#Even though I have been keeping up with my October drawings this week

[keh-arts]

🏮 07 | Physalis alkekengi (Chinese Lantern plant) these are also called Winter Cherry and Strawberry Groundcherry - which is very cute!

[gorillaxyz]

i havent frawn in ages and school is stressing me out 😞 i open cas for an hour anf close thr sims without even playing...

[buckets-and-trees]

Warm Shadows - The Dawn Has Come [double epilogue]

Collection: Warm Shadows Chapter Title: The Dawn Has Come Characters/Pairings: Alpha!Bucky x f!Omega!Reader x Alpha!Steve Word Count: 5.5k

Summary: The aftermath - and the happily ever after? An epilogue with two distinct parts befitting the journey with the two alphas.

Content Warnings: omegaverse: heat and ruts, manipulating bonding marks; explicit smut: oral (m receiving), clitoral fingering, breastplay, vaginal intercourse, unprotected sex, breeding kink, breeding

Additional Notes: My offering for the fourth week of Chris-Mas is the epilogue to finally bring the Warm Shadows saga to a close on the ONE-YEAR ANNIVERSARY from when I posted the first chapter! This is also filling my October prompt for @buckybarnesevents Build-a-Bucky Bingo with an appearance from our dear Alpine!

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

FIFTEEN MONTHS LATER

It's been fifteen months since you returned to Wakanda. After the initial few weeks spent on your own while Steve and Bucky cleaned up all trace of the Captain Hydra project, your alphas returned to you weary and a little worse for wear, but unharmed overall. Waiting for them, you had done your best trying not to spiral into anxious worry.

You had put yourself to use volunteering to work in one of the schools. It was work you knew mattered, and the children were sweet, clever, precocious, and filled your days with so much to do and think about that it was a worthwhile distraction, and you went back to your living quarters blissfully tired every night. You were not a stranger to Wakanda, since you had been visiting with Bucky every year since your binding ritual, and so it wasn’t evenings of solitary loneliness night after night when you were off either - the small circle of friends you’d made over those previous visits kept you company often enough.

Even so, the reunion with your alphas had come just when you might have started to truly worry.

Keeping his promise, though, Bucky hadn’t closed off his bond to you completely like he had when you’d been taken. It was muted so he would neither worry you nor lose focus, but he and Steve both let their bonds be more open when they weren’t engaged in any specific operations.

The first full moon after they returned, Bucky and Steve had performed the ritual and sworn the blood oath to create a pack bond. It had been what Bucky had described, as beautiful as your mind had imagined, and surpassed what any of you had anticipated in elements of primal nature and magic combining to transform your connections and their power as alphas. It was something so sacred to have experienced that you rarely spoke of it because there simply weren’t words. Bucky later pointed out that the lack of records around the ritual and its effects made sense.

One of the triumphs of Steve and Bucky’s “clran up” mission had been the discovery - while destroying evidence - of the notebooks the Hydra scientists had used to document Steve’s torture and conditioning. Shuri and Ayo integrated that information with what they had done before in unraveling Hydra’s grip on Bucky as the Winter Soldier, and it had been a long - an unrushed - process, but after a few months, Steve began to believe (and he was the last one convinced) that he was free. He had changed, but he was a true version of himself again. Bucky, more than anyone else, helped Steve to see that he wouldn’t have to live in the shadow of what he’d done forever - though there were times the shadows would undoubtedly - and painfully - cross his mind.

Building a new chapter of your life in Wakanda, you had continued your work at the school. Steve had gone back to art and drawing. Shuri drew him in for opinions on political matters once or twice, then more and more often, until she had effectively enlisted him as an outside consultant on foreign policy. And Bucky, well, he had found his place once again in Wakanda's science research lab, but with more responsibility and working in actual partnership on bigger projects since the three of you were staying for longer.

You also relentlessly teased your alphas for their love of farming. They tended to a small pack of goats. But you didn’t complain when you watched them undertaking some of the more laborious tasks that required muscle.

Over a year, you really had carved out a life that worked for the three of you to figure out your relationship.

As dinner time approached, you and Steve were busy preparing a meal together in the kitchen of your small cottage. It was something that had become almost ritualistic for the two of you. Cooking together had become one of your favorite ways to spend time with each other.

"Did you remember to pick up some more herbs from the market?" Steve asks as he sets a pot on the stove.

You nod, setting down the cutting board with chopped vegetables. "Yeah, I got them this morning."

"Great," he smiles at you before turning back to his task.

You can’t help but smile too as you watch him work. This simple domestic life was its own healing balm.

You don’t hear Bucky come in, but Bucky’s arrival is announced by Alpine, who greeted him immediately at the door with a barrage of meows, chatting away at her favorite human. You and Steve don’t take it personally as she still doles out a bit of affection to you two as well.

He enters the kitchen carrying Alpine in the crook of his arm, scratching her head with his other hand. “Smells delicious in here,” he says, happily.

"Hey Buck," you smile and pull him close for a quick kiss.

"How was your day?" Steve asks.

"It was good," Bucky replies. "I spent most of it in the lab."

Steve raises an eyebrow at that, and the two of you exchange a look. Bucky usually likes to excitedly launch into some new development or bemoan a roadblock but with ideas of how he already wants to tweak his approach for the next day.

"What were you working on?" Steve presses further.

Bucky shrugs. "Just more tests on the vibranium alloys. Nothing too exciting."

You and Steve exchange another glance, sensing there's something Bucky isn't telling you, but silently agree not to push. If it's important, he'll tell you when he's ready.

"Well, dinner will be ready soon," you say. "Why don't you go wash up?"

Bucky nods, setting Alpine down gently. "Sounds good. I'll be right back."

As he leaves the kitchen, you turn to Steve.

"He seems off," Steve says quietly.

"Yeah. He didn't seem upset, just... distracted maybe?"

"Well, let's just keep an eye on him tonight," Steve suggests. "If something's truly bothering him, we’ll feel it.”

You nod in agreement with Steve, turning back to the stove to stir the simmering pot. The rich aroma of herbs and spices fills the kitchen, mingling with the comforting scents of the home you’ve built with your alphas.

Bucky returns a few minutes later, his hair damp from a quick shower. He moves to help set the table, falling into the familiar rhythm of your shared domestic life. As you bring the food to the table, you can't help but notice the slight tension in Bucky's shoulders, the way his eyes seem to flicker between you and Steve more frequently than usual.

Dinner conversation flows easily enough, with Steve recounting a particularly amusing incident from his day meeting with M’Baku in the mountain fortress of the Jabari. You chime in with stories from the school, delighting in the way both your alphas' eyes light up when you talk about your students' progress. Bucky listens attentively, but he remains more subdued.

He responds when spoken to, but doesn't engage in his usual animated conversation. You and Steve keep exchanging glances, your worry growing as the meal progresses.

As you're clearing the dishes, Bucky suddenly speaks up. "I have something I need to tell you both."

You and Steve freeze, turning to look at him. Your heart races, anxiety creeping in at his serious tone.

"What is it, Buck?" Steve asks, his voice calm but laced with concern.

Bucky runs a hand through his hair, a gesture you recognize as a sign of his nervousness. "I've been thinking about this for a while now, and... well, I think it's time we consider going back."

Steve's brow furrows, and you feel your heart skip a beat. "Going back?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky nods, his steel-blue eyes moving between you and Steve. "To New York," he clarifies, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You exchange a glance with Steve, surprise and confusion evident on both your faces. Bucky takes a deep breath, his metal hand absently stroking Alpine, who has curled up in his lap. "Shuri approached me today with an interesting proposition," he begins, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "She's been working on plans for Wakanda's next International Outreach Center, and she's decided to open it in New York."

You lean forward, intrigued. "New York?”

Bucky nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, in Brooklyn actually. And she's offered me a spot to work on the science and technology team there."

Steve's eyes widen. "Buck, that's amazing," he says, his voice filled with pride.

You feel a mix of emotions swirling inside you - excitement, anxiety, hope. "When would this be happening?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

Bucky reaches out, taking your hand in his. "Not for a few months yet. There's still a lot of planning and preparation to be done. But," he pauses, his eyes meeting yours, then Steve's, "I wanted to talk to you both about it first. This obviously isn't just my decision to make."

Steve leans back in his chair, his brow furrowed in thought, so you take the lead on pushing the conversation forward. "It's a big step," you say slowly. "We've built a lot here, and Wakanda is incredible, but… I do miss our other home.”

Bucky squeezes your hand. “Me, too.”

“And Mexican food and pizza,” you add.

He laughs, and Steve smiles.

Then you look at Steve, studying his face, probing at the bond between you. “What do you have tucked away that you haven’t told us?” you ask, realizing for the last couple of days he’s been projecting perhaps too much of a business-as-normal attitude.

“Okay, fine, I might have my own proposition from Shuri as well,” he admits.

“And?” you push, Bucky sitting up straighter in his chair.

“She wants to open official diplomatic relationships with a handful of countries - the US being one of them - and wants to request me as ambassador.”

You and Bucky stare at Steve in stunned silence for a moment.

"Ambassador?" Bucky finally says, his voice a mix of surprise and enthusiasm. "Steve, that's incredible."

"It really is!” you chime in just as excitedly, your mind racing with the implications. “We have every confidence in you, but are you ready for that kind of public role again?"

Steve takes a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours. "I've been thinking about it a lot. And I think I am. It's not the same as being Captain America - it's not about being a symbol or a hero. It's about building bridges, fostering understanding. I think... I think I could do some real good."

Bucky reaches out, placing a hand on Steve's shoulder. "You could, punk. You absolutely could."

You feel a swell of emotion in your chest, pride and love for both your alphas mingling with a hint of uncertainty.

“How long have you been sitting on this?" Bucky asks.

Steve has the grace to look a bit sheepish. "She only approached me officially yesterday, but we've been discussing the possibility for a few weeks now."

Bucky turns his eyes back to you - they both do - and he tugs on your hand to bring you back to the present. “What’s on your mind, Omega?”

You chew on your bottom lip before voicing the thought in your head. “Positions to ship both of you back off to the United States… do you think Shuri’s politely trying to kick us out?”

Steve leans in, a wry grin on his face. “Kick us out? Can’t you see what she’s doing?”

“What?”

Bucky chuckles and joins in, "She's clearly giving us undeniable reasons to go home."

“But why?”

The two alphas exchange a knowing look before bursting into laughter. “Really, sweetheart?” Steve asks.

Bucky’s tone is teasing as he adds, “Do you not also have some news to share with us?”

Your brow furrows. “What do you two know that I don’t?”

Your two alphas exchange another look, then turn their eyes back on you.

“Omega,” Bucky starts, his voice now serious, “your scent changed in the days after you took our knots in your last heat.”

“We’re certain you’re pregnant,” Steve finishes.

You gasp, the words taking a moment to fully register in your mind before your hand moves to your stomach. "Pregnant?" you repeat, disbelief and excitement swirling inside you.

FIVE WEEKS EARLIER

You wake with a gasp, your body trembling with need. Sweat beads on your skin as waves of heat roll through you, igniting every nerve ending. Your nightgown clings to your damp skin as you writhe on the bed, seeking friction against the sheets.

"Steve... Bucky..." you moan, your voice thick with desire.

The room is still dark, the first hints of dawn barely peeking through the curtains. But your alphas are instantly alert, their enhanced senses picking up on your distress and arousal.

"Omega," Bucky's voice is a low rumble as he rolls towards you, his metal arm cool against your fevered skin. "We've got you."

Steve presses against your other side, his lips finding the sensitive spot behind your ear. "What do you need?" he asks.

Steve's hand cups your breast through the thin fabric of your nightgown, his thumb brushing over your hardened nipple. You arch into his touch, a needy whimper escaping your lips. "Please," you gasp, your body burning with desire. "Need you both."

Bucky's metal hand trails down your side, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "We're here, ‘mega," he murmurs, his voice husky with want. "We'll take care of you."

Your heats come once each season, good regularity for an omega, but with alphas only falling into rut once or twice a year, this is the first time the three of you have cycled together, both of your alphas finally syncing to you.

Steve's fingers find the hem of your nightgown, slowly inching it up your thighs. "Always so beautiful," he breathes, his eyes dark with desire as he drinks in the sight of you.

You writhe between them, desperate for more contact. Your skin feels too tight, too hot, and you need their touch like you need air to breathe. "Alpha," you moan, not even sure which one you're calling for – you need them both equally.

Your skin feels like it's on fire, every brush of their hands sending sparks of pleasure through your body. The familiar ache of heat pulses deep in your core, your body preparing itself to be claimed by your alphas.

Bucky captures your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your moans as his tongue explores your mouth. Steve's hand slips between your thighs, finding you already wet and ready. You gasp into Bucky's mouth as Steve's fingers circle your sensitive bundle of nerves.

"So wet for us already," Steve murmurs, his voice low and husky.

You break away from Bucky's kiss, panting. "Please," you whimper, your hips bucking against Steve's hand. "Need you inside me."

Bucky's metal hand trails down your body, cool against your feverish skin. He gently pushes your nightgown up, exposing more of your heated flesh to the cool air of the room. Steve helps you sit up just enough to pull the garment over your head, leaving you bare between them.

The cool air of the room kisses your heated skin, making you shiver with anticipation. Bucky's metal hand trails down your spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Steve's fingers trace patterns on your inner thigh, inching closer to where you need them most.

"You're gorgeous like this," Bucky says, his voice low and husky. Steve hums in agreement, his eyes dark with desire as he drinks in the sight of you.

They’ve both been on the cusp of their ruts for the past few days, waiting for your heat to break, and you can smell the pleased anticipation positively rolling off them now.

You writhe between them. "Please," you pout, your body burning with need. "I need you both."

Steve captures your lips in a searing kiss as Bucky's metal fingers find your slick folds. You gasp into Steve's mouth as Bucky slowly slides two fingers inside you, stretching you deliciously.

“This cunt is crying for her alphas’ knots, isn’t it?” Bucky asks.

You nod frantically, beyond words as pleasure courses through you. Steve breaks the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck as Bucky's fingers work inside you.

"Tell us what you need, Omega," Steve whispers against your skin.

"You," you gasp. "Both of you. Please, I need to feel you both inside me."

Bucky growls low in his throat, his fingers withdrawing from you. You whimper at the loss, but then Steve is lifting you, positioning you over his hard length. You sink down onto him with a moan of relief, feeling deliciously full. He lays back, pulling you along with him.

"That's it, sweetheart," Steve breathes, his hands gripping your hips. "Take what you need."

You begin to move, rocking against Steve as Bucky watches with hungry eyes. After a few moments, Bucky moves to kneel next to your head. Without a word, you turn your head to take his cock into your mouth.

The room fills with the sounds of pleasure - skin against skin, breathless moans and whispered endearments. You rock your hips, taking Steve deeper inside you as you work Bucky with your mouth. Their scents surround you, pine and metal mingling with the heady aroma of your shared arousal.

Steve's hands remain on your hips, guiding your movements as you ride him. Bucky's metal hand tangles in your hair, not forcing but encouraging as you take him deeper. The dual sensations of being filled by both your alphas sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

"So perfect for us," Steve groans, his hips bucking up to meet yours.

Bucky's flesh hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your stretched lips. "Look at you, taking us both so well," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

You moan around Bucky's length, the vibrations making him groan. The praise from your alphas sends a thrill through you, spurring you on. You rock your hips faster, chasing your pleasure as you take them both deeper.

Steve's hands tighten on your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh in a way that's sure to leave marks. The thought of being marked by your alpha only heightens your arousal.

The dual sensations of Steve inside you and Bucky in your mouth are overwhelming. Heat coils tighter in your core with each thrust, each stroke. You can feel yourself getting close, teetering on the edge of bliss.

"That's it, Omega," Steve growls, his voice strained with pleasure. "Come for us. Let us feel you."

You work your fingers against Steve’s bonding mark, and he groans in a primal way. “Omega, don’t - you don’t know - “ he warns.

But you suspect what will happen if you tease and torture the place where finally you claimed him back. You’re tired of Steve holding back, and you want to trigger the true primal alpha side you know he’s still keeping behind walls of restraint, shame, and worry.

Your heat makes you more desperate, but also brings you closer to your base instincts. You know what you want, what you crave, what you need, and you know how to get it.

And so you keep stroking, pushing, probing. Bucky watches you, inclining his head slightly - silently asking if you’re sure of what you’re doing, and you nod even as Steve’s body starts to shake beneath you and his thrusts become more erratic. Bucky nods and pulls out of your mouth.

In a swift motion, you bite Steve’s mark anew, and he shouts, and snaps - you feel it through your connection, and you preen in triumph, but only for a fraction of a second because Steve’s immediately flipping you over. Without pause, he continues to fuck you, your legs spread wide for him now.

"You want a wild alpha fucking you?" Steve growls, his eyes dark with primal desire.

“Yes,” you moan, raking your fingers down his chest as you feel the knot at the base of his cock start to swell and move into your slick, desperate channel.

Steve's thrusts become more powerful, more frantic. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider as he drives into you. With his knot growing inside of you, he can only rut, but his angle, the thickness of his length, the rubbing of the knot is perfection.

Bucky moves down to kneel next to Steve, his metal hand gripping Steve's shoulder. "Easy, punk," he murmurs, but there's a hint of arousal in his voice. "Don't break our Omega."

Steve snarls in response, but his thrusts slow slightly, becoming more controlled yet no less intense. You whimper at the change in pace, your body trembling with need. "Please," you gasp, "don't stop."

Steve's eyes lock with yours, dark with desire and something wilder. "Never," he growls, his hips snapping forward.

Bucky's metal hand slides down your body, finding your sensitive bundle of nerves. You cry out as he begins to circle it with expert precision, the dual sensations of Steve's thrusts and Bucky's touch pushing you closer to the edge.

"That's it, Omega," Bucky murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Let go for us."

Steve's knot swells further, catching on your rim with each thrust. The stretch is delicious, bordering on too much but not quite. You arch your back, chasing the sensation.

"Gonna fill you up," Steve pants, his voice rough with need. "Breed you full of our pups."

His words send a jolt of pleasure through you. "Yes," you moan, "please, Alpha. Want your pups."

Bucky growls low in his throat, his fingers working faster against your clit. "You’ll take our knots until you’re bulging for us, so full of our cum.”

You nod frantically, beyond words as pleasure builds within you. Steve's thrusts become more erratic, his knot swelling to its full size. With one final, powerful thrust, he buries himself deep inside you, his knot locking you together as he begins to pulse his release.

The sensation of being filled, stretched, and knotted pushes you over the edge. You cry out as your orgasm washes over you, your body clenching around

Steve's knot. Your vision goes white at the edges as pleasure courses through every nerve ending. Steve collapses on top of you, his body shuddering with aftershocks.

Bucky's metal hand continues to work your sensitive bundle of nerves, prolonging your orgasm. You writhe beneath Steve, overwhelmed by sensation. Steve nips and licks at the top of your chest while he’s locked inside of you.

As your orgasm subsides, you lay panting beneath Steve, his weight a comforting presence. Bucky's metal hand moves to stroke your hair, soothing you as you come down from your high.

"You okay, Omega?" Bucky asks softly, his eyes searching your face.

You nod, still catching your breath. "More than okay," you manage to say, a blissful smile spreading across your face.

Steve lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours. There's a mix of emotions in his gaze - love, desire, and a hint of concern. "Did I hurt you?" he asks, his voice low.

You shake your head, reaching up to cup his cheek. "No, Steve. I wanted the Alpha side you’ve been holding back from me." You pull him down for a tender kiss, pouring all your love and reassurance into it.

As you break the kiss, you turn to Bucky. “Give me your cock, Alpha.”

He laughs. “You’re already full of cock, greedy girl.”

“Only one hole. I want more,” you whine.

Bucky's eyes darken with desire at your words. "You sure you can handle more, Omega?"

You nod eagerly, licking your lips as you eye his hard length. "Please, Alpha. Need to taste you."

Steve shifts slightly, careful not to pull on his knot, allowing you better access to Bucky. Bucky moves closer, positioning himself so you can reach him without straining.

You open your mouth, inviting him in. Bucky groans as he slides his cock between your lips, the taste of him exploding on your tongue. You moan around him, the vibrations making him shudder.

"That's it," Bucky murmurs, his metal hand coming to cup your cheek. "Take what you need."

You work him with your mouth, your tongue swirling around his tip before taking him deeper. Steve watches with dark eyes, his hips making small, involuntary thrusts as his knot keeps you joined.

The room fills with the sounds of pleasure - Bucky's low groans, Steve's panting breaths, and your muffled moans. The scent of sex and arousal hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the unique scents of your alphas.

"So good for us," Bucky praises, his voice rough with desire.

Steve's hand finds your breast, kneading gently. The sensations of Steve's knot locked inside you, Bucky's cock in your mouth, and Steve’s kneading hand send waves of pleasure through your body.

Your heat simmers just below the surface, temporarily sated but far from over. You can feel it building again, a slow burn that promises to consume you once more. But for now, you focus on the taste of Bucky on your tongue, the weight of Steve inside you, the scent of your alphas surrounding you.

You want more of Bucky - more thrusting, faster, rougher - but you know he won’t give it to you right now. He’s content and determined to wait so he can knot and fill you as soon as Steve’s knot goes down. And you want him to fill you up, too.

Bucky's metal hand cups your cheek gently as you continue to work him with your mouth. His flesh hand strokes through your hair, the tender gesture contrasting with the raw desire in his eyes. You can feel his restraint, the way he's holding back from thrusting too hard.

"That's it, ‘mega," he murmurs, his voice strained. "You're doing so well."

Steve's knot is still firmly lodged inside you, but you can feel it starting to soften ever so slightly. His hand continues to knead your breast, occasionally pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers.

Steve's knot finally softens enough for him to slip out of you. You whimper at the loss, feeling empty and needy. But Bucky doesn’t make you wait. He’s immediately pulling out of your mouth, his eyes dark with desire as he looks down at you. Moving in sync as only they could with their history in and out of battle, Steve makes way for Bucky to take his place between your thighs.

"Get ready for my knot," he says, his voice low and husky. “It will be the one of many this weekend, and you’re going to take it eagerly every time - from both of us.”

You nod eagerly, spreading your legs wider in invitation. "Please, Alpha," you whimper, your body aching to be filled again.

With one smooth thrust, he buries himself inside you, groaning at the sensation of your slick heat enveloping him. You cry out in pleasure, your back arching off the bed.

"So wet and open for me," Bucky growls, his hips starting a punishing rhythm. "Still dripping with Steve's cum."

The thought sends a thrill through you, knowing you're filled with one alpha's seed while taking the other. Steve lays beside you. He strokes your cheek before slipping his thumb into your mouth, and you automatically close your lips around it and start to suck and moan.

Bucky's thrusts are deep and powerful, each one sending sparks of pleasure through your body. His metal hand grips your hip, the cool metal a stark contrast to your heated skin.

“We’re gonna pass you between us, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs directly into your ear, then licks up the shell. “Keep you on our knots, fill you with our cum, make sure you’re going to swell with us after this heat.”

The thought of being passed between your alphas, filled with their cum and swelling with their pups sends a jolt of pleasure through you, makes you write eagerly for more. You moan around Steve's thumb, your hips bucking up to meet Bucky's powerful thrusts.

Bucky growls, his thrusts becoming more frantic. "Gonna fill you up, Omega. Breed you full."

"That's it," Steve murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Let go for us, sweetheart. Show us how good we make you feel."

Bucky's thrusts become more erratic, his knot beginning to swell, and Steve decides to torture you with divine licks pressed to the base of your neck over bonding mark he gave you, heightening your heat and bringing your primal self out more as you’d done to him. You can only moan and keen and grasp at them both.

"Alpha," you gasp, your body trembling on the edge of release. "Please, I need-"

"We know what you need, Omega," Bucky growls, his hips snapping forward with increased urgency. "Gonna give it to you. Gonna fill you up so good."

Steve's hand trails down your body, finding your sensitive bundle of nerves. He circles it with expert precision, adding to the overwhelming sensations. "Come for us," he demands, giving your engorged clit a pinch that triggers your orgasm, and you groan.

With one final, powerful thrust, Bucky buries himself deep inside you, his knot locking you together as he begins to pulse his release. The sensation amplifies and prolongs the intensity of your orgasm, your body clenching around Bucky's knot, trembling and gasping beneath him.

"That's it, Omega," Bucky groans, his body shuddering above you. "Take it all."

Your vision blurs at the edges as wave after wave of ecstasy courses through you.

As your orgasm begins to subside, you lay panting beneath Bucky, who collapsed on top of you, his weight a comforting presence. You kiss him, long and hard, momentarily sated.

But then you turn your head and reach for Steve, bringing his lips to yours. You move your mouth between them, needing their kisses more than you need air, eager and ready to take them over and over again through this heat, body more insatiable than you have ever been. And you can’t imagine anything else feeling as right as this does. They’re yours.

Forever.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[sgiandubh]

He was at Three Sheets yesterday night with Ashley. Check their respective stories

Dear Three Sheets Anon,

Your information is correct. What I meant by 'nothing to do with Ashley Hearn' in my post is a bit different, though. Ashley has been in London for a while already, obviously for sales & marketing purposes. She clearly posted about it and even suggested she will be in Scotland soon. But she is not the reason he is in London these days. She already successfully toured several bar outlets by herself, using her own business contacts, in New York and elsewhere: meeting her boss while in London is absolutely normal and nothing to write home about. But not the main reason he is in London right now, I think.

So it would seem they met at the Three Sheets Bar, yesterday.

S's IG story:

[Later edit]: Ashley's IG story - too bad I interrupted myself to get a delivery and then lost this thread:

S tagged both the bar and SS's IG accounts. This is a routine business meeting, especially considering the Three Sheets also deals in business consulting:

They have two outlets in London, one in Dalston and the other in Soho. Both have excellent reviews and well, the expected price range for cocktails in London (10-20 £ ):

Your ask also gives me the opportunity to come forward with several things I have been keeping in my drawers for a while, so thank you for that. Kind of.

Remember (LOOOL and then some more for that, always) my through the grapevine info that C joined S and the team at Milady's bar in New York, on October 17 2024, after the Versace Armani event she attended with Maria McManus? I also remember the Without Pix Anon:

Well, I don't have 'pix' , but I do have the next best thing (gracias a ti, siempre ❤️):

Ashley liked what C posted on October 25, 2024. One full week after the Milady's get together - why would she, if C wasn't there at all, like all the Righteous Pundits lie to you?

She also briefly followed her on IG, but not anymore (why? I will let you draw your own conclusions), along with several OL cast members (followed all of them at the same moment, after the event): Rankin, John Bell and Skeleton. Bell and Skeleton were at that get together, too (unsure about Rankin? it's Saturday, after all and I am not the Metropolitan Police, either - please correct me if I am wrong). She still follows them on IG. Clearly they met there?

The second thing I wanted to bring along is Maximum Wobbler Bullshit's recent nonsense:

This impostor and mythomaniac I have repeatedly debunked in the past still has very scant English, negligent writing skills at best and no damn idea about what marketing means. She was completely triggered by this particular post, on November 5, 2024 (while almost everyone was looking elsewhere, for obvious reasons):

Featured in the pic is Mia Kumari, a good friend of Ashley Hearn. Maximum Wobbler Bullshit conveniently forgets to explain who Mia Kumari is:

Based in London, UK and currently mixing at the Satan's Whiskers bar in Bethnal Green (after a short spell at The Savoy, hello?), she is a well-known, up-and-coming bartender with a consistent record of awards:

The press is raving about her:

[Full article, here: https://foodism.co.uk/features/long-reads/women-london-bar-scene/]

She is also a feminist bartender, with an internationally praised agenda:

[Mia was last week in Greece, as guest speaker at the very prestigious Athens' Bar Week. Too bad I left: I would have certainly bought a ticket and gladly listened to what she had to say - https://www.athensbarshow.gr/guest-speakers/mia-kumari]

Surely a trailblazer 'in London’s dynamic and globally revered bar industry', who also is 'an advocate for equality, diversity and inclusion' does not need Sassenach Spirits to promote herself. She is doing a smashing job at it, like the pro she clearly is: on trend, progressive, sought after and more than noticed. I fail to see where the fuck the alleged cronyism is, because that would simply mean Mia Kumari is a social zero, a nobody in the UK's spirits industry, taking advantage of her friendship with Ashley Hearn in order to get more attention for her sole benefit. That is a lie and that is simply wrong: if anything, it is Sassenach Spirits that needed to prominently feature someone like Mia Kumari, in order to align itself to the values she is so actively promoting (all values C is sensitive to, hmmm). We are miles away, here, from the Cutty Sark wannabe (in)famous Labour Day boat party in Marina del Rey, featuring the BBC/Blue Bikini Chick, back in September 2023 (https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/727347023165145088/its-all-fake-anyway), when all the fandom trolls were on fire. So, Sassenach Spirits needed to do exactly something along these lines, in order to promote and boost the seasonal Xmas sales of their tartan scarves, SS's most expensive merch, targeting a younger, more sophisticated urban crowd.

Clever brands constantly redefine themselves, looking for the right trends and the right crowds to promote their products to. This is a clear sign that finally adults are in the room, now, at SS's Marketing and Sales respective departments. So damn glad to see this welcome shift!

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 78: Oliver's Awakening

Previous > Masterlist > Next

tw: aftermath of mind control, discussion of abuse

October 1925

Oliver writhed on the ground, his chest as tight as a drum and tears squeezing from his eyes, as all the fear and pain and shame that had been suppressed the past few months flooded him.

He'd been content, so content to give up his own life to become the servant of a vampire, hardly even struggling as he was taken and confined and ensorcelled. He'd enjoyed the vile feedings, looking forward to the vampire drinking away his blood, pleased to slump over in the vampire's arms as his life was drained, satisfied with the twin scars on his neck. He'd cheerfully allowed the vampire to pass him around like a party favor to his lover, to curl up around him as he slept, to dress him up in ball gowns and take him to vampire dens to show off…

But truly, it wasn't the shame that hurt the most -- that was just the easiest of his emotions to understand. No, the worst of it was the profound sense of emptiness. It was if Alexander's music had filled something within him he hadn't known was empty. It had given him a purpose, even if it was to follow the selfish whims of a monster, and now he was devoid. Knowing intellectually that it had never been a real purpose, just enslavement, didn't ease the sting of his heart.

Vivian crouched down and placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, Oliver, I know it's a lot to process. It might take days or weeks --"

"You don't know!" Oliver wrenched backwards to get away from her, furious. "You don't know what you just took. You can't!"

"I know it must hurt --"

"If you knew it would hurt like this, then why did you do it against my wishes?" Oliver demanded.

"Oliver!" Emily was standing nearby. "She was just trying to help. It's not fair to yell at her like that."

"It's not fair that I feel like this!"

"Leave him alone," said Vivian. "Let him scream at me if he wants. He's coming out of a much deeper enthrallment than you were in, Emily. It won't be easy."

"That's not true," she said indignantly. "I could barely talk, couldn't remember my past, wasn't even literate any more."

"Yes, and that's relatively easy for a vampire to do. What's been done to Oliver is far more precise and insidious, to keep him so intact on the surface while bending his desires and loyalties completely."

"Do you mind talking about me as though I'm not even here?" Oliver hated how angry he was, how he couldn't control the harshness of his voice. He was never angry, never so much as raised his voice at a difficult customer, not before he was captured. Even then, his anger had been weak, easily plucked out of his head by that damned Miss Lily. He felt sick to think of himself drowsing in her company, letting her rummage through his very mind, throw out anything she didn't like, and replacing his truth with a pretty painted facade.

"I'm sorry," said Vivian. "I know you're upset with me, but this is important. Can you still feel the connection with your former master?"

"No. It's been severed. I can't hear him anymore."

"That's good. With a vampire that powerful, it's likely that your connection is actually only weakened, not entirely destroyed. He may try to enter your head again, draw you under his sway."

Oliver nodded, ashamed that a part of him hoped he would, that Alexander's music would dull the pain. No, he would have to resist somehow. He couldn't go through all of this heartache for no reason, to go merrily skipping back into the arms of a vampire. Vivian's magic had stripped away the illusion, revealed the monster behind the handsome face.

"I'll try to resist," said Oliver shakily.

"Good, that's good. If you hear his voice, you need to tell me immediately, all right? I can help protect you, or wash out his influence again if we need to," she said. "It's my fault for not killing him when I had the chance. I was a coward. And now I'll have to plan to go after him again, before he hunts me down."

"Don't kill him!" Oliver's fervor surprised even him.

"Oliver, you'll never be safe until I do."

"I know that, but -- I don't want him to die. Maybe I should want him to die, maybe I'm still under his spell, but I can't bring myself to want him to die," he said, not understanding why he felt so strongly about this when he knew Alexander's true nature.

"He took you from your bookshop, remember?" said Emily. "The whole time we were in those cages -- at least, before Lily warped our minds -- that's all you could talk about, was your bookshop and how you had to return there. Don't you want to?"

His bookshop, and the tiny apartment above. His little safe haven, where he'd spent his entire life. The antique books locked behind the counter, the sagging shelves of the history section, the ratty armchair with the throw blankets that might still be waiting for him.

"I can't go back there," he said. "Alexander was one of my customers. He'd find me easily."

"That's why I have to kill him," said Vivian.

Mounting horror dawned on Oliver. "But even if you did kill him, it wouldn't do any good, because his sire would find out and hunt us both down. I'm sure of it."

"His sire? A vampire that powerful, and he's still beholden to his sire?"

"He's a terrifying vampire." The fear, which had been acute before, was now so much more sharp without Alexander's soothing influence. He could remember the feel of harsh fangs in his neck all too well, the panic of being unable to open his eyes. "Far more terrifying than Alexander could ever be. Alexander once told me that if we ever tried to escape him, he'd hunt us both down and make sport of it, and I believe him."

"It can't be…" Vivian muttered. "Tell me more about him, your former master's sire."

As much as Oliver didn't care to recall those memories, Vivian might actually be able to help. "I'll tell you whatever information I have. I'd be happy to see him die, and Alexander would, too. I don't know his real name, but they all call him the Maestro --"

"You've met him?" She gripped his shoulders like a madwoman. "You've actually met the Maestro?"

"Unfortunately, yes. You've heard of him?"

"He took my mother. He's the vampire I need to kill more than any other. You must tell me everything you know about him."

"I'm sorry about your mother," he said. "I can tell you everything I've learned about him, if you agree that you won't kill Alexander."

"Even if I were convinced you truly meant that and it wasn't just residual conditioning, I couldn't agree to that. Alexander is likely to come after me for taking you, and if he does, I need to be able to defend myself."

"I suppose that's true," said Oliver reluctantly. He didn't want to admit to himself that it would be ideal if Vivian were to kill the Maestro but spare Alexander, so that he would have the option of returning to the vampire without the threat of his sire hanging over their heads.

No, he must still be under the spell. He shouldn't return to Alexander under any circumstances, not if he wanted to keep a free thought in his head.

"You need to tell me," Vivian insisted. "Revenge on the Maestro is one of the main reasons I became a hunter in the first place. It wasn't just my mother who suffered. He's killed at least twenty hunters, and he's believed to have kidnapped a number of musicians and stage performers. He needs to be stopped."

"He does." Oliver sighed, feeling that tiny bit of leverage slip. "All right. I'll tell you what I know."

He tried to recall everything he could for Vivian's sake -- everything Lex had told him, and especially recounting his own experiences with the cruel vampire. Emily sat nearby, her eyes going wide with horror as Oliver described his blinding and the painful feeding. Vivian, on the other hand, was absorbing all of Oliver's words carefully.

"So when he controlled you -- was there any sort of induction he had to perform? Any conditions he had to meet?"

"I don't think so, or at least I don't remember any. Alexander didn't mention any either. He was able to puppet my body as easily as if I were a toy, and there didn't seem to be any way to resist it."

"Hm. That's going to be trouble," said Vivian, deep in thought. "And when he stopped you from opening your eyes again -- how long did it take for that enthrallment to wear off?"

"It didn't. The next day, Alexander took me to Miss -- to another vampire's home, one that specializes in hypnotizing humans, and she reversed the Maestro's command."

"A specialist in hypnotizing humans? Lily?"

"You know her too?"

"Yes, I'm aware of her."

"Are you going to kill her, too?"

"I really should, considering how many people's minds she's destroyed -- or are you going to defend her as well?"

"…No." Truthfully, he felt more conflicted about it than he should, given that Vivian was objectively correct. How many human minds had she stolen? How many lives had she cut short, selling innocent people off to vampires with nothing more than glee about her profits? She was the one who had twisted his mind, and all those feelings of comfort and warmth as he slept in her chair were nothing more than lies to keep him docile.

"So do have any idea where the Maestro lives?"

"No, I'm sorry. Those are the only two times I encountered him, and Alexander never mentioned where he lives, from what I can recall."

Vivian sighed. "It's a pity. But even so, you've given me far more information than I had yesterday, and I'm grateful for it."

"You know… both you and Alexander want the Maestro dead. Could you ever consider working together?" asked Oliver.

"Working with a vampire?"

"Only this one specific time, only to kill an even worse vampire!"

"I can't do that," said Vivian. "Even if we do have the same goal. Fighting a vampire as formidable as the Maestro would leave me vulnerable, and I can't trust that this Alexander wouldn't simply enthrall me afterwards. In fact, he'd be stupid not to, lest I kill him."

Oliver wanted to protest that Alexander wouldn't do that… except that Alexander might actually do that. After all, he had no qualms at all about buying a human at auction, even a human he previously knew as an equal. Why would he hesitate to enthrall a hunter?

"Come on," said Vivian, helping him off the floor. "We can talk more about this later. You've been through a lot tonight, and need more time to shake off the spell you've been under. We have a room that you can use, but I'm going to have to lock you in, and keep you under surveillance for now, at least until we're sure that your vampire isn't going to try and push himself into your head again."

"Fine," he said, accepting that Vivian didn't trust him. He didn't even trust himself. "Why can he still do that, if you've undone the enthrallment?"

"There's a psychic connection established when a vampire drinks your blood. It's not quite the same thing as enthrallment, and it can be very strong. It fades in days or weeks, but until then, you'll still be vulnerable to the vampire's influence."

"I see." He wondered if that applied to any vampire which had fed from him. If it did, that meant -- "But the Maestro, he…"

"Yes," she said grimly. "Has he ever entered your mind before, when he's not there in person?"

"I don't think so. I hope not."

"I hope not either. I'm not prepared to fight him just yet. If you sense anything, you need to tell me right away."

"Yes, of course."

Vivian led Oliver out of the attic and into a room little bigger than a closet, with a cot and a small chest of drawers. "You should get some rest," she said, herding Oliver inside. "You'll feel better once you have. Is there anything you need?"

"A glass of water, please?" asked Oliver, sitting on the edge of the cot. "And if you have any interesting books…"

"Certainly. I'll see what I can do."

Oliver waited patiently for Vivian to return with the water and a couple of old magazines. As soon as she left the room and he heard the lock click shut, he fell back onto the bed, knowing that he wouldn't even be able to concentrate on reading, not with all the thoughts crowding his head.

He was free.

Wasn't he?

It was terribly hard to feel free when he was locked into a small room, the threat of his vampiric master and his sire still hanging over his head like an executioner's axe. The confinement was for his own safety, and he understood the reasons, but he wouldn't actually be free until both Alexander and the Maestro had ceased to walk the earth.

He was frustrated with himself. He shouldn't care so much about the well-being of a vampire who had literally purchased him at auction. And yet…

Now that the initial shock and fear had worn off, he was finding himself gripped by a deep and profound sadness. The cot he lay on was hard and cold, and he couldn't suppress his longing for his bed at home -- no, Alexander's bed. It wasn't ever his. He'd been hypnotized to share it, to cuddle up with a monster.

He'd been hypnotized into affection.

And it was really the only affection he'd had since he was a child, wasn't it? He'd lived such a solitary and quiet life, spending almost every night alone in his small apartment with books for company. Even the simple pleasure of curling up to read next to someone else had been foreign to him until he came into Alexander's possession.

And it had all been a fabrication meant to keep him compliant, hadn't it? He shouldn't miss it. He should be glad to be rid of it.

But the thought of returning to his solitary life, of never experiencing actual tenderness, was crushing him inside. He'd been starving for so many years, but it had been bearable when he didn't know what he was missing. Now that he knew that his choice was between actual loneliness and false companionship, he could only be ashamed at the parts of himself which preferred the lie.

No, he had to press on somehow. He couldn't return himself to a monster, no matter how charming. He should be happy to be freed. He could have his own life back. He could sleep during the night and wake during the day, and walk in the sunshine, and choose to go wherever he pleased.

He could take what little money he had stashed in his bookshop and take a train out of town, or a boat overseas, see the new places that he dreamed about but never got around to visiting. He could start his life over, do something else with it. Live a fuller life in the here and now rather than wait in his lonely little bookshop, wait for something to happen to him. Something had happened to him, and it should have taught him a lesson about choosing what he wants before it's chosen for him.

It was exhilarating. But…

For all his newly gained freedom, he still had no idea what he actually wanted. The desire for fangs in his neck was fake, but at least it was a clear desire. What did he want before, apart from books and safety? And who was he now, now that he knew the dangerous world of the supernatural lurked just behind every streetlamp, just waiting to pull him into it?

Previous > Masterlist > Next

Next week: Oliver is not as free as he might have hoped.

I'll also have a Christmas-adjacent self-indulgent vampire story up tomorrow, so please keep an eye out! And vote in the holiday edition of Sedation Vending Machine!

Thanks for reading this story another year, and happy holidays!

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin

@whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist

@vampiresprite @irregular-book @whumpsoda @und3ad-mutt

@sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada

@typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia

@a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@enigmawriteswhump @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot

@cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree @whatamidoingherehelpme

@strawbearydreams @ghost-whump @tippytappytyping @natthebatt @fire-bugg14

@fuckcapitalismasshole @slightlydisturbedbeans @paperprinxe @demetercabingreen-thumb @the-broken-pen

@pokemaniacgemini @jumpywhumpywriter @basica11ywhumped @anoontjecanush @cepheusgalaxy

@whump-me-harder @whump-till-ya-jump @the-monarch-whumperfly @ium1naryy @wumpbean

[marvelmaniac2000]

My Spaghetti and Meatballs

Summary: imagine giving Eddie simple human decency and he definitely gets stalkerish and insane. 

Characters: Edward Nashton x fem! Reader 

Minors DNI / +18 Only 

Subject: Smut! Stalking, voyeurism, anxiety reader, aesthetically pleasing content, extreme attachment/abandonment issues, orphanage, unprotected sex (practice safe sex everyone) 

Words: 2.0k

Side notes: I’ve been bored lately and needed to dribble some stories down. I’ve been sickly obsessed with pauly poo.  This was inspired by the spaceman intereview he did with adam sandler and fantasmas tv show.

 You hummed a tune to yourself to keep calm.. You were very hungry and you planned on making spaghetti and meatballs for yourself. But also of course to help save money by having leftovers. Some of your anxiety started to kick in because it was a little dark outside in the city and you were alone commuting to the grocery store. Even though Gotham had its reputation it wasn’t much you could do but always look out for yourself. You had on beat up converse shoes and warm auburn fall peacoat on in a cool first week of October. You were about average looking (in your own opinion) and didn’t draw much response from other strangers.

"Ok" you mouth to yourself, while looking at your grocery list in your notes. I need noodles, ground beef, etc . You mumbled to yourself and looked down the aisle for each ingredient. 

 “H-hey excuse me” you snapped your head up and looked at the man in front of you. 

 “Hi” you gave a dry response before realizing who it was.

“O-oh my goodness, Eddie!..” you swiveled your items out of your basket in your hand before bringing him in a hug. Edward gasped a little, finally seeing you in front of him. It has almost been years but it only felt like yesterday since he saw you in the very flesh directly talking to him. He has been following you and keeping touch with you since the day you guys both turned eighteen, but technically you both have been on your own since sixteen from the orphanage. It was one of the worst days of his life, when you finally were taken into an adoptive family at the late age of sixteen years old. 

   It felt like a jab to his stomach losing the family member he created within himself. The foster parents didn’t mean anything to him, the real mother he had was you. You were his sister, mother and girlfriend he needed. You were everything he needed of course.Edward knew he wasn’t going to be adopted, but he didn’t care. He stared at you barely able to make out any last words. Just your presence and knowing you were ok was what all he needed to know. As long as you were protected and were there for him, he could continue on. He knew you like the back of his hand. Some days he could go without checking on you, but he had to make sure you were still ok. Sometimes he would send money and support to your live stream, and fantasize of the costume you put on display for that video. It was his ritual. 

 “You look good Eds, you’re still just as adorable and sweet growing up” you couldn’t help but squeeze  his pink cheeks together and peck him on the cheek. Words couldn’t describe what he meant to you. You and Eddie were the only ones who tried to survive the foster home life and survive shitty school years too. You both slept together in the same bunk rooms, you slept in his bed when he was scared and rubbed him to sleep, you made sure his favorite cereal was there, even if the other kids sometimes would get greedy and not share. You cleaned his glasses for him, bought him clothes with little money you did have from your high school job. He was your baby. He gave you meaning when nothing else felt like so. Eddie's face turned a flush red. A rush of happiness and warmth swept over his body that he never felt in awhile. But it has been awhile since anyone showed him any type of affection and especially coming from you. Any type of praise from you sent him over the edge and he wanted more. 

  “I missed you too, I wanted to make sure you were still doing ok, I see you’re working now and have your own life” Eddie wanted to know if you had a boyfriend. He couldn’t afford to have you keep any secrets away from him.  “Yea I’ve been more happy than I've ever been, my own money, own life, no worries, it’s great.” You notice how upset your Eddie looked. “Why don’t you come over to my apartment, I’m making your favorite” you smiled. If Eddie could cry of happiness he could. He wanted to ball up in bed with you and cuddle as long as he could. “That would be great” he pushed the rim of his glasses up and followed you out to purchase the groceries. 

  You both arrived at your apartment that was dimly lit with your tv still on. “Oh uh sorry for the mess I don’t usually like to clean up until I get the energy to sometimes.” You wanted to make Eddie feel at home like he always felt. “Um just sit over there Eds you can watch tv if you like, there’s a blanket over there” 

 “It’s ok I’ll just watch tv from here, you always go above and beyond for me” Eddie was just happy to finally have you here and inside your apartment. He looked around taking in the different furniture, decor and things you had inside your place. He notices your desktop and computer in the corner of the room with a gaming chair just like in your videos you use.

  You took off your jacket and lit a bunch of candles that you had decorated on your kitchen counters. 

You wondered what Eddie was doing around lately. He didn’t seem like the type to hang around town alone. But maybe he has changed now that he is older. You let the noodles boil and create your special tomato sauce in a separate pan. 

  “Sooo eddie what have you been eating now huh? Frozen dinners?” you joked while looking at him mindlessly watching tv. He looked so cute with his big puppy dog eyes.

   “Very funny but I make do with whatever I can make myself” he smiled. “But I always miss your food ” He watched the tv hoping this moment would never end. Your cheek flushed a bit red hearing him talk. Eddie was somewhat of an old soul, he reminded of guys who deserve everything in the world, but was just sort of awkward. But it was nice finally having him around, it did feel a bit lonely not having anyone around, but you wouldn’t change it for the world, finally having your peace and independence living your life. The tomato sauce smelled amazing in the entire room. You pour the paste inside the noodles and mix it well together. You brought a plate to Eddie with a fork. Eddie smiled and felt like he was home once again. You sat next to him curled up on the side watching whatever show was on. 

   “So what do you do now for work?” You nervously peeled your fingernails. Eddie chewed with a mouth full of food before he talked. 

“Nothing much, just a financial analyst at a company, but I guess it’s ok” he hummed while he ate. “Oh that’s good to hear” you watch him with adoration while he stuffed his face. 

  “Do you mind if I stay here for the night? I think it’s supposed to be a really bad storm tonight.” Edward looked at you with his eyes. “Of course it’s not a problem at all,” you smiled. “Here I’ll get you some towels and stuff for a shower.” Edward watches you leave, seeing you disappear in your bedroom. He wondered what your bedroom looked like. If it was normal and basic or with different colors with many pillows. 

  “Um the towels and stuff are in this closet if you need them, you gesture the closet against the wall” you showed him. “Ok” he nodded. 

“I’ll just jump in the shower real quick” you told him before making your way out. Eddie gave you a reassuring nod before looking out the autumn window noticing the seasons beginning to change. He hated the fact that he lied to you, but it was the only way he could stay any much longer here with you. He watched you make your way into the bathroom to cleanse yourself up. Eddie pants began to harden listening to the echo of the water running down your body and your nude body lathered up with soap. 

His aching bulged pressed against him. He tossed the blanket over his legs to casually cover his member. 

  To make matters even worse you came out of the steaming hot shower with a sexy baby doll gown and fluff slippers. “It’s all yours Eddie” you sat next to him on the sofa in a sigh of relief. “Thanks” he managed before striding in the bathroom. You cover yourself up with a cozy blanket and turn the channels to see what else is on cable. 

   Eddie noticed used pads and looked inside your dirty laundry basket. You had a pretty lace black thong that had trimmed lace around it. He balled up the fabric and stuffed two more pairs inside his pocket before jumping into your shower. Eddie missed everything about you and your warmth. The way you took care of everything around him. Then finally he slowly came back out with only his clothes but with a tank top and his boxer briefs. 

  “Come cuddle with me Eddie” you laying gently on top of him.  “You know I’m glad you’re doing ok eddie” you held him close feeling him.

   “Me too” he mumbled in heaven. You felt his bulge between your legs and tried to make sure you weren’t imagining it. Eddie couldn’t manage to get it down even after taking a shower. He wanted you so badly right at that moment. “Do you need help with this?” you whispered while moving your hand to his boxers. “Umm yes” he groaned. “I can help” you push your hand down in his boxers and rub the precum that glossed over his dick. 

“Just like that?” you managed to say.

   “Y-yes” he groaned again. You pull yourself up to kiss him on the lips before rubbing his member a little harder. Eddie bucked his hips to your hand as you continued your pace. 

You moaned from feeling him get pleasure from it. 

  “Can I put it in me Eddie?” you asked him before stopping. 

   “Of course I want you now,” he demanded. You slide your panties off and stick it in slowly before riding him at a slow deliberate pace. Eddie held onto your hips as guiding for you to go quicker.

    “Oh Eddie” you moaned, lowering yourself to kiss him passionately. His hands roamed under your gown and greedily gave your plump boobs a squeeze. You whimper feeling him take control. Eddie could barely catch his breath before his mouth met your soft nipples. You gave out a loud moan rocking your hips harder with him grazing your wet insides. 

   “Mmmm” you threw your head back and felt him touch your g spot. 

  “Right there baby” Eddie put on his glasses and now watched you with his emerald eyes. “I’m going to come” Eddie murmured  before cumming his load inside of you. You stop your pace before catching your breath. 

 There was a rumble of thunder outside before you both realized what was happening. “I’m glad you’re here to keep me safe huh?” you giggled. “I guess so, we always had each other's backs, remember?” 

“I do” you cooed. Eddie pulled himself out of you before covering the blanket with both of you falling asleep.   

My Card 💚

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Swallowed Whole by The Flame (Messmer the Impaler x Tarnished! Reader) 11

MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS | NEXT

Summary: Tarnished is met with her struggles in Messmer's "disappearance". She is also visited by a figure she thought she had long forgotten.

A/N: Helloooo! I'm back! I didn't realise I was gone for so long! October has been a hectic month. I hope all are doing well.

A03 link

-

Chapter 11: Secrets

It is only the next day after your failed attempt to draw Messmer out that you try again. Again, met with little to no resistance, his guards tell you he is occupied. Though they're cryptic in giving a precise time he'll be out, they try and promise you to come again when he's free.

You try not to think much about it, though it nags you in the back of your mind. It's rare to not see him around his own Keep, especially since he suddenly disappeared for no reason. Did you do something to upset him? You try to retrace your steps, thinking over and over again what you could've done wrong. Sure, you were brash and keen on pissing him off, but you didn't think anything had come from your last interactions. Furthermore, you thought your last conversation was civil albeit somewhat awkward.

Nonetheless, you occupy yourself in hundreds of books. The more, the merrier you feel in keeping yourself sane. You find yourself for hours, forgetting about the most basic of needs like having meals and hydrating that when night draws in, you feel more exhausted than ever before.

The next few days are the same: you arrive early to try and catch Messmer, in hopes of seeing him leave his chambers, to no avail. It's the same promises, and you still foolishly believe them, no matter how frustrated you feel.

It's only when some of Messmer's knights take pity on you, suggesting taking some fresh air would do you well, that even Sir Ansbach and Aldwin begin to show concern. But you dismiss them all, keeping to yourself and your books. It takes some suggestions before some of the soldiers in the training yard ask if you're willing to train alongside them, and you seem to give in.

You don't loiter for long, and you find yourself clumsier than ever before being smacked against your limbs by a wooden sword. All because you're occupied in worrying about the stupid impaler. That same night, you find yourself cringing at the amount of bruises that litter your skin, and the way your body aches to no end, but you stick to your books, soon forgetting about sleep and its necessity.

A week passes before you're thoroughly pissed off. You dress simply as you rush to his apartments, remembering to take a sword with you along the way that you hide in your tall boots. Finding two black knights standing outside, they eye you nonchalantly, before you give your answer.

"He's still hiding, isn't he?"

"His Lord is very busy, Lady Tarnished." One of the ones you can recognise by his voice answers, the same who has had to face you almost daily. "I do not have an answer as to when his Lord will leave his apartments."

"That's the thing, I come here almost every fucking day to receive the same answer. Is there something truly up that a man has to be locked in his room?" You demand. "Is he sick? Do you know if he's even in his room, that he's not disappeared into a puff of smoke? You could be guarding fuck all."

"My Lady, Lord Messmer has asked for no disturbances," the same guard gives a vague answer with a hint of grit to his words. It doesn't worry you though, however, you can feel your chest hammering tightly in your chest. "We cannot ask enough that you leave his Lord to his peace."

"And what will you do if I don't leave?"

You can tell the way the knights are looking to one another for an answer - maybe Messmer had ordered them specifically to carry something out if they knew you'd not answer - before the same answers. "We would have to ask politely for you to leave."

"Again, what if I don't want to be politely escorted away?" You make an effort for them to see you go to grab hold of the sword's handle, so they're aware that you're armed. "Will I have to slice through you to get through?"

It's silent in the hallway, and neither of them seems so sure how to answer you. "I will ask this only once: move aside."

They know how much trouble they'll be in if they disobey either Messmer or you, but you think they would rather face the Impaler's wrath than have to take you on in the hallway. The two sides step away, leaving only you and what hides behind those doors.

You charge in almost hastily, the swing of the doors slam and shudder against the walls, echoing loudly as you step into the dimly lit room. His apartments are similar to yours, lavishly covered in red velvet, though his room is much larger, with a dining table as long as the ones in great halls, a lit fire keeping the warmth flowing.

You find the man you're looking for, sat at the head of the table, his back towards the fireplace, his hair laminated against the red of the flames, as he idly chews on his breakfast. 

The fucking nerve.

He's not fully dressed, the helmet is one thing you spot is missing, and it gives you a clearer view of his face. He's picking at his food, but he's holding a steady "what do you want" stare down at you. "Didst thee killeth mine men?" Is the first thing to come out his mouth once he's chewed through a bite.

"No." You seethe, watching him through narrowed eyes. "Is this what you've been doing this whole time? Hiding in the dark?" You eye his room and the paperwork, scrolls and letters that are placed around him. He's been busy preoccupying himself, away from the world outside his room.

"T'is none of thy concern as to what I doth in mine spareth timeth, Tarnished." He's coldly calling you by your title and there is disgust that is in his tone in the way he speaks down at you. Messmer pushes back his half-empty plate, "I asketh again: what doth thee wanteth?"

You feel as if you're a child being scolded by your mother for raiding the pantry late at night, and you merely scoff at his indifferent tone. "You've been missing for the last week. I-- we've been wondering if you just left without any of us knowing." You dry laugh to hide the fact that you're nervous for some reason. Is it because you're lying to him? That people around you have been going about their day as if this is a normal occurrence. Why was it you then who was the one who wished for his whereabouts?

Messmer lightly hums, "I've been missed, thee sayeth? Then I shalt arrangeth a meeting with mine own top generals." He coolly responds as if it's been nothing, but he's caught off guard by the look of anger that crosses your features.

"What are you hiding, Messmer?"

"If it is of concern, I am awaiting news from mine mother. She shall wisheth to knoweth of mine own progress." He says. He seems proud anytime he talks about Marika, and you think those letters surrounding him are proof of him trying to hear of updates.

"Your mother," the very mention of Marika leaves a fire in your stomach, and you feel a wretched disgust in its wake, "why are you so sure she will return here?" You think you're going half mad, and you visualise your fight with him that left you imprisoned in his tower. You think he's gone back on his word, after everything, so why is he so certain she will come now after all these years?

Messmer is the one who dismisses your words and his words sting like a slap across the face. "Thou art a fool if 't be true thee bethink otherwise. Marika will hear back from me-"

"Your mother is not fucking coming to get you, Messmer!" You snap so abruptly that it shakes the foundation of the rock of his room. You're certain you can hear the drop of a pin from the silence that follows and the way multiple feelings flash through Messmer's golden eye. Hurt, revulsion, fury. They're gone in an instant, replaced with the same deadpan expression he carries always.

You realise your mistake, that those days of trying to befriend him, sacrificing your time and your life to ally with him are tossed as quickly as a match into the flame. You take a hesitant step towards him. "Messmer."

"I wanteth thee to leaveth." His voice is scarily calm, so quiet that you don't hear it against the scraping of his chair as he abruptly stands to his full height. You're startled back, trying to compose yourself as you're frozen on the spot. "Messmer-- it was a mistake?"

"T wouldst beest a misprision if thee didst not leaveth mine own chambers this instance." You watch from his right hand pour flames, smoke and embers flow as he slowly and methodically walks around the table to get to you. They grow as large as his height, swirling around him in great awe and horror. The room grows incredibly hot so suddenly, and you're struggling to breathe.

You wheeze, tears making it harder to see through as you're consumed by heat and smoke. "Messmer, please." You beg, but the redhead is not relenting in his footsteps as he finally makes his way towards you. His winged serpents hiss and lunge as if trying to bite you, and you look up at him with dread and doom running a course through your veins.

"Leave at once!" He roars, and you stumble out as you push through the doors, air returning to you as you hurry away as far as your legs can take you. Messmer watches your retreating form, his head pounding, chest aching as if yearns for nothing more than the abyss.

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

He nor anyone but your maids come to give you your dinner that night, bidding a goodnight and leaving you to the silence of your apartments. You have found yourself stuck in the same part of your room, staring out the barred windows, hoping that you won't have to see him again.

The tears and smoke had dried on your face, leaving your eyes dry and struggling to see through, so you bid the maids to draw you a bath, where you had to stop yourself from drowning in it. You could still feel the heat that poured over your skin, cooking you in the spot you stood in. 

You had never felt more alone in your existence, confided to the fear of staying or fleeing, to await Miquella and Lady Leda. Would it be a better fate than to face Messmer's wrath again?

You thought he knew it himself Marika would not return, and your temper had gotten the better of you. You admitted it, you wanted to tell yourself there had to be a reason why you lashed out to him, why he was making you worry so much.

Your mind drew back to the moment he had caught you from making a fool of yourself in front of him once more, the warmth that came from him, wishing to be close to him like that again.

"Oh, Gods," you hid your face in your hands, "I cannot like him like that?"

But announcing it left a stammer in your chest, and even when you closed your eyes, you could see his face as if he was right in front of you. Your face warmed with heat as you stepped out of the bath, preparing to dress for bed. The candles were beginning to wilt as darkness slowly started to close in on your room. You paid it no mind as you dressed in your shift dress, sitting at the dresser as you grabbed the hairbrush to brush through your curls. It was only when you looked up into the mirror that something caught your gaze.

You blinked, almost letting out a scream as you scrambled to look behind you, only to find nothing there. A vision or hallucination? You blamed your lack of sleep, though you felt evermore afraid than before. It was humanlike and watching you, tall yet beautiful.

You sighed, drying your hair as you tried to think of anything but what could've been a ghost in your room. Perhaps you would sleep with a knife under your pillow just in case. 

Just as you stand and go towards the bed, do you hear the softest of voices, whispering languidly in the dead air.

"Oh, my sweet knight. How I've missed thee."

It is right behind you, and you turn swiftly to meet your attacker, only to find it is a figure standing by the window, staring out. He is tall, hauntingly beautiful as you saw before, long golden locks drift as he turns his head towards you, his smile as sweet as the summertime.

"Prince Godwyn?" You grasp the closest thing to you, your hairbrush, not a good weapon against the former demigod.

Godwyn looks at you warmly, his blue and gold garbs sway as he moves closer towards you. "After all this time, thee don't remember me?"

You're confused by what he means. "I know of you, My Lord... I apologise-- you're... you were-"

"-The first of the demigods to die, was that what thee wished to say?" He answers for you, and his words are as deep and smooth as poured honey. His golden eyes meet yours and you feel as if he is staring directly into your soul. "Indeed, I was, and only now do thee remember?"

"We--" it confuses you greatly what he means, and you cannot recall a time when you think you would've known him. He was before your time, you tell yourself, and you wish to tell him he is wrong, but you're stuck with uncertainty. "I'm sorry--- I... Forgive me, this is all just a dream, isn't it?"

"A dream? Thou art in one?" His laugh is warm as a hot day, there is power that resides and surrounds him, a great aura that came from his golden lineage. You blink and he's standing behind you, collecting a curl to run through his fingers. "T'is funny, that night thou had to leave, I begged thee to stay, I could've promised thee the entire world. I didn't want my mother's crown nor my father's lands, nor the lineage they wished me to continue." He circled you like a hound, ready to strike as he stood before you.

"Did thee know what I wished for dearest of all?"

You stammer as you answer, "No."

"Thy hand."

His touch is lightning speed when it comes to reaching out for your hand. You don't react in time before you see flashes of a time you don't remember living:

You see yourself in the golden armour of the Lyndell knights, marvelling at the dragons that circle the sky. Another vision was you kneeling towards Queen Marika and her cause, the gold and pride that radiated off of her could be felt through your entire being, down to your very soul. It clung to you like a disease the day you first died, clutching the sword you had been given as a gift, blood pouring from your mouth as you spluttered the name of the man you marvelled at in awe and wonder. "Godwyn."

You pull back your hand from his as if he had burnt you the same way Messmer had done too. "No, it would've never worked. What you showed me, was false."

Godwyn holds now a sad smile on his face, his white teeth glowing in the darkness as well as his eyes. "And yet, thou have become Elden Lord, it could've been done then too, but thee left me."

"No, I didn't leave you... it was an order. You knew this but you sent me away."

"All in the name of my mother." Godwyn bitterly laughs. He is gentle in the way he cradles you to his broad chest, the warmth that comes from his body is enough for you to feel the need to sleep overwhelm you. He is gentle as cradles your face in his hands, and you think he is about to lean down and kiss you when he whispers into your ear.

"It does not matter now, my lovely knight, I shall bid you a goodnight."

"Godwyn, wait!-"

You screech as you're pushed backwards onto the bed, and yet you're awoken with yourself buried in the sheets, light pouring in the windows to set for another day. Your mind is wracked in a tangle, your heart still pounding from what you have just experienced. 

-

A/N: Sooooo… Tarnished is now seeing a ghostly apparition of Godwyn… I wonder what that's going to do to her psyche. I hope you all enjoyed it, I missed writing this and I look forward to writing more!

[amalgamateofficial]

A Quick(?) Update

Hey, everyone. I never know what to say, and then because of that, day after day passes in silence. I guess I just want to say that yes, I’m still working on chapter 21 of Amalgamate, and also that I’m sorry for the absolutely ridiculous amount of time that’s passed between chapters. I know I’ve been “absent” a lot online, too. Rarely commenting on fics, taking days to respond to DMs, hardly livestreaming…

I’m sure it’s a no-brainer that the kind of person who writes a story like Amalgamate isn’t exactly a “well” person. Those who follow me on social media for my cosplay and art content see such a small, curated snapshot of reality. The smile doesn’t exist until I hit record, and it ends when the video stops. So every day, my followers see videos of me at my “best,” but I film as much as possible on a single day because the next “good” day could be weeks away. Sometimes I worry that the next good day isn’t going to come at all.

The most frustrating thing about it is that I’m well aware of the cycle. Every year, starting in August, the darkness starts to creep in. By September, it takes hold. By the end of October, it’s inescapable. November passes, then December. Last year, December almost ended in the worst way possible, but as cheesy as it sounds, Amalgamate convinced me to turn it around. I thought, “What kind of example am I setting here? How can I let people down like this?” 

So this year, I tried to prepare for the inevitable… and failed. I thought if I could post chapter 21 before the end of August, I could just curl up alone and wait for 2024 to be over. But then everything went to hell and I missed my goal, and when the darkness started to creep in at the edges, I tried to make another goal, and then another, but every single time, I was dragged right back down.

Then a mini cycle started to form within the larger cycle. Every day that goes by in which I don’t post chapter 21, I think the chapter needs to be even better to make up for how long I’ve kept everyone waiting. Then the pressure overwhelms me, and the terrible thoughts creep in, and then the guilt sets in, and then I’m curled up in the corner again with nothing accomplished. DMs are left to fester. Fics I want to read collect dust. I drift away, and I let everyone else drift away, and I sit and stare and wish things could be different. 

I suppose it’s not all doom and gloom though. I tried really hard to work on myself this past month, and I was actually successful in a few ways. I tried to clean myself up, and in some ways, I did a lot better than expected. I’m hoping that means I can turn things around again. I want to finish chapter 21, catch up on all the fics I want to read, start drawing regularly, and be an active participant online instead of just tossing out content in a desperate attempt to keep up appearances.

But it’s such an uphill battle. I feel worse now than I did last year, so I’m trying really hard to cling to that self-awareness and prevent things from going the way they did in 2023. But I know that’s not realistic. Everything in life is worse than before, and I see no evidence that it will improve anytime soon. So that means it’s on me to simply power through it and do the best I can.

So, for the sake of my own sanity, chapter 21 will get finished as soon as possible. I don’t know how much longer I can survive with this awful feeling, and that feeling will go away once the next chapter’s posted. In the meantime, I’ll try not to miss the mark with all my other goals. No matter what, I’m going to finish my Halloween cosplay special for 2024. Last year, I had some funds to help me. This year I don’t because I dropped out of most of my conventions, made a lot less art, and overall just kinda gave up on everything. 

But it’s not too late. I’ll dive into as many dumpsters as I have to in order to make a Halloween cosplay that will hopefully be as good as Mangle. This year, I’m gonna be cosplaying Spamton NEO – which is probably cheating since I’m already a failed content creator past their prime who has no choice but to wear clown makeup and wave their arms at anyone who happens to scroll by.

I never know what to say, so I guess all I can really say is that I’m trying my absolute best. I know my best is often really disappointing, but it really is the best I can manage sometimes. Even when I’m distant, just know that it doesn’t mean I love you all less, or appreciate you all less, or feel any less gratitude. It just means I’m in the dark, and I’m trying to crawl my way back. Which is very tiring. And overwhelming. But I never stop trying. In part because you all mean so much to me. Last year would’ve ended differently if that wasn’t the case.

Anyway, I don’t know what else to say other than thank you all for your continued support. I’ll try to make it all up to you and then some. Maybe this year I can end things on a high note for once. I’ll certainly give it my best shot.

Uuuh… I guess if you do want to see me at my best, though, you can always follow me on TikTok, Instagram, and YouTube. That’s the best version of me in between Amalgamate chapters, and I recently shared a ton of Danganronpa cosplay videos because of Dragon Con. I have a Patreon now too, and even though it’s a ghost town, I’m still posting as much content there as possible. I’ll keep dancing until the stage lights are forcibly shut down. I think that's the best way to guarantee that I can turn this ship around.

[ask-the-critters-survival-au]

So anybody feeling rather nosy today?

Well I finished Kickin’s entire diary a few weeks ago, and since Hoppy never really got the chance to read the entire thing, I thought I’d share it here!

Please note, on the following dates

November 4, 1997

March 10, 1998

September 4, 1998

Kickin does write down some s*icidal thoughts, that may be triggering to some people. I’d advise you to skip past those if they are triggering for you. I’ll mark them with bold text so you know.

Diary is under the cut! Have fun snooping!

August 26, 1995

I found this notebook by one of the kids’ beds. He didn’t use it at all so I figured it was alright to take it! Not that he is here to stop me anyways. I decided to start writing stuff in here! Just whatever I’m thinking, whenever I feel like it, I guess. Whenever I feel like it. God, that is a WEIRD sentence to say. Or write. But it’s true! It’s my life now! Whenever I feel like it! No more stupid employees here! Haha, get wrecked! Losers. Oh, Hoppy’s calling me. I’m gonna go! I’ll write in you again later! I promise! Wait, why am I promising a notebook that I’ll do something?

October 2, 1995

Okay so I kinda forgot about this thing. Oops! Anyways, I’m getting bored. The soccer ball is starting to deflate and we can’t find the pump. This SUCKS dude. Like, I get the prototype is busy doing whatever, but if he’s all powerful like he says can’t he give us some entertainment around here? Like sheesh! There’s nothing to do. I’m so bored.

October 16, 1995

I’m thinking of growing my hair out. I mean, Crafty is doing it! And it’s getting annoying constantly cutting it. It grows back really fast. Maybe I’ll go for a mullet type look! Just maybe though.

October 29, 1995

DogDay’s missing. We don’t know where he went. We tried searching for him but CatNap told us not to. It’s always what CatNap says. Stupid. I’m going to keep looking anyways. I’m gonna find him.

October 30, 1995

Never mind.

January 1, 1996

Hey, new year! It kinda sucks though. We did absolutely nothing to celebrate. Also, big problem. Bobby found out about my secret crush. Oh I hope nobody ever reads this thing. Don’t tell anybody, but I think I like-like Hoppy. She’s just so cute and pretty and funny and spunky and cool and I love it when she talks about outer space it’s so interesting!!! She’s so fast too, like crazy fast! I think she’s too fast though. She beats me at literally EVERYTHING. That’s okay though! I’m gonna keep getting better until I can win! But yeah. Bobby found out. I’m terrified for my life.

January 23 1996

So we’re starting to run out of food. Catnap said to trust in the prototype and that he’s gonna save us and stuff. I call bull. We need food, not a savior! But he said the prototype has a plan, so I guess we’ll be fine. Still though, I’m getting tired of eating moldy salami.

February 6, 1996

Crafty’s starting to lose it. She started nagging me nonstop because she keeps running out of red marker. I’m gonna avoid her from now on. Her drawings are getting weird. Really weird. Like borderline creepy stuff. She’s going bonkers man, I’m telling you.

May 16, 1996

We ran out of food. Woke up this morning to Picky scoring through the rest of our god damn supply. I swear I am going to SCREAM DUDE!! So what if she’s always hungry?! She’s not the only one who needs food to survive! Unbelievable. What the hell are we going to do now?

May 17, 1996

So that was CatNap’s back up plan. Oh my god. I don’t want to even think about what I’ve done today. I recognized him. Who I ate. He was there when I first woke up. Taking notes in the corner of the room on his clipboard. I feel sick to my stomach. How long are we going to have to do this for?

June 2, 1996

Today feels special. I don’t know why. It just does. Also I’m sorry I haven’t been writing in you as much. I’m just scared of getting caught writing in this thing. What if someone reads it? What if CatNap reads it? Will he get mad at me for what I wrote a few months ago about the prototype? Maybe I should erase it. No I can’t do that, I wrote it in marker. I’m going to keep this thing hidden inside my zipper pocket for now, until I find a better spot.

July 22, 1996

There was a freaking execution today. I’m so disturbed right now. It was one of the tiny DogDays. I’m not really sure what he did, but CatNap made us all watch as he ripped the poor guy apart. He said that’s what happens if you are a heretic. That’s what happens if you speak out even the slightest against the prototype. Bubba told me that he thought one of the other minis had tattled to CatNap about what that tiny DogDay did. That’s insane. I can’t imagine any of my friends doing that to me. Would they do that to me? No, I’m being an idiot. They’d never do that. Regardless I can’t let him find this thing. I don’t want to end up like that mini.

August 8, 1996

It’s officially been a full year since the Hour of Joy. It’s weird to think about. How many full humans have I eaten by now? Maybe eight? Ten? Twelve? Twenty? I lose count. I don’t feel anything when I eat them anymore. It’s easier to imagine them without faces. I always cut off the head so I don’t have to see it. On the bright side, we finally found the pump for the soccer ball. Hoppy and I can finally start playing again. I don’t really think either of us want to though. At least not right now.

September 12, 1996

Hoppy and I had another fight today. I’m writing in this thing because Bobby made us separate. I don’t like being mad at her. I want to apologize but I’m scared to approach her right now. I miss DogDay. I don’t write about him much but I miss him. His name is kind of forbidden to even speak nowadays. Picky thinks he abandoned us. I don’t think he did. He’d never do that. But if he did I want him to come back. Everything’s falling apart without him.

January 12, 1997

I’m sorry it’s been awhile. I don’t really know what to write about today though so I’m gonna end it off here.

February 7, 1997

Sometimes I wonder if I should name this journal something. But I’m not very creative when it comes to names. Crafty is though. She’s been really different lately though. She’s gotten really cheerful for some reason. But say the wrong thing and suddenly you’re on the ground. I’m scared of her. I don’t know what’s going on with her but if she doesn’t get that fixed soon she’s going to get herself killed. Or kill someone else. Either of the two. Maybe even both.

April 25, 1997

Nothing to write about today. I’m just not going to. I don’t feel like it. My hand hurts. I think I’m gonna go back to sleep.

June 2, 1997

It’s the weird day again. The one that feels like it should be special. I don’t know what that feeling is. I asked Bubba about it. He knows a lot, I thought he’d probably know that too. He didn’t though. He said he got that feeling too, sometimes. But neither of us knew why.

June 19, 1997

We ran out of food. I didn’t even know that was possible. There were so many humans working in this factory, how did we run out of them? The entire Playcare was in panic today. CatNap calmed us all down. He said not to worry, because the prototype always has a plan. Okay. If the prototype always has a plan, what is it? Because I’m tired of this whole stupid mess! I want to know what it is! Why can’t I know what it is? This is so dumb! The prototype is so dumb! It makes me want to tear all my feathers out!!!!

September 19, 1997

IM SO HUNGRY SO HUNGRY SO HUNGRY SO HUNGRY I DONT KNOW WHAT TO EAT THERES NOTHING I HAVENT EATEN IN SO LONG I NEED FOOD I NEED FOOD. IM HAVING THESE SCARY THOUGHTS NOW I WANT THEM GONE! I DONT WANT TO HURT ANYONE BUT I NEED TO EAT I NEED TO EAT I NEED TO

September 19, 1997

I did it. I needed to eat. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Picky told us how to find food. There’s plenty of it in the Playhouse. Like livestock, just waiting to be slaughtered. CatNap was so mad. But we have food now. And we all know he’s been eating them too. I feel like a monster. They were like us. But Bubba told me it was necessary. We were all going to die if we didn’t. I’m still sorry though.

November 4, 1997

Bubba got gassed. Badly. I’m so worried about him. We don’t even know why, we just walked in the room and there he was, laying on the ground with scratch marks all over him. How could CatNap have done such a thing? He’s sick. Just sick. I’ve been taking care of him now. I don’t want to leave his side. I’m worried that if I leave for a moment that something will happen to him. Hoppy’s been making me stay active. Sometimes she’s the only reason I keep going on. It’d be so easy just to end it all. She’s there for me though. I love her. God, I love her. I never want anything to happen to her. But I know something’s going to happen to her. That something’s going to happen to all of us eventually. When it happens to her though, it’s gonna happen to me next. I promise it will.

November 14, 1997

I found a boombox today. It’s really cool. I’ve been playing it for Bubba recently. He’s still asleep. I hope he wakes up soon. Did I ever mention in here that I like to dance? It’s really fun. It makes me forget about everything that happened. I lose myself in the movements. I don’t really even know how I know how to dance. I never learned it as a toy. I think I’m gonna go do it now though.

December 3, 1997

THAT JERK! THAT HORRIBLE STUPID DISGUSTING DUMB JERK! I HATE HER! I HATE HER I HATE HER I HATE HER! HOW DARE SHE DO THAT TO BUBBA?? WHEN HAS HE EVER BEEN ANYTHING BUT NICE TO HER???? BUT NOOOOO, I GUESS KINDNESS MEANS NOTHING IN THE EYES OF PICKY PIGGY! ALL SHE CARES ABOUT IS HERSELF AND HER APPETITE! I WOULDVE RIPPED OFF SOOO MUCH MORE THAN HER EAR IF I COULD! BUT THEN HOPPY AND BOBBY HAD TO COME IN AND RESTRAIN ME! STUPID! STUPID STUPID STUPID! IM GOING TO KILL HER WHEN I GET THE CHANCE! AND ITS GOING TO BE SLOW AND BRUTAL AND ITS GOING TO HURT!

January 1, 1998

Yay. New year. Yippee.

March 4, 1998

Something bad happened today. I knew it would happen eventually. I think we all did. Crafty finally lost it on the wrong person. She attacked CatNap and then he ripped off her hands as punishment. I could hear every. Single. Agonizing second of her screams. I thought I was used to screaming by now. I guess I was just telling myself that. I hope she survives. That was a lot of blood.

March 6, 1998

What do I do. What do I do. What do I do. Hoppy’s leaving. She just told me she is. Hoppy, Bobby and Crafty are leaving Playcare in a week. They can’t leave. They can’t. CatNap’s going to kill them. He’s going to kill them brutally. And even if he doesn’t, who knows what’s outside of Playcare? Plenty of toys who would be willing to hurt them for food. Hoppy told me to come with them. I can’t go with them. I don’t want to die. But I don’t want them to die. They can’t leave. I don’t want them to leave. But I can’t change Hoppy’s mind. She’s leaving with or without me. How could she do that to me? Just leave me here, all alone with Picky? Bubba’s still asleep. She’s the only one I’ll have to talk to. I don’t want to talk to her. I’m scared. I need to stop them.

March 8, 1998

what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done

March 9, 1998

I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so so sorry. I messed up I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry please forgive me. I keep seeing her. She talks to me in my head now, telling me she won’t ever forgive me, no matter how much I grovel and beg. Sometimes I don’t even think it’s in my head. Am I going insane? You don’t deserve to stay sane. You’re right. I don’t. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.

March 10, 1998

The blood won’t come off. It stained my hands. Maybe I deserve that. You do deserve that. You’re right. You’re always right. I deserve it. I haven’t moved from my bed since it happened. I’m hungry but I don’t want to eat. I don’t deserve to eat. Bubba needs me though. At least if Picky tries eating him again there’s nobody to stop me from making her pay this time. I don’t know why I don’t just give up. I should. I made a promise that I would once Hoppy went. Maybe it’s Bubba. Or maybe I’m just making excuses. Maybe I’m just too scared. I’ve never felt so alone before. I deserve to feel alone.

March 24, 1998

I’ve been seeing her a lot lately in my dreams. Always the screaming and then the ear. And then she tells me it’s my fault. I know it’s my fault. But I still don’t understand. Am I selfish for not understanding? Yeah. Probably. But all I ever wanted to do was protect her. I don’t understand why this happened. I don’t understand. Picky’s been avoiding me. That’s fine. I don’t want to see her either.

April 12, 1998

You know what? No. I’m done. I don’t care if CatNap catches me going into the Playhouse. I need to see what’s inside. Maybe she’s inside, and that’s why we aren’t allowed in. I’m going to find her. I’m going to make things right with her. I refuse to believe she’s gone.

July 16, 1998

July. It’s already July. I took that long to recover? Seriously? That was three whole months. Well, I guess loosing an eye will do that to you. I’m still surprised that Picky took care of me while I was hurt. I tried to ask her why but she didn’t respond, so I guess that was that. That doesn’t matter though. He’s alive. He’s alive. DogDay’s alive! He’s been here this entire time, sitting right below our noses and we had no clue! If I can just figure out a way to get him out then he can save us all from this mess! I know he can! I just need to find a way.

July 20, 1998

Bubba woke up. He finally woke up! Oh my god, he finally woke up! It’s been how long, eight months? I’m so thankful. He’s really scared though. He must’ve been through hell. I know from experience the nightmares that stuff gives you aren’t pleasant. I can’t imagine going through that for a whole year. Poor guy.

July 21, 1998

Bubba’s been having trouble walking lately. His legs give out whenever he tries. I guess that makes sense. He hasn’t used his legs in a while. I wish I knew how to give him the proper treatment he needs. Actually, there’s an idea. I should check inside of the school. I’m sure there is something in there about comas.

July 22, 1998

OKAY SO THAT WAS A HORRIBLE IDEA. Not only did I find absolutely NOTHING, but I almost got my head bashed in with a freaking mace! That biology teacher has gone wack. Completely wack. Then again, she’s not the only one. I still hear Hoppy. She still visits me. I’ll be in the middle of something and then I’ll just see her. I think I’m starting to hallucinate. I know that’s really bad. But I enjoy seeing her. Even if all she does is cuss me out. It gives me hope. Hope that she’s not Never mind. I shouldn’t be thinking about that. Bury that nice and deep along with the other scary thoughts. She’s not dead. She’s not dead she’s not dead she’s not dead she’s not dead.

August 8, 1998

Third year anniversary. Or is it the fourth? I don’t feel like doing the math. Bubba can walk again now, but all he does is sit against a wall. It feels like my effort was wasted, if I’m honest. He doesn’t like eating. Or sleeping. He hates sleeping. I tried to give him some books to read that I stole from the councilors office, but he ignored them. Some days he refuses to sleep so badly to the point where I have to knock him out for him to get a little shut eye. I feel bad for him. He doesn’t deserve this. If I could take his place I would in a heartbeat. Maybe if it was me instead of him I wouldn’t have messed up so horribly.

September 4, 1998

It’s one of those days where the hallucinations are bad again. Sometimes I wonder if it even is a hallucination. Am I actually seeing her? She’s looking over my shoulder right now. Watching me write. She looks so real. And the stuff she says feels so real. I want her to be real. I want to hold her in my arms. She just told me if I ever try to do that she’s going to push me off the cloud I’m on. I think she knows I wouldn’t save myself.

September 18, 1998

Bubba’s been getting better. He’s started talking again. Only sometimes though. And he never says much. It’s a start though.

November 10, 1998

I think I just saw Picky chasing Hoppy away from the councilors office. I must’ve just been hallucinating again. She was carrying something though. It looked like a computer? I’ve never seen that before. Probably just another hallucination.

[operationmorewhitecollar]

Shall we play a game?

Nope, not chess or Parchisi. And not even global thermonuclear war. (If you get that reference, you might just be as old as we are!) But no, none of those games are where we're headed. This year, we're hosting a good old-fashioned game of bingo!

That's right, since we're almost two weeks into the new year, we thought it might be time to roll out our new creative challenge, which will continue throughout 2024.

As always, we're in the market for any and all fan creations centered on White Collar, and this year, we're providing prompts in the form of mini bingo cards, with new prompt cards coming out quarterly. (Jan, April, July, October) If you want to play, just let us know (comment here, dm, however you want to get in touch), and we'll get you a card so you can get started!

Some details:

When we say "any and all fan creations," we mean it--let your creativity run wild and make whatever you want to make! Draw, write, paint, record a podcast, shoot a video, whatever your creative preference.

We're using a 4x4 card format, and there is a FREE space, so that means a total of 15 prompts for three months. Complete a line of prompts, get a bingo; complete the whole card during the quarter, and that, dear friends, is a blackout!

Much like our drabble prompts, the bingo prompts are pretty broad, and many (maybe most?) are only one word. They run the gamut from theme words to genre to story length and beyond. (Not to worry if you're making art or some other non-written creations; we've got provisions for swapping prompts.)

Prompts were randomized to create the cards, and the card numbers were randomized to create the distribution order, so the prompts you end up with are strictly luck.

Okay, that's probably the most important stuff to know, except, of course, that we hope lots of you will join in and that everyone has tons of fun creating new White Collar stuff, because we're sure going to have fun seeing whatever you make!

So whenever you're ready, shall we play a game?

(We'll put a few more detailed FAQ items below the cut, but if you've got questions we didn't think of, just let us know and we'll make up an answer.😉)

Q: What can my entries be? A: Any type of creation you choose. fic, art, blog post, essay, cross-stitch, we're not picky. Interpret the prompts any way you like, in any genre, any relationship, any rating, any characters, you get the idea. (Unless, of course, the prompt is more specific.) As long as it's White Collar, it's fair game.

Q: Where do we share our work/how will you know we made something or got a bingo? A: First, put your creations somewhere we can see them! There'll be a collection on AO3 where most types of work can be shared. (We're debating if it's better to have just one collection for the year or one for each quarter; if you've got any opinions on that, feel free to weigh in.) If you're sharing here or on other socials, be sure to @ us, and use #WhiteCollarBingo. But, while we'll be doing our best to keep up, we're hoping there will be so many entries we'll lose track, so definitely tell us if you completed a bingo!

Q: Can I make one story/picture/video/etc. for the whole card? A: You may use as many prompts as you like in each entry, but only 2 prompts per line may be counted toward a bingo. (So you will need at least two entries to achieve a single bingo, and though we may have miscounted, we think that means at least ten entries to make a blackout.)

Q: Are crossovers allowed? A: Yes (and may even be a prompt!), but White Collar should obviously be prevalent in your work.

Q: How long do I have to complete my entries? A: We'll be issuing new cards each quarter (Jan-March, April-June, July-Sept, Oct-December), and in a perfect world, we'd like to receive entries within that quarter. But you know we've never been sticklers for schedules, and the point is to encourage more White Collar creations, so we'll be glad to get them whenever you finish.

Q: What do I win when I bingo? A: Bragging rights, and your name on our (soon to be created) bingo accomplishments page.

Q: What if there are some prompts I really don't want to use, but I want to try for blackout? A: We will provide a max of two alternate prompts. (This max does not apply if you're making non-written creations and somehow ended up with a card full of writing-centric prompts.)

Q: What if I just can't work with the card I receive at all? A: We'll exchange your card one time. Part of the fun is stretching our creative muscles.

Q: If I exchange my card, will any previous entries count toward bingo on my new card? A: Nope. It's a fresh slate, so examine your card when you get it to decide if it works for you.

Q: If I complete my card, can I have another? A: Yep, and we'd be very impressed! (and happy!)

Q: Where did these prompts come from? A: Many suggestions from our followers, and we've been hunting and gathering, too. But we want to have lots of variety as the year rolls along, so please keep those suggestions rolling in.

Q: Can something I made for another challenge count toward a bingo prompt/Can I submit my work to more than one collection or challenge? A: As long as it's new work, and if the other challenge doesn't ask for exclusivity, bring it on! And frankly, we'd love to see more White Collar activity in multi-fandom spaces. Also, we'll surely be hosting other events throughout the year (at least Mozzie Mania and Caffrey-Burke Day), and you can certainly use a bingo prompt for any of those challenges as well.

[jaylienpotter]

4th October (late again oops) @prongsfoot-microfic prompt "illustrate"

Dog walk

Padfoot is a great dog. James found him abandoned in the streets several years ago and took him in. The big black German Shepherd became a very good friend, they went on morning runs every day and on walks together at the park every weekend.

"Who's a good boy? Pads, fetch!" He ran after the stick yet dropped it and left the other way. "Padfoot! Padfoot come here, boy!"

Potter sighed and went after his pet, who was bothering a stranger. "There you are! I'm so sorry, he's very social."

"Oh, no worries, mate! I like dogs." The two blokes locked eyes, recognising each other. "Oh! Potter Jr."

"Oh, hi! It's James. You're... Sirius, is it?" The question was purely out of respect. He remembered his name. In fact, he thought about him that absolutely gorgeous man since he showed up to the family's pottery class a week before.

"One and only! And who's this good boy?"

"That's Padfoot. Or Pads." Pale hands met black fur and only then did Jamie see the bloke had been drawing, his fingertips grey with coal. "You draw?"

"Oh, yeah. It's my passion. I was just sketching though. It's nothing special."

"Do you mind...?" He pointed at the sketchbook, wanting to see the drawings.

"Yeah, sure." He flipped through the pages, looking at the details of the faces of what he assumed were portraits of strangers.

He admired the coal landscapes, the depth in a single page, while keeping some key details. He skimmed through the several studies of specific things such as hands, eyes (that always looked sad), poses...

"If these are sketches, mate... Then I can't even imagine what your actual art must look like. They're bloody brilliant!"

"Oh, thanks..." Pale cheeks turned rosy and the default smirk became more shy. It was adorable, really.

"You want to be a painter or somethin'?" He gave him back the black notebook.

"An illustrator and/or animator. I also work digitally."

"Do you have any social media page?" Is it too on the nose to ask this?

"Yeah! Starsirius_art on Instagram." James took his phone and followed, smiling at the screen.

"Brill. We have to go but uh... I'll be sure to check your page!"

"Thanks, mate. See ya around. And goodbye Pads!" Padfoot seemed to like him, that makes two of us, barking while wiggling his tail. He went as far as licking the beautiful man. Lucky bastard.

[naumin]

november updates

ok so i know november ended yesterday, i did think about titling this post december updates but i know december will be a whole different beast for me... just let me have this... it's been a really long time since i sat down and talked about all my recent projects and goings on!!!! so in case you missed what i've been up to, read on... :)

the free Laios/Marcille fanthology I organised is OUT!!! no tall towers to climb (https://naumin.itch.io/laimar) came out November 10th, and erm only 5 days later than scheduled... it's a big boy at 112 pages with contributions from 14 fans !! I had so much fun organising this and was really touched by the love and care ppl put into their works... fans are so powerful... it's free to download and read digitally or even print and bind your own copy (I am really excited to see your printed and bound copies if you have made them please dont hesitate to @ me...) I love books.. i love making books...

I don't have plans to organise a Volume II however I did start writing a post of my process to maybe help and encourage anyone else who'd like to start a project like this one. It got really lengthy though and I wasn't sure if it was helpful to anyone lol so when I have a minute I really gotta go and edit that thing down

also nobody asked me but the title is based on a poem by 12thc warrior poet Xin Qiji. i guess the tower reminded me of their dungeon misadventures hehe.

also did i mention it's FREE! !!!!!!!

7 months of subscribestar I've officially been making new posts on substar every single week since May ! It's been really fun tbh and I don't have plans of slowing down yet :) I really appreciate everyone who's visited and it makes a huge difference even just subscribing for 1 month or 2, just having that little extra to help out on months where I can't take as many commissions or I'm sick or away from home etc! You may have noticed I've added a tip jar tier ($2.5) for those who can't manage the $6 sketchbook tier... on principle I wanna make it lower but after fees it'd be zilch and I am kind of like if you have $2... maybe hold onto that. lol. maybe use that somewhere else. you can always make 1-time donations through substar or ko-fi (yeah, I have one...) my next projects...

Ballet Yuri Year One, the compilation book of one year of works on Ilze & Evangeline, whos 1st birthday was in September and I haven't had time to look at the files since October but I will look at them again soon-- last spot I left it, it was at least 30 pages... I think it will definitely be double that and could possibly be triple that (omg).

NERD SEX VOLUME III my annual NSFW sketchbook which traditionally comes out around January/February! I'm delusional that this one will be the simplest to put together and so it might be the next thing you see from me. It will be available for all subscribers as soon as it's ready. I also gotta remember to upload Nerd Sex I & II at the same time. for those who dont wanna subscribe, you can get 50% off Nerd Sex I & II in the meantime now :) also i forsee about 300% more lesbians in Nerd Sex III. It's the year of the dyke.

A collaborative NSFW anthology coming next year. This one has a longer production period to give everyone time to work and give me time to get organised lol. Hopefully you'll hear more about this one in the new year! It's for the boys and the ppl who love boys <3

the issues oh my god I've been having technical issues with my ipad the last month. I keep getting random lines and marks while drawing in procreate ! A lot of people said it could be my sweater or hand or case touching the screen while I draw but I don't think that is it, plus it's only started recently. It's not my pen and it's not my settings. it apparently COULD be a technical issue with my ipad model which would suck cuz I got this refurbished (from Apple still) so do i have like..... warranty? will they repair it for me :S? idk. I'll have to look into it though sooner or later cuz it's driving me bananas and slowing my output! AGH! I pray she heals on her own overnight. amen.

commissions I am NOT taking any new commissions in December (unless you are a $10 subscriber) but I am still doing the KISS YCH which also has a very cute wintery version up for this month only lol. same price! check it out if you wanna see your pookies under the mistletoe <3 would make a great present to you or someone u know...

alright that's all. thanks for reading my updates post. did anyone read this whole post besides me? thanks for being there for a while whilst i talked to myself before you presumably left and did something more fun and enriching. i love you.

[recluse-moth]

October 7th, 1998

The war was over but the scars still remained. She was but a specter of her old self, she’d walk from room to room in the manor in a completely catatonic state. She hadn’t spoken of what had happened to her during the brief period of when Voldemort had won, but her scars told me everything I needed to know.

Harry had gone to the forbidden forest as the old man had requested of him, Hermione had somehow managed to sneak past with Ron in an attempt to save Harry. Voldemort had struck him down as if he were nothing, almost immediately after that Ron and Hermione had been discovered.

However Potter hadn’t died that night, instead he’d come back and won the fight. None of that mattered to him though, not when his best friends had been tortured for hours while he had been playing dead.

It took nearly three weeks until they were both strong enough to leave St. Mungos. Hermione had gone to stay with the Weasley’s along with Potter and the Lovegoods. I had gone to visit nearly everyday watching as she sat by a window in silence. Mrs. Weasley seemed to have lost more than one son that night of the battle. Ron had spent nearly every day out in the garden, sometimes Hermione would join him and I would stand guard with Harry in case one of them had an episode setting off the other. I could see the pain in Potters eyes as he watched, but not like the glazed over look Hermione would give when she’d look at me.

A month after they’d been discharged it was decided that caring for them both in the same house was proving difficult. It seemed as if their terrors were becoming more frequent, so I offered to take Hermione to the Manor, Harry was reluctant as he had every right, but ultimately she’d come to stay.

The first day I took her to the library and it seemed to spark something that seemed dead once before. She walked around for hours picking books out, and I carried them gladly for her. She’d sit by the window and read till she fell asleep. It seemed that reading was the only bit if peace she found, but she still didn’t speak.

By week three we had found a routine between the two of us, we would meet for breakfast by the greenhouse, and we’d walk the gardens my mother watching from the manor above. After the walk we would enter the manor once again and she would bury herself with book till lunch where we would meet my mother in the dinning room. My mother tried to speak with her on several occasions but the most Hermione could manage was nod. After that we would sit in the drawing room and I’d read to her as she watched the fire I’d built for her myself to keep her warm. We would take dinner in her room and she would read as she ate, and when it was time for her to sleep I would and wait till her eyes were closed before I left her for the night.

It felt as if we were in never ending cycle of silence, but everyday I’d spent with her I took notice of every detail about her. The way her nose curved, the slightest freckles on her face, the complex shade of her eyes, even the way she’d often braid her hair because she she hated having to push back the curls when she read. It wasn’t until today that I decided that I would break our routine and take her somewhere for a change.

I bought a muggle car just so she wouldn’t have to fly or gather the strength to disapparate to where we were going. She slept most of the way there but when we arrived her eyes lit up again. It was too gloomy for a swim and I hadn’t anticipated the amount of wind that hit our sides but we walked along the shore. She collected oddly shaped seashells and handed them to me for safe keeping as she had with the books she wanted to read for the day. After an hour we sat in the sand and she watched the waves in peace, her hair flowing in the wind and I’d never seen her look as beautiful as she did then.

I took her hand in mine and she turned to look at me, and for the first time in a long time she smiled. She rested her head against my shoulder and said, “Thank you.”

[philliam-writes]

on that tree i'll carve our names (01)

pairing: Ominis Gaunt x fem! Hufflepuff Reader; Sebastian Sallow x Male MC

Synopsis: You have never believed or trusted in Prophecy, not with the way you were brought up. Paying attention to Prophecy is like tossing real diamonds in the air mixed with shards of broken glass. The grab is rarely worth the injury. But when the new fifth year arrives, so do trouble and mischief, and you're inadvertently thrust into adventures and secrets too grand to deal with by yourself. Yet with hardships come friendships, and while you learn to trust the new student with your life, you're less keen on trusting the cunning Sallow boy or the quiet Gaunt heir. Still waters run deep, as they say, and you can't shake off the feeling something dark hides at the bottom of those white-veiled unseeing eyes.

content: canon divergence, fighting prophecy, enemies to friends, reluctant soulmates, platonic soulmates, slow burn, basically HL but Reader isn't MC, angst, hurt and comfort, Sebastian and Reader can't stand each other (until much later), they're all mean, because they're starving for love, will love and kill for each other, dark(ish) ominis, satisfying female rage, also Quidditch because screw Black

notes: [02]

words: 5.9k

a/n: this is so self-indulgent, i don't even know if i'll keep this up. but right now i need to get this out of my system, so here is tragic platonic soulmates with delicious slow burn for borth of them and my favourite slytherin boys. hope you enjoy!

01: hawthorn makes the heart burn

The new student has been at Hogwarts for only a week, and already you cannot stand him.

It’s got nothing to do with the fact that he is a Slytherin. You have never been a fan of the sorting system, because even if it is partly at fault for sticking kids into boxes and teaching them to think in categories, the students surely don’t make it better living by these stereotypes. Not all Slytherins are bad people, just like not all Gryffindors are brave; not every Ravenclaw is a genius, and not every Hufflepuff is a saint, e.g.: You.

“You’re joking! Three Sickles and fifteen Knuts for a Pocket Sneakscope? That’s way too expensive!”

Lifting your eyes from the list of gadgets you need to buy on your next trip to Hogsmeade, you raise an eyebrow at the second-year Ravenclaw boy. He’s taller than most of his fellow housemates, shows signs of a long, hawkish nose and has pimples scattered on his cheeks like a Leaping Toadstool Cap. You can’t really remember his name. Freddy or Fred or August, maybe.

This early in the morning before classes start, the air is especially thick with the smell of late-summer: sweet buddleia in full bloom, the rich green leaves of trees as they sway gently in the wind. Mist hangs low in the valley and over the Great Lake, a milky curtain hiding its resident gently poking long tentacles into the warm sun. The castle is only slowly waking up after a short night—the last grace of long summer days approaching their end as October draws closer.

A beautiful landscape you can hardly enjoy with the second-year’s whiny voice buzzing around your head like an annoying mosquito.

“Look, you wanted a Pocket Sneakscope, I got it for you,” you say and unhitch yourself from the cool stone pillar, one of many holding up the roof of the Viaduct Courtyard’s passageway. “It’s not my fault the underground path is infested with spiders.”

Damned Weasley could have warned you though. You have been using the secret passage under the humpbacked, one-eyed witch leading to the cellar of Honeydukes since your second year when you spied Garreth Weasley sneak through it, and since then you both agreed on staying out of each other’s way as long as nobody rats out the secret passageway to the faculty. He gets to obtain whatever he needs for his weird concoctions, and you get to continue your little business of providing first and second years whatever they want from Hogsmeade since they can’t go themselves yet—all for a certain price. It makes trips to Hogsmeade easier when you can’t use your broom, though the occasional acid spit launched your way is less favourable than the breathtaking view of Hogwarts towering majestically as the sun sets, throwing the whole castle in stark, black contrast against the warm, orange sky.

“Unless you want someone else to get you stuff from Hogsmeade,” you continue with a shrug. “Good luck finding them though.” You move to put the Sneakscope back into your pocket, barely managing to keep on a neutral expression when Freddy or Fred or August, maybe, gasps as though you have reached into the Ravenclaw’s house point hourglass, grabbed a handful sapphires and chucked them at the Headmaster.

“It’s just—it’s just a whole Sickle more than I can spend this month!” he protests, but judging by the quiver of his voice he’ll eat out of your hand in no time.

You give your brightest smile. “Not my problem.”

The Ravenclaw-boy fumes, but when you hold out your hand, he slaps the coins into your open palm, his pale face blotched red with fury.

“Pleasure doing business with you.” You hand over his Pocket Sneakscope and watch him stamp off towards the double doors leading inside the entrance hall. He stops with a small, pale hand on the bronze doorknob, turns around as by his touch alone the doors squeal open with the magic that recognises students entering. “You are the worst Hufflepuff at this school!” he shouts and quickly dashes inside.

You don’t know why he felt the need to point it out. It’s not as though people don’t know who you are: the Hufflepuff who burnt down the left greenhouse in her second year when trying Incendio after agreeing to a bet; the Hufflepuff who broke a Ravenclaw’s nose because said Ravenclaw accused her of cheating in Defence Against the Dark Arts; the Hufflepuff who smoked Silverweed in a corner under the Great Staircase in her third year to see if it would yield any relaxing effects; the Hufflepuff who actually cheated on her very first exam in History of Magic—all in all the Hufflepuff who really should have been sorted into Slytherin on her first day, according to everybody else. Except the Slytherins have no love left for you because you wear yellow.

It is a wonder you have not been expelled yet, surely to do with the fact that despite it all, one student outshines your delinquent record. Your grades are passable, neither at the very top nor bottom, though you do have a knack for quickly learning spells and charms. What keeps you in somewhat good grace is being the Beater for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team—and what a Beater you are: ruthless and quick with strong arms. Maybe not as fast as Slytherin’s Captain on a broom, but you feel comfortable enough up in the air. All your problems seem so much smaller when you soar through the sky. Speaking of Quidditch, a Gryffindor second-year asked you to get a fake Snitch to practice for the team’s try-outs. Hopefully the Spintwitches Sporting Needs opens within in the next week; you’re in need of a new broomstick servicing kit, preferably before practice starts.

You move towards the Great Hall before they clear out breakfast. You did ask Javi to save up some Pumpkin Pastries for you, but he’s been in a foul mood since yesterday because Peeves destroyed a bust in the Astronomy Tower and he had to take the brunt of it. But while you’re crossing the courtyard, you notice a shadow standing under a wide archway, tall and sinewy, though body shapes are usually hard to guess under the loose, floaty school robes. Yet you know that despite looking lanky, this boy is nimble and quick, and his presence is utterly unappreciated—that is how the circle closes; the reason why you can’t stand him.

Even from this distance, you can make out Callum St. Jude’s pale grey eyes—they stand stark against his unruly map of ink-black hair. Paired with skin pale as moonlight, he looks like one of Hogwarts’s residual ghosts.

You feel your face turn into a scowl. It seems that no matter where you are these days, he is lurking nearby. At first you thought he was spying on you to check out the competition for tonight’s Crossing Wands duel. It is the finale after all. But when you had confronted him about it, catching him on his way down to the Slytherin dungeons in the Grand Staircase after your shared Charms class, he had considered you with a blank expression. “Who are you?” he’d asked, looking down at you from a few steps above.

Behind him, trailing him like a shadow since day one, Sebastian Sallow had sniggered. “Seems like you already have admirers,” he’d said with his insufferable haughty voice. “Though that Hufflepuff is more trouble than she’s worth.”

You were about to show him trouble, face hot with shame, when Javi hauled you up, hands under your armpits, and carried you away as if you were a sack of potatoes. “You can’t get detention now, it’s still the first week,” Javi had said mildly.

At least it would have been worth it. It would have been so satisfying to blast that cocky grin off Sallow’s face, to silence St. Jude’s little mocking huff. You firmly believe St. Jude is suffering from the worst ailment to date: Main Character Syndrome.

The symptoms have been evident since his first day: joining Hogwarts as a fifth-year, arriving late to the Sorting Ceremony due to a dragon attack, besting Sallow on his first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson (though you can hardly criticise him knocking Sallow down a peg) and mastering every new spell and charm as though it is as easy as breathing. Just last week, he fought off a grown troll and defended Hogsmeade, and now the whole school doesn’t shut up about it.

It is with eager anticipation that you await tonight’s Crossed Wands’s finale. Your fingers practically itch to draw your wand and Flipendo him just to juggle him around a little and wipe that blank expression off his face. He is beautiful, you hate to admit, feeling a sour taste in the back of your throat, but he’s using that face in all the wrong ways. He has the sort of face they’d probably frame in a museum, the kind that’s unbelievably pretty, but unattainable.

“Preying upon second years this early?” St. Jude tuts. “It seems there really is no rest for the wicked.”

“Looks as though I am already punished for it,” you grumble. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have to deal with you.”

St. Jude cocks his head to the side, looking thoughtful. “Interesting way to talk to someone you fancy.”

“I do not,” you press out between gritted teeth, shouldering past him as he steps into the entrance hall first, “fancy you.” You hope the Thunderbrew potion will be the first you’ll learn in Potions class. Watching St. Jude getting struck by lightning would lighten your mood considerably.

“For someone who pretends not to be interested in me,” he continues, ignoring you, “I see you around an awful lot.”

You consider tripping him as you two ascend the stairs. “Yes, that seems to be the very problem.”

“Won’t make me take it easy on you tonight though.” Since he is nowhere near a gentleman, he doesn’t hold the door open for you and it almost slams in your face. “I always duel to win.”

“I hope you don’t mind spending the next couple of days in the hospital wing.” You bump into his shoulder, hard, when you finally enter the Great Hall and immediately aim for the Hufflepuff table to the far right of the hall without another glance at him.

The hall is buzzing with students, the air filled with the tasty smell of crispy bacon, grilled leak, slightly burnt toast with melting butter on top. It isn’t as crowded as at lunch or dinner time—most students tend to skip breakfast to either sleep in after a long study night or use the hour before classes to finish assignments and homework.

The ceiling shows a clear blue sky with thin clouds drifting past lazily. You slide in the free seat next to your fellow Beater near the front of the table. Javier García is shoving scrambled eggs into his mouth, his bright brown eyes fixed on the Daily Prophet. In your first year, you didn’t pay much attention to him. If you look up Hufflepuff Student in any dictionary, it will show Javi’s face—a hard-working, loyal individual that always reminds you of a golden retriever until he steps on the field and turns into a pit bull from a fighting ring. Every summer he returns to his muggle family where he helps tending to the crops and fields, evident in his arms the size of tree trunks used to heavy lifting. Perfect for hitting Bludgers at opponents and slamming them off their brooms.

You pour yourself coffee and begin spooning slabs of apple-cinnamon-oatmeal into a bowl.

“Ranrok’s Loyalists have put up more camps around the Hogwarts highlands,” Javi says, mouth half-full. “It looks like they’re moving closer towards Hogwarts.”

“Why would they come to Hogwarts? There’s nothing here.”

“The castle has tons of secrets still uncovered. Why wouldn’t they try and get inside?”

“As if they’d manage to get through the defences. Hogwarts is impenetrable.” You take a long sip from your cup, hoping the caffeine kicks in fast. “No one’s going to get inside. Forget about the goblins. Did you see the Quidditch board? Our first game this season is against Gryffindor.”

Javi groans. “I hate their Seeker. Too small to hit with a Bludger, too quick to slam off the broom. We might as well throw in the towel.”

“Don’t let Captain hear that or she’ll turn you into a fox and wear you as a collar.” The Hufflepuff’s Quidditch Captain, Mary J. Lockwood, is sweet in pretty much every aspect except when it comes to Quidditch, and she never hesitates making you take the brunt of it. You’ve stopped counting how often she’d condemned you to run laps around the field as punishment for talking back or disrupting practice.

You finish breakfast and quickly drop by the common room to get your parchments and books for Divination class, hoping it will let time pass quickly until evening. But while staring for roughly an hour into the lazily swirling fog inside a crystal ball without an answer to how this year’s Quidditch season will end, time seemed to move slower than a snail. After dozing off twice and woken up by Adeleide Oakes’s pointy elbow to your ribs before Professor Onai could notice, the class finally ends.

Next up is Herbology and after that you’ve got two free periods until lunch and then end the day with double Potions. It’s a slow day for a Wednesday, and you can’t wait until practice starts in October to give you some change from sitting for hours in the library and going through dusty old tomes or watch the first and second-years getting roped up into playing Gobstones in the common room by the older students, filling it with the putrid smell of its foul liquid. You just enjoy being outdoors more. Which is why Herbology is somewhat fun, even if you and Javi prefer to pass time by betting on who can stick their finger closest to a Chinese Chomping Cabbage, earning a scornful side glance from Leander Prewett.

You promised Samantha Dale and Nellie Oggspire to work on the assigned group project for the essay on Ghouls for DADA during your free period, but when you’re about to set out to the Great Hall to grab a few snacks before going through the list of books you’ll need from the library, Professor Garlick appears before you suddenly as though sprouting from the ground like a flower.

“Oh, delightful, my dear, there you are!” she beams. Small brown parcels flutter around her head like butterflies. “Here is the delivery for Mr. Ollivander, if you’d be so kind and bring them to him now.”

Just in case, you look behind you. Nobody there on the stairs leading up to the central hall. Even Javi has made himself scarce already. She really is talking to you.

“Why me, Professor?” Someone must have hit you with Obliviate. You can’t remember having agreed to any favour for her.

“Oh? Frederick Gustave told me you would offer! Quite an attentive, nice boy! He will grow into a splendid Ravenclaw student one day!” Frederick Gustave? In Ravenclaw? You don’t know anyone called Frederick or Gustave or—the thought strikes you like lightning. Freddy, Fred or August. “All you need to do is bring these little parcels to Mr. Ollivander in Hogsmeade. These are magically nourished woods he has requested, and I am quite eager to see the results for myself.”

With a flick of her wand the parcels change course and begin to circle around your head before you can even begin to explain that this is a huge misunderstanding. She pats your cheek affectionately and twirls around, descending the stairs back to her flowery domain.

Javi is waiting for you at the top of the stairs, ignoring your scowl as he whistles the tune of The School of Jolly Dogs. His face lights up. “Since you’re heading to Hogsmeade, can you bring me some white Chocolate Frogs? Mine hopped out of the window last night because Arty forgot to close it.”

You answer with a rude hand gesture and stomp out of the hall, heading for where you keep your brooms stashed in the Hufflepuff locker room.

~ ⋆��°✩ ~

The flight to Hogsmeade takes longer than usual. Every time you move too fast, the parcels begin to cry and whine like little abandoned ducklings until they catch up to you. Other than that, it is a beautiful morning as the sun keeps dipping in and out between wispy smears of clouds on the wide blue canvas. The tiny, homey town is alive with witches and wizards scurrying around to get their errands done. The novelty and excitement from visiting Hogsmeade in your third-year has worn off after two years, but it’s still a nice change from the dark school corridors and unending spiralling stair cases.

You leave your broom leaning next to the entrance of Mr. Ollivander’s shop. This shouldn’t take more than five minutes, darting in and out; you’re pretty sure you’ll be quicker than a Niffler digging through a pile of Galleons.

The door swings open easily. It has been five years since you last set foot into the small, cramped shop, yet nothing has changed and suddenly you feel as though you’re eleven again, entering for the first time. It smells of polished wood and something burnt underneath like a misplaced Incendio. Nearly every wall is stacked high with countless wands up to the ceiling, waiting to choose their witch or wizard. Back then you felt very small as a first year, anxious and excited to finally attend Hogwarts and get your own wand—the very first object that truly belonged to you and was not one of your older sisters’ hand-me-downs.

From the back of the shop you hear heavy knocks and a shrill screeching sound that makes you want to put your hands to your ears. Just like five years ago, you reach for the bronze bell on the counter but before your fingers can touch it, it lifts on its own and jingles beautifully. The knocking immediately stops, followed by a last dull clatter and then Mr. Ollivander emerges from the back room, dusting himself off.

He looks at you over the rim of his golden glasses, and a small smile spreads on his face as recognition dawns. The wide counter flap squeaks open when he swishes his wand to step through.

“Ah, the Hawthorn girl,” he says in greeting, quickly closing the space between you and taking your hands in his; you feel every wrinkle against your palm, every patch of rough skin from decades of work as he squeezes your hands. “I have hoped that I would see you soon.”

The question mark must be evident on your face, for Mr. Ollivander explains, “I remember every student and wand I paired, and you my dear, I remember the day five years ago when you came to my shop and your wand found you. Spiral, twelve inches, and a phoenix feather core. Unyielding. But what makes your wand so special is the wood it is made of. Hawthorn makes such a strange, contradictory wand, as full of paradoxes as the tree that gave it birth, whose leaves and blossoms heal, and yet whose cut branches smell of death.” He chuckles to himself, blinking as if lost in a memory; not noticing how tense you are and the way your uneasy smile curls downward. As though you could forget what the hawthorn means. But instead of allowing your mother’s voice inside your head and poisoning your heart, you square your shoulders and pull your hands away from Mr. Ollivander’s grasp.

“Delivery from Professor Garlick,” you say with a faux cheery voice. It seems only then does Mr. Ollivander notice the parcels still fluttering around your head.

“Ah, yes, yes! Allow me.” He points his wand at the parcels, then to his back room and they float through the shop in rank and file, all in proper order. “And here of course, the payment.” Mr. Ollivander hurries behind the counter, and produces a heavy pouch that he hands over to you. It jangles handsomely when you take it from him.

“Well then, I wish you a nice da—”

“Tell me, dear, have you met him?”

Feet already pointed towards the entrance, you turn your body halfway back. “Met who, sir?”

Mr. Ollivander looks up from the account books he’s been writing in. Something glints in his eyes, but maybe it’s just the reflection on his glasses. “Why, the Blackthorn boy of course.”

You rack your brain for anyone you know who’s called Blackthorn but come up empty. “I’m afraid I have not made any acquaintance like that, sir.”

The wandmaker’s eyes are calm, a sparkling blue of sunlight lancing off a stream. “I see,” he says. “Well, my part of this was fulfilled when I matched your wants with you. Everything else is up to you.” He gives you a little secret smile, then goes back to his ledger, the conversation clearly over even though you have dozens of questions swirling in your head.

Back out on Lower High Street, you have been released of the fluttering parcels and instead Mr. Ollivander’s words torment your mind. You can feel a memory hiding behind a thick fog, blurry and barely visible but its presence heavy and lurking like a ghost.

Wasn’t there something he had told you five years ago? When he had presented your wand to you, still resting in its narrow satin casket. You were too excited to pay him any mind—it had sounded too much like one of your mother’s stories; like an augury or worse even, a prophecy—when he had told you about a cursed kingdom, two brothers, and a hawthorn and blackthorn tree. Why listen to old fairy tales when the real adventure—Hogwarts—was waiting for you?

Besides, if by ‘Blackthorn boy’ he meant someone with a blackthorn wand, finding that person would be nearly impossible. And why would you look for him in the first place? Superstitions and divinations have no place in your life. Not after how it had dictated your childhood with a cold iron fist.

The trip back to Hogwarts is significantly faster without having to look after enchanted parcels behaving like newborn Fwoopers. With what happened at Mr. Ollivander’s, you completely forgot to drop by Honeydukes for Javi, which makes him look like a kicked puppy for the rest of the day.

You manage to start your essay for the group project, although you don’t get nowhere near where you wanted to be before the match. Lunch is a blur of tasty shepherd’s pie and grilled mushroom skewers with a small handful of students passing where you sit to wish you good luck, pattung your shoulder hard enough you almost choke on your pumpkin juice. Others send you little notes with crude drawings showing St. Jude zapping you with a spell and losing tonight’s duel. The messages are charmed to head dive into your cup and plate, splattering mashed potatoes on your uniform.

Adeleide plucks a nervously flapping piece of paper out of your meal and unfolds it. “At least they’re creative,” she notices mildly.

You throw a wary glance at the note. “That doesn’t even look like me.”

“I don’t know.” Javi slurps loudly from his cup. “They got your scowl right.”

Double Potions after lunch flies by for a change. Your Wiggenweld Potion tends to be a tad bluer than Professor Sharp’s apple green concoction bubbling at the front table for reference, but you have a hard time focusing when your mind is already occupied with how tonight’s duel might go.

You have a handful favourite spells that you’ve practised long enough they come as easy to you as breathing. But from what you have seen during the last Crossed Wands duels where St. Jude has participated, he seems to have a natural gift for duelling. You’ve heard he competed alongside Sallow in his first duel, but every after he’s been on his own and you’ve seen the battered and bruised leftover competitors limping out of the Clock Tower. You don’t plan to follow in their footsteps.

When evening falls on the castle and the long, narrow corridors awake with dim candlelight, you follow the throng of hooded students hurrying towards the Clock Tower after dinner. The excitement ripples through the lines of people like a physical force, alive and rearing when the first students file into the Clock Tower and find a seat close to the walls and away from accidental stray spells.

You spot Lucan Brattleby surrounded by a handful Hufflepuff and Slytherin students. Javi is among them, and when you draw closer you notice the ledger in Lucan’s hand and the Sickles being passed between him and Javi.

Javi startles when you step next to him like a Mooncalf facing an oncoming card. “Hiya,” he says in the very familiar voice that sounds a lot like him hoping you won’t be mad.

You raise an eyebrow. “Placing bets?” Your eyes linger on the page as you scan the names on the chart on your side. Only a few names—Leander, who’s been especially snappy since he lost against St. Jude in the semifinals, a handful other Gryffindors, one or two Ravenclaws and the rest are students from your house. On St. Jude’s column, Lucan has started to write the names as tiny as possible to fit them all on the page. Javi’s is amongst them. He ducks away from your scrutinising gaze. “He slew a fully-grown troll last week!” he pleads his case. So much for the infamous Hufflepuff loyalty. “I’ll invite you to Honyedukes after and pay whatever you want from the win.”

“Whatever.” You turn away to get ready, walking into a hard, solid body.

Callum St. Jude steadies you before you can stumble. “Easy there.” His smile slices white. “Am I already sweeping you off your feet? We haven’t even started yet.”

You shrug his hand off your arm. “The only sweeping happening today is when I wipe the floor with you, St. Jude.”

He hums thoughtfully. “We’ll see.”

You stare daggers at his back as he retreats to his side of the hall, welcomed by other Slytherin students who pat his back and ruffle his unruly jet-black hair as though he is the fifth year’s Champion already. He doesn’t linger around them for too long, and instead retreats to a far corner where Sallow is already waiting for him. What an annoying duo.

Tugging your black robe off, you begin to stretch your limbs. For today’s occasions you’ve chosen to wear a simple shirt with ribbon uniform tucked into your plaid trousers. More mobility, less fabric flapping around. A tie or a blazer would allow too much surface for a nasty Accio. From the last duels you’ve watched, you know St. Jude is as sharp as a whip, and he uses everything in his so far meagre arsenal of spells to win.

You’ll need to keep all your wits about you. If he, and the majority assembled under the giant swinging pendulum today, underestimate you, it will be your pleasure to remind them what vicious creatures badgers are. And that they devour snakes.

When you turn, St. Jude is already standing ready, his wand raised. He’s shrugged out of his robes as well and pulled off his tie, following your example. Gone is the hint of the cocky smile he always wears, so infuriating and inviting to punch. Now he is serious, his face an impassive mask that betrays nothing but you have seen it change within a heartbeat before knocking an opponent out with a savage blast of his wand. Like a snake, waiting and watching, until it strikes viciously and sinks its venomous fangs into your skin.

“Attention!” Lucan Brattleby hops in the centre, his arms raised. “Wizards and witches! Welcome to the fifth year’s Crossed Wands Championship Round!” He lets the audience get the whistling and bellowing out of their system before he introduces both parties. “Competitors, let’s get started!”

He quickly dashes out of the way—rightly so, for St. Jude’s opening move is always a lightning-quick Levioso, just like Professor Hecat taught him. You dodge the spell and hear it disperse against the wall behind you, feeling the sparks nip your skin.

“Accio!” You whip your wand towards you, only able to catch St. Jude by the cuff of his white sleeve as he evades with a side-step. But it’s enough to unbalance him as his arm is pulled in your direction and he retaliates by using the moment to blast a few Basic Casts your way which you block by well-timed Protegos.

The crowd’s cheers disappears into background noise as you and St. Jude continue your tense dance of attack and parry; a step forward, another step back, his Incendio is answered by your Glacius; since he prefers fire you do him the pleasure of casting Confringo which forces him to dive to the side. Your spell blasts the wooden weapon rack behind him into splinters and pieces, showering the Slytherins sitting beside it with glowing embers.

“Come on, new guy, give her a proper Slytherin treatment!” one of them yells. St. Jude doesn’t let himself get distracted, not even by the instructions of his fellow housemates or the quips from your side of the room. His eyes are pinning you like a butterfly on a corkboard, following your every step. They are frighteningly bright, you have the feeling that no move will go past him.

From behind you, you pull a large crate from under the buttocks of two Gryffindors with Accio, ignoring their protests when in the last second you fling it bodily towards St. Jude with Depulso. You’ve been working on the right timing for this for a long time—people usually don’t expect to be thrown at with things instead of spells. It hurls through the hall, and to your utter astonishment St. Jude blocks it in the last second with a flying object of his own—a practice dummy.

But where was the spell? You didn’t see him cast one when he hurled that dummy through the air.

At your puzzled expression, St. Jude grins at you, his smile so sudden and jarring as a thunderclap. You narrow your eyes. There’s something growing in the pit of your stomach, rearing its ugly head and snapping sharp, volatile teeth. Basic Casts don’t feel enough, and every vicious Diffindo St. Jude parries or dodges in the last moment. His retaliation is a fiery Incendio after Incendio—you’d think after this time one of you would grow weaker, lose focus, but the heat flaring your way and the flames licking up your uniform feel anything but harmless or tame.

Sweat runs down your temples, along your cheeks, down your neck. Your wand feels hot in your hand, but you grip it tighter, knuckles white. Your lungs feel tight in your chest, but you breathe in stronger, eyes wide. That rage that always lives inside you rears. It is an almost physical pain, like nails against flesh; like teeth against bars. That unwanted animal is starving, it wants nothing more than to get out and you’re surprised nobody else can hear it howling.

“Not as quick or cunning as that Sallow boy, but her spells pack a mean punch,” they say about you. You couldn’t best Sallow, and now there is this new contender and you refuse, refuse to slide down to number three; always coming in last, always pushed aside. You snarl at St. Jude as though trying to wrap your teeth around the world.

The air crackles with magic. Faintly, you hear an echo of a familiar voice. “Do not be surprised at your wand’s ability to perceive your intentions—particularly in a moment of need.”

It seems your wand shares your taste for violence—you can feel that this is the best Expulso you have executed since you taught yourself the spell in year four. You swing your arm, wand scorching hot in your hand—vibrating even—and hurl the Blasting Spell at St. Jude.

You can see his mouth move as he speaks a spell, blue sparks fly from the tip of his wand and then crackling lightning intercepts your attack. Through the sparks and bolts you see St. Jude’s puzzled expression—now is the chance to strike. A surprised opponent is a weak opponent; you swing your arm back—your arm is stuck.

From the tip of your wand a wiry crimson light crackles across the room, connected to St. Jude’s wand. When you try pulling back again, an invisible force lurches you forward, forcing your arm up until the thin light grows stronger, redder like spilt blood. Your arm shakes with the feeling of wrongness crawling up your arm, a kernel of god-awful flavour that has you biting your bottom lip. You feel an awareness. No. More than awareness, more sentient than that. It is recognition.

The point of your wand, shining a blazing white, shakes with the effort of you trying to pull back; shakes from whatever magic is transpiring between you two. On the other side, St. Jude has his free hand around his other wrist, trying to lower his wand, his face as white as a wall. To no avail.

The magic spreading from your wand through your body is like curious, warm fingers touching up along your arm, curling around your shoulder, settling against your cheek. They wander lower and splay across your chest, then sink through your ribs. Close around your heart. Squeeze.

The world explodes.

The magical blast sends you flying. Your teeth clang together as you slam on your back. Pain radiates through your body. Black dots dance before your eyes and blur your vision as you’re struggling for air.

A hushed silence has settled inside the Clock Tower. You shake your head, your free hand rising to your chest where you still feel a sharp twinge. Gingerly, you pick yourself up, carefully feeling for injuries. The whole room is a mess as though a wild Graphorn has ravaged inside and destroyed most of the furnishings. When your eyes lock with St. Jude’s across the room, your heart beats in your throat, making it hard to breathe.

Mirroring you, one hand is pressed against his chest, the other holds his wand in a vice-grip as though his life depends on it. You see him shudder helplessly, as if it were winter and he has gone outside without gloves and caught a terrible chill. His eyes meet yours, then drop to your wand. His lips mouth a single word, and you stare at him, throat tight, the cold sweat sensation of dread spreading slowly through your limbs.

And all of a sudden, you remember very clearly one thing Mr. Ollivander had told you all those years ago.

Once your paths cross, your fates will be irrevocably connected, growing together like the roots of old trees. Your wands have come from the same seed. There is no doubt that you fill find him.

Your Blackthorn boy.

A/N: If anyone is interested in this story, I can make a taglist :) Would also appreciate any sort of feedback, or just hitting the little heart so show me you enjoyed it

[citrus-cactus]

Citrus' Art Summary 2023!

The year is almost over, so here's my art summary for 2023! I got this template from here. This is my third year in a row being able to populate every month with a finished(/digital) piece (and really, I did a LOT more than what's shown here!), so that feels like something to celebrate!

Technically some of these choices don’t match up with their post dates; I counted some months as “when I was primarily working on them” and some as “when I actually published them,” but the sentiment remains. Like I said, it was a busy year! :)

Some more rambling + links to all featured artwork beneath the cut:

I remember last year I was quite worried about/was actually teetering on the edge of artistic burnout. There were definitely some months during this year that I felt a bit overwhelmed (particularly during the summer, when I was working on a 5-illustration series in a style that was DEFINITELY outside my norm, PLUS a bunch of other stuff), but I also appreciated the stylistic variety, and doing a lot of sketchbook drawings/marginalia that were(/are) just for me, so they never had to be "finished” or even "good." Even though almost everything pictured here is Digimon(/anime) art, I did experiment with a more "realistic" style for the Dracula Daily series (Aug/Sept), as well as trying to relearn the "Disney" style I started drawing in waaaaaaay back in high school, only now with a LOT more understanding of facial structure and anatomy. Largely, this style shake-up has been incredibly freeing (these are still sketchbook-only studies at this point, but I'm planning on some digital illustrations in the Disney style in 2024). I'm sure they still look pretty anime-influenced, and I'm not sure I'll ever truly be able to escape that, but honestly I don't mind; the anime aesthetic IS a part of my preference/style!

Let's see, the prevailing fandoms for what's shown here are Digimon Survive and Adventure 02. I really want to draw more Survive art next year!! Really happy with the collabo between @vidramon and myself (July), and honestly most (if not all) of these pieces. I worked hard, I branched out, I took on some really ambitious projects, and finished a ton of things (looking at you, March! That Knight drawing was a WIP for an entire year, but I finished it instead of abandoning it, which is what usually happens when things sit around that long!). Ultimately, I believe I told (and helped tell!) some great stories through my creative projects and art this year, which is my true goal forever and always.

Honestly I'm happiest with April's drawing. That one was a ton of fun to do, but I would have to work really hard to replicate that coloring style because I don't remember my brushes/settings, ahaha. Sadly this is how it usually goes with coloring for me; I make it up as I go almost every single time, which is why series are so difficult for me. I am nothing if not inconsistent -_-;

I would be remiss to mention that a huge part of my productivity this year was due to setting and tracking monthly goals for myself. I gotta thank everyone on the @campdigimonth server for their help in keeping me organized and motivated throughout the year! I plan on continuing my creative check-in posts in 2024.

Next year, I want to a) make more Survive art (particularly with Survive Week coming up), b) draw some more flippin' gargoyles (CRIIIINGE, but no, cringe is dead, I'mma do what I want!), and c) keep working on my personal project! And I am, once again, thinking about bookbinding. That's a "maybe" for next year as well!

Descriptions and links to the full artwork pictured for each month:

January: Survive Week, Day 5

February: Survive Gang Aromantic Week

March: Knight Unryuuji and Friend

April: “Rose-Tinted” fic illustration

May: Happy Birthday Vi!

June: Happy Birthday Haru Shinkai!

July: Happy 1st Anniversary Survive! (aka BEST SOCK FRIENDS)

August: Dracula, September 13

September: Dracula, September 20

October: Adv 02 Countdown Event, Day 7

November: “Boo!” on the Cob

December: Digimon Secret Santa 2023

[burnt2ashleys]

hey.

been a while, huh. I don't remember how many months since I've made an entry here. This is a dlog, or something like it, but I haven't really interacted with this beyond the occasional like and reblog spree.

The past several months have not been kind to me, the last 2 more than the rest. And while I could air out my very real, lame and depressing IRL woes, I think it's best if I spare you and I both from making a wall of text wall-ier.

I draw for a life (not a living, because I've not made much money out of it, but I don't do much else being a NEET), and Clip Studio Paint, my preferred program to draw in, seems to have hiccups I can't fix no matter what, so after months of trying and failing, I went back to Photoshop to draw. It wasn't until a few days ago that I finally felt like I had something going in regards to art digitally (last time I felt this way was in May). Heck, I was (and kinda still am!) even drawing on paper to keep a habit going.

But, things seem to be flowing again. At least, for now. Everything is still very tenuous and things could still go breasts-up at a moment's notice, but I'm willing to believe that I'll make it out okay despite everything.

That said, it's October, the halloween month. And I made myself a new avatar! It's my first time painting in a very long time. Check it out:

I don't know about you guys, but I feel I nailed this. I'm really proud of it!

And I feel kinda confident, almost excited to tackle some of the projects I've been letting gather dust for several years. Though, whether or not I'll be able to do anything concrete this month remains to be seen. It'll be a busy, busy next few weeks and months.

To whoever reads this: Thanks. I may not know you, but I'm thankful someone took some time out of their day to read... whatever this is, really.