#MANDRAKE … i need to draw more of him

[beelzeebub]

I’ve rewatched my fav film, Dr. Strangelove.

[bookshelf-dust]

love and mandrakes

sirius black x gn!reader

word count: 5,220

warnings: swearing, fluff, i think that's literally it, but let me know if it's not

a/n: hi! so this is new!!! a new character!! sirius black is the loml, and i've been working on this for what feels like forever. i'm really proud of it, and i hope that maybe some of you will like it. it's been very fun to explore a new universe and the marauders as a whole. i hope you enjoy this!! love you 3000 <333

————

The greenhouse windows are frosty this morning, and you can feel the chill seeping in through the thin glass panes. You fight the urge to lift your finger, using the tip to draw a face in the condensation gathering on the one nearest you. 

You’re stood at the back of the greenhouse, like always. You’ve never liked to be very close to Professor Sprout–certainly not because of any disdain towards the woman–but for the fear that she’d have something negative to say about your work. This is despite the fact that she’s been nothing but kind to you regarding every plant that’s ever been in your care.

Really it’s just that you’d beat yourself up if you killed a plant that makes you so determined to do well.

You’re twenty minutes early for class today. Early enough that it’s just you and Professor Sprout in the greenhouse. Everyone else likes to stumble in within the five minutes before class begins.

But clearly, that’s not quite the case this morning. The greenhouse doors open, both rather than just one, and Professor Sprout turns to greet whoever it is.

“Good morning, Mr. Black.”

You look up. Sirius Black is never early to class. If anything, he’s usually either not there at all, or the absolute last one to find his way in, perhaps a half hour late, if not more. He sidles up to Remus Lupin, and suddenly they've got a lovely little group project on their hands.

“Remus won’t be in today, Professor.” Sirius gives her a look that you assume is supposed to induce sympathy on her part. “Seems he’s got a cold.”

Pomona has never found it in herself to be frustrated with the boy, unlike the majority of her colleagues. She’s one of the few professors at the school to not harbor particularly malicious feelings towards the boy. He might be a troublemaker, but who isn’t at that age? 

She’s been briefed on what his home life is like, too, and who he has to put up with. And since she was a young girl, Pomona has been determined to give everyone a fair chance.

"Thank you for letting me know," she tells him.

You watch as Professor Sprout heads to a supply closet and begins to pull out heaps of gloves and what look to be earmuffs, messily tossing away the things she doesn’t need. You're lost in observing her, so consequently the voice sounding a few inches from your ear startles you.

"You always in this early?" Sirius has materialized next to you, the beginnings of a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth. 

You glance at his hand where it lingers over the stem of a plant you’re not sure he should dare to touch. He’s got a ring on every finger excepting his thumb.

“Usually,” you say. It occurs to you that these are some of the first words you've ever spoken to the boy, if you don’t count bare minimum exchanges in the odd class. “I like it back here.”

You like it back there because less people can look at you. Because having to sit somewhere else stresses you out, not to mention throws you off. You feel safe in your little corner. 

Sirius withdraws his hand from the questionable plant and raises his head. His eyes bore into yours. They’re the strangest shade of blue. It seems to shift in the light, and sometimes they look almost gray. He grins, and then begins to scan the area around the both of you.

“Suppose it is nice. Maybe I’ll stay back here with you. Wouldn’t want you to be lonely, you know.” 

You snort at that and he quirks a brow at your amusement. Sirius pushes his hair behind his ear and you realize he’s got a silver industrial piercing.

“That hurt too bad?” You ask, gesturing towards the jewelry and hoping he knows what you mean. He does.

His thumb skips over the metal ball at one end, coming back to fiddle with a section of his robes. He leans forward, grinning at you. His smile is wide. The corners of his mouth tick up mischievously, smile lines conveying layers of mischief you know he must have hidden in that mind of his. 

“Probably wouldn’t have as much if I’d gone to a shop.”

You gasp lightly, thinking about it getting infected and Sirius having a bloody mess on his hands.

“You did it yourself?” You ask, eyes wide and full of concern.

He laughs. It’s a gorgeous sound, deep and friendly. Warm.

“I was prohibited,” he says, pressing a scandalized hand to his chest. “Remus did it for me over break, while my brother played nurse.”

“Well it looks nice,” you tell him, palms beginning to sweat. You find his presence to be slightly overwhelming. “I mean I think so.”

“Thank you, sweets.” He bends slightly at the waist, hand over his stomach, and it’s a gesture you might take as being that of an asshole, if it weren’t for his voice being so kind.

You hum in place of a you’re welcome, trying to will away the swarm of butterflies in your tummy. They’re being rather aggressive. 

“And for the record,” he adds, “Remus was very strict with my cleaning regimen, so I did not get any infections if that’s what you’ve been contemplating.”

“That’s good.” You smile. You’re not sure it’s anywhere near as pretty as his.

Professor Sprout claps her hands, startling you. Today is really not your day. Sirius snorts at your jolt, but when you glance at him he’s pretending to be intensely focused on your instructor.

“Morning, everyone!” she begins. “Today, as you may have guessed, we will start our lessons on Mandrakes. This particular lesson will focus on basic knowledge, as well as care, but come next class, your actual project will begin.”

“You’re going to need a partner, so I’ll give you a few minutes now to choose, that way you can prepare with one another prior to the main exercise.”

All at once, everyone turns to this person and that, chattering and deliberating. It seems everyone has someone.

Your heart starts to pound, and you wonder if maybe Professor Sprout might let you work independently. Pairs are forming, and you can feel yourself being left out, pushed to the edges of society. Maybe that’s dramatic, but it’s how you feel. 

You lean against the table behind you, hoping that she won’t call you out for not having a partner. That is until there’s a figure in front of you.

“What’d you think, huh? Shall we work together?” Sirius stands so that you have no other choice but to look back at him. It’d come off rude to not maintain eye contact at this distance. 

You feel yourself burn and can’t help but wonder if this is some sort of cruel joke.

“Wouldn’t you rather wait and join Remus?” You ask, fingernails picking at the wooden underside of the table.

“You think I’m using you as a fill-in?”

You shrug, rubbing your nose. “We’ve quite literally never spoken an actual conversation before today. I just thought you’d want to work with your friend and not some stranger.”

“Well there’s a first for everything, isn’t there? And you’re not a stranger. I see you all the time.” 

You sigh. He grins, ever pleased with himself. 

“You don’t want to be friends with me?” He teases.

“I—”

“No, it’s quite alright. I’ll see if good ‘ol Mona will help me out.” He turns like he’s going to march away, though his feet barely move. He’s not going anywhere and you both know it. 

“Holy shit,” you start. “Just shut up. Go and get the gloves then.”

Sirius grins. “Demanding, aren’t we?”

He does go and get them though, returning with two sets of gloves and a pair of shears, as Professor Sprout had instructed.

“Today, we will focus on tending to your Mandrakes. I want you, in your pairs, to check the soil and water as needed. I also want you to trim the leaves, as these have been left to run amok for a while. To work!”

Chatter erupts around you, bouncing against the glass walls of the greenhouse.

You fetch a watering can while the area is still free, and Sirius fills it up for you. You notice that your Mandrake is severely lacking the soil it needs. It’s not very well off at all.

“Do you see this?” You ask him, gesturing towards where the roots are showing, clearly dehydrated and with nowhere to sprawl out and grow. “She’s got us treating the wounded.”

Sirius crosses his arms. “That’s a damn shame now, isn’t it? Guess we better heal this thing then.”

“Are you fucking with me?” You ask, eyes darting up to meet his.

“No, I swear. I can tell you’re into this. It’s not my best subject.”

“Well you know what they say.”

“What do they say?” His eyes are gleaming. That’s the best word you can think to use for it. 

“Teamwork makes the dream work.”

He rolls the very same eyes. “I’d like a new partner after that one.”

You laugh, and Sirius feels a pang in his chest. Like he’s taken a blade to the heart, and he can’t do anything but let it happen. Your laugh is such a sweet sound and he worries it might be the death of him.

You slip your gloves on and start trimming the leaves that have to go. There’s quite a few of them, but luckily they seem to be towards the bottom of the stem, and you think once you’re able to water it, the Mandrake might have a chance.

You finish with the shears, and set them down. You look up at Sirius, and your eyes catch a group of buttons on the shoulder of his robes. His hair had been covering them before. You find yourself feeling warm inside, as one in particular tickles your fancy.

“I like your pin,” you say.

His brows shoot up, “Which?”

You use your pinky and tap the glossy finish. He watches. “That one.”

“The Queen one?”

You nod, shoving some more soil into your pot to try and save the roots.

“You listen to them?” Sirius leans down so that his face is next to the Mandrake and in your line of sight. He’s got this brilliant grin. It’s worrying you. For a moment you think he might say something cruel, but the look in his eye is almost boyish.

“Yeah,” you say. “My mom is a muggle. Fell for a dorky wizard boy. So she’s raised me on loads of good stuff.”

“Lucky duck, you.”

You snort and then look up at him, though he's already been looking at you. His eyes haven't left you the whole time you've been working. He finds the way you treat the plant as if it has feelings to be charming. He wonders if you take care of everyone like that. Or maybe even yourself.

You move the soil pouch towards him. "You gonna help me?"

He slips his gloves back on. They really don't match anything he's wearing, and frankly it bothers him a bit. "Of course, of course."

He starts tending to the plant and you watch, noticing the bumps left in the gloves where his rings are hiding underneath.

"Feed her, Seymour," you say, and Sirius whips his head towards you.

"Who the fuck is Seymour?"

"Muggle film. Musical actually. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry for exposing your nerdiness. What's the film about? Talk to me," he proclaims, wincing at the state of his soil work.

“This guy, Seymour, finds a plant, and he tries to take care of it, you know, as you do, but he figures out it only wants blood and meat to eat and that’s what he feeds it, so it keeps growing and growing until it’s big enough that it starts eating people.”

Sirius looks at you with wonder in his eyes, and starts to laugh. "Are you fucking with me, love?"

You start to smile, one that you at first try to suppress, but it ends up spreading across your face, softening your features. Sirius thinks maybe it's the prettiest smile he's ever seen. He can't get over the way the lines around your mouth form, or the way your cheeks bunch and your eyes light up.

"No, I promise."

The boy tugs his gloves off, having finished salvaging the soil for your plant. "Killer plants, huh?"

"Indeed," you say. "You know Mandrakes are killer too, right?"

"Stop."

You start to water the plant, trying your best not to drown the damn thing. "What do you think the earmuffs are for, dumbass?"

You immediately regret calling him a dumbass, thinking you may have crossed a line--it's not like you know him all that well, you've only been speaking for this one class period--but he only smiles at you.

For some reason, you find him easy to be around. He doesn't scare you.

"It's cold."

"Because it's cold? No. After we save the plants we have to re-pot them, and when we take them out they're going to scream. Their cries are fatal, Sirius."

He stares at you. Remus did not tell him this. Technically he could've read his textbook, but clearly he didn't.

"That seems highly uncalled for."

You chuckle and he grins again.

"I agree,” you say. “Have you got the time?”

Sirius pushes his sleeve up, glancing at the watch tight around his left wrist. “We’ve got five minutes left.”

You look up, and notice Professor Sprout removing her gloves. If you’d waited to ask for just a moment longer, she would’ve begun her everyone-get-your-shit-together-and-get-out-of-here speech. 

“Students, your attention please!” Professor Sprout’s cheeks are rosy, tufts of curls sticking out from under the brim of her hat. 

“Next class we’ll try and get the Mandrakes repotted, so that they may grow to their full potential and can then be used as needed for Madam Pomphrey. You’ll need to come and water your plants periodically throughout the week, as these tend to drink rather quickly, so I suggest you alternate days with your companion.”

When you’ve finished and you’re outside once again, it’s misty, your skin dampening with each step you take. 

You feel a hand on your elbow, and Sirius has appeared next to you. Frankly, you hadn’t expected him to continue contact with you. 

The both of you had discussed what days you’d water you plant, and you assumed that was that. 

“I’ve realized we’re co-parenting a Mandrake,” he starts, “and I feel as though I should at least know a little something about the mother of my child.” You raise your eyebrows at him. “You know, to ensure that they don’t grow up lacking proper guardianship.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you say, hopping over a puddle. 

He tosses his head back, laughing, and you feel your insides go all warm and gooey at how his hair moves with the motion. You can’t help but wonder what it feels like. 

“First, you don’t want to be friends, and now, you want our child to be one of divorce.”

You stop, resting your forehead against the cool stone of one of the courtyard walls. 

“Sirius, we haven’t even been married.”

He presses his forehead against the stone next to you, and you turn to look at him. “I’m pretty sure there are a good bit of people who’ve been married and know less about each other than we do,” he says. 

You smile at the wall and he catches it. 

“Besides, we’ve got the same music taste, and that means I’ve got to keep you around.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, that’s how this works. Didn’t you know?”

You brush at the side of your robes where you’ve now gotten moss remains on them. “I was not aware, no.”

“Haven’t you got class or something?” You ask him. His cheeks are pink from the cold, a stark contrast from the chill of his eyes, the sharp black of his hair. 

“Not for another hour. You?” 

“Yeah, actually.”

“So tell me something quick.” He spins a ring around his finger, a chunky silver one with something set into the center. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Seriously?”

He smiles. It’s gorgeous and full-fledged. You can’t believe he’s looking at you like that. It feels like some big error. 

“Sorry I set myself up for that one,” you say. “Um, it’s green.”

“Lovely. Now what shade of green are we talking?”

“Sirius.” You pout. 

“Come on now, chop chop.” He snaps his fingers. “Thought you had an excuse to ditch me or something?”

You roll your eyes. It seems that cocky ass grin never leaves his face. “Like a forest green. Trees and such.”

Sirius claps his hands together, metal clinking. “That’s fantastic. I’ll be sure to remember it. Mine’s purple, by the way, thank you for asking.”

“I bet you look stunning in purple, Sirius.”

He blushes. He actually blushes. You grab for his wrist and push his sleeve up to peer at his watch. 

“I’ll see you around, okay?”

For the first time in a long time, Sirius Black hasn’t got shit to say. No one ever makes him blush. 

————

“I don’t come to class one day, and you’ve made a new friend? Why couldn’t you have made a new one any other day? I think I need some time off. Maybe even early retirement.” 

Sirius smacks Remus on the shoulder where the latter lays stretched out in bed. The curtains are drawn one one side so that the only person they’re visible to is James, who is half asleep in the neighboring bed, glasses askew and tie on the brink of choking him. 

“It’s rude to abuse the wounded.” 

“You’re off your rocker, Lupin.”

Remus rubs his face, though he winces, his arms much too sore for any sort of activity. “Tell me about it.” 

“Feeling any better today?” 

“Yes, Sirius. I’m feeling fucking wonderful.”

“He’s being sarcastic.” James’ voice is muffled by the pillow he’s collapsed into. 

Sirius turns to look at his friend. “Yeah, no shit, Prongs. Thank you so much for enlightening me.”

James raises a weak arm, flipping him off. “Eat me.”

“You say that as if I won’t do it.”

James sits up, but only enough so that he may rearrange himself into a poorly structured child’s pose. “Stop being such fucking tease and do it then, babe.”

Remus rubs his eyes aggressively, like it might somehow rid him of his ever permanent longing for sleep. “Shove it, you two.” He peeks out from between his fingers at Sirius. “I thought you were saying how you’ve made someone else miserable with the joys of your friendship.” 

“Fuck you,” Sirius says.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I did make a new friend. In herbology, since you decided to have a go with the moon and left me to perish.” Remus rolls his eyes. “They’re very kind, if you must know. We are co-parenting a Mandrake.”

James snorts into the mattress. 

“Is it really co-parenting if you’ll make them do all of the work?” Remus asks. 

James snorts again and Sirius leans over to smack him against the back. He lets out a pathetic cry that both of the other boys ignore. 

“I’m helping, asshole,” Sirius begins. “I’m supposed to go water the fucking thing in a bit if either of you need proof of life.” 

“Of your friend or of your child?” Remus reaches his arm out to grab hold of one of the bedposts and heave himself up. 

“Both.”

James slides off of his bed and starts to stretch, and a cacophony of cracking sounds follows, which is slightly concerning considering his age. “Sorry. I’m supposed to go and see Lils. But I expect a full report back, Moons.” He strips off his tie and pulls on a coat. The other two boys watch him bound across the room like they’re at a tennis match.  

James is gone so quickly you’d be amazed that he was half-asleep minutes before. 

“What a prick,” Sirius says from where he sits at the foot of Remus’ bed. He looks away from the door and at his friend. 

Sirius sets his hand on Remus’ knee. “You get any sleep this morning?” 

“Some. Not enough. Though it’s never enough, or whatever.” Sirius gets a pang in his chest. He wishes he could make it all better. 

“You want to get some fresh air? You can come with me to the greenhouses if you want, but you can stay here too. I’ll sneak down to the kitchens and get you something.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll go with you. Sun’s not out, is it? It’ll kill my head.”

Sirius stands and peers beneath the drawn curtains. It’s cloudy, like it might storm, a thick layer of cloud lying over the grounds. “Nope. She’s hiding from you today.”

Remus nods and his friend walks back over to his bedside. “Come on, Rem.” 

He removes the blankets from over his lap and scoots to the edge of his mattress. Sirius holds out his hands for Remus to take. Sometimes he gets really woozy when he has to stand after nights like the last. His knees shake, but he’s steady once he’s up. Sirius keeps an arm around his back when there isn’t anyone in the halls to question Remus’ condition, but has to settle for watching his friends footing otherwise. 

Sirius gets Remus on a bench and makes a stop by Madam Pomphrey on the way, feigning a headache. She gives him a little bottle of these chewable tablets with instructions on how often to take them and tells him to come back if the ache persists. 

He hands the bottle to Remus when he’s finished, and the boy’s had the medicine for an entire four seconds before he’s chewing. It’s one of those headaches that stays dull, but any sudden movement and your entire skull is throbbing and he thinks he might just die. Remus thinks this every full moon. He is not dead. 

The trip to the greenhouse takes longer than usual, mainly because of Sirius’ tendency to baby Remus during his moon hangovers. He claims it’s because he doesn’t want a death on his hands, something about living up to the Black name, but Remus knows it’s really because Sirius is much more caring than he’d ever admit. 

“See? Look at this fucker. My child.” Sirius gestures dramatically at the potted plant. Remus leans up against one of the tables, only slightly amused, much more out of breath. 

He’s only just gone digging for a watering can when he hears the door open and glances up, assuming it’s another student having to monitor their own dirt ball. 

But it’s you. 

“What’s up, love?”

Remus’ eyebrows shoot up. He hadn’t realized when Sirius said he made a friend he actually meant friend. He’s never really seen Sirius look at someone that way. 

You stand by the doors, kicking the one you came through shut behind you. Sirius pretends like he’s not attracted to the movement. 

“Hi,” you say. You step a little further into the room. “I know it’s not my day to water, but frankly I was kind of worried you’d forget to do it.”

Remus turns to face you and laughs, full on. You grin at him. He’s never really looked at you before, but there’s no denying how sweet you look. He bets you could kick Sirius’ ass if you wanted. He also thinks Sirius might let you do it. 

Sirius straightens and flips his hair back as he does so. “You wound me.”

You shrug. “I was also slightly panicked you’d drown the thing, so there’s that.” 

Sirius walks over to the sinks, filling up his watering can, though you both know he could easily use a spell to do it instead. “So you came to supervise?”

“‘Fraid so.” You chew on the inside of your lip. 

“I don’t blame you,” Remus says. “He’s kind of a flake.”

“Fuck you, Rem.”

“Yeah, sure.” Remus pushes off of the table, moving in the direction of you and the doors. His head is starting to feel better. He leans in next to you, though his voice is anything but a whisper. “I don’t know why you’re putting up with him. Would’ve asked for a different partner myself.”

“She picked me!” You laugh, seeing Sirius put his hands on his hips out of the corner of your eye. 

Remus raises a brow at you. “Oh yeah?” He smiles at you. It’s a knowing expression, an understanding one. He keeps his eyes on you, but speaks to Sirius. “I’m gonna go for a walk, Pads. Come and retrieve me when you’re finished.” 

The squeeze Remus gives to your shoulder is kind. It tells you you’re safe with Sirius. With him. That you’re welcome. The glass door rattles as it shuts. 

“You really have no faith in me?” Sirius asks, spritzing the Mandrakes leaves. You peer into the pot, noticing he’s watered it just right. It’s not going to drown after all. 

“No, I’ve got plenty. Maybe I just wanted to see you again.” 

Sirius sets the bottle he’s holding down. “No shit.”

“Well you see, last time you asked me a question, and I didn’t get to ask you one of my own, and I figured I’d better do that if I want to keep the friendship alive, you know?”

Sirius is smiling at you. He can’t believe this–your teasing. 

He runs the pad of his thumb along your cheekbone. “So what’s the question?”

“Do you like pie?” you question.

“I do.”

“That’s good. Because I feel the same way, and rumor has it you can get into the kitchens, so I thought we could work together on this...and get pie. It’s like a reward. I put up with you and you put up with me kind of thing, so we get something to eat.”

Sirius tosses his head back, letting out a bark of a laugh. Your eyes linger on his neck for a second longer than they should. 

“Well the rumors are indeed true,” he says. “Guess we’ll have to ditch Remus, then. Make it a proper date and whatnot.”

“That seems unkind,” you chuckle.

“He’ll live.”

————

“What’s happening here?” Sirius throws himself into one of the chairs on the other side of the table where you and Remus sit. 

“We’re reading,” Remus tells him. “Go away.”

Remus had shown you to this table. Said it was his favorite. There are a small group of them in the very back of the library, behind one of the last rows of shelves. You wouldn’t know they were there unless you went looking. 

He said it’s where he goes to hide when James and Sirius won’t shut up and let him work, which is more often than not. 

“You whined about me making new friends,” Sirius says, “so that I’d leave you alone, and now you’ve taken it upon yourself to steal said friend from me?” 

You cover your face with your book, sliding deeper into your chair and trying your very best to fight off a giggle. 

Sirius reaches across the table and snatches the book from your hands. He wants to see the shit-eating grin you’re hiding. He stands and moves in front of you just when you bury your face in your sleeve. 

He tugs on the fabric of your shirt. “Traded me out then, have you?”

You snort into your sweater, and Sirius watched the way your shoulders shake. Remus eyes his friend’s hand, trying to make sure he didn’t lose your page with his frenzied antics. He didn’t though, pale thumb tucked into the paper.

Remus sets his own book down, stretching over the back of the chair. He’s thinking about going to bed. 

Instead of looking at Sirius like you know he wants, you turn to Remus.

“Leavin’ me, Rem?”

Sirius scoffs. Rem his ass. 

Remus lowers his head so that it’s level with yours. “Sleepy,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut. You look at the scar that runs through his brow and across his eyelid. There’s another by his ear. You wonder if he’ll tell you about them someday. 

He bumps his forehead—the gentlest of taps—with yours, and then he’s standing. Sometimes you forget how lanky he is when he’s always so hunched over. 

“Goodnight, Lupin,” you say. 

“Goodnight, you two. Don’t get too wild. This is still a library.”

Sirius takes the chair Remus had been occupying. You look at him, and reach for his hand. He wouldn’t even think about denying you taking it, even if he is being a grump. 

“I have not traded you out, Sirius.” He glares at you, though his eyes are still much too soft for it to be anything malicious. He’s not sure he could ever look at you in a hateful way. 

“You could’ve read with me,” he argues, tickling your palm. You try and wriggle your hand away, but he only presses his fingers firmly into your skin, keeping you there. 

“Come on.”

“No, you could have,” he continues. “I can be very well behaved, if need be.”

“Oh yeah?” You’re the one smirking now. Sirius is afraid he might never get this image of you out of his head. 

“Yeah.” He leans in, nuzzling his nose against your temple. When he pulls away, you realize he has a smattering of freckles under one eye. You have the urge to touch them, and so you do. 

He relaxes against your hand. “You’re very pretty, Sirius.”

“Thank you.” He kisses your knuckle. “You’re very pretty, too, sweets.”

“Thank you.”

In the weeks since your Mandrake project has finished—and the plant did indeed survive—Sirius has grown increasingly attached to you. Frankly he finds himself shocked that you’re willing to deal with him at all, let alone that his friends like you so much. He wasn’t even a little upset that you’re spending time with Remus. You have a lot in common, actually. 

He just likes to tease you. And he’s very good at it. 

“So you come looking for me because you need something? Or are you perhaps attention starved?” You question, taking your hand away from his face, though your other is still within his grasp. 

“Most definitely the latter.”

“What do you want me to do about it?”

He speaks close to your ear as if he’s about to spill the world’s most confidential information. “Is this a safe space?”

“Absolutely,” you assure him. 

“I want you to play with my hair,” Sirius says. 

You gasp, clutching at your nonexistent pearls. 

Your moment's pause makes him a little nervous. “Well let’s get on with it then,” you tell him.

You take Sirius up to your common room, it being much too late for anyone to be up. You slip your fingers into his hair, scratching at his scalp until he’s falling asleep and you’ve made promises of braiding it sooner or later. Eventually, you have to wake him, send him off to bed.

And he pouts. God, does he pout. But it’s okay. He’ll get you to do it again tomorrow.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

[dailyadventureprompts]

Villain: Jysh'parun, Outergod of Unwelcoming Earth

As distant and ancient as a mountain, as scornful as an axebitten tree

Many philosophies debate and negotiate the relation of mortals to their environment. Some see nature as a thing to be tamed in the name of survival, domesticated, exploited. Others proffer a more symbiotic path, a holistic system to be protected and stewarded.

Beyond these there are the ravings of those claimed by Jysh'parun, who claim that mortals have no right to exist at all, and survive merely by the beneficence of the trees and stones. While all but the most foolish agree that heed must be paid to nature, none but those under the unwelcoming earths dominion would think that there is some geological-feudal hierarchy to which we must all submit.

This then is the paradox of the Unbowing Mountain: a god that claims the worship of things that do not traditionally think, but views nature through a distinctly mortal lens of domination and hierarchy. It's an absurdity bordering on being a joke, atleast until Jysh'parun's influence washes over the land and the forest marches off to war while the rivers start demanding tribute.

Adventure Hooks:

Having come into possession of a disused tract of land, a young farming couple were picking the stones from their new field in preparation for planting when they came across the petrified remains of some indescribable horror. Resembling nothing so much as a horse sized mandrake-root with teeth, they've reached out to neighbours, the sheriff, even the local wizard looking for advice about what to do... only to wake up one morning and find the thing gone. Theft or reanimation are both equally alarming possibilities, and the whole region has been on edge since.

Having been thought dead for years after being lost in a winter storm, a dwarven cartographer descends from the mountains claiming to be their mouthpiece and demanding sacrifices in their name. Her words at first go unheeded, at least until the glacial rivers begin to run with noxious acid, transforming back only when something living is thrown in. Farms and villages are drying out and grisly offerings of livestock now fail to meet her standards she claims the mountains will only be satisfied when the people of the realm throw their rulers in and swear fealty to the peaks on high.

The king's palace is in chaos after a coup took place in the royal gardens, specifically when the great tree that shaded his majesty's favourite thinking bench stabbed him in the back with one of it's branches and then skampered off to replant itself on the throne with the crown in tow. Before Anyone knew what was happening, greenery had overtaken the palace locking most outside while trapping certain vital hostages inside.

Inspirations: Something that's all too often lost in the "madness and tentacles" misinterpretation of eldritch horror is that much of the genre is spun off from the particular phobias of HP lovecraft. When we use the iconography without understanding the anxieties behind it, we risk creating a shallow B movie version of the horror we want our audience to feel.

To write good horror then, we need to draw off fears we understand, and with Jysh'parun I wanted to tap into climate anxiety in a way I don't think I've seen before. We've all resigned ourselves to the fact that climate change is happening, with the understanding that its being driven by the bullheaded egos and greed of people who are so powerful their perspective on life bears no resemblance to anything we could possibly conceive of. Translate their willingness to let us suffer for the sake of profit into a psudo historical fantasy context and you get the Unwelcoming Earth: widening sinkholes that demand tolls from passersby while an approaching tsunami proclaims the divine right of kings. It's not only absurd it's fundamentally idiotic but that it doesn't mean it won't destroy you and everyone you know.

Worshippers: Delusional druids and geomancers. Goliaths and dwarvenkind who get too into being "children of the mountain". Sentient trees, Living crystals, and other elemental entities who seek to put themselves "above" other forms of life. Corrupted primoridals.

Signs: Aberrations that resemble roots or stone spontaneously emerging from nature, acid flowing from normally clear running springs, statues of lordly alien figures carved from erosion, not tools. Proclimations in an unknowable script engraved deep under the earth or on monumental scale.

Symbols: A glyph resembling a mountain range or branches of a tree in the shape of a crown.

Titles: The Unbowing Mountain, The Insuperable, King of all Corners,

Artsource

[23raccoons]

venēnum amōris

Sasori x Sakura

i.e. "[a/the] potion/juice/poison/venom of [a(n)/the] love/admiration/desire/enjoyment"

or

sakura makes sasori a love poison.

Halloween, Necromancer!Sasori, Witch!Sakura, love potions, sasori is down bad as always

“Hello, Sasori!” Sakura calls cheerfully as she enters Sasori’s little metaphysical shop. Half apothecary, half alchemistic supplies, half curiosity store. Shelves lined with jars of toxic powders and bottles of corrosive elixirs. Preserved venomous squamata. “How are you today?”

She pays little mind to the vast difference in their respective magical practices, Sakura leaning towards love and light and all sorts of other virtuous do-goodings that make Sasori want to gag. While he, well, prefers to play with the dead—and things that will soon make one dead. Necromancy and iniquitous magic of a more nefarious nature.

“I am as I am every time you see fit to bless the shop with your presence,” Sasori intones dryly. She is the most annoying little witch prancing about town. From her mycena rosea toned hair to her verdant eyes. They glow when she uses her magic, nearly the same bioluminescence hue of the hadrurus arizonensis that fill the tank behind him when exposed to uv light.

“Well, the continuity is most certainly appreciated,” Sakura laughs lightly, making her way over to the counter. He wonders if she glamors herself to be so vexingly pretty, as lovely as the haunted porcelain dolls locked away in the warded display cases, or if it comes naturally so. From her charming coloring to the teasing banter she treats him with, she is the most tempting of specimens.

Sasori has checked, on more than one occasion, if she has placed him under some sort of love spell. A phenomenon-like pull to draw him into her web, an amorous curse of erotic attraction. She unfortunately has not; he rechecks often nonetheless. The quixotic feelings of lust and yearning all his own. An infelicitous lasciviousness he pushes down at the thought of her in most any capacity.

“It’s near sundown, shouldn’t you be hunkered down next to your hearth by now? Tending to your fire?” He mocks lightly. Her home warm and inviting, cozy even. Full of mismatched furniture and all her instruments of practice, he’s been by a few times on errands forced upon him by his grandmother. “All Hallows Eve is soon upon us, you know.”

Mere hours away from the setting sun crosses the barrier of the horizon, stealing the light from the sky. The turning of the bountiful harvest into the cold bleakness of winter. Sakura’s light, green work magic will dampen as the death and decay of Sasori’s dark magic strengthen.

“I came for some last-minute supplies,” she offers, tapping her nails on the countertop. Sasori narrows his eyes at the offending chipped opalescent enamel-coated keratin. Fingers adorned with an assortment of metal rings that catch the light as she moves.

“A candle for your jack-o-lantern,” he drawls. Protections from any sinister spirits that may be lurking about, all too eager to get their hands on a source of magic to feast on. “Or perhaps some cinnamon and clove for your simmer pot.”

Sakura often comes by the shop to purchase ingredients for her medicines. Dried flowers and leaves. Processed powders and tinctures. The occasional handful of mildly toxic hallucinogenic berries or psychoactive mushrooms that find their way into his inventory.

“Very funny,” she tells him, with a perfect pout. “I was thinking more along the lines of belladonna or mandrake.”

“Oh, really?” Sasori queries as uninterestedly as he can manage. “Seems a little dark for your type.”

It is true. Sakura’s a garden witch—a good one, both in skill and morality; village folk often seek her out for her restorative potions and medicinal balms to help treat their illnesses and ailments. She dabbles in divination and crystals. Star-reading and matchmaking. Midwifery. Hardly the type to need ingredients for darker, occult leaning intentions.

“Dare’s bane, hemlock, foxglove.” She continues, counting off items on her fingers. Sasori keeps his expression neutral as she prattles on. “Wing of bat. Eye of newt.”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous,” he informs her. “No one calls that these days. Ilex aquifolium leaves and seeds from sinapis alba.”

“I mean,” Sakura interjects in his scientific classification lesson, “most people would call it holly and mustard seed. Who’s out here memorizing taxonomies for common potions ingredients?”

Sasori doesn’t point out that he does, and also Sakura, despite her teasing of him. She’s in here often enough with both her own orders and pick-ups that she packs in a little wicker basket to deliver to his grandmother. (The Old Hag never forgets to remark on Sakura’s lack of a husband every single time Sasori endures her presence.)

“What are you really here for?” He’s itching to know what she aspires to do on this nocturnal holiday.

“Oh, you’re so impatient.” She tells him. Sasori’s often torn in her presence, unable to decide if he never wants to leave her side or never wants to see her again. “I need some sugar cubes.”

Sakura has a running tab in his bookkeeping ledger, as she does not charge people for her services, taking payment in whatever form it is given. From wild honey to handmade gifts. Tokens or trinkets. Fresh meat and jars of jam or jelly. Favors, secrets, and the like. Trading in her earnings to pay down her balance when she acquires a novelty that Sasori would find of value.

“Sugar?” He can’t keep the shock out of his voice. What kind of silly little witch ventures out on All Hallows Eve to buy sugar instead of preparing her home against wicked specters and all other manner of malevolent supernatural creatures?

And almost like a test of his patience, something he has little of, waiting for her selection is always worth it. Sakura smiles, like the little flirtatious minx she is, pulling out a flask-sized crystal bottle from the depths of her enchanted apron pocket.

The liquid inside near fluorescent green, shimmering and swirling in its container, clearly magical in its properties. Absinthe, likely made by Sakura herself.

“You plan to divine tonight?” Quirking a brow, how licentious of her. He swallows the urge to offer to join her. To get a glimpse of her usual sweetness in a more debauched state on such a sacred night to his practice.

She swirls the bottle, causing the contents to swirl and flow around. Enchanting, entrancing, enticing. Passing it over the counter to him. “Not quite.”

Sasori pulls the stopper off the top, wafting the fumes towards his nose. Wormwood, fennel, and anise as expected. An overlay of mint, lemon balm, and basil.

“A love potion?” Nothing less than scandalous. Salacious.

She hums, fidgeting with the small crystal display on the counter. “A short-term lust potion, one that intensifies sensations between a couple. I thought perhaps we could enjoy it together if you were not otherwise engaged for the night.”

Oh.

Oh.

Sasori would enjoy that very much indeed.

[jutenium]

I drew this while I was sitting without the Internet for 2 days because of the russian shelling (these days I had to prepare for the last state exam👍anyway, I passed it successfully and now I'm free for a while), because the only available references for drawing were books and a folder with memes

So, bunch of ukr memes but it's a BartSeq👇

(You'll never believe which meme Kitty represents lol)

"I like the way it burns" for Bartimaeus (more in alt)

"It feels like God is punishing us for something" oh yes, Stroud often does that

Some silly sketches: Bartimaeus grimacing copies very important Minister Mandrake™ explanations, but does so in a guise of Kitty, and just Verroq (i love him, and i still can't draw him properly)

"Get out your 5 hryvnias" and "Verroq, you have a boring face, no one will give us money", or The Mercenary needs to be paid for his services, and Lovelace is raising money for a big coup, but if their faces are boring, no one will give them money (alt for more as always)

And finally... This. Just this. I have nothing to say, it's just a fcking legend. A legend that speaks: "It was me who stole the chumadan (mispronounced «suitcase»)" («spyzdyv» (stole) here is an untranslatable swear word that means "to steal").

It was Kitty who stole the staff.

[greenhousethree]

Gin and Nev... A friendship forged in fire

Wow thank you so much, I appreciate it! And I love this question! Apologies for the late response… I’ll get better at these 🫠

But oh boy, life at Hogwarts during book 7… I love it; it’s such a rich, chewy era for resilience, relationships, and coming-of-age. And I’ve really enjoyed creating snapshots of different characters’ perspectives (I have a couple more in the works for that series); they’ve really helped shape my ideas for arcs after the war. 

Neville and Ginny, though!! Two of my absolute favorite characters. The books don’t give us much to go on, but my headcanon has always taken the potential for their friendship and run a bit wild. I think these months at Hogwarts would have solidified it: running the D.A., caring for younger students, and pissing off the Carrows. 

(This turned into a full-on ramble, so here we go…)

I don’t think Neville and Ginny were particularly close before this year. Friends, for sure, but I think Ginny would have seen him primarily as her brother’s dorm-mate, even after the Yule Ball. She had her own friends (and boyfriend) to occupy her during D.A. meetings in OoTP, and we’re told that that Neville and Luna were the ones who bonded after the Department of Mysteries. 

Throughout Deathly Hallows, though, Neville’s no longer a peripheral friend of Ginny’s, but a comrade on a battlefield that’s been otherwise abandoned. Two Gryffindors, both with more skin in the game than most, both with nothing to lose by fighting. I think that pressure would give them both a harder edge than their peers; even Luna, who joins to form that melt-your-heart trio of misfits, has to worry about her father’s safety as a consequence of her actions. But Neville’s parents were Aurors and Ginny’s family make up most of the Order— they both come from fighters. 

Like Harry and Hermione (another gorgeous friendship that reduces me to a puddle), I think Ginny and Neville’s relationship is a thing with legs of its own, independent from the trio’s dynamic. Their characters balance one another beautifully, based on everything we’re given in the text. I put a glimpse of this into “Defiance,” which takes place in October of that year. And as the months passed, they would have only grown closer, trusted each other more, and developed sharper instincts for one another out of survival.

There’s an incredible amount of grit behind the strength we do get to see from Ginny in canon. Girl has seen a lot by this year, and I think she’d be the one to spearhead the revolution within the walls. But, and this is more of my HC here, she’s headstrong and impulsive... like an unbroken filly, I think she’d need someone else to take aim after the abandonment by Harry and her family makes her desperate and reckless. In a war of strategic mayhem, I see Neville acting the playmaker to Ginny’s agent of chaos, directing her desire for resistance into action. I’ve never had a doubt that she’s the one to hatch the idea of stealing the sword, but he’s the one pulling out the drawing board immediately after “Defiance.” He’d feel the most guilt after the fallout of their plans, too, surrounding the events of “Surrender.”

And, as the Carrows continue to do their damnedest to break her, I think Ginny gradually relies on Neville more to be the ballast of their ship. It’s a role that I think Harry will take over a bit, eventually: encouraging her to harness her fire as she picks up the pieces of her Hogwarts years.

And Neville! If ever there was a better fictional character to steal my heart. By the end of book 7, we see a completely transformed version of the nervous little sweetie who’d lost his toad on the train. I don’t remember where the idea came from to have him growing herbal remedies and passing them off as homework, but I sort of fell in love with it. This boy’s using Mandrakes as weapons up until the very end; surely he spent the entire term risking his behind to visit the greenhouses and follow his passion (and without a handy invisibility cloak, too… take that, Potter).

Neville’s always looked up to Harry, drawing inspiration from seeing him speak up against Umbridge and Snape. We get glimpses of his burgeoning voice in OoTP and HBP, fighting alongside Harry in the Department of Mysteries and defending Hogwarts after Dumbledore’s death. But we don’t see Fully Evolved Neville— D.A. leader, confident battle strategist, “I’ll join you when hell freezes over” Neville— until he’s spent more time with Ginny (DH, ch. 36). I’m sure her sharp tongue and rogue fearlessness have rubbed off on him by the time she’s whisked off to Muriel’s, and it’s something he carries with him (along with Luna’s desire for justice) in that final month facing the Carrows without them.

After the war, I have no doubt that Neville and Ginny remain close. Similarly to her dynamic with Harry, there’s an opposites-attract element to their relationship: with her encouraging spontaneity and exploration and him bringing more grounded levels of insight and empathy. I think the trio with Luna remains intact, but, like the Golden three, morphs a bit into three individual friendships with their own strengths to offer. Ginny’s seen enough of Harry’s struggles to help Neville navigate his new war heroism in a world where he’ll become more popular than he ever imagined (she definitely becomes the world’s best wingwoman at many a pub). The three of them all lose a great deal, too— particularly Ginny, with the death of her brother. I won’t go into detail because I have a lot drafted up for these two… but I think her relationship with Neville, welded and galvanized by a year of growth and suffering and hope, will be instrumental to her journey of regaining her voice. 

Lots of words, lots of thoughts, but I hope that addressed the question! Thanks again for reaching out, it means a lot! 🌱

[felixcloud6288]

Dungeon Meshi Chapter 20

We're finally taking care of that undine.

So yeah, Marcille did in fact get attacked earlier because she accidentally poured hot water on the undine.

Is everyone in this series low-key racist?

That's pretty cool how Marcille's staff can act as an external indicator to how much mana she has left.

Something about Namari having to leave the party due to financial issues bugs me. I'm not bugged by Namari specifically, I'm bugged more by the situation.

I've talked about my opinions on the Adventurers' guild from what little bits I've seen and my opinion on it has been generally negative and Namari's situation now makes me feel like the entire guild is just a scam meant to swindle adventurers.

It does provide various services such as corpse retrieval and resurrection, and it probably handles things like providing supplies and maybe building things like the docks in 4F, and it can act as a hub for adventurers to meet each other; but it always feels like the guild doesn't care about adventurers at all beyond what money it can squeeze out of them.

It should ultimately be the guild's responsibility to save Falin and if it isn't up to the task, then it should pay Laios's party to either recover Falin's remains or escort someone who can resurrect her.

I dunno. There doesn't seem to be any large or local government behind this. The Adventurer's guild could be a means for researchers, archaeologists, botanists, pharmacists, etc to get the help they need to get the help they need related to dungeon and adventurers should be more akin to salaried or contract workers. But the guild feels like the kind of business that tries to manipulate young people into doing free work for "exposure" and "because they're so passionate".

Marcille, these shenanigans are what I'd expect from Laios.

How forward thinking was Ryoko Kui on everything? We saw a mana herb in chapter 3 and mandrakes were introduced in chapter 4. They're close enough that Kui may have decided to link the two together when she drew a mana herb, but it's really neat how nothing exists in a void.

I'm imagining her writing her Dungeon Meshi bible and having a section about the monsters she wants to use with notes about what kinds of dishes they could be made into. Then there's a section about miscellaneous healing items, and at some point she looked at mana herbs and said "This one needs some background explaining its existence" and then she said it's actually a mandrake.

For once, Laios is the straight-man while Marcille is the one rambling inane methods to capture and eat monsters.

So Senshi's pot isn't just a cast-iron.

Namari said adamantine could withstand dragon fangs and break dragon bones. This had better be relevant when they fight the dragon.

I'm trying to think how Senshi's pot originally being a shield works. The best I can come up with is the original shield was slightly domed-shaped and the part that used to be the lid was the inner layer of the shield.

So yeah. This chapter confirms to me that Namari is a dwarf. I've praised Ryoko Kui a lot but now I'm disappointed that she's actually a coward. Why isn't she drawing Namari with the beautiful braided beard she deserves?

Namari tackled Laios with enough force to send him rolling and hit his head and he's suffering from it after the fight. His armor is dented where she tackled him.

This is the first chapter Laios's race was called Tallmen. Earlier chapters referred to him as a human.

When Marcille is peeling the tentacle, she's holding it with a cloth and it appears to be soaked in vinegar.

I'm going to take a guess here and say that a Tentacle got between Laios and Namari and stung them both at the same time.

Well it all worked out. Marcille recovered her mana.

Namari felt bad leaving the party in dire straits and learning they're eating monsters to get by made her guilt escalate even further. As soon as she tried the food and tasted how good it was, she realized that the party is doing fine and she doesn't need to worry.

Mr Tansu was concerned through this chapter that Namari might rejoin Laios's party out of some sense of obligation or guilt over their situation. All of them sharing the meal Senshi and Marcille made got them to understand that Laios's party is fine and they don't need to worry about them.

Even though it's better for Namari to stick with Mr Tensu's party both for financial and reputation reasons, I'm super bummed that she's not going to stick around. She has great chemistry with the party and there could be an extra layer to the basic story concept by having someone who might take an interest in using monster parts to make tools and weapons.

I think Namari is trying to learn a few things about the whole "Cooking monsters" thing. She's watching intently while Senshi explains something to Chilchuck.

Chilchuck says he's only helping because he was paid in advance and is obligated to stick around, but I bet there's more to it. This is above and beyond his contractual obligations.

And the other guy who left the party in chapter 1 is Shuro. Namari says he likes Falin and proposed to her. So now I need to know why he didn't stick with the party. If he has other connections, maybe he could have funded the journey to rescue Falin instead of leaving Laios to fend for himself.

We'll likely meet him at some point since he apparently is trying to save Falin as well.

back

[animereaderinsertwriter]

tags/warnings: sexual themes, coercion but not in the direction you might think, fem!reader, restraints, consideration of non-con impregnation but ending left ambiguous , incubus!Dabi, witch!reader

Dabi lunges against ever-tightening chains, teeth bared and snapping as he strains uselessly towards his target. 

He’s bound on a soft queen-sized mattress, his ankles and wrists manacles to the head and footboard, awkwardly forcing out his chest. Enchained also is his neck, the end of it held like a leash by his would-be victim.

She is beautiful— too beautiful, he realizes belatedly, to be mere mortal. Her smile is sharp like thorns on a rose, and her eyes are bright with triumphant wickedness; with a delicate hand, she yanks the chain circling his neck even tighter, and he bares his fangs in protest. 

"Gotcha," she says with a sultry little wink, and he hisses in pain as metal glowing crimson with holy heat presses against his decidedly unholy flesh. 

"Release me."

He means it as a bitter, furious command— but it comes out more like a plea, breathy and nearly fearful, betraying the panic he feels clawing within his breast. 

His words only earn him tighter bonds, and he howls against the pain of them. 

"Did you really think I would let you go so easily?" she asks with a hint of a giggle, as though something about this were entertaining. "How long have you been lurking, creature? How long have you watched, waited by my window for this very night?"

So long, he thinks. So very, very long. 

He thinks it started when he watched her as she tended her garden in the springtime. He watched as her hands sifted through rich earth, planting wolfsbane, mandrake root, pretty little posies, and all manner of herbs and spices; at the time, all he could think was what this human might grow for him, and what he could plant in her garden, as it were. 

Now, in autumn's dying breath, he wonders if she will bother to bury the ashes of his corporeal form in her flowerbed, or if she'll scatter him to the wind without a care in the world for his resting place. By the way she's looking at him now, Dabi doesn't think he wants to know. 

"You know what? I don't want to know," she says casually, twisting the chain over her hand, drawing it taut as she closes the distance between them. "After all, it doesn't matter. I know all I need to know about you."

Fiercely, she jerks the chain again, and suddenly she's close enough for him to kiss or to kill. 

"I know you want me," she says, "and if you behave, I'm willing to let you have me."

Everything stops. 

Dabi's heart hammers in his chest— did he hear her right? —and then she's touching him, her soft hand coming to press against his exposed, ever-persistent bulge, his insatiable need. She grips him tightly— too tight, but desperately pleasing— and he whines against the motion, utterly unused to being actively touched by an intended victim. 

"I don't want a baby," she tells him gently, her nose nearly touching his. "You can fuck me, take your pleasure from my body— you can even be rough, violent without fear of waking a sleeping victim— but I won't procreate. That's my one condition."

Dabi blinks at her, puzzled— then melts once he realizes the implications of what she's just said. 

"But— but I want one," he whines. "The procreating— that's the fun of it, I want a— nngh!"

The fiendish, evil woman jerks the chain so that he literally chokes on his final words.

"No baby," she says, and her tone is final. "You'll make that deal with me— a binding deal— and that's the only way you get to fuck me."

She strokes him as she says it, dry and painful, and Dabi knows he's been had.

"Y-yes," he pleads, his hips rising to meet her strokes, precum leaking from his head. "Please— please—"

Her hand is gone, traveling farther upwards. With one sharp nail, she slices a shallow wound on his chest— over his heart— and she speaks words that shock him to his core.

"I bind you, Todoroki Touya—" she knows his name, how the hell can she know his true name?— "I bind you this night to my will. An even trade we make, an even trade then done, and you will quit this place or else be cursed forever mine. Mine ever to own, mine ever to keep, mine ever to bind. Finite."

She releases his chains, and he pounces. 

A flimsy, snow-white chemise is all that stands between her naked body and his— Dabi rips it off and immediately presses into her flesh, rutting senselessly against her just to gain some relief. As his body takes over, kissing her, caressing her as he grinds against her, his mind wanders to what might happen if he should break the binding between them. He wants a baby, he wants to see this woman swell and grow with little demon spawn; he wants to watch as it toddles and grows fur on its legs, and he wants to keep it for himself, leaving her with another one to grow in her belly, over and over again until—

A high-pitched whine escapes him, and Dabi realizes he's come already just from rutting against her. 

"Good boy," she murmurs, reaching between them to stroke him, his cock never softening— his blessing, his curse— and he throws his head back as she kisses him gently, too gently.

If he were to do what he was thinking, it would mean being bound to such a wicked creature for eternity— or, at least until she died, and with it her magic… but witches can live a very long time. Can he really take the risk?

As he watches the woman climb up onto the bed, her ass up and her legs spread for him, he thinks maybe he can— maybe he should. 

After all, how bad could it be to be bound to someone clever enough to trap him and cold enough to use him? She seemed so much like himself, and if their tastes aligned, well— such a binding might be more advantageous than it had first appeared.

[enbysiriusblack]

introducing the og troublemakers:

minerva: quidditch obsessed gryffindor, iconic lesbian and feminist, writes essays for fun about queer literature, gets into fights a lot, trans mtf, lives with poppy and is in a long term relationship with her, quotes shakespeare randomly, constantly argues with teachers, very stubborn, also illegally became an animagus but for fun in 6th year and later got it done 'legally', autism??? very much so

pomona: herbology nerd, hufflepuff, does not really care about people unless she's close to them, very much 'the only friends i need are plants' vibes at first, smokes a lot, bisexual, very artistic but with sculptures instead of drawing/painting, in a long term relationship with rolanda, has a lot of mandrakes facts up her sleeve (which she passes down to lily evans who is also obsessed with mandrake facts), autism??? very much so

rolanda: slytherin, quidditch obsessed but in the same extreme way as oliver wood, uses they/she pronouns, butch sapphic, amazing at charms, prefers more masculine clothing (wears a lot of oversized trousers/shirts), became friends with the rest through quidditch, was quidditch captain, hated every single teacher, adhd and autism??? very much so

poppy: ravenclaw, learnt healing because her friends kept getting injured, lesbian, was a healer and then started working at hogwarts to be with minerva, lives with and in long term relationship with minerva, was the most well behaved out of them... but in the way remus was so... not really, had the best revenge plots, autism? very much so

euphemia: gryffindor, mum friend, bisexual, best cook in existence (along with fleamont), loves painting her and other people's nails, was an auror for a while but left due to the corruption and discrimination in the force, dated minerva for a bit during school, only ever went to the library to graffiti the tables, adhd??? very much so

fleamont: gryffindor, token straight friend, the girls make fun of him a lot (very much a james in derry girls situation), loves cooking (with euphemia), very clumsy, always breaks his glasses, close friends with nicholas flamel (hc from @queerdeadwizards ), loves alchemy and potions and wanted to make his own money instead of relying on family money, autism??? very much so

[miss-celestial-being]

Daisies and Study Dates- D.M.

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request | masterlist

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1k Words

request: yes; @fantasygirl15

warnings: none? Fluff

summary: Draco and Y/n study together

pronouns: she/her

house: Ravenclaw (implied)

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This is my 4th time writing this... sry it's taken so long to get this out :/

I also kinda forgot this existed

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

While walking to class, Y/n felt a tap on her shoulder. She took out her headphones and turned around to come face to face with Draco. Her eyebrows raised in confusion. "Can I help you?" Draco seemed to have snapped out of his small trace and cleared his throat. "Um, yeah, sorry. I wanted to know if you had some free time later to... study?" His voice went quiet as he spoke the last part.

Y/n opened her mouth to answer, but Draco stopped her. "Y'know what? Never mind. It was stupid to ask anyway." His shoulders slouched slightly as he turned away. He started walking, but Y/n caught him by his wrist. "Meet me at the Astronomy tower, 7:30pm sharp. Don't be late."

Draco struggled to find a response and instead just nodded as he watched Y/n continue her walk to class, putting her headphones in as she walked.

~~~

That night, Draco arrived 5 minutes early as to make sure he wasn't late. He sat against a wall and tapped his pencil on his notebook. He heard footsteps walking up the tower steps and his heartbeat quickened. "Oh. You're here early." Y/n said as she sat next to him.

She took out her books and a pencil from her bag and turned to Draco. "You didn't specify what you needed help with so I just brought all of the books." Draco internally cursed himself at being so stupid. "I- uh... Herbology." Y/n smiled slightly. "S'my favorite subject." She then took out the necessary books and wrote down some notes while walking Draco through it all.

"And so when you care for it enough, it should end up looking like this." She held up a drawing of a Flutterby bush. "Wow." Draco said as he reached out to hold the sketchbook. "This is beautiful. Did you draw this?" Y/n blushed a bit as she nodded and looked at her lap. "I like to record my progress while caring for my plants. This is one I did when my Flutterby was fully grown." Draco smiled at her. "I think it's wonderful." Y/n blushed harder causing Draco to chuckle slightly. "Thanks."

~~~

Their 'study dates', as Draco liked to call it, became more frequent as they decided to meet every other day to discuss school or any other topic that came to mind.

"So what's your favorite plant? I mean I know you love Herbology, but you never told me which one your favorite was." Y/n laughed. "I honestly can't think of one. I love them all equally." She said as she continued a drawing she had started earlier that day, the drawing she wouldn't let Draco see. "Even Mandrakes?" Y/n giggled, for lack of better word, to herself. "Yes, Draco, even Mandrakes." Draco sighed as he tried to see the paper Y/n's focus was on but failed miserably.

"C'mon, there has to be one plant you like even a bit more than the rest." It was Y/n's turn to sigh. "Well, I suppose I do like a certain flower." Draco leaned in closer to show his interest. "It's a muggle flower, I don't think you know it." Y/n laughed out nervously. "Oh come on, try me." Y/n looked back at her drawing, smiling to herself as she added to it. "They're called Daisies. They're these little white flowers, and very easy to find in the muggle world. Some say they're weeds because they can grow anywhere without a proper planting, but I think those people are just naysayers." Draco smiled at her enthusiasm as he payed close attention to every word, every detail, everything.

"They sound wonderful." Y/n gave him a small grin before looking down and adding something to her sketch. "Bloody hell woman, what on earth are you drawing?" He tried seeing the page only for it to be moved away from his sight. He moved to grab it, but Y/n moved it behind her. Draco sat up on his knees, reaching around Y/n to pry the book from her hand.

When he finally got it he smiled. "Seriously, this is what you were hiding?" Y/n blushed harder the longer he looked. "It's an amazing drawing, though to be fair, all of your drawings are amazing." He smiled as he handed her the book back. "Thanks." She looked down at her lap, hiding her face with her hair. "You're really not good at taking compliments are you?" Draco laughed as he moved Y/n's hair out of her face.

Y/n opened the book back up to look at her drawing. Draco's face in the center, daisies in his white-blonde hair and fallen onto his cozy sweater. A big smile on his face that was only ever there when they were together. In his hand was another daisy, twisted between his fingers. "Honestly, it's flattering. It males me look... happy." Draco said, breaking Y/n's trance. His hand still hadn't moved from her hair.

Draco slowly moved closer and closer till their noses were touching. Y/n's heartbeat picked up as they neared, her eyes flickering down to his lips then back up to his eyes. "Can I kiss you?" Draco asked cautiously. Y/n nodded, slightly out of breath. Draco leaned in all the way, catching her lips in his. They stayed still for a moment, not wanting to let go of the feeling of finally kissing. Y/n was the first to move. She pulled back a bit before moving closer and grabbing Draco's face lightly in her hands.

As they kissed, it was as if all time stopped. Like they were the only two people in the world. Like nothing else mattered as long as they had each other. All of this being communicated over one kiss. One kiss that lasted not long enough. They both pulled away, smiles on their faces. "You have no idea how long I've been wanting to kiss you." Draco spoke up, breaking the calm silence. Y/n smiled wider and wrapped her arms around him, kissing all around his face as she hugged him.

Eventually, Draco and Y/n had to part ways to go to bed, smiles on both their faces as they lay there wide awake.

~~~

The next day, as Y/n walks into Herbology class, she has a huge smile. She walked to the back of the classroom where her plants were, her sketchbook held tightly to her chest. Draco walked into class a few minutes late, apologizing to Professor Sprout before going to the back to sit next to Y/n.

"Why are you late?" Y/n asked worriedly. "I was getting something from someone." Y/n laughed a bit. "That's not ominous at all." Sarcasm laced throughout her words. Draco chuckled and turned to Y/n fully. "Hold out your hands and close your eyes." Y/n did as asked and held her hands out, peaking slightly. "I said eyes closed." Draco said in a warning tone causing Y/n to roll her eyes, obeying his request.

Draco grabbed a slightly wrinkled flower from the pocket of his robe and placed it gently in the palm of her hand. "Open." When she did, she thought she might burst. It was the kindest thing anyone had done for her. He listened. In her hand was her favorite muggle flower, the Daisy.

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

Sry I haven't posted a real fic in a while...

[corvo-bianco-lilacs]

Hey! So I was wondering if you could write about Dettlaff x Tomira, where these two are picking herbs and stuff, but it is very warm day and Tomira desides to just take a dip in the lake and Dettlaff chooses to join her😁

Your wish is my command:

**

Tomira stared at her herb garden, a soft sigh pushing through her parted lips, before she tugs on her gloves and begins to work in the blazing Temerian sun.

She had sent Dettlaff off to collect a few items from Willis to make the job easier, but he had yet to return, and the garden wasn't going to weed itself.

Instead, she knelt before the grow beds and began to gingerly pluck the weeds from the tilled soil. With a sigh, she realized she'd have to fertilize it again after harvesting the herbs, blast the weather they'd been having, but thankfully this batch of Cortinarius had yet to reach full maturity.

As she gracefully allowed her fingers to dig out the weeds, she felt an all-too-familiar presence approach from behind, drawing a soft smile to her lips.

"I was wondering if I needed to send a guard to find you." She chuckled, turning her head to glance at Dettlaff over her shoulder. "Did Willis give you any trouble?"

"On the contrary, he was quite polite." Dettlaff replied, handing Tomira the trowel she had requested. "Appearances can be misleading, little petal."

Little Petal... He had begun calling her that after a few months of seeing each other. She adored the nickname, insisted he referred to her as such more often, and he was all too pleased to grant her wish.

She felt his hands come to tangle in her hair, gently pulling her dark locks back and tying them to the top of her head, freeing her neck from the heat it trapped. A soft sigh of relief pushed through her as she settled once more, watching him as he knelt beside her.

"Thank you, jedyna moja." Tomira replied, leaning over to press a kiss to Dettlaff's cheek before resuming her task.

Dettlaff smiled at the term of endearment, counting himself blessed to have found such a treasure of his own in this world full of lies and deceit. With Syanna, he felt nothing short of heartbreak and the cruelty of humanity, but with Tomira... With her he felt nothing but love and adoration. And knew it was reciprocated in all the best ways.

He lingered on thoughts of their time tangled within the sheets of her bed, or the time they had camped out together in Beauclair, enjoying wine with Geralt and Yennefer, only to sneak out into the fields and make love beneath the twinkling stars above.

Tomira cleared her throat, startling him from his thoughts as a slight flush came to his cheeks.

"Such a naughty man." She teased, nudging him with her shoulder, earning a chuckle from him as he turned his piercing blue gaze to meet her beautiful honey eyes. "I know you weren't thinking about the garden, Dettlaff."

"Oh? And just what do you think I was thinking of, little petal?" He prodded, taking hold of her hand and lacing his fingers with hers, gazing intently at her, a coy smile on his lips.

"The answer is obvious, jedyna moja... You were thinking of me." She smiled, her nose crinkling as a brilliant tint of pink rose to her cheeks. "And what wicked thoughts I'm sure you'll share with me later."

"Only if you wish to know them, moje serce." He replied, smirking as the blush on her cheeks only grew.

He released her hand and she quickly got back to weeding the garden. He followed suit, tending carefully to the Honeysuckle vines before taking on the Mandrake root himself.

Hours passed in relative silence, with Dettlaff stealing glances at Tomira every so often, finding himself falling deeper and deeper in love with the herbalist. His eyes softened as he watched her wipe sweat from her brow, and he placed his tools down before walking into the hut. Grabbing a mug of water, he brought it back outside and handed it to her with a peck to the top of her head.

"Drink, little petal. Even the staunchest blooms require water." He hummed, brushing his knuckles over her cheek before returning to his plot, pulling out the weeds from the soil with a small smile on his face.

Tomira blinked, but thanked him and drank, feeling immediate relief as the cool water coated her throat, hydrating her beneath the harsh rays of the sun.

Once they had finished their work in the gardens, Tomira looked to the sky, watching the sun begin to make its way closer to the horizon, dispelling the heat of the day and leaving it to a cool breeze in the early evening.

She smiled, discarding her gloves back inside before stepping back out, meeting Dettlaff near the plot he had just finished weeding.

"Come with me." She hummed, taking hold of his hand and leading him off towards an undisclosed location.

He was confused at first, following behind her dutifully, making sure she made it to wherever it was they were going, until she released his hand at the edge of a clearing.

Deep within the woods, a spring had been made by the melting of winter's snow and a hole that had eroded in the ground, leaving it filled with cool, crisp water that went untouched by human hands. He stepped into the clearing behind Tomira, gazing at the clear water with a glint in his eyes.

"How long have you known about this place, moje serce? It looks untouched... Undefiled."

"That's because it is. I found it a few years ago, before I met you. It's the only natural spring in White Orchard." She explained, stepping towards the edge of the water, pulling her boots off, then her tunic, before finally discarding her trousers.

Dettlaff watched her intently, his earlier thoughts returning full force as he watched his chosen one step into the water in only her undergarments, a soft sigh leaving her as she settled beneath the water, cooling herself from the long day of toiling in the sun. She turned to him with a smile, extending her hand towards him.

"Come join me?" She questioned, gazing at him with that look that made him weak in the knees.

He discarded his own clothing, hanging his cloak on a tree branch before discarding the rest of his outfit, leaving him in only the breeches he wore beneath. With grace and fluidity, he approached the spring and stepped in beside Tomira, settling in himself within the cool water at her side.

"This is... Different." He noted, cupping the water and lifting his hand from beneath, gazing at the clear, clean liquid. "Not like the lakes in Beauclair at all. This is so clean... It reminds me of home."

Dettlaff very rarely spoke of his home, and Tomira never questioned him about it either. All she knew was that he was a member of an ancient vampire tribe called the Gharasham, who settled around the North after the Conjunction. Beyond that, she neither knew nor cared. All she cared for was the man who had once saved her life, and then proudly remained at her side from then on.

She moved to kneel before him, pushing him back just slightly so she could straddle his lap, gazing deep into his eyes as her arms made their way around his neck, holding herself close to him.

"I love you more than anything, Dettlaff... More than this life will ever give me the chance to express." She breathed, her right hand tangling in his dark hair before she leaned in and kissed him, feeling him reciprocate as his hands came to rest on her waist.

"And I feel the same for you, little petal... More than words would ever do justice in explaining." He huffed, gripping her hips just a little tighter as he pulled her closer to his chest, holding her in his arms as she pressed her face into the crook of his neck.

"Is being a vampire really so bad, jedyna moja?" She questioned, curling closer to him, feeling him beneath her. "Is that why you hesitate to claim me fully as yours?"

Dettlaff paused, his arms wrapping securely around her, shielding her from an unknown predator as he gazed up at the darkening sky. He sighed, turning his head to kiss her temple, feeling her shiver against him.

"It is not a gift I would ever give you, no matter how greatly I will suffer when you are no longer of this world." He began, his hands gently running over her back, feeling the tense muscles relax beneath his tender touch. "What you experience as a human would be lost to vampirism. Everything I feel, I feel intensely, and I do not wish to ever see you lose your humanity for an extended life. I care too deeply for you to see that happen."

Tomira shook with unshed tears, knowing that this was not an easy conversation for either of them. She wished for eternal life as a vampire so she could be forever by his side, but he refused to give into her demands, reminding her that her life had value just as it was, and no amount of time spent together would ever make him chance changing her.

"I wish you wouldn't say that..." She spoke, a wet chuckle leaving her lips as she leaned back, gazing down at him with glossy eyes.

"It is the truth, little petal." He replied, cupping her cheek, his thumb stroking against her smooth skin. "Losing the woman I love to the curse of immortality is a thought I cannot bear to have. I would much rather have you as you are now, then to subject you to the trials and horrors of vampirism."

"Then you'd better make good on those thoughts from earlier, jedyna moja... Show me just how deeply you love this human that you've claimed as yours." She whispered, leaning back to pull the rest of her garments off, tossing them back to the shore. "Take me beneath the stars... Let the heavens know that I am yours and yours alone."

Dettlaff smiled then, slipping free of his own breeches before fulfilling her wish and desires, taking her with all the love he felt for her, claiming her body with kisses and leaving hickeys and angry, red welts in his wake.

When they had finished, feeling fulfilled and relieved, Dettlaff carried Tomira out of the spring and helped her dress, draping his cloak around her shoulders before dressing himself. He turned and saw the forlorn look in her eyes once more, before scooping her up in his arms and peppering kisses over her cheeks and lips, before pressing a hard kiss at the juncture where her neck and shoulder met.

"If you still feel so strongly about it, perhaps I will consider it further down the line... But not a moment before then, little petal." He breathed, inhaling her scent as she curled against him in his arms.

She smelled of him and him alone, which brought a smile to his lips. No other higher vampire would be able to claim her when he lingered on her skin so heavily... A thought that calmed his heart and mind.

She slowly drifted off in his arms, and with a smile, he brought her back home, changing her into her nightgown and tucking her in before doing the same, joining her a few minutes later beneath the sheets, smiling as she huddled up against his chest, a soft sigh pushing through her nose as she made herself comfortable against him.

He smiled as he gingerly brushed his fingers through her hair, watching the dark locks twist around his fingers before falling away, leaving his skin tingling from the feeling of her silken strands.

Perhaps he would take her far from this place... Bring her to Beauclair with him. They could settle into a cottage in the woods, just the two of them, and begin anew together.

Perhaps one day... But for now, she needed her rest.

**

I hope you like it!

For reference:

Jedyna moja: Polish - My only one Moje serce: Polish - My heart

[usernoneexistent]

A/N: Exams are almost finished so it means I have lots of free time to draw and write until I start 3rd year in September.

Warnings: Description of injury, mean girls vibes, bullying, physical violence

Hi Ma,

How are you? Are you keeping well? Has Tilly checked in on you? Everything has been good so far on my end. You won't believe it but I got sorted into Ravenclaw like Jacob! Remember Rowan Khanna, my new friend, she's also made it to Ravenclaw with me and I've made another new friend Ben Copper. He's a muggleborn so I've been learning a lot about muggles from him. I also put in this month's budget so you don't need to worry about spending and please stick to it Ma.

Lots of love,

Juniper

A week has passed since the whole confronting Merula outside of potions, the exploding cauldron and getting snared by the devil's snare. Juniper has been avoiding Merula, so much for the smack talk about squaring up with the so-called most powerful witch. Chester made Juniper report the incident with their head of house, Professor Flitwick who then had a chat with Professor Snape. They agreed that Merula had a month of detention which was a joke but better than nothing. She was thankful that they only sat next to each other in potions and at least far away enough in D.A.D.A. The bruises have mostly faded, mainly obscured by her dark complexion but still visible enough at the neck. Rowan tried to persuade Juniper to visit the hospital wing again, just even to quickly get a healing potion but the stubborn girl remained absolute in her resolve of not stepping foot inside the wing.

The girls were finalising their essay on mandrakes for Professor Sprout at lunch. Rowan insisted that they should write it up as soon as possible even though the deadline was next week. Juniper was eager for their first flying lesson this week but Rowan didn't share so much in her excitement. Rowan was explaining about the different woods that her family's wood farm supplies to the broom maker companies.

"My dad tried to teach me how to fly a little but I fell off and broke my glasses so I decided to wait until I was at Hogwarts to learn it properly," Rowan shared her experience. Juniper felt a slight pang of envy but decided to let it go.

"Ma forbade flying," Juniper started, "From what I know is she's still quite shaken from an quidditch accident that she had back when she was at Hogwarts."

"I didn't realise that your mum played quidditch."

"She didnae, she was in the stands when a bludger or something like that hit her."

"Oh," Rowan blinked.

Ben joined them, anxiously looking around him. Unsure if he was allowed to join the Ravenclaw table.

"Hi, Ben. Ready for flying classes?" Juniper asked. The Gryffindor shook his head as the colour drained from his face.

"No, honestly I've been dreading this class all summer," A sentiment shared by Rowan. Juniper didn't want to say out loud that she was actually excited about flying. The feeling of the wind hitting her face and the sense of freedom experienced by being up so high in the sky.

"Are you afraid of heights?" Juniper queried, not wanting to offend Ben.

"More like I'm afraid of falling from height," His shaky hands managed to cling onto the squashed sandwich, "I even overheard that brooms have a mind of their own and can chuck you off if they don't like you."

"That can happen but it is not very often occurrence," Rowan tried to reassure Ben in her Rowan-like-way, but his dark eyes showed another level of fear. Rowan and Juniper were forced to drag Ben to the training grounds. Eventually, Rowan convinced him that receiving detention for being late to their class was scarier than actually flying, which spook the boy even more.

A tall woman, made taller by her pointy shoes and spikey, white hair, stood authoritative. Two rows of brooms are laid out on opposite sides from each other. Juniper was thankful that this class was only shared by Gryffindors. No seeing Merula's smirking face here at least. Juniper, Rowan and Ben stood together at the back to avoid detection.

"Welcome to your first flying class," Her deep voice boomed across the field, "I will be your instructor, Madam Hooch. Today you will learn to summon your broom. A well-maintained broom is a fast broom. Take a broom and then to your broom care stations!"

Madam Hooch pointed to wooden tables pre-prepared with the equipment needed. Juniper didn't realise that brooms needed so much care. There were four students per station. The trio quickly claimed a table together as neither wanted to deal with any strange student. Most avoided them, Juniper speculated that she may be the reason for the spread of distance between everyone else.

After polishing the brooms until their hands wore out. Madam Hooch spread the students out in two rows to finally summon their brooms. Ben looked a little more relieved that they weren't actually properly flying today, just a warm-up.

"Now, let's see you summon your brooms," Madam Hooch bellowed across the grassy pitch, "I want you to focus on your broom, get to know your broom, familiarise yourself. Then say up to summon your broom when you're ready."

Many students ignore Madam Hooch's advice and a chorus of 'up' echoed throughout the green field. Juniper lifted out her right hand, visualising the curvature of the wooden handle in the palm of her hand. She closed her eyes to brace herself for failure.

"Up." She said loud enough.

She felt the wooden knots, how it has been sanded and gloss coating. Carefully, she opened her eyes and really saw the broom in her hand. A grin grew from ear to ear. She wanted to share her achievement with Rowan only to see her stuck in a tunnel vision.

"Come on, come on, come on broom. Up!" Rowan muttered as the broom shakily raised a couple of centimetres of the ground before bouncing down to the ground, "Maybe if I focused more on the actual motion than the object?" She muttered under her breath.

"Have you tried visualising the broom flying to your hand?" Juniper suggested, startling Rowan out of her deep thoughts.

"I was actually thinking of doing that," She glanced at the broom in Juniper's hand and half grinned, "I see it worked for you."

Across from them, Ben was struggling too however with the help of Andre Egwu, a fellow Ravenclaw who also had a more natural aptitude for summoning a broom. Juniper practised a few times to make sure that the summon wasn't a fluke. Rowan did eventually successfully summon a broom but Juniper couldn't help but feel like something was off.

Madam Hooch blew her whistle to gather the students' attention, "Well done. You now know how to summon your broom. Class is dismissed."

Brooms were collected to be put away. Juniper searched for Ben and Rowan to see if they could hang out a little more together. Ben found her first to Juniper's surprise but without Rowan.

"Hey Ben, it wasn't so bad today," She jokingly punched Ben's arm.

Still pale, Ben shook his head, "Madam Hooch said quite a lot about falling to our deaths. Though I suppose I don't have to worry about falling if I never actually fly..."

"I'm sure with enough practise you'll get used tae it," She tried to calm Ben's nerves, "Rowan will probably have some books about flying that we can borrow."

"I think Rowan has left already."

"I should really check on her," The girl confessed, lowering her voice, "I never asked her how she's doing after, you ken, the whole devil's snare thingy."

"That's probably the best thing to do. I have been busy avoiding Merula, especially after the devil's snare," They slowly started to walk back inside. Rowan and Juniper gave a brief version of what happened however pretty much most of the school had heard about it. People gawked at Juniper's bruises anywhere they walked.

"You and me both," The blue-haired sighed, "I still have unfinished business with her."

They allowed some moments of silence to pass between them. They walked through the corridors, mostly empty of students who were either at Hogsmeades or away somewhere.

"Where do you think Rowan went to?" The Ravenclaw girl asked the Gryffindor boy.

"Hmm, perhaps the courtyard? Where we played gobstones the last time," Ben grimaced at the memory of getting sprayed by the foul stench, "I think it's best if you talk to her alone."

Juniper nodded, "I agree, I'll see you tomorrow then Ben."

***

"Oh, Juniper!" Rowan stood up from where she sat at the centrepiece fountain, closing her book, "I didn't see you there."

"Hey Rowan, I just wanted tae check up on you," They both sat down on the cold stone edge of the fountain, "I know that we haven't talked much about the devil's snare but I wanted tae ask how yer doing?"

Rowan forced a small smile, "As right as one can be after our dreadful run-in with the devil's snare. I just couldn't bear to talk about it or even look at Merula since then."

Juniper squeezed her shoulder, "You ken that you can bitch about Merula to me."

She managed to get a giggle out of her friend, "Uh, the nerve of her, lying to us there with a fake note!"

"I ken, what a lying cow."

"No, she's worse than a cow. At least cows don't lie and trick others into almost getting killed," Rowan explained, "She's probably an imp, they lie and trick people."

It was Juniper's turn to giggle, "Yer so right, Merula is an imp. Imagine her being all tiny like an imp with those pointy ears and molto grey skin."

The girls burst out laughing at the funny visualisation of a tiny angry imp version of Merula. It ended with them playing another round of gobstones. Rowan ranted a little more about Merula, letting off some steam not that Juniper blamed which then turned into how Rowan missed her family despite it only being the start of the term. The sun was slowly setting indicating that the girls should have some dinner before heading back up to the common room along with others if they didn't want to be locked outside.

Inside the common room of cobalt blues and wooden browns, Juniper and Rowan saw their fellow first years huddled together. The redhead spotted them and beckoned them to come over,

"Hey Juniper! Rowan! Come join us!"

"Hey Tulip, what's happening here?" Juniper asked.

"Oh, a bunch of us figured it would be a good idea to get to know each other." She answered.

Rowan fixed her glasses, "I only see you, Badeea and..."

"Andre Egwu," The tall, dark-skinned boy finished off Rowan's sentence and in Juniper's opinion, he was quite handsome too. This was their first time properly meeting despite seeing each other quite regularly in classes and in the common room.

"Aren't there other lads in our year?" Juniper looked around to see why there was a lack of boys.

"Talbott wanted to be alone but don't mind him, he seems to prefer his own company," Andre shrugged, "And same for Victor too."

"Alvina's probably hanging about with Hana I believe her name is, she's a Hufflepuff." Tulip explained the lack of Alvina's presence.

Despite the small group of five, they got along relatively well. Learned a bit about each other, how Tulip had strict parents that worked in the ministry of magic, Badeea was a gifted painter and Andre was a Portree fan. Rowan talked about the wood farm where she grew up meanwhile when it came to Juniper she just told about how she grew up in a small wizarding community bordering a muggle community in the forest located on the cliff edges of Fife. Frankly, there was so much about her life that she didn't want to be let out more than what's already been published in newspapers. They eventually retired when Chester threatened that he would take off house points if they don't go to their dorms.

The next day turned into the following day which then turned into a week and before Juniper knew it, it was already October. The temperature grew chilly and the leaves turned from green to hues of sunset. Juniper still made a lack of progress in her quest against Merula. The Slytherin girl had been surprisingly still except for the snarky comments here and there. Though she wondered if Merula was playing the long game, one in which she was determined to be ahead.

After another boring lecture of D.A.D.A, Rowan, Ben and Juniper went down to the clock tower courtyard, while students were littered about majority were elsewhere. The trio found more comfort in the sounds of water trickling and hearing the birds crowing than the noisiness echoing in the great hall. All snuggly dressed in the scarfs of their corresponding house colours. At Rowan's insistence, they did their homework together first before Ben introduced Juniper and Rowan to a muggle card game.

Ben pulled the packet of cards out of his trouser pockets, "Dad got me them, he said I should have some games ready to play with my friends."

Rowan and Juniper looked at the cards eagerly. Neither of them had ever seen any muggle cards let alone any muggle games. Juniper recalled playing exploding snap with her brother a couple of times, before his disappearance. She didn't allow her old memories to taint the new ones that she created with Rowan and Ben.

"Wow, muggle cards really don't move at all," Rowan said as she studied the card profusely, examining the intricate design and swirls of the ace of hearts. Juniper leaned in, "Aye, they really don't."

Ben had gotten used to hearing Rowan and Juniper gushing over any muggle item he owned. It gave him a small sense of confidence that at least he had something to show.

"We could play scabby queen?" Ben suggested. Rowan and Juniper's eyes sparkled with intrigue.

"How do you play that?" They asked simultaneously. Ben had a weary look to him, finally fully realising that Rowan and Juniper were so far removed from the muggle world and that everything will have to be explained. 

Ben explained the rules, which were fairly simple; finding two matching cards and the first person to get rid of their cards was the winner and the loser was whoever had the queen card left. They played multiple rounds, each winning and losing some games. Rowan won most games which came as no surprise but the three had a lot of fun. Juniper couldn't really recall when was the last time she laughed so much that her jaw hurt.

The courtyard was slowly emptying itself of students heading to the great hall for dinner. Ben left the Ravenclaw girls first because he agreed to hang out with another friend from Gryffindor. Also, Rowan did mention that she wanted to tell Juniper about something important earlier that day.

"It's about Merula," Rowan started, the sun faded by the grey clouds and the days getting darker faster, "I wanted to understand why Merula is such a bully..."

"And? What did you find?" Juniper's curiosity peaked.

"I'm getting to it, I have been researching her family to try and understand why she acts the way she does," Rowan hesitated, nibbling her lips, "And, well...I learned a terrible secret about her parents."

"What's the secret?"

"I'm not sure if I should say," Her long, slender fingers picked her lip's dry skin.

"It cannae be worse than my family's secret, well..." Juniper joked, "I mean everybody ken ma family's business."

"Oh, okay but I will only tell you," Rowan looked around, the courtyard was empty but regardless Rowan lowered her voice, "My research uncovered that Merula's parents are locked up in Azkaban."

Juniper's dark eyes widened, "Locked up for what!?"

"They were death eaters, loyal to you-know-who during the wizarding war," Rowan whispered.

Who would have guessed that Merula's parents were death eaters? The apple doesn't fall far from the tree Juniper guessed. That's regardless of being a Slytherin or not, nobody wants any association with the evilest dark lord of all time. Despite not knowing anyone close to being killed or seeing the war, she remembered her mother covering her ears anytime the radio started listing out the names and numbers of the deceased.

"Thanks for telling me this, honestly explains Merula a lot."

"I know, right?" Rowan said in a hushed voice. Juniper nodded and hugged her arm, "At least we have something to use against the imp now."

"Awe," A familiar annoying voice came from behind. Her voice was like scratching a chalkboard, "Isn't this precious?"

"Jealous much, Snyde" Juniper retorted back.

"Hello to you too, Moss," The Slytherin pulled a face of disgust, "You look surprisingly well for someone who wrestled a plant."

"Great and could you bog off Snyde and leave us alone," Her tone came harsher than intended. Instinctively, she positioned herself almost as a shield to Rowan, "Honestly get a life and be busy with somethin' else."

"Oh, I've been quite busy, Moss" She smirked, and Juniper raised her defences. Merula was never up to any good, "While you were off busy avoiding me, I've been doing a little research about your brother."

Her words taunted Juniper with her sing-song tone about her brother. The girl knew what would garner a reaction out of the Ravenclaw. Her blue eyebrows furrowed deeper on her forehead.

"Why cannae you just leave me alone!?" Her fist clenched, Rowan quickly touched Juniper's shoulder to calm her down a little.

Merula's smirk turned into a scowl, "Because you're a danger to Hogwarts just like him, and none of us will be safe until you're gone."

Her heart throbbed with pain at hearing that it was her existence was a danger to others. Juniper knew deep down that Merula was wrong but she couldn't help but take in her words. Rowan stepped in to make up for her friend's hesitation, "what are you talking about, Merula?"

"Well Khanna, Moss' brother didn't just get expelled for endangering Hogwarts in search of imagery vaults..." She bared a pearly, mischievous grin, "He immediately went missing, and the next time he was seen, he was working for Voldermort."

Juniper was stunned, Jacob would never ever work with the dark lord. She was lying. Merula was lying. Merula is a liar. Rowan was also shocked by Merula's casual drop of the evil wizard's name which was said to be taboo.

"You can't say that! You have to call him He Who Must Not Be Named," The Ravenclaw corrected the Slytherin.

"I say what I want," The witch said boldly.

Juniper had it with her audacity, "Yer lying about ma brother having anything tae do with He Who Must Not Be Named! Jacob would never join him."

Rowan had to physically hold Juniper back from making a regrettable mistake. Merula knew that she had the Ravenclaw girl playing into the palm of her hands, "No wonder the professors are constantly talking about you. They're wondering if you work for the dark lord too."

Juniper took a deep breath to allow her mind to calm down. Remember she told herself, she has a weapon of knowledge herself up in her sleeve too.

"I dinnae ken why you'd ever bring up He Who Must Not Be Named given yer family's history..." It was her turn to get a small glee of satisfaction at Merula's now angry face. Her ears turned a bright red, she could have sworn some steam came out of her ears.

"You don't know anything about me!" Merula stomped, abusing the cobblestone beneath her.

"I ken that yer parents are in Azkaban for being loyal tae He Who Must Not Be Named in the wizarding war. I kinda get why yer so angry all the time."

"I'm angry that you've been snooping about my parents!" Merula stepped closer. Juniper didn't flinch or even backed off but maintained eye contact with Merula. Rowan followed suit of Juniper, the girls all closer with the heat rising despite the chilly breeze between them.

"I did the snooping," Rowan said proudly.

"It's no different than you snooping on ma brother, Snyde," Juniper argued.

"Why don't you just drop out of Hogwarts?" Merula snarled, baring her pearly teeth, "Save Ravenclaw the embarrassment of being associated with you."

"Yer just afraid that I'll be better than you," Juniper stepped closer, her piercing dark eyes unwavering.

"Afraid? I'll duel you right now," Merula taunted. Now or never, she guessed. Juniper swung her right arm around, fist clenched ready to make an impact on Merula's cheek. The Slytherin pulled out a dark wand, "Flipendo!"

A bright white light flashed out and hit Juniper square in the chest. Her ribs, lungs and heart felt like they were on fire from the close impact. Her body flew backwards and was flung to the ground like a rag doll. She groaned from her body throbbing as she got up.

"Learn at least some spells, Moss," Merula spat out her name, "Maybe next time you'll put up a fight."

Rowan hurried over to Juniper and helped her to get up, "Merula is never going to leave us alone..."

"Not unless I learn more spells, and find someone who can teach me how to duel," The blue-haired girl mentioned.

Rowan allowed Juniper to use her for support, "I may know someone who could..."

Previous chapter: Chapter 4

Next chapter: Chapter 6

[bananahkim]

For this , The Mandrake 👀

He’s a really interesting character, how can a man be so indescribable and describable at the same time? I also somewhat relate to him so that makes him even more attractive.

I still haven’t figured out how to draw him… and he’s one of my faves… I need to draw more middle aged men.

[reinvent-and-believe]

my blood is singing with your voice

Written for, but not posted in time for, @thewitchertransweek​

Ship: Jaskier/Regis

Rating: E

Tags: Trans Masc Jaskier, Smut, Body Worship, Oral Sex, Marking, Desperation, Secret Relationships, Very Mild Power Play, Jaskier and Regis Both Figure Out They Have a Vampire Kink, explicit and gendered language around Jaskier's genitals, referenced top surgery scars

Summary: Jaskier is lithe and beautiful in the moonlight, marked up from collarbone to hips.

Regis draws back to survey his handiwork.

A crimson abstraction on pale canvas turned pink, a dozen bloodred constellations just beneath the skin, so close Regis can feel against his tongue the very moment the blood vessels burst. It’s intoxicating, so close he can taste it. Just the slightest scrape of teeth, the most natural thing in the world to expect from an ardent lover, the gentlest pressure from too-sharp canines and the dam would give way, flood his mouth with the sweetest wine.

“Please,” Jaskier whimpers beneath him. He tries to press himself closer against Regis but he’s utterly at the mercy of the iron grip on his hips. “Mark me up.”

“That might not be entirely possible, I’m afraid.” He’s fixing the panting boy with a look that he imagines quite like a predator salivating over its prey. Jaskier’s moan confirms the suspicion. “It seems as though someone has marked you rather thoroughly already.” He returns to that same still pink patch of skin, one of the few places across his bare chest not mottled in various yellows and purples and greens. He kisses the hot flesh, sucking at the thin skin against his collarbone, dangerously close to the clear, unblemished expanse that remains visible when he’s clothed. “If we venture much further up, this clandestine affair will quickly become public knowledge, my dear. After all, your penchant for leaving your shirt open for the world to see has nearly taken care of that for us already.”

“Are you shaming me for the way I dress?” There’s a giggle in his breathy voice. Jaskier digs a toe playfully into Regis’s side. “Well, deepest apologies, darling, I didn’t mean to inflame your delicate sensibilities.”

“On the contrary, I’m quite certain that’s what you meant to do.” Regis grins, not bothering to cover his fangs. He runs his hands indulgently over the bard’s broad chest, memorizing the defined pectorals, the raised, rope-like scars, the soft, young tufts of hair. “Goodness knows I appreciate the view. I’m simply pointing out that it makes it a little harder to keep things, well. Discreet.”

They haven’t told Geralt.

Nor any of the others in their little band of companions. Regis is fairly certain Geralt’s sussed it out regardless, but he’s not spoken a word, taciturn as ever, and Jaskier seems to get a bit of a thrill from sneaking about, so Regis is more than willing to humor him. It’s new, and it’s exciting, and it’s…

Gods, it’s good.

Jaskier flirted with him idly since that first night with the mandrake spirits, touching his arm and fluttering those long lashes and knocking their knees together and dipping his eyes slowly across Regis before getting inevitably pulled back to Geralt with that lonely, distant expression. Regis couldn’t help being flattered by the bard’s attention, distracted as it may be, but had no intention of taking him up on his unspoken offer.

“Are you planning on fucking me or just looking?” Jaskier quips. Regis ignores him, spreading cold fingers as he continues to caress every inch of the flushed, blotchy torso. Patience is a virtue.

It had changed when the boy was wounded escaping the Nilfgaardian raid. Then Regis admitted quite stupidly that Jaskier’s blood smelled nice when he found no infection, because it had smelled nice and because he found himself horribly worried over Jaskier’s injuries, unexpectedly distraught at the thought that he might not again hear that flirtatious laugh or gaze into those eyes so endlessly blue. And suddenly the vampire found himself cleaning Jaskier’s wound and bandaging his head twice a day with deft and tender fingers, even though it meant defying the witcher who’d told him in no uncertain terms that coming back would mean death.

The revelation of Regis’s vampiric nature took an understandable toll on the budding relationship, of course; he heard the way Jaskier’s pulse raced at his approach, noticed the new edge to the nervous ramblings around him, the distracted fluttering, the awkwardness and stress and fear. This torture last nearly a week until one cold midnight, Jaskier slipped into Regis’s bedroll, eyes hooded, and asked, “Did my blood really smell nice?” with a flushed, curious expression, breathless and wanting.

“Regis.” And if the long, drawn-out whine weren’t enough to pull the vampire back to the present, Jaskier grinding up against him hard with a pout on his kissed-red lips certainly is. “Any minute now one of them will wake up and notice we’ve gone. Stop thinking and get on with it, if you’d be so kind.”

Regis tuts, slipping down his body. “You’re awfully demanding tonight.”

“As opposed to what night?” Jaskier lets out a contented sigh as Regis unties the overly ornate trousers and runs his cold fingers down their front, raking through dark hair and ghosting over everywhere warm and wet and delightful. He pulls the trousers down creamy hips and off, sitting back on his heels to take in the sight before him.

Jaskier is lithe and beautiful in the moonlight, marked up from collarbone to hips.

“Appreciating the view some more?” He’s wearing a sly, flushing smirk as he slides a hand between his legs. For all his talk of haste, he’s adopted quite the leisurely pace.

Regis rocks forward, catching him in a kiss full of heat and something else, something soft and unspoken. The bard’s practiced hand surges between them. Regis cradles Jaskier’s jaw, stroking his thumb against a stubbled cheek. “There’s quite a lot to appreciate,” he says. It sounds painfully sincere in his own ears.

Jaskier beams.

Regis can’t help taking his time. He luxuriates as he works his way down: the feeling of soft, blazing skin and silky hair against his lips; the smell of the boy, juniper and sage and sweat and need; the gradient bruises perfectly marring gorgeous flesh; the little skips and jumps of the boy’s excitable pulse.

He settles between Jaskier’s thighs, sliding his hands beneath to knead him and pull him close. The moan Jaskier lets slip is rich and full and lusty as he wriggles into the cold, careful touch. Regis leans in, savoring Jaskier’s little anticipatory gasp, and kisses the sharp hipbone, long and thorough. He chokes back a groan as he feels the blood rushing toward the surface of the skin, and he desperately follows the sensation.

Lust and bloodlust swirl together in every bracing breath, in every brush of lips and fangs against perfect searing flesh. It’s intoxicating, dangerous. It’s far too much and nowhere near enough, an absolute tease.

Regis mouths at him desperately and can’t help the little whimper that escapes as he wets his tongue through the bard’s folds. He’s not sure anymore if even blood ever tasted so sweet.

“Gods, Regis, your mouth.” Jaskier’s breathy voice carries an unexpected hint of a rasp. “I don’t know how I’ll ever survive it.”

He shouldn’t moan at the reminder of how vulnerable, how truly powerless the boy beneath him is. Shouldn’t revel in it, shouldn’t have to stop himself from rutting against the ground beneath him at the implication. A better man wouldn’t get off on it.

And yet...

“You look positively monstrous, love,” Jaskier moans, his heels against Regis’s shoulders urging him closer, harder. “As though you mean to suck me dry.”

Jaskier’s wet lip is trapped between his teeth. A delicate blush lights his face, but there’s no shame when he meets Regis’s glance, and no fear, only arousal and trust.

Regis kisses and sucks his way to the juncture of Jaskier’s thigh and groin, eliciting a most delightful cry when he carefully drags his fangs across the delicate skin. His long, cold fingers move to stroke Jaskier with deft, familiar motions.

He can feel the blood flowing through the femoral artery just beneath the pale, unblemished skin. And without thought or plan, Regis sucks, hard, until white skin throbs purple in his mouth and the boy beneath him is shaking and whimpering, and it’s too much, the skin threatening to give way and Regis tears himself away to mouth desperately at Jaskier’s cock.“Please,” Jaskier begs, “so close, darling, please...” His listless fingers find purchase, roughly tugging at silver locks of hair.

And it isn’t that it hurts, not really, but that shock of pain-pleasure is enough to stir something deep and primal that has him moving on pure instinct until he’s snarling down at the wide-eyed boy, pinned to the ground with an icy hand on his throat, a thumb just barely pressing down on the carotid artery.

After centuries of restraint, Regis craves nothing quite so much as indulgence.  

“Beautiful.” He lowers his head to brush his lips against the racing pulse.

Jaskier chokes back a sob. “Please, Regis.”

“Please what?” The slightest graze of his tongue, a cool wet trail following the artery several inches. He feels how close Jaskier is, would feel it pounding within them in tandem even without the thick, heady arousal carried on the night breeze. When the boy doesn’t answer, Regis looks up to him.

Jaskier’s staring at his mouth. “Suck me dry,” he breathes, flushed all over.

And when Regis moves back to his neck, he covers his fangs carefully with his lip before leaning in to taste him, to suck at the boy’s sweet, smooth skin, feeling the quake of each tiny blood vessel burst with the pressure. He slides his fingers on either side of Jaskier’s cock, rubbing him off desperately as he sucks at his throat, never quite enough, never the perfect pleasure of the skin parting, melting away between…

Jaskier comes with a cry, clutching the back of Regis’s neck as he rides through the aftershocks. Regis pulls away, grimacing yet reveling despite himself in the deep crimson bruise, so prominent, obvious. “Apologies,” he murmurs, tracing the splotchy skin. “I’m afraid I got a little carried away.”

Jaskier waves away the apology with a lazy gesture, still blissfully drifting in an exaggerated post-orgasmic haze that Regis finds utterly endearing. The vampire allows himself a few tentative touches, and when Jaskier leans into them eagerly, Regis indulges, kissing down his body until he’s back between the boy’s thighs, nuzzling gently against warm, wet folds until he’s licking him open again, a starving man, ravenous.

Jaskier holds Regis’s hand as he eats him out, the utter romantic.

Regis adores him.

[15-dogs]

new hire |n.s.|

pairing: newt scamander x apothecary!reader

summary: you’re hired as the new apothecary at newt’s favorite establishment, and he finds himself attending the store more often to buy more and more ridiculous, unneeded items (all the fluff!! coffeeshop (technically apothecary) au, pining)

warnings: none

guide: (Y/N) = your name, italics = writing

word count: 3.9K

a/n: this is my take on a coffeeshop au!! i feel like newt would be more subject to visiting apothecaries than coffeeshops so i used all the basics of a coffeeshop au and changed it to an apothecary!! i hope you like it :)

Newt was positive that his Dittany was somewhere. He shook every drawer upside down, went upstairs to check his bedroom, back downstairs to turn every stone for the second time, then back upstairs to recheck his belongings before he admitted that he was out of it. 

He huffed, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet as he debated whether or not to pick up Dittany then. He ultimately decided that he didn’t want to risk getting into an accident where it was crucial to have on hand and come up empty so he threw on his vest and coat, making his way towards the apothecary store down the street. It was a small place disguised as a pharmacy on the outskirts of Diagon Alley. The building wouldn’t appear to muggles as it truly was, allowing for wizards to slip in and out unnoticed.

“Oliphant & Bailey’s Medicinal Supply” was painted onto a metal sign that swung outside the store, the metal sign bracket whining every time the wind would pass. Newt smiled at the familiar words before entering, being greeted with the smell of fresh herbs that were drying out on racks by the door. 

His eyes scanned the jars along the shelves, finding the Dittany hidden off to the side from everything else. He let out a content sigh as he attempted to snatch it off the shelf but it didn’t budge. Newt looked around the store with confusion and finally realized just how crowded the place was.

“Mr. Scamander!” a woman called out. Newt whipped around, finding Vancity Oliphant with a trail of boxes floating behind her, her dress robes pressed to perfection. “We haven’t seen you around here in quite some time. Where have you been?”

“Busy, mostly.” Newt shrugged, fiddling with his hands.

Vancity began to twist her wand, various potions flying onto the shelves. “Well, one thing’s for certain: we missed you. We’ve been getting an increase in business recently--” Vancity turned towards Newt, leaning in close “--the whole nonsense that that man, Lockhart, has spun has everyone panicked. He told them that if they don’t turn to holistic medicine, then there would be a greater chance that they would be attacked by a troll. Ridiculous, sure, but business has been outstanding! We even had to get a new hire!”

Newt gave her a placating nod, hoping that the conversation would be over soon. “Right, that’s fantastic-”

“Isn’t it?” Vancity rounded the counter and beckoned Newt to follow her, passing the people in the line who seemed to have been waiting for quite some time. “Anyway, how can I help you, Mr. Scamander?”

Newt nearly sighed with relief at the question finally being asked. “I tried to pick some Dittany up off the shelf, but it wouldn’t budge-”

“About that,” Vancity let out a low breath, dipping her head with disappointment. “With the uptick in sales, we’ve had an uptick in accidents. People were knocking our things off the shelves and it just took too much time to clean up and rebrew and whatnot. So we fixed everything down. Only employees can pick things off the shelf.” Vancity snatched a slip of paper, quill, and inkwell off the counter and slid them towards Newt. “We started to provide customers with these sheets so they can fill out what they need and we pick it up for them.”

Newt, knowing that the sooner it would all be over the better, simply nodded and began to fill out the form. Vancity chuckled before taking the form in her hands.

“One vial of Dittany coming right up, Mr. Scamander.” And just like that, she disappeared into the back room.

Newt glanced around the store and wondered if there was anything else he needed before he left. He spotted a few herbs off in the corner that might be of use but, as his gaze caught on the already irritated line, he decided it was in his best interest to pick them up another time.

“Mr.-...Sarmander?” a voice called out.

Newt whipped around, taken by surprise by the new face. Your face. He felt a strange sensation in his chest when he looked at you, like a sense of warmth had flooded through him. You raised an eyebrow at him, wondering why he had been staring at you for so long.

“Are you Mr. Sarmander?” you repeated, shaking the bottle of Dittany in your hand.

“Scamander,” he corrected as he approached you.

Your cheeks heated up at the mistake. “My apologies, Mr. Scamander. I just read what was off the paper but apparently I wasn’t looking closely enough.”

“I have truly terrible handwriting.” That was a lie. Newt didn’t know where it came from. “Thank you.”

“Have a lovely afternoon, Mr. Scamander!”

He would have one now.

•••

Newt was having some trouble making progress on his novel in the next few days. He had barely drafted a page of anything because he was too focused on the interaction that the two of you had only 4 days prior.

He knew you were kind. He could see it in your eyes. Even if he only spoke to you for just a moment, he knew it was true. And you had a lovely smile. One that was so lovely you must’ve flashed it at everyone and left them thinking about it as much as Newt was.

Newt shook his head, breaking himself from the trance he was in to look at his blank page. Writer’s block was not faring well with him. So he stood up and threw his jacket on, realizing he could do with the fresh air. As he was leaving his house, he stopped short in the doorway, snatching some money from his kitchen table. He might as well grab some more herbs while he was out.

No more than 15 minutes later Newt was entering Oliphant & Bailey’s. The store was empty for once, but he figured it would be for a Monday morning. Newt made his way to the counter, rocking back and forth as he awaited an attendant. To his dismay, Rita Bailey revealed herself from the back room.

“Mr. Scamander!” she cried. Rita leaned over the counter, furiously shaking his hands in hers. “How have you been?” Newt opened his mouth but she didn’t give him time to answer before she was speaking again. 

“I heard you were in here a few days ago. It’s not often that we see you in here twice a week. Are you out on something?” Rita’s eyes widened as she seemed to beat her own question in her head. She leaned unbearably close over the counter and whispered, “Is your Swooping Evil not producing? Because Vance and I have some products in the back. Stuff on the side, if you-”

Vancity, who stood in the doorway of the office, cleared her throat, calling the attention of her partner. Rita’s head whipped around, a sheepish grin plastered on her face.

“Rita,” began Vancity, her voice stern, “I need you in back to help with the budget.”

Rita stood to her full height, motioning towards Newt. “Well, who’s gonna help Scamander, then?”

Vancity leaned into her office, speaking to someone with a jerk of head towards the shop. There was a muffled reply and the sound of shoes clicking against hardwood, pacing around the back room.

Newt’s heart began to beat just a little faster. He didn’t want to get his hopes up for nothing. Then he caught himself. What was he getting his hopes up for? He wasn’t expecting anything, and he certainly didn’t care if you were there or not. It’s not like the back of his neck flushed and his cheeks started to heat up when he saw you exiting the back room.

“Mr. Scamander,” you stated. Newt let out a shaky breath; your voice was so smooth, the words sounded almost practiced as they fell from your lips. 

You brushed one hand off on the little apron that was tied around your waist and the other was used to magic a quill and inkwell onto the counter. You reached into your apron to pull out a slip of paper, dotting your quill into the ink. “How can I help you today?”

“I need some ingredients,” he shot out quickly, looking down at the counter.

You chuckled softly as you scribbled in a box, drawing his attention upwards. “What kinds of ingredients?”

Newt took in a sobering breath as you finally met his gaze. For a moment, he forgot what he came there for. “Mandrake root and Moonflower Pollen.”

You gave him a dutiful nod as you jotted the items down. You tossed the quill and paper up in the air, the quill finding its place by the inkwell and the paper rolling itself up and flying into a cupboard below your legs.

You scooted out from behind the desk, walking up past Newt towards the racks of herbs. You picked up the dried up roots of a Mandrake, holding it up at him. “This one okay, Mr. Scamander?”

“Perfect.”

You moved to another counter, freeing a small paring knife from your apron. “I have to ask you, Mr. Scamander,” you began as you chopped up the root, “you seem to be buying a lot of medicinal supplies. Are you a Healer?”

Newt chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “No, I’m a Magizoologist.”

You halted in your motions, looking up at him. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” His response was no more than a single exhale, the words barely forming as he stared into your eyes. He finally peeled himself away from your gaze to continue. “With the creatures I work with, some healing skills are of great use.”

You hummed in response. “I can imagine.” Flicking your wand, a small mortar and pestle flew to your side. With the blade of your knife, you scooped the chopped up root into the bowl and began to grind it to a fine powder. “You know, I was always interested in Care of Magical Creatures back at Hogwarts. I was never all that good at it, though. Not like I was with Herbology.”

Newt’s eyes were trained on the root being cut up, too afraid that looking would cause him to meet your occasional glance up and make a fool of himself. “I’m actually writing a book on magical creatures at the moment.”

“Really?”

“If you’d ever like to study magical creatures again, I could give you a copy.” Newt’s heart began to flutter at the way your eyes lit up.

You stopped in your motions of preparing his Mandrake Root, meeting his gaze with a soft smile. “That would be wonderful.”

After packaging up the now-crushed root into a small, beat up tin and handing it to Newt, you paced around the counter with another tin in hand. You approached a glass jar full of yellow pollen in it, using the scoop inside to portion out a generous amount.

“How’s this, Mr. Scamander?” 

You tilted the tin towards him, Newt leaning in to examine the contents. Before he could answer, a quiet sneeze came from his coat. You pulled the container back, your brows furrowed as Newt became flushed. He hesitated to reach into his coat, turning to the side as he pulled Pickett, his Bowtruckle, out and scolding him just out of earshot.

“No, Pick, I didn’t forget about-...she didn’t know you were-...don’t blame this on her! She did nothing-”

“I’m sorry,” you interrupted. Newt froze, cocking his head to see you practically leaning over his shoulder. “I have to ask, is that a Bowtruckle?”

Newt exchanged a glance with Pickett before popping him into his pocket, Pickett’s head resting just outside of the heavy fabric to stare you down. “Yes, he is.” You fought a giggle as you leaned down to stare at Pickett in the eyes. “He has some-”

“Attachment issues?” you finished. Newt’s eyes went wide as he gave you a nod. A smile flickered onto his lips for just a moment. You looked up at Newt from your position then stood to your full height. “I’ve heard of that being the case with Bowtruckles before.”

Newt simply nodded again, too distracted by the fact that you were just inches from his face. For just a moment he could have sworn that he saw your eyes flicker down to his lips, his breath getting caught in his throat.

“I have just the thing for your Bowtruckle,” you whispered before moving away towards another shelf.

Newt shivered and let out a sigh, his chest thundering. Finally, he realized you had moved away and followed, watching with a close eye as you broke off the tiny fruit of a strange purple herb that he couldn’t place.

“What’s his name?” you asked while you pulled the fruit into halves.

“Pickett.”

You turned around, offering a half of the fruit to Pickett. Pickett perked up, looking up at Newt for permission. You chuckled at the interaction while Newt pulled Pickett out, letting him sit on his finger.

“Well then, this is for you, Pickett.”

Pickett shared one more look with Newt before taking the fruit and gnawing on it instantly. He let out a happy squeak and jumped onto your arm, crawling up to your shoulder as he continued to snack on the fruit.

Newt let out an impressed laugh at the sight. “Pick doesn’t quite like strangers,” he explained.

You turned your head to eye the happy Bowtruckle, petting him with the pad of your index finger. “Suppose we’re not strangers anymore, are we, Pick?”

“Newt,” Newt shot out quickly. He continued to stare at his fingers while he toyed with them. “You can call me Newt.”

Newt only looked up when he saw your hand come into his field of vision, all delicate and strong. He took your extended hand and shook with careful vigor, the corner of his lips quirking upwards.

“Then consider us friends, too, Newt. I’m (Y/N).”

•••

Newt began to frequent the apothecary more often than he needed to. He always seemed to be running out of something, and he always seemed to arrive just when the rush died down. His list of items he needed appeared to grow longer and longer with each visit, but you never once gave his service to another employee.

The thought of you ran tirelessly through Newt’s head at night. His heart would beat just the slightest bit faster when he thought of that gorgeous smile you would flash him when he walked through the door, almost like you were expecting him to be there. 

Oh, Merlin, and that disarming chuckle that tumbled from your lips when he would trip over his words. It instantly calmed Newt down, his stammer fading away slowly.

Distracted from his writing again, Newt decided to pay you a visit at the apothecary. He snatched the coat of the back of his chair and ran out the door, his heart getting lighter with each step towards the store. Once he arrived, he swung the door open and looked up, only to find that you weren’t there. He frowned, but approached the counter and waited.

“Mr. Scamander!” Vancity cried as she exited the backroom. “How can I help you?”

Newt leaned over slightly, checking to see if you were in the back before the door shut behind Vancity. “Is (Y/N) here?”

Vancity let out an apologetic sigh. “Sorry, Mr. Scamander, she’s out sick.” Newt opened his mouth to speak but Vancity predicted his next question, silencing him immediately. “She doesn’t know when she’ll be back, either.”

“Oh. Right.” Newt focused on the counter, trying not to meet that horribly embarrassing sympathetic look that crowded Vancity’s face. “Will she be okay?”

“She’ll be perfectly fine. Nothing she can’t handle. It is her job to supply medicinal supplements, after all. Now, is there anything I can help you with?”

“No, actually.”

Newt wasn’t sure what Vancity said left-- his mind was too full with strange thoughts about the nature of your relationship. You were friends, weren’t you? That’s what you said to him the day you met Pickett. So if you were just friends, why was he feeling so lost without you there?

Newt took his time walking back to his house, his mind off someone else. He couldn’t help but recall the way you made him feel with your kind heart and witty humor, your soft eyes and enchanting smile. Just remembering that made his cheeks heat up.

As Newt entered his home, he walked into the basement and opened a cupboard to prepare the food for his Glow Bugs when a few tins from Oliphant & Bailey’s fell onto the counter. That’s when it hit him. He didn’t need all those herbs. He never did. So why was he going?

It was so plain. It was all there, the facts laid out in front of him: Newt Scamander had feelings for you. It was so incredibly obvious that he wondered how he didn’t notice it before. And it wasn’t a normal attraction, it was a stupid schoolboy crush; the kind where he’d go through ridiculous measures just to get your attention.

He groaned and threw his head into his hands at his epiphany. What in Merlin’s name was he supposed to do?

•••

Newt revisited the apothecary day after day, awaiting your return. After about a week of the constant rejections, he decided to let it go for the time being. It was frustrating, to say the least, to not hear how you were doing. He was more concerned about you than he was about acting on his feelings, because Merlin knows when he’d do that.

As Newt ran through the possibilities of what you had come down with, a knocking came from his front that snapped his attention to the forefront of his mind. He opened the door and stared, slightly confused at the sight before him.

“Theseus?”

“Nice to see you, too, Newt,” Theseus scoffed, embracing his younger brother into a tight hug. Newt stood quite stiff in his arms until he let go.

The younger Scamander rested an arm against the doorframe, leaning against it to make himself look much taller next to his brother who just happened to tower over him. After settling into the awkward position, Newt asked, “What brings you here?”

Theseus reached into his pocket to pull out a small notice, placing it into the hands of Newt. Newt frowned before unravelling it and scanning over its contents.

“It’s a notice from the Ministry. Next date to get your international ban removed.”

“Ah.” Newt raised the note in the air, casting a silent spell to have the paper zip itself down to his basement. “I’ll see you then, I reckon.”

Newt tried to shut the door but Theseus put his foot in it, prying it open to face Newt once more. Theseus held out a hand as the other fished through his jacket pocket to pull out a few small vials of Dittany.

“Just in case,” Theseus added sheepishly. “You always used to run out of this, and I can bet you still do.”

Newt flashed a grateful smile at his brother before his eyes caught on the label of the bottle. That same label that was plastered on every herb in his basement.

“Did you get this from Oliphant & Bailey’s?”

“I did, actually.” Theseus snorted, an amused grin on his lips. “The Apothecary there, the new one, she knew you. Recognized my face and asked if I was related to you, ‘the more handsome Scamander’. Her words, not mine.”

“When did you get these?”

“Right before I came here, why?” That familiar devious smirk grew on Theseus’ lips. “Do you fancy the girl, Newt?”

Newt lit up instantly, regardless of Theseus’s teasing. He sucked in a sharp breath and turned towards his coat rack to grab his jacket, slipping it on with great haste. Newt pushed his brother aside, casting a spell to activate the wards at his house.

Newt practically ran to the apothecary, the door swinging open to find a mass of people in line. He didn’t care. He pushed to the front, resting when he got to the counter. He scanned the store, trying to find you but came up empty.

“Newt?”

The sandy haired man whipped around, finding you walking out of the backroom, boxes in hand. Newt sighed, a warmth spreading inside of him at the sight of you. He ran up to you and alleviated the weight from your hands, resting the box on the counter.

“How are you feeling?” he asked through labored breaths.

“I’m...fine. Were you just running?”

Newt was never a good liar. He always got caught one way or another. “Yes…? I desperately need some Dittany.”

A knowing smile toyed at your lips as you raised your brows at him. “Dittany? Did your brother not give you the two vials like he said he would?”

Newt Scamander: expert in magical creatures, failure in lying.

“...right. I meant that I need some of that fruit you gave Pickett a few weeks ago.”

You snorted with laughter before pulling out the form and filling it out with the items, name, and his home address. You cut through the throng of people, snatching a tin up and preparing some of the fruit for Newt.

He began to rifle through his jacket pockets in an attempt to find some money for the treats he didn’t really need.

“How much is it-”

“It’s on the house, Newt. I’m pretty sure you’re our best customer, anyway.”

Newt looked up at you for a moment, his lips curling upwards at your kindness. “I appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it. You know,” you began as you labeled the tin, “being sick wasn’t all that bad. Kept me away from work and all. Let me take a break.” 

Newt nodded, feeling selfish for wishing you to be at work all the time just so he could see you. “Right,” was all he managed to say.

“The worst part”--you shoved the tin into Newt’s arms-- “was not seeing you.”

The tips of Newt’s ears began to heat up. He wanted to say something clever so desperately but all he managed to do was stare at you in complete shock, eyes wide and jaw slack. 

He watched as your eyes flickered down towards the tin, seemingly awaiting a reaction. Newt furrowed his brow before glancing down at the writing on there, blinking in shock. He reread it a few more times, only looking up when he heard you chuckle.

“Is this serious?” he asked.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because it’s-- well it’s-- it’s me, and you’re you. You’re just...you’re you and I’m me, and I just didn’t think that you’d feel that way-”

“Newt,” you cut off, laughter spilling from your lips, “I happen to like you being you. Funny how those things work.”

Newt couldn’t process what you had just said. It was like everything in the world had tipped in his favor all at once. Just that gorgeous, encapsulating smile on your face was proof enough for him.

“Reckon I’ll see you tomorrow night, then,” he finally managed to say, backing up the best he could towards the door.

“Tomorrow night,” confirmed. Newt was nearly at the door when you called out, “It’s a date!”

He slipped outside, getting a breath of fresh air for the first time in 15 minutes. He ran a hand through his hair, just then realizing that his heart was pounding out of his chest, his grin so wide that his cheeks began to ache. But he didn’t care. He couldn’t be bothered to. Newt looked down at the label one last time, chuckling at the note.

Thursday. 7 PM. Your place.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

general taglist: @pandaxnienke @lunalovecroft @for-bebbanburg

[serpentstole]

Luciferian Challenge: Bonus 2

I combined a few prompts the other day, so this is another bonus prompt entry.

Are there other religions/philosophies that inspire you or influence your path as a Luciferian? Or do you work with other Gods or Spirits?

So obviously Christianity does influence and inspire my Luciferianism. I touched on it a bit in this post, but essentially as someone with a Lutheran upbringing in a culturally Christian country who takes a good chunk of inspiration from Christian folklore... it would be foolish and disingenuous to pretend that I could divorce my Luciferianism from Christianity entirely, and I make no attempts at doing so. While I do not consider myself a Christian, nor my religion to be a branch of it, I do undeniably exist at the fringes of it. 

The spirits that come with that are Eve of course, who I’ve mentioned, and St Expedite, who (at time of writing this) still hasn’t shown any disinterest in continuing our relationship. Though I have a fascination with St Sebastian, I never attempted to reach out to him, and I suspect I never will. St Cyprian of Antioch, however, is someone I’ve considered given his association with magic and necromancy, his time as a pagan, and the nature of his conversion to Christianity. All together I don’t think he’d take issue with me, though I’ve yet to check if the interest is mutual and worth pursuing. At least, not at this time. 

My animism also influences my approach to things, but that’s less a formal religion and more an aspect of one, as it’s a world view that exists in many religions throughout the world. I hope to build up a small gathering of plant allies and teachers when I can, though for a number of reasons this is a bit slow going in my current living situation. Perhaps next year will be when I really explore that. Mandrake is a favourite, as well as mullein, and I’ve also deeply appreciated @graveyarddirt‘s tips and input when it comes to amanita muscaria. 

I’ve also previously mentioned my Dionysian leanings, and as I believe in approaching deities and spirits in the ways that are appropriate to them, there are some Hellenic and Orphic influences to my practice when it comes to those entities. Dionysus is possibly the deity I’ve been most passionate about for the longest, and it came to a point where even as a Luciferian, I couldn’t really ignore it anymore. Incorporating my veneration of him into my practice was a bit of a process, but it’s been working well so far. Eventually I hope to try and round out that side of my path a little more. I’m very drawn to Phanes for what are I’m sure very obvious reasons for anyone who reads this blog, and I’ve been strongly considering approaching Hypnos and Pasithea for a few reasons. Prometheus is also, unsurprisingly, a figure I respect though do not (currently) actively venerate. 

Bizarrely, I have never felt any draw to Hekate. You’d think I would, between her torchbearer epithets and symbolism, the keys and snakes and magic, and how cthonic she is, but it just never clicked for me. I have a great deal of respect and curiosity, but I don’t honestly think I’d ever try to form a relationship with her. 

Please note that I’m speaking of these gods and how I hope to approach them from the mindset of a Luciferian and an occultist. I know that the idea of Hellenic pagans worshiping and venerating the pantheon as a whole with maybe some favoured patrons versus picking and choosing like I have is a topic that’s discussed now and then, but as I said before, I do not actually consider myself a Hellenic pagan… just a Luciferian with Hellenic and Orphic influences. So while I’ll approach Dionysus and the others with the offerings and tone befitting them, it’s within the framework of that Luciferianism.

While it may appear at a glance that these are two disjointed halves or “pantheons” that make up an eclectic whole, they’re very interwoven. To use my interest in medicinal and occult herbalism as an example, as well as my study of veneficium or the poison path, both Azazel and Pasithea make valuable allies in such work: Azazel is a teacher of herbal knowledge, and Pasithea is the Grace/Charity of relaxation, hallucination, and altered states of mind. I also work a great deal with Lucifer for Illumination when it comes to divination, and Dionysus had a connection to Delphi (which he was said to inhabit during the winter months as Apollo went elsewhere) and his cult likely had some influence over the Oracle’s rites shifting from being oneiric to trance based. Though the context changes, the themes, skills, knowledge, and so forth overlap.

The fact that I can intertwine these seemingly disparate deities and practices is a relief to me. Though I speak of allies and partnerships and a working relationship, I’m also just very passionate about and drawn to these deities and spirits, and would likely take a strictly religious approach to them if need be. Finding the thematic similarities between my approach to Luciferianism and the things that draw me to the Greek deities and spirits I appreciate is exciting and vindicating as I go about building my own practice and beliefs.