#i did a few other drawings on other pages that you might be able to spot ;)

[sunnysidesevenup]

Happy Birthday, Iso <3

I, of course, had to do something for @theolivetree123's Isosceles' birthday. My confidence writing Iso was a bit low, but I'm pretty happy with how the fic turned out <3

Also, it turned out to be eight pages in my doc, which is a lot longer than I intended at first lmao. These two are just really fun to write together.

fic under the cut!

“Tills, what’re ya’ doing?” 

Tilly blinks, glancing up from the suspicious book in his hands. The words had been swimming weirdly again, doing an odd little dance around his head, not that he would’ve been able to understand it anyways. 

Isosceles is standing near the open door, a confused expression on his face although it fades quickly as he takes in the situation. Cute, Tilly thinks, followed by the urge to say it out loud–he was asked a question though, wasn’t he? 

“Summoning circle.” He says. It’s pretty obvious. 

Iso’s face twitches, as if he wants to smile–and although the smirk he settles on is probably not the first expression he was going to make, Tilly still decides to appreciate it anyways. “You can’t read.” He chastises, a bit mean. “What’d ya’ think was going to happen?” 

“Hmm…” Tilly hums, tapping a finger to his lips. “Getting killed, maybe? Hopefully by a successfully summoned demon.” The smile that forms on his lips is an innocent one, tone light and teasing. 

“With this circle? Yeah, definitely gettin’ killed.” 

He just answers Iso with a giggle, jumping up from his sitting position and nearly knocking over the lit candles and probably lighting things on fire. Isoceles watches with amusement as he seems to realize in real time that candles lit everywhere on the floor is probably not a good idea, and proceeds to blow them out. Once done, he bounds straight up to the taller man, feeling a burst of energy. 

He grins up at him. “Hi. You’re late.” 

“Wasn’t aware I could be late when we didn’t set a time.” 

Tilly’s grin turns mischievous. “You’re late because I missed you.” 

Iso raises his eyebrow, and Tilly is glad he got closer. “That so?” He asks. “Maybe you’re just borin’.” 

Ouch, that one hurt. He is not boring, thank you very much. 

He spins on his heels, hands on his hips and a pout on his face. “You just can’t handle my amazin’ presence.” He retorts, back to the other man. “And here I am, tryin’ to give you a birthday gift, and you say that…” 

Iso makes a noise behind him, slightly unamused. “I don’t celebrate my birthday.” 

Tilly spins back to him, poking his chest with a glove clad hand. “It’s an excuse for a celebration. Fun. Are you going to deny me a chance to have fun, Isosceles?” 

The man grins back at him, sharp teeth on display, and Tilly kind of wants to pinch his cheeks to see if he’ll get bitten. Ah, that might not be the best idea… “Since when do ya’ need an excuse?” He’s saying, and Tilly zones back into the conversation. 

He pouts at him. “It’s always good to have an excuse. Gets me out of a lot of trouble.” 

Iso laughs, “Ya’ anticipating getting in trouble with me?” 

Tilly nods back seriously. “All the time, yes.” 

“Ha! At least you’re aware.” His eyes scan the room again, poorly drawn summoning circle and all. Tilly would say he did an okay job, but he’s definitely not an artist, and drawing circles was deceptively hard. Isosceles is clearly judging his shaky chalk lines as well, from the way his expression does that slight twitch of amusement again. “Seriously, what were ya’ thinking?” 

The shorter man shrugs, a playful glint in his eye. “Thought you would like it. You like it, right? Tell me you do.” He moves a little closer, and yep, there’s the personal space limit, right on time. Tilly decides not to push it any further, pausing with a few inches between them. He doesn’t really want to get kicked out, at least not when he’s trying to do something for Iso’s birthday. 

Iso gives him another grin, his eyes not entirely meeting his own. “Would like it better if ya’ were any good at it.” He says. 

Tilly makes sure his expression is as sad as can be, “Aww…” He begins, and then his tone morphs into something more triumphant and smug. “But you would have liked it, right? So I do know you pretty well.” 

Isosceles shoves him away slightly, making his way further into the room. “That’s a pretty low bar of a gift.” He says dismissively. 

Oops, a bad choice of a tease, then. 

Tilly keeps his forlorn sighing to himself (not that that’s what he’s doing, of course not) and follows the other man into the room. “My bad~” He apologizes. “How could I ever hope to know the oh-so-mysterious Isosceles?” 

The man shoots him an annoyed glance, and Tilly raises his hands in surrender. The smirk doesn’t help, though. 

…For someone who doesn’t want to get kicked out, he’s definitely pushing it. 

Well, he’ll just run distraction, then. 

“So… How was your day?” Tilly asks, tone innocent. 

Iso gives him another glance, knowing what he’s doing. “Are we makin’ small talk now? Damn Tills, maybe you are getting boring.” He says, sitting down at the desk chair. Tilly decides to sit across from him on the bed, legs crossing as soon as he hops up onto it. 

“That’s very offensive to me.” He responds seriously. “I’m the least boring person you know.” 

“Dunno about that.” 

Tilly gives him a huffy pout, Iso just grinning meanly at him still. 

“Whoever you’re thinking of, I’m definitely hotter and more entertaining than them.” He tells him firmly. “By many points. It’s not even a competition, really. I have won by a lot.” 

The grin turns meaner. “You’re not that–”

“If you say I’m not that hot I’m going to do something questionable.” He threatens immediately. 

Iso laughs, a bit startled. “I was goin’ to say entertaining.” 

Tilly feigns a thinking face, “Hmmm….” He then shakes his head, “No, that’s not acceptable either.” 

His companion chuckles again, so that’s definitely a win. 

However. 

“Hey, Iso.” 

He raises his eyebrow again, no doubt suspicious of Tilly’s new tone of voice. 

“Come sit on the bed instead.” He says, patting the spot next to him. He makes sure not to be flirty about it, just a simple motion, but Isosceles still narrows his eyes and glances away dismissively. 

“Nah, I’m good.” He answers, and yeah, that’s not happening. 

Tilly stands up, running a hand through his hair, and sighs. Iso glances back at him, eyes narrowed at his answering, far too innocent expression, and watches as he then walks up to stand right in front of him. The shorter takes a second to consider the odds of getting kicked out, or beat up, or killed, and then dismisses all of that and leans down to be eye level with the higher being himself. 

He doesn’t really feel like a higher being, though, not when Tilly gently grabs his face in his hands and tilts it up. The wide eye and slowly creeping blush don’t really feel particularly eldritch or scary, either. 

“Hey, Iso.” He echoes, voice now softer and a bit coaxing. “Let’s sit on the bed instead.” 

“Umm.” Is his companions answer, eye attempting to settle on anything else, although Tilly’s made sure to block his view. He doesn’t follow the word up with anything, either, so the shorter just drops his hands from his face and slides them to his arms instead, pulling him up. He drags him over to the bed, and then they’re both sitting across from each other. 

He smiles smugly. That’s much better. 

“So! I got us a game to play.” 

Iso recovers quickly, much to his disappointment, although the blush still staining his skin has yet to fade. “Oh?” 

Tilly nods seriously, reaching under the pillow and pulling out a box. He sets it between them with a flourish, although Iso looks unimpressed. 

“You stole Monopoly?” 

“Is that what it says?” He eyes the box with newfound interest, but the title starts swimming again and he gives up. He shakes his head, getting back on track. “Ta-da!” He announces, opening the box, where an assortment of game pieces are strewn about. 

Iso blinks, and then grins. “That’s not Monopoly.” 

“I should hope not. I just poured a ton of other games into this box, it’s just so boring to stick to one… I even asked one of the workers for recommendations!” He picks up one of the game pieces, a little army man that the worker had explained was part of a game called Risk. He’d liked the sound of that, so he’d swept the little armies into his pockets when the underpaid worker had turned away. It’s not like the partimer would mind, but better if they weren't aware of it so they’d get in less trouble!

Chess pieces, cards, a variety of dice, various little game pieces cover the box, and the numerous game boards nestled inside. Honestly, it’s a bit of a miracle he managed to fit all of it into one box, but Tilly is very efficient, thank you very much. 

“So, what are the rules?” Iso asks, unceremoniously dumping all of the items onto the bed. Looks like he’s on board, then. 

Tilly laughs, settling into a more comfortable position on the bed. “We both already know the rules, don’t we?” He asks, laying out the very game boards in a seemingly completely random order. 

If he’s not mistaken, Iso’s eye seems to brighten, and he grins right back as he also sets the pieces up in an equally nonsensical order. “Right, we do.” 

-

Thirty minutes in and the game has fives boards (one of which is a piece of paper with badly drawn squiggles, one in a bright, near invisible yellow and another in a glittery purple), at least two decks of regular playing cards, two separate armies of little plastic soldiers, a strange, precarious tower of dice, and stacks of fake cash. There’s a little scoreboard off to the side, and somehow, despite the nonsensical game, the two are tied. 

With bated breath, Tilly reaches over to take another card from one of the piles, Iso smirking at him as he does so. There’s a moment where he believes he’s successfully managed to grab it, when suddenly the carefully stacked tower of dice collapses, falling straight across his lap. 

He blinks for a moment, and then turns accusing eyes onto Isosceles, who looks like he’s about to laugh. “That’s not fair.” He accuses. 

“Eh? You sucking at this?” 

The shorter’s mouth twists into a pout once again. “Cheater.” 

His companion blinks (or is it a wink when it’s only one eye? Hmm, Tilly should ask him some other time) innocently at him. “What did I do? I was nowhere near it.” 

Tilly just groans, swiping the dice off of him and back onto the bed. For good measure, he tosses one straight at Iso’s head, but the man just dodges with barely a twitch to the side. Stupid, annoying, godly reflexes. Just get hit with the dice for his wounded pride, okay? He’s sensitive! 

He forks over a stack of his fake money to Iso, the man neatly adding it to his growing bank with a smug look. Once he’s done paying his horrible, no good, offending taxes, he rolls one of the dice. Hitting a six, he then carefully moves his little piece (a coin, of course, he has a brand) around the board, and begins stacking six dice on top of each other. 

“Hmm, don’t forget I attacked you last turn.” 

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” He mutters, surveying the board. “Stop attacking me, I’m weak and fragile and I’ll cry.” 

“Weren’t your words five minutes ago, “Oh, Iso, I hope you cry when I destroy you in the next five moves?” The man taunts, putting on a high pitched and annoying voice. 

Tilly gapes at him in astonishment. “I don’t sound like that.” 

Iso remains silent, amusement speaking louder than his words ever could, and Tilly throws a pillow at him. “I don’t! I don’t! Take it back!” 

He dodges, of course, because Isosceles can never let Tilly do anything. Ugh. 

Now lacking a pillow, and significantly more annoyed, he raises his hands and does a grabbing motion. “Give me your pillow. As tribute.” 

“Deal with the consequences of your own actions, Tills~” Iso singsongs, taking his own turn on the game. He flips a card over, reads it, and then scowls. “How’d you sneak this card into my deck? You can’t even read.” 

“Gimme your pillow and I’ll tell you.” He grins at him, fluttering pleading eyes. 

Ever immune, he laughs, shaking his head. “Your secrets aren’t that important. I’ll figure it out anyways.” He then pats the pillow beside him, mean expression just rubbing it in. 

And yeah, logically, Tilly could just get off the bed and retrieve the one he threw. But that would mean probably losing, because then Iso could change the pieces around, and then he’d have to start over his own process of changing the pieces around. He doesn’t want Iso to win. It might be his birthday, but he’s not a loser. 

Looking at the board now though, it’s looking like that might be the outcome anyways. 

So, of course, he has a solution for both problems. 

“Iso…. you sure ya’ won’t hand over your pillow? Please? For me?” He asks again. 

He’s met with the same amused smile. “Nope.” He says, and then narrows his eyes suspiciously as he registers Tilly’s smug expression. “Hey, don’t–” 

Tilly interrupts him by launching himself across the game board, knocking everything out of the way and colliding straight with the other man. He knocks him back onto the bed, and immediately just lays straight down on top of him. 

Isosceles lays there for a moment, and then responds with an accusing and smug: “This is because I was going to win, wasn’t it.” 

He lays his head down against Iso’s chest, ear right next to his heart. “Hmm, who could say~?” He says, and then just pauses. 

Neither of them say anything for a while. 

It’s not like Tilly has never done this before, anyways, and even though the taller still gets flustered, it’s not as shocking as it once was. 

…He doesn’t say anything about Iso’s heart beating, though. He’d done that before, and he knows now it’ll just cause a protest. 

Instead, what he says is a simple “Happy birthday.” 

“...I don’t celebrate it. I told you.” 

Tilly sits up, grinning down at him. Iso’s face is a bit red, but he looks decently composed (and very cute, but he thinks saying that right now will get him shoved onto the floor). “Does this seem like a celebration? No, no, this is very un-celebration. A non birthday–unbirthday? No, that sounds stupid–Ugh, point is, no celebrations here!” His grin softens, turning into more of a smile.

“So, in a very not celebratory way, happy birthday, Isoceles.” 

[grubbin22]

one of my favorite pieces from the recent pla anniversary @pokemagma event! i’ve had the idea for this work in my mind for a while & it was a joy to create in such a wonderful space. (lol!) i hope to create a larger version of it eventually! 🧡

[luveline]

hi lovely, was wondering if you would be able to write any hotch x bombshell!reader ? maybe before they got together or any scenario/prompt you feel like!

take care of yourself and have a great day!!💝💝

The problem with Aaron Hotchner is that he’s too lovely for his own good. He might not think of himself that way. Not many, if any, of the office would agree. Morgan thinks Hotch is a hard-ass and Elle likes him in her way, but she rolls her eyes when he gets snippy, and Spencer… well, you think you and Spencer are probably on the same page. 

Hotch is kind, and a good man, and if he looks handsome when he’s frustrated that’s just how nature intended it to be. 

“Stop it.” 

“No.” 

“Stop.” Hotch levels you with a look over his computer. You’re surprised he knows how to use it, considering the semi-permanent callus on the pointer finger of his right hand. You must’ve watched him pen a thousand case files, consults and forms in a love letter to the old ways. 

He types slowly, but you’ve decided to keep your comment about it to yourself. “You’re looking at me like you know something I don’t,” he says. 

“Maybe I do.” 

“I’m sure you do. Stop bragging.” 

You lean on your elbow on the desk. He’s got a file open in front of him he’s transcribing for the sake of security. It details a case from a few months ago, and each line of the investigation is printed in Hotch’s neat script, lilting to the left over time. He frowns as he turns a page and realises it’s practically margin to margin with detail.

You want to offer to do it for him, but he’ll say no. You want to slide your foot up the leg of his slacks to see if he’ll blush as he did last Friday when you’d done the same thing, Gideon in the doorway none the wiser and somehow disapproving regardless. 

And Hotch, he’d laughed like a kid when the door closed, not turned on in the slightest but endeared by the guts it took you to try. Then he’d sort of enticed you around the desk somehow —you don’t remember the before of it, only slinking to his side with your heels tumbled on their sides under the desk still, his palms wide and open as you settled on a wooden corner. 

“I’m pretty good on the computer.” 

“I know,” Hotch says. “I authorised your computing and communications technology seminar myself.” 

“I was good at it before the mandatory company training garbage,” you say without heat, wondering how you might entice him over your side of the desk. Flirting aloud doesn’t work. Neither does footsie, and besides, what fun is that for you? But he’d looked at you in this strange way, none of his commanding sternness about him. A smile lingered on his lips; he can’t have known he was smiling at all, or it wouldn’t have shown. He’d left something honest there for you to see. 

Maybe it’s in your best interest to let down your own walls for a minute, too. 

“I could help,” you say. “Perhaps not from the same file, but I can get the laptop and start on the Maryland stuff. If you like.”

He looks at you steadily over the computer. His eyes seem lighter, the suspicious set to his mouth oddly close to smiling. “What do you want?” he teased quietly. 

“Nothing. Just figured it would make your life easier.”

“When have you ever made my life easier?” 

Your smile slips before you can stop it. Immediately, Hotch isn’t smiling either. The, “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that, honey,” almost doesn’t reach you, over that sharp second of hurt. 

“It’s fine.” You plaster on a smile again to save him the trouble. “I know you didn’t.” 

“No, really. I didn’t mean that.”

“Hotch,” you say, thumbing over his name slowly, “I know. We were teasing.” 

“Flirting,” he corrects. 

Your smile is real, then. “Flirting?” you ask. “That’s rather forward. Flirting might imply we like one another enough to, oh, I don’t know, help each other with our overflowing workloads?” 

He looks at you, all dark and him, steady, strong, all the stupid things that draw you in. You’re not just in it for his arms, however tightly corded they might seem when he’s pulling off his tie after a long day. “You do more than enough for me just sitting there,” he says, holding your gaze with a careful casualness that has your heart tripping in your chest. “Can you do that for me?” 

“Do what? Just sit here looking pretty?” 

His shoe touches your ankle. “Exactly,” he says quietly. “Just sit there exactly as you are. I promise I don’t need anything else from you.” 

Warmed from the inside out, you sit back in your chair. Grinning like a fool. “Why didn’t you just say that?” you ask. Any chance at sounding casual is lost when your voice comes out gossamer thin. 

He looks you over appraisingly. “See?” he says, turning back to his case file. “Thank you, honey. You’re a big help.” 

You swing one leg over the other to get comfortable, crossing your arms over your stomach smugly. “I know.” 

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Bestiary (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Your husband and you do not speak the same language. During your wedding night, you find out that High Valyrian and the Common Tongue pale when compared to the way your bodies allow you to communicate.

Warnings: Heavy smut, not much dialogue. P in V sex. First time.

A/N: Who would have thought the most enthusiastic consent I have ever written with Daemon would be in a fic with nearly no dialogue?

Being coached through your wedding vows is not a good omen for your marriage. At least, that is what your husband must think, by the thunderous look on his face. You fight the urge to scream at him that you have practiced for this moment and that you do not need to be coached through the vows. It would be no use. The two of you do not understand each other.

Everything is strange to you in Westeros, from the language to the wedding ceremony. They make you cut your lips and hand, in a procedure you do not enjoy. Your husband does the same. Your blood flows into a goblet, from which you will have to drink later on.

It's barbaric. You suppose it must symbolize the joining of bloodlines in the crudest way.

At least Daemon kisses you at the end, a cold brush of his lips against yours that tells you he is still mad. He had probably felt betrayed, being forced into this arrangement you entered willingly.

If you had known he was that petty, you would have not shown your hand so fast. Your father had wanted dragons, which meant becoming part of House Targaryen. Daemon was the only one available for you to ensnare in your web.

As any good hunter, you had watched your prey first, taking notes of his behavior. Only an afternoon was needed to understand you started the race with a disadvantage. His eyes followed Princess Rhaenyra, Princess Rhaenys and her little daughter, but never lingered on other women.

While you might have lacked the silver hair, you did not lack the wits and charms necessary to be taken in consideration.

You had needed a few days to ready your song, but you had approached him not even a week later. He had been sitting in the library, so you had knocked on the table twice to draw his attention.

Daemon had lifted his eyes from the scroll he was reading, annoyed. He had a handsome face, decorated with age lines that only served to make him look more regal. He looked more the part of the King than his brother, a decaying corpse that you had heard had also acquired his own nubile bride.

Such was the fate of the daughters of powerful men. Sold to other powerful men, old enough to be their fathers, birthing them their own litter of sons and daughters. Sons that would grow up to become powerful men in their own right, daughters that would become pawns to establish dynasties. On and on it went.

Daemon had spoken then. His words were much harsher than those of the language you were used to, lacking the airy song of the languages similar to the one from the Rhoynar. You had not understood. You did not speak a lick of the Common Tongue.

No silver hair, no words, but plenty of resources. You had placed the book you had brought with you on the table, and looked at him.

His eyes had lit up with curiosity. He recognized the title. He spoke again, intrigued.

Despite his tone sounding much more auspicious, you had no other option than to shake your head and speak, with a tremulous voice.

“Bodmagho.” It's the only word you know, one that you have prepared especially for this. But just in case your pronunciation is not perfect, you open the book and mimic the gesture of passing the pages.

Daemon looks stunned. He says something else, still in the Common Tongue. You were able to tell from the intonation he was asking a question, but you didn't know what it was about.

“Bodmagho.” You repeated, stubbornly. You placed your book down and pointed to it.

Daemon sighed. He pointed to the chair. You sat, happy as a clam.

“Prince Daemon.” He pointed at himself. Then, to you. “Lady…?”

You told him your name. He nodded.

“Daor.” He shook his head. “No.”

You stared. He shook his head again. You understood that no, daor and shaking head meant the same.

“Daor. No.” You shook your head. Daemon squeezed your shoulder, a proud smile on his face.

Your father told you that afternoon that you were to be married to him. Just as you had made efforts to catch Daemon, your father had been setting his trap.

Daemon did not oppose, nor encourage the match, but he was angry at you. Angry that you knew before him and tried to charm him into doing your bidding.

Men like him, you learn, like to be the ones pulling the strings. They hate being treated like hounds, even if that is what they are.

You get no further lessons.

This is how you manage to get to your wedding feast only knowing two words. Teach and no. It makes you the most riveting company, and so, it's no wonder you are soon ushered into a chamber with your new husband.

You had not noticed before, but it is the first time you are alone with him since the morning at the library. To you, it had been a matter of no consequence. You had to marry a powerful man, one day. Your father decided it should be him because he wanted dragons. It was as simple as that.

As a rich man, your father had known rich men only get richer at times of unrest. And unrest was coming for the Seven Kingdoms. He could smell it in the air, hear it in the whispers of the common folk. Princess Rhaenyra wasn’t going to inherit without issue.

Your family moved here for that reason. An opportunity to get richer could not be dismissed. Your father had taken one look at the dragons and decided that they were the key to turning his legacy into an empire.

Giant war machines that could level castles in one afternoon. Raze a city to the ground in mere hours. Fire so hot it could melt stone. They could not be bought, you had to be a Targaryen to have them. It was only natural to turn into one, then.

Your children would get dragons. You would provide funds and as many children as you could, and House Targaryen the magic in their veins. Simple business transaction. But apparently, Daemon disagreed.

His face is thunderous. You can tell he is about to berate you. He starts talking, brows pinched together and an accusing finger pointed towards you.

Has he forgotten you do not speak his language? You step closer and poke his arm, hard.

It was the wrong choice. Daemon's face turns even more murderous. His lips twist into a snarl, teeth bared. His posture turns aggressive. He puffs up his chest, he advances on you. The Prince tries to intimidate you through his body language alone.

You are not a small woman. But you are young, and you do not train as much as he does. His looming over you feels menacing, and it reminds you once again of the fate his late wife was rumored to have suffered.

This was a bad idea. A terrible idea. Daemon is forcing you to walk backwards, pushing your forehead and nose with his. You either move, or get a broken nose and a concussion.

Daemon is terrifying. You will not cross him again, you think to yourself. Only a fool goes around poking dragons with a stick. You feel your palms starting to sweat, a knot forming in your throat. You fight the urge to cry.

The back of your knees hits the mattress, and you fall into the furs with a small noise of surprise. Your husband does not lose any time. He gets right into your face, trying to intimidate you even more.

But if you hope to survive this marriage, to make it work as your father has requested, you can't bend. Daemon will never respect you if you do. He will see you as no more than a frightened girl, who will not disagree with him and serve for little beyond warming his bed. You are not that. You will build an empire, a dynasty out of his dragons and your wealth. The only thing you can do is persevere or break trying.

Daemon scowls at you. He notices the change in your eyes, the fight coming back to you.

“Daor.” You say, staring him down with all your might. It doesn't matter if you are lying down, and he is hovering over you, pinning you under him. You will triumph.

Daemon doesn't heed the warning. He starts tugging at the buttons of your bodice, tiny pearls sent flying all over the room. The gesture is as brutal as it is calculated. It is meant to remind you of your place, always under him from now on. Daemon has a right to your body, and he intends to exercise it as he sees fit. You are no more than an object, and if you cry or scream, it is not relevant.

Despite knowing why he is doing it, you can't avoid grimacing. He looks more beast than a man, snarling over you, ripping your clothes. It's a sight that would scare any woman, no matter how cold.

You look up at him. You give him your own little snarl. Daemon pauses. It's not the reaction he was expecting. He wanted you to cry. You would never give him the satisfaction.

It's a balancing act. You will have to bring him to heel, but soothe his pride in the next act, less he turns on you. Push away a man too much, and he will think you are disrespecting him. He will call you names, thinking you are the problem. Daemon feels entitled to you. You need to show him he is not, but that you are giving yourself to him. He needs to value you. The treasure to his dragon.

“Daor!” You say, firmly. You push him away. Whatever he anticipated, you giving him a fight wasn't something he was prepared for. It shows in the way he folds, stunned by your behavior. You give him hard little slaps to the chest, until you manage to get him off you.

Daemon's scowl turns more confused than angry. He looks at you as if you are a particularly challenging riddle to crack. He rightens his clothes and starts to retreat.

“Daor.” You repeat, grabbing at his shirt to keep him in place. You do not want him to leave.

Daemon wretches free from your grip on his arm. He mutters something, angered.

“Daor.” You use his trick against him, stepping right into his path and forcing him to back off. You use your body to make him advance backwards, toward the bed.

He sits on the edge of it, still scowling. You giggle, making Daemon madder still. You look at him with what you hope is a seductive expression and pull your bodice down.

“Bodmagho?” You ask him, as your dress pools around your feet, leaving you in a sheer shift. Daemon's eyes darken. His expression changes into an amused smile, and he gestures for you to come to him.

You do. You step closer and get on his lap. His hands envelop your waist, warm and calloused.

Then, the unexpected. Daemon grabs your hair and pulls, forcing your head back. You moan, pain and arousal mixing into an unknown emotion that makes the place between your legs slick.

You can feel his breath against your neck, making you shiver. His face comes closer, and closer. Daemon stares into your eyes, lips slightly parted. You mirror his expression, feeling as if you are being consumed by your lust.

He arches an eyebrow. Never been one to shy away from a challenge, you brush his lower lip with his thumb. Daemon parts his lips and sucks it in his mouth.

The shock must have shown on your face because he laughs, giving your thumb a playful bite. You squirm, instinct overpowering modesty, and roll your hips against his.

The two of you stare at each other. Closer, and closer, until his features blur, until two purple eyes turn into one. A dragon turned cyclops by the mere force of lust. There is hunger and want, and confusion. Both of you are so close that you are sharing the same air, the same breath. And Daemon pulls, and you are kissing, and you shake in his arms, feeling like how you think the gods must have felt when the cyclopes formed the lighting.

His hands go to greedily knead at your thighs, slipping under your shift. His palms feel rough against your skin, impatient. The shift rides up, up, up. You mewl against his mouth, desperately reaching for something unknown to you but that you know Daemon will help you reach.

You are restless as he pets you, biting at your mouth, hands sinking in his hair. You tug him towards your neck, knowing his kisses, scorching hot, would burn even sweeter along your nape and ears.

Daemon, though, has other plans. He pulls away and pecks you on the lips. “Vūjigon ” He says. He touches his mouth. “Vūjigon”

You kiss him, softly. “Vūjigon”

He pets your hair.

“Vūjigon.” And he points to his collarbones. You frown in confusion, thinking perhaps the word doesn't mean what you think it does. He sighs and leans in, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the space between your collarbones.

“Vūjigon.” You perk up, and start kissing his shoulders. Your hands pull his shirt more open, letting you bite and lick more of his flesh. The urge to consume and be consumed is overpowering, making you desperate to touch him.

Daemon laughs. He pulls you upwards. Can't he see you are starving?

“Daor.” He says, when you try to go back to it. You give him your fiercest pout. Daemon tuts at you.

He squeezes one of your breasts, making you moan, before cruelly twisting the bud. You gasp, your nails digging on his naked shoulders.

“Shhh.” Daemon soothes you, his hand going to squeeze your breast tenderly once more. “Daor?”

You don't know how to tell him what you want, so you grab his hand and make him pinch the tender bud again. Daemon smiles. He kisses you, muttering something fervently on your lips.

He lays you down on the bed, despite your attempts to sit up. Daemon pins you down with a growl, hand on your chest.

You can't help it. No matter the warning, you squirm as if you were in pain. It certainly feels like it. There is some sort of hunger in your belly, making you want to rub your core against him. You can feel your shift starting to become wet right above your tailbone. Daemon has you so bothered you are dripping into the shift and the bed.

Daemon gives you another growl and leans down to bite your breast over the fabric of your shift. It's meant to be punishment, but you arch into it, gasping.

He laughs. He takes as much of it as it can fit in his mouth, sucking greedily. The noises are obscene. The sight must be, too. Your mouth, open, moaning yourself into a frenzy. Daemon, nipping, biting, sucking, like a man starved. Your shift with two giant wet spots, one at the chest and the other by your arse.

You moan, surprised at the feeling. You had never thought bodies could be used in such a way before. Nor had you hoped for him to please you so eagerly.

His lips close around your bud. His tongue twirls around it, lavishing it with attention. You grab at his hair, his nape, desperately trying to hold onto something. Daemon just sucks harder on your breast. You moan, and moan, and moan some more. Desperate little sounds, gathering in the air around a desperate girl.

He switches to your other breast. Your shift feels sticky on your skin, so you start trying to take it off. The task distracts you enough for his hand to find its way to your core, and you squeak at the first sensation of his fingers against it.

Daemon smiles against your skin. He presses a finger inside you, and you squeal some more. He lets go of your breast to better gaze into your overwhelmed face, seemingly getting an enjoyment out of it.

Another finger joins the first. You cry out. It stings a bit. Daemon shushes you, kissing your cheek. He rubs at something above your opening that makes you squirm in delight.

His other hand comes into your sight. Daemon makes a gesture, two fingers together, separating. You stare. He nuzzles you, his cheek against yours, before repeating it.

You nod with a pout.

He starts prying you open slowly, this time. Despite enjoying causing pain, it appears your cooperation has granted you privileges with Daemon. He understood the distress on your face, and read you correctly enough to know it was not going to go well if he kept going as he was.

Daemon rubs at your shoulders, soothingly. You understand you need to relax, and force your body to do so. He kisses you in reward, slow and sweet, coaxing you to him.

You nod again. Daemon moves back, settling himself by your side. He takes your shift away, pressing soft little kisses to each new inch of skin revealed.

The sudden removal of your last layer makes you shiver a little. Your skin is wet from his previous ministrations and rapidly cooling. You plaster yourself to him, seeking warmth.

He chuckles, grabbing your arse to move you slightly out of the way. You scowl, not sure why Daemon is doing so, until you realize he is taking off his breeches.

“Daemon.” You whisper, softly. There is a part of you that is already cringing at the promise of pain the loss of your maidenhead will bring.

“Daor?” He asks you, one of his hands petting your cunt. It makes you shiver.

“Bodmagho.” You grasp at his shoulders, steadying yourself. Daemon lines the two of you. You feel his member at your entrance, holding you open and threatening to spear you apart. It feels scorching against your skin.

He helps you impale yourself on his member. It's not pleasant at first. Property dictates that you should not let him see your discomfort. You should just bear it like a good wife and allow him to chase his pleasure unbothered.

But you know Daemon enjoys causing pain. He thrives on it. So you let your eyes fill with tears, and your face goes slack and overwhelmed.

He smiles. He licks your tears away, and mumbles something. You squeal, and it only excites him more.

“Bodamagho.” Daemon pinches the flesh on your hip, clearly calling you to focus. His hands move your pelvis back and forth, back and forth, until you are hissing in pleasure, your hands on his chest, doing the movement yourself.

“Vūjigon.” You demand, moving your hips just like he taught you. Daemon is too focused on aiding you bounce by thrusting upwards to pay attention to you. When he doesn't obey, you give a tug to his hair.

He snarls at you. You snarl back. So he grabs your wrists and pushes sideways, and suddenly, you are under him and Daemon is still thrusting into you.

You are desperate for closeness. You scrunch up your face and wrap your legs around his back. Daemon looks down at you, and bites your shoulder. He is not pleased with your perceived attempt to take control.

Realizing your mistake, you shake your head.

“Daor.” You rub at his back with your foot, gently. You hold him close, and nuzzle his neck, delighting in his scent. Never you had thought before you would enjoy the smell of sweat and some sort of aromatic oil, yet here you are. “Vūjigon.”

Daemon's expressions softens. He leans in and gives you a kiss. You make pleased, chirping noises, trying to show him that was precisely what you wanted.

He complies, releasing your hands. You enthusiastically hug him. It helps you anchor yourself against the unrelenting waves of pleasure.

His hands, now freed from yours, are everywhere. Twisting your buds, rubbing at your pearl, squeezing your waist. Daemon whispers nonsense in your ears, takes the lobe between his teeth. He aids you, tilting your hips with his hands, reaching deeper.

You heard a story once, about Westeros. A white hart was said to come to the greatest Kings alive. A magnificent beast, tall as a man, with skin made of the purest snow and antlers as long and imposing as the branches of an ancient tree. If a King encountered it, it was a good omen for his rule. It would be just and prosperous, blessed by the Gods.

What did they do with the hart? Keep it in Kingswood, perhaps? You had made the mistake of asking, once. You had been told that they used the best spear they had. That men held the hart down, and they gutted it from head to belly.

The perfect, regal beast, fur as pale as snow. The pristine white sheets under you. Blood tainting the white. What a way to go.

You understood then why they called it a small death. You were sweating, squealing like a beast being gutted, thighs trembling under Daemon's hands. It was too much and too little, and you felt yourself reaching it, yearning for it.

You did not care if you burned, moth to a flame, maiden to a dragon. Daemon seemed to realize it because his hand went to rub at your pearl, and he leaned in.

“….” He was talking, but it was in that strange language of his, and your ears were ringing, you felt about to explode. Your body responded to his tone, though. Gentle, loving, coaxing you over the edge with a scream so fierce you might as well have been one of those weeping women that appeared far north.

Daemon grinned at you. A fierce, proud expression, eyes crinkling in the corners. You pulled him into a kiss, and raked your nails down his back, feeling the skin yield like butter under your fingers. It spurred him on, and with a gasp and a bite to your shoulder, Daemon was shattering inside you.

He collapsed on top of you with a laugh. You smiled. Daemon pulled you to rest, back flush against his chest, and you understood each other better than those who spoke the same, common tongue, did.

[wolfdykeviolet]

Ever since she found this strange book, she has been so intrigued with the secrets contained within it. So many interesting rituals and spells recorded inside.

It's all bogus, naturally. But it's pretty bogus, written in gorgeous fonts and with - honestly? - pretty hot drawings sketched in.

But there's one spell there that she has not been able to get out of her mind... The Body Takeover.

For the past week and a half it's been weighing on her mind constantly. Like she's drawn to it, her mind keeps wandering to that page in the book.

Fuck it. It's bogus anyway, but might as well try, right?

But who to try on, she wonders. She would need a hair of her "hopefully willing subject", as the book so optimistically puts it, so there's only a couple of options really. Definitely not mom and dad, that's for sure. It's gotta be either her girlfriend - no, can't do that, she's too busy and is barely coming over anymore - well it's got to be her then.

When nightfall arrives, she waltzes over to their shared bathroom, scans for her little sister's hairbrush, and plucks a few strands out from it. "This is so awkward" she thinks. But, well, it's bogus, right?

She retreats back to her room and gets to work. She prepares everything as it's shown in the book, she lights the candle in the middle of everything else, and chants the words inscribed on the page. Once she's done, she takes the strands of hair and lays them down in the flame.

That nasty smell of burning hair immediately hits her nose, it causes her to tear up and blink a few times. Once, twice, three blinks, and her room goes dark when she opens her eyes again.

She's in bed now? So was this just a dream? She exclaims "huh?" then her eyes grow wide when the voice coming out of her is not her own, but her little sister's sweet voice. This is her sister's room.

It worked?! She frantically looks around the room, barely lit by the moon peeking through the blinds. By her side, on the bed, lies a book. Is that...? It must be her journal. She shouldn't, she knows she shouldn't, but, she literally is her little sister right now, so why shouldn't she?

She gets up and takes the diary over to the desk, flicking on a little light, and skips to the most recent page. She's in disbelief at what she sees.

"I don't know what to think anymore. She's been looking at me all day again. But even more than she had been the last two weeks. I feel so seen by her. Does she know? Has she figured out my massive crush? Does she think I'm a disgusting freak and now she's always judging me? Not a minute goes by anymore where she isn't on my mind. I touched myself again to the thought of her last night but the thoughts are getting worse, I wish she would just barge in and kiss me and take me and not give a shit about what I think and- fuck, get it together! Of course she wouldn't. I'm the worst. But she still treats me the same as always, so at least she hasn't let on that she thinks I'm such a fuckup. I love you sis..."

The rest of the page is filled with tiny scribbles and the words "I love you big sis" repeated a few times, increasingly more disordered, until it ends.

...

---------

A few days later, she texts her little sister the words "I love you little sis", waits a few minutes, then takes over her body again. The spell has become easier; she does not react so strongly as she did last time to the burning, and smoothly glides over into her sister's body.

This time, she awakes not to her sister calmly resting, but to her touching herself with one hand while the other keeps the phone in hand, with one message highlighted. "I love you little sis".

"Holy shit, she's wetter than I've ever been" goes through her head as she picks up where her little sister left off. Her fingers are a bit clumsier, she doesn't know what spots feel best to this body, but as if this body naturally reacted to the presence inside it, it feels absolutely electrified. Like it senses those fingers aren't truly hers. The love for her big sister has etched itself so deeply into her that even her body instinctively reacts this viscerally to just her big sister's spirit.

It doesn't take long for her to orgasm, and oh what a big one. Her mind and body go into overdrive as she takes this body above its peak. She shakes and whines and whimpers until her body goes limp. Her own body could never feel this good.

She pants, spent from making her little sister cum this hard. She gets one last idea and, with a malicious grin, grabs the phone and snaps pictures of her bare body, trying to keep all the important bits censored. Trying, because her hard nipples are clearly on display in some of them. She sends those pictures over to herself as a reply to the "I love you" message, captioning them "I am thinking about you big sis".

Oh she's going to have so much fun with this.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request the Obey Me brothers reacting to their s/o sending them selfies of them in skimpy outfits or completely nude?

Obey me Brothers + spicy pics from MC

Lucifer

Another tedious meeting that should have been an email. But Lucifer remained professional and stalwart as ever, so as to not embarrass Lord Diavolo.

The only exception he made was for his cellphone. Keeping it on silent, but on the table, as Lucifer had learned in the past if he didn’t check it at least regularly during these meetings it might be too late from when his brothers’ hijinks might ensure. Vering into calamity past hijinks.

He noticed he had a text from [Y/N] and was surprised as they usually never texted him when he was in these meetings. Respecting his work. If they were texting him, Lucifer assumed it was important and opened the text in a reserved manner so as not to draw attention.

When he saw what the text was, however, he had to grip his phone tight to the point of cracking to maintain that composure.

“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to excuse me. It seems there is an important matter I must deal with at home. I’ll be back once the matter is taken care of. Thoroughly.”

Mammon

“Mammon-san! Over here!”

“Yes! That’s perfect! Hold that pose!”

“You look amazing Mammon-san!”

The Avatar of Greed grinned roguishly as he was showered with praise. He had to admit, he really was killing this photoshoot.

The photographer took a few more shots before they called for a break and the team moved in to touch him up. Offering him compliments still, along with water. Both of which Mammon drank up. One of the attendants handed him his phone from his dressing room. Giving him a few moments to check it before it was back to work.

He looked at a missed text from [Y/N] and nearly did a spit take of his water. Able to thankfully keep it down, but still coughed in a very un-model like manner at seeing their nearly naked form.

“I uh…I gotta go. We have enough for the magazine right?? Good. Great! Thanks for the opportunity and be sure to call me again!”

Mammon was then out the door fast than anyone could catch him. Including to get his wardrobe outfit off.

“Models….” The photographer muttered as he reset his camera to take shots of the background models in the meantime.

Levi

“On your right! On your right! NO! Your other right!!” Levi shouted into his headset as he tried to lead his team through the maze of undead swarm.

Zombie Zion XX9 had just come out this week and Levi had been grinding non-stop. He barely made time to sleep, much less do anything else, in pursuit of this final battle with the Mother Swarm of zombies (there by defeating the plague and saving the world from the undead at last).

“Guys, we have to get through the door together, otherwise we don’t get the ‘In This Together’ buff! You need to catch up to me! It’s…It’s…ugh! Hold on!” His phone had been buzzing beside him non-stop for the past minute with various texts.

Usually, he would ignore it. But something this persistent typically meant it was important, and what if it was his brothers telling him the house was on fire? He’d have to save his Ruri-chan figures if that was the case.

When he opened the text, Levi’s eyes bugged out and he felt his nose begin to well up with blood as he looked at the picture of [Y/N] in their cosplay panties.

“Levi! Where are you?! We’re getting hammered out here! Levi-!” The connection on his game went dead as the last of his team members died. The screen fading into a black screen of ‘game over’.

“Oh, come on!”

Satan

This anthology that Simeon had recommended to him was thrilling. Truly a masterpiece.

Satan had been absorbed into the new series almost since the first page. Devouring each of the nine books with vigor, much like his little brother did with food. He had forsaken all else, honestly, except reading the past few days. Anxious to find out who the final killer & mastermind behind the protagonist’s plight was, and finally get some answers.

He was nearly at the climax, the big reveal, when his phone started to buzz.

Grumbling that his concentration was broken, Satan picked it up to see who it was. His irksomeness quickly dissolving as he saw [Y/N]’s nearly naked chest in front of him.

He had a choice to make.

Continue reading and get the answers he needed, or put the book down and go to the person clearly in need of him. How was he to choose?

In the end, he put the book down and sprinted off to where [Y/N] was. If the main character could wait 10 years to find out who the killer was, surely Satan could wait a little longer to find out as well.

Asmo

Shopping was one of Asmo’s favorite past times. Going to stores and looking for the perfect item or accessory was like a little treasure hunt to him. Or just perusing the aisles and new merch like one would an art gallery, with the same enthusiasm for beauty. It was a wonderful afternoon. Especially if [Y/N] was with him.

[Y/N] had gone to try on some items that they found while Asmo continued to scan over the racks. His cellphone eventually buzzed, and he fumbled with his iced coffee to get it out of his bag. Seeing a picture of [Y/N] in the dressing room in a super cute bra and panty set with the question :should I get it?:

:OMG yes! 💓🥵🔥🔥: Asmo texted back immediately.

:It looks so good on you! Which dressing room are you in?? I want to see it in person! Should we get matching ones??:

He eventually found [Y/N] and showered them with praise. Insisting that he would buy it for them if they didn’t get it themselves, and offered to buy it in every color as well.

Beel

“98…99…100.”

Beel lifted the weights one final time and put the bar back on the rack. The weights clanking down with a heavy thud with the sheer mass of them. He loved getting a good workout in before he went home.

Heading over to his locker space to get some water and check his phone, Beel saw he had a text from [Y/N]. He opened it and saw the spicy picture they had just sent him. Usually only the 5x Hellfire Spicy noodles were the only spice that could make him drool this much. Clearly he was wrong.

Beel decided to, for once, cut his work out short. He quickly packed his bag and ran home to do some cardio on the way home. Planning to do some more ‘cardio’ when he got there.

He could make up for the missed sets in the morning before school. Since he’d be busy the rest of the night.

Belphie

Belphie yawned and rolled over as he woke up from his nap. His fifth of the day, so it was a pretty short one. Only about an hour this time.

He stretched and rubbed his eyes before reaching for his phone to see what time it was. He was immediately greeted with a text from [Y/N] on the screen. He felt a little bad for missing it while he was a sleep, but by now they had to know that he would get back to them eventually. Belphie opened it and was immediately greeted with something from his dreams.

:Are you still wearing that?: He texted them back.

:Come to my room: He then added. :In the attic. I’m still in bed. So half the work is done😉.:

He waited to hear back from [Y/N] and grinned when he saw them respond with they were on their way.

And his brothers made fun of him for being in bed all the time. With his soft mattress and [Y/N], why would he ever want to leave?

[vinegarss]

47news interview with Tamifull

Earlier this month Tamifull, the author of Tsukiatte agetemo ii kana? AKA How Do We Relationship?, did an interview with 47news. I've translated the full text below:

Out of the innumerable manga published every year, there are always a few titles that one simply can't afford to miss. Tamifull-sensei's How Do We Relationship? (Shogakukan) is one of these. It's a story of young love and heartbreak, centering on college students Inuzuka Miwa and Sawatari Saeko. Though fiction, it has a powerful sense of reality that leaves one feeling as if the real Miwa and Saeko might just be out there somewhere right now. If Agasawa Tea's Ramparts of Ice (Shueisha) is the pinnacle of high school romance, then How Do We Relationship? is the pinnacle of college romance. With the help of supervising editor Watanabe Saori-san, we were able to secure an interview with Tamifull-sensei to discuss the story--now on its 12th volume, and at the height of its climax.

The story so far:

Soon after starting college, mild-mannered beauty Inuzuka Miwa joins the light music club and finds herself the center of attention from the boys at the welcoming party. Miwa, who "only likes girls", is rescued from the situation by the energetic Saeko. Saeko, who "prefers women (to men)", buoyed by liquid courage, asks Miwa out on the spot and the two begin dating. But the two are clumsy and inexperienced with love, and fail to be fully honest with each other. By the end of the year, their romance has ended in disaster. After maintaining a sex-only relationship for some time they return to being friends and even move on to new partners... Finally, as their respective relationships have both ended, the two look at each other anew, not as lovers, but as exes, and as absolute allies.

47: How Do We Relationship? has a very unusual structure. Shoujo manga tend to portray a dramatic path to the start of the relationship, but Miwa and Saeko begin dating at the very start of volume 1 and break up in volume 4. As we're now on volume 12, they've actually been exes longer than they were together.

Tamifull: Well, it has stretched a little longer than I expected (laughs), but the story is proceeding as planned from the start. I think rather than starting decisively with some sort of "All right, I'm falling in love now!" moment, real love tends to build up out of small things over time. I didn't want the relationships in How Do We Relationship? to start in this exaggerated, romance story kind of way.

47: And that helps with its sense of reality.

Tamifull: I don't believe dating and breaking up are things that we need to think about in such dramatic terms. It's easy to feel like every relationship has to be perfect, or that you need to have some sort of fated encounter, or that breaking up is a bad thing, something hopeless. Why shouldn't there be manga that throws away those stereotypes? Life is so much longer than a single relationship. It keeps going after you start dating someone, or break up with them. I think that's a message that I've consistently tried to tell with this manga.

47: Can you tell us how it got to be serialized?

Tamifull: It started out as a oneshot I did for Comitia (a doujin festival and marketplace in Tokyo) in 2017. Up until then, I had mainly been drawing yuri--manga about relationships between girls. And I wanted to tell a little bit of a different story at that event. Doujinshi are generally about 20 pages, so usually you introduce the main couple, have them confess, and wrap it up right around there. So I thought, what if they're already in a relationship and we watch them break up? I was basically thinking, "why not draw what I want to read!?"

Watanabe: Ashima Yuki-san, one of the first freelance editors, reached out to Tamifull-san then.

47: At the time, yuri was considered a pretty small market. It felt like unless you got into one of the specialized publications you'd have a very hard time, right?

Tamifull: That's true. There are a lot more varied works coming out now. At the time most of these stories were actually aimed at men, so the relationships would stay platonic, or at most they might kiss. I knew stories like that were easier to market and less likely to ruffle feathers, but I found myself thinking, "If we all settle for that, we'll never get to see what happens next! If no one else is drawing it, why shouldn't I?"

47: What did Ashima-san say to you?

Tamifull: She told me, "I've been wanting to read a story where the characters and relationship feel free like this". I do remember thinking it might be more marketable without the eroticism when I was developing it for serialization (laughs). But I ended up just being like, well, let's see what happens!

47: "Realistic" LGBTQ romance stories tend to end up falling into a handful of patterns. Whether it's manga or movies, you see a lot of stories that feel like "the tragedy of same-sex love", or that seem intended to make you feel sorry for the characters. Like the audience is meant to walk away thinking, "How thought-provoking! I really learned something". But How Do We Relationship? is pretty different, isn't it?

Tamifull: Rather than being "yuri" or being viewed as an "LGBTQ story", I want people to get into the story just because they see it and go "Hey, there's girls dating in here!". Sexual minorities aren't here to be instructional materials for anyone. LGBTQ people live in the same world as everyone else. I want the characters to seem like people you might meet anywhere, and to have relationships you might see anywhere. I want the fact that the relationship isn't heterosexual to just be a detail. That's why Watanabe-san and I decided not to advertise How Do We Relationship? specifically as a yuri manga.

47: Achieving that sense of reality must take a lot of care. I imagine you have to be careful to avoid the set phrases and compositions that readers see all the time in romance manga.

Tamifull: That's true. For example, in the scene where Saeko opens up to Mikkun, their male friend, about her dating Miwa, she asks him if he finds the two of them dating "gross, or wrong, or unnatural", and Mikkun, while looking away, asks in return, "What? Do I have to feel that way about you?". The orthodox move would be to have the handsome guy character looking straight out of the page, smoothly delivering some cool line. But in real life we don't have convenient handsome guys just lying around, and you're not usually looking people straight in the eye. It's not that staged. I think the casual nature of the lines, and the casual nature of the situation, actually make it all the more resonant. I want to keep that natural feeling to the story, and I go out of my way to avoid making it feel "romantic". I think my ideal is for it to feel like a movie.

47: A movie?

Tamifull: That's right. I think one of the strengths of film is the ability to show the drama of everyday life. I always include backgrounds in my panels to try to get closer to that feeling. For instance, in a scene in volume 12, Saeko is on a boat at night looking out over the water with her girlfriend, Yuria. They're talking about breaking up. It's a very romantic setting, but the painful nature of their conversation blots out everything except for the blackness of the water. I want readers to feel like they're there experiencing it alongside the characters.

47: I see. The city you see at night while breaking up with someone certainly does feel different...

Watanabe: And Tamifull-sensei's art has really helped deliver that sense of reality to readers. There are no wasted panels: from the camera placement to how the viewer's eye is led, even the placement of the dialogue, everything serves to guide the reader to what she's showing. Due to my job I read a lot of manga, but there are very few manga artists as skilled as her.

47: Personally, as a reader, it's that sense of reality that has me praying for Saeko and Miwa to end up happy, so next I'd like to ask a little about about how you learned to imbue your writing with such reality, and what techniques you use.

Tamifull: I'll do my best (laughs).

47: First, the depth and internality of your characters. For instance, after breaking up with Saeko, Miwa dates the younger Tamaki. Tamaki is reserved and very low-energy. She's clearly at a loss with the more sexually-motivated Miwa, but nonetheless does her best to reciprocate in her own way. She's straightforward and can be a little childish, but has an intellectual side to her, as well. Accurately portraying such a complex, difficult character must necessitate having an incredibly keen eye for people. How did you learn to understand other people so well?

Tamifull: I think it was mostly my experience in school. In primary and middle school I was low on the pecking order, so I became very sensitive to other people's hostility.

47: Ah, the pecking order... That does happen, doesn't it.

Tamifull: Yes. I'd be in a group of maybe 5 or 6 friends in a class and then once every few months I'd get the silent treatment and end up being ostracized from the group, in this sort of rotation. I'd go through 2 or 3 groups and it would always happen. I think all the time I spent thinking about how to avoid being targeted like that played a big part.

47: Planning out the battle to make it out alive, so to speak.

Tamifull: I think that really helped cultivate my eye (laughs). Like, this girl's the ringleader, and these ones are joining in because they don't want to become the target themselves, but this other girl is actually nice so even when they're ganging up on me she won't join in.

47: I see. Even while you were being mistreated, you were trying to understand things from their perspective. Certainly How Do We Relationship? doesn't have any one character that you would really call a villain.

Tamifull: That's right. Take Kan, who tells Miwa "I hate you" in volume 2, or Tamaki's friend Nagi who calls her "gross" in volume 8. I think it would be too convenient if nobody was ever mean or unpleasant, so it's important to have such characters. But I also try to portray them as having their own reasons. It's not like everyone will be good to each other all the time, but for each person, there's a community out there somewhere that will accept them as themselves. I'm always including that idea, that wish, almost, as I write the various members of the music club.

47: The story has this warmth to it you can really feel, and I think that idea has a lot to do with it. That said, it sounds like you weren't always successful at avoiding bullying. That must have been difficult.

Tamifull: I spent a lot of time wrapped in my futon wondering, why do they treat me like that? As the days went by I'd end up sublimating my anger and frustration by telling myself, "They have their own problems so there's nothing I can do about it." Like, this girl might have a lot of stress at home, about her grades or other things, so she just feels too much pressure and gets pushed into bullying, or things like that. I really got in the habit of thinking about things from their perspective.

47: You are an incredibly kind person. I do think the eye you cultivated that way serves you well in writing characters. For example, in volume 3, we meet Miwa's first crush, Shiho. At home, we see Shiho being horribly mistreated by her parents, who only care for her more academically-minded younger sister, Maho. One day Maho snaps at her, saying "Don't talk back to me, moron! You know how much I have to carry thanks to your stupidity!?". But Shiho just accepts it, and keeps her unhappiness to herself. That's in volume 11, that we finally find out how Maho, who's caused Shiho so much pain, has been feeling.

Tamifull: Maho also feels a lot of pressure from their parents, and she's desperate not to fail. She's under a lot of stress from that. When they were younger, Shiho and Maho were actually very close--Maho loved her older sister--but as grades and examinations started to get involved that connection became twisted... I wasn't able to show all of this in the story, but I always think through these details before drawing.

47: That sort of thing does happen between siblings, doesn't it... Just remembering is a little painful.

Tamifull: But, as much as I analyze people like this, it's very difficult to put into words.

47: In what way?

Tamifull: If you say "Well, this person has this kind of background, so that's why they do these things" then everyone will be like, "And what do you know about them?". You'll end up hurting feelings. So I can't say it about real people, but with How Do We Relationship? I'm the author so I can draw whatever I want. When I hear readers talk about the "realism" I'm always like, "Really? You mean I actually did it?". I secretly get a little happy about it (laughs).

47: Did you always want to become a mangaka, growing up?

Tamifull: I did always like drawing. But when I was pretty young I read one of those "So you want to draw manga?" kind of books and I got very intimidated by all the different erasers and tones and things, and I sort of gave up (laughs). It wasn't until I'd completely retired from extracurriculars in college that I realized I didn't have enough to do and started drawing manga.

47: And then you became a mangaka as soon as you graduated?

Tamifull: Yes, that's right.

47: That's quite something. Not many people manage to do that, right?

Tamifull: The reason I started attending Comitia was because in college I finally learned that editors would be there. Up until then I was working with my childhood knowledge--I thought I had to submit my work to a company and then become an assistant before I could become an author myself. When I found out I was like, "Doujinshi will get me fans and even expose me to editors? What could be better!?". I had my heart set on it.

47: (laughs). What kinds of things were you inspired by when you were a child?

Tamifull: All the way through school I was into stuff that was a little different from whatever was in fashion. I liked watching slightly older anime on Kids' Station, for instance. Like, look at me! I'm not into the same stuff as everybody else! Aren't I cool? (laughs).

47: (laughs).

Tamifull: When everyone else was into Cardcaptor Sakura, I was watching Takahashi Rumiko-sensei's Ranma 1/2 and Maison Ikkoku. I remember when I read one of Ito Junji-sensei's works at a relative's house it left a big impression on me. When I was in college I bought the collector's edition of Tomie at Village Vanguard.

47: You grew up into a bit of an alt college student.

Tamifull: In college, going to Village Vanguard and fishing for manga nobody else had became something of a passion for me.

47: What about Takahashi Rumiko-sensei's work did you like in particular?

Tamifull: I especially liked the way she drew girls. In the early 2000s, when I was in primary school, it was very in fashion for girls to be drawn very slender and light, with delicate limbs.

47: Slenderness was certainly emphasized a lot back then, yes.

Tamifull: I preferred how Rumiko-sensei drew them--a little squishy. As far as the story goes, I loved the ending of Maison Ikkoku, how it portrays the characters moving forward in life. I read it over and over. I think that passion for people comes through a little in How Do We Relationship?.

47: In the afterword of volume 3, you mentioned that from middle school until about halfway through college you lost interest in manga, and were more into drama and music.

Tamifull: That's true. Sometimes I'd draw a buff Pikachu or something on the blackboard to try to get a laugh out of people, but that was about it.

47: A buff Pikachu? (laughs). I wish I could see it.

Tamifull: At co-ed schools I think girls mostly end up ranked by looks, but I went to an all-girls high school, so... It was really about who was the funniest.

47: So art was a way of giving yourself a gimmick.

Tamifull: That's right. That continued into college, so I always had the position of somebody who's just a little bit good at drawing. In college everyone was nice, though.

47: In that same afterword you mentioned that during the time you weren't drawing manga, you really enjoyed making things together with a group.

Tamifull: In high school I was in the school band, and we'd all put on plays together at school festivals. I joined the light music club in college. I did percussion in high school so I mostly played drums, or did vocals.

47: Oooh. What kinds of things did you play in the light music club?

Tamifull: Just normal rock. Popular stuff, like Go! Go! 7188.

47: I have an impression of you as being a little bit countercultural, so rock seems perfect for you (laughs).

Tamifull: In college I was also on the student festival committee, so I was doing double duty a little bit. And as much as I enjoyed making things with other people, I started to feel this hole open up, like inside I'd be thinking "I could do this so much better...". Then I started looking into manga again on a whim and realized everything had gone digital. You don't need to hire a bunch of assistants, and you can do tones with the press of a button. It was like this new environment where I could try my hand at manga by myself was prepared just in time as I came of age. I didn't have to hold myself back for anyone, and could do everything just how I wanted. That's why I've always worked alone.

47: What!? You don't have any assistants even now?

Tamifull: I don't.

47: Watanabe-san, is that normal?

Watanabe: It's extremely precious to us. She's really something, isn't she? I don't know how she puts out so much in just two weeks.

Tamifull: I want every angle and composition just so. I can't really express it well, so when I think about trying to explain it to someone else, I just feel like it would end up taking even more time... But then sometimes I'll be working from my storyboards and I'll be like, "Why did I make myself draw it like this!?" and end up suffering a little (laughs).

47: It's certainly a work that cuts no corners. The dialogue is always so well written and moving--do you start by writing the characters' lines?

Tamifull: Yes, I do. I'll write them all out at once, then adapt them to the storyboards as I go. I think all the time I spent agonizing in my futon when I was younger like "I should've said this..." or "And then they'd say that..." might also help here.

47: You always include afterword comics and omake in the tankoubon releases, so I get a sense that you're quite particular about manga books.

Tamifull: I love manga that includes a lot of little extras. And I want readers to enjoy How Do We Relationship? as much as possible, so I always go all out drawing them.

47: Your first announced works were around 2012, and in 2014 you made your commercial debut with Don't Call me a Goddess! in Bungeisha's 4-koma magazine Manga Time. The main character, Saotome-san, is a bit of a tryhard, and as much as that wins her respect from her peers, it also tends to alienate them. Into her life barrels the far less inhibited Ryou. After that, you had My Little Sister and the Sex Doll (Shueisha) serialized in Tonari no Young Jump, about an innocent and naive high school girl and a talking sex doll. Both manga were comedies.

Tamifull: How Do We Relationship? was a little bit of a break in genre, yes (laughs). My Little Sister and the Sex Doll also started as something I made as a change of pace for Comitia (laughs).

47: It's a very rhythmical work--the talking sex doll's lines are incredibly well crafted.

Tamifull: The editors at Young Jump really liked it. It was a little more crude than what I usually write, so I did have some doubts... but they were very kind in offering me the serialization. I had to exercise my vocabulary to the fullest.

47: As much as it made me laugh, I could also somehow feel your desire to break taboos coming through.

Tamifull: That's true. I was trying to make fun of dirty comics, while making a dirty comic (laughs). Even when there would be the setup for some sort of fanservice scene, with something sexual happening to the girl, I would always interrupt it with a joke and turn it into something decidedly not fanservice.

47: On the other hand, something about the relationship between Saotome-san and Ryou in Don't Call Me a Goddess! feels like it connects to Miwa and Saeko. Are you particularly fond of that sort of relationship?

Tamifull: Honestly, that was... completely unintentional. I think, when it comes to protagonists, I do like a character who is quiet, but unexpectedly stubborn... When I think about my time in school, I had a lot of experiences where there would be another girl, and she'd have this sense of separation, like a bit of a boundary around herself, but when I approached her she'd turn out to actually be really interesting. And I'd have this feeling of "Everyone else doesn't even know how cool she is!? I need to let everyone know!". I think that feeling, almost like wanting to become a producer for girls like that, has led me to write my protagonists that way.

47: You really love girls.

Tamifull: I may have spent long years in fierce battle with them at school, but when I translate it to manga they become strangely appealing. Even when they're a pain, their being a pain is good in of itself (laughs). It's true that characters who aren't straightforward can make a story more interesting, but I also think that's just how people are--you can't sum anyone up in a few words. Don't you agree?

47: Your manga, including How Do We Relationship?, really don't tend to have characters that you can sum up as "the cool one" or "the tsundere" or anything like that.

Tamifull: That's right. I don't want them to be symbols.

47: And that's exactly why, in each case--Saeko and Miwa, Miwa and Tamaki, Saeko and Yuria--when they break up, it's so emotionally impactful. You can't just point at one of them and say, "It's her fault."

Tamifull: Right. In reality, lots of people break up all the time without either one really being at fault. It makes me really happy to hear that people read the story as just being how things ended up for them. It's so easy to assume that when a relationship falls apart, it's because someone's in the wrong. I worked very hard to make sure that Tamaki and Yuria would be charming enough characters for readers to like them, and to accept it when I made them break up with Miwa and Saeko. I always look at readers' reactions and think carefully about how to proceed.

47: How Do We Relationship? really feels like you want to closely examine real, "normal" relationships.

Tamifull: I think it's a pity for the socially accepted image of love to be something so narrow. When two women date, and after breaking up return to being friends, I think people have a tendency to look a little askance at them. But why is that? I always find myself thinking, "Are you okay with living like that?". With How Do We Relationship?, I wanted to create a world where Miwa and Saeko and everyone else's desires wouldn't be crushed by those around them.

47: Especially during the first 3 volumes, you often shine the spotlight on the other characters around Miwa and Saeko. Is that also a part of fleshing out that view of the world?

Tamifull: Something like that. I don't want the idea of someone who likes the same sex to be something fantastical. I want to show that sexual minorities are all around--even around you. I want heterosexual readers to also get into the story, and I was very conscious of that early on in the serialization. I think whether you're gay or straight, you can still understand this story. These characters are just like you. That's the message I've tried to send.

47: It would be really wonderful if we could become a society where everyone views each other with respect. What would that take, I wonder?

Tamifull: Delusions, maybe.

47: Delusions? (laughs).

Tamifull: Yes (laughs). This is just my own experience, but when I meet someone and feel off-put by them, I always thoroughly imagine their background. By the time I'm finished whatever anger I felt has faded, and I feel ready to treat them better--maybe even to become close with them. And if you write stories you can come up with great material this way, so it's two birds with one stone (laughs).

[littlemissmiller]

Bird in a Cage

Part 2: Wanted and Needed

Pairing: dark!coriolanus x fem!reader

Summary: after spending another night in the palace, president snow has many things planned for you, and he just loves to dress you up.

Warning: 21+ (drinking), eventually smut, dark themes, toxic themes, kidnapping, obsession, possession, stalking

Word count: 4.2k

A/N: hello 👋🏼 ok so…i think i may be able to get another fic out today im thinking chapter 4 of Summer Highs will be ready today sooo just hang in there. this series however, the heat is turning up and we definitely got a smutty moment coming up (also im still working still The Shopkeeper’s Daughter part 2 y’all I promise I’ll get it done) so enjoy this one y’all, i know i did ❤︎︎

Series Masterlist

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The next morning you realize that you must have fallen asleep in the bathroom as you pull yourself up from the cold tile. Your neck and back hurts and you strain to turn it. You slowly get up and walk back into the bedroom, flopping down on the bed. You curl up, wanting to go back to sleep again, but you hear a knock that jolts you up.

“Yes?”

The same maid from last night enters. She’s holding a new outfit in her hand.

“Good morning. President Snow wishes to see you in this today. He also wishes to have you join him for breakfast so please change and knock when you’re done.”

“Tell him I didn’t sleep well last night and I want to rest. Please.” You plea

“I’m sorry, but these are my orders.” She frowns, holding the dress out in front of her.

You take it and hold it up. It’s a delicate blue, almost the same color as his eyes. It’s flowy, the shoulders slightly puffed out and the neckline is off the shoulder. She also hands you a pair of white heels and leaves the room. You want to cry again, but feel too physically exhausted to be able to. You begrudgingly roll out of bed and change.

Once all done up, you walk over to the door and knock on it. The maid and the two armed guards are waiting outside and you walk with them. This time they take you to a separate part of the palace, up the stairs and into a larger dining room. As you walk you take note of your surroundings, and continue plotting how you’re going to get out of here without him knowing. You might have to disappear for a while, but you’re not about to let him rip you from your life completely.

When you enter, he’s waiting, alone, sipping his tea and reading the paper. He glances up and smiles.

“Come sit my dear.“

The maid leaves, but the armed guards take their post just outside the room. You slowly walk towards and take the seat across from him.

“You look beautiful. I know how to dress you well, it seems.”

“Is this what you made the other girls wear?”

“No.” He flips the page “I tailor my outfits accordingly for each of you.”

“So what does that mean?”

“That dress, that black set? It’s yours. Anything I give you under my care is yours forever, understand?”

“Yes, President Snow.”

“Good girl. After lunch today I’ll have the maid draw you a bath and I’ll have my masseuse come see you.”

“W-why?” You scrunch your face up

“Because you need it don’t you. You slept on the bathroom floor all night.” He smiles

“Thank you.” You mumble, shyly looking away

“You truly look gorgeous this morning. I should have one of the maids curl your hair before you change for dinner this evening.”

“You want me to change again?”

“Of course my dear. One should always look as presentable as possible when they have an evening meal with guests.”

“I normally only do it for special events.” You speak up

“And dinner with the president isn’t special?” He smirks, turning the page again.

You watch him as an uncomfortable silence washes into the room. Then a few avoxes walk into the room with silver trays. Coriolanus pays them no mind, but is interested in what they contain under the stainless steel cloche. They first lay out the silverware, then lift it and serve the plates. It’s a perfectly made French omelette , topped off with chives and a small pad of butter that is still melting, with crumbled crispy potatoes sprinkled over the whole thing. Next to it sits a small slice of toast with a raspberry jam. They then sat down a tea kettle, two silver teacups and served them steaming black tea. Lastly, they leave a pitcher of orange juice and two short glasses. They quietly exit the room and Coriolanus stirs his tea before sipping it.

You look down at your plate then glance up at him. He folds the paper up, making sure the edges are crisp and clean. He notices you watching him and gives a devilish half smile.

“You can start eating if you want.”

You nod and take a bite. Immediately you can taste how smooth and creamy it is. You can taste the ingredients piped inside, an herbed goat cheese and it melts in your mouth. You savor the taste, loving the texture of the egg as it dances with the cheese. Coriolanus takes it upon himself to pour you some juice and you have a strange urge to apologize. You set down your fork and try to say sorry but he cuts you off.

“It’s ok. I don’t mind my dear, here.” He utters

“Thank you, Mr. President.”

“Good girl.” He whispers as you take the glass to your lips.

“So what’s after breakfast?”

“I have a meeting with the Game Makers, a more formal welcome to the new additions than a fancy gala, and you’ll be modeling those dresses I was telling you about.”

“I thought that was just a lie you told my family.”

“Not entirely. You are a model by trade after all, no?”

“I am”

“Well, we need models for this year’s games to advertise the upcoming looks and you’re a model. Seems pretty straightforward no?”

“So you just want me to play dress up for you all day then?” You question, raising an eyebrow

He gives you a stern look and cocks his head. He scoffs.

“Don’t have such an attitude, my dear. It’s not fitting for a First Lady.”

You sit wordless for a moment, scared but also pissed. Fuck him. Fuck this First Lady shit. You desperately wanted to tell him off, but you utter a small apology.

“Good. It won’t even take up your entire day, I made sure of that. After my meeting, I expect you to join me for lunch. I think you’ll like it.”

“Why is that?”

“I asked to have it be served to us in the garden. I thought I’d show you around after.”

“Around the garden?”

“Yes.” He states simply “Are you enjoying your omelette?” He asks, taking a bite of his own.

“It’s delicious. Everything you’ve served me has been amazing.” You state truthfully

“I’m glad you think so.” He smiles, then he holds out his hand. You look at it and he turns his palm over. You hesitantly place just your fingertips on top of his hand. He grasps it and pulls it forward, placing soft kisses on your knuckles. He rubs them gently, smiling at you.

“You’re so beautiful. I hope to make you mine.”

“Why do you think I will please you?”

“Hmm, I bet you don’t remember meeting me at the Gala?”

“N-no?”

He smiles wider, scanning your face to see if you remember anything at all from that night.

Coriolanus goes on to explain how he first saw you and how he approached you, asking you to join his private table. You of course said yes, so he took you by the hand and led you to his group. You sat with him, he gave you lots of wine, and eventually he sent you “home”, allegedly kissing your cheek as he got you into the car, and sent you off to his house. At some point he had indeed drugged your drink and you woke up in the palace instead. You hadn’t woken up the next day, but instead spent two days asleep, the power of the drugs had lured you into a deep sleep, and now you’re having breakfast with him.

“I have your dress from that night by the way. It looked stunning on your body. Red is a great color on you.”

“Thank you”

“Perhaps I’ll have you wear it tonight, to dinner. What do you think, my lovely?”

“I would like to have my dress back.”

“Of course. Like I said, whatever I give you is yours.”

“Well the dress was already mine.” You snicker

You immediately freeze, realizing your tongue may have gotten the best if you, but he merely reciprocates your actions.

“You can’t help but to be such a clever girl hmm?” He kisses your knuckles again

“If you say so. You didn’t answer my question though. Why do you think I’ll please you?”

“Because you were pleasant that night. Funny, charming, easy to be around. My team believes I’ve become too wild and rambunctious. They say I need to settle down and to an extent, I agree. I can’t help but want to enjoy my wealth these days. While I’m still young I don't care, if you understand me?”

You nod along and he continues.

“I figure, most people show who they really are when they meet me. Whether it’s to impress me or win over my favor, I can always see a person’s true intentions. Through whatever facade they come with, I can see their truth.”

“And did you see me then? What was my front?”

“Nothing. You had nothing to hide.” He leans forward “Which is why I find you so special.” He whispers

He rubs your hand, giving your knuckles one last kiss before letting your hand go. You pull it back quickly and relax it on your lap. Then a small ding ding ding cries out from his pocket. He digs around and retrieves his pocket watch. He raises his eyebrows.

“Ah, I have to go my dear!” He claims as he returns the watch back into his jacket. He stands up and moves to stand behind your chair. He places his hands on your shoulders and massages them.

“I’ll see you for lunch.” He bends down to kiss your cheek “and then for dinner.” He kisses you again “be good today my sweets, I have something for you later if you behave. Will you be ok to dine alone for the rest of breakfast?”

You nod and he tilts your face to look at his. With the smallest touch of his forefinger, he lifts your chin so you look at him fully. Coriolanus gives you a curious frown and you know what he wants.

“Yes, President Snow, I’ll be ok to dine alone.”

“Good girl, the maid will escort you to get ready when you’re done, but take your time.”

He smirks, giving your cheek one last kiss. He squeezes your shoulders, sighs, smirks again to himself, and walks away.

You feel as if you can finally breathe, letting out an immense sigh of relief as you hear the door close. You look down at your food and don’t feel like you can realistically finish it. You stand up and knock on the door. The maid opens it and escorts you out. She takes you through the palace, not taking you back to your room.

“Where are we going?�� You inquire

“The lounge, that’s where the photo shoot is happening.”

You follow her, still noting the layout of the palace as you walk around. You finally reach a set of tall double doors and the maid opens it, escorting you inside. The room is similar to his office, same crème walls, accented with gold, red Chesterfield lounge chairs

“Ah wonderful!” A man cries out as you enter the room. He’s holding a camera in one hand the other setting up the tripod stand for it to sit on. “Come in dear!” He states enthusiastically. You look around the room and notice several other people getting things together.

“H-hi” you quiver

“The President said you’re a model by trade?”

“I am”

“Splendid! Then I’ll have you change into that first dress on the rack and will move our way down.”

He points to a rack of dress and a room divider in the corner and you nod. You walk over to it and examine the dresses. It seems like they are for District 12, given they are all gray and black. Coal. Of course Snow would want the contestants to dress like this. Parade them around a bit as the very goods that are used to fuel the capital. Almost as a double reminder of who they serve. You look at the first dress. It’s a corset style top with a short length skirt. Around the bottom was a thin layer of black tulle. You take it and step behind the divider to change. You step out and a woman approaches you.

“Beautiful! Let’s fix up your hair and makeup.” She smiles, escorting you over to a vanity.

After about an hour of hair weaving and being all done up like a doll, she shows you a mirror. She’s weaved your hair into several small braids, which she then weaved into a big, ponytail, that sits directly in the top of your head. Your makeup is a clean smoky eye, and you honestly look sexy.

“Ok so it’s very simple just posing with the chairs and other parts of the room.” She explains and walks back over to the camera man.

“Ok my dear let’s have you lay out here. Back on the seat, and kick your feet up, yes, that's it lovely.” He instructs, setting up the camera to be in frame. “Up a bit more, your left leg, that's beautiful.”

You look into the camera, feeling completely comfortable for the first time since being here. This is your element. This is what you’re good at. It’s not all about looking pretty, it’s about selling the look to the audience, the viewer, the buyer and most importantly the person who wears it. You pose in a few more positions on the couch and lose yourself in the fun. That’s another part of this job you’ve liked. The fun. The freedom and the ability to dress up, almost become a different person. It transforms you.

“Beautiful. Ok let’s do a few more in the next dress. Ok dear?”

“Sounds good.”

The next dress you change into is a deep v, showing off the curves and valley of your breasts, stopping just above your stomach. It’s like a huge gemstone, every part of it beaded and bedazzled. It fits perfectly, just how the other one fits and you walk out from behind the divider.

“Oh that’s beautiful! The President sure does have good taste.”

“President Snow picked these out?”

“Of course. He does every year.” The photographer smiles, beckoning you to him. You pose in front of the couch some more, and now find that you feel slightly uncomfortable again. You can’t help but feel Snow’s eyes on you again. Perhaps he’s watching you in this room too. You try not to think of it as you stare into the camera lens, but it only makes you feel more watched.

“Hey dear? You ok?” The cameraman questions, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah I’m fine.” You smile “Just wondering about the other models. Am I going to be shooting with them?” You inquire, seeing if maybe you can talk to one and ask for help.

Maybe someone could get a message out without Snow knowing

You think.

“Not today, but tomorrow we will do all 12, right now we are just getting individuals for each district.”

“Where are the other girls?” You inquire, trying to sound casual

“District Two!”

You nod and the cameraman continues, encouraging you as you pose for him. So you have more modeling tomorrow. You wonder when he was going to tell you and that’s the last thought you have of him during the session. A few more dresses later and your stomach starts to growl. You hold it instinctively, wincing in pain.

“A few more shots and we’ll break for lunch beautiful. That’s it, look here, a little more to the left…a little more, yes perfect!” The camera flashes rapidly. “Ok team! Let’s break for lunch, we’ll come back in an hour and a half and finish up.”

The stylist starts to pack up and the cameraman starts to disassemble his tripod. One of the stylists helps you with your hair and wipes off your makeup.

“We’ll do a new style after lunch, ok dear?” You nod somberly, knowing that lunch for you means lunch with him. As you wipe the rest of your makeup off, the maid walks in with another change of clothes.

“Another outfit?” You examine it and she nods wordlessly. It’s a white dress, knee length, with slightly puffy sleeves. On top is a white hair bow and a pair of white, strapped sandals. You sigh and take it from her. By the time you change, it’s just you and the maid. You also take down your hair, it falls out, now slightly curled from being woven up. She walks you out and around the back of the palace. You eventually arrive at a big sliding glass door that opens into the garden and you can see him in the distance.

Coriolanus is admiring one of his many white rose bushes. He picks one and twirls it in his fingers. You approach him, your footsteps quiet and he doesn’t hear you at first. You step on a leaf, causing him to look up. He smiles, oh so happy to see you.

“Hello my dear.” He greets you stepping towards you.

You stop in front of him and he reaches out his hand to feel your hair. He plays with in between his thumb and forefinger. He takes in your scent, smiling greedily.

“Come darling. I know you must be hungry. Why didn’t you finish your breakfast?” He asks sweetly

Of course he knows. He must have his people keeping track of your meals, the amount you’re eating.

“Was it not good?” He follows up when you don’t answer immediately

“No, sir. It was fine, it’s just that my appetite hasn't been the same since I got here.”

“My darling, you should have told me what you wanted. I want you to be cared for well since you’re being so good for me”

“I-I am hungry though. W-what’s for lunch” you stutter

“You’ll see. I think you’ll like it again.”

You walk with him through the garden and he hands you the rose he was playing with.

“For you.”

“Thank you President Snow.” You nod, taking the steam in your hand

“You’re most welcome my sweets” he smiles, his charming lips curling up almost sinisterly.

You walk a bit more, admiring the other flowers in the garden, and how green everything is. He takes you a bit further until you pass the greenhouse. Around on the other side is a neat table for two looking out into the fountains and waterways. It’s set up with silverware sets and empty wine glasses. In the center is a cylindrical wine cooler and a bottle sitting in it. You’re slightly taken aback at the slight and want to hate how beautifully romantic it is because you’re here with Snow and not someone that you actually love. That you’d actually want to be on a date with. You sigh to yourself, but he notices.

“What’s wrong my angel. Here come sit.” He pats the white iron garden chair and you reluctantly follow his orders.

“Would you like some white wine?” He asks

“Yes please. Thank you, President Snow.” You nod, taking a seat. He sits across from you and uncorks the bottle. He pours you a fair amount and then himself.

“I just recently started having a drink with lunch. It’s nice to go into the rest of the afternoon feeling less tense. And I can still get everything done.” It works out well.”

You nod and look around. It’s hard not to feel somewhat at peace in such a beautiful environment. You avoid his gaze, even though he’s eyeing you like his prey. You glance at him and take a nervous drink of your wine.

“How was your meeting?” You quip up

Coriolanus perks up at the question, his smile widening.

“I appreciate you asking my dear. So thoughtful.” He pauses, sipping his wine. “It was honestly mundane, but productive nonetheless. I’m excited for you to see this year’s upcoming games. We really want to do something new for the 20th Anniversary. “

“Sounds exciting” you lie

“My dear, do you not enjoy the games?”

“I-I never said that…”

“You didn’t need to.” He pauses again, leaning forward. “Tell me if someone you trusted, perhaps even someone you loved, betrayed you, tried to kill you, starve you out, all because they wanted what they couldn’t provide for themselves. Just to take from you, would you simply forgive them…”

“It would be hard, I don’t think I would though…”

“Exactly! Even those we hold close to us can soon turn into a predator and us, the prey. We must never forget our human nature calls for us to given into our animalistic instincts in the most desperate of times. And that’s the biggest game out of them all. Pretending to uphold civility, pretending that we don’t truly want to devour each other for power.” He gives you a devious look, a devilish grin spreading across his face.

“And wanting to devour each other in other ways…”

You nervously look away, out onto the garden. He reaches across the table and tilts your chin to him.

“Look at me beautiful. Don’t be shy with me. Tell me, do you think I’m wrong?”

“No sir, you're not wrong President Snow”

“Good girl.” He whispers

He holds for face and moments later, a few avoxes enter. They once again wheel out a cart similar to the one at lunch, serving up the plates. They take the covers off and reveal what appears to be a tomato soup and a grilled cheese with bacon. It seems unusual at first and you notice how he watches your expression.

“Basil tomato soup, and grilled cheese with bacon, Gouda, white cheddar and apple slices. I think you’ll find it a unique twist on a classic.”

“It smells and looks delicious.”

“Of course. Dig in my dear.” He scoots in, taking his sandwich and biting into it. You pick up your own as well, dunking it in the soup. As soon as the flavor hits your mouth, they storm off into a wonderful dance. You’re not sure how it’s possible, but every meal is as amazing as the last. You sip on your wine to get it down and it pairs perfectly with the taste.

“Good?” He raises an eyebrow

You nod and he gives you a stern look.

“Yes, President Snow.”

“I knew you’d like it. After this you’ll finish up the photo shoot, then I’ll have the maid draw you a bath and curl your hair. I want you absolutely perfect for dinner. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir, I understand” you nod

“Excellent! So tell me how’s the shoot going?”

“Good. It’s nice to feel comfortable here. Modeling has always made me feel good about myself.”

“Does it? Tell me more.”

You're stunned. Like a deer in headlights, you feel frozen by the question. You pause for a moment and you watch as he waits patiently for your response.

“Well I guess when I was a teenager people would tell me how beautiful I was, but I had a hard time believing it and then one day a friend of mine wanted me to try on some clothes and take pictures in it and I just felt natural, I finally felt beautiful.”

Coriolanus reaches for your hand and you put it in his. He kisses your knuckles gently.

“Who ever said you’re not beautiful?” He says, a puzzled look spreading on his face

“N-no one.”

“Then why would you think that you’re not beautiful?”

You pause for a moment and look down again. He squeezes your hand, his face drooping and you gaze into his eyes. They are so mesmerizing. A deep ocean blue, and they compel you to speak freely from your heart. You stutter at first then relax once more under the feeling of his lips meeting your hand once more.

“My mother, she was very superficial when it came to physical appearance. I always felt like I had to please her by looking nice.“ you confess

Coriolanus squeezes your hand even more tight and looks down at his lap. He contains his newfound anger at your mother and then looks back up with a soft smile.

“You are truly beautiful my dear. As long as you’re in my care, I’ll make sure you always feel beautiful and never think that way again. Okay?”

“Yes, Mr. President “

“Good girl.” He kisses your knuckles one last time

After lunch, he sends you off to model the rest of the dresses and you ponder his words. You think about his face, the way he looked as if he might fall apart by simply hearing about your insecurities. How he wants to fix them and cast them away from your mind. Forever. And the way he has arranged your time here. The modeling, the photoshoots, as if he knew that’s when you felt most beautiful. You want to hate it, but there is a part of you that feels cared for. Wanted. Needed. In a way you haven’t before.

꧁🝮꧂

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

[b3ach-bunn7]

I THINK YOU WERE IN MY PROFILE PICTURE ONCE PT 2

After the party, Touya can’t stop thinking about you.

Fluff, sfw, no quirk au

—————————————————————————

It’s been six days and Touya can’t stop thinking about you.

He had been right about the party. The end of it at least. He’d shaken you awake and you rushed off to find your friend, a smile and wave goodbye all he had to remember you by. You were late, apparently, too late to stop and give him anything to remember you by. He’d gone home soon after, slipping out before Hawks could berate him for leaving too early.

While Touya had settled for less, had made peace with the fact that you were to be another girl he’d spoken too at a party, he hadn’t been able to get you out of your head. For whatever reason he didn’t want you to just be another girl at a party he’d never speak to again. Touya wanted to see you again and he had no idea how.

What makes the situation ten times worse is he didn’t even get your name. He’s racked his brain for the past couple days and he had come to the embarrassing conclusion that not only did he not get your number, but he was also stupid enough not to ask you what you're called. Maybe if Touya had managed that, he could find your socials. A friend in your course could find your number. Or he could convince Fuyumi to do her weird girly stalk thing and find your mother’s Facebook. But alas, he could do none of that. 

Touya yawns. He scratches at the stubble that’s been growing on his face the past few mornings. It’s a rare day when the weather is warm enough in November for him to wear a short-sleeve, and he abuses the chance while he can. It’s shifts like this, where the shop is empty apart from a few dawdling customers he knows aren’t here to get anything done, that everything drags on.

Touya had (un)subtly hinted at his friend's tattoo and piercing shop because he works there, and it’d be an ample opportunity for him to see you again. Of course, in the past six days he hadn’t seen your face, but that was neither here nor there. It was a nice joint. It looks like any other tattoo shop, designs hung up on the walls, one side of the shop filled with shelves of piercings and jewellery. One side was reserved for tattooing and the other for piercing. Touya works in both parts of the shop, wherever he’s needed most. He has plenty of piercings to prove it but he’s never gotten any tattoos. His skin is marred enough as is. 

The pay was good, and the hours weren’t long. Touya gets on annoyingly well with his coworkers, too. They’re all his age apart from Toga, who, funnily enough, is the same age as Shoto. That’s where all their similarities end, though. She’s loud and full of annoyingly eager energy that he’s grown fond of, unfortunately. The only thing his job is missing in a pretty girl with shitty wired headphones

Touya drums his fingers against the counter. The day has been slow and his fingers itch to do something. Touya thinks, in another life, he might’ve been an artist. Touya loved drawing and painting and all forms of it, but even his mother wouldn’t let him choose it for university. And she never said no to him. Psychology was a second best, another interest he’d dug up from his ass when he realised he actually was going to make it past fifteen.

A job like this, where some shifts Touya can just sit and draw and design things for people, It’s his dream. Maybe he’ll open up a therapist agency next door so he can keep working here part-time.

Touya decides drawing is what he’ll do. He’s got a couple clients expecting things from him. He grabs a scrap of paper from under the desk. The first biro he finds is pink, and he lets spirals and flowers and whatever designs pop up in his head spread across the page. 

“Hey, it’s you!”

Touya thinks that maybe he might have fallen asleep and started dreaming when he hears your voice. But then he looks up, and there you are, grinning like Christmas has come early. You’re wearing a black coat and a scarf, thick and long enough he’s sure you can use it as a blanket. Your jeans are embroidered, colourful flowers leaving a trail down your thighs, and when Touya’s eyes flick back up to your face your cheeks are dusted red from the cold.

“Why the hell are you wearing a short sleeve shirt? Are you mad? It’s freezing out.” You huff, unwrapping the scarf from around your neck.

Touya just watches you. The logical part of his brain tells him that he should probably say something, but instead he just watches as you shrug your coat off. You’re wearing a shirt with what he thinks might be an album cover. Its red and green and yellow, splatters of watercolour, not something he recognises. Touya hopes you’ll play it for him. You finally look up at him, stuffing your earbuds in your pockets.

“You’re awfully quiet today.” You smile.

You lean against the counter, mimicking his position. The two of you are just a little too close for any average customer and cashier interaction, but he doesn’t care, and he is pretty sure you don’t either.

“Just shocked. Didn’t think you’d take me up on the piercing offer.” Touya says.

“Well. I was promised someone called Shiggy, not my nap partner.” Touya snorts at your words and you smile slightly.

Touya gestures around the shop. You follow his hands, looking around the empty store, before landing back on him.

“We’re empty. Only one working right now is me.”

“Well. That doesn’t sound up to code.”

Touya shrugs. “We’re always quiet at this time. My boss is in the back and my coworker is on the way. I’m the best guy here for the job.”

You hum under your breath, nodding. You bite at your thumbnail. Touya tilts his head slightly, and you smile at him nervously. 

“You doing alright?” He asks.

“Yes. Well. No. I’m scared.”

“What are you looking to get done today?” Touya walks round the counter, leaning one hip on it and crossing his arms. Your eyes dart very briefly to his biceps and he is suddenly very thankful he wore a short sleeve today, and that he’d gone to the gym yesterday.

“A piercing.”

“Which one?”

“I’m thinking nipples?”

Touya stammers. He can feel his ears redden and you last all of five seconds with a straight face before you burst out laughing.

“It’s a joke! I’m joking!” You cackle, hands up in the air. “The look on your face!”

Touya rolls his eyes as you wipe tears from under your own, turning his head so you don’t see the flush on his face. “Ha Ha. Very funny.”

“I know, I’m hilarious. What I actually want is a nose piercing.” You tap the side of your nose and Touya nods.

“Okay, cool. That’ll be twenty, including a stud.” 

He reaches under the counter and grabs a consent form. He passes you a pen and gestures you over.

“Here, sign this. Just a safety thing.”

He watches as you scribble your name at the bottom. It’s pretty. Suits you. You bite at your bottom lip and he smiles slightly. You’re not saying anything, but the nerves sit clearly on your face.

“You’ll be fine. It doesn’t hurt that bad.” He reassures.

You glance up at him and worry darts across your face. “You mean it?” You ask, passing back the form. 

Touya starts walking further into the shop and you follow next to him. “Yes, I’m sure. You can hold my hand if you’re really that scared.” He teases.

“Shut up. I might have to. I feel like I’m going to pass out.” You huff.

Touya lets the two of you into a room. You sit down on the chair in the middle of it, and Touya starts grabbing all the things he needs. The disinfectant, a mirror, the needle. You’re too quiet, and when he glances behind him you’re staring at him.

He shakes the disinfectant in the air. “Enjoying the show?”

“Shut up.” 

He brings all the stuff to the small table next to you. Touya puts his hands on his hips and you look up at him.

“What?”

“You still look like you’re about to shit yourself.”

You shove him away. “Shut up. Again. Just get it over with.” 

Touya laughs. “Okay, okay. So. I’m going to use a pen to mark where I’m going to do it. Then I’ll grab the needle and you take a big breath in. And when you breathe out I pierce you and it’s done.” 

He puts on a pair of black gloves as he speaks. He acts like he doesn’t see your eyes following his movements, the lithe movements of his fingers. 

You look back up at his face. “Okay. That doesn’t sound too bad.”

Touya nods. “It’s not. Now you want it on the left or right?” He passes you a mirror and you look through it.

“What do you think will look good?” 

“I think you’ll look pretty with both.”

“Aw. You think I’m pretty?” You bat your eyelashes at him.

“Pretty good. Is what I meant to say. Maybe ugly even.”

You giggle and he grabs the mirror out of your hand. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll do the right side.”

Touya nods. His hand comes up and turns your face to the side, fingers grazing your jaw. The touch is fleeting but it makes him nervous. Like he’s thirteen with a crush on his babysitter. He clears his throat, desperate to distract from how close the two of you are right now.

“So. What made you change your mind about getting something done?”

“Well. I kept thinking about you.” 

It’s Touya’s turn to raise an eyebrow and watch your face redden under his gaze.

“Aw. You were thinking about me?”

You smile cheekily. “Of course! That was the best thirty minute nap I’ve had in my life. I’ve been chasing that high ever since.”

Touya scoffs slightly. His hand finds your jaw again, lifting up your face. You words stutter slightly as he does so. The room settles into soft silence and he reaches forward and dots your nose with his marker. He leans back slightly and you’re close, close enough that he can see the fluffiness of your eyelashes, the blemishes on your skin. You smell so good, something sweet and girly and he breathes it in, scared he’ll forget. Your eyes are trailing over his face, just like how Touya’s doing to you. 

Touya steps back. He needs to be professional. He needs to calm down before he throws himself on you. 

“That's all I am to you? A shoulder to nap on?” He pouts and you laugh.

“Something like that. I also realised I never got your number. Or your socials. Or even your name.” You say.

Touya grabs the needle, sanitising it quickly and tossing the wet wipe away. “I also realised that. I'm Touya, by the way.” 

You say your name back and he nods. “Pretty.”

“You can’t flirt with your customers, Touya. Very unprofessional.”

His name sounds so soft on your tongue, and he wants you to say it again, never stop saying it.

“Who said I’m flirting?”

“You call all your customers pretty?” “Only the ones who can’t stop thinking about me.” 

You roll your eyes. Touya is tall enough that when he drags over a stool and sits down he still towers over you a little. Your fingers grip the edge of the chair you’re sitting on. You eye the needle in his hands and he hides it behind his back.

“Don’t look. You’ll freak yourself out more.” He chides, and you huff.

“What, should I just keep my eyes shut the whole time?”

Touya shrugs. “If you want. I’ll talk you through it.” 

Your eyes widen slightly and Touya laughs nervously.

“Like- I’ll tell you what I’m doing. By talking. While I’m doing it. It- the piercing.” 

You smile teasingly and he taps your knee so you’ll close your eyes, before you see how flustered he looks. You comply quickly, and god you’re just so beautiful. You swing your legs slightly and it’s only when confusion teases at the edges of your eyebrows he realises he’s been staring at you like a freak for so long. In silence. 

Touya’s voice is low when he speaks again. “Alright. I need you to breathe in for me.”

Your chest rises as you breathe in quickly. “And I’ll countdown, and when I reach one you breathe out quickly and I pierce you. Easy, right?”

You nod. Your eyes are screwed shut and Touya thinks you feel the shiver that runs down his spine when you reach forward and grab his forearm. Right over his scars. You don’t seem to care though, fingers finding comfort in him despite the marred skin on his body. 

“Three. Two. One.” 

You breathe out loudly and the needle goes through. Your eyes water slightly and your grip on him tightens.

“Good girl, see? Wasn’t that bad.” He soothes, putting the stud in your nose. 

He places the needle onto the table and grabs the mirror. Your eyes are still shut tightly and you’re still holding onto him. Touya takes off his gloves and pats your hand.

“You can look now.” He says. 

You open your eyes and take the mirror from his hand. Your face lights up lightly and you let go of him to touch the piercing gingerly, and he misses the cooling touch of your fingertips immediately.

“Wow. It’s cute! And it didn’t even hurt that bad, either.”

“I told you.” 

You sigh happily. And then you look at Touya again. He feels nervous under your gaze, so intense and so focused on him.

“Thank you, Touya.”

“Its, uh. It’s no issue. It’s my job.”

The two of you talk as he leads you back to the counter, basic housekeeping for your new piercing,  but he can’t help but think about the fact you’re going to leave and he might not see you again for god knows how long. As nervous as you make him Touya is not going to pussy out twice.

“So. What are you doing in two hours?” He asks, leaning over the counter.

You pause from where you’re cocooning back into your puffer coat and scarf. You blink at him owlishly. 

“Me?”

“No, the other person standing in front of me.”

You narrow your eyes at him. You loop your scarf around your neck before looking back up at him.

“Nothing. What are you doing in two hours?”

“Taking you out, hopefully.” He says.

You laugh nervously, face heating, and god if you keep looking at him like that he’s going to get fired for doing indecent things to a customer.

“Alright, Touya. You want me to meet you back here?”

“Nah, I’ll come pick you up.” 

You nod, biting back a smile. “Well. In that case.”

You grab the pink biro Touya had forgotten on the counter. And then your hands, still cold compared to the heat that blooms against his skin, wrap around his wrist and drag him closer. You lean over slightly, writing you number across the small of his arm.

“God, you’re so warm.” You mumble, ending the long string of numbers with a poorly drawn heart.

“You’re hands are freezing.” He replies.

And before he really thinks he’s grabbing your hand in his own, and both of your hands could fit in one of his, and god he is a creep. You just smile though, squeezing once before letting go to grab your bag.

“Good think I’ve got you to warm them up for me.” You grin, waggling your fingers in the air.

Touya just nods. Your grin widens at his silence, and before he knows it you’re waving goodbye and he’s left wishing you’d come back.

—————————————————————————

HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE 🥳it took me a scarily long time to finish this 😭i had sooo much uni work I literally had no time but I’ve been (once again) in love with Touya so I had to finish this fic

This was heavily based on a post I saw from @tragikomizm of artstudent! Touya that I LOVED so deffo check out her stuff!

Anyways I hope u all enjoyed :P I really do love writing these and I will try and get more stuff out! Also if anyone has any good ao3 fic reccoemndation (happy endings plz) PLZ COMMENT I JEED SMTH TO READ!

[thebestofoneshots]

Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

Series Masterlist | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 7.6 K Warnings: None Prompt: Time to wrap it all up, and perhaps receive one or two surprises. This IS a Wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it. Proofread by lovely: @aremuslupinsimp

Chapter 42: Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Wednesday, December 23rd

The art store was small, but filled with colours all around. Small little black cabinets with golden numbers on top behind the counter, and walls lined with different paint pots and colours, a wall with wooden frames and delicately separated boxes that held paint brushes of all different sizes and shapes and, by the bits you’d read, also materials. 

At the top of the cabinets there was a small display of colourful markers and pens and other things that you knew muggles used but you weren’t too familiar with. Apparently, they used stick glue instead of sticking spells to adhere stuff. You wondered how much of this stuff Sirius actually knew about and vowed to bring him to this place with you one day. 

And while you did appreciate art, thoroughly – you’d gone to multiple museums, both muggle and wizarding through your trips – you had no idea what the difference was between gouache and acrylic, or why the “Rembrandt” that claimed to be made out of oil, where much more expensive than the “Winsor & Newton” ones that claimed the same. It had to be because of the quality, right? 

“Good evening, may I help you?” a young man, probably in his late twenties asked as he approached you. He was dressed in rather formal clothes and had a pair of thin-rimmed golden glasses. You would have probably considered him attractive if you hadn’t been accustomed to Sirius’ dashing looks or Remus’ lovely smile. You really were lucky to be surrounded by handsome and pretty humans, you thought, thinking of the rest of your friends. 

You must have looked as lost as a Bowtruckle in the middle of New York since he looked like he would try to be overly polite. 

“I’m looking for a gift, my boyfriend loves to draw, but I’m… not really good with all the supplies and stuff, I was thinking perhaps a nice set of pencils and a sketchbook. I’ve been looking through the paints as well, but I don’t think he’s the kind to do the whole canvas thing, at least not while we’re in school.” 

“Well, does he colour his drawings?” 

You thought about it for a moment, what he’d shown you were mostly sketches done in pencil, though there were some with an underlayer of red and or blue. “I think he uses some for the base of the drawings.” 

“Does he overline them?” The expression you gave him when he asked made him clarify it. “After the pencil sketch is done, does he add a pen or marker to finish up the details?” 

Sirius did not do that, but you also thought how complicated it would be to do such a thing with a quill instead of the pens and trinkets the muggles had invented so you nodded in response. “Yeah… not that often but I’m sure he’d like something to be able to do it.” 

“All right, follow me,” he said as he motioned to one of the furthest walls. “This is where we keep all of our sketchbooks, the thicker the grammage the stronger pens and markers it will hold. Also, some can even hold watercolour, not sure if he’s into that too.” 

“Do you have like – a book on the basics of watercoloring? I feel like he might actually be interested in that.” 

“We do,” he said with a nod and moved to the other side of the store bringing you a few options. You picked one of them and then looked through the sketchbooks. There were different sizes and colours and the pages felt really different on most of them. Some were especially made for watercolours and some were for drawing. You took one with about 100 pages for watercolour and one with the same amount of pages but with a bit less grammage for sketches. 

They both had a black cover with golden elegant trims that you thought would definitely go with Sirius’ look, although one opened from the side, making it more of a panoramic view while the other one stayed horizontal. You handed them in to the guy and he took them to the counter as you continued looking around. You leaned into the watercolour section and started to look at all the different options available. 

“If this is the first time he’ll do watercolour, may I recommend you buy a set?” he asked politely as he showed you a small wooden case, when he opened it there were all sorts of small blocks with different colours on them. “These are my favourite brand, but really gentle with beginners, they also come with this interesting thing,” he added as he handed you a small brush with a clear section at the top. “It comes with water, you don’t have to dip your brush that often, really useful once you get the hang of it.” 

“You have more of those?” you asked and he nodded, showing you the different sizes of brush ends. After a while, and with a lot of his help, you ended up selecting about 5 different brushes and the colours that you’d fill the small wooden box with as well, which you thought was fantastic since you could fill it up with whatever colours you chose and not a set palette. 

“You’ll also take the marker set, the watercolour book and the sketchbooks, correct? Anything else?” 

“Uhh… Am I missing anything that he might need?

“Does he draw portraits or landscapes?” 

You thought back of the Remus drawing he’d shown you, and then of the one you had chosen not to see. “He draws portraits and anatomy studies. Though I’m sure I’ve seen him doodle other stuff too.” 

“He might like this book then,” he told you as he handed over another book. It was about proportions and hand drawing and a lot of very advanced-looking stuff, you smiled. 

“This one as well, please…” he was about to finish the bill when you stopped him, looking down through the glass display and pointing towards something, “Is that a penknife?” 

“Well, yes,” he replied, “Although sharpeners are used more often nowadays, some people still prefer them.” 

“I’d like one of those as well,” you added with a smile. 

“Excellent.” The man gave you your total and then handed every single thing in a thick paper bag. “You said it was for a gift, right?” 

“Yes,” you nodded and he walked to the back of the shop, pulling a very elegant and sturdy black box, he eyed the bag as if calculating if everything would fit and then handed it over to you along with a black and gold ribbon with the name of the store repeated over and over. 

As he handed it over he pulled it back for a second and gave you a smile. “That young gentleman is very lucky to have you as a girlfriend.” 

“I think I’m just as lucky as he is,” you responded with a small smirk as you took the box. 

“Would you like me to call you a cab?” 

You thought about it for a second. Your house wasn’t that far, and with a short levitating spell you wouldn’t have to carry much stuff either, but the Knight Bus did mention they’d be very busy and you had been walking all day. “Yes, thank you.”

The man called for one and you waited inside the store until the cabbie arrived. You gave him your address and he took you straight there. You took the lift of your building, using your wand to unlock the secret –magical- floor your parents had purchased in London and waited. 

When the two, golden doors of the lift opened to your drawing room, you sighed. Leaning down to take off your shoes. “Mom? Dad?” 

No answer. “What time is it?” you whispered to yourself as you looked at the clock, quarter past ten? That art store surely has late closing times, you thought as you leaned back down to pull your bags up and drag them to your room. 

There was a note on the table along with what looked like a delightfully looking salad and steak. 

We’ll be home late, serve yourself. See you tomorrow darling.

You sighed and after placing the bags on the table, and using a warming spell on the food, you ate. Once you were done, the plate disappeared from the table and instead, a chocolate cake showed up. You smiled, at least they knew you liked sweets. You took a few bites from that and took it, along with your gifts, to your room. 

That’s when you remembered you had promised to tell your friends when you arrived here so you quickly scribbled a few notes. Sending your owl –Resse– back to the Potter’s and Barnaby –the family’s owl– to Beth. Then you took some Floo powder and leaned over the fire. 

“Tom?” You asked as you peeked through his chimney. 

“Sly sprite?” He asked as he leaned over. “I was starting to worry,” he said as he left a book on the side. “You got home, all right?” 

“Yeah!” you said with a smile. “And I got a bunch of good stuff at the store too, it was worth it.” 

“It better have been! Beth is home too, we stopped by hers first.” 

You chatted with Tom for a little while more and ended the call when you started to yawn and he followed right after. With that, you went for a quick and warm shower and then back to bed. 

Thursday, December 24th

There was a soft knock on the door, you stirred on your bed but didn’t wake and then there was another one. “Sweetheart? Breakfast’s ready, come eat.” 

“On my way,” you said as you sat on your bed and rubbed your eyes a couple of times. The day was bright, you’d forgotten to shut your windows at night and now you had the perfect view of the Thames through your window. You thought back to Hogwarts and how all the splendour of it had been made by magic, while the splendour of London had mostly been made by muggles. 

The high skyscrapers, the Ferris Wheel across the river, the towers, palaces and bridges, all muggle-made, and without magic, it was fascinating. You didn’t understand why wizards had so many prejudices against them –aside from the whole burning on steak part, muggles seemed to be quite incredible and determined people.  Perhaps you should have taken that muggle studies optative. 

“Sweetheart?” you heard your father’s voice, a bit more stern than your mother’s. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” you said as you shook your covers off and grabbed your wand from the nightstand. “As if they hadn’t been home hours after I got here,” you mumbled as you fished for a pair of slippers under your bed. 

By the time you got out of your room both your mom and dad were sitting on the living room table. Your mom was wearing a beautiful cocktail dress while your dad had a perfectly fitting black suit on with a small cape, draped elegantly behind his chair. You were still wearing a band shirt you had stolen from Sirius a while ago, and that you had been wearing under Remus’ jumper before the trip. “Lovely to see you,” you said with an awkward smile, “it’s been a while.” 

Your father looked up from his newspaper with a cup of coffee in his hand only for a second, nodded and then went back to read. Your mom gave you a sympathetic look and nodded for you to sit down. After a couple of minutes, your dad bent the newspaper and placed it on the side of the table.  

“We’ve heard plenty of your Hogwarts Adventures,” your father said looking at you. “You’ve been doing a masterful job at maintaining our house’s name relevant.”  

You frowned at that, that had never been your intention. 

“You were incredible in the broom race though you lost,” your father said. “And you’ve won two quidditch matches–” 

“That was a team effort…” you said, your voice growing smaller as his hand dismissed you. 

“You’ve kept your grades high and you’ve even entered the duelling club…”

“Not to mention her Theoretical Magic grades,” your mom added with a smile. 

“And you’re dating one of the Black kids.” 

You swallowed. You had mentioned in your letters that you and Sirius had gotten along now that you were in the same house, but you hadn’t specifically mentioned you were dating him.

“The disowned Black kid,” your father continued. 

You straightened a little, you had discussed with your dad the things that happened back in your vacations with the Blacks. It hadn’t been particularly nice talk, but you weren’t going to back down, his political means could not be worth more than his morals. And things had been rather tense between the two since then.

When two people had such intense ideological differences and desires, they were bound to clash against each other, especially when those ideologies juxtaposed against the other often, being only furthered by the fact that you were –at least on breaks– living under the same roof. 

Your priorities had been wildly different and you weren’t shy about letting him know, which caused your relationship to deteriorate quickly. Not to say you –or him– had been particularly rude to each other, but you were much colder. It was almost Christmas, and you didn’t want to start a fight with him, let alone over something that you were most definitely not going to yield on. 

“I think it’s all right. He might have been disowned by his family but he still stays in contact with some of the other Blacks like Alphard and the other disowned child… whatever her name is…” Andromeda, you thought as you tried to process the fact that he had just said it was fine. “Just try to avoid mentioning him in tomorrow’s dinner. I’m sure Walburga wouldn’t be particularly pleased.” 

“Tomorrow’s dinn– Walburga will be coming?” 

“Of course not, they have invited us to their Christmas dinner,” he said. “It’ll be hosted in Rosier Manor, I believe.” 

“Whose manor?” You asked, your breath going short along with your question. 

“Mr. Rosier,” your mom repeated. “All important wizards will be there.” 

“I’d rather skip Christmas altogether.” 

“I’m sorry, darling. This isn’t a matter of preferences. You will go and then we’ll let you do whatever you please for the rest of the break. Visit muggle London as much as you want or dally with your friends, I really don’t care as long as you maintain your composure during tomorrow’s dinner.”

Your leg was bouncing slightly under the table. “I don’t believe I will be welcomed in that house.” 

“You will be welcomed because you are my daughter and I’m me,” he said with an air of finality. “We need to present a strong family front, play your part and you’ll be rewarded.” 

“Right, my part,” you said bitterly. You wondered if your mother was playing her part too, they were in love, that wasn’t questionable, but sometimes it felt like she became nothing more than an addition to his recollection of what a perfect life should look like. Did he marry her because of the love he felt for her or because she’d look like a delightful trophy wife by his side on political dinners? Had she not been as beautiful as she was, had she not been well educated, would he have married her either way? 

You wondered, when had Silas become the man he is now? When did his greed for power become so intense he would sacrifice his morals to achieve it? When you were smaller, you thought they loved each other, even now, you saw when they looked at each other with those adoring eyes, but… there was a tale of sacrifice weaved in between their story, and with one party constantly bending to the other’s wishes, you weren’t sure you could still call it love. 

When devotion became toxic, was it still something that came from love, or had it become something else altogether? 

“Indeed darling, we ask for nothing more than one night. Then you will not be bothered, free to go wherever you want and with whomever you please. Does that sound like a fair deal?” 

You sighed and nodded, “One dinner.”

Your mother smiled at that, letting out a nervous breath and then reached for your hand. “Your clothes for tomorrow are already in your closet, I also got you some nice potions and make-up.” 

“Thanks, Mum,” you said with a short smile and looked at your food. It looked delicious, it was French toast with berries and fruit on top –probably there to appeal to your sweet tooth and convince you to go– but you didn’t feel hungry at all. Especially not at the thought of having to go to Rosier Manor. As if you didn’t see enough of Evan at school, now you had to go see him on the break as well, bIoody brilliant. “Breakfast was great,” you said as you stood up. Both of them decided to ignore your almost intact plate, “I’ll be in my room in case you need anything else, you know like me playing the role of the perfect child of the politician if your friends come around or whatever.”

Your mom gave you a reproachful look while your dad gave you an impassive one, you raised your eyebrows at the two of them, almost tauntingly before you turned around, walking back to your room and letting the door close behind you gently –it was not the inanimate objects fault that your parents were acting like pricks. 

You sat on your bed and took a deep breath before you saw a small owl by one of your windows, you let him in and took the rolled parchment from his feet before feeding him some water. 

Dear Vix, Hope this letter finds you all right, Sirius was moaning about you going along Beth and Tom and not inviting him to buy Christmas stuff it was draining! Now I was not going to write to you about it because he said he would punch me in the face but I had to write anyway since mum and dad wanted you to have our address so you could come here through floo anytime.  Hope you’re having a great time, Sirius and I went flying with Pete today (he lives a few houses from us, did we tell you?), and while it was nice not having to worry about Sirius distracting himself from snogging you, we missed you still.  Mum and Dad send greetings to your parents, hope you’re also having a blast.  Your bestest friend, James P.  PS. Mum sent this tea for you, she said she thinks you’d like it with how much sweet stuff you eat and stuff.  PS 2. Love you, but I bet you’re missing me more <– That was Sirius. 

James’ stupid letter made you chuckle, especially the last bit, as if it had been necessary to point out that Sirius had been the one to write it. You placed the letter into a small box in your bag and smiled as you walked to pick up some of the stuff you’d be giving your friends as their gifts.  

You picked up some wrapping paper and started wrapping all of their gifts, the owls would have to do a couple of trips to take them all to their place, but you’d make sure to leave them plenty of food throughout the night, so they could continue their trips and the presents would be at your friend’s beds in the morning. 

You had gone through most of the smaller gifts first, writing small, and neatly written Christmas cards on them. Then you went for the bigger ones, the books you’d gotten for Lily, some of the stuff for Mary and Marlene, James’ pack, and of course, Remus and Sirius’. 

It wasn’t until then, that you realised how overboard you had gone with your gifts. You’d gotten Remus so many books, both magical and muggle, that you almost felt guilty you hadn’t gotten Lily and James more stuff. And then you tried telling yourself it was because Remus would spend Christmas alone and he deserved at least a bit of happiness, you weren’t deliberately playing favourites. 

And then Sirius’ pile was clearly a mess, you had all the music you’d gotten, the shirts, the penknife that you wanted to engrave with his name (you were researching for the right spell to do it) and a bunch of other stuff for him. Besides, you still wanted to make the playlists, so before you finished packing the bigger boxes, you started testing the recorder. Now there wasn’t exactly a step by step guide on how to record music, but there was a small booklet that showed you how the thing worked and you spend the rest of the day figuring it out, listening to music and making a playlist for each of your friends. Using all the songs you thought they might like.

When you were done with that, you continued packing all the stuff. Deciding to send all the music back to the boys’ room at Hogwarts so they could leave it on Sirius’ stash. Well, all of them except for the David Bowie tape you had specifically gotten for Sirius and that would look great with his shirt and the rest of the gifts you’d gotten him. 

You went out to get some food at some point during the day, and there was another note from your parents telling you they were off at an event. Well, good riddance, you thought as you went back to your room with a sandwich in your hands. You picked one of the books you’d gotten for yourself and you spent almost the rest of the day reading it while jamming to one of the playlists you’d made. A copy of the one you’d made for Remus since you thought it went well with the book you’d chosen to read. 

You fell asleep before your parents got home, with the book still in your hands and the music playing softly in the background until the cassette ran out of tape and was softly ejected by the machine. The sound it made had been so soft it didn’t wake you at all. 

Thankfully, you had remembered to leave enough water and food for the owls, since they had spent all night doing trips back and forth to your house and your friends’. 

Friday, December 25th

You woke up by being pecked in the face by a very big and very angry owl. 

“Oi!” you complained. “What’s wrong with you?” The owl chirped and picked you again, this time on the ear. “Bitch,” you mumbled as you pushed him back lightly, only for him to pick you in the finger again. 

You gave him an upset look and he pulled back just a little, tilting his head towards the window, and the lack of food and refreshments. 

“Oh, so that’s why you’ve been attacking me non-stop?” you asked as you stood up from the bed, failing to see the pile of wrapped gifts at the end of it. The owl chirped in response, a scowl that you weren’t sure was his natural face shape or an actual scowl directed towards you. “I’m sorry,” you added, “Barnaby and Reese must have eaten them all. They did many trips last night, you know?” 

The owl chirped again, a little angry as he flew towards the window, as if saying «I too flew many trips last night» looking as indignant as a Towny Owl could. You added a few of the special snacks you kept for Reese just to keep him from biting you again. You looked at the name tag and realised who the owner of the owl had been. 

Eun-ji, Minho had told you about her, she was his family’s owl and apparently, the name meant something like “kind”. So much for a kind owl, you thought as you looked at her, gobbling up Reese’s treats. You leaned over when you noticed there was a small letter attached to his feet and took it in your hands before the owl flapped his wings and left. 

Merry Christmas Star Seeker,  Hope you’re having a great time. Thought of giving you a special thanks for that one time you –quite literally– pushed me towards my crush and got us to start a conversation, that, well, you know how great it ended!  Even for a Gryffindor, you’re really nice, so I thought of getting you something for you to get some more hate from your fellow Gryffindor, Eun-ji must have left the gift near your bed.

You turned to the side in the middle of reading and stood agape, there was not only a green and silver wrapped gift in what looked suspiciously like the shape of a snake, but there were also a bunch of other gifts wrapped in all sorts of colours. 

Anyway thanks for everything, hope you have fun and all. I’m looking forward to beating you all next time we play,   Love,  The one and only, and your favourite Slytherin, Minho Cha. 

You rolled your eyes at the last bit, it had been very Slytherin of him, but since you knew Minho, you also knew he was playing it off as a joke on his own house, which made a joke inside a joke and you thought it was actually kind of funny. 

You took a deep breath and walked over to your bed. There were all sorts of gifts prompted there and you decided to unwrap Minho’s first. There was a small, green snake plushie with a bow on it that had a small pendant with something written on it:  “From the snakes that love you dearly,” and then it had the names of all of your Slytherin friends: Minho, Comet, Nox, Reggie, and even some you weren’t expecting like Dorcas and Solacis. You thought it was an adorable little thing, even if –and you were certain of this– your friends would absolutely hate it. Well, not Lily, she’d also think it was adorable. 

And thinking of her, was that you picked the next gift, wrapped in pink and yellow paper, and with her a small dedicatory on the corner, you instantly knew it was from her, her neat and perfect handwriting being the dеad giveaway. You smile as you read her small dedication. She wished you a very, merry Christmas and promised to tell you everything about the train with James as soon as you saw each other in person. She wrote something along the lines of not being able to put it on paper, which made you laugh. 

When you opened the present you were thrilled, it was a small leather notebook, dark red with golden trims and your name on the cover. Not Vixen, not Starshine, or any of the other nicknames that you had come to own and love since you arrived at Hogwarts, but your name. You smiled as you traced your fingers over the letters. There was a pen on the side, golden and apparently of some interesting muggle technology that wasn’t that popular in the wizarding world. You thought it was fascinating. When you opened the notebook you realised there was something written, again in her handwriting. 

You’ve had more adventures this year than I’ve had in my lifetime. I think it’s time for you to start writing down some of them, in case you ever want to revisit them. If journaling is not your thing (which I feel like it would be because I know you), you can just use this notebook however you want. You know grocery lists, songs for mixtapes, your favourite lyrics, poems, quotes, Sirius’ doodles, your doodles,  dried flowers, stickers, whatever you want, it’s your space, and you may use it as you wish! Love, Lily

You thought the idea of having your own journal was brilliant, you always admired her for keeping hers so incredibly neat looking, and perhaps being able to let some of your feelings go on a blank page would be better than keeping them bottled up. You doubted you would be nearly as consistent as her, but you decided to add your first couple of words in there, detailing the gifts you’d gotten and the few you still had yet to open. 

You’d gotten a box of your favourite candies from Mary and some incredible quidditch trading cards from Marlene, but she had also added some makeup to her gift because if not you and James would have gotten the exact same thing and you were her favourite between the two. You got a spellbook and a muggle prank book from Tom “to further your career” according to him. There was a large, embossed book from Nina, which you discovered was an annotated version of one of your favourite books and a small set of runes from Sybil. You had gotten her a deck of cards and a book about premonitions. 

There were candies from Nox and a muggle book lantern from Neil Perry, you had both complained at some point about reading with your wand and you thought the solution he’d found was adorable. Peter had gotten you a book about canines, packed along with a small fox-themed bookmarker and a note that said “Thank you for not busting my make-out session and Merry Christmas.” He also added, “PS. maybe with this one you’ll be able to tame Pads.” Which had you wheezing with laughter for a while. 

It took at least a minute to go for the next gift, it was a small box that said to be handled carefully. You opened it according to the instructions. “Shut the fuck up!” you said the moment you realized what was inside. A small Felix Felicis vial. “Shut up, shut up, shut up,” you repeated over and over again. “How did he even get his hands on it?” 

You picked up the paper from behind it, there was a small note. 

Okay say it: aside from Sirius, I AM your favourite Marauder.  You might be wondering, “How the hell did James get his hands on this?”. Well dear, I must say, I have contacts.  AKA my parents are expert potioneers and I somehow convinced Mum to brew one and that’s how I got my hands on it.  Now, I could have given it to any of my friends but I get the feeling you might be needing some of this soon enough. You know, from things I’ve seen and such (please don’t waste it on a quidditch match, though). Anyway, I know you’ll use it well, hope you have a very Merry Christmas!  Your favourite marauder AND bestest friend,  Prongs. 

You chuckled when you finished reading and went back to look at the vial with incredulity. Brewing one of these potions was arduous work, and it took weeks, which meant James must have had convinced Effie to do it even before she’d met you. Never underestimate James Potter, you thought as you grabbed onto the vial and placed it around your neck with a chain, casting a disillusionment charm on it so it wouldn’t be so obvious you had it with you. You thought the gift was brilliant. 

After that, there were only 2 gifts left. You picked the one with a silver bow first. It was a square box, about 12” wide, and had been wrapped in the same paper as James’, which made you guess who it might be from. There were chocolates and a small letter on top, neatly closed and with your name written on the back with Sirius’ almost perfect calligraphy. There was also a paper covering something, but you picked the letter up first. 

You know, I tried writing a love letter, but James wouldn’t stop making ridiculous comments about it not being profound enough and I feared I’d end up writing something close to the painfully ridiculous letters he used to write to Lily so I had to stop myself.  Who would have thought it would be that hard to put thoughts into words? I suppose if I were like Remus it would come out much easier but, unfortunately, you’re stuck with me. Actually no, fortunately you’re stuck with me, I’m delightful.

You laughed, he’s not wrong. 

Anyway, I suppose what I wanted to express in those dreadful attempts of being a poet was that I’m incredibly thankful that you came to Hogwarts and that you came back to me. I’m grateful that you tolerate me and my moods and that you love me for who I am, flaws and all. I wasn’t sure I’d ever found that kind of love, one that I even doubted it existed, and yet you’re always there to tease and make me laugh and– I already sound like James, but you know what I mean. You always know what I mean.  As you see, I am far from a poet, but there is something I like to do and I thought that perhaps, you’d enjoy it more than this terrible love letter.  You know, you and Remus were the first to ever see a sketch from my book, and I was feeling all sorts of things after I offered, and yet, you were there, reassuring me and telling me I didn’t have to do it if I didn’t want to. You know Walburga, it wasn’t much of a choice for me, so it truly meant the world, and fed me the courage I needed to let you see that part of me. And when you two finally saw it and praised me for my skills, for what I did with my own hands… You make me so incredibly gleeful, it’s almost scary how much power you could hold over me. But frankly, I’ll let you hold it all you want.  All right, enough of the sappy stuff, Merry Christmas Starshine, you know you shine brighter than my own star. Hope you like your gift.  Love,  Sirius 

See the letter here

You read the letter a few more times, smiling at the little details and jokes Sirius had sprinkled all over. And then you pulled on the bit of tissue paper covering the very last thing in the box and when you finally saw its content you couldn’t help but swear again, “Son of a bitch!” you whispered. 

There were still some small pieces of paper over the small portrait, and you carefully brushed them out to be able to lift it from the box. The image was a hand-drawn portrait of you. You had a big smile and were looking at what would be the camera if it were an image. It looked like it might have been from one of the pictures from Marlene’s party although Sirius had changed the outfit, you were wearing an oversized sweater and his leather jacket. You could tell it was his because it had one of the enamel pins you had gotten him as a gift on the lapel. 

There were touches of colours in the strokes, not quite painting the drawing but rather giving it relatively bright edges that made it look special, unlike any other doodle. And of course, he had framed it, it was a simple yet elegant frame, dark oak and with small carved details on the sides. On the left bottom corner of the drawing, there was something written in French: 

À l'étoile la plus brillante.  Amour, 

And then, instead of his name, he signed with a small and elegant star doodle. You smiled again, it was one of the loveliest things you’d ever gotten, even if it was a portrait of yourself, the fact that Sirius had been the one to draw it, made it the most special of things. There were portraits upon portraits of you in your house, with magic that allowed you to move and smile, and even talk sometimes, but none of them held as much value as the frozen drawing Sirius had given you. 

Eventually, you placed it on your night table and picked up the last gift still sitting in your bed. His box was smaller than Sirius’, about the size of a book, which had you assumed he had gotten you something along the lines of that. 

You opened the book and found a small, pocket-sized book. It was a Sreath Bàrdachd, according to the golden script at the top. You hadn’t quite realised as you pulled it from the box, but it was handmade. You looked at it in shock as you flipped to the 50+ pages, all in carefully and methodically written cursive, his handwriting. 

Later you realised it was something between a book of poems and a compilation of quotes from different books. You admired the booklet for a few more minutes when you spotted that there was a small letter, still waiting for you inside the box. You pulled it off and broke the seal with a small sword letter opener Nox had given you as a gift. 

As you did, a small chain fell from the letter and you picked it up. It was small and dainty, just long enough to wrap around your wrist, which made you wonder how he’d guessed the size. The chain was simple, and it broke off into two different sections, one with a small crescent moon and then another one with a small star. It also had one small gemstone in between the bigger charms. You looked at it with a smile and held it in your hand as you read the letter. 

Hey there, Little Witch,  Hope you’re having an incredible Christmas. By the time you read this, you’ve probably seen the Sreath Bàrdachd, and knowing how clever you are, you probably already know what that could mean. Yes, It’s a book of poems, but also a bit more than that.  I knew Sirius was making you that incredible gift of his, and I didn’t want to fall behind. Prongs didn’t tell us what he got you but he seemed pretty confident he’d have the best gift of all. Did he?  Never mind, don’t tell me, it’s a silly competition. Either way, I thought you might like having one of these. Mum used to have one, which is why I know they exist. She told me a good friend gave it to her and she has kept it ever since then. I remembered borrowing it from her once when I was little, and she taught me how to carefully flip through the pages as she read to me. She also mentioned it was a silly girl’s thing but I thought it was amazing, and went on to make my own.  Although wonky and, with quotes from children’s books, she thought I was quite a mastermind for making it by myself. Of course, I put a lot more effort into the one you have with you now. Or perhaps the same effort but with better skills. If you’ve flipped through the pages, which I assume you have, since you’re incredibly curious, you’ve probably seen some familiar quotes.  There’s stuff from books we’ve both read and stuff that only I have read but that I thought you might like. Some of my favourite poems too, and some quotes from movies that only you’d be able to get. There are even lyrics from songs, some that we really like, some that Sirius has heard so many times that I already knew them by memory, and since the two of you like similar music, I assumed you’d know them too.  Also, there’s a small bracelet in the letter. I’ve cross-charmed it, in case you ever lose the Sreath Bàrdachd (I truly hope you never do), the gemstone will shine as you approach it. I’ve also added a few luck charms that, while they won’t keep you away from trouble –I don’t think anything could– they may give you some luck while navigating it.  Don’t hit me for saying that, you know it’s true.  Love,  Moony.  PS. Prongs told me about your little quarrel with Sirius on the platform, Sirius definitely misses you more.

See the letter here

By the time you finished Remus’ letter, you were smiling as brightly as you had when you read Sirius’. You were so lucky you had found such incredible people in Hogwarts. Your bedsheets filled with torn wrapping paper were a testament to that. You spend the rest of the afternoon listening to some more music and reading through the book Remus had made. 

He had been especially careful with his handwriting which you thought was adorable, and there were a lot of quotes from Oscar Wilde’s Picture of Dorian Grey. He had written in pencil –so you could erase it if you wanted, not that you would– that it was your fault he was obsessed with his writing now. Taking poems and quotations from both, the book aforementioned and The Ghost of Canterville. You hadn’t read the latter yet, but you were almost counting the days to go back to school and ask him to lend you his copy. 

Unfortunately, all good things come to an end, and you had to leave the warm comfort of reading and listening to music in favour of changing into the clothes your mom had chosen for you. You sighed as the alarm clock you’d set earlier went off, and then went straight towards your closet. The dress she had picked was simple, yet elegant. It wasn’t a long dress like the one she’d probably wear, but a more youthful one with clever intricate details on the sleeves and a midi skirt.  

“Thank god it has sleeves,” you whispered to yourself as you pulled the edge of the sleeve of Sirius’ shirt up. While your skin looked almost smooth, the lighter (almost silvery) shapes where the new skin was growing over the gush Moony had made were pretty evident. You supposed makeup and a spell could make them less visible, at least for a while, but that would have probably taken you a lot more time to achieve. 

You plopped the black dress on, smoothing the sides as walking towards your vanity where your mum had left all the potions and make-up. You sighed, remembering how much more fun it had been to dress for the Gryffindor parties than it was to dress for this one. With the black dress and the pearls on your neck, you felt a lot more like you were about to walk into a funeral rather than a party. My own funeral, you thought with a laugh when you remembered whose house you’d actually be going to. 

You grabbed a pair of red, not-too-high heels, put them on, and took another look in the large mirror by the window. You looked lovely, at least there would be no complaints from your parents on that aspect. What they might complain about was the fact that you took a bag with an undetectable extension charm and filled it with a few of the books you’d gotten as a Christmas gift. You also took the journal Lily had given you and Remus’ Sreath Bàrdachd. And you weren’t sure who’d be attending that party but you sure hoped you’d be able to sneak into a corner and read a book rather than having to interact with some of the most disagreeable friends of your parents. 

“Sweetheart, are you ready?” your mom asked from the kitchen. 

“Yeah, coming,” you said as you grabbed a few more trinkets and dumped them in your bag, just in case. 

You were about to leave the room when you saw a small glistening thing in your bed and you went straight to grab it. It was the bracelet Remus had given you, and even if it took you a while to put it on, and you continued looking between your wrist and the door as you tried to get the clasp to do its job, you thought it was worth it. I could really use that extra luck. You thought. You accommodated the necklace Sirius had given you and that you never took off and then took off James’ potion and placed it on your bag since it might be safer there than around your neck. 

One last look in the mirror to make sure everything was in order and you walked out towards the living room. 

“You look delightful, darling,” your father said as he spotted you walking out of the room. 

You gave him a half shrug in response and then managed to mutter a “thanks” that you hoped didn’t sound as bitter as it felt. After another moment of silence, your mom grabbed her bag and finished clipping on one of her earrings. 

“We’ll take the floo?” you asked. 

Your father shook his head, “They’ve sent over a Portkey,” your mom explained and motioned to the table, there was a small, fancy-looking invitation right in the middle. 

“Nice,” you said as you used your wand to levitate the object and move it right in between your parents. Perhaps if it had been floo, you could have sneakily said James’ address instead of Evan’s and escaped the party altogether. Once there, your parents wouldn’t make a fuss about it in order to not make your insubordination evident. But of course, you weren’t that lucky, and you’d have to take the portkey and you’d have to go to the party. 

“In three,” your father said as he moved his hand towards the invitation, “two… one… go.” 

The three of you placed your hands on the invitation at the same time and you felt the very familiar pull on your lower back, in less than a second, the entire world distorted around you, and then, you weren’t in your house anymore.

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

TAGLIST: @rayrlupin @callmelovergirl @warcelia @ireneop @endversewinchester @moonyunebi @smuttysluttybitch @mazzymoons @drugs-for-memes @sofiacblair @vmpir3lvr @remuslupinisbae @rabluver @willgrahamisalesbi4n @thatobsessedreader @itskailey24 @hell0-kittie @belovedmoony @blacksgarden @loving-and-dreaming @cassie-love20 @starchaser-lily @zucchini-queenie @springflwer07 @sseleniaa @cometsghost @orkwardx0 @imdoingbetternow  @sbrewer21 @remuslupinsbae @maxinehufflepuffprincess @wifiatthetrainstation @unstablereader @msblacklupin @oliversaurus @jaylienpotter @remussbitch @hermionelove @izuoyarmin @themarauderswife7 @keira-kaz2y5 @lampthemacarenagod @bugg06 @a-n-1-m-3-f-r-3-4-k @darlingeels @kissmeunicornbaobei @xluansstuff @boo8008 @angelmixer @voteforintensedreams @allons-y-molly @aremuslupinsimp @imaginexred @writingshae @nyanwyn @poetrypirate @crazyhorseforgot @saturnhas82moons @ryeyeyer @itsthequackshire @maqqiekwon @desikudisworld @pastelorangeskies

Leave a comment telling me if you wanna be tagged on Gilded Constellations

Want to support me? Like and reblog this post (reblogs are extra nice since they help me get my work to more people), also guys, I absolutely love reading your comments, so do throw them my way if you have any!

A/N: Aww that was so cute wasn't it? Now it's time to strap on, we're about to dive head-first into the darkest side of the story, and it's going to be fun and sad and just a rollercoaster of emotions in general. Love, Lils xx

Read more Marauders Fiction

[sen-ya]

Life After Info Post

[Click here to access the Life After Digital Comic Book]

Summary: Two years ago, a viral outbreak rose the dead. Considering how his life had gone up to this point, surgeon Trafalgar Law figured this might as well happen too. When a supply run into the nearby city gets intercepted by a seemingly reckless and impulsive former patient, the dependable routine Law had settled into in this new life shatters. He finds himself exposed — his body out in the infected landscape, his conscious clawing to define what he believes is right, his heart begrudgingly deciding to find a new home on his sleeve. Maybe there’s more than a virus roaming the new world that can bring a dead man back to life.

Content Warnings: Canon typical violence, zombies/body horror (but lbr I am not good at making scary things look scary)

Relationships: Luffy x Law

Update Schedule: New page every Monday/Wednesday/Friday

Page Count: [37 posted | 55 drawn]

Latest Update: [7/21/24] WOWEE did I get myself carried away this morning. I just spent 5 hours organizing my comics and creating the digital comic book pages. I could have spent that time drawing or idk not doing what I do for my job, but I cannot be stopped. Anyway I blocked out 30 pages of this comic last week and they include the most intense action sequence I've ever done in my gotdang life. Wish me luck because I am nervous about tying down all my drawings lmao.

OLD UPDATES:

[6/29/24] HULLO! I'm doing so bad at keeping my masterposts updated lately I am sorry. All pages of life after are tagged life after if you're ever looking between masterpost updates! Also exciting update, I finally have figured out all the different plot points i'm gonna be hitting (yay!). I got hung up on something for awhile that made me not wanna work on this project, but I'm back at it. I think we'll end up with 6-7 parts! I have probably another 80-100 pages to draw lol. Also i got the app Magic Poser and it's AWESOME and I immediately used it to block out sets cuz MAN I hate backgrounds.

[6/10/24] HELLO. I'm sorry I've been shit at updating my masterposts lately. It's easiest to do from my computer, which I rarely use, and life has been happening. I also can't believe I bungled the queue and posted pg19 before pg18 i am very sorry 🤦 Eventually I'll have to turn this into an airtable base I'm sure, but until that day comes where I have like 100 pages of this comic we're stickin to the regular post lmao

[5/26/23] I got real caught up in doing summer of lawlu comics this week and this is the first week since the first week of April I haven't drawn new Life After pages and it feels weird 🙊

[5/19/24] More Luffy backstory comin' this week! :^)

[5/12/24] Updating now so get myself on schedule to update on Sundays like I had been with my other comic master post!

[5/8/24] Thank you to everyone who's liked/reblogged/comment on the first few pages!! It means the world to me that anyone's reading my silly little comics.

[4/28/24] HULLO. It’s happeninnng. I’ve spent the last few weeks working on this comic, and I gotta make this post so I can start queuing pages & link this in them! This is the most like….legit? Comic endeavor I’ve undertaken perhaps….ever. I’m very nervous about committing to how long it will need to be lol. This story is dear to my heart — zombie content is kind of my very favorite. I’ve always found it to be a great backdrop for exploring themes like grief, coping with change, community, and learning to live again. It’ll be a long haul but I hope you’ll ride it out with me!! Tomorrow I’ll be posting the first two pages. After that a page will post every Monday/Wednesday/Friday. As of this post I’ve completed over 20 pages so that I have a good lead on what’s posting and continuing to write, so I’m hopeful that’s a cadence I’ll be able to maintain. I’ll update this post weekly to include the most recent pages the way I do with my main comics master post. All pages will be tagged 'Life After' and I'll tag any pages with zombies in them with 'zombie' for blacklisting etc.

[kedreeva]

Any bird artists/graphic designers/photo-editors out there that might be willing to make a logo and/or a merch design for our local small game bird association, after the new year?

Story below the cut if you want more info

I'm currently in the process of taking over my state game bird association's website stuff, to help them recover after incredibly bad leadership did their level best to wreck it entirely. It's a "State" association, in that it's for people in this state but isn't run by the state, it's just like. a few people who like game birds who have made nonprofit (like an actual 501(c)) club for other people that like game birds. There's less than 100 members in it according to the registry I saw, to give you an idea what it's like. I'm dealing with one 70+ year old lady, one Older Mom (who isn't even in the association anymore) that helped transfer stuff out of her name, and one Other Lady (who is apparently the sister of one of the hospital board members, but who lacks her sister's desire to watch the world burn I guess) that I've only had phone conversations with so far. I've so far been able to get their website under control and I'm working on getting their facebook back into their hands (it's still being held hostage by a hostile board member they're trying to get rid of), and to try to help them all limp into being a functional association again, like it was when I first started interacting with it 20 years ago.

That being said, in the transfer of the site, the previous site is 100% lost, including all old graphics. No one still in the association has any of the old graphics saved. That's fine, they were.... terrible. Like, this is an old preview pic of the site banner

Truly terrible. So, not gonna lie, kinda glad it's gone forever.

There is an OLDER banner, from before dickhead mcfuckface took over the association, and it's "better" but it's very clearly got an 80s vibe like you would not believe

But, the old lady that is running the association now asked me about having a header on the front page, so here I am. I told her that there were a TON of talented artists that would be happy to be paid (all of the following would be PAID work, if the association can afford it and if not they will just do without, I was VERY clear about needing to pay artists for work) to design a logo and/or some kind of graphic designer that could help with a little banner for the website. She also asked me about selling t-shirts and hats, since some people at the swaps have asked for them. I told her that a nice looking logo would be a good start for that kind of thing, but that I could ask around and see if anyone wanted to draw a game bird design to sell at their bake sale table or maybe redbubble or something similar so people can just get what they want.

I'm sorry that this is vague, but beyond the logo/site header, I'm not sure exactly what they are going to want, just that they are going to want An Artist Or Three. You'd be dealing with me once I've wrangled them into telling me what they exactly want for anything outside the website.

As for the website, I actually don't mind the basic design of the second banner (the 80's one, a rectangle, circle badge logo in the middle, game animals to either side), and I think it would be good to bring back that general feel, but cleaner and brighter on colors, and different animals. The club does not really deal with deer or raccoons regularly, and pheasants are not the only game birds. I was thinking maybe just doing birds on both sides. Peacocks, pheasant, chicken, turkey, ducks, quail, and dove(s) are the most common at swap meets, so some combo of those would be nice (doesn't need to have all of them), as that's what members will mostly be raising.

If that's something you feel you might be interested in, and can provide your pricing & an example of your style so I can bring it to them and tell them I want them to pay you to give me things for the site and/or association at large.

For the laughs, here is what I "mocked up" for them as an idea

But they also liked the idea of a plain badge logo like this one (because they don't live and breathe peafowl I assume, it's the only explanation)

anyway. if you have the art skills and wanna help a bird nerd group out, please let me know!

[bby-blu-swirll]

sit on my lap while you do my eyeliner - bakugo x reader

i can't find it now, (i will tho if it kills me) but this is inspired by this tumblr post i saw on my pinterest that was like " 'let me do your eyeliner' gf and 'okay sit on my lap while you do it' bf" lol

pls enjoy xx

bakugo loves your makeup. (he loves your natural face just as much, but he also thinks you look drop dead gorgeous no matter what.)

his favorite days are when you pull out the eyeliner pen. when you look at him and your eyes are rimmed with black, bringing out the hue of your irises, he just folds honestly. subtly, because his pride is too strong to let anybody see him so weak for you, but you've definitely picked up on it.

he loves anything you do with it. a wing, big or small, a messy grungey outline, drawing hearts or stars, anything. he loves watching you do it with such attention to detail and even more loves seeing the finished product and how it might have changed the shape of your eyes. whether it's soft and cute and gives you little doe eyes, or sharp and cutting like a knife, pulling your eyes into dangerous (& admittedly sexy) slits, he adores it.

he doesn't show it much, though. he's not as bad as compliments as you thought he'd be, really, but this is just a bit different.

he can call you pretty, gorgeous, hot, whatever- all he wants. there was no problem there. especially, in front of other people. it was almost like bragging to him.

like once, in the middle of a conversation with the bakusquad, he caught your arm as you were walking by just to press a kiss to your cheek and tell you that you looked beautiful. of course he meant every word of it, but there was a silent emphasis on the fact that he was the one you got to tell you that, and that it was very true. it was like his way of being able to say, "suck it, extras, that beauty is my girlfriend," without sounding like the cocky douchebag he usually did. (bc he knows you don't like it when he's such a cocky douchebag <3)

but complimenting such a specific part of you was a bit more difficult, and he wasn't quite sure how to articulate it. he knew he liked it, but he wasn't sure why. he just thought you looked sexy and sweet like that.

like you did today.

it was one of those lazy saturdays for the both of you, where you slept in a little and kind of just floated through the day, maybe go out maybe not, maybe make out on your bed, who knows.

it was close to half past ten when you were finally up and at your vanity, doing your makeup for the day. your boyfriend was spread out and taking up most of your bed while he studied for the test you had on monday. you thought he was a bit of a nerd for spending one of his only mornings off on school, but you admired his dedication.

neither of you liked silence much, so soft music filled the quiet in your dorm, along with the occasional page turn from bakugo, usually followed by a sigh.

you capped your eyeliner pen with a huff. you had been looking at your face so long, it was hard to tell if it was even. "hey babe?" you turned your swivel chair to face him.

"yeah?" he didn't bother looking up from his book.

you pressed the closed pen to your cheek and blinked a few times. "does this look okay?"

he glanced up for a moment, doing a double take when he saw you. there was no concealer on your dark circles and your eyeliner was smudged underneath your eyes and your lips looked a bit cracked, and he could feel his stomach swell with butterflies the second he looked at you.

"yeah, its.. its perfect." he looked away and cleared his throat, hearing you chuckle slightly.

once you turned around in your chair, his eyes were glued to you. just watching you sort through your makeup tray, trying to find something. the way you knit your brows together, your bottom lip stuck out- his quickly averted his gaze back to his book when you turned to him. he could feel your eyes trained on him as he thumbed the corner the pages.

"hey katsuki?"

he hummed in response, still not looking at you.

you stood up and slowly sauntered towards him, smirking when his eyes flicked up to you every few seconds. you took his book and set it aside.

"the hell are you-" he clenched his jaw when you leaned close to him, still standing. he dropped his voice to a soft tone, just shy of a whisper. "what're you doing, huh?"

"can i do your eyeliner?"

he chuckled and smirked. "'course.."

you grinned and took a seat next to him, your face heating up as his hands found your waist. he lifted you up and set you on his lap, wrapping his arms around your torso and holding you close. his smirk grew as a blush crept up your cheeks.

"just as long as you sit... here." he pecked your lips, mindlessly stroking his thumb across the skin just above the waistband of your pants. "you can start whenever, babe, i'm not stopping you..."

you huffed and bit the inside of your cheek, internally rolling your eyes. his cocky smirk softened a little when your fingers delicately cradled his jaw, turning his head slightly.

"close your eyes..." you kept your voice low, watching his eyes flutter shut.

his skipped a beat when he felt your breath on his lips. he took deep breaths, just inhaling whatever lotion or perfume had you smelling so good.

you bit your lip and did your best to keep your hand steady. it was hard to keep the lines straight when he would squeeze your hips occasionally. but you prevailed nonetheless, keeping the ink close to the rim of his eyes. you were going for a sort of rodrick look.

"okay.." you clicked your tongue and capped your pen, setting it to the side. "you're done~"

he opened his eyes slowly, a playful look dancing across his features. "well? how do i look?"

your breath caught in your throat. his red eyes glowed, half lidded and staring right into you.

"hmmm..." you brought a hand to his chest, the other messing with the hair at the base of his neck. you traced small circles across his skin. "handsome."

"yeah?" he took your cheek in his hand, pulling you closer to him. "that all?"

you shrugged and chuckled a bit, watching his cocky grin return.

"hm, you think i'm hot. coulda just said so..." he pressed his lips against yours softly, which quickly changed to a rough, demanding kiss.

looks like you did end up making out on your bed,,

totally meant to upload this over a week ago,,, my bad lol i've been very busy, sorry this is so crap lol i'll probably rewrite it in the future <33

love you sm !! stay safe & sleep well 💗💗

[justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms]

What's Your Type? - Hotarubi Edition

This was originally requested by Anon who asked: "What kind of personality would each of the characters be drawn into?"

I had to split it up into a few sections, separating the boys by their houses so here's the next part. The links to all the others are below. I hope you like the headcanons!

Fandom: Tokyo Debunker

Characters: Subaru Kagami, Haku Kusanagi, Zenji Kotodama x gn! Reader

Frostheim | Vagastrom | Jabberwock | Sinostra | Hotarubi | Obscuary | Mortkranken

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

What sort of personality are the characters drawn to?

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

The first thing Subaru will be drawn to is a kind heart. You don’t have to be perfect all the time but if you show kindness, he’ll like you.

The same thing goes for being polite. Of course people have to deserve your respect but if you do your best to be polite to people, he’ll find himself drawn to you.

Subaru’s also attracted to people with strong morals. He has things he stands by firmly and appreciates that in others as well.

It’s not mandatory, but if you’re a laid back person, Subaru will find it a lot easier to get along with you than if you’re really high strung or energetic. It’s just the personality he gels with best.

Oh, if you’re a teasing person at all, Haku is going to be super drawn to you. He loves being able to banter with people that way.

In the same way, he’d love it if you can dish out comments and take them as well. It makes your back and forth banter even better if you’re both trying to see who cracks first.

I see Haku as someone who likes trying new things so he’ll be attracted to people who are daring or willing to step a bit outside their comfort zones.

But beneath all that, they have to be kind hearted as well. Haku might be a teaser but he cares deeply about those he loves. He wants to be with someone who cares deeply in return.

Zenji will be immediately drawn to anyone who’s even the slightest bit creative. He can’t help it, it’s just such a bit part of his personality and who he is.

I think he would be attracted to someone more on the calm side of things. He likes being able to relax with his loved one and his biwa in a quiet environment.

Someone who is open with praise would also draw his attention. He faces a lot of thinly veiled annoyance towards his music so some genuine praise would be nice.

You’d also have to be open minded to attract Zenji’s attention. Being in a relationship with him brings a lot of challenging hurdles and you’ll have to be willing to work on overcoming them together.

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

Hey, did you enjoy this? If you like my writing, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi page! This will allow me to make some money off my writing, something I enjoy doing.

ko-fi.com/justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms

Important Note: Please only donate if you are financially able to. If you are currently in a position where you can't donate, a like, comment or reblog will mean just as much.

[12daysofbucktommy]

12 Days of BuckTommy - Event

🎁 An event for all: writers, edit/gifs/manips makers, artists, cooks, anyone who loves Buck and Tommy together and want to create anything around them.

📆 I know this post is early but I want everyone to be able to get ready for it if they want to participate and time does move fast.

🎄This event will be based on the concept of the 12 days of Christmas, it will run from December 21st to January 1st.🎄

🎅 It will be a prompt a day that you can fill in any medium you want, write as many or few words as you want, show us the drawing that the prompt inspired you, did it make you want to bake or create a drink for our boys? Share it as well! After all this is the season for baking and drinking and our boys sure won't miss an opportunity to have cake.

This is all about fun, creativity and the end of the year.

📝 For fics a collection on AO3 has been created here

✍️ The prompt list can be found here.

🎨 Every creation will be reblogged by this page, please just tag this page on the post so we can see it. If the fics were only posted on AO3 and linked to the collection, and not also posted on tumblr, we will be sharing them here.

Disclaimer : I was not able to find any Christmas themed event and so I decided to make this one, but if any other event are ran during that time or on this theme please do not hesitate to come forward.

I know of the amazing “Bucktommy Winter Fest” from @bucktommywinterfest but as they cover a longer time slot and aren’t focused on Christmas per se but on winter as a whole I felt that this event could run alongside them and I hope to not create any friction or issue with them.

Disclaimer 2 : this is the first event I organize, please do not hesitate to send any request/advice through ask or in comments of the posts, any inputs are welcome.

Disclaimer 3 : as you might have realized I am not an artist, and so I did this banner on Canva and PowerPoint, please do not judge me too harshly on this.

[magicalbats]

Sanctuary

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 10,874

Warnings: sacrilegious content, monster fucking, tentacle/tongue fucking, brief throat fucking, reader is a nun so take that as you will

A/N: this is my very first commission ever and I had a blast working on it so I asked if I could share it with everyone! I went through and removed the identifiers for their OC but otherwise its exactly the same. I'm going to make a comms page later on for anyone interested so keep an eye out for that, and please enjoy! ❤️

⭐

Snow flurries around your face and buffets the skin to leave your cheeks feeling raw as you peer out over the assembled crowd. There’s a restlessness that hangs over the multitude of heavily bundled bodies lined up in the town square but order had largely been maintained all morning. It was mostly a variety of women in differing sizes, shapes and ages, which tended to help in that regard, while the occasional man was either old, sick or otherwise unfit for the labor needed to support themselves. These people relied heavily, sometimes exclusively, on the church’s community efforts to keep themselves afloat. You could even make out a few small children among the masses where you were standing; antsy from waiting and fussy with hunger, and who were starting to get on their accompanying parents' last nerves by the looks of it. 

Cloak whipping in the frigid wind, you shift behind the table where two other Sisters were diligently working to ladle out the porridge and pass out thick slices of bread quickly enough to keep the line moving at a reasonable pace. You were technically supposed to be on break after standing in the same spot for hours, your dominant wrist giving a muted throb from overuse when you take up the spare baler spoon and dip it into the massive pot, but you were having a hard time walking away. You usually did, though. Some might accuse you of taking your responsibilities a little too seriously at times but you liked to think of it more as simply being pertinacious. It was better to toe the line of overzealous than to be apathetic or indifferent to the plights of others, after all, and you couldn’t think of anyone more in plight than hungry children. 

Speculatively, Sister Darya eyes the bowl you fill and set aside before starting to spoon out another serving into a second dish. She sends you a sidelong glance even while her hands continue to work through the monotonous motions. Dip, pour, pass across the table. Dip, pour, pass across the table. She doesn’t have to look to ensure every moving piece ends up exactly where it needs to be, and the line keeps moving without interruption even as she sets her prickly sights on you. 

“Back so soon, Sister? Perhaps we should have you chained to the nearest bench to ensure you take your breaks when you’re supposed to.” 

“That won’t be necessary.” You respond with a cool indifference, unperturbed by the pointed stare she gives you when you reach to fill a third bowl. “I’ll go take my rest once I give these to the children. Surely you won’t find any complaint in that?” 

Sister Darya draws a careful breath and lets it out with a sigh. When she speaks next, it’s very soft so that only you might hear her quiet response. “They are supposed to wait in line just like everyone else. Those are the rules. Do not give me that look, Sister. You know as well as I do what lows the starving and the sick will sink to.”

“Then I will take care to ensure nothing of the sort comes of it.” Stamping down the flare of annoyance that sparks in your chest, you stiffly drop the baler back to the table. The older woman narrows her sharp beady eyes at you in warning yet you pay it little mind. 

Quickly shoving a spoon into each of the four bowls you’ve prepared, you juggle the dishes into your hands and step out from behind the table. You can barely catch the sound of her grumbling something to the other nun stationed with her as you walk away but aren’t quite able to make out what’s being said. No matter though. She’d never been particularly fond of you and the feeling was decidedly mutual. Nothing that happened here today was going to change that. 

The first child you manage to track down in the crowd is on the verge of tears, fitfully tugging at his mothers skirts while he asks her how much longer it will be. She has her hands full with a mewling infant, swaddled and bundled in so many layers that it takes the use of both hands to properly hold onto the bulky mass, and she could not offer him much comfort aside from gentle reassurances that it would be soon. One look at the tired, heavy bags under her eyes vindicates your decision. These people needed help, and you wouldn’t sit idly by if there was something that could be done for them. 

Sweeping closer to the pair, you keep your voice gentle even as you project it enough to be heard over the general din. “Do not cry, little man. You must be strong for your mother and your new sibling, isn’t that right? Look at what I have for you.” 

Red faced from the snow and the wind, he turns to glance up at you from under the brim of his wide, fur lined cap. The green of his irises seems to swim with valiantly held back tears but they clear almost immediately when he sees the bowl you carefully offer out to him. They appear to you like crystalline lakes turned dazzling with the azure sheen of algae, and you give him your best smile when he eagerly reaches out to accept the porridge in his tiny gloved hands. 

Her expression morphing from one of surprise to immense gratitude, the mother ducks her head in quick thanks. “May the Cryo Archon bless you, Sister. Your kindness means much to me and my children.” 

“Speak not another word of it. You’re almost to the front of the line now, so you’ll be able to fill your stomach soon. Please take care.” 

With a brief nod of acknowledgment, you move on. There’s another child a few paces down, this one a young girl curled up in the arms of her father as if in search of warmth as much as comfort, and you tell them much the same. That they were almost to the front of the queue and he gives his words of thanks as his daughter shyly accepts the bowl you hand to her. Left with still two more to pass out, you work your way further back in the line while assuring the waiting adults that there was enough for everyone to be fed and to just be patient. 

Empty handed after finding a pair of brothers solemnly standing in line together, you start to retrace your path towards the table again. You’d spotted a few more kids and you wanted to make the burden of waiting a bit more bearable for them as much as for their parents, but a small scuffle up near the front pulls your gaze and demands your attention first. Your strides turn purposeful now as you make a beeline for the commotion. What you come upon gives you pause, though. 

The green eyed boy from before was picking himself up off the ground and trying very hard not to let the hiccuping sobs that shake his shoulders get the better of him. His bowl of porridge was spilled in the barren dirt and frozen mud. A gnarled looking man in a tattered coat was bending to retrieve the fallen dish, mumbling something unkind under his breath while the mother juggles the baby in her arms and frets over her fallen son. At first you think it an accident, the kind of misstep that could happen all too easily when there were so many people crammed together in a single place. But then, to your surprise, the surly man straightens up with the bowl, dips his fingers into what bit of porridge meal was still sticking to the interior and pops them into his mouth. 

You see an instant flash of red behind your eyes. 

“What is the meaning of this?” You demand, closing the distance at a rapid pace now. “Horrid scoundrel, do you truly intend to repay the Holy Mothers kindness and generosity by stealing from a child? Does that seem right to you?” 

The sallow faced man glances up at your approach, takes one look at the black veil covering your hair and scoffs before turning from you. It was clear he thought little of you and your opinions on the matter, and he disinterestedly begins to walk away with his spoils still in hand. Temper flaring just a pinch more, you lengthen the stride of your steps. You brush right past the mother and her children. Reach out with grasping fingers and snag the back of the man’s ratty coat. He aggressively spins around to snap at you, but you were ready with some choice words of your own. 

“How dare you! To think that anyone in our great motherland would behave like an uncivilized animal!” You practically spit up at him. “You should be ashamed of yourself for carrying on in this manner when there is plenty to go around for everyone. What have you got to say, huh?” 

“I don’t have nothing to say to you, crazy bitch. Let go! Before I get mad!” 

A chorus of horrified gasps erupts around you, but you only tighten your hold on him even when his coat is so grimy and unkempt it makes your skin itch. You’re distantly aware of the crowd shuffling behind you, no doubt considering the possible ramifications of stepping in or not, but there was a hesitation when so many of them were women with little to no able bodied men to help. It was only natural, and you didn’t blame them for it. You blamed this no good lout for causing such an unpleasant scene in the first place and you weren’t about to let him get off that easily for being such an inconvenient nuisance to everyone. 

“I will not let you go. You owe that boy and his mother an apology, sir. Come, I will even stand with you to lessen the embarrassment you have to face.” 

Becoming more aggressive by the second, he violently tries to yank out of your grip. You hold fast though, and only stumble a step before pulling back on his coat with everything you’ve got. He seemed annoyed more than anything else though, and he rounds on you again to loom over your much slighter frame in an obvious display of intimidation as he bellows, “I’m warning you, let me go! Now!” 

“And I am warning you, come apologize to them or you will not like how this is going to end.” 

His face growing red in anger, he tries once again to forcefully shrug you off. But when that doesn’t work he brings his hand up in a quick arc, clenching it into a tight fist. You barely have enough time to process it’s even happening and then it — harmlessly sails right over your head. 

Eyes widening to the approximate size of dinner plates, you watch in mute disbelief as he’s roughly dragged back a handful of steps by an arm wrapped around his neck. The destitute man flails and kicks, grunting when he drops the bowl so he can reach up to claw at the limb cutting off his air supply. It’s useless though. Whoever was holding onto him had a grip as good as iron, evidently, and you catch a burst of coppery-brown hair behind him as he slowly starts to drain of energy and sag. One moment he’s wildly thrashing to get loose and the next he’s … going limp with a wet little gurgle. 

You catch your first glimpse of the young man — your heroic savior, as it were — when he bends to deposit the vagrant onto the cold ground without much concern for where or how he might land. His burden hitting the dirt with a bodily thump, he lifts his attention to you. You’re instantly struck by the intense blue of his eyes, and your breath catches in shock. 

Was he really human? 

“Are you alright, miss? Sorry I didn’t make it here sooner.” Straightening again, he wipes his gloved hands together as if ridding them of dirt after a messy job. Then he steps over the prone man on long, somewhat gangly legs so he can come closer. “When someone said there was a disturbance going on at the church’s food drive I came as fast as I could. I hope you’re not hurt?” 

Rousing from your initial disquiet, you take in the whole of him rather than just the strange eyes staring at you in question. You recognize the military uniform immediately, and bob a quick curtsy as was customary when dealing with someone of his station. “Worry not, good sir. I am unharmed and I have you to thank for that. I’d say you were just in time, in fact.” 

The young soldier gives you an abrupt, dazzling smile that is so filled to the brim with boyish charm it almost gives you pause. He was handsome, yes, but he also looked like a troublemaker of the highest order. Certainly not someone you would need or want to find yourself mixed up with no matter how good looking he was or how pleasantly symmetrical his features were. 

“It was my pleasure, of course, Sister …?” 

You lift your chin and tell him your name.

He slowly repeats your name, as if savoring the feel of it on his tongue and the way the syllables curl inside his mouth. “Well, Sister, although I was all too happy to offer my assistance, you still played an admirable part too. Thanks to you I didn’t have to go chasing this guy down. I owe you my thanks as well.” 

“Save it.” You sigh, giving your head a brief shake. “I was only doing what’s right. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must tend to the boy he stole from and get him another bowl of food.”

Decisively turning on your heel, expecting that to be the end of it, you start to walk away. To your great surprise, though, he quickly falls into step beside you. 

“I’m Ajax, by the way.” 

“A lovely name.” You don’t miss a beat but, rather than discouraging him with your indifferent tone, it just makes his grin grow even wider.

“I can help you.” He says it so point blank and matter of fact that for a split second you’re not quite sure what he even wants to lend you a hand with. And that was to say nothing of the why. 

“Although I certainly appreciate the offer, I think you’ve helped plenty for one day.” Turning your head, you steal a quick glance back at the unconscious man still lying out on the ground. The boy with the green eyes was spitefully kicking dirt at him and, much like his mother, you willfully chose to ignore it. While it wasn’t exactly good or proper behavior, you figured he was entitled to a tiny bit of payback for what he’d endured. “Shouldn’t you be escorting that gentleman to the jailhouse right about now? Surely that is a much more pressing matter for you than feeding the sick and hungry.” 

“Don’t worry, he won’t be waking up anytime soon and I’m sure another officer will happen by any minute now to take care of it.” 

You send him a slow, curious look, but he doesn’t seem the slightest bit put out. “That’s an odd thing to say, isn’t it? As a young man in her majesty the Tsaritsa’s army I would have thought you’d jump at the chance for recognition of such a good deed.” 

He casually waves that off with a chuckle. “Ah, who really cares about recognition anyway? I’m much more interested in doing what I enjoy than making decisions based on what will earn me merit.”

Something told you that was only a very small fraction of the bigger picture. He was still young and clearly impulsive, so you didn’t doubt that he truly was far more inclined to do only what he found worthy of his efforts to pursue. It wasn’t your place to comment on that though, nor did you want to humor how that applied to you in the here and now by giving it any deeper thought than that. 

Ignoring Sister Darya’s incensed glare, you pause at the corner of the church’s food drive table and turn to face your dogged shadow. This man, this soldier named Ajax, obediently halts just within arms reach and looks at you with an expectant, almost puppy-like eagerness as if waiting for the next command to fall from your lips. You may have found it cute otherwise, but you weren’t about to encourage him in any way. It wasn’t in your nature to knowingly lead people on and unlike some of the other Sister’s in the order you didn’t derive any such pleasure from doing so. You’d have to be blunt then. 

“I thank you again for your assistance,” You pointedly intone. “But I cannot allow you to waste your time taking on the church’s work. Her majesty has greater expectations of you than handing out bowls of porridge. You have your responsibilities and I have mine. We would both do well to remember that.” 

He doesn’t look half as dejected by that as you’d hoped he would, his boyish grin only taking on a frustratingly sly edge now. “Aww, don’t tell me this is your way of sending me off into the cold again.” 

“I’m afraid so. I don’t have time to entertain anyone, you understand.” 

Those odd eyes of his dance before you as he gives you a quick, appraising glance up and down to take in your shuddering cloak and the fluttering veil atop your head. But it strikes you once again as being strange, how his irises don’t seem to reflect the light at all. Rather they almost seem to swallow it up like a void. You’d initially thought it a mere trick of the senses brought about by the heavy charcoal clouds hanging overhead but … even now, even standing near the cackling flame over which the pot of porridge was simmering, there still was no reflection to be found in his eyes. It was a little unsettling, if you were being honest. 

Just what was he? 

“You break my heart, Sister. Is it not also the responsibility of a soldier to see that the needs of the people he serves are met? Lending the church a hand would be nothing short of a great honor for me.” 

You set your mouth in a firm, unamused line. “I’m afraid I’m not fool enough to believe that when you just told me you’re not interested in doing things simply for merit. You’ve got an ulterior motive in volunteering your services and I’m not interested in such games.” 

A quick laugh huffs out of him as he lifts a hand to place it emphatically over his heart. “You wound me, Sister! What do you take me for, huh?” 

“Someone who’s time would be much better spent escorting that vagabond away from the food drive before he wakes up and starts causing more trouble for us, that’s what.” 

“Fair enough.” Shoulders shaking with laughter, he pauses to give you another glance over from the top of your head down to the toes of your smart leather boots. You’re acutely aware of the other Sister’s watching on in rapt fascination and morbid curiosity, as well as the townsfolk standing close enough to the front of the line to eavesdrop, but you firmly stand your ground. There would be time to feel embarrassed by this scene later, in the privacy of your own dorm. 

At length, Ajax finally gives his head a shake. “I didn’t know they made Sisters like you.” 

“They don’t. I’m all of my own making.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He finally falls back a step with a brief nod of acknowledgment. Allowing himself one final look at you, Ajax turns away with one last word of parting. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Sister. I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you again soon.” 

Standing there in the cold and the chaffing wind, and the flurry of snow, you watch him walk away. You think you could go your whole life without having another run in with him and it would still be too soon. It wasn’t that he was just a bit strange even for a young, headstrong soldier. There was something genuinely peculiar about him. Even putting aside the way he’d kept looking at you, there was still a sense of undesirability about the whole situation. From a nuns perspective he presented a multitude of problems, the least of which being temptation that did not fall in line with your vows. 

Turning your head to look at the others when he bends to retrieve the culprit from the ground and save him from the agitated rumblings of the antsy crowd, you spare Sister Darya a withering scowl. “I don’t want to hear a word about it.”

The way her eyes flash at you in mute disapproval seems to say ‘I told you so’ but you adamantly ignore it in favor of reaching for another bowl to fill. At the rate you were going it was starting to look like you’d never get that break. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Everything seems so normal that at first you almost don’t even realize it’s a dream. 

Some distant part of you knows you’d been so tired from the food drive that you’d fallen asleep almost as soon as your head hit the pillow after taking a nice, long bath to rid yourself of the permanent Snezhnayan chill. But you were glad for the normalcy of it, content to meander your way through whatever your resting subconscious decided to conjure up. The first scene is a field of wildflowers that does not exist in the ice and snow of your motherland. It’s peaceful there and quiet. A welcome haven of tranquility which you dreamed of with some frequency. 

You’re more than a little disappointed when it suddenly changes to the town square. One moment you’d been picking dandelions to weave into a wreath for your hair, and the next you were standing in the middle of a cold barren wasteland. The streets were empty around you, the houses dark and silent. The flowers wilt in your hands. Dropping them, you turn in a circle to survey your surroundings. Nothing looked out of place aside from the total lack of people, or even any dogs or cats roaming the area. No birds, either. 

Without a particular destination in mind, you start to walk. A part of you hoped the scenery would change again and morph into a more pleasing visage around you, but that’s not what happens. It feels like you spend many minutes just walking up and down the empty streets like a lost ghost, each step its own eternity. Every breath its own death rattle. A niggling thought in the back of your mind whispers of danger, warns of something being not quite right, and yet you don’t retrace your path back to the starting point in the square. Like there was an invisible string tugging you along, you follow its suggestive pull straight through town to the church. 

Despite finding this rather strange, even for a dream, you open the door and go inside without pause. 

The sanctuary is just as desolate and deserted as everywhere else had been. You hadn’t seen so much as a suggestion of another living being, human or otherwise, and still the string tugs. Trance-like and spellbound, you follow the exigent summons through the grounds; past altars and holy relics, and pews and the baptistery, out into the courtyard. You cross over bare frozen ground to the monastery. Up the long flight of stairs and down the empty hall until you reach the door to your own room. 

This is the first thing that gives you any real amount of hesitation but the string just pulls harder. Like a puppet under the guidance of a masterful biloquist, your hand comes up to grab the knob. You watch yourself turn it and then swing the door open. Your skin prickles with static electricity when you cross the threshold but this, too, is empty. Having half expected to walk in and find your own sleeping form huddled on top of the narrow bed, you’re strangely disappointed to find the sheets neatly made and smoothed out. They looked like they would never be disturbed again, as if the room itself had been plucked out of reality and then frozen in time and space. 

You feel the string slip away then, as you’re standing just inside the doorway looking over your bed, and a rattling breath puffs out of you at its loss. It leaves you trembling with newfound life, as if whatever force served to guide you here had sedated your mind and body alike to encourage compliance. Now, though, you were suddenly acutely aware of just how disconcerting the trek here had actually been. How heavy and oppressive the static charged air really is. 

Hands clenching and unclenching at your sides to restore feeling in them, you cautiously step around the room. It was not a large space and you were able to complete a full circuit in only ten steps. The bed took up a vast majority of the capacity. Your writing desk took up most of the rest. Suspiciously, you even bend to peer under the metal frame that holds the mattress, but there’s nothing there. It was just as void of life as everywhere else. 

When you straighten up again something in the single small window in the room catches your attention. You squint at it a moment but your eyes can’t quite make out what it is, so you step closer. There’s a thin layer of condensation coating the glass and, thinking perhaps that was what was obstructing your view, you reach up to wipe it away. The very real sensation of cold, wet moisture under your fingers startles you more than you’d like to admit. Your foggy mind reels and stumbles over the visceral thought. 

And then your eyes adjust. 

A dull, muted burst of copper. Red horns. It wasn’t outside amongst the trees and the buildings, and the dark overcast sky. It was behind you. 

Holding yourself achingly stiff, you slowly turn around. You’re not really sure how you maintain your cool when every inch of your skin was crawling with a violent eruption of goosebumps but you’re exceedingly glad for it as you set your sights on the monster in the doorway. It’s not just large, it’s huge. You think it must be over seven feet tall, perhaps even pushing eight, and it takes up the whole frame with its massive stature. It seems implausible for something of that size to move around as silent as any soft footed cat, but you’re positive you hadn’t heard a single sound. If this was just a figment of your imagination, you sorely hoped it would dissolve away into nothing very soon. 

What you think must be its eye just stares at you though, unblinking and unmoving. This tense stand-off lasts so long, in fact, that your frightened adrenaline eventually starts to wear off bit by bit, leaving you feeling somewhat disoriented in the aftermath. Was it even alive? Had your taxed mind and body really summoned the likeness of a horrible monster just to terrorize you in your dreams? And, perhaps most perplexing of all, why did it spark a distant note of familiarity in the dregs of your memory? Almost like you’d seen it or something like it recently, but that couldn’t be true. Certainly you never would have been able to forget such a creature as this … 

You just start to toy with the notion of slipping around it to get back out into the hall when it sedately lifts its arm. Frozen in place by a fresh surge of uncertainty and fear, you watch it push the door so that it swings shut with an almost casual motion. The click of the latch catching sounds like the heavy swing of an executioner's blade. 

“You came.” 

Its deep, raspy voice seems to reverberate in the very air itself and, finally unable to keep your nerves in check any longer, you take a stumbling step back to press into the wall. Your heart threatens to jackhammer straight out of your chest as you frantically try to process the situation. Not only was it very much alive and capable of interacting with the environment, it could also talk. You’re not sure why that disturbs you as much as it does but there’s no denying how your stomach painfully cramps with sinking dread now. Every fiber of your being thrums with the desire to run and flee, to hide from this monster, and yet you knew you were trapped in here with it. Even if you’d wanted to make an attempt at the now closed door the room was much too small. You’d never get around it. 

All you can do is quake when it takes a deliberately slow step forward before stopping again. Just looking at you. Gauging your reaction, perhaps? You didn’t really care about any of that. 

“What are you?” It’s little more than a frightened whisper. 

“Think of me as a god come to collect on what is rightfully mine.” 

Your spine snaps straight even as a disconcerted shudder races through you. “You are no god, foul beast. You’re a demon.” 

The thing laughs, low and hoarse. “Close, but not quite. You may call me Foul Legacy. Or, if you would prefer, ‘master’ will suffice just as well for your role.” 

“I will call you no such thing!” You hiss in indignant affront. 

“You will.” It assures you, taking another controlled step closer. “If I command it of you, your only choice will be to obey. If I tell you to get on your knees and worship me then that is what you will do. I told you, didn’t I? I’ve come to claim what’s mine.” 

You start to open your mouth to protest but your words fail you, and you slowly close it again. Frantically now, your wide eyed gaze scans the room looking for any sliver of hope for escape. You were cornered against the wall though. You’d never make it past this thing, and the window was much too small for you to crawl through even if it stopped long enough to let you get it open. The window …

Stealing a split second glance at the rectangle of glass just next to your head, you confirm your suspicions. The streaks left behind in the wake of your hand were still there. The cool condensation had felt undeniably real under your skin which meant, at least to some extent, this dream was a tangible one. Or maybe it would’ve been more accurate to call it a hallucination? It didn’t matter. 

If this was real enough to touch then that must have meant the monster was too. It was a slim chance but maybe you could fight your way past it and get away …

“Are you so unimpressed with this form that you allow your mind to wander?” The creature remarks, but it doesn’t sound surprised or even offended at this fact. More than anything, it almost sounds amused and that is what ultimately steels your resolve. It’s mistake would be underestimating you. 

“I was merely thinking how best to convey my lack of interest in you, oh great demon lord.” You volley back rather primly. “You don’t exactly look like a man, but you are shaped like one … I wonder if a good kick between the legs might get the message across.” 

The fiery haired thing throws its head back and laughs. You almost lose your nerve, but you valiantly cling to that tiny spark of courage you still had left. Cautiously, you start to edge your way down the wall. 

“Splendid! I would expect nothing less from my future bride! I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me.” 

Stilling, you widen your eyes at it. “Your what?” 

You realize your mistake a moment too late. When you should have kept moving towards the desk for the most direct path to the door you’d instead allowed it to give you pause. Even though it lasts for but a single heartbeat that’s more than enough time for the monster to act. 

It’s on you in the blink of an eye. Grabbing under your arms, it hauls you straight up off your feet like you weighed nothing at all. The sudden rush of movement, the unexpected press of huge, clawed hands curling around your ribcage shocks a sharp gasp out of you. But before you have a chance to do anything else, it shoves you back into the wall with a bodily thud that makes the old rafters tremble. The impact doesn’t hurt, not really — not as much as it could have, given how strong the creature evidently is — and you just gape down at its horrid face in stunned disbelief. 

You'd barely even seen it move … 

“Oh, that look of surprise is quite charming on you.” It rasps, snickering low under its breath. “I knew I could rip that frigid mask away with enough time. I wonder how else you’re going to warm up for me …” 

“W - what are you —“ 

The words trail off into nothing when the lower half of its jaw hinges open, and a long, snake-like tongue slips out to waggle tauntingly in the thin space separating you from it. Bile rises in your throat as you bring your hands up to claw desperately at its forearms but it doesn’t even seem to notice. That dreadful appendage just keeps unfurling out of its mouth, dripping threads of saliva here or there that land on the floor with soft little plops that make your stomach roil. Trying very hard not to panic, you futilely turn your head away from it. 

“Do not fear what I offer you, little nun. I have every intention of making sure you enjoy this just as much as I do.” 

It licks you then, that slimy tongue swiping up the side of your face from chin to temple. The wet, quickly cooling stripe it leaves behind makes you choke in disgust. You think it’s reminiscent of a dog, almost, that was much too eager to show its affection to stop long enough and consider how the recipient might feel about it. In the same breath you have the niggling thought that this was not the first time you’ve been reminded of dogs today. Before you have a chance to connect the pieces, the monster speaks again. 

“You really will make the most lovely bride, you know. I’m eager to see you with my mark.”

“I rebuke it!” You snap, struggling anew against its hold. “I rebuke you, foul creature! My faith will protect me and - -“ 

“Hah! I’d like to see that, Sister.” 

You go stock still when it says your name, and your heart skips across your ribs like a rock skimming over the surface of a lake. It felt just as heavy too, in that moment. 

But the monster doesn’t give you a chance to recover and that heinous tongue flicks across your cheek to rudely slip inside your mouth. You shriek around the abrupt intrusion, eyes wide and unseeing, as the length of it just keeps coming. It squirms and wriggles its way towards the back of your throat almost too quickly for you to react. Running on instinct now, you viciously snap your teeth down but all the creature does is let out a shuddering groan of pleasure, as if it liked the pain. Your jaw loosens in surprise as much as confusion, and it takes quick advantage of that to shove its tongue straight down your gullet. 

You gag on it, heaving with a violent wrench as your throat is penetrated. Tears spring up in your eyes but you can’t even scream with it blocking your airway like this. Helpless to do anything else, you just hang there and try not to pass out while it reaches deeper and deeper into you, through your esophagus almost straight down to your guts. It pauses there, giving you a moment to fully process the sensation of your whole body writhing on its tongue, before gradually starting to withdraw back the way it had come. It’s a sick, claustrophobia inducing sensation that only seems to double down when you dry heave and choke around it but, at last, it slips free of your constricting throat, and you suck in a wretched mouthful of air. 

Ignoring the way you cough and spit up bubbling sheets of drool, the horned beast takes a moment to swirl its tongue around the interior of your mouth; feeling along the roof, over your tongue, tracing the outline of each individual tooth straight back to your molars. You shudder and heave, struggling to even comprehend exactly how violated you felt in the aftermath of that disgusting experience. You’d been right to call it a demon … 

“You taste good.” It says when it finally starts to retract its tongue a moment later, setting its sights on lapping up the drool that coats your chin instead. “Good enough to eat, in fact. I wonder how much you’ll squeal when I feast between your legs.” 

“Unhand me this instant,” You wheeze as more of your strength and will to fight slowly comes back to you with the oxygen you pull in. “You are vile and repulsive … I want nothing to do with it!” 

“Oh, now that sounds familiar.” 

Noising a tiny sound of confusion, you clutch its thick forearms in a death grip while it moves to set you down on your feet. You don’t trust it, not by a long shot, and your greatest fears are soon realized when its fingers curl into the fabric of your smock. The sound of straining thread reaches your ears long before it actually rips and you cry out when the first ragged strip is torn from you with a deafening tear. Piece by piece, it shreds your clothes to tatters no matter how wildly you try to twist away or cling to the quickly dwindling panels of black cotton. All too soon you find yourself naked save your stockings and the bloomers pulled over them, and your brassiere which it promptly shreds too. 

Evidently saving your bottoms for last, it reaches for your veil next. 

“No!” You shriek, hating the terror you can hear in your own voice as you make a useless, frantic attempt to shove the monster away. 

It actually pauses even though you didn’t so much as budge it one little bit though, and it tips its head to the side inquisitively almost like … almost like a dog. There was that association again but where was it coming from? You couldn’t quite seem to remember, either due to your suffocating fear making the memory slip away or because your sleeping subconscious couldn’t quite remember enough to supply it on demand. Either way, you were sure it held the answer to your current predicament and you just couldn’t seem to grasp it. 

Why did this thing seem so damn familiar to you? 

“You do not want me to see your hair.” It’s a statement, not a question, and it takes everything you have not to outright scoff. 

“Of course I don’t, you fiend! It is improper for a — a man, even one such as you, to look at the uncovered head of a nun who has sworn herself to the faith. You should be ashamed of yourself!” 

It seems to consider that for a moment, humming softly as if in thought. “It is my understanding that, should one of the Sister’s ever take on a husband, then he alone is permitted to look upon her uncovered hair. Fine. Then I will allow you to keep your modesty until we consummate our union.” 

You prickle defensively at the way it almost spits the word, as if with contempt and spite. “I will not be wed to you! I swore an oath to the church!”

“And now you will swear an oath to me.” 

Hissing, it reaches out to grab at your bloomers even when you desperately try to slap its hand away. It tears them off just like everything else with neither forethought or effort, and you seethe at your own helplessness as you make one last ditch effort to wrench yourself free. But it’s too strong, too big. Just one of its hands seems to dwarf your hip when it possessively curls around your waist to hold you still. Your chest heaves with quick, panicked breaths as you tip your face down to watch it bring a claw close to your cunt, expecting it to rip off your pantyhose the same way it had all the rest. But all it does is caress over you with a thick knuckle and your face grows even hotter with indignation at the nudge. You couldn’t stand the thought of this thing touching you like this and yet you couldn’t seem to look away from it either. 

“I don’t want this,” You whisper, barely even hearing your own voice over the blood that pounds in your ears. 

“You will.” It assures you. Unexpectedly gentle, tentative almost, it curls its thick forefinger further back to prod at your crease and you fitfully shudder at the implication.

Was it really going to take you to wife? You’d never heard of anything more ridiculous; a nun and a one eyed demon, horns and all. It was completely useless to try and keep your cool any longer, and you outright whimper when it carefully pokes its claw up to pierce the thin layer of nylon. Hyper aware of how much it would hurt to get nicked by that sharp talon in such a sensitive spot, you force your body to stay as still as you can manage while it rips your stockings open at the crotch. Cool air wafts against your exposed cunt, making you tremble, and it breathes out a sigh of great pleasure as it teases the patch of curls there with those monstrous fingertips. 

“Am I the first one to ever see you like this?” 

“O - of course you are, foolish beast … I take my vows seriously. This isn’t — it’s not right, do you hear me? I was saving myself …” 

Issuing a low, rasping laugh, it reaches up to palm your other hip with a muted squeeze, holding your waist in both hands now. “You were saving yourself for me. This whole time you were always fated to become my bride and you did so well maintaining the sanctity of your body but that’s all over now. You’re free to embrace your most depraved thoughts and urges. Free to languish in the licentious and erotic desires you’ve been suppressing for so long. I offer you no judgment for your human needs. Only pleasure.” 

Squirming against its hold when your pussy flutters in unmistakable interest, you bring your hands up to weakly clutch its huge wrists again. You couldn’t believe this was happening. How could your body betray you over a creature like this? “No. I won’t fall for it. I refuse!” 

“We shall see.” 

Its tongue slips out again, curling through the air like a pink, wet serpent. Down to your chest where it takes a moment to flick over your nipple until it's coated in a fine sheen of spit and achingly stiff. You didn’t want it touching you like that but you also didn’t want to touch it, so you stop yourself from smacking at it. Just keep reminding yourself that this is only a dream — a very realistic, disturbingly tangible one, but a dream nonetheless. Whatever happened here held no weight in the real world. 

And maybe … just maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to indulge in the carnal just once? 

The prodding tip of its tongue gives your teat one last wet nudge before tracing a path down your front. Past your ribs and its huge thumbs bracketing your waist, over your bellybutton and straight down to brush against your curls. You shudder at the sensation, at the very suggestion of what was to come, but you don’t fight it now. Rather, you hesitantly shift your weight from one foot to the other and then cant your hips forward with a shy little push. The monster hums a rumbling sound of approval before dipping its tongue between your thighs. 

Eyes widening at the feel of it on your cunt, you just stand there like a frozen statue while it traces along the seam of your body. You’d never experienced anything like it before, and you were horrified at how eagerly your loins curl in anticipation. You almost let your courage waver, almost second guess your impulsive decision to humor this at all, but until you woke up you were effectively trapped and fighting it clearly wasn’t going to do any good. 

Oh, why couldn’t you just wake up from this nightmare already? 

“Relax.” It breathes out, unconcerned by the glistening threads of drool that drip from its mouth. “I will not hurt you, little nun.” 

You wanted to believe that very badly. Almost as much as you wanted to believe that indulging like this wouldn’t have any impact on your waking conscience. 

That slimy tongue starts to push up then, pressing into your lips, and you suck in a harsh breath. It teases around your entrance for a brief moment before it starts to wriggle its way in deeper. The penetration is not unlike that of your throat — all fleshy and smooth, and damp with spit — but it still stretches you enough to toe the line of discomfort. Swaying in its hold, you let out a dizzy groan. 

“Oh … that’s - -“ 

“Only the tip.” The thing laughs. 

You try to calm your breathing as it moves around inside you to work your body open, but it’s a losing battle. The stretch of until now untested muscle makes you wince while the slimy sensation of its tongue eagerly moving along your inner sleeve just leaves you wanting to throw up. You don’t think it’s supposed to feel like this, surely. Even without any experience of your own to go off of you’d expected sexual encounters to be more intimate and less … invasive. Less like you were being probed far beyond what any human hands should have been able to reach. 

But if it sees any of the uncertainty flashing across your face it doesn’t show it. The demon only worms its tongue deeper and deeper as your passage reluctantly opens until the distant sensation of it bumping the end of you knocks a harried whimper loose. It’s an uncomfortable pressure but it doesn’t hurt. You’re exceedingly glad for that as you awkwardly shuffle your feet further apart to brace against the overload to your senses. It was like burning from the inside out, and the epicenter of it was concentrated squarely in your cunt. You felt certain you were going to combust any moment now. 

“Mmm, you taste even better than I imagined. And so tight, too. I can’t wait to feel you squeezing my cock the same way.”

Your stomach clenches at the thought of how big a creature of this size must be. Fresh fear turns your veins to ice, and you weakly push against its hands. It doesn’t even seem to notice though, let alone take heed, and instead it just leisurely swirls that unnaturally long tongue around your guts. Back and forth, up and down. You’re dizzy with it and a little nauseous, but it also starts to feel good. Slowly but surely that initial discomfort fades to leave behind a thrumming vibration that makes you wheeze where you’re standing. And with it comes slick. So much slick that what you’d once thought only to be saliva quickly makes itself obvious as your cunt practically floods around the intrusion. It was impossible to comprehend the sheer extent of your arousal and yet it clearly didn’t matter. You’d toed the line a bit too close. Now there was no stopping it. 

“P - please … it’s too much!”

Giving your waist a careful squeeze, the demon alters the motion of its tongue from swirling to thrusting. Sedate at first, it withdraws to drag against your interior walls when they squeeze and cling to the appendage and then it pushes back in. Right up to the end of your passage where it can’t go any further and the intense pressure makes you go cross eyed. You can’t even fully process how stuffed your cunt actually is, your legs turning weak and jelly-filled as it slowly increases the pace. The force. You’re beyond ashamed at the sticky wet clicks it pulls from between your thighs, but all you can do is helplessly writhe in its hold. 

“Oh — oooh, wait … I - I can’t do this! I can’t!”

“It’s too late for that, Sister. You’re already doing it.” 

You mewl at its response and throw your head back to wheeze up at the ceiling. It wasn’t wrong. You’d already crossed the line, yes, but this … this strange, unfamiliar feeling low in your gut was far beyond anything you would have ever expected from this. It was like you had to relieve yourself but also different somehow. A complete unknown you had no idea how to make sense of, and you let out a choked off squeal when the thrumming tension rapidly starts to double and then triple. No amount of thrashing was getting you out of its hold so you squeeze your thighs together in a vain attempt to dissuade it from moving inside you like that but it’s no use. Even trying to curl your legs up doesn’t work. 

It just keeps fucking it’s tongue into your shuddering body without pause, and you start to feel truly dizzy as you dangle there between it’s massive hands. How could this be happening to you? And, more pressing, what was happening to you? 

“You’re getting close, I suspect.” It sounds quite proud of that, but you’re a little too preoccupied with the jittery, firecracker nerves making you tremble and shake to question it. The pressure was getting almost unbearable now. You weren’t sure how much more you could take. 

“Ahh — ahhghnn, ooohh please Holy Mother, please help me!” 

“Aww, don’t start making me jealous. I’m the only god you should be praying to right now.” 

Screwing your eyes shut, you turn your face from its horrible unblinking eye but it just laughs in response. Even if you’d wanted to snap at it for being so presumptuous as to think you would worship it in any capacity, you were finding your lungs constricting far too much to draw a proper breath. Your chest heaves with the blinding tension that races through your body and then — so suddenly you don’t get a chance to realize it’s even happening, it abruptly tips over. Spills out to wrack the whole of your body and devolve you into a shuddering mess of spasms. 

You shriek and yelp as your pussy almost violently squeezes down on its tongue which just keeps moving insistently inside you. In and out, in and out like a continuous piston that even your tightly clenching guts couldn’t seem to keep at bay. That slippery appendage keeps spearing through you unimpeded, forcing your roiling muscles to keep contracting with each plunge, and you very nearly pass out from how intensely the sensation hits you. It was simultaneously like drowning deep in the bottomless ocean and soaring high overhead at the same time. You couldn’t even begin to make heads or tails of it. 

But it starts to fade much too fast. The sharp jolts of undeniable pleasure only last what seems to you like a few seconds and then those cresting waves are rapidly receding, like the tide pulling back from the shoreline. You still can’t quite draw a full breath and yet you soon go slack as the tension drains completely to leave you twitching in the aftermath. An odd sense of elation quickly rushes in to replace it though, and you’re ashamed at how you innately warm to the monster’s presence. You couldn’t believe how good that had felt … and bless the Cryo Archon, did that make you a terrible person? 

All of a sudden you weren’t so sure you cared about that anymore, and that terrified you perhaps more than anything else that had happened here in this room. 

“You look so good creaming all over my tongue.” It murmurs, drawing your muddled attention away from those fuzzy headed thoughts. “And the way you taste? Burn everything, I could help myself to this pretty cunt all day. I'm eagerly looking forward to consummating our marriage on the next new moon.” 

Stirring out of your post-climax stupor, you frown at it in genuine confusion. “You aren’t going to do it now?” You weren't disappointed. Surely not. Just surprised, and very confused. 

The demon sighs forlornly — rather dramatically, if you were being honest — and shakes its head. “I’m afraid not. I’d like to, of course, but the mating ritual has its own rules that I can’t supersede. Oh, don’t give me that grumpy look, Sister. I’m not leaving you empty handed tonight, rest assured.” 

You draw a quick breath to berate the damned thing but then it starts to pull its long tongue out of your body and you tense up, seething through your teeth instead. The sharp sensitivity still racing through your nerves made you feel raw and tender. Overwrought in the most literal sense, and it finally slips out with a wet little slurp that makes you whimper at the loss as much as at the sound. You hadn’t thought yourself capable of, well … any of that. Any of this. 

How were you possibly supposed to rationalize any of it in the light of day? 

You’re still trying to work that out when it carries you to the bed where it sets you down, pulls back the sheets and then tucks you in with a truly shocking amount of care. You definitely hadn’t expected that. Not that you’d expected much of anything that had happened over the course of this implausible dream, but you decide not to fight it as the monster takes a moment to brush your veil over the pillow the same as it may have done with your hair. It was all much too strange to think about right now. You could pick it apart and analyze it tomorrow, when you’d had some time to actually process these bizarre happenings. 

Or maybe never, if your subconscious was kind enough to let you forget any of this had ever happened in the first place. 

“Rest now.” It tells you softly in that low, raspy voice. “I will be back to claim what’s rightfully mine soon enough.” 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You remember everything, of course. 

And somehow that doesn’t surprise you in the least as you lay there in your bed, staring up at the ceiling while warm rays of morning sunlight bounce off the stark, unadorned walls. In retrospect you’re a bit disappointed to think that you could ever be so naive. To believe you’d forget something like that … it had certainly left an impression, at least. 

What does strike you as odd though is the warm, continuous cramp in your lower belly. You readily want to write it off as menses related but … that doesn’t seem right. It should have been too soon for that just yet in your menstrual cycle. 

Unable to stay your gnawing curiosity any longer, you finally rip the sheets off and look down at yourself. Your plain white nightgown is a bit rumpled but given the dream you’d had that didn’t seem so strange. That’s what you try to tell the niggling voice in the back of your mind anyway as you gather it up around your waist but what you find underneath stops you cold. 

Etched into the skin just over the center of your pelvis as though with ink was a four pronged, hexagonal sigil. It was faintly purple in the light, and as clear as day. But that didn’t make any sense. Or rather, you couldn’t make any sense of it at all. You’d been asleep the whole night, here in your room, and this most assuredly had not been there when you’d taken a bath the previous evening … 

You bolt upright with a strangled gasp. Turning your head to look at the window sends a debilitating chill racing through your body. Through the morning condensation beading on the glass you could see the evidence of a hand smudge, right where you’d touched it in your dream. 

“No.” You whisper at the glass pane and then, with more conviction, “No. That’s not possible!” 

It feels like your skin is trying to crawl right off your bones as you shoot out of bed and make a beeline for the tiny closet next to the desk. You rip the door open so forcefully it rattles and groans in protest but you can’t be bothered to worry about that right now. Not when you were staring at your habits, the one you’d worn yesterday, hanging in shreds from the hanger. You couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it, but the proof of it was staring you right in the face. Even your brassiere and bloomers were torn to pieces in the little basket you kept them in on the floor of the closet. The only thing untouched was your veil. Just like in your dream … except, it wasn’t actually a dream, was it? 

Too numb to even wail over this revelation, you slowly sink down to the floor and just stare at your ruined clothes for what feels like a lifetime. There had to be some way out of this mess. There had to be. 

Right? 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

The archbishop gives you an exceedingly strange look when you inquire about exorcisms, and it only continues to grow more and more pronounced the more you push the matter while also skirting around the subject at the same time. Not that you could really blame him, of course. You’d had to wait until after the morning service to corner him next to the dais before he could slip out through the side door so you’d had plenty of time to stew over everything, which meant you were coming in perhaps a little hot on the topic. That didn’t matter though. You were determined to get this resolved regardless of the cost, and if that meant having to shake some sense into him before he’d take you seriously then that was exactly what you were going to do. 

Luckily it doesn’t come to that, and he eventually relents after you doggedly refused to give up your line of questioning. Giving his head a hopeless shake, he takes on the tone of someone leveling with a crazy person. “I understand your concerns, Sister, but exorcisms aren’t something that we implement unless absolutely necessary. It is very much a last resort, you see, and there is a rigorous process to even get approval for one. I’m afraid there’s not much else I can tell you.”

You remind yourself to take a deep breath and count to five before speaking next. It wouldn’t do to snap at the one person who might actually be able to help you get out of this mess. “With all due respect, Father, I don’t think that answer will suffice. Even if it’s not a full on exorcism, surely there must be smaller measures in place to help … discourage a demonic presence from returning?” Something a bit more effective than prayer and baptism evidently were. 

His eyes narrowing in clear suspicion, the archbishop speculatively regards you for a moment. “Is there something you aren’t telling me, Sister?” 

Of course it would finally get to this point. You’d expected as much, yes, but that doesn’t make the dread wrenching at your gut any less unbearable. How were you supposed to explain any of what had happened last night when you didn’t even understand it yourself? All you knew was that your clothes were in tatters up in your dorm, the window still showed evidence of your hand wiping across it and your lower stomach … 

“Ah, Sister! There you are! Just the lady I was hoping to see.” 

You spin around so fast your eyes feel like they’re going to pop right out of your skull. That feeling only increases when you find Ajax standing there at the end of the pew in his neatly pressed uniform and his smile blinding under the light that comes in through the stained glass murals. Your knees buckle and almost completely give out under you when your belly twists as if someone had shoved a red hot iron into it. Subconsciously you lift a hand to cradle the spot where the tattoo was but you couldn’t quite seem to tear your shocked gaze away from him. 

That was it, wasn’t it? The association. 

You think that has to be right. Had never been more sure of anything else in your life, and yet that doesn’t seem half as pressing as the thrumming arousal that grips you so suddenly and so tightly it actually pulls a quiet whimper out of you. Your cunt floods with it, so much slick producing at the drop of a coin that it makes you feel nauseous and disoriented in the same breath. But how could that be? And why was he just standing there inside the church as if it was the most normal thing in the world for him to be doing? 

This was hallowed ground … wasn’t it? 

“W - what are you doing here?” 

Grinning, Ajax tips his head to one side. Inquisitive. Eager. Puppy-like. Bless the Holy Mother, you really were going to be sick. 

“Aww, come on. Didn’t I tell you already?” He laughs softly, but those blue, blue eyes reflect none of that same humor. They reflect nothing at all, in fact. “I'd hoped we’d get to meet again after our little run in yesterday, so I just figured I’d take matters into my own hands and speed it up. I brought you flowers.” 

You just catch the sound of the archbishop scoffing beside you in obvious disapproval and you would have wholeheartedly agreed with him under better circumstances. But better circumstances would not have found you panting with the effort of keeping your wits about you. It was like you were suffocating under the weighty pressure of the mark branded into your skin, and it almost seems to throb as you numbly look down at the humble bouquet he holds out. You could tell it was handpicked at just a glance. Some frost growing ferns and puffy cats tails, and … purple ivy. 

Affection. 

Fidelity. 

Wedded love. 

He couldn’t be serious, could he? 

The sly edge that creeps into his otherwise boyish smile seems to suggest that he was, in fact, quite serious. You stumble back a step in your reeling disbelief and the archbishop hurries to grab you by the elbow so he can steady you, but you hardly even notice the presence of his hands. Your eyes, your mind, your entire being was for Ajax and Ajax alone. 

“I did not ask for flowers.”

“That’s true but I still wanted you to have them. You caught my eye yesterday, Sister. I hope you won’t turn me down.” 

Confusion and uncertainty grip you in equal measure, but it is the low pulse of the mark on your stomach that truly robs you of the ability to speak. It’s hot and uncomfortable, and the way it makes your pussy sympathetically flutter in time with your heartbeat very nearly overrides all of your higher functioning thoughts. Was he really the monster that had accosted you in your sleep or … could it have been a separate entity? One he wasn’t even aware of, if he thought you could really reject him when just the sight of him standing there made you desperate to be filled again. To be feasted upon by that beast. 

Slowly, you reach your hand out to accept the bouquet and the invisible string tightens its noose around you almost imperceptibly. Your fate was already sealed. You knew this to be true on an intrinsic, fundamental level. 

Foul Legacy had been right to say you’d been saving yourself for it. 

For him. 

For this. 

You would give him your sanctuary, may the Holy Mother save your soul.

⭐

Crossposted: here