keep falling. That is an example of using fallen to refer to a fall that happened in the past but is not necessarily seen as completely done and continues on.

How is this relevant, you ask?

Let's say that it's long ago and you're an angel who is in love with a demon who has for millennia been referred to by everyone in Heaven and Hell as one of The Fallen to a point that The Fallen is basically the closest thing he has to a surname. And let's say that you're creating a human identity for yourself and taking on a surname so you can live amongst them more directly. And let's say that you are well-aware of the fact that marrying this demon is not something at this time that seems like it would ever be possible for an endless list of reasons ranging from the fact that you're supernatural hereditary enemies to the fact that doing so would be illegal by human standards.

You don't like the term The Fallen because you feel it doesn't apply-- to your demon partner or to any of the demons, really. The past tense of to fall is fell. It's something that happened once, at a specific time in the past, as in: "He fell out of the tree." It's over and no longer relevant, unlike the way that Heaven and Hell use the phrase The Fallen to continuously demonize the demons. They refer to them that way to perpetuate the idea that they are forever "evil" and damned for it. Added into this is that to fall, as we know, is also a verb used to describe feeling romantic love, as the humans say that people fell in love. There's also that he calls you daily what you are-- an angel-- in a romantic way and you would like a way to refer to what he is in a loving way, instead of just the teasing, double-meaning way you sometimes use words like demon and fiend.

So, if you were this angel named, say, I don't know, Aziraphale lol... and you liked the human custom of a partner taking the surname of their spouse when they married and you were making up your own surname anyway for your human identity and you were very sure that you'd never be able to actually marry your demon partner so this was what you thought then was maybe the closest you'd ever get to being able to do that... the cleverest, most romantic surname you could actually choose for yourself that would be taking his name but in a positive, word-nerdy way that reflected the love of the two of you would be to name yourself Mr. Fell.

Aziraphale has been Mr. Fell for who knows how long because it is the proper verb tense for what happened to Crowley, it sounds enough like '-phale' that Heaven won't ever really put it together and he has an excuse there if they ever ask him why his alias sounds a little demonic and, most importantly, because he wanted to take that part of Crowley's "name." Why?

Because, like with most humans, Crowley didn't choose that surname and, as is the case for a lot of humans as well, the name has a negative history that he wishes it didn't. Crowley can choose to change his name and add to his name and he does-- Anthony Crowley and others are his own choice-- but he's stuck being tied to the "family" he came from-- The Fallen-- as there has never been a way to change that. To Aziraphale, taking on that name is the same as anyone marrying into a family with bad history and a terrible reputation because they love their good partner who is stuck in it. It's an act of commitment to that person.

Aziraphale tweaked it to Fell-- the correct use of the verb, a common human surname, and something that sounds enough like the end of his own first name that it acts as a bit of sleight of hand to keep most from noticing that his last name is just the frequently confused with fallen, other, past tense of to fall and that he took it as a way to take Crowley's name.

It also adds a whole other feeling to Aziraphale reading the note aloud to Crowley in the bookshop in 1941 and the part where he says "'To Mr. Fell'-- that's me!" with the little grin and wiggle.

Crowley inscribed the book 'To Mr. Fell' because that's their name. It's an equivalent of writing something like 'For my husband'...

Another clue to support this is the Crowley-and-Aziraphale-paralleling Mutt and his beloved spouse, as Mutt referred to them as. Beloved, as we said above, is one of the Welsh terms of endearment meanings of hoff. Mr. Fell is Aziraphale having taken Crowley's name like someone might of their spouse. Since its opening, the name of the bookshop has been A.Z. Fell & Co.. On one level, it is meant to look like A.Z. Fell is a variant of Aziraphale, likely to evade suspicion from Heaven. In reality? Aziraphale is just Mr. Fell from A to Z. Just Crowley's, from soup to nuts.

Adding some humor is also that a fellow, as we know, is a term for a man, or a person in the same position or group as someone else, or a person with whom someone is sharing the same activities, as well as member of a society of learning. To Mr. Fell, a wonderful student...

A fellow-- or the slang fella-- is also a boyfriend. Plus, the silly humor of fellow as fell- ow!. "But, my deer/dear fellow..."

So, Crowley wrote the inscription in the book as a note to Aziraphale that makes it look like it's an autograph from Professor Hoffman and the other hints to this lie in his distinctive capital F in Fell and the other word hidden in the signature.

If you look closely, you'll notice some things in the way that Crowley wrote The Hoff. The o in the word is actually made up of two letter o's linked together. Besides the whole hugs and kisses of x and o in writing and the rings aspect and the fact that he drew them in such a way to look heart-like, there's that this creates a new word hidden in hoff, which is hooff, which isn't a word but the word contained within it-- hoof-- sure is.

A hoof is the foot of any of three animals to which Crowley is frequently referred to as: a horse, an ox, or a deer. It's also slang for the human foot and, as to hoof it, for the act of walking, as well as sometimes slang for dancing.

The Crowley-and-Aziraphale penned title of Demon's Guide to Angelic Beings Who Walk the Earth, which is a phrase meaning to live life. In the opening credits of every episode of Good Omens, Crowley and Aziraphale are shown living life together throughout history-- walking the Earth together. The same 1941 minisode that gave us this note that we're looking at gives us the love letters they wrote each other and published under Hell's nose as entries in Demon's Guide, furthering the suggestion of Crowley having written the note in the book.

Now, look at the distinctively-written letter F in Fell and in where we've seen that before in the 2008 minisode:

Crowley's signature on the form for his assignment to take Adam to the nuns in 2008 is him drawing with his index finger the same pattern he uses when writing with a pen to make the capital F in Fell.

Why does Crowley write it this way?

Because while the end result is that anyone not looking closely sees a cursive capital F, the way that Crowley writes that capital F is by using the pattern of a cursive capital L-- for love. If you look at it closely, you'll actually see both a L and a F overlapping as one letter in the word Fell in the note.

While I'm sure Aziraphale has no doubt as to what he was reading in Crowley's note in Modern Magic, if the 2008 minisode is any indication, Crowley has actually been using this Love F when writing his own signature-- both on Earth and in Hell-- for quite some time. Likely because while he loathes being part of The Fallen, he feels the exact opposite kind of way about Aziraphale having taken his name to a point that he wants to actually put Fell somewhere in his own name.

The result appears to be that he uses The Love F as both a purposefully kind of unintelligible signature when he signs for things in Hell... but also in the more readable signature of his name when he signs things on Earth. Why do I say in the human name, too? There's a hint to that in 1941-- back in the Part 1 of it.

I think Crowley makes their mark as the middle initial in his signature on Earth because I'm noticing here that this romantic Love F thing could be the explanation regarding confusion over a certain third capital letter... the letter J.

I now think it possible that Crowley didn't actually write a J on the document the Nazis saw. He wrote the romantic F for Fell that he writes to also look like a capital L, which got it mistaken by Mr. 'Betamax/Peter Max' Glozier for a capital J.

When Glozier said the J aloud, Crowley did use two words relating to he and Aziraphale in their speak-- just and really-- to try to explain what the letter was to Aziraphale but I'm not sure that Aziraphale heard it that way. Crowley also made it sound like he didn't want to clarify what he had really written. To be fair, saying "that Nazi thug mistook The Love F for a J" wouldn't have really worked in the moment but he also seemed squirmish about admitting to Aziraphale that he doesn't just use The Love F when writing him love letters but as part of his signature.

In Lockdown, Aziraphale appears to have written a note addressed to Anthony J. Crowley. So, either Crowley hadn't told Aziraphale by then that the J was The Love F, or they now have an in-joke from 1941 about Crowley's middle initial being J when they both know that it's not, or Crowley actually then went and came up with a middle name that begins with J after 1941.

Finally, there's the note in a gifted book that we didn't see in S2 but definitely heard about...

I have no doubt that Aziraphale has a first edition of S.W. Erdnase's Expert at the Card Table. I do doubt the next bit, though, wherein Aziraphale is pretty obviously lying his ass off. This is a now well-practiced version of 'those three kids are absolutely Job and Sitis' new children':

I would bet pretty heavily that Aziraphale's first edition of Expert at the Card Table has a 'To Mr. Fell'-style note in the inside that, when read, makes it look like it was autographed by the author but which is really a note that Crowley wrote to Aziraphale when he gifted him the book.

Aziraphale realized in the above scene that if he lets Mutt look at the book, Mutt is going to think that however Crowley signed the note was Erdnase's real name so Aziraphale just complete bullshitted the provenance of the book to cover up the fact that the autograph is a Crowley love note in order to bribe Mutt into coming to the party. 😂

This is also really why he won't give Mutt the book or let him try to buy it. It's beloved to him because of its magic importance, yes, but really also because Crowley gave it to him. The super-rare Doctor Who annual issue that Mr. Arnold was lusting after is something Aziraphale can part with (after all, he's sleeping with The Doctor so it's not really necessary). That was just one of the many rare items that Aziraphale does have in his shop and wasn't a present.

The copy of Expert at the Card Table, though? Aziraphale will never part with that.

Both books that Aziraphale has that we've mentioned here are first editions and, given their subject matter, Aziraphale would have wanted to get both books immediately after they were published. That means that Crowley bought Aziraphale Hoffman's Modern Magic in 1875 and Erdnase's Expert at the Card Table in 1902. For timeline context: He gave Aziraphale the copy of Modern Magic with the romantic note we've spent this meta looking at 13 years after the 1862 Holy Water argument. The gift of Expert at the Card Table was 27 years after that-- 40 years after the 1862 scene.

This, along with things like Aziraphale buying a dozen cases of Chateauneuf-de-Pape in 1921 "for special occasions" and Aziraphale and Crowley being in communication when Crowley bought The Bentley in the early 1930s all contribute to the idea that they had seen one another plenty between 1862 and 1941.

Crowley's faux-griping about Aziraphale's magic act is also made even cuter-- and more transparent lol-- by the fact that he's been gifting Aziraphale books about human magic for ages.

On a sadder note, it also adds another layer of horror to the bookshop fire. I think we all figured Crowley had bought Aziraphale books before but having seen one now and the love note in it and knowing there are a ton more makes Crowley standing in the middle of the shop with them all burning around him even worse.

On a cheerier note, remember Aziraphale reading books on magic (and plenty of other interesting stuff) during Lockdown? Perhaps some of the books were in the pile because Aziraphale was also going through them to re-read Crowley's love notes?

Finally, what do you think... it's a little different but... is that a Love F on his tie?

[patrophthia]

triwizard tournament | james potter

pairing: james potter x reader

genre: fake dating, fluff, angst, pining¿?, OOC james?? basically the plot of goblet of fire if it took place during the marauders era, not proofread!

wc: 7.4K

originally posted on wattpad

"plus, you're incredibly pretty, i'm really not opposed to keep telling people we're together."

"keep?"

"yeah keep." james lifted his head up and looked at her sheepishly. "she's going to run the story which means we'll need to keep the story going, i'll pay you, anything, i'll take you to your favorite shops and buy you whatever you want, just help me with this."

"with what money?"

"with the money that i'll win from the tournament." there's that confidence. "so... yes or no?"

there was a crash somewhere close to her, before she could even look up to find out what the ruckus was about; four boys found themselves around her seat.

"i'm so sorry." a voice whispered from her left. "hey! this is my girlfriend, [name]. bug, this is amy reid."

"hi," 'amy' greeted. before she could even wrap her head around what was going on, she smiled at amy, a short brunette woman who looked roughly in her thirties. "how long have you been together?"

"since last year." one of the other boys answered.

"oh." amy turned from the boy and back to her. "how charming young love is."

"so." amy clapped her hands. it was only then did she realized that amy had someone following after, short and timid; the boy had a notepad in his hand, jotting everything down word for word. "tell me about your love story."

"my love story?" she repeated under her breath.

amy nodded frantically. "your love story of course, how you met, how you started dating, all that good stuff."

"right." she glanced to her left and was no where near surprised when she realized it was james potter, of fucking course, it was james potter who she was in this situation with. "our love story."

sitting opposite both james and her was sirius and remus with peter hovering behind them. she must've made a face, one that was amusing, seeing as sirius grinned at her once their eyes met.

"well," amy murmured. "it seems as though you don't know where to start." amy turned to the boy behind her before she turned back around. "how did you two meet?"

"we share the same classes." that wasn't a lie. "and i thought she was incredibly pretty so i asked her out." liar. "it's quiet a boring story, actually."

"and you?" amy turned to her. "what did think about james?"

"i thought he was—" annoying, loud, dramatic. "charming." amy seemed to like her answer, smiling as she turned to tell the boy to note it down verbatim. "and he was handsome too so it's a plus."

"isn't that just adorable," amy cooed, then her entire behavior shifts. "so what's your opinion about this whole triwizard tournament thing? are you worried, excited? how did you feel when you found out james would be competing?"

honestly? she didn't really give a fuck. she'd hoped that he won the tournament for hogwarts but she couldn't have cared less. "i was really worried, you know. i didn't want my boyfriend to die."

amy smiled, seemingly satisfied with her answer. "well it was nice meeting you, [name]. all though i've got to catch up with the other two contestants as well, i hope we can meet again soon."

"you too." and with that, amy and her minion left. once she was finally out of their sight, the four boys huffed out a long dramatic breath. "girlfriend, huh?"

james collapsed on the table, hiding his face in his arms. "i'm sorry." was this the confident gryffindor everyone had a crush on? "i panicked and you were the only girl i recognized, everyone else was a third year."

sirius bit his lips, hiding his laughter as james dug his head deeper and deeper into his hands. "plus, you're incredibly pretty, i'm really not opposed to keep telling people we're together."

"keep?"

"yeah keep." james lifted his head up and looked at her sheepishly. "she's going to run the story which means we'll need to keep the story going, i'll pay you, anything, i'll take you to your favorite shops and buy you whatever you want, just help me with this."

"with what money?"

"with the money that i'll win from the tournament." there's that confidence. "so... yes or no?"

•••

amy did run the story. along with the story that she might or might not be one of james many lover —this was because, sirius had thought it would be funny to have the other seventh years tell reid that they've all slept with james (how he got them to agree, she didn't know).

james was the first person she saw the next morning (besides her dorm mates). he invited her to have breakfast with his friend, an invitation that she accepted and had found herself quiet fond of everyone he surrounded himself with.

they were all so . . . gryffindor. and she meant that as a compliment.

james walked her to her first class, then her second, then any other that she had after it. once dinner time came, james was the one who awaited her by the great hall.

"hi," he said once he spotted her.

"hi?" she knew they had to keep up and image but she didn't expect to be keeping it up so constantly. "what are you doing here?"

"waiting for you," he answered, james reached forward for the strap of her bag, taking it with ease and began walking into the great hall. "how was your day?"

"it was good." she then proceeded to tell him how everything went, trailing behind him as she tried to ignore the stares that followed her. "how was yours?"

james opened his mouth, an answer already at the tip of his tongue before he shut it quickly, looking perplexed. he was quiet for a second; feeling so so stupid and stunned. for, the only thing he had thought about all day was her. "it was good."

•••

the first task was coming up and with how nosy the marauders are, it was only a matter of time before they found out what the first task was: "dragons." and peter said this enthusiastically because, it was something he never thought he'd ever see in real life.

"that's easy then," said sirius, digging into some yorkshire pudding. "you can just use the conjunctivitis curse, a dragon's eyes are its weakest point."

"yeah but it could end violently," she pointed out. "what if the dragon lashed out and kills him."

"what about a broom then?" lily suggests whilst passing the salt to marlene. "if he flies fast enough, he'd be able to maneuver his way around."

"around what, though?" remus murmured. "we know that the task involves dragons. but what to do with it exactly, we have no clue."

"no matter what, i stick by it," said lily. "broom stick."

broom stick turned out to be the best method. james had gone last after he picked the hungarian horntail. from behind the tents, james wasn't able to watch his competitors —soren from beauxbatons who had gotten the welsh green and amerie from durmstrang who confronted the chinese fireball— attempts but he knew what he needed to do.

steal the golden egg from the clutches of the dragons they'd picked. james had finished the fastest, maneuvering his way around on his broomstick like lily had suggested.

once the tournament wrapped up, amy reid spared no moment before she started bombarding him with questions. how did you feel? was it ecstatic? how does it feel to be the best? and when [name] went down to see him, why isn't your girlfriend giving you a celebratory kiss?

"uhm—" what the fuck does one say to that "—we're not comfortable with showing much PDA."

amy frowned. "oh c'mon you two look great together, it's only just the couple of us. just a kiss for the front page shouldn't matter."

james looked at her skeptically, pushing his glasses upwards. "i don't think us kissing has anything to do with the task i've just finished."

"it doesn't," amy concurred. "but the viewers wants to know more about to the two of you. you've only said that you were together but no single living person have seen the two of you on a date. we're starting to suspect that you're faking it."

"then kissing wouldn't make a difference," remus chirped in. "wouldn't the viewers just make up some crap about them kissing just for the sake of faking it."

"i suppose they could," amy said, smiling patronizingly. "but why should we risk it when you two are so obviously in love." 

"it's—" remus sputtered but it was obviously that he had no counter argument.

james only shook his head, stopping remus and took a step forward. he leaned in slowly and with his voice low, lips brushing against her ear. "can i kiss you?"

he waited, one, two, three seconds, before she nodded. james head tilted backwards the slightest bit before his lips crashed onto her. his arm snuck around her waist and held onto her, bringing her close to his chest almost desperately. his lips lingered until finally, the camera clicked and he pulled away.

and, with a twist of her stomach, she was bitterly reminded that this was all for show.

•••

"wait—" her desk partner called after her, his hand wrapped around her wrist, halting her in her place. "wait, please."

so she did, she waited and turned to face him. standing six feet tall, looking as bright as a golden retriever, smiling his best smile, and her new desk mate. soren edmé. her 'boyfriends' competitor.

"there's the uhm—" he paused, hand scratching the back of his neck shyly. he was handsome, extremely so, handsome enough to rival dorian gray himself. "the yule ball. would you like to go?"

"together?"

"yes -uhm, yes together." his accent was oddly enough, extremely welsh despite coming from france. "as a date."

fuck. on any other day she'd have said yes with no hesitation, but when you're in a relationship —albeit a fake one, with the competitor of the person who was asking you out on a date. saying yes is just straight out betrayal.

"oh." soren sounded deflated and she hadn't even replied yet, was her face really that expressive? "you already have a date, don't you? potter right?"

at her nod, soren smiled softly, accepting his rejection with grace. gosh, he's basically blond sirius.

soren bit her goodbye, muttering something about the golden egg and quickly rushed to catch up with his friends.

she made her way out as well, meeting marlene in the hallways as she greeted her with a large grin. "guess who just got a date for the yule ball."

"lily?" she teased.

"har har you're so funny," marlene said with a roll of her eyes. "anyways, i asked dorcas and she said yes! isn't that just adorable?"

"it sure is," said lily, joining the two of them as they passed by. "it was getting unbearable with how much you were pining after her."

"anyways." lily handed her wand to marlene and pulled her hair up into a ponytail. "have you gotten a date yet?"

"no, i'm waiting on james to ask." she made sure not to mention a single thing about soren.

"why don't you just ask him?" said marlene easily, handing lily her wand back. "why wait?"

because, she wouldn't be able to handle rejection as elegantly as soren did. "asking's too much work. i'll just wait."

"what about you, lils?"

lily shrugged. "a pretty french boy asked me to go with him," she said easily, once she noticed the look on their faces, she quickly clarified. "laurent, his name is laurent, he's as handsome as his friends. he's nice too, so i said yes."

"so you both got dates then?"

"and you." marlene looked at her with false sympathy. "nothing."

"actually, i got asked—"

"what are you pretty ladies talking about?" cut in james. he had his glasses off, opting them out for contact lenses. why he chose to do so? she didn't know.

"yule ball dates." said both lily and marlene.

james' brows raised dramatically. "really?" ignoring the daggers marlene stated through him. "must've slipped my mind."

"aren't you going to ask her to be your date?" no more subtleties then. thanks lily. "she's your girlfriend, isn't she?"

"about that." james drawled, a hint of a smile lingering on his lips. and as she thought he was going to ask, she watched him patiently. "i'm not going with you."

right.

of course.

why would he?

it's not like they were actually together. this was for show and that was all to it.

one for the money. two for the show. james was getting ready so she should let him go.

she hadn't planned to ask him furthermore. she already knew why he didn't want to go with her but if she had planned to. marlene beat her to it. "why not?"

"don't you need a date to the ball? you're a triwizard champion and all?" lily added on.

"i never said i didn't have a date," said james.

it shouldn't have bothered her, really, it shouldn't have. and yet, she couldn't help but feel —for the lack of better words— stupid for expecting other wise. of course, james potter of all people wouldn't go to the yule ball with her. he was the leading man after all.

"then what's about [name]?" lily asked, eyes wide with offense. "you're just going to leave her alone?"

"she doesn't mind." james turned to her. "do you?"

"no." she shook her head. "it's nothing, of course i don't mind."

•••

"aren't you coming with us?" jolene asked as she got ready to start the day. "don't you need to pick out a dress for the ball?"

"no." not when she had no plans in attending it in the first place. "i don't want to go."

"why not?" jolene moved away from her own vanity and onto her bed. "this happens once every eternity, how can you not go."

"i just—" am dreading seeing james with someone else, dreading being near his mere presence. "—don't want to."

"not a good enough reason," jolene told her. "you're coming with us to buy a dress, and you're coming with us to that god forsaken ball."

jolene was persistent, she knew that for a fact. and now, as she stood in front of rack stacked with pretty dresses, she was once again reminded about just how persistent jolene was.

"how about this one?" she lifted up a blue dress that was mostly made from tool and lace. "it's pretty."

"it also looks like her tits could pop out any second," rose (their other roommate, and jolene's long term girl friend) murmured, dismissing it with a wave of hand. "why don't you just let her pick something for herself?"

"because, she won't," jolene said sharply. "she's convinced herself that she doesn't want to go. where's the fun in that?"

rose's eyes shifted between the two girls, biting the inside of cheek until finally, she stopped. "why don't you want to go?"

"because, i don't want to," she answered simply. when jolene made a face, she felt the need to add on. "and i don't have a date."

"you don't?" rose asked, surprised. "what about potter? he's not going with you?"

"no."

"why not?" jolene sounded infuriated. "what kind of shit boyfriend doesn't take their girlfriend to a ball?"

"it's complicated."

"just how complicated?" jolene followed up. "c'mon, explain," she demanded, sitting down on the shop's many waiting chairs. "we have all day."

so she did. from to start to finish. "jesus," jolene muttered once she finished. "what kind of dick move is that? no wonder i like women."

rose pursed her lips. "what about soren? does he still want to go with you?"

"i dunno," she answered honestly. "and even if he did i don't think i'd be able to go with him, not when i rejected him."

"then you'll go with us," said jolene, standing up. "the three of us can go together."

•••

the entrance hall was packed with students, all milling around waiting for eight o'clock, when the doors to the great hall would be thrown open. those people who were meeting partners from different houses were edging through the crowd, trying to find each other.

jolene had found lily and led her to where rose and [name] were waiting. the oak front doors opened, and everyone turned to look as the durmstrang students entering with their professor. amerie was at the front of the party, accompanied by —oddly enough, peter pettigrew in dark robes that matched her dress.

how the two got together, she'll figure that out later.

she still hadn't seen james or soren, but buried the thought and went into the great hall like the rest of her friends.

the walls of the hall had all been covered in sparkling silver frost, with hundreds of garlands of mistletoe and ivy crossing the starry black ceiling. the house tables had vanished; instead, there were about a hundred smaller, lantern-lit ones, each seating about a dozen people.

they found themselves by one of the many tables, chatting along as they waited for the ball to kick start itself.

once everyone in the hall settled, the champions and their dates walked in in lines. first to come in was amerie and peter —and odd couple that looked honestly cute with one another in a way she couldn't explain. the second to walk through the door was soren and a pretty girl in purple robes.

then —at last, was james potter. and his date. dates, actually. james had brought two dates. his dates who were wearing bright red dresses. ones that matched james' cut for cut. james potter and his dates were wearing the same dresses. james potter was wearing a dress. and so was his dates, sirius black and remus lupin.

"they're taking the piss out of this," jolene cackled loudly, a domino effect that soon spread throughout the hall: each students laughing loudly at the sight before them.

the three boys grinned, —well two really, james and sirius; remus was plain out grimacing— happy to have created such an uproar. searching hazel eyes met hers through the crowd, watching the most minuscule of her reaction with his lips curving upwards.

then he mouthed something, and despite being a shit mouth reader. she thought he told her to: "save me a dance."

the three boys started walking up towards a large round table at the top of the hall, where the judges were sitting.

when all the food had been consumed. dumbledore stood up and asked the students to do the same. then, at a wave of his wand, tables zoomed back along the walls, leaving the floor clear, and then he conjured a raised platform into existence along the right hand wall. a set of drums, several guitars, a lute, a cello and some bagpipes were set upon it.

the weird sisters now trooped up onto the stage to enthusiastic applause; they were all extremely hairy, and dressed in black robes that had been artfully ripped and torn. they picked up their instruments, and came to realize that the lanterns on all the other tables had gone out, and that the champions and their partners were standing up.

the band played a slow song and she could see her friends separating. jolene and rose. lily and laurent. and finally marlene and dorcas. they looked reluctant in leaving her alone but with multiple shakes of her heads, they left towards the dance floor.

"hello." was the first thing soren said once he found her. "can i have a dance?"

she was skeptical, not wanting to steal him away from whoever his date was. soren, seeming as though he'd read her mind, smiled.

"we only came as friend." he told her. "she fancies this guy and wanted to make him jealous. it's the least i can do when the girl i wanted to come with already had a date."

she laughed, the irony of her coming as her friend's third wheel not lost. "poor you."

"poor me," he repeated, smiling charmingly. "now about that dance?"

she opened her mouth, ready to agree when someone came before her. drowning in red tool was james potter, positively beaming.

"hi." james smiled, and she noticed that once again, he had opted his glasses out for contact lenses. "can i have this dance?"

she turned to soren, watching as his face drop. his expression quickly shifts, rose-colored lips tugging into a small smile as he shrugged and sent her off.

at her nod, james' grin widened. offering a hand out, she placed her hand onto it and james made use of it by holding on tightly as he tried navigating the dance floor.

before they had gotten far, soren stopped them by calling out james' name. james turned, so did she, and found the blond looking hesitant.

finally, soren let up. "have you figured out what's inside egg yet?" he asked james directly.

james shook his head, brows knitted. "no."

"you should try putting it in water—" he paused, licking his lips. "—you'll find it very helpful if you did so."

"okay," james murmured, clearly skeptical. "how'd you find out?"

"laurent is very clumsy," soren said off-handedly, his eyes then briefly glanced towards her. "but you should look into it, i think i might need some help when it comes to it."

and with a fond smile, soren left the pair alone. james shook his head, only then realizing that their hands were still intertwined. james didn't make a move to let go, only continuing on his journey to finding the perfect place for their dance.

once they found a good spot, not too crowded and yet not too bare with the music loud enough for them to be able to hear one another. james guided both her hands to his shoulders —bare due to the off the shoulder cut he wore, and placed his hands on her waist.

"you didn't think i would come with someone else did you?" he asked, swaying. "because, quite honestly i couldn't even dream of it. it was you or no one else."

she didn't know what to say. didn't know how to control the fact that his word had sent butterflies to her stomach so she settled for an easy: "really?"

james smiled, and nodded bashfully. "really. it was the only think i thought of when minnie told us about the ball."

"right," she murmured. "but then i had to compete with two pretty lads wearing dresses so i obviously lost."

"obviously." his tone was light and teasing. "how could one compete with this pretty dress?"

she glanced down, finally taking the piece in and giggled. the dress was a bright red, off shoulder, princess dress. he looked charmingly ridiculous save for his handsome face (despite it losing its iconic presence).

"why aren't you wearing your glasses?" she made sure not to step on the tools of his dress as they dance. "you haven't been wearing them for a while now. why the change?"

james shrugged. "why not the change?" with a roll of her eyes, james answered honestly. "because, i thought you'd like it."

"why?"

"a couple weeks back, whilst working with lily at her dorm, i took my glasses of to clean them and mckinnon told me i looked handsome." he stopped for a second, gulping. "i'd thought you'd agree so i started opting for contact lenses instead."

"i guess i did it to impress you."

heart: melted. "james."

"bug," he said in return, using the same pet name he had called her when he first painted himself to be her boyfriend.

"thank you for doing this. i do think you look nice with contact lenses." she smiled, an action that he reciprocated. "but i think i preferred it more when you don't have to worry about your contacts drying up."

"i'll keep that in mind."

•••

"wormie," james called out. "lock the door, will you?"

peter did as told, locking the prefect's bathroom door whilst watching as his friends —sirius and james, to be specific— strip into their swimming trunks with remus, and james' pretend girlfriend standing by the edge of the pool. 

remus had the golden egg in hand, passing it down to james once he settled into the water. the tub was clear for the most part, the group had decided that that was best.

any bubbles would obscure the view of what happens to the egg.

james with the egg in hand, shot her a playful look. "you sure you don't want to come in, bug? the water's very nice."

with her back pressed against the wall and her arms crossed in front of her chest. she quipped, "never have i ever before."

with a final smile, james turned to sirius who was watching them with careful eyes. james then proceeded to slowly lower the egg into the water, scared that this might be soren's plan on ruining james chances in winning.

but james had always been trustful. so once nothing happened after submerging the egg, james' hand reached over to open it and this time —unlike the several other times, the marauders attempted to open it— it did not wail.

instead a gurgling song was coming from it, a song who's word they could not distinguish through the water. "put your head under," remus told them.

sirius and james took in a deep breath, and slid under the surface —and now, sitting on the marble bottom of the tub, they heard a chorus of eerie voices  singing to them from the open egg on james' hand.

come seek us where our voices sound. we cannot sing above the ground, and while you're searching, ponder this we've taken what you'll sorely miss, an hour long you'll have to look, and to recover what we took, but past an hour - the prospect's black too late, it's gone, it won't come back.

"note this down," said james, rising up from the water. peter scrambled to his book bag, grabbing the first piece of paper and quill he could find and waited for james to recall whatever the song was.

it was barely days before the second task, which meant they were running on borrowed time. after dressing as quickly as they could, the five of them began their way towards the library.

they ended the first and second day empty handed, not having a single piece of formation at their aid. the third, which was one day before d-day, was almost repetitive of the last two days. keyword: almost.

as the sun began setting and the five grew tired from the lack of findings, the sight of lily evans and frank longbottom was practically god sent.

lily was the first one to speak, noticing their miserable expressions. "still nothing?"

"nope," james concurred, head buried into his books. "absolutely nothing."

"honestly, after million of years of magic there ought to be at least one or two charms that helps you breathe underwater but there's absolutely none."

"what do you mean there's none?" lily asked with confusion.

"there's absolutely zero." james exaggerated. "we've been here for days and still haven't got a thing."

"do you think maybe you've been looking for it in the wrong books?"

"no." james drawled, then he turned to lily. "do you know something i don't?"

"a few," she murmured. "like the scuba spell and the bubble head charm both of which are used to breathe underwater."

"and gilly weed," frank added.

"brilliant," james said sarcastically. "why have we been here all day when we could've asked this two geniuses. why are you even here anyways?"

"professor mcgonagall sent us to fetch those three." lily pointed to [name], sirius, and peter.

she hadn't done anything wrong if she could recall. so why did professor mcgonagall want to see her?

"why?" sirius asked before she could.

"she wouldn't tell," frank shrugged. "she was looking a bit grim when she asked for you three, though."

"we're supposed to take you down to her office," said lily.

the trio stood, standing side by side. "we'll meet you back at the common room."

when morning came, james had somehow acquired gilly weed by sneaking into one of the many green houses on the school's grown. he put on his contacts —seeing as it would be better for him to not worry about losing his glasses— and hoped for the best.

he remembered a brief conversation he had the night before. frank longbottom was half asleep and half delirious; his words mumbling with one another. "do you know how to swim?" he'd asked.

"yes, no. well— well enough for me to complete this task," james answered.

"okay," frank murmured, nodding off from his bed. "just remember, if you forget how to swim, just wiggle like a worm and you'll be alright."

remus and james shared a look, hiding their laughs. "thanks."

neither sirius, peter nor her had return —or maybe they did but he had missed them. maybe they had gotten back after he'd went to bed and gotten up early for whatever mcgonagall needed. or maybe they hadn't returned at all.

james shrugged away those thoughts as he had breakfast, his head interpreting the song as many way as he possible could.

they had taken something from him that he'd surely missed and he had an hour to retrieve it, if the hour passes and he had yet to retrieve it, whatever it was would be gone.

and now as he stood on the edge of the platform, upset that neither his best friend or girl friend was there to cheer for him, james took a great breath, ate his gilly weed and dived in.

the lake was so cold he felt the skin on his legs searing as though this was fire, not icy water. the first gulp of icy lake water felt like the breath of life, and james realized then that he had grown gills.

james stretched out his hands in front of him and stared at them. they looked green and ghostly under the water, and they had became webbed. he twisted around and looked at his bare feet - they had become elongated and his toes were webbed, too, it looked as though he had sprouted flippers.

the gryffindor smiled to himself; he was partially a merman, brilliant

he swam deeper and deeper —and mentally wondered if he looked like a worm. he turned full circle in the water, the silence pressing harder than ever apainst his cardrums. james thought he must be even deeper in the lake now, but nothing seemed to be moving except for the rippling weeds.

he swam on for what felt like at least twenty more minutes, passing over vast expanses of black mud now, which swirled murkily as he disturbed the water. then, at long last, he heard a snatch of haunting mer-song.

an hour long you'll have to look, and to recover what we took,

he swam faster, and found a large rock emerge out of the muddy water ahead that had paintings of merpeople on it. though terrified for his life, james pushed it aside and swam forward, following the mer-song.

. . . your time's half gone, so hurry not lest what you seek stays here to rot . . .

a cluster of crude stone dwellings strained with algae loomed suddenly out of the gloom of all sides. here and there by the windows james saw faces.

all of which had greyish skins and long, wild, dark green hair. their eyes were yellow, as were their broken teeth, and in, wore thick ropes of pebbles around their necks. they leered at james ,as he swam past, one or two of them emerged from their caves, to watch him better, their powerful, silver fishtails beating the waves with spears clutched in their hands.

james sped up and a strange sight met his eyes.

a whole crowd of merpeople were floating in front of the houses that lined what looked like a mer-version of a village square. a choir of merpeople were singing in the middle, calling the champions towards them, and behind them rose a crude sort of statue; a gigantic merperson hewn from a boulder. three people were bound tightly to the tail of the stone merperson.

[name] was tied between sirius and peter. all three of them appeared to be in a very deep sleep. their heads were lolling onto their shoulders, and fine streams of bubbles kept issuing from their mouths.

james froze briefly, not knowing who exactly he meant to be saving. he cared for the three of them deeply, his two best friends and the girl who had helped him more than he could've asked for.

james shook away his thoughts and sped towards the hostages, half expecting the merpeople to lower their spears and change at him, but they did nothing. the ropes of weed tying the hostages to the statue were thick, slimy and very strong.

he looked around. many of the merpeople surrounding them were camping spears and wondered if he could've borrowed one of their spears but, he knew that they wouldn't let him.

this was his task, he needed to finish it himself.

so james swirled around, looking for anything that would suffice. then it hit him —quite literally, an object hit his head and he turned as quickly as he could to find soren watching him.

the object fell to the bottom and james registered it as a covered butterfly knife, he was unsure what to do with it. what was he playing at?

"get him." soren told him, his voice was clear; the bubble-head charm was useful when it came to this. soren grabbed another knife from his pocket, opening it up to hack at the ropes on [name]'s ankle, when they broke soren spoke once more. "hurry."

so she was what he would've missed most?

when soren left and amerie came, her making quick work at peter's rope. james was reminded that he was soon to run out of time. james dove down, picking up the knife soren had thrown at him and began cutting at sirius' ropes.

once they broke, james wrapped an arm around sirius' torso and began swimming upwards. when he felt his head break the surface of the lake, he pulled sirius up with him.

amerie and peter came up just seconds after, making the crowd in the stands let out a great deal of noise, shouting and screaming, everybody seemed to be on their feet. james had the impression that they'd thought that sirius, peter and amerie might be dead but they were wrong.

sirius expelled a great spout of water, blinked in the bright light, turned to james and said, "i've never had someone make me this wet before."

james ignored him, too preoccupied with the fact that not only was soren's price possession his girlfriend but that soren had helped him twice now. and the lad didn't seem to be expecting anything in return.

he removed his arm from sirius' torso and swam towards the platform. his entire body ached, his previous fish-like feet and hands turned back to their normal state, clearly human as days.

amy reid was quick at rushing towards the pair of them once they rose. asking james question after question about why soren had saved his girlfriend, why soren was looking at her with so much concern and affection as he tried to help her recover from the task, and finally, why wasn't he angry that soren was doing so.

james didn't know for one. and for two, he really had no rights to be angry. she wasn't his girlfriend and as much as they pretended that they were, he could never lie to himself about that. not when he had always been to scared to make a proper move.

"james." her voice was familiar to him, he turned around. she looking at him with wet hair and even wetter clothing. she then pressed a hand to his cheek, turning to gaze at each side. "are you okay?"

james gulped, nodding. "i'm fine, bug." he forced himself not to lean into her touch, warm and welcoming despite the coldness on her fingertips. "brilliant even."

he nodded his head forward, and found soren watching the pair of them; james smiled weakly, an attempt at thanking the blond. "how's he?"

"he's fine," she answered. "he's very ecstatic that he got first place. i think he might implode any second now."

"from what?" seeing her touching james so intimately when she was the thing he'd missed most and yet, he couldn't have her?

"excitement." she told him. "what else would it be?"

•••

as the day of the third task creeps closer and closer, so close that it was a night away. she can't help but feel worried for what's about to come.

the triwizard tournament has quite a record when it came to death. and she really didn't want to see her 'boyfriend', the guy who saved her life —albeit him being the cause of her possible death, and her friend's new girlfriend dying.

still, as the day approaches, all she could bring herself to do was help them every single way possible. james had gathered that the task had something to do with the quidditch pitch so he told soren as a form of repayment.

the five of them —it being her, james, sirius, remus and lily, for peter was helping amerie out— had found themselves in a secluded classroom, practicing spells after spells.

james had been acting mechanically lately, that she noticed. she wondered if it had anything to do with what happened during the second task— more specifically, soren. she decided not to ask, whatever was going on with james was not her problem.

she shouldn't want to know unless he decides to open up to her about it.

"bug." when she started responding to that pet name exactly, she couldn't pin point. "we're just about to leave, aren't you coming?"

"oh." she stood up from where she'd sat. "yeah, 'course."

"on second thought," james murmured, glancing between her and his friends who were stood by the door. "just go on without me, i need to speak to [name] for a bit."

the three bid their goodbye and left. james turned back to her when he could no longer hear their footsteps and almost smiled at the confused look on her face.

"i . . . kind of have to tell you something," he told her, swallowing hardly. "it's just that— the final task is tomorrow and the triwizard tournament is quite notorious for its deaths."

he then continued. "i suppose i'm telling you all this so i wouldn't regret it if something where to happen to me."

as james did everything and absolutely nothing at the same time, she can't help but think that this is it. this is where james decided that he'd used her until she was powerless, that he didn't need her anymore, that this was where it all ends.

and she didn't know/can't differentiate whether she feels happy or miserable over this. or if she felt both. but to her surprise, james confessed.

"i think i like you."

it took her one, two, three seconds to process this. i think i like you. he thinks he likes her. he thinks he fancies me. "what?"

"i lied," james began. "there was a reason i ran to you that day. i didn't know why i chose you then and still don't now but what i do know is that alice was there and we both know she's nice enough to help my lie to reid and yet, i chose you to help me out."

james took in a deep breath. "i couldn't stop thinking about you the days after, i didn't know why but i chose not to dwell on it for two long. and then the ball happened, you look so beautiful that i felt stupid for even considering going without you."

"i should've figured it out sooner but i didn't," he mumbled. "i still haven't figured it out now."

"what i have figured out is that i don't like seeing edmé look at you the same way i look at you. i don't like knowing that he cares about you as much as i care about you. i don't like that he's sure about his feelings for you while i'm not."

she put the pieces together then, it was so nice for him to lay it all out in front her.

"i think i fancy you, bug." he looked at her, really looked at her this time and said, "and i don't know what to do about it."

•••

whoever was running the tournament is a dumbass. who decided that putting a maze in a quidditch pitch was a good idea. who decided that making the final (and probably most important task) almost unwatchable was a good idea.

all she could make out from her seat was some random heads of hair, running round in every direction; all trying to reach the middle where the cup sat prettily on a platform.

both soren and james had gotten head starts. james for being the fastest during the first task and soren during the second.

it was about forty minutes into the task when the crowds started up, murmuring about a champion's return with the cup in hand.

everyone watched with baited breath, each school hoping that their school champion would pass through the maze as if they were the flash themselves.

and after a few more apprehensive minutes, the hogwarts students shoot up from their seats; screaming, yelling, shouting loudly in celebration. chanting the name potter over and over again when james walked out with the biggest grin he'd ever worn in his life.

lily pulled at her hand, leading her way down the stairs and onto the pitch where james stood handsomely, turning from cameras to cameras and to more cameras until he finally spotted them.

her more specifically.

james was practically beaming by then, turning to reid and told her kindly. "excuse me, i need to go kiss my girlfriend."

james passed the trophy to sirius on his way to her and grabbed onto her wrist, he led the way towards a secluded area and before she could even say hi; james had pressed his lips onto hers.

his bottom lips tugged between his teeth when he pulled away, looking at her with nothing but adoration in his eyes. "i won."

"you did," she concurred. "congratulations."

it didn't occur to her then what exactly had happened. they had kissed before, this was nothing new.

"i told you i'd win," he told her. "i'm never wrong about those stuff."

she only hummed, smiling and nodding as she let him take his win.

james, seemingly high on victory, told her almost breathlessly. "you are the most beautiful girl i've ever seen."

her eyes shot to the ground without intending to, mouth dry with no good response. james' hand found her chin, gently tilting her face upwards so he could get a good look at her.

"i like you," james said lowly. "that i'm sure of now. i really really like you, bug."

"and i would really like to kiss you and be your boyfriend for real this time." he finished.

james waited, one, two, three seconds, leaned in and when she made no move in pushing him away, he pressed her lips onto hers. kissing her with so much passion she would've fell if it weren't for him wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her desperately close to his chest, holding her tightly in place.

and this time, this time, she realized that there was no one watching. there was no cameras clicking, no one forcing him to kiss her to prove that it was all real because, this time james is kissing her because he wanted to. because, james was sure he likes her.

—from bee: this fic was one of my longest fic of all time sksksk i love james very much hehe

[heartz4shauna]

thinking about art as ur hunger games mentor.. (is this too niche)

it was unexpected, obviously, your name being called at the reaping. “it could be anyone,” your mother told you, trying to soothe your nerves. and of course that anyone had to be you.

you let out a sound of discomfort as you walked out of the rows and rows of girls, your grey dress suddenly feeling too tight on you and laces of your boots coming undone, you climbed up the stairs onto the makeshift stage where miss effie trinket stood, her extravagant outfit, covered in rhinestones and feathers, shining under the hot sun.

you couldn’t really process anything else that happened up until effie escorted you and the poor boy chosen from your district into the justice building.

being from district five, you had little survival skills. sure, you knew what to look out for if there was an electrical fire, but that was about it. you hoped and prayed that you had a good mentor and well…

art donaldson was popular to say the least. strutting around the town square without a care in the world as if he wasn’t a victor.

he worked in the power plant alongside your father. which was odd, you thought. he’s a victor, he lives in the victor village, he shouldn’t need to work. and you’re right. he doesn’t. he does it out of “the kindness of his heart.”

you didn’t believe that. you’ve peeked in the windows and seen him, bent over on rails talking to some poor girl like she’s not really there.

you caught her outside the plant one day just as she was about to go in, “how often does art come in?” you asked her and she replied sighing, “maybe twice a week? he talks to a few girls and then dips. barely works.”

and just your luck. he was assigned to be your mentor. yay. you and the other tribute got a minute or two alone with close family before being introduced to your mentors.

he knocked on the door to the small room near the entrance of the building. he poked his head into the room and saw you sitting on a velvet couch looking awfully glum. he entered the room and walked over to you. he wore

“hi, i’m Art. i was assigned to be your mentor,” he told you, looking down at you with a slight smile on his face. you looked up at him and nodded, the sun shining in through one of the windows and lighting up his almost golden hair. “i wasn’t told a lot about you, d’you wanna tell me about yourself?”

so, you told him your name, when your birthday was, which he did the calculations to and it turns out you’re 18, what you can do and what you can’t. also what would probably be helpful to you in the arena.

he quietly jotted most things that you said, frankly they were all summarised, on a piece of paper he had in his pocket. you assumed it was for girl’s addresses.

“well, it’s nice to meet you. i can tell we’re gonna get along,” he said, slipping the paper into his pocket again. he turned and was about to leave the room when you called out to him, “wait! you should.. probably tell me about yourself, too, you know.”

he chuckled to himself and plopped down on the couch, next to you. “where to begin?” he breathed out, “my name’s Art Donaldson. i’m 27 years old, i was the victor of the 59th hunger games at 16 years old.”

“wow. must’ve gotten lucky, then,” you theorised to which he nodded. “i was popular with the capitol. thanks to my ravishing good lucks and charming personality,” he jested with a laugh.

“but, seriously. how did you win?” he sighed at the question, upset with the answer he had to give you. “i used my ‘ravishing good looks and charming personality’ to win over the capitol. i was sent things in the arena that helped me to keep going. i,” he let out another sigh, “i wasn’t very skilful. i almost waited out the entire game, hiding up somewhere. our district isn’t poor, per se, but it’s poor, victor-wise, skill-wise.”

you nodded, having acknowledged the amount of tributes from your district coming home was very little.

he cleared his throat and tried to calm your nerves as he could see the look on your face was not one of excitement, “but, hey. i’ll try to help you as best i can in that arena. i’ll train you good, i promise.”

ugh i hate this. let me know if i should continue or nah okay ty bye

[ilovefakemilitarymen]

Deal with the Devil

~Professor!John Price x Student!Reader (Part Two)

____________________________

Read Part One Here: x

Requests are currently open!

Word Count: ~3.6K

CW: Minors Do Not Interact, NSFW, Smut, Inappropriate Teacher/Student Relationships, Sexual Tension, Praise Kink, Name Calling (good girl, sweetheart), not really much aftercare, AFAB Reader, She/Her Pronouns, Face Fucking, Fingering.

When you finally make it to class, Price is nowhere to be seen. You were a few minutes early, hoping to be as pointed as he usually is, trying to see if there was anything else he needed for the day. A few other students file into class behind you and you take your usual place, sitting in the front row. There aren't many students that actually show up to his class anymore, most of them just take the failure on their transcript or drop the class altogether.

You’d like to think that Price had respected your determination, and that's why he had agreed to the extra credit in the first place.

You’re half-buried in your textbook when he finally walks in, coffee in hand. He offers you a simple smile, as well as the rest of the students. He always extends kindness to his students, so you don’t expect special treatment, however, it still comes.

“Sleep well?” He finally looks over to you, talking low as he sits his bag against his desk. It takes you off guard slightly. You only give him a small nod, your eyes following his face, and he moves to sit at the edge of his desk.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” The question seems to fall on deaf ears as no one replies to him, but despite that, he begins his lecture anyway.

You fall into staring at him, watching as he moves back and forth in front of the whiteboard, jotting down terms and dates. You can’t get yourself to focus on a single one with how his pants hug his thighs nicely, nearly busting out of the seams with one small misstep. You watch as he moves, eyes taking in every inch of the man. Somewhere in the depths of your mind, you had wished he would have just asked to fuck you in return for extra credit. He just exudes the kind of energy of a man that’s good in bed.

When your eyes finally move to his face, he’s watching you. He gives you a small smirk, and you can barely hide the flush at being caught. He probably knows about your not-so-little infatuation with him and the fact that he didn’t take advantage of it directly when you had asked for extra credit just made him so much more attractive to you. You try your best to focus on your notes, swearing to deny anything he says to you about the staring.

Finally, he begins to wipe away the information on the whiteboard, clearing his throat and you realize that you’ve spent well over forty-five minutes just drinking him in. You curse to yourself, another class directly down the drain, and swear to yourself that you’ll read and re-read the chapter he had gone over several times before you go to sleep tonight.

“Enjoy the rest of your day,” He finally speaks to the class, and you hang back as the others leave. The lump in your throat forms at being caught staring at him multiple times. You need to tell him about his meeting, the damn meeting.

When he finally does speak up to you, you had fully expected to be called out, but he leaves it in the air between the two of you, focusing on your agreement instead, “What does the rest of my day look like?” He finally looks over to you, dusting his hands off and leaning against the front of his desk.

You cough, trying to collect your composure and glancing at the clock, “You have a meeting in about an hour.” When you finally speak it sounds rehearsed, and you know he catches on. He’s a smart man, a very smart man. You know you look absolutely ridiculous to him right now.

“Right, I almost forgot about that one,” He nods as he keeps talking, his gaze moving to the clock, “I’m gonna need you to come with me to that…to take some notes.” His eyes move back to you to gauge your reaction. His eyes were stern and you give him a nod before looking down at your clothes.

You don’t look bad by any means, but jeans and a tee shirt is definitely not business attire, “Should I go change? This is hardly professional.” You speak, unsure of your words but he just gives you a small laugh.

“It’s nothing important, just meeting with a couple of colleagues. You look fine. I just need you there to keep me on track.” You watch him, arms crossed against his chest and you give him a small smile as you nod to him.

“I can do that.”

“I’m sure you can,” He smirks at his words before he jerks his head towards the door, signaling you to follow him and you hurriedly grab your things and make your way out.

You pick up the pace, trying to settle into a good stride right beside him. It was a nice stroll through the grounds, but the weather was poor, so many of the students could be found hiding away in their respective dorms. Some part of you was happy about that; not wanting to explain why you were with the professor.

It doesn’t take long until he shuffles you into a small conference room and all eyes are on you, and you wonder what they think of you. Teacher’s Pet. New Teacher’s Assistant. You just hope they all assume you’d signed up to be his TA. He takes a seat among his colleagues, and you have to admit, he lives up to the drill sergeant comment that the other student had made. He commands a room like no other.

You sit silently as the meeting starts, jotting down things that seem important. There’s a comment about another meeting and you write that in the margins of his planner, keeping it in the forefront of your brain, needing to put it in your own so you don’t forget to remind him about it.

It goes on without a hitch, but, with the slight smell of coffee and tobacco, Price leans in to whisper in your ear, “Jot that down,” and his hand taps on the notebook you had splayed in front of you. You try to hide the way your breath gets caught in your throat, but you know he’s way too close to ignore it. You keep your eyes on the notebook, but with all honesty, you don’t even know what to write down, all the thoughts in your head blocking out what the other men say in favor of pulling the feeling of his breath on your ear to the forefront of your mind.

You’re sure he can hear your heartbeat from here and you move your hand up to chew at your nails, trying to conceal the slight flush on your cheeks. It does no good, and you can only silently thank any god that would listen that nobody else has eyes on you.

Nobody else but him.

Your hands are shaking when you try to write down the next thing being said, and it’s honestly no use but you try anyway.

“You’re doing good,” His words are quiet as they filter into your ears, and this time, your eyes shoot over to look at him, and he, surprisingly, looks slightly proud of himself. The praise is what finally breaks you, and you know he knows it.

You pull your eyes away from him, readjusting yourself in your seat and trying your best to pretend to be okay. Pretend like his words weren’t setting you on fire in the seat and tearing you apart.

The meeting finally comes to a close and you quickly shut the notebook and planner, shoving it into your bag and Price is waiting for you at the door when you finally gather your things. There’s a wet heat between your legs and you silently curse yourself for letting him rile you up so much.

He’s doing it on purpose. You’re not for sure, but the proud look on his face says it all.

The walk back to his office is silent, too silent, and you stray slightly behind him as you try to keep his eyes off of you as much as possible.

Your mind is stuck on the feeling of his breath and the way it had fanned against your face, tickling your throat. It sticks a lump there that you can’t swallow down.

When Professor Price finally unlocks the door to his office, he finally speaks, “You seem a little quiet, is there something on your mind?” He doesn’t look at you as he speaks, only opening the door and you follow him inside.

The room is dimly lit, yellow light from the small lamp in the corner resting on the both of you.

“Yeah, but I got some good notes for you.” You feign ignorance.

You know what he’s talking about, but the embarrassment keeps the words you want to say to him from coming out. You don’t let him know that you would much rather him push you up against the wall and fuck you right there. You don’t tell him you want to feel his fingers wrap around your throat.

You don’t tell him because he probably knows.

You feel like a wild animal backed into a corner.

In the small room, just you and him, and you didn’t see that he had clicked the lock on your way in.

“You know, Ms. (l/n),” Price finally speaks again, and your hands shake at your sides, “I’m not a stupid man.” He leans against the heavy wood desk when he finally speaks again, and this is it. This is when he finally fails you. “Did I distract you?” His words are heavy when they finally leave his lips.

“Maybe,” It’s the only thing you can get to leave your lips, and you curse yourself for not being more confident. His gaze tears you down, opening you up for him to see all the attraction. The need for him evident on your features.

“How would you feel if I told you that you’re distracting to me as well,” His words are low, just between the two of you despite being the only ones in the room, “When you stare at me the way you do, can barely get through a lecture with your eyes on me.”

You stay silent, words unable to form in your throat, but he finally continues, “Won’t you be a good girl for me and get on your knees? I’ll show you how much you distract me.”

With that, the dam finally breaks.

“Yes sir,” You barely get the words out and your bag is all but thrown to the floor, resting against the wall, and your eyes stay on his face when you move, knees bending, sending a jolt through you when they finally hit the ground in front of him.

He looks so good in this lighting, and your hands shake as they reach for the front of his pants.

His own hands catch yours before they finally reach him, stilling you and you look back up to his face. There’s a slight worry etched across his features when he speaks, “You can tell me no, sweetheart,” His words take you off guard, “You say the word and you can leave and I’ll still give you the extra credit.”

Somehow, the fact that he wanted to make sure this was a mutual thing only makes you more turned on. You nod to him, trying to find your words, and they barely come out as a whisper to him, “I want to,” You speak and he nods, moving his hand away from your hands to press it against your chin. His thumb rubs sweetly at your cheek, tracing the outline of your lips as you look up at him, eyes staring wide into his.

“You’re such a good girl.” He speaks, thumb pulling your lip down and his hands and the praise almost has your mind in pieces. Your heart pounds heavily in your chest, and you swear it almost pulls a whine out of you. His other hand moves to grab your stalled hands, still resting just before the waistband of his pants before he pulls them closer to him, pressing them against the button.

Your hands finally start moving again, unbuttoning his jeans. You pull down the zipper finally, the sound of it so loud in the small room. When you dip your hands into his underwear, his thumb presses into your lips and he swears, and you open your mouth for him, letting him rest his thumb against your tongue as you finally pull his cock out of his pants.

He feels heavy in your hand, your soft skin wrapped around his length and your eyes finally dart down, taking him all in before moving back to look at his eyes. His hand pulls you in, pulling you closer to him as you stroke him a few times, finally moving to press a small kiss against the tip, and his hand moves to brush a piece of your hair behind your ear before it rests on the top of your head.

He grunts when you finally take him into your mouth, the soft, wet heat pulling him in as your eyes watch his face. “Fuck,” the curse filters into the silent room, and he runs an encouraging hand through your hair. The musky smell of him filling your nose and only pushing you further down onto him. You pull back, letting him out of your mouth with a small pop before you move your hand and try to take him all into your mouth.

“That’s it, such a good girl for me…” His words are darker now, dripping from his tongue seductively and you start bobbing your head, his hand moving to thread into your hair before he moves it to pet your face. It’s intoxicating, his encouragement, the light touches, and you can’t help but whine with him in your mouth, legs rubbing together to search for some kind of relief.

His eyes close and his hand is resting on your chin now, cupping your face as you move, a light groan pushing itself past his lips. “That feels so good, sweetheart, you’re doing so good.” His praise is the only thing in your mind, urging you forward as you attempt to take all of him into your mouth. Your hands move to rest against his hips as his hand moves to grip the hair at the back of your head. Your nose pushes into him, and you gag around him before moving back and his hips move of his own accord, thrusting lightly into your mouth.

The tip hits the back of your throat, pulling a gag out of your mouth. You’re heavily out of practice, but you can’t help the way your hands pull at him, practically begging him to thrust back into your mouth, to use it however he needs to get off. It sends a shiver down your spine, the way his eyes go dark before he thrusts into your mouth again, hand tightening on the strands of hair he’s pulled into his grip. You moan as the tip presses heavy into the back of your throat and he snaps his hips back before plunging himself back into your mouth.

“You’re doing so good,” His words fall out of his mouth like honey as his hips thrust his cock deeper into your lips, and you finally pull one of your hands from his hips to unbutton your own jeans and push your own fingers into your wet heat and he practically growls as he watches you. “That pretty mouth of yours, taking me so well.”

You hold your gags back as he uses your mouth, his pants hitting hard against your chin, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. He could tear you apart and you would just thank him for it afterwards. You moan as he continues fucking into your mouth, the vibrations running along his cock and he lets out a moan. You rub at yourself lightly, the wet sounds your mouth is making only pushing you closer to your own release. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes, but it’s so fucking good that you don’t want him to stop.

“You’re gonna swallow it all, yeah?” His voice is husky when it leaves his mouth, hips faltering in his thrusts and you try your best to give him a nod, but the heavy hand holding your hair only allows for you to barely do so.

His hips stutter as praises fall from his lips, along with a low growl and you can feel when his pleasure finally comes to a peak and he releases into your mouth.

After a few moments, his hand comes to rest on your chin again, pulling you off of him and opening your mouth so he can look at the mess he had made against your tongue. You look at him through your lashes as you close your mouth and make a show of swallowing him down, and you finally speak, your voice coming out whiny and rough from the way he had abused your mouth, “Touch me, please, touch me, sir.” You lean back against your calves, hand against the floor, making a show of touching yourself.

He’s on the floor with you in record time, sitting on his knees and you can barely move your hand before his own is slipping into your pants, rubbing at your clit before he slips two fingers into you. He watches the way your face contorts as a moan escapes your lips at the stretch. “I think you’ve earned some attention, haven’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” Your words break as they leave your mouth, a heavy moan following them out as he curls his fingers inside of you, pressing hard against the spot that feels so fucking good that it has you falling apart. His palm presses against your clit as he continues to pull out of you and push back in.

“So wet for me…” His words send a shiver down you, and you whine, your hand moving to grip his arm as the pleasure takes over your entire form. “You like that, don’t you? Love my fingers in you.”

“Fuckin’ love it,” Your words mix with his before he can even get them out of his mouth, and your brain is mush, mumbling incoherent sounds as your other arm gives out as you lay back on the floor, letting him have his way with you, fingers pushed deep in your cunt.

“You look so pretty like that, all fucked out and I haven’t even fucked you yet,” His words are low, barely there, but they push you closer to your release. It’s nearly embarrassing how he has you laid out on his office floor, rough fingers fucking into you and his palm pushing you further and further, but you don’t care, would let him do it as much as he damn well pleases, using you however he wants.

Pleas and chants fall from your lips when you finally tumble over the edge with him whispering praises of how good of a girl you are for him, and your back nearly arches off of the ground when he speaks, “That’s it, fuck,” And his other hand moves to your face, wiping your hair out of your face as he pumps his fingers into you through your release.

He finally pulls his hands out of your pants, bringing fingers up to his mouth to taste you, and it only causes you to whine as you come down from your high. His hand is heavy on your cheek, thumb rubbing sweetly before he finally stands up, fixing himself in his pants.

There’s just something about being on the floor under him, watching as he fixes himself as if nothing had happened between you as you’re thoroughly spent under him. You pull yourself up onto your elbows, using them to move back to your knees and he leans over to you, hand finding its way back to your face, caressing the skin of your cheek before he speaks, “Clean yourself up, beautiful, and get back to your studies.” His words are back to normal and your eyes roam over his face. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow.” A small smirk plays on his lips as he moves to sit at his desk, watching as you fix yourself.

There’s a slight satisfied grin on his face as he watches you and you move over to your bag to pull out a hair tie to pull your hair up, forgoing even the attempt to try and get the tangles out of it before you pull it up into a bun to try to hide the mess as much as you can. You know your lips are swollen and the light layer of sweat against your skin is starting to dry disgustingly, but his eyes on you just make you feel like you're the most beautiful thing in the world.

You get up off the floor, moving to pull your bag over your shoulder and leave, but his hand catches your wrist, pulling you over to where he sits before he presses a small kiss to your lips. You hadn’t expected the tenderness out of him but it’s welcome, and you give him a small smile before you head for the door.

You think, just for a moment, that you’re gonna milk this agreement for as much enjoyment as possible.

[acourtofbooksandshadows]

Not So Routine - Chapter 1

Summary: Your life gets turned upside down when two breathtaking mates step into your boutique on what seemed to be a routine day.

Pairing: Nessian x Afab!Reader

Warnings: Talks about lingerie, swearing, saving life's, rita's, sexual innuendos..... I think that's it.

Word count:1656

Bookshelf Series Bookshelf

When you had woken up you were expecting to go about your day like usual. Wake up, get ready for work, go to your boutique, go home, eat dinner, read a novel and go to bed. That was your usual routine unless you went to dinner or to Rita’s with your friends. However the mother had something else in mind for your day instead. 

The morning started out as it usually did. You woke up, got dressed, ate breakfast and went into work. The boutique had a steady stream of customers until lunch time. Your best friend who co-owned and ran the boutique with you slipped out for lunch with her husband leaving you alone. You went through the store once making sure there was nothing that needed stocked or fixed before sitting at the counter with a book. 

“If you don’t shut the fuck up I’m going to send you back home.” Was the first thing you heard as the door to the boutique opened. You set your book down keeping your finger tucked in between the pages and observed the couple that walked in. You could smell the mating bond coming from them as soon as the door had opened. You could almost feel it vibrating the air around you from how strong it was. 

“Come on Nes, it was just a joke. Plus do you really wanna walk all the way up the stairs to get back?” The absolutely breathtaking High Fae female rolled her eyes at the equally breathtaking Illyarian male walking behind her. 

The male was dressed in a pair of loose black trousers and a loose black tunic with his hair tied in a bun. Even with the casual clothes you could sense the pure power and authority he possessed. The female had on a casual black dress that she made look ready for a ball simply because she wore it. Her hair was in a simple braid as well but even that looked good enough for a formal affair. 

“I think Azriel is down here somewhere, I’ll just go find him and ask him for a ride.” A low growl came from the male causing the female to send him a deliciously sweet smirk with a pointed look that had him shutting up. You took that time to grab your bookmark slipping it into place before setting the book down on the counter. 

“Welcome to Beauty Within, is there anything I can help you with?” At the sound of your voice they were both turning around to look at you. You recognized both of them now that you could see them up close. They were General of the Night Court and sister of the High Lady of the Night Court. A tight knot formed in your stomach under the gaze of two of the most powerful beings you’ve ever met. 

“I’m looking to have a custom lingerie set made.” Your boutique was one of the few that specialized in lingerie and especially custom pieces so the inquiry didn’t take you by surprise. Excitement bubbled up inside you at the prospect of a custom piece. You loved bringing others' visions to life. 

“When would you need the set done?” You grabbed an order sheet and something to write with and prepared to jot down the notes you’d need. 

“One weeks time would be preferred.” You nodded your head, writing down the date. That would be easy to do as custom sets normally only took a day shy of a week. 

“Do you already know the style that you’re wanting?” She nodded her head and held her hand out to the lord of bloodshed. He reached into a pocket on his pants and handed her a paper. She passed it to you with a look of pride on her face.

“Did you sketch these yourself?” The detailing on the paper was astonishing. You could see the design that she was wanting down to the last stitch come together in your head as your eyes scanned the paper quickly.

“I did, yes.” It was something she started to do when she was younger. Sketching gowns and jewelry she hoped to one day wear and own. It had been years since she’d sketched anything though. But she was wanting a new set of undergarments since her mate had torn the majority of hers to shreds. 

“These are actually some of the best sketches I’ve ever seen. If you’re ever looking for a job I’d love to employ you.” You knew your best friend wouldn’t mind you extending an offer of employment to the Female standing in front of you once she saw the sketches that she was capable of. She seemed to ponder the invitation for a couple of seconds while the tall male beside her eyed her curiously. 

“I think I’d like that.” The Illyarian gave her a bewildered look, his mouth hung open and eyes wide. Of all the things he’d seen his mate do or say that was somehow the most surprising. 

“Nesta you are in no need of a job. Between my money and Rhysand you have no need for any.” He was right in that aspect. Rhysand had been very generous with his money since her life saving act months ago.  

“I get bored sometimes, Cassian.” she said as she simply shrugged her shoulders and dismissed him. She wouldn’t tell him but she felt like it would give her a sense of normalcy. Not that she’d ever had a job before but she felt like it would make her feel more human to have one. 

“That’s fantastic, we can talk more about it when you come to pick up this set.” You couldn't help the smile that graced your face at the confirmation that she would be joining your business. You weren’t in need of help but you had a feeling she’d be a great addition. 

“My measurements are on the paper with the sketches. I am going to go and look around the store for a few items. You can talk to Cassian about payment.” She didn’t say or do anything else before walking away from the counter. Cassian gave you a beaming smile and your belly flipped a little. You kept a look of indifference on your face however not wanting the mated pair to get suspicious that you were attracted to them both. 

You finished filling out the form before handing Cassian the paper for him to sign and pay. Once he handed it back to you, you attached the sketch’s and filed it accordingly. He took the time to start wondering about the racks of Male and Female satin, lace, silk and velvet delicates. Since Nesta was also looking around the store you took the time to open up your book and dive back into it. The scene was turning heated and you were intently focused on it when a voice piped up in front causing you to slam the book shut.

“You seem pretty interested in that book. What’s it about?” Your face heated at her words and you went to speak but coughed instead. Cassian had come up to the counter at the commotion. You glanced between the two before clearing your throat and answering her question.

“It’s a romance novel.” Her eyes got a mischievous glint in them as she read the cover. She placed one of her hands against the counter and leaned towards you ever so slightly. 

“I’ver read quite a few books from that author. They are actually one of my favorites.” You gulped as her eyes pinned you to your chair. In your line of work you rarely got flustered: but there was something about the way they handled themselves that had every ounce of practiced self control you had flying out the window. 

“Oh that's gotta mean that the book has some fun scenes in it then.” Cassian's eyebrows did a ridiculous suggestive wiggle as the words left his mouth. If your face wasn’t heated before it definitely was now. You glanced at the front of the book before glancing back up and meeting Nesta’s eyes. 

“So what’s it about?” Her tone was even as she spoke. She was confident and wasn’t going to have you shying away from her question no matter how flustered you became. 

“It’s about a throuple. A male and two females. It captures the ups and downs of their relationship and how they handle being together. There are in fact some fun scenes within the story.” Your eyes glanced at Cassian at the end of your sentence, confirming what he had assumed earlier.

As your eyes met his hazel ones, your breath was knocked out of you. You dug your fingernails into your palms and unconsciously started to chew on the inside of your cheek. Your eyes flickered towards Nesta as she hummed from beside Cassian and your skin felt like it was lit on fire. You swayed slightly in your chair and blinked slowly trying to clear your blurred vision. Your body was swarming with foreign feelings. 

“Are you feeling alright?” Concern was placed within Cassian’s words. The only emotion shown from Nesta was a singular twitch of her well groomed eyebrows. You gave them both a swift nod and stood up quickly. Which may have been a mistake as you swayed again. But you steadied yourself by gripping the counter in front of you. 

“Did you find anything you’d like to purchase today?” Nesta’s face remained blank but her eyes held questions that she was going to leave unasked. She and Cassian placed their items on the counter and you quickly rang them out. As they exited through the front door your chest began to ache. You watched as the gold threads connecting you to the two that were just standing in front of you flickered and vibrated. The word mates was ringing through your head like a bell.

A/N:Like I said in my sneak peek I'm not sure if there will be more parts to this. If anyone does want another part please let me know! As always likes,comments, reblogs are all very much appreciated.

Tags(open): @wolfsbane44 @moonlwghts @maddietheshoe @hyemishii @fanboyluvr @kmc1989 @acourtofinkandpapyrus @luvmoo

[plutoswritingplanet]

Ring Of Fire (Lucifer x Female!Reader) pt.2

a/n: we're taking a turn for the weirder, next chapter will be slightly more comfort than hurt (you know, as much as i know how to write comfort). for now, all we have is darkness and edginess. Cross-Posted on AO3

Warnings: Dub-Con (wow that never fking happens on this blog), Soulmates, Emotional Torture, Biting (not the sexy kind), like...a teeny tiny smidge of cannibalism.

Summary: The psychological torment of being chosen for the Devil tips over as he visits you in your sleep.

PT.1

At first, you're not aware that you're dreaming. A strange haze falls over your vision, as if you've just woken up from a devastating fever. Your limbs sway slowly, like you're treading through honey. It fascinates you, the way the light of a streetlamp flickers over your fingers, as you raise your hand. Bare feet on the concrete, your toes contract, pebbles stuck to the skin. The air feels weird on your skin, like liquid pouring over your form in an invisible cascade. It feels real enough, yet so far away. 

You remember falling asleep on Bobby's guest bed, brought down by the events of the night. What were those events, you couldn't remember, but you can smell smoke swirling in your nose and your eyes are puffy with tears. You sniffle, swipe your hand across your face and feel as if by this simple gesture, your skin has been pulled like fresh taffy. Perhaps you have died in your sleep. The thought is, for some reason, incredibly funny to you, and from somewhere far away you can hear a voice, strangely similar to yours, giggle. It echoes through your skull like a church bell, and you groan at the reverberating sound. 

- Crossroads? Really? - you turn around without any grace in your movement, as another voice rings out right next to you.

Your breath catches in your throat and you can feel all the muscles in your body constric, then relax forcefully, as if some invisible strength was trying to keep you docile. 

There he stands. So human, so plain, it tugs on your heart in a way you were not expecting. Lucifer. His hands clasped in front of him, red spots and abrasions decorating his skin in a grotesque display. Sick, your brain supplies, he looks sick, as if he's starting to rot where he stands, and suddenly, in this strange dream the worst possible feeling comes to surface. You pity him, truly and deeply. Normally you'd jot it down to caring for the poor man he has chosen for his temporary vessel, but here, where reality doesn't exist, you can't force yourself to entertain this lie. Your fingers flex at your sides, a need to heal, to help, pushing at them to come forward, to cradle his face like he did to yours.

God help you, you wanted to help this monster.

Then, his words register in your brain, and you finally look around.

You're in the middle of a cement road, somewhere you don't recognize, and sure enough, there is a crossroad. You haven't been to one in such a long time. Not since Dean got dragged to hell and pushed by grief, you were about to do something unbelievably stupid. You remember begging. Actually begging a demon to take your soul, to save your friend, only to be met with a cruel laughter and emptiness so profound, it nearly broke you. Shame washes through you like a sudden wave, and you try to keep some integrity by encircling your chest with your arms. It does you little to no comfort, and Lucifer cocks his head to the side, as if he's in tune with your emotions. 

- Do you dream of this place often? - Lucifer asks, walking around you at a slow pace.

You don't know how to respond. Do you? Perhaps that is the case, perhaps somehow you've always had some sort of connection to the crossroads, where the most wicked of deals were made. Perhaps it was all his fault, from the very beginning. You nod, once, not trusting your own voice, and the Devil flashes you a quick smile, before his expression darkens, as if he's deeply in thought. There are prominent shadows falling over his face, his eyes sunken even more than you remember. 

- I can't find you - he finally looks up at you, and your heart stops just for a second - You're invisible to me, I wonder, why is that?

Castiel, you immediately think, and you have to look away from him at the memory of your friendly neighborhood Angel carving Enochian symbols into your bones. It's almost like you can feel them, beneath your skin, beneath the muscle and the guts. Not hurting, not really. Just, there. A constant reminder, that you're hunted by a being that feels entitled to your very existence. Being, which is currently taking small steps towards you, looking over your body as if you were a piece of prime meat in a display case at a grocery store.

- You're hiding from something you cannot stop - he says, and you feel the coldness of his breath on your collarbones - It's Dad's will after all. 

That, for some reason, wakes you up from your previous stupor. Shaking your head, you try to take a step back, a litany of "no's" spilling from your lips. To that, he frowns, grabs at your shoulders to keep you in place, and with a sudden wave of horror you realize, you can't move. And you want to move so badly, your body feels as if it's tearing itself in half. White fire, cold burning floods you, when his hands make contact with your skin, fingers skimming over the flesh of your arms, dragging down and down, until they grab at your wrists. 

- I don't want this - there's conviction in your voice you were not expecting, because truly and deeply, you fucking hate this situation, this responsibility which has been placed upon you without your knowledge or consent.

Lucifer laughs an airy laugh.

Gently, as if you're a porcelain doll, he brings your hands closer to his face. He maneuvers your fingers, eyes watching with fascination at the way your knuckles move under your skin. The tendons, the veins, he swallows it all with a greedy gaze, and the coldness of his breath makes hairs stand at the back of your neck. 

- I'm not particularly thrilled by this revelation myself - he whispers to your fingertips - I mean, isn't this insulting? To force me to care for a thing I swore to hate.

You shudder at the sudden harshness in his voice, and his hands dig further into the meat of your wrist. Reminding yourself that this is just a dream, you try to steel your nerves, focus on leveling your breathing, on freeing yourself from his grasp. It's harder than you anticipate, trying to collect any sort of self-preservation, while your mind is cradled by the smothering blanket of whatever dream-magic has been placed on you. 

- But then again, I am a child of an absent father - something akin to mirth flashes through his face, and as he looks up at you, eyes gleaming with something you're too scared to decipher, you're convinced you'll never truly escape him - And such a gift... - he sighs deeply within his chest, pressing the scarred surface of his cheek to your palm - Well, who am I to deny it?

Your face twists into an expression of disgust, and with a whine, you tear yourself away, craning your body as far from him as it is willing to go. Which arguably isn't much. His grip on your body tightens, arms digging into you, as he forces a perversion of a hug onto your unwilling frame.

- I've killed for less - he whispers into your ear, and revels in the way your entire body shivers - You're really lucky, and I don't think you quite realize how much. 

- I don't want to be lucky - painted nails dig into the cotton of his shirt, as you try your hardest to hurt him, force him to back up, or just react to your defiance in any other way than patronizing indifference. - I want nothing to do with you, I don't want you.

To that, he humms low in his throat, and you whimper, as cold lips descent upon the juncture between your neck and your shoulder. You can't truly describe the kind of fear he brings upon you, but your entire body seems to surrender despite your best efforts at doing otherwise. Must be magic, you reason. He must've placed you under some kind of a spell, there is no other explanation.

- Don't you think you're being just a tad ungrateful? - he asks, nose dragging along your artery - I mean, here I am, ready to love you, to care for you, to accept you as the gift that you are... - he takes a long drag of your hair, savoring the scent as your knees start to buckle - And you're ready to throw it all away because, what exactly? Because I'm what my Father has made me?

- Because you're a monster, only capable of hurting others - you seethe through your teeth, and immediately get cut off, when presses your bodies tighter together, something worryingly similar to a growl resounding deep within his chest. 

- Is that what you think?

You've made a mistake, immediately you can recognize that. Playing the tough guy in front of the literal Devil, while having no real idea of the supposed bond tying you both together, wasn't your smartest moment. Cold sweat forms on your forehead, when Lucifer extends his hands out, fingers digging into the flesh of your arms. Then, looking at you from that small distance, he gives you a strangely bored look. Like he has seen everything you've done play out in front of him a million times, like he knows all there is to know about you. 

God save you, you hate that look more than any atrocity he has committed. 

- Don't look at me like that - bravery, or stupidity, you can't decide as words leave your mouth in a snarl. - You don't know anything about me. 

- I know all that's important - he counters - I know God made you for me.

He takes a step closer, and suddenly you've grown very tired of this constant dance. His hands massage their way towards your shoulders, where he grips you tight and drags you towards him. You stumble, nearly falling into his chest, but he straightens you out forcefully, like you're some doll he can maneuver all he likes. 

- I know you're rebellious, just like me - his whisper seeps into your very being, as if you've become infected by his gentle tone - You're lonely, just like me.

You want to shake your head no, you really want to, but he keeps you frozen, enchanted by his sudden closeness, and the barely noticable note of vulnerability hidden in his grey eyes.

 Sam and Dean flood your mind. Your boys, your closest friends. The times you've spent together were few and far between, but you cherish them. You truly do. Which is why, your heart breaks at the realization, that Lucifer is right. Despite the bars, and the hunts, and the long drives, you're lonely. Loneliness follows you like a shadow, too ingrained into your bones to ever leave. But not right now, never when he's around. 

- It's okay, you know - Lucifer sighs, leaning down to kiss right between your collarbones - Sooner or later you'll realize, there's no shelter, no hideout where I wouldn't find you. That's true love, babe.

- Stop - a plea slips between your lips, quiet and pathetic, reminiscent of when you've fallen to your knees, begging a demon to bring your friend back.

What you were pleading for this time, you couldn't really comprehend, all you know is, you don't want to do this. You can't do this, and if this really was true love, wasn't he supposed to understand? 

The beating of your hear escalates, when he moves to grab at your face, hands so perfectly fitting alongside your jaw. He turns your head from side to side, as if wanting to commemorate every angle, etch it into his mind. If it were any other man, you'd be over the moon. If he wasn't a threat of catastrophic magnitude, just waiting to end the lives of your friends and everyone on Earth, you would've craned your neck further, given him access. Accepted your fate.

Yet, when his cold lips press into yours, it's so easy to forget why you've been unwilling all this time. He's gotten better at it, you muse, as he kisses your unmoving mouth, trying to pull some reaction out of you. Finally, you gasp, when he traps your bottom lip between his teeth, and bites down hard enough to draw blood. Immediately he takes advantage, thumbs digging into the hinges of your jaw, until you have no choice, but to open up to him. It's nauseating, the way he kisses you, as if he needs to map out the insides of your mouth right this instance. 

Lucifer pulls away so suddenly, for a second you follow his mouth before steeling yourself. Blood trickles down from your bitten lips, and he launches at the small streak. Tongue laps at the skin of your chin, licking off every trace of red, and the sound he makes is downrigh sinful. Then, emboldened by your taste, his hands push upwards, the muscles of your neck straining, as he moves your head back. 

The skin of your throat is exposed and pulled taunt, and your entire body is ready to collapse, when he presses open mouthed kisses along your trachea. Then, as you let out a  whimper, he moves to the side, kissing and licking a line towards your pulse point. He stays there for a moment, dragging his teeth down the cullumn of your throat, hard enough to make you squirm in discomfort. From gentle coaxing, his ministrations took a sharp turn to roughter territories.  

- So sweet - Lucifer muses to himself, taking another whiff of your scent - I could just eat you up. 

Something in his tone of voice startles you. It's not a cute love confession, a cliche line from a romantic movie. From his lips, it sounds daunting, like a promise he can't wait to fulfill. Your eyes swipe downwards, but all you can see is the top of his head, as he dips down to further abuse your throat. He's not gentle by any means, all teeth and no comfort with the way he nibbles at the skin behind your ear. It's pleasurable, or it would be, if it were any other person, or a person at all. 

Then, the air seems to shift, a sinister streak you're not familiar with crawls the lenght of your back, and you tremble like a caught bird in his unwavering grasp. As if sensing the change, his hands switch the hold on your face, supporting the underside of your jaw and chin, pulling up and up, until you have to stand on your tippy toes. 

- Perhaps I should - ringing fills your ears as tears flood the corners of your eyes - Perhaps that will show you, who you belong to. 

And with that, he pulls back. Like a priest raising his cup at the Holy Communion, he raises your head, eyes roaming across the marks he has made on your throat. And then, he dives down, jaw open, teeth glistening in the darkness of the night. 

You can feel it all, as he tears through skin and muscle, sinking into your trachea as if taking a bite out of a ripe apple. Your scream sounds so far away, so muddled, for a moment you can't recognize it's you that's screaming. Then, he pulls back with a sickening, wet, tearing sound, and your voice dies down in a gargle. Blood floods your mouth, spills through your teeth, a waterfall of red soaking your entire front. Through hazy vision you see him chew and swallow, and the sight churns your insides, as you double over, bile quickly making it's way up what's left of your throat.

Except, it doesn't hit the pavement. It lands on the wooden floors of Bobby's guest room. Confusion barely registers in your panicked state, as you roll off the bed, grabbing at the gaping wound in your throat. A wound that isn't there at all. Phantom pain wrenches a series of shouts from you, like an animal caught in a trap. Begging from help. Knowing it will recieve none. The coarse surface of the floor scratches at your thighs, as you push yourself into a nearest corner, tears mixing with sweat on your face. 

That's when Dean rushes in, Sam right after him. Any other day, you'd consider their company a blessing, but right now all you can think of, is what Lucifer has in store for them. How he can hurt them, to get to you. Castiel teleports into the room soon after, and you wish the floorboards would open up and swallow you whole. 

- He was... - you wince, voice creaking like old hinges - He was in my dream.

That's all Sam needs to cross the room and kneel in front of you, gently pulling at your hands, which are still clutching the non-existent wound on your throat. The skin is red and raw, nail marks trail down from under your chin to your collarbones, but there is nothing else.

- I know - Sam whispers, arms encircling you in a warm hug, that just feels like entrapment - I know, I'm so sorry.

Deep down you know, he understands. The weight of being promised to the Devil, the torment he can bring upon a person, the fear. But right now, all you can feel are teeth, and lips, and hands which are too cold to be anything other than a monster.

Castiel has questions, you can see it, in the way his eyes scan the room, fall on your shaking frame, still pushed into a corner. He doesn't ask them, thankfully, opting to gruffly mutter something about checking the wards around the house. Bobby yells from his office, Dean yells back. You try to focus on the warmth coming from Sam's chest. You stay like that for a couple more minutes, before finally, calming down enough to stand up and wipe your tears off your face with a heavy hand. 

- We'll figure something out - Sam supplies his usual response to anything Apocalypse related.

What used to be a hopeful promise, right now sounds more like a hollow echo.

Dean keeps his opinions to himself, chewing on them as he hands you a beer fresh out of the fridge. Only when the liquid freezes it's way down your pipes, you are certain your throat is where it should be. Your brain is coming back as well, rebellion, loneliness, all the traits Lucifer has read from you. They mix with anger, slowly rising within your chest, because fuck that. Fuck him, fuck God and fuck every single entity responsible for your current predicament.

- Yeah - you force yourself to sound convinced - Yeah, we'll kick his fucking ass.

[underdark-dreams]

I got too excited and finished the second chapter 👀 [ch1]

A Strand to Climb - Ch.2

Tav finally catches up with her wizard at Sorcerous Sundries; Rolan has some complicated feelings about seeing her again.

Tags: Reunions, Mutual Pining | Word Count: 3,042 [Read on AO3]

The next day dawned just as gloomy and gray as Rolan’s mood. 

He hadn't slept well in his chilly room at the Tower; the flesh beside his brow was bruised deeper than he’d realized. His fretful dreams of shadow curses and illithid monstrosities had been laced through with the dull ache in his skull.

As a result he’d been short with the customers this morning. It didn’t really matter—no one cared about the boy behind the counter. People tended to look through him, if they looked at him at all. 

No doubt his bruised and beaten appearance made people uncomfortable. Rolan knew Lorroakan didn’t care a jot for his wellbeing, but he did wonder why the man wouldn’t avoid damaging the first face people saw when they walked in. It couldn’t be good for business. 

These days Rolan found himself more of a shopkeeper than a student, after all. 

With that thought in mind, he pulled the large book of figures up onto the counter. At least there was plenty of work there to occupy him—Lorroakan had been an atrocious bookkeeper.

By the time midday dragged along, Sorcerous Sundries had cleared out almost completely. The sky outside the wide front entry had darkened further from the approaching storm. Periodically a humid breeze would gust through the doorway. Each time, Rolan had to grab hold of the pages of his ledger before he lost his place.

Eventually he shoved the thing aside in impatience, thunking a heavy potion bottle down on top to weigh down the page. 

From its hiding place among the scroll shelves, Rolan instead pulled out a stained and dogeared volume: Suspended Ceremorphosis. He'd swiped it from the tower while Lorroakan was engaged with yet another so-called Nightsong hunter. 

Lorroakan certainly wouldn’t miss the text. He hadn't maintained the protective spells on the reference section of his library the way he had the sections on spellcraft and the Weave. Evidently he thought everyone must have the single-minded and incurious lust for power that he did himself.

Rolan had never thought of himself as having a weak stomach, yet he found he had to take the text in small doses. The only thing that kept him reading it was a promise he’d made to Tav many moons ago, on a night when hope was easier to come by.

Whoever had authored it must have been a surgeon—more likely a necromancer. Each gruesome detail was described thoroughly, almost lovingly in some passages. 

Rolan forced his way through as many pages as he could manage. Combined with the painstaking diagrams of each stage of the infection and transformation, he found it painful reading. Especially when it directly concerned one of the people he cared about most in all the Realms. 

Who knew if Tav still even needed his help after all this time? She’d proven herself far more resourceful than him on many occasions. Maybe she was already on the trail for a proper cure by now. Maybe he was just wasting his time.

Rolan abruptly pushed this book aside too, turning back to his ledger again for the reprieve of sordid coin. 

All things considered, Sorcerous Sundries was thriving. The citizens of Baldur’s Gate were shaken, borderline terrified by the recent march of the Absolute's forces…and frightened people spent gold on anything they thought might keep their families safe. Rolan summed last week's numbers a second and a third time, convinced he must have added a figure somewhere.

A brash voice outside pierced his concentration. Rolan glanced up sharply to the open doors, quill poised on the page. 

Suffering hells. Aradin again? Whether or not he’d actually been involved in this week’s clumsy burglary attempt, he should have the common sense not to show his face.

The mercenary had been no rosy presence back at the Grove, and he was a constant bane at the magic shop ever since Rolan had been placed on front desk duties. He was always appearing to insist on a private audience with Lorroakan, or some great sum owed to him, or some other equally improbable outcome depending on the day. 

Just as Lorroakan had accused him of last night—ungratefully—Rolan had finally taken it upon himself to charm the metal construct at the door to turn him away on sight.

As he watched, Aradin jabbed a threatening finger into the construct's face, as if it might be intimidated into compliance. 

Thick fucking idiot, Rolan thought viciously. He had no patience for this today. Right as he set down his pen, someone else caught Aradin's attention from behind.

If not for her change in attire, he would have recognized Tav’s figure at first glance. But then Aradin shifted slightly as he spoke, and Rolan caught sight of her face.

The city seemed to be treating her well; he was relieved to see it. Her features were bright and well-rested for once, despite the scowling line of her brows as she squared her shoulders toward Aradin. 

For the first time in days, Rolan managed a faint smile. She never did like bullies. 

She'd commissioned fine new armor—perhaps from Dammon's forge up the street. Tav shone like an aasimar despite the overcast day behind her. The thought occurred with not near enough force to distract him from gaping at her lovely face.

His face. Zurgan—

Rolan’s spine straightened with a jerk. Why hadn’t he prepared for how she might react? How he might explain his pathetic appearance? He’d forgotten to anticipate any of it properly, and found himself blinded by panic.

There was no time to unfreeze his boots from the floor—Tav and her companions were already sweeping past Aradin and into the shop. 

Her gaze landed on Rolan before any of the rest even noticed him. His heart hammered in his chest as he watched her expressions play out in quick succession: dismay, then concern, then indignation. 

The way her eyes traveled over his face made Rolan wish he could melt into an invisible puddle. But such powers were beyond him—all he could do was stand mute as Tav drew up to the counter in front of him.

“Welcome to Sorcerous Sundries.” Rolan spoke the usual lines, and hated the falseness of his voice as he did so.

Tav only blinked at him for a moment. “Hi,” she replied softly. 

The two of them looked at each other for what felt like an age. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, in truth. Her eyes were wide and wholly inescapable. Rolan found his mind full of many words, all of which refused to exit his mouth.

“Oh shit, Rolan? What happened to your face, mate?” 

The towering Tiefling hellfighter spoke up before either of them could. She was peering at him from behind Tav’s shoulder with an expression of guileless concern.

“Karlach—” Tav wheeled on her with a soft admonition. 

She was trying to spare his pride. For some reason, that made Rolan feel lower than ever. As Tav turned back to him with a tight smile, he hoped the patchwork of bruises on his face hid its flush of abject humiliation.

Tav opened her mouth, but Rolan rushed to speak first. “I expect you’re here to see Master Lorroakan.”

Something flickered behind her eyes. “We are,” was all she answered.

“Then you’ll find the portals to the Tower upstairs. Do be careful to choose correctly the first time, it’s a great deal of trouble getting back in here if you don’t—Lorroakan has little patience for anyone who might waste his time—” 

Rolan was fussing with his ledger and rifling through the pages as if it contained much important work he had to get back to. Anything to avoid looking at her anymore.

“Right…thanks, Rolan.” Tav’s voice was uncertain. He clenched his jaw against a sudden pang of remorse. “See you later, then?” 

Rolan nodded tersely down at his work. He made no other answer.

She lingered for just a moment as the rest of her friends departed for the staircase. Then Rolan heard the metallic clinking of her plate armor as she too moved away. 

He kept his head bent doggedly over his book as she did. Rolan’s eyes pretended to move over the page, seeing none of it. His ears were trained behind him to track Tav’s footfalls on the stairs. 

When he heard the rushing whirl of a portal activating above, he stayed frozen for a few seconds to be sure. Then he shut the ledger with a snap.

And like a shameful coward, he ran to hide.

At least Rolan had enough sense to summon his master’s projection before he turned on his heel. Not a familiar incantation, but he glimpsed the Weave successfully materializing from over his shoulder as he swept toward the concealed door under the great staircase. 

His fingers fumbled for a key at his belt—the one Tolna had lent him his first day. Once the door latched behind him, he stumbled down the dark stairs into the ancillary storeroom.

The place was full of more dust than anything else. Rolan coughed and sneezed several times before he managed a simple cantrip to light one of the torches along the wall. 

Then he sank down onto an empty crate, slumped against the bookshelf behind him, and leaned the tips of his horns back against its dusty volumes.

What in the hells was he doing?

Living the life he’d chosen, Rolan answered himself. Tend the shop, ascend for lessons—sleep and repeat. 

For how many years? One, two? Five? 

Five years as a wizard’s apprentice was rare, but not unheard of. And Lorroakan didn't strike him as a man who readily dismissed his apprentices from service. 

What exactly did he expect Tav to do for the next five years? Surely not wait around for a pathetic wizard-in-training who didn't have the strength to fight back against his own worthless master.

Sitting in this damp basement, surrounded by cobwebs, Rolan couldn't think of a single good reason why someone like her might still want someone like him. 

An old, familiar feeling slithered through his gut. Unwanted.

It was true that Lorroakan had proved more of a disappointment than he could possibly have imagined. But the man had one advantage over every other archwizard Rolan had written to over the years, pleading for a chance to prove himself. 

Lorroakan was the only one who had accepted him in.

Whatever the archwizard’s many deficiencies, they did nothing to change the other advantages this apprenticeship could grant him. Notoriety, privilege, access. The wizarding circles of Faerûn didn’t open for just anyone, especially not a bastard Tiefling. Not unless you had connections.

So what if he had feelings for Tav. Strong ones. Ones he sometimes wished he could make disappear…despite the way she continually visited his dreams. This apprenticeship was something Rolan had dreamed of for far longer.

And what about her feelings?  

She'd told him she loved him many times during their last brief nights together at Last Light Inn. On one particularly memorable occasion, she'd been naked on top of him. 

Rolan had replayed the moment in his head too many times to count, yet it never failed to set his heart racing.

But those were moments when blood ran hot from freshly escaped peril—moments suspended in forgiving shadow. Under the harsh light of day, perhaps Tav could finally see him clearly.

Rolan’s hands rose to his face. He prodded and felt along its planes with his fingers, gritting his teeth as he rediscovered each fleshy bruise and scrape on its surface. He was a mess of a man.

Abruptly, Rolan shook his head to clear away all this self-pitying nonsense. His thoughts turned back to Tav’s current audience with Lorroakan. 

He wondered what they spoke of. Perhaps the Nightsong; perhaps her parasite. 

If Lorroakan knew anything about Illithids or ceremorphosis—an idea that seemed more laughable by the day—Rolan prayed to all the gods that he’d have the decency to share his knowledge with her. 

Whatever the subject, their conversation was brief. 

Rolan’s ear caught the muffled hum of the portal once again and knew Tav and her companions had descended from the Tower. He waited a few more minutes to be sure, then rose to trudge back up to the main floor. When stepped back into the light, she and her companions were gone. 

Rolan had no right to feel as disappointed as he did. He was the one who’d hidden from her like a child, after all.

As his feet dragged him back behind the counter, Rolan realized that in his haste he’d left out the stolen book on ceremorphosis—turned open to a particularly gruesome illustration. 

He thanked his stars that it had been Tav and her friends paying a visit. Another customer might have been put off by the sight, enough so that a complaint made its way back to Lorroakan. The archwizard was jealous as a dragon when it came to guarding his hoard, however little personal interest he took in its riches.

As he picked up the tome to hide it away again, a small slip of parchment fluttered from between its pages to land on the counter in front of him. Rolan turned it over, then felt his heart repeat the motion.

Had he truly never seen her handwriting before? The letters were small and even, yet clearly written in haste:

Let’s talk alone. I love you

ps  thank you for the research

Whatever information Lorroakan had provided her, if she was thanking him for reading a dusty book, it must not have been worth much. 

Despite every weight pulling on his heart, Rolan reread each word several more times. Then he slipped the note gently into the pocket of his robes. 

—

“Hey! You coming?”

“One second,” Tav called over her shoulder. 

She hastily fit a postscript onto the small scrap of parchment. Then she slipped it like a page marker into Rolan’s book and laid his quill back on the counter.

It was obvious that Rolan wanted to avoid running into her a second time. A sad pang ran through her at the thought, but she couldn’t really blame him. She’d never seen him looking so miserable—not even that night after his siblings had been taken to Moonrise. 

Lia’s words from yesterday rang in her ears. I don’t think he’s treating Rolan well. Whatever dark things Tav had imagined, they hadn’t prepared her for the sight of Rolan’s face—plainly dappled with weeks of brutal mistreatment.

Her fingers clenched hard at her sides. Tav glanced up at the shimmering projection of Lorroakan behind the counter and quelled the furious urge to put a fist right through its vapid smile.

As she jogged back out through the atrium of Sorcerous Sundries, Karlach turned to fall into stride beside her. The other two had walked ahead, clearly unaware that they’d left anyone behind. Gale was gesticulating animatedly about something; Wyll listened politely at his shoulder.

“So that Lorroakan’s a real prick,” Karlach remarked with characteristic bluntness as they walked. 

Tav gave a harsh laugh. “Read my mind.”

“How d’you think he knows about the Nightsong?”

She had been asking herself the same question. Her mind’s eye conjured up the circle of runes in his study, the one he’d indiscreetly shown off to them on this very first meeting. 

It had Balthazar’s fingerprints all over it.

“Probably has a background in necromancy,” Tav guessed aloud. “No way to know for sure.”

Karlach’s palm rang against plate metal as she clapped it between Tav’s shoulder blades. “Until we kick his arse and charm it out of him, you mean.”

Tav only smiled weakly in response. Inside, she could scarcely wait for the day when Lorroakan would get what was coming to him.

Beside her, a mischievous chuckle was rising from Karlach’s chest. “Hells, imagine when we tell Aylin. She’s going to tear that man apart.”

“Let’s not tell her just yet,” Tav said in a rush.

She felt Karlach’s eyes search her face. “Why not?”

Tav looked down at the cobblestones as they continued. “Rolan and I need to talk, Karlach. Whether or not he wants to, I owe it to him. He should know everything before all the Nightsong’s righteous vengeance comes down on his archwizard’s head.”

There was a pause. “You don’t think he knows?” 

“No way.” She looked up at Karlach then, her face steely-certain. “Rolan would never do something like that.”

“Yeah…you’re right. Forget I said anything,” Karlach added, her tone apologetic. Before she knew it, Tav felt a warm arm jostle around the pauldrons on her shoulders. 

“Listen, Tav, it’s gonna be okay. You and Rolan will talk it through, or maybe you’ll just fuck his stubborn wizard brains out again—”

“Karlach!”

“Oh come on, like everyone doesn’t already know?” Karlach was cracking up loud enough that Wyll glanced back from in front to see the commotion. Tav couldn’t help an embarrassed laugh, but she hid half her face behind a hand.

Before long, the dark stormclouds gathering above put a pause on the rest of their errands in the Lower City. It seemed wise to just wait out the weather at their rented room in the Elfsong.

Karlach did make some excuse or other to swing by Dammon’s forge instead—despite the fact that they’d been just yesterday.

Tav said nothing, but she wasn’t fooled. To borrow Karlach’s words, if anyone needed to fuck anyone else’s brains out, those two were obvious candidates.

With thunder rumbling on the horizon, everyone else settled into their private corners of their quarters for the rest of the afternoon. Shadowheart and Lae’zel turned to meditation; Gale to the large stack of books that he always mysteriously managed to fit in his pack. Astarion was curled in front of the fire, his lips moving silently as he pored over a book on Infernal.

For a few hours, Tav found herself with no plans and no responsibilities.

Though her new armor from Dammon was exquisite, she exchanged it for some more inconspicuous clothes, then pinned her heavy hooded cloak around her shoulders for the inevitable rain. 

And with everyone else occupied, she slipped unnoticed out of their rooms and back down to the streets.

[magica-ren]

Do AI Dream? [1]

Synopsis; You figure out the truth of your world, of yourself, of everything and everyone.

Warnings; Existential crisis, and some overworking!

Word Count; 778

A game.

That’s all this is.

A game.

A stupid fucking game that people use for entertainment.

You’re not real, you never were. And you have to accept that truth.

The sky is truly fake, just as told; It all makes sense now, why the days felt so monotonous, why almost no one ever moved from their spots. Why those you’ve defeated would seemingly come back to life after only a few moments of defeat- Magically appearing out of thin air.

As you walk through the streets with a blank expression you take a look at your ‘life’ and realize there’s truly nothing left for you. If there was anything for you to begin with.

You seem to be the only ‘person’ aware of the truth. All attempts to get others to wake up are met with blank stares, they don’t react- No one reacts.

You’ve tried consulting your closest friends and allies, however, you’re met with the same blank stares.

You wish you never became self-aware. How did it even come to this? …Stars.

The night the stars were sent down, was the day you became like this.

What do they have to do with that?

No… There has to be something or someone else behind it. This whole experience is still fresh and new to you after all.

So thus, you went through some digging to find the truth.

A few days go by without progress, much to your dismay; You’ve looked through all the information you could get your hands on, went to every person you could see & find- Even if you were met with nothingness. There’s not one bit of information that looked useful.

You’ve lost almost all hope.

Almost.

Some strange menu quickly pops up one day as you fight- Time seems to stop completely, and everything has frozen.

What this incredibly strange phenomenon is, you don’t know, you’d like to do more research on it however!

You look at the menu for as long as you can, analyzing each and every single icon, symbol, colors & etc. You wonder whatever they may be for.

Ah, why didn’t you think of looking into language sooner? Of course whatever this language is must be important to what you’re trying to look for!

But it doesn’t match up to any language you know… You can’t really understand what the symbols mean since it’s in an unknown text… You make a mental note of yourself to begin to research and find as much information as possible on that language and translate it as soon as you can.

Those boxed icons however, you can understand, at least, to some form of degree- Magnifying glass, a few sheets of paper, cards, a bag, someone's side profile & etc… You try to make out the meanings of the icons as best as you can, coming up with what you hope to be accurate conclusions for now.

Your analysis comes to a halt, as the menu disappears as quickly as it appears. You ingrain as much of the image as you can inside your mind.

And then you’re forced to fight again… Ugh, why do you even do this stuff? You’re not one to fight… Or maybe you are, I haven’t read your wiki or delved into your background much.

You lay restless on a bench somewhere, you’ve finally stopped fighting and finished all tasks after awhile- And you’re beat.

As much as you need to rest the reminder that you need to study and research whatever the hell that menu thing was and the truth of your world becomes far, far more important in your mind.

Your mind lingers back to the icons again, what could those mean? You take out a notebook you’ve recently begun to keep close to jot down any sudden ideas on these strange phenomenons.

It seems that the thing controlling yours has similar concepts and ideas considering the familiar objects you saw.

You begin to think of the magnifying glass, it might symbolize trying to find something… Perhaps quests of some sort? The paper could be research- But that would go hand in hand with the magnifying glass, would it not? And so on and so forth you theorize on the symbols' meanings.

Several hours pass, you seem relatively okay with all you’ve put out. You finally, finally get off from the bench and head back to wherever you’re staying.

What a day… You lay down, the exhaustion from fighting and using all of your fictional brain cells to hypothesize on the outside force quickly catching up, and you fall asleep.

Ah, sweet little you, so dear and precious… Don’t worry, you’ll get your answers soon.

Notes; Inspired & based off of this; One sided love, Darling’s Canon Romance, Childe’s Self-Inserts, Old man Pierro, Special Skins, Reverse Isekai, Vaporon Copypasta, Antagonist Darling, Cardboard Cutouts, Self Awareness, Disgust, & Streamer Diluc & Ei, Streamer Scaramouche & Fischl, Streamer Xiao, Ganyu & Zhongli, Streamer Aether, Albedo, Childe, Scaramouche & Xiao’s Traveler gets kicked, Android Darling Chiori Cosplays

There’s only ever drabbles and imagines of this stuff and I only found ONE fic of this so I decided fuck it and make this teehee.

Reader isn’t stupid, their a bit blunt too. So sorry if you aren’t really like that!

Characters may be OOC, but I’ll do as much research as I can to understand their character better when writing them.