#& there are a bunch of different paths and you have no idea which one to take

[lesbianlenas]

was looking at the dark souls 2 walkthrough i’m using (i normally never use walkthroughs but i make an exception for dark souls bc it is so hard & confusing and i’m only playing it bc i paid $20 for it or w/e) and i saw i was on chapter 6 and i was like oh nice ive gotten p far already :) scrolled down to see how many chapters were left and there is 31 total 😭 i am 1/5 of the way there 🥴

[santaasi]

obviously blind

pairing: james potter x bsf!fem!reader

summary: for years, james potter thought he was chasing love. sirius black knew better — he’d been holding it all along.

warnings: fluff fluff fluff, friends to lovers, idiots in love, james calls reader love, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language

word count: 11.3k

a/n: it was probably the longest idea to write and edit. i rewrote every moment a bunch of times trying to bring it all to perfection. therefore, this time I hope more than ever that you will like it and you will support me with a like, comment or reblog. have a nice time reading this work! love u <3

ᯓ★ now playing…

slaves – footprints

You left your mark on me like footprints in the snow

Would you promise me you'll never let me go

November 15, 1971 My dear best friend, Hogwarts is brilliant! You should see the castle; it’s massive, with these moving staircases that sometimes take you to places you didn’t even mean to go! I tried to get to Charms class last week and ended up in the Trophy Room instead. Sirius says it’s part of the fun, and I’m starting to agree. Speaking of fun, I made a new friend! His name’s Sirius Black, and he’s a bit of a troublemaker like me. Don’t tell Mum, but we might’ve let some Filibuster’s Fireworks off in the Great Hall during lunch. The teachers were furious, but the look on their faces was worth it. How’s Beauxbatons? Is it true your castle is magical in a totally different way? Sirius said something about unicorns roaming the grounds. Is that real? Write me everything—I want to know what it’s like over there. Hope you’re having as much fun as I am.  Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK WAS UTTERLY SPENT. Not the charming, rakish kind of spent he might brag about after a late night of mischief, but truly, completely, soul-drainingly done. The journey to the Potter family cottage, which should have been a brisk jaunt, had turned into a Herculean trial. Blame the snowstorm that had swept through magical London like some vengeful Norse curse, burying everything in its path under heaps of frosty misery.

It started with a delayed train — no, not delayed, imprisoned. Sirius and James were already aboard when the announcement came, trapping them in a stuffy carriage surrounded by loudly complaining wizards and at least one crying baby. And because the universe clearly found Sirius’ misery entertaining, the train came to a jolting halt halfway to their destination, snow packing the tracks so thickly that it took hours of magical clearing before they moved again.

When they finally arrived at the station, they discovered that Mr. Potter, their much-needed savior with a warm car and a better attitude than either of them, had been delayed at work. Thus, Sirius and James were left to trudge through the snow-laden countryside, dragging their trunks behind them, with James’ endless chatter about Lily Evans ringing in Sirius’ ears like a persistent curse.

“Her smile, Padfoot,” James had sighed dreamily at least seventeen times, his glasses fogging up as if even thinking about Lily caused them to malfunction. “And the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s concentrating—”

By the sixteenth sigh, Sirius had been sorely tempted to shove a fistful of snow into James’ face. By the seventeenth, he was mentally composing a list of Unforgivable Curses and ranking them by efficiency. Yet, even as he grumbled under his breath, Sirius couldn’t bring himself to abandon the trek. The Potters were the closest thing he had to a family, and spending Christmas anywhere else — no matter how dire the journey — was unthinkable.

When they finally reached the Potter home, Sirius didn’t so much step inside as collapse into it. He shoved the front door open with the dramatic flair of a man escaping death itself and sprawled across the polished wooden floor like a martyr for his own cause. His trunk fell beside him with a satisfying thud.

“Home at last,” he groaned, voice muffled against the rug. “Tell me, Prongs, do they serve last rites before cinnamon rolls, or do we skip straight to the feast?”

The cottage, of course, was as warm and welcoming as Sirius remembered. Strings of fairy lights twinkled across the beams, casting a cozy glow of red, gold, and green. A holly wreath hung crookedly on the wall — lil’James’ handiwork, no doubt — and the scent of pine mingled with the tantalizing aroma of cinnamon, butter, and something sweet. Sirius’ stomach growled audibly.

“Oi, shut it, you ungrateful mutt,” James shot back with a grin, though Sirius could see his friend’s eyes darting toward the kitchen. “You’re embarrassing us in front of the wreath.”

James hadn’t even set his trunk down before a figure appeared in the doorway.

At first, Sirius barely registered her presence. He was too busy muttering about the injustice of underage magic restrictions. But then — oh, then — she stepped fully into view.

A girl.

Not just any girl, but you.

You moved with a kind of quiet confidence that Sirius instantly clocked, your steps unhurried, your presence undeniable. The golden glow of the fairy lights danced across your hair, giving it a shimmer that seemed almost unreal. You were wrapped in a deep blue jumper — Sirius realized this after a moment’s brain lag — and your cheeks were rosy, likely from the heat of the kitchen.

You carried a tray of steaming cinnamon rolls, the scent of melted sugar and spice trailing after you like some kind of domestic enchantment. Sirius’ mouth went dry, and for the first time in years, he was at a loss for words.

“Well,” he managed after a beat, hauling himself upright and trying for a semblance of decorum. “Now I see why you were so keen to come home, Prongs. You’ve got cinnamon-roll-bearing angels dropping out of the sky.”

You laughed, soft and melodic, the sound so unguarded it seemed to wrap the room in warmth. Sirius couldn’t help but notice the way your lips curled into a smile that was equal parts inviting and mysterious.

“Hello to you too, Sirius,” you said, your voice carrying a familiarity that made his ears perk up.

Sirius blinked. Wait. Of course. This wasn’t some celestial being summoned to his rescue; this was James’ childhood best friend. The one James had vaguely mentioned — just a handful of times over the years, always in passing and with a strange softness that Sirius hadn’t thought to question before.

And yet, here you were. In the flesh. Standing in the middle of the Potters’ living room with a tray of baked goods and a smile that Sirius suspected had the power to stop traffic.

“Well, well, Jamie-boy,” Sirius drawled, nudging James with his elbow and watching his friend with amused curiosity. “You never told me the famous cinnamon-roll angel was also — what’s the word? Ah, yes — real.”

You raised an eyebrow at Sirius’ antics, though your smile didn’t falter. Instead, you glanced toward James, who looked like he’d been hit with a Confundus Charm.

Sirius smirked. “James, mate, you alright? You’ve gone all... slack-jawed.”

But James wasn’t paying him any attention. His hazel eyes were locked on you, wide and brimming with something Sirius couldn’t quite place. He watched as James' gaze traced over the streak of flour smudged on your cheek, the stray strands of hair escaping from your ponytail, and the red apron dusted with flour and cinnamon.

Sirius almost snorted aloud. This was the James Potter who couldn’t shut up about Lily Evans — the boy who spent half his waking hours plotting ways to win her over. And yet, here he was, staring at you like you’d just descended from the heavens.

“Jamie,” you said softly, setting the tray down on the nearby table.

It was just one word, but the way you said it — warm, tender, and utterly unguarded — sent a jolt through Sirius.

Before he could process what was happening, James crossed the room in a few long strides and swept you into his arms. You squealed in surprise, and the sound was pure delight, echoing off the walls.

Sirius blinked, startled. The way James held you — hands firm on your waist, his head dipping into the crook of your neck — wasn’t friendly, not by a long shot. Sirius had known James since he was eleven years old, had seen him charm and flirt with half of Hogwarts, but he had never seen this.

“Missed me, Jamie?” you teased, your fingers slipping into his unruly hair with the kind of ease that spoke of years of familiarity.

“Always,” James murmured, so quietly Sirius barely caught it.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius muttered under his breath.

He glanced around the room, half-expecting someone to explain this baffling scene, but it was just him, James, and you, wrapped up in some intimate little bubble that made Sirius feel like an intruder.

James murmured something into your shoulder — too soft for Sirius to catch — and you laughed, your voice light and unrestrained. The sound pulled James’ head up, and Sirius couldn’t miss the way his eyes traced your face with a kind of devotion Sirius had only read about in sappy romance novels.

It was then that the memories began to click into place. The scattered mentions over the years, the odd tone James always took when he talked about you. “She’s not like anyone else, Padfoot. She just gets it.” Or that one summer when James had come back to Hogwarts looking utterly miserable and wouldn’t explain why. Sirius had teased him about it for weeks, thinking it was Lily-related. But now, seeing the way James looked at you...

“Wait a minute,” Sirius blurted, his grin widening as realization dawned. “You’re the one. The one he’s always sneaking off to write letters to, the one he’s all secretive about.”

James shot him a glare, his cheeks burning bright red.

“Padfoot—”

“—the one who sent him that hideous scarf last Christmas!” Sirius continued, thoroughly enjoying himself now. “I knew there had to be someone. Prongs doesn’t just get that moony-eyed look over just anyone.”

You laughed again, covering your face with your hands, while James muttered something about strangling Sirius later.

Before Sirius could needle him further, the kitchen door creaked open, and Euphemia Potter swept into the room. She was radiant as always, her cheeks rosy from the cold, her dark hair streaked with silver. Her eyes lit up the moment she saw James.

“There’s my boy!” she exclaimed, pulling him into a tight hug before he could even attempt to protest.

“Hi, Mum,” James mumbled, his voice muffled against her shoulder.

Euphemia pulled back, cupping his face in her hands as though memorizing every detail. “It’s been too long, Jamie. Too long. You’re far too skinny — have you been eating properly at school? And what have you done with your hair?”

James groaned, though his smile was fond.

Then her eyes fell on Sirius, and the warmth in her expression grew tenfold.

“Sirius, my dear,” she said, moving toward him with open arms. “I’m so glad you’re home, too.”

Sirius froze for a moment, caught off guard. He wasn’t used to this — the genuine affection, the way Euphemia made him feel like he belonged.

When her arms wrapped around him, the embrace firm and filled with love, Sirius felt an odd lump form in his throat. He couldn’t help but think of his own mother’s cold, perfunctory hugs, her disdainful gaze, and the way her affection always felt like a transaction.

“You’ve grown even handsomer,” Euphemia said, pulling back to study him. “Fleamont’s going to be jealous.”

Sirius managed a crooked grin, the lump in his throat still stubbornly there. “That’s the goal, Mrs. Potter. Keep him on his toes.”

Euphemia laughed, her eyes twinkling, before cupping his cheek briefly. “You’re family now, Sirius. Never forget that.”

Satisfied, Euphemia turned her attention to you. Her face softened even more, and she reached out to squeeze your hands. “Oh, there you are, dear. I was wondering where my helper had gone. The mince pies won’t bake themselves, you know”

You shot James a quick, playful glance before following Euphemia toward the door. “I’ll be back in a bit,” you said, your smile lingering. 

As Mrs. Potter ushered you toward the door to finish the pies, Sirius remained rooted to the spot. The warmth from her hug lingered, and for a fleeting moment, he thought of how lucky James was to have parents like that — and how lucky he was to have stumbled into their lives.

James watched you leave, his gaze following you until you were out of sight. Sirius couldn’t help but laugh.

“Mate,” he said, clapping James on the shoulder. “You’re a goner.”

James huffed, shoving him away, but the goofy grin on his face was impossible to hide.

And Sirius? Sirius couldn’t wait to see how this played out.

July 2, 1973 My Love, Summer’s only just started, and I can’t wait to see you. Mum’s already planning another one of her “legendary” tea parties, which means she’ll fuss over you endlessly. You’ll smile politely and charm her like always, and she’ll end up spoiling you with biscuits to take back to Beauxbatons. I’ve got so much to tell you. Sirius and I found this secret passageway that leads straight to Hogsmeade. We’ve been practicing spells to make it even harder for Filch to find us. Remus is shaking his head, but I think he secretly loves our schemes. Oh, and Lily—she’s still brilliant. She’s got the most incredible laugh. But you, my love, I bet your laugh would still outshine hers any day.

Do you still walk in those Beauxbatons gardens at sunset? I can imagine you there, glowing in the soft light. It suits you. Write me back quickly, won’t you? The days are always better when I hear from you. Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK HAD ALWAYS KNOWN JAMES POTTER WAS A TACTILE PERSON. James spoke fluently in the language of touch — claps on the back that lingered just a second too long, overly enthusiastic shoulder bumps that almost knocked you off your feet, and the occasional arm slung around your shoulders like he was staking a claim. But this? This was something else entirely.

It wasn’t just the way James touched you. It was the way he seemed to orbit you, like some lovesick moon drawn to its planet. Wherever you were, James was never far behind — hovering, grinning, completely and utterly besotted without even realizing it. And for someone so allegedly brilliant, he was astoundingly stupid about it.

Sirius noticed it within minutes of their arrival at the Potter cottage for the holidays. As the snow settled outside, so did James — right beside you, always beside you. If you were arranging the flowers Euphemia had insisted on, James was there offering suggestions like he’d suddenly become an expert on floral arrangements. If you were curled up in the drawing room with a book, James was sprawled across the nearest sofa, pretending to read but actually just watching you out of the corner of his eye like some hopeless romantic idiot in a badly written Muggle novel.

Sirius had been rolling his eyes so much, they were practically stuck in the back of his head.

THE SECOND MORNING WAS WHEN THINGS REALLY CLICKED. Sirius had woken up earlier than usual — a rare and uncomfortable event for him. He had no plans to do anything productive, of course, but the faint sound of footsteps in the hallway intrigued him. Padding out of his room, he peeked around the corner just in time to see James sneaking toward the kitchen.

Naturally, Sirius followed. He found James standing at the counter, sleeves rolled up like some kind of domestic god, arranging breakfast with the precision of someone preparing an offering to Merlin himself. There was a plate of toast with cream cheese and thinly sliced avocado, a bowl of berries that looked like they’d been picked by woodland elves, and a steaming cup of coffee. The smell alone was enough to make Sirius reconsider his usual disdain for mornings.

“Fancy,” Sirius said, leaning lazily against the doorframe, voice still scratchy from sleep.

James jumped slightly but recovered quickly, flashing Sirius a sheepish grin. “Morning, Pads. Coffee’s on the counter.”

Sirius eyed the tray suspiciously. “Is this for you, or is it for your favorite person in the world aka me?”

James’s ears turned pink. “It’s for her,” he admitted, almost bashfully, like he hadn’t just spent ten minutes crafting the most meticulous breakfast Sirius had ever seen.

“Of course it is,” Sirius muttered with a smirk, grabbing a mug for himself. “You realize this is bordering on embarrassing, yeah?”

James shot him a look, but before he could respond, you appeared in the doorway, still looking half-asleep. Your hair was mussed, and the oversized jumper you’d borrowed from James was slipping off one shoulder, but you somehow managed to look effortlessly radiant. Sirius rolled his eyes again.

“Morning, love,” James said, his voice soft and warm in a way Sirius had never heard before.

“Morning, Jamie,” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep as you shuffled into the kitchen.

James practically tripped over himself to hand you the coffee. Sirius watched, amused, as James’s fingers brushed yours in the exchange, his entire face lighting up like someone had cast Lumos Maxima directly on it.

You took a long sip of the coffee, humming in contentment. “Perfect, as always,” you murmured, looking up at James with a sleepy smile that could have melted a Dementor.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

Sirius nearly choked on his coffee. He wasn’t sure what was more painful — the nauseating sweetness of the moment or the fact that neither of you seemed to realize how completely ridiculous you were.

“Right, well, I’ll just... leave you two to it,” Sirius said, waving his mug in mock surrender as he backed out of the room. “Try not to get married while I’m gone.”

“Shut up, Sirius,” James called after him, but the way his voice wavered slightly betrayed his embarrassment.

By the time Sirius reached the living room, Euphemia and Fleamont were already seated by the fireplace, exchanging knowing glances like they’d seen this coming a mile away.

“Is he making her breakfast again?” Euphemia asked with a smile that was far too pleased for Sirius’s liking.

“Every detail,” Sirius confirmed, sinking into an armchair. “I’m starting to think he’s auditioning for Witch Weekly’s ‘Most Devoted Boyfriend’ feature.”

“Don’t tease him too much,” Euphemia said with a chuckle. “He’s just like his father was with me.”

“Merlin, it’s contagious,” Sirius groaned, dramatically throwing an arm over his face. “If I start acting like that, someone put me out of my misery.”

But even as he joked, Sirius couldn’t help but smile. Because for all his teasing, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that James was hopelessly gone for you. And judging by the way you looked at him, Sirius had a feeling the feeling was mutual — even if neither of you was bright enough to figure it out.

AND THEN THERE WERE THE SMALL, INTIMATE TOUCHES SIRIUS COULDN’T IGNORE, no matter how much he wanted to. James’s hand resting on the small of your back as he guided you through a doorway, like you might somehow lose your way without him. The way his fingers traced lazy patterns on your knee under the dinner table, as though the contact grounded him. Or how he’d tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering just long enough to make Sirius roll his eyes and fight back a gag.

It was maddening to watch, really. Not because Sirius minded the affection — no, James deserved a bit of softness in his life, and you were undeniably good for him. It was maddening because you were both so oblivious. James was a goner, sure, but you weren’t far behind. Every time you leaned into his touch, smiled up at him like he hung the stars, or called him Jamie in that soft, teasing tone, it was like watching two wizards tiptoe around a cauldron, waiting for it to explode.

One evening, as the three of you lounged in the living room, the dynamic was on full display. The Potters had insisted on a family movie night — Euphemia’s idea, of course, because family time was important. Sirius couldn’t say no to the fire roaring in the hearth, the massive bowl of popcorn, and the ridiculous Muggle Christmas film flickering on the screen. But as the minutes passed, he started to regret not escaping upstairs.

James had situated himself squarely in the middle of the sofa, with you tucked neatly under his arm. His hand played absently with the ends of your hair, fingers twisting the strands like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. You had your legs curled beneath you, leaning into him with the kind of comfort Sirius had only ever seen in old couples who had been together for decades. James pressed a kiss to your temple, murmuring something Sirius couldn’t quite catch.

It was unbearable.

“Oi, lovebirds,” Sirius interrupted, launching a piece of popcorn at James. It hit him square in the forehead, a small but satisfying victory. “Some of us are trying to watch the movie without choking on all this sap.”

You burst into laughter, sitting up just enough to toss a handful of popcorn back at him. “You’re just jealous, Black.”

“Jealous? Me?” Sirius placed a hand over his chest, mock-offended. “Of what, exactly? Watching James Potter transform into a human puddle before my very eyes? No thanks. I’ll pass.”

James didn’t even flinch. He just grinned, looking every bit the lovesick fool he was. “You’ll get it one day, Pads,” he said with infuriating calm.

Sirius snorted, grabbing a handful of popcorn and tossing it into his mouth. “Right. Because what I’m really missing in my life is the chance to turn into that.” He gestured at the two of you with a dramatic wave of his hand.

But despite his teasing, Sirius couldn’t ignore the warmth spreading in his chest as he watched the scene unfold. James, the arrogant, Quidditch-obsessed, devil-may-care prankster he’d known all his life, was utterly, completely, hopelessly in love. And the worst — or perhaps best — part? He didn’t even seem to realize it.

BY THE END OF THESE COUPLE OF DAYS VACK AT THE POTTER COTTAGE, SIRIUS KNEW. James Potter wasn’t in love with Lily Evans — not really, not anymore and maybe not ever. He was in love with you. It wasn’t in the dramatic declarations Sirius had once teased James about making to Lily. No, this was quieter, deeper. It was in the way James’s gaze softened whenever you spoke, like he couldn’t believe you were real. In the way his hand always seemed to find yours, even when there was no need for it. And in the way his entire being lit up when you smiled at him.

And you? You weren’t much better. You laughed at his terrible jokes, poked fun at him with an ease Sirius envied, and looked at James like he was the center of the universe. It was so obvious it made Sirius want to scream.

“This isn’t normal, you know,” Sirius said later that night, cornering James in the kitchen as he made tea.

“What’s not normal?” James asked, far too casually for Sirius’s liking.

“You and her. You’re not just friends. Stop pretending you are.”

James frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. “We are just friends. She’s my best mate, Pads. You know that.”

Sirius laughed, loud and sharp, shaking his head. “Oh, Prongsie. You’re an idiot.”

“Am not,” James shot back, but there was a flicker of doubt in his voice.

Sirius leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. “If you’re just friends, then I’m a unicorn. Face it, Potter — you’re in love.”

James opened his mouth, probably to argue, but then you walked into the room, yawning and looking for all the world like you belonged there. James’s expression softened immediately, his gaze lingering on you like you were the only thing that mattered.

Sirius didn’t say another word. He didn’t need to.

Because James Potter was already lost, and for once, Sirius didn’t mind watching his best mate fall.

March 30, 1975

My Love, It’s been ages since your last letter, and I miss you like mad. Exams are coming up, and I’m hopeless at concentrating without your words to keep me sane. The Marauders are in full swing, though—our latest adventure involved sneaking a swamp into one of the corridors. Filch is still grumbling about it. I told you before how Lily has the most beautiful laugh, right? Well, I think she might finally be warming up to me. I’m playing it cool, but honestly, every time she looks at me, I feel like a kid with a new broomstick. And yet... you’re still the one I write to when I want to share everything. Funny, isn’t it? How’s the ballet going? I remember you mentioned your school recital. I wish I could see you dance. You’d be like a dream on stage, graceful and bright. Maybe one day. Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK WASN’T ONE TO BELIEVE IN LOVE — not the kind spun into poetry or whispered in secret corners of libraries. Sweet words, fleeting touches, long glances… all of it sounded like an elaborate prank. A fantasy created by people who hadn’t tasted the bitterness of the world.

How could anyone believe in love when raised in a house where affection was a weapon and the family motto might as well have been stab first, smile later? The Black family had given Sirius many things: wealth, privilege, and a last name dripping in infamy. But love? That was a foreign concept, spoken in a dialect he’d never been taught.

And yet, Sirius Black — child of darkness and rebellion — had found light. That light had a name: James Potter. From the moment James had barreled into Sirius’s life, grinning like the sun itself, everything had shifted. James had yanked him out of the shadows and dragged him into a world Sirius didn’t know existed — a world filled with warmth, laughter, and actual hugs.

It wasn’t just James, though. It was the whole bloody Potter family. Euphemia and Fleamont were like characters out of a Muggle holiday film. Euphemia, with her soft, unrelenting affection, had made it her personal mission to drown Sirius in love and sweaters. Fleamont’s laughter could fill a room, a deep, belly-shaking sound that warmed Sirius from the inside out. Together, they moved through the world as though their love was an unshakable force, a steady undercurrent in every shared look and word.

“Darling,” Fleamont would call from across the kitchen, leaning over the counter with a newspaper in hand.

“Yes, Fleamont?” Euphemia would reply, her smile soft and teasing as she stirred whatever heavenly dish she was making.

Never by name. Always darling.

Still, if love like that was rare, James bloody Potter seemed hell-bent on stumbling into it without even realizing.

James and you had been dancing around each other for years, so oblivious it was borderline painful. Sirius sometimes wondered if you two were practicing for a comedy sketch, the way you acted like best mates while exuding the kind of tension that could make a Dementor blush. If Sirius had a Galleon for every time James looked at you like you were the only person in the room, he could have bought his own Quidditch team by now. And he's only been watching you for a couple of days.

IT WAS THE FOURT DAY OF HIS CHRISTMAS STAY AT THE POTTER HOME, and the dynamic was impossible to ignore. You and James were practically inseparable, moving through the house like two planets caught in the same orbit. You helped Euphemia with the decorations while James carried boxes of ornaments up from the cellar, always hovering nearby like he was afraid you might vanish if he looked away.

“You know,” Sirius said, leaning casually against the doorway, “most people don’t need to supervise someone hanging tinsel.”

James didn’t even glance back. “She’s not most people, Pads.”

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “For Merlin’s sake, just marry her already.”

James froze, an ornament dangling from his hand. “What are you on about? We’re just friends.”

“Sure, and I’m a Muggle,” Sirius shot back, rolling his eyes.

You, blissfully unaware of the conversation, turned from where you were perched on a stepstool. “What are you two arguing about now?”

“Nothing,” James said quickly, his cheeks tinged pink. “Sirius is just being Sirius.”

“That’s never good,” you teased, smirking at Sirius.

“Oi! I’ll have you know I’m delightful company.” Sirius crossed his arms, feigning offense. “But if you’re not careful, pretty, you’ll end up trapped in Potter’s web of undying devotion.”

You raised an eyebrow, stepping down from the stool. “Potter’s web of what now?”

James shot Sirius a warning glare, but Sirius just grinned. “Oh, nothing. Just that James here is—”

“Hungry!” James interrupted, loudly and awkwardly. “Right, Pads? Didn’t you say you were starving?”

Sirius barked a laugh, shaking his head as James practically shoved him out of the room. “Subtle as ever, Prongs.”

From Sirius’s vantage point, it was painfully obvious. James was hopelessly, stupidly in love with you. And you? You weren’t much better. The way you smiled at him, teased him, trusted him without question — it was all the evidence Sirius needed. And yet, you were both blissfully, idiotically unaware.

One evening, as Sirius sprawled on the sofa in the Potters’ living room, he couldn’t help but notice the way you and James interacted. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, rifling through a box of Christmas decorations Euphemia had set out.

“Jamie, hand me the gold bauble,” you said, tossing him a quick glance over your shoulder.

James, who had been half-heartedly untangling a string of lights, immediately perked up. “Which one?”

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. “The one in your hand, genius.”

James laughed, tossing it gently toward you. It missed entirely, landing with a soft thud on the carpet.

“Good aim, Prongs,” Sirius drawled from his spot on the couch. “Truly inspiring.”

“Shut it, Padfoot,” James shot back, but his grin never faltered. He turned to you, sheepish. “Sorry, love.”

Love. Sirius didn’t miss the way the word slipped out so naturally, like James had been saying it his whole life. And he definitely didn’t miss the way your cheeks flushed as you ducked your head, pretending to focus on the decorations.

LATER THAT EVENING, SIRIUS FOUND HIMSELF LAYING ON THE SOFA IN THE LIVING ROOM AGAIN (it probably was his favorite place in the house by now), a book abandoned on his chest as he watched Euphemia and Fleamont dancing in the kitchen once, a slow, swaying movement that didn’t match the upbeat Muggle music crackling from the wireless. Euphemia had rested her head on Fleamont’s chest, his arms wrapped around her like it was the only place in the world she belonged. It wasn’t dramatic or flashy — just simple and unshakable. And it made Sirius ache in ways he didn’t understand.

And a moment later they were in the same kitchen, preparing tea and laughing softly as they worked.

“Darling, pass me the sugar, would you?” Fleamont said, his voice warm and affectionate.

Euphemia handed him the sugar bowl without looking up, her smile soft. “Here you go, darlin'.”

It was the kind of exchange that Sirius might have mocked once. But now, as he watched the way Fleamont leaned in to kiss Euphemia’s cheek, or how she swatted him away with a laugh when he tried to sneak a biscuit, he felt something unfamiliar tugging at his chest.

“They’re sickeningly sweet, aren’t they?”

Sirius turned to see you standing in the doorway, a mug of hot chocolate in your hands.

“They are,” he admitted, sitting up and motioning for you to join him. “But it’s sort of... nice. In a vomit-inducing way.”

You laughed, settling beside him. “I think it’s lovely. They’re so in tune with each other, you know? Like they’ve been dancing to the same song for decades.”

Sirius tilted his head, watching you as you spoke. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you want that? The whole ‘dancing to the same song’ thing?”

You hesitated, your fingers tracing the rim of your mug. “I don’t know. I suppose it would be nice, but... I’m not sure it’s in the cards for me.”

Sirius frowned. “Why not?”

You shrugged, a wistful smile tugging at your lips. “Because my dance partner’s too busy tripping over his own feet to notice I’m right here.”

Sirius stared at you, his mind racing. Did you mean James? Surely you meant James. But before he could say anything, James walked in, ruffling his hair like he always did.

“Alright, what are you two plotting?”

“World domination,” Sirius replied without missing a beat. “Want in?”

James grinned, flopping onto the sofa and immediately throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Always.”

Sirius watched as you leaned into James, your head resting against his shoulder. James turned to look at you, his expression soft and unguarded.

And that’s when Sirius knew — again, because he seemed to be realizing this every ten minutes — just how much trouble you two were in.

DAYS LATER, SIRIUS WAS STANDING BY THE WINDOW OF THE POTTER COTTAGE, a steaming mug of hot chocolate warming his hands. The world outside was a vision of winter — snow blanketed the ground in pristine white, the trees bowed under its weight, and the air held a sharp, crystalline stillness. Inside, the house was alive with warmth: the crackle of the fire, the gentle hum of Euphemia’s humming, and Fleamont’s cheerful banter as he set up a chessboard by the hearth.

But Sirius wasn’t watching any of that. His attention was fixed on the two figures trudging down the snow-covered path just beyond the window.

You and James walked side by side, your mittened hands brushing against each other with the kind of unconscious familiarity that spoke volumes. The path ahead glittered in the weak afternoon sun, the frost catching the light like scattered diamonds. Clouds of breath curled into the frosty air as you laughed at something James said, the sound clear and bright, even from a distance.

Sirius couldn’t hear the words, but he didn’t need to. He saw everything in the way James turned his head toward you, his face lit with the sort of joy that was impossible to fake.

Then it happened — your foot slipped on a patch of hidden ice. Sirius’s grip on his mug tightened for half a heartbeat, but James was already there. His hand shot out, steadying you before you could fall, as if the world might crumble if he didn’t catch you in time.

“Careful there, love,” James said, his voice carrying easily through the crisp winter air.

You laughed, brushing snow from your coat as your cheeks turned pink — not just from the cold, Sirius was sure. “You’d think I’d have learned how to walk by now.”

James grinned, tugging you a little closer to his side. “Good thing you’ve got me.”

“Good thing indeed,” you replied, your eyes crinkling at the corners, your voice soft and full of affection.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, James reached out to brush a stray snowflake from your hair. His fingers lingered for just a moment, his expression open and unguarded, filled with something so pure that Sirius had to look away for a second.

It wasn’t the first time Sirius had seen that look on James’s face. It was the same quiet, awestruck gaze he’d noticed a thousand times when James thought no one was watching. But seeing it now, against the backdrop of snow and laughter, it struck Sirius like a Bludger to the chest.

That’s how Fleamont looked at Euphemia, Sirius realized. He’d seen it that very morning, when Euphemia had walked into the kitchen with a sleepy smile and Fleamont had paused mid-sentence, his face lighting up as if she were the sunrise itself.

Sirius took a long sip of his hot chocolate, the sweetness of it sharp against the lump forming in his throat. He muttered to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips, “Never by name. Always love.”

“What are you smiling about, Sirius?” Euphemia’s voice broke the quiet, warm and curious. She stood in the doorway, wiping her hands on a tea towel.

He turned, raising his mug in a mock toast. “Oh, nothing, Mrs. P. Just watching James make a right fool of himself in the snow. Again.”

Euphemia chuckled, stepping closer to peer out the window. Her gaze softened as she spotted you and James, now engaged in some sort of playful shoving match, James clearly letting you win.

“Hopeless,” Sirius added, shaking his head.

“Like father, like son,” Euphemia said with a knowing smile.

Sirius huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Exactly like that.”

They stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching the scene outside. Sirius’s gaze lingered on James’s hand as it rested on your shoulder, the ease of the gesture speaking louder than words.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Sirius allowed himself to believe. Not just in the love he saw in James’s face or the easy affection between Fleamont and Euphemia. But in the idea that maybe—just maybe—love wasn’t the cruel, twisted thing his family had tried to make him believe.

Maybe love, real love, was something entirely different.

November 27, 1976

My Jamie, Winter has settled over Beauxbatons, and the mountains are kissed with snow. I wish you could see how the frost sparkles on the trees. I think of you often, imagining the mischief you’re up to at Hogwarts. I heard you’re Quidditch Captain now — congratulations! I can already picture you soaring through the air, the wind in your hair and that unstoppable grin. You were born to lead, Jamie, and I’m so proud of you. Your mum wrote me again last week. She’s sent another scarf, this one in Gryffindor colors. She says it’ll keep me close to you. It does, in a way — I wrap it around myself when I miss you most. Do you think of me as much as I think of you? You’re my constant, my warmth on the coldest days. Soon it’ll be Christmas, and we’ll have the stars and endless nights to talk about everything. Until then, stay safe, my Jamie. Forever yours, Love

THE CHRISTMAS CHAOS AT THE POTTER HOUSE STARTED BEFORE SIRIUS EVEN HAD A CHANCE TO GRUMBLE ABOUT THE HOUR. The sun wasn’t up yet, but Fleamont Potter most certainly was, barreling into James’s room with the energy of a man half his age. Before Sirius could properly complain — or hide under the covers — he and James were unceremoniously hauled to the garage. Their mission? Assembling the absurdly large Christmas table that Euphemia insisted on every year.

Sirius swore under his breath, wrestling with the oversized wooden monstrosity. “You know,” he grumbled, glaring at James, “if your parents had just gone for a nice, normal-sized table, we wouldn’t be out here freezing our—”

“Language, Sirius!” Fleamont interrupted cheerfully, though there was a definite glint of amusement in his eyes.

Sirius rolled his eyes but complied, though only because Euphemia’s kitchen smelled like heaven, and he was determined to earn his way to a plate of whatever was roasting in the oven.

Inside, the house was a picture of festive perfection: holly strung along the bannisters, twinkling fairy lights glowing softly in the corners, and a wireless by the fireplace playing carols just loud enough to make Sirius hum along when no one was listening. Euphemia’s soft laughter echoed from the kitchen, mingling with yours as the two of you prepared a feast fit for kings — or in this case, a house full of Marauders.

And James? Well, James wasn’t himself.

Sirius noticed it almost immediately. His best mate was usually a hurricane of enthusiasm during the holidays, cracking jokes, sneaking sweets from the kitchen, and generally making a nuisance of himself. But today, James kept glancing toward the kitchen like a puppy waiting for its owner to come home.

The idiot was besotted.

Every time your laughter drifted into the room, James’s head whipped around like he was under some sort of spell. If you so much as said his name, he’d stop mid-sentence, his eyes lighting up like the Christmas tree in the corner. Sirius would’ve teased him mercilessly if it weren’t so... obvious. Painfully, ridiculously obvious.

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, WHEN JAMES AND FLEAMONT HAD VANISHED TO THE GARAGE — probably to charm something they had no business charming — Sirius found himself tasked with tidying up James’s room. He grumbled the whole time, of course. Cleaning wasn’t his style, and James’s room was a disaster zone: Quidditch magazines spilling off the desk, parchment crumpled in corners, and socks scattered in ways that defied the laws of physics.

“Honestly, Prongs,” Sirius muttered, holding up a suspiciously stiff sock with the tips of his fingers. “How are you supposed to woo Evans — or anyone, for that matter — when your room smells like the wrong end of a hippogriff?”

As he moved to clear a particularly cluttered shelf, a box caught his eye. It was tucked in the far corner, partially hidden behind an old textbook. Sirius raised an eyebrow. Anything stashed away like that was bound to be interesting. With a mischievous grin, he reached for it, only for the entire thing to tumble off the shelf, spilling its contents across the floor.

“Bloody hell,” he swore, crouching to pick up the mess. His hand froze mid-reach when he realized what had fallen out: letters. Dozens of them, bundled in ribbons of various colors.

Sirius sat back on his heels, eyeing the pile. His curiosity, as always, got the better of him. With a glance at the door to ensure James wasn’t about to barge in, he grabbed the nearest stack and plopped himself onto the bed, cross-legged and grinning like a kid about to open a box of Zonko’s best tricks.

The first letter he unfolded smelled faintly of vanilla. Your scent, Sirius realized, and his grin faltered for just a moment.

October 7, 1971 Beauxbatons is so different from Hogwarts. The professors here are so strict, James, sometimes it feels like I’m being watched all the time! I miss the feeling of freedom you must have at Hogwarts, even if you’re always getting into trouble with Sirius. Do you ever just wish you could escape the rules and run wild?

Sirius chuckled softly, his eyes scanning the elegant handwriting. “Trouble? Me? Never,” he muttered, his tone dripping with mock innocence.

But as he reread the letter, a strange tightness settled in his chest. The way you wrote about Hogwarts — it wasn’t just about the school. It was about James. Even miles away, you saw him as something larger than life, as the embodiment of freedom and adventure.

And James? The idiot probably thought you were just being polite.

February 21, 1971 Sirius sounds like a bit of a handful, but I bet he’s hilarious. I think I’d like him, even if he does cause chaos. You all sound like you’re constantly up to something, but I imagine you get into trouble a lot, don’t you? Anyway, I’d love to hear more about his pranks— I’m sure you and him must make a great team!

Sirius barked a laugh. “A handful? Pretty, you have no idea.”

Still, the words struck a chord. He could see it so clearly now: the way you’d woven yourself into James’s world with every playful question and teasing remark. You weren’t just curious about his adventures; you wanted to be a part of them, to understand the boy behind the Quidditch bravado and the wild schemes.

Then came the letters about Lily.

March 25, 1973 James, you always talk about Lily, and I think it’s sweet that you have such admiration for her. I bet she doesn’t even know how much you like her. She sounds like she’d be really hard to win over, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Just don’t forget to have fun along the way, yeah?

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Merlin’s saggy pants, Prongs, how thick can you be?”

He could almost picture you writing those words, the careful balance between encouragement and self-sacrifice. Even as you pushed James toward Lily, your letters were saturated with love — pure, unguarded, and heartbreakingly unspoken.

It was infuriating. How could two people so obviously meant for each other be so oblivious?

By the time Sirius reached the later letters, the humor had drained from his face.

December 5, 1974 Your mum sent me another gift! She’s so sweet, and I can’t believe how kind she is to me. It always makes me feel so loved. You know, when I’m away from you, it’s like I’m missing something... like the best part of my day. I never want to take our friendship for granted.

The parchment crinkled slightly as Sirius’s grip tightened. That wasn’t just gratitude — it was devotion, raw and aching. The kind of love that didn’t need fireworks or grand declarations because it was already woven into every moment, every memory.

And James? Sirius shook his head, a pang of frustration mixing with pity. James had spent years chasing the idea of love, blind to the fact that he already had it.

The final letter undid him.

December 12, 1975 I was thinking about you today, and how you’ve always been there for me — whether it was listening to me complain about the Beauxbatons professors or laughing with me when I’m in a bad mood. You’re always there, and I think that’s why I trust you more than anyone else. You’ll never know how much that means to me, Jamie.

Sirius closed his eyes, letting the words sink in. You didn’t just see James; you knew him. The real James — the boy who laughed too loudly, who lived for Quidditch, who couldn’t resist a good prank. You loved James, not the idealized version he tried to be for Lily or anyone else.

Sirius exhaled sharply, folding the letter with a reverence he didn’t usually bother with. His heart ached — not for himself, but for you, for James, for the years you’d both spent dancing around the truth.

“Merlin, you’re both idiots,” he muttered, though his voice was softer now. 

Sirius ran a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it further into disarray, his mind replaying what he’d just uncovered. The letters — those bloody letters — had been the key. Now everything fell into place: James’s barely-there smiles over the past few days, the way his gaze lingered when you entered the room, the softness in his laugh when you said something clever. James Potter, his brash, unrelenting, wildfire of a best friend, was utterly transformed around you.

Balanced. Grounded. Sincere.

It was unbearably obvious now, as if someone had pulled back the curtain.

And yet, the idiot still had Lily Evans’s picture on his bedside table in his dorm.

Sirius’s gaze fell on the stack of letters once more, neatly tied with a ribbons that seemed far too delicate for James’s usual chaos. He could have left it alone, let James figure things out in his own thick-headed way — but that wasn’t Sirius Black’s style. If there was one thing he’d learned from years of pranks, broken curfews, and bending the rules until they snapped, it was this: sometimes people needed a push, even if it stung a little.

Sirius exhaled and leaned back against the headboard, the letters still in hand. "You're a fucking idiot," he muttered under his breath.

A slow smirk tugged at his lips. Oh, the look on James’s face when he confronted him — it would be priceless. Sirius wasn’t one for sentiment, but for you? For James? Maybe, just maybe, he’d make an exception.

The door creaked open, and James stumbled into the room, his steps heavy with exhaustion. Sirius watched as his best friend all but collapsed into the armchair by the bookcase, running a hand through his already-messy hair. He looked like he’d been wrestling dragons all day — or, more likely, his dad’s endless list of chores.

But there was something else, too. A tension in his jaw, a restless energy that practically vibrated off him. Sirius could see it plain as day: James hadn’t seen her all day, and it was driving him mad. She was so close — just a staircase or two away — and yet untouchable.

Sirius cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “So, Prongs, is this why you’ve been obsessing over the owl schedule for years? Didn’t peg you as the secret pen-pal type.”

James’s head snapped up, his hazel eyes narrowing in confusion. They darted to the bed, where the stack of letters lay exposed, and then to the shelf where the box had clearly been moved. He froze for a second before letting out a long, resigned sigh.

“Pads,” James said, his voice low and uneven, heavy with an edge Sirius rarely heard. “It’s not cool to read someone else’s letters.”

The room seemed to still, the words settling into the air like dust, soft but laden with weight. James’s eyes — those unmistakable hazel orbs that always held a spark of mischief — were guarded now, a flicker of something raw and unspoken behind them.

Sirius leaned forward, a grin stretching across his face like the blade of a knife, sharp and unapologetic. “Not cool,” he echoed, his voice laced with mockery, “is keeping this from me for six bloody years. Care to explain, or should I guess?”

James flinched, the tension in his shoulders visible even through the soft knit of his jumper. He moved toward the bed with the slow, deliberate steps of someone walking a tightrope, balancing the fragile threads of anger and restraint. The dim light of the room cast long shadows over his frame, making him seem taller, older — more vulnerable.

He reached for one of the letters, his hand hesitating for the briefest moment before his fingers curled around the parchment. His thumb brushed over the faded ink, tracing the loops of her handwriting like a blind man reading Braille. The edges of the letter were frayed, softened by years of touch, and as he lifted it to his face, Sirius caught the faintest smile tugging at James’s lips.

It was a small, private thing, that smile. Reverent. It wasn’t the boyish grin Sirius knew so well, the one James wielded like a weapon to charm or disarm. No, this was different — softer, as though the mere act of holding the letter in his hand brought James closer to something sacred.

Sirius felt his chest tighten. He’d seen James in every possible state — triumphant on the Quidditch pitch, livid after a prank gone wrong, devastated when the world seemed too heavy — but this? This was new. This was James Potter unguarded.

“She’s different, isn’t she?” Sirius said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle.

James didn’t look up. He sat on the edge of the bed, sorting the letters with a precision that bordered on ritual. Each movement was deliberate, his fingers careful not to smudge the ink or crease the paper. Sirius had never seen him handle anything with such care — not his broomstick, not his glasses, not even the Marauder’s Map.

“It’s not what you think,” James murmured, but the words lacked conviction, as though he knew they’d crumble under scrutiny.

Sirius scoffed, leaning back in his chair with an exasperated snort. “Not what I think? Mate, I think you’re in love with her and too much of an idiot to admit it. Am I wrong?”

James froze mid-motion, the ribbon he was tying slipping from his fingers. For a moment, he didn’t speak, didn’t move — just stared at the letters as if they might answer for him.

“She’s…” He trailed off, his voice barely audible. “She’s different, Pads. She’s… everything.”

There it was. The confession, raw and trembling in the space between them. Sirius leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his expression unusually serious.

“Yeah,” Sirius said softly. “She is. And that’s exactly why you’re a bloody idiot for pretending she’s not.”

James let out a bitter laugh, the sound low and fractured. He raked a hand through his already-messy hair, his movements frenetic, as though he were trying to shake off the weight of the moment.

“You don’t get it,” he said, his voice cracking under the strain. “It’s not that simple.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” Sirius shot back, his tone sharp but not cruel. “I’ve watched you for years, Prongs. You talk about Evans like she’s some kind of bloody trophy, but her? You look at her like she’s the air you breathe. Like without her, you’d suffocate. And you’re sitting here telling me it’s complicated?”

James’s laugh turned hollow, empty. “Lily’s… safe. She’s who I’m supposed to want. She’s not my bloody childhood best friend.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, Sirius said nothing. Then, he barked out a laugh, loud and biting.

“Safe?” he repeated, incredulous. “Since when have you ever played it safe, James Potter? Love’s not supposed to be safe. It’s messy, terrifying, and completely bloody worth it. Or are you seriously telling me you’d rather be ‘safe’ than happy?”

James looked up at him then, and Sirius’s breath caught. His best friend’s hazel eyes, usually so full of fire and mischief, were red-rimmed and glistening with unshed tears.

“Do you think…” James’s voice wavered, barely above a whisper. “Do you think she feels the same?”

Sirius’s grin returned, slow and wolfish. “Mate, judging by these letters? She’s just as much of an idiot in love as you are.”

For a moment, James didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. And then, like a dam breaking, he laughed — a shaky, unsteady sound that grew louder, freer, until it filled the room.

“What do I do?” James asked, his voice raw and trembling with vulnerability.

Sirius stood, crossing the room to clap a hand on James’s shoulder. “You start by telling her everything. No more hiding. No more pretending. You owe her — and yourself — more than that.”

James nodded slowly, the faintest glimmer of determination flickering in his eyes. “You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Sirius said, smirking. “I’m always right.”

As James reached for the letters, carefully tucking them back into their box, Sirius watched him with a rare sense of pride. This wasn’t just James Potter, the fearless Quidditch captain, the prankster extraordinaire. This was James Potter, a boy on the cusp of something extraordinary.

And for once, Sirius Black wasn’t just causing chaos — he was helping someone find their way through it.

THE SNOW OUTSIDE FELL IN HEAVY, DELIBERATE FLAKES, BLANKETING THE WORLD IN A SOFT, UNBROKEN QUIET. Sirius stood on the second-floor landing of the Potter home, a mug of hot coffee cradled in his hands. The rich aroma mingled with the faint scent of pine and cinnamon wafting from the decorated tree below. The whole house seemed to hum with a kind of warmth that Sirius rarely allowed himself to imagine, let alone experience.

From his vantage point, he had a perfect view of the living room below. The fire in the hearth crackled gently, casting golden shadows across the walls. Mr. Potter sat on the sofa with an arm draped around Mrs. Potter, the two of them cocooned under a soft plaid blanket. A book rested on Fleamont’s lap as he read aloud, his voice low and steady. Euphemia’s head rested against his shoulder, her eyes half-closed in serene contentment. Every so often, she’d smile at something he read or reach up to adjust her husband’s glasses, her touch so light and familiar it made Sirius’s chest ache with longing — not jealousy, but something softer. A wistfulness for this kind of unshakable bond.

But his gaze didn’t linger on the Potters for long. It drifted to the corner of the room, where the Christmas tree’s twinkling lights bathed two figures in a kaleidoscope of warm colors. You and James sat on the floor amidst the chaos of torn wrapping paper and open boxes. The morning’s gifts had already been exchanged, but it seemed James had saved something special for last.

Even from here, Sirius could see the faint nervousness in his best friend’s posture. James wasn’t one to fidget, yet his hands moved restlessly, smoothing invisible creases on his trousers, brushing imaginary dust from the tree skirt. His eyes, though, were unwavering as they watched you. You were cross-legged on the fluffy white rug, your hair falling in soft waves over your shoulder as you picked idly at a ribbon. Sirius noticed how your gaze lingered on James, curious and full of quiet affection.

James leaned closer, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable lilt of mischief. “One of the owls was late,” he said, holding up a slightly weathered envelope. The parchment looked a little worse for wear, its edges crumpled as if it had been handled too often. “It dropped this off this morning… asked me to give it to the most beautiful girl in the world.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you reached for the envelope. “Still using that line, are you, Potter?”

“Can you blame me? It’s worked wonders so far.” His grin was cocky, but Sirius saw the faintest flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as he handed it over.

You rolled your eyes, but the way you bit your lip betrayed your own anticipation. Turning the envelope over in your hands, you ran your fingers along the black-inked scrawl of your name before carefully breaking the seal. Sirius leaned forward slightly, his coffee forgotten as he watched the scene unfold.

The moment the letter emerged, the air seemed to shift. Your eyes darted across the page, your expression softening with each word. Sirius could see the precise moment the meaning settled in — the way your lips parted in surprise, the way your shoulders tensed, then relaxed, as if letting the weight of something long unspoken sink in. James’s hand rested on your knee, his thumb moving in small, nervous circles.

“Love?” James’s voice was barely above a whisper, his usual bravado stripped away. He was watching you as though the world rested on your reaction, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around yours. “You’re awfully quiet. Should I be worried? Say something. Anything.”

You didn’t answer immediately. Your eyes stayed fixed on the page, even as a tear slipped down your cheek, catching the light like a tiny diamond. James froze, his face paling slightly.

“Hey, hey, no…” His voice cracked. “Don’t cry. If it’s rubbish, just say so and we can forget it. Burn it, even.” He laughed nervously, though it sounded forced. “I’ll… I’ll pretend it never happened.”

That’s when you looked up, meeting his gaze with eyes so full of emotion it made Sirius’s breath hitch even from across the room. You didn’t say anything. Instead, you reached out, cupping James’s face in your hands. He stilled under your touch, his wide-eyed surprise melting into something softer as you leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

It wasn’t the kind of kiss Sirius might have teased him about — not fiery or impulsive. It was quiet, deliberate, and full of a tenderness that made Sirius feel like an intruder, even though he couldn’t look away. James’s hands found your waist, pulling you closer as though you might slip away if he let go.

Sirius smiled to himself, feeling a rare swell of pride. James had always been the heart of their little group, the one who wore his feelings openly. And now, here he was, finding a kind of love that Sirius knew would anchor him forever.

A sharp click shattered the moment, and both of you turned your heads to find Sirius standing at the bottom of the stairs, a wide grin plastered across his face as he waved a freshly developed photo in the air.

“Perfect!” he announced, shaking the picture. “This one’s going in the family album. And when my godchildren ask how their parents got together, I’ll tell them Uncle Sirius orchestrated the whole thing.”

You laughed, leaning your forehead against James’s shoulder, while James groaned, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “You’re a menace, Pads,” he said, though his voice held no bite.

“A charming menace,” Sirius replied, retreating toward the couch where the elder Potters were watching the scene unfold with amused smiles.

“Everything alright, dear?” Euphemia asked, her eyes twinkling with affection as she glanced between you and James.

James nodded, his hand still firmly clasping yours. “Yeah, Mum. Everything’s perfect.”

Mrs. Potter’s smile widened, and she reached over to pat your hand. “Welcome to the family, my dear. Though, truth be told, you’ve always been part of it.”

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion.

THE REST OF THE DAY PASSED IN A GOLDEN HAZE OF LAUGHTER AND WARMTH. Euphemia roped you into helping her in the kitchen, insisting you learn the secret to her mulled wine. Sirius watched from the doorway, sipping his coffee and grinning as you tried to follow her directions, only for James to sneak in and steal a taste from the pot, earning himself a playful swat on the arm.

By evening, the fire burned low, and the snow outside had blanketed the world in an even deeper hush. Sirius sat in his favorite armchair, a blanket draped over his legs as he watched the scene before him. You and James were curled up together on the rug, a cozy tangle of limbs as you whispered to each other, your laughter soft and unguarded. The Potters sat nearby, sharing quiet conversation, their hands intertwined.

For a moment, Sirius closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the room and the sounds of contentment wash over him. He thought of his own childhood Christmases — cold, sterile affairs devoid of joy. And then he thought of this… the home James had built, not just for himself but for everyone he cared about. It was the kind of love Sirius had always believed was out of reach. Until now.

“Merry Christmas, Prongs,” he murmured, raising his empty mug in a toast to his best friend.

James glanced up, catching his eye. “Merry Christmas, Pads,” he replied, his grin soft but unmistakably James.

James had turned to you, his hand cradling your cheek as he pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. You smiled up at him, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his arm.

"Merry Christmas, love," James murmured, his voice low and filled with a tenderness that made Sirius’s chest tighten.

"Merry Christmas, Jamie," you replied, resting your forehead against his.

Sirius chuckled, settling back into his chair, the warmth of the moment settling deep in his bones. The world outside might be cold and uncertain, but here, in this house, surrounded by love and laughter, everything felt exactly as it should be.

He thought about how James Potter had once given him the home and warmth he never had. And now, it seemed, Sirius Black had helped his best friend find his way home, too.

FROM THE ARCHIVE OF SIRIUS BLACK:

To my future, undoubtedly brilliant, devilishly handsome, and wildly talented nephews,

Listen up, you little rascals. You don’t know me yet, but let me make one thing very clear: I’m the reason you even exist. That’s right, your ridiculously perfect Uncle Sirius is the mastermind behind it all. Without my charm, wit, and expert meddling, your parents might still be doing the whole "will-they-won't-they" nonsense.

So, when you’re out there ruling the world, remember to thank yours truly. The coolest, suavest, and most humble uncle you'll ever have — Sirius Black. You're welcome.

December 25, 1976 My Love,   It’s Christmas, and the house is quiet now, the soft hum of the tree lights the only sound. I’ve been sitting here for hours, staring at this parchment, trying to find words big enough for what I feel, but they don’t exist. Still, I need to try.   Love, I see it now—what I’ve been too blind to see all along. I’ve always thought of myself as brave, fearless even. But when it came to you, I was a coward. I didn’t want to risk losing you. You, who have been the brightest part of my life since the moment we met. You, who’ve filled every corner of my world with warmth and light, even when we were miles apart.   Every summer, when you stepped into my life again, it was like the sun breaking through a storm. You’d sit by the lake with that book you never quite finished because I was always distracting you. You’d laugh at my terrible jokes, your nose crinkling just so. And you’d hum when you thought no one was listening, always off-key but somehow more perfect than any melody I’ve ever heard.   I thought I was looking for the kind of love my parents have — their unshakable bond, the way they look at each other like the world begins and ends with them. And all this time, it was right here, under my nose. You were under my nose.   I think I was afraid, love. Afraid that if I let myself feel what’s always been there, I’d ruin us. That I’d lose the only person who’s ever truly known me, the only one who can look past the pranks, the bravado, and see me—the real me. But Sirius, being Sirius, knocked some sense into me. He said I’ve been acting like a fool, and for once, he’s right. Rereading our letters with him was like seeing my life laid out before me, and every line, every word pointed to you.   Even when you were far away, you were my everything. The letters you sent were more than ink on parchment; they were lifelines. When Hogwarts felt too big, too chaotic, you were the quiet in the storm. When I felt lost, you reminded me who I am. Do you know how many times I reread your words, just to feel close to you? I kept your letters in my trunk, hidden from the others like a secret treasure. Because that’s what you’ve always been — my treasure.   How could I have been so blind? How could I have wasted so much time thinking it was Lily I wanted when it’s always been you? I’ve spent so long chasing a dream when the real thing was right in front of me. I see it now, clearer than I’ve ever seen anything. You are my stars, my moon, my sun. You’re the laugh that makes everything brighter, the voice that feels like home.  

I love you. I love the way your handwriting gets messier when you’re excited. I love the way you argue with me over the silliest things just to see me smile. I love the way you hum when you’re nervous and how you always know exactly what to say to pull me out of my worst days. I love you.   I don’t know if you feel the same way, but I hope with everything in me that you do. And if you don’t, I’ll understand. Because having you in my life, even just as my friend, has been the greatest gift I could ever ask for. But if there’s even the smallest chance you might love me too, then I promise to spend the rest of my life proving I deserve you.   Merry Christmas, my love. You’ve been my greatest gift every day since I met you.   Forever yours,   Jamie

thankx for reading <3

god, this is my biggest work and I was so afraid to publish it, cause it seems to me that no one reads such long fics (I myself adore long fics).

and if you've finished reading this, thank u and I love you so much! I hope you enjoyed every part of it and I will be very glad if you leave a comment, because it seems to me that I have left all of myself in this work!

you can always share your opinion in comments or my inbox. btw my requests are open so… make a wish :3            

p.s. if you liked this work i’d really appreciate if you go and read more of my works in my masterlist and give it your opinion. i’m very proud of my latest work ‘muse’ and hope you’ll like it just as much as ‘obviously blind’                   

– your santi 🪐

masterlist

[mischievousmoony]

hello !! it is again almost 3am where i am but i cannot stop thinking at nerdy james before he gets buff from quidditch.

headcanon time; first or second year, before he knew his friends, he was like this wimpy little kid that got bullied a whole lot (especially by slytherin kids) and that's why he plays pranks on people.

but but! a request maybe of reader liking james before he got popular, but they never made it known because they're the quiet type. but as james became popular, reader stayed the same and they never really really crossed paths again. but there was a time where reader did something small for james back then which he remembered all those years and then they kiss kiss fall in love.

you can you whatever pronouns you want again for reader !!

- 🌱

took the liberty of making the reader a gryffindor hope thats ok

𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞

⟢ james potter x reader ⊹ 2.8k ⟢ warnings/tags: intoxication (not reader or james), unsolicited flirting from random guy, james is taller than r, gryffindor!reader, introvert!reader, no specific pronouns for reader used

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Secluded in a quiet corner is where you feel most comfortable at parties. Your fellow Gryffindors are a boisterous bunch, and that's never been your style, making it much easier to watch events like these from the sidelines.

This doesn't make you the most popular student in your house. It's not as though people don't like you, but they don't really know you. If they had to, the vocabulary they would use to describe you would be limited to quiet, nice, and… quiet.

You’ve always wondered if you would've fit in better in another house. Ravenclaw always seemed appealing. Or Hufflepuff maybe. But for reasons you don't understand, the sorting hat put you here. With the daring, self-assured, unreserved students that you couldn't be anymore like. But, you never really minded. As different as they are, at least they're nice.

For the most part.

"Hey, baby," one of your housemates drawls, emerging from the lively crowd and invading your corner. You can't say you remember his name as he cozies up next to you, unceremoniously situating himself against the wall. His shoulder crashes against it roughly as he says, "You look lonely over here."

His warm, beer-scented breath invades your senses and you scrunch your nose in discomfort, veering away from him as you reply, "I'm fine."

"Want some company?" he presses, surging forward to make up for the space you created and then some.

"No, thank you." It's almost annoying that your instinct is to be polite as this guy invades your personal space.

"Cos I could make for some real nice company," he adds, a sinister smirk working its way onto his face as you cringe away from him.

You're wracking your brain for a way out of this situation, when a familiar voice sounds from behind you, saving you the trouble.

"Hey, ready to head out?" James Potter says, and you have no idea what he's talking about, but at least it makes the other guy back away from you slightly.

"James," you blurt, rather dumbly, surprised at his sudden closeness.

Truthfully, you have been eyeing him from your corner; admiring the boy from afar as you have for years. Most of Gryffindor fancies him, and you're no exception. But who wouldn't have a thing for Gryffindor's valiant captain and ever confident head boy? Especially when that boy looks the way James does: standing over six feet tall with a chiseled, muscular physique (thank you, Quidditch). He seems to know it too, the way he carries himself with confidence.

His most captivating feature, though, is his bright, infectious smile. It's always been your favorite thing about him, even when it was still the shy, hesitant grin of a boy who wasn’t yet confident in himself.

"It's about time for us to get out of here, don't you think?" James smiles, baring all of his pearly whites, and he looks like something out of a dream. His eyes flick from you to the boy to your left. "Oh, hey Callaghan, didn't see you there."

"Potter," Callaghan nods in greeting. "You, uh, you know..." he trails off, gesturing aimlessly to you. You're not surprised that he doesn't know your name.

"Y/N? Course I do," James says, stepping closer to you.

But that. That's a surprise.

James towers over both of you, making Callaghan take another step back in intimidation. You're too busy being surprised to feel relieved over the space. James knows your name?

Callaghan gestures between the two of you, trying the gauge your relationship. "And you two are...?"

"Leaving," James says, offering you his hand, “Right?”

You stare at his hand, momentarily dumbfounded, before you take it, “Right.”

You feel kind of hazy as you let James lead you away from Callaghan, away from the lively party, and out into the corridor. The situation is so surreal that you wouldn't be surprised if you suddenly woke up to find it was all a dream. When was the last time you even spoke to James Potter?

"You alright?" James' voice cuts through the silence of Hogwarts' halls. Your eyes meet his concerned ones as he leans against the stone wall, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"Yeah, I'm alright," you say, still a little muddled. You snap out of it with a shake of your head, remembering your manners, "Thank you, by the way."

"Psh," he waves his hand through the air, brushing it off, "You don't need to thank me. Any person with eyes could see Callaghan was being... off putting." James scrunches his nose in judgement, pausing as if to bite his tongue, like has more to say about Callaghan but better not. "Any decent person would've stepped in. No thank you necessary."

"Well I'm thankful anyway," you say quietly, the corner of your mouth tugging upward into a small smile.

James' eyes dart to your lips, your gesture conjuring a wide smile on James' own lips. You're momentarily distracted as his tongue runs across his teeth, barely hearing him as he says, "Well, I may be reluctant to accept your gratitude because I may have had some selfish reasons behind my method."

Your lips part, twitching into the shape of various words that never leave your lips. You feel very warm all of a sudden.

James does a rubbish job of hiding the amusement in his eyes, but he is kind enough to put you out of your misery with an explanation, "I need a walking buddy. Was hoping you'd like to join me?"

You're not any less dumfounded but you manage to get the words out this time. "You want me to go on a walk with you?"

"Yeah," James says, like it's not strange at all.

"Why didn't you ask one of your friends to go?"

"You are my friend," James insists, and you cock and eyebrow.

"I was surprised that you even knew my name."

"Of course I know you! We're friends," he emphasizes.

You look at him skeptically, not sure what you did to make a friend out of him. Not that you wouldn't like to be his friend, but friends usually talk to each other. The last time James spoke to you was last year to ask if you had an extra roll of parchment. And he was more so asking the entire class, you just so happened to be the one with the parchment.

"Do you not want to be my friend?" He asks in a teasing tone, having let you stare in silent skepticism for long enough.

He's not being serious, but you panic anyway. "What!? No! I mean no I don't not want to be friends!"

He chuckles as he pushes himself up from wall. "Then walk with me, would'ya?" He nods his head off in the same direction he starts walking, expecting that you'll follow.

You do, your feet moving faster than your brain can overthink your way into a no. But as you walk next to him your thoughts catch up with you.

What are you supposed to talk about? What do you know about him? Quidditch. What do you know about Quidditch? You know lots about Quidditch. Quick, say something about Quidditch before this silence gets awkward. Why do you suddenly not know anything about Quidditch?

The effects of your racing mind are written across face, your features contorted in worry and a lasting skepticism as you glance up at James every so often.

James is glancing at you too, finding every little crease and contour from your worried look endearing as silent laughter bubbles in his chest.

"Alright, what's that face?" James finally asks, his tone as gentle as possible as not to make you uncomfortable.

Your expression softens into sheepishness. James looks at you with such kindness that you find yourself voicing your concerns.

"We're friends?" you ask in a small, hesitant voice.

James is quick to defend his claim, "I've known you since we were kids!"

"We haven't spoken since we were kids," you say.

He seems to deflate at your words, faltering as he experiences a moment of speechlessness.

"Besides," you go on, a hint of smugness creeping up on you, "we've known everyone at this school since we were kids. Does that make us friends with everyone?"

James is quick to shake his head. "Not everyone was as kind as you back then."

Any trace of smugness has been quickly expunged and replaced by a fluttering in your stomach as his eyes fill with what you would call admiration if you didn't know any better.

"And you were exceptionally kind," he adds on, not helping ease the butterflies in your stomach. "Though you're right. I should've talked to you. I don't know why I didn't talk to you more."

"It's okay," you say in a small voice, prompting you to clear your throat before you continue, "We're talking now."

James smiles that radiant, charming smile that makes you swoon. Before silence can settle over you James' face lights up as an idea pops into his head.

"Have you even been on the Quidditch Pitch at night? I mean, when there's no game going on?"

You shake your head, your eyebrows creasing as you find his question rather random. Before you've fully grasped what he's implying, he's grabbing your hand and dragging you out of the castle.

A gasp escapes your lips as he tugs you along, his enthusiasm and long strides causing him to race ahead without realizing how fast he’s moving. It's only when you're outside that you find your voice again.

"James!"

He slows his pace and drops your hand. For a moment, he looks almost embarrassed, shrugging his shoulders as he lacks an excuse for his sudden burst of energy.

You shake your head with a smile. “Some things never change. Do you ever take a deep breath and just mellow out?” you ask, noticing with amusement that he’s just as hyperactive now as he was when you were kids.

James makes a big show of taking a long, deep breath as he falls into step with you at a much more leisurely pace than before.

You shake your head again, chuckling.

"Some things do change, by the way. For example, you were taller than me back then," he says, resting his elbow on the top of your head to emphasize the difference.

You jerk your head away, playfully retorting, "Everyone was taller than you."

"Shut up!" he laughs, letting his arm fall to his side. He's close enough that his arm brushes against yours as you walk. You feel the shake of his laughs against your skin and you can't help but giggle along.

It doesn't take long to walk to the quidditch pitch. The walk felt shorter than it does on game days, but maybe that's because you didn't have James to walk with.

You follow James out to the very center of the field, where he wastes no time to plop down into the grass. "Lay with me," he says, crossing his arms behind his head. "You can see all the stars from out here," he says to convince you.

"You come out here a lot?" you ask as you sink down beside him. The grass tickles your skin as you lay down.

"I've been coming out here since I was a first year," James reveals. "I used to lay in the grass, just like this, and imagine what I would look like flying above dodging bludgers and scoring winning goals."

"Yeah?"

James hums affirmatively. "I've always loved Quidditch. Wanted to play for as long as I can remember. And then I came to Hogwarts, and Merlin, I thought the Quidditch players were so cool. Wanted to be like them so bad."

"What does it feel like?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you’re the one first years are looking up to now."

"No, they're not," James scoffs in complete disbelief.

"James," you deadpan, thinking he can't be serious. "You're the Gryffindor captain and rightfully so. One of the best chasers Hogwarts has probably ever seen. I mean, way you escaped that bludger last weekend?” you muse. “Not to mention the Chudley Chop Down you pulled off. You looked just like the professionals, it was incredible!"

James is caught at a loss for words again, a rare occurrence for him, but you've managed to make it happen twice now.

You clear your throat, realizing how you've just raved on about him to his face. You excuse yourself with, "I, um, I really like Quidditch."

James blinks away the awestricken glint in his eyes, responding, "Figured as much. Don't think I've ever played a game I haven't seen you in the crowd of. But enough about me," he continues. "What about you and your achievements, eh?”

“What are you talking about?”

"Don't be coy. You have to be the brightest witch at Hogwarts."

"No, that's–"

"C'mon I've seen the marks you get. And no one gets Gryffindor more house points in class than you do. All the professors love you; Slughorn always seats you to his right at Slug Club meetings. And I thought Minnie had a soft spot for me but then I saw how she talks to you."

"Maybe if you called her Professor McGonagall once in a while," you tease, trying to distract him from showering you with anymore compliments to spare your heart from racing any longer.

"Wouldn't matter. She likes you because you're smart. Driven too. She knows you’ll do great things after school. Everyone knows you'll be one of the most successful in our class."

"I hardly think anyone notices me,” you say, nervously ripping up blades of grass from the ground.

"I have," he says, looking at you with so much fondness it takes your breath away.

Your eyes widen, sparkling with warm astonishment at all his kind words. James notices the way your parted lips curve into a small, shy smile. Slowly, it grows into a grin.

He nudges you, "Now what's that look for?"

"This is just... unexpected."

"Unexpected?"

"I mean I didn't realize you remembered by name, let alone knew anything about me."

James' expression is tinted with disbelief. He removes his arms from behind his head as he angles his body slightly toward you, gearing towards something serious. "Of course I did. When I said you were kind to me back then, you were really the only one who was. How could I forget you?"

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise as James sighs deeply.

"Merlin, I really should have talked to you more," he says, shaking his head.

"It's okay–"

"No," he insists, "I should have talked to you more. I don't know why I didn't– I mean I do know why I just..."

You swallow hard, giving yourself time to find your voice. "There's a reason?" you ask.

James turns his head, shifting back against the grass as his gaze finding the stars above him. You can see the moon reflecting in his eyes as he bathes in its light. He looks ethereal like this.

"You make me nervous," he's able to admit in the comfort of not having to see your reaction, pretending it’s just him and the moon out here.

Your jaw goes slack. You'd sooner think you're being pranked or he's under some kind of spell than to believe his words.

"What?" you finally utter. Your hand freezes with a chunk of freshly ripped up grass held hostage between your fingertips.

James chuckles, "You were so nice to me. And I always thought you were so pretty I– every time you said something kind to me I would get so red in the face."

You're silent, at a loss for words as you try to wrap your mind around his admission. If the tips of his ears hadn't turned red, you'd think he's lying.

"I mean everything made me nervous back then," he continues. "Thank Merlin I grew out of that, but you..."

James finally looks at you again, his eyes darting across your face as he absorbs your reaction. Carefully, he takes hold of your wrist, placing your palm flat on his chest, over his heart.

"You still make my heart race," he says quietly, and you can feel the proof under your fingertips.

Words make their way past your lips almost instinctively, driven by a desire to reassure him. "I... I was too nervous to talk to you too."

The fondness in his eyes grows even warmer, and he begins tracing gentle lines on the back of your wrist with the pad of his thumb. "It's alright," he says. His tone is genuine and hopeful as he continues, "We're talking now," he repeats your words from earlier with newfound affection. "And I'd really like it if we could keep talking."

"Yeah," you say. A wave of courage washes over you, and you adjust your hand to intertwine your fingers with his. "Me too."

After that, you find yourself out here a lot more often, staring at the stars with James, your fingers intertwined. You're both much more comfortable around each other now, but from time to time, you still make each other's heart race.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[angelicjackles]

— [I wish that I could clear my mind]

The cloud of steam billowed out of the bathroom the second Dean opened the door and stepped back into the motel room—sue him for enjoying his hot showers. It wasn’t often he got to take genuinely hot showers; between him, Sam and you, there wasn’t usually enough hot water to go around.

But it was just you and him on this hunt, no Sam, so there was plenty of hot water between the two of you.

“Thought you were taking a shower, not a sauna steaming,” you remarked cheekily over your shoulder, making sure he saw you roll your eyes before your attention flickered back to your laptop and the bundle of research for this case. “And that’s why I showered first.” You added on, with an amused scoff.

“Yeah, yeah, shut it.” Came Dean’s snarky reply as he was padded further into the room, busy running the towel through his messy strands of damp hair.

It was only when he finally dropped the towel back around his shoulders and his gaze landed on you for the first time that he paused mid-step.

Was that… his flannel shirt you’re wearing?

His eyes roved over the length of your form as you sat at the little motel table, researching on your laptop. His red and black flannel sitting oversized on your body, the sleeves undoubtedly long so you’d rolled them up to your elbows, showing off the soft skin of your arms and delicate hands devoid of any of your usual jewellery—looks like you hadn’t bothered to put them back on after your shower, you’d left his shirt completely unbuttoned on your frame, the material pooling to roughly mid-thigh with the size difference, bunched around your hips with the way you were sat, with a simple black camisole underneath that showed that inch strip of smooth skin along the bottom of your abdomen right above the waistband of your jeans.

His mind twirled the idea of how good his best friend looked in his shirt, of how much he’d die to slide his fingers underneath the fabric and trace the smooth skin of your midriff, of how much he’d kill to see you in just that shirt...

Oh he was so screwed.

Whether you felt his eyes burning holes into your skin or by pure coincidence, you looked up and caught him gazing at you, with a slightly glazed look across his face that made your eyebrows quirk. “Everything good?” You asked curiously.

Your words seemed to snap him out of his momentary daze, feeling the tips of his ears burning at being caught, but he played it off with a clear of his throat and a lazy grin. 

“Yeah,” he piped up nonchalantly, hoping you didn’t miss the way his voice wasn’t as casual as usual. “Just thinking, now we can add thief to your resume.”

He watched you roll your eyes at him once more, something he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t incredibly fond of. “My one from yesterday needs washed. Thought I’d packed my other one but must’ve left it back at the bunker.” You explained, even though he hadn’t asked but perhaps an explanation would make up for the fact you’d taken his shirt without asking, even though you knew he likely wouldn’t care that much.

“You mind?”

[Having you spread out like this underneath him was a dream come true, and Dean wasn’t about to waste time, having stripped you down completely except for his large open flannel still draped around your slender shoulders. His mouth placed an open-mouthed kiss along the hollow of your throat, warm and gentle. Before he trailed a path down the length of your body. Over your collarbones, across the soft swell of your chest, along every inch of your breasts, down your ribcage, over your soft stomach, around the dip of your navel, along your sensitive hips until he reached your thighs. His broad shoulders nudged at your bare thighs, encouraging you to part them for him, which you did with further aid from his large hands, guiding them open so he could lay out on his stomach between them, peppering kisses along the inside of your thighs until he kissed his way to your drooling cunt. The flat of his tongue dragged through your slit, tasting your arousal for the first time. It was like the sweetest nectar exploding on his tongue, making him groan against your wetness, fingers flexing around the fat of your thighs before he dove in, his lips circling around your clit and suckling with the desperation of a man starved. And oh if the needy little whines spilling from your lips were the last thing he ever heard, he’d die a happy man.]

It was only hearing you call his name that snapped him out of his vulgar thoughts, the reality of the current situation rushing back to him like a picture finally coming into focus. His thoughts were so vivid he swore he could taste your sweetness on his tongue. Fuck, were his cheeks heating up?

“I—Nope.” Came his eventual quip, popping the p and hoping you didn’t question his delayed response, or the slight unsteadiness of his usually cocky voice. “You’re good, sweetheart.”

Fantasising about your best friend is cardinal sin number one, and new for him. He was fucking screwed.

[satowooo]

" YOU'RE THE ONE I WANT IN PAPER RINGS. . ."

I like shiny things but I'll marry you with paper rings ft. gojo satoru, geto suguru, choso kamo, nanami kento.

contents. fluff, fluff, fluff, not proofread.

౨ৎ GOJO SATORU

“Shush, don't look!”

Satoru had been focused on folding a piece of paper for the past 30 minutes now, ever since you two sat on a table and planned to make paper flowers for the students to celebrate the year end. You just asked him about what he's doing, only to be replied with a scolding and him turning his back on you to hide the piece of paper. You could hear his small grunts and complaints every single time he messed up and redid it all over again, noticing him folding it in a different way from a paper flower and it was even cut smaller. It was the first time you had seen him struggling over a matter as small as folding papers, when he wasn't even having a hard time on the paper flowers earlier though, and Satoru seems to not be fond of not getting everything his way on an easier path either.

Since when did making paper rings become so difficult anyway?

“Okay. You don't want me to help with whatever that is?”

“No. Just stay put.”

You bite your lip to stop a chuckle, noticing the way his shoulders slumped when you heard him accidentally tore the paper, so you obeyed and looked away. He turned around again, leaning on the table to get another paper, and got to work. His slender fingers carefully folding and twisting, his eyes solely focused on it, with his brows furrowed in determination and even a small pout for the thousand of times he messed up and probably on the verge of giving up, if not because he was making a paper ring because wanted to please you.

It took him another good 15 minutes to do it right, a little wrinkled on one side but the heart on the ring was perfect. He scooted over to your side, and you finally looked at him.

He took your hand, and slipped the paper ring on your ring finger, making you gasp as you finally see the blue material fit you perfectly. “I did my best, baby.”

“Satoru!”

“I know it's not much, and I mean, I can probably give you a more expensive one with diamonds and shiny crystals but I just thought this one would mean more and much more endearing and I tried to make it after watching a video that I saw using my memory and I just think–” He stopped, blinking as he realised how much he had rambled. Satoru sighed, gazing at your hand, lifting it up to press a kiss on your knuckle, right next to the ring. “Do you like it?”

“Of course, I do!”

“Then should we call a priest right now?"

౨ৎ GETO SUGURU

It was originally Mimiko and Nanako’s ideas. The two girls lay on their stomach right by the floor with their feet swaying in the air, their homeworks long forgotten on either side of them. There were tons of papers around them, in different colours and shapes when Suguru caught them slacking around in their bedroom.

“Papa! Make a paper ring for Mama!” Mimiko suggested, patting the space between them so Suguru could join in the fun.

“Are you done with your homeworks, sweethearts?” He chuckled, taking his spot, laying flat on the stomach with his feet also high in the air like some teenage girls.

“Of course!” Nanako, who was obviously lying for the way she blushed and can't look Suguru straight on the face, as she pressed something on the origami that she made which was shaped in a frog, and it jumped towards his side.

Suguru couldn't help but be amazed, but also wanting to tease his girls. “Really? Can I see?” He said as he reached for their notebooks.

Mimiko was quick to act, slapping her dad’s big hands away with her small ones so he would drop it, then thrashing a bunch of paper in front of him instead. “Mama would like paper rings!”

And that's exactly how he found himself making one. With the help of his daughters, they instructed him on what to do for a good 15 minutes. He'd get confused sometimes every time they talked at the same time, instructions unclear when they talk about different things. But he got the hang of it, and it was perfect, as expected from Suguru.

Now, he's sitting on the bed, with his back pressed on the headboard, as he got you straddling his lap as you two talked about your day, while the two girls had gone to sleep.

“The girls were very enthusiastic today.” He said, his thumb caressing small circles on your inner thigh as he gazed at you. “They taught me how to make origami, and something else…”

“Hmm? What is it?” You replied, eyes filled with curiosity as you waited for him to continue.

You watched as he pulled something out from the bedside cabinet, a red paper shaped in a small circle. You couldn't see much because his hands were covering it a bit, but when he took your hand and wore it on your finger, you realised what it was.

“I made it, but it took all our efforts.” He whispered, watching as you gaped at the paper ring. “They're not the best teachers though.”

“It's beautiful…”

Suguru didn't expect the next thing you did. As you clutched on his shirt and immediately crashed your lips together, your hands coming to the back of his neck and deepening the kiss. Your lips dancing in harmony to the rhythm of your heartbeats.

He pulled away, breathless as he cups your cheek. “I'd ask you to marry me right now, but we'll save that for some other time.” He chuckled, pulling you in for another kiss.

౨ৎ CHOSO KAMO

It was a sweet gesture. Your boyfriend prepared all the materials needed and even borrowed his brother Yuji’s ipad so you could watch tutorials on YouTube. Ever since he saw you scrolling on your Instagram reels about making paper stars, flowers, little animals, hearts, and all other cute things, he was determined to do the activity with you. And he wanted to make sure that you'll enjoy it as much as he would.

“Let's make this one!” You scrolled onto a video, showing him a tutorial on how to make a scrapbook, which he agreed to.

You two worked on it right away, both of you busy while you cut some papers and draw on it, while he folds some others into shapes that would look good on the scrapbook. Once in a while, he would try to steal kisses on your lips every time he finishes one.

After a few minutes, you got up to go upstairs and print some pictures that you'd add on the book, leaving Choso alone with folding a new set of papers. This time, he made a mini bouquet, which was unexpectedly quite easy. And then last, the paper ring.

When you got back, you placed the printed papers on the table as you two got to work again. But your eyes caught the mini bouquet resting beside the others, and your eyes glinted.

“Choso! That's so cute! How did you make that?” You scooted closer to him, taking the mini bouquet in your hands, the paper tiny in your hands. “Are you putting this on the book?”

Choso blushed, nuzzling his face on your neck. “It's actually for you.” He muttered, his breath fanning on your skin that made you shiver. “They're small and cute, I thought you'd like it.”

You smiled, cupping his cheek so he could look at you. “Really?”

“Mhm. And I have another one too.”

He showed you the pink paper ring, and your eyes widened in shock. He was about to put in on your ring finger when you turned around, snatching something from underneath the table.

“Cho! I made you one too!”

Was it fate? But nevertheless, it got Choso blushing and almost kicking his feet as butterflies filled his stomach. His palms covering his mouth to probably stop him from reacting exaggeratedly while you slipped the paper ring in his finger. It was even the same colour as the one he made, and he swears his heart was about to burst.

౨ৎ NANAMI KENTO

How many times did you and Nanami get married this year? Three. Three times in a row. The first time was in a shrine, doing the Japanese traditional way of weddings, a wedding held privately with only your families. Second was at the church, with both your families and friends this time, with you wearing a beautiful white wedding dress as your husband awaits in the altar, looking as dashing as ever. And this might be the third.

“Honey, marry me.” He muttered, his feet tapping on the floor impatiently, watching you type on your laptop for a school document.

“We're already married, Kento?” You asked, glancing back at him once before you're back to rapidly tapping on your keyboard. The noise filled the air, together with Nanami’s sighed.

“I know. But you seem married to your laptop for the past few hours, honey.”

Nanami is not one to complain about this type of thing, in fact, he's a very understanding man that he wouldn't mind if you're stuck doing paperworks all day, unless you wouldn't be sparing him a glance, giving him a kiss, or a hug during the said day, and that would make him open up his concerns a bit. How many hours had passed anyway? Four long hours of torture for him, that he had convinced himself enough that he was the clingy one in the relationship and not you.

“Are you asking for my undivided attention, Kento?” You laughed, finally tearing your gaze away from your laptop as you spun your swivel chair at him.

He pulled the chair from underneath so you're closer to him, his right knee between your thighs as he leaned down to press his lips against yours. “Indeed. And I don't think I can live another second of you not talking to me for another hour, not even a kiss since this morning.”

“I'm sorry,” you giggled, kissing him one more time to show that you were truly apologetic. “Were you lonely?”

“A bit.” He sighed, caressing your cheeks, then pulled away as he leaned back on his chair. “You do look adorable when you're focused, honey, which I'm always pleased to see. But I have to give you something.”

He slid his swivel chair backward a bit, grabbed something on a nearby table and went back to your spot right away. He took your hands, sliding a white paper ring right next to your wedding ring. “I don't think you noticed me making this while you were busy.”

“Kento, how..?” Your eyes smiled with you, a testament of your appreciation and affection towards the man you love. You knew Nanami Kento had always been perfect, but he's even more perfect now that he took his time to make this for you.

He laced your fingers together with his, his heart warming up to the sight of you appreciating his small efforts. Kento loves it when you're happy, and would do anything to keep it that way for as long as he can.

“A few videos.” He shrugged, pulling your chair closer to him again. “Now, will you marry me?”

[handlemehyuck]

LEAVE A MESSAGE AFTER THE BEEP for boyfriend dreamies

♡a voicemail for mark˚ ⋆。

“i keep listening to songs i haven’t heard in forever, not since i was a kid or teenager, and they transport me back to that time. suddenly, i’m wearing pink converse and jean shorts and the t-shirt from my summer play. it’s saturday, and i’m sitting on the stairs waiting for my friend to arrive, sunlight all over the walls. we wanted to have a sleepover, but there’s church in the morning, so she’ll stay as late as she can, probably until we’re dozing off on the couch watching one of the dvds she brought. naturally, i have to think about you because music wraps around your life in a way it never will for me. we’ve probably talked about this. maybe the conversation took a different shape before, but what’s a song that takes you back? what’s a time you miss and revisit through music? do you have time to think about those things? your life is go go go, and i’ve made silly wishes on eyelashes about peering into your head. i’m a reminiscer, and i know not everyone is, but you’re a creative. you’re a writer—music wraps around your life in a special way, so the idea of nostalgia visiting rarely seems unrealistic? but i guess i can’t know until you tell me. i see it often. i see it when i’m out without my glasses. the distant view is blurry, and suddenly, there i am, riding a bike, pink converse on. what shows up in your blurry nostalgia view?”

♡a voicemail for renjun˚ ⋆。

“babyyyy, i had the best time tonight. i feel like i’m covered in stars. areum’s parents have this sprawling backyard, so we collected a bunch of blankets, packed a picnic basket, and stayed out for hours beneath the most beautiful willow tree i’ve ever seen. i wore linen pants and a bikini top—your favorite one. i had a cardigan too, just in case, but the weather was perfect. i really needed to get out of the city. i know you know that, and i wanted to call you because… hmm sometimes i feel like my life is strung together by reminders. reminders of you and other people and things i love. reminders of our beginnings and all the sweet milestones along the way. i think my love could light up all the stars, more stars than i could ever see with my own eyes, enough stars to make a path between your hometown and my own. i’ll bring you back a jar of stardust. it’ll be empty… you’ll think it’s empty. sometimes magical things are invisible, or they just glow in the dark. anyway, it’s late, like 3 am, and i’m honestly glad you didn’t answer. as badly as i want to hear your voice, you should be asleep. i hope this voicemail makes you smile in the morning. i’ll send you some pictures too. see you on sunday. MWAH kisses *giggles*.”

♡a voicemail for jeno˚ ⋆。

“i’m going to my mom’s tomorrow, and i keep thinking about the drive. i rented a car… you know all of this already, but i guess it’s just present in my mind again. i’m staring at my luggage right now, and the entire thing feels wrong. i’m sorry if this sounds horrible, but i’m so used to you leaving. i’ve gotten really good at that. i’m good at being alone. i made sure i love my apartment and feel at home in it when you’re away because i’d fully unravel or find myself at your place more often than i already am if didn’t love it… stopping by to water all of those plants you don’t actually have. anyway, yeah… it just feels weird. i feel like you should be coming. i keep thinking about driving together: which one of us would pump the gas? who would run inside for snacks? what would we talk about in the car? would you drive halfway or drive all the way because you know i’d rather not if the option’s available to me? i know i’ll be fine. i’ve driven long ways on my own before, but it’ll be weird. i’ll be in a guest room. i don’t know what color the comforter is. i don’t know if i’ll like the sheets. my mom knows i’m weird and particular, but will she remember that when she’s fluffing up the pillows? what will i do when i can’t sleep? i love my mom. i haven’t seen her in months, but i close my eyes and daydream about being with you. i yearn for you in the stickiest of ways. it probably falls off of me too and hangs thickly in the air, gets stuck to the bottom of people’s shoes. i’d apologize if i knew, but i’m all caught up on you you you... i’m saying all of this, but i know this trip will be good for me. i know i’m not dependent on you, but last year was one of your busiest yet. and pride isn’t a question—i’ll spend my entire life being proud of you, but i can’t pretend there weren’t nights when the missing was so palpable i couldn’t sleep, so i read or baked bread or watched my toes wrinkle in the bath. it would be good for me to sleep at my mom’s, wake up to a new view, share breakfast, and simple conversation. i know i need the rest. i know everything will be fine.”

♡a voicemail for haechan˚ ⋆。

“if you told me the grass and the trees and the streets are all white, i would believe you. it’s like a blizzard out there. i’ve never seen so much white in my entire life. honestly, it’s kind of freaking me out, making me feel claustrophobic. i look up at the sky, back down again, and nothing changes, apart from the shapes and the saving grace of traffic lights—at least their colors are still clear. could we get by with just green, red and yellow for the rest of our lives?… some food for thought. anyway, it’s snowing *laughs*. i’m on my… third? tea after a few hot chocolates as well. no food so far today, just warm drinks. last time it snowed, you made kimchi jjigae and we ate in front of the window. do you remember that? we brought over my coffee table and the pot, bowls, and rice… i stopped listening to your story, all zeroed in on a snowflake. i didn’t look away until you kissed my neck. that’s quite a dangerous superpower: you have me at will with kisses, but i trust you with my weakest point... it wouldn’t be the same if i make kimchi jjigae and eat in front of the window without you. i should sit at the dining room table or maybe even the kitchen island—give myself a break from all the white. hopefully, i can still see you tomorrow. maybe you can kiss my neck again and tend to a few of my other weaker points… i love you.”

♡a voicemail for jaemin˚ ⋆。

“i want you to come over right now, and i know that you can’t. i also know that i might not see you for a couple of days, but i want to do nothing with you. i wish it didn’t feel silly… or embarrassing to want. i don’t know why wanting is so uncomfortable for me to share, especially because i’ve wanted loudly with you already, over and over again… but i guess i just wanted you to know. i painted my nails and went to the grocery store and chopped bell peppers because if they’re already prepped i know i’ll be more likely to eat them. i hung up some pictures in my room, and i kept thinking about you when i’d step back to make sure each one was straight. you would’ve done that part for me. i want to do everything together, and i don’t want you to feel bad because we can’t. that’s not why i’m leaving you this. i just know how happy it makes me feel when you express your want for me, in small ways, in spontaneous ways, in sexy ways… in uncomfortable ways, when you just want to be held, when you just need me to listen… it never ends with you. it never ends with me. we’re these entities that constantly move together and around each other, and i know i can get where i need to go without you, but it’s so much more fun when you’re here, and we’re in motion together. i’m making tea, and i think i’m going to drink it on the balcony. i’ll have to put socks on and a coat, but i want to hear the traffic noise and look down at people by themselves or in groups walking around and existing. i was existing for a long time. i felt really disconnected from living, but i knew i wanted to—to feel like i was living again. i just wasn’t quite sure how to get back to that place, but i was starting to figure it out when we met. on our first date, i felt like i struck gold. it was in your smile and your laughter, and this feeling that embraced me because all of a sudden i wasn’t nervous. i had only said your name out loud three times, but it felt so comfortable in my mouth. i remember leaving and whispering it to myself over and over again, and i couldn’t help but hope it would become a name i’d say for the rest of my life. so i’m going to drink my tea and enjoy this beautiful city we live in. i’m going to fold laundry and plan dinner. i’m going to think of you and get excited about the next night we fall asleep together.”

♡a voicemail for chenle˚ ⋆。

“i made it through the list of movies you left me. that sticky note is cute by the way. i like the border of little bears wearing scarves. where’d you get it? i almost threw it out on accident yesterday when i was cleaning my kitchen. now it’s living on my fridge. i taped it down on every side so my cleaning, autopilot fingers can’t attempt a second disposal… when you get this, i’d love some more movies. i’d ask for a horror film, but the idea of watching anything scary without you sounds worse than unclogging the shower drain or some other unpleasant household chore. oh! i went out this morning with chaewon, and she’s dating someone new. i started talking about hosting a dinner before i could really think it through. would you host another one with me? no pressure. chaewon told me not to even mention it to you, something about bad luck… she needs to wait a couple months before bringing them around all of our friends—has to pass 60 days of dating. there’s something romantic about a dinner party to me, though. maybe it’s just the wholesome quality time with my favorite people and knowing you’re only a look away. i don’t know if you remember, but you would always trail your fingertip up and down the back of my arm and kiss my cheek every time you got up, never wanting to interrupt the conversation but noticing the glasses in need of more wine. *groan* everything you do turns me on… ridiculous. do you even have a clue? no, i know you do. *sigh* g’night sunshine.”

♡a voicemail for jisung˚ ⋆。

“that fight was gross. i had to shower as soon as i got home, and the clothes i was wearing are already in the washing machine. are you ok? i know we tried to make it pretty again, but it felt ugly even at the end, and your eyes were so red. i hate seeing you cry. i love it actually… seeing your emotions, but never when it’s like that. i was so close to going to your favorite restaurant and picking us up something, but i know you need some time. but, if you listen to this, you can text me if you’re hungry, and i will go to your favorite restaurant. i can leave the food outside or just in the entryway, unless you’re crying again when i get there. then, i will take off my shoes and hug you, and i won’t stop until you at least hug me back. i’m so sorry. i don’t… most of the time i don’t feel insecure, but sometimes it comes out, and it takes this ugly shape that looks alien to me. i hope it looks alien to you too. i don’t want to be that way often enough for it to become familiar. tell me if it ever does. the idea alone makes me feel sick to my stomach. please text me at least. ok. dammit, i don’t want to hang up. i keep thinking you’ll pick up—”

[felassan]

Just some info I noted down from today's video in text form, under a cut due to what some peeps may consider spoilers, and length.

This video took place well into the game, meaning the beats in it are later in the storyline.

At least part of Davrin’s personal arc involves rescuing the griffons. In an earlier part of his arc you are introduced to his nemesis, the Gloom Howler, a creature that has been hunting and stalking Wardens for quite some time. It has kidnapped a bunch of non-Assan griffons and Davrin has been trying to track it down. In the quest shown in the video, he has found a lead and wants to go and track it down and get the griffons back from the Cauldron (a secret Grey Warden redoubt that was attacked). Davrin wonders what the Wardens were hiding inside the Cauldron, as he has no idea. When the party reaches the Cauldron, they find that something large tore down the gate. The party needs to find a way inside and help Davrin investigate.

Davrin prefers a Direct approach in dialogue. Tough dialogue choices can gain approval from him

The bond between a griffon and a Warden moving as one and having unity between them is called “turlum”. Davrin and Assan don’t yet have this

Grey Wardens: Lancit, Remi, Landon, Quincy, Miriel, Fisher, Greta, Beckett, Flynn (an apprentice physician, whose mentor is called Oskar). I think Flynn’s pronouns are they/them. We will do quests with Flynn including A Cabin in the Blight. They were treating patients and became low on medical supplies. Their mentor Oskar has some and lives in a cabin outside the village. Flynn asks Rook to tell Oskar they could use his help if Rook sees him when they are out there. Flynn is local to Lavendel and saw the Blight surge through their home.

A Grey Warden merchant / quartermaster is called Holden. The little girl seen with Davrin in the release date trailer is called Mila.

If you do content in an area it helps you discover more shortcuts, giving you more flexibility in how you navigate between different remaining missions and quests

Each exploration space has its own story to tell. The quests and sidequests there are narratively relevant and also contribute to a meta story/meta narrative about that space. In Hossberg / Lavendel the aim is to get to the center of the Blighty stuff that has been going on there

Another Warden sidequest called Lives Spared seems to involve some missing Wardens who haven’t checked in in a while

Rook inherits the Lighthouse willingly or unwillingly from Solas. It’s located in the Fade and is where Solas was able to start planning his rebellion against the elven gods millennia ago

The Lighthouse shapes itself around your personality. Companions’ rooms there shape themselves around the companions as they live there and go through their arcs. A glowing light above the entrance to a companion’s room indicates that they are ready to talk to us

Hossberg is a later game area. Hossberg Wetlands are dark swamps and the area has almost completely been consumed by the Blight, making it a lot more dangerous than before. As a zone it’s quite contiguous and has lots of branching paths and different areas to explore. The Grey Wardens set up shop in an outpost/fortress (this is only one of their bases) there called Grey Hold in the small town of Lavendel, which used to be a beautiful place full of life and flowers. The Blight has had a serious effect on Lavendel, but the residents are still there and trying to make the most of it. There are plenty of opportunities to help the residents.

The Wardens have noticed that something strange is going on; the Blight is not behaving as it should or as they would expect, or like it has done historically. A codex entry pops up called “An Improved Blight”. (basically we are getting Blight dialled up to eleven) Rook is there to work with the Wardens, help them out, and help them find the answer to their question about the Blight. In their outpost the Wardens have built up a small fighting force to hold off the darkspawn. They understand the stakes of the gods being released and want to help you but they have other priorities, so increasing their power allows them to contribute more meaningfully to your fight against the elven gods. The Blight has changed. It’s become a lot more organic, a lot more alive. Once a slow-moving wall, it now has almost-sentience and almost-thought behind it. This has something to do with the released Blighted elven gods.

Something bad happened to a place called D’Meta’s Crossing, it’s no longer standing.

It sounds like Weisshaupt has fallen.

Merchant shops can be upgraded, doing so unlocks new items.

The Crossroads is a location in the Fade that contains a number of eluvians, allowing you to travel across Thedas in a matter of minutes. At the point the video takes place, the Crossroads are under assault by the elven gods. It’s now a dangerous place.

The big eluvian in the Lighthouse is called the Vir Revas. (that could translate as Way/Path of Freedom). It’s the central focus point of the Lighthouse and it takes you to Solas’ pocket area of the Crossroads, which looks different to what we’ve seen in Trespasser. “A path has emerged from the mists of the Fade that leads to a gathering point where all eluvians meet – the Crossroads”. We will spend a lot of time travelling through the Crossroads as we go from area to area. At one point, it was also a space that served as Solas’ main base of operations and training ground for his rebellion against the elven gods. As we go through it we will find fragments of the past, things that Solas did previously that will give us insight into him as a character, and also into the elven gods and their motivations. If you go exploring in the Crossroads there are opportunities to relive some of the memories Solas had during his rebellion. We will actually get to take part in this ancient rebellion.

The Crossroads as a realm reflects the waking world. It’s a mix/ amalgamation of all the real world spaces that are tied to it, in this case for example Hossberg and other mountainous regions that exist in the game. The architecture around the eluvians here very clearly reflects where they lead. The first time you go to any of the new regions in the world you traverse the Crossroads to get there. After that you can fast travel if you want. But exploring the Crossroads is recommended because some of the deepest secrets lie within

There is a mysterious spirit in the Crossroads called The Caretaker who was there before Solas was. They started to help Solas with his rebellion and also to turn the area into a safe haven for spirits, as Solas loves spirits. In the video we see them piloting a boat through the air to transport Rook somewhere. Because the gods are assaulting the Crossroads, it’s no longer the safe haven it once was. Rook works with the Caretaker through a lot of ancillary content to rebuild it into a safe home for spirits.

There is an area in the Crossroads called Beacon Island

The darkspawns’ different looks is very intentional. Their new look is in part because Ghilan’nain, described here as "the god of monsters", has always been focused on using the Blight essentially as a crafting material, a way to alter life itself. she’s been enhancing and changing the darkspawn as part of her army. She uses Blight like a medium to sculpt and warp the darkspawn to do her bidding and suit her purposes. The idea is that the Blight and the darkspawn are an organic weapon. Instead of making swords and armor, the darkspawn use the Blight to augment themselves, effectively defeat you and give the gods the world that they desire. The darkspawn aren’t just coming out of nowhere. They emerge from Blight pools, like the Blight is spawning them. Part of Ghil’s attempts to turn this into an army for the gods is to use them for overwhelming force. Hurlock Blighters have disgusting growths on their backs that they throw, making them function like grenadiers as they rip off these pieces of themselves and throw them at you - these then explode as Blight – this kind of enemy design for the darkspawn is supposed to lean into the idea that the Blight is organic and disgusting. In places there are Blight boils throughout the area, and if Rook doesn’t destroy them during combat ghouls will continue to emerge from them.

It sounds like in terms of ‘factions of enemies’ and their designs, we have the darkspawn which use overwhelming force tactics, the Venatori which focus on magical power, and the Antaam which focus on physical strength

Zipline traversal is in

Each mage’s (Neve, Bellara, Emmrich) healing ability is thematically appropriate to them

I think Davrin’s special exploration ability, or one of them, is called Blight Hunter. (one of the ones Rook can channel through the dagger when that companion isn’t there). This summons Assan from above to destroy Blight Abscesses. He seems to have another as well that Rook can also use via the dagger called Griffon Strike. In the video Rook uses this one to destroy a mechanism that was keeping a load of wood suspended in the air from a beam.

We see Rook also using the dagger to "charge beam" and destroy what looked like a thick tendril of organic Blight across the ground, and to destroy a ‘wall’ of blight abscesses that was blocking the way. At one point in the video Rook comments that the dagger is vibrating, "like a song in a wine glass"

When companions go ahead to meet you at quests they’re invested in, they won’t complete them without you, but they do get things ready. If you start doing those quests and don’t have them in your party, they will move ahead of you and wait for you at the next point.

[thewebcomicsreview]

You know, it's always struck me as a little odd how little most webcomics actually attempt to adapt to their medium. There's basic strips, the old 2k era 4-square, the endless scroll of Webtoons, and a few weird experimental things like Homestuck, but most webcomics I run into tend to stubbornly stick to conventional portrait-oriented page layouts.

It's… readable, I guess, but that format doesn't seem to work very well for either desktop or mobile viewing. It wastes a lot of screen-space, and usually makes it impossible to actually view the full page without making the text too small to read.

Have you encountered any interesting webcomics that experiment with more landscape-oriented layouts? I'm kinda curious about how well that would work.

So, there's this dude Scott McCloud who wrote about comics in the 90s. His first book, Understanding Comics, is literally the book on comics, it's the one schools make kids read. This third book, Making Comics, is a pretty good practical advice guide I'd recommend, even if it's not his groundbreaking seminal work. In between those two books was one called Reinventing Comics

Reinventing Comics, written in 1993, was basically a book of predictions about how this newfangled Interweb was going to revolutionize the art of comics creation. Like a lot of early-90s stuff "Wow the internet!" stuff, it has a lot of inaccurate predictions, and thus isn't super well remembered (though, unlike a lot of early-90s predictions of the internet, it at least vaguely resembled reality).

Anyway, one of the big things from that book was the idea of the "infinite canvas".

Which was basically the idea that a comic didn't have to be constrained by the size of the screen because you could scroll it. And this was a big idea in early webcomics, you heard this phrase a lot. And you'd see infinite canvas techniques like "What if the characters are falling and the comic is really tall to sell that?"

(Read Narbonic)

Which is basically the one and only example that actually took off, because it turns out that scrolling horizontally sucks and no one really wants to do it except as a one-of gimmick (as Homestuck does). The much bigger impact of the internet was that a webcomic could be infinitely long and still reasonably expect it's readership to have read it all, but I think McCloud missed that one. So while there were a bunch of "landscape" webcomics where you scrolled horizontally, none of them took off, and even the ones that were well received are long gone.

Adams himself would make Zot!, which is a vertical scroll comic that had a bit of a gimmick with parallel story beats being literally parallel. I think he even did some branching paths, and experimented with comics that you could read in different directions or that looped back on themselves.

But then Homestuck just did that better because, as I mentioned, infinite depth ended up being a lot more impactful than infinite width. It turns out that making a comic really wide calls a lot of attention to itself and makes the comic annoying to read. And it doesn't mean you can't do it (Homestuck did it!), but it does mean it can't be the gimmick you hang your comic up on unless you've got a really good reason for doing it.

[targaryenluvs]

I absolutely love how you write!! Now I've got this under my skin: basically the President Coriolanus and maid dynamic. The servant has this behavior in which she avoids crossing paths with Coriolanus at all costs but he already has her in his sights.

coriolanus snow x fem!maid!reader

mr president

tw: mdni 18+ (m masturbation, jerked off, implied sex in, power abuse, humiliation kink, guilt trip, cheating, degradation, naive reader, implied short reader)

coriolanus had been watching you all day. you knew it. he knew it, and he didn’t care. you’d always been taught to put your head down, go unnoticed, to just work. but it seems president snow had other ideas to how you could be of service to him, preferably with your legs wide open.

but this week felt different. you were use to his stares, they always seemed to linger even once he was long gone. but lately they set your body on fire, consuming you. you could barely look at him when he asked you to fetch a glass of water, when he requested for another seat at the table to be set tonight, and so on.

he loved to embarrass you with the most ridiculous and tedious jobs. but at first they’d been mild in want, for you to feed him, for you to clean his shoes and tie them, pick any lint off of his coat. but as his desire for you increased so did the humiliating nature of them. to clean the floor in your uniform which he knew you’d ripped that morning on a sharp thorn, to pick up the utensils he’d dropped, when he’d requested fresh new sheets after he’d soiled them himself. watching intently as your hands bunched up the sheets, cradling them in your arms as your cute little face scrunched up in horror as his cum coated your hands.

he loved you.

and you had no idea as to why. you never drew attention to yourself and certainly not enough to warrant his. yet coriolanus was hellbent on having you.

when you were awoken by one of maids in the middle of the night you’d expected something different, maybe one of the girls needed help in cleaning. but when she told you of president snow asking for you specifically for help with something, you could only help but be scared. you didn’t want to go help him with whatever. you didn’t want to be within arms reach of him let alone his own quarters. his wife was away on a business trip that week, leaving him with free time to torment you.

but you went nonetheless, who were you to refuse your dear president?

the entire walk to his quarters had you reassuring yourself, he’ll want you to bring him something. ‘water perhaps, then he’ll let you go. he’ll let you go y/n.’ you approached his door, raising your hand before knocking but a voice stopped you in your tracks. was it a cry? a groan? you leaned into the door, ear pressed against the cold wood, listening for a hint of what was occurring.

‘fuck,’ he groaned out, ‘so good, fuck s’ so good.’ that must be some really good soup! you thought as you smiled, you’d made his soup today and he said he’d eat it later on that night. ‘fuck y/n.’ now you weren’t arrogant, it may have been your soup but you didn’t name it after yourself. you should correct him.

‘mr president?’ your sweet voice called out, your voice went straight to his throbbing cock. ‘c-come in.’ you smiled to yourself as you opened the door only to be with president snow on his bed, hand wrapped around the base of his cock, completely naked with a smirk on his face. definitely not eating soup, you thought. ‘close the door, now.’ you did exactly that, what would someone say if they found the president so indecent? you should protect his image.

‘sit down.’ you crept over to him before hoisting yourself up, your small frame dwarfed by the overly-large bed. meant for two. his wife! you instantly covered your eyes like a child who’d seen something they just weren’t meant to. ‘i’m so sorry president snow, i didn’t mean to look. i’ll leave.’ you rambled as you slowly wriggled away, but not before his hand landed on your thigh. ‘i didn’t call you in here for you to leave right after.’ his hand rubbed into your thigh, soft and gentle, everything he wasn’t. it drew a soft moan from your lips, snows smug expression was evident, only if you’d just open your eyes.

your hands slowly peeled away from your face as you gazed into his eyes, ‘i saw you looking before, you liked it didn’t you slut?” for some reason the word made you blush as you looked down at your lap, his hand was playing with the hem of your night dress. ‘no mr snow.’ you bashfully replied, his hand worked its way up underneath your dress, the other preoccupied with his dick.

‘no? am i not pretty?’ you eyes widened at the implication, president coriolanus snow, ugly? he was anything but, ‘no! i- i mean yes, yes you are pretty, very pretty mr president.’ he grinned at your words, ‘yeah? you wanna prove it to me? you’d do anything for your president right?’ you nodded along quickly, not before gasping as his hand now played with the waistband of your underwear.

‘i want you to suck me off.’

‘suck what?’ his eyes trailed downwards.

‘oh! oh.’

the sentence sent your head into a spin, were you really going to do this? but his sweet voice, so soft and hushed, his body illuminated by the gentle orange glow of his lamp, his hooded eyes, so sleepy. it all coaxed you in as he led your hand to where he needed.

another quiet groan escaped coriolanus’s lips as your thumb rubbed over the tip of his cock. he was already close but just your presence, along with your hand had him tipping over the edge. your slow tugs, unsure and trying, your timid voice, ‘am i helping you sir?’ sir, the clear line distinguished the two of you in place. ‘yes, yes you are y/n. call me by my name.’ and soon enough he reached his peek, sticky release all over your tiny hands.

he was sure the picture would be ingrained in his head, you’d lifted your hands as you simply stared at them, then looking up at coriolanus.

‘what do i do?’

‘swallow.’

[returnofeternity]

helloo, hope you're doing well! was wondering if you have any thoughts about joining adult!lottie's community and eventually becoming her assistant ^^

joining lottie's community and becoming her assistant

· · 𐂂 · ·

she's immediately intrigued by you and takes it upon herself to show you around the compound instead of having one of her acolytes do it. she answers any questions you might have and reassures you that you're free to leave whenever you want when she senses your nervousness. though, she tells you that running away from your problems won't help (she wants you to stay).

she's knocking on your door at the ass crack of dawn, eager to introduce you to all the different activities and support groups. she gives you your heliotrope clothes (after correcting you calling it purple) and that wilderness pendant. after showing you a bunch of different flyers for groups, she asks if there's any group that you would like her to form because she just wants you to feel included. e.g., a support group for anxiety, autism, transgender individuals, and stuff like that!

she always makes it a point to wave and smiles at you when you two cross paths during activities or when you're just outside and she's busy.

i would hate to be the shy person in her cult i mean community because you know she picks the shyest people to come and speak during support group sessions. that’s probably how she became attached to you. maybe you’re not that shy but either way, you didn't like to participate in these sessions and she always made sure to try and include you one way or another. always giving you A Look after the session, "accidentally" bumping into you outside and mentioning she still hasn't heard from you in the group which makes her sad, lottie who uses you as an example in these sessions or even rituals therapeutic treatments she does because you're new. something like how good behavior gets rewarded because you're so obedient, or using you to talk about how it's not good to keep things inside :/

she brings you lunch sometimes too! she always asks you if you've eaten and that there's good stuff in the cafeteria but you forget at times :/ or maybe you just don't like what's in the cafeteria and she tells you not to tell anyone else as she orders you some doordash 😭

you quickly become her favorite.

something about you just pulled her in. maybe it's like what she felt with callie where she senses something inside of you and she wants to bring that fire out in you. she wants to be closer, so she makes you her assistant.

she asks you first of course, but you know she already has everything ready and i like to think that her assistant would wear a special type of clothing to stand out. still heliotrope of course, but whatever you're comfortable with, she makes do and personalizes it for you.

honestly, nothing really changes in your relationship with her except the fact that you're around her almost 24/7 now instead of only seeing her at group sessions.

does she really need an assistant? not really. but she likes having you close to her and likes seeing you work and get more involved now that it's kind of your job. also, she kinda likes teasing you when you get an ingredient wrong in her smoothies or when you forget something in the sandwich she sent you to get.

she loves hearing your ideas for bettering the community! have an idea of a new theraputic treatment? she's all ears. she loves going back and forth talking about it, sometimes you end up staying late at her place and she tells you to just sleep over because it’s so late.

assistant trips with her!! going out to farmers markets and getting produce for the community, lottie being protective and making sure you’re always by her side. she’s well known at some of the markets and she introduces you as her assistant for the first time to one of the girls she’s familiar with, definitely praising the shit out of you and enjoying how much you’re blushing.

being the one to make phone calls for her and sometimes asking what you should say A Lot of times because you have no idea. perhaps a bit too self indulgent, but lottie who gives you a script of things to say for certain phone calls to make it easier on you.

basically being paraded around by lottie. she tries not to show favoritism at the community but you’re just the best. “lovely assistant” this “gorgeous assistant” that. when the rest of the girls get there i know they’re tired of hearing about you….

speaking of, thinking about taking care of lottie after the whole shooting incident. unfortunately, and no matter how much you begged the police, she wasn’t allowed to come stay with you afterward. she was sent to some facility and even though her community is no more, you still act as her assistant. you visit her as often as you can, bringing in some letters you asked her acolytes to write her to cheer her up.

[alexanderwales]

A writing idea I've been mulling is that of internal contradictions vs external contradictions. It's very possible that this just boils down to "Man vs Nature" and "Man vs Self", but perhaps slightly more specific.

The idea is that we give a character everything they say they want, then they find that it's not all it's cracked up to be, and that there are two broad genres here. The classic example of this is the movie Big, where a kid wishes he was a grown up. He initially enjoys it, then had to deal with some adult bullshit, and goes back to being a kid. So the standard is:

I want [this] -> I get [this] -> it's initially good -> turns out it's not what I wanted (yet)

But in the case of Big, and a bunch of other movies like it, there's some hidden aspect of [this] that has revealed itself. The idea of [this] was a naïve one.

There's a different version, which is mostly the same, which goes like this:

I want [this] -> I get [this] -> wow did I not actually understand [this] -> turns out [this] is still good, but for different reasons than I thought

Or a slightly different version:

I want [this] -> I get [this] -> wow did I not understand [this] -> turns out that my very presence or effort was enough to make a new/better [this] that does get me what I initially wanted

So here are our three types, with some examples, to make sure that I understand what the hell I'm talking about. I am going to use "weeaboo goes to Japan" as my example, because I think it's funny, relatively inoffensive, and something I haven't seen done in a fiction context:

Return - A weeaboo goes to Japan, realizes that anime lied to him, has various adventures, and returns home, having changed and given up his weeaboo ways

Adaptation - A weeaboo goes to Japan, realizes that anime lied to him, has various adventures, and comes to appreciate Japan as it actually exists

Synthesis - A weeaboo goes to Japan, realizes that anime lied to him, had various adventures, and the people he's met enjoy and appreciate his infectious enthusiasm enough that he changes ... maybe just a small town, to be slightly more realistic

Internal Contradictions

A different approach, which I'm not sure I've ever seen, is one where we follow a path like this:

I want [this] -> I get [this] -> wait, it turns out that [this] is just fundamentally incoherent and in tension with itself, and in fact [this] does not and cannot exist

I hope you agree that this is different from any of the above. It's not a fiction that our protagonist gets disappointed about. It's that the protagonist gets everything he wanted, and finds out that's not actually what he wanted. So this is our new class:

4. Contradiction - A weeaboo goes to Japan, realizes the anime was real all along, meets some hot pink-haired girl who is very into him, is lauded by all the otaku that bow to his superior knowledge, finds that this is ultimately a shallow, hollow kind of life that he does not in reality enjoy.

If the central idea of external contradiction is "reality isn't like that", then the central idea of internal contradiction is "the idea falls apart under its own weight".

I think to do this, you have to really understand the idea and its own internal contradictions, and it needs to have internal contradictions. If someone gets the unrealistic thing that they always wanted, maybe they're just happy! Maybe the unrealistic thing could never exist in the real world, but can be found in a fantasy. No, for this idea to work, we need a fantasy that falls apart on its own, and not in a malevolent genie way where someone immediately says "well obviously I didn't mean it like that".

A guy who wants to be loved by everyone. He gets his wish, everyone loves him. Lots of options for what the internal contradiction is, and I think it depends on the nature of the fantasy, but "they love me but do not know me, so their love rings hollow" is a good example, and I'm not sure even a benevolent genie could fix that without creating more problems. "They love me and they know me perfectly" is, I think, also the kind of thing that people would freak out about, since they know all the bad stuff, the things that our protagonist wouldn't want people to know, that he glosses over about himself.

A guy wants his country to have perfect freedom of expression, but also wants dogmatic adherence to specific ideas. These cannot both exist, so the whole thing must tear itself apart and be rebuilt with compromise.

A guy wants a woman who is strong and independent and speaks her mind, and also a woman who goes along with whatever he wants. He wants her to be sexually adventurous and also virginal. This is a case of external contradiction, where such a woman does not exist in large quantities and is extremely unrealistic. But some formulations are also internal contradictions, depending on how the story is told.

There's something that these all have in common with each other, which is that there are at least two things which are in tension. Maybe you would even say that this tension makes them external to each other. But I think that this is something that's often true about human desire: we want things that are in tension with each other.

For this to work within a story, I think your protagonist has to be a bit of an absolutist, someone who isn't willing to compromise, because most of the examples I've been able to think of do have compromise solutions, where you give up a little of one thing and a little of the other and meet in the middle. Sometimes, this means acceptance.

I'm not entirely sold on this analysis. I think that it's hard to find examples I couldn't argue are some different kind of external contradiction, or a dumbass genie.

One of the examples I was thinking of was Click, where the protagonist wishes for (primarily) the ability to get through all the boring parts of life, and we see how this comes into conflict with his desire to be a father ... but isn't this an example of Return? He does, in fact, return to his life before he got the magical remote. So there's an obvious internal contradiction, but the film just says "actually, you would hate that, it wouldn't be like how you thought it was".

So I've felt like this post was half-baked, but it's been baking for what feels like months, sitting in drafts, and I cannot bake it anymore. Hopefully it does not fall apart under its own internal contradictions, because that would be quite the blunder.

[lxmelle]

Gojo was once described by Gege as a “man of resignation”.

It is a facet of enlightenment - in which the concept of “non-attachment” is a big part of (attachment is viewed as the root of suffering).

We can interpret “resignation” in so many ways, as it explains so much about his immense capacity for love / acceptance, but also his tendency to... simply resign himself to an outcome / fate I guess - a form of passivity that can be either considered positive or negative, perhaps depending on outcome.

Going with the flow, neither chasing nor halting anything in particular with his immense might and potential. He swayed things to gently influence an outcome. Followed a designated path trying to rebuild the sorcerer world through being a teacher... which he couldn’t fully commit too either, because he had a role as a special grade who had to keep working.

That’s not to say he didn’t achieve anything - because of course he did. But nothing revolutionary. He said so himself to Geto: he didn’t see a point in it. There were just some things he didn’t think would change - someone else would replace the higher-ups.

And thus. Despite his massive strength, he never did ever manage to go all out. Perhaps this is symbolic of an inherently gentle/accepting nature? But there was indeed a monster inside him too - the one that thrived on the thrill of killing and defeating. It was a beast he seldom let out. It was a beast with a thirst.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll paraphrase: like a sprinter limited to go at 8kmph, like a singer who is only allowed to whisper her song, a painter unable to use any paints for their desired masterpiece - how dreadfully, painfully unfulfilling.

So of course it was FUN to have this final brawl with Sukuna - to give it his very best, especially when he also didn’t feel lonely anymore with a bunch of monsters he can pass the gauntlet (his body and his will) onto in the worst case scenario.

But of course Gojo doesn’t have the ability to predict the future, so how can anyone expect that he make decisions and judgements perfectly or accurately? All he can do is consider based on his own judgement. Alone. As the only other person who help him plug those holes in his judgement, Geto, had left him.

It is up to interpretation whether Geto was left behind first, but this really isn’t a competition or about assigning blame… because where do we even start?

One cannot hold Gojo totally accountable for things that happen around him or how others interpret his actions. He was born different to everyone else. Probably treated as if he had this role to fill where people had an idea of what they wanted or needed him to be, but never gave much thought over what it would feel like for him.

Gojo, Shoko, and those left behind have had to suffer the same resignation. After all: What else are you supposed to do but resign yourself, in the face of a reality where even to things you don’t wish to happen, have to happen? All you can do is what you can... and if you can, you wield it with all your might.

Geto tried it to the best of his ability.

He wasn’t Gojo, who could do it if he wanted to.

Understanding that Gojo wasn’t, and accepting that he (Geto) shouldn’t change that about him (Gojo), as he was likely more suited to be at the school - essentially following nanami’s words and “leaving it to him” as Gojo was in his element / thrived on it, but Geto couldn’t be complicit in the system that would lead them to watch their own kind die one by one — Geto left to follow his ideals.

Gojo was referred to as the only one who can take that curse into his own hands. I used to see it as “the only one to kill Geto” after he failed and almost lost his humanity for the sake of power (killing Yuta would go against his principles) but now it also has a new meaning: the only one who can take charge and pursue the ideals to actually change the world.

The curse is the sh*t that is in the world of sorcery in jjk. Gojo seemed to (imho) now feel the need to catch up and hold the reins this time.

It is the end of Resignation Man Gojo Satoru. The emergence of The Monster Gojo Satoru (who Geto assisted in helping Gojo keep at bay through being the “model of humanity” that Gojo could follow) who was then fully ready to take the stand. Like Geto on that stage.

Bye higher ups.

Before, despite his immense strength, he didn’t force his way through. Perhaps this was the outcome of having been forced to be born and live with no choice but to be the six eyes + limitless. You do not actually have freedom.

Unless, you’re willing to become a pariah. To wield these cards that were dealt to you and completely become the extraordinary.

And now, Yuta embraces the same resigned acceptance of becoming a monster. After all... only a few will be able and willing to turn into a Monster.

Out of love. A Monstrous love indeed.

Geto had monstrous motherhood in him. I guess this extends to others now too. To cast away humanity because nobody else will. Nobody else can. So they have to wield it. Become it.

Yuta represents both the old and new world... in some way, he is like Gojo and Geto combined... power / strength + sincerity / kindness. Of course, like the yin and yang, each half has a bit of the other in it - so Gojo and Geto had a combination of power and compassion, but they symbolically represent each,

Arguably, had Geto someone else by his side, things may have been different.

All of this mess… ugh.

It didn’t have to come to this, right? Nor did it have to be the extermination of humans, but it could’ve been a collaboration of the special grades (Yuki, Gojo, Geto) all trying to solve the 3 different factors to the problem: humans as the origin of curses (research), the old-fashioned higher ups + clans, and the elimination of the curses. There may be others, but you get my gist.

But alas, this is the jjk world.

Just some thoughts, I’ll end it here before it’s more word vom.

[multbasa]

Making use of the Farm Expansion!! I'm a little miffed that it was raining, but I didn't want to bother waiting for sunny weather to take pictures since they're just concepts for inspiration.

First is a Greenhouse design with a bump out because I didn't like how the arch was covering the tilled land.

The arch on the top is in line with the wall and I just hid the gap with trellises. I like how the small pavers create a little border without being so overbearing like the large pavers. The size of the tilled land is made to accommodate the new Water Sprite Statues.

Next is another Greenhouse design but with four identical entrances. One can pick and choose where to place their entrances depending on where they want their paths. I also included four chests for crops, but the greenhouses may need more experimentation.

The side entrance arches are not quite centred because of their size and I wanted to minimize the gaps in the walls (but maybe they could be moved a half step down...I didn't check for certain). I also placed the small pavers closer to the tilled land—a half step inward—which is great because I think that will prevent grass from growing around it.

I would like to make a larger greenhouse but MAN are those walls expensive! 3 clay and 3 stone each? For this project, I spent over 6000t on purchasing clay. The small pavers on the other hand cannot be solved with money because they require 1 shard each which is not available to purchase. I have 10 shards left out of all the shards I've collected since I started playing the game...

Anyway, here is a little storage shed design:

This is just like my other storage shed but with the small paver border which I think is pretty nice. If you are low on shards, you can just make it like my previous shed design I posted that doesn't use small color pavers.

I did demolish each build before doing the next to save space and materials where I learned that the pickaxe can be charged up and demo a bunch at once which is such a time saver.

I also have a little gripe...I don't have all the craftable items yet and the crafting menu is already lagging. It's not horrible, but I think there needs to be changes so that every single category doesn't have to be passed through to find the category I want. Or maybe there should be different crafting stations to separate them like a stoneworks station and a gardening station for stone pavers etc or faux plants.a

Anyways, I hope someone finds these designs inspirational for their own FoM farm. Personally I want to make big changes because I don't like where I placed some things in relation to other things. There are more updates to come, so I think I will wait and just brainstorm ideas on my new plot of land for now. At least I can put all my animals in daycare while I mess around with this.

[edit] I just figured out that I can make Shards at the stonr refinery station, oh thank goodness, that's going to be a huge help in crafting the little paving stones.

[alice-angel12x]

Born of Unknown Stardust

(Platonic) Lucifer x (???)Child! reader Pt.1

&lt;-Prologue/ Next pt. 2 ->

------------------------------------------------------

50years Later-

"They're a cute little bell, so I don't lose you," Lucifer smiles as he looks down at the cute bell on the bow he made for the tiny creature.

Over the last 50 years, being so tiny it was pretty easy for Lucifer to lose them out of nowhere.

"Huh, I should give you a name. Something to call you by... Uummm. I'll just call you (Y/n) Yuu. What do you think?" Lucifer asked, Yuu only blinked at his words.

"Ummm, actually I've noticed something. You have not grown or changed at all over the past 50 years. You still haven't spoken, or even asked for food... You don't do much. Do... Do you eat? Are you hungry?" Lucifer asked in concern as he tickled Yuu's tiny belly. Earning cute little squeaks from them.

As Yuu giggles, leaning back to get away from the tickling. They leaned farther and farther, till they fell over the counter edge they were sitting on. Lucifer panicked as he dove to catch Yuu, only to stare in a stupor as Yuu levitated a foot above his waiting hands.

"The in the world?" Lucifer gasped as Yuu started to float upward.

Yuu continued to float higher and higher, till a gentle hand intercepted their upward path. That hand belonged to his fellow seraphim Sera.

"I didn't think flight was possible without wings," Sera commented. "How did you teach it to accomplish this?"

"I didn't, they just... Did...It," Lucifer said as he gently pulled Yuu down, and held them against his chest. "Anyways what are you doing here?"

"Well, I hear mortal life or infants tend to eat a lot. So I gathered some vegetation from the earth for this creature," Sera said as she held a glass of pureed fruits.

"I don't know, Yuu has never... Never really asked for anything. Or spoke, they kind of just roll around and be cute," Lucifer shrugs, as Sera holds the glass to Yuu's lips.

The little critter took one sip, two sips, then a gulp. Then proceeded to chug the entire glass, as Sera and Lucifer watched in shock and slight concern. It did just drank a cup that was as big as itself.

'' Are you sure?" Sera asked.

“A-any ways, speaking of earth. I actually all have a bunch of cool ideas we can do, and if you’d-“ “Lucifer. No,” Sera interrupted.

“We’ve already told you to please stay out of this project. As wonderful as these ideas are. They are too risky. I’m sorry,” Sera apologizes sadly. “For know just study this critter… Yuu? Correct? Just keep on eye on them and tell us what you find.”

And with that, Sera left to rejoin the elders to continue the further creation of earth. Yuu watched in curiosity as they felt a shift in Lucifer. His wonder filled smile was replaced by a small frown.

———————

With a string, the end of Yuu’s tail was tied to a small weight so they wouldn’t float away. As Lucifer sat at his work bench in frustration, as Yuu tried to nom through the string to get free. Which was difficult when you don’t have teeth.

But eventually Yuu was distracted from their goal as they noticed Lucifer mess and mold with dust. Shaping them into many different and strange creatures.

Yet each time it looked complete, Lucifer would quickly crumble it down, in frustration.

“I don’t get it! What is so risky about my ideas!” Lucifer shouted as he rested his head on the desk.

Yuu stared in awe at the dust before them. So crawling over, they start to gather the dust. Slowly giving it shape and volume. And by the time they were done… it was something about as big as them. It had a head an oval body and a long mouth.

Yuu stared at its dust figure till.

“Dak,” a tiny voice said. “Dak!”

Lucifer jumped a bit, startled by sudden voice. He looked down at Yuu and their crude makeshift creature.

“Umm huh?!” Lucifer said in a stuper.

“Dak,” Yuu pointed to their creation.

“Oh, umm. It’s.. it’s something. Very cute,” Lucifer said with a confused smile.

Yuu hugged the dust clump, when a golden light started to shine from Yuu. The dust clump slowly started to change. Yellow feathers grew, and an orange bill was revealed as the dust trickled off. But before the creature could come to be, it crumbled back into lifeless dust.

“Umm,” Lucifer said slowly, when he noticed tears well in Yuu’s eyes begin to well up with tears. “Oh no no no. It’s okay. Ummm uhh."

Lucifer panics as he gently cradles Yuu when an idea comes to mind. With a snap of his fingers, Yuu was put into a new little attire.

"Aww look how cute you are. Know you the duck," Lucifer gushed as he held a small mirror in front of Yuu.

You looked at their reflection in awe as a tiny giggle escaped their lips.

__________________________________

Pt.3 ? Continue?

Masterlist Here

[countlessofvoids]

I know I'm five years late on this and frankly this conversation is really fucking annoying at this point, but I gained analytical skills just recently, got hyperfixated on HTTYD again and have few things on my mind;

There's a ridiculous amount of bad writing decisions regarding the third movie's main antagonist and even more in the entirety of the film. However in my opinion, Grimmel's character could improve even if you kept all other aspects the same by getting rid of one plot point. And that is "drugging deathgrippers with their own venom".

One the dumbest parts of THW, only beaten by Toothless & light fury's boring romance and the movie's message. But the difference between those is those at least serve some purpose. This could go unmentioned and much wouldn't change. Sure, it shows us Grimmel uses their venom for his crossbow arrows, other than that, the "slavery" aspect is useless. All it does is make him ridiculously evil. Because the audience forgot he's not nice, apparently.

What I'm getting at is - I believe a better alternative would be the deathgrippers serving Grimmel not because they're forced to, but because they want to. Make them have genuine bond like Hiccup has with Toothless.

In universe justification: Deathgrippers are said to be intelligent dragons, so they'd probably understand that working with some creature who helps them hunt is beneficial for them. And since they're pack animals, hunting also works as a bonding activity. This would be a perfect gateway for Grimmel to make them more loyal to him. They don't necessarily need to have Hiccup & Toothless' bond (although I would personaly prefer it that way). Think of it like the speedstinger in RTTE - Despite not liking Snotlout at all, it defended him against the other speedstingers because it considered him a part of it's pack.

Writing/narrative justification: Having a group of dragons take part in killing simply for their enjoyment portrays them as intelligent creatures, which emphasizes how similiar dragons are to humans. Some are assholes just because! Also it means them dying at the end isn't a horrible way of making your audience question your protagonist's morals, since in this version they kinda deserved it.

Grimmel being friends with a bunch of dragons while hating all the others gives him depth as a character - it makes him a hypocrite.

But most importantly, Hiccup and Grimmel being parallels would be much clearer. It shows how they're the same person on different paths, that he could be like Hiccup but choose not to. Or it could lead to him being a parallel to Valka. Older person who doesn't like other people and prefers living with dragons? Sounds like Valka to me!

Now this could create a plot hole with the whole Alpha thing, since in canon they don't listen due to being drugged. However I choose to ignore that because I don't like the idea of every dragon mindlessly following Toothless no matter what personality and concept of the alpha in itself.

[eldritchpotato]

Mirrorbound 4

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5.

You noticed something strange when you awoke. Or… well returned to consciousness, it wasn’t normal sleep.

Firstly, you were outside, the early morning sun shining down and cold winter air rushed through the bare branches of the nearby trees.

The second thing you noticed was that you were cold, in fact, you weren’t much of anything. You were so little of anything that you only realized that when you noticed a familiar figure walking down the path close to you. It was you, or your body at least.

You weren’t even touching anything, just trailing behind your body like a balloon on a string.

Panic couldn’t really flood through you without a body but your circumstances were definitely concerning.

Something else was inhabiting your body, possessing you, you already had an idea who. She may have looked exactly like you but she moved differently, existed differently. There was something not quite right about the world either. It wasn’t until you spotted a rundown-lettered sign that you realized the world was inverted, you were in the reflection now.

A branch was in your path as you drifted after yourself, you scrambled to try and get out of the way. Levitation was not a method of movement you were remotely familiar with and it showed, thankfully you drifted through the branch harmlessly.

Was this her existence? Formless? You at least we're still tethered to your body. What would happen if you had nobody at all?

Forget that, what if she never gave you your body back? A bunch of freaky sex over one afternoon and evening didn’t really make you trust her enough to have total control of your meatsuit.

Except there wasn’t much you could do beyond awkwardly floating around. You had no lungs with which to speak, no body with which to touch the world. As the seconds ticked into minutes and you just kept following your possessed body on a walk around your grandparent's farm it only further sunk in just how fucked you were.

On the bright side, it seemed a body was required to have a panic attack.

You watched your body slow down, and pull something from your pocket. You watched… her slow down and pull something from her pocket.

She held up the small mirror, moving it about… to look for you. You met her gaze through the mirror, staring into your own eyes that had never been more foreign.

“Morning,” she said to you. 

You mouthed it back, she had your voice at the moment. 

“I’m Mary, which I realized might have caused a mix-up,” she added thoughtfully. “Sorry to butt in, but I couldn’t waste the opportunity after so long.”

Well, she could have been… far more outright evil. Actually, despite how you knew she looked under your own skin, she seemed… rather normal.

“Do you want to do something naughty?” Mary asked with a smirk.

Despite your reservations, that was not the kind of offer you ever really turned down. Sure you would get on her good side and yada yada but also… well, who didn’t like being naughty now and again?

You nodded.

Mary looked around before heading toward a nearby shed. She didn't go in, simply ducked behind it out of sight as she pulled her pants down.

You couldn't help but be a little worried as you also looked around. If Mary was found it was you who would take the fall, not that anyone would have been out and about so early. But still… in the open, it was hard not to feel watched.

Mary was wearing the one pair of lacy underwear you had brought. You were soaked… or she was soaked. You floated closer, fascinated by your body’s pleasure from this point of view.

“It’s so good to have a cunt again,” Mary sighed, her warm breath leaving a trail of vapour as she played with herself.

You didn’t feel aroused, you didnt have a body to interoperate that desire but you certainly didn’t want to be left out. Mary held up the mirror, finding you again. “We’ve switched places, you can touch me you know.”

Oh fuck yeah. You floated closer, reaching out to touch your own jacket. You had no body to feel the jacket but you could still have an effect on it. The result but without the process.

You pulled yourself closer, taking your time. It wasn't perfect but you had wanted this… kind of. Mary was still watching you as she fucked herself with your fingers.

Placing your hand on the back of her neck you gently pulled her into a kiss. You couldn't taste your own lips but you could imagine. You knew your own body well enough to know what to do even from this position.