#i was doing research for something else and stumbled across that and was like 'oh yeah'

[face-breaker]

me making settrigh more honey badger than wolverine + giving him an addiction to sugar & sweets + reading about how honey badgers actually do have a sweet tooth, hence their name

[sp00kygoddessxx]

🔥Yearning🔥

Dean Winchester X Reader Word Count: 669

The bunker was quiet, the only sound the soft hum of machinery and the distant rustle of papers. You sat at the table, engrossed in research, your brow furrowed in concentration as you pored over ancient texts and lore.

Dean Winchester leaned against the doorframe, watching you with a mixture of admiration and longing. His eyes traced the curve of your silhouette, lingering on the gentle slope of your shoulder and the way your hair fell in soft waves around your face.

"Hey, Y/N," he called out, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

You looked up from your research, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Hey, Dean. What's up?"

Dean sauntered into the room, his movements fluid and confident. He leaned against the table, his gaze locking with yours. "I was thinking... maybe we could take a break from all this research. Have a little alone time, just you and me."

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by the suggestion. "Alone time? Dean, we're in the middle of a case. We can't just drop everything."

Dean's expression faltered, a hint of disappointment flickering in his eyes. "I know, I know. It's just... I miss you, Y/N. We've been so caught up in hunting lately, I feel like we never get a chance to just... be, you know."

You softened at the sincerity in his voice, realizing just how much he needed this moment of connection. Setting aside your research, you reached out and took his hand in yours.

"I'm sorry, Dean." you said softly.

Dean's expression brightened, and he squeezed your hand affectionately. "It's okay, Y/N. I get it. We've got work to do."

But you could see the disappointment lingering in his eyes, a shadow of longing that tugged at your heartstrings. You couldn't bear to see him like this, yearning for something that seemed just out of reach.

An idea sparked in your mind, a sudden realization of what Dean truly wanted. With a mischievous glint in your eye, you rose from your seat and took a step closer to him.

"Actually, Dean, I think I might need a break from all this research too," you said, your voice low and sultry.

Dean's eyebrows shot up in surprise, his gaze locking with yours. "Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?"

You closed the distance between you, standing so close that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. "Well, how about we take that alone time you were talking about? I think I could use a little... distraction."

A slow grin spread across Dean's lips, his eyes darkening with desire. "I like the sound of that, sweetheart."

With a swift movement, Dean swept you into his arms, his lips crashing down on yours in a fierce, passionate kiss. The world melted away as you lost yourself in the heat of the moment, the taste of him intoxicating and addictive.

As the kiss deepened, the hunger between you ignited, a primal need that burned with an intensity that was impossible to ignore. Dean's hands roamed over your body, his touch igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume you both.

With a sense of urgency, you stumbled backward, your lips still locked in a desperate embrace. Dean pressed you against the nearest wall, his body flush against yours as he devoured you with an insatiable hunger.

Every touch, every kiss sent sparks flying between you, a symphony of desire that crescendoed in a dizzying whirlwind of passion. In that moment, there was nothing else in the world but the two of you, lost in a haze of pleasure and longing.

When you finally came up for air, panting and flushed with desire, Dean's eyes met yours, a fierce intensity burning in their depths. "God, I've missed this, Y/N," he murmured, his voice husky with need.

You smiled, a rush of warmth flooding your chest. "Me too. Now fuck me winchester."

[bippityboppity69]

Phraesto- Courtship

(I'm back and with another Phraesto smut! The grip this man has on my brain... anyway shoutout to @httpsbearily because their Phraesto oneshot about scorpions made me research scorpions and their courtship, which includes dancing, holding claws, and the males stinging the females. Very interesting.)

Something strange was in the air.

Merlin let out a breath as they wiped their brow. Fanning themselves from this oppressive heat. Ever since they had stepped into the Dusk Lord’s tomb, they had felt strange. An odd scent lay in the air, musky, strong, it made their head spin yet it was not unpleasant.

Yet, it did lead to them falling down a hole. One that sent them plummeting all the way down to the bottom of the tomb. Now surrounded by sand and buried treasures, that strange scent seemed stronger here.

“Oh, what’s this?”

Whipping around toward the voice, yet nothing was there. What? They could have sworn they heard a man’s voice. A deep throaty chuckle echoed around them. Merlin took a deep breath, attempting to calm themselves down. Strange. The scent was before was back and stronger.

“A little mouse has fallen into my nest.” Red smoke swirled around their legs, an odd sound following. As if something chitinous rushed over stone. “Whatever shall I do?”

They needed to get out of here. Away from the red smoke, from the strange scent that took their senses from them. Taking a step back, hitting a solid wall. Freezing as something wrapped around their waist and squeezed. A large hand grabbed their chin before jerking their head up.

Above them was a tall man, one with dark grey skin and hair as red as blood. Broad shouldered and muscular, eyes like rubies burned into their own. Two long scorpion tails swaying back and forth behind him. Merlin now realizing the third was wrapped around them.

“You are not a normal mortal.” Hypogean. He was a Hypogean. “Ah~ Magister Merlin, what an honor to meet you.”

The tail around their waist released, the Hypogean circling them. Tails swaying in the air, a name popped into the Magister’s mind. Phraesto.

“How about a deal Magister? I will let you go and even guide you out.” Wait, what? “All I require is a dance~”

A dance? He didn’t want their magic or anything else, just a dance? That seemed…too good to be true. However, they were also stuck in this tomb and had no idea how to get back to the others. In short, they were stuck.

“…Alright, just one dance.”

Merlin took his hand, hot against their own. A pleased hum leaving Phraesto as he pulled them closer. Interlocking their fingers together as his other hand went to their waist. Guiding them into a slow dance, much like a waltz.

This…was quite pleasant.

Merlin placed their other hand on his shoulder. An act that seemed to satisfy Phraesto as he smiled at them. Easily following this odd dance, allowing the Hypogean to lead. It was easy to fall into the rhythm, almost hypnotizing in fact.

The three scorpion tails hovered behind them. The middle one pressing the stinger into their back. Wincing as a sharp pain hit their back. Merlin gasped as heat flooded their body. Stumbling against Phraesto, who merely hummed, still leading their dance. Seeming to pay no mind to the Magister’s stumbling steps.

“You know, I always fulfill the desires of others.”

The heat was now mixed with arousal, face flushing and pupils dilating.

“Yet, my own, are so rarely fulfilled.”

Shaking their head to clear the fog, trying to pull their hand away. Another sharp sting at their back. More heat, more arousal. The grip on their hand got tighter as Phraesto grabbed their chin. Pulling them into a kiss, electricity shooting through their body, a moan slipping out.

“But tonight, I will fulfill my desires~”

Being pushed against the ground, Phraesto above them. Panting as hands undid their robes, pushing the fabric away. Fingers trailing down their body, each touch making them jolt. Across their chest, down their stomach, pushing their underwear down their thighs. Even that motion making a moan slip out.

Red eyes entered their vision, Merlin surrendering to his kiss. Back arching as fingers brushed against them, eyes half closing as they pressed inside. Squirming against the touch, two scorpion tails wrapped around them, holding them in place.

“So I thank you Merlin.” The third tail pressed against their back as Phraesto grabbed their hands. “For fulfilling my desires.”

A loud cry filled the air as the third tail stung them, just as Phraesto sank inside them. Gasping at the large cock that filled them, sweet pleasure filled their body. The sensation overtaking everything, crying out as hips rolled against theirs.

Thrusting inside, hands caressing their body. A never-ending wave of pleasure and bliss. Merlin trembling against him, pawing at his chest. Lips moving but no sound emerging.

“Mhm~ Enjoy yourself my mate. I’ve ensured we will not be disturbed.”

[cherryslyce]

Second Son (XIV) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.

— Chapter Synopsis: Y/N joins Contessa Zabini for tea. Luna and Y/N make way to Reine, Norway. Y/N remembers something important about Regulus.

Part XIII / Part XV / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader

Notes: The Zabini's and Baroque architecture just makes sense to me. Also uhhh have fun <3.

The cranberry tinted cup that sat in front of you made your tea flush like diluted blood, the glass flared at the rims to resemble a blossom, imposing on the matching saucer that you couldn’t draw your eyes away from. 

Luna sat perfectly quaint to your left, eyes running across the opulent clusters of furniture that accessorized the already extravagant room. Intricate carvings lined cream pillars that pinched the rounded windows in front of you, each imposing structure veiled by heavy blush curtains. The wooden table in front of you was polished spotlessly, matching the ornate chair that sat sturdy underneath your rigid body. On the opposite wall, you’re suddenly aware of the colossal gold-trimmed mirror that was no doubt reflecting your squared shoulders. 

Blaise was living in a baroque daydream. Damn him. 

Your tongue was doing a funny thing, tipping between sensitivity and leathery roughness. That would be of your own doing, having immediately drawn your lips to the scalding tea in an effort to diffuse the tension in your shoulders. Despite the abrupt burn, you had held in the sputtering that twisted in your throat in order to maintain some semblance of decorum. 

The silence was becoming unnerving and you could tell that Blaise agreed, the usually composed slytherin was twitching to twist his rings for the nth time. Unexpectedly, when you all had arrived at the Zabini Manor, you were met with a rather unimpressed Theodore Nott. Blaise had quietly whispered that the boy was well-liked by his mother and was often a guest at their manor. 

It felt like you and Luna had become prey trapped in a den full of beguiling predators. The Contessa sat across from you with Blaise to her right, the woman not even batting an eye when Theodore chose to round the table and sit next to you instead. 

Easy access to attack you or was he also intimidated by the elegant woman?

“So you were at a wedding, dear?” The Contessa’s voice was smothered in a richness that complemented her unflinching gaze. 

Clearing your throat lightly, you lean forward to meet her keen eyes, “Yes.” Your tone was mellow–formal, and the lack of embellishing in your answer seemed to both amuse and vex her. 

Not giving up so easily, the woman stirs her tea without breaking eye contact, “I see, and you were both making a quick trip to Diagon Alley afterwards?” The question would have seemed innocent if it were coming from anybody else (perhaps with the exception of Voldemort), but you could practically see the gears in her head turning. 

“A little disruption ruined our appetite for celebration.”

The woman raises a perfectly trimmed eyebrow at you, “Oh? What’s a wedding without a little family drama?” 

You felt like someone had taken a bludger and scrambled your brains with it, high society was truly not for the weak to stomach. You weren’t even sure if the Contessa was teasing you or trying to prod for information. 

It was likely the latter, and the thought made your stomach twist a little. Your exchange of letters had always been polite, borderlining strained pleasantries that involved Hogwarts classes, your research, and plans to meet up (that you were hoping to never attend). 

“Family drama would have been preferable, I’m afraid,” Your tone lifted ever so slightly, but the small smile pulling at your lips hid how irritated you were becoming with the tango of words. 

You shoot Blaise a small glance and see him watching you both with an unreadable expression, though his intense eyes unnerved you a bit. Like mother, like son.

The Contessa’s lips purse thinly and you get the impression that she is also becoming increasingly irate with your resolution, but then her face settles into a sharp grin.

Humming lowly, she tilts her head to assess you before speaking, “You impress me, my dear. It would seem that Blaise is getting better at picking his companions,” You see her shoot a small approving glance at Theodore, who merely sips his tea nonchalantly, “Theodore, Y/N – I hope you both will continue to look out for Blaise. We Zabini’s pride ourselves in our unflinching loyalty and we always return what is given to us threefold.” 

Chancing a peek at the boy next to you, you see Theodore meet your eyes evenly. Your move. 

Nodding at the dignified woman, you smile genuinely for the first time that evening, “It would be my honor, Contessa Zabini. However, my devotion to Blaise would have continued without question, he is quite-” you raise your eyebrow at the boy, “-fascinating, after all.” 

By fascinating, I mean half as scary as you and ten times more approachable. His wicked sense of humor is also a plus.  

Blaise narrows his eyes goodheartedly and drops a sugar cube into his cooled tea, “Thanks.” The dry response has Theodore hiding a small smirk in his tea cup, while the Contessa merely shoots an unimpressed look at her son’s sickly concoction. 

“Indeed, you are quite personable, Y/N. I can’t help but wonder though, what is your stance on the current political climate? It would be ever so insightful for me.” The woman smoothly questions, the calculative glint in her eyes flashing under the chandelier lights. 

Translation: Are you going to induct my son into Voldemort’s goonies or Dumbledore’s sycophants?

Stirring your tea absentmindedly, you decide to answer honestly, “I have my own motivations that don’t exactly align with the polarized ideologies of our sphere. Of course, I have a preference for who I wish to see come out on top, but either way, my own interests outweigh my desire to participate in politics.” 

Your answer seems to catch everybody off guard (except for Luna who smiles like she’s known all along), and you see consideration paint the Contessa’s face, “Interesting. Blaise has indicated that you are quite close with Harry Potter, yet you declare neutrality?” 

“Neutrality for as long as my interests continue to hold my attention, but I hold no ounce of admiration for the Dark Lord or his underlings.” You hesitate to continue, feeling shifty with how easily your words were spilling out. 

Blaise seems to grasp onto your words and leans forwards to prod you, “But?” 

“But, I do not think that certain knowledge and teachings should be tabooed.” 

Theodore speaks up for the first time to confirm what you were insinuating, “The Dark Arts.” 

You nod and lift up your tea cup, sipping carefully despite how tasteless it was due to your burns. 

“And these interests of yours, do they involve the Dark Arts?” The Contessa swipes a manicured nail around the handle of her cup, eyes no longer shrewd. 

Biting the inside of your cheek, you lean back before answering lightly, “They might. I cannot say for certainty that they do. However, it does involve unusual magic.” 

“I see. It makes sense now why you asked to see those Norwegian tomes.” The woman’s eyes are alight, a glow that made it seem as though an investment of hers bloomed to fruition beautifully. 

You shuddered imperceptibly. Was it an honor or an omen that she seemed so intrigued by you? 

Theodore perks up and he turns to you with wide eyes, “Norwegian tomes?” 

The boy’s eagerness for knowledge was palpable, and you couldn’t help but be amused by his antics. It was so familiar because you saw it often in Regulus. 

Regulus. You winced. You wouldn’t think about it anymore. 

“Yes,” Turning to face the Contessa, you weigh your options, “If I may, I was wondering if I could borrow an owl for a letter. I want to inform my other friends of my plans going forward.” 

Blaise raises his eyebrows and frowns, “Plans? Are you not meeting up with them soon?” 

“Actually, I-” Luna turns to you with determined eyes at your slip up, “-we are heading North.” 

“North?” Blaise looks exceedingly unimpressed and you knew you wouldn’t be going anywhere until you satiated his curiosity. 

“Yes, up North.” 

“Where up North, pray tell?” He drawls with crossed arms. 

“Norway. We’re going to Norway.” Your tone was flat, eyes conveying your exasperation. 

Blaise sputters indignantly and barely restrains himself from throwing his hands up, “Norway? We have school in two weeks! How long are you planning to be there for?” 

“Indefinitely. It’s for my personal research.” 

“Well, I’m coming with you.” Blaise’s declaration has you darting your eyes to the Contessa with bated breath, watching the woman cross her arms. 

“Absolutely not. You have school, caro.” Blaise frowns deeply at his mother’s refusal and sits back in his seat, shoulders sagging in defeat, unwilling to argue with her. Theodore looks at you like you’ve grown a second head, likely considering if he would be able to leave school early too with the excuse of sabbatical. 

The Contessa turns to you, ignoring her son’s fit, “Of course, I’ll have one of my house elfs fetch you some parchment and ink. I’m sure Blaise wouldn’t mind if you borrowed his owl,” The woman suddenly rises from her seat and shoots you all a pleasant smile before smoothing out her dress, “This evening has been quite insightful. I look forward to our next meeting, Y/N. Safe journeys, don’t be a stranger.” 

Without waiting for a response, the woman spins on her heel and struts towards the double doors, calling for an elf as she crosses the threshold, “Viren, bring some parchment and ink for my guests.” The door clicks shut behind her as her last words reach your ears, and you slump in your seat as exhaustion soars through your veins. 

Before a disgruntled Blaise or an eager Theodore – the bloody ravenclaw in snake skin, can get a word out, a light pop draws your attention towards a rather properly dressed house elf, parchment and writing supplies in tow. 

Luna is quick to gather the supplies and quietly thank the elf, smoothing out the parchment in front of you. 

“I still want to go with you.” Blaise’s voice is soft, and you’re unable to detect any irritation. 

Peering up from your writing, you smile lightly at the two boys, “Sorry. You two need to hold down the fort. I didn’t say anything earlier, but the Ministry has been infiltrated by Voldemort and his followers, that’s why we left the wedding in such a hurry. Scrimgeour is dead as well,” You heave a sigh and flick the quill casually, “I suspect Hogwarts is going to be overtaken next, and Harry and I wouldn’t be caught dead there this year, we’d be like little crup puppies in a ball pit.” 

Both slytherins look stumped by your straightforwardness, and Blaise huffs out a little ‘well shit’ that has you nodding. 

Theodore stares deeply into the translucent pool of tea in his cup, voice barely above a whisper, “The war is going to end soon.” 

“Yes, and Harry’s going to make sure Voldemort is damned all the way into the afterlife.” If either of the boys were unconvinced by your conviction, they didn’t let it show, opting to share a look of understanding with each other before turning to you and nodding lightly. 

Blaise rounds the table and drops his hands onto your shoulders, “You better not die. And I guess I can take care of our ward for the time being.” 

“Ward?” Theodore sounds (rightfully) perplexed by his best friend’s words. 

“Little Draconis,” you supply, much to Theodore’s bewilderment, “And Blaise, stop making it sound like we’ve adopted him!” 

You wave your friend off and finish up your letter, leaning back in satisfaction as you hear Blaise clamber away to fetch his owl. 

Prongslet (and co), 

Luna and I are going to redeem our meal tickets (not as bizarre of a gift as one may think). We may not be back before darkness falls. Tell the old menace I said hello, and that I will make good on my promise to him. Stay safe and stay together. 

- Someone’s beloved Birdie 

Norway was incomparably arctic to Britain, the frigid winds bit at the tips of your fingers with fervid rushes, and you were positive that your legs were now flesh icicles. Despite how ardently your body protested against the climate, you couldn’t help the serene smile that mapped the muscles of your face. The chill was not the only difference the region had over Britain, and its tranquility was almost foreign to you. 

Now more than ever, Wizarding Britain seemed to have a miasma of doom looming over the country and the change of pace was almost tangible. 

“Here we are,” Luna’s airy voice was a welcomed sound amidst your inner exultation. You couldn’t help but draw similarities between the mysticality of Luna’s magic and disposition, and the blankets of fog that permeated over the lake in the far distance. 

Both were curious in their own aspects, but you couldn’t help but want to melt deeper in the feeling they both surrounded you with. 

You pulled your overcoat tighter around your body, thanking Merlin and those above that Blaise practically tore his closet right to left to find suitable clothing for you and Luna before you both departed from Zabini Manor. 

Stepping closer to Luna, you hum as you observe the view in the distance, “It’s beautiful.” 

Reine was truly idyllic. The fishing village was cupped by snowy peaks that towered over the clots of buildings which mottled the shores of the lake – a place truly untouched by the withering fog of petulant human conflict. 

The apparition was quite tiring and you could feel fatigue coiling around your muscles, urging you to quickly seek refuge.

“Couldn’t have picked a better place really: picturesque, remote, and lauded for proficiency in multiple languages.” Your words are light and playful, spurning a grin to bloom on Luna’s face. 

Dumbledore practically handed you a bubble-wrapped opportunity served on a golden platter. 

The both of you begin to trek towards the village, not wanting to risk apparition in case you were seen by any locals. To your knowledge, this Anders Fiske was the only magical folk in Reine, holing himself away from densely populated regions for reasons only Merlin knows. 

As you approach the banks of the waters and the largest building amongst the cluster, you inhale shakily as you see a sinewy man exit the building. The man seems to pause and do a double take, fully turning when he realized that you weren’t a figment of his imagination. 

“Hello,” His voice is gruff and gratingly neutral, only weakening your resolve. 

Talking to people was hard. But you survived a – conversation? interrogation? with Contessa Zabini, this should be a piece of cake. 

“Hello, we’re looking for someone named Anders Fiske,” your tone is even and you try your best to look as friendly as possible. Luna simply stares off into a red house in the distance, seeming to look straight through the man in front of you. 

Immediately, you can see the man tense before he forcibly relaxes his stance, pinching his eyebrows together as he surveys you, “There is no one here by that name.” 

You would have believed him. If you were a dolt, of course. 

“Are you certain? It’s rather important, and he’s the only one that can help us.” The man doesn’t falter and you frown when you feel something inch towards you. 

Helga almighty. 

He had a magical signature. The man in front of you was clearly a wizard, whether he knew it or not. 

Before you can ruminate on your discovery, the man speaks up, “Yes. So you both should leave.” 

A subtle bone in his body, there was not.

Feeling your eye twitch, you decide to do some searching on your own terms. Releasing your magic, you slowly blanket the surrounding buildings in search for another magical signature. It was clear enough that the man in front of you was not who you were looking for – unless Dumbledore wanted you to have some grilled monkfish with the most conspicuous wizard ever to roam the earth since Godric Gryffindor himself. 

As you continue to scavenge the village with your magic, the man in front of you shifts from side to side, clearly becoming wary of your sudden silence and blank stare. 

Before you can continue, a thunderous slam has you flinching out of your concentration. Peering around the looming man, your eyes meet a guarded gaze. Tilting your head, you sidestep and assess the newcomer, smiling slowly as you realize that he was another wizard. 

The new man was much older and you could see the way he leaned on his right leg as if his left one was aching from the slightest pressure. He was hunched in the pathway of the red house Luna was observing, mouth set into a deep frown. 

“Bingo,” Without waiting for the younger man to say anything (or possibly toss you into the lake), you stroll over toward the older man who was slowly retreating back into his house. 

Luna follows after you and nods happily to herself, starting to skip by your side. 

Stopping a few yards away from the man, you roll your shoulders to ease your soreness before jumping into the golden question, “Are you Anders Fiske?” 

The man appears to be ready to vehemently deny your question, but Luna speaks up before he can even utter a mumble, “Dumbledore sent us!” 

“Dumbledore?” The man’s harsh wrinkles smooth over ever so slightly, and your former headmaster’s name seems to roll off his tongue instinctually. 

“Yes. In his will, he told me that I needed to seek you out for a…meal? I’m in need of your help,” The man seems nonplussed by your declaration, and you purse your lips before sweetening up your words, “Please.” 

You see the man’s eyes flicker behind you and back rapidly, seeming to mull over everything. 

Without a word, the man dips into the shadow of his house with one last glower. 

Excuse me, what?

“Come,” You’re startled out of your stupor by a familiar deep voice, and you can only trail forward, mouth hung open, as the younger man leads you and Luna inside. 

As the younger man closes the door shut behind you, an array of lamps flicker to life around the room, illuminating the perimeter much to your amazement. The room was cozy and frazzled in a similar fashion to the Weasley’s home, and your eyes couldn’t help but trail across a wall of tomes the size of your head. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” The older man – Anders, grumbles from the middle of the room, sat at the dining table with a demeanor you found synonymous with Moody during meetings at Grimmauld Place. 

Smiling coyly, you watch Luna as she wanders almost weightlessly towards the small corner kitchen, “You shouldn’t have revealed yourself, Anders.” 

The man lets out a low grunt and you almost have to physically restrain your eyebrows from floating off your face. This man was literally Moody in a different, older font. 

“You would have figured it out anyway. Could feel that magic of yours suffocating the whole place from in here.” His tone was rough, but you wanted to believe that there was an impressed shine in his eyes. 

The younger man who was (surprisingly) still behind you, decides to interrupt your conversation, “Father, who are these people?” 

Anders places his elbows on the table and gives you and Luna a once-over, “Magical folk.” 

“A threat?” Anders’ son carries an edge to his tone that has you nearly rolling your eyes. 

You were about to blast him through the window, but you couldn’t let this opportunity slip away because of unbridled temptations. 

“That remains to be seen.” 

Anders’ reply seems to placate his son for the time being, and he heads off towards Luna as the girl hunches over to study a chipped teapot on the counter. You shift and make your way to stand in across from Anders, not exactly sure what approach to take. 

The yellow lighting bounced off the man’s face and gave him a sickly complexion, emphasizing his stress lines and suspicious eyes as you drew closer. 

“So, Dumbledore is dead?” He sounded almost regretful. Either that or you knocked your head on the way in. 

“Unfortunately. War is not forgiving, especially to martyrs.” Your tone was not nearly as sad as it probably should have been, but it seemed to be of no trouble for the older wizard. 

Anders sighs and leans back in his seat, one hand coming to clutch his shoulder unconsciously, “The old fool knew what he was getting into,” He raises his eyes to look at you appraisingly, “Can’t imagine why he’d send you my way, anyway.” 

“I’m researching. Something that is unfortunately, extremely niche. Dumbledore said you might be able to enlighten me on the subject.” Your determined tone seems to draw in some interest from him, and you have to mask the victorious feeling that washes over you. 

That’s right, scholar to scholar. Hook, line, and sinker.  

The man waits for you to continue, so you slowly pull out the chair in front of you and sink down across from him, “It’s about magical essences. It seems that you are quite sensitive to magical signatures, seeing as you could sense me releasing my magic earlier,” Anders gives a brisk nod, and you clench your hands as you continue, “A few summers ago, I encountered something strange–special. I found a portrait that was imbued with magical essence, and this portrait, he was extremely sentient.” 

You feel a knot lodge in your throat at the reminder of Regulus, the wound of his destruction feeling painfully raw again. Seeing your sudden hesitance, Anders raises a scruffy white eyebrow, “And where is this portrait now?” 

Your gaze drops to the table, your eyes blazing right into the worn wood, so marred and aged, unlike the one at Zabini Manor. 

“Gone, then? I don’t know how I’m supposed to be of help in that case.” You raise your eyes and meet his cold gaze, clenching your jaw at his stoic expression, “You both can stay the night in the basement, for the sake of doing an old friend a favor. I expect you to be gone by daylight, tomorrow.” 

Without pause, Anders pushes himself off the chair and limps further into the house, leaving you to awkwardly stew in your rejection while his son and Luna linger behind you. 

Anders’ son breaks the tense silence first, “Sorry about him, he’s…” 

“Stubborn?” Luna offers. 

“Honest.” You reply at the same time. 

Whirling around in your seat, you will away the veil of exhaustion and hurt that clouded your mind and look up at Anders’ son, really seeing him for the first time. You see the resemblance between the both of them, from their narrowed eyes to their thin noses, and the unmistakable metallic chill engulfed in both of their magic. 

Slowly rising from your seat, you send a fleeting smile to the boy, “Don’t believe we know your name.” 

“Asger,” His tone is much less taut than before, from pity or understanding, you didn’t know. 

“Nice to meet you, and thanks.” 

The boy–Asger, waves off your thanks and simply juts his shoulder forward, silently telling you to follow him. Feeling all of your survival instincts switch off, you tread behind him with glassy eyes, barely aware of your surroundings even when Luna tucks her arm around your body, guiding you around the unfamiliar environment. 

It appeared that Anders utilized his magical prowess and performed a disappearing act by the time you reached the basement, the older man being nowhere in sight despite the fact that there was only one door in the back of the house–which led to the basement. 

You and Luna got settled in, not bothered by the loose threads of your blankets or the dusty boxes that rested against the walls. You were both given a (surprisingly) comfortable mattress to share, and you almost wanted to cry when Luna started to draw patterns on your palm as you both stared up at the spackled ceiling. 

“Our journey has not ended yet,” Luna’s voice is small, but still fueled with conviction. 

“Thanks, Luna. I don’t even know where I’d be without you.” 

A comfortable silence descends upon you two, and you shift to get comfortable in your spot, realizing that Blaise’s overcoat was making it difficult to turn over. Slowly sitting up, you shrug off the thick material, and fix your jacket, realizing it was slightly askew from your movements. As you smooth down the material, you freeze as your hand moves over a thick bulk in your inner pocket. 

Portrait…? 

No. Of course not.  

Ignoring the cold sinking of your stomach, you fish out the object and search blindly for your wand. 

“Lumos.” 

Your breath hitches. 

Regulus’ journal. The one you found stuffed between his mattresses. Swallowing harshly, you slowly run a hand over the wrinkled cover. 

How could you have forgotten?

As you try to maneuver your wand to allow both of your hands to be free, a gentle tug has you swiveling your head to the side. Luna merely smiles at you before looking back at the journal, nimbly holding your wand over the book so you could flip through it. 

“I can look away if you want,” Luna’s gentle voice slices through the air with a warmth that you viscerally feel in your chest, and you smile at the girl in gratitude. As she turns her gaze to the darkness, seemingly becoming entranced by nothingness, you slowly furl the first pages open. 

Property of Regulus Arcturus Black 

You turn the page, fingers twitching as you resist the temptation to trace the swirls of his name. 

3 November, 1976 

Today is Sirius’ birthday. The first year he will celebrate away from home, as a disappointment to the family name. Mother and Father were particularly cold today. I just have to try harder. Sirius has stopped replying to my letters, and he avoids me in the halls. 

I think I hate him. 

Your heart pounds furiously in your chest as you reread the entry, struck by the unfamiliar loathing coated in his tone. Sirius was sixteen when he left, so seventeen in 1976. Regulus was only fifteen when he wrote this, and already so tied down by his family and abandonment issues. 

The next few pages contain similar entries, all filled with abhorrence for Sirius and bitterness towards his parents. 

Then the year changes. 

8 September, 1978 

The Dark Lord is going to change the world, make it a better, purer place. Mother and Father were pleased when I announced that I would be taking the mark soon, already having made strides among his growing forces. 

Sirius would hate it. I know he would. But he would expect it. He should, anyway. 

He already hates me, what damage could this do to our already broken relationship? 

He should hate me. 

I hate myself. I hate him.

I hate him so much.  

17 December, 1978

Visiting my portrait was eventful. I can feel him growing stronger with every meeting. I think I’ll have to repaint it soon, looking at it and seeing a reflection of who I used to be never gets easier. 

The next repaint, I’m going to finally do it. Hopefully, all my research will have paid off. Uncle Alphard’s book on magical essences was more helpful than I could have ever imagined. 

The room is complete, and I can feel my magic all over it. If I can imbue it into my portrait as well, it will be perfect. 

Maybe then he can forgive me. If I explain. If I try. 

The Dark Lord is expecting me soon. 

3 January, 1979 

The repainting was a success. My hand will be sore for the next few days, but it was all worth it. I finally figured out how to key the room. The only person who will be able to access it now is Sirius. That is if he ever returns home. 

My portrait is so like me, it’s truly uncanny. Perhaps I can publish my findings after I graduate. 

My mark aches often. 

I miss Sirius. 

5 March, 1979

The Dark Lord tried to kill Kreacher. 

After everything I’ve done for him. After everything I’ve sacrificed. 

Sirius was right. 

Kreacher keeps talking about a potion and a locket. I need to understand. I have to. 

It is imperative that I impart everything I know to my portrait, so Sirius will know that I tried. That I finally understand. 

Is this my punishment? Must I suffer so for forgiveness? If he does not forgive me, will it all have been for nothing? 

I need to find out what the Dark Lord is hiding. It will be my repentance. 

19 May, 1979 

Horcruxes. 

Such vile creations, a defiling of one’s soul. The Dark Lord has a horcrux. I need to destroy it. 

My portrait grows restless with me. To think it was even possible. He only has the faintest ideas of my current ambitions, but I feel everyday that he is growing to be someone I never could be. Someone that Sirius would be able to forgive. 

I’ll destroy the horcrux and accept the conditions tied to it. 

There is no other way. 

8 June, 1979

Everyday I grow closer to executing my plan. 

I have given my portrait everything he needs to know. 

I wonder, is all soul magic as abominable as horcruxes? I begin to see parallels with magical essences and soul magic. Yet, they feel completely different. 

Or perhaps I have finally lost all sense. I have always been a hypocrite. 

I wait with bated breath. 

I will destroy it even if it kills me, and it will be glorious. 

28 July, 1979 

I fear that if I wait any longer I will go back on my conviction. 

Mother and Father are growing increasingly vexed with me. I think they want to marry me off by winter. 

It will be before then. 

I have stopped confiding in my portrait about my deeper feelings. I fear that my weakness will be obvious even to him. 

I have read more about magical essences to distract myself. Even the Dark Lord is not omniscient. Magical essences have ties to one’s soul, the bounds of such revelation I do not know. Yet, I have learned of something even the Dark Lord is ignorant to, and because of that, he has debased himself with horcruxes. 

A small victory, and an inkling of how it will feel when he’s gone. 

When he falls. 

14 August, 1979 

I will do it in autumn. 

I hope it will all be worth it. 

26 October, 1979 

My portrait can cast magic. 

I wonder if Sirius will be proud. 

29 October, 1979 

I wonder what being in love feels like. 

2 November, 1979 

I never really had aspirations outside of what was expected of me. 

Have I always been so pitiful? Was I the only one who couldn’t see it? 

15 November, 1979 

I hear that the Potters are expecting their first child. 

I wonder how Sirius will treat their baby. 

I think I’m going crazy. 

17 November, 1979 

Tomorrow. 

You flip through the journal hastily, and you feel your eyes sting in the darkness at the crushing realization. 

Blank pages. Empty and unfeeling, and so telling of his fate. 

You weren’t going to leave tomorrow. 

Anders would have to drag you kicking and screaming. You wouldn’t give up on Regulus, not after everything he sacrificed. 

You will do whatever it takes. 

tag list: @krazyk99 @venomsvl @valsarchives @bunny24sstuff @novella12nite @elia-the-bibliophile @txorua @xlifexdeathx @trikigirl271 @the-marauders-world @sleepydang @blueberry-thrawn @lestat-whore @chanaaaannel @clockworkherondale @peachyaeger @thegayhoenextdoor @l--absinthe @ok-boke @summer-noir @mikeikax @musically-ambiguous @dittos-blog-dylanobrien @friendly-neighborhood-boricua @randomfaeriechild @misacc08 @that-bitch-bri @littleshadow17

[tenderlywicked]

I got so impatient that I started filling my own prompt. Wild Blue Yonder AU: the Doctor and the Master get stuck with the Not-Things :)

It’s not like the Master has something against eldritch beings per se. Arms that are too long or a dropping jaw—it’s not as disturbing for him as it clearly is for the Doctor. He’s been an eldritch horror himself, not just once, so he can sympathize. Moreover, appreciate the ability to adapt and survive at any cost. It’s a matter for envy rather than scorn or dread. He’s not even that shocked to see his own face on someone else: after all, there had been six billions of him once.

But it’s plain ridiculous that one of these not-things is able to imitate his speech patterns almost perfectly, and yet gets it wrong how many hearts and knees he has. It’s a sign of hackwork, and he despises that. On the other hand, in the current circumstances such incompetence is in his favor. It means the creatures aren’t unbeatable, they tend to miss the most obvious things.

He’d be more content and optimistic about it, though, if the Doctor hadn’t been clumsy enough to get separated from him, ending up on some other level of technical corridors. It’s nothing but irritating because without the Doctor there’s no way out: the TARDIS will come back for him. He isn’t to blame for the spaceship’s baffling reconfigurations of course, but still, he should have been more careful.

To the Doctor’s credit, he’s now probably rushing about, trying to find his missing companion, despite the row they’d had before the TARDIS had run off on them both. (The Master is still of opinion that this time the Doctor’s indignation had been apropos of nothing. Yes, he’d summoned the Toymaker into the universe, so what? He’d played his final game and won, he’s alive thanks to that, and the blasted universe is fine too, more or less, despite a few tiny time paradoxes all of this had caused. Should he have just died from a stab in the back instead? No, thank you very much.) Anyway, no matter their disagreements, the Doctor will be looking for him, desperately, the Master is sure of that. Instead of doing the same, he unhurriedly goes searching for something else.

They’d discovered the bridge and the control rooms, but surely, there must be living quarters somewhere on the spaceship. It’s not as big as the Mondasian one, so it doesn’t take the Master much time to locate them, along with what he’d been hoping to find—another set of surveillance equipment. He turns it on, and there it is, the second dot on the screen, the Doctor still braving the labyrinthine corridors on his own.

The Master fumbles with settings and finally finds the right camera in the hall the Doctor is about to pass…right in time to see him stumble across the false Master. And is it really that surprising what happens next? There’s no sound, but the Doctor’s face is quite expressive—it’s easy to see when wariness turns into wavering. Then, sequentially, come incredulity, hurt…and hope?

“Oh for fuck’s sake, still falling for sweet talk,” the Master mutters aloud as the Doctor takes a timorous step towards not-him, only for what he must expect to be a reunion hug to turn into a chokehold.

The creatures won’t kill him, they know he might regenerate, the Master tells himself, switching between the cameras as he follows the Doctor being dragged back to the bridge. They are more likely to keep him for further research.

What had his doppelgänger told the Doctor to earn his trust so quickly? Theta, I missed you so much? The Master tries to persuade himself it’s just curiosity, but also, deep inside, he knows there’s a bitter feeling too, akin to jealously: he never seems to say the right words that would convert the Doctor to his side so easily. One of his silly regenerations had wanted to stand with the Doctor, but would the Doctor ever stand with him?

Maybe he’s not entirely fair, maybe that’s just his old resentment speaking. In his place, the Doctor would undoubtedly rush to rescue at once. In his own place, the Master chooses to see what happens next. He just has to find out how to turn on the sound.

That's the first part, more horrors are to come ;)

[amphetamine-keen]

Battle Jacket Tips! Yippee!!

I'm hyperfixating, so be warned that this might be rambly and a lot longer than it needs to be, but I promise these are good tips

I'll try to put all my rambles in small text and if it gets too long, I'll stick it under a read-more-- oh, would you look at that

For starters, what is a battle jacket? Maybe you've just stumbled across this post and have no context, or maybe you're researching bc you think you might be interested in making one, here's a short explanation:

Battle jackets are a popular garment in a lot of alternative communities. Punk and metal are the biggest two that I'll be focusing on, but there's genuinely no limit to the "genres" that a battle jacket could belong to. I don't like country music, but like, if you want to make a country battle jacket, do it! Have fun!

Battle jackets are typically either leather or denim and covered in patches and pins to the wearer's taste. Punk battle jackets might include more political sentiments and DIY than say, a metal battle jacket, but of course, there are no rules, and my battle jackets tend to be a bit of a mix of punk and metal. Remember: There are no rules, these are all just suggestions.

The Base:

A few suggestions for your first battle jacket:

Do thrift your starting garment. If you can't find something exactly like what you're looking for, don't sweat it. Find something "good enough" and get started. That's what fabric dye and scissors are for. DIY or Die is the motto here. My most recent battle vest started life blue and with sleeves. Now it's black with big yellow panels in the sides.

Do get your jacket a little bigger than usual. Patches can stiffen up the garment and make it feel tighter, plus, if you wear it year round you'll wanna be able to put it over your coat in the colder season. I actually have two vests, a warm weather and a cold weather vest. The warm weather vest is a lot smaller so it doesn't hang off me when I'm just wearing a shirt, but I recommend starting with a larger vest and doing the "warm weather" vest as a second project.

Don't buy a premade battle jacket, especially fast fashion. The whole point is to make it to your tastes, so buying a jacket with someone else's patches and pin picks kinda mucks up the best parts of making a unique, custom garment. Also, the fast fashion industry is horrifically exploitative, and supporting it financially isn't very punk. If you've already done so, don't beat yourself up. We're all learning and growing. Take the things you learn and grow from them in the future. That is punk.

The Patches:

The biggest patch on a battle jacket is your "back patch." They're huge and seen as the sort of "keystone" of a jacket. They're not a requirement, but I like them a lot. Usually, the patch is of the wearer's favorite album, or something similar, but they can be anything you want. Tarot cards, art pieces. Go nuts and find something that brings you joy. My first vest was very "traditional" with a Metallica Master of Puppets patch, but my second one has painted + embroidered handprints from all my long-distance friends so I can keep them with me <3

Do buy directly from band websites, or from the merch stands at live shows! That's my favorite way to get patches, even if they might be expensive or have iffy manufacturing ethics because it shows where my vest has been and what it's seen.

Do buy from small businesses and online vendors. Try your local craft fairs, or Etsy shops for patches you like. They might be pricier, but that's just because the seller isn't exploiting factory workers and valuing their own time.

Do make your own patches! I might go more into this later, or on a different post, but there are a lot of ways to make your own patches. Embroidery, paint, stenciling, etc. You can get fabric quarters at most craft supply places for like $3 USD tops or free if there's a local Hobby Lobby. Acrylic paint works, though it might crack a bit over time. Fabric paint is pretty widely available and gives a smoother look.

Don't just buy wholesale packs of patches on Amazon. Like the above point about premade jackets, bulk patch packs are often made in exploitative sweatshop conditions, and Amazon should be used sparingly because even if the manufacturer is ethical, Amazon's warehouses are not. Also like the above, don't beat yourself up if you already bought a pack of patches. I did it too, when I first started, you live and you learn.

Don't wear patches for bands you don't know. I mean, you can, I'm not a cop, but you will look like a poser.

Non-Patch Editions:

I said it before, and I'll say it again. There are no rules. You don't have to limit yourself just to patches to customize your jacket. Have fun with it. Here's a list of options to give you ideas, based on things that I've done or want to do on my own.

Embroider directly on the fabric! I put spider webs and violets on my vests just because I like them and think embroidery is fun.

Spikes and studs!! You can get packs of spikes from lots of places (some more ethically than others) or you can make your own. As a disclaimer, some music venues may raise issues with pointier bits, as they could cause injury to other people, so use your best judgment.

Add other metal bits! Can tabs, lighter hoods, chains, keys, washers, nails, bolts, and pieces of scrap metal are all pretty fun to play around with!

Corsetting. Whether as a resizing measure or just for the aesthetic, get some eyelets and throw some ribbon in there. Could be fun!

Pins! I've mentioned them before, but also you can make your own with some bottle caps and a safety pin. Or repaint buttons you already have. I've kept the same little pronoun pin I repainted with nail polish for almost a decade, and it's still in great shape.

Putting it all together:

These are some general tips for putting all the pieces together, and honestly was supposed to be the whole post, but I like to talk so here we go!!

Lay out everything first before sewing it down. I have ripped up more patches than I care to admit, just to sew them back down on another part of the jacket.

Big tip for the mix-patch crowds, keep all your political patches on the front of the jacket. The idea is, if some asshole has a problem with your opinions, you want to see them coming. You don't want them sneaking up behind you.

Thread. Elder Punks often recommend dental floss for fastening patches to your jacket bc of its strength and rightfully sew (hahaha!). However, if you'd like more colorful options, try upholstery thread. It's super strong, and it's what I use on all of my own jackets. Though, I do keep floss and a needle around for convenient repairs. The box has its own thread cutter!

Needles. If you're like me and have shitty old person hands at the ripe old age of 23, those tiny dollar store needles will make your hands cramp up like a motherfucker. For this reason, I use doll needles. My default needle came in a walmart pack, and I use the smallest gauge, 3 in long needle. The thicker ones are too hard to get through the fabric. It's much easier to grab and easier on my hands.

Thimbles. Even with big-ass doll needles, sometimes it's difficult to grab them well enough to get through really thick fabrics. That's what thimbles are for (not to keep you from pricking yourself with the sharp end). Get yourself one, or improvise something similar, it will save your life.

Stitching. Sew down all of your patches, even the ones that claim to be "iron-on" because in my experience the iron-on adhesive fails pretty quickly. I recommend a whip or blanket stitch, so the edges don't peel up or fray (as handmade patches might). If you're moshing, a lot of folks claim that floss is best because it keeps people from ripping off your patches. Respectfully, I think that's a bunch of horseshit. If you don't want your patches ripped off, make them harder to grab onto. Keep your stitches small and close together so assholes can't get a grip on them. That said, I've never actually had someone try to rip off my patches in the pit or otherwise, so use your own discretion.

Washing. A lot of hardcore crust punks will tell you never to wash your battle jacket, but crust punk isn't for everyone. I wash my jacket every year or so, and it's pretty easy to do as long as nothing on your vest is susceptible to damage in water (I had some early patches that I finished with Modpodge that were ruined in the first wash, so keep that in mind). If you're confident in your stitchwork, just toss the vest in a garment washing bag or a pillowcase and chuck it in the wash with everything else. If you're a little more cautious, it's easy enough to hand wash it in a tub/sink and hang it out to dry. Don't use bleach or you'll probably ruin something.

[galaxiasgreen]

📚🐦‍🔥Stay With Me

Slow burn Garreth x F!Reader romcom-mystery [T-Rated, 8.3k words]

"Now, I need you to ruffle yourself up a bit. Make yourself look dishevelled." He starts doing that to himself, raking his hand through his hair, unbuttoning his shirt collar, bunching up his cloak. You copy him, unsure, and when you're done, he thumps the door. Hard. "What? Garreth—" He lifts his hands. "May I?" "May you what?" "Touch you?"

During the next tutoring session, you admit you have no friends, so Garreth's determined to be your first.

It doesn't go quite to plan.

[PREV][NEXT]

[read on AO3, read on Wattpad]

2: A Near-Death Experience

The tutoring sessions continue.

On Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings, Garreth says goodbye to his friends, mentally rehearsing excuses for not doing your assigned homework, and makes his way to the agreed meeting spot. You both decide to change it frequently – sometimes in the library, sometimes in unused classrooms, and once or twice in the Great Hall, after dinner is served and the house tables are cleared of crumbs and spillages. And although he peddles his whoopsies, I missed a few questions by accident, you see through the lies and scold him for laziness anyway.

It becomes... somewhat of a strange routine, and even stranger, he accustoms to it quite naturally. His friends get used to hearing your name – Prim – mentioned in daily updates. One time you actually come up to him outside the required hours, before he sits for lunch at the Gryffindor table with Leander, Natsai and Cressida. You stall awkwardly for a moment, unwilling to interrupt his conversation.

"'Afternoon, Prim," he pipes when he sees you – then notices your closed expression. "What's the matter?"

"I'm sorry, I— have to reschedule tonight's session."

"Oh." To be honest, he's not that disappointed, but it does make him sad to see you clearly put out. "Why? What's wrong?"

"Just some family issues, is all. I have to sort it this evening. Would you be willing to meet tomorrow instead?"

Though curious, he decides not to pry.

"Or, and here's a crazy thought... we cancel it."

"Not a chance."

"Tomorrow it is. Good luck with your family things."

"Work on your transfiguration spells in the meantime."

You go then, back to the Ravenclaw table, and Garreth takes his seat. He notices then that Leander, Natty and Cress are staring at him. Grinning.

"What?"

"That's your study buddy?" Leander wiggles his brows. "She's cute."

"She sets me homework."

"... All right, less cute."

Natty elbows him. "Don't be mean."

"I may not be into swots, but if Garreth really gets off to the sadistic torture of history essays, fair play to him."

"Eat an entire Dugbog, Prewett."

"Having said that," Cress cuts across the boys, expectantly steepling her fingers, "we would like detailed descriptions of your alone time together. You know, for research purposes."

When they all await his answer, actually serious, Garreth scoffs. "You lot are mental. I make a new friend and you instantly think something else is going on?"

"Yeah," says Cress, "because you're you."

"Don't know what you mean."

"When you fancied Nerida Roberts," says Leander, "you just happened to stumble upon her at the boat house. Every day. That wasn't a coincidence, was it?"

"That was a long time ago!"

"It was literally last year."

"You're one to talk, Mr Fancy Every Girl Who Looks at Me Twice," Garreth remarks. "Prim and I, we're just studying."

"Oh, that what people call snogging nowadays?"

Leander narrowly dodges the bread roll. Garreth doesn't keep entertaining their silly notions – his friends have a penchant of taking the mickey out of everything. They don't really believe anything untoward happens in your tutor sessions...

But now that it's out there, he's surprised to find his best friend is kind of... right. You are cute. You have a pleasant face – if it weren't scowling all the time he might even look at you long enough to find you attractive. When the conversation moves on, he takes a discreet peak of you at the Ravenclaw table, nursing your food, textbook open, not saying a word to anyone else. What family issues do you have? What's so pressing that it's forced you to put aside your upcoming O.W.L.s?

At the next tutoring session, he dares to ask.

"Sort your family things out, then?"

Your shoulders rise – again, an easy sign that he shouldn't have asked. Yet this time you reply.

"Yes, I did. Thank you."

"Was it bad?"

"Did you finish the homework I set you?"

The dismissal is obvious, but he lets it slide.

By October, you've warmed to him a little. He notices, in the way you don't scold him for being late, in the way your notes are less neat, in the way your tone relaxes as you instruct him on his pitiful wand technique. Most importantly you're less focused on only doing revision, letting other topics of conversation slip through the cracks. It culminates in a session on a Friday evening, when night has fallen and the library is quiet as most – okay, all – students have left their workloads behind for the weekend.

"I... have a question for you."

He's scribbling some key points for his Divination essay. "No, I can't remember where the witch trials took place. Salami, Mass-Murder-something, or whatever."

"No, that— that's not what I was going to ask." A beat. "And it's Salem, Massachusetts."

"That's what I said. What was your question?"

You hesitate long enough for him to look up from the parchment.

"What... actually happened last year? You know, down in the caverns below Hogwarts? With the goblin rebellion?"

He preens a little. "Ah." Finally, a chink in your armour. Finally you've asked the question most normal people asked the day after it happened. He sets his quill down. "That's a long, exhaustive story, not one for the weak-minded. You sure you can handle it?"

You give him the look.

He winks. "Just checking. It all begins with my friend, Missy – new student, started here last year. Remember her at the Sorting Ceremony? Came late, much taller than the first years, went to Slytherin?"

You nod. "I thought it was unusual to see someone start in fifth year."

"It was. Then it turned out she was spending the whole year with Professor Fig trying to stop the goblins mounting an attack on the school. No idea how she got involved, but it was a right muddle. Last year was just..." He blows a raspberry. "I had another good friend in Slytherin too. Sebastian Sallow."

Recognition flashes in you. "Wasn't he expelled?"

"Yeah. For murder. Also cursed my friend Gibby." Still, Sebastian showed nothing but remorse at his trial, and Garreth doesn't have the heart to think any worse of his friend. For a Slytherin he was great company, but Azkaban won't be treating him well; it deflates him a little. "Anyway, he showed up to fight against Ranrok with Missy and me and my friends. We were all determined to help her. Missy's the sort to want to do everything herself, but you know me. I can convince a Hippogriff it's a Horklump."

You crack a smile at that. He feels gratification. A real smile!

"Ranrok and his goblins were there, going on about taking over wizardkind, blah blah blah, and we banded together to defeat them. With the professors' help, of course." He's sworn to omit another truth, that Missy absorbed some sort of primordial magic into her body. That she's basically Bombarda in human form. "Ranrok was defeated, Gibby woke from her curse, and Hogwarts and the wizarding world was saved. You're welcome."

"That's astonishing," you mumble. "And you did that all with your... friends?"

"Of course. I mean, I wouldn't say I was friends with all of them before. Imelda would've happily fed me in pieces to a Flobberworm, for example. Now she would probably feel guilty enough to sacrifice me to something a little grander. A Grindylow, maybe. And I thought Ominis was an uptight arse, but actually he's not as intimidating as he pretends. I've been getting to know him a little better this term." He grins. "Once you have a near-death experience with someone, you're kind of obligated to be friends with them for life."

You tilt your head, taking this in.

"And you?" he asks. "I guess you were hiding out in the Ravenclaw common room when it all went down?"

"No. I was in the library."

"What? Why?" You make a face. Obviously, Garreth. "Studying, right, right, but didn't you... you know, think maybe this was the end of life as we know it, and decide you didn't want to spend it with a nose in a book?"

"I mean... what else was I supposed to do?"

"Er, accept your terrible fate and brave death with your friends?"

Your lips form a thin line then. Your expression sours.

"I— I don't have any friends."

He laughs, because the statement is so absurd it's unbelievable, but when you flush, he cuts himself short.

"That's— that's just nonsense! How can you not have friends?"

"I just— don't."

"As in, you had friends but then you had an epic fight and no longer speak to them? Or... or you never had any to begin with?"

Your silence speaks volumes, and it stuns him. Five years you've been here, and not made a single friend.

"What about the other fifth-year Ravenclaws?"

"They're all friends with each other. Not me."

"And the girls in your dorm?"

"We're polite."

But not close.

It really hits him then. His aunt hasn't just assigned you through an alignment of the stars, because you happen to need help with every subject he's good at, and he happens to need help with every subject you're good at. She's also bound you together because you are lonely. Because, despite everything, Garreth is good with people, and you're... not.

The machinations of his clever Aunt Matilda. Oh, how sly.

But all right. Maybe this was more than a lucky coincidence. Maybe this was his aunt's scheme all along. But he can gain something from this, too: fulfilment from your enforced time together. If he can bring you out of your shell, help you engage with your life here, not just the books, then you will be better for it, and he will feel accomplished.

And less of a failure.

"Well, I can be your first friend then," he says. "That is, if you want."

Surprise colours your cheeks, and your eyes dart back and forth across him, searching for the lie, the trick.

"Why?"

"Because it's sad, that's why," he says earnestly. "Everyone should have at least one friend. You should really find someone in your year, but you know. I'm pretty great too."

"I— I guess, but..."

"But what?"

"I mean," you sound flustered, "I don't really know how to have friends."

Merlin's beard, this is not the conversation he thought he'd be having today. Or ever. "It's easy. You spend time together. You laugh and empathise with each other's anecdotes. You tell one another that Garreth Weasley is a delightful young man— that was a joke," he tacks on at your deadpan expression. "You just... you know, enjoy each other's company. Just like – prepare to be shocked – we're doing right now."

Your brow furrows. "You're not doing this because you want to, though. You're doing it because you have to."

He leans back then, contemplative, because it's true. At least, it was. Now, though he finds the studying part extraordinarily dull, he rather likes coming to meet you. You're stern and aloof, but in a fun way. He can prod you and find a sense of gratification when you bite back.

"Maybe at the start, but actually, you're all right, Prim."

"I still hate that nickname."

He laughs. "Good. There, that's something friends do too. Give each other terrible nicknames."

"Then what should I call you?"

"Handsome, obviously."

You roll your eyes. Another emotion. He swells with pride.

Your next session, which you decide should take place in the Transfiguration classroom itself – with his aunt's permission, of course – is two days later, after a particularly gruelling Herbology class (Arthur Plummly almost lost his hand and six-and-a-half toes). Still, he looks forward to seeing you again, and you work on his terrible attempts to change a pawn piece to a queen as you chat.

"What do you like to do in your spare time?" When you look at him, confused, he notes airily, "Friends have common ground. You know, like sharing hobbies?"

You shift and place your wand down. "Okay, well... I like to bake."

"To bake, huh? That's a very Muggle activity."

You shrug. "My mother is a Muggle, so that makes sense."

"You're a Muggle-born?"

"No. My father is a Squib."

"Oh?" That's an interesting combination. "That must've been a surprise for him."

"It was," you say fondly. "I suppose he thought he was going to have an ordinary family when he and my mother— when they moved here from Asia." You seem stiff suddenly. "Then I came along. We lived in— a regular Muggle neighbourhood. I wasn't aware of my father's heritage and neither was my mother, so she wasn't best thrilled when I got my letter, though it did bring her comfort to know the truth behind the many times I accidentally set fire to her washing line."

"We've all set fire to a washing line once or twice in our lives," he muses. "Is she superstitious?"

"Very. It's different in Asia."

He waits for you to elaborate, but you don't.

"Well," he says, going back to the original topic, "baking's great fun. I don't do it much at home, but my sister Clara's a fiend for it. Loves stuffing herself with cakes. Surprised you like it, to be honest. Bit ironic for someone bad at Potions."

"If I get the wrong measurement of flour," you say haughtily, "the bread isn't going to explode in my face."

"Fair point, but they're both about the coming together of ingredients to make a homogenous whole. If you approached Potions like that, you'd do much better at it, you know."

Your bottom lip juts. "I still prefer writing essays to blowing up cauldrons."

"That will change once I'm through with you."

"Doubt it."

He snorts, but fine. Rome wasn't built in a day, as the phrase goes, and this Rome might take an eternity to build.

But he's not one to give up.

"We'll see about that. And you'll have to bake me something soon. Not to brag, but I'm an excellent judge of a good cake."

"... You just want free food, don't you?"

"Obviously."

He walks you back to the Ravenclaw common room the next session – by total accident, mind, because he's chatting so enthusiastically about some potion ideas and you obviously don't have the heart to stop him.

"You brought Mr Weasley, I see," the eagle knocker sniffs once you reach the door. For a voice so musical it can sound so bloody smarmy. "Back from another revision session?"

"That's right," you say politely.

"Don't be nice to it," Garreth murmurs. "This knocker has attitude and doesn't deserve it."

"Only to you, because you think pranking me is entertaining."

"... I mean, it kind of is."

"Well," it says tartly, "you've never been able to solve any of my riddles, and that is something I find amusing."

"Yeah?" He's feeling particularly brazen today. "Go on, try me."

You quickly stifle a snort – which he doesn't miss – as the knocker clears its throat.

"Very well. A simple one then. What has eighty-eight keys, but no lock?"

He repeats the riddle to himself, twice. Nothing comes.

"A... key... collector?" He gives you a sidelong glance – you have sealed your lips together. "You already know the answer, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Ravenclaws..."

You wait, presumably so he can attempt another answer, but in the end he crosses his arms, frustrated. "All right, I give up."

"It's a piano." You turn to him. "Keys, but not referring to door keys."

In hindsight, it's really obvious, but the damn eagle knocker smarts.

"Correct." The door opens. "You may enter. You," it looks pointedly at Garreth, "need to work harder."

Don't I know it. Garreth sticks out his tongue. Very mature. You let out a sharp laugh, which makes him smile.

"You'll get it next time," you say. "I'll see you next Monday?"

"Next Monday," he confirms.

He finds himself still smiling on the way back to Gryffindor. He'll solve one of those riddles one day, if only to prove he can.

And, maybe, to impress you.

Inspiration strikes near Halloween. A genius idea, if he does say so himself, for something so simple. A drink that makes you float off the ground, like a Fizzing Whizzbee. Fizzing Whizz-beer, even.

Yes, he thinks, that's very clever. Instead of listening to Professor Garlick's treatise on the properties of Venomous Tentacula, Garreth hunches over his planting station and scribbles some ideas for the concoction. He'll need a slew of ingredients. Firstly it has to taste good – so Mallowsweet and sherbet is a must. Standard ingredient to mesh it together, then some sort of acid and base, for fizz.

Then he'll need the key thing rumoured to make Fizzing Whizzbees. Dried Billywig stings.

Where's he going to get dried Billywig stings? They're a bit of a rare commodity, given that they have the ability to grant temporary levitation. He can't buy the ingredients at J Pippin's, not with his aunt enforcing a ban on his going to the village (for fear of doing the very thing he's doing right now, naturally).

The answer pops into his head. Honeydukes. They have tons of them, used in their own sweets. But then, of course, he'll need to sneak inside...

And for that, he needs an accomplice.

Aptly, the very girl he considers first is next to him, sat upright, hands on lap, patiently listening to Garlick's lecture. He leans over.

"Missy. Pssst."

Her expression doesn't change as she leans towards him. "What is it?"

"How would you like to be part of something extraordinary?"

"Depends on what that is."

Slytherins and needing details, ugh. "Would you be up to, ahem, grabbing a few more ingredients for me?"

She bolts upright exactly when Garlick turns to them – rather an unnerving ability of hers which probably has something to do with that strange magic now running through her veins. Garlick smiles sweetly, unaware of their conversation, and continues down the row, marvelling on Tentacula leaf sizes. Missy leans to him again.

"The answer to your question," she says, "is no."

"No? You don't even know what I'm going to ask."

"I can read your parchment."

"I haven't written everything down."

"It literally says ask Missy to nick Billywig stings from Honeydukes."

Hmm. Perhaps nick was a strong word. "You nabbed the Fwooper feather from Sharp's office."

"And you got me in trouble for it."

"You get yourself into trouble all the time, need I remind you of, let's think... the entirety of last year?"

"Precisely why I'm trying not to this year," she says coolly. Merlin, her and her eerie composure. "Can't you do it?"

"'Course I can. I'm just asking you to accompany me. Give me an alibi if my aunt happens to notice I'm missing. I'll watch your back, you watch mine, you know?"

"You can't even watch your front," she says. "Why not ask someone else? Like Leander or Natty? Or Cressida?"

"None of them understand my talent for potions, Missy." And I don't want to drag them down if this goes horribly wrong. "They're above stealing."

"And I'm not?"

He arcs an eyebrow. She purses her lips.

"Just because I can doesn't mean I will. How about Everett?"

"That troll brain couldn't be sneaky to save his arse."

"Imelda?"

"I rather value my life, thank you."

"Gibby?"

"Would trip on her own feet before she even left her common room."

Missy scowls. "Well, I'm sorry, but it won't be me."

He groans – too loudly, as this time, Garlick does look over.

"Everything all right, Mr Weasley?"

"Everything's grand, Professor," he says, brooding. He doesn't have many options, if Missy won't do it.

Then lightning strikes a second time.

You could go with him.

Yes. This is a potion, after all, and you are but his acolyte, sponging knowledge from his inventive genius. He's determined not to make all his sessions laboratory-based, after all, just to doubly prove a point that a classroom isn't always the best place to learn. A trip down to Honeydukes would reinforce the memory of Billywig stings in your mind so hard, forgetting it for your O.W.L.s would be impossible.

And, bonus, he could dress it all up as a learning experience, and definitely not slacking.

So that Tuesday, a day before your session, he grabs you after dinner in the Great Hall.

"How would you like to have a fun session tomorrow?"

Your deadpan expression doesn't falter. "Your definition of fun is very different to mine."

"Honestly, why does no one trust me?"

"Do I really need to answer that?"

"... No, obviously not." He leans closer to you – you smell of peppermint. "Bring a bag, wear comfortable clothes, and meet me in the third-floor corridor, five o'clock sharp."

"Before dinner?" Your bottom lip curls. "What are you planning?"

"I promise, it'll be brilliant."

He winks and leaves, not giving you the chance to say no.

You meet him in the third-floor corridor the next day, in typical you fashion, half an hour early. It's quite surprising to see you in casual clothes, a tidy blouse and cardigan, tweed breeches and sensible shoes, all beneath a plain cloak. Your reticule ropes around your shoulder, but for once, it doesn't bulge with books.

You frown. "What's wrong with your jumper?"

"Hmm? Oh." He tugs at it beneath his own cloak. "My mama knitted this for me. It's red wool."

"I can see that. I meant the... design?"

"It's a G. It stands for Garreth."

"Why does it look like a man hunched over the privy?"

"Hey, letters are hard, and I never said my mama was any good at knitting. Come on."

He takes you to the statue of the one-eyed witch. He taps his wand to it. "Dissendium." The witch swivels, revealing the dusty trap door beneath. You freeze when he kneels to open it.

"What exactly are we doing?"

A rush of stale air funnels out when the door swings opens to a ladder below. "We're going on a little adventure to grab a rare potion ingredient."

Your tightening face betrays panic as your gaze flickers between him and the rungs.

"Adventure? Garreth, I didn't agree to that."

"You agreed to our tutoring session. Time to broaden your perspective, Prim. No essays today."

"And where does this lead?"

"Hogsmeade."

"Hogsmeade?" You step back. "Oh no, I can't go."

"Why not?"

You bite your lip in the silence. It's a very odd gesture that for some reason makes his heart stammer.

"I don't have permission to go to Hogsmeade..."

"What." Another day, another question that's not a question. "What do you mean, you can't go to Hogsmeade? Wait, wait. Have you ever been?"

You are silent. Merlin's sweaty armpits.

"You can't have never been, Prim! How do you get stuff? Quills and books and potion ingredients?"

"I ask the teachers."

He scoffs. Auntie Matilda must have known. "You're definitely coming now. No, no objections, Prim."

"My parents—"

"Don't have to know. Unless there's a specific reason you can't go?" Silence again. "Are you allergic to, I don't know, village air?"

"No."

"Halloween cheer?"

"No."

"Other people?"

"Yes," you say, then remembering yourself, "But not actually, no."

"So then what are they afraid of?"

"They're just— protective."

His brow furrows. It's absurd really. He shouldn't question it. He knows he's lucky when it comes to family – that his have never cared about what he does in his free time so long as he does what he's meant to during his school time. You've mentioned your Muggle mother is jaded with the magic world, so maybe this is her superstitions coming into full force. She doesn't trust an entire village of wizards.

Though that doesn't explain why your Squib father is the same.

"Then," he insists, "we are going to have a great time having a little look around. I'll be with you so you don't have to panic about... whatever it is you're panicking about. We can't go to J Pippin's, of course – Parry Pippin would mount a Graphorn for the opportunity to snitch my whereabouts – but the Three Broomsticks, definitely. Sirona Ryan's a treat." When your brow crumples, he says again, "Nope, this is a non-optional adventure."

"But—"

"Too late, I'm kidnapping you."

And he offers his hand.

You stare at it like it's a foreign object, leaving him in this awkward limbo where his hand is just... hovering there, waiting. Something light dances behind your eyes, sweeping colour across your face, and you reach over, slip your fingers, warm and delicate, into his. He makes the first step down, testing the weight, as he always does – you never know when this old thing will break – and it holds.

"Mind your step."

"This doesn't look safe."

"It's safer than a spider's den."

"That bar is so low it's in Australia, Garreth."

He hits the ground, followed shortly by your graceful alight, and dust swirls up at the disturbance. The trap door shuts, and he hears the grind of the witch's statue clanking back into place.

"Lumos." Your wand tip lights, and your face comes back into view as you take in the sight of the stone staircase. "What's this ingredient we're getting, then?"

"Dried Billywig stings."

"A Billywig's sting makes you giddy," you recall, "then makes you float."

"That's right."

"Wait." You clasp his arm – the touch surprises him. "You're getting it from the sweet shop?"

"Yep."

"But— you can't buy it, surely?"

Ah, yes. When he asked you to come along, he hadn't exactly thought about the intense cardinality of your moral compass. "Well, no, but I promise they won't miss them."

Your eyes go round. "You're stealing?"

"Goodness, Prim, I'm not robbing Gringotts! They have loads, won't even notice a handful are missing." You glare at him, making him wince. "I'll leave a Sickle on the counter, all right? I really need them—"

"For what?"

"A new potion I'm making! Beverage, really." He grimaces harder as your glare intensifies. "It's a Fizzing Whizzbee drink! Or, as I like to call it... Fizzing Whizz-beer."

You continue to stab him with eye daggers, completely unaffected by his extremely clever pun.

"So this isn't a Potions revision session, is it?"

"Is too. What potions use Billywig stings? If you can answer that, I'll let you go, on my honour."

But you are silent, and he knows he's got you.

"If it'll make you feel better," he suggests, continuing on down the steps, "I'll let you quiz me on Divination questions as we go."

It doesn't seem to assuage your doubts, but it does distract you enough that you pad after him, cautious of where you place your feet. You fire off questions Garreth only half-heartedly attempts to answer until, beyond the broken lift shaft, the rocky path tapers into a promontory over a deep cavern. The bridge here last time lies in a wrecked heap on the cavern's wet floor, far, far below.

He peers down at it, suspicious. "This a lot more... treacherous than I remember."

You squint at the other end of the splintered walkway, protruding over the gap.

"Do tell."

"Your sarcasm is noted and not appreciated."

"Do you know the spell to repair it?"

He pouts. "I'm not that incompetent." He takes out his wand. "Reparo!"

The pieces whirl back into place. Garreth feels good about the way your eyebrows dance in mock surprise. You test the build with a toe, pressing onto the wood cautiously, then stride over to the other side.

He preens as he strides after you. "See? I can do Charms."

"Not that incompetent," you say, with a tone that might be a little wry. "Your words."

"Hey, only I can parrot myself back to me. Unless I'm complimenting myself, in which case, feel free to copy."

Your lips quirk, which sends another flutter of pride through him. He likes that he can do that, make you smile, especially since you're usually so frosty. Like a great hurdle has been overcome between you. He follows you down the bridge, whistling Ernie Lark's tune – which you quickly decide is the most annoying song ever, and if he would kindly stop you would be most appreciative, which of course he doesn't – before you meet another three felled bridges, this time overlooking an abyss of damp earth, brimming with silty ditchwater.

"Why has this place been destroyed?"

"Good question. No idea."

"Don't you come down here frequently?"

"Not if I can help it. I don't need to sneak into Hogsmeade when my parents have already given me permission, remember. It's only because I'm technically under watch that I have to go this way. Last person probably wanted to use it as hex practice."

"How did you find out about it?"

"My cousins Leon and Hector. They knew every nook and cranny in this school. Could make a map if they really wanted."

He repairs the bridges one by one, and you cross each with apprehension. He should probably feel offended that you don't trust him, but, well, the wood is mossy and rotting, even after repairs – nasty – so it's no wonder you're so antsy. He's been here plenty of times though, so it doesn't concern him in the slightest.

You reach another tunnel, carved through the rock face, as he steps off the bridge behind you. Something scurries by your feet, and you shriek.

"A rat! A rat!"

Without thinking he thrusts out his wand.

"Fera Verto!"

Direct hit. The rat warps into a goblet, clattering onto the ground.

"Look at me go," he says. "A Transfiguration spell!"

You hoist a sigh, say, "W-Well done," and come to stand next to him, close enough that your peppermint scent threads through. "I'm glad you have been listening."

He puffs out his chest. "My aunt will be so pleased."

"I mean, that was a second-year spell, so..."

"Let me bask in my victory a minute, won't you?" he mutters. "Not a fan of spiders, and now not a fan of rats?"

"Who is? Wait. Don't say yourself."

"Come on, have you seen them nibbling cheese? It's adorable!"

You roll your eyes.

When the stone wall comes upon you, he sets the braziers to light, opening a crack in the door, and ushers you through. The end of the passage – a ladder leads to the surface, and the Honeydukes cellar. He climbs up and peers through the trapdoor first, into the darkness of the storeroom. "Coast is clear."

"All right." You seem to remember yourself then, and ripple with displeasure. "I can't believe I'm condoning theft."

He makes a show of taking out a Sickle and waggling it in front of you. "Not stealing if I pay for it."

He climbs into the storeroom and offers his hand to help you up, and your touch crackles through his palm again, making his stomach swoop. Strange. He enjoys the look on your face as you take in the place around him, the shelves upon shelves of sweets, jarred confections, crates that hum, bottles that pop and giggle, the sweetness and tang in the air, the pastel and neon packaging. He spots the dried Billywig stings immediately and pockets a few, making sure to place the Sickle in a visible spot. Hopefully the proprietor Patrick Redding won't be too mad about it – a Sickle for three stings is definitely overpaying, and it's not like he's flush with gold, here.

"You have your stings, then," you say. "How do you propose we leave the storeroom without being caught?"

He grins. "I do have an idea."

"... Why do I get the impression I won't like this idea?"

"It involves acting."

"Garreth," you chide, with a little fleck of fear too. "I... I can't—"

"Trust me, you won't have to say a word. He'll have no clue." He tugs you to the backdoor. "Now, I need you to ruffle yourself up a bit. Make yourself look dishevelled."

He starts doing that to himself, raking his hand through his hair, unbuttoning his shirt collar, bunching up his cloak. You copy him, unsure, and when you're done, he thumps the door. Hard.

"What? Garreth—"

He lifts his hands. "May I?"

"May you what?"

"Touch you?"

"Touch— what?"

"Better be quick, Prim. He'll be coming by now."

The handle rattles. You look panicked.

"Fine, yes—"

And he pulls you in until you're flush against him, until there's no space between you. He can feel the way your body curves against his – there's a surprising suppleness to you, to your waist beneath his fingers, to your chest, moulding with his. As your face closes on his, your breaths cloud together, only for a second, long enough for him to detect peppermint again, for his stomach to plunge into his legs. Your eyes dart between his, surprised, and your face lights up—

The door opens. Patrick Redding splutters when he sees you both, and Garreth immediately pushes you away.

"Mr Redding! So sorry, sir. We were just—"

"What in Merlin's name— Mr Weasley?" His eyes slide to you, but of course, he doesn't recognise you at all. "What do you think you're doing in here?"

"Well, sir," Garreth says, smiling bashfully, "when a pretty girl asks you to take her somewhere private..."

Mr Redding makes a disgruntled noise and ushers you forwards. "No, no, I don't want know. Out, both of you. And have some decorum, please!"

You barely get the chance to take in the sight of Honeydukes before Redding shoos you out the front door, depositing you onto the high street. Its quiet out, the sky a dark bowl above, flecked with winter stars, and the square is lit with strings of lanterns that glow golden pools on the cobblestones. A very romantic sight, and a perfect first impression.

"Huzzah!" Garreth says, quite proud of himself. He throws up his cowl in case anyone might recognise him. "Told you it would work. Hope he doesn't snitch to Auntie, mind, but I don't think he will, because then he'd have to explain that a student snuck into his stockroom to snog— Prim?"

He notices, then, how deeply your face is awash with colour. How you can't look him in the eye. His gaze travels to your hands, knitted together, restless by your waist. Your very nice waist. He immediately questions the thought, because, first of all – nice waist? Merlin. Second of all, he shouldn't be thinking such things at all. Especially not about you.

"I— you—" You cross your arms, turn away. "Why didn't you tell me that was your plan?"

"Because you'd never have agreed to it."

"Well... yes, but— but you didn't have to hold me so close."

"I think he'd be suspicious if we weren't close, Prim."

"Yes, but— think about what he must think now!"

"He doesn't even know who you are!"

"Yes, but— ugh, never mind!"

"What?" He wiggles his eyebrows. "Did you enjoy being handled in my lordly grasp?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

He laughs, and likes to believe you're lying, just a little. If you've never had friends, after all, he doubts you've ever courted. You huff and keep distance between you, and his stomach flutters as his eyes go back to your waist again.

The feel of you... it lingers.

"Nonetheless, my plan worked." Dispelling the frivolous thoughts, he grins and opens his arms. "So welcome to Hogsmeade, Prim."

Your face softens as you take in the sights. There's only two hours before Honeydukes closes for the evening, so he gives you quick version of the patented Garreth Weasley tour – less of the history, more of a rundown about the best places to hide for pranks, where the teachers frequent, and where the Dark wizards go, and ergo where you should avoid. You only contribute once or twice to conversation, but you absorb the cosy atmosphere, the crooked buildings and crazy, cranky peoples, your attention wholly taken. Annoyingly he can't read whether you're enjoying yourself. There aren't many students out, owing to how late it is and the fact that it's a weekday. As the grand finale he takes you to the Three Broomsticks, conscious of how both his and your stomachs rumble. He'll have to fork out more Galleons for food, yes, but it'll be worth it.

"Late out, Garreth?" Sirona greets him when you walk in, rising from a table she's scrubbing. "You should be going back soon, shouldn't you?"

"Was just showing my new friend Prim around."

"Ah," she says warmly, and smiles at you. "Didn't think I recognised you. Welcome to the Three Broomsticks, Prim."

"It's not Prim," you say quickly, shooting him a glare. "It's actually—"

"A round on me, Sirona," Garreth interjects, batting his eyelids at you as you fume. "My treat, because Prim's never been to Hogsmeade before."

"Never been? Well, then you have an excellent tour guide. Garreth knows all the best hotspots." Sirona heads around the counter as you both take a seat. "You can have a Butterbeer each on me today."

"Ever had Butterbeer?" he asks you, as Sirona prepares the drinks.

"No," you say, earnest and slightly fearful. "It looks very... sweet."

"It is. You'll love it."

You don't love it. In fact, you hate it, wincing so hard you choke when the first sip goes down your throat.

"That's revolting."

He shrugs and pulls your tankard over. "More for me!"

You sigh and sink down into your chair, and he sobers. A blue aura permeates you.

"Hey," he says, quieter now, "you're enjoying yourself, right?"

It takes you a moment to answer. "Yes."

"But you're worried."

"I'm worried."

"You'll be fine. Your parents aren't here. Seems kind of mean that they won't give you permission."

"It's not that simple."

"Why?"

"It's just not." You lean forwards, frustrated. "Are you going to tell me what potions use dried Billywig stings then, or not?"

You seem to do that a lot, change the subject when things get too heated. He lets it go, because you're having a nice evening and he doesn't want to spoil it, but still... what's not so simple about letting you come to Hogsmeade? As long as you know where to avoid, the place is harmless.

"Well," he says, leaning forwards as well, spinning his drink around. "Think about it. Billywig stings cause giddiness and levitation, right? So what potion do you think it would be used in?"

"A potion that would induce dizziness?"

"If you mean Dizziness Potion, then yes, but you're missing the big one."

"... Floating Potion?"

"Try again."

"I... don't know."

He plucks his eyelids. "Wide-Eye!"

"Wide-Eye? Why?"

"... Why-de?"

"Garreth."

"It wakes you up. Makes you giddy."

He orders a bowl of fried squid, some chips and, because you insist, a garden salad, and you share it over revision chatter – A. K. A., you asking him for answers he doesn't know to questions he doesn't understand. After a while, he notices you relax, less vigilant about glancing around, paying better attention to him and his wayward conversation topics.

But the night can't last, and when the clock strikes quarter-to-seven, fifteen minutes before Honeydukes closes, you clear the table.

"We should go back."

He downs the rest of the Butterbeers – he feels it sloshing in his stomach, gross – and shoves the rest of the nibbles in his mouth, then calls his thanks to Sirona as he heads outside after you, pulling up his cloak hood.

When he gets to Honeydukes however, with ten minutes to spare, he finds Mr Redding has been all too proactive in preventing another unfortunate encounter in his stockroom again, as the door is now well and truly padlocked. Garreth tugs at it when Redding is distracted by customers.

"Dragon dung," he mutters, as you keep an eye out. "It's locked tighter than Azkaban."

You frown. "Are you a wizard or what?"

"Encouraging breaking and entering, Prim? You surprise me."

"Just hurry. I really don't want to get caught."

He draws his wand. "Alohomora."

The lock doesn't budge. Ah.

"We may have a problem."

You glance over as he tries again, and panic overrides you. "It doesn't work?"

"It has an advanced Locking charm that I can't break."

Something wars on your face before, "Switch with me, quick."

He swaps places just as he catches a flash of Redding's hair from behind the candy floss machine. Coming towards them. He nocks his wand, sending a basic cast at a jar of hardboiled Noisy Treats, which sends it crashing to the floor, piercing the air with a zoo of lion growls and elephant toots. Redding doubles-back, cursing – but for how long?

"I don't know what you're going to do," Garreth mutters, "but you need to do it now."

But you're already waving your wand in a complicated, impossible-to-copy pattern. "Alohomora Perplexitas."

The lock hisses, as if resisting, but then the hook gives way. You grab his arm and yank him inside, and clamber into the secret passage before Redding spots the busted padlock. The darkness and silence is sudden, though his heart beats like a drum.

"You have been keeping secrets," he murmurs, when you light the passage. "You know advanced lock-picking spells?"

"Advanced unlocking spells," you correct. "Come on."

He easily keeps up with your marching along. "Not going to tell me how you know an advanced unlocking spell, then? Or more importantly, why?"

"No."

"I mean, I think a slight explanation is owed."

"I just know it."

"How mysterious. Are you secretly a cat burglar? Little hypocritical of you to be calling me out for stealing."

You stomp over a rock. "I've never stolen anything."

"Then why—"

"I'm not going to tell you, Garreth," you snap, "so stop asking. Please."

Oh. That stings a little. "All right then. Forget I asked."

The silence after that isn't so companionable. He mulls over it as you cross the bridges, unyielding in your fervent pace. You seem determined not to look in his direction at all, because you know as well as he does that the whole knows complicated lock-picking spells is suspicious as a Niffler in Gringotts. It's clear that, whatever the reasons for your proclivity for the prohibited, he doesn't want to end what has been a fun evening on a sour note. As you go to cross the last bridge before the lift shaft, he hurries to catch you.

"Prim—"

You stamp down. The bridge groans suddenly – then, without warning, it collapses, and you're falling. He acts on instinct, grabbing your arm, digging his foot for purchase as the rotten planks splash onto the ground far below. Wand lost, as well as the light, you hang, the darkness so thick he can only see the whites of your eyes, wide in fear.

"G-Garreth—"

"I've got you."

He hauls you up a little too hard, and you stagger into him. His hands end up on your waist again – Merlin, him and his stupid instinct – and you quickly step back.

"T-Thank you. I thought we repaired the bridge?"

"I— thought so too." It was a brief touch on a girl's waist, Weasley, get it together. "The wood here is pretty decayed, though. Guess it's not particularly stable even if we repair it."

He draws his wand to light the place, then summons yours from the depths. You repair the bridge this time, but hesitate to cross it. "I don't trust this anymore."

"Well then, time for another lesson!" He slips his hand into his bag and pulls out, to your shock, a potion bottle. "Prepare to be amazed!"

He winds his arm back and flings, and the bottle explodes all over the bridge – turning it to stone.

"All right, that should last us approximately, hmm... five seconds."

"What?"

He grabs your arm. "Go, go, go!"

Together you hurtle across the bridge, you shrilling. It holds, rock clacking beneath his boots, and by the time you're both on the other side, the stones peel back into wood, groaning from the transformation.

"What was that?" you shriek, rattled, taking your arm back. "You have potions in your bag?"

"A great potioneer never comes unprepared. That," he says, grinning, "was my version of an Edurus potion. Know what that does?"

"I have an inkling that it turns things into stone."

"It gives the drinker a stone-like skin, yes, and boosts their durability. My adaptation turns objects into stone. Granted, it doesn't last very long. Think I need more Ashwinder eggs..."

You hug your arm. "I-I'm sorry."

"Er, I know you're smart, Prim, but I don't expect you to know everything."

"No," you say, flushing again, "I mean, for... for snapping. I... didn't mean to snap. Well, I did, but..."

His eyebrows rise. Colour him surprised, you apologising for something? He thinks for a millisecond about teasing you for it, but then he registers your face again, that injured expression and downcast eyes, refusing to look his way, and the retort tumbles back down his throat.

"No harm done, Prim. I shouldn't have prodded." Instead, he smiles. "Now come on, let's get out of here."

You don't say anything, but even in the waning light of the tunnel, he catches a hint of your grateful smile.

You ascend the lift shaft without complication and hurry back up the steps. When he reaches the ladder, he taps his wand to the trap door above and mutters "Dissendium," again to move the statue before opening the door, and offering a hand to help you back out. In the natural light, you look a right state, dishevelled but for real this time, and he imagines so does he.

"Well, that was fun," he says, dusting himself off. "Looks like I was right, wasn't I?"

"About what?"

"Near-death experiences."

You scoff. "That was hardly near-death, was it?"

"Not what your face said when you dropped off that bridge."

He stares at you. You stare at him.

And to his surprise, you crack a genuine smile, and let out a single – single – chuckle.

"I suppose there is something to be said about near-death and... and being friends."

That fills him with a distinct sense of joy.

... Which gets stolen one breath later.

"Out revising, were you?"

He freezes. Spins around. By the doors, Professor Weasley waits with her arms crossed and her lips a thin line. Her gaze travels down you both, your very non-studying clothes, the dirt on his cheeks and hair, the torn knees of your trousers.

Oh Merlin, he's so dead.

"Auntie!" He pries a grin from somewhere inside. "What brings you here?"

She doesn't fall for it, not even for a second. "Honestly, Garreth, you weren't subtle, coming out of the passage."

"What passage? I don't know what passage you mean."

"Who do you think your cousins learnt it from, hmm? Because I can tell you, just because I'm a professor now doesn't mean I wasn't a student before." Her stringent gaze diverts to you. "And I admit I'm most surprised at you, Miss—"

"We were studying, Professor," you say, with all the grace of a ballet dancer. "I know it doesn't seem it..."

"It looks like you skipped dinner to take a trip to Hogsmeade. Which I remember barring you from doing, Garreth."

But you're quick. "We skipped dinner, yes, but we only went into the passage."

He glances sidelong at you, trying to hide his surprise at your total composure.

"I was having Garreth practice his Transfiguration there, since there are plenty of rats, and I thought his Fera Verto could do with some work." The lie unfurls from your tongue with such practice, he could swear you wrote it beforehand. "Garreth, on the other hand, was testing my potions knowledge."

"Yeah," he says, catching on. "Billywig stings?"

"Cause giddiness and levitation. Used in Dizziness and Wide-Eye potions."

"Edurus potion?"

"Gives the drinker a stone-like skin. Has Ashwinder eggs."

"See?"

Matilda's sternness doesn't waver. "Whose idea was this?"

Garreth laughs sheepishly. "If I said it was only my idea if you like it, would you be mad?"

She stares for one second, two.

Then softens.

"I only want to suggest a more formal approach to your tutoring sessions, please. Stick to Hogwarts grounds." She doesn't include what she really means: to stay where she can keep an eye. "I'll ask the house elves to bring you some supper to your dorm rooms. Don't let me catch you doing this again."

"Yes, Professor."

She hovers for another moment before she goes, and all the tension exhales from Garreth's chest.

"That was close." And Merlin's beard, this girl is a good liar. His gaze slides to you, stone-stiff – but it's too late, he perceives you anew again. "Can't act, hmm?"

You flush. "I can't act. I only lie when I have to—"

"They're basically the same thing!"

"— and I was telling the truth. I did recite ingredient properties, and you did practice Fera Verto." Your face deepens in colour. "I didn't want to get in trouble, all right?"

"So you know how to do a complex Unlocking charm and you can just roll out a lie when you need to? Really starting to believe this whole cat burglar persona you have."

"I'm not a cat burglar."

"Then what are you?"

"No one." He doesn't believe that, and you know he doesn't. "I've had enough excitement for one night. I'm going back to my dorm."

"Prim." You halt, and he says with sincerity, "Thank you for covering for me." He quirks his lip. "Or covering for yourself, and inadvertently covering for me, too."

Your eyes dart between his again, and he remembers that slip of a moment in Honeydukes, the both of you intertwined, your surprise just as intriguing.

"You're welcome," you say quietly. You bow your head. "And— thank you. For showing me around today. I... had fun."

"Good. We should do it again some time." He grins. "You'll be the first to taste my Fizzing Whizz-beer when it's ready."

You shake your head, turning to go again. "If it's anything like Butterbeer, I think I'll pass."

It is, quite possibly, the highest praise you'll ever give.

[PREV] [Next chapter soon <3] [Divider credit]

[fullofgutsndopamine]

What’re You After (Some Kind Of Disaster)

or: you and hasan are rivals for trivia night. Until one day, you come up with a plan.

tw/cursing, drinking

one of four miniseries

more hasan here

Thursday’s became your favorite day, easily.

cheap beer at your local pub, walking distance, and a chance to nerd out with your fellow classmates over a basket of too greasy fries.

everything would be perfect.

if it wasn’t for the other team.

the other team is everything you hate.

to begin with, when it’s a subject one of them know, they all have an elaborate hand shake they do, some kind of loud cheer and high fives passed around the table, clapping each other on the shoulders-

and they always looked over at your table, smaller, but crowded, elbow to elbow with your friends, poured over the piece of paper with the questions on them-

they were polar opposites, acted like this was some kind of event they stumbled into, by accident and oops became the top team.

they were cocky, and your team was determined to knock them down a few pegs.

You come in early to steal their table.

it’s petty, at the very least, but part of a strategy you and your best friend Sarah, spent the week planning. Anything to throw them off their game, to confuse them.

you walk in straighter than usual, shoulders squared, ready to proudly take the table in the corner, right by the trivia hosts stand-

and the son of the bitch is already there.

you can’t remember his name. you try to not remember your enemies name, but if you thought really hard about it, you could swear it was something with a ‘H’. Henry, maybe? No, that’s not right. it was a name you hadn’t heard before-

you get into the threshold of the door and his eyes meet yours with a smirk, sets his pen down and takes his glasses off, eyes narrow as he picks up his drink and takes a sip.

bastard.

you duck your head and walk to the normal table, about to text Sarah to abort the plan, when you slide into the seat, ready for it to be over-

“were you trying to take our table?”

you jump when you hear his voice, fumble with your phone, don’t want him to get the satisfaction of seeing your face red-

“Why would we want your stupid fuckin’ table?” you call back, not looking at him as you open a text to Sarah: “it’s not the table that’s making you win.”

he laughs, appears at your table, “That’s right. it’s skill.”

“skill is putting it generously. cheating, is the running theory-“

“You all think we’re smart enough to cheat? flattered, truly. This seat taken?” he asks, pulling out the wooden stool but not sitting.

“is-is this your fucked up way to try and psych the opposing team out?” a smirk falls on your lips and you hope it covers for the red on your face, “are you all threatened by us?”

you try to ignore the hurt evident on his face.

“Oh, just like trying to steal our table, yeah?” he pushes the stool in. “Good luck tonight, you all will need it.”

and he stalks back to his table.

okay, so you sort of feel like a dick, yes.

he seems the most reserved out of the table, like he accidentally stumbled into this group of people. sure, he shares the high fives and whatnot, but when they huddle together, the rare times they do, he always seems on the border, on the outside looking in.

you turn in your seat, ready to offer the seat up again but his glasses are back on the crook of his nose and he’s poured over a book-

luckily, the rest of your team meets up before the guilt can really eat at you, something for later tonight, when your seconds from sleep, to keep you up, is when you’ll remember this-

Annie slides in across from you.

“So,” she begins talking right away, picking up your glass of water and drinking immediately without asking. Annie talks a million miles an hour, loudly, and everyone else is simply along for the ride, “I did some research on pen names, but like, fuck, what an absolute rabbit hole that was. Did you order food yet?”

she continues talking, mostly about ordering food for the table, and your half listening as his table fills in behind you. (Was it an H on second thought? is it? wade?)

“those bastards are going down.” is the first thing Sarah says when she comes in, her book back is overflowing as usual, and she has three different pens and two pencils in the bin of her hair- “i brought my lucky charm.”

Annie groans comically, “Sarah, they already don’t take us seriously. they’re going to take us less seriously if you take your stupid fucking glass elephant out-“

“hey!” Sarah narrows her eyes, “we don’t talk bad about him. no disrespect. Here, now he’s pointing at you. Look of shame. take that in, babe.” as she turns it towards her.

“this is why they don’t take us seriously,” you groan, rubbing your forehead, “Henry or wade or whatever the fuck- saw me try and steal their table.”

“Henry?” Sarah says at the exact time as Annie says: “William?” with disgust.

their heads whip around to the other table, catch him looking at you and they duck further in their seats before turning to you: “His name is Hasan-“

“are you fraternizing with the enemy, you son of a bitch?” Annie says immediately, and her voice is loud enough you throw a used napkin at her in hopes it doesn’t draw more attention to her.

“i’m not fraternizing with anyone. keep your voice down, jesus christ.” you groan, “he just saw i tried to take the table and talked to me, briefly.”

“Spill.” Sarah says immediately, “Did he say anything that we could use against him? Did he admit to cheating?”

“The complete opposite,” you sigh, tearing at your napkin, feeling like a dick again. “He asked to sit down and i all but shooed him away. He looked like a beaten dog.”

Annie and Sarah look at each other from the corner of their eyes, a shared look with a smirk.

“what?” you groan, “i hate that look. what?”

annie and sarah both lean in at the same time, almost hitting heads with you, “listen. we have an idea, okay-“

Sarah interrupts, “and listen to the whole thing before you shoot it down.”

“Ask him out.”

You snort. it’s loud, and ugly, and if your mother was here, she’d grip her necklace and glare at you about how ladies act in public-

“Yeah!” Annie says, “Listen. Okay. you ask him out. distract the other team so he’s so lovesick or busy or whatever that he misses or the team falls apart.”

you shake your head, “y’all are out of your god damn minds-“

“Hasan!” Annie breaks from the huddle, waves him over, “cmere.”

“Annie, no. you son of a bitch-“

Hasan was drawing in his notebook, wasn’t paying much attention to his small group, narrows his eyes, but obeys, stalks over.

“If you all want a truce, i already tried to make one with this one here earlier,” he teases, jams his thumb at you. “and the answer was a loud no.”

“That’s only cause they wanted to ask you out for a drink after,” annie takes the lead, “to celebrate”

“celebrate?” Hasan smirks.

“either way it goes, a drink on us.” Annie insists.

his eyes narrow, not sold yet.

“How about this, if you win, you two get a drink together. our treat. if we win, we’ll leave you and your team alone.”

he snorts, “didn’t you win a certificate last week for longest running streak of not winning?”

“dick.” you say gently under your breath, but he doesn’t hear it.

he shakes his head, “yknow what? deal. I could always use a drink.”

and he sticks his hand in the middle of the table, annie going for the shake but he ignores it, shakes it off, ducks his head so he’s looking at you: “it’s a deal, yeah? c’mon.”

you hesitate long enough for annie and sarah to both kick your shins under the table and you sit up a little straighter, swallow all the pride you have: “it’s a deal.” as you tighten your hand around his.

he doesn’t see the smirks and shared glances the three of you share.

[regulusrules]

New to your blog, I was wondering if you have a Merlin fic rec list that's just your favorites. I unfortunately missed the Merlin fandom back when the show was airing so I always feel like I'm just missing the greatest stuff from other people

Hello friend! Welcome to my humble abode of a blog (which resembles more of a Merlin waste disposal). Like you, I missed the show when it was airing, but honestly when you stay as long in this fandom as I have, you will constantly be exposed to wonderful creative energies that give their all. It's a timeless fandom, one of the very few, and no matter when you enter it you will always feel fulfilled. :)

So, favourite fics! Gosh, how can I fit 2K+ bookmarks in one ask. When it comes to this fandom, I admit: I have no life. I've read a real huge number of fics throughout the years, but sometimes it's inevitable for fics to get lost in a sea of bookmarks. So to make things easier, I'll write you some canon fics that immediately come to my mind for how unforgettable they were.

No order; each one has its own chamber in my heart.

Short fic recs (1K-50K)

1. Our broken pieces by @aramblingjay. 10K, T, Canon Era, Hurt/Comfort.

Am I purposefully putting this one on top this time so that everyone who stumbles across this ask could check it out? Yes. Yes I am. Is it my personal mission for the fandom to give this fic the love and kudos it deserves? You bet it's a big overbearing yes. And yes I want you to cry and feel your heart twist with agony because of how beautiful it is. My eyes never shed tears for a fic before this one, and never will after it. There is something in the way the author broke Arthur that just resonated in my innards. And the way Merlin was there for him, not a placebo "I'm here" but there, in all actuality, doing so with every fiber of his love, made it something else. I like to believe that this fic was crafted so perfectly in a parallel universe, and sent to us as a blessing we never knew we needed.

2. Beauty in the Ashes of Our Lives by Fulgance. 21K, T, Canon AU, Magic Reveal.

This is probably the umpteenth time for me to recommend this fic, but I won't stop. I can't stop. This fic ruined me so slowly, and healed me even slower. All my Merlin friends do not believe why this would be one of my favourite fics of all time with what Arthur did, but honestly, it's the fact that the writer wrote it so convincingly that makes me crumble internally. It isn't easy to write angry Arthur, and it's even harder to write him grief-stricken, but here, the author blended both elements so perfectly. It's impossible to forget this fic. It's worth your every second.

3. Linger On Your Pale Blue Eyes by supercalvin. 18K, T, Canon Era, Touch-Starved.

Will this fic linger in your heart? It sure as hell never leaves mine. Every once in a while, I have to go back to this fic and read it like a morning paper. Some fics sustain you.. this is definitely one of them. Most of @supercalvin's fics are of sustaining material. They are made with such depth and broad understanding to the characters that you should take notes. There's this one line that everytime I cross this fic I instantly remember and I go to the nearest pillow to just AAA a little bit. When you reach it, I'm sure you'll recognise it, and I'll be waiting for you to come AAA with me.

4. Dower the Stars by RurouniHime. 40K, E, Golden Age, Pining Arthur, BAMF Merlin.

I don't think anything levels the levels of intimacy in this fic. It is one of the best Arthur characterizations I've ever read. His boundless love and pining for Merlin— oh my heart. Also, the world building and amount of research that must have been done for this fic is astounding. I was this close from following the author's footsteps and, idk, writing an entire research paper about Arthurian lore or something. The moment I read it I immediately wanted to contact the author and just tell them WHY ARE YOU BLESSING US WITH ALL THIS INSTEAD OF PUBLISHING IT?? It was amazing. I reread it a month ago for the third (fourth?) time and found myself gasping and aweing as if I never read it before. It keeps being an experience every time, one so worthwhile.

5. from hearth and ashes, we’re reborn by @remuscariad. 5K, G, Canon AU, Magic Reveal, Hurt/Comfort.

Earthshatteringly-poetic isn't a made-up word powerful enough to describe the beauty of prose here. There are fics that you open and immediately know that you're sold: this was one of them. Its summary alone dropped my jaw down to my neighbour's floor. The dialogue is so meticulously crafted it feels like reading a piece from a past era. Genuinely beautiful.

6. Half of my soul by marvelxpendragon. 2K, G, Post-Canon AU, King Arthur/Court Sorcerer Merlin.

This fic is half of my soul, as the poets say. So what if I reject the canonic ending and resort to pain myself with fics like this instead? I sometimes feel we, as a fandom, try to up the angst of the finale so that we forget how painful it was by bringing even MORE pain. But it's pain that I delight in, because it's pain that MAKES SENSE. Yes give me MCD but with a freaking beautiful life like the one this author gave us. Make me believe it was all worth something. Make me believe they lived.

7. whisper to the flame by @missfaber. 16K, E, Canon AU, Wounded Arthur, Hurt/Comfort.

*clears throat* *prepares for a mental scream*TELL ME HOW YOU LIGHT YOUR FIRESSSSS *clears throat once more and pretends I'm okay*

So, as the author wrote, this is indeed a love letter to the two characters we love more than anything. More than anything, I loved the fact that the author gave Arthur agency to think and act and be a king, even when he was still a prince. Even in most fics where Arthur already knows, this isn't common. So whenever I find a fic that has Smart!Arthur and a lovesick one at that, I would vouch my life and soul for it. Also Protective!Knights is the best thing in the world, ok? I would die for this discourse for real.

8. As a Sea Shell by bathilda bagshot (wellthengameover). 12K, T, Canon AU, Slow Burn.

Okay, so this fic is only bookmarked "Agony until 7 AM", and with that, a rush of drowning memories always come crushing my soul. I lost sleep and SANITY over this fic. I was thrown from a cliff and kept hanging in the air without a respite until the very END. I read it a couple weeks after the finale and it broke me even FURTHER. I was promised growing old together, and it was a big LIE. And yet I love it so, so dearly.

Honourary biased mention:

9. My heart is readily yours by yours truly. 11K, T, Canon AU, Protective Arthur, Hurt/Comfort.

Sometimes I don't believe I had it in me to write this. Like.. what, dearest self, the hell were you thinking. With tyismso, I somehow balanced fluff and angst— a solid magic reveal fic. But this one? I only knew ✨pain✨

.. and I don't regret a thing.

[Long fic recs]

[aroacewxs]

Idk if this has been asked before but Im curious to know how you think wxs all found out about their aroace identities? Personally I think Nene was the one to introduce the label to everyone else during like a group discussion where everyone is like 'yeah I just don't get the hype around romance' and nenes just like 'um. Guys are you all aromantic too?' followed by confused looks from everyone else, cueing Nene to explain it

cue me dancing around: I LOVE THIS QUESTION. this is a sign for anybody else to ask me about aroace wxs hehehe they make me happy. and i will answer in depth

starting off with tsukasa: i mentioned this here before but tsukasa to me is so oblivious aroace with sex repulsion. he doesn't particularly understand the sentiment attached to sex or romantic dates and is even more confused about the norms surrounding these things

i also don't think tsukasa will actually take the time to research what he's feeling. too much theatre in that brain. he wouldn't even consider that this feeling, feeling detached from romantic and sexual attraction, was not something everybody else experienced. he just assumes that this is how everybody lives, there's no way people actually go on dates, smash lips and all that. that only happens in plays and movies!!!!!! and then his world slightly falls apart/lh when he finds out all this is real

emu would just be like "okay!!!!!!!" and move on with her day i think. i like your thought about how nene would introduce the term to them first and everyone would be like "oh. OH" LMAO i think emu would accept it the quickest. look into it a bit maybe, consider a few of the experiences she's had regarding her lack of romantic and sexual attraction and go "ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" as a lightbulb flickers above her. and then she kisses her friends because she likes to do that

nene and rui would think about it the most. before knowing what the term aroace meant, they definitely thought they were broken, that they were falling behind. for rui, it went hand in hand with the alienation he experienced from his peers, and for nene, she believed that she just didn't have these feelings because she was embarrassed to make friends in the first place. forget romantic lovers. but it would catch up to her as she enters high school because she believed that by now, she should have some sort of desire to pursue a romantic relationship like how everyone else around her did.

they would both go on thorough internet deep dives, watching different videos about attraction, browsing the aroace subreddit, etc. this is a little silly but i think nene stumbled across jaiden animations' aroace video and had her life permanently changed by it (me). i like to imagine nene and rui walking home together one day and then nene suddenly saying "i think i'm aroace," to which a wide-eyed rui replies with "same. what the freak" and they'd quietly share their findings as the sun sets behind them.

tldr: nene and rui think about it the most -> emu and tsukasa remain oblivious -> nene and rui come out to each other -> they bond over their shared experiences -> nene comes out to wxs first -> introduces the term -> tsukasa and emu's lives are changed -> they move on. show must go on

thanks for the ask :D

[sanjisluvbot]

ISEKAI BNHA X BLACK FEM READER

Masterlist

Imagine really living in a world with super powers? Going to school to learn all you can about using your quirk to help people. Fighting villains who threaten the peace and false sanctuary of the world.

You spent hours day dreaming about it and reading comic books. That’s how it should stay, imagine living in THIS universe and people had super powers… funny but not funny haha funny absolutely terrifying.

“ You know what I like this Y/N, I feel like you’re really going to make this into something wonderful for the spring news paper ”

“ Thank you Mrs. Montgomery, I think the student body will enjoy a fun story about becoming a super hero or vigilante considering all the new books and movies coming out when this is published.”

She smiled at you and sent you off your way, the school was now partially empty and the creative writing club was spending time after school to put together the first edition of the newspaper.

You had an entire week of Christmas break to write and let your creativity flow free. The snow fell as you made your way home and it gave you a child like joy, so you made a wish.

If there is a high power somewhere in the universe, I want my story to come alive this Christmas so I have something wonderful to publish on the newspaper.

After arriving home and eating dinner you decided to develop your characters. Research was important for making well written characters so you spent the next few hours writing and reading about different powers and superhero’s across the multi verse. You stumbled upon a series that sparked your inspiration like no other.

My Hero Academia

In this series 80% of the world is born with super powers that they call quirks, and they have high schools specifically meant to create future hero’s. The main character reminded you of yourself, born without powers but way more ambitious than anyone else.

Y/N are you coming?

Huh where?

Your eyes opened, when did you fall asleep? I was just watching the newest episode of My Hero and-

“ Y/N are you dressed we’re going to training soon!”

“ Yeah be right there”

Mother sounds weird, and what training is she talking about?

Taking a look around this wasn’t your room at all, it was like you were in a customized hotel suite with everything personalized to your liking. Looking at your clothes you were in some kind of costume as well. You weren’t home and nothing was making sense, was that even your mother calling you just now? You grabbed your phone and headed to the door clasping onto the knob without opening. Voices could be heard outside it sounded like there was a bunch of people in front of your door.

You opened it and were met face to face with the meanest mug. “ Bakugo?”

“ Let’s go you’ve been locked away since last night I was gonna barge in and drag you out myself ”

“ What? ”

“ Are you thick let’s go ” he angrily grabbed your hand and all but dragged you down the hall as the others followed. Everything looked exactly how it did in the show, you were amazed was this some type of Lucid dream?

“ Why do you look like that?”

“ Huh? I look like what”

“ Like you’ve never been here should I get you medicine or something ” Bakugo’s kindness surprised you a great deal be was standoffish even with his friends for the most part.

“ Bakugo why-”

“ Again with Bakugo? What happened to Tsuki?” He whispered turning away from you with a reddened ears.

Oh?

“ Yeah my fault… Tsuki”

When you were all at the training arena it was as if using a quirk was second nature to you. You felt like you were truly super human, like you were finally alive. The second part of training you were paired off into teams, you were paired with Bakugo which gives you the chance to figure out the extent of your relationship.

Walking down the hall together yiu we’re thinking of a way to bring anything up without giving away the fact that you really have no clue what is going on when you noticed him looking over his shoulder every few second.

“ What are you looking at?”

You looked over your shoulder to find no one just the regular UA halls. Turning to him he was starring at you intensely, was he angry? He licked his lips and placed his hands on your hips pulling you close.

Okay now I get it.

“ You looked great earlier, I told you training with me would help. Can I get my promised reward?”

“ Reward?” Your hands felt clammy and your cheeks were hot. What did he want as a reward..

“ yes, a kiss? I missed you yesterday you started acting strange when everyone was watching a movie.”

“ O-oh yeah no don’t worry I’m fine must’ve been a headache Yanno?” He smiled softly and his hands wondered further making you Yelp.

You were now inches apart and your hands glided to his face. You’ve kissed people before but something about these red eyes made you so nervous. You closed your eyes and connected, his lips were so soft why did everything just feel right here.

“ Sorry to interrupt you two but the arena is waiting”

To be continued possibly

-

I was inspired by another story I’m working on and I think a regular Isekai to step away from the Yandere for a bit !

[eskawrites]

i’ve been enabled here ya go

tagging @el-fandom-birb and @hellsfireclub bc you’re both very sweet and i’m sorry the erathia movies aren’t real but here’s the closest thing we can get

outline of tales of erathia, a fake 80s fantasy trilogy from a fake story about robin and nancy from stranger things oh god what is my life

(Robin – Lark. Feral child turned Robin Hood-esque rogue. Proficiency with a bow.

Nancy – Tenar. Princess with a mind of her own. Becomes queen over the course of the movies

Steve – Arren. Your typical dashing fantasy rogue. Head of his and Robin’s band of misfits

Max – Moss. A fast and sneaky street kid who gets in over her head and ends up falling into Steve and Robin’s gang

Dustin – Ged. a young sorcerer with a skill he has yet to fully comprehend)

-

First movie:

Arren, Lark, and Ged have been surviving on their own for as long as any of them can remember. They rely on each other and don’t need anyone else. Arren’s strength and charm, Lark’s quick wit and ability to improvise, and Ged’s unmastered yet awe-inspiring power are all they need to get out of any scrap. And they’ve been in plenty of scraps, but none so intense as the one they’ve stumbled across this time: a secret plot to kidnap the princess and use the kingdom’s distraction to take the throne.

But there’s a twist: the princess knows about this plot, too. Young Tenar is beloved by her people for being a perfectly behaved pretty face, but when she suspects part of her father’s personal guard is hiding something, no one gives her the time of day. She has to take matters into her own hands.

It puts her into the path of Arren, who just so happens to know exactly who she is and why she’s on the run. Cue Arren being overeager to save the princess, Tenar being impatient and determined to put things right, and Lark being exasperated with both of them.

This one’s actually a pretty typical fantasy plot. The beautiful princess teams up with the dashing rogue and his ragtag friends to save the day. Along the way Arren, Lark, and Ged run into Moss, a snarky young girl who tries to pickpocket one of the villains and ends up in way over her head. Ged also continues to learn more about what his powers mean—with the help of Tenar and the royal library, of course. And there’s some flirting between Arren and Tenar, along with some jealousy on Lark’s part. But at the end of the day, the gang stops the villain and saves the kingdom. Hooray!

Second movie:

It’s been a year since they saved the kingdom, and life has changed a lot for our heroes. Tenar, now taken a bit more seriously among her people, sometimes, is starting to take on more courtly duties. She finds herself challenging older advisors on her parents’ council and starts wondering what it would be like to just be able to do things her way for once, without anyone doubting her.

Meanwhile, our ragtag group of rogues has entered proper society. Arren was knighted at the end of the first film, and he spends most of his time on duty in the castle. Ged, too, is thriving with the change of scenery. With proper tutors and near-endless knowledge and resources at his disposal, he’s quickly becoming a master of his magic. But Lark and Moss are struggling. Moss gets away with being snarky and antisocial—after all, she’s still just a kid. But Lark finds herself stuck somewhere in the middle. She isn’t allowed to become a knight along with Arren. She isn’t allowed to do whatever she wants alongside Moss. With Arren so busy, she ends up taking care of Moss and Ged whenever something comes up, which means she spends long days keeping Moss out of trouble on the streets or trying not to fall asleep in the library while Ged explains his research. Meanwhile, the people—from common folk out on the streets to the castle guards who owe her everything—look at her with distrust, knowing her background. And with Arren spending most of his days with fellow soldiers or with Tenar herself, she’s lonelier than ever.

But trouble arises in the kingdom once more. Tenar decides to personally investigate something in a nearby village, and she takes Arren with her. (as a note, this is where the slap scene happens: the original script was a scene about Lark being jealous that Arren was spending all his time with Tenar. There’s also tension stemming from the fact that both girls feel useless in their current position and think if they just had what the other had—if Tenar had Lark’s freedom and if Lark had Tenar’s position of power—they’d have no problem at all. So as Tenar is preparing to leave with Arren, she and Lark find themselves in a room alone. This…doesn’t happen very often. They’re extremely different people with extremely different responsibilities and despite saving the world together, they don’t know each other that well. What starts as overly polite conversation devolves into an argument, with both girls throwing unfair judgment at each other. Lark says something awful to her, something along the lines of calling her the spoiled, naïve princess everyone believes her to be, and Tenar hits her. they both leave the scene feeling hurt and guilty, and Tenar leaves on her mission with Arren before they see each other again)

Almost immediately after Arren and Tenar leave, Ged senses something is wrong. He doesn’t know what it is exactly, but he fears the villains they defeated in the first film aren’t entirely gone. Normally he would go to Arren, but with him gone, he turns to Lark instead. Things only get worse from there, and suddenly Lark, Ged, and Moss have to save the kingdom again—only this time, Arren isn’t with them. In fact, Arren should’ve been back by now.

So, afraid, out of her depth, and jaded about the world she finds herself in, Lark has to take up the mantle of leader. She finds not only Ged and Moss looking to her, but the castle guard as well. Suddenly all those people who looked down on her are relying on her to defeat the evil that threatens their kingdom again. Lark finds herself coordinating with the king’s council, organizing the guard, carrying all the power she envied in Tenar—and all the terrible responsibility that comes with it.

Meanwhile, out of town, Tenar and Arren run into their own issues. Their investigation leads to an ambush, and with no backup and no way of contacting anyone for help, they have to think on their feet and rely on only each other to survive. There are no rules out here, no council to convince, no guards to organize. And at the same time, there’s no one else they can rely on. In fact, most people they meet turn them away or are actively working against them. They are well and truly alone. Tenar finds herself surrounded by the freedom she’s always wanted, and faces the danger and unpredictability she never could have imagined alongside it.

The two groups reunite before the final battle in a very Stranger Things-esque way, and after they save the day again, Tenar and Lark find they have newfound understanding and respect for each other.

Third movie:

Our beloved heroes have grown into themselves wonderfully. Lark was offered knighthood and turned it down, preferring her own agency and control instead. But she still serves as a protector and advisor for the kingdom. Arren is Tenar’s chosen knight, but he balances his time a bit better between his duties to the kingdom and his time with his chosen family. Moss is still a handful, but she serves as Lark’s right hand and always has her back (there’s definitely a scene somewhere toward the end where Moss saves Lark’s life—it probably parallels a scene in the first film where Lark saves Moss. Max and Robin got very into filming it and were both exhausted in the best way possible by the end of the day). Meanwhile, Ged is the kingdom’s most well-respected sorcerer, equal parts powerful and kindhearted. Lark jokes that she doesn’t know where he gets it from.

Tenar and Lark are still a little formal with each other, still living in very different worlds. But they get along well enough, especially when they’re with the rest of the group.

But trouble arrives one day when Lark, Arren, Moss, and Ged are hanging out, having left the capital city to camp beneath the stars for a day or two, just like old times. Arren asks Lark, late at night after the others fall asleep, if she ever thinks about leaving. If she ever wants to disappear from the castle, from this life of rules and formalities, and go back to the way things were. She does, sometimes.

They’re attacked the next day on their way back to the castle, a coordinated ambush that ends with Arren gravely injured and all of them having to run. They manage to get out of there, and that leads to the night shoot scene where Lark is scouting the area and comes across a fleeing Tenar.

Until that moment, Lark doesn’t know what to think about what happened. The attack was too well coordinated, too perfectly planned, to be a coincidence. And the only people who knew where their group was going was, well, the king’s court. She doesn’t know why they would betray their group, but there’s no other explanation. She brings this up to Moss and Ged. Ged outright denies it. Moss also clearly doesn’t want to believe her, but she agrees it makes sense. But there’s nothing they can do right now except survive, so they make camp, patch Arren up to the best of their abilities, and Lark patrols the area to make sure they’re actually safe for now.

She runs into Tenar—dress torn, dirt smudged on her cheeks, seemingly running for her life—and she immediately falls back into that defensive exterior she’s built up all her life. She aims her bow at Tenar and demands to know what she’s doing out here, afraid that Tenar is part of the plot, or is a distraction, or—

But Tenar breaks down. “They killed them all,” she says, and then she just falls apart in Lark’s arms. Lark doesn’t let her guard down for pretty much the rest of the movie, but in that moment, her prickly, angry, painfully cautious defenses expand to include Tenar.

She takes Tenar back to their camp, helps patch her up, assures her that Arren will be fine, if a bit slow on his feet for a while, and slowly, gently, gets Tenar’s story out of her.

The attack was more coordinated than Lark thought. At the same time that a group was ambushing Lark and her friends on the road, an entire army was laying siege to the castle. They had inside help—someone on the king’s court, which proves Lark’s suspicions correct, in a way. Another advisor, someone who had always been on Tenar’s side, hid her just in time. Tenar managed to stay out of danger, for a little while, but she witnessed almost everyone she cares for being killed in front of her—including both of her parents. Knowing she couldn’t hide forever, Tenar grabbed her father’s sword and made a run for it. She had to fight a little bit on the way out, but she escaped the castle and ran for the woods. By sheer luck, she ran straight into Lark.

They have to figure out how to regroup from there. With Arren so badly injured, Tenar and Lark find themselves working directly together for the first time. And it turns out, they do so perfectly. They build off each other, back each other up. They come up with a plan to return to the capital and meet up with whatever survivors there are.

Before they do, Arren asks Lark, late at night again, if they shouldn’t just leave. Flee the kingdom, Tenar can come with them even, but they don’t have to risk everything again. This place was never even their home in the first place. But Lark looks at Tenar—sitting with Ged and Moss—and she shakes her head. “It is now,” she says. “We can’t turn our backs on it.”

So they go. They make their way back to the capital city and manage to find where the few knights and advisors who survived the attack on the castle are hiding. They win small victories, and people start to whisper that their princess—their soon-to-be queen—has returned to save them.

Somewhere in all of this, Tenar hatches a plan to take down the villain for good, but it’s dangerous. It puts herself at risk. For the first time since they started to work together, Lark tries to stop her.

(this is the scene that Robin struggles to film—the one that she says could stay in or could end up cut, and the one that leads to her and Nancy’s argument on set.)

It’s not a big scene. In the script, it’s kind of like a dark before the dawn sort of thing. One bad moment of tension before the battle that leads to victory. Maybe a little bit of a revival of their old rivalry. Lark tries to stop Tenar, Tenar thinks it’s because Lark doesn’t believe in her. Really, it’s because Lark doesn’t want to see anyone else she cares about get hurt. It ends tense and uncertain and they both carry that frustration with them into their respective roles of the final battle.

While filming, Robin is so riddled with anxiety about where she and Nancy stand that she just can’t get it right. She starts by fumbling her lines, messing up her cues, moving out of place, etc. It’s messy. Even after she gets those fundamentals down, she can’t quite hit the emotion of the scene. She can’t snap at Nancy in the sharp way Lark is supposed to be speaking to Tenar. It’s not a long scene, but finding the balance between tension and frustration and urgency and fear and care is difficult, especially when she’s already off-kilter from the events leading up to this point.

They call a break, Nancy and Robin have their argument during lunch, and when they return to set, Robin…isn’t better, really, but her mood has dipped. She’s settled into something sad and hopeless, and maybe a touch desperate. It’s not snark. It’s not thrilling tension that helps build the stakes for the final battle, but Scott decides that’s just not going to happen, so he finishes the scene and lets them both go.

(it’s actually not a terrible scene once they go back and review it, but it isn’t what they wanted tonally and it doesn’t quite fit the way it was supposed to, so it does end up getting cut. But, in a director’s release somewhere down the line—after Robin and Nancy go public with their relationship—the scene gets added back in. with some hindsight, and the increasingly popular idea that there’s something more to Tenar and Lark’s relationship than friendship, the scene reads as Lark desperate for Tenar not to put herself in danger. The sharp words and cutting wit might not be there, but how deeply she cares for Tenar is abundantly clear. And there’s a glance, so brief, of Tenar looking at Lark while Lark is turned away, and she looks frustrated and helpless, like there are a hundred things she just can’t say.)

Anyway, cue the final battle. Some losses, some fearful moments, a shit ton of cool fight choreography and epic music, you get the idea. Tenar is a formidable warrior, Arren, Lark, Moss, and Ged work as a cohesive unit, just as they always have. And at the end of the day, they win. They finally win.

It’s a Lord of the Rings-style epilogue, too. A gorgeous coronation scene for Tenar as she’s crowned queen. Moss and Ged both heading rebuilding efforts in the capital city, and a quiet moment of Arren and Lark looking around at how far they’ve come. they all live happily ever after while their actors go on to lead pretty fucked up lives for the next ten years

A few notes:

The ideas for these films are a weird mishmash of star wars, lotr, and cheesy 80s fantasy stuff (willow, legend, princess bride, etc) with influences from stranger things, the plot of the cfdau itself, and maybe a little bit of legend of zelda and wicked and other personal obsessions thrown in later on

There are obviously romance scenes between Arren and Tenar and Arren and Lark. Arren and Lark are by far the more popular ship, especially after everyone starts suspecting Robin and Steve are together.

Max gets typecast as a kid sister character for a long time, which is why she mostly sticks to theater. She has nothing against the role, it’s just not as fun when she’s not Robin’s kid sister

Nancy gets typecast as a love interest/damsel in distress, which infuriates her because Tenar’s character revolves around breaking free of that archetype. She doesn’t turn down roles, though, so she just gets stuck with parts she’s not that invested in

I always wanted the movie trilogy for this fic to be revolutionary for its time—it would kind of have to be to have 3/5 of the main cast be women and the main love triangle be a guy choosing between two girls rather than a girl choosing between two guys. Nancy and Robin wanting to put more depth into their characters’ relationships—and Scott letting them—added to that idea. I also think Lark getting the chance to become a leader—to go from Arren’s sidekick who doesn’t really want to help the kingdom to being the one calling the shots in the second and third films—is pretty big. That was a later idea, though—one that came after I wrote Doris’s character and had Robin think more about the positive impact she’s been able to have.

I’ve said it before but yes there is a tenlark fandom and yes it grows after Robin comes out and yes it grows even more after Nancy and Robin go public. There’s still backlash, of course, but between Robin and Nancy becoming such big role models in the media and the support of everyone else who was involved in the Erathia films, the ship becomes something of a cultural phenomenon.

[bug-oc]

Bug Fables OC Tournament Round 4

Marigold (she/her) from @mantisgodsdomain

Marigold is a hawk moth and a witch, initially made for a short fic in which Mothiva has an extremely bad day involving a certain amount of Leif's Request Spoilers, loss of limb, and loss of almost all processes generally associated with being alive (she's fine, it's just a minor setback). Located in the Ant Kingdom's Outskirts, she is a curious, cheerful, and scientific bug, experimenting to the utmost of her field - magic involving transmutation of the flesh.

The field she lacks in, of course, is morals.

Transmuting a bug properly needs test subjects - bugs to run through new formulas, test variations, see what happens with a new form of triggering a transformation into something else. What more convenient place to get those than by cornering a random bystander and seeing what happens once they've taken it for you?

Many bugs, of course, are not particularly happy about suddenly being transformed into, say, a shambling mass of flesh. Marigold isn't the most gifted, as far as self-defence goes, and combat brews are a bit of a waste of time - why fight your wayward experiments when you can get someone else to do it for you? Looking soft and innocent means that a potential bystander will be far more likely to believe her when she says that a beast attacked her, and depending on the form, any victim may simply lack the means to protest.

Up against one tiny, unarmed moth, it's clear who the aggressor must have been - and if you build a good enough reputation with the neighbors, even bugs who can still talk will find former friends and family siding against them. After a certain point, it's obvious they're not who they claim to be - it's all social engineering, anyways.

Of course, any research needs funding - the criminal elements of Bugaria especially have plenty of use for making a bug vanish without generating a body, and Marigold's brews are permanent, if the client doesn't specify otherwise. For a bit of pay, you can vanish nearly anyone you want - without that pesky guilt that comes from actually killing them! All at the small, small cost of funding a local business.

Marigold herself would not personally consider any of her actions to be immoral in any way, which is how you know she's a good candidate in any public-opinion-based polls. She is exactly the bug you want in order to eliminate any pesky competitors - and, of course, exactly the sort of trustworthy and morally upright bug that any community needs.

Corduroy (they/vi) and Xipy (they/it) from @wabbitears

I actually got a two in one deal right here. Corduroy is a orchard mason bee from out yonder that stumbled into snakemouth den, caught some spores, and yeah poor guy got cordyceps bad. Now they are reduced to a rabid feral mess of fungus. But they got a friend!

Xipy is just some wild centipede (based on Scolopendra viridis) Its not even awakened or anything they just vibin. But it just so happens to stumble across this weird bee wandering around. Instead of eating vir or something. Xipy basically decided ‘im hanging out with you now’ and Corduroy is just !!!!!!!! So they got a centipede friend now, yippee!!!!! They even ride it often! So if you see a big fucking florida blue centipede with a raving mad blue bee on the back thats just them being silly.

Oh and Corduroy also has a pet rubber ducky isopod. I lied. Theres three of them.

[suspiciousasphalt]

first post here 🤪

jongerry wip

i’ll probably post on ao3 once i’ve got more written.

There’s something wrong.

They can tell as soon as they wake up.

The blanket over them is too thick, thicker than any that they own and musty with disuse. They open their eyes slowly, taking stock of their surroundings. There is a coffee table in front of them. (Are they on a couch?) The table is clean, except for several stains, tea maybe? Or coffee? Their eyes flick up and they jump back, shoving into the back of the couch.

“AHhhh” Whoever is in front of them also jumps back a bit, tripping on the coffee table, and stumbling to catch his balance. “Ah, um, sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I-I’m Jon.”

“Right, and where am I?”

“Uh, the breakroom? The Archives breakroom? In the Magnus Institute, that is. I, uh, I was leaving for the day, and I saw you in here?” Right- Gerry remembers, now. Gertrude had them hunting down a Leitner. Except it hadn’t just been a Leitner, whoever came across it had it for too long, and had fully Become by then. It was so far gone that it’d begun growing patchy fur, and its ears were sharp. Gerry’d spent hours running through London, weaving through alleyways until they'd finally gotten a jump on it. Gertrude demanded an update, and as soon as they finished, they crashed on the break room couch.

“And who are you?”

“Right, Gerard, they/them for now. I… freelance, for Gertrude.” Gerry popped their neck, and watched Jon. Instead of the usual confusion that they’d come to expect from the stuffy academic types that seemed drawn to the Magnus Institute, Jon just nodded and stuck out his hand.

“Jonathan Sims, he/they. Just call me Jon, though.” Gerry smirked in amusement.

“Well Jon, nice to meet you, but I doubt I’ll be seeing you with enough frequency to call you anything.” Jon sputters a bit, and grows red in the face (In a way that is totally not cute, shut up brain) and occurs to Gerry that maybe that was a bit rude. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by that. I just don't tend to stick around the Institute longer than I have to.”

Jon just raises an eyebrow and looks at Gerry's current tangled-in-a-blanket state. Now it’s Gerry’s turn to blush.

“Well, usually. In my defense, it’s been a long bloody day, and I needed to crash.” Jon looks curious at that, but decides not to ask. A wise decision- Jon would get no answers from them. “Anyway, I better be off.”

Gerry gets up and pulls on their jacket, but pauses when they see the clock.

“Wait, why are you just leaving? It’s like 7:00? And what are you doing in the archives? Nobody ever really comes down here.”

“You’re down here.” Ah so Jon’s a prickly one. Gerry just gives him a Look, and Jon blushes again.

“Mr. Bouchard told me that I’m transferring to the Archives tomorrow, as an assistant. And that was at 5:00, and then I tried to finish up my work so no one in research would be stuck with what I didn’t get done. Then I was about to leave and realized I should probably go meet my new boss… So then I came down here and Gertrude just glared at me a bit before stomping off upstairs. I waited around for a bit, because I thought it might be rude if she came back down like only a few minutes later and I was already gone? But it doesn’t seem like she’s coming back anytime soon. And then I, ah saw you in here? And I didn’t think anybody else was down here, um, ever? So I just came in to look, and now we’re… here?”

Okay, so the rambling is a bit cute, and Gerry has half a mind to be amused, but there are more pressing concerns.

“Sorry, did you just say you’re going to be an archival assistant?”

“Um, yes?”

“Have you signed any papers yet?” Gerry’s properly concerned now, and Jon seems to be getting agitated.

“Yes? I signed the transfer papers?”

“Damn, Gertrude’s not going to be happy with that.”

“Excuse you, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh Gertrude has been absolutely refusing to get new assistants for years. I would have thought Elias would have wanted to avoid pissing her off. No wonder she hasn’t been back yet. She’s probably ripping him a new one” Jon visibly bristles.

“Well excuse me, but I hardly see how having an assistant would be a bad thing. I mean, if the state of this place is anything to go by, then she certainly needs one.”

“Oh try telling her that. Or don’t,” Gerry gives a cynical snort, “she’s going to be right pissed no matter what anyone says.”

“Whatever,” Jon scoffs, “Too late now. She’ll either have to deal with me or take it up with Mr. Bouchard.”

“Oh I imagine she is.”

It isn’t until Jon is storming away, and stomping up the stairs that Gerry realizes that they were probably being rude.

“Well Shit”

[wishful-seeker]

I have finished my ACNH island after 2 years! It took that long because of my chronic pain but I did it. If you want to check it out here is the code with little story I wrote for it:

DA-5008-9964-1571

Dear Observer,

I've heard many stories about this town in the underground community of the supernatural and occult. I had to dig deep for this knowledge, but rumors say plants here never die even if you don't water them for months, not only do they not die, but multiply quickly, some even grow as tall as houses! There have been strange sightings of orbs of light trying to lead people to the forest, those who do leave the forest as stranger people. I've even heard accounts of beautifully erie music coming from the woods, but most people are too frightened to investigate. Some have even claimed to see little people living in the woods. And the last warning i recived from the residents was that if i found food unattended, i should NEVER eat it, lest the spirits take me away to their world forever. As you can imagine, I was intrigued to say the least.

It is said that this was once a bustling town, growing more each day, but just as the population started growing, bad things started happening to the buildings and the residents. It's driven away most of the population. The only people who stay claim that the more they allow the town to be overrun by nature, the less bad things happen to them. Some residents claim that the spirits of the forest are the ones behind the town staying underdeveloped, and these residents leave offerings at a stone altar to appease them and keep them from destroying their homes and in hopes they'll be gifted with good fortune. Near the altar you can find a bamboo tree with wishes written buy the residents on ribbons tied to the branches.

I've accepted a job at this island to be their park ranger at their forest reserve. As an occultist this town was fascinating, It is truly a liminal space, the whole town feels like a dream, a very peaceful but strange one. I'm not the only one who's been attracted by the strangeness of this town, a scientist who goes by the name Petri also recently moved here to conduct research. The locals advise us that if we plan on conducting research we should try to be extremely respectful to the land around us, or else something might go terribly wrong. But out of all the information I've gathered from they residents, the last information i received is the strangeness by far: people who have never heard of this island, who have never even seen pictures of it, have vivid dreams of it and later learn it exists in reality...

Sincerely,

The Seeker

Hello astral travelers

It seems you have stumbled across a fabled land

As your guide it is my duty to tell you the purpose of your dream:

See the the boarders of nature and man blend and soften

See what occurs when you listen to this Earth

What secrets lie in the space in-between a dream and the song of trees

The voice of Gods that echo in the wind

Oh what peace you may learn

By allowing chaos to run its rightful course

Who shall you be on this adventure?

The weary traveler, are they always lost or always finding new ways?

The wishful bard, will they find new friends or keep searching?

The lantern keeper, will they find their reason to keep their flame going?

The eternal child, how will they continue to keep their childlike wonder?

The magician, will the ingredients they harvest for their most powerful spell finally work?

Take this adventure slowly, mindfully, ask why you are here, what do you wish to learn? Will what you learned help you beyond the realm of dreams?

Good luck, little ones.

[primewritessmut]

💞 😬🎉🤯

💞 Who's your comfort character?

I mean, recently? Probably Mobius M. Mobius. He’s such an interesting character and I like turning him around in my brain like a Rubik’s Cube. Twisting one side to see if/how that changes the other sides. But historically, it’s been Venom. Eddie and the symbiote brought me a lot of comfort when I’ve needed it at different points in my life and I imagine they will continue to do so.

😬 Which of your fics would you be most horrified for friends, family, or coworkers to stumble upon?

Oh my god. All of them? There really is something behind the mortifying ordeal of being seen. There are a few people in my life that know I write fanfic but they (almost) never ask to read it and I never offer. Of the two that have asked to read something, we’ve literally never spoken of it again.

I tend to tell people the truth when they ask me what I’m writing about (“the vulnerability of trust and knife kink” or “a guy getting sounded by the alien that lives in his body”) and it’s a really easy way to gauge whether people are going to be cool or not. They usually do some combination of freeze/grimace/wide eyes and then, again, we NEVER SPEAK OF IT.

But, to honestly answer your question, I would probably be most horrified if someone stumbled across she’s not going to die today. That probably marks the true beginnings of my downward spiral.

🎉 What leads you to consider a fic a success?

Usually that I finish it. That’s the main reason I started writing fanfic in the first place: to fucking finish something. Up to the point of Need a Helping Hand? I’d literally never finished a story, just let them float free form through my brain or exist on lost post-it notes or in half-empty notebooks.

After a while, I also started making mini-goals related to most of what I was writing and that, too, becomes a mark of success in its way. Do I feel like I improved at writing banter? Did I effectively use first person pov? Was there finally not a happy ending for once?

And then, you know, the serotonin and dopamine factor. As in does it provide me enough?

🤯 What's a genre you struggle with as a writer (ex. romance, action, etc.)?

Fantasy. Historical. Mysteries and Thrillers. Honestly anything that requires me to do a ton of research or think too deeply about the world of the story.

Like I said somewhere else, I mostly write linearly, straight out the gate, from beginning to end with no planning. If a story requires a lot of planning (which I think all the above genres do) then I’m going to get gummed up in the works and never write anything.

Huh. Maybe that’s why I never finished anything before NAHH? I was always trying to write fucking fantasy.

x