#iffy about the dark greens

[ratpinkpunk]

Audience with Yellow Diamond

[willowedspirits]

Hollow Knight Linked Universe AU! I've finally finished it!

If you don't know much about Hollow Knight, a lot of the technicalities might not make sense, and I would encourage you to look into the game. Or you could just enjoy the chain as bugs and see them off on their buggy adventures!

I've made this AU trying to keep as close as I can to Hollow Knight's story, but some creative liberties were of course taken.

My main idea is that the infection is the equivalent to Dark Link's (who does exist in this) infected monsters and it's up to them to try and slow/stop the infection. My first thought was to have the infection start to spread outside of Hallownest, and the chain needs to go and stop it, but I'm still going back and forth on it.

I'm still open to changing concepts if I find something that works better, but after literal months of working on this on and off I'm happy with how this has turned out!

Rambling about character details below!

Small note: I've set this AU at roughly the start of the infection, when Radiance was starting to take over Hallownest.

Time

Is not from Hallownest. He traveled to Hallownest from a distant land, where he met Malon and settled down with her.

He encountered Radiance upon entering Hallownest, but was protected by a god that had already laid claim to him, Fierce Deity, who protects him from the Radiance's infection.

He and Malon live in the Howling Cliffs.

His wing and antenna injury are from Radiance when she tried to infect him.

He is not able to fly because of the injury, and now fights with a heavy nail.

His wings used to be green, but after encountering the Fierce Deity, they slowly started to change in color until they were blue.

I'm not sure if I would do anything with the eyes on his wings, I was trying to make a connection to Majora in that, but I'm still debating whether to add it.

Twilight

Is a part of the Traitor Mantis tribe that lives in the Queen's Garden.

He met a Sibling (Midna) that escaped from the Abyss. They gave him the ability to harness Void.

Still working on the detail for how exactly they give him this ability, but my rough idea is that perhaps both of them were attacked by and infected villager, and they saved him by giving up their Void essence.

He's grown up wanting to be infected by the Radiance. He was taught the Radiance was a god that gave bugs great strength, but after seeing what the infection really does, he starts to have second thoughts.

The cloak he is wearing is new. The one he wore before was damaged. I'm still debating on when exactly he gets it, but I think it's something he makes after he leaves the traitor village.

Warriors

He is the head knight of the Hive and oversees whoever enters their territory.

His scarf is a gift from the princess of the Hive given to him when he leaves to join the group.

Since he is a bee, he is connected to the Hive via the hivemind. He uses this to check in on his home whenever he can.

This also makes it very dangerous if he gets infected, since it would quickly spread to the other bee's.

I kept his nail the same as Hive Knight's, but it's open to change.

Four

(I'm still very iffy on Four's story concept, but here's what I have so far)

Lives in Green Path.

He has a passion for weapon smithing, and planned on moving to the capital of Hallownest (City of Tears).

But he accidently stumbled on a weak Unn, and agreed to help protect her while she recovered.

When she did recover, she blessed him with a power that allows him to split into 4 parts of himself using his SOUL.

He can split while in the physical world, but will always be split while in the Dream realm. This also makes it difficult for Radiance to infect him.

Wind

Lives in the Kingdom's Edge and works as a guide across the acid lakes. Most of the travelers are those who are seeking to fight in the Colosseum of Fools.

This is how he found the Colosseum, and regularly attends (but not participate in) some of the fights, which is how he meets Tetra.

He is just learning to fly, but is picking it up really fast.

I wanted to keep the lobster apart of his design... But there are no lobsters in Hollow Knight... Then I remembered this was an AU and I can do what I want with it. So lets just pretend that Lobsters are seen as these awesome ancient beings that he wishes to see one day.

Wild

He was a guardian of the Beast's Den before he became infected, leaving the Den to reside somewhere in Deep Nest.

He is cured by the Dream Nail when the group meets him, and the last to join.

His shell is cracked and damaged because of the infection. The cracks have healed over time, but will never go away.

He has trouble with his memory due to being infected for so long before being cured. He is slowly regaining his memory, but there are still a lot of pieces missing.

His infection spread through to his arm, but is hidden under his cloak.

He uses his nails almost as throwing needles.

Legend

Is a shop owner in Hallownest's capital. He sells all kinds of items from all across Hallownest, small things he's found that could be valuable.

He's managed to make his way into the upper class of the capital due to his shop. His cloak is a modified version of the upper-class wardrobe. He dyed and added the hood himself.

Has a great sense of exploration, and has been all over Hallownest, but still has some places he needs to check off.

His jewelry are all gifts from Ravio.

My original concept for his design was to give him 4 arms. I was thinking of the Collector when designing him, and thought it fit. But after working on finalizing the design, I wasn't sure if I wanted to keep it. I still love the concept though.

Hyrule

(Again, I don't have a clear story concept for him but I have some notes)

Lives in the Ancient Basin.

Has learned how to use SOUL, and is in hiding from the residents of the Soul Sanctum because of it.

He has access to spells and is able to heal himself using SOUL.

I originally gave him a cloak, but couldn't decide if he looked better with or without it. So he does have it, but only sometimes.

Sky

Is the wielder of the Dream Nail, which can be used to cure infected bugs by purging the Radiance from their dream's.

Has wanted to learn to fight with a nail since he was little, and would practice his skills.

He learned about the Dream Nail after some of the moth tribe became infected. He left shortly after he learned this infection was spreading through Hallownest, with the goal of stopping it.

He isn't the only one that can use the Dream Nail, but is the one dubbed the "owner" of it.

And that's what I've got!

I didn't go much into Dark Link here, but would be happy to show some concepts I have for him as well if anybody is curious. I'm making him almost like a living version of the Radiance's infection, and is able to spread it from bug to bug without needing to access their dreams. This is mainly why I'm torn on having them leave Hallownest. If Dark Link could spread the infection to farther lands, or to keep him inside Hallownest and just spread it faster there.

I thought that using the Dream Nail was a good equivalent to the Master Sword here, so I just mashed them together, and a lot of the motivations for the chain trying to stop the infection is "I'm seeing this awful thing happen to these bugs that I don't want to see happen to others," with some small variations here and there.

I've been working on this for so long, I just want to share by bug boys. I would love to gush and ramble about them some more. I have stuff I want to do with this AU.

[monstrouslyobsessed]

love’s lethal bouquet

concept: in which the floral shop boss is in love with you—and isn’t a human. —momster

—a/n: well i havent posted in ages because of how bad my writers block was :( and i’m vvvvv iffy about this one. this is much more subtle and tamer than my usual too, but at least its something for the valentine’s day?

anyway, ima try and tackle a commission i owe next so please take care yall<3

—tw / tags: gn reader, implied drugging intention, implied teratophilia, implied exophilia, general yandere themes, sfw.

—featured character(s): the floral shop boss / plant monster (implied)

Valentine's Day proves to be one of the busiest days at the floral shop where you work. Breathing in the heady floral scents that permeate the store, you find yourself in continuous motion, assembling bouquets of pink roses, carnations, violets, and every red flower known to man into the van. With your back straining from the constant lifting, you absently listen to the gentle voice of your boss reassuring an irritated customer about their belated delivery—

and you wince.

Although you should be in a rush taking care of the deliveries, you tiptoe inside the back of the shop to avoid interrupting your boss—

But he merely hangs up the phone upon seeing your flustered face.

“S, sorry—” You begin.

He shakes his head with a gentle smile playing on his thinly bearded lips and says, “Don’t worry about it, love.”

The way he addresses you as ‘love’ used to bother you. It always seemed so…formal, old-fashioned, but coming from him—your boss—he somehow makes it work without needing to force the romantic undertone. Perhaps it is because he is on the older side and being a foreigner in this little town of yours.

The town lies deep within the trench of an endless forest, and you wonder how your boss had found his way here.

His arrival several years ago stirred many gossips about him, with him keeping his lips sealed about his past, but everyone slowly warmed up to him. His succulent blooms, never seen before even in the gardening magazines, certainly helped. Now, your boss is a familiar face among the townspeople, with very few not knowing who he is. And, of course, his handsome and charming demeanor won the hearts of many too.

“But I would’ve made the deliveries on time if I didn’t eat brea—” you try.

His piercing green eyes soften as you nervously fixing your rolled sleeves. You halt when he suddenly leans in.

“Boss—?” You rasp at the new weights on your shoulders, trying to pay no mind to the strange dark strains on his thick fingers.

The way he held you was almost…fond—

And he pushes you outside to the doorway. “Go finish the deliveries, won’t you?”

“Really?” You huff, trying to ignore the red tinge to your cheeks and the heavy thumping of your heart.

Your boss smiles that damnable handsome smile of his and pats you on your head, saying, “Get to it. The sooner you finish, the sooner I can give you your little Valentine’s Day bonuses for working so hard.”

While giving his employees gifts during holidays and special events is not new to your boss, you still perk up in eagerness and reward him with the biggest smile you can muster. As you dart away with a confident promise to complete the deliveries, he watches you scurry to the van, inhaling sharply,

“Soon.”

Your boss murmurs, rubbing his knuckle with his other hand—as if to hide the sudden green spot on it. Tiny vines emerge briefly, before he rubs them away and pivots back to his cash register where his impatient customers have started to queue. Flashing them with a dazzling smile to reassure frustrated customers with a wordless apology, your boss absently peers over to his office.

There, on his desk, is the special bouquet he prepared for you and only you.

Imagining you burying your face into the fragrant cluster of your favorite flowers, oblivious to the true intention of its purpose, the toxic drugging qualities meant to lure you into his arms—into his ivies and his binds of vines and creepers—had him biting back a shudder. Restraining himself before the antsy crowd, your boss rings up a customer with an invisible countdown ticking in his head.

A countdown to have you.

The blooms nearby writhe and shudder, with most dismissing it as mere breezes from the air conditioner.

It was not.

—end…?

[imshymorph]

I kind of hinted at this in my last soft!Soap fic, but it’s not leaving my mind so I'll talk about it further.

I mentioned that one of the reasons he lets his hair grow out during his leave is so you can do silly hairstyles on him. He has just as much fun as you and seeing you laugh and smile it’s always a plus. But I don't think it just limits to hairstyles, I think he’d love to have silly date nights with you where you do all the stereotypical sleepover “girly” things.

- - - - -

It doesn’t end there either, because it’s not only that you do those, it’s that he’s the one asking you to do them. Admittedly he thinks it’s silly when you first offered him to do skincare with you. He’s used to having one bar of soap to clean his face along with the rest of his body during deployment, it felt like a bit much to have so many different products.

That of course was until you managed to convince him. You sat on the couch, a little tray with whatever you would be using on the armrest beside you. His head on your lap as he laid, taking up the rest of the couch. He was still a bit iffy about it when you first put the clay mask on him, complaining about how it felt tight and was “starting to get flaky, bonnie.”

But as soon as you helped him rinse it off, guiding him to lay back on the couch to massage serums, toners and lotion into his skin, the complaints instantly stopped.

And it soon started to snowball, he started to ask about other things. Like your hydrating sheet masks that “obviously require me to have a matching fluffy headband with ye, hen.” Then it was filing his nails, slowly moving to painting them. Usually in deep colours like black or dark shades of green and blue, so they wouldn't stand out too much if he forgot to take it off before deployment.

Then he started to do it in return, he couldn’t let you pamper him this much and not do anything in return. What kind of boyfriend would he be if he were to, anyway. So he’d let you do it first and then copy your actions, touch always gentle.

So that’s how you reached this point. Planning a day once a week (or biweekly if your schedules got in the way, much to his disappointment) where you’d get some food to the living room, turn on some trashy reality-show and pamper each other. The routine was always complete, doing hair, skincare and manicure. The whole time you both jokingly gushed about your “crushes”, which meant describing what the other had been up to earlier in the day.

[lilystyles]

watermelon sugar, highhhh.

part two of the no strings attached series by @lilystyles

no strings attached masterlist & main masterlist xxx

authors note part two baby, enjoy! i hope you all like it i'm still a bit iffy about it! gif creds to original owner. BTW THANKS SO MUCH FOR ALL THE LOVE ON THE FIRST PART OF THIS SERIES KISSES TO U ALL I APPRECIATE ALL THE REBLOGS AND LIKES XX (i can't believe the amount of likes fr!)

brief description basically why harry wrote watermelon sugar high, in my head at least anyway. ;)))

warnings! mentions of sex and sexual themes, smut! (f! receiving, fingering) drug abuse (reader doesn't participate), and swearing. around 5k words :)

inexperienced!virgin!reader x high!fwb!harry

* * * * *

It had been a few weeks since she last saw Harry. She had been avoiding the whole situation completely. If someone asked her she’d deny avoiding him. But whenever she shut her eyes all she saw was him, those green eyes. So he wasn’t forgotten.

Y/n was absolutely ruined that evening. After her long day of lectures, she was so overwhelmed this week and was not feeling her best. She felt like giving up and taking a nap. She had only just gotten home from uni and it was dark outside, she felt like she hadn’t stopped all week. So she was thankful it was a Friday because she didn’t know what she’d do if she had to get up tomorrow morning. She decided to take a long shower and wash the day off her skin and warm up. It had been a long cold and rainy day. She just wanted to get cosy and relax. Get out of this bra, these clothes.

When she got out of the shower smelling fresh and feeling warm, she decided to order Italian for dinner from the local place near her and have a quiet night in, she couldn’t be bothered to cook. 

The group had invited her out tonight but she was so tired she couldn’t be bothered. Anyway, Harry was going and she wasn’t ready to face him just yet. Things had been different ever since New Year’s. She felt different around him, and she didn’t know what that would mean for their friendship. She valued it so much and was worried she’d ruined it. She didn’t know what to do.

She called up the Italian place for dinner while scrolling through Netflix. She sighed, sadly. She felt so stupid right now.

She ordered enough food to fill up her rumbling stomach and pressed play on an all-time favourite comfort movie of hers. Notting Hill. God, she loved Hugh Grant. Harry used to make fun of how much she would watch this when they were roommates and honestly he wasn’t wrong. She watched it more than the average person, but was that such a crime?

She had gotten about a third of the way into the film when her phone buzzed on the table. She rarely got texts anymore, especially considering she only really talked to Daisy by text. She just called everyone else. She was expecting a drunk selfie from Daisy saying how sad she was sad that Y/n wasn’t there. But it wasn’t her.

NO CALLER ID

Y/n why didn’t you come out tonight? I miss you.

She was confused about who it could be. It had to be one of her mates. But seriously she had all their numbers. So who was this?

who is this?

The text was read instantly. Then three dots. Y/n’s heart weirdly began to race.

NO CALLER ID

It’s H. 

Obviously.

Who else are you texting at this hour, missy???

She giggled. He must be drunk, he was always like this when he was drunk. Even though she had been avoiding him; he was like a breath of fresh air. She had missed him. She now realised in the two years he had been away from her she had missed him, too much to let him go.

u drunk haz?

bc u sound drunk.

The text was again read instantly.

NO CALLER ID

I’m not drunk! How dare you!1!!!1

i don’t believe you harold.

NO CALLER ID

:((((((

Y/nnnnnnnnnn

why you sad?

NO CALLER ID

I want you.

what does that mean H?

Read. Then suddenly the replies stopped. Y/n felt stupid all over again but after ten minutes of checking, she put her phone down and tried to focus on the film. She was kind of worried though, was he okay? 

Thoughts of him disappeared as the food arrived. 

She ate slowly and sluggishly while Notting Hill continued to play. It was now up to the bit where naked photos of her had just been realised and she came rushing to Hugh Grant’s aid. She liked this part, it was so intimate and romantic. 

Her tiredness got the best of her though, her full belly and the warmth that her fireplace gave her sent her right off to dreamland. Notting Hill continued to play while she curled up under her old knitted blanket. Soft snores escaped her mouth as the fire crackled.

When she woke up it was probably around two am. She was startled and in the dark, Notting Hill was over, the fire had turned to coals, and the rain had turned to thunder. There was a banging at the door. She thought in her fuzzy mind it might be Daisy or even Miss Jones from next door who was an old lady that always thought Y/n was being loud. She sighed walking over to the door and opening it. Rubbing her eyes. Preparing for either a drunk best mate or an angry old woman.

It was neither of the people she expected. Sleep was still with her, eyes squinted and sore, and her voice was gravelly and quiet when she spoke. 

“Harry?”

He was smirking, of course, dimples and all. Eyes all hooded and sultry, he looked edible like this.

His hair was wet but his clothes were dry except for the tops of his shoulders. He was in a 70s ensemble. This orangey red shaded v-neck jumper was on his chest, some dark wash vintage flares on his legs, and some old white boots. His eyes were red and he was obviously under the influence. Of what? Well, she’d soon find out.

“Can I come in?” He asked. She nodded stepping out of the way. Even though things were different the love for him was still there, she’d have let him in her door no matter what, and she would always be at his beck and call. That’s what scared her. 

“Cute shorts.” He said touching her hip, Y/n blushed up at him. 

They were these old bunny print ones that were too small but she refused to throw them out. She was wearing the bunny slippers that matched too and some shirt that she actually thinks was Harry’s back from when they were roommates. It was navy and so worn it had faded.

He stepped inside. She could smell the potent scent of weed and his cologne. “I’m not going to lie, I’ve ‘ad some spliffs tonight. But I wanted to see you regardless. This just sorta’ happened, y’know how James and I get when we are together.”

Y/n did know. The number of times she’d have to help him get to bed way back when.

“Haz darling, I’m going to go home,” Y/n said softly. He was sat on the couch, high as a kite. 

“What? Why?” He sat up now. Hand reaching hers. 

She smiled. “Not really in the mood tonight, Haz. That’s okay though. Stay, have fun with James. Be safe, yeah?”

He stood up, all wobbly. She helped him steady himself. “Don’t go. Please?”

He got really affectionate and soft when he was high. She’d noticed that. Drunk Harry was all loud laughs and chaos. This scintillating star. High Harry was mellow and touchy. Like a teddy bear.

“‘M tired though, H.”

He grabbed his coat from the couch. “Then I’ll come too.”

She sighed pouting softly. “Not trying to ruin your fun, I know how you and James are.”

“You aren’t. Promise. Take me home please.” He said grabbing her hand. She smiled up at him. 

“Okay.”

“I love you, you know.” He said resting his head on her hair. “Y’one of m’best friends.”

“I love you too, Harry. Always.”

“Okay.” She said softly and he followed her to the couch, which was still warm from her sleeping body.

He put a hand on her thigh it was warm and soft to his touch, and he stroked it to calm them both. There was a nervous energy in the room, which was rare for them. It had always been calm and tranquil when they were together.

“Sorry for waking y’up.” He said, genuinely seeming apologetic.

“It’s alright, Haz. What’s up?” She had a feeling about what he’d say next.

He sighed. “I know we said we’d forget it, but I can’t. I really can’t.”

“It was supposed to be no strings attached…” Y/n said quietly. Because she thought that’s what he wanted.

He looked over. “I know. That’s why I came here.”

“What do you mean?”

He looked down at his hands nervously. “I wanted to talk to you about the whole one-night-only thing.”

“Go on….” She turned her body to face him, eyes glued to his handsome face.

“I want to be with you like that again. I want more than just that night Y/n. It's driving me mad. I want you so fucking bad.” He said waiting for a response, nervous.

She could tell he was high, but she could also tell he was telling the truth. He didn’t tend to lie when he was high. “Like friends with benefits?”

“Yeah sure….only if you want to though. I got the impression that you regretted the other night, but if there’s even the slightest chance you might want this. I need to know. If you don’t, well, at least I’ll know. It’s the not knowing that’s making me crazy, Love.”

She put her hand on top of his giving it a squeeze. “I don’t regret it, H. How could I regret you? I just- I don’t know how I’m supposed to be around you now.”

He laughed a short laugh leaning into her side. “Just be yourself Y/n.”

“Easier said than done.”

He just shook his head at her. 

“It’s a deal.”

Harry’s head snapped over, eyes wide and heart pounding so loud he could hear it in his ears. “What?”

She laughed, throwing her head back. “I want to. I really do, but you know we can’t do anything tonight, right?”

His smile quickly turned into a big pout. Hair falling over his eyes. “What? Why?”

“You are unbelievably high. Look at those pupils!” She jested hands resting on his cheeks as she looked into his eyes. There was hardly any green left in them.

“They always get like that when I’m with you.” He leaned closer to show her them. The green had been swallowed by black, his long eyelashes fluttering. His eyelids had gone all swollen from smoking. 

She rolled her eyes at him pushing his head gently away. “Shut up. You really are terribly charming. It’s annoying Harold, you know that?”

“Why’s that?” He smiled hands rubbing her thighs. Her soft plump skin was soothing to play with. His hands were calloused but still soft against her.

“I feel like one of your fangirls. Seriously. Speaking of which, we better keep this a secret shouldn’t we?” She put her legs to rest on his lap. His hand stroked her shin gently, relaxing into the couch. He leaned back against the couch, feeling calm.

He cocked his head. “Why?”

“You’re a rockstar. I’m just some random from Holmes Chapel. I reckon your fans will go crazy.”

He frowned. “They know who you are already but just for our privacy, I think so. It’s hard being under the spotlight. I don’t want your privacy taken from you just because of me. People who I’m seeing or any girl really get a lot of hate, I don’t want that to happen to you.”

She nodded, letting silence fill the space.

“Can I eat you out now?” He said abruptly. 

She laughed in shock her face turning bright red as she laughed loudly. “No.”

He pouted like a little kid throwing a tantrum. “I just wanna taste you.”

He knew how to get her all riled up. She hated it, he really was good at everything he did. Proving all previous fantasies to be correct.

“Harry, we can’t. It’d be taking advantage.” She replied, knowing she wanted him more than anything right now.

“Of who? Me? It doesn’t matter how sober, drunk, or high I am Y/n ’m still gonna’ want to eat yeh' out so bad.”

She laughed shyly getting up. She had never been so openly wanted, he made her feel sexy. It was a strange feeling because her whole life she had been told she was anything but. Especially because she'd gone this long being a virgin. “Let’s just sleep. Maybe when your sober, okay?”

He pouted again, grabbing her extended hand as she helped him find her room. His arms wrapped around her shoulders across her chest as he followed, feet heavy on the rug.

Her bedroom was chilly when they stepped inside. He clung to her for a moment his nose brushing against her neck, lips grazing her skin. “S’cold in here.”

“Yeah.” She replied, feeling goosebumps arise. She didn’t know if it was the cold or Harry who made her feel that way. 

He began to take off his clothes until he was just in boxers she was gonna offer him some clothes but he didn’t seem to care about being naked near her.

She stared at the art that was his body. She hadn’t had much chance to ogle him when they were together last. She noticed the new tattoos, itching to touch them, and ask about them but she refrained.

The tanned skin and rippling muscles, the whisps of hair on his chest, the snail trail on his navel. He was just fucking gorgeous.

“You're staring.” He said. She chose to ignore him, which only made him laugh at her.

She lifted the blankets for him. They were different sheets from last time. These were pink and Harry recognised them from when they were roommates. 

“In you get.”

He jumped in childishly and she joined him. 

Her window was slightly ajar so they could hear the rain bucketing down, it was loud but peaceful. He curled into her back. His hand slid onto her stomach underneath her shirt as he pressed her closer to him, soaking up her warmth.

“G’night, love.”

“Night Harry. Sweet dreams.” She replied.

He kissed her neck. “Trust me, they will be very sweet.” 

Harry was an early riser, he always had been. He loved the mornings. Even when they were roommates and he’d been out partying he’d still get up earlier than Y/n. She on the other hand hated mornings, she always got so grumpy and if he could he avoided waking her up at all costs. 

Even after his late night yesterday, he was still the first up of them both. It was around half past six, and the rain was still heavy and coming down. He sighed peacefully, Y/n was still curled up at his side soft breaths escaping her mouth. She looked so peaceful in his arms.

They’d barely moved all night, the last thing he remembered was her by his side tracing his tattoos with her fingers. Her leg was thrown over his hips and her arms were still clinging to his body. He could stay like this forever. He was kind of foggy after last night, he’d forgotten he’d come all the way over here, but it was a pleasant surprise to have her there next to him.

She moved quite a bit in her sleep, he’d always known that about her. She began to squirm a bit shifting her hips against his side, thigh rubbing over his boxers. “Mm.” She groaned, and he watched her to see if she was awake. But nothing. 

She kept wriggling against him, and against his own will, he felt his boxers grow tighter. He sighed, holding in a laugh at the thought of last night. It’s honestly the only thing that had been on his mind for days, which probably made him sound like a horny old bastard, but he’d never felt like that before except with Y/n. All she’d done was give him a blowjob and he’d had enough of those to know how it goes.

He’d even started a song about this feeling. It was in the works, but he had to laugh at himself. It was about the female orgasm. Or as he called it “the sweetness in life.” He really couldn’t help but let his mind wander to the idea once again. 

His tongue, her. How perfect would it be? Like art being made.

He felt her start to make more noise beside him, pulling him out of his filthy thoughts. 

“H?” She whispered groggily, voice hoarse. 

He looked down. “Hi, petal.”

She rumbled a groan, stretching her arms out her shirt riding up revealing her tummy. “What time is it?” He reminded her of a cat, all stretched out like that.

“I dunno, early though. Probably sixish.” He replied, hand rubbing her back. “How’d you sleep?”

“I can’t focus on what you just said when your dicks hard sticking into me,” She teased, “Can you start again?”

He laughed cheeks going a bit pink. “Sorry, I would’ve moved you but you are not the happiest in the mornings, I wanted to keep my head from being bitten off.”

She rolled her eyes ignoring that comment. “How long have you been awake?”

“A little while.” His eyes hadn’t moved off her face the entire time. 

“How’d you sleep?”

He pulled her closer, one hand on her lower back and the other on her thigh. She could really feel him now. It made this whole thing seem real. This was the first time they’d been like this when they were sober. Her confidence felt smaller and weaker. The tequila was what gave her the courage to get with him in the first place. 

“Perfectly.”

She just nodded trying not to focus on his achingly hard cock sticking into her. The feel of him already had her giddy. “Good. Can I make you a tea or coffee? You hungry?”

She was about to get up but he grabbed her. “‘M ravenous,”

She innocently started to list off what she had for food in her flat. “Well I have some toast, I can make pancakes, and I have cheerios—”

“You’re so cute, Y/n.”

She cocked her head. “Uh- Thanks?”

He kissed her hairline, “I haven’t forgotten our conversation from last night. Have you?”

She blushed, finally realising what he was insinuating. “No. How could I forget that?”

“Can I kiss you?”

She nodded, moving her face close to his, and their noses brushed softly.

As he leaned forward she could feel his warm breath on her face. He pecked her lips softly at first pulling back to kiss her nose too, then one of her rosy cheeks. Before finally placing his lips on hers firmer this time. It was deep and slow, with no urgency in it. He wanted to take his time and enjoy waking up with such an opportunity in front of him. 

He wanted her like this every morning. 

Y/n knew she’d never had a boyfriend let alone a friends-with-benefits before this. The most she’d done is kiss a few dates or strangers in a bar. But for some reason, she felt this was rather intimate for two people who claimed to be just friends who have just sex.

What drew the line between friends who are fucking and people dating? Is the fact they slept together and cuddled up all night something more than friends do? Or is it all part of this whole deal they had, did that just come with it? She had no idea, and she wondered if Harry was like this with everyone he slept with casually. She had to admit sometimes she got sad when she saw how he made everyone feel special. It made her feel just like any other girl he’d been with. When he was far from anything she’d ever experienced and honestly she’d probably compare every other boy to him after this.

That’s what scared her. 

And then of course she thought that if she wasn’t so inexperienced maybe she’d be calmer about the whole casual thing. But Y/n didn’t do casual. She was all or nothing. But if Harry wanted casual she’d do it. She’d do more for him than she cared to admit.

The kiss grew fierier and that felt more like the first time they were together — it was all tongues and teeth. He began to roll on top of her, pressing his hard cock against her and her yearning for him grew even stronger. She honestly thought herself pathetic for how wet he made her, they’d done practically nothing and already her heart was beating fast, her chest heaving against his.

His hands slid up under her shirt massaging her tits gently, as he began to kiss her neck. The hickey he’d left last had faded now which gave him the motivation to do another and who was she to tell him no? Her hands were in his hair massaging him as she sighed contently. Letting out moans every few seconds from the pleasure his touch brought.

How did he already know her body so well? It was like he could read her mind. And yet every move he made seemed so effortless. 

“Take it off.” Y/n sighed gesturing to her shirt. Harry didn’t need to be told twice, he ripped it off and throwing somewhere neither cared to look as his mouth roamed along the peaks of her tits, nipples suddenly hard. Her back arched up to his hot, wet mouth.

His tongue swiped along them and Y/n whined needily, her hands now on his shoulders as her hips bucked up. He sucked just below one of them, leaving a mark Y/n knew she’d touch whenever she thought of him after this. His hands were on her waist fiddling with the waistband of her very small shorts. He kissed down her stomach and on her hip tattoo. 

“When’d ya’ get this lil’ number?” He asked, moving the shorts to reveal a small yet noticeable tattoo. It was a little moth kind of similar to the one on Harry but smaller. 

“I got it with Daisy on a whim one night. I actually used you as inspiration. I didn’t know what else to get. I’ve always loved your tattoos.”

His heart swelled and he kissed it. “It’s sexy.” She smiled, face all pink, eyes soft. 

“Can I touch you, Harry?”

He shook his head and she frowned confused. “Why not?”

“Because I want this to be about you.” He replied. 

She pouted at him reaching for his hand. 

“Don’t give me that, be good f’me and let me make y’feel good Petal.” He said tapping it away.

“Okay, I’ll be good.”

He said. “Atta girl.” 

She felt her stomach twist in want. “You can take those off too.”

So he did. He had an inkling she hadn’t any undies under there and his theory was proven correct. 

“Sorry I didn’t shave, I didn’t know this would happen.” He looked up at her, his fingertips gliding up her inner thigh. 

“Don’t be silly, Y/n.”

Harry constantly raised her standards every second. 

“Don’t boys get repulsed by hair?” She asked. 

He laughed staring right at her dripping hole, his eyes looked hungry, lips slightly parted. “Yeah exactly, boys. Not real men. I firmly believe men who care don’t actually like pussy. I love pussy, what’s a little hair anyway?”

“I guess m’ just nervous, H.” She replied, looking away. 

He stopped, hands freezing. “D’ya want me to stop?”

Her hands moved from her stomach to his cheeks, stubble grazing her hands. “No,” She said faster than she had wanted to, which actually made him smirk. “I just- What if I do it wrong?”

“How can you do anything wrong? You just have to let me take care of you. Relax, Love. It’s just me.”

“Just Harry,” She confirmed and he kissed her thigh. She felt the stubble graze her and felt her pussy throb deeply. She was yearning for him. 

“Tell me if y’want me to stop, okay?” 

She nodded. “I will.”

He lifted her legs up placing them on his muscular shoulders, pulling her close by her hips. Every single touch and movement of his was teasing and getting her so worked up she was about ready to beg him for it. His breath was making her squirm against his face when he finally decided to kiss her puffy clit which was swollen in arousal. She was taken back to New Year’s when she kissed the tip of his throbbing dick. All pink and slick.

She let out a heavy breath shutting her eyes. One of his hands found hers and she held it, stroking her thumb over his knuckles in encouragement because she was worried her voice would be too shaky. Without further hesitation, his warm tongue lapped up all the wetness dripping down her pretty pussy. 

She whimpered. Was it supposed to feel this good?

He started to suck on her clit, lapping it up over and over. The noise of what he was doing to her was pure filth. Her hand was in his hair tugging at it as she cried out. She tried to stop her hips from squirming but it felt so good. 

“Fuck, Harry.” She said letting out a shakey breath when his tongue started licking her wet hole. 

She gave his hair a particular rough tug and he grunted against her. The vibrations made her whine.

She felt his free hand move against her pussy fingertips tracing up his spit and her slick. Before he began to tease her some more. The tip of his middle finger slid in ever so slightly, her hips leaning into the touch before he pulled away again. He was still harshly sucking her clit, and Y/n couldn’t help but whimper. 

“Harry, please.”

He looked up at her from his position. His eyes met hers as he greedily lapped her up. His finger went in slightly further reaching halfway before he pulled away again. She threw her head back in defeat. He wanted her to beg. 

“Please, H. I want you so bad.” She said, shutting her eyes. 

She felt him pull back for a brief second. “These kinds of things can’t be rushed, Babe.”

She sighed, he was taking his time with her, enjoying every sound that came from her swollen lips. The noise of her slick, dripping pussy against his mouth. The sweet tangy taste of her. Those hands of hers that ran through his hair and tugged when he did something particularly good. He was going to make sure she was satisfied.

He went straight back to it. This time his finger went all the way, knuckle deep, as he grazed that spot that made her scream. He heard her whisper, “Fucking hell.”

He pulled his finger out again. His tongue and lips still working hard against her puffy sensitive clit. She couldn’t contain her moans. They turned on Harry so much that every few seconds he found himself humping against the bed for some relief. 

Her hips bucked up, her thighs squeezing his head unintentionally. He made her so riled up she could barely control her body. Her legs were already shaking from the pleasure. 

When his finger slipped in the next time it stayed. She sighed contently as he began to thrust against her walls that tightened around him every few seconds. His rhythm wasn’t fast or sloppy it was slow but hard. A steady rhythm. They curled inside her and each time he hit that spongey spot and sucked her clit just right her eyes rolled back in her head. 

“Harry,” She begin to chant like a mantra over and over which only egged him on more and more.

She could feel her stomach begin to tighten, and her hands came up to play with her tits. Kneading them and pinching her nipples. The wave of her orgasm snuck up on her, her back arching and her hands finding Harry’s free hand on her thigh to squeeze in a warning.

“Fuck! I’m cumming!” She cried out. 

Harry felt her clench like a vice on his fingers as she got wetter and wetter. He felt it drip down his wrist as she whimpered. Her thighs clenched against his wrist as she writhed uncontrollably beneath him. His tongue and finger didn’t stop though. He looked up through hooded eyes at her gorgeous face. 

Her hair was fanned out above her head, tossed back, mouth agape in an o shape, and her cheeks were all flushed and pink. Her eyes rolled back as she screamed out. “Ah! Fuck!”

When she started to come down from the peak of her orgasm Harry continued helping her ride it out. She thought he would stop, she was so whimpery and sensitive.

“Got another one in ya’?” He asked, looking up. 

“Maybe.”

That was enough for him to keep going. He slipped another finger inside her, he started speeding up now. 

“Look at you, so good f’me.” He said, his voice all gravelly.

She whimpered pathetically, squirming. Already feeling a building in her stomach.

“All spread out, ruined, taking me like a good girl. Such a good girl.” Y/n clenched against his fingers at that comment.

“Jesus, Harry. You’ll be, ah, the death of me.” She replied. 

He just laughed at her. Starting to speed up his thrusts.

Y/n let her eyes flutter shut as she felt her second orgasm start to wash over her and she sighed. This time it felt even more intense than the first, her toes curled and her hands gripped the sheets. She felt a wild deep sensation inside her. “Oh, god. ‘M cumming.”

It washed through her entire body, pure pleasure overcoming her. When she opened her eyes she saw these black spots, her hearing stopped for a second and she let out a loud mewling carnal whimper. Harry was mesmerised by the sight in front of him. If he could he would do this all day.

When her body went limp he slowly pulled his fingers out and she suddenly felt so empty. 

“You okay?” He asked softly.

She opened her eyes, naked chest heaving. “Your…tongue…fuck.”

He giggled. 

“Kiss me, please.”

He placed a peck on her lips, brushing some hair from her face. 

“Thank you.” She whispered, fingers brushing his jaw. 

“No, thank you, Y/n. Been dyin’ to do that for weeks.”

thanks for reading! follow to see a part three! xx if you enjoyed this feel free to check out my masterlist here! xx feel free to request me too!

[running-with-kn1ves]

INVASION

A/N: I am realllyyy iffy on how this came out, but I weirdly put a lot of effort in it,,, so tada! here it is!

TW Abduction/alien invasion, forced touching & kissing, fluids(saliva), violence, dehumanization

Synopsis: You just HAD to meet the prince of an alien race on your shift at 7-eleven that night, huh? 

Word Count: 3,000

A green abyss.

That was what you had been sitting in for countless days. 

Or, what you assumed had been days. Time was untellable in this coldly lush room that shined with fluorescent lights mimicking a sun and moon. The moon in this room seemed to come out far sooner than the one orbiting Earth though, and the sun was so dim you could stare at it without squinting. You wondered if your captors were used to a different measurement of time, considering they seemed to force you to sleep at earlier and more prolonged periods than you remember on your planet. Though with the noisy activity you could hear outside when you begrudgingly tried to rest, you guessed the mandatory bedtime was merely curated to keep you docile.

You had very few to complain to about your unhappiness in this newfound habitat. It wasn’t like anyone came to visit you, save for the select few anomalies that reluctantly brought your food. With the clinking metal chained to their legs, you came to realize that they were creatures forced into a servitude similar to your species. 

They wore little fabric to cover up the indecent parts of their bodies, displaying their protruding ribs and bruised ankles. Their features terrified you when they first came to your room, though they merely set down food and items. Their large, unnatural eyes shone brightly, taking up two-thirds of their faces as their mouths ceased to exist; with bodies that twisted and cracked, they seemed both fragile yet flexible. You had tried to talk to the creatures on several occasions-- pleading with them, yelling, begging, crying. Even screaming once you got to your breaking point; but none of it worked. Each time, they seemed to look at you with sorrow and skittered away without a sound.

Even now, with one dropping your tray of food and scurrying out as you pleaded for help, you saw it could not understand a word you spoke. The sludge on the tray was dumped from the alien’s haste, splaying across your room and landing specks on a certain someone’s shoes. 

“Would you at least try to refrain from fraternizing with the servants?” A voice called out from the corner. “It's insulting to your hosts to acknowledge them.” You watched as he slowly came from behind a potted tree, shaking his gruel-speckled shoe. “Besides, they can’t understand you.” 

You made a sour face as his disguise fell. The being in front of you had taken the shape of the foliage surrounding your room, green and brown hues reflecting the plants native to your home. The colors blurred for a moment, quickly turning him from an emerald-green bush to his regular state of regal apparel and lilac-gray skin. He had blended in so well you nearly jumped when he changed form. Your stomach twisted into itself as a frown made its way to your face, unable to hide your discontent at seeing him. 

His sets of dark eyes peered down at you, their scrutinizing gaze looking with disapproval. The bastard was twice your height, countless limbs attached to his side as he gracefully made himself known. His teeth were large, sharp canines gleaming when he smiled at you. The alien had small scars carved as symbols decorating his slippery skin; the marks only appeared on his forehead and upper cheeks, having long since healed; they had to have some meaning of importance on his planet.

 Other than his visible differences, the creature was not far off from your own species. If he walked amongst humans on Earth, most would probably perceive him as some costume-wearing weirdo. 

But his presence didn’t make you point or stare as it would on Earth; it simply reminded you of how you were torn away from your home. 

“How are you liking your enclosure? I sent a few things here to make up for my absence.” He touched a leaf that seemed to be browning, looking curiously at it. “I hope you’ve enjoyed them. It’s been hard for us to find things in what's left of your planet.” 

You glowered at him, pinching your lips shut. Being reminded that your planet had been destroyed was crushing. You still held a small hope in your heart that there might be some part of Earth still alive. But hearing the wails of your fellow humans on the ship before you were forced into your ‘enclosure’, made the reality all too prickling. 

“When are you going to let me out of here?” You asked, picking roughly at your hands.

The creature sighed, his lips perfectly curating an unhappy expression. There was something deeply uncanny about his appearance that made it impossible for you to get comfortable. 

“Does your species naturally have such a poor memory? We’ve already discussed this.”

 You grated your teeth as he drew near.

“If you don’t let me out, I’m just going to…to--” You started, clenching your fists and preparing to threaten him.

“Going to what?” He quickly interrupted with a grin. “Your measly human body has already exhausted itself by trying to escape your pen, sweetling. I don’t think you should try this game anymore. Goodness knows it would still take lightyears even to get back to your little planet.”��

Hearing the sheer distance you were from Earth made you shiver. Was there even a sliver of a chance of getting back there? Was it…truly gone? Would you, too, be burned and crushed to ash?

 You still felt you might have been able to save your planet If you hadn’t treated his questions about Earth as a joke the first time you met him. You could still be working in that tiny gas station with your fellow humans, and not here in a cold, unforgiving spaceship made by creatures you thought to be unreal.

That night, the alien in front of you had taken the appearance of your greatest desire; a man that only existed in your dreams. He was the most beautiful being you had ever seen. You were easily fooled by his alluring disguise, stuttering out your words and trying to calm your beating heart while at the cash register. In your moments of quippy remarks and quick scanning in an attempt to appear collected, you had revealed how great your planet was, how useful it could be to him. 

All your simple interaction had confirmed to him was that your species wasn’t intelligent enough to be a threat. Your planet had the minerals his race was looking for, you heedlessly revealed, and that was that. To be fair, you had no idea who he was or that he wasn’t even human. But that didn’t change the fact that you and several hundred others had been captured to be placed in his personal menagerie, and your home was now being viciously mined for his race’s gain. You wished you could have at least gone down on Earth with your loved ones, instead of being trapped in a cage, treated like an expensive pet. 

“Well, if you aren’t enjoying yourself here, I may be inclined to move you into my room. At least, until we get back home.”

Home. His home, he meant. 

“No. I’d rather stay as far away from you as possible.” You mumbled.

“Oh?”

 Your captor turned in your direction, long layers of red and gold fabric trailing behind him that hardly covered his torso. He certainly looked regal, adorning robes finer than you had ever seen.

“I’ll make sure the arrangements are made as soon as possible if that's the case.”

Your eyes went wide in disbelief. Why did he propose the idea to you in the first place if he was just going to make a decision?

“But I just said--!”

“These tantrums of yours are causing more trouble than you’re worth. Until you learn to behave yourself, you’ll stay in my sight.” He strutted closer to you, his multiple hands caressing the leaves and stems of plants as he walked by. “What will the elders think of such a disobedient little human? I’m not quite sure I’ll be able to save you from their wrath, even if you are my pet.”

His words held no sympathy as they jabbed into you, allowing you to realize just how little he thought of your existence. 

“Just-- let me out of here! I want to go home,” You stood up, saying the first things that came to mind. “you disgusting monster!” 

You hoped your words would make you seem big, almost threatening. But once they left your mouth, you just felt childish.

His sets of eyes looked at you with a dull expression, clearly not interested in your newfound exasperation. But you were still hungry to get revenge, hungry to have some sort of control over your abduction. The furrowed, annoyed look on his face gave you a flawed, but tempting idea. 

Getting up from the soft, plushy bed in the center of your ‘room,’ your bare feet began to make a beeline straight for him. You lunged, your hands outstretched with pointed nails. You had filed them with your teeth during your hours of alone time, waiting for the perfect moment to attack. The creature didn’t appear phased, making your hateful expression soon turn uneasy.

 The only emotion he seemed to portray was… disappointment. That was not what you were looking for. 

You aimed for his eyes, hoping to damage at least one. But your hesitation mixed with his strength ultimately created your failure. You grunted and screamed, trying to push away from him as he snatched your flailing arms. 

“If you’re going to call me names, at least use the right one.”  His blunt, clean nails dug small crescent shapes into your skin as a multitude of arms held you in a tight grip. “Aether is fine. Or if you’d like, ‘my lord’ or ‘master’ would suit well, too.” He grinned, eyes gleaming. 

His lips had a natural gradient of black, almost giving him a venomous look; a detail you had never noticed from far away before. It made him look all the more dangerous; your mistake of thinking of him as similar to humans now became far more apparent.

 Aether’s unmatched stature allowed him to leer forward, looking down at you as he shoved you backward. Your head knocked onto the tile floor making you see stars as the “sun” stared down at you. The alien hardly strained as he leaned down, kneeling next to you as you lie dazed.  He was almost amused as you moaned in pain, fingers caressing your disheveled clothes as you held your head. 

“Are you ever going to stop fighting?” He asked with a frown.

You attempted to kick him with your leg, but Aether caught it without a need to dodge.

“No!” You screamed. “So just let me go! Let me out of here!”

 Even if you couldn’t return home, you couldn’t stand being locked in this room anymore. 

You struggled in his grip, trying to bite his hand that tried to cup your cheek. Another set of his arms came up to quickly press you down on the floor, nearly cracking the tile below you with how roughly he shoved you down.

He sighed, clicking his tongue as you refused to look away. 

“Then it seems some training is in order.” 

Aether didn’t give you a chance to scream another word, sticking his large thumb against your tongue as the rest of his hands held you down. You groaned against his hand, trying to spit out his finger; yet that only pressured him to put it farther down your throat. 

“You know, I read about this before entering your planet. When a human isn’t getting enough attention, it lashes out. Same when there isn’t enough food or entertainment-- you humans throw a fit.” 

You could taste his salty, smooth skin as your tongue frantically slid against his thumb. His bare thigh peaked between the fabric of the robes and pushed between your legs. As most of his hands kept you held down, the rest were busy fondling you. 

“I didn’t know you were so dissatisfied with my absence… if you really needed my touch so badly, I would have come sooner.”

‘You’re crazy!’ You tried to shout, but the words came out a gargled mess. 

“We, too, like to indulge in similar acts of passion as your kind. And I would have satisfied you if I knew sooner;” Aether watched as tears began to form in your eyes, his thumb nearly causing you to gag. “Even if you don’t deserve it.” 

He caressed your tongue, letting spit gather onto his digit until he removed it. You coughed hoarsely once it exited your mouth, the alien busy observing the liquid on his thumb. He seemed intrigued, studying it as if it was something odd. Popping the finger in his mouth without hesitation, he sucked the secretion. You watched hazily with watery eyes and a sticky nose, unable to focus on his odd behavior as your survival mode kicked in.

He let go of the slick finger after a swirl of his tongue. 

“Well, I suppose you don’t taste nearly as awful as I expected. Though, that isn’t a reflection of the rest of your body;” He commented, letting his purple tongue flick against the wet digit. “How about… down here.”

He looked down as you shut your legs quickly, trying to get around his leg that kept itself planted between your thighs. Aether looked amused, taking note of how that small phrase seemed to garner so much squirming.

“Please--” You huffed, trying to struggle against him. 

But that only seemed to interest Aether more, his eyebrow arching as your body wiggled against his hands. His long, dark hair fell to the side messily, destroying his preserved image of perfectness. He looked ethereal, like a being created by humans to describe a creature not of this world; a make-believe vision. But this new side of him disgusted you, showing his true, ravenous nature. 

Your cries fell on deaf ears as he leaned down, one of his hands coming to hold your jaw as you tried to twist your head away. 

“Relax, I won’t initiate an intimate, ‘mating’ taste yet. But I still need to understand this sweet flavor, coming from--” He bent down, prying open your lips and shoving his tongue into your mouth.

 Aether groaned pleasurably, finding the taste of you quite delectable. His unnaturally long yet wet muscle took in yours. You pushed against him persistently as your breathing increased, becoming overtly anxious; but still, his strength greatly outweighed your own. His body nearly consumed yours from its utter size, including his multitude of arms that enveloped you without a care. 

You drooled as Aether kept mingling with your tongue, keeping your mouth open as he shut his rows of eyes. He seemed to concentrate, almost savoring the flavor of your mouth. The alien continued his assault for what felt like an eternity, only releasing your tongue with a slick noise when he became out of breath. A line of saliva connected you to him. It was slowly licked away as the creature ran the tip of his tongue over his lips. 

Aether took his time, swallowing as he contemplated whether or not he liked it. Your tongue lolled out, having been engulfed by aether so much it was nearly numb. His eyes glowed, looking down at you and seeming to enjoy your helplessness. He licked your lips and chin, cleaning up the mess he made, but only out of a desire for another taste. 

Your chest pounded, wanting now more than ever to be back home, or at least with a fellow human. You didn’t care at this point, as long as you were away from him!

Aether leaned down next to your ear, taking in a big whiff of your smell and miserable expression.

“Your bodies feel so strange…There is a great deal of research to be done regarding your anatomy. Especially from how sensitive it is.” 

He came close, gently biting the shell of your ear; it was a test for a reaction. You tried to stay quiet, wiggling to get free but ultimately jerking at the new sensation. His teeth grazed down your neck, his tongue almost feeling like a slimy tentacle as it poked outward. The alien’s hands left bruises on your wrists, but his other limbs were busy focusing on your thighs and stomach, riding up your shirt to grab and inspect your flesh. Were you the same all over? Did you have something he hadn’t seen before? He wanted to know all of it, see and experience everything that he had only read about before taking over your planet. 

Aether was too curious to leave you to your own devices. Besides, you were so low on the food chain when it came to other species that he didn’t see much of a problem with using you as his little guinea pig. 

His fingers pinched your hips, several hands getting dangerously lower as you attempted to kick again. It was clear he wasn’t going to back down on seeing every bit of your flesh; eventually, he’d manage to force you to give in to him. Even if that time wasn’t now. Your stomach sank at the thought. Bile began to rise in your throat, making your head spin.

“Please, Aether--” You tried testing his name. Maybe if you pleaded rather than defied, you decided, he might let you go. You desperately hoped for that mercy. 

Your voice sent a jolt through Aether once he heard his name roll off your tongue. Instead of pity that you hoped would flash through his eyes, it was greed. He smiled hungrily at you, liking your newfound obedience. 

“No. Your right to call me by name has been revoked.” Licking his lips, Aether bit down. “Call me ‘master’ from now on.”

[hollowwrites]

Ominis Headcanons

🔥 This is my dumpster fire of Ominis 🔥

Burn with me.

I’ll refer to MC as Evelyn throughout this cause she’s my ship with Omi. This is basically my notes page. Things my conflict. Who cares? If anything grabs you please ask about it. You guys inspire me for way too much of my stuff 💚

I’m just gonna mix NSFW stuff in with this so 🔞MINORS DNI🔞

~

Fifth Year Ominis is too caught up in Sebastian’s bullshit to notice if he was going too far. He clings to any niceties afforded to him. You need help finding your class? Sure you can hold onto his arm. You’re aching from the Crucio ordeal? You can lean against him and have a nap with him. You become his coping method of losing Anne and Sebastian. He can forgive himself for opening up a little too much…he’s gone through a lot.

Sixth Year Ominis is straight denial. No they’ve always been this close they had to be because of Sebastian. Not that anyone else knows that. You just showed up and you’ve both been inseparable ever since. You’re just very good friends.

Seventh Year Ominis is determined, will stop at nothing until Evelyn is his (See Blindsided for evidence!!!)

Can touch his wand to things to see colour. Found out after he fell into Sebastian one time and jabbed him in the ribs. The Olive green of his waistcoat flashed across his eyes. Only discovered it that late in his life because by the time he’d gotten his wand he’d already become estranged from his family so kept away from them.

Has advanced Proprioception, the sense of knowing where your body is in relation to it parts. It extends to people around him so when he’s sat with his friends he doesn’t always need to have his wand out to know if they’re moving around. His wand extends and enhances it

His favourite subject is Defence Against the Dark Arts. He’s ridiculously good at it. I’ve wrote about good of a duelist I think he is here but I think it extends past that. He’s overheard so much at home he knows how to combat a lot of it. Good knowledge of curse both Unforgivable and otherwise. Probably caused a lot of tension in fifth year between him and Seb. Contributing factor to their iffy relationship because let’s face it they don’t really act like best friends.

Was an UNREAL seeker in third year. Won every match because he could hear the snitch from across the pitch. Imelda banned him after matches ended too quickly. Was completely unbothered, only joined because Seb begged him to

Tallest of the boys but doesn’t look it due to his posture being awful (Seriously why does he slouch so badly) (Does mean when he fully stands up he’s HELLA TALL)

Has little crescent moon shaped scars along his palm from clenching his fists in his sleep.

Really good friends with Garreth. I’ve wrote so much for those two I just can’t help it. He reminds him of Sebastian before his sister was cursed.

Has a really good relationship with Hecat. She told him stories in First Year about Professor Black from back in Hogwarts so he wouldn’t be scared of him telling his parents things. Probably why he’s not scared to talk to him.

Only speaks Parseltongue when he can’t control himself. When he’s angry, or in Pain or…other times 👀

Nicknames

Only uses terms of endearment as an insult. King of the ‘Oh Sweetheart’ in a smarmy way…still kinda hot

I don’t imagine he calls anyone by anything other than their full name. Sebastian is always Sebastian Never Seb.

Except Evelyn, she is everything but her full name. Unless he’s mad at her. Eve, Ev, V, Evie.

He’ll only call her pet names if the time calls for it i.e. I saw someone’s fic where he calls her Hummingbird and I LOOOOVE that (Sorry can’t remember who that was but THANK YOU!)

‘Be honest with me, Little Hummingbird. Your heart is so fast, I know you’re lying’

Liberal use of ‘Good Girl’ in the bedroom but only after they’re comfortable with each other.

‘Be a Good Girl and get on your knees for me’

🔞 NSFW Headcanons 🔞

He’d be the best to lose your virginity to. He would absolutely be tender and sweet. I love Dominis as much as the next gal but he would be so sweet

He’s either planed the whole thing and everything perfect (Undercroft all lit up with candles and blankets and VERY STRONG locking charm on the gate) or it’s the most wonderful spontaneous event (piled up breathless on the floor of the prefects bathroom)

Speaking of one or the other, Ominis is either the sweetest most gentle man on the planet or he is absolutely insatiable ravenous filth.

Likes choking, spanking and biting. Like pulling the little gasps and moans and hisses from her.

FOREPLAY KING he cannot see! You cannot tell me he doesn’t love hearing how worked up she gets until she’s begging for him (Loves begging too)

No guy is good at fingering but…👀 he is. It just touching and fingers THATS HOW HE GETS AROUND ON A DAY TO DAY BASIS HE IS GOOD AT THAT SHIT!!

Hates whenever you have to be quiet. Almost makes it a game to see if he can force her to make a noise.

Other posts where I spout waffle about Ominis here and here and here

Masterlist

[puddleonthefloor]

Hello there

could you perhaps give a quick list of the headcanons you have for each of the stick crew and their relations?

Yes I can give at least one or two for each real quick! :D

Second

Bites their lip as a stim while drawing

Said stim has caused his lip to be a bit cut up which the color gang worry about sometimes if they forget

Considers Alan his dad and Chosen his brother

He's still iffy about Victim and Dark

Red

Asked Second at some point to draw him cat features and just never asked to erase it

Often invites the monster school friends over to the computer when they don't have to be at school

Will fall for the basic cat stuff (Example: Lazer pointer, cucumber trick, ect.)

Yellow

Has a bit of muscle from working with heavy machinery

Often wonders if he had a life before the website and just cant remember

Didn't know he needed glasses till he mentioned it to the others and they figured out his vision is terrible

Green

Literally sobbed his heart out to purple while at the hospital after the concert thing (Sorry angst haters i had to add some silly angst)

Probably released some songs on Spotify

Sans level of dodging skills i swear

Blue

Cooks, Cleans, Does gardening, and Makes potions. BUT also great at Archery!

Often steals Seconds pencil tool and draws silly faces on herself

Trans fem :0

Purple

Often forgets he has the elytra on or forgets he doesn't have it on and trys to fly and falls often

Will visit K.O sometime's but hangs with the color gang more often

Gets along with Green and Second the most

Chosen

Blows smoke out of his mouth when stressed or annoyed

Covers his scars with bandages

Eats words often still when theres nothing in the house to eat

Shares a house with Dark

Dark

Still has his Virabots after the showdown and keeps them as pets

Has to get his hair brushed by chosen since he often refuses to brush it

Ate a rock one time out of curiosity and spat it out as charcoal after

Also breathes out smoke when upset or stressed

Victim

His face is cracked in two different areas

His vision is sorta horrible but he refuses to wear glasses cause then he'd look like alan

Wears gloves to avoid dirt

Favorites Agent out of the rest of the mercenaries

K.O

Joins purple in visiting the computer sometimes

Has gotten a therapist

Has been thinking of adopting purple but he's not sure if either of them are ready for that

Refuses to wear any types of crowns now

Agent

Wears the tinted glasses to look cool when really they're just his prescription

Bullies Ballista more than the rest of the gang

Had fun beating up the color gang mean mf >:(

Primal

Has leopard like features

She often tapes Ballista to the ceiling with help of Hazard

Fights w Ballista often

Hazard

They can slide through really tight spaces easier than other stickmen

Slipped on water once and now its a running joke with the mercenaries

Ballista

The definition of a devil

Will ruin your day if he has a chance

Fights with primal often but gets his head held to keep him far enough away

Acted as agent one time when he got a hold of his glasses

[stray-kaz]

Take Off The Mask : a Kaz Brekker x f!reader Magpie verse

Summary: Magpie’s introduction. She keeps getting in ahead of the Crows on jewel heists, until one night they discover her wounded without knowing who she is or what she is doing there in that same mansion.

A/N: Thanks to @emmie44version for the Magpie idea. @writingmysanity​ I do still plan on writing from your wonderful Magpie idea also!

The corridors inside the mercher home were black as pitch and the air felt about as thick as the Crows made their way slowly through them, the eerie green glows from their bonelights the only illumination they carried. Inej edged out in front, her eyes the keenest from all her days spying in the dark. She was barely a metre from the door they wanted when she raised her empty hand, halting Kaz and Jesper in their tracks behind her.

“What is it?” Kaz muttered, frustrated by the interruption. “What’s the matter?”

Jesper peered over Inej’s shoulder, raising his bonelight high so he could see, then turned to look back at Kaz, his eyes wide and flickering a little in the glow.

“It’s a girl” he said, surprised. “There’s a girl on the floor.”

Kaz shouldered past him, rolling his eyes.

“Stop putting emphasis on ‘girl’, Jesper” he said. “You’ve seen one before.”

Behind Kaz’s back, Jesper stuck out his tongue before moving around Inej to crouch down next to the young woman lying crumpled against the shadowed wall. Maintaining his balance, he reached out and laid two fingers against the pulse under her jaw. He waited ten seconds, then nodded at the other two.

“She’s alive” he said. “Pulse is a bit iffy, though.”

Kaz took another step and winced as the sole of his shoe lifted away from the floor with a wet, sticky sound.

“That’s because she’s bleeding out” he remarked, as casually as if he were only saying the sky was blue. “Watch your step.”

Inej glanced at the girl and then up at Kaz. Her frown was determined, and he knew the look on her face.

“We have to take her with us” she said firmly. “She’ll likely die if we don’t, Kaz.”

Jesper glanced briefly at the girl’s face, then looked again, longer.

“Boss” he said quietly. “She’s wearing a mask.”

“Like a Komedie Brute mask?” Kaz asked.

Jesper shook his head.

“Nope. More like a masquerade mask.”

Sighing almost silently and crouching in spite of his painful right leg, Kaz peered more closely. Jesper was right. Holding their bonelights nearer to her face, they could all see the slick black mask set over the top half of her face, the nose a short bird’s beak, the top edges tapering high into sharp feather shapes.

Kaz straightened and glowered at Inej. She stood straight backed, uncowed.

“Inej, do you honestly expect me to save the life of the Magpie?” he demanded, shining his bonelight full on the mask so that she and Jesper could see the bright white mark slashed between the eyeholes. 

Jesper’s eyes widened, but Inej didn’t budge. She set her hands on her hips and nodded.

“Yes, Kaz” she answered promptly. “If you do not, Jes and I will do it.”

Jesper swallowed but said nothing, even as Kaz turned his unfathomable stare on him. Inej elbowed him in the ribs. Sighing heavily, Jesper handed his bonelight to her and then bent to gather the Magpie into his arms, wincing as his coat sleeve came into contact with the blood leaking from her side.

“Lovely night for a knife wound” he commented blithely.

“Lovely night to lose money” Kaz muttered in response, but he said nothing else as they returned to the front door and then to the night beyond it.

You woke in a strange room, a tight feeling wrapped around your ribs. You winced as you tried to move, levering slowly into a sitting position. The knife edge of what passed for early morning light in Ketterdam speared across the room, dimly illuminating the dark clad figure sitting in the chair beside the bed you were in. You recognised the cane in a panicked instant and hastily felt for your mask. You exhaled softly upon feeling it solidly still in place.

“Nobody touched it, Mags” Kaz Brekker, bastard of the Barrel, informed you.

In spite of your precarious state, you raised your eyebrows at that.

“‘Mags’?” you repeated, unable to keep the tiny grin from your lips.

He shrugged.

“I didn’t come up with it.”

“Nobody’s ever given my nickname a nickname before.”

A tilt of the head was all you got.

“What were you doing in that house?” he asked instead.

You shrugged back, ignoring the sore tug of the tight bandage wound snugly beneath your breasts.

“The same thing you were doing, I’d wager” you told him. “Thieving.”

A faint sneer curled across his mouth.

“You can’t be very good at it then” he said, tone blunt. “Good thieves don’t wind up with knife wounds as deep as the Fold. You nearly died in there, Magpie.”

You simply ignored this last and reacted to the barb instead.

“Good thieves also don’t wind up breaking their legs falling from windows, Dirtyhands.”

His eyes, blue as the sky above the smog, narrowed hard. 

“I’d heard of your prodigious abilities, Mags, but not your sharp tongue.”

You sent him a smile that confused his pulse.

“Shame on you then” you said, gentler than he expected. “I’ve heard of both of yours.”

You groaned a little as you eased yourself out of the bed and slipped your feet back into your leather boots. You shrugged into your hooded cloak, pulling up the hood to shade your face. Your smile under the beaked nose sent unwanted shivers down Kaz’s spine and goosebumps over his skin.

“Thanks for saving my life, Brekker” you said on your way to the door.

“It wasn’t me” he replied, too late.

You were already gone.

At the bottom of a steep flight of stairs stood a tall Zemeni man wearing a long bloodstained coat and curve brimmed hat, arms folded loosely. He cocked his head to the side at the sight of you.

“Evening, Mags” he said, failing to hide a smile.

You made your way slowly down the stairs until you stood in front of him, a Suli girl materialising beside him out of the shadows.

“So you’re the one with the nicknames” you mused, mimicking his head tilt. “What do they call you?”

Jesper grinned broadly.

“Handsome. Clever. Skilled.”

“Rash, reckless, egotistical” the girl interrupted. “And Jesper.”

“And you are?”

“Inej. I’m the reason you’re still breathing.”

You held out your hand, and after a brief hesitation, she shook it firmly.

“Magpie” you said, and grinned.

Jesper chuckled.

“Oh, we know that” he told you. “The mask gave it away.”

“As did the black wings tattooed over your shoulder blades” Inej added.

Jesper whistled long and low.

“Really? I must’ve missed those.”

Inej nudged him with her shoulder.

“That’s because seeing the half naked girl without her permission was prohibited” she reminded him, glancing at you.

“Thank you for that” you said, keeping your head high. “I think it’s high time I walked out of here. I’ve got some healing to do and a mercher to rob blind.”

There was the sound of a cane from above and then a cool, rasping voice.

“Before you go” Kaz said, standing tall at the head of the stairs. “Take off the mask.”

Jesper raised his eyebrows as you slowly pivoted on the second to bottom step and stared back up at Kaz. He met your stare with ease, leaning back on his heels, both hands curved around the head of his cane. He was unperturbed. He jerked his chin at you, along with the faintest twitch of an eyebrow, and you found your hands slowly moving upwards to your face, almost of their own accord.

You tugged your mask free and lowered it, allowing Kaz and only Kaz to glimpse your whole face, before sliding it back on.

“May I go now?” you asked with faux politeness.

Kaz nodded tersely, and the vision of your kohl smudged eyes remained with him even hours after you had slipped between Inej and Jesper and disappeared from the Slat.

Would he recognise you if he ever saw you on the street? Did he want to? They were not questions he was certain he could live with the answers to.

[red-riding-wood]

Hi)

Saw that you’d like to write something angsty or maybe dark on Peaky Blinders🙂

Maybe Luca Changretta x reader where they slowly fall out of love with each other but meanwhile realize that they still will never leave because they’re so used to the way things are

(Also looking forward to your fic with Dmitri from The Grand Budapest☺️) 😘

Absinthe

Luca Changretta x F!Reader

Peaky Blinders

Warnings: sexual references, mention of kidnapping/violence, mention of domestic abuse, language, very vague allusion to suicide, lots of angst (this is not a happy story lol)

A.N. Thank you for the request!! I hope this is what you had in mind. I sort of wrote this on a whim at 5 am when I couldn't sleep and I ended up projecting a lot of my own shit onto both characters so I don't know if it'll be to your tastes 'cause I'm a bit iffy on this one myself. And thank you; I really hope to start writing Dmitri x Alice soon and am so excited for it!

WC: 1504

“You will not survive on your own, amore mio.”

You hesitated, your heart sinking into your gut as you feared his words to be true. A shiver danced wickedly across the bare of your flesh.

And then, tugging the Italian silk of your dress over your body, you stood, his hand falling from where it had sat cradled in your lap. The empty in your chest split a little wider; those fingers used to squeeze your hip and pull you back to bed as he’d beg you not to leave. Now, they seemed to possess no love, perhaps not even want.

You cast a glance to where they lay limp against the mattress, and dared to observe his sullen look, his clenched jaw, the way that eyes that used to be so bright with adoration now wouldn’t even look at you.

When was the last time he’d really looked at you?

It was probably when you were kids, just barely out of school, and the gloating smirk of the boy had fallen around his cigarette, and his green eyes had glittered like peridot, as you told him yes.

Yes, to marrying him. Yes, to loving him in sickness and in health. Yes, ‘til death did you part.

And this, this sickness of the heart, it had not released you from your oath. Instead, it killed you, slowly, snapped the threads of your soul one by one, seized one shard of your heart each time you looked at him.

The times that hurt the most were always when you looked him in the eye, because you saw your own need reflected in their decaying depths. It might’ve been easier if they were vacant, if they were as cold as his loveless touch and his bitter disposition.

“I may not,” you said. Silences weren’t uncommon between the two of you anymore; you never had anything to say that was joyful like you had in your youth. Breaking it felt like the air had simultaneously returned to your lungs while also being held captive, for you always couldn’t help but hope that he’d say something kind, but also didn’t know how long the silence would stretch afterward.

“But I’m hurting, Luca,” you said, your voice breaking now as a tear threatened to bead on your eyelash, and your chest tightened. “And this is the only way I can think of to be free of my pain. Other than…”

You swallowed a cruel lump in your throat. You didn’t wish to think about the alternative you had once considered.

Animated suddenly by a burst of raw yet barely caged violence, Luca tugged his robe sharply around his shoulders and fumbled for the box of matchsticks on the desk. He wedged one between the teeth he used to knead at it, his inhale deep. Both efforts to soothe a soul darkened by rot.

“I have to leave,” you said, but you had hardly made it more than a few feet to the door before his fingers had wrapped themselves vice-like around your wrist, yanking you back so that you nearly tripped over your heels. His wedding ring bit into the delicate flesh, chilling as it was painful.

And you had no choice but to look him in the eye.

“You’re not leaving,” he growled, his tone almost predatory but that gaze, green like absinthe, entrapping you in a sea of emotions, pleading to you in morose glimmers that peeked past umber stripes of rage.

As you fought your tears, you conceded to his grasp, knowing he could easily overpower you if he wanted. And you shook your head, your lip curling bitterly upwards at what you had to utter,

“I’ve changed. I’m not your wife anymore.”

“The papers state otherwise.”

“Is this really what you want?” Your lip trembled with your own fury now – a fury that stemmed from your agony because you had nothing tangible to blame it on. And you struggled against his grasp feebly. “Do you really want a wife who’s unhappy? A wife who goes to bed every night with a hole in her chest?”

Luca’s grip softened, and for a moment, you thought you saw hurt flash across his irises. He turned his head away and brought his fingers up to brush across the faint stubble of his jaw.

And when his grip released, your wrist had never felt so wretchedly cold, and when he slammed the door behind him, your chest had never felt so achingly empty.

---

He had been so close to hurting you that time. Really hurting you, like he did the men who crossed his family or offended his honour.

But he could never hurt you. At least, he told himself such things, because in some ways, when he looked at you – still a stranger to the scars of violence that riddled his own flesh – he could sometimes see a ghost of the girl who used to be his lover, who used to be the girl with the shy smile and the beguiled gaze.

His fingers travelled across his chest to his lips, as he uttered his final prayer. The incense of the chapel burned nearly as thick as the smoke of the cigarettes he used to worship. Before you had made him quit.

And what had he done for you? He had done everything. He had given you a marriage, when you had nothing to your name, had given you the finest silks and jewelry and had taken you on a perfect honeymoon to Italy where you had made love with his name chanting from your lips like a prayer. 

Luca twirled the toothpick in his teeth bitterly.

But in saving you, he had condemned himself. Even in the solace of this moment, he found himself craving your touch, however frigid it had grown. Found himself incomplete, numb.

He’d taken an interest in another broad recently – a maid, but beautiful, with a soft, heart-shaped face and gently curved hips that begged to be ruined.

But it sickened him to touch her.

Because she wasn’t you.

---

With Luca away, you had had time to pack your belongings – just the ones that you needed. All purely practical, except for a letter, its ink bleeding at the edges of its handwriting, the love draining from the words he’d once written you when away on business.

Though you knew you’d regret taking it, it had felt wrong to leave something that used to make you smile with so much joy.

You waited for the train in the dead of night, the wind your only companion as it howled through the archways of the station. But it was not enough to quell the fear in your gut or ease the weight that pressed harder against your suffocated chest with each passing second.

You stifled a sigh as a sharp whistle split the distant, foggy air. And you once again fought back tears that welled in your eyes.

And then the winds shifted, and the cedar and ambrette notes of his cologne stirred something in your chest. You shivered as the warmth of his body settled behind you, long fingers running down the sleeves of your arms. The weight lifted only slightly on your chest, and oxygen returned to starved lungs.

“I told you you weren’t leaving, amore mio.”

You shut your eyes, swallowing against the knot in your throat.

And you thought, with this weight no longer sinking into aching ribs,

I’m not gonna make it on my own.

Your luggage was dropped to the concrete as the train came chugging along, rearing its head of iron and steel from the mists.

His fingers laced through your own, squeezing gently at them, tugging wickedly at a frayed thread of your soul, and you reciprocated, remembering a time when you had worshipped this very hand.

When you turned, his hot breath was exchanged with yours, and the full scent of him washed over your tired bones in a bittersweet familiarity.

And when he kissed you, an ember sparked in your gut that only he had ever been able to ignite, and the heat that pooled in your core was not a desire but a need.

Iron spiked your tongue as you pulled apart, some wrath that still brewed inside you having drawn blood from his lip while your hand cupped his cheek in an almost reverence.

Absinthe eyes sank intensely into yours, and though you knew from that gaze that he wanted you dead, he also needed you just as much as you needed him.

“You were right,” you breathed, your voice a mere whimper against the noise of the train. “I can’t survive on my own.”

Locks of his dusky hair teased your scalp, and his thumb traced the flesh behind your ear soothingly. And you had no idea that, had you boarded that train, his men would’ve been ordered to gag you and deliver you screaming back to him. And though as your foreheads pressed together and your tears spilled from shuttered eyes, it did not banish the pain from the hole that split wider in a chest that bled as slowly as the ink of the letter.

MASTERLIST • REQUEST

Please let me know if you would like to be added/removed to any of my taglists and notified of new works!

TAGLIST: @eclecticwildflowers @emotionalcadaver @evita-shelby @minaethrym @shelbydelrey

[mysteriouslybluepirate]

The major win for me after this season is that fans are going to start writing horror/supernatural fiction for this fandom!

A genera or tone many of y'all probably haven't touched-but I assure you, it's SO much fun to write with the characters Canon has given us. May I tempt you with a few starting concepts I use to set the mood for pirate-specific horror? [Some spoilers for S2 OFMD]

Doldrums! A period where a ship gets no wind- can anywhere from a few minutes or potentially months at a time. unpredictable and impossible to plan for, as if you kept stock for doldrums, you're adding a TON of salted beef and green water to your stores. More supplies means less room for loot. During this time-on top of slowly losing food and water rations. Your crew could start to hallucinate, go sun blind, or grow bored of menial work. That and if your near the equator(where most took place)- the sun cooks the wood of your top deck.

It gets REALLY dark it night. Like. I don't think OFMD has shown a scene that really depicts how dark it is. The point of the night lookout is to have maybe one candle lit at night by the helm, steer the ship, and keep an eye out for any dots of light on the horizon.

I highly recommend watching videos of pirate battles. Assassins Creed 4, recreations, people reading off accounts of battle. Anything. That shit is scary as hell. A lot of praying the wind is on your side, or that a gust of wind wouldn't knock the ship out of line of fire. Many pirates were caught because they were at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Now- The psychological shit- Most first mates were chosen by their captain. While the Captain themselves were elected by the crew. If a Captain was mutinied, the first mate would be as well for fear of the first mate was more loyal to the old captain than the crew. This is why Ed's speech to Frenchie S2ep2 makes sense. Ed knows the crew was iffy with Izzy, but didn't want to risk Izzy staying alive to possibly start a mutiny against him. So Frenchie had to kill Izzy.

Most Pirates lasted *at most* 2 years at this point in history. Blackbeard lasted 15 months. Bonnet lasted AS A PIRATE from Spring 1717 to November 10th 1718. Being hung in December of 1718. Read up on how common it was to just...go overboard. Or get so drunk your crew couldn't fight back against the English. This is how Calico Jack, Anne Bonne, and Mary(Mark) Reed went down. People not ready to fight caught with their pants down. Play up how every feels like they're walking into their own noose.

Many diseases spread like wildfire among the lower crew. So crews took 'quarantining' measures very seriously for things like dysentery and malaria. Often throwing bodies overboard.

S2 ep5 (top 3 eps of the show for me) WAS SO RIGHT ABOUT WHY SUPERSTITIONS WERE IMPORTANT TO MANAGE. Again what I said about how easy it was for the crew to turn on a captain they didn't like. But any form of doubt tword your captain could be enough to start the brewing's of a mutiny.

At the time. Going overboard was a death sentence. Many sailors didn't learn to swim as trying swimming usually meant that 1.) Your ship went down in battle and your about to be captured by the authorities or 2.) You went overboard in a storm/your ship sunk. So either way your fucked. Many thought just drowning was a more peaceful death than trying to fight for your life, drowning once exhausted.

The only thing between you and the endless abyss at any point in time is a few layers of creaking, slowly rotting, wood

Ships would creak. They're made of wood and you know how houses shift? SO DO SHIPS. During rough waves or even just at random points in the day.

The sails had to manually be raised in/before storms by climbing up the mast, going out, stepping on a VERY thin peice of rope tied off at the ends of each yard(I always call them 'yard lines', but don't quote me) they'd then reach over and pull the sail up to then fasten down. This took a dozen men on a large ship. (You can see this person standing a thicker version of it in the photo below)

Masts are VERY heavy. A mast cracking and crashing onto deck could cause enough damage to sink a ship.

The Black Dot- a superstition that if you see a black dot left on your door/ or on your person (ie someone slipping it in your pocket) means you will die soon. Usually given to someone higher rank before a mutiny. We have no proof this was a real thing but a LOT of pirate media uses it.

Add more if you think of them!! [I might do a tropes based on the more supernatural elements of horror later, but for most tropes (mermaids, ghost ships, poltergeists, selkies) I think the fandom has it covered]

[heckinconfusedparade]

@sr200916

The First Thunderstorm

It’s been 2 weeks since Robotnik’s attack on Green Hills. The Wachowski’s just got the giant hole in the house and fence repaired, and there’s a new garden shed shipment coming in any day now.

Tom and Maddie didn’t expect they’d be taking in 2 more kids, so there’s been stress on them to get all new things for Tails and Knuckles, and figure out the rooming situation. Lucky for them, the rooming situation was easily solved; it was literally one of the first things the boys talked about after Tails and Knux decided they were going to stick around and join the family. Knuckles decided he was going to stay in the basement, and Sonic and Tails would share the attic for a “really really long sleepover” as they call it. Tom and Maddie were a little iffy with those two sharing a room due to Sonic being a 14 year old teen who needs privacy, but those two didn’t budge on their decision. The two agreed that privacy was important for both of them, so Tails decided to make a retractable wall in the attic so that they would have that privacy whenever they like.

At this current moment, Tom, Maddie, and Knuckles are all in the basement cleaning things out and making space for a bed n stuff.

Sonic and Tails are up in the attic. Tails saved Tom and Maddie money by building his own bed. Sonic convinced him to have a plane bed to match his racecar bed because he thought it’d be cool. He’s right, it is cool! Tails already transferred his belongings to the attic faster than anyone thought he would because he was just so eager to get out of that orphanage. Now he’s happily making that wall. Sonic is helping where he can, but he’s mostly just watching. He’s amazed with how easy the kit makes it look; almost like it’s second nature.

Sonic notices the dark clouds rolling in through the ceiling window, and waves to get Tails’ attention, “hey buddy, can you just check that ceiling window is locked?“ Tails’ gaze follows Sonic’s pointed finger up at the ceiling, seemingly just now noticing that was there. Tails flies up and makes sure it’s locked, and once he’s sure he stares out at the clouds for a moment. The kit feels uneasy, but he forces it down and says “it’s locked!”

“Thanks! One time I forgot to lock it and the wind blew it open in the middle of a storm. It was like someone attached a shower head to my ceiling!”

“Do you have to run up the wall to reach?”

“Sometimes. Other times I drag a big ladder through the entire house.”

Tails laughs at the thought of Sonic’s tiny self dragging a giant ladder up 2 flights of stairs, and the loud banging it would make. He flies back to the track he’s fixing onto the ceiling that he later plans to fit the moving wall on.

Sonic is passing some tools up to Tails when they hear a loud boom from outside. Sonic and Tails both react to the thunder by lifting their heads to look out the window. Then they go back to what they were doing. Sonic notices that Tails is looking very tense. The smooth fluent movements Tails had before was replaced with tense rigid movements as he begins to rush through the project.

“Uh, Tails, are you ok?” Sonic never thought to ask Tails about his thoughts on thunderstorms. He’s not too fond of them himself, but he’s gotten a lot better since he moved in with Tom and Maddie. Tails looks like he’s trying really hard not to crack, and it’s worrying the blue hedgehog. Tails only whispers “I’m ok..” in a way that makes it seem like he’s telling it to himself, rather than as a response to Sonic’s question.

There’s another boom, followed by a flash of lightning that fills the room. That startles Tails enough to drop his wrench on Sonic’s head. Sonic grunts as the cold wrench connects to his noggin, and he holds his aching head in pain. Tails swiftly floats down to him, “oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?!” he inspects the damage from above, really hoping Sonic isn’t mad and doesn’t want to be his friend anymore. That worry alone freaks Tails out even more than he already was. Sonic winces and looks up at the fearful fox “I’m ok, don’t worry about it. I’m not bleeding, am I?”

“…no.”

“Then I’m ok!” There’s a genuine tone in Sonic’s voice. He’s really not upset, which puzzles Tails. With that worry out of the way, that leaves behind the other worry.

The worry comes in the form of another flash of lightning. Tails tries to hide his fear, but Sonic noticed the look in his blue eyes. The hedgehog gently holds Tails under his arms so he’d stop flying. Once the namesakes had dropped, Sonic places Tails on his feet. Tails’ efforts to hide his fear is completely ruined because his tucked tails give it away. He avoids eye contact with the elder, now also embarrassed. Sonic’s expression shifts to worry, “you’re afraid of lightning, aren’t you?” he asks as softly and as comforting as he can, trying to not make it possible to mistake his tone for a teasing one. Tails is about to deny this ridiculous accusation when another boom of thunder and lightning sends the kit up into Sonic’s arms. Sonic his heart begin to hurt feeling this poor kid tremble in his arms. Tails realizes how vulnerable he just made himself and quickly retreats under his bed.

Sonic, who is now shocked and confused heads to the side of Tails’ bed and peeks underneath it. The fox had curled himself into a ball.

“Buddy?” The ball of fluff doesn’t respond, so Sonic keeps talking, “why are you hiding under the bed? It’s dusty under there.”

“‘cause.” Says a a little voice.

“‘Cause why?”

“Because you’re just gonna tease me…” Tails’ tone is defensive, but his voice is shaking, indicating he’s started crying.

Sonic blinks and lets out a small nervous chuckle “what? Why would I tease you for being afraid of lightning?”

“Everyone else at that place did… they all told me to suck it up and that I’m being ridiculous.”

Sonic sits down on the floor next to the bed, now wondering how much more to Tails’ story there is. Everything he’s heard about where this kid came from sounds absolutely awful. “You’re not being ridiculous,” he says “I was afraid of lightning too. I spent most of my life living outside, so I had to sit through a lot of storms like this one. I’ve seen what lightning can do. I would never, ever, make fun of you for being afraid.” Sonic sticks his hand under the bed and soon feels a little hand hesitantly hold it.

“I’m still not great with storms, I’ll admit that.” Sonic normally doesn’t admit to being afraid, but he has a new responsibility that he didn’t have 2 weeks ago. He now has a little brother to support, comfort, guide, and protect. He never had someone to hold and comfort him when he was scared until under a year ago. Sonic is going to make sure this kid knows that someone is always going to be there to hold him when he’s scared.

Tails slowly crawls out from under the bed with his blue eyes now red and puffy from his tears. Sonic pulls a blanket off of Tails’ bed and wraps it around the little fox.

“Thank you,” Tails manages to crack a small smile, “you’re the bestest friend ever…”

“Hey, you’re not just my best friend. You’re my brother. We’re family now, Miles.”

Tails looks at his brother with wide eyes, “you consider me..” he pauses “y-your brother?” Tails is aware he’s part of the family now. It was a big discussion with everyone involved, and yet the reality that he has brothers now hasn’t quite set in fully. Sonic calling him his brother made that reality slap him him in the face. He has a family now. A real one who loves him.

Sonic almost laughs, “of course, buddy!”

“Sonic?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I hug you please?”

“Cmere, dude.” As soon as Sonic opens his arms, Tails dives right into them. Those golden arms squeeze Sonic like if they were to let go he’d disappear and never return. Tails is still scared, that hasn’t changed, but he is so very grateful for all of this. He wonders what he did to deserve such kindness..

A few moments later, Sonic is sitting crisscrossed with his blanket wrapped little brother sitting in his lap, snuggled up to his chest. Tails has decided that bro cuddles is his new favourite thing. With the way Sonic has his arms wrapped around him, Tails has never felt more safe and secure. He feels like if he stays here, nothing can hurt him.

Sonic has tasked himself with keeping Tails distracted from the storm. He already feels accomplished because the kit has stopped trembling and he’s gotten Tails to smile a few times, and even laugh with jokes. The lightning and thunder is bothering him less and less.

Sonic has no idea how to be a big brother. But with what he’s doing right now, he’s sure he’s finally doing something right.

[mandoatsea]

darling, dearest | prologue

pairing: regulus black x f!reader

rating: mature but don’t worry, it’s gonna get spicy

word count: 6k

warnings: angst, mentions of execution and murder, references to cults (sorry death eaters), forced marriage, some iffy coping mechanisms (nail picking, pain), enemies to lovers, divergence from canon (just a little bc the first wizarding war is such a bummer and james deserves a baby sister), friendship turmoil, some manipulation because sirius is desperate, albus dumbledore jumpscare, tiny baby sprinkles of wolfstar if you squint ... i think that’s it, but please let me know if i missed anything!

a/n: helloooo! i was shocked at how many people saw the sneak peek and let me know they were excited for the first chapter! welcome to the first installment of the dumpster fire that is my regulus black obsession. he deserved so much better, and i’m dedicated to giving him a happy ending. i decided to start with a prologue, as this one is more of setup to the main story. i took a little liberty with the court system and marriage because they’re not super detailed in the books as far as i know. i hope you enjoy, and join the taglist if you want to keep up!

⭒☆⭒

If you were asked what you thought about the end of the Wizarding War, you would have to say it all felt rather anticlimactic. One minute you were obsessively checking the radio for news of attacks and casting wards every hour, and the next – everything was quiet.

"It's quite eerie, isn't it?" James remarks from the end of the dining table, glasses crooked. His green cardigan hugs his shoulders – broad but thinner now after months of stress. His spitting image, Harry, is bouncing happily on his father's knee and chewing on his knuckles. You wince as drool hits the knee of James' slacks.

"It's lovely," Remus moans from the couch, an arm thrown over his eyes and his long legs crossed at the ankle. His dark gray cardigan practically swallows him as he blindly spins his wand between long fingers. "Only you could find an issue with the end of a war, Prongs."

You grin at him, fingertips tapping nervously at the grain in the wood. Your brother pouts at Remus and Harry seems to pick up on his disdain because he turns and frowns at his father until James grins at him cheerfully.  

James practically glowing as he carelessly wipes slobber from Harry's chin, declaring half-heartedly, “Don’t be a prat, Moony.” 

"Has anyone heard from him yet?" Lily asks as she glides into the room, her wand suspending four mugs of tea that trail after her. Her long red hair is tied back in a plait. The question makes you swallow nervously. Two of the mugs land in front of you and James, the other settling neatly on the floor next to Remus, and the final one settles against Lily’s palm.

"Nothing," James sighs, expression suddenly pinched as Lily settles in the chair next to him and tugs Harry into her lap in response to his grabbing fingers, tapping his nose with her finger and earning a delighted squeal. "The trial was supposed to end hours ago."

"No news is good news," you offer rather unhelpfully as your stomach continues to twist itself into knots, "maybe he took him to celebrate."

Silence hangs over the room. The chances that anyone is going to be celebrating tonight are dismally low.

Remus seems to pull himself from his dozing, sitting up on the couch and lifting his mug of tea cautiously to his lips and your fingers curl around your warm mug.

"I've cooled it, Moony," Lily calls with a soft smile, "it shouldn't be too hot." Remus smiles sheepishly in thanks over his mug, taking a healthy swallow. You focus on a rip at the bottom of his sleeve, worrying your bottom lip with your teeth and relishing the slight sting. 

More silence.

"It shouldn't be too bad," James says rather factually, though his voice is pinched with nerves. "He did help at the end–"

"James." Remus cuts him off quietly, his eyes serious. "Let's just see what happens." James sinks slightly in his seat, draping an arm over the back of his wife's chair.

You swallow, nausea beginning to stir in your gut. Remus is more knowledgeable about the Wizengamot than anyone you know, and his guarded expression leaves you feeling sick.

"Poor Sirius," Lily's normally cheerful voice is pained and Harry has dozed off against her neck, "I hope it's not too–"

The silence is broken as someone apparates into the living room with a sharp crack.

Sirius stands in the middle of the living room, hunched slightly at the waist as though he’s about to be sick. Your heart sinks like stone. Remus and James stand and Remus crosses the short distance as Sirius' knees appear to buckle. Remus gathers him in a firm hug and you stare in disbelief as Sirius hugs him desperately.

Sirius Black's usually amused expression is twisted into one of profound grief. His black robes are rumpled and his hands shake as they twist in the fabric covering Remus' back. Purple smudges of exhaustion from the war are nearly black now and his curls have gone limp and frizzy – most likely because he's been tugging at them all day.

"Sirius," James says worriedly as Remus guides him to the couch, and he crosses over to his friend, "what's happened?" Remus sits next to Sirius, his brow furrowed and his lips pursed in concern.

Both you and Lily watch worriedly as Sirius swallows a few times. His shaking fingers worry at the fraying hem of his robes.

Voice wrecked, his voice is barely a croak as he announces, "He's getting Kissed."

You suck in a gasp of disbelief. It feels like someone has wrapped a hand around your lungs and squeezed as tightly as they can. Lily's slender fingers press against her mouth, her green eyes are suddenly shiny under the light of the dining room.

Remus stares at Sirius blankly, though you can see that his knuckles are white where they're gripping the edge of the couch cushion. You watch as your brother merely shakes his head.

"That's not possible," he says, voice hollow, "he... he was the one who destroyed–“

"James," you say firmly, "stop." Sirius has begun to rub frantically at his eyes. You’re not sure how you make it from the dining room table to kneeling in front of Sirius, but you do. Your hands wrap around his wrists and pull his hands from his eyes – his skin is clammy and cool. 

Sirius whimpers quietly, brown eyes red and full of tears. He looks like he's going to be sick, his light complexion washed even paler. Your throat squeezes tightly and you lace your fingers with his, giving him a gentle squeeze as James rests a shaking hand on his shoulder.

"It's my fault," Sirius chokes, and you shake your head immediately, his figure wobbling as your eyes sting with tears, "I should have never left him in that fucking house."   

You’ve never heard the entire story of the night Sirius fled Black Manor and ended up shivering on their doorstep, stinking of Dark magic, his eye bruised, begging for James. The guilt he harbors over that night is something he rarely shares with anyone. All you know is that leaving his baby brother was something Sirius never fully recovered from.

Terror strikes you now. You’ve seen what happens when Sirius closes up, locking everyone out and weathering his emotional storms all alone. Maybe it's a skill he learned growing up – the ability to throw up walls and barricade himself deep in his subconscious. The last time – when he'd found out about the most recent legion of Death Eaters and their Dark Marks – he didn’t leave his room for days.

He’d refused to talk to anyone, even Remus.

"It's not your fault," is all you can tell him, "it's not, Sirius."

Don't shut me out, you think, squeezing his hands as he shudders, please, let me help you.

You love Sirius the way you love James – deep, undying love. Regardless of the endless pranks and infuriating overprotection, he's one of the most important people in her life. The sight of him so devastated has you breathless – floundering for anything that might stop the course he’s on.

"He took the Mark when he was sixteen!" The words break as Sirius spits them furiously. "He was a fucking child!" His head tips forward as a sob splits loose from his chest.

"We'll fix it, Sirius," Remus says quietly, "surely there has to be something we can do." He locks eyes with you as a tear makes its way down your cheek.

"The end of the week," Sirius whispers, "they're going to kill him at the end of the week with all those bloody murderers." You brush a limp curl behind his ear before James pulls him into one of his tight, nearly suffocating hugs. Sirius’ panicked heaving is muffled against James’ shoulder. 

It takes an hour and a vial of Dreamless Sleep to finally get Sirius to bed, and you lean against the wall outside of his bedroom, waiting for Remus to reappear. The door opens slowly and Remus emerges, brow furrowed as he shuts the door as gently as possible.

"Is he alright?" You ask him. Remus rubs an anxious hand along the back of his neck, his sleeve pooling at his elbow. Thin, pale scars along his forearm shimmer slightly before he tugs the sleeve back to its rightful place and his arm falls back to his side. 

"No," he sighs heavily, hand closing on your upper arm, pulling you into his chest, "no, he's not." You hug him tightly, fingers buried in the soft fabric of his robes. Your eyes sting and you press your nose to his shoulder, inhaling the smell of clean cotton and mint.

"There has to be something we can do," you whisper.

Remus knows the ins and outs of the Wizengamot like the back of his hand. After applying as an Auror, he’d been questioned for ages – hours in front of the members trying to convince them that he was still fit for training despite his “affliction.” He had practically lived at the Ministry for months.

"I'll stop by tomorrow and talk to Doris," Remus remarks quietly against your hair, referencing the advocate that had been assigned to his case, "maybe there's some way we can get him out in a few years. Sometimes it's just a matter of showing them what they want to see. I doubt he had a third-party advocate." You nod and the door to James and Lily's room opens cautiously.

"Is he asleep?" Lily asks, stepping out into the hallway as you and Remus step apart.

"Passed out," Remus tells her, James stepping into the hallway after his wife. "He didn't stop shaking for a good ten minutes, but I think the potion finally kicked in."

"Merlin," James' voice is crushed as he leans against the wall, "hasn't he been through enough already?"

"He's bound to feel some guilt," Lily states factually, "he probably thinks he would have gotten the Mark instead if he'd stayed."

"Of course he thinks that," Remus says, voice tinged with rare anger, volume raising, “that’s what his parents made him believe before he left.”

You could wake him, you realize rather suddenly, and place your hand on Remus' arm to quiet him, earning an exhausted sigh. The last thing you need is for Sirius to hear you confirming his worst fears. Nibbling anxiously at your thumbnail you vaguely recall a few books in the manor's library about Azkaban and the Dementor's Kiss – a rather morbid fascination of your father’s for a few months at the beginning of the War.

"Remus is going to The Ministry tomorrow," you announce quietly to James and Lily, "I'm going to do some research of my own. Maybe we can find ... a reason for an appeal, or a loophole. There has to be something. He helped The Order, it should count for something." James seems to perk up at the idea and Lily smiles fondly at you.

"I'll go with Remus."

"No." You and Remus say simultaneously, earning a shocked and disbelieving pout from James.

"Someone has to stay with him, Prongs," Remus says pleadingly, "I don't know what he'll do if we leave him alone. He needs a Calming Draught and about a hundred cups of tea. Please stay with him."

Almost immediately James sags, bobbing his head of dark curls once in understanding. Lily slides a hand up his back, rubbing comforting circles between his shoulder blades. 

“We should all get some sleep,” she announces and you nod immediately, stretching your arms above your head with a groan, muscles stretching taunt in your shoulders, “we can worry about all of this in the morning.” 

“Alright,” Remus agrees, slumping as though someone has cut the string holding him up, “I’m going to crash on the couch.” 

Normally you would argue, protesting about his back, but your attention is almost solely on the books. By the time you all go your separate ways, you’re so absorbed in which titles to pull first that your feet practically carry you to the library – you stay there until the sun creeps over the horizon and your hand aches from its grip on your quill. 

⭒☆⭒

James catches you on your fourth trip to the library in as many days. You and Remus have barely spoken, ships in the night as he leaves for the Ministry and doesn’t return until late. Sirius has spent days pacing the living room, eyes cloudy with exhaustion, or passed out on the couch after another Calming Draught. Much to your frustration, none of the books have offered any useful information.

“Moony and Padfoot are in the study,” your brother tells you, “it seems important.” Hope flares in your chest and you nod hurriedly. 

“Yeah, alright,” you say, already turning back around to head to the study, “are you coming?” 

“I’ve got to drop off Harry,” James says with a shake of his head, “mum and dad have been dying to see him. I’ll be back in a bit.” 

“Sure,” you call, already heading down the hall to the study, “tell them I miss them, please.” 

“Sure, love.” 

 Rushing down the hall lands you in front of the study rather quickly. You knock twice before swinging the door open. Remus and Sirius are talking in hushed, tense voices at the large table in front of the fireplace. The side of Sirius’ face is illuminated with firelight, reflecting his nearly manic expression. His eyes are wide and pleading as Remus stares at him with a disappointed expression, shaking his head in disapproval every few seconds. His normally bruised under-eyes are even darker with exhaustion.

“When did you get back?” You call in greeting, hesitant to interrupt their tense discussion. Remus’ head lifts immediately, softening at the sight of you. A pleased grin lifts the corner of his mouth, pulling a very faint scar on his cheek tight. Sirius’ throat bobs before he turns to look at you as well. 

“Hi, darling,” Remus greets, “I only just arrived. I’ve been with Doris all night.” You make your way across the study to the table, squeezing Sirius’ shoulder as you settle at the table. 

“You must be exhausted,” you remark sympathetically, worrying welling as you take in Remus’ drawn expression, “are you alright?” 

“Fine, fine,” he brushes you off, “I’ll head home in a bit.” 

“Did Doris tell you anything helpful?” 

Your question seems to land like a bomb. 

Remus’ lips press in a thin line and Sirius turns to look at you, his expression open and full of hope. He looks so young that it takes your breath away. 

“Remus talked to Albus Dumbledore,” he tells you, “he said–” 

“Sirius.” Remus snips, his gaze cool. “Don’t.” Sirius deflates slightly at the reprimand but appears to steel himself before looking at you again. 

Sirius' voice has taken on a pleading quality when he says your name, his dark brown eyes brimming with sorrow, "Darling, you know–" his voice breaks and you suck in a breath. "You know I would never ask you to do this if I had a choice."

“Ask me to do what?” Your eyes flicker between them. 

"The Wizengamot would be inclined to pass down a more lenient sentence," Remus informs you quietly, "if it could be proven that he had a motive to help The Order." Disdain colors his tone.

"Motive." You parrot blankly. Your mind is swimming. The Wizengamot has been in disarray since the start of the war and lately, they seem to be doing all they can to move cases through the court as rapidly as possible. You’ve heard a few previous life sentences cut down to a few years in Azkaban or house arrest when new information is presented. An unsettled feeling has begun to churn in your gut as Sirius worries the edge of his sleeve between his long fingers.

"Remus thinks maybe if he had been in a relationship with someone in The Order, people would more easily believe he destroyed the locket." Sirius' voice is hopeful. "Helping The Order would get him a few years of house arrest, they probably wouldn't even hold him in Azkaban."

You shake your head, brow furrowing. You can't remember any relationships other than James and Lily throughout the entirety of the war. Maybe Frank and Alice Longbottom, but you hadn't been particularly invested in romantic drama – no one was. It was too much energy to waste when everyone was exhausted by stress and grief.

"Who was he with?" You ask, locking eyes with Remus. His expression is pinched, hair falling over his right eye, making him look boyish and haughty. "I don't remember him even speaking to anyone, but maybe if we can find some witnesses–"

"He wasn't seeing anyone," Remus says quietly, "no one in The Order would have wanted to touch a blood purist anyway." There's a bite in his voice that earns him a sharp glare from Sirius, and you feel dread crawl its way up your throat.

"I don't understand." You confess tightly. "Why are you even exploring that as an option?"

"It's the only option," Sirius says sharply, "there's nothing else we can do. This is the only way we can–"

"I still don't understand why–"

"I'm asking you–" Sirius' voice is shaky and he lifts his brown eyes to yours, "to marry him."

Static buzzes in your ears, quietly and then louder as the seconds tick by. Remus grimaces at his hands, thumb pressed against the pale scar that runs along his thumb and disappears under his sleeve. The world feels faintly tilted, and you shake your head in an attempt to rebalance yourself.

The second the statement leaves Sirius' mouth, you know you’ll do it. It’s an absent, emotionless conclusion. Anything Sirius asks of you, you'll do – because you love him. You want his trust, and to earn that trust you’ll do whatever he needs. Anything to keep him out of the unreachable place he flees to in times of grief. Losing his brother would kill him, and if you refuse he'll never forgive you – something you can't risk.

You come to the additional deduction, as you look at him, that he knows all of this. The request doesn't come from a place of clouded or misguided desperation – the look in his eye is calculating rather than manic. You realize, suddenly, that he has already added up the cost of this request and the consequences it will have on your relationship.

He just doesn't care.

You stare at him for a few more seconds in suffocating silence.

"You're asking me to marry your brother." You confirm quietly. Sirius' expression falters for a moment before he tips his chin up, emotions shuttered.

"It's the only way they'll let him out." He tells you, his voice flat. An ache opens up in your chest and you have the fleeting thought that you’re not going to recover from this for a long, long time. "I don't have any other options."

"Don't decide now. This is..." Remus starts to plead with you, openly devastated. "It's an impossible choice you have. Please, for me, sleep on it–"

"I'll do it." You interrupt him, earning you a disbelieving stare. "Assuming he agrees, I'll do it." You look at Sirius sharply. "You already knew that though, didn't you?"

The only response you get is the twitch of his jaw, his eyes falling to the table. Very suddenly, emotion wells in your throat and behind your eyes – suffocating in its intensity. In a panic, you stand from the table and make for the door.

"I'm sorry," Sirius calls out to you as you reach for the doorknob, "I hope one day you'll forgive me."

The only response you give is the violent bang of the door shutting behind you.

⭒☆⭒

The wait to leave for The Ministry is passed in silence.

James' knuckles are white and his grip on your hand borders on painful. His jaw clenches furiously as he stares at the fireplace, flames flickering in his blank expression. It feels as though you’ve gone numb – unable to even summon the energy to soothe your brother. Your gaze is locked blankly on your free hand, throat tight with anxiety and dread. 

"You don't have to do this," James whispers furiously, abruptly abandoning his stewing to stare at you, "I can't believe he asked you to–"

"James." You tell him quietly. "It's fine."

"It's not fine!" He continues to whisper, turning to you fully now. "The bond is forever. It's an Unbreakable Vow. He's a fucking Death Eater. He's a blood purist."

"If you knew," you ask flatly, "that you could do something to save my life, would you?" You turn your head and meet his eyes. Surprise flickers on your brother's face before his lips press in a thin line. "Would you?" 

"Of course, I would. I would do anything." James says, the words hushed, "But–"

"I would too." You tell him, squeezing his hand. "For you or Sirius, I would do anything." Your lips quirk in a wry smile and you return your gaze to your fingers. "It's just my luck that I have to."

James doesn't seem to know how to respond to that particular conclusion, and he sinks back in his seat – squeezing your hand.

Marrying a Death Eater was, without a doubt, not part of your plan. You can't say you ever really had an image of whoever would be on the other side of the bond – but a murdering blood purist was certainly not on the table. Faintly, you recognize that it is all sort of funny. You’ve spent the last few years obsessing over how to dismantle Voldemort and his followers, only for you to marry one of them.

The urge to laugh evaporates quickly when you realize the life you wanted has gone up in flames. Your parents have always set the marriage standard since you were little. Fleamont and Euphemia have been soulmates since their first year of Hogwarts and they've never wavered in their adoration for one another – even when raising two children and through a devastating war. When James and Lily got married, it only further cemented your surety that one day it would happen for you. You believed that everyone in your family was just lucky with love.

The irony is enough to make you faint.

A light knock on the doorframe pulls you from your thoughts – which is quite fortunate, you think, as an embarrassing set of tears have begun to make their way down your face. Rapidly, you pull your hand from James' and wipe your eyes, cheeks burning from the fabric of your robes. Remus steps into the living room, gifting you with a soft smile.

"Alright?" He asks, with his natural way of conveying that he already knows. You fist your robes, nodding and giving him a faint smile. "I think we're about ready to leave." All you can do is nod again, and all at once, the room feels like it's rapidly losing oxygen. Remus seems to sense your spike in anxiety and he pads across the carpeted floor to crouch in front of you – wincing as his back pops.

"It won't be too bad, darling," he says, taking your hand and squeezing gently, "they won't make you take any Veritaserum or anything frightening. I think they all want this case to be over rather quickly, and no one wants to upset The Order." You nod, tongue feeling thick in your mouth. "They'll ask you a few questions, reach a verdict, and then we can go home."

"Will he–" your voice cracks and James' hand settles on your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, "will he be there?"

"Probably," Remus tells you honestly, and you take the tip of your tongue between your teeth. "He'll be sitting in the back most likely, and probably surrounded by Aurors. He won't be anything to worry about."

That's rather nice to hear, you think drily, seeing as I'm marrying him tomorrow.

Remus glances at his watch, lips pressing together in a flat line. Your anxiety begins to climb.

"We should go," Remus says quietly, and James squeezes your shoulder again before standing and helping you up off the couch. Remus retrieves a small pouch from his pocket, making his way to the fireplace as he takes a small pinch of powder between his fingers. Tossing the tiny amount of powder, the flame roars as it turns emerald green. Remus turns and offers another quick smile before he steps into the flames and disappears with a whoosh. 

You’re next, staring at the green flames with burning eyes until James drops your hand and nudges you forward. You inhale deeply, squeezing your eyes shut before stepping into the flames. The room blurs around you before you appear rather suddenly at the entrance to the Ministry. Remus is standing at the edge of the fireplace, arm out for you to take as you step out and onto the marble floor. James appears with a gust of air behind you and stumbles out of the fireplace with a cough, brushing soot from his shoulder. 

“Merlin, I hate that,” he mutters, coming to stand beside you. 

Wizards in all colors and styles of robes bustle past you, some alone and some in groups. A few carry briefcases and some wear heels that click sharply on the immaculate marble floor. Chatter bounces off the walls of dark brick that tower over your head and you marvel at the stunning statues lined down the enormous hall – a variety of glimmering witches, wizards, centaurs, and countless others. Only Remus' hand on the small of your back pulls you from your admiration and rather quickly back to reality.

"The courtroom is just a few halls down," he explains as the three of you enter the throng of movement and make your way through the Ministry, "we're just a bit early." Sweat begins to bead on your forehead and your robes feel suffocating, the fabric clinging to your arms and chest. You fight the urge to place a hand at your throat to ensure you’re still breathing as Remus continues his quick explanation. "There will be a few formalities, just some legal rubbish. You’ll give your testimony, he’ll affirm it, and then they’ll reach a verdict."

Two large wooden doors come into view, large ornate letters reading WIZENGAMOT. It would all come across as incredibly posh if you weren't on the verge of a panic attack. Remus comes to a halt a few feet away from the doors and turns to you.

"Alright?" Remus asks you, the words heavy with concern. He reaches for you, a cool palm settling on the side of your neck. The gesture is grounding. His hazel eyes are full of comfort. You manage a weak smile, nodding just once, and Remus nods back before turning to the doors. His wand raises, and with a slight flick of his wrist, the large oak doors creak open.

The courtroom is quiet, save for the low murmurs from members of the court. All at once, you feel the weight of several pairs of eyes on you. Without thinking, you cast your eyes up toward the court. 

The unsettling blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore are the first you catch, plum robes stark against his long, white beard and pale skin. His stare is curious, almost amused, but deeply unsettling. You clench your jaw, pulling your gaze away as you follow Remus to the bench. Sirius is already sitting, his posture rigid and his hair pulled back in a low bun. Briefly, his brown eyes meet yours before they flicker away. Your heart gives a pitiful, wrenching throb before you swallow it down and settle in your seat.

The minutes pass in agonizing silence. Your nerves leave you to pick at your nails, avoiding the harsh stares by keeping your focus on your lap. The cuticle of your thumb begins to bleed and you bring it to your mouth with a curse, nausea swarming as the metallic taste fills your mouth. The heavy wooden doors continue to open and shut with heavy slams. Occasionally, you accidentally meet the chilling gaze of one of the members. Every glance is welling with pity or disdain. 

You’re not sure which is worse. 

Dumbledore's clear, sharp voice startles you as it breaks the low mumble of noise. “All rise, for the opening remarks.” 

Your knees wobble as you stand and you grip the back of the bench in front of you to keep yourself steady. The remarks pass in a blur, and at some point you return to the bench, hands anxiously smoothing down your thighs. A lot of jargon you don’t understand, a summary of the charges, and a quick introduction of the appeal. Relational motive is the term they seem to prefer when referring to the appeal. You fight the hysterical urge to snort. Finally, the speech comes to an end as Dumbledore clears his throat. 

“Will the accused be brought forward for the court?” 

Heavy, black doors, that you’ve somehow missed, creak at the far end of the courtroom. Sirius straightens, his fingers clenched into fists. The low hum of muttering fills the court again. Slowly, the doors grate against their hinges until they shudder to a stop, revealing a dark hallway. 

Two tall, serious-looking Aurors step out onto the marble floor. One is taller than the other, both in the dark robes of their profession. Their wands are drawn, but relaxed. Your fingertips press into your thighs, relishing in the grounding sting.

Behind the Aurors, a tall, lean figure makes his way to the center of the room. Black, shaggy curls are limp and greasy, his head bowed and hiding his face. Broad shoulders make clear impressions against the gray uniform, the bones far too defined. Sirius lurches forward in concern as the figure’s steps falter – almost as if he wasn’t sure his legs would hold him for a moment.

Despite his bedraggled appearance, there’s a certain aristocratic air to him. It seems to be a piece of his very essence. Long, elegant fingers are clasped together tightly at his waist, silver restraints clasped around his wrists, linking them together. Two more Aurors emerge behind him, the doors swaying before slamming shut. 

Your fingernails continue to dig into your thigh.  

Dumbledore cuts through the murmuring as he announces, “The appeal trial will begin as soon as the accused is seated.”

The murmurs crescendo.

One of the Aurors mutters something to the man handcuffed in the middle of the room, his head tipping slightly as they speak to him in a low voice. Two of the wizards make their way to the chair in the center of the room, standing on either side. The Auror speaking to him seems to inform him of something upsetting – his knuckles white as his fingers clench, shoulders pulling up to his ears. 

He lifts his head, light hitting his face, and a pit of dread opens in your stomach as you meet the flat, dark gaze of Regulus Black. 

⭒☆⭒

taglist: @coffeeaddictednymph @wbellab @houseofblackbaby @ainasadge

[writingonjorvik]

Ok but why is Pi bad but Mrs Holdsworth isn’t? And why are goblins bad? I know they’re antisemitic but I don’t understand why it’s only the one witch that’s bad then. Are witches antisemitic? /genq

I can do my best to answer this but I want to preface it heavily. I’m a gentile/not Jewish, so if there are Jewish folks who have spoken on this, you should talk to them first over what I have to say. Any research I have in this is because my book series has a dwarf as the MC (another commonly antisemitic fantasy race) and I have actively been doing my best to learn about these tropes by listening to Jewish folks in the topic to make sure I avoid promoting harmful content in my books, but that shouldn't replace talking to Jewish folks about it.

First, I want to say that none of these are just exclusively antisemitic. The problem lies in the common tropes used for them. Witches and dwarves are easier to talk about this on this point since they do have real world counterparts. Goblins get a little iffy, but you can write goblins that aren’t antisemitic, as vocalized by several Jewish members in the ttrpg community. It’s the how that’s the issue.

Let’s talk about witches for a second. We can’t just say witches are antisemitic because witchcraft is a living separate faith. Saying that you practice modern paganism doesn’t make you antisemitic, but there is an overlapped history there. Paganism just means “not Christian,” which means that the “old pagan tradition” included Judaism, and both what most people call “pagans” now a days and Jewish people were tried as pagans in ye olden days. And it’s also why there is a complicated history here to unpack.

Take the classic witch hat for example. There is a history of female brewsters using black pointed hats to help market their wares. There is also a history of the pointed hats being used to mark Jewish people in crowds. The combined purge of both groups actively blended the stereotypes because they were both tried for the same thing: witchcraft and satanic practices.

That doesn’t make witches antisemitic. What makes witches like Pi antisemitic is how they’re depicted. The rest of the tropes: evil magic, secret orders of practice, physical traits like beady eyes, hooked/prominent noses, and, the big one, green skin. Green skin was a trope used to other Jewish people consistently. One or two of these can be done without being antisemitic. People can be in secret orders or use shadow magic, but it’s the tandem use that’s the issue, the physical traits AND the practices that make is antisemitic.

That’s why too Mrs. Holdsworth isn’t. Sure, she’s in a coven, but she isn’t depicted with stereotyped physical traits of a Jewish person. Or why our Dark Riders aren’t antisemitic. They may use shadow magic, but they aren’t actively depicting these other traits. It’s the tandem use that’s the issue.

Similarly, let’s talk about dwarves. Dwarves often fall into antisemitic tropes. They’re greedy, they horde wealth, they’re isolationist. But they aren’t explicitly antisemitic as a race. The core problem here begins with Tolkien. Tolkien actually had a huge amount of respect for the Jewish people and researched Jewish diaspora that influenced how he wrote his dwarves. The dwarvish diaspora in Middle Earth reflects this. The problem is most fantasy writers saw Tolkien’s work, took the spark notes version of it, and didn’t explain these traits in setting, which fell into caricature as a result. They checked off the whole list without unpacking the why. Context matters here, and plays another part in what makes a depiction of a fantasy race antisemitic. Were these people hunted and now isolating to rebuild their culture? Is mining directly related to their primary trade as a nation? Is it one hat or are they multifaceted with a notable cultural practice?

This is where we get back to goblins. Goblins as a creature do predate their antisemitic tropes, but much like witches and dwarves, were blended in to centuries of antisemitism. Green skin, beady eyes, hooked noses, and greedy. Those are the issues with goblins. You don’t have to do all of them, the HP goblins don’t have green skin, but they do hit the rest of the list. The snow goblins hit all four of the big points here.

There was a Jewish creator I saw who had redrawn goblins to avoid the antisemitic tropes in D&D, which is where I’d first learned more about this. It’s been a while and I didn’t write down their name, so instead I’ll point out the goblins in the Hobbit. Largely, they’re little orcs, and pale from living under the mountains, but I’ve seen no claims they they’re antisemitic. Because the goblins in the Hobbit aren’t greedy, they don’t universally have hooked noses and green skin. They might have hordes but it’s more of a bandit horde than a wealth horde. They aren’t lingering near societies to hunt bad kids (notable Jewish people often couldn’t live in the cities and had camps near them), they lived in the mountains and are depicted like mountain bandits. Like Mrs. Holdsworth, they hit one or two tropes, but it’s not to that tandem use.

It can be done. But SSE didn’t. The caprans were in a similar boat as the Hobbit goblins, they hit a few tropes but their implementation fell closer to fae tropes. Beady eyes and hooked nosed. The conversion to the snow goblins though ticks all the boxes for them. It took a creature that could pass as goblin-like but not antisemitic and gave them all the traits that make goblins harmful in common depictions. Calling them goblins is arguably irrelevant to the problem. The term goblin can be used, and calling the snow goblins something else wouldn’t change the problems with them physically and the tropes they embody. The snow goblins need to be changed entirely because their characteristics represent a list of antisemitic tropes used in tandem, that the name goblin just amplifies. A different name wouldn’t change the greedy, green skinned creatures that they’re depicted as, and that’s the problem. And that’s why Pi needs to be changed too.

[whitecreekvalley-if]

Do you have any physical description of the ROs?

I most definitely do, my good fellow. I'm trying v hard to piece together some character intros with the whole appearance section but my ADHD has no mercy tbh. Thought about using AI art to help but it feels iffy.

Let me know if you want some deeper dives to how they look and I'll get poetic with it, or commission some art lol

Mace

6ft with sun bleached, dark-rooted honey blond hair that's short and wavy, and a stubble that matches the darker honey color of his hair. His eyes are a deep, warm brown tone. Skin sports a farmers tan, tawny beige at base level, and ruddy from endless hours under the sun. Freckles over his face, shoulders, arms, and torso. Naturally athletic with defined arms and legs, and a lean chest all thanks to the bronc riding and training.

Alice

5'5 with short, curly dark brown hair that twists wildly up to the skies if not under a kerchief. Her eyes an amber-tinted brown, like honey or good cognac. Her skin is a dark tan with clear olive undertones that she shares with the rest of her maternal side of the family, and her skincare keeps her skin glowing even in the worst weather. Her physique is plump in a powerful way, with strength centered in her arms and legs.

Judge

6'4 with dark brown hair in a close-cropped crew cut usually hidden underneath a beanie or a black cattleman's hat. He keeps his beard trimmed short and neat. His eyes are dark green and his skin is a tawny beige, rugged and weathered, with the occasional freckle centered to his cheeks. Broad shouldered and barrel-chested, his body a very prominent V-shape, with thick legs made for running and lifting.

Sadie

5'7 with a mussed center-parted bob that easily twists into a french braid. She keeps it dyed a copper ombre while keeping naturally brown roots. Her eyes are a subtle hazel, more towards a green with golden flecks mixed in. Her skin is a warm brown, with golden undertones that she brings out with masterful makeup work. Her body is on the rectangular side, average, with straight shoulders, long legs, and exceptional poise.

[welcome-to-ratterrock]

I’m beginning to fear me and Locke are the same person

Both have a food we can’t eat cause as a kid we were forced to by our father, both have an iffy relationship with our dads and older brothers, both are in a situationship, both have dark hair/fur and called twinks in some fashion, and both have over easy eggs over buttered toast as a comfort food-

Chat am I Sage Locke from ratterrock??

Golly, you do make a compelling case! Three more traits will decide it…

Do you have an obsession with death? Are your eyes a crackling arsenic green? And are you absolutely hopeless with social niceties?

If yes, SAGE, DARLING, WHEN DID YOU LEARN ABOUT TUMBLR?!