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slytherizz · 1 year ago

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In The Shadow of Us - Sebastian Sallow x Female!MC/Reader

a/n Scene from Chapter 11 of 'ItSoU' commissioned from the incredibly talented @diligentcranberry as a Christmas present to myself - It's so pretty I still cannot stop staring at my traumatised darlings. I never really shared much of my long fics on Tumblr besides the first chapters so here's some smut.

You can read the complete fic on Ao3.

Chapter 11 under the cut...

The streets of Hogsmeade were deserted besides a small grey cat that scurried along the chimney stacks. Perhaps the return of Ashwinders to the area had scared most reasonable people to their beds. But neither she nor Sebastian had ever been reasonable people and they stood oddly calm in the night air outside the familiar tavern she'd apparated them to.

“I don’t want to go back to Poppy’s - too dangerous. Harlow may be bold but even he’d think twice before darkening Sirona’s door,” she said with a tight smile. Sebastian recalled that first trip to Hogsmead and was pleased to know some things hadn't changed.

She pushed through the heavy doors of the ancient pub. It was quiet. Where one would usually find patrons huddled in corners, playing cards over stiff drinks there were empty chairs. Where you'd see student that had sneaked out of the castle to drink and sing crude songs of their rival Quidditch teams until Sirona would shoo them out in the wee hours of the morning, there was silence. There would be no stumbling drunken feet of friends and young lovers up the long path to the castle castle tonight.

“Sirona?” she called and her voice echoed through the emptiness. The older witch appeared from behind the bar, her wand in hand as if she expected trouble to come knocking more than revelers these days.

“Oh, there’s a face I haven’t seen in a while. Hello, love-” her eyes landed on Sebastian with a look of surprise, but her eyes softened as she took him in.

“Hello son, you look like you could use a drink,” she smiled. Sirona looked older, her hair peppered with grey around her temples the creases around her eyes more defined but her manner was familiar and Sebastian felt the tension leave his shoulders.

Sirona like any good innkeeper, had that innate ability to sense your needs before you had a chance to voice them. With a flick of her wand two glasses of firewhiskey settled on the bar in front of her. Sebastian took a seat on the high stool and took a deep gulp from the glass relishing the burn as the amber liquid slipped down his throat.

The witch slid into the space seat beside him and took a tentative sip from her own glass with a wince. She never had been able to handle her drink and he laughed slightly at her sour expression.

"It's good to see you, Sirona," Sebastian said honestly. Sirona had always been kind to him. An aunt like figure to Sebastian and a shoulder to lean on more times than he’d care to remember. She'd seen him grow from a mischievous boy into a troubled young man, but unlike other she had never drawn back from Sebastian. Much like the pub itself Sirona was a constant pillar of support, always open when someone needed it most.

Sirona poured herself her own glass, and topped up Sebastian's. She leaned back on against the counter on the opposite side of the bar her eye flicked between the two of them.

"I won't ask exactly what event have led to you both being here tonight," she gestured between them amused "I know you can't tell me about your work dear, as much as I'd love to know the details - my guess it has something to do with Harlow."

"You're too perceptive for your own good, Sirona," the auror chuckled. "I promise, you'll be the first to know when this is all over."

"I hope so. Business has been dreadful, the inn is doing well but my bar sales..." she grimaced "Hogwarts is practically under lock down and even I'm beginning to miss the Gryffindor Quidditch team's terrible singing."

"No one wants to be on the streets these days so most of my rooms are full. Unfortunatly, you'll have to share." The witch sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and looked at Sebastian nervously through her lashes. It wasn't like they had never slept together before. They had infact done a lot more together than sleep, it was almost amusing how this woman who had fought fully grown trolls at the tender age of fifteen, who had spent the last five years fighting dark wizards; yet Sebastian made her nervous and he luxuriated in the knowlege. He shrugged at her, as he schooled his features into an unreadable mask. Sirona's eyes flicked between them.

The witch beside him stretched her arms as she yawned and wrinkled her nose at the dirt crusted under her fingernails.

“It’s the usual place in the attic, dear. The bathrooms just down the hall,” Sirona smiled warmly at her. The witch finished the last dregs from the bottom of her glass, stifled a cough on her sleeve from the burn and slid off the stool to make her way upstairs.

Sebastian tracked her movements across the bar before she slipped up the stairs. A knowing smiled tugged at the corner of Sirona’s mouth, her eyebrows quirked and he drowned the lump that formed in his throat with a deep swig from his glass.

“I must admit despite the circumstances - it's nice to see you both together again. You two were inseparable as teenagers and both so serious too. I guess with hindsight, I know why…" a sad smile deepened the creases around her eyes.

"We bring out the worst in each other," he sighed with a shake of his head.

"I'm not so sure. Unfortunately, I think you both would be who you are no matter what. You both had to grow up far too fast, but I think you understand each other in a way others can't."

“Maybe we didn’t understand each other as well as you thought,” he grumbled. If she truly understood Sebastian wouldn't she have stood by his side after everything that happened but her words still rung in his mind -

I would care.

Sirona fixed him with an assessing eye, as if she was peeling him back. As if she could sense every hateful, lusty and confusing thought he’d had of the witch upstairs. Sebastian shifted uncomfortably under her gaze and she softened.

"Not everyone gets a second chance at happiness, Sebastian. Don't waste yours."

Sirona said it like it was so simple. Like he could erase the last five years if he let himself. Coming from anyone else he would have hexed them. Sirona she met the world through the doors of this old pub, listened to everything from the lamenting of love sick teenager and world weary travelers who'd seen the darkest crevices of this world. He didn't know where his own problems fit in to that scale but he rolled it over in his mind.

A second chance. The words soothed his soul.

***

The summer at Poppy’s had done him good. Sebastian stared at his face no longer gaunt and hollow through the steamed up mirror of the small bathroom in the Three Broomsticks. If it wasn’t for the tattoos that covered his torso and crept up his neck he would barely think he’d been in Azkaban at all.

His clothes no longer hung off of him as he’d regained the strength and despite the nightmares that still haunted him nightly his eyes were no longer framed by dark bruises. The constellations of freckles that peppered his face and shoulder had returned in earnest, dark across his nose and cheeks. He adjusted his towel around his neck to cover the tattoo on his chest and placed his hand over the one on his neck.

This is who he would have been, if he’d never been to Azkaban.

He muttered a scourgify on his trousers before he pulled them on. Spells never made his clothes fully clean and not wanting to dirty himself further he left his dusty shirt in a the wicker laundry basket. Sebastian padded across the hall and hesitated in front of the door. He couldn't hear anything from beyond the door.

With a long exhale he stilled his breath and rapped once on the door to announce his entrance.

She leaned against the windowsill her arms crossed over her thin nightdress. Her hair was loose from its braids and it fluttered in the warm summer breeze from the window. She watched the streets with a feline stillness, like an assassin on the roof alert and vigilant. Her eyes flicked up to meet his own as the door creaked, announcing his arrival.

He clicked the door behind him but he could feel her eyes on him. Sebastian raised his eyebrows at her a small smile tugged at his lips at the way her eyes roamed over the bare expanse of his chest. The room seemed stiflingly small, the low vaulted ceiling left little space for more than the bed and a small nightstand. She was propped up on the windowsill, Sebastian leaned beside her and felt the warm air lick over his skin.

She swallowed audibly and pulled her lower lip between her teeth. He see her from the corner of his eyes scan the bare expanse of his skin.

"What do they mean?"

"You're an auror, I thought they would teach you this kind of thing?" Sebastian frowned.

"No."

Sebastian moved in front of her her and caught her hand in his, admiring the way her chest swelled as she held in a tight breath. He brought her fingers to press into neck, his skin tingled under the featherlight touch.

“This is me. Prisoner identification number,” he supplied, as he turned so her fingers could glide down his spine "These mark each unforgivable curse, they found when the Wizengamot surveyed my wand."

Her nimble fingers traced each ugly black stain on his skin in turn.

Crucio. Imperio. Avada Kadavra.

She lingered over each one, as if they were familiar like she knew they should decorate her own skin.

Sebastian turned slowly back to face her and took her hand in his once again. Finally, he pressed her palm flat over the one on his chest. Directly over his heart. He knew she could feel how hard it pounded in his chest. Sebastian's face so close to hers, he could feel her stuttered breaths against his freckled cheeks.

"This is my sentence. Life In Azkaban." She sucked in a breath through her teeth.

Sebastian didn’t want to explain the one on his wrist. The one he scratched at more fervently than the others. A particularly cruel form of punishment designed especially for him. When they peered into my mind, saw what tortured him most; It was always her. They’d inked her name in their ancient texts.

They stared into each other for what felt like an eternity. He waited for her to pull back, to recoil from him. Waited for his own body to do the same; to remember every aching moment of the past five years. But with her hand still pressed against his skin, her eyes boring into his own every rational thought burned away.

Sebastian wanted to be the version of him that stared back at him from the mirror. The one that did not bear the weight of the last five years.

He let his lips ghost across hers.

Sebastian wondered if this was some new form of torture and this was some feverish fantasy of a man slowly dying in Azkaban. Or if they'd chained him to her on purpose, the only one who made him feel blood boiling hatred and blinding desire. A kaleidoscope of feelings, brutal, dirty and wonderful. To make him lose every rational thought in his body as her mere existence overwhelmed him before they ripped it away.

She whimpered into the hairbreadth distance between his lips and hers. A pleasureful little sound that made some primal part of Sebastian practically purr with need. With one hand still pressed to his chest her other to wrapped around his neck to roughly pull his lips to hers in a feverish kiss.

Sebastian’s hands fisted into her hair, drawing her into him. The taste of her, the feel of her pressed against him made him feel like the world tipped on its axis. He nipped needily at her bottom lip and she gasped, granting him access to flick his tongue between her now parted lips.

She kissed him back feverishly, her own tongue collided with his own. He knew no one had touched her like this and it was like they’d both been starving. Her lips hungry against his own.

But he needed more.

In his desperation to feel as much of her as he could, hold her to him so she couldn't be stolen from his grasp Sebastian maneuverer her back until she collided with the wall. He pressed the entirety of himself against her, shamelessly dragging his hands along her curves.

He knew he was being rougher than he’d ever been as his hands groped every inch of her. But he was a man starved of touch for so long and he clung to her as if his very life depended on it. She seemed to crave that hardness as much as he did, as she ground her core against him where his leg had nestled between her thighs. Her fingers clung to his shoulders; her nails decorated half-moons amongst the splattered freckles. He hissed with delight at the pleasureful pain, as it broke through the numbness he’d felt for so long.

He grasped her chin to access her neck, to trail fire down her skin as he nipped at her thundering pulse. His teeth grazing every inch of her throat.

Sebastian snaked down the dips of her curves, to pinch and knead at her sides through the fabric as he worked his way to the hem of her nightdress. He slipped under her skirt to squeeze her backside and he savoured the vibrations in her throat against his lips from the groan that escaped her lips.

With how soft her skin was against his calloused hands he wanted – no needed to feel more of it.

She groaned in protest at the loss of his lips as he pulled the offending garment over her head. As if to stop their passions for even for a second would stifle the flames.

Sebastian stopped his assault on her skin to drink her in. His hands swept over the curves, fuller than he remembered, over the puckered skin of faded battle scars. In the soft lamp light, her hair unbound and wild, her lips swollen and her chest heaving she looked fucking exquisite.

She pulled him back into her roughly, her teeth knocked against his as her tongue delved into his mouth once more. Her fingers entwined in his chestnut hair, he shuddered as her nails scratched against his scalp. Sebastian hands resumed their assault, exploring ever dip and curve of her exposed flesh he’d devoured with his eyes. Intoxicated by the way her nipples pebbled as he grasped her breasts in his calloused hands. He captured the needy mewls that escaped her as he rolled them between his fingertips.

Sebastian trailed his hand between the peaks and down her stomach. His fingers grazed the sensitive spot between her thighs through the lace of her knickers. He chuckled against her lips as he slid his hand beneath the already damp material. Her folds were already slick and needy. Her lips didn’t say it, but her wetness told him she craved him as much as he did her. He stroked tantalising circles the small bundle of nerves, savouring every moan and whimper against his lips. He could feel her heart hammer in her chest. She ground her hips against his fingers as her eyes fluttered closed as a waves of pleasure crashed over her.

“Look at me,” he commanded. Her eyes snapped open to meet his own, she looked at him through hooded eyes “I want you to know it’s me - Who does this to you. Makes you feel like this.”

Her lips were parted as if she was going to respond but any words died on her lips as he slid a finger inside of her. Sebastian crooked his finger to find that spot inside of her that made her knees buckle. Her head lolled back against the wall with a throaty cry, barely held up by her weaked legs but her eyes never left his. He nipped at her throat approvingly.

Sebastian was achingly hard and strained against his trousers. He relished the friction of where his cock was rutted against her thigh. The scent of her own arousal coupled with the feel of his own was a heady concoction. He wanted to feel her climax under the entirety of him not just his fingers.

He withdrew sharply from her; a groan escaped her at the loss but Sebastian was quick. He unbuckled his belt and tore the leather from around his hips. His hands groped her perfect backside, as he lifted her up. She yelped in surprise, but her thighs instinctively squeezed round his middle. She kissed across his freckled face, and nipped at his earlobe as he carried her.

Sebastian flung her onto the mattress and it creaked under her weight. He shoved off his trousers and underwear in one swift motion. His hard cock arching proudly, relieved to finally be released from the confines of his trousers. He prowled up the bed towards her and she lifted her hips so he could peel her knickers down her legs.

He ran his hands along her shapely calves and trailed his mouth along her stomach. He took her nipple in his mouth; he flicked his tongue over the bud whilst his hand re-found the bundle of nerves at her core. He circled it twice before teased two fingers into her entrance, she groaned and rutted her hips shamelessly against his fingers. She wanted him, her kiss swollen lips wouldn’t say it, but her body couldn’t lie.

She clasped at his freckled cheeks and pulled his lips to hers again. He growled with satisfaction as moved her legs apart expectantly. Caged under the full weight of him she wanted to feel all of him, between her legs.

Sebastian aligned himself with her entrance and paused to savour the lusty look in her eyes. Sprawled out below him, bare and wild like a nymph from some Greek tragedy that would surely be his undoing. They would be each others undoing.

She wouldn’t say it, but he knew he needed to hear it from her swollen lips.

“Beg me for it,” he growled low in her ear, his nose burrowed into her tangled hair.

“W-What?” she stammered. Her pupils were blown wide, and he savoured the mix of confusion and lust that swam in her eyes. He knew she wanted him. He could feel it between her thighs. But he wanted her to proclaim it, to know he wasn’t mad to think this was something she didn't just want but needed; just desperately as he did.

“I said - Beg. Me.”

“Please-” she murmured as her hips inched towards him.

“You can do better than that,” he purred, as he teased his hardened length across her folds once more making her groan.

They both knew this was insane. But if he was going to succumb to complete blinding madness, throw all rationale away; then she was coming down with him.

“I want you- I need you inside me. Sebastian, please,” her fingers scratched across his freckled shoulders in a desperate attempt to pull him inside of her.

Sebastian practically purred with delight to hear her beg for the man she’d condemned. Satisfied he sheathed the entirety of himself inside of her with one strong thrust. Her eyes rolled back and her eyelashes fluttered as she arched her back as he filled her. The feel of her pulsing heat around him almost sent him immediately over the edge. He released a groan of his own, low, and deep.

This was not the tender explorative touches of teenagers it had once been.

With every deliberate thrust into her, he drew incomprehensible moans and pleas to deities from her lips. Her hips bucked to meet each stroke as she writhed under him. Her calloused fingers mapped his skin, over each tattoo along his spine. Each one a mark of the sordid past they shared. She traced every freckle in every impossible spot no one had seen but her. The sensation of each featherlight touch and rough scratch sent shivers cascading through him.

Sebastian’s mouth fixed on her neck, leaving red welts where he sucked at the skin like he could replicate the branding of her that marked his own skin. To claim what had always been his.

As he ground his hips against her and she arched her back in approval, Sebastian wrapped his arm through the vacant space below her. He hauled her up to leave more bites along her chest. His other hand fisted possessively into her hair as if he despite the impossibility he could be closer to her. Each frantic thrust brought incoherent curses and praise from her lips. He felt dizzy with how her hips jerked demanding as much of him as she could, with how perfectly he fit inside her even after all this time.

Her nimble fingers pushed his still wet hair from where it had dropped into his eyes. She pressed her lips to his to absorb the curses and moans he hadn’t even realised were spilling out of his own mouth.

Sebastian caught her trembling leg behind her knee in a bruising grip to hitch it up. To roughly plunge himself deeper inside of her, she released a strangled cry of approval. Her legs were strong from years of fighting, but he admired the valleys and dips he created in the soft skin of her thighs with his fingers. Her breathing hitched becoming more frantic as the angle pushed her to new heights of bliss. Every rasped moan spurred the motion of his hips as he eagerly chased the sounds only he could draw from her.

He could feel her body begin to tighten and pulse around him in a way that was maddening. Sebastian was desperate to feel her peak, but his body had a mind of its own as he thrust into her desperately, he knew his own release build deep in his gut. The last coherent part of his brain not overtaken by an animalistic need guided his hand down her stomach to stroke her clit. The overwhelming sensation of his cock and his fingers had her keening and stuttering as she began to crest her peak.

“Say my name,” his voice no more than growl, as he struggled to hold back his own release.

Amongst the other senseless words that escaped her she cried his name. Loud and desperate from her swollen lips; an intoxicating sirens call, he would follow willingly to a watery grave. She hauled him down to bring his full weight on top of her as she climaxed. The way she said his name, even when she was near delirious, practically vibrating as she rode her orgasm.

To know he was the one who made he feel like this. The only one who could make her skin feel like it was on fire. The only mans name she’d ever cried when her earth shattered.

He slammed into her hard and fast prolonging that feeling of ecstasy for as long as long as his own frenzy would allow. But the feeling of her trembling release, and the continued raspy gasps of his name made his hips faulter. His teeth bit into her shoulder to muffle her own name that slipped from his lips in a guttural moan as he released inside her.

Sebastian’s chest heaved as his heart rattled against his ribcage, as he came down from his own earth-shattering bliss. They stayed like that for a while, his head pressed into the crook of her neck, still inside her to the hilt. Every inch of his skin where they were connected felt like it was on fire.

He didn’t kiss her again.

Sebastian rolled off of her, and she whimpered slightly at the loss of him inside her. They lay there together, sheets tangled around their limbs their minds fogged from their shared ecstasy.

Her mallowsweet scent was on the sheets, on his skin; it soaked into Sebastian’s mind. It silenced intrusive questions that simmered in his mind about what they’d just done. He knew they would come; he’d have to face them eventually but for now he wanted to pretend things were different.

So, for the first time in years - Sebastian slept and didn’t dream.

***

Sebastian woke as the dawn light streamed through the curtains. Golden hues illuminated the witch still curled beside him. The sheets tangled around her doing little to hide the curve of her hips, her hair fanned out around her like a halo.

He groaned and rubbed his eyes. His brain felt loud as too many questions bubbled to the surface and made his head spin.

She stirred slightly when the mattress dipped as he climbed out of bed, but she buried her head back into the pillow. Sebastian released a relieved breath he didn’t realise he was holding. He needed to clear his head before he was ready to face her. He pulled on spare clothes from the nightstand Sirona had left out for him and slipped out the door.

It was the crack of dawn and Hogsmead was still very much asleep. He walked the empty cobble streets and tried to make sense of the complicated cocktail of emotions that bubbled in his chest. Sebastian seemed to be existing in a plane somewhere between self-loathing and infuriating yearning.

Sebastian didn’t know what this meant for him, let alone for her. For them.

Could a version of them even exist anymore? Sebastian wondered if he even wanted it to. As much as he wanted to pretend the past five years hadn't happened they had and like a self fulfilling prophecy she had gotten under his skin, clouded all rational thoughts and distracted him from his mission once more.

He’d began his slow plod back to the Three Broomsticks, resigned to the fact that he must face her eventually. He hadn't quite decided whether he wanted to pretend it had never happened or make her scream his name a hundred more times when a figure stepped into his path.

Sebastian froze, his hand instinctively reached for his wand. He cursed himself for being so wrapped up in thoughts of her that he’d left it in his old clothes. He squared his shoulders and met the amused stare of the stocky man in front of him.

“No need for dramatics, Sallow. I’m not here to hurt you,” chuckled Harlow. Sebastian should be shocked a wanted man like Harlow would appear so brazenly in the streets of Hogsmead. Maybe his own actions had last night had tapped him out and nothing could suprise him more than himself.

Much like Sebastian, months on the outside had brought a fullness back to Harlow’s face. Although no longer hollow cheeked his fine clothes did little to hide the ancient letters branded across his neck. But perhaps Harlow wasn’t trying to hide them, didn’t feel them burn into his skin as Sebastian did.

“Some how I find that hard to believe,” Sebastian ground out through clenched teeth. If it wasn’t for the knowledge that the auror would probably have to scrape what was left of Sebastian off the cobbled streets he would have launched himself at Harlow and tried to rip him apart with his bare hands.

“Come on now mate, we’re friends, aren’t we? Besides - I owe you, Sallow. With all our little chats, you’re the one who gave me my grand idea,” Harlow said with palms to the sky. His open face and arms mimicked the posture of a pious man of the cloth so at odds with the man Sebastian knew him to be.

Sebastian’s felt the bile rise in his throat. What idea had he given him?

“I was thinking too small. Blackmail, bribery - why do all of that when I could be Minister of Magic? Wielder of dark ancient powers. Get revenge on the girl who locked us both away. Who could stand in my way? You understand don’t you, what it’s like to have that kind of power at your fingertips. What it would feel like to make them pay. Clever I admit, earning her trust before stabbing her in the back,” Harlow cast a wry eye over the collection of bruises that had formed below Sebastian’s jaw, and he chuckled. “She is a pretty little thing I admit. Don’t blame you for wanting to fuck her first.”

“You can’t get to the repositories. The goblins tried, it’s pointless-” Sebastian began.

“I don’t need those repositories; I already have enough from what the goblins took to fix this,” his yellowed teeth broke into a wide smile, as he presented the pieces of the broken relic from the catacomb. That’s what Bettie had been desperately clutching to her chest “Then I can take her power for myself.”

The relic.

The one that could control the dead, dark magic and grant you any impossible desire if you paid it in blood. A man like Harlow would not be far pressed to provide it with a dark sacrifice it demanded.

Sebastian felt a blood grow cold in his veins. Sebastian had spilled his secrets to the man beyond the wall and now they were all going to pay for it.

“I’ll see you round mate. Give her one for me will you,” Harlow winked. He whistled as he strode off through the vacant streets leaving Sebastian alone.

***

Sebastian stumbled back to the pub in a daze. His mind raced so fast he felt like it couldn’t remember how to breath and choked the air out of his lungs. Sebastian pushed into the attic room, desperate to feel his wand between his fingers, find the safety in his own magic.

The witch lifted her head woken from her slumber by his heavy footsteps. She greeted him with a sleepy smile.

No soft smiles could shake the panic from Sebastian’s bones. His jaw was clenched, shoulders stiff and his knuckles white where the ligaments in his hand strained against the door handle.

How can he tell her he’s the reason Harlow was after her ancient power. That he, however unwillingly, had given the man who’d designed his sisters pain all the tools he needed to spread it like a unstoppable poison.

This was his fault. He wondered if the world had always been right and Sebastian Sallow truly was cursed.

She looked wounded at the frown that twisted his face and she drew the sheets tighter around herself protectively. Sebastian knows what this must look like. Like he must regret their night together. That last night was just one moment of madness.

She’ll think last night was a mistake eventually so why not cut to the chase. Save himself the pain of thinking he could be anything but cursed.

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rosyronkey · 1 year ago

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hi! i wrote an essay about rosy ronkey and her clothes, and i hypothesized what time period i think shes from/inspired by ^^ below if you wanna read more :))

ive been fixated (or had a special interest or whatever you want to call it) on rosy ronkey for a YEAR today. i've always been pretty interested in her outfit from an aesthetically pleasing point of view, but recently i wanted to see if i could find any trends and time periods in the inspirations of her clothes, which is what this essay is about! it’s going to be an explanation of most of her clothes, top to bottom, from what i can assume with the research i've done. i say research, but i probably don’t have the best sources? they’ll be linked below, but it was really more cross-referencing than anything else lol

i reached out to annie montgomerie for comment/criticism, but she’s obviously very busy and i enjoyed my research from a subjective point of view :)

basic specs on rosy (no one else but me cares): looking at rosy, the only zoomorphic, or animal looking, aspect of hers is her head. judging by proportions and cross-referencing, she looks to have the body of an american girl doll. this is just what i’ve noticed, but annie’s most recent stuff is way less anthropomorphized compared to rosy and the group she was made with. looking at annie’s most recent exhibit, hand me downs, every single piece is completely animal, with hand-sculpted claws, paws, wings and hooves. some of these dolls legs still look like american girl doll legs, but most everything else is animalistic. this isn’t important, but i just thought id mention it because artists’ growth over time is cool!

starting with her coat, it looks like a double-breasted red childrens’ coat with two rows of two buttons each. these kinds of coats are still available today, but i could find the closest matches by looking at 1920s childrens’ coats, specifically rothschild coats. the rothschild family has a long and complicated history, but all that’s important to know is that they are new york based (which doesn’t totally fit my assumptions about her; in general i assume all of annie montgomerie’s dolls are british because of her nationality) and they’ve been in business for over 100 years. by cross-referencing the growing style of double-breasted coats in the 1920s, and the style of rothschild childrens’ coats in ads from the time, i feel like it’s easy to assume rosy's character has this coat, or at least was very heavily inspired by it.

a theory i’ve seen before is that the ticket on her coat is a luggage label. these were used during WWII to evacuate british children during the blitz. the history press site says luggage labels listed “name, school and evacuation authority,” and is also where i got most of my information. i want to tentatively deny this theory. i'm pretty sure the ticket is an annie montgomerie staple opposed to a part of rosys' character. she's shown with the tag in the yorkshire sculpture park video, and on gerard way’s website, but she’s missing it in all the photos posted by annie montgomerie herself on facebook and instagram. almost every single annie montgomerie piece on display or for sale has a tag as well. i love this theory, and it’s probably what got me interested in researching her outfit in the first place, but i don’t think i could prove it if i tried.

other than the ticket, she has white roses on the left side of her coat and some smaller twigs? sticks? pinned to her collar. white roses symbolize purity, youthfulness, innocence, and in some contexts, respect for the departed. i couldn’t find any historical photos of children with roses in their outfits, but across the board that was the result i got for their meaning. i can’t discern what she has on her right collar for the life of me, if someone else can figure this out, PLEASE tell me

her dress is pink, with a cinched embroidered waist and a peter pan collar. peter pan collars became popular in the 1920s, and have been a staple of childrens’ dresses since (sources for this one were a few blogs and wikipedia, but also some ads, so i feel pretty confident with it.) some ads for girls’ dresses in the 1920s had the same soft pleats and embroidered waist as seen on rosys’ dress. i don’t think there’s a meaning behind the color, except that it compliments the red coat and her fur.

her stockings are standard, I couldn’t find much special meaning behind them, british children have been wearing stockings forever, and for girls especially, stockings became more popular in the 1920s as dresses got shorter. usually they were sheer and nude, and rosys’ look like the gray kind kids wear today, but i think it’s still period appropriate to an extent. her shoes look like red mary janes for american girl dolls, just more scuffed and dirtied. mary jane shoes themselves have been around for a while (called “bar shoes” originally,) but they got their name in 1904. in one of the first drafts for this, i read the fairy tale “the red shoes” to see if it offered any insight. i thought it’d be fun to relate, but it’s just a popular danish fairy tale, and it was hard for me to entertain the idea for long.

TLDR: i think rosy ronkeys outfit is inspired by british 1920s fashion!

that’s all I have! i apologize if this was underwhelming or overwhelming or whatever, i had no model to base this off of and the only tumblr essays i read are from my friends <3 i hope you enjoyed! i love rosy ronkey!

link to my dumbfuck google doc with all the links and braindump on it :)

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edenscollardrawer · 1 month ago

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thank you for providing for the DOL lesbians 🙏 i would love anything with syd/pc… maybe something with syd and pc fooling around in the sex shop after hours? :3c

After Hours - f!Sydney/f!PC

18+, content warnings & tags: public sex, sex toys, established relationship, oral sex, fingering 1573 words - I hope you enjoy! Thank you so much for your request!

Elk Street. A shady corner of town home to little more than dilapidated storefronts, pollution filled factories, and an overflowing landfill. Sirrus’ sex shop was a new addition, and the glaring neon sign stuck out amongst the grime. While the new attraction certainly caught your eye, nothing appealed to you quite as much as the store owner’s adorable daughter who worked the counter on weekends.

You’d spent the sweltering summer helping them repair the ramshackle shop, and in the process you’d grown quite fond of the amber-eyed beauty. You weren’t sure if it was your influence, or maybe just her job at the store - but she’d really blossomed in the last few months. Her thick rimmed glasses were replaced with contacts, her strawberry blonde hair dyed black - faded into an almost green color with her natural hair peeking out at the roots.

On this cloudy evening, Sirrus is out running errands - leaving you and Sydney in charge of the shop. The location of the store meant that most days were fairly quiet, today was no different.

You both sat idly in the front, time ticking by at a snail's pace. With a pouty sigh, she leans her head on your shoulder gently, her black hair cascading down your back.

“I am so bored. Who knew a sex store could be so… dull.” She declares. A coy smile spreads across your cheeks, your heart skipping a beat.

“Maybe… Maybe it doesn’t have to be?” You swallow audibly, feeling sick to your stomach at witnessing your own courage. Sydney’s face immediately flushes a delicate pale pink. She bites her lower lip, gaze falling to the ground. You see her chest rising and falling quickly, her pupils dilated. Her hands reach into her skirt pockets. Clearing your throat, you test the waters.

“We can always… you know - make our own fun.” your own cheeks turn red, a coy smile gracing your mouth. Your own confidence surprises you. Sydney’s breath hitches, her eyes meeting yours.

As much as she’d changed in the recent months, she was still that timid girl at heart. Trembling knees come to a stand, your feet shuffling towards her hesitantly. The air in the small shop feels thick. The distance between the two of you closes, your nervous hands coming to rest on her hips. Her gaze darts down to your lips. Tentative hands squeeze the fabric of her skirt, pulling her flush to you.

“There’s actually a lot to do here, if you think about it.” Her voice is hardly above a whisper, warm breath fanning over your face. The implication of her words hangs between you two, lips just inches apart.

You can't think straight. The way her hair cascades down her bare shoulders, the summer heat evident from the dark tank top she wears. The straps hug her collarbones, the thin fabric accentuating her hardening nipples. Your voice catches in your throat. You close the distance, soft lips locking together like pieces of a puzzle.

Needy hands run up her body, trailing slowly over the front of her charcoal colored shirt. Fingers brush over the swell of her breasts - making a lecherous gasp leave her. Her lewd noises embolden you while you lift her up, pushing her onto the sale counter. Your body settles between her legs. Sydney wraps her arms around your neck, pulling you back in. Tongues tangle together, warm moans lingering in the small space.

The counter creaks softly under her weight as you grind against Sydney’s aching core, eliciting a needy whimper. Her back arches, chest pressing against yours. Your naive hands trace under the thin fabric, lifting it over her head. Her modest breasts fall free, making you gasp. She’s beautiful, effortlessly so. Your touch is growing hungry, starved for more of her. Soft palms cup her bare breasts, thumbs circling the hardening peaks. Sydney’s head falls back and your head dips down, capturing her rosy nipple between your lips.

Her breathing grows thready, thighs encircling your waist. You’ve spent so many nights alone imagining this exact scene - her soft body wrapped around yours in the quiet shop. Pulling back to look up at her blushing cheeks and trembling legs, she’s already so disheveled. She pants softly, gazing down at you with hearts in her eyes. Skirt pushed up to her waist, her purple lace panties were growing increasingly damp with every touch. Your hands trail down her waist, thumbs hooking into her waistband. In a swift motion that makes her gasp, you pull them down fully - revealing her dripping core to your hungry eyes.

You scrunch up the drenched panties and shove them into the back pocket of your denim shorts. Kneeling down between her open legs, you kiss up her sensitive inner thighs. Your face hovers just above her soaked folds, inhaling her musky scent. You press your open mouth against her clit. Sucking her tender bud between your lips, she lets out a whimper as you devour her. One hand holds her trembling thigh steady as the other traces down her wet slit, two digits slipping into her soaked walls.

Meanwhile - Sydney reaches over to the nearby display and thrusts out a sparkly purple dildo, about 6 inches long. She taps you on the shoulder, interrupting the sordid exchange. Your cheeks flush now, eyes going wide. Clearing your throat, you reach out to take it, aligning it with her prepared opening. Sydney whines eagerly as the cool silicone presses against her heated flesh. You push the purple toy into her tight entrance, reaching a steady rhythm as your warm breath fans over her pussy.

Sydney's fingers thread into your hair, pushing your mouth back onto her clit. Her walls clench around the dildo while you thrust the toy in and out of her. Her hips buck involuntarily against your face, seeking more pressure. Feral claws dig into her hips, yanking her closer to your hungry tongue. You bury yourself within her folds as the purple toy pistons into her - lapping at the gushing juices. Whining moans and insatiable slurping fill the empty shop. Animalistic, sloppy sounds of the toy’s relentless pounding.

The scent of sex permeates the air. Juices drip down your chin, leaving a thin coating on the glass sales counter. Her whines reach a new pitch as her walls clench around the dildo, stilling it inside her while her legs lock you in place. You moan against her, lapping up the juices that spill out from her throbbing center. Her legs loosen enough for you to pull the toy from her pulsating core, tossing it onto the floor with a small clatter. You push yourself up, face meeting her panting form. Reaching forward, you grab her chin - pulling her into a sticky lip-lock. Your tongues intertwine, her essence mingling with saliva. Sydney whines softly into the messy kiss, pushing you back.

“Your turn.” She whispers. Her wobbly legs push off the counter, her skirt floating down to hide her lack of underwear. She wraps her arms around your waist and drags you into her, her thigh pressing up into your clothed core.

“My beloved… So beautiful…” She croons softly, her thigh gently grinding against you. In a sudden movement that forces the air from your chest, she spins you around and pushes you into the cold glass window - leaving you fully on display for anyone who might walk by. In that moment you couldn’t be more grateful that Elk Street was on the edge of town.

Her wanting grip holds onto the hem of your light-wash shorts, tugging them down to the ground along with your panties. She gets on her knees, practically crawling towards you like a hungry animal as she dives in - wet, rhythmic lapping against your slit. Her face buried in your soft ass as she tongue-fucks you relentlessly. Trembling hands leave prints on the window where you brace yourself. Breathless gasps intertwine with stuttered moans. A drawn out whine escapes her lips. Your cunt drools onto her waiting tongue while your hips buck against her face urgently. Back arching, you realize just how pent up you’ve been. Your whole body stiffens, gaping mouth letting out a loud gasp.

“Fuck, Sydney–!” your hips stutter against her face. She withdraws to lick her lips, smiling sheepishly. Gripping your waist, she pulls herself back to a stand, flattening out her skirt and gently spinning you around to face her. She seems almost shy now, the way she’s twiddling with the hem on her sleeves. Tentatively, as if foolishly worried you might offend her - you lean in and plant a gentle peck on her cheek.

“That was… really fun.” your voice is shallow and quiet, cheeks flushing at the admission. She nods in agreement, the same flush crossing her own cheeks. Despite all the sordid exchanges you’ve shared together, the shy feeling afterwards never seemed to go away. She always got your heart racing, before, after, and (obviously) during. You wrap your arms tightly around your friend, pulling her into you and nipping at her earlobe. The bells above the door let out a high-pitched jingle as Sirrus makes her entrance, smiling widely at the two girls standing in front of her.

"Hey, girls. How was it? I hope not too awful," The two of you glance at each other, stifling your giggles, and exchanging knowing smiles. You find yourself wondering if Sirrus has more errands to run soon. Hopefully.

#sydney the faithful #sydney the fallen #dol sydney #degrees of lewdity #dol #sydney dol #dolgl #dol fanfic #degrees of lewdity sydney #degrees of lewdity pc #this was so fun to write <3 #writing

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j-nor · 1 year ago

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i saw you collect clown shit I'm being a clown for Halloween can I see 👀

SCREAMING AND CRYING!!!! YES ID LOVE TO SHOW YOU!!! IM BEING A CLOWN FOR HALLOWEEN TOO!!! THANK YOU FOR ASKING ME ABOUT MY CLOWN STUFF <333333333

This is my clown suit, which is hand-made out of 2 colorful blankets and a pillowcase, i free handed most of it and also hand stitched about 60% of it because my sewing machine broke mid-project. (Just a heads up while we’re still at the top, this post is gonna be loooooooooooong and have a lot of pictures, also sorry for how gross the carpet looks he’s just like that)

This is my circus tent juice box

This is my costume drawer, where I cram as much stuff as I can fit, it’s pretty full so I’ll just show you my favorite stuff.

These are the highlights, my googley-eye ring, the first clown mask I made, the first party hat I made, my diy ruffled wrist cuffs and collar, and my jewelry hoard.

These are my clowns, which are both hand sewn, they’re names are Butterbean (left) and Corn (right). Butterbeans face was smudged by some water, I’ll get around to fixing it soon.

These are all the little trinkets I keep with them, things I find that I consider clownish. Most of these were picked up from dollar stores, thrift stores, stoop sales, giveaways or relatives homes. There’s a lot so I’ll just show my favorites.

These are my rubber reptiles, my tardigrade and monster finger-puppets, my wind up toys, and some bouncy balls and jingle bells.

This is my doorway decoration.

These are my other accessories that don’t fit in the costume drawer. My collection of silly sunglasses, my second favorite vest, this lovely sweater, and of course the essential clown nose and bow tie.

These are my clown shoes. These rubber boots have tragically become far too small for me, so I’m saving them untill my cousins are older. The rainbow sneakers are only for special occasions because they hurt my feet and Im trying to protect the color.

Land lastly, this is my favorite sculpture, I made it a few years ago.

All these were collected over the past 3ish years, a-lot of pieces were hand made or found in cheap stores, when I go out I keep my eyes peeled for anything clownish and that’s why I’ve managed to grow my hoard so large lol. If anyone reading wants to use the pictures for something (a mood board, a collage, whatever), tag me so I can see it!!!! Thanks for sending me this ask :o) I literally jumped out of bed as soon as I got it because I am a weapons-grade weirdo and love to talk about clowns

Have a lovely day and a happy Halloween!!!

#clown husbandry #clownblr #clown posting #clowncore #clowns #clown care #clown doll #clown #clown art #clown costume #clown cosplay #clown dolls #my special interest #<333333333 #so much fun with this one #seriously thank you #:o)

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secretsandwriting · 1 year ago

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Come On Darling

Part one has gotten a lot of attention and all the comments were really motivating so have a part two. Idk how good it is, i wrote this in the same general time it took me to write part one so hopefully it's decent.

Part One

"Hello, welcome to Roselight! How may I help you today?" The girl working there didn't even stutter when she saw Noah. She must be used to it in such an expensive shop like this one.

"I need a new tailored suit, she needs a full closet." You could almost see the dollar signs adding up behind her eyes.

"Of course! I'll have the tailors get prepared. As for her what are you thinking about for full closet? Different styles? All dressy? Casual? Sexy?" She didn't even look at you, just paying attention. While she and Noah were talking, you looked around the store. Eyes stopping on one of the other employees smiled at you. She was dressed down a little more than all the others, still in all designer. She seemed more normal then high class like everyone else working.

"Well, then are you ready to start shopping?" She was looking at you expectantly.

"No." Noah's arm you were told to hold onto tightened. His hand resting on yours. Not a threat a warning. "I was hoping I could work with her." You motioned to the employee you had seen earlier. Noah's arm relaxed.

"Unfortunately, she's not a shopper. She just helps stock and bag items."

"She'll be a shopper today then." Noah ordered. She finally started getting nervous.

"A manager has to sign off on i-"

"Then get a manager." Noah interrupted. "She wants to work with her, and we don't want to stand her arguing." A hurried, "I'll get one" was thrown over her shoulder as she retreated to the back. Remerging a minute later, a sharply dressed man following her.

"Hello, I'm Marcus, one of the managers. What can I do for you today?"

"She needs a new wardrobe and would like her to help." Noah motioned to the girl. Marcus glanced over at the girl, who looked like she was starting to get a little nervous with the attention she was getting for a reason she wasn't aware of. Marcus glanced at you next, understanding flashed through his eyes.

"Ah, of course. I'll go inform her of your request and as long as she agrees to it, I'll sign off on it."

"No i-"

"That would be great!" You interrupted Noah. You didn't want to pressure her into having to deal with Noah. Marcus came back a few minutes later, the girl following behind him.

"This is Jackie, she's agreed to help you and I've signed off her helping." His gaze was directed at directly at you. "All commissions will go to her for this sale." Noah's posture changed, considering Jackie's shift, it wasn't good.

"Thank you, that was my next question." Once again Noah relaxed. He had to be overly stressed because that could not be normal.

"I'll leave Jackie with you, let me know if there's anything I can help with." Marcus excused himself. Noah gave the same instructions he gave Caroline and Jackie wrote a few things down in a small notebook.

"Ok, whole new closet?" Jackie looked at you. "You've told me. I'm asking Y/n now." Jackie interrupted Noah when he tried to tell her again. She turned back to you. You nodded. "All styles?" Another nod. "No budget?"

"Budget." Noah immediately started protesting. Jackie waited until they stopped.

"Alright, we can easily get everything you need and any extra you want with 1 Million. So we'll set that as a tentative budget. Budget for you, tentative for the no budget peanut gallery." You were soon whisked away to a small room to get measured. With that out of the way, you were lead to a room full of overpriced clothes and accessories.

Anything you looked at twice or seemed interested in was added to a growing pile of try ons. Once you had ten full outfits, try ons started. Jackie was exactly what you wanted. If it looked good, she made sure you knew it. If it didn't look good, she figured out why. Certain styles were completely removed from the cart, some colors were pulled out too. She didn't try to get you to like the most expensive styles, or the big trends, her focus was solely on what you liked and what looked good on you. Something you were very grateful for.

Four hours of shopping later, and you were lead out to the main room where you had come in. Noah joined you and paid for the large amount of clothing you had liked enough to leave with.

Next you were taken to a shoe store. This time you had a name Jackie had given you. Another sign off and bags left with Noah, you got to work looking for shoes.

An hour and a half and 6 pair of shoes later, you were taken to a makeup store. Another name and sign off, more bags left with Noah and the process started all over again.

Three hours later, Noah paid and you left the outlet and went back to the hotel. Food was dropped off at the room and Noah inhaled his before changing and running out the door for a meeting away from the hotel. A quick "Here's my card, Don't leave the hotel or there will be problems." was thrown over his shoulder before the door was closed.

You started putting your things away, quickly realizing there wasn't enough room for all your new things and Noah's in the small closet in the room. So you made a call to the front desk and a half hour later a clothing rack with a few shelves at the bottom was delivered to your room. Setting it up was easy.

The hard part was deciding if you wanted to risk being petty and moving his things or just putting yours there.

Petty won.

If he was going to force you to get an entire new closet of clothes, you were going to put them in a closet. While moving his suits you snorted to yourself. If circumstances had been different, this shopping spree would have been a dream come true, but now, it just felt like something you would have to worry about repaying later.

Once all of his clothes hanging up were moved, you put his shoes on the bottom shelf. Once you were finished moving his things and adding yours, you moved onto the dresser. Moving his things into two of the six drawers and filled the other four with yours. Next step was rearranging the bathroom to add in the large amount of random makeup things you had gotten.

With nothing else to do, you looked through the list of things the hotel offered and decided to go get a massage. The shopping spree and large total numbers had apparently tired you enough that you didn't really care if Noah was upset.

-----

Noah came back from the meeting to a dark and empty hotel room. Nicolas thankfully kept his head and told Noah to call the front desk to see if they had seen her. That phone call lead him to the spa where he was let into a small room where you were laying face down on a table while a woman worked on the knots in your back.

"He needs to go next. He seems way to tense to be healthy." Noah just stared at you in exasperation, questioning why the hell he was putting himself through all of this for Alec

#noah sebastian x reader #Noah sebastian #mafia au #bad omens #bad omens cult #bad omens band

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benchmarkbioponics · 1 year ago

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#buy carbon filter online #fabric plant pots #carbon filters for sale #carbon filters for grow tents

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em-prentiss · 2 months ago

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no proof, not much (but you saw enough)

----

The SUV hums beneath the hands of someone new. These ones are softer, more at ease, more than often one casual hand on the wheel rather than two. It’s a blissful break from the perpetual ten and two, and as the Unit Chief grows increasingly drowsy in the passenger seat, the SUV carries them further into the sunset.

Or, how Aaron and Emily fall, through the perspective of multiple settings: the jet, his office, the SUV.

Word count: 3.5k

----

It happens slowly.

Harsh exteriors are worn down, distrust morphs into mutual respect. Slowly, yes, excruciatingly so, but it happens. Sir’s and Agent’s lose their pointed edges, mellowing on lips that start out reluctant, end up blazing with warmth.

The office is the first one to note it. It’s a cold place, despite the minimal personal touches littering the Unit Chief’s desk. There are scarcely happy memories here, between the lifeless beige walls and the polished oak carrying pounds upon pounds of bloody files, their contents heavier than the sheets of paper they’re printed on. There is no room for light, though the sun streams through the windows in gossamer curtains—the Unit Chief knows this, he knows it well.

And yet a ray of light walks hesitantly in and hands him a peace offering, though peace has for a while been settled in a still sheet above their heads. She’s no longer new to the disjointed family they call a team, but where she’s starting to loosen with the others, she’s still stiff with him. Even the office knows it, from its omniscient view over the bullpen. Her voice mingles with the others’ in a laugh, the pale shape of her hand curls around the media liaison’s shoulder in a lighthearted squeeze.

Both the office and its occupier are well aware that this is something new. They’re good friends; it sees him more than his family does. He keeps it company on dark nights, the lamp at his elbow the only source of warm light across the whole floor, burning steady amber. The office knows the man at the desk more than the agent tentatively crossing it, and yet they both catch the way his brows tick up in surprise when he spots the sweet treat in her hand.

His mouth curls around her name. The tail end of it sounds like a question; she greets it with a bashful smile the office guesses doesn’t often cross her features.

Emily reaches the edge of his desk, says so and so about a sale at the bakery—and quickly clarifies that she bought for the rest of their coworkers too, don’t worry. She thrusts out her hand, he takes the chocolate croissant, murmurs a quiet but genuine thank you.

Nodding, she takes her leave, chewing on the corner of her lip as she slips past the open door. Her retreating form is traced by his eyes, curious, lingering, before they drop to the pastry held in his hand. The office watches as he picks it apart, takes a bite—two, three—even though it’s a well known fact (to the office, anyway) that the team leader has no stomach for a sweet tooth.

Still, he eats the croissant. Lets crumbs tumble messily on top of his desk, sweeps them away neatly with a tissue. His eyes travel to the window; both he and the office watch as the rest of his team tear into their own pastries. The generous supplier perches on her desk, satisfaction in her eyes and a small smile on her lips. She looks up, as if sensing his gaze, and he flicks his eyes back to the file in front of him.

That is the tentative start.

From there it’s a smooth, sloping hill—impossible to determine when trust had deepened to a professional relationship between coworkers, when that had formed into camaraderie. When butterflies began to flap their wings and flutter, when eyes started to linger and touches ached to do the same.

___

The jet rarely flows with heat. Its frequent occupants know that, and more than often they’re well prepared with blankets and warm beverages, no matter the weather outside.

For the most part, the newest addition to the team also knows this. She’s bundled in professional blazers and soft cardigans most of the time, but the Florida heat doesn’t allow for anything heavier than the barest of tank tops. Her skin is faintly glistening when she plops into one of the lone chairs, shoulders stiff as she holds herself away from the leather of the seat.

The Unit Chief sits with her, evidence of the sticky heat shown in his loosened tie. Their eyes meet and they share a look, unanimously miserable but unwilling to voice it.

It’s something new, these shared looks between them. The jet notes them with interest, tries to pinpoint when exactly they’d started. The farthest it gets is Milwaukee.

But looks are all they share. No words are exchanged, no pleasantries swapped as she digs out a book and he opens up a file, his pen in his hand even before they’re in the sky. The jet hums around them, providing white noise that makes some of the team curl up and sleep as it takes them home. It rises above the clouds, stabilizes at over a thousand feet, absorbs the subzero temperature outside and allows it to leak through the walls.

The woman shuffles back comfortably against the seat, cooled enough to let it touch her bare skin. But it doesn’t take long before she’s shifting again, leaning away, tucking her arms into her body. Covering her elbows with her palms, surreptitiously kneading her skin with her thumbs. She does all this quietly, but being the boss means being ever aware.

Without fuss, the Unit Chief gets up. He walks over to the table next to the couch, pops it open and reaches into the hidden cavity there. Everyone eventually learns about it; it’s stocked with soft, downy blankets that are mostly unused because everyone has learned to carry their own.

Still, every once in a while, the compartment is cracked open.

Hotch picks up a blanket and carries it back to the shivering agent. She looks up, glances at it, then at him, and immediately refuses, so fast it must be reflex. The jet ponders this, as does the Unit Chief, his brows pinched in a gentler version of his usual frown.

Emily, he says softly, the rumble of his voice running parallel to the hum of the jet. Of all things, it’s what makes her pause.

The sound of her given name seems to take her by surprise, even more so than the offered blanket. Eyes rounded, brows momentarily raised, as if caught off guard. She quickly composes herself, smooths out the surprise in her features as she shakes her head, refusing again.

One too many take it’s and I’m good, thank you’s later, the blanket is resignedly wrapped around her shoulders. But she stops shivering, her muscles finally easing back into the seat. Her head is turned decidedly away, facing the window, but when her eyes flit to him they catch his gaze.

One more exchanged look, a hidden smile in his eyes that doesn’t show on his lips. She looks away.

___

The SUV doesn’t see much, compared to the other places they’ve been. Its mission is always brief, and yet it’s well acquainted with the man at the wheel. Seldom does someone else steer it, so long as he’s there.

This time is no different.

It’s not that the woman doesn’t try—she does, valiantly, to push him to the passenger seat—but the fact that she’s here is already too much. The SUV knows this from the way the man grips the wheel. He’s never gentle with it, always firm, always alert. Ever aware of the lives in his hands, be it in the face of a Glock or under the wheels of a Suburban.

But a plate of brownies is placed carefully on the console between them and his grip loosens. She offers him one, around a chocolatey mouthful, and the way the corner of his mouth tilts upward is seen only in the side view mirror, a secret tucked between him and the road.

He declines, she grumbles, and then a warm hand is taken entirely off the wheel. The SUV doesn’t lament the loss. Hotch’s careful eyes no longer pierce the windshield with a heat more acute than the sun overhead; he turns, eyes falling to her, and the SUV finds itself without attention.

This is a first. But the open road ahead of them is forgiving, and so the SUV is, too. It watches, listens above the crunch of gravel, as he protests—it’s all sugar, won’t do any good—and she wraps a tissue around a brownie and places it in his hand.

You haven’t eaten anything all day, she refutes stubbornly, though she’s already won. When she brings up the medication Hotch bites the brownie between his teeth without further complaint. It’s the reason they’re driving past the airstrip and toward the long road, after all.

Slowly, Emily forces another brownie into him. And then his medication. And, when the sun dips lower down the sky, she’s somehow able to kick him out of the driver’s seat altogether.

___

The bullpen witnesses his first laugh—at least, the first one she’s pulled from him. The coffee machine separating them, the handles of their mugs almost touching as they wait for the coffee to brew, she makes an offhand comment about diesel fuel, the government praying for their demise, and a Nespresso machine. Her tone is bone dry, a halfhearted grumble that’s more for her than for him. It’s not even meant to be a joke, but the sleep deprivation is getting to them.

Hotch laughs, stoicism cracking under the soft curve of his lips, and Emily stares. The bullpen—the kitchenette, rather—watches a light dusting of pink spread across her ivory cheeks. It witnesses her wide eyes in return, before lightly dissolving into the same laughter.

These precious sounds are contained within the kitchenette’s walls. Nobody hears them, save for the two living souls pouring their coffee and the lifeless entity surrounding them. Lifeless, yet still swelling with the same surprise that etches across the woman’s features, long after they’ve both dissolved into silence and her face is downturned to the bitter depths of her coffee.

It’s so very interesting, the brightness in the Unit Chief’s eyes as he similarly looks down at his own coffee, lips thinned back to their original shape. So very interesting how the brown of his irises warms, suffused with light even though he’s yet to take a sip of his coffee.

So very interesting how he lingers after he’s done—because he does nothing to prepare his coffee but pour it, and she dumps boatloads of sugars and creamers until the swirl of her coffee lightens to the color of his eyes—and observes her for a fleeting second.

His mouth parts, then softly joins again, bottom lip slotting against top. Picking up his mug, he turns away and out of the kitchenette, shoulders slackening beneath his jacket. He goes, and her eyes follow.

___

The room is not fully dark. The thin curtains let in street lights; they stream in and carve long golden rectangles on the threadbare rug, illuminate hastily packed bags and files stacked neatly atop a desk.

Rooms like this often get visitors like this—fleeting, temporary. The man and the woman have been here for two days, but they only occupy the room to sleep. It knows they won’t be here for long, though it ponders their business. They carry badges and firearms, heave around files and gory pictures. At night, the two hardly speak to each other, except for unnecessary pleasantries—would you like the bathroom first? No, thank you, you go ahead—that speak to their upbringing.

The inky dark of midnight wraps around the gaps between the street lights. The motel room sits, quiet, observing the two sleeping figures bundled in separate beds, until one starts to thrash. The other one stirs, groggy, while the other still fights demons.

A ragged cry shatters the silence. Even coated with layers of sleep and terror, the room can tell it’s the woman. Her companion blinks sleep from his eyes and tosses the thin comforter from his body, slipping from his bed and to the edge of hers with surprising speed.

Eyes impossibly alert, brows slipping into concern, he stands some distance away and calls out her name.

Emily.

It’s a hoarse whisper, then urgent. She still thrashes, so he places a hand on her shoulder and shakes, fingers gripped into the flesh of her shoulder. Louder this time, more insistent, desperation curling around the letters of her name.

She wakes up. Opens her eyes with a gasp, the damp patches on her pillow explained by the tears pooling under her lashes.

The man lets out a similar sound, only lower. You’re okay, he whispers gently, his hand still on her shoulder. You were dreaming.

They’re typical comforts in a situation like this.

What’s not typical is the way she launches into his arms instead of away. A pained sound tumbles from her lips; she curls into him, folding over herself, and the arm he wraps around her back keeps her secured to his chest.

A whimper of his name, a breath of hers. Whispered shhh’s that the room suspects he’s had plenty of practice at. His hands rove over her back, fingers smoothing the sweaty fabric of her shirt. She clings to him so tightly he has no choice but to perch on the edge of the bed, half holding her, half slipping out.

It’s hard to tell whether she’s crying or breathing. The man encourages her to breathe anyway, the low timbre of his voice carrying a bit of firmness that she bends beneath. Minutes stack up on the other side of midnight, a new day starting as the woman’s chest begins to slow beneath the man’s—Hotch’s—instruction.

His lips nudge against her forehead. It’s not yet a kiss, but the gesture is loving, and well practiced. Soon after it’s his hand on the nape of her neck, his fingers threading through the tangled mess of hair he finds there.

The woman doesn’t relax for a while. Not until he situates her back against the pillow, her arms still clutched around him. Neither of them say anything further; it seems an unspoken deal that he’ll lay back with her, run his palm between her shoulder blades until her breath evens out.

Eventually, it happens. The man’s eyes blink through the semi-dark as the woman sleeps on, still wound around him. He waits—and the room does, too—until a half-circle is traced by the clock’s arm, before carefully untangling their limbs.

He’d been sleeping on the opposite side before he woke. His back to her bed, almost hiding. But now he slides again beneath the sheets and turns to face her, the target of his eyesight clear to the room, even half shrouded in darkness.

___

In the office it starts, and in the office it comes full circle.

Only his shoulders are stiff with tension. The office guesses that it has something to do with the lumpy gauze under her sleeve, the butterfly bandages along her left cheekbone. She’s not as upset as he is, and not for the same reason. Lips pursed, brows furrowed, she still tries to fight back even though she’s in the wrong.

“You would’ve taken ages to come, Anna didn’t have that much—”

“The unsub was armed—”

“And I was, too—”

“That’s not protocol!” He shouts.

Emily sucks in a breath, the office takes a pause. Not because of his raised voice, no. It happens—rarely, but it happens. What doesn’t happen is his voice cracking, breaking in half. Fading into silence.

The air thickens. Hotch swallows, the solid lines of his body turning to liquid. “Jesus, Emily, you know better.” His voice is weary, wilting.

She’s silent. Stricken, lips parted, eyes searching. Emily has intelligent eyes, the office thinks. They see practically everything, absorbing the world with a desperate hunger drawn in the circular outline of her pupils. So it makes sense that when the office glimpses a shine in its Unit Chief’s eyes, she does too.

“Why…why are you…?” She steps closer to him, boldly swipes under his eye with her thumb. He jerks away, a shuddered breath heaving his lungs when her finger comes away wet.

Her mouth still hasn’t snapped shut yet. Emily takes another step, understanding dawning on her features.

About time.

“Hotch—”

“I can’t,” he breathes, shaking his head.

“Can’t what?” She murmurs. There’s hardly distance between them; her hand molds around his cheek, hesitant. The lines of her shoulders are stiff, as if she’s waiting for him to pull away.

The office knows he won’t. He’ll say he will, but as long as she’s giving in first, he’ll have no choice but to follow.

Fingers twitching at his side, he blows out an exhale.

“I can’t.” His hand finds her waist; the office swells with satisfaction. She bends into the touch, her grip tightening on his cheek. “We can’t, Emily. It’s not…”

But he’s bowing into her. Their heads almost touch, his bending down, hers looking up. The glossy darkness of their hair glints almost identically beneath the lights, raven on raven.

“Do you want to?”

The office holds its breath. Its owner is good at denying himself of what he wants.

Thick, suffocating silence. A string pulling taut. And then another shake of a weary head. “We can’t.” He repeats; a broken record, a mantra.

Pale fingers curl around his ear. A thumb with bitten nails swipes under his eye, smears the wetness on his skin until it dries. “That’s not a no,” she says quietly. “I’m waiting for a no, Hotch.”

He doesn’t give one.

Silence rings. For a beat, two, three. Then she’s tilting his head further down, rising on her tiptoes even though she’s in boots, and pressing their lips together. His silhouette shakes, shoulders trembling. Three sticky heartbeats later and he skates tentative hands up her sides, squeezing and shakily exhaling into her mouth. She’s slow with him, patient, and when they’ve broken free they haven’t broken free at all, because his forehead is on hers, an inch between their noses.

“You can’t do that again.” He rasps.

Emily hums, lips turning up. She tilts her head, catches his mouth again with unusual slowness. “We’ll talk about it later, boss.”

When they leave the office, there’s hardly space between their bodies.

___

The park is one of many in DC. It’s not anything special—yes, there’s benches and tall trees and a gravel pathway, but nothing that could tempt a restless pair of lovers. Today it’s doubly cold, a frigid crunch to the grass that scares away everyone but the two figures strolling around under the watery sun.

There’s soft murmurs between them, passed occasionally like the steaming paper cup they share. The woman holds it for longer, sometimes to drink, sometimes to squeeze around in her bare, pale hands. The man notices, and brings them to a stop, quietly chiding as he covers both her hands with his. He doesn’t wear any gloves but she sighs, shifting to hide her hands entirely beneath his own. The corners of her mouth tip up, as does her head, her eyes searching for her companion’s.

They meet and the park almost blazes with heat. Her smile, somehow both sly and bashful, curls around an excuse, her shoulders shrugging helplessly.

The man shakes his head. It seems a practiced move, exasperated and fond. His thumbs are restless on the back of her hands, kneading fervent circles into her skin.

She tolerates it for a minute before dragging her hands from his grip to get him walking again, passing him the cup and instead hooking her free arm through his. They stay for longer than the weather allows, some identical tension melting from their shoulders, a heavy weight in their eyes fading as pink bites their cheeks. Talk isn’t frequent, but touches are—his lips to the top of her head, her fingers sinking into his coat, her chest against his arm.

When the cup is drained—he lets her have the last sip—the woman tosses it and curls her fingers into her palm, the pad of her thumb skimming under her nails as if it’s habit. She nudges him off the path, onto the grass. Their shadows follow: long, starkly black companions that trail after them, turning a party of two into four.

They lean into each other. Hard lines fade, blur. Two silhouettes become one, joint from shoulders to feet.

A right hand reaches for a left; fingers interlock, forming a weave of soft skin and calluses. The shadow of them is cool above the grass, and when he gently cradles her cheek in his free hand, tilting her face upward until their lips join in a kiss, the silhouette warps. It merges into a single, fluid shape, formless and inelegant.

Even when they break apart, they’re still joined.

#emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #hotchniss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfiction #emily prentiss fanfiction #hotchniss fic #hotchniss fics #hotchniss drabble #hotchniss blurb #hotchniss fanfic #criminal minds fanfic

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verdemoun · 5 months ago

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What happens to camps in modern au? I can definitely see a few becoming tourist attractions. Shady Belle is Shady Belle, this was talked about a million times. But Clemens Point, for example? A calm lake, with a few bridges built, maybe for fishermen? A camping spot with just a few small buildings?

Beaver Hollow, now part of a legally protected forest? I don't mean national park, I'm 99% sure there was a phrase for that. But I think it'd be healing for someone (cough) Charles and Arthur (cough) to go on a hike, looking for Beaver hollow and spending some time there. The cave is probably sealed off due to safety, but probably with a tall fence or something. But the clearing is there. The memories are painful. But it's healing to see it so peaceful. No fights, no fire, no tents that'd remind them of that awful camp.

I think horseshoe overlook wouldn't share that fate though. It's close to a railroad. It probably became one of these small stations in the middle of nowhere (idk we have a lot of those here), but i doubt it'd just be left like that. Especially with limpany close. Maybe it's torn down, or reconstructed as a small tourist attraction in the middle of nowhere. I hc that Valentine is still a relatively small town. Sure, it grew a bit like most towns do, but it's still just a small town. Close enough to Limpany that people go there on a trip, and horseshoe overlook becomes a really cute scenic viewpoint? Something like that.

Colter is in the mountains. No sane person would do much with it. Hikers go there, sure. Maybe some- and i shit you not i just spent 5 minutes trying to remember the name. Maybe those are just a slavic thing. But these small cafes/hotels that are in the middle of a trail for people to rest up? Those? Something near colter? I can see that happening.

GUARMA. GUARMA IS A TOURIST ATTRACTION NOWADAYS AND NO YOU CANNOT CONVINCE ME IT'S NOT.

All of your asks are like a 1v1 where I have to write more than you.

Clemens Point becomes a very kitschy beach and tourist attraction for its naturally calm water, with long piers/bridges letting you walk out to most of the islands (with massive environmental impacts, the iguana population wiped out, and the islands themselves little more than sandbars) . Almost the entire shoreline has a timber walking platform. The field that once housed Clint and Clive's livestock sales is now a beachside campground instead of the point itself. At the point itself there are public bbqs and a viewing platform with a tiny plaque saying that 'Dutch's gang' were believed to have camped there in the early era.

Beaver Hollow is a nature preserve! Even Elysium Lake still looks semi-natural with the exception of a few lake-side holiday homes owned by millionaires who could afford to build on such hellishly sloped terrain. Arthur was mortified to learn people were swimming in the lake. While seeing the wilderness and trail trees nearby still growing, untouched and in place, was comforting, the cave itself has become a hiking hotspot and is well-lit with walking ropes and guided tours. It was very uncomfortable to see an overly enthusiastic man in his late teens give a speech about how it was believed the VDLs used the cave as an escape during the legendary assault on Beaver Hollow. But Charles and Arthur found peace hiding the mountain that had been the site of Arthur's last stand, which is now called the Arthur's Seat trail. They got to sit together amongst the red flowers where Arthur had once taken his last breath, share a bottle of whiskey, and then hike back down knowing they could go home to their little cluttered house and the gang waiting for them.

Horseshoe Overlook is private land, with someone building a McMansion on the site. The gang can no longer access it, but they looked at the property on google maps and were delighted to tell Kieran the tree he was tied to has been torn down. There is no mention of the VDLs having ever been at Horseshoe Overlook, but the bar in Valentine that Cornwall cornered them at is still standing and is very much a hotspot for vanderlindonians (middle-aged men who obsess over the gang).

Colter somehow became a ski lodge with only the original church restored and graves (including Davey's) still standing. There is also a plaque saying it is believed the VDLs had stayed in the area while escaping the law in 1899. Jack and Isaac took a selfie with it, even though Jack was too young to remember and Isaac - well, wasn't there. Isaac proceeded to break his arm skiing.

You make a literature major look at a map, you bastard. Guarma we know is the second island east of Cuba. Looking at maps, cross referencing the history of island sugar plantations, Guarma was most likely based off Puerto Rico. So yes it is absolutely a tourist destination. Dutch went with Habitat for Humanity (under Annabelle's supervision) and still complained about the humidity. Bill and Mac went on a romantic getaway only for Bill to hate it and want to go home. Javier and Kieran went and absolutely loved it (Kieran was drunk the entire trip and flexed his spanish (while drunk (which was... not good))). Arthur and Charles took Isaac and proceeded to lose him multiple times to bars and dances. By the end of the trip they kept him on a monkey backpack. Charles made many jokes about Arthur's complaints about Guarma and Arthur complained in response that it was very different back then.

#rdr2 timewarp au

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lisannastraussisanangel · 2 years ago

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Do you have any headcanon for the backstories of the Raijinshuu?

Huh, I haven't actually thought about it before. This will be fun!

Bickslow

His parents were members of the circus. Mother was a contortionist. Father was sword swallower

Bickslow was raised by the entire circus tho (it takes a village) and considered them all family

He was taught almost every circus skill growing up. He loved it and always planned to stay with the circus his whole life

His tattoo was given to him by a fire breather he considered to be his uncle

The ring master taught Bix how to carve wood. Bickslow's first job in the circus was selling his little carvings during shows

Unfortunately when Bickslow was around 12, the main tent caught fire during a show. Almost everyone had managed to escape with minor injuries (Bickslow wasn't in the tent at all)

Bickslow's parents, the fire breather, ring master and Bickslow's best friend made sure everyone was able to make it out alive. During their final check of the tent, the whole thing collapsed and killed all five of them

Bix used his magic to gather their souls into the remaining dolls he had, but he knew they'd never be actually alive again

The circus looked after him for a couple years after that but the memories were becoming too much. Bix ended up leaving and joining Fairy Tail with the hope of finding a way to help his family

Evergreen

She was born with her stone eyes power in a small village

Her parents tried everything to get her eyes under control, but one of them was almost always turned to stone. She wasn't powerful enough to keep them stone for long (nor did she want to) but it was enough to ruin their day

Her mother sold handmade jewelry and her father was a farm hand. They didn't have a lot of money and baby Evergreen's magic was effecting their ability to work

Evergreen's parents loved her very much. Her mother was always making her little wire fairies and her father would bring her a flower crown after work

But because of her powers, the towns people feared her. No one would even come near their house and her mother started loosing sales

Her father started working longer and longer days so he could keep food on the table

Evergreen tried really hard to get her eyes under control, but she was still super young and knew no other mages

After a particularly bad day, Evergreen accidentally turned both her parents to stone. Which wasn't that odd, but they never changed back

She was around nine at the time. She waited several months for them to turn back, but it never happened.

Evergreen worked odd jobs and stole to keep herself fed with the hope that one day they'd turn back. She took special care of their statues and made sure they always looked pretty (decorating them with flowers, fairies, and paints). It comforted her to take care of them

On her thirteenth birthday, Evergreen gave up and headed out on her own. Living in filth and stealing her way through life, hoping one day to live a beautiful life

A couple years later, she made her way to Fairy Tail. Because the name reminded her of her mother

Freed

He came from a wealthy family in a far away continent

His parents were rarely around. Instead he was raised mostly by nannies

In the rare times that his parents were home, they were kind, but strict. Freed was always expected to behave even as a small child

While Freed was given many extracurriculars, his favorites were fencing, reading, and languages

Freed also enjoyed geography and learning about different cultures

His parents were always traveling, but they never took Freed with them. As he got older, he would beg to go with them growing tired of being trapped at home

They always refused (partially because they didn't know how to babysit their own child) and told him he'd have time for that when he was grown

What they didn't tell Freed was that they had known Freed had demonic magic in him and they feared him for it.

He was born with one demon eye. His parents spend insane amounts of money to turn it to normal and block his magic

That fear is why Freed was raised to keep his feelings under lock and key. Why they glossed over magic lessons. Why the staff winced when he cried as a child. Why his door locked from the outside

They all feared what he was capable of. Feared that he would become a monster

Around age ten, Freed overheard a member of staff updating his parents on his condition and how the darkness emanated from him

Being the intelligent child he was, Freed turned to the library to figure out what all this meant

Freed grew obsessed with the magic of Fiore and the mages that worked there. One day, when his parents were planning a business trip to Fiore, Freed snuck onto their ship

His minor knowledge of magic helped him avoid being caught. And he managed to make it all the way to Fiore without being caught

Unfortunately, the ship left without Freed and he was trapped in Fiore with no way of contacting his family

After getting over the panic of being on his own for the first time, Freed realized he didn't want to be part of a family that feared and most likely despised him.

Instead he researched the strongest guild in Fiore and made his way there. Hoping to finally understand what was 'wrong' with him and gain the knowledge he was never allowed to have

#i feel like bickslow being from the circus is fanon at this point #this one took me awhile #i really had to think about it #but it was super fun!#anon <3 #fairy tail #fairy tail headcanons #raijinshuu #thunder legion #freed justine #bickslow #fairy tail bickslow #fairy tail evergreen #evergreen ft #request

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kingkunigami · 2 years ago

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What would a man with everything ever want? Other than something he can’t have.

Mikage Reo is used to getting what he wants, and being a man with such wealth, power and influence, he rarely has to ask for it. People are often far too willing to give him exactly what he desires, so it’s no wonder that a man who can get whatever he wants would want the one thing he can’t have.

It’s easy for men like Mikage, when women practically throw themselves at his feet for the chance of a night with him. His social media full of potential suitors sending him the most salacious photographs, bearing their all in the hopes that they’ll be the ones to turn his head.

“She’s too old for you,” Mikage brushed off with a scoff, rolling his eyes the first time he saw Nagi with you, “You can do so much better.”

“Don’t be like that, Reo man.” Nagi would almost pout as both men watched you from across the room. The dress you were wearing clung to your curves perfectly and Mikage couldn’t help but wonder what you were wearing beneath the thin fabric— whether you were wearing anything at all.

But what he had really meant to say was “You don’t deserve her.”

Because for some reason, with all his power, influence and money— you’d still picked his best friend over him.

And the snide remarks just kept coming— because when Mikage encounters something he can’t obtain, he becomes nasty.

“That dress must have cost you a pretty penny,” Mikage scoffed as he took a sip of his red wine, the slightest upturn of his lip as he noticed your brows furrow in contempt, “Did Wego have a sale?”

“We can’t all be rich like you can we?” You shot back smoothly, brushing your hand against the smooth arm of the purple velvet suit he wore. A suit that would probably pay at least three months of your rent.

“A shame, really.” Mikage tried to hide the way his eyes gravitated towards your chest, mapping out the curve of your breasts as they dipped beneath the sheer satin.

“If I wanted someone with money I’d just pick you, huh Mikage?”

The scent of your perfume was intoxicating, the thought of you on your knees in the same dress now at the forefront of his mind as he shifted his feet to try and hide the growing tent in his pants. There were at least twenty women he could pick to take home tonight, or even settle for a quickie in one of the many restrooms, and yet somehow the only woman he wanted to take home was you.

“You say that like you’d ever have the choice.” Mikage shot back smoothly.

Because men like Mikage Reo aren’t used to being told no, and they definitely don’t ask.

They take.

#Just a silly little thought inside my head.#I stopped this before it became non-con #but just imagine reo wanting you that badly #mikage reo x reader #mikage x reader #⚽️—mikage

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hiddenmoonbeam · 11 months ago

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So because @polaroidcats keeps talking about motorbike!Remus yet has no clear answers for how anything happens in this hypothetical au (and tbh we couldn’t make sense of why he’d be a motorbike in a mermaid au) (not that this one makes sense either), my head ran away in a different, non-fairytale direction. Now I’m cursing blessing you all with the result, whether you want it or not <3

As a small child, Remus is turned into a werewolf. The transformations hurt him terribly, and as he grows up he keeps getting weaker. In his late teens/early twenties it’s so bad he risks dying, and there isn’t anything that can cure or make the curse easier to handle. After Remus’s mother dies, his father, so scared of losing his son too, becomes obsessed with saving him. But each full moon Remus’s body gets closer to failing, and soon Lyall’s only way of stopping the inevitable is to transform Remus into an object, a motorbike, because that wont age or keep turning into a wolf and tear his body apart. It buys Lyall time to find a solution.

For most of Remus’s childhood the little family hid away in the Muggle world to protect their boy and his curse from being discovered by other wizards who would want him harm. Now Lyall spends more time in the magical world again, though most find him strange. Few remember he even had a son, even fewer still believe said son is still alive. Didn’t that boy have a strange Muggle illness he got because his mother was one?

Lyall works and researches tirelessly for many years, until he suddenly falls ill and dies. As a result of his isolation, no one knows about Remus and the motorbike, and when distant relatives clean out the home, they get rid of everything Muggle without a second thought.

Some time later, young wizard Sirius finds this old motorbike on a Muggle sale, and instantly falls in love. He buys it, eager to put to use all the mechanical knowledge he’s acquired the years since leaving Hogwarts. The bike is old and rusty, but with Sirius’s time and care and skill it’s brought back to a glory it never had before.

Sirius does all the repairs without magic, but once it’s done he starts experimenting with ways to enhance it. One big goal is to make it fly. While trying to figure out spells and enchantments, he realizes there are magic threads woven into the parts of the bike already. Slightly annoyed with himself for not noticing sooner, but mostly so fascinated, he pulls at this magic. First a little and tentatively, then all at once. And so all of a sudden there’s a confused boy falling into his lap from where his beloved bike had stood.

A lot of questions and talking and explainings and more questions follow, but eventually they manage to paint a picture of what’s happened and how to move forward. Sirius misses his bike, but he’s also enamored with Remus, and moved by his fate. There might still not be a cure for lycanthropy, but now wolfbane exists so that’s far better than last time Remus had to transform, so many years ago. And although Remus feels embarrassed to let him do so, Sirius insists on buying it for him.

When the full moon comes, they’re as prepared as they can be, and while Remus always feels awful beforehand and still does, it helps to know he has Sirius there with him.

The moon rises, the light filters through the curtains, and Remus’s body twists and cracks from one form into the other… except it’s not the wolf Sirius expected to meet. It’s his beloved bike, engine running, wheels ready to take off from the ground.

And from that night forward, Sirius and motorbike!Remus spend each full moon flying together beneath the starlit sky. 💖

#for you cat <3 #not a fic but a little more details than in dms ahahaha #wolfstar #cursed aus #bikemus #storybook

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drarrymicrofic · 2 years ago

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Wheel Of Drarry (WoD) Round 1/2023 Masterlist

Hello there!

Recently the Drarrymicrofic Discord Server ran its latest round of Wheel of Drarry (WoD) Fic Gift Exchange between participating members. Here is the compiled Masterlist, based on the details submitted by the gifters themselves. Please enjoy these beautiful works <3 To participants: If you see any errors with the links or the usernames, or if you don’t see your fic and want to be included, please reach out to Isami (isamijoo) on Discord.

1. Gift for @peachydreamxx by @makeitp1nk

Title: Overcome with light

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 295

Summary: For dear Eliza, as part of the WoD exchange for @drarrymicrofic, based on her prompt ethereal. A gazillion thanks to my beloved @crazybutgood for the always excellent beta. Inspired by The Dreamer Trilogy; the title is from the song with the same name by Bowerbirds. Hope you like it!

LINK TO FIC

2. Gift for @steampunkserpent27 by @cavendishbutterfly

Title: As it was written

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Word Count: 4772

Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-Second Wizarding War with Voldemort (Harry Potter), War Trauma, Depression, Nightmares, Canon-Typical Violence, Trans Male Draco Malfoy, Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Angst with a Happy Ending, snuggling with your former enemy, and weeping in their arms, a kneazle who probably has a secret evil agenda

Summary: Harry keeps having nightmares after the war. Someone keeps saving him.

LINK TO FIC

3. Gift for @geesenoises by @wolfpants

Title: The Holly and the Ivy

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4640

Tags: EWE, Non-Linear Narrative, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Quidditch Player Draco Malfoy, Castles, Flashbacks, References to A Christmas Carol, Miscommunication, Idiots in Love, Misunderstandings, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Holidays, Christmas, Fluff, Light Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Charity Auctions, Rich Harry Potter, Prickly Draco Malfoy, POV Draco Malfoy

Summary: This year at the Annual Ministry Yule Auction, Magpies Seeker Draco Malfoy's time is up for sale. When Harry places the winning bid, will their contracturally-binding weekend together heal old wounds, or worsen them? Featuring a fluffy black cat called Marley, a castle on the western coast of Scotland, an Eighth Year Christmas kiss, and stupid boys who can't express their feelings.

LINK TO FIC

4. Gift for @thebooktopus by @themountainsgreen

Title: Midnight Confessions

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Word Count: 1576

Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Potioneer Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Idiots in Love, New Years Eve, Fluff, Holidays, Confessions, Falling In Love, Drarry, alternating POV

Summary: Sometimes, you need that special charm to realise what's right in front of you.

Harry's and Draco's is a tentative friendship, built on the ruins of Hogwarts and losses they’ve both suffered. This year marks the first time they spend New Year's Eve together.

LINK TO FIC

5. Gift for @isamijoo by @steampunkserpent27

Title: Shared Glimpses and First Kisses

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 2029

Tags: Harry Potter EWE, Eighth Year, Pining, Fluff, Gift Giving, Getting Together, Yule Party, Dancing, Good Harry Potter, Good Draco Malfoy, Established Friendship, Oblivious Harry Potter, Banter, First Kiss, Boys in Love, Boys Kissing, Happy Ending

Summary: The Eighth years have put on their very own magical Yule Party to celebrate how far they have all come. Harry has invited Draco, knowing that his new-found friend has been having a tough year, but will he show up?

LINK TO FIC

6. Gift for @tink-wondering by @gallifrey1sburning

Title: Waifs and Strays

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 5279

Tags: Alernate Universe - Different First Meeting, Chance Meetings, Runaway Harry Potter, Lost Draco Malfoy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Canonical Child Abuse (but nothing graphic), Libraries, Good Influence Tonks, Cousins don't let cousins grow up to be bigots, and friends don't leave their friends' kids in abusive households, pre-Harry/Draco, very very pre, they are small children then have many years to go, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon

Summary: When Draco Malfoy was seven years old, he got lost in Diagon Alley and met a cousin he’d never heard of. When Harry Potter was seven years old, he ran away from home and met a friend he never knew he had. A story of how chance encounters can change everything.

LINK TO FIC

7. Gift for @basicallyahedgehog by @nelweensfic

Title: Patience is the best gift

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4037

Tags: Omegaverse, mpreg, smut, fluff, Omega Harry Potter, Alpha Draco Malfoy, christmas

Summary: After almost a decade of being both a teacher at Hogwarts, and an Omega, Harry realises there’s only one thing he's finally ready for: founding his own family.

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8. Gift for @wolfpants by @isamijoo

Title: Take Your Time

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Word Count: 3000

Tags: Post-Hogwarts, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Not Epilogue Compliant, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Getting Together, Kissing, The Deathly Hallows

Summary: Ten years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy owns a repair shop in Knockturn Alley. One day, Harry Potter came with a job for him.

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9. Gift for @blue--dreaming by @peachydreamxx

Title: Treacle Tarts and Longing Hearts

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Word Count: 4230

Tags: Hogwarts Alternate Universe- Canon Divergence, First Kiss, POV Draco Malfoy, Friends to Lovers, Flirting, Pining, Fluff, Awkward Crush Feelings

Summary: Draco would usually find studying an absolute breeze, if it weren’t for Harry Potter being such a frustratingly gorgeous distraction.

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10. Gift for @quackquackcey by @sorrybutblog

Title: Two of Us

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5559

Tags: Professional Quidditch, Fake/Pretend Relationship, except not really because Harry is too dumb to realize he’s doing it, Pining, Jealousy, Quidditch teammates, Himbo Harry Potter, Smut, based on the vibes of a hockey rpf!!, Harry is a little repressed but he gets it in the end

Summary: The gang goes to a gay bar. Or: five times Harry accidentally pretended to be Draco’s boyfriend and one time Draco told him to put out or shut up.

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11. Gift for @cluelesspigeons by @shealynn88

Title: For Everything, a Season

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Word Count: 1344

Tags: established Drarry, fluff, empty nest, parents with adult children

Summary: Harry misses the kids, but Draco knows how to cheer him up.

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12. Gift for @gallifrey1sburning by @blue--dreaming

Title: waiting for courage

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 1125

Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash, Canon Divergence - Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Inspired by Alice in Wonderland, Happy Ending, Post Sectumsempra Scene | Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter's Duel in the Bathroom

Summary: In which Draco forgets about finding an odd book in the library as a child, but is somehow set on a better course anyway after an unexpected tumble.

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13. Gift for @nelweensfic by @cluelesspigeons

Title: Counting Down To The New Year With You

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 2117

Tags: Minor Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas, Minor Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, New Year's Eve, New Year's Party, New Year's Kiss, Fights, Making Up, Grumpy Harry Potter, Healer Draco Malfoy, Sulking Harry Potter

Summary: Just before Harry left for the party, he and Draco had a massive fight. Will Draco forgive him before the new year begins?

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14. Gift for @sorrybutblog by @quackquackcey

Title: "Little Blond Shite"

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 22557

Tags: Hogwarts Eighth Year, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Draco Malfoy Wielding a Bat, Humor, Crack Treated Seriously, Hijinks & Shenanigans, A little bit of mystery, Some Action, Baking, Everyone Thinks They're Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Getting Together, Falling In Love, Some pining, Banter, Eventual Smut, Probably one of the best things I’ve ever written, Wheel Of Drarry Mini-Exchange 2023, Animagus Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy Has Long Hair

Summary: Picture Draco Malfoy now in the habit of swingin’ a Beater’s bat—(not unlike Steve Harrington from Stranger Things)—after Harry Potter snatched his wand during the war. Now picture Draco Malfoy in eighth year minding his own business, getting rid of his excess handbaked goods by offering them to fairies, only to accidentally push Harry Potter into a fairy ring and get him cursed. That’s the story.

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15. Gift for @written-in-ash by @tink-wondering

Title: Lacrima Mortis

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Word Count: 13954

Tags: Dementors, the Kiss, Azkaban, Veela!Draco, depressive thoughts, borderline suicidal ideation, self-harm, very brief and not really self-harm, but tagging it just in case, low self-esteem, mental health, microfics, within the fic itself, angst, happy ending, kind of an open ending, love is an important theme in this, as much as it is in the original story, canon divergent after the Lily’s and James’ deaths, wherein Voldemort truly died that night, but with a slight twist, so kind of, Alternate Universe, time travel, or more like time imprisonment, time-turner, Minor character death, nothing graphic and not from the character’s POV, No beta we die like Sirius, Spoiler alert?, canon compliant violence, Veela!Draco finding his mate, Panic Attack, cremation

Summary: Through history, Veelas have been hunted and almost decimated for one thing. A single thing that seems trivial and useless at first. A lone tear. Their last tear. Lacrima Mortis. Many advocated against the kills, yet it remains a potent potion ingredient. And now, though illegal, the hunt still perdures.

LINK TO FIC

Please read, leave a kudos and comment of these wonderful fics. Until next time, have a lovely day!

#wheel of drarry 2023 #wheel of drarry #drarrymicrofic #drarry #harry/draco #Draco/Harry #draco malfoy x harry potter #harry potter x draco malfoy #wheel of drarry masterlist

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