#from your neighborhood wizard

[daisywords]

One of my biggest nitpicks in fiction concerns the feeding of babies. Mothers dying during/shortly after childbirth or the baby being separated form the mother shortly after birth is pretty common in fiction. It is/was also common enough in real life, which is why I think a lot of writers/readers don't think too hard about this. however. Historically, the only reason the vast majority of babies survived being separated from their mother was because there was at least one other woman around to breastfeed them. Before modern formula, yes, people did use other substitutes, but they were rarely, if ever, nutritionally sufficient.

Newborns can't eat adult food. They can't really survive on animal milk. If your story takes place in a world before/without formula, a baby separated from its mother is going to either be nursed by someone else, or starve.

It doesn't have to be a huge plot point, but idk at least don't explicitly describe the situation as excluding the possibility of a wetnurse. "The father or the great grandmother or the neighbor man or the older sibling took and raised the baby completely alone in a cave for a year." Nope. That baby is dead I'm sorry. "The baby was kidnapped shortly after birth by a wizard and hidden away in a secret tower" um quick question was the wizard lactating? "The mother refused to see or touch her child after birth so the baby was left to the care of the ailing grandfather" the grandfather who made the necessary arrangements with women in the neighborhood, right? right? OR THAT GREAT OFFENDER "A newborn baby was left on the doorstep and they brought it in and took care of it no issues" What Are You Going to Feed That Baby. Hello?

Like. It's not impossible, but arrangements are going to have to be made. There are some logistics.

[biffhofosho]

We're talking Minhyuk everything today. He may be bulky af now thanks to his service, but this jar of bottled sunshine beams brightly through his every era.

[what-even-is-thiss]

People who get mad about poc being included in medieval fiction and fantasy are not only racist but they also have a deep misunderstanding about how their own ideas of race and culture work.

Perhaps, yes. Most people living in Europe in the time period we call the Middle Ages would’ve been what we now consider to be white. But that doesn’t mean poc wouldn’t have been there at all and it doesn’t mean they understood identity in the same way we do.

“Outsiders” could be from within the same city or from a world away. A lot of peoples loyalties and who they saw as being from the same group as them had to do with religious conflicts, politics, and combinations of the two. Maybe just based on what neighborhood or village they lived in.

Historically before the era of colonialism Catholic countries like Portugal have sometimes given aid in various forms to Ethiopia because they’re both christian countries. People in the area we now call Italy would’ve killed neighbors less than a 20 minute walk away over papal politics.

People also traded frequently with people from other continents. Married people from other continents. Early into the so-called age of exploration Portuguese and Spanish explorers were known to sometimes marry women traders from west Africa for their wealth and trade connections. People from all over the Muslim world have also often been traders, enemies, allies, and mercenaries all over Europe and vice versa with Christian and Jewish traders, scholars, mercenaries, traders, crusaders, etc. traveling and living within the Muslim world as well.

Vikings got around. To Eastern Europe, the Mediterranean, North America. Many stayed where they went or made deals with the locals. Many brought prisoners, slaves, illegitimate children, and new wives back home.

Not only did the concept of whiteness and any other modern understanding of race not exist yet, people intermingled, intermarried, moved around, converted religions, traded across continents. Sometimes people made it all the way to North America even if that route and the colonies that came out of it faded out of memory eventually. The world was still interconnected even if it did move much slower.

Also when talking about fantasy and not historical fiction, it’s fantasy. There’s dragon. And wizard. Why are you worried about your racist ideas about “realism”? Besides the racism I mean.

[draconym]

Last night I had a dream that a cruel wizard lived in a castle across the street from me and would bewitch his suburban neighbors to act like animals for his own amusement.

The wizard also had a pet baboon who would wander the neighborhood wearing an organ grinder automata shaped like a crocodile's head. It was understood if the baboon approached you, you had to put an object of value into the mechanical crocodile's mouth, or he'd rip your face off.

I happened to have a large black coin on me when the baboon chose me, but when I dropped it in the crocodile, shiny gold doubloons spilled out the bottom of the organ grinder, enraging the baboon.

Thankfully the wizard had psychically transformed me into a goose earlier in the day, so I was able to flap my arms and fly away.

[kayhi808]

First Crush 16 - Happy Halloween

I know this is late but technically it's still Halloween in Hawaii. I hope everyone has fun tonight! 🥰

"Honey, you're going to need to stay still."

Abby is squirmy in the make up chair, "But N'asha, I soooo 'cited!" Raising her little fists up in the air, ready for Halloween to begin.

Stepping back with her hands on her hip, "Well, if you stuck to being a Widow, we don't have to do this part."

Sitting still as can be, "No tank you. I needs to be Diwctor Fuwy! I stay still." Natasha continues to glue down the skull cap to Abby's head.

You enter the room with Abby's utility belt stocked with snacks and her trench coat. "Ok I think...." You stop in your tracks to stare at your daughter. The cap has made her completely bald looking. You're still undecided on how to feel about her costume of choice. Once Abby sets her mind to something it's hard to convince her otherwise. You had drawn in her goatee earlier, so she was just about done. She's still wearing the Widow suit underneath the trench.

"Mama, lookit! I no more hairs!" Abby cackles as Natasha sets her down.

She skips over to you, "Yes, I can see that." You strap on her utility belt. "While we're out, you only eat the snacks in here. You cannot touch the candy you collect, ok? I'll need to check it first."

"Okies, Mama!"

You help her on with her trenchcoat and runs over to the mirror & she squeals. " Do you like it?"

She jumps up and down, "I loves it so much!" She runs over to hug Natasha "Tank you!"

"Have fun tonight," she places the final touch of the eye patch on. "Listen to your Mama."

******

Chloe, Mia and their mothers were going to meet up at the Tower before hitting the nearby neighborhoods with the girls. You dressed yourself up as a hobbit. Brown capris & vest with a white poet shirt, a green hooded cape and a walking stick. It was the same costume as last year. You had always thought the stick could double as a weapon if need be. Bucky scoffed at your idea. He said him and Sam would be joining you for protection. He refused to have you and Abby out and about on a crazy night like Halloween unprotected.

You let Abby make her entrance and you watched the looks on Bucky and Sam's faces. Speechless. Horrified. Abby did her little sashay around the room, stopping in front of Bucky, jumping up and down with her hands clasped. "Do yous loves it?!" She plays with the trench to make the bottom swish.

Bucky's mouth is open & closing like a fish out of water. He turns to Sam, "Don't look at me. She asked you."

"Wow! Abigail. Wow!" Bucky's eyes meet yours and you give him a smirk.

"This whole...look? It's going to be embedded in my brain FOREVER," Sam nods at Abby.

Abby claps her hands, "Tank you!!"

The horror hasn't left Bucky's eyes as you laugh, "We better head downstairs."

While on the elevator ride down, both Bucky and Sam try touching Abby's bald skull cap without her knowing. "Stop," you hiss at them.

The elevators open to the lobby and when the little girls see each other they all squeal and scream, running to hug each other. They are so cute! Chloe is dressed as Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz and Mia is Ren from Star Wars. The 3 girls gush over the sparkly shoes, Mia's mini light saber and of course Abby's bald head. Quick introductions are made amongst the adults. Bucky had met their husbands at the father/daughter dance at the daycare so they were a little familiar with each other. And Sam is so personable, he makes everyone feel at ease.

They were about to head out when the glass door slide open and Nick Fury and Maria Hill walk in. All 3 little girls gasp. Eyes wide and mouths shaped as little "o". Just like the time before, very intimidating and frightening, trench coat flowing behind him, cutting a striking figure across the lobby.

Abby runs across the lobby, followed by her 2 best friends. "Diwector Fuwy!!" She hugs his leg, "Happy Hanoween!"

He frowns down at her, 'Who the hell are you supposed to be?!"

Chloe is afraid of his tone and Mia hold her hand. The parents quickly follow.

Abby covers her mouth and giggles. "I'm you!!" She does a little turn making sure her trench swishes out. She slides her hand in his. "You wikes it?"

"Just say you like it," Bucky says with a little growl in his voice.

You try to distract & gather everyone to head out.

Abby looks at her friends, "Him's my fwend. He's so smart and braves. Him's the big boss to my Mama, Bucky, Captain America, Black Widow, Fawcon, Iron Man, Green Man, Lightning Man, Arrow Man....all dem Avengers. He protects the whole world and even space!" Fury doesn't look as angry & gives her little hand a squeeze. "And keeps us safe." Poking her eyepatch, "So no one steals our eyeballs, right?" His frown is back in full force and her drops her hand. He takes out his money clip and drops some money into the girls bags. "Get the hell out of my lobby. Go get some ice cream or something."

Again the girls gasp and a chorus of "Tank you, Diwector Fuwy! Happy Hanoween!" They all giggle and wave like the mini fan club that they are now.

"Ok, let's get started." You all start heading out and you turn to Bucky, "I thought Steve would join us tonight."

Abby pipes up, "Uncle Steve is on important dates. He cannot."

Bucky narrows his eyes at Abby, "How do you know he's on an important date?"

Abby shrugs before running off to join her friends, "Him tells me tings."

@waywardhunter95 @rebeccapineapple @ordelixx @onceithough @thezombieprostitute @ilovetaquitosmmmm @julvrs @unaxv @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @winterslove1917 @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @mrsnikstan @hisredheadedgoddess28 @itsteambarnes @otterlycanadian @purplecolordeer @samsgirl93 @buckitostan @littleredwolf @mcucatlady @silas-aeiou @hzdhrtss @florie1 @thecubanator2 @enchantedbarnes @selella @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @cjand10 @pancake-05 @ozwriterchick @crazyunsexycool @baw1066 @nommingonfood @jvanilly

[ichorai]

spiderling ; peter parker.

sequel to particles!

pairing ; peter parker x stark!reader

synopsis ; peter was supposed to find you after strange wiped everyone's memory of him away. instead, you found him.

words ; 2.0k

themes ; angst, mild fluff and comedy

warnings / includes ; lots of feels crammed into this, peter is a flustered mess, reader is an insanely smart kid of tony’s, mentions of may and the rest of the spidey gang :(

main masterlist.

Ever since Peter had asked Strange to wipe the entire world’s memory of him, things had been… uneventful to say the least. He studied, he worked two boring jobs for a low minimum wage, and he visited May’s grave every afternoon. 

There wasn’t much else to do when nobody knew him as Peter Parker. 

Sometimes, he’d go out in his itchy, make-shift spider suit that he’d fashioned with bright fabrics from a corner store that also sold his most favorite orange-flavored popsicles, stopping common crime as the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

Other than that… he slept. He played Crossy Road on his phone—or he’d rewatch the Star Wars movies for the billionth time. 

He thought of his best friends, Ned and MJ. He thought of his brothers, Peter 2 and 3. He thought of his Aunt May, and Happy, who visited her grave almost as frequently as he did. He thought of the closest thing he had to a father figure, Tony Stark. He thought of Mr. Stark’s oldest kid—which he used to refer to as his significant other. 

The love of his life. 

Y/N Stark.

Peter missed you. He missed you more than anything in the entire world. He missed your wide smile and the specific way you’d throw your head back and laugh so hard you’d be grabbing onto his arm, gasping for breath. He missed how you’d press your chest into his back and kiss along his neck while he did his physics homework, quietly mumbling corrections to his calculations when he’d distractedly scribbled down the wrong formula. He missed how Mr. Stark would pull him to the side to give him the ‘Responsible Dad Talk’ just about every time the two of you hung out together, and how you’d have to tell your dad that you could make your own decisions and you didn’t need him to hover over the two of you.

Besides, you used to say with a soft smile, it’s Peter. You know Peter. He’s… he’s Peter. He’d never hurt me, pops.

But he did hurt you. He erased all the memories you had together—he completely wiped himself out of your life.

You loved him—and he had taken that away from you. 

“I love you,” you had whispered into him as you hugged him tight, a tear slipping down the corner of your misty eyes. Peter wrapped his arms around your waist and held you all the closer. “Come back to me, Peter. Or… or I swear to fucking God—I’ll find you myself and—” 

Your words died on your tongue as he surged forward and kissed you, hard and desperate. The kiss tasted of salt from your tears, of coppery blood from his throbbing, split lip. Neither of you cared.

You hiccupped a sob when he reluctantly pulled away, pressing one last kiss to your grimy forehead, before letting you go entirely. He turned before he could see you crumpling into MJ and Ned, who had roped you into a pained embrace, your shoulders trembling with wracking cries. 

That was five months ago. Five months after Strange wiped everybody’s memories of him.

He’d wanted to find you again—he really did. Obviously, you were an extremely busy person, not only being the oldest kid of Tony Stark, but also a genius student, a researcher, the heir of an entire company, and an older sibling to Morgan. But, if he was completely honest, he didn’t really know what to say.

Hey, I’m Peter Parker and I’m in love with you, but I never got the chance to tell you because this wizard that’s sort of a friend of your dad’s erased everyone’s memory of me because the multiverse broke and a bunch of bad guys from other universes slipped into ours because I ruined my friend’s chances of getting into their dream college—

Yeah. That wouldn’t really work out, would it?

So he put it off. 

Put it off for a week, which rolled into two, which became three, which became three months.

All of a sudden, it was summer, and he still hadn’t seen you. 

He made sure to go to the coffee shop MJ worked at, just to see how she and Ned were faring. From what he heard while he eavesdropped—they were doing great at MIT. 

Peter tried his best to keep up with you through those news articles that kept flashing him ads like You Wouldn’t Believe What This Celebrity Looks Like Without Makeup! or Learn All About Steve Rogers’ Exercise Routine! 

There wasn’t much that he could find about you, other than a couple pictures of you with your little sister, Morgan, chowing down on cheeseburgers at McDonald’s. After all, you’d always been a rather private person, which was the one jarring difference between you and your infamously public father. 

Your social medias were, expectedly, all privated. Peter doubted you’d accept his follow request, anyway.

It was an ordinary Tuesday—Peter had a shift at a car garage in a couple hours, which left him quite a bit of time to burn. He had ACDC softly playing in the background—a band that both you and your dad had been completely infatuated with—half a dozen books spread out around him as he multi-tasked studying new chemical compounds for his web fluid, and rotational mechanics for an upcoming exam. 

Then, much to his surprise, the doorbell rang. 

It’s probably the landlord, Peter thought with a grimace, thinking of the old woman who always had a cigarette between her coarse fingers, despite her own strict policy of no smoking in the building. He turned the music down to a low thrum, before swinging the door open.

And… there you were.

Peter could feel his heart drop to the floor.

You were… God, you were beautiful. There wasn’t much about you that changed—you got a new pair of glasses, he could see, and you’d cut your hair shorter. There was a tattoo peeking slightly out of your loose-hanging t-shirt etched over your skin, depicting a sketch of an arc reactor, in memory of your late father. 

Besides that, you were the very same. The same bright, intelligent eyes, the same lips that puckered ever so slightly to the side in thought, and the same brows that knitted together whenever you were concentrating. 

Your hands were shoved into your jeans as you cocked your head, studying him with narrowed eyes.

“Erm,” Peter started, mouth opening and closing as his brain struggled to comprehend that you were here. In the flesh. Fuck, you were gorgeous. “Wh… Y/N?”

Your eyebrow arched high up, closer to your hairline. “First name basis already, huh?”

“I’m—”

“You’re the Spiderling, aren’t you?” you asked abruptly, nearly giving him whiplash. Before he could say anything else, you were swiping your phone open, a hologram of a Youtube video playing right in front of his face. The video displayed Spider-Man swinging from building to building, stopping a car from ramming into an elderly woman crossing the street with nothing but brute strength. Peter didn’t even remember that happening. To him, that was just an ordinary day. “That must’ve been, what—like, thirty-five hundred pounds, about fifty miles an hour? Impressive.”

“Wh—”

You brushed past him into his tiny apartment. Peter cursed himself for not throwing away the pizza boxes stacked on his kitchen counter, and for leaving his sketches of web shooters out on his desk. 

A small smile graced your lips as you spotted the blue and red scrap fabrics discarded into the trash can. “Hm. You make your own suit? My dad did, too. God—are those goggles?” You picked up his vision goggles from his unmade bed, peering through them as you snorted in amusement. “How on earth do you see anything though these?”

“I—”

You turned to him with an intrigued grin. “I’m sure you already know who I am, seeing as you knew my dad. It’s nice to finally meet you, Spiderling.”

Peter blinked. The overwhelming sense of deja vu washed over him like a tidal wave—you were behaving eerily similar to when Mr. Stark had approached him to go to Germany back in 2016.

“I… how…”

“What’s your name?” you asked, gingerly stepping over his textbooks to stare at his pinboard, where his calendar hung. 

“Peter,” he finally mumbled in reply, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. “And it’s Spider-Man, not Spiderling. What are you doing here? I mean, not that I don’t want you here, but, uhm—how did you find me?”

You looked over your shoulder with a knowing glint to your eyes. “I keep tabs on everybody my dad used to work with. Honestly, it wasn't too difficult to track you down—given the radius of where Spider-Man usually frequents and his response times to local crimes, it was easy to pinpoint where you lived. After my AI ran a couple voice recognition tests and estimated bodily proportions, that led me right to you.” You leaned against his rickety wooden desk with a curious grin. “Thought you’d be a bit older, though. Looks like you’re around my age.”

“I… that’s… wow.”

Wrinkling your nose in amusement, you turned back to his full calendar. 

Peter prayed you wouldn’t flip over to your birthday month—he’d circled your birthday with bright red sharpie and drew loopy hearts all over the little square. Thankfully, you stopped skimming through, pausing at the relatively empty weeks where he had nothing planned other than a few work shifts.

“Looks like you’re free from school in a couple weeks,” you said. “I know this is really sudden and very abrupt of me, but—I’d love to offer you a job at Stark Labs. You must be crazy smart to design synthetic webs with a Young’s modulus that’s off the charts. Could really use that brain of yours at my company. Plus, you’ve got a lot of work experience in the bag.” 

There was a beat of silence. Peter stared at you with parted lips. 

A bit more timidly, you added on, “And… it’d be nice to work with someone that knew my dad.”

Well, Peter didn’t want to brag, but he’d definitely say that he didn’t only just know Tony Stark. But you didn’t need to know that right at this moment. 

“Yes,” he blurted out, a bit louder than necessary. “Are you kidding me? That’s… that’s amazing! Yeah, oh my God, I’d love to! Thank you!”

Before he could stop himself, his body moved out of pure muscle memory and excitement, stepping forward to wind his arms around you, squeezing you tightly. Your familiar perfume made his eyes well with tears—fuck, he missed you so fucking much.

“Oh—” you began to say, muscles tensing. “Okay, then. You’re welcome, pal.”

Rouge flushed hotly over his cheeks as he realized that you weren’t his significant other anymore—in your mind, this was the first time the two of you were meeting. Quickly, he let you go, backing away with a grimace. 

“Sorry,” he winced. “Sorry, I just—”

“Have we met before?” you asked, cutting him off. “I don’t know… it just feels like… nevermind. I’d probably remember a cute face like yours.” 

Peter’s face burned an even brighter shade of red. 

“Here’s my contact information. I’ll send you any contracts, NDAs, legality issues, dates for any research projects you might be interested in joining, payment negotiations, all that jazz,” you told him, placing a card onto his desk. “I look forward to working with you, Patrick.”

“Peter,” he corrected.

A smile played with the corner of your lips. “Right. Peter. Nice music taste, by the way. I love ACDC��I can see why my dad liked you so much.” 

With that, you ambled over his scattered belongings on the floor, flashing him one last beam, before striding straight out the door. 

Peter stared at the open doorway for a minute—or was it an hour? He really couldn’t tell. 

He collapsed into his bed, the goggles you’d dangled digging into his back. He arched up just enough to pull it away, clutching it to his chest with a goofy smile.

You found him. 

Against all odds, you’d found him.

Fuck, Peter loved you so much.

Telling you though—now that was a different story entirely. One that Peter knew was going to take time. 

But for you… 

He’d wait centuries.

[yourfriendowlbear]

Name Day

Astarion x gn!reader

Summary: It's your name day. Astarion wants to do something special for you.

today is my birthday, so I figured I'd write something a little self-indulgent

It’s your name day, and Astarion has been frantic

He doesn’t remember much about his life before Cazador, but he knows that birthdays are a big fucking deal for elves

And whether you’re an elf or not, he wants to do something. If you are an elf, it’s all the more important for him to celebrate accordingly.

He’s freaking out. What in the hells does he do for you? What in the hells can he get you? 

He’s more than happy to buy you anything–he’s more than happy to steal you anything, but you have everything reasonable that you could want.

Nothing seems good enough for you. He knows that you’ll more than likely love whatever he ends up with, but that doesn’t mean he’s cutting himself any slack.

He’s so desperate that he goes to Gale. He’s got ideas, but he’s just a vampire with limited resources and limited nighttime hours. He knows when he’s at a disadvantage, and though he’s loathe to ask for help, he isn’t willing to fumble this.

So he convinces you to visit Waterdeep and to drop in on your wizard friend, who has insisted on numerous occasions that you’re more than welcome at his tower any time.

It takes a few days, but Gale does manage to enchant something for Astarion to gift you. The wizard had helped him plan it, and he’d basically had to create the enchantment from the ground up. It’s beautiful, and he absolutely cannot wait to give it to you.

The day of your birthday arrives, and you’re at your shared home in Bloomridge, in the Lower City of Baldur’s Gate. The house–like many of the homes in the neighborhood–is built onto the side of the city wall. It’s small but not cramped, with a large, inviting kitchen, a cozy drawing room, and two bedrooms. Two balconies–one off the main bedroom, one off the drawing room–look out over the city and Grey Harbor.

Astarion is nervous, and he’s never been more glad to not have a heart, since it would probably give him away.

It’s evening. The two of you have just gotten up. You’re sitting out on the balcony, curled up on the outdoor settee. There’s a lantern hanging on a hook above you as you read. Astarion’s arm rests around your shoulders, a book clasped in his other hand. You’re nestled into his side, a barely held together ancient tome in your lap. Scratch lays on the ground in front of the settee, head on his paws.

A raucous laughter pierces through the foggy evening. Karlach and Lae’zel are the first to appear on the stairs.

Leave it to your merry band of misfits to disrupt the peace of your little neighborhood.

You’re off the couch and at the front door in a flash. Scratch gives a confused woof before trotting off after you. Astarion can hear you laughing as you let them all in.

By the time he can see you at the door, you’re being squeezed by Karlach. Gale stands, grinning, in the hall. Wordlessly, he nudges a package into Astarion’s hands.

Wyll has brought a cake. Lae’zel carries something that looks strangely like a sword wrapped in paper. Shadowheart has a little box.

As you lead them all in, Gale hands you a large bottle of Blackstaff wine.

You drink and laugh with these people who, over the course of only a few months, became your best friends. And as much as Astarion hates to admit it, he loves them for showing up for you.

Eventually, Karlach pushes you to open the presents they’ve brought. 

As expected, Lae’zel has brought you a Githyanki sword, a traditional gift for warriors on their name days. Shadowheart has brought you a necklace that she’s blessed.

Astarion saves his for last, sliding it into your lap when you’re laughing at something Wyll has said, your voices all a little louder from the wine. You look at him, a little confused, but you tear the paper off anyway.

You’re even more confused when you discover six stone tablets and wooden styluses inside.

Gale takes pity on you, and picks one up, using the stylus to write ‘happy name day, tav’ on one of the slates. You gasp when it appears on the other five almost immediately.

“So you can talk with everyone when you need to,” Astarion explains. He hates how soft his voice sounds, but gods above, he put a lot of thought into this. He so desperately wants you to like it.

But his fears evaporate when you launch out of your chair, your arms wrapping around his neck in a tight hug. 

He laughs and hugs you back, relieved that, for once, he could give you something nice, something you deserve, so that he could show you just how cared for you are.

[rafesbabygirlx]

Happy Halloween 🎃

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Rafe x Maybank Reader

Summary: time jump from the original story. Vivienne is now 4 fully understanding the importance of Trick or Treating now. You and Rafe bring her around the neighborhood and couldn’t be more proud to watch her go around and get candy.

A/N: Drabble based on my series A Lot of Time has Passed.

Warnings: allusions to sex (nothing graphic, Rafe is just a flirt) pure fluff between reader and Rafe, JJ the funnest uncle there ever was.

Vivienne bounces on her bed as you lay out her costume. Ever since Sarah and Kie introduced her to The Wizard of Oz, she’s been enchanted by witches, insisting on being one for Halloween. Unfortunately, she’s allergic to most costume paints, even the high-end ones you tried. So she’s no Wicked Witch of the West tonight, but she is the cutest pumpkin witch you’ve ever seen.

The last time she was this obsessed with something, it was sea turtles when she was just one, and everything around her became ocean-themed. Now that witches are her new passion, all the decor and toys have shifted, and Rafe has been more than happy to make that happen.

After dressing her up, you hand over her broom. Before you can fully take in how adorable she looks, she’s already “flying” out of her room, calling for Rafe. “Daddy! Look! Where are you? Look, Daddy!”

With her on a mission, you take a quick moment to head to your room and change. You slip into a simple black corset dress with sheer lace sleeves and a thigh-high slit, topping it off with a tall black witch hat. Flat black boots complete the look for a night of walking.

Downstairs, you hear Rafe and Vivienne playing. “Are you trying to wear her out already? She hasn’t even gotten a single piece of candy yet,” you tease, smiling as you spot them on the floor, with Vivienne practicing her magic spells on him.

Rafe looks up without taking his eyes off you. “V, can you believe how beautiful Mommy looks?” She looks over, beaming. “Mommy’s very ‘butiful!’” Rafe stands, walking over to get a closer look at you, his hand brushing along your neck as he pulls you in for a kiss.

“And where’s your costume?” you ask, grinning. He grabs a matching witch hat from the couch and settles it on his head. True to his style, he’s gone with a simple black button-down and slacks, letting the hat be the finishing touch. Despite the simplicity, he looks perfect.

“V, ready to get so much candy?” you say, turning to her. She jumps onto the bench near the door, holding her broom in one hand and her candy bucket in the other. “YESSSSS!” Rafe laughs, scooping her up as you head outside.

Vivienne walks between the two of you, her tiny hands in yours as she eagerly asks to be picked up and “flown” like a witch. You’re almost to the street when JJ sneaks up from behind, letting out an exaggerated evil laugh as he tickles your sides. You jump, letting out a shriek. “JJ, what the fuck?!”

“Happy Halloween, sis, and Happy Halloween to the prettiest witch in all the land,” he says, grinning as he bows before Vivienne in his butler costume. “Uncle J! You listened!” she shouts, running to him. He picks her up, spinning her around until she’s giggling.

At the first house, Rafe kneels beside Vivienne. “You remember what to say?” he asks, his voice gentle.

“Yes, Daddy, I know!”

“Smart girl. Now go get us the best candy to share.” She bolts toward the door, pulling JJ along, waiting behind a few kids in line. With her in safe hands, you and Rafe hang back, enjoying a quiet moment.

He leans into you, his arms around your waist, his hand brushing gentle circles across your ass. “You might be the sexiest witch I’ve ever seen,” he whispers in your ear, “and you’re keeping this on way past trick-or-treating.”

“Rafe, every kid from Figure Eight is around us, control yourself,” you say, trying to sound stern but failing, laughter spilling out as you bury your face in his neck, sneaking a few kisses.

Vivienne runs back, her face lit up, proudly showing you her haul—three full-size candy bars and a small stuffed black cat. It’s like they knew exactly what she’d love. They must’ve know a witches best friend is a black cat.

For the next hour, you explore the neighborhood, Vivienne’s candy bucket growing heavier until Rafe finally calls it. “Alright, how about we head back? You did so well, but Daddy’s arm is starting to hurt from carrying this bucket!”

Vivienne looks up, her big blue eyes meeting his. “But I’m not ready!” she pouts.

Rafe kneels, a habit that always melts your heart, making it clear how much he respects and loves her. It’s a subtle but perfect gesture. “How about one more house on the way home? Then we’ll sit on the floor, and you can show me everything you got. And you can smack Uncle J’s hand every time he tries to steal some.”

She lights up, giggling at the thought. Anytime Rafe mentions them spending time together, her face beams.

“And if Mommy’s up for it,” he adds, “maybe she can make some popcorn, and we can watch The Wizard of Oz with half a candy bar before bed.” He leans close, whispering, “And you can even sleep in your witch costume, so you can dream about flying on your broomstick.” She gasps at the suggestion.

“Yes! Let’s go now!” she squeals, leaping into his arms. He grins at you, your eyes a little misty from the beautiful sight of your two people, he reaches over to take your hand as he holds her close.

After stopping at one last house, you all make your way home. Inside, Rafe makes a move to take off his witch hat, but Vivienne quickly protests. “No, Daddy! The hat stays on all night!”

“Alright, alright,” he laughs, putting it back on as you head to the kitchen. You pop some popcorn and set up a small tray with water and bowls, adding some festive cobwebs and plastic spiders for the Halloween spirit.

Back in the living room, you find JJ and Rafe sorting through candy with Vivienne. Over the years, they’ve learned to tolerate each other for your sake, something that makes you deeply grateful. You set the tray on the coffee table and pull up The Wizard of Oz—it’s practically impossible to miss, being first in the watch history for the past 4 months.

As they pack up the candy, JJ attempts to sneak a Kit Kat into his pocket. Vivienne catches him instantly. “Hey, Uncle J!”

He throws his hands up, pleading dramatically. “Please, your greatness, may your loyal—and very fun—servant uncle have a candy bar to take home? Pretty please?”

“She’s three, JJ,” Rafe says, laughing.

“She’s also serious about her business.” JJ grins. Vivienne considers, then nods. “Sure, Uncle JJ. But I want you to take me to see Aunt Kie tomorrow.”

JJ shakes her hand with mock formality. “Deal, kiddo.” Settling into the fluffy lounge couch to your right.

V snuggles between you and Rafe, popcorn in hand, while you turn off the lamps and start the movie. Rafe’s arm wraps around you, and you both spend the movie stealing glances at each other, the connection between you still feeling as special as it did at the beginning. “I love you,” Rafe mouths to you across the couch.

“I love you more,” you mouth back, smiling.

The two of you are still locked in each other’s gaze when you’re snapped back into reality when you hear JJ snoring. You don’t think either of you watched a second of the movie.

JJ’s curled up in the chair, and Vivienne is fast asleep, sprawled out between you. Rafe gently lifts her, carrying her over to the chair with JJ, who instinctively pulls her close in his sleep.

“You’re not bringing her to her room?” you whisper, surprised.

“Nah, JJ’s got her. I’m taking you upstairs to see what magical spells you can work on me.” You squeal, covering your mouth as Rafe swoops you over his shoulder.

He carries you to your room, closing the door behind him. It’s the perfect ending to Halloween night.

[nouvxllev]

the girl across your street || p2

Pairing: Jenna Ortega x Fem!Reader

Summary: You both greeted each other. You lifted your scarf down to reveal a huge grin on your face, complementing Jenna's own. "I was waiting for you." Jenna lowered her music, hearing your voice was more of a symphony than any other artist she listened to.

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: None

part 3 || masterlist

It was snowy. Too snowy for your liking, and definitely way too snowy for a Wednesday morning. Too damn early for a snowstorm to happen. Walking through the snow was a bit of a struggle, and you could barely keep your balance without tumbling altogether. But it was worth it, you say to yourself, if you got the chance to talk with Jenna again, enduring the freezing cold was a small price to pay for the chance to hear her voice.

Your hands were tucked so deep in your pockets that they might as well have become a part of your body. Layers of scarves covered your face, and your headphones doubled as earmuffs, topped with a beanie. You were dressed in a thousand sweaters and puffy jackets, and somehow, you're still so cold.

Music was, of course, blasting in your ears. But this time, instead of the usual songs with a mellow tune, it was gradually becoming happier, and you even threw in some Christmas tunes into the mix. Yes, it was cold, but it wasn't every day (even though it actually was) that you could inhale fresh air from your neighborhood without the scent of dog poop all around.

Turning around, you followed the route to Jenna's street, a path that could put the Wizard of Oz to shame. Dare you say, it was your happy place on earth, which, in all honesty, it was.

Stopping at that familiar sidewalk, you looked to your side and easily spotted possibly the most gorgeous being to ever walk this God-forsaken planet.

Jenna.

She was sitting on the bench, fully covered in snow from yesterday's storm. Even objects couldn't withstand the snowfall. With her knees curled up to her chest, she listened to music with closed eyes, and just like you, bundled up from head to toe with layers of puffy clothing. She almost looked like a penguin.

You attempted to run to her, almost falling because of the piled-up snow. Once you reached her spot, you had to take deep breaths and exhales.

Jenna looked up at you, having possibly already heard your footsteps coming closer to her, and her eyes seemingly lit up.

"Hi."

"Hey."

You both greeted each other. You lifted your scarf down to reveal a huge grin on your face, complementing Jenna's own.

"I was waiting for you." Jenna lowered her music, hearing your voice was more of a symphony than any other artist she listened to.

"You shouldn't have. It's freezing here!" You exclaimed, and you could even see your breath, and Jenna's, becoming a cold mist.

"Says the girl who walked in piles of snow to get here. Oh, what would your efforts be without me sitting on this bench?"

"Yeah… yeah, you're right." You stuttered, your lips becoming cold, and your nose turning red.

"Let's go inside before you get sent off to the North Pole to do Santa's bidding."

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Both of you were seated on Jenna's couch, surrounded by the warmth of the fireplace she had lit just for the two of you to be cozy. The scent of the applewood coming from the fireplace, combined with the overall aroma of Jenna's house—perhaps from the various candles you assumed her parents brought—created the perfect atmosphere. You swear to yourself that you were living in wonderland at this point.

In the quietness of her home, you could feel and hear your heartbeat. The crackle of the fireplace and the distant chirping of birds in the background made you forget that you were a human being. That is, until Jenna spoke.

"What's your favorite scary movie?" She turned to you, grinning, her voice husky. Her hair was tied in a messy bun, and she still wore her beanie, with headphones comfortably resting on her neck.

You looked at her, blinking. "Out of all the questions, you ask me something super cliche?"

"Hey, it gets the conversation going." Her face contorted, mocking an offended expression before letting a smile creep out of her lips.

You glanced off for a moment, then nodded your head with a slight smile. "Guess it does." You adjusted yourself on the sofa, thinking of a favorite horror movie you'd rewatch anytime if any genre suddenly disappeared.

"I'll pick… I'll pick Scream." You turned to her, giving her a series of affirmative nods. In truth, you weren't a big fan of the horror genre, but you caught yourself watching it from time to time.

"Ooh, classic." Jenna's face lit up, clicking her tongue. "You got that because of the opening question I used?"

"Actually, yeah, kind of. It's just one movie off the top of my head, and hey, it is a classic. Who couldn't?"

"Points to you on that one," she said, starting to get up. She fetched the remote and a few DVDs from a drawer near the TV, which sat atop the fireplace.

"What about you? Your favorite scary movie," you questioned, your gaze following her every move.

"I'd say... 'Possession' by Andrzej Żuławski, 1981. You've got to appreciate the production quality on that one." She turned to you, showing you the DVD for that exact movie, then shuffled it.

"Blood, guts, gore?"

"Surprisingly only minimal blood, guts, and gore. It's this psychological horror movie that's so hauntingly beautiful, it's almost scary. I love a good film that gives you some kind of adrenaline rush." A radiant glow emanated from her as she talked about her favorite movie and described it.

Your gaze was fixated on her, as if she should be the last thing you'll see before meeting your demise.

"So are we gonna watch Scream or are we gonna watch Scream?" She then showed you the two DVDs, both copies of the first Scream movie. One autographed by Wes Craven himself, and one clean fresh off the drawer.

"You've given me a lot of choices there," you snarked, raising a brow as you reached for the autographed DVD in Jenna's hands. "Wes Craven?" you exclaimed. "The Wes Craven!?"

She chuckled at your reaction, a grin forming on her lips. "The one and only," she said, tucking her hands behind her back. "I have some connections, thanks to my mother, who was friends with many directors, including someone who worked with Wes Craven on the Scream set. So, I asked if he had any DVDs signed by Wes Craven and gave it to me."

"We've got to watch this," you declared, flipping the DVD in your hands before handing it back to Jenna.

Jenna scoffed, "Is the ending going to change just because it's autographed by Wes Craven?" She walked toward the DVD player, plugging it in.

"Hey, you might never know." You hear the nostalgic sound of the disk being inserted, and you were somehow once again transported to when you first watched your first movie via DVD.

"I'm surprised you still use DVD players," you commented, watching Jenna move away from the TV and then sit back down with you.

"It's just that feeling of inserting the CD that makes the movie more worthwhile."

You shrugged it off, "Guess you're right," and the Scream logo appeared before your eyes, the sounds of someone shrieking in the background to give it all that horror effect. You had seen this movie countless of times, maybe even more whenever you were bored out of your mind and needed something to scare you once in a while. But somehow, watching it with Jenna, feels like a whole new life.

Minutes passed, and the opening scene finished. A masterpiece in itself you would say, it really never gets old.

Jenna chuckled at some parts, making you turn your head slightly. She'd probably make a good Ghostface.

"Do you think I'd make a great actor someday, y/n?" The question came abruptly, and you looked at her. She was still facing the movie, the reflection of the TV screen in her eyes. Even from afar, you could see the glint in her eyes, you can see the glint in her eyes on how much she awes horror movies, and even movies in general. Maybe that's why she popped the question.

"Yeah…? I don't know. I really haven't seen you act before."

"Hey, I can fake cry pretty good." She adjusted herself, her body now facing towards yours.

"Really? Then... I’ll give you… 5 bucks to fake cry right now!" You pulled out your sad excuse of a wallet, nothing but coins and a dollar was inside of it.

Jenna laughed, a voice you horribly feel head over heels for. "You’re paying me to fake cry? For 5 bucks? Come on, dude," she remarked, pushing your money away.

You scoffed then rolled your eyes, insisting that she should take the money regardless by handing it to her despite her hand being in the way. "You’re going to be in the acting industry, Jenna! People are gonna pay you for your acting skills! Take it as like... training.”

"Okay, okay…" She held up both hands then took a deep breath, opening her eyes, focused. Atleast, she tried to.

She let out a chuckle, a wheeze some would say. "I can’t fake cry when you look at me like that!" She debated, her hands speaking for herself as she gestured towards you.

"Like what?"

The whole room went silent for about a second, Jenna observing your features up and down. Or, atleast, that's what you think in your head of yours.

"Like… some sort of freak."

"I look like a freak?" You pointed towards yourself, a playful tone in your voice as a sly grin appear on your lips, your eyes widening in curiosity.

Jenna's mouth hung open, "That was so far from my intentions!" Her voice high-pitched, trying to convince you in some sort of way.

“Okay, we both know that was definitely your intentions, if not harsher."

"I did not!"

"Oh Jenna, Jenna, Jenna... denying it makes you look guilty."

You both continued to playfully twist eachothers words, coming up with clever comebacks with eachother and just full on playful banter as the TV played Scream. Not really the most ideal movie to play with when you're about to explode since you were playfully bickering like an old married couple to your long-time crush.

After minutes of laughter, you both finally calmed down, shifting your positions on the sofa to sit on the floor, backs against the sofa.

You looked over to Jenna, a smile gracing your lips. "You're going to become a great actor, Jenna. I just know it." Glancing down, you noticed her hand close to yours. You wanted to take hold of it, you really did, whisper sweet nothings, and tell her she'd be the rising star in everyone's hearts. If not, then your heart will be preserved for all of eternity to let her be the star of yours. If it sounded corny, but, that was just how you felt.

"How? Are you some all-seeing Goddess?" She looked towards you, her eyebrows knitting but she kept smile.

"If that what it takes for you to believe in me, then yeah, I guess I am."

"You’re a dork, y/n. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Someone by the name of Jenna."

She chuckled at that, seemingly aware of the effect she had on you, even though you'd only met a couple of days ago.

The fireplace was starting to die down, along with the setting sun. Streetlights flickered on, and snow began to form outside.

"Y/n… Where are you going to spend Christmas?" Jenna asked, her voice filled with concern. "I'm surprised your parents aren't wondering why you're always going out early and coming back so late." She looked at you, noticing your head was down, and your smile was a bit crooked.

"My parents… my parents aren't exactly here. So that's a plus, right? They won't be able to lecture me and all." You laughed, albeit slightly, a broken laugh.

Jenna's eyes widened, her body turning towards you. "Oh. Oh, God, I'm sorry, y/n. I shouldn't have—"

You furrowed your eyebrows until you understood what she misunderstood. "Oh, no— No! They aren't dead. They're just busy with work and all. They're from all the way across the globe, so…" You reached for your pocket, grabbing your phone, which had been uncharacteristically turned off for the whole day.

A picture of your family flashed on the screen, capturing a moment of shared smiles. You didn't know it would be the last picture you'd take together.

"They won't come visit?"

"They don't really text me that often, let alone when they're coming back." A smile tried to tug at your lips, Jennas concern slightly making you feel better about yourself.

"But hey, it'll be a Christmas miracle if they do." You chuckled, a light-hearted joke to lift the mood.

Silence overcame the room, wondering if you had said something wrong or overshared too much. Your hands became clammy as Jenna stayed silent, contemplating whether you should excuse yourself and never come back to her house ever again and change routes. Or maybe even change towns and your full government name.

"Why don't you spend Christmas with my family for a bit?" Jenna asked, her voice filled with hope.

Turning to her, you tilted your head with a scrunched-up face. "Really? Are… Are you sure it's okay? We just met like… a couple of days ago."

She looked down, avoiding your eyes, taking your hand with hers and rubbing her thumb against the back of your hand. "You're one of the few people I let into my heart, y/n. And my family will literally bombard you with love like you've never felt before. I'm sure they'll like you."

You smiled at that, and before you knew it, you accepted her offer. It was nighttime when you stepped outside Jenna's house, the snow becoming heavier and taller than ever.

You fell into a routine of meeting Jenna every morning. You'd wake up earlier than usual, then walk through piles of snow to get to her house. How she hadn't suspected that you had a massive crush on her was beyond you.

You even spent Christmas with her and her family, who welcomed you with open arms. Smiles all around, and you even got her little cousins to like you as if you were their big sister. You never felt at home more than anything. It was as if they were your own family, a family that was always home for you. You kind of teared up a bit at the thought, seeing how someone else's family brought out the happiest version of you rather than your own.

You were happy.

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

tag/s: @moistblobfish

[hyperactively-me]

halloween with husband!ghost 🍁🎃🍭

The chilly Halloween air nips at your skin as you sit on your front porch, surrounded by the faint glow of jack o' lanterns you and your husband had carved. The night is alive with the laughter of children, their costumes ranging from little monsters to miniature superheroes.

The sound of the front door swinging open and shutting pricks your ears, and you turn back to see your husband holding a large bowl of candy. You pull your sweater tighter around your frame, smiling to yourself as you watch him approach you.

"You're gonna catch a cold. Maybe we should go inside—"

"Simon! You promised," you scold gently, pouting your lips.

With a sigh, he begrudgingly sits down on the porch chair next to you, settling the bowl of candy in his lap.

Simon shifts uncomfortably in his chair, his hands clutching onto the sides of the bowl. He didn't really want to be out here in the first place, but you insisted on handing out candy to the kids this year. You wanted to be a friendly presence in the neighborhood, maybe get to know some new people. His reluctance was evident, yet you managed to coerce him into joining you. Besides, it could be fun! You're spending the evening just hangin' out with lil' ol' me! you had teased earlier that day. Of course, he had given in.

You catch a glimpse of his stern profile, the faint glow from the streetlight casting shadows on the edges of his face. He mutters something under his breath, likely a comment about the absurdity of Halloween, but you just chuckle in response, determined to make the most of the evening.

"Y'know, you can munch on those while we wait," you say, tapping his wrist lightly, motioning towards the candy in his hands.

Simon glances at the bowl of candy in his lap and then at you. With a dramatic sigh, he relents.

"S'pose a few wouldn't hurt."

He selects a piece of candy and unwraps it with deliberate nonchalance. As he munches, you can't help but notice a subtle softening in his demeanor. You hum, knowing that that man had an insatiable sweet tooth. His kryptonite.

A group of children dressed as witches and wizards approach your porch, their eyes widening at the sight of the mysterious man sitting there. You nudge Simon, urging him to play along. With a begrudging sigh, he reaches into the candy bowl, hand emerging with a handful of sweets.

"Happy Halloween," he grumbles in a barely audible voice. The kids exchange glances, half-terrified and half-amazed, before timidly taking the candy and scurrying away.

"See, Si, that wasn't too bad, was it?" you tease, elbowing him gently.

He settles back into his chair, trying to hide his smirk. "Don't get used to it, it's a once-a-year thing."

You laugh, appreciating his playfulness.

As the night progresses, more children in various costumes parade by, their eyes wide with excitement as they approach the enigmatic figure on the porch. Simon, despite his initial grumbling, starts to interact with the kids in his own unique way. Some ask about him, while others timidly compliment the carved pumpkins. The occasional chuckle escapes from the man next to you, and you can tell that, deep down, he's enjoying himself.

"Are you having fun?" you smile gently.

He raises an eyebrow at you. "Eh, it could be better."

But you know him well. Despite the tough exterior, you can sense the smallest grin creeping up on his face. You reach over, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. "You're doing great. Besides, it's fun to see the kids' reactions. You're good with them."

Simon offers a subtle nod of acknowledgment, his gaze softening as he watches the neighborhood kids pass down the street. As the night unfolds, he becomes more animated, engaging with the children in playful banter and even managing a few lighthearted scares.

You can't help but smile proudly, reaching your hand to find his. You entwine your fingers in his, giving him a small squeeze. Simon glances at you, the faint glow from the jack o' lanterns highlighting the corner of his mouth as it quirks into a genuine smile. The warmth of your hand in his seems to be melting away any lingering reluctance, and he returns the squeeze, a silent acknowledgment of the unexpected enjoyment he's finding in the evening.

As a group of children dressed as superheroes approaches, Simon beckons them over. With a flourish, he hands out candy, mimicking powerful stances. The kids respond with laughter, their amusement evident. You watch, heart warmed, as your usually stoic husband embraces the occasion of the evening.

"You're a sweetie," you remark, laughter bubbling in your voice.

He grins back, his eyes crinkling at the edges.

As a group of little monsters approaches, he pretends to be frightened, eliciting giggles from the kids. You can't help but marvel at the sight—Simon, the serious and stern Ghost, has become the kid’s one stop spot for entertainment. Who’d have thought?

As the final trick-or-treaters make their way down the street, Simon looks at you, satisfaction in his eyes. Simon starts to rise from his chair, a smile still lingering. "Well, that's enough Halloween for one year."

You tease him, "Maybe we can make it twice next year?"

He chuckles, flashing you a sidelong glance, "Let's not get carried away."

You stand from your own chair, stretching a little. "You should give yourself more credit, y'know, Mr. 'I don't wanna hand out candy.'"

Simon shakes his head, leaning down to grab the empty bowl and some stray candy wrappers. "I dunno what you're talkin' about, love."

You giggle at his response as you go to hold the front door open for him. He walks through the threshold, the warm air inside your shared home warming you both up. Your cheeks felt a little numb from the nippy air.

Once inside, you both shed your jackets, feeling the warmth of your cozy home enveloping you. Simon heads towards the living room, and you follow suit. The soft glow of the fireplace casts a warm glow across the dark living room.

Simon drops onto the couch with a sigh, looking content yet still retaining a hint of his usual stoicism. You join him, settling beside him, and he instinctively wraps an arm around your shoulders. The flickering flames dance in the fireplace, casting a gentle glow over the room. Simon reaches to the side to drape a blanket over the both of you.

"That wasn't as terrible as I thought it would be," Simon admits, a glint in his eyes.

You giggle, leaning into him. "Told you."

He smirks, "Well, I might consider making it a twice-a-year thing, but only because you seem to enjoy it so much."

You nuzzle against him, savoring the warmth of his embrace. "I knew you secretly loved it."

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a moment, the crackling of the fireplace soothing you.

Simon leans down, placing a gentle kiss on the top of your head. "Thanks for makin' me do this."

"I loved spending tonight with you, Si," you whisper.

Simon's gaze softens, and he tightens his embrace. "Me too," he murmurs, his voice a gentle rumble.

[underdark-dreams]

ok, I'm too cowardly to actually reply to your post about Rolan/ Dammon headcannons/ prompts but here are a few:

Rolan:

-He finally gets to be hero, he saves Tav from some scenario and when Tav is thanking him he has no idea what to do with himself.

-Cal and Lia being siblings and absolutely embarrassing him anytime Tav is around. (Sharing embarrassing but endearing stories from when they were younger, hinting at his feelings for Tav, making kissy faces from behind Tav when he's trying to have a conversation.)

-Also, I just have a feeling that he's a jealous green monster whenever someone who isn't any one the companions try and talk to Tav.. especially if its another wizard.

Dammon:

-Him trying to muster up the courage to ask Tav out when he has his shop in Baulders Gate.

-Dammon would 100% be the type who wants to court someone the 'proper' way, but could be convinced otherwise.

-He seems like he would act like a love sick puppy when he's in love.

Thank you for this delicious bouquet of ideas!! 🖤 Twirling my hair over these!! I do want to save a few for fics, but I couldn’t look at this in my inbox any longer without writing out some headcanons:

Rolan 

[Cal & Lia embarrassing him around Tav]

The three of them have a super close bond underneath all the bickering. So the absolute second Rolan catches feelings, Cal & Lia smell blood in the water

Honestly they probably catch it before Rolan admits him to himself

When Lia starts to drop hints or Cal asks if he’s gotten up the nerve to kiss them yet, Rolan is like "what? stop being stupid"

But then he turns away & checks in with himself for a second & he's like "oh fuck"

Rolan makes an effort to only interact with Tav far away from his home, his workplace, the general vicinity of his neighborhood in Baldur’s Gate—basically avoiding anywhere they might run into his sister or brother. They already make him nervous enough

But once they start getting closer he also really wants to bring them home, so at some point, he’ll suck it up and face this potential trainwreck head-on

His siblings make light conversation over dinner about what Tav’s been doing or working on lately. Lia’s like “oh yeah Rolan mentioned that, you know he talks about you a lot, like all the time”

Tav’s hand silently taking his under the table is the only thing that could distract Rolan from snapping back

Somehow, Rolan is even more embarrassed when his siblings start genuinely reminiscing and telling Tav stories about the three of them growing up in Elturel

He’ll chime in if Tav asks him a question, but otherwise he’s pretty quiet. Rolan doesn’t want them to think about him as a refugee or an orphan

In his mind, he still thinks he needs to be powerful and significant in order to truly deserve Tav’s affection

If Rolan paid any attention, he’d realize that Cal and Lia talking up what a stubborn, protective big brother he’s always been is putting stars in Tav’s eyes

[Jealousy]

He’s so fucking jealous and it drives him crazy

Rolan likes controlling the narrative, keeping any vulnerability under control & well hidden from others, etc.

Falling in love with Tav creates a big complication in the way he usually operates

Once he’s master of Ramazith’s Tower, he has a certain amount of social obligations—hosting members of the wizarding community, professional gatherings, etc

And Tav is an integral part of his life now, so they'll always be involved to some extent

Midway through the evening, Rolan glances across the room and sees one of his colleagues talking much closer than he'd like to his beloved. As he watches, their hand actually reaches out to touch Tav’s elbow

Whatever he's doing or whoever he's conversing with is abandoned without ceremony

Rolan does that thing where he casually walks up to join the conversation and places a hand on the small of Tav's back, just resting there with a slight smile as he pretends to listen. But he’s staking his claim

In his head the gesture means step the fuck back, this person is with me. It’s honestly about as subtle as a sledgehammer

After they're finally alone again he'll probably want to fuck Tav on his desk or against one of the bookstacks in the Tower

Capturing them for himself and hearing them moan his name and making sure they know they’re his

Dammon

[Working up the courage to ask Tav out]

He’s been really glad their paths have converged here and there along the way, but nothing could make him prouder than when Tav comes to visit the Forge of Nine Hells in the city

Dammon is completely in his element in Baldur’s Gate

He’s pretty modest and down-to-earth, but he feels a swell of pride when Tav finally sees him running a proper forge. It’s how he always hoped they’d see him

And is it just his imagination, or does he see them…often? Almost every day they’re dropping by for one reason or the other, and they seem to linger to chat and watch him work

The hints that they’re interested are all Dammon needs to start working up his courage to make a move

He's alone and tied to his work most of the day, which gives his mind ample time to run through different options

Getting the timing right drives him a little crazy. So often Tav is in a hurry, or with their companions, or he's got a rush commission that he has to get finished

When he finally finds the moment, he’ll probably come right out with it & ask them out for a drink. He wants something simple where they can talk, plus smithing is thirsty work

When Tav agrees with a smile, Dammon drops everything, his leather apron snagging as he pulls it over his horns in his haste to get going

Gathers his courage and puts an arm around their shoulders as they walk

With anyone else Dammon would be self-conscious about how he smells like iron and smoke and sweat all the time. But if anyone can look past it it’s Tav, with everything they’ve been through

A feeling that's confirmed when they lean further into him with a laugh

[Being totally lovesick over Tav]

The definition of devoted

He would 100% be that type of boyfriend who likes to be always touching Tav when they’re close

Prefers to rest his hand on their hip while they’re side by side, maybe on the curve of their ass if he can get away with it. The contrast against the doting look in his eye is classic Dammon—sweet and hot 

It's not a possessiveness thing, and he'd tone it down if Tav asked, he's just super into them & touching them feels natural

Just in general, he loves telling Tav yes and has a very hard time telling them no

At the end of the day, Dammon likes to pull Tav down to sit on his lap and talk about their days. He might stroke their hair or rub their back while he listens, just helping his love relax at the end of a long day

Dammon’s used to being a single bachelor and taking care of himself, but he discovers that he adores when Tav does little things to dote on him or pamper him

One night he comes home with the usual soot stains on his skin and ache in his shoulders to find that Tav has drawn him a warm, pleasant-smelling bath. Ignoring any mild protests, Tav insists on helping him peel off his sweaty layers and sink in, then loosens his knot of hair to gently lather and wash his locks. The feel of Tav’s fingers and nails massaging his scalp is the most loving, tender thing. Dammon feels like he could fall asleep right right there in the water under their hands

He calls Tav all kinds of pet names: darling, love, dearest, gorgeous, sometimes angel if he's feeling especially whipped

Dammon is one to say "I love you' freely and often, but hearing Tav say it back never fails to make him sigh with happiness

[moonstruckme]

We have whimsical reader in marauders

We need one with tasm peter

Oorrrr

Can you imagine (or make) a witch/wizard reader with tasm peter!!???

Thanks for requesting love!

tasm!Peter Parker x whimsical!reader ♡ 679 words

Peter comes in through the window, more out of habit than anything else now that he’s not hiding anything from you, but you don’t startle. You’re sitting criss-cross-applesauce on the floor in front of the couch, flipping through what looks like his old physics textbook. 

“Baby,” he says, “why was there an apple on the fire escape again?” 

“It was still there?” You look up, disappointed to find a whole apple in your boyfriend’s hand. “I thought Ricardo would’ve gotten to it by now. I hope he’s okay.” 

Peter scoffs, going into the kitchen to wash the apple and put it away. He scrubs it extra hard just in case the raccoon you’re set on befriending did get his grubby paws on it. 

“Ricardo can eat without your help,” he says. “He’s hardy, he’s from Brooklyn.” 

“I know,” you sigh, “but apples are his favorite.” 

Peter’s eyes narrow, but you’re not looking, your attention on something in the book. “How do you know that?” 

“He’ll let me pet him while he’s eating apples.” 

He sighs, leaning his forearms on the counter. He’s going to have to find a way to move that raccoon to another neighborhood the next time he goes out. Before it gives you rabies.

“What’re you doing over there?” he asks you. 

“Pressing flowers.” 

“Yeah?” Peter rounds the counter, moving behind you to sit on the couch. His knees bracket your shoulders. The A/C is blasting to combat the summer heat, and goosebumps prickle down your arms. “What for?” 

“I was thinking May could bring them to work,” you say, flattening a dandelion between two pieces of wax paper. The movements are deft and routined, and Peter wonders how many flowers are already enclosed between the pages. There’s a small pile of them sitting next to you, miraculously intact despite the fragile puffs. “She was telling me about some of the kids she works with last week. I thought they might like to have them.” You shrug. “For bookmarks or whatever.” 

Peter’s insides go melty soft. “I’m sure they would.” He leans forward, setting his hand on your shoulder and his lips to your head. You only keep working. Sometimes Peter feels like a weird rock or a feather that you’d picked up somewhere, put in your pocket without a second thought. But you do love your rocks and feathers, so it’s not an awful fate. “Where’d you get these, sweetheart?” 

“I found them,” you say simply. “Parks, sidewalks, you know. They grow anywhere. Do you think I should save a few in case they want to make wishes instead of keeping them?” 

It’s said so seriously Peter can’t help but grin, turning so his cheek smushes into the crown of your head. “That seems like a good idea. Mind if I use one?” 

“Of course.” You sound surprised. “Use as many as you want, Peter. I can always get more.” 

“Just one is good.” 

He slides off of the couch, sitting beside you and picking up a dandelion. He waits until you’re looking over at him before blowing. 

You squeeze your eyes shut as the seeds rush towards you. Peter’s close enough that they get stuck in your eyelashes and eyebrows, a couple in your hair. His breath weakens as he starts laughing, the last few seeds coming off the flower by way of little puffs of air. 

“You don’t have to blow it at someone,” you say, lips stretching into a pretty smile. You blink cautiously, opening your eyes once no dandelion fluff falls in. 

He lowers the stem. “I just wanted to make sure my wish went in the right direction.” 

Your head tilts. “What’d you wish for?” 

Peter combs a bit of white fluff out of your hair, grinning. “C’mon, baby,” he tsks, shifting his fingers to your jaw. You’re pliant to the touch, angling your head at the slightest cue from him. You keep your eyes open, curious, but your lips are soft against his. “You know that’s not how it works. I’ve still gotta make sure it comes true.”

[arliedraws]

Do you think that if Sirius had revealed himself to Harry when they first met, he would have attacked Sirius? After all, he had already seen him on the Muggle news. Or how do you think Sirius would act? I've been pondering this question for a while now.

PS: Thank you for all your work. <3

Ha! Funny, you should ask! This was the first fic I wanted to write in 2020 after I took a long HP fandom break. I was just starting to dip my toes into writing again, and I didn't know where I wanted the fic to go. I had about a gazillion different ideas and probably wrote about 50k words on several version of the same story.

But here's the first 8-9 pages that answers your question about how I think it would've gone!

There was something there.

If only it would move, he could tell what it was—but it stood there, motionless, gaping at him with pale, glowing eyes.

Harry swallowed hard. What was it doing? Had it been watching him since he left the Dursleys?

“Go away!” he said.

The thing stared back at him.

The longer Harry looked at it, the more it appeared to him to be a dog—but it was enormous; it was as black as the shadows that stretched from its long, shaggy legs.

The seconds lengthened; time was running out. Ministry of Magic wizards would be swooping in at any moment to arrest and expel him for underaged magic. This animal was holding Harry hostage, keeping him rooted while he should have been running for his life. Harry adjusted the grip on his wand.

“Go away!” Harry tried again. He looked down the street; it was clear, but for how long? “Go!”

The dog did not move.

“If—if you don’t go—” Then what?

For a horrible moment, Harry thought he was hallucinating.

The dog had vanished.

In its place, a figure stood blinking in the blinding light, the beam from Harry’s wand flooding a ghastly pale face. Shadows bit into the hollows of the specter’s cheeks, bones pressed against the skin of its chest, and lank, black hair hung to its elbows.

He was hideously familiar.

“You!” said Harry.

The stranger held up his hands, squinting against the brightness. “Turn out the light!” he rasped.

“Don’t move,” Harry said, gripping his wand tighter. Where had the stranger come from? Harry had seen him a number of times now on the news—he was an escaped convict. Extremely dangerous, they’d said. A muggle.

“Someone will see!” said the convict urgently.

But Harry didn’t dare turn off the light. Even a Muggle could kill a wizard if he were desperate enough.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” said the stranger, slowly. “No weapon, see? You don’t need to lower your wand, just turn out the light, Harry.”

The sound of his own name made Harry jerk back in alarm.

“You know who I am?”

The convict nodded.

“You’re—you’re a wizard?”

“Yes.”

“Then—what are you doing here? You—you’re not from the Ministry, are you?”

The convict barked a laugh. “No.” But his amusement was short-lived, and he frowned suddenly. “Are you expecting someone from the Ministry?”

“I—no—”

“What’s wrong, Harry?” said the convict, lowering his hands. “Has something happened?”

“No—”

“Have you done something?” he pressed. “Are you in trouble?”

Harry’s hand shook. The light wobbled. He was in deep trouble, more trouble than he’d ever faced in his life. At any moment, the Ministry would be swarming Number 4 to discover the ballooned Aunt Marge; they would begin scouring the neighborhood for him, and once they found him, they would snap his wand and banish him from the only place he’d ever felt accepted…the only place he’d ever had friends…

“Get back,” Harry said firmly.

“Listen to me, Harry, if you don’t want them to find you, you’ve got to turn out the light.”

He was right. The Ministry could detect underaged magic, and holding the light on his wand would attract them as soon as they arrived in Little Whinging. Harry smothered the light with a muttered, “Nox!”

The sudden darkness fell upon him. He squinted, trying to keep the convict in his sight, but his eyes were too slow to adjust. He felt a whoosh of wind as he attempted to aim his wand at the stranger; then the stranger moved quickly. A sharp, skeletal grip snatched his wand arm, squeezing tightly.

“Don’t hex me,” said the convict.

“Let go of—” Harry hadn’t finished before the hand released him, but Harry had already jerked back in horror.

Up close, beneath the glow of the streetlamp, the convict was even more horrifying. Pale eyes gleamed out of dark sockets, scrutinizing Harry carefully. Matted locks of black hair draped limply down his shoulders. His robes hung from his bones, tattered and filthy. For a moment, Harry feared that the convict was really a vampire.

“Are you in trouble?” the convict croaked.

“N-no.”

“What’s wrong? I can help…if you need it…”

“Help? You look like you can hardly help yourself,” retorted Harry, leaning away.

A flash of annoyance crossed the convict’s face. “Listen, Harry,” he started. “If you need help, I’ll give it to you. Whatever it is—whatever you’ve done, we’ll figure it out.”

Harry pressed the tip of the wand to the bony chest. “Why would you help me?”

The convict’s eyes flickered to the wand tip. He answered cautiously. “Your parents asked me to look after you if anything happened to them.”

“What?” said Harry. “My parents? You knew them?”

“Knew them?” said the convict, looking surprised. “Of course I knew them. Your father was—” he swallowed hard and looked away for a moment. “He was like a brother to me. I told him I’d make sure you were cared for if he died—obviously I’ve done a rotten job so far, but I’m here now, Harry. Let me help you.”

Harry looked down the deserted street. Time was running out. Where would he go? There was London where his gold sat underground at Gringotts bank, but how could he get there with his trunk on his broomstick? He thought quickly, trying to remember all of the ways that magical people could travel. If only he knew how to Apparate, to disappear and reappear in another place, but Apparating was something only mature witches and wizards could do.

“I—I don’t need your help,” said Harry.

The convict said nothing.

“I don’t!” Harry insisted. Not from you.

“All right,” said the convict after a heavy pause. “I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want.”

“Stay back,” Harry warned.

“I won’t come any closer.” When Harry hesitated, the convict raised his brows. “Go on, then. If you’re on the run, you haven’t got time to waste. You’d better get out of here.”

“I don’t need your help,” Harry said again. Leave! he thought desperately. If the convict wasn’t going to harm him or drink his blood, then why did he remain there watching? Harry couldn’t turn his back to him, so gingerly, he shuffled backwards until his legs hit his school trunk.

Still keeping his wand trained on the convict, Harry moved around the trunk so he could open it and have a look. The lid swung open, revealing all of the belongings he had collected since he’d begun his schooling at Hogwarts. He shoved aside robes and books until he found his broomstick.

“Where to, then?” said the convict, eyeing the Nimbus 2000 with interest.

Harry didn’t answer. He was trying to imagine how he would fix the trunk to his broom. Maybe he could charm it to be featherlight. Although he couldn’t recall the charm, he could look it up in one of his spell books. A little more magic wouldn’t get him into worse trouble, would it? If he were already expelled after all…

He propped the broomstick against his trunk, still careful to keep his wand steady on the convict who was frowning deeply. Harry ignored the concerned look and rummaged for the last bit of the puzzle.

“Your father’s cloak won’t work on a broom if someone looks up,” said the convict.

Harry’s head snapped up. “What?”

“The cloak,” he said. “Works best on solid ground. Better to cast a disillusionment charm.”

The silvery, silky cloak slipped from Harry’s fingers back into the dark trunk. Mournfully, he looked at his broom. It was a stupid plan. If the convict was right, he’d be spotted long before he got to London either by a Muggle or someone from the Ministry. Once more, he gazed down the street.

“They’ll snap my wand,” Harry said numbly.

“Then let’s go,” said the convict.

Harry looked at him.

“Whatever you’ve done, it’s all right, Harry. We’ll figure it out. I won’t let them take your wand from you. Can you trust me?”

There was no other choice. He could surrender to the Ministry, let them snap his wand, severing all ties to the magical world, or he could place his trust in a stranger who looked as if he’d crawled out of a grave. Feeling resigned and hopeless, Harry returned the Nimbus 2000 to his trunk and let the lid snap shut with a finality that churned his stomach.

When he faced the convict again, straightening his spine, Harry knew that he was taking a great risk—a foolish, dangerous risk. Was it worth his life to keep his wand? Was it worth it to live on the run?

The convict opened his skeletal hand.

“Let me use your wand,” said the convict. “I’ll give it back.”

“No,” snapped Harry.

The convict smiled tightly. “I can’t do anything to help without magic. If you can’t trust me, I can’t help you.”

“Where’s your wand?”

“I don’t have one. I’ll explain everything properly once we’re away,” said the convict, waving his hand impatiently. “But I think time is running out.”

Harry heard it too. Someone was calling for him—a voice he didn’t recognize. At first, it sounded like nonsense, but as the voice drew closer, it was very clearly his name. The Ministry wizards had gone to the Dursleys and now they realized he was missing. Before he could talk himself out of it, Harry shoved his wand at the convict.

“Get us out of here!”

Immediately, the convict took hold of the wand and pointed it at Harry’s trunk. It vanished.

“I can’t Apparate the two of us and the trunk. I’ve sent it ahead of us,” said the convict at Harry’s confused look. “Take hold of my arm.”

The voices were getting closer—there were more of them now. The convict held out his arm, and Harry knew it was his last chance to turn back. He could live without his trunk; he could live without his wand. But what would life be like now that he knew he could never return to the world where he belonged?

Harry gripped the convict’s arm with both hands.

“Whatever you do, Harry, don’t let go.”

The bony arm in his grip faded away as every part of his insides seemed to press inward, drawing his eyes deep into his sockets and his tongue and teeth down into his throat. The world was black and squeezing his chest, wrenching the air from his lungs—

He gasped a mouthful of air before he pitched forward, his face plummeting into wet grass. It took a moment to realize that he was alive and heaving panicked breaths, no longer hurtling through space. His stomach clenched as two hands took him by the shoulders and peeled him off the earth.

“Wait!” Harry sputtered, shoving help away. “I think—I think I’m gonna be—”

The convict held his shoulder as Harry vomited.

When he’d finished, his eyes were streaming as he squinted at the hills surrounding them. A bright moon illuminated a largely barren countryside, peppered with pockets of trees, veins of old walls, and lonely houses in the distance. A few feet away sat Harry’s trunk, and beyond that, an old country house with a crumbling roof tiles and half of its dozen windows shattered. The hedges were overgrown, and vines had claimed most of the exterior brick. It might have been an elegant place once, but it looked as if it’d been years since someone had inhabited it.

Harry felt woozy, almost dreamlike as he began to understand what happened. He shrugged off the hand on his shoulder, suddenly feeling ill again. What had he done? The safety of Privet Drive was far gone. He’d exchanged the knowability of Little Whinging and the Ministry for the word of a stranger who had escaped from Azkaban, a criminal who now had Harry’s wand.

“Are you all right?” the convict asked. “First time Apparating…wasn’t it? It’s rough at first…Takes getting used to. Are you going to be sick again?”

Harry shook his head, pointedly looking at the unkempt grass to avoid the convict’s eyes. A voice in his head shouted at him to run to his trunk and grab his broom.

“You’re not missing any body parts, are you?”

Harry’s gaze snapped up. “What? Why?”

The convict eyed him carefully as if expecting to find a leg or ear missing. Harry noticed that the skeletal hand reached out to touch him but withdrew as if he’d thought better of it.

 “Sometimes a person can leave part of themselves behind when they Apparate, but I don’t think I’ve splinched either one of us… Have you got all of your toes?”

“Yeah, I think so,” said Harry, wiggling them in his trainers.

The last person who had taken Harry’s wand from him was the sixteen-year-old memory of Lord Voldemort; the unpleasant memory made the sight of the convict holding the holly wand unpalatable.

“Why did you bring me here?” Harry said slowly.

“It’s remote, and it’s difficult to detect magic here with the number of enchantments.” At Harry’s unsatisfied look, the convict went on. “It seemed prudent to leave Little Whinging before the Aurors were upon us. You did say you were in trouble…”

“Yeah,” said Harry. “But…what were you doing in Little Whinging in the first place? You—you weren’t watching me, were you?” Then Harry saw the awkward look pass over the man’s face.

“No, but I—er—thought I’d check in on you.”

“Who are you?”

“You can call me Sirius. Or Padfoot if you’d like. But I told you; your father was—”

Harry shook his head. “Who are you really? I saw you on the Muggle news. They said you’d escaped from prison—that you were dangerous—”

Instead of appearing outraged at the accusation, the convict’s twisted in horrified confusion as if he couldn’t believe what Harry had said.

“Wait a minute,” sputtered the convict, staring at him, his brow rumpled. “You willingly gave your wand to someone you know is an escaped convict? You knew that I was a dangerous criminal and you trusted me?”

“But you’re the one who said—”

“Do you understand how easily I could kill you now?” In the moonlight, Harry could see the blood leaving the pale face. “What if I’d been a Death Eater? What if—what if one of Voldemort’s old followers had wanted to lure you out of town? You don’t know how many of them are still out there, Harry. What were you thinking?”

He already felt stupid—he didn’t need this Sirius person telling him that he’d acted like an idiot, not when it was Sirius who convinced him to do the stupid thing.

Sirius grunted. “Well, it’s done now, and you won’t do it again. Now then,” he went on. “Tell me what happened. Why are you in trouble?”

The lurching feeling in his stomach returned. Harry recalled the image of Aunt Marge ballooning—the buttons popping off her cardigan and her eyes bulging—and grimaced. For an instant he had felt a sickening joy, a small revenge for the horrible things she’d said about his parents, but it quickly turned to horror. He’d broken the law and used magic outside of school. He was probably expelled from Hogwarts, and he was most likely going to be arrested.

“What is it, Harry?” Sirius pressed. “I promised I would help you, no matter what it is.”

“I…” Harry swallowed. “I blew up my aunt.”

Sirius stared.

“You blew up your aunt… Is she…?”

“No!” said Harry. “She’s not dead! I don’t think so, at least.” Sirius’s face was unreadable, so Harry explained. “She was talking about my parents, saying loads of stuff that wasn’t true, and I got angry, and she started to…expand…”

Sirius seemed to be waiting for the end of the story.

Harry went on, growing impatient. “Last summer, a house-elf did magic in front of some Muggles at the Dursleys’, and I got a letter that said I’d be expelled if something like that happened again.”

He was an outcast…a criminal… His two years at Hogwarts had been the last bit of happiness Harry would ever enjoy, and in a moment, it was all gone.

Then Sirius’s face contorted—it was something like a cross between a grimace and a smile. On a face so gaunt, the look was terrifying.

“Oh, Harry,” he said with a sigh. He seemed to be suppressing a bit of exasperation as though he found what Harry said to be very funny but also very stupid. “You’re not going to be expelled for a bit of accidental magic.”

“But the letter—it said any more magic in front of Muggles—”

 “Underaged wizards do accidental magic all the time,” Sirius said. “If the Ministry wanted to expel all of them, you wouldn’t have any classmates left at Hogwarts.” The smile faded a bit into weariness. “I thought you were in trouble, Harry… I wouldn’t have taken you if I’d known you’d just had a bit of a tantrum.”

“It wasn’t a tantrum!”

“Whatever it was,” said Sirius, “I promise you won’t be expelled for it.” He rubbed his face, his expression full of weary regret, and he sighed deeply before he spoke again in his ragged voice. “I shouldn’t have shown myself…and I shouldn’t have brought you here.” He looked around, shaking his head. “Listen, we’ve got to get you back to Surrey before anyone thinks I’ve kidnapped you.”

Harry took a step back. “I’m not going back there.”

“Well, you’ve got to. This was…a mistake.”

“No,” said Harry firmly. “They’ll snap my wand. I’m not going.”

“Don’t be difficult about this,” Sirius said. “I agreed to help you, didn’t I? If I thought you were in real trouble, I swear, I would keep you with me. Trust me, Harry, it’ll be worse for both of us if you don’t return soon. Go on and get your trunk.”

Harry moved to his feet, imagining the scene at Privet Drive. Would Marge still be floating around the dining room? Would Ministry employees be there to snap his wand? No matter what Sirius thought, the letter had been very clear about what would happen if more magic were detected at his relatives’ house.

“I’m not going back there,” said Harry, crossing his arms.

“Harry, do you know what everyone will think if you’re missing? If I don’t return you, they’ll think I killed you.”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Sirius curtly. He flicked the wand, and the trunk that stood a few feet away drove towards them as if pulled by an invisible rope. “Better that you know nothing about me, really. I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough once you return.” Sirius paused as if he wasn’t entirely convinced of his own words, but after a moment of thought, he nodded. “Yes… I’ll tell you the truth about myself and your parents and how they died, but we haven’t got time now. The Ministry must believe you’ve been in Little Whinging all evening.”

“How they died?” said Harry, dubiously. “Voldemort killed my parents. Everyone knows that.”

“Yes, but they might have lived if it hadn’t been for—” Then Sirius shook his head. “No, there’s no time for this! Take my arm.”

Harry backed away. A pained expression twisted Sirius’s mouth.

“Please, Harry,” he said. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. I promise you won’t be expelled. Hopefully, I’ll be able to explain all of this soon.”

“You’re the one who brought me here,” Harry said. “Why?”

“Because I thought you were in trouble,” said Sirius. “It was stupid, of course. I would have done anything for your father—I’d do anything for you, but now—”

“Then listen to me!” Harry insisted, his shoes scuffling backwards to creative even more space between them. “They’re going to expel me from Hogwarts! I can’t let that happen—”

“Dumbledore would never allow it, Harry,” said Sirius. “You’ve got to believe me. You’re the reason Voldemort is gone. People would—they wouldn’t stand for it if you were expelled. Don’t you see? The Ministry is already suffering the humiliation of my escape from Azkaban. If you were expelled because of petty accidental magic, the entire magical community would call for Fudge’s resignation. I know what they call you—The-Boy-Who-Lived. The Ministry won’t—can’t— expel you, do you understand? You’re too important.”

It was funny to Harry, considering he’d just run away from a place where he was deliberately told that he was nothing special—where he was a burden and a stain on Number 4. Uncle Vernon wouldn’t even sign his permission form to visit Hogsmeade, a favor that wouldn’t have caused the Dursleys any suffering but would allow Harry just a little bit of enjoyment at school. If Harry were expelled, he would have to live with his aunt and uncle for the entirety of the year until he came of age. Living on the run was better than that.

“Look,” said Harry, trying to keep his voice level. “The Ministry said that if they detected any more magic from Privet Drive, they’d expelme.The letter was really clear on that. I don’t care who you are—I don’t care if they think you’ve murdered me. If—if they think that, maybe I shouldn’t be around you anyway. But I am not going back to Little Whinging, and you—”

Harry stopped, realizing he’d nearly blurted “and you can’t make me”—it wasone of Dudley’s favorites. Harry clenched his fists and said resolutely, “I’m not going back.”

A muscle twitched in Sirius’s jaw. “Yes, you are.”

“I’m not.”

“Don’t forget who’s got the wand here,” said Sirius.

[seafoamreadings]

week of june 16th, 2024

these are written predominantly for the *rising* signs but they are also intuitively "channeled" enough that they should work for any dominant energy you have! (try your sun if you don't know rising, or more advanced readers can try moon, anywhere you have a stellium, etc and see what works best for you!)

aries: waxing cardinal vibe can be tense for you. mars is still bolstering up your resources, and it's a good time to move or start looking at new places to live, or new roommates, but you may otherwise have some difficulties at home, or reconciling your private life with your public persona.

taurus: the first stirrings of cancer season are lovely for your local community and neighborhood. time with a sibling if you have one is auspicious. either way, don't let the quality go to waste; you're not always so sociable, but you can quietly contribute to the world right around you or spend time with your local wildlife if you don't feel like participating face to face with people.

gemini: this week the world begins to slip from gemini season into cancer season. it's good to take a break from time to time and stay home to recharge. you become, at least temporarily, a financial wizard.

cancerians: several ingresses to your sign occur during this week. then a full moon in capricorn straight after the solstice (actually, for you especially, it starts a bit early.) this blesses (or shakes up, as needed) your relationships of all varieties but also your relationship with yourself. emotions may run high, but this is natural for you and you know what to do with them.

leo: on the one hand the intensely watery vibes may be uncomfortably vulnerable for you, or may sap your energy on some level. but on the other hand the solstice certainly affects solar-ruled you positively. if you feel a bit lethargic there's likely a good reason, so honor any need to slow down that you feel.

virgo: spend some quality time with your friends, or at least a social network. it doesn't have to be a big deal or a party, in fact smaller intimate meals (preferably home-cooked) are ideal for this. but prioritize your connections this week. even a friendly heartfelt text will be helpful.

libra: the focus of the season starts to migrate from academic and philosophical endeavors to perhaps crowning achievements or at least recognition for jobs you've done well. not everyone can do the things you do and it's nice to be seen! but don't rest too long on your laurels; the reputation can be built upon for even more benefit.

scorpio: overwhelmingly watery vibes cause many to feel like they are drowning but for you it is like you are at home, granted your home may be at the bottom of the sea. the "overwhelming" quality fits with the "intensity" your sign is so often accused of. it is deep. nothing shallow or too fanciful will do.

sagittarius: relationships you've developed in recent weeks reach a moment of truth in the coming weeks, especially this coming week. if it's been constructed to last, it deepens from now. if it was flimsy from the start, it begins here to fade away.

capricorn: this week's full moon right around the solstice highlights your self-relationship axis. we all know it's annoying and not even always true to hear people say that you have to love yourself before your relationships can coalesce nicely but in this lunar cycle, that's the way that it is.

aquarius: if you have been working on your routines, rituals, or spiritual side, this week's full moon and solstice can bring your efforts to fruition. if you have not, it is a good time to start, especially to begin practices in your daily life and habits like dietary changes, exercise plans, or breaking an addictive/compulsive behavior.

pisces: you're known for always being in your feelings or at least on some other plane of existence but this week may be extra mushy and emotional for piscean types. don't worry about it, live in it authentically, feel it, and let it go. you don't have to hoard your emotions.

[kayhi808]

Hi! I absolutely love your writing! I was wondering if I was able to request a Bucky Barnes x Reader Idea?

The reader was best friends with Bucky and Steve in the 40s. Before Buckys fall the reader was kidnapped by HYDRA and was never seen again. Bucky and the reader have always had feelings for each other but they had never made it official back then. Fast forward, "during C.A. civil war" Tony Stark finds a HYDRA base and finds the reader inside a cryo chamber. (The rest is up to you)

I'll let you make this however you please 🙏

Thank you so much if you choose to write this!

Hi @armystrong980 !! This was such a good idea! I hope you like it. Im making this a 2 part story because there just so much to cover lol. Thank you so much for the request!! 🥰

Then & Now

Your mom & Steve's mom were nurses in the same hospital. Steve was a sickly kid so you'd keep him company a lot of the time. You'd create fantastical stories & he'd illustrate pictures for it. Other times you both would re-enact parts of your story, losing yourselves in the fantasy world you created. You two were the best of friends.

One sunny summer afternoon, lost in your fantasy world you were twirling around the sidewalk, caught up in an imaginary cyclone like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, when you crashed into a group of boys coming down the walk. "I...I'm so s...sorry!" The boy you crashed into did not accept your apology, shoving you out of the way, making you fall, hitting your chin against the stoop. You saw Steve's eyes grow wide in horror and then anger. You look down & the front of your dress is covered in blood. You start to cry mostly in fear, adrenaline making you numb to the pain.

Steve flies off the stairs ready to avenge you, but you're so worried they'd hurt him too. "Stevie, no!" Everything happened so fast. The bully is flat on his back & a dark haired boy is punching away on him. Steve is off to the side trying to catch his breath. You make your way to Steve grabbing his arm. The dark-haired boy finally lets the bully up and him & his friends scatter like cockroaches.

"What did ya think you were doin'? He woulda clobbered ya!" Your hero gives Steve a gentle shove and turns his attention to you. He frowns, "Damn!" Taking off his button down, he wads it up to hold it against your chin. You start crying again, because now you feel the pain. "C'mon, lets go find your mom." Steve's hand slips into yours and you walk letting the dark-haired boy hold his shirt to your chin.

*****

You ended up needing a couple stitches which was devastating to you. You hadn't left the house in a few days so Steve's been coming around asking if you could come outside & play. You'd tell your mom "no", but one day she calls out "Sweetheart, you've got visitors." You look up from coloring on your bed to see Steve & the dark-haired boy in your doorway. "Mom, no!!" You hide your face behind a pillow, but you feel the bed dip.

Steve and the new boy climb up on the bed, "Why don't you want to come out & play? Don't you want to be my friend anymore?"

Quickly looking at Steve, "You're my best friend! Forever, r'member?"

Steve smiles, "Forever." Turning to the other boy, "Remember him? He's Bucky."

You shyly nod, "Thank you for helping me & beating that bad boy up." You notice both of them staring at the stitches on your chin & you hide it with your hands.

"Why are you hiding that? It's so cool!" Steve says in awe.

"No, it isn't! It's ugly,'" you pout.

"Are you kidding me? When you get your stitches out, you'll look like me!" Bucky thrusts his chin out so you can see his dimple. "Cool, right? Not everyone has one of these." Nudges Steve beside him, "He ain't got one. It's just me & you." That makes you giggle.

*****

You in fact, did not get a dimple in your chin when your stitches came out, but that day cemented your friendships. You grew up in the same neighborhood, went to school together. Bucky was a year older so he did have his own classmates he hung out with, but he'd always make time for you & Steve.

You eventually followed in your mother's footsteps and became a nurse. Steve was in Art School & Bucky was floating around in Sales. Whether it was cars, insurance, his charisma makes sales an obvious profession choice. He didn't take work too serious though, he was too busy hanging out with the fellas, flirting with a different girl every week.

Not that you were keeping track. Not that it bothered you seeing him flash that crooked grin at the pretty girl on his arm. Sigh. You couldn't really blame the women falling over themselves for Bucky's attention. Any time Bucky paid you attention, your heart would do flip flops in your chest. You've known him since you were 6yrs old and your crush on him started soon after.

You did some soul searching and you realized all you were doing was waiting around for Bucky to notice you as more than a friend. You didn't see that happening in the near future and you wanted to do something with your life. You wanted it to have meaning. To have purpose.

"I've got something to tell you." Bucky is walking you home from the diner where you had met up for dinner with Steve. Steve left early because he wasn't feeling well, so it left just the two of you. "But you can't tell Steve. I need to tell him on my own."

"This sounds serious," Bucky teases, tossing his arm across your shoulder.

"It...it kinda is." Taking a deep breath, "I've enlisted."

"Enlisted what?"

"I've joined the Army Nurse Corp." Bucky grabs your arm jerking you to a halt. "OW! Jamie!!"

"What the hell did you just say?!" His piercing blue eyes burns into you.

Prying his fingers off your arm, "I joined the Army Nurse..."

"Are you stupid?!" You've never seen Bucky this angry, but how dare he!

"Don't call me that! I'm smarter than you James Buchanan Barnes!"

"Are you? Coulda fooled me! You're going down to that office tomorrow & withdraw your papers!"

"I will not!"

"Doll, there's a God damn war going on!"

"That's why they need someone like me! Where ever they choose to send me, I can help! I can make a difference."

Raking his fingers through his hair, "People are DYING!"

"Well, maybe less people will die if I'm there!"

Bucky starts pacing in front of you. "Jesus! Why didn't you talk to us before you did something like this??"

"Look at you! This is exactly why."

Bucky stops pacing and cradles your face within his hands, "Please, doll." Leaning down so his forehead touches yours. "Don't go. Tell me what I have to do to make you stay? You can't leave me."

Never in all your dreams did you think Bucky would utter those words to you.

"Us...I mean us. This will do Steve in. You have to withdraw your paperwork."

Disappointed, you pull away from him. "I've signed it. I'm committed to this, Bucky. It's what I want to do."

"You're gonna get yourself fucking killed!!"

You storm away home. Heartbroken that he has so little faith in your capabilities. He called you stupid. That's not how you imagined that talk going. Maybe you expected too much from them because your talk with Steve only went a little better. He didn't call you stupid and he understood how you wanted to make difference and help but he didn't want you to leave, worried you'd get yourself killed, too.

When the time came for you to leave it was so much more painful than you thought. Steve was there to see you off. It felt like you were leaving your twin behind. Already you feel the loss of not having your best friend by your side.

Bucky was there too, standing off to the side. You were afraid he wasn't going to show up at all. When the time came, Bucky gave you a rib crushing hug but refused to make eye contact with you. He refused to say anything to you. But you felt his lips on your forehead before he stalked off.

******

"Bucky! Buck!!" Out of breath and flushed, Steve barrels into Bucky's office.

"Whoa! Take it easy, kid. What's wrong?"

Steve smashes a crumpled up paper into his chest. "She's gone. She's gone, Buck." Bucky takes the paper and sees it's a telegram. The unit you were assigned to was taken in an ambush. No. No. No. No. Bucky had to read it multiple times before it sunk in.

All the things he left unsaid. All the things he was going to tell you once you came back home. It's too late.

No survivors.

[laurasimonsdaughter]

Dear Magisowo, id like some legal advice if you have any.

I’m a wizard and have recently acquired and renovated my home into a proper wizard tower. However problem is I’ve been getting harrased by the local HOA, them complaining that my tower is an “eyesore” and “disturbing” their neighborhoods image. My tower was built perfectly legally, I’ve got all the proper building permits and followed all local county tower laws. That still isn’t enough for them as they’ve sent countless “inspectors” who’ve found nothing, and have been sending threats of legal action. Is there any way to get them to stop and do their threats actually hold weight?

Good morning!

That sounds like a horrid situation and let us assure you: this so-called Homeowner Association hasn't got a leg to stand on. Of course neighbours are always free to band together for purposes of mutual support - like establishing a feral griffin watch or communal herb garden - but legal rights are only granted in the case a HOA of owners that share communal real estate. As is the case with apartment complexes where one buys an apartment instead of renting it.

If your home is a detached building and you obtained the proper planning permission, your tower construction is perfectly legal. I imagine these people are threatening to report your building to the urban aesthetics commission, but if you have your papers in order the municipality will have ran your plans by them already. Besides, wizard towers are protected under the Occult Habitat Provision, as studies have shown they are a requirement for performing certain types of magic and frequently attract endangered magical species.

We advise passing this information on to the individuals that are bothering you, asking them politely to stop, and if need be warn them that you will treat their actions as intentional harassment if they continue. We will send you an example of how to keep a log to build a harassment case, if worst comes to worst.

We absolutely can not recommend contacting the Wizard Orb Assistance Helpline (WOAH) and inquiring after the latest neighbour-repelling wards that they have on file under Occult Commons. That would be irresponsible from a community building perspective and as such we would under no circumstances advise you do such a thing.

All the best,

~ the MagISoWo Team