#Beyond The Veil OC Question Time

[heartthrobin]

all's fair in love and war (2)

oliver wood x female!reader

wc: 7.87k

warnings: enemies to lovers, still so damn much pining, set in poa, timeline is a bit wonky, limited use of y/n, archie being my fav oc, cheese fest

an: literally fell asleep on my laptop last night editing this, i was so exhausted from school so i’m sorry it’s late !!! but i had the most fun in the world writing this and i hope everyone enjoys :)) don't forget to comment and repost your favourite writers

summary: Oliver is still impossibly miserable, maybe more uncooperative than before, except now when you look at him: you can't think of much else beyond how sweet his lips tasted.

part one

You can’t sleep.

You're not sure you'll find sleep ever again.

“I knew it, I knew it—“ Cherry had bounced the whole way to your dormitory, howling into your ear. “I knew it!”

The image of Oliver’s fluttering eyes swum around your brain as you blinked into the darkness of the poster bed. The taste of his tongue and his words still right against your lips.

It was a riddle of a calibre that you can’t seem to detangle. More than anything, you try to remember how strong has he tasted of Firewhisky - was he so drunk to really dismiss it to nothing at all?

You lingered on it all weekend.

Cherry didn’t help at all — he’s been in love with you forever, that’s literally so obvious — and Enzo even less so once he’d been filled in: Oliver doesn’t seem a bloke who let’s alcohol make his decisions for him, something about Scottish genetics I think.

The interaction plagued you: digging a wide hole in the base of your stomach. You mourned the thought that you may never have the opportunity to kiss those soft lips again, more than anything: preparing yourself for the feud between yourselves to worsen.

There’s barely enough time to make sense of your situation before you’re racing down over the grassy hills of the grounds, bag swinging violently over your shoulder and extraordinarily late for your Herbology lesson in the greenhouse.

Your morning alarm had rung right into one ear and out the other, a product of the tossing and turning you’d been doing for the last two nights.

When you swing the greenhouse door open, panting and face flush from the beating sun, the whole room turns to you. Sprout pauses where her hands are flailing in explanation.

“Sorry I’m late professor,” you wheeze, readjusting your strap over your shoulder.

Cherry is smirking at you from her bench, sidled up with Jane Emmet.

It hadn’t escaped you that you’d be sharing the lesson with the Gryffindors, but you’d precious little time to worry about it in the five minutes you had to pull a robe over your head and stick a toothbrush into your mouth.

Your eyes are purposeful in not looking over the room. Scared to catch the wrong eyes.

“Not a problem peach, we’re just repotting some Fire-Seed Bushes.” She brings a stubby hand to her chin, “uhm … well, Mr Kumar there in the corner doesn’t have a partner. Go join him by his pots.”

Archie has a lopsided smile on his face when you approach, a thick black curl drooping over his left eye.

“Hey.” He nudges gently.

You set your bag down and grab a pair of gloves, chuckling. “Hey Archie.”

The soil is warm when you stick your fingers into the dirt, shifting it gently enough not to mess over the edge of the bucket. There’s a Fire-Seed Bush sitting tentatively at the end of the bench, spitting sparks and emitting smoke.

“So …” Archie speaks first, the back of his hand bumping yours between the black soil. “How was your weekend?”

It’s a veiled question, a poorly veiled one at that. The question draws a laugh from the base of your stomach.

You shrug, adamant on missing the point. “It was alright, I guess. How about yours?”

He shrugs right back. “Wasn’t the greatest. Penelope Clearwater rejected me for Percy Weasley.”

You don't mean to, you really don't, but it draws another bout of laughter out of you - you clap your hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry—“

“No, I get it. Percy bloody Weasley?” His brow is creased, dirt-stained hands rising messily from the soil to swipe at a fallen piece of hair in his face. “Dead sure that bloke's own mother can't say he’s handsome. I’m better looking than him, surely?”

There’s the hanging insinuation that it was rhetorical, but you reply anyways: “you’re definitely more handsome than Percy Weasley, Archie.”

His head cocks down at you, stained paws finding his waist and pressing black fingerprints into the red jumper. “You really think so?”

“Without a doubt.”

Archie smiles, bumping your side against his. You think he might be blushing. “You’re very charming. I understand what Oliver sees in you.”

You jolt involuntarily, spilling some black soil over the edge of the pot.

Swiping at the mess lazily, you play the comment off with another crumbly chuckle: hoping it convinces him more than it does yourself. “Oliver sees in me what a bull sees in a red cape.”

Archie’s reaching timidly for the Fire-Seed Bush, lifting it off the counter and holding the dangerous botanical at arm’s length. “Not true. The boy’s half in love with you.”

This conversation is getting awfully uncomfortable awfully quickly. It picks at your curiosity nonetheless.

“He said that?”

He’s quick to shake off the question, eyes still trained on setting the roots of the bush into the gap in the soil. “Oliver doesn’t have to say anything. He spends practically every fucking mealtime mooning over at your table, and he talks about you way more than necessary—“

“That’s just because I work on his nerves. Oliver doesn’t love me, he barely tolerates me.”

The boy turns on you, confusion set in his brow. “Why is this news? Last I saw you, your tongue was halfway into his stomach.”

Zachariah Smith and his Gryffindor partner look up at that. Your face goes hot all over - Archie doesn’t seem to notice.

“We were drunk.” You say softly, eyes stuck on a loose leaf crackling against the wooden counter.

There’s a special kind of fear that's crawling into your heart where you stand. The fear of putting too much faith into the words of Archie Kumar.

That it’s an elaborate ruse. A set-up, canons of confetti and a banner screaming “you’ve been fooled!” if you were to indulge his words. The danger of allowing your mind to drift too far off into the possibilities of a world wherein Oliver Wood doesn’t hate you - at least not as much as he lets on.

Archie looks at you out the side of his eye, you can feel it, but says nothing. He hands you a miniature yellow-handled spade.

Instead you fill the space. "I heard Isla Flynn has a crush on you."

He perks: "really?"

Across the room, Oliver is bumping elbows with Poppy Davis.

"Ow!"

A loose spark has evidently landed on her exposed arm. The sparks that Oliver was supposed to be watching for, the ones that he is intent on ignoring with the constant glancing back over his shoulder to where you and his best mate are in the corner of the room fucking giggling at each other like toddlers with a box of matches.

“Oliver — can you just focus for five seconds!” Poppy isn’t impressed.

Oliver isn’t either, with the situation as a whole. The pads of his fingers are blistered from the repotting of the bush and Poppy’s careless bumps and his general indifference to the task at hand.

It eats at his brain. What are you guys talking about? Is it about him?

You laugh again and it’s loud enough that it draws his shoulders all the way taut. There’s another snap of a spark and Oliver feels where it lands at his wrist, but he doesn’t react.

“Just pass me the bloody spade.” He grumbles.

-

The lesson passes more slowly than Oliver could swim shoulder-deep through molasses.

It feels like years later when he tosses his gloves into the box with the rest, when the class shuffles to return tools and begin slinging half-open bags over their shoulders.

Oliver doesn’t think he’s ever packed up faster - Poppy is still scowling at him, he doesn’t care - before he’s knocking through yellow and red tied students to find Archie’s head of curly black hair.

“Hey!” He catches him by the wrist, tugging on it like a dog with a bone. Archie jumps, eyes winding down to find his friend. “What did she say?”

You’re far ahead, Oliver can make out the back of your head: hips bumping with Cherry’s up the hill towards the castle.

Archie grins. “She said Isla Flynn has a crush on me.”

Oliver groans, “Not about that, you prat. About— wait, really?”

"Yeah!" He hikes his bag higher on his shoulder. "Can you believe it? She's got that hot Irish accent and everything."

Oliver nods, "Yeah ... yeah. Good on you, mate."

He's trying desperately not to steal this moment from his best friend, but he's fucking itching to know what else you and Archie had been giggling about.

"Did she ... say anything else?" He presses, more gently than his character usually allows. "Like about me?"

Archie shrugs without looking down. "I asked her, but she seemed tense about the whole thing."

"Tense?"

"Yeah, she said something about a bull and a cape, and went like all quiet when I told her you like her--"

At that, Oliver's stomach leaps up into his throat. He grabs his best friend by the arm, jolting him to a short stop. Some Hufflepuff bumps into their halted figures, grumbling before shuffling around them.

"You told her what?" His eyes flare erratically.

Archie shrugs, an innocuously confused look painting his features. "Well I said Oliver's half in love with you, or something like that and she looked all confused about it--"

Oliver's grip on his friend's wrist tightened to a degree that a ring was sure to form on his dark skin. "You fucking pinhead! You told her I liked her?"

Pulling his arm violently from his grip, Archie has the nerve to look affronted. "You don't?"

The morning sun shining over Oliver's head feels like it's growing hotter by the second, there's a dribble of sweat running down his spine.

"That's -- that's not the point. Even if I do, which I'm not saying is the case, she doesn't need to know that."

"Were you two obliviated in your sleep last night?" Archie's eyebrows are pressed down against his eyes, slouching down to meet his friend's face. "I caught you two making out like the world was ending less than three days ago! Surely she has to figure that you feeling something for her, she's not stupid."

Oliver struggles between his thoughts, worse around his words. "That was ... we'd been drinking. For all I know, she only kissed me back cause she was trollied off Dragon-Barrell--"

"She said that, too."

Eyeing him, Oliver's hands find his hips. "Said what, exactly?"

"That you were drunk, I mentioned the kiss and she said we were drunk."

A sensation he can only identify as closest to guilt seeps up into Oliver's chest from his stomach. "She thinks I kissed her just cause I was drunk?"

Archie's hand finds Oliver's shoulder. "You should probably talk to her, mate."

He sighs, eyes drifting over the silhouette of the castle in the distance. He shakes his head like it'll rattle the plaguing thoughts loose. "We're gonna be late for Transfig."

-

"I mean, Archie is his best friend." Cherry is trying to rationalise the whole story. "I don't see why he'd lie about it?"

You shake your head, knocking shoulders with a Ravenclaw girl trying to pass through the corridor. "I'm not entertaining it, Cherry."

"Come on," she sighs, practically skipping to keep up with the furious pace you've set. "Would it be so terrible if he likes you?"

"Yes." You don't look at her.

The redhead's eye-roll is practically audible, "Let me rephrase, would it be so terrible if he likes you back?"

You meet her eyes for the first time since you'd entered the corridor.

She sighs, "we're gonna see him in Muggle Studies in five minutes. I think you should say something."

"Forget I said anything, Cherry." Heat flares at your neck again, prompted by the embarrassment of even imagining how such a conversation might go.

The rest of the walk is quiet, but you feel Cherry's gaze warming the side of your face.

Burbage's classroom is over-populated with Gryffindors by the time you drop your bag against the marbled floor beside your desk. In the corner of your eye, your brain has already fixated on Oliver's silhouette leaned against the edge of his own desk. You flush hot all over again, as if your thoughts were transcribing into subtitles and floating above your head for the whole class to read.

The click of Burbage's heels prompt the lingering students to find their seats, "Please take out your copies of Muggle Wars: Cause and Effect. We left off on page eighty-seven--"

You suddenly regret snapping at Cherry. Wishing for the comfort of her presence, your eyes glazing over where she's perched in the first row of desks closest to the chalkboard.

Unusually, the class trickles on without disruption. There's a few glances over at your direction, like everyone is waiting for another outburst from the grade's most volatile duo. They're sure to be let down, you're adamant to not even breathe in the direction of Wood.

Burbage comments on it, too, nearly ten minutes from the bell.

"It's suspiciously quiet in your corner today, captains." she looks down through her fingerprint-smudged frames, brushing over you and then Wood three seats away. "Something the matter?"

You shrug, refusing to acknowledge the boy. He seems to be doing the same: completely unfairly, the thought that he wouldn't look at you made the hair on your arms stand straight. "We can start up if you'd like, professor?"

Her face contorts into that irritated look that you'd grown accustomed to when Professor Burbage addresses you. "You're flirting dangerously with another session of detention, miss."

"She's just answering your question, professor."

Nobody in the class seemed more surprised than Burbage, although that in itself was a feat. The two Gryffindor boys in the row ahead of you swivel all the way around in their seats to look at Oliver, who'd just spoken.

You fight the twitching urge to look at him.

"Detention for two, it seems. I'll be seeing you both Friday afternoon."

A calm air settles again over the class, as if order had been restored. You and Wood had lost the interest of the room and students shift back to the board where WHAT IS A PRIME MINISTER? is sprawled across it in chicken-scratch handwriting.

Sighing, your eyes find the clock against the wall. Eight minutes left.

You pick at the end of your quill irritably: electing to dip it into the ink at the edge of the desk and entertain yourself quietly by drawing a miniature snowman at the corner of your page, trying not to think about another Friday afternoon in too close of a proximity to Oliver Wood. There's a soft whir, barely audible if you weren't so focused on outlining pebble eyes, and a tiny paper-airplane whizzes quietly from under your desk: landing squarely on the nose-less head of your snowman.

Fear prickles at you. You don't look up for the source, lest a suspicious sideways glance earns you another weekend with the party-animal Charity Burbage.

Instead, you carefully undo the intricately folded wings of the plane. It's barely big enough to fit into your palm once open, the top of the little note marked in black ink.

It was the same handwriting that marked the sign-out sheet for equipment in the Quidditch storage rooms down at the pitch.

'Thanks for that one, smart-mouth.'

Your eyes flicker up to Burbage, who's back is turned, before you dip your quill into the ink and scribble out a response. In your peripheral, Oliver is leaned back in his stool: biceps folded over each other. There's an unexplainably airy-fairy, fuzzy feeling warming your rib cavity.

'Believe this one was your fault, dickhead.'

You quietly refold the creased edges, before tapping it lightly with the end of your wand: then watch how it takes off the airstrip of your page and zips quietly under the cover of desks to land back in front of the sender.

There's a long pause - enough for Burbage to draw out a whole flow diagram of something called "parliament" - before the edge of the paper wing grazes at your calf again. It lands quietly again.

'Maybe.

We good?'

There's a gentleness to the sentence. Like you can hear it from Oliver's mouth, like he's avoiding your gaze when he whispers it.

You hunch over the note again.

Oliver's knuckles are turning white, twisting his wand in his hands under the table. He shouldn't have said anything. He's regretting the whole fucking idea of the stupid paper-plane now.

He's trying not to watch you write, not to notice how long you stared at his writing before you picked up your own quill. He does anyways.

When the airplane flutters down into his palm, Burbage is already excusing the class. Stools are scraping against cold tile, the clutter of textbooks being crammed back into bags.

'Never :)'

His eyes run over the word once, twice, three times over. A smile is tugging at the edge of his lip, he forces it taut - but his eyes are still shining unusually brightly when Archie knocks his shoulder to his.

"What you looking so damn happy about?"

Oliver tucks the note into the pocket of his robes. "Don’t know what yer talking about."

-

"But professor, why can't Hufflepuff take Saturday?"

"Well, Hufflepuff already gave up our practice days for Gryff--!"

Hooch sighed so deeply she almost melted back into her armchair. "The decision is made, Oliver. The pitch is being cleaned out on Wednesday, your team can take Saturday for any extra training."

He could practically hear the smile creeping onto your face, the smug crossed-arm look he'll no doubt find when he turns to you.

Irritation bubbles up in his throat, a familiar companion in your presence, and just as he prophesied: you are grinning.

In the weeks that followed that day in Burbage's class, it seemed that both parties decided that the topic of their shared kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room was best left undiscussed.

The arrangement is working. At least Oliver thinks so.

You still bait him and he still snaps, rising to your taunts. He still finds himself in detention more Fridays than he spends free, and his body ripples with anger when you roll your eyes at him.

But it was in moments, like this now, where your little self-satisfied grin doesn't quite vex him to the degree it once did. It's now harder to find a retort, to snap at you with a sharp-edged comment. Not when amusement crinkles at the corners of your eyes where your black lashes kiss so prettily.

Hooch swivels in her chair to find a document between one of her cluttered drawers, you take the opportunity to stick the tip of your tongue out childishly at him.

Oliver draws a tight breath, he hopes his face is still taut in annoyance, because his heart has slipped like a stone down into his stomach. That's the other issue, the tiny little obstacle in these recent weeks: he can't stop looking at your mouth. It's distracting, disarming - paralysing at the best of times.

He strips his gaze away, before he can be outed by anyone in the room. "Whatever." He mumbles.

You seem disappointed in his lack of a real response, but it passes quickly - like a shadow - over your face.

"Thanks professor." You grab up your roster from her desk and turn to the door, practically skipping out into the corridor.

He huffs.

Somehow, you and Archie have become fast friends. Mornings around Fire-Seed Bushes and Venomous Tentaculas in the heat of Greenhouse Three seems to do wonders for a friendship.

It prickles at Oliver's nerves when you pass in the corridors, when you perk up with a high "hey Arch!" and he grins down from his towering height right back at you: "hey Y/n!"

You don't look at Oliver. He's notably sour the rest of the walk.

Alright, maybe the whole arrangement wasn't really working. You were a distraction to him before, no doubt, but somehow your powers of beguilement had tripled. Especially since you seem to be behaving perfectly normal: like you hadn't given Oliver the best snog of his life outside the Ravenclaw common room that night.

Maybe it was just alcohol, maybe he is the only one plagued by the knowledge of the other's taste.

The castle has turned impossibly colder, the bitter bite of winter stinging at the loose cuffs of his robes on walkthroughs of the corridors. He can't imagine how cold the air above the pitch is going to be on Sunday when Hufflepuff faces off Slytherin for a spot in the finals.

It's all Hooch has been going on about for the last two weeks.

Oliver's had to shift around at least four practices - Roger almost twice as much, he's a pushover - to allow for you and Marcus to have more time on the pitch. His complaints fell on deaf ears, Hooch dismissed him with a wave of her bony hand and a "your time is coming, Wood."

You prance into dinner late most evenings, hair in every direction and face flush with sweat: sticking it out like a bumblebee in those awful yellow quidditch robes.

Oliver only notices because, annoyingly, he's found that he is frequenting the bench at the Gryffindor table that faces over to the Hufflepuff's. His eyes drift over the yellow-tied heads to where you clump up with Enzo and Cherry, watches you talk around mouthfuls of toast lazily, giggle behind your napkin: head rolling back to showcase that smooth neck, how it runs down to the soft slopes of your shoulders: disappearing down into your button-up.

Archie has noticed, he's sure, but hasn't done more but allude to it with teasing glances or suggestive comments.

"The Hufflepuffs up to something particularly interesting over there, Ollie?"

The speed with which Oliver's eyes snap to his peas is almost comical. He shrugs and mumbles like a child. "Don't know."

-

On Sunday morning, you don't go to breakfast.

There's an uncomfortable gurgling in your midriff, like a snake is slithering between your organs and you're sure even just the smell of eggs on toast would bring up your dinner.

Instead you find yourself at the pitch a whole hour before the game is set to start. Marcus is running laps around the grass, something he's done since you've known him.

He offers a curt wave, face set like cold stone.

It reminds you of Oliver a little bit, the distraction in his eyes.

Oliver is never all the way there, wherever he is, you think. His eyes mist over like he's halfway between this world and another. You know it's Quidditch: he dreams it, eats it, sleeps it.

But lately he's foggier than usual.

You think it's your imagination, brush off the idea as you have all the millions of others you'd had in the preceding weeks about the surly brute that was Oliver Wood. He plagues you.

Just the vibrato of his unimpressed huff when you get your way, when you quip something purposely annoying at him. It's addictive, the feel of his sugar-brown eyes glaring a hole through you.

Lately, his reactions have been closer to underwhelming. Allowing for only a moment of eye contact: gone are the quick-witted retorts, the Scottish-laced "princess" usually attached. The thought makes you wince in embarrassment, knowing that you've been pressing him harder lately: like a seven-year old jabbing at a claw machine, outwardly desperate for that brown plushy on the top of the pile.

Maybe he's over it. So deathly mortified of your shared kiss that he doesn't want to know you anymore, much less take the effort to hate you. Your chest pinches tightly.

You dress into your match robes slowly, taking your time with the loops of your shoelaces and the buttons down the sweater you're wearing underneath everything. Oliver Wood should be at the bottom of your list of priorities, normally, but now more than ever.

The team filters into the change-room, exhibiting varying degrees of nervousness. Cedric is practically green, but Herbert looks like he's about to go down a water-slide he's waited over an hour in line for. Beyond the swinging doors, you can hear the crowd shuffling loudly into their seats.

Before your wits are completely about you, Hooch is rapping on those same doors. "Onto the pitch, Hufflepuffs!"

You muster up your best excuse for a captain's speech for what might be the last match you ever play as one. The team seem satisfied, you figure it's easy to find solace before a game when you know it's not your last. As the only seventh year, comfort doesn't come so easily to you.

The crowd is deafening when yellow robes take to the sky: Marcus looks over, offering another nod, not unlike the one he'd given you earlier. You can tell he's feeling the dread of finality too.

There's a whistle blow and the quaffle flies past your face with a speed that nearly evacuates your nose from your face. Lee is announcing in the distance and the rumble of adrenaline forces your fingers over the handle. It tilts and you dip, disappearing into the sky of players.

-

The winter air at Hogwarts was biting enough roaming the corridors, but thirty metres off the ground is something wholly unnatural. Your face was burning crisp from the icy wind, the feeling in your cheeks and nose lost to the Scottish cold.

Foggy white clouds puff out with each heavy breath. Cedric zooms past and Jane loops around his moving figure to knock a stray bludger in the opposite direction.

Your eyes flash between them and the fast approaching Malcolm, he tosses the quaffle at you with a grunt and you catch it at the tips of slippery, ice-frozen fingertips.

Shooting forward again, you duck under Marcus who is hurtling through the sky at you: gone is the look of friendly fondness from his eyes, replaced with a hunger for the leather-bound ball in your grasp.

Just missing the grasp of his meaty hand, the ball passes onto Heidi.

"Another ten points to Hufflepuff," Lee's voice echoes as if from heaven. "That brings the score to ninety for Hufflepuff and eighty for Slytherin!"

It's been nearly ninety-five minutes of sitting on your broom growing colder, and you're not alone.

Around you, the team is descending into frost-induced exhaustion: Jane's nose is as bright red as a Christmas ornament and Cedric has been peeping over the top of his thick woollen-scarf for at least the last half - barely enough to catch a glance of the whizzing canary and emerald robes, much less of a tiny golden snitch.

You sigh out another white breath, letting your eyes drift over the stands. It's saturated with moving heads of faces you can't make out and yellow and green swaying banners. Your gaze lingers on the top left, in the corner facing the castle. It's where Cherry and Enzo park themselves during every match, where you know they're screaming in support, clenching their teeth at every quaffle handover. You can feel them, even when their faces blur into the crowd.

Unintentionally, you think about how Oliver's mixed in there too. Somewhere between your peers. If you had been granted another moment, if the quaffle wasn't mid-air between two Slytherins just under your nose and you'd not taken the opportunity to snatch it from them, you would have meandered into the trap of hoping that deep down in his chest - even if it was core of the earth deep - he was rooting for you, too. That he seethed at a missed goal or clenched a tight fist at his side in celebration when a Hufflepuff makes a beautiful play.

Meanwhile in the stands, Oliver has decided that the desire to play his allegiances in secret has since disappeared from his heart.

He'd played it light in the first few minutes. Mumbling under his breath at a fumbled pass or a slimy move from the Slytherins, but by the forty-fifth minute he'd found himself on his feet.

"Diggory!" His hands waved in front of him, "it was right there you fucking git--"

A Hufflepuff third year a row ahead looked at him askew, but he paid her no mind.

Archie had taken the hint early. As soon as Oliver was out of his seat, so was he. Despite being Oliver Wood's best friend, Archie had somewhat limited knowledge of the game himself and eyed Oliver's reactions to find the appropriate moments to whoop and cheer. Oliver didn't say anything, but he appreciated it more than he could verbalise.

His eyes tracked you more than anything, when you were flying between players or just floating in place: eyes like a hawk, watching over the game. His heart swelled and his pride fell to the wayside.

Just short of the two hour mark, there was a rise in the crowd.

"The seekers have caught sight of the snitch!"

Oliver's stomach rose into his throat.

"They're diving for it, Malfoy and Diggory head to head-- and Slytherin grabs the snitch, winning by 140 points!"

It sank back into place, like a stone to the bottom of the river. He watched how you froze, how you twisted over your shoulder to find Diggory's figure lingering at the bottom of the field. You shoulders sagged, hanging in the air as the others dropped to the ground.

"Slytherin have made it into the finals against Gryffindor for the quidditch cup, back here at the pitch next month!"

After a long moment, the last in the sky, you followed them down.

The raucous cheers from the Slytherins were hard to drown out, he wasn't even sure Archie heard him toss a "i'll find you at the castle" before he found himself pushing through the masses of people.

He fought against the wave moving to find the stairs, eager to return to the warmth of their dormitories, but Oliver was markedly more motivated than the majority. He stomped on some toes and nearly tossed a first year off the stands to race down the stairs.

Only once his feet had found the mushy grass of the pitch, did he pause to consider that he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say. What was the rush for? To comfort you, tease you for your loss?

The latter option was definitely what he could do, what he could say. What was expected of him, if he was being honest. Recently, however, he's found it harder and harder to come up with remarks to hurt your feelings. Found that he quite prefers that little smile that tucks into the corner of your mouth when he says something unexpectedly fond. How your eyes practically gleam.

There's shoving from all sides of him -- get out the way, bloody hell -- and the teams pass ahead of him. Leading the march, despite it being nothing more than a slow trudge, is your figure: squashed between those of who he recognises to be Cherry Stretton and Enzo Musa's.

Their arms wrapped over your shoulders, talking animatedly into your ear on each side. Enzo tips his head to meet yours, a small touch of comfort.

Oliver sighs. He has nothing to say and no comfort to offer, wondering for a moment what he could possibly bare to hear in his own final moments as captain. He thinks that anything from your mouth would work.

So he waits, parks himself beside the stairs and waits for Archie: watching the six-legged figure disappear up over the hill.

-

You're not at dinner.

He knows because he's been watching the door for the better half of an hour. Archie pushes his plate at him, "Eat something there, Ollie."

Begrudgingly, Oliver brings his drumstick up to his mouth. "She's not eaten a thing since breakfast, it's almost eight."

Archie passes a sympathetic look over him. "Her friends are here, I'm sure she'll be by soon. There's no use you joining her on a hunger-strike."

He's right. Cherry and Enzo and some others that frequent your circle are talking around the table, around the spot that you usually fill. But dinner goes on and students leak steadily out towards bed without your return.

Eventually Oliver huffs, like an irritated bulldog, and grabs for the nearest napkin: unfolding it out in front of him.

"What are you doing?" Archie asks thickly, spitting bits of rice at him.

Oliver reaches for two chicken skewers, placing them neatly on the white square: alongside a dinner roll and a pumpkin pasty.

He wraps them over, double wraps it with another napkin too.

"What does it look like, Arch."

Placing it carefully into the deep pocket of his robe, Oliver goes to stand - lacking the patience it takes for Archie to answer, or for his inevitable teasing. "I'll find you back in our room."

He's halfway out the hall when Archie's voice calls out to him, "You don't even know where she is!"

Oliver shakes his head, brandishing a dismissive hand over his shoulder. "I know where she is." He mumbles for only himself to hear.

-

You’d watched close to twenty-one quidditch matches from the stands at the pitch on Hogwarts grounds: played in almost half of them. 

The seat is still slightly too small, just uncomfortable enough to make a person shuffle. Beyond the rim over the other end of the pitch you can see the orange sun dipping behind the horizon, drawing to darkness over your moment alone.

By now you're sure the party in the common room has long since found momentum. The one you'd been promised by the team, "it's your last game, cap, we need to celebrate!". You're sure someone somewhere is looking for you, bracing a plastic cup of Firewhisky with your name on it, but you can't find it within yourself to face it all just yet.

The silence of the evening is enough, you only wish you'd been fast enough to retrieve your broomstick that's somewhere off with Enzo. Just for one last lap.

The serenity of your loneliness doesn't persevere, however. You can hear shuffling up the steps, you're tempted to look but the sunset is slipping so quickly out of your hands that it's not worth the time wasted.

It's only when the footfalls draw closer, stopping when a body slumps into the seat beside you. The seats are so cramped that his knee brushes yours, the figure long since identified from the corner of your eye.

"Come to gloat?" You ask, eyes never leaving the sky.

He shrugs. "Not today."

You nod. His smell drifts on the breeze under your nose, like peppermint and soap and Oliver.

There's a long silence. Your robes crease against the fist sitting in your lap, you've yet to change out of your quidditch uniform, you know it will be the last time.

"You missed dinner."

"Does it matter?"

Despite your avoidant gaze, Oliver's is warming the side of your face. The evening air cools the same spot.

There's a shuffling that finally draws your eyes. Oliver is still in his robes too, and his hand emerges from a deep pocket with a folded napkin square. "Figured you'd be hungry."

He places it onto your lap with a gentleness you're coming to find more of in him. Something frighteningly warm erupts in your chest and your hands come up to it, pulling apart the napkin to find picky bits inside.

You're fighting between smiling and starting to cry. You do neither.

"You carried this in your pocket the whole way from the hall?"

His eyes flicker between the food and your face before he shrugs. "Yeah."

By now, you were fighting a losing battle and the smile pulled up at the ends of your mouth so tightly that your cheeks started to hurt. "Gross."

You pick up a chicken skewer regardless, biting into it and facing the sky again. You offer him the other one and he looks for a moment like he's going to argue but takes it quietly in the end.

The chicken is tender and only after you'd swallowed the first bit did you realise how hungry you'd actually been. You finish it without a word, going to tear the pasty in half and offering a piece to your companion.

You're picking at the roll now, tearing tiny bits off and feeding it piece by piece to yourself like a bird. "Last game."

He nods. "I know."

"What could someone say to you after your last game, Wood?" You pick at him, eyes flittering between him and the now nearly black sky. "You know, to make you feel better?"

Oliver shakes his head, leaning back and rolling his shoulders: as if the thought itself unsettled him.

"Nothing, probably. I'd probably just walk into the Black Lake and drown myself."

You think he's joking, but with Oliver Wood that was hardly a sure thing.

"You wouldn't."

"What's there left to live for?" He says it with an airy chuckle.

Shrugging, your head falls against your shoulder. "You'd have to figure it out, because I'd go marching in right after you. Carry you out if I had to."

Oliver stills, eyes wide and blinking at you. Your chest goes tight, the ghost of a smile pressing at your face.

"Bridal style and everything ..." You add quietly, stifling your chuckle.

He seems to come back to himself, nodding. "We should get back. Been a long day."

The napkin crumples in your hand, shoved down into the depths of your own pocket. You walk ahead, the pathway to the steps is only narrow enough for one person at a time, and he trails behind.

By the time you've hit the steps, Oliver moving down beside you, you're brewing around an apology. A way to thin the air, to ease where your chest is tight: swirling around well done, now you've made things awkward you git. It's halfway up to your tongue when skin brushes against the back of your hand.

Warm fingers explore your knuckles to find your cool ones, slipping to knot between them.

You work not to look down, because Oliver's skittish like that. From the corner of your eye, you can see he's concentrating his gaze ahead.

His hand tightens against yours, palm callous from years wrapped around the wooden handle of his broomstick. It's a little sweaty and sticky but you're smiling so hard you're about to be sick.

You dare to look at him, Oliver's smiling too.

-

Oliver hasn't been sleeping.

His last few days of seventh year are slipping like water through his calloused hands and he can feel it. Every hour that passes, shadowy and fleeting.

Classes feel shorter than before, the terrible jokes Archie bombards him with over dinner sound funnier than he ever remembers them being and the glimpses he catches of you in the corridor never feel long enough. The ceiling of his poster bed flashes with moments of the day that's passed, feeling like a dream you'll be jolted out of as soon as it gets good.

Even over all his hours of broody contemplation, none of it makes the final whistle any easier to swallow. It hits him like he's been smacked with a bludger in the chest.

"Gryffindor has won the quidditch cup, two-hundred and thirty points to twenty!"

He can hear the crowd's roar, the whoops of the twins floating somewhere below him. Harry's standing on the grass of the pitch holding up his tiny golden trophy. The pitch is red all over: Oliver won.

He won.

Every moment building up over the last seven years culminated into the final blow of the whistle. The wind is whipping at the hair over his forehead: Oliver thinks this might be the happiest moment of his life, but he's not entirely sure.

He never realised that it would all be so fucking soaked in sadness.

It's over. He's leaving the castle empty handed. His engraving will live on the Quidditch Cup in a dusty cupboard for years to come, yes, and he might have a frame up in his future apartment somewhere, reminiscing on the old days. That's all.

He's struck with the devastating fear that in a few short years, nobody will remember him. More than anything, he can't believe he hadn't come to this overwhelming conclusion before right now. Before Angelina is yelling to him, waving a frantic hand and sporting the biggest grin in all of Scotland, before he was seconds from taking the prize he's held in his mind for so many years into his very hands.

Will you forget him?

It nearly knocks him off his broom. He finds that it scares him the most, more than the thought of the dust-caked trophy or the lonely corner at the back of his cupboard where his Hogwarts robes will no doubt live until eternity.

He won't forget you, he thinks. He knows.

You're just so damn annoying. And beautiful, fucking whip-clever and hilarious sometimes--

The handle of his broom is tilting down to the earth now, the crowd zooming into a blur on either side of him. He hits a shaky landing, broomstick abandoned on the grass behind him as he's pulled into the arms of his team and well-wishers.

A golden trophy passes over the heads of the twins and it's shoved into his sweating hands. It's cool to the touch and so much heavier than he thought it ever could be, but he can't seem to keep his mind on the situation long enough to realise any of that. His mind is racing around the castle wondering where you might be and what's the fastest way to get there.

His eyes are racing over the heads of the roving crowd. "Wood, Wood! Speech!"

Shadowing over everyone is Archie's tall figure standing at the back, grinning down at him. The team watches expectantly.

This is it. The moment for the speech he's been practicing in his bathroom mirror since he was seven.

"I--" he looks down at the cup for the first time, his face reflecting up at him in glimmering gold. He finds he can't remember any of the words. "I need to go find someone."

There's a buzz of confusion, but Oliver doesn't linger: shoving the Quidditch Cup into Harry's arms.

"That's the shortest speech Wood has ever given." He hears Angelina quip, but he can't be arsed to turn. He's already flying, moving through the crowd at such a pace he might just have been on his broom.

The sea of students had long since started moving up to the castle, particularly the non-gryffindors: trying to beat the stampede of scarlet that is no doubt to come. Oliver's legs carry him over the smooth green hill up towards Hogwarts, head craning over students to find your side profile somewhere in the mass.

He catches few oy, watch it!'s and congrats, Wood!'s but he doesn't turn, doesn't stop running. Students bespeckle the grass like ants lining up for crumbs, and he's all the way up into the stone corridor leading to the Great Hall when he spots Cherry's velvet red curls over the crowd, and sure enough, he finds you're knocking her shoulder with your own.

It only takes one shout of your name and you turn to peek curiously back, by which time he's taken both your shoulders into his hands and steered you to the wall of the corridor.

"Wood! What are you do--"

His hands squeeze around the plush at your upper arms. "Oliver. My name is Oliver."

Your eyes are wide in surprise, the window behind you showcases the gardens and the pitch in the distance. Sunlight forms a halo over the crown of your head.

With a head tilted in confusion, you nod slowly. "Alright ... what are you doing, Oliver?"

He can feel the eyes of Cherry and Enzo burning a hole through the side of his head, but doesn't bother with it. You're blinking up at him, gentle and benign in your features. He wonders when it became like this, when you'd lost the tight brow and the frown every time you looked at him.

"I won the Quidditch Cup." He says blankly.

You nod, a small smile tucked into the corner of your lip. "I saw. Congratulations."

Oliver only nods back at you. "I wanted to tell you. I wanted to come shove it in your face."

He's shuffling closer to your figure, and he's more than pleased to discover that you aren't cowering from it.

"Of course you did, because you're a prat." But you're smiling so hard now that it's impossible to take your jab to heart. "Is that all, Oliver?"

A warm sensation is spilling into his rib cavity and his fingertips are buzzing with electricity when they come to find either side of your face.

"No." His forehead is nearly touching yours and your hands have wrapped around his wrists. "I came to ask you out on a date. A sappy, disgustingly romantic date where I bring you flowers and pay for your hot chocolate. You'd hate it."

"That truly sounds horrible." Your smile is so wide he can barely see the whites of your eyes and it pumps more adrenaline through Oliver than any argument you'd ever shared over the last seven years.

"So, is that a yes?"

You're bouncing on your toes a little bit, bumping your nose against Oliver's clumsily. The babble of passing students and gawking onlookers has practically fallen mute to him.

"Depends, are you going to kiss me goodnight after?" You whisper it, like it's a secret between just you and him.

He nods slowly, "pretty desperate to kiss you right now, if I'm being honest princess--"

You don't wait for him to finish, thank Merlin you don't wait for him to finish, and push up onto your toes: crashing against his mouth. You're kiss is as dizzying as he remembers, but softer this time. You kiss like you know he's not running away, hands pressing softly over his neck.

It's nothing like your kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room: where that one was desperate and hot and angry, this time it's born from longing and tenderness and acceptance.

It leaves him just as fucking breathless as the first time.

Somewhere behind him, he hears wolf-whistling (he's sure it's Cherry) and when you pull your lips off his, your face is flush with embarrassment.

"I will go on a date with you, Oliver."

He takes your hand into his, curling his fingers between your own. You lean up to peck him softly and bat your eyelashes at him, grinning innocuously when you whisper: "If you treat me like you did with Delilah, I'm throwing your broomstick into the fireplace."

-

don't forget to comment and repost if you enjoyed :)

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@laurenmckiernan-blog @mooneyswife @meyaareads @buffkittenmuscles @emielry @amora-lilly @maximumride1 @sarcastic-nerd @chanyeolsbeloved @pinkb4t @betty13augustine @toadweed-twinklegaze-silverpuff @bella-rose29 @grimm1992 @mortallytenaciousmoon @alanalanalanalanalanna @amane-enama @sosasi521-blog @head-in-the-clouds222 @she-went-that-way @joeybelle @mahidahi @malenk @lillyys-reposts @m626 @rain-echos @meidl @arwn-yng @hotchberry1245 @avatar-lovergirl011 @silverblur @aphroditesanem0ne @angstywaifu @2-blind-2-see @alanatheblogger @ebklsbxgdsworld @gwnwrites @skskskye @girlqrush @cas-planet @thycia-flowers @badonkadork @malachitecorgi-spicy-account @carter-knight @angelic-destiny25 @nyxm0on @saltistic-dumbass @maddsunn @margflower @curlyblaze @ardrhys8 @carolga @my-beloved-fandoms @leaawrites @ilovelilies @ahead-fullofdreams @perciver4ever @amaliarosewood @iamthejam @inkyfairy

[taegularities]

entertainer (teaser) | jjk (m)

Summary: Growing singer Jeon Jungkook is as charismatic as he is self-absored – that is, until he meets you. Caught in a web of secrets, he finds a riddle in you he urges to solve; even ready to turn the spotlight towards you until nothing remains… but regret.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: strangers to lovers (or something); angst, bits of fluff, smut ➳ warnings: do not fall for this jk i repeat do not f– 🚨 he's kinda hot though; (not so) silent yearning, flirting, sexual tension, he is so attracted to her :'), mystery, oc is a big question mark, full jk pov!, dark past(s), crying, fear, confrontation and fighting, cocky kook, secrets and revelations, explicit sexual content (kissing, fingering, teasing, drunk shenanigans, sooo much lust, big dick jk, etc.), more warnings on drop day once the fic is finished!! not much for the teaser itself, though <3 ➳ wc: 1.8k :') (around 20k for the full thing) ➳ a/n: scratches head. this has been a long time coming and i'm beyond curious how y'all will like it :') very new and experimental, so let's see how it goes!! as always, drop a message to lmk what you think of this lil glimpse, i'll be waiting with dangling feet hehe!! <3

➳ give the Entertainer playlist a first listen! 🖤   

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs 

“Why are you the textbook definition of a fuckboy, honestly.”

“Fuckbo—”

“Nevermind.”

If he wasn’t well acquainted with this little game, he would’ve missed your subtle, nearly veiled intent to tease. But he’s done that a million times before — hence, catches the faint twitch of your gorgeous lips immediately.

You’re enjoying this. So he should join… right?

Yet.

You’re not being entirely insincere. In fact, he hates how he picks up on the note of truth in your velvety voice.

Trimmed nails scratch the back of his head, and he barely notices once the two of you halt in front of another piece of work. Distracted, he doesn’t bear the art any mind, instead asking, “You really think of me like that?”

You shrug a shoulder. Nonchalance a constant feature, but so natural, even somewhat gentle, that he can’t help but feel drawn to you. “A little.”

“Well, shit.”

“Don’t overthink it. Enjoy the art.”

“Sure.”

Reluctantly, he glances to the canvas. It’s a mess of hues; a random arrangement of spontaneous emotions. Resembles the masterpieces he used to create in Microsoft Paint, back when his legs would still dangle off the chair.

“So,” he starts, nodding towards the painting, “what do you see in this?”

You hesitate. Or maybe it’s not hesitation — more like… a thinking pause. Sometimes, when Jungkook notices a whirring mind, he sees a steaming brain through a skull. Working at full blast.

But somehow, he only recognises a tranquil ocean as he observes you gather your thoughts. Everything about you is tender, but wrapped in dark mystery.

How much mental training does it require to become this inscrutable?

When you finally speak, you’re saying similarly odd things.

“I see… colours.” Right. Stating the obvious. Jungkook chuckles, delivering a head tilt. “And am wondering how the painter got to create this at all. I mean, this looks so meaningless at first, doesn’t it?”

“But it’s not, yeah?”

“We’re fast to think that. Most of the time, there must be a trigger, or a thought on something, no matter how small. Something might have been bothering him. This is—” A hand gestures towards the painting. “Such a chaotic mind.”

Interesting…

“Is this what you usually think about all day?” Jungkook wonders.

You scoff. “I’m just a person, too. I think about a lot of random things.”

“Ahhh. Like what?”

“Like… seeing all the green in this exhibition made me realise how that colour makes me cry.”

Jungkook takes a haphazard look around. Now that you say it — there’s no hint of a nature theme, but the abundance of green is striking. It’s as calm as you. No wonder you’d immerse yourself in a showcase such as this.

You continue, as if tracing and reading his mind like an open novel, “It’s soothing, right? And unique. These earthly things sometimes make me feel like not all of us are deserving of seeing such beauty. Like it should be reserved for those who've earned it.”

Earned it? How? 

Jungkook can’t see your thoughts as clearly as you’re apparently capable of doing, but he has an inkling of what you might mean. Truly dazzling souls merit the stunning bloom of the world, right?

And then…

If that’s what it is.

He wonders — do you think he deserves to see the colour green? Or is it already over if he has to ask? Perhaps, should he be perceiving it as grey right now? He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know how you think of him — doesn’t know anything about you at all. You’re a tough nut to crack. 

“Hmm… that’s a way to think about it,” he says.

“Only because it’s the same for people. And I’ve had this thought about humans a lot… I…” You hesitate, blink, and then grant him your gaze. “I knew someone who was the colour green. Not everyone deserved them, either.”

Someone…

Poetic minds carry a certain pain in their eyes.

He’s been seeing it in yours. He just doesn’t know how to handle it. So he doesn’t. Yet.

Instead, he asks, “What else are you thinking about?”

“Uhmmm,” you voice, straightening your back a little, as if waking up from a dream — a nightmare? “I’ve been thinking about trying that, too. Painting, I mean. It doesn’t have to mean anything or be good. Just a great way to capture something that resonates with what I feel.”

Every word you’ve uttered today was otherworldly. You didn’t talk like this when you were at the meeting, or in his office. Your soul is somewhat free-floating here, and he doesn’t understand why.

And it’s a behaviour he usually strays away from. The vulnerable ones can be dangerous.

But somehow… you’re too strong of a magnet.

One who shrugs all the puzzles away — and he sighs in despair. Maybe it’s not time to find out what you feel just yet. What resonates with you — even though he’s dying to hear it.

He inquires, “Are you always this much of an open book?”

“No. Not at all.” Of course not. Rhetoric question — he knows this much. “But I like thinking out loud sometimes.”

“I’m glad to be a sounding board then.”

“Hah. Well, I was also thinking how I appreciate that I met you here.” Pause. Oh? What a surprise. Strokes his ego, though. And then, out of the blue again, “You wanna go to the museum restaurant?”

Jungkook has barely inhaled half of the exhibition yet. But just for today, he couldn’t care less.

Perhaps this is enough for now, visiting the overpriced restaurant, watching you from afar as you inspect your nails calmly. You’re not busy on your phone like the rest of the crowd — entertained by the same media that he’s part of.

Maybe he can be a bigger part of their lives one day — be the one flitting over their screens, the one they adore. The one they worship.

But you don’t seem to indulge in those mind-numbing devices for now. You might be an addition to his team, but privately, you float in your own world. Distracted by the thoughts you won’t disclose.

Your hands retreat, arms crossing on the table and lips curling into a smile once he strolls back to you. Satisfied, he informs you, “One cake to go with the coffee. As the lady suggested.”

“Oh. One?” you ask, “Don’t you want one?”

“I do.”

“So…” You stall, and he waits until it clicks, your head tilting in understanding. “Are we sharing?”

Jungkook lifts a thumb, pointing over his shoulder, back to the register, “Those chocolate cakes are sweet as hell. I’ve got a sweet tooth, but believe that it’ll be enough for us two.”

You laugh — a candied, disarming chuckle before you breathe an, “Alright.”

Jungkook doesn’t know you well enough to feel any skip of his heart; yet, you stir something else in his mind. While he does avoid them, it’s still always people like you who intrigue him the most — those who veil themselves in a coat of secrets.

He sighs.

“That was fast,” you note, eyes at a point behind him.

And he understands when the waitress arrives a couple moments later, serving two perfectly prepared cappuccinos and a mouth-watering chocolate fudge piece.

You thank her with a gentle smile, and tuck a hair behind your ear, fingertips grazing your dangling silver earring.

And he watches.

Watches as you nod towards him, urging him, “Start then.”

Observes your smile as he signals you to start instead. And he gazes at you as your delicate digits reach for the fork, tearing off a piece, wrapping your lips around the utensil.

And then… oh God.

He feels his guts twist; hears all background noise fade; blood rushing away from his head.

All the way through his body as you slowly relish the sweetness and then drag the wet tip of your tongue over the fork. Licking away the leftover chocolate.

Jungkook swears it happens in slow motion. And witnessing your elegance in snail’s pace… makes him sick.

When your eyelashes flutter, gape lifting to meet his, the sound around him comes alive again — as does he. He averts his stare from your mouth, covered in the same colour as the coffee, but you notice.

You catch him looking. And it makes you… smile? Shit.

But you don’t boast your effect; only digress as you say, “Well… tastes as fancy as it looks. Try.”

You’re as relaxed with him as you can be. But you always are; with everyone. He craves that bit that’s only reserved for him — and maybe he’s too zealous too fast. He hasn’t known you for long.

Making you smile must be an achievement, though, right? If only… you didn’t think of him like…

He nods, and then leans over the table ever-so-slightly. His knees brush against yours, a soft but deliberate move. He places an elbow on the table, grasping the fork, close to you. If he lifted his hand, he could touch your cheek.

He wishes he could.

His eyes meet yours through his bangs, the cake’s taste irrelevant to your presence. And when his ego doesn’t let him live, he finally asks, almost as if insulted, “Do you actually perceive me as a fuckboy?”

The question catches you off guard. You hesitate, furrowing your eyebrows, and then giggle before questioning back, “Jungkook… that’s bothering you this much? Mmmh. How would you like to be perceived?”

“Just. As a decent guy who wants to get to know you. And I know you know.” You blink, but he doesn’t buy it. So he elaborates, “I’ve been trying to make clear that I find you interesting. And somewhat attractive.”

People usually display a flicker of glimmer in their eyes upon hearing such praise. But you don’t budge; in fact, your eyes remain the same, if not a little darker. Why?

Yet, you cock an eyebrow, sporting a teasing, playful tone, “Somewhat, hm?”

He shakes his head, clicks his tongue.

“You’re pretty and I think you know,” he blurts, “and I don’t want to screw up right away.”

Is it the habit of never failing; getting what he wants? The urge to solve an enigma? The chance to dive into you until you’re bared to him? Why are you so interesting to him?

You’re just a person.

Maybe it’s just the unsettling need to discover what you’re hiding — it won’t let him rest. There’s something about you that screams to him to unravel. 

He doesn’t know what it is. Doesn’t know if you’re even from the same world as him — even though you seem to have crossed his realm before.

No matter what it is; Jungkook only understands for now that he wants to take off your layers.

Wants you to be the colour green for him. 

wrote most of it now and while sick, so it might change hehe! but i hope it's okay so far, and it shall only get better!! i'm so so excited for this, like i've been working on it and putting thought into it since october, so i hope it's worth the wait <3

as always, send your thoughts, questions, complaints lol lemme know what you think or i might perish sniff. super curious to know!! also, here's the taglistttt 🤍 love and appreciate you all <3

[roleplaystop]

Hello! I am Castor (She/her, 21+) and I am looking for people for my new discord server, for a fantasy roleplay that I would love to do! The server is 18+, so minors, please do not interact as I don't feel comfortable roleplaying with anyone under 18. This is a fandomless roleplay, so only OCs are allowed.

🌿 What I am looking for:

People that are enthusiastic about character creation.

People's that are engaging and are able to help carry the plot (Please don't let you character be a bystander)

Easy going roleplayers. I do not want drama in OOC chat, leave that for the actual roleplay.

Semi-Lit to Literate writers

NOTE: I am EST, so I would also prefer people in the same time zone or usut a few hours ahead of me or behind me so that we can all be active at the same time. Keep in mind that I work (as I assume we all do) so communication is key. Let me know if you can take part in a session. I don't need a reason, just let me know if you don't be on. This rp will most likely take place on the weekends, but we can discuss this further in OOC.

🌿 Setting:

I have based this rp between a dimension I have created for my novels (Isla) and a town that I have created named Lonest, located in the state of Washington. The main setting is in the Undergrove, a program for young supernatural beings that need more help to control their abilities. The Undergrove is located under the prestigious school known as Arcane University in Lonest.

🌿 Plot:

Your character has been invited to walk the halls of the prestigious Undergrove Program, located under Arcane University in the gloomy and rainy town of Lonest, Washington.

Here, they will learn how to control their abilities and by the end, they shall be sent out into the world the knowledge of how to better control and use the abilities that have been given to them.

Undergrove was founded by a mysterious family, keeping themselves under wraps and away from the eyes of those that they see as Outsiders—a few of them having walked the halls of Undergrove themselves.

The school was created to protect the mortals world from the thinning veils that separate the mortal realm and the realm of the dead—the realm of chaos. And while the school has an amazing reputation, one can not help but take notice of the disappearance of three of them top students—the De La Cruz sisters and a boy that came from the founder's family.

The staff, while helpful and well meaning may be hiding something darker than any of the students could imagine. Why do they act weird when questioned about the disappearances? Why are they afraid of the founders? And what happened to the missing students?

It is the job of our characters to uncover the deep dark secrets of this place, and maybe even someone in their own ranks.

Will you join?

🌿Acceptance letter:

To whom it may concern,

It is with great pleasure that we inform you of your acceptance into the esteemed program of Undergrove. You have been selected amongst an elite few who possess the necessary skills, knowledge, and strength to protect the mortal world from the dark and deadly forces beyond understanding.

The very name of Undergrove speaks to the nature of our work. Our organization is shrouded in mystery and darkness, and our purpose is to maintain the balance between the light and the shadows. You have shown a keen interest in the realm of death, night, and the unknown, and we believe that you will thrive in our environment.

Undergrove is a place of ancient knowledge and secrets, where the art of combat and the mastery of the arcane are practiced with equal fervor. You will be among peers who share your passions and interests, and you will be challenged to push yourself beyond your limits.

Our work is not for the faint of heart. You will be tasked with defending the mortal world from the very things that go bump in the night. Demonic forces, undead armies, and eldritch horrors beyond comprehension all threaten to tear apart the fabric of reality. But fear not, for you will be trained by the very best, and armed with the most powerful weapons and spells at your disposal.

You will be living in a world of darkness, but it will be a world of excitement, adventure, and thrill. You will be part of a long-standing tradition of guardians of the night, and you will be responsible for upholding our sacred oath to protect humanity from the terrors that lurk beyond the veil.

Your journey into the unknown begins now. Pack your bags, say your goodbyes, and prepare for a life of darkness, death, and night. Welcome to Undergrove, and welcome to the fight.

Yours in the shadows,

The Council of Undergrove

🌿Rules:

Please be 18+

One character limit (though your character can have a pet)

No controlling the characters of another

NSFW topics and darker topics are allowed but please respect the triggers of others.

This is a safe place for LGBTQ+ roleplayers and characters. I will not tolerate homophobia. You'll be booted faster than you can blink.

No Op characters. I don't care about the abilities that your characters have but they can not have all the knowledge of everyone and everything.

No god Ocs. I usually don't place a restriction on what race your character is, but I already have my own, original gifs that rule over Isla, and that watch over Lonest.

No drama. Keep it in the rp.

Please do not treat this server as a dating server or site...we are here to rp, not be badgered to date the person behind the character.

Have fun!

I only rp on Discord. My contact is Castor#0039. Message me and I will send the link to the server.

Discord - Castor#0039

[sparkywrites25]

Levi Ackerman

Credit to @cafekitsune for these beautiful dividers.

Better Things | Rivetra Set after Historia's coronation, Petra tries to move on from her feelings but fate has a way of working its magic. Holding Your Heart | Rivetra [Modern AU] Levi balances his successful tea shop with his relationship with long-time girlfriend Petra.

Beyond Duties | Levi x Petra x Reader Nobles Petra and Levi have taken a special interest in Levi’s servant. Crossed Feelings | Levi x Petra Levi tries to bury his jealousy when his new friend Petra is getting on swimmingly with Hange. But a game of laser tag leads to some interesting revelations. Hearts and Crafts | Levi x Reader You and Levi head to a local arts and crafts fair. Helping Hand Levi comforts you after a harsh mission In The Fandom | Levi x Petra Actor AU | Levi discovers that Petra has taken an unexpected step into the Attack on Titan fandom. Lift the Veil | Levi x Reader Reader believes that Levi hates them and doesn't want them to be part of his squad. One night, the truth tumbles out, from both of them. Moonlight | Fem!Rivetra When Levi is haunted by her dreams, Petra is there. Parenthood Promise | Levi x Reader Sequel to An Ackerman Christmas, you and Levi finally welcome your child. “Welcome to fatherhood”, from the prompt drabble challenge. That Dream Again | Levi x Reader A nightmare drives you to seek out Levi

A Castle for Christmas | Rivetra Petra and Levi have HQ to themselves for Christmas An Ackerman Christmas | Levi x Reader Levi takes you home to his family for Christmas Bean Boozled | Rivetra Hange has convinced Erwin and Levi Squad to take the challenge and certain revelations during the game lead to certain consequences. Birthday Blues | Rivetra [Modern AU] When an exhausted Levi accidentally forgets Petra's birthday, they're both wrapped up in the emotions of a challenging week. Birthday Tea | Levi x Reader Your birthday gift to Levi gets caught up in confusion. Happy New Year | Rivetra It's a party for two for Levi and Petra. Holder of the Hearts | Levi x Reader You and Levi enjoy your new life with your baby daughter. Midsummer's Day | Levi x Reader x Rivetra Your plans for your Midsummer’s Day tradition with Levi and Petra are thwarted. Mine Forever | Fem!Rivetra Petra has a question for Levi. Perspective | Levi x Reader You’re struggling in the aftermath of a mission. Amid the beauty of autumn, Levi finds you. Tell You | Fem!Rivetra Chance brings Levi back to Petra during the 57th Treat For The Captain | Levi x Reader You decide silver is the way to go to reward your captain[NSFW] Two of a Kind | Rivetra Petra enjoys a night with a special surprise Under Watchful Eyes | Rivetra Petra is holding onto more than one secret in the Scouts What You Are | Levi x Reader Ever since Erwin brought you up from the Underground, Flock has been on your ass for being a low-life thug. One day during sparring, it all comes to a head. Wings of Survival | Rivetra In that moment, Levi Ackerman is faced with an awful decision regarding the bodies of his comrades but maybe he can be spared making it.

Tea Leaves | Levi x OC Aurelia Rivers has gradually come to lose all of her loved ones over time but what she does hold onto is the family tea-leaves and herbal business they've built up for generations. That and her gratitude and appreciation for the Scout Regiment and a certain dark-haired and sarcastic captain. Lost | Rivetra Petra survives her encounter with the female titan but when she's hurt and goes missing, her comrades believe her to be dead and make for home. Now she has to try and survive long enough to get back home. If she can manage that, what will be waiting for her there? What will Levi do if he's faced with a second chance at having Petra in his life?

[queen-scribbles]

Dragon Age questions: 3, 6, 11, 19

3. Do you usually play as a warrior, mage, or rogue? Which class are you planning to try first this time around? Which subclass?

I think I answered the first part of this before and forgot the second part, so you get that. xD If I play my intended canon first, it'll be a Champion warrior bc I love a good paladin archetype. If I don't do that, probably mage, and I haven't heard the subclasses for that yet.

6. Do you have your Rook(s) planned out to any degree? If so, would you share some details or ideas you have?

Somewhat. I'm always flexible with my plans this long before getting to actually see the character creator, lol.

The intended canon is a male dwarf Champion, probably Lord of Fortune background. Thinking either Kirrav or Valtor for the name. (Kirrav bc I think it sounds cool, Valtor bc that's the name of a Cadash I have who's flirting with Harding so I think it'd be funny to just sort of... bump him a game so he can actually get the girl xD)

Also toying with pulling over Charlize Caron, one of my Orlesian Wardens from Awakening, solely because I shipped her with Seneschal Varel and I feel like she'd be 👀 at Emmerich lol. She's also a warrior, not sure what her subclass would be.

OR one of my kid!OCs, Marra, would be old enough now(she was 5-ish in Awakening) to be a protag. I'd probably make her a mage, Veil Jumper or Shadow Dragon faction. Likely romance would be Davrin, rooted in her being obsessed with Wardens since my Tabris saved Amaranthine. :D (starts as asking him about Wardens, turns into "hey, you're cool, I like you as a person)

I really wanna play a qunari rouge. No thoughts beyond that. I just really wanna do it.

11. What's one thing you'd really like to see in this next game?

Non-life threatening cameos for previous game companions/NPCs. Like I'd love to see Sigrun/Nathaniel/Charade/etc but only if it's not gonna get them killed. xD

19. Are you planning to replay any of the previous games, watch Dragon Age: Absolution, or read any of the books/comics/short stories, or are there other games you want to play in the meantime?

Not really planning a replay directly because of this releasing, no. I have a DA:O replay I'm working through with Trinne that's my "research for OWaP" game, but for the most part my gaming for now is LOTRO, SWtOR, and WotR. Depending on how the release dates line up, I will almost definitely play Greedfall The Dying World and Avowed before DA4, tho.

DA4 asks

[hopewriteszstuff]

Oc interview tag

Thank you @agirlandherquill for the tag!

I will be using "Lumen" from "Of Smoke And Shadows" for this little game.

(These answers are happening in the timeline of chapter 16, which I will be posting soon)

Were you named after anyone? - "I don't think so, and if there was, then I don't remember. The most that I know about my name is that my mother is the one who named me, and my name the only thing left of her."

When was the last time you cried? - "As much as I hate to admit it, I have recently found out that I cry a lot, and for a variety of reasons. Yesterday I was crying because... Well, it was overall a horrible day and I broke down in tears by the end of it."

Do you have any kids? - "That actually depends on what you mean by this question. Biologically? I have great great... great..."

Lumen stops for a moment to count on his fingers.

"I'm two hundred- something years old, you do the math. As for children that are adopted_" He stashes his gloved hand unto his pocket, and takes out three miniscule children, each one is barely two inches tall.

"I don't know if borrowers count, but those are Navarra, Falcon,and Bee, and they're basically my kids."

"There's more that aren't borrowers, but they didn't come with me today."

Do you use sarcasm a lot? - "When the situation calls for it, or when I feel like it."

What is the first thing you notice about people? -

"The way they look at me, every time I enter a room I'm always looked at, no matter how much I try to be unnoticed, and their looks are never pleasant."

What is your eye colour? -

"I haven't looked in a mirror in centuries, and I would prefer not to, those around me say my eyes are grey, some say like the concrete, other say like the smoke."

Scary movies or happy endings? -

" Those "scary" movies people watch are, at their best, a joke, a comedy, and at their worst? Plain offensive. So I would say happy endings, I hope for my own happy ending too."

Any special talents? -

Lumen hums a bit.

"How do you define "Special talents"? Something special to me? Because I have talents that aren't special, and special things that aren't talents."

"Talking to animals, invisibility, seeing beyond the veil, an inhumane strength, transforming to animals, all of these aren't talents, all of us Kindred possess a form of that."

"I can bake as well, and cook to some extent, some say they are talents but are they that special?"

Where were you born? - "I don't know, nobody does, the documents are lost to time."

Do you have any pets? - "Not in the traditional sense, no, Arsen wouldn't want accept any pets around the house."

"I do have a swarm of rats that I carry around often." A rat pops from his black trenchcoat as he speaks, and another follows.

What sort of sports do you play? -

Lumen doesn't respond at first, he instead takes off his long trenchcoat, his white shirt was hanging loosely over his skeleton-like frame.

It looks as if his body is an almost literal interpretation of the expression "all skin and bones."

"Does this looks like someone who even gets out of the house?" He playfully responds.

"In all seriousness, no, I don't move around that much."

How tall are you? - "I was told that I'm eight feet tall."

What was your favourite subject in school? -

"I never had any proper education, there was some time where I went to college but I eventually dropped out because of how exhausting it was."

"If I had to choose a subject, however, it would be home economics."

What is your dream job? -

"I would like to not work a job at all, If I could, I want to live a peaceful life in the countryside with my brother or a person I love."

(I have no idea who to tag so reblog if you want to join this)

[wainwrightjakobshammerlock]

why you should vote for Rebekah Jakobs-Hammerlock in the @organicbabybattles bracket

^ this is rebby (and one of her dads holding her triumphantly!) she's my scrinkly double tap, the heiress to the Jakobs corporation, eldritch spawn, a lil' sweet girl,

and also the biological test tube baby of Sir Hammerlock and Wainwright Jakobs, the canonically married gay old men of Borderlands (epic lgbt win below)

do not be fooled by the fact she was made thru Science and not... conventional methods. she is grown organically on the planet of Eden-6 in a nice cushy environment with lots of water (it's a swamp.) and fun things and love.

some funfacts:

she has 4 siblings: 3 are preexisting canon characters (long story. au story to be specific) and 1 is another oc, Lazarus. however Laz is adopted and so, unfortunately not homegrown, and as such I could not submit zir. also by the time of jfv (my silly post canon thingy) she is 5, and since that's 8 years after bl3, that means she was technically born this year! (well, if you take the bl1-bl2 sequel gap being also the canon gap into account, etc etc.) (also look. i made them in the sims as you can see below, reb is on the far left)

she can teleport and does so quite a bit. when one of ur dads is an eldritch horror from beyond the veil and the other is a warlock those things tend to happen. she'd be a nightmare to keep in one place if she didn't have 2 supernaturally nullifying siblings, generally very Aware family members and an overally calm and toned down personality (eldritch fambily momence below)

and by calm personality I mean autism. (big autistic eyes shown below)

she has an overly large plushie collection. most are hand-sewn, crocheted or knitted by her dads or Laz, but sometimes other folk will give them as presents to her

her voiceclaim is Lili Zanotto from Psychonauts but like. Southern. but she sometimes lapses into a Hermesian (bri'ish Recieved Pronunciation) accent

her wine aunt Aurelia is one of those double income lesbian aunts that come to unleash the gift reckoning on Mercenary Day. her uncle Clay is. a bit silly (as you can see below) but Wainwright trusts him enough to leave her in his care sometimes

when she grows up she girlbossifies quite a bit. but that's not relevant here.

what is: go vote for my sweet girl. the Jakobslocks would want you to.

also. feel free to ask me questions abt her if you have any. i love talking abt my ocs

[fel-temptation]

bling: What jewelry does your OC wear? Does it have any meaning?

Character Design Questions

Not too much is worn in the way of jewelry as far as Korrinth is concerned, often thought of as far too expensive of a luxury for her to invest in. The extent of baubles that she wears usually break down to the simple circles she keeps in her ears, though these piercings were received prior to her life as an Illidari. Other then that she has a pair of nipple piercings that she got shortly after becoming an Illidari.

Beyond the aforementioned she doesn’t have too much of an affinity for jewelry, and has at times sold mementos and gifts of the like for extra gold in her pocket. It’s just not very important to her, nor is she someone who likes to go to venues where some ritz is expected.

There’s only one piece of jewelry she owns that actually means something to her, a heavy bangled silver neckless adorned with rubys that accentuate her unique hair color. Though she rarely wears it the piece holds some sentimental value to her, and is kept under lock in her quarters on the Fel Hammer. It was a gift given to her by an Illidari comrade that she had known from Black Temple. While they had reconnected, Korrinth was particularly perturbed about holidays, feeling dejected for what she had become and missing a semblance of a ‘normal’ life, also stemming from someone she had affections for effectively snubbing her on Winters Veil. The necklace in question was given the year later on Winters Veil, being one of the few heartfelt gifts she’s received post demonification.

Thanks @nixalegos !

[iieonarch]

Should this be their last.

// No CWs or TWs . Sort of melancholic , I wrote this while still in the process of making my oc's lore so this might be vague and be a bit different to his finalized character later , might be ooc from canon , ZuoNan (as in his title and not his name: 南王子)

---

The muscles in his legs ached slightly from the journey, completely unprepared for the hike needed to get to the location of the meeting stated in that letter. There was no time to procrastinate the day of this departure for that stamp belonged to only this childhood friend of his has finally appeared after quite some time. 

The air is unexpectedly chilly even in spring, the silence resembled the world lifeless uncommon for a season that brimmed with the vibrance of the living; only the subtle melodies of leaves and creaking of slim bamboo trunks accompanied his adventure upward. 

Zuo Le stopped in his tracks and released a breath as he held onto the worn-down wooden railing that separated himself from the path and the forest. 

His surroundings were a large expanse of bamboo trees and beyond that were mountains that resembled Lungmen’s skyscrapers. A landscape so magical that reminded him of the peaks in Shangshu that might as well be a mirage yet it was a beauty he remembered quite vividly. 

The bottom was covered in thick fog, even if there was a sign of a small community of sorts Zuo Le wouldn’t see it. 

He sucked in a breath, letting the cold spring breeze cool his throat before he turned to climb the last few stairs. An addition of shuffling ahead added to the bleak silence before the clink of his sword rang through as he placed his hand on it. 

The moment their eyes met, Zuo Le dropped his hand back to his side. Those red horns of a true Lung that matched his eyes and a smile Zuo Le easily imagined under that dark veil covering the lower half of his face: The Prince of the South of Great Yan.

“Has the journey exhausted you? I couldn’t find a better place without it being private enough,” the Prince spoke as they sat by the wooden table, decorated with a few bamboo leaves at the bottom and hints of green moss. The Prince had no issue with the lack of cleanliness of the surface yet Zuo Le’s inner urge rose to lay his coat for the stool he was already sitting on. 

“The area is very much to your taste, though I apologize for being a bit late,” Zuo Le said as he sat on the opposite side of the table. 

The Prince acknowledged his apology with a casual hum before he picked up a wrapped item and placed it on the stone table, unwrapping the cloth to reveal neatly stacked lunch boxes. 

As the Prince stood up to lay them out, so did Zuo Le. 

“Don’t,” he put his hand in front of Zuo Le, a small breeze pushed his veil away to reveal the corners of his lips pulled upwards before he laughed, “you’re exhausted, I’m aware of the adventures those siblings have put you through.” 

Zuo Le slowly sat back down with a troubled look. “As much as you do this to me, I don’t think I’ll ever be used to it.” 

“That’s alright. You can buy me something from Lungmen the next time we meet.” 

Zuo Le explained his encounters with the Sui Siblings along with Rhodes Island’s involvement that he started to pick on when he was in Shangshu, followed by his meeting with the most recent among them: Shu. 

The next report was less of a report and more of a subtle question of approval. 

“Stationed in Rhodes Island,” the Prince repeated after Zuo Le explained his next journey, his tone strangely calm which made Zuo Le lowered his chopsticks and think over his decision once more. 

“Do you disagree, Your Highness?” 

“Certainly not,” the Prince immediately assured, moving forward to take another snack from one of the containers, “if it makes your job easier then I have no qualms against this. On the other hand, I’m very impressed.” 

Zuo Le lowered his head. “Thank you, Your Highness.” 

The Prince rested his head on his hand as his veil swayed to the side following the tilting of his head. The gentleness in his eyes is noticeable when Zuo Le waited for more of his reaction, even as the silence slowly crept in such a look was hard for him to pull away from. With the rareness akin to the night flower he remembered the Prince cultivated in his garden, on the night that treasure bloomed white petals under the moon; Zuo Le was reminded of the letter he received that day. 

I wish you were here to see it with me. The pureness of a first bloom untouched by a speck of dirt and petals brighter than any of the first snow I’ve seen. 

A smile softer than any silk Zuo Le had touched separated behind the dark veil only he had the luxury to see. 

“If I could be honest with you, Zuo Le. It’ll be a bit more lonelier.” 

Perhaps, he should’ve realized the impact of his choice earlier. For someone to be a close friend to the Prince that he had always called Zuo Le’s name with such pride for as long as he could remember––he picked up his little gestures; like the borderline between the Prince’s usual tone before it dropped a bit lower, almost to a whisper. Wanting to keep silent about his true feelings yet wanting them to be heard, even for both of them, vulnerability remained a weakness. 

If they weren’t closer since young, the quietest of confessions that would be swept away by the wind could never be heard nor would Zuo Le feel the safety of having a powerful support.  

“I could…send you letters daily,” Zuo Le suggested after a while. His words made the Prince chuckle and earned him a generous amount of lotus root crackers to his plate that the Prince scooped up with his chopsticks. 

“I’d never deny your letters, but don’t force yourself to,” he said in the end. 

“I don’t have the right to keep you chained to me. You’re your own person, Zuo Le.” 

But he could. He could tell Zuo Le to be his guard and leave this mission, no one would back down from the Prince’s orders. After all, the person who suggested Zuo Le to the Sui Regulators faction was the Prince himself. 

Rhodes Island would be a convenient place to keep an eye on the siblings and he was honored to have this role, he wouldn’t have asked for anything else. 

However, a small voice in him wished that he would return to stand next to the Prince just as they were back then. Maybe he wouldn’t miss that night flower if he did. 

“Since you said that I’m my own person, you will have to accept my incoming stack of letters. That’s my choice.” 

The Prince dipped his head as he laughed at the determined tone Zuo Le had. He leaned forward against the edge of the table. 

“I’ll look forward to them.” 

--End--

[stormbabylore]

WoL Questions/Answers - DND Stats!

Ooooh, I love this question!

If I were to roll her stats at the beginning of ARR (as someone gifted with Hydaelyn's blessing of light, but also someone with amnesia in a place she is wholly unfamiliar with), the stat order would fall thus:

WIS > STR > CON > DEX > CHA > INT

I am... going to ramble about this incessantly, now:

Wisdom (15)

Aeryn is naturally observant, and her quiet nature likewise helps her pick up on the more minute details in the people and circumstances around her that others might miss. She would be perceptive to subtle changes in her environment or in the mood of those present. I think a high wisdom modifier is essential to her ability to adapt so quickly to her unique situation and learn (by absorption) what she needs to know to function successfully in her unfamiliar surroundings.

Strength (14)

Though her appearance would suggest otherwise, she demonstrates (often to her OWN surprise) a level of strength that certainly surpasses the average person - even those with significant training. She's not breaking any doors off their hinges or accidentally shattering dishware, of course. But she does seem to wield weaponry or perform other more strenuous tasks with far more ease than her meager stature would suggest her capable of. (The blessing of light would further bolster this stat in certain combat situations, of course.)

Constitution (12)

Again, I feel the blessing of light would bolster Aeryn's constitution in battle; but early ARR Aeryn is also under quite a bit of mental and emotional stress given the circumstances of her arrival, and though she demonstrates a surprising level of strength for her size, I like to think she has about as much stamina as the average person. She bounces back from injuries more quickly than most would expect, and she seems resistant to sickness (almost unnaturally so), but she does grow weary and need breaks at a more-or-less average rate.

Dexterity (10)

This girl's not tripping over her own feet, and she has decent, basic reflexes. But she's not winning any awards with her archery right away and really does practice, nigh relentlessly, to become even minimally competent at wielding the bow. She has a bit more of a natural affinity with the lance, but she still spends many, many evenings in the lancers' guild sparring in Ywain to practicing her footwork and get better at dodging blows.

Charisma (8)

Early ARR Aeryn comes across as reticent, dull, and (dependent on the viewer's perception) perhaps even rude. She doesn't smile often, and she spends more time silently observing than speaking. When she does try to speak, her words shudder out, quiet and nervous - sometimes she even croaks or loses her voice. On top of that, she's an outsider and has been assigned the role of adventurer in Gridania, a place renowned for its inhospitable nature toward both. She has very little ability to speak up and defend herself and comes to rely on those who naturally see beyond the veil of this low stat to understand more of the person that might someday grow through it.

Intelligence (8)

Aeryn is not stupid. But anyone who interacts with her in ARR beyond a chance encounter would notice right off the bat that she isn't well-versed in what most would consider very basic concepts. She often seems to lacks information that would be common knowledge for even Eorzean children. When the Scions lapse into game exposition to explain things like aspected aether and how retainers work, that is 100% canon-necessary in Aeryn's case, because she doesn't know any of those things. Though this stat will grow over time as she becomes more comfortable with the knowledge base of the Source - and becomes more of a critical thinker - it will always remain her lowest stat.

All that now being said, let me give what I believe the breakdown would be as of where I currently am in the game (right after Shadowbringers MSQ):

DEX (18) > WIS (18) > CON (16) > STR (15) > CHA (14) > INT (12)

It was fun reversing some of these stats based on my canon for her in-game! Aeryn would have put so very much effort into becoming more dexterous as a result of practicing with the bow and lance. She will also have gotten just a tiny bit stronger, naturally, though of course Hydaelyn's gift still accounts for the majority of her strength by bolstering it in key moments. For wisdom, her natural instinct and ability to clearly read situations remains (and has grown minimally stronger). As a now long-time adventurer, she does not tire out as quickly with physical exertion, growing her constitution. She's better able to communicate these days, particularly with those she deems close - and she has a reputation to speak for her in most situations where she is less comfortable speaking up, still granting her a boost to charisma. Intelligence-wise, she knows what she needs to get by. She's not winning any awards, of course - but she has surrounded herself with experts on various subject matters who can help guide her with their intellect when needed.

(I didn't want any of her stats to be full 20s, yet. She still has some growing to do, after all, and a lot more story to get through.)

I think I'm done being a complete dork about this, now. But it was a fun little exercise! Highly recommended to other DND/FFXIV fans! \o/

[articskele]

OOH this is a fun question!

Artic: She used to be an Undertale OC, as you can probably tell lol- Fun fact: she's not actually a skeleton! Now she's an ice elemental who just Looks Like That-

But before Undertale, Artic was a Kirby puffball OC inspired by Silvia bc I loved Stellis Dreams as a kid! Her whole gimmick was that the ends of her wings were frozen sharp, so she could fight with her wings. Also she lived on the Halberd, and she was Meta Knight's adopted daughter, and I shipped her with Magolor lmao- Now Mags and Artic are canonically exes, but like they're chill.

And before Kirby, she was a Sonic OC named Ice. And a warrior cats OC named Iceclaw before that. And a Guardians of Ga'Hoole OC before that- I remember the Ga'Hoole version was a snowy owl with blue eyes who specialized in ice weapons bc little kid me was so so salty that fire and metal weapons were always seen as superior-

Artic's my first OC / self-insert, and she's been through a lot of iterations based on my interests over the years. She's grown a lot ouo

Mel: She actually started out as a shitty yandere Dusttale version of Artic named Huntress lmao- Then I brought her back as a Vanny clone named Melissa back when Dawktrap first became a thing and everyone started making Glitchtrap Follower-sonas. Except I thought Springtrap was infinitely cooler, so I wanted to make a Springtrap Follower instead-

I had a concept for a Fazbear Frights book meant to replace In The Flesh (yknow the weird mpreg one) called Keep Your Secrets. Basically Melissa finds a haunted tape recorder and ends up getting possessed, so Springtrap just lives in her brain like it's me boy I'm the PS5- That iteration laid a lot of the groundwork for the Mel we know and love today!

And there were a few other scrapped OCs that contributed to current Mel. Like my old Undertale OC Kira, a skeleton living off artificial determination that could see into the void. And my old D&D OC Veil, a Tabaxi Sorcerer inspired by Robin from Fire Emblem.

Basically I had tried several times over the years to make a character that was doomed by the narrative and had themes of self-destructive obsession. All of my previous attempts had failed, but Mel worked!! I've developed her so much beyond that original concept, and I'm honestly really proud of her story now! I know I talk a lot about Cedric, but Mel's really the star of the show here ouo

tag the oc who was originally a fandom based oc (and perhaps talk about what they were like before being reworked)

[clariongradiation]

wolqotd masterlist part 2

In which I completely forgot to write down the usernames, but these are all sourced from twitter. If you see your ask, lmk and I'll add your name in!

who did your wol/OC trust more? the enigmatic and secretive crystal exarch, who promised he was an ally yet kept everyone in the dark, or the eccentric and condescending emet-selch, who was honest about his intentions at all times?

what trope best describes your wolship?

How does your WoL eat a tub of ice cream? Do they spoon out the center? Start digging from one side down or maybe just scrape off all of the top?

Does your WoL/ OC like booba/chest or are they all about dat ass? Or is there another body part that gets them like 🥵

who would win in a spar between your wol/oc and their partner(s)

What does your wol/OC do to relieve stress? Do they stress bake? Punch things until they can't remember what was bothering them? Cry it out?

What style does/would your wol(oc) decorate their house with?

the wol has fought lots of "monsters", primals, dragons, ascians, sin eaters, etc. Is there any boss that your wol fought that honestly scared them, unnerved them, or caused their confidence to waiver? If there are multiple, which one was the worst for them?

what kind of content would ur oc post online ?

What is your WoL afraid of?

when did your wol/oc realize that they loved their significant other? was it a big, grand realisation, or did it just kind of sneak up on them?

If your WoL had one of those booba mousepads made of them, what would the wrist rest part be? Their booba? Actual melons bc they're a gardener? Burgers? Cakes? What would your WoL's wrist rest have😂

What's the most gremlin kinda meal your WoL has come up with? Either for survival reasons or because gremlin kinda concoctions are their thing.

to those with ancients and azem ocs, do you have a creation myth for them? or do you have parents who birthed/adopted them instead since now we know they're capable of it?

We have canon mounts for our WoLs but, we ALL have our first chocobo! What is your WoL's chocobo name? Do they have a strong bond after going on so many adventures together?

If you're given a chance to have an expac/prequel (timeline who) that is tailor-made SPECIFICALLY for your WoL/XIV OC... What is the title and MSQ 👁️👄👁️ (@unboundhavenn did this one! I love this question sm)

if your WoL or Oc had an in game portrait like the scions do, what would its name be? (e.g. 'Beyond Gloam's Veil' for Y'shtola)

Your WoL/OC has switched jobs with their significant other (or close friend) for a day! How do they fare?

For Auri Wols/Ocs, do you have any headcanon Auri lore about your beloved lizard, or Au Ra in general? Tell me all about it. Tails, scales, horns, sheds. What are your hcs about Auri communities? Lizard babies? I need to know!

who in your ship is the one who says they don't want dessert, and who's the one resigned to having to share theirs? 😄

if your wol was a romance-able option in a game, what are 3 gifts that would increase their friendship meter? What 3 things would decrease it?

inspired by the korean player poll! what reasons would netizens (or npcs) give for wanting to marry or not marry your wol/oc ?

Link to part one:

[charlatron]

hello! for the btv oc ask game, if you asked your characters best friend what your characters most defining quality was, what would be their answer? [14]

Varric might be tempted to say Hawke’s resilience was her most defining quality - even when her personal life is spiralling out of control, she still gets shit done - but what truly defines her is her ability to make people smile with nothing more than a simple curve of her lips. 

She has a smile for every occasion, each and every one of them as contagious as the last. There’s the wide-open, honest smile that deepens the dimples in her cheeks. The tight-lipped slightly awkward smile she uses to respond to compliments. The toothy grin with slightly squinted eyes that precludes some dumb shit getting their ass handed to them. The lopsided drunken smirk - Varric’s personal favourite. The slow-motion demure smile followed by a bite of her lower lip whenever Fenris does something even remotely affectionate in public - that one is damn adorable. Even her fake smile is hilarious, identifiable as such only by those closest to her. 

It breaks Varric’s heart when she doesn’t smile, because he knows how easily they come to her. Whenever Hawke can't find it in her to smile, neither can Varric.

[orime-stories]

BTV OC Question Time May-June: In four words or less, what is your characters greatest hope? ... and ... What is your character’s favourite flower? What does it mean in the ‘Language of Flowers’?

Thanks for the ask, and for sharing these questions! I’m answering this for my Dalish Inquisitor - Lorel. Questions can be found here.

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16. In four words or less, what is your character’s greatest hope?

That her people thrive.

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24. What is your character’s favourite flower? What does it mean in the ‘Language of Flowers’?

She’s actually not generally that bothered about flowers. What she loves is unbroken green - trees, grasses, bushes and moss. She loves moss in particular. It calms her, and she almost feels like she can reach out and touch the past in areas that it has overtaken. The ‘Language of Flowers’ tells me that moss represents maternal love, which is interesting given that I’ve been toying with the idea of her having a child later down the line. 

[mrstethras]

QUESTION TIME for March 25th - April 25th

Within our Dragon Age discord Beyond the Veil, we have a place dedicated to original character development and OC questions -- so we figured we’d bring QUESTION TIME to tumblr too, for both our members & whoever may wish to join in with us!

HOW IT WORKS Feel free to answer/use the questionnaire in this post however you please, though the idea is that you send at least one question to the askbox of each member on the pinglist as and when you can, creating a hub of OC talk and activity. That way, everyone is able to answer questions and share their Dragon Age characters with the fandom community. Feel free to keep the question train going for as long as you like! Answer for one or all of your OCs -- answer as simply or as detailed as you feel! Most of all, enjoy!

To be added to the pinglist for next month, contact myself or @kita-lavellan​ and please see our discord link CLICK HERE.

PINGLIST for this month: @mrstethras​ | @kita-lavellan​ | @bratwurstprophecy​ | @noire-pandora​ | @silvanils​ | @carverhcwke​​ | @randomfallout4posts​​ | @fenharelz​ | @rivainisomniari​ | @ma-serannas-vhenan​ | @somniari​ | @this-basic-mage​ ~

ORIGINAL CHARACTER QUESTIONS

What kind of a future does your OC see with their love interest?

What are your OCs views on the Chantry?

How does your OC take the truth about the Elven gods/the Evanuris?

Your OCs views/opinions on the person/or actions of Anders?

Does your OC take to their role/responsibility?

Your OC goes to a bar, what is the first thing that they order?

What would appear on your OC’s gravestone in the Fade?

What is/or was your OC’s relationship with their family like?

What was your OC’s life like before the events of the games?

What past acts are your OC’s most ashamed of?

How does your OC behave in their relationship?

What are your OC’s religious views?

Describe your OC’s bedroom.

What question would your OC ask a fortune teller?

What is your OC’s next move?

Describe your OC’s personality.

How does your OC wear their hair?

Describe one unique quirk of your OC.

Describe a near-death experience of your OC.

What is a unique talent of your OC that is NOT related to their class?

Who does your OC consider their worst enemy?

Sum your OC up with a famous quote.

How many times has your OC been in love?

How would your OC want to be remembered?

Who are they closest with (who is not a companion)?

What moment in your OC’s life do you think defines them as a person?

What dynamic does your OC have with their love interest?

Does your OC have any obsessions or addictions?

If your OC desperately needs help, whom do they turn to?

How does your OC view themselves?

[drag-on-age]

BTV OC question: 8 If your character could choose one emotion to never feel again, would they? If yes, which emotion would they choose? If not, why not? 14 Name something that your character carries with them all the time. Why do they keep this item with them? Does it have any special significance to your character? and 16 Name something that your character carries with them all the time. Why do they keep this item with them? Does it have any special significance to your character? Thanks!

These will be answered about Gaelowen!

8) I think she would choose not to feel regret anymore. She does not regret a lot in her life, but the things she does regret make her feel BAD. Her clan dying is a big one because she did not really care when she left. She felt isolated from the clan her whole life so did not pay much mind when they wrote. She helped them, but when she heard of their death it hit hard.

14) I don’t think that she is the kind of person who would keep something sentimental like that. I think after Trespasser, she considers keeping something of Solas’ on her, but she saw him enough in her dreams to make that hurt more than help...

16) I am gonna answer this still even though its technically not in the ask!

What does your character believe happens after they die? Does this believe comfort or scare them?

I think she believes that you just end up in the Fade. She never had much faith so there was nothing to comfort her when she entered the Fade physically. She learned a lot there but seeing all that first hand messed her up some. And after drinking from the fountain and post Trespasser she is even more unsure now. She doesnt really know who to believe or follow...

I am so sorry I made all of these sad idk how to stop it...