#l shaped bolt

[din976]

Product: L Shaped Bolt Standard: DIN, GB, ANSI, BSW Material: carbon steel or specified Level: 4.8 Level 8.8 Specifications: M3~M45, 3/16"~1-3/4"

Anchor: support specified

Thread: fine teeth, coarse teeth, imperial, American, German Surface treatment: natural color, galvanized, hot-dip galvanized, blackened, yellow zinc plated Packing: sacks, paper bags, trays, or upon request

[koi-fish-boy]

Tech theater I love you but why am I taking apart the same fucking frames and rebuilding them over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over

[damphexagon]

Hoarding obscure bolts, brackets, pieces of wood, and electrical adapters in the garage and then being so excited when they finally prove useful.

Regardless of your gender or sexuality, reblog this and tag your most hetero male trait. Mine is either obsessing over my Altima or sitting around watching TV shows about air disasters.

[fasteners-bolts]

DC Engineering is One of the Leading Manufacture and Supplier of Stainless Steel Anchor. We offer to our customer high quality Stainless Steel Anchor at best price, which is produce by high quality material. Click here and Buy Now.

[veg01]

Laying in bed, & I cannot stop thinking about how I’m going to extend my antique brass & cast iron bed frame from a full size to a queen 🤔

[phoward89]

Series Masterlist

Chapter 3:

After stitching you up, Coryo cleaned your wounds (again) and then found you a cotton nightgown from the meager clothes basket near your bed. He came up to your side, only to pull the blanket off of you and help you sit up. You let out a whine of pain, despite having morphling in your system, which made him coo, “I know it hurts, darling. I know.” Sighing, he held up the nightgown. “We need to get you into your nightgown so you don't get cold.”

“I'm shocked you care if I freeze or not.” You muttered under your breath while holding your arms up; signaling that Coryo could help you into the gown.

You thought you were quiet enough so he wouldn't hear you, but you're wrong. Coryo heard you.

And your words grated on him. How could you ever think that he couldn't care if you were cold? Coriolanus knows how it feels to be freezing in an apartment that's falling apart while going starving; he never wants that for you.

Ever.

You're all alone; you need him. He'll never turn his back on you, now that you're his girl. Coryo's going to bring you back to the Capitol with him; make you his wife.

Why? Because you make him feel powerful, that's why.

“Don’t say such things, darling. You're my girl, of course I care.” Coriolanus told you while helping you into your nightgown. Pulling it down round you, he admitted, “I know how it is to be so cold that the chattering of teeth and shivering of your body's so bad it takes your mind off of your stomach eating itself because you're starving.” Grabbing your hands and pulling your arms down, he reveals, “I don't want you to ever feel like that. Not when I have the power to keep you safe and warm with a full belly.”

“You’ve been freezing and starving?” You asked in awe as Coryo helped you lay down, so that you could let the morphling take over and get some sleep.

“The war hit my family particularly hard, but don't worry about it. Everything's fine now.” He assured you, mostly because he wanted you to believe that he's able to take care of you. That as the man of the family he's able to be a protector.

If you really knew how bad of shape things were with his family, well…would you trust him to care for you? He doesn't think so. Coriolanus needs you to trust in his ability to care for you, to protect you, to be powerful enough to ensure that nothing bad ever happens to you again. In order to do that, he has to keep certain things from you.

Like his family's money problems.

But he's sending money back home to Tigris and Grandma'am, so at least he's helping them. But things won't be better until he's back in the Capitol.

Kissing your temple and gently petting your hair, he told you, “Get some sleep, baby. You'll feel better if you do.”

A nasty side effect of morphling is nausea. Unfortunately for you, that side effect hit full force when you were asleep. You don't know how long you're asleep for, just that you're suddenly bolting awake, stomach churning, and vile rising up your throat. You scrambled out of bed, nearly falling due to sudden dizziness (another side effect of the morphling- since you took a dose for a large grown man…) and dashed to the bathroom.

Coryo was sitting at the kitchen table, a tiny thing with 2 wobbly chairs, slicing and eating an apple whenever he saw you rushing to the bathroom. Worried, he followed you.

Stepping into the bathroom, Coriolanus sighed as he found you hunched over the toilet, coughing and dry heaving. Kneeling down next to you, he said, “Be careful l, we don't want you popping your stitches.”, while rubbing your sore back- in what he assumed was a soothing manner.

“Don't touch me.” You ordered, pushing yourself away from the toilet to rest against the avocado green tub.

“Don't be like that, darling.” Coryo chastised you, as if you're being a bratty little girl. “I'm just trying to help.” He said, sitting down next to you.

He's just trying to help. Hmmm… Think he helped enough, considering he's the reason you're in this mess.

You just shot him an irritated and tired look. “Coryo, I don't feel good. I just want to be left alone.”

“I know you don't feel good, which is why I'm taking care of you.” The peacekeeper, who was now your personal pest, told you while wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you into his side. “But, if you didn't steal you wouldn't be feeling poorly, Y/N.”

Condescending bastard. “It's your fault, Coryo. You turned me in.” You pointed out as he gently rubbed your shoulder, attempting to make you feel better.

Right now the only thing to make you feel better would be him going away, but you know that's not going to happen. You're stuck with his ass.

“Don't blame me for your actions and consequences, my darling.” Don't blame him? Who else should you blame, you didn't turn yourself in. “You know stealing is wrong and that if caught you'll be whipped, but you still chose to steal- what happened to you was your own doing, not mine.” He lectured you in a self-righteous, pompous tone. Coriolanus tipped your chin up, only to defend his actions with, “I didn't want to turn you in. You're my pretty girl, but there's rules to go by. Now, we have to follow the rules to keep order.”

Little did you know that Coriolanus only followed the rules when it suited it. That he's a peacekeeper in 8 because he cheated in the 10th Hunger Games to ensure that his tribute survived and won. That he wanted to both win the Plinth Prize money and the girl, Lucy Gray Baird. And if you knew that he only turned you in for being a thief to his superiors because he thinks it'll help him get back to the Capitol- well…

Standing up and offering his hand, Coryo said, “Come on, let's get you some tea. That'll help you calm down.”

You nodded, putting your hand in his and letting him help you to your feet. Despite not liking him for turning you in, you had to admit that not being by yourself was nice. Swallowing your pride, you honestly told Coryo, “Thank you for being here, so that I'm not by myself while hurt.”

“You're welcome, baby.” Coriolanus smiled, feeling elated that you’re grateful for his help. That you need him. Leading you back into the main room of the apartment, he promised you, “You'll never be alone again. I'm going to be with you, always.”

Yea…you figured as much. Might as well get used to it.

The last few days haven't been that bad. Coryo wakes up, makes you tea and some toast before taking off to get you some medicine from his friend. Then when he returns, he gives you some of the medicine (after retching and feeling dizzy the first day you took the morphling he quickly realized that his friend’s dosage was too much for you and began to give you smaller amounts.) He also checks on your back to make sure that it's healing properly and that the stitches aren't torn. He cleans it too, to make sure that infection doesn't happen. Then, he'll read to you, since you don't have a tv, and make the two of you meals.

You and Coryo talk, share tiny details about each other since there isn't much else to do. He also managed to get the old radio on your windowsill to pick up a signal, but that's because he placed it on top of the fridge and extended the antenna with some tin foil (you have no idea where he got the foil, but you think it might've been from the base). So, in between reading and talking you're able to listen to music.

He promised to look into getting you two a tv, but you're not getting your hopes up on it. In fact, you're not placing too much faith in the delusional peacekeeper that's demanded to be in your life. Yes, his presence is very domestic in an odd way, but, sad to say, you're secretly waiting for the other shoe to drop. You doubt that Coryo can keep up the caring peacekeeper boyfriend routine; that one day he's going to snap. Toss you aside like trash since you're District and he's Capitol.

But today's not that day.

No, in fact today he doesn't come back by himself, but brings his friend- the one that's supplying him with the morphling for you- with him.

You're sitting at the small dining table, eating some apple wedges, whenever Coryo walks in followed by a big-boned man with a dark buzzcut and a baby face. The two men look like polar opposites.

“Y/N, this is my friend, Sejanus.” Coryo told you while bringing his friend over to you.

“Hi.” You simply tell the dark-haired peacekeeper.

“It's nice to finally meet my best friend's girl. Coryo's been real worried about you, cleaned out my stash of morphling for you.” Sejanus told you, a warm smile on his face, as he placed a pack labeled medic on the table.

“Sejanus wanted to check up on you.” Coryo explained while taking his seat next to you at the table. “He doesn't believe me when I say you're doing better.” Coryo scoffed, rolling his crystal blue eyes.

“She's been taking a lot of morphling, of course I'm concerned.” Sejanus told your platinum blonde peacekeeper, as if you weren't even in the room. He actually looked a bit concerned about you.

You couldn't help, but wonder if Coryo told him about how you two got together. How he's the one that turned you in for stealing. You doubt it. Sejanus seemed like such a sweet, kind, good soul; you doubt he'd be willing to help you and Coryo if he knew the truth about you two. How Coryo's as cold as his name- snow. How the tall blonde's a dark, delusional, twisted creature that got you punished only to possess you in the form of your caretaker man afterwards.

“So, you're a medic.” You stated, watching Sejanus unzip his medic pack.

Before he could say a word, Coryo told you, “He's training with the Matron to be a medic.”

“Oh.” You nodded, watching Sejanus pull things out of his bag.

“So, I'm going to need to see your back to access the wounds.” Sejanus told you after getting everything he needed laid out.

“You're not looking at my girl naked, Sejanus.” Coryo snapped at his fellow peacekeeper.

“I'm not going to look at her like that, brother. Just her back.”

“I'm not letting her strip in front of you. Just leave me what I need to give her and I'll do it myself.”

“Coryo, do you hear yourself right now? You're being irrational. I just want to help-” Sejanus began to tell Coryo, only for him to cut him off with a loud possessive, “I'm not letting you see my girl in a way that's only for me to see her. She's mine, so just leave the shit and go.”

“Coryo, I don't think he means anything forward, but wants to help with his medical knowledge.” You told the platinum blonde, vouching for his friend, since you didn't think that teddy bear of a man posed any threat. Not like the fallen angel currently sitting next to you.

Coriolanus took a hold of your hand while telling you, “I failed you the first time when half the district saw you whipped naked in the snow, I'm not going to let anyone else see you like that.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Whose fault is it that I went thru that, Coryo? Huh?”

“We've talked about this, baby. I'm sorry it happened, but there was nothing I could do to stop it.” The blonde hissed, sounding like a cornered snake.

Sejanus’ soft brown eyes darted between you and Coriolanus, watching as your tempers flared. Honestly, it made him feel a bit out of place. He wasn't comfortable watching a couple have a fight.

“Um, I'm just gonna go. I'll let Trey know that you’ll trade your day with him tomorrow.” Sejanus said, quickly zipping up his medic pack. The sooner he left the apartment the better. Especially since seeing you and Coryo stop snapping at each other, only for Coryo to pull you into a desperate kiss took him off guard and made him uncomfortable.

Coryo and you were too busy kissing each other like your lives depended on it, as if you're the air the other needs to live, to notice Sejanus leaving the apartment.

Sejanus honestly thought that Coryo and you had an odd relationship. Maybe it's cause his friend’s a Capitol boy? Who knows. But Sejanus does know that Coriolanus’ possessiveness towards you made him feel uneasy. That paired with fighting turned passionate, while you're healing from an injury, just made Sejanus shake his head. He has other things to do than worry about you and his best friend.

Sejanus needed to get back to base before the Matron realized that he was gone; give him demerits or worse, kick him out of the medic training program.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @harvey-malfoy @tian-monique @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3

[queenshelby]

Our Little Secret (Part 22)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Infidelity

Monday came around quickly and, at around 6 o'clock, just after you had gotten home from university, Cillian arrived at your doorstep, ready to tackle the cot assembly head-on.

After greeting him with a warm hug, you led him upstairs to Baby Mara's nursery, your heart pounding with anxiety. You wanted to create the perfect space for your little girl, but you were afraid that your efforts would fall short.

"Have you done anything with this yet?" Cillian queried, glancing around the room. He appeared hesitant, his gaze darting nervously towards the mountain of the opened up flat-packed boxes piled high on the floor.

"I haven't touched any of these. I promise," you chuckled, your cheeks reddening slightly as you handed him the instruction manual.

"Fuck, these things are confusing, aren't they?" Cillian muttered under his breath, his brow furrowing in concentration as he scrutinized the instruction manual and placed some of the boards on to the floor as indicated.

"What? Are you saying that you can't figure out a simple set of instructions?" you teased, a spark of amusement dancing in your eyes while you watched Cillian trying hard to assemble the bottom part of the cot. 

"Hey, I'm trying here," Cillian protested, his eyes flashing defensively. "This stuff is more complicated than it seems," he argued, squinting at the diagrams intently.

"How many fucking panels are there supposed to be anyway?" he cursed, his frustration escalating.

"I don't know, but let's start building," you proposed eagerly, eager to bring your vision to life. "Are you sure you can handle this?" you joked, your laughter filling the room.

"Of course, I've got this," Cillian asserted confidently, his gaze sweeping over the myriad of components scattered across the floor. "I've assembled far more complex things before," he boasted, his voice thick with bravado.

"Now where is that silver L-shaped thing?" Cillian groaned, running his hands through his hair impatiently. "I swear, this is like finding a needle in a haystack!" he grumbled, tossing aside a handful of bolts and screws in frustration.

Your eyes widened as you watched him throw pieces haphazardly onto the floor, a nervous laugh escaping your lips. 

"You mean the Allen key?" you questioned, arching an eyebrow at Cillian in feigned confusion.

"Yeah, the screwdriver thing they include in those packs, Cillian clarified, scanning the pile of parts on the floor in search of the elusive tool.

"It's called an Allen key" you laughed, watching him scramble through the mess before, finally, finding what he was looking for.

"Right," Cillian echoed, attempting to regain composure. He turned his attention back to the instructions, scrutinizing the diagram carefully. "I believe we need to attach Panel B to Panel G," he suggested, pointing at the paper.

"Or maybe it's the other way around?" he murmured, squinting at the illustration doubtfully.

"Oh, dear," you stifled a giggle, noticing the perplexed expression on Cillian's face. "This is harder than it looks, right?" you teased, nudging him playfully.

"You're absolutely right," Cillian grunted, struggling to fit the panels together. "These damn pieces just don't seem to want to cooperate," he grumbled, his frustration mounting.

The atmosphere in the room crackled with palpable tension, and you found yourself biting your lip to suppress a laugh.

"Here, let me help," you offered, moving closer to Cillian. Your skin brushed against his, igniting a spark of desire that both of you desperately tried to ignore.

"You should probably rest Y/N," Cillian breathed, his gaze locked on your perfectly round baby belly. 

"I am fine. I am pregnant, not sick," you chuckled, guiding Cillian's hands to the correct panel.

"Alright, but just take it easy. I will do the lifting, okay?" he replied, focusing intently on the task at hand. 

"Sure," you acquiesced, offering a lopsided grin. You leaned back against the wall, observing Cillian's focused expression as he meticulously fitted the parts together. The scent of sawdust and wood varnish wafted through the air, mingling with the lingering remnants of your floral perfume.

Suddenly, Cillian halted mid-assembly, his gaze fixated on a loose bolt that stubbornly resisted his attempts to secure it.

"You know what?" he said aloud, his knuckles whitening as he squeezed the errant bolt tighter.  "This cot," he muttered under his breath, "is a complete pain in the ass."

You suppressed a giggle, your eyes sparkling with amusement as you inspected the incomplete structure before you. Despite the seemingly endless complications, something about the chaotic mess of wooden planks and metal bolts stirred feelings within you that you couldn't quite comprehend. A feeling of warmth spread through your chest at the sight of Cillian's frustration, and you couldn't help but feel drawn to the connection that formed between the two of you as you tackled the assembly together.

You soon gathered him a glass of wine while getting a soda for yourself, hoping that it would help him relax, and he gladly accepted it, sipping it as he sat down to continue working on the cot.

You admired his determination, even as the clock ticked onward, and as he labored tirelessly on the project, you began to sense the strain on his face.

"Would you like to take a break and have something to eat?" you asked him, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure he was under. "I will heat up some pasta,” you added, a hint of excitement creeping into your voice. 

"That sounds lovely," Cillian replied, placing the partially completed frame of the bed on the ground and setting his tools aside. "I'm starving," he admitted, stretching his aching muscles.

"Come on, let's go downstairs," you urged, leading him down the staircase just as a lightening bolt struck outside, startling you and causing you to almost trip down the stairs.

"Shit, careful Y/N" Cillian said, instinctively wrapping his arms around you protectively. His embrace felt strong and safe, like a protective shield enveloping you.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice laced with concern as he examined your face closely.

"Yes, I am fine," you reassured him, your pulse racing at the speed of a thousand horses. "It just surprised me. That's all," you lied, smiling faintly.

"You are still scared of thunder and lightning, aren't you?" Cillian asked, knowing that this was one of the few phobias you had after having spent some time in a hurricane affected area in the US. 

"A little, maybe," you admitted, smiling sheepishly. "It's silly, really," you added, peeking up at him through your lashes just as you heard another loud rumbling. 

"Fuck," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly.

"Can we just sit here for a moment?" you pleaded, clutching his arm tightly.

"Of course," Cillian assured you, his voice thick with concern. With gentle care, he guided you to the couch, ensuring that you were comfortable. "Do you want some water?" he offered, checking in on you.

"Maybe later," you murmured, your gaze fixed on the storm raging outside. Thunderclaps rattled the windows, causing you to shudder involuntarily.

Cillian noticed your fear and hesitated to release you from his embrace, knowing that it was futile to argue with you right now, and just as there was some more lightening, the Livingroom turned black.

"What happened?" you gasped, gripping Cillian's shirt tightly. 

"I would say that the power is gone" Cillian explained before looking out of the window and realizing that the surrounding houses had no power either.

"Oh, fucking perfect," you muttered, your voice laced with annoyance as the storm continued to rage outside.

"It's alright Y/N," Cillian said reassuringly while reaching for his phone and turning on the flashlight. "Do you have some candles and matches? Or a torch perhaps?" he asked, his voice softening as he attempted to ease your panic. He moved toward the fireplace, illuminating the dark space with his cell phone as he searched for any signs of a lighter.

"Top right, next to the wood stand," you instructed, your voice barely audible as you stared out into the stormy night.

"Got it," Cillian confirmed, locating the box containing matches, striking one to life before lighting several candles.

As the room gradually filled with warm, flickering light, you sighed deeply, your heartbeat gradually slowing down.

"You know, every time there's a storm, I expect someone to show up out of nowhere and save me," you mused, smiling wistfully.

"Save you from what?" Cillian asked, raising an eyebrow as he joined you on the couch.

The scent of burning wax filled the air, and the shadows danced around the candlelit room, creating an intimate atmosphere.

"From the storm," you clarified, glancing out the window as the storm raged on. Lightning flashes illuminated the room intermittently, casting stark shadows on the walls. The wind howled, causing the trees outside to sway wildly.

"Well, I don't think that you actually need saving but, if there is a storm again, call me and I will come over, alright?" Cillian said, his words reflecting the genuine affection he held for you.

"Alright, deal," you agreed, resting your head on his shoulder as he wrapped his arm around you. The room filled with a comforting silence, except for the occasional crackle of the dying fire.

As the storm raged on outside, you and Cillian settled deeper into your embrace, savoring the peaceful moments shared in the dim candlelight.

"Should I make us some sandwiches?" Cillian spoke up, breaking the silence. "It's better than cold pasta, I guess?" Cillian chuckled while waiting for your answer. 

"Yes, please," you nodded, your stomach protesting at the mere mention of food. The thought of a hot sandwich sounded heavenly right now, and you couldn't wait to dig in.

"I'll just grab some plates," Cillian smiled, rising from the couch to retrieve two plates from the kitchen cabinet. He returned shortly thereafter, handing you a plate stacked high with freshly prepared sandwiches.

"Thanks," you murmured gratefully, biting into the cheese and crispy bread while Cillian checked his phone, seeing how long this storm was going to last and when power was meant to be restored. 

"The power is not meant to come back on until the morning, apparently," Cillian announced, his brows furrowed with concern.

"What?" you gasped, staring wide-eyed at the darkened living room. 

"Relax, Y/N," Cillian soothed, squeezing your hand reassuringly. "Everything is going to be fine," he murmured, his gaze never leaving yours.

You nibbled distractedly on your sandwich, your thoughts spiralling into worry. You hated being trapped in the dark, especially during a storm. However, Cillian's comforting presence calmed your nerves somewhat, allowing you to breathe easier.

"Do you, uhm," you began to say, pausing to gather your thoughts. "Think you could stay here tonight?" you ventured cautiously, your voice wavering slightly.

"I know it's a lot to ask, considering our circumstances, but I honestly feel safer with you here," you confessed, your gaze darting nervously between Cillian and the storm outside.

Cillian paused, his mouth full of sandwich, and swallowed deliberately before responding. "Amanda is meant to be coming over to my house at nine, but yeah, I mean, sure," Cillian stammered, a slight flush spreading across his cheeks.

He looked down at your hand, still nestled in his, before meeting your gaze again. "I will stay here," he confirmed, his voice softer than before. "But we probably shouldn't stay in the same bed, so I will have the couch, okay?" Cillian said, his voice tinged with uncertainty. He rose from the couch, carrying his plate to the table before returning to you with a determined look in his eyes.

"Thank you," you responded, a flicker of relief washing over you. The idea of spending the night alone in the dark, amidst the chaos of the storm, seemed unbearable. Having Cillian there, even if he slept on the couch, provided a sense of comfort and safety that you sorely needed.

As you finished your dinner, the storm intensified, the wind howling relentlessly, battering the windows. Your fears swirled, like the tumultuous clouds outside, threatening to engulf you but Cillian did his best to keep your mind preoccupied and suggested playing a game of cards.

He retrieved a deck from somewhere in the house and the two of you huddled on the couch, using the scant light from the candles to guide your hands. The soft whispers of shuffling cards echoed in the otherwise silent room, punctuated by fits of giggles between hands.

You played several games until around ten o'clock that night, by which point Cillian had ignored more than five calls from Amanda after cancelling their date and, just as the storm calmed down a bit, you decided to call it a night. 

After getting changed into your PJs and saying goodnight to Cillian who, by that point, had gotten himself comfortable on the lounge, you crawled into bed, feeling exhausted and afraid.

You were laying there awake, listening to the rhythmic patter of rain hitting the garden below. Each clap of thunder caused your body to tense, and the sporadic flashes of lightning served as reminders of the danger lurking beyond the windows.

It was as though nature itself conspired with your inner turmoil, amplifying the torrent of emotions coursing through your veins and, just as another bolt of lightening struck nearby, you jumped out of bed. 

The sudden jolt of adrenaline propelled you to seek solace in Cillian's company, and you hurriedly grabbed your robe before fleeing the confines of your bedroom. Your bare feet padded softly against the cold hardwood floors, and the scent of damp earth filled the air.

You knew that it was a reckless decision, and the consequences could prove disastrous if Amanda found out, but it was almost like you couldn't help yourself. 

"Cillian," you called out softly, your voice echoing eerily in the dimly lit living room. "I really can't get to sleep," you confessed, your voice trembling slightly. "Could you just lie down with me for a little while?" you requested, swallowing nervously.

Silence enveloped the room, and you feared that Cillian might refuse your request, or worse, question your motives. Your heart pounded in your chest, and beads of sweat trickled down your temples. You waited for what seemed like an eternity, your breathing shallow and rapid.

"I suppose why not," Cillian finally replied, his voice muffled by the distance between you. "I mean, it's not that we haven't shared a bed before," he added, his tone shifting uncomfortably. "So, I guess it wouldn't hurt to just keep you company for a while," he agreed cautiously, his reluctance noticeable.

You heaved a sigh of relief, your body relaxing visibly as you allowed yourself to lean against the couch. "Thank you," you whispered, your gaze locking onto Cillian's tired eyes.

With trepidation, you followed him back to your bedroom, navigating the darkness cautiously.

Once inside, Cillian closed the door behind you, shutting out the storm's chaos, before climbing into bed, wearing only a t-shirt and a pair of black Calvin Klein briefs.

You followed suit, slipping your robe off, leaving you in a singlet and shorts, and crawling beneath the covers, careful not to touch Cillian too closely for fear of provoking unwanted desires.

For a few minutes, nothing was spoken between you, the only sound being the distant thunder and the rhythmic patter of rain against the window pane. 

"I am sorry. I feel like an idiot," you then eventually said, breaking the silence between you. 

"Don't be silly," Cillian whispered soothingly while turning towards you. "Everyone has fears, even big boys like me," he joked, a ghost of a smile tracing across his lips. 

"Big boys like you huh?" you giggled before asking what his fears were, the answer to which surprised you. 

"Being alone," Cillian admitted, his voice barely audible. "When I was younger, I had this uncle who really never settled down with anyone. He was on his own when he passed away of old age and I figured that, never being able to experience love in such a deep and meaningful way must suck," Cillian confessed, a trace of sadness clouding his features.

"And I don't want to end up like that, Y/N," he revealed, his voice heavy with emotion. "I don't like being alone," he admitted. 

"Do you think Amanda is the one for you? The one to grow old with?" you questioned, your voice softening. "Do you think she is the one for you?" you repeated, a hint of curiosity dancing in your eyes.

Cillian hesitated and ran his fingers through his short hair, a troubled expression clouding his features. "To be honest, I don't," he confessed, his voice cracking slightly. "I mean, I like her, but I am also not completely satisfied with our relationship," he admitted, his gaze flitting apprehensively between you and the window.

"Well, only you can figure out what you want but, if it is not her, then why waste your time?" you asked before, suddenly, gasping for air as Baby Mara gave you a kick.

"What's wrong?" Cillian asked, sitting upright abruptly.

"Oh, nothing," you waved dismissively, trying to hide the fact that your baby girl had kicked you. It was amazing, yet terrifying, to witness the physical manifestation of your child growing inside your womb.

"It's just that I think our daughter might become a kickboxing champion," you chuckled, rubbing your swollen belly tenderly beneath the blanket. 

"Is she still moving around?" Cillian asked, his gaze drifting towards your covered abdomen as he laid back down beside you. Your laughter bubbled forth, and you felt the familiar sensation of a small foot kicking against your palm.

"Yeah," you marveled, gently stroking your protruding belly. "And it feels really weird" you added, smiling appreciatively. "Would you like to feel her kick?" you asked Cillian, extending your hand underneath the blanket, inviting him to join you in the intimate experience.

His eyes widened slightly, and he hesitated for a moment before reaching for your hand. His fingers intertwined with yours, and he placed his palm beneath your singlet, right against your tummy, pressing lightly.

"Can you feel her?" you asked tentatively as his fingers grazed your belly lightly, a puzzled expression clouding his features in the dark.

"No, I don't think -" he started to reply, his brow furrowing in concentration. "Wait," he suddenly interjected. "Yes, she definitely just kicked," he affirmed, his voice brimming with wonder.

His fingertips lingered on your stomach, tracing gentle patterns as he adjusted to the unexpected sensation and, soon, you rolled on to your side, facing away from him and thereby giving his hand better access to your round baby belly. 

"She will kick me all night, you watch," you laughed softly, squirming against the soft cotton sheets. The smell of damp earth still clung to the air, a tangible reminder of the tempest raging outside.

"She is going to be a force of nature, I just know it," Cillian hummed, his fingers brushing against your sensitive skin, sending ripples of pleasure coursing through your veins.

"Probably, but, right now, I think she is simply excited," you speculated, the corners of your mouth curling upwards in a soft smile. "I think she enjoys your touch," you noted, observing Cillian's reaction carefully while he traced gentle circles on your tummy, his fingers dancing along your skin.

"It's surreal, isn't it?" Cillian commented, his voice hushed. "Feeling a tiny human moving around inside you," he added, his finger continuing to caress your abdomen. "I can't believe we actually made this miracle," he murmured, shaking his head.

"Well, neither can I," you laughed softly, snuggling back, closer against his chest and, much to your surprise, Cillian's hand remained firmly on your stomach, the pads of his fingers pressing lightly against your skin while he traced slow, deliberate circles.

His attention was solely focused on the movements beneath your skin and, occasionally, he would pause to examine your reactions, seeking confirmation that the sensations he experienced were indeed real while you lay there, nestled against him, feeling his warmth seeping into your body while the storm raged on outside.

"Cillian," you murmured softly after a while, your voice barely audible. "I think I am falling asleep," you confessed, your eyelids fluttering as you fought to remain awake.

"It's okay," Cillian whispered reassuringly, his grip tightening on your hand. "Just rest. You both need it,” he affirmed, his voice soft and tender. " I will be right here," he promised, his breath warming your neck as he inhaled the floral scent of your hair, reminding him of the many nights you had shared in the past.

"Goodnight, Y/N," he whispered, his voice soft and tender.

"Goodnight, Cillian," you murmured, your eyelids fluttering shut as sleep claimed you but, unfortunately for you, you were woken up at around 3 o'clock in the morning by a sharp pain in your stomach. 

You groaned, rolling onto your side and clutching your abdomen as the discomfort radiated outward.

"Cillian," you cried out softly, your voice trembling slightly. "Something is wrong," you whimpered, your breathing becoming increasingly laboured.

"My stomach," you groaned, clutching your abdomen tightly as the pain subsided. "I feel like I am having a contraction," you whimpered, the realization sinking in.

Cillian shot up immediately, throwing the blankets aside and rushing to the other side of the bed. 

"It's a contraction," you confirmed, your voice quivering with fear. "But it is too early for that," you whispered, tears welling up in your eyes.

"Y/N, we need to get you to the hospital," Cillian declared, his voice firm despite the obvious concern etched across his face.

"Where are your car keys?" Cillian asked, his voice strained under the weight of the situation while he helped you stand up and guided you down the stairs. 

To be continued...

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[pygmi-cygni]

Hey do you have any tips for writing children dialog? Or just children in general lol. Thanks!

sure thing! and if you want my actual writing advice blog, go to @pygmi-says-hi.

Children have very specific linguistic development milestones that determine how they speak. They don't go from 'dada' to 'Oh look, Jeremy, the mailman's come with the Saturday Post,' there's quite a bit of middle ground.

Just learning:

with the impediments that children often have, it comes down to complex sounds that require a lot of tongue and palate dexterity. the L sound, the hard R sound (hey, watch it) and crisp vowels are a struggle, which is why they have a very soft, inarticulate word form.

kids when they're just learning to speak mostly use verbs and nouns. it's sometimes referred to as 'telegraph' speak, because it's very crude and choppy.

Elementary (6-8 y.o)

very abstract. Not a lot of definitions per se, but a lot of descriptive words.

so, a child might say: "Look, Dad, there goes the blue car with the big long stick and the brown chain connecting to another small red car!"

even though an adult would say "oh, a blue tow truck pulling a red car."

The kid can still adequately explain the scene, but doesn't have the functioning vocabulary to use the 'correct' words.

When writing kids, don't write them stupid. Just because they don't know many words doesn't mean they're dumb. Just think from their perspective: what would a kid think of that? use mostly adjectives. Specific words are out of reach. Break it down into easily digestable chunks.

A child would not say: "Oh, look! There goes a man carrying a bottle of Cabernet and a Parmesan wheel!" a kid might say, however: "That man was carrying a bottle and a wheel of cheese!"

another example: (uses an excerpt from an earlier post of mine)

“Lacy watched her father tinker with the car, wondering what he was doing. He’d taken a socket wrench to the engine and was removing all of the nuts and bolts, lining them up in his toolbox. She thought that was strange, because weren’t the parts supposed to stay in the car?”

Problem: A six year old (or at least none of the ones I’ve met) aren’t familiar with the insides of a car. I don’t think Lacy would be very good at describing in detail what her dad was doing, and definitely couldn’t identify the tools he was using.

Yes, this paragraph is okay, but it does not use typical characteristics of a child. It'll create a level of dissonance between the character and the story.

Let’s try this:

“Lacy watched her father tinker on the car, wondering what he was doing. He’d rustled around his toolbox before pulling out a long, metal stick with a loop. Whistling, he started pulling grimy silver trinkets out of the open car. They plinked gently on the cement floor. She thought it sounded like bells in the church.”

Little kids don’t have the vocabulary and sentence structure to describe things like the first paragraph (obviously, some are more advanced, but for explanation’s sake). However, they are great at describing things with comparisons and colors/shapes/sizes. With Lacy, I picked a more general vocabulary that focused on what it looked like, not what it was.

hope this is useful!

[drinkyourvillainjuice]

Powers post!

I wrote something up on COG yesterday which explains the entire cast's powers in a little more detail, and I thought it'd be nice to crosspost here.

Here you are!

Altruists

Dion - Can create energy projections which emerge from terrain, e.g. walls, floors, ceilings. These can also extend from each other to a more limited extent. They specifically seem to manifest as geometric shapes, as in, rather than just a vertical energy barrier, it would be a cube-shaped projection

Mal - Exceptional durability/resistance towards physical harm (cuts, blunt trauma, etc.) Capable of altering their own appearance, including height/bulk, but not precisely enough to accurately mimic others (could maybe hold up to a cursory inspection, but nothing more)

Kay - As well as having sheeplike physiology, she is able to absorb impact (and energy to some extent?) and ‘charge’ herself with it, resulting in an electrical aura. More charge = harder hits and greater speed.

Teddie - Constant bone growths that push through his skin. Luckily for him, his body works with these to not be, y’know, constantly bleeding everywhere. Unluckily for him, he still feels the growth. And he can only get rid of them by breaking them off. He’s able to influence/stimulate growth to an extent, allowing him to construct exoskeletal armour for missions (hence his more elaborate setup on the two jobs so far)

Wil - Able to drain energy from others via touching them, temporarily boosting their own strength and speed. Apparently works on constructs like Portrait’s too, neat!

Hounds

Surpass - Super strength, durability, and speed. Doesn’t work quite as straightforwardly as advertised, but we’ll get into that in time. ; )

Vantage - Creates precognitive simulations which enable her to predict roughly how likely a given course of events is to happen. The more information she has on the topic, the better her prediction. Has limitations: introducing outside factors to a simulation will likely render the previous simulation useless, and she’ll have to do it again, and she doesn’t have infinite concentration/mental energy to constantly run every possible permutation of events at all times. 97.65% was a bluff.

Arcade - Shoots lasers!! - fires colourful lasers from his hands, growing in intensity the longer he charges them up. Easily capable of causing burns/starting fires.

Enfilade - Augment. Cybernetically enhanced in various ways, boosting physical capabilities. Most prominently, her arms are almost entirely artificial, and one forearm houses a powerful bolt launcher.

Portrait - ‘Paints’ constructs from inorganic material, with the creations taking on some characteristics from the material (i.e. a concrete construct would be hard-skinned). The constructs have limited autonomy and are heavily reliant Portrait’s orders, which as you can imagine is a significant weakness. Struggles to maintain more than three at a time, though there’s no diffusion of overall power (they don’t get weaker as he makes more) Unclear whether the animal theme is a preference or a requirement.

Phalanx - Telekinetic manipulation of metal (so nope, she’s not Magneto). Metal she’s manipulating exerts force roughly proportional to the weight/size, meaning she’s liable to dragging herself around. Though that essentially renders her capable of flight, score!

Coven

Hypothesis - Still a secret!

Catalyst - Physical attacks are repeated threefold. He punches you once, you feel it thrice. One two three.

CG - Superhumanly perfect balance. As in “can run on walls and stand on pretty much anything capable of bearing her weight” perfect.

Variable - Can teleport themself a short distance, leaving behind a weird membrane like they just shed a shell.

Gremlink - Augment. Cybernetically enhanced with a particular view towards integrating tech with her senses. Absolutely none of this was done through legal channels. Tinkers her own cyberware because, to be frank, she’s possessed of a reckless disregard for her own safety.

Lullaby - They sing, you snooze.

WPP

Ranger - Can produce a temporary chameleon-like effect, allowing him to blend in with his surroundings. Maybe chameleon isn’t quite the right word as it’s maybe a bit more like stealth camo from Metal Gear? Anyway, he goes gloes to invisible, albeit still possible to make out a silhouette, with effort.

Hit - Greatly enhanced accuracy, especially with projectiles. Technically works in close combat but uhhh he’s kind of shit in a fistfight.

Mis - Greatly enhanced reflexes. Operates on kind of a scale depending on how close and direct something threatening physical harm is. Hence, in a straight up brawl it’s nigh-impossible to land a clean strike. Nowhere near as effective with grappling or indirect attacks, and, well, she doesn’t have eyes in the back of her head and she’s no stronger than any other young adult in decent shape.

[slutforsilverfoxes]

What Happens In New York... The Remix

In which Aaron & Sean’s bff meeting for the first time gets ✨reimagined✨ (essentially an AU with a different meet cute)

“Yo, Hotch!” The blonde popped his head around the corner to peek into the break room where you were perched on a stool and hunched over the table, tongue peeking out between your lips while you concentrated on the project laid out before you. “Come take a look at this.” You flipped your design around with a flourish and a quiet, “Ta da!,” revealing the name of the bar where you worked, The Edinburgh, in sprawling cursive writing with a shamrock dotting the “i”.

“Kid.” Sean clicked his teeth with a shake of his head before declaring, “Your talents are wasted here. This looks amazing!”

“We’re not that old,” you laughed. “Art school is still in the cards for me, don’t you worry your pretty head.”

“She thinks I’m pretty,” he cooed to no one in particular, then chucked your chin affectionately while you fought to grab a hold of his wrist before biting down on his hand.

“And you taste good, too,” you hummed. “Spill some Jameson on yourself?”

“Shut up and go man the bar, Y/L/N.” You shied away from Sean’s pinching fingers, then slung a towel over your shoulder and followed the din of patrons in the bar to your section. It was a relatively slow Wednesday night for a New York summer, but you weren’t bothered by the unhurried pace. In between serving craft beers and specialty mixed drinks, you busied yourself polishing the wood paneling along the cabinetry and ensuring all bottle labels were facing outward for ease of customer selection. With that task completed, you resigned yourself to peeling a lemon into artful shapes while you waited for another patron to approach your end of the bar.

“Penny for your thoughts?” A honeyed voice carried confidently over the steady drone of bar chats, and you looked up with a smile. Everything about the man before you screamed professional, from the dark locks swept off his forehead to his sharp suit and tie to the placement of his clasped hands on the bar with a thick silver watch adorning his left wrist. There was a certain stoicism about him that was undeniably intriguing, and you could sense a sadness behind the warmth in his chocolate brown eyes. A shot of adrenaline coursed through you as you held his gaze, and you wanted nothing more than for him to open up to you.

“He loves me not,” you joked, tossing the lemon rind that you were forming into a rose aside. Leaning on your elbows on the bar top, you tilted your head back and forth while studying him. “Scotch on the rocks?”

He breathed out a laugh and conceded, “I wasn’t planning on it, but that actually sounds great.”

“Got it in one,” you sang playfully, back turned while you poured the beverage. You could feel his intense gaze roving over your form, and you suppressed the shiver threatening to run down your spine. You placed a napkin down before him with a flourish, then presented his drink. “Now, how about a penny for your thoughts?”

He clicked his teeth and shook his head in a suspiciously familiar way before asserting, “Nobody wants to take a peek in here,” with a tap to his temple.

“I do,” you answered genuinely. “That’s why I love this job. You can tell me whatever’s on your mind, judgment free.” As you swept a stray ice cube off the bar, you tacked on, “Unless you tell me you’re a serial killer, of course. Then I think I’m obligated to report you, at least in most states.”

He leaned in conspiratorially and you met him halfway. “You’re a little too good at this,” he confided in a whisper.

You let out a mock gasp and questioned in an equally hushed tone, “So you are a serial killer?”

He shook his head with a small smile. “I hunt them.” The simple statement accompanied by the flash of defiance in his eyes sent a bolt of heat through your body that you didn’t care to unpack at this time. Instead, you directed the conversation back to him.

“Detective?”

“Agent.”

That sense of familiarity from earlier hit you like a ton of bricks. “Don’t tell me you’re big brother Hotchner.”

He laughed at the incredulous lilt to your statement and admitted, “Guilty as charged. So you know Sean, then?”

“More intimately than I care to admit on days that end in ‘y’,” you huffed through a smile.

“Girlfriend?”

“Best friend,” you corrected him pointedly, then carried on, “Roommate. Therapist. Personal chef. The list of my many talents goes on.” You offered him your hand to shake and formally introduced yourself, receiving a polite, “Aaron,” in response with a smile that stole the very breath from your lungs. His palm was surprisingly soft in opposition to his firm grip, and you reluctantly retracted your hand after a prolonged moment. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course,” he answered seriously after a mouthful of scotch. “Brother-brother’s best friend slash roommate slash therapist slash other miscellaneous job title confidentiality is sacred.” You snorted out a laugh and immediately slapped a hand over your mouth at the ridiculous sound, covering it up with a poorly faked cough. Aaron, for his part, was kind enough to studiously avoid eye contact with you while he smiled down at the bar. “So that secret?” he prodded gently.

“You’re not nearly as boring as Sean makes you out to be.”

Aaron threw his head back in a laugh that warmed you from the inside out, and you committed the ebullient sound to memory, determined to hear it again.

A pinch at your side had you squealing out an indignant, “Hotch!” You noticed Aaron’s eyebrows raising at the nickname before you directed your attention (and a swatting of your towel) to the younger Hotchner brother, then pressed a kiss to his bearded cheek.

“I see you two have met,” Sean noted in a carefully measured tone, his hand resting possessively on your hip.

“We have,” Aaron answered just as evenly, raising his glass to his lips again as the temperature in the bar dropped several degrees.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence, Aaron? Got a case in town, or did you just want to remind me I’m still not living up to the Hotchner name?” The genuine nature of your best friend’s question was poorly masked by his usual sarcastic cadence.

The brunette’s visage pulled into a frown for the first time since he entered the bar, and you immediately missed his easygoing smile. “He came to see me, dummy,” you asserted with an elbow to Sean’s side, breaking the tension as the brothers released a collective breath. “And blondie, we’re gonna have to work on your descriptive skills. You did not do your big brother justice.”

“And that,” you declare in the present, swiping an experimental coat of plum-colored nail polish over your daughter’s thumbnail before shaking your head with a frown and grabbing the remover, “is how your badass mom singlehandedly saved the integrity of the Hotchner family. The power of humor!”

“Sounds like the power of flirting,” your mini-me counters with a wicked grin reminiscent of her beloved uncle while you hunt through the basket of mani/pedi essentials for a more suitable shade.

“Nah,” your husband further contests from his spot on the couch, head buried in a case file and reading glasses dangerously close to sliding off the bridge of his nose. “Your mom wasn’t a great flirt. She would just snort-laugh at my jokes until I figured out she liked me.”

“You mean this twerp inherited that from Mom?” Jack lovingly ruffles his little sister’s hair on his way back from the kitchen and she barks at him in response, unable to retaliate physically while you’re working on her hands. “You’re so fucking weird sometimes.”

“Watch your fucking language,” you admonish your seventeen-year-old. “Is this purple better?”

Aaron and your kids look up for precisely one second before answering in unison. “Too light.”

“Y’all are a pain in my ass,” you declare with a grumble, giving up on shuffling through the bottles of lacquer in favor of upturning the entire basket on the living room floor.

Your husband stands with a groan and comes over to press a kiss to your forehead, then your daughter’s, before placing Purple with a Purpose in your awaiting palm. “That’s what you get for singlehandedly saving the integrity of the Hotchner family.”

__________

[A/N: Y'all seemed to really enjoy What Happens In New York, so I thought exploring a different meeting would be fun :) I think we can all agree that CM did the Hotchner brothers dirty so I shall continue to live in my world where they amend their relationship as adults thank u very much]

AH tags 🖤 @gothwifehotchner

[airandyeah]

By The Beach Merman Nanami X Reader pt.1

Hello! I plan on making this a multi-part fic, the first few chapters being SFW and possibly getting a lil NSFW. It will be similar to The Little Mermaid in some ways but.... i dunno. Warnings: description of injuries, mentions of cyber bullying, bad thoughts, cursing

Being a social media influencer took a lot out of a person. Being THE Y/N Y/L/N, took even more. Keeping up with trends, dipping into new things... It was a lot. But for what? A million likes from strangers but just 2 friends? Or what about the hate comments? The bastards hate you with such a passion, what's even the point? The comments of 'I wish you would just die' or even the ones calling you out for being 'cringe', it's stupid. Having enough of peoples horrible words, you took some time off. A full week off from social media. You owned a nice beach house, but you are always busy on socials you never even take the time to just walk along the shore. So now, at 2AM, here you are, walking the shore line, softly singing the words to some song... If you recalled it was called Welcome To The Black Parade... by My Chemical Romance maybe? As you walk you think back to those comments... Did people really just hate you? Would you be better off just dead? What if you just slipped into the water and never came back out.... You shake your head to clear the thoughts and look ahead.... You see something near the water. A strange shape. Maybe a person? Shit it could be a person who needs help! As you run closer to the person, you stop dead in your tracks a few feet away... No.... That's not right.... He....He..... "YOUHAVEAFISHTAIL" you yell, words thrown together in panic as the thing... no, man, groans, his eyes flicking open. You were already shocked at the look of this bulky man with blond hair and a strange but beautifully fire orange colored fish tail, but his piercing Hazel eyes left you speechless and entranced. Suddenly his tail, which you now noticed had a spiked fishing net wrapped around it, flopped violently. You snapped back to reality and realized he was bleeding too, he was probably attacked by frightened fishermen you'd guessed. "H-hey, calm down" you try to tell him, but he can't understand... He's a different species, duh. "W-wait here and i'll come back to help!", you say as you bolt back to the house and find a bottle of alcohol and a few old shirts, running back after. You didn't keep a First Aid kit, but your time as an influencer had you watching videos of hot paramedics, you would try to help him. You ran back to him and made a hand motion close to 'settle down' and after a few times he stopped his violent movements. You started inspecting the spiked net, he was more tangled than pierced, but his thrashing made it worse. You slowly peeled the net out of his scales, they were wet and smooth, as he lets out a loud groan of pain. Once the net is off of him you pour some alcohol onto one of the old shirts, you push down with one arm to try to keep him still as you press the cloth down to his wounds. He yells out in pain as you repeat under your breath through stressed tears 'i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry', you sounded akin to a broken record. Once his wounds were cleaned you backed off and let him move about, sitting just a few feet away. He looked at you, he was still pained, but could finally move freely. He nodded at you, his hazel eyes held you captive for a few moments longer, before he moved and dove into the waters of the beach. He's gone. ~~~ Thoughts?

[naturallyadventured]

arabella___rose

What is it to pray? Why pray? Or to wish, to have faith or to trust... Merely just by being & embodying ones truth is a prayer. Creator knows our deepest secrets. Why do I need to pray? Prayer gives voice to the voiceless, Prayer gives voice to the secrets held beneath your bones, embedded deep within your heart prayer gives voice to your blood... to acknowledge the mystery into the altar of spoken word & ignite that spark longing to be heard

I feel like Im on the precipice of great change old limiting beliefs & patterns are decaying as new landscapes & ways of being unfurl into my days.

With this winter solstice I give thanks to my past that has cultivated the woman I am. I give thanks to all those who walked before me, shaped me & birthed me into existence. I give thanks to my mother for raising, nurturing & caring for me I give thanks to my father for his constant support, firm love & encouragement. I give thanks to simplicity, slowing down & the spaciousness for resting upon this sacred country.

I feel l have been struck by love A lightening bolt so immense Im understanding love doesn’t come without pain. Its that intense contraction, friction & hurt that alchemises one to combust to open... to open up to more, to clear the stagnant that was trying to hold on... to open for more life force, more mana to radiate through

It’s been over 6 months since I broke my right forearm bones. In short it was like the world crumbled around me & everything I ever new changed form. I was forced to sit with myself & reflect on my life thus far how all of my choices had lead me to that moment.

What was spirit teaching me? What was karma teaching me? Where was I not in alignment?

Im so grateful to all those who expressed their love & care to me through in that time. There is no greater power than the power of love. Thank you #LOVE for teaching us, for teaching me how to live in comm-unity. To receive, to trust, to feel, to understand we need each other. Its in the dying that one can be born again. I give thanks to the spark of life within singing songs of hope, i give thanks to the courage & strength of will to utilise my voice to paint the artwork of reality.

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝕮𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖗 XV

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: They didn’t make it easy, just sayin’.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets.

TW // Slight SMUT/NSFW, Violence, Yandere Themes?

It’s been 4 years since I found myself with my biological child. 4 years being stuck under a house filled with camera systems that I didn’t have access to. What were they expecting? A feral marine to just slam through the wall?

I sighed, watching a shadow engulfing the front door from the kitchen. No doubt it being that cop and his Dark Angel checking up on us almost every day.

“I’ll get it!” Salem yelled out, already bolting for the door. His little footsteps echoing across the wooden floorboards while I took the dish rag off to my side to dry off my hands. Making my way towards the door myself.

“Clyde! Dacre!” My son squealed, being picked up by Clyde as he spun him around. Both of them laughing together before Clyde settled him on his hip.

“Are you causing your mother some trouble?” Clyde questioned, only walking further through the house when I nodded to them that it was okay.

“Never! I’m a good man!” Salem yelled, looking very proud of himself.

“Man? Since when?” Clyde asked, turning his head toward me. His pure blue eyes always capturing my attention.

“I may have praised him for helping me out with some ‘heavy’ chores.” I said, throwing the dishrag back into the sink from the hallway.

“Yeah! And they were heavy!” Salem explained, throwing his arms out as Clyde led the small group into the living room.

Plopping myself down onto the L-shaped sofa. Dacre sat himself besides me, making the sofa bounce a little as he rumbled. If I didn’t have Astartes sized furniture, I’m sure the sofa would have snapped in half with the added weight of his armor.

“How’s your mother doing anyway? I haven’t heard from her in quite a while.” Clyde questioned, looking over at me once more as Salem wiggled out of his hold.

“She is the best!” Salem shouted, running over and jumping into my chest, snuggling into it. “She gave me gummy worms!”

“Gummy worms?”

“What? He earned it.” I said, threading my hand through Salem's white hair as he smiled up at me.

“You spoil him too much.” Clyde sighed, his tone closer to adoration.

“It’s what a mother does.” I hummed, a rhythmic ding going off. Telling me the laundry was done.

“Can’t argue with that.” He said while I kissed the top of Salem's head.

“Excuse me boys, but laundry calls.” I excused myself, pushing off the sofa and towards the laundry room.

“Clyde! Can you play with me?” I heard Salem yell out to the copper while I left the living room. A small smile growing across my face at the childness.

“Sure buddy! What do you have in mind?”

Entering the laundry room. The scent of fresh clothing greeting my nose. The washing machine singing its tune out just before the dryer.

Dragging an empty laundry basket over to the dryer. I opened it up and started to load the basket up with the warm, fresh, clean clothes before pushing it out of the way and taking the lint out of the dryer. Then, I shuffled over to open up the washing machine and started to throw the damp clothes into the dryer. A soft thunk going off with each piece of clothing I threw in there.

Jumping in my spot, I spun around at the sound of a rumbling purr from Dacre. His hulking form leaning down a little to get through the archway.

“Dacre? Shouldn’t you be with Clyde?” I questioned, turning back to continue throwing more wet clothes into the dryer.

He purred again, his head coming forward to softly nuzzle the top of my head. Sending a twist down into my stomach that I couldn’t identify if it was ‘butterflies’ or my nerves telling me something else.

“Did you want something?” I asked, shutting the washing machine door and turning around to face him once more.

Dacre chuffs, his form practically curling over mine as he lifted me up and put me on top of the washing machine. His gauntlet taking a hold of my chin and tilted it up to him. His thin lips brushing up against mine. My stomach twisting more and more.

Shooting my hand up, I grabbed him on his gauntlet, stopping his movement. A low rumble coming from the Astartes. His russet brown eyes look down at me, questioning.

I opened my mouth, closed it then sighed. “I-I just… I don’t know. I don’t know.”

It was true, I didn’t know. This felt so right to do, but so wrong like it was unjust, cheating even.

I mean, I did have s*x with them once, but I admit, I was in a really bad spot. I haven’t had s*x in 3 long years. My fingers couldn’t keep sedating the same growing itch inside of my core for long, but f*ck was it a very pleasurable experience to have.

Dacre rumbled lowly and pressed a light kiss to my jawline then a little closer to my neck, testing what was acceptable to do and not. Not really pushing it, giving me any time to stop him; pull away from him, but I didn’t.

I let his breath fan against my cheek, sending shivers down my spine before his lips connected to mine. His tongue licking the bottom of my lips, asking if he could do more than just a sweet kiss. Opening my mouth a little, he didn’t hesitate to explore. His gauntlet coming up behind my head while I placed my hand on his chestplate, a groan leaving both of us.

“Mom! Ma!” I heard Salem call for me. My eyes widening in surprise, flickering from Dacre to the archway. His head moving back, leaving me out of breath. “Mother!”

Whipping the excess saliva off my lips, I slid off the washer. Dacre moving to the side to let me through, but before going to my sons call. I went on my tiptoes and surprised the Dark Angel with a kiss to his cheek. His eyes widening in surprise as he straightened up to his full height while I brushed past him.

“Yes, Salem?” I called back, hearing the light purr of a satisfied Astartes behind me.

“Can I have more gummy worms?” Salem asked, his tone a little suspicious.

“I don’t know. It’s nearing dinner time!” I responded, making my way to the kitchen. Spotting my child and the cop getting into mischief together. Their thieving hands in the snack cupboard.

“What are you two doing?” I asked, spooking them as they both jumped and looked behind them.

“Retreat recruit! Retreat!” Clyde yelled, picking up Salem as he squealed in delight. Taking a bag of snacks with them as they ran out the back door.

“Hey! You can’t have all of them to yourselves!” I yelled out, chasing after them.

-

I huffed, finally catching the little rascal with many, many snacks stuffed in his cheeks. Both of us sitting on the grassy ground, his deep blue eyes looking up at me with a grin on his face.

“I believe that’s enough for you tonight.” I sighed as Salem looked like a little chipmunk as he was still eating the sweets in his mouth.

Salem tried to say something, but it came out muffled. Though knowing my own child and any other child. They like to reject such an opposing statement to them.

“You finally caught the boy, huh?” Clyde wheezed, clearly underestimating what kind of speed and stamina Salem had. Especially on sugar.

“I hope you found your fun in letting him eat a bag of sweets, copper.” I grumbled, trying to get a buzzing Salem to sit still with my hold. “Before dinner too.”

“Haha, sorry?” Clyde apologized, putting his hand on his neck and leaning over, out of breath.

“Wait— Salem!” I yelled out as Salem escaped my hold, running towards the forest behind the house. “Come back!”

Pushing off the ground, I ran after Salem. His little giggles echoing through the forest. If the sun wasn’t resting, I would have thought his escapade would be fun, but since it wasn’t my worry skyrocketed.

“Salem! Please stop running!” I shouted out to him, barely keeping an eye on him as the sky got darker. The thickening of the flora not helping either. “Salem!”

Losing sight of my child. I slid to a halt in the middle of the forest and turned around in every direction he could have gone, my heart pounding in my chest. Oh, him and Clyde were not to ever touch the snack cupboard again.

“Salem!” I called out for him again. Hearing his giggles off in the distance. A shimmer of white catching my eye. “Salem! Come back–”

Choking on my own air, a low growl came next to my ear. My hands desperately trying to get a grip on this guy's armor. Gaining another low growl going through my ear, but then replaced by a quiet, reassuring purr.

“Hey there! Mind giving that child over?” I heard the voice of Clyde, my head turning to look where he was speaking from.

Clyde received a growl in return, the being behind me tensing up. Their gauntlets trying not to squeeze me like an otter popsicle.

“Come one now, don’t be like that. His mother is worried for him.” Clyde responded, shifting his weight. Was that… was that a Gray knight?

“Where is she?” The knight rumbled, his tone clarifying that he was not in the mood to play games. Yet it sent a familiar tingle down my spine. Did I know this Astartes?

“I don’t know who you’re talking about there knight.” Clyde said, shifting his weight again as the knight growled again, clearly not liking that as an answer.

“Look I just want–”

I jumped in the beings hold, my eyes widening in shock as the knight thrusted his sword through Clyde's body. His blood staining the ground behind him as he coughed. Clyde's hand coming up to grasp at the sword through his body. Slowly looking up between the sword and the knight before the knight pulled upward, splitting the man into two, bloody halves.

The being above me shook and kept squeezing their gauntlets hard enough that it formed a strong bruise on my skin before they took off with me in their arms.

“What are you doing?!” I shouted at the being, pounding back onto their armor. Catching the glimpse of the gray knights' visor looking at me. “Put me down!”

I needed my son! He can’t be in their hands!

“Let me go!” I shouted again, trying to wiggle free from his firm grip. “Put me down–!”

The world became a blur for a moment. My body suddenly slammed into the ground, a cry ripping through my throat. Searing heat going through my shoulder and leg. Metal clanking upon metal sounding out. What the hell just happened?

Trying to flip around on my stomach. I cried out again, the sudden pain making it unbearable to move, but I still tried. They were taking me away from my son.

I huffed, tears slowly flowing down my cheeks at the effort of trying to move my injured body. My eyes looking up at the scene before me as I used one on my knees and hand to support my body. Two Astartes going at one another. One of them shifting color before they were thrown into a tree, snapping it in half.

I hissed as the one who threw that other Astartes into the tree bent down to pick me up and started running again. A big headache starting to form.

“Mother?” I heard Salem faintly call out before he cried. “Mother?!”

ℕ𝕖𝕩𝕥 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣: 𝕮𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖗 XVI

ℙ𝕣𝕖𝕧𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣: 𝕮𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖗 XIV

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥: “���𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖗” 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕷𝖎𝖘𝖙

[to-fly-with-clipped-wings]

Chapter 1.1 - The Unexpected Visit

Chapter 1.1 - The Unexpected Visit

Pairing: Harry Potter x Chosen One! Reader

‘“I dunno what it was, no one does – but somethin’ about you stumped him, all right.” Hagrid turned to you, a mixture of warmth and respect blazing in his kind eyes. You straightened your back, preening under his gaze. So, what he was saying, basically was that you were the hero of the wizarding world. It had been you. The antidote to the disease. The champion. You were the saviour.’ OR: in which unexpected encounters open your eyes to a whole new world. One, it seems, you know nothing about, but knows everything about you. → Set in a universe where you are the chosen one, and Harry Potter is your best friend who tries to help you navigate the woes of being the lone hero of the wizarding world. A swap au where you are the chosen one, your parents are dead but the marauders + Lily are not. Eventual Harry x Reader, slowburn, friends to lovers. Author’s note: throughout this chapter I’ve put in some obvious parallels to the canon HP universe, but as we progress through the whole series, the plot may or may not become more canon divergent since you are you, and not Harry Potter… Anyways, welcome!!! Let’s see what (Y/n) (L/n), the girl who lived, gets up to. Thank you and enjoy! Series Masterlist

.｡*ﾟ🗲.*.｡  　ﾟ*..🗲｡*ﾟ

Your scar was hurting.

The lightning bolt-shaped mark that rested above your right eye, in a manner of which your foster-mother, Mira Caddel, despised. Your hair had always been a flying mess because of her insistence in shaping it in such a particular way that it hid your ‘hideous scar’. You had definitely been through your pick of crude hairstyles and forced bangs in your lifetime. 

It also didn’t help that your foster-sister, Odette, enjoyed grabbing the ends of it when she pushed your head into the bowl of the toilet. You swore that she ripped out at least half of your head when she did (yet, strangely enough, when you got back up, your hair was as normal as it normally was).

Anyways, back to the matter at hand, you supposed. 

Your scar typically didn’t pain you. It was more like a weirdly-shaped birthmark at its best. But, right now, it was throbbing, releasing shockwaves of pain that reverberated throughout your head. 

You tried thinking of what you’d done to cause this. You couldn’t have hit your head on anything (even though this was a common occurrence since you had outgrown the cupboard under the stairs years ago), because you had just woken up. You didn’t think it was the usual migraine either, because they didn’t want to make you want to scratch off your lightning-bolt scar. You quite liked it after all — it added to your timeless charm. 

Maybe it was something you ate last night? What did you do last night? You couldn’t remember it point-blank but —

Oh, that was right. Seconds ago, you were fast asleep, in a dream that involved a bright green flash of light and the sound of a small child’s cry. You had a funny feeling that you’d had the same dream before. 

You clutched your forehead. The pain was slowly becoming unbearable, as though someone had stabbed a knife into your brain. You looked around, hoping to find some relief or explanation, but all you saw was the familiar sight of your tiny, cramped room. The floor was littered with clothes, books, and toys that you had collected over the years, mostly from the trash or the charity shops.

A sharp rapping on the door to the cupboard caused you to jump. 

A gruff voice snapped out. “Oi, girl! You awake yet? C’mon!” 

You groaned, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. Callum Caddel, the final puzzle piece to your ‘family’, if that’s what one would call this arrangement. He was your foster father, a well-established family man to most, but a wacky old sod to you. He always managed to go out of his way to irritate or prod a taunting comment toward you. 

Your real parents, you’d been told, were killed in a car accident when you were very little. About one year old, too. That was also how you’d acquired your lightning scar. The Caddels didn’t often answer your questions about your biological family, mostly because they didn’t know the answers themselves. You had wound up in the foster care system for about two years before they had taken you in, although you presumed the only reason they did was because they got a sum of two hundred pounds a month for it. The Caddels often did find themselves on the shorter side of the economical scale, and from your own experience, knew how they jumped like fishes out of a bowl at any chance of opportune (free) money.

You stood up, dusting off your tattered pyjamas. A spider scurried up the pant leg, and you bent down to pick it off. Spiders weren’t an odd presence in your humble abode, in fact, you thought yourself to be basically a spider magnet of sorts considering how many you’d find latched to you when you woke up.

The fast knocking resumed. “I want you out! Out!”

You pulled open the door harshly, meeting the pink, rounded, wheezing face of Callum. You snarked at him. “Woulda keep quiet, old man? I’m up.”

“Good riddance,” he spat, looking awfully sour for someone with a chocolate stain on the right side of his mouth. “Hurry up and make us breakfast, girl. We do our own jobs around here, you need to pick up slack! Least, I remind you that you were the one to pick that as your chore. Don’t you know how long we’ve waited for you to wake up?” You eyed him distastefully. “I don’t see much waiting,” referring to the brown mark on his face. 

He swelled like a bullfrog, huffing and crossing his arms across his chest. “What did you say to me?” You run a hand down your face. It was too early for this. Brushing past him, you entered the kitchen and began your routine of cracking eggs onto the pan.

You had just begun to fry the bacon when Odette herself decided to grace the kitchen with her glorious presence. Odette looked like an odd mix between her two parents. Her face was in a perpetual state of pinky rage, and her neck blended seamlessly into her torso (in a way that made it seem she did not have any neck at all). Her blue eyes were wide-spread and little, obviously drawn freckles lined her cheeks, sort of in a straight line. You enjoyed making fun at how her freckles seemed to be inching ever so slightly off her face everyday. With how aggressively she would apply them, some freckles would end up roughly the same size as a failed chocolate chip cookie. Her black hair was down, greasy and shiny and damp, which didn’t help her case either.

You were glad that you were not forced to share the same bathroom as her, because the times you’d stepped foot in it (you were forced to scrub it clean, you would have never done it willingly), the poor drain was quite literally clogged with what seemed to be half of Odette’s scalp. You would say that the poor thing ate more than its owner, and that was certainly saying something.

Mira entered the kitchen soon after. Her skin was deeply tanned from all the fake-tanning solutions she’d gone through, still, it was very patchy and not done well at all. Her box-dyed blonde hair was thrown over her shoulder and she brushed her long, claw-like fingers through it. “She looks like a doll”, Callum loved to swoon and you would love to reply with exaggerated, painful gagging, which never went down well with the Caddels.

She narrowed her eyes at you before taking a seat at the table and waving her hand at you. “Glad to see you’re up.”

You glared at her, muttering “lazy oaf”, under your breath before handing out the plates until there was only yours left. It was a flimsy child’s plate, one that Odette had outgrown at the ripe age of four. You powered through your food, the smiling face of Bambi peeking through your slowly diminishing heap of bacon.

Odette’s ugly mug began to twist itself into her gruesome smirk, and her lips parted. Probably to hurl out a teasing jab at your oversized clothes (which was not a phase!) or messy hair. But, before said insult could escape your foster-sister, you all heard the click of the letter-box followed by the flop of letters on the door mat.

Too intune with the deliciously appealing food on your plate, you did your very best to ignore the petulant stares of the Caddels, the stares that edged you down expectantly to fetch the mail. 

“Get the post, Odette,” you snapped at her, not glancing up from your precious. 

She huffed and got up to get the post.

Your ears were finally being blessed, listening to the heavy thumps as Odette tramped her way down the corridor to the front door. Just as you sank into your chair lazily, her high-pitched shrill cut through the air of the Caddels’ kitchen. 

Mira gasped and sprung up from her chair. “Odette!” She sprinted to where you’d heard the scream. The pointy part of her high heel hooked onto the leg of the chair you were sitting on, causing her to stumble. She caught herself on the back of your chair, but the force of her grip somehow managed to topple it over, sending you almost flying and then rolling across the floor. 

Groaning, you sat up from your new position on the ground. The clicking of heels and the heavy pants emitted from Mira and Callum respectively grew distant, as the pair of them rushed to check on their precious daughter.

Now, you didn’t really care about the girl herself, but when there was just the slightest possibility that she could be out there, embarrassing herself or prissing her pants in fear - well, now that was an opportunity you couldn’t bear to miss.

As you follow after them, you deliberated whether or not to pop up over to get the camera in order to capture the moment ahead of you.

Looking back, you think that, perhaps, you should have, considering that very moment was to become one of the very best ones you would ever have in your life.

“Who - who are you?” you heard Callum shout. “Don’t you dare come in! Don’t y - !”

“Ah, shut up Caddel, yeh great prune.” retorted another voice.

You did not recognise that voice. The Caddels were social people, sure. They frequently left the house for social outings, like the occasional meetings run by Callum’s drill firm, but never had someone stepped foot near the house. Too ashamed to reveal the tiny size of their floor plan, you reckoned, or maybe they were afraid that the dreadful state of your cupboard under the stairs would scare the lot of them off.

Of course, that did not mean no one knew of your existence. Years of praying that some knight in shining armour would come to whisk you away from the Caddels led you to pick up on rather strange occurrences. Very strange strangers would often stop (quite dramatically too) in the middle of the street to gawk at you. A tiny, funny looking man in a violet top hat had bowed to you once, or when a terribly old woman had winked at you from inside a bus. Ms Fig, the cranky, resident catwoman and your babysitter, down the street also treated you with a gentle softness, offering you extra packs of crisps to take home with you.  

The point was, this whole situation was odd. But why?

Your feet skidded against the floor as you came to a stop. 

A giant man, one no less than ten feet, with a great, scraggly beard and obsidian eyes that glinted slightly in the light, was stood in the doorway. You barely had time to notice that the poor door was hanging off its hinges, like it had been forcibly opened. 

The house was already rundown and shabby enough, and you hoped the giant man would pay for the repair funds. The house wasn’t big enough to fit the four of you, let alone some giant. This was evident when he squeezed his body into the house, causing the door to pop off its frame and go crashing down. The giant man jumped slightly, and the back of his head bumped into the hanging light bulb on the roof. Tiny little shards of crystals pelted down. 

Odette squealed and stumbled backwards into the house. The other two, who had gone ghost white with fear, were opening and closing their mouths like lost fish. Callum raised his pointer finger at the giant man, but did nothing more.

The giant’s eyes swivelled around the room before settling on you. His face, still hidden under his mass of hair, grew into a warm smile at the sight of you. A smile, you decided, had to take second place on your very short list of best smiles (after your smile, of course. The Caddels hadn’t qualified, with their hideous jugs, so it was a meagre list of two). 

“Ah, there she is! ‘Ello, (Y/n).”

You looked toward him, and if your hands wanted to tremble, you didn’t show it.

Who was this man, and how did he know your name?

“Las’ time I saw you, you was only a baby.” the giant man’s smile grew. His eyes swept you up and down, certainly taking note of the baggy, rumpled clothes you had on. “I got summat fer yeh.”

He turned around, fishing for something inside the massive coat he had on. He spun back around, brandishing two things; a letter made from yellowish parchment paper with a purple wax seal, and a slightly squashed box.

Now it was your mouth that was openly gaping at the man. He raised an eyebrow at you, grinning, before handing you the letter.

You almost ripped it out of his hands, your curiosity taking over you. The giant man chuckled at your eagerness. 

Ms (Y/n) (L/n)

The Cupboard under the Stairs

5 Alva St

Midlothian

You stared at the letter. 

You did often get letters. You were quite popular at school, after all, for your reckless charm. But, still, no one knew about the cupboard under the stairs. Not even a single whisper of it was breathed outside of the house. 

“W-what is that?” Mira croaked out. You had forgotten she was there.

The giant man looked like he was about to snap her at but you beat him to it. “Well, that’s what I’m finding out obviously. You think I know more than you?”

The giant man huffed out a small chuckle at your hostility.

Ignoring the faint flushing of Mira’s tanned face, and Callum turning a slight purple on behalf of his wife, you flipped the letter over and yanked out the paper within.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)

Dear Ms (L/n),

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

You read the letter, and felt a warm tingle surge through your body. 

Excitement. 

Hagrid smiled warmly at you.

“Yer a witch, (Y/n).” 

You had always known you were different, that you had something special inside you. The strange occurrences, the oddly shaped scar on your forehead. That didn’t happen to just anyone. You weren’t like the Caddels, you knew you never had been.

And now, you had proof. You were a witch. A real, honest-to-goodness witch. 

You grinned down at the letter, before tilting your head at the giant man. “I can’t believe it. A witch. That’s — that’s well, incredible!”

The giant man was openly laughing at your ecstasy. Even Mira, Callum and Odette had nothing to say. You could see them craning their necks to stare at the letter in your hands.

You smiled at the giant once more when a sudden thought struck you. “Ah — er, maybe I should’ve started with this, but, who are you exactly?”

His shoulders shook with each of his chuckles. “The name’s Hagrid. Rubeus Hagrid. Keeper o’ Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts — yeh’ll know all about Hogwarts, o’course.”

Mira stepped forward, quite suddenly. “I don’t understand. A witch? What are you talking about? Witches, wizards — the whole thing! Those aren’t real!”

Your smile faltered at this. In your excitement (the prospect of finally being whisked away from here), perhaps you had allowed a cloud of delusion to settle over your head. She was right. Magic? Wouldn’t you have known if there was a magical society thriving right under your nose? 

You shook your head at this. No. There had to be one. There just had to.

Hagrid’s face fell but he was quick to bring it back up. “Tha’s right. You lot are muggles. Yer hadn’t an inkling of magic.”

“What are muggles?” you asked, perking up at the unfamiliar jargon.

“A muggle,” Hagrid began, “is what we call non-magic folk like them. It’s real bad luck that you ‘ad to grow up with ‘em, instead of yer parents. I knew we shoulda left ya wit’ a wizarding family… ‘least then yeh woulda known about - ”

His eyes widened with realisation as he whipped around suddenly to face you, a sad expression taking over his features. “Then tha’ means you never learnt about yer parents. About Hogwarts. About yerself!”

He looked quite distressed, as he ran a hand down his big face. “A sad thing, really. The whole situ’tion with yer parents. A huge scandal, ‘specially since yeh don’t even know what happened. Ya know, every kid in our world knows yer name? Yer famous!”

Hagrid looked at you, his eyes sparkling brightly. You blinked dumbly.

“Yer famous!” he repeated, noticing the stunned faces on your and the Caddel’s faces. “Gulpin’ gargoyles, I knew Dumbledore said yeh didn’t know much but, I didn’t expec’ yeh knew so little.”

You sucked in a breath, chest puffing out affront. You certainly knew your stuff. Hell, you were salutatorian in your maths class, captain of the football team and the most liked person in your year level. You definitely weren’t stupid, if that was what Hagrid was suggesting.

Hagrid sighed deeply. “It begins, I suppose, with — with a person called — but its incredible yeh don’t know his name, everyone in our world knows — ”

“Who?” you asked testily, not quite enjoying the way he was talking about this whole thing like it was as obvious as the sky was blue or the grass was green.

“Well — I don’ like sayin’ the name if I can help it. No one does.”

“Why not?” “People are still scared of ‘im. Blimey, this is difficult. See, there was this wizard who went… bad. As bad as you could go. Worse. Worse than worse. His  name was…” Hagrid visibly gulped. 

“Can you write it down?” you suggested helpfully, unfolding your arms.

“Nah - can’t spell it. All right - Voldemort.” Hagrid flinched, like some had just rammed a knife into his back. “Don’ make me say it again. Anyways, this - this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin’ fer followers. Got ‘em too - some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o’ his power, ‘ cause he was gettin’ himself power, all right. Dark days, didn’t knew who ter trust, didn’t dare get friendly with strange witch or wizards… terrible things happened. He was takin’ over. ‘Course, some stood up to him - an’ he killed ‘em. Horribly. One o’ the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore’s the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn’t dare try takin’ the school, not jus’ then anyway.”

He breathed out, wiping at his eyes. “Now, yer mum was as good a witch I ever knew. Yer father was great as well. Brillian’, the two of ‘em were. Truly. But then, You-Know-Who turned up in the village where you was all living, on Hallowe’en ten years ago. You was just a year old. He came ter yer house an’ — an’ —”

He stopped suddenly, pulled out a very dirty handkerchief and blew his nose with it. A noise that caused the remaining chandeliers to rattle.

“He killed them,” you said quietly. It hadn’t been a car crash… no. They were murdered.

“He killed ‘em. An’ then — an’ this is the real myst’ry of the thing — he tried to kill you, too. Wanted ter make a clean job of it, I suppose, or maybe he just liked killin’ by then. But he couldn’t do it. Never wondered how you got that mark on yer forehead? That was no ordinary cut. That’s what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh — took care of yer mum an’ dad an’ yer house, even — but it didn’t work on you, an’ that’s why yer famous. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill ‘em, no one except you, an’ he’d killed some o’ the best witches an’ wizards of the age — the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts — an’ you was only a baby, an’ you lived.”

You raised your hand to cup the scar on your face. A vivid flash of green filled your vision, but this time, you could hear something else — a high, cold, cruel laugh.

Hagrid sighed again. “Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore’s orders. Brought yeh ter a buildin’ an’ — ” he reached for his handkerchief. “An’ left yeh there, since yeh had no other family!” Hagrid dabbed at the corner of his eyes.

The amount of questions you held grew exponentially. “But, what happened to Vol — er — I mean, You-Know-Who?”

“Good question. Disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried ter kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. That’s the biggest myst’ry, see… he was gettin’ more an’ more powerful — why’d he go?

“Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he’s still out there, bidin’ his time, like, but I don’ believe it. People who was on his side came back ter ours. Some of ‘em came outta kinda trances. Don’ reckon they could’ve done if he was comin’ back. Most of us reckon he’s still out there somewhere, but lost his powers. Too weak to carry on. ‘Cause somethin’ about you finished him, (Y/n). There was somethin’ goin’ on that night he hadn’t counted on — I dunno what it was, no one does — but somethin’ about you stumped him, all right.”

Hagrid turned to you, a mixture of warmth and respect blazing in his kind eyes. You straightened your back, preening under his gaze. So, what he was saying, basically was that you were the hero of the wizarding world. It had been you. The antidote to the disease. The champion. You were the saviour.

The Caddels gaped at you, and then at Hagrid, their heads swivelling like fans at a game of tennis. The foster-couple had their mouths angled toward the floor, looking positively bewildered and confounded at the entire exchange. You truly didn’t care what Mira and Callum thought of you. They were just muggles, according to Hagrid. They were ordinary and boring. Not like you.

You were a witch, a sorceress destined for greatness.

You looked up at the giant man, who was smiling at you with a twinkle in his eyes. “So, what do you say, Ms. (L/n)? Are you ready to join the wizarding world?”

You didn’t hesitate. You nodded eagerly, clutching the letter to your chest. “Yes, yes, yes! I can’t wait to go to Hogwarts!”

The giant man laughed heartily. “Tha’s the spirit, lass!”

“J-just hold on now,” muttered Callum, stepping forward. “That’s all dandy and all — ” you saw Hagrid’s eyebrow twitch. “—  but, who’s going to be paying for her funds? Not us, I can assure you.”

Hagrid scowled. “We’ll cover it then. Ungrateful old muggle.” 

You stifled a laugh. 

Callum snatched the letter from your hands, inspecting the list of equipment. “She needs all sorts of rubbish — spell books, wands, cauldrons. This is just some great joke isn’t it?” He turned to you suddenly, his moustache twitching violently. “You’re in one hell of a punishment after this, girl. Think it’s funny, do you? Wasting our time with this wizarding nonsense. Some hilarious prank.”

“It’s very much real,” spoke Hagrid, his voice rising steadily. “And don’ yeh worry yer little head off, Caddel. She’s one of us. You don’t need to be butting yer head into it now. Yeh’ve done all yeh needed to fer the past ten years, bare minimum from the looks of it, but we’ve got ‘er now. ”

Callum’s face went an ugly shade of purple. “Good, I suppose.” he replied stiffly. “Then get along.” 

He grabbed Mira’s shoulders and they started walking back into the kitchens. Odette turned to look at you, her eyes flickering to Hagrid, before her lips curled into a wide smirk. “Have fun, at your special school.”

You sent her a nasty glare, taking a step toward her before Hagrid disciplined her for you. A loud explosion blew Odette’s hair backwards, a warning blast that, to your pleasure, curtailed her growing ego. She shrieked and high-tailed it to the kitchen, sprinting faster than you’d ever seen her run before.

You barked out a laugh at Hagrid’s guilty face. 

“Sorry, shouldn’ta lost me temper. I’d be grateful yeh if didn’t mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts. I’m —  er —  not supposed ter do magic, strictly speakin’. I was allowed ter do a bit ter get yer letters to yeh an’ stuff — one o’ the reasons I was so keen ter take on the job — ”

“Why aren’t you supposed to do magic?” you asked, tilting your head at him in interest.

“Oh, well — I was at Hogwarts meself but I — er — got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wand in half an’ everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore.”

“Why were you expelled?” “We’ve spent alotta time here,” said Hagrid loudly. “We still gotta get yer books an’ all. Let’s get goin’.”

.｡*ﾟ🗲.*.｡  　ﾟ*..🗲｡*ﾟ

Diagon Alley was a strange little place.

After passing through a grubby-looking pub, the Leaky Cauldron, and getting your hand furiously shaken by everyone in the store, Hagrid had led to the small outroom beside the pub and whacked his pink umbrella against a stray, mouldy looking brick.

You raised an eyebrow unimpressed when nothing happened after a second. The very next second, however, the entire structure began to collapse and expose the treasures hidden within. 

A knobbly street with stores positively hanging from the ground as they towered over everyone — even diminishing Hagrid of his giant stature. From what you could see, there was a cauldron shop with various different kinds of pewter, copper, brass, even silver cauldrons. There was an owl emporium, from which you could hear the distant chirping of owls, and a ‘Quidditch store’ (whatever that was) with boys and girls around your own age stood around the place, pressing their noses to the glass. At the very end of the street, there was a snowy-white building, significantly larger than the rest, whose sign read ‘Gringotts.’ 

Hagrid had debriefed you on some of the commonly known things in the wizarding world; one of which was Gringotts. Gringotts was the resident wizarding bank, where wizards would deposit their money (knuts, sickles and galleons) into vaults that were fiercely guarded by goblins. Apparently your parents had even stored a wizarding fortune for you in one of those little vaults.

And so was true. A goblin named Griphook cracked open your vault to reveal piles and mountains of bronze, silver and gold coins. You reached inside and grabbed as many coins as would fit into your pouch. 

You visited another vault too, one for ‘secret Hogwarts business’ as Hagrid put it. Of course, you tried your best to get a peak at the small item wrapped delicately in its brown paper package, but Hagrid had been quick to shove it into his coat pocket.

After a tumultuous cart ride back up to the surface, you went about doing some boringish house-keeping work, which included sizing your robes, buying your books, stationary and other equipment (Hagrid wouldn’t let you get the rainbow, colour changing ink bottle nor the quill that sung melodies to you as you wrote).

The last thing that was left was getting your wand. But before that, Hagrid had departed mysteriously, telling you to stay put at Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour with your chocolate and raspberry ice cream (with chopped nuts) until he returned.  

Naturally, you did not stay put.

Sauntering over to the ‘Quidditch’ shop you had passed before, ice cream cone in hand, you joined the small crowd still present in front of the display windows. You took a small lick of the chocolate syrup as you squinted your eyes at the thing everyone was obsessing over.

A broomstick.

You stifled a laugh. Of course, witches and wizards rode brooms – what else were you expecting? It must’ve been a form of transportation here. The label under the broom read ‘Nimbus Two Thousand - newest model of the Nimbus line.’ You looked at it appreciatively. 

You leaned to the right slightly, trying to look at the models surrounding the Nimbus, but you swayed too far and ended up bumping shoulders with one of the boys next to you. He jumped and turned to you with a start.

“Sorry,” you grinned at him. “I was trying to look at the other brooms.”

He smiled back at you uncertainly. “That’s fine. Are you a first-year at Hogwarts too?” The boy had messy black hair and rounded glasses perched on his nose. His brilliantly emerald-stained eyes shone out, past the glare of his lenses, as he made eye contact with you. He was quite scrawny for his age too, or perhaps that was created by the robes he was donning. Weirdly, your breath stuttered slightly. Now that was strange - your breath had never frozen quite like that before. Maybe it was part of the wizard charm, he was the first wizard you had really talked to (aside from Hagrid, but you were still unsure if he was a giant, a wizard or both).

Oh cripes, he wanted an answer didn’t he? “Uh — yes, I am. First-year. Hogwarts.” You nodded, in order to solidify your statement.

“That’s cool,” said the boy. His hair flopped onto his face and he pushed it back to expose the unmarred skin on his forehead. Your hair too had also fallen onto your face, covering your scar, but you weren’t as fussed about adjusting it. “I’m a first-year as well.” He gestured to the shop in front of you. “Do you like Quidditch? Well, you’re standing here so you probably do. Do you play much? What position?”

“If we’re being honest here, I frankly have no idea what you’re talking about.” You scratched your cheek, smiling sheepishly at the boy. He blinked, tilting his head. “Oh, like you don’t know what Quidditch is? At all?” “Yeah.” you answered. “I just came here to check out what had everyone so excited.”

“Oh, okay,” said the boy. “Are you a muggle-born then? Sorry — I hadn’t realised.” You continued to smile blankly at him, head empty from the stuff he was speaking of (what on earth was a muggle-born?).

“I’m a half-blood, see. My father’s a pure-blood, but my mum’s a muggle-born,” he said. “They’re out picking up some extra supplies with my uncles. Don’t worry if you aren’t familiar with anything yet! My mum was too, when she was invited to Hogwats, but then she ended up being top of her year and head girl. Here, let me explain Quidditch to you - you’ll love it…”

The boy rambled on with his speech about the sport - something about seven players, four balls, something called a chaser? which was what position he played. You certainly didn’t absorb anything he was saying, but you did note that he had a nice smile. A bit awkward and unsure, but it was still nice.

He was about to dive into the finer details of the game when Hagrid’s voice called out. “(Y/n)! (Y/n), where are you?!” 

You grinned apologetically at the boy, stuffing the end part of the cone into your mouth. “Sorry - that’ll be me. Great talking to you though, see ya at Hogwarts!”

You began to scurry away toward the sound of Hagrid’s distressed call, missing the way the boy’s green eyes widened at your name. “(Y/n)... (L/n)?”

His father, James Potter, snuck up behind him and clasped a hand on his shoulder. “What’s up, little Prongslet?”

The rest of his family came piling up behind the two. His mother, Lily Potter, whose forest-green eyes and bright red hair were positively sparkling at the sight of her husband and son. Lagging slightly behind were his uncle, Remus Lupin – with his robes prim and proper, not shabby at all, how he liked them – and his other uncle, Sirius Black, who was currently partaking (with much joy, might one add) in trying to pull Remus’s robe hood over his face. 

“Alright, Harry?” asked Lily, her fingers brushing away his bangs. “What’re you looking at?” “Um. Nothing,” said Harry Potter, tearing his eyes away from the spot you were last standing and back to his family. They met his gaze with their own warm, bright ones. “At least, I think so.”

.｡*ﾟ🗲.*.｡  　ﾟ*..🗲｡*ﾟ

The thing, Hagrid had left to do, ended up being a present for you. A little something for your admission into Hogwarts, he had mentioned. You were grinning ear to ear, thanking him profusely, when you had discovered what he had given you. You were proud to say that now, tucked delicately under your left arm, was a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with her head under her wing. You’d have to decide a name for her later, you thought.

The final store to get checked off was a shabby building tucked nicely away in the corner of Diagon Alley. Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC.

The place was tiny and quiet, and it almost reminded you of a strange library - though the only difference was that it was near empty and the shelves were lined with boxes containing wands rather than books.

Hagrid took a seat on a small pink spindly chair, though he nearly leaped off it when a soft voice echoed out within the small shop. “Good afternoon.”

“Hello!” you said back, twisting your neck to try and get a glimpse of the voice. “I’m (Y/n) - “ “(L/n). (Y/n) (L/n), yes. I thought I’d be seeing you soon.” An old man popped up in front of you, his watery grey eyes fervently scanning your figure up and down. 

Mr Ollivander touched the lightning scar on your forehead with a long, white finger. “I’m sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. “Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands… Well, if I’d known what that wand was going out in the world to do…”

He shook his head, before suddenly whipping out a measuring tape to eyeball the length of your dominant arm.

“I remember when your mother was here, buying her first wand. Twelve inches exactly, malleable, unicorn hair. Aspen.” The measuring tape flew away from his hands, now measuring the width of your nostrils by itself.

Your mouth blubbered slightly, gaping at the man in astonishment. “How do you remember that?” The man chuckled. “I remember all of the wands I’ve ever sold, (Y/n) (L/n).”

“Do you know my father’s one, then?” “Your father never purchased a wand.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. Was your father like Hagrid then? Expelled from Hogwarts before he could get a wand? (Well, Hagrid did have a wand you guessed, tucked inside his flowery pink umbrella). Your eyes widened. 

Was Hagrid your fath —

“He was a muggle,” explained Mr Ollivander. The tape had now switched to measuring the length of your face. “He didn’t have any magic.”

“Oh.” was all you said in reply.

“That’s quite enough,” he spoke to the tape, which fell limp to the floor. “Right then, Ms (L/n). Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it, and give it a wave.”

You took the wand from his hands but before you could do so much as to lift it, Mr Ollivander snatched it out of your hand at once.

“Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try -”

And try you did, but Mr Ollivander had snatched it back almost instantaneously once again.

“No, no - here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out.” You tried. And tried. And a little more. The pile of wands on the spindly grew and grew until the poor chair was squeaking and compressing under the weight. Yet, despite the failures in finding your wand, the more Mr Ollivander pulled from the walls, the happier he became.

“Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we’ll find the perfect match here somewhere - I wonder, now - yes, why not - unusual combination - holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.”

You took the wand and it immediately spluttered to life. A shower of golden sparks exploded from its tips as you brought it swooshing down from your head. An explosion of colourful fireworks emitted from it, creating little light spots, like the sort you’d find at the surface of a swimming pool. Hagrid whooped and clapped and Mr Ollivander cried, “Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well… How curious. How very curious…”

He began wrapping your wand in a brown paper bag. “Curious… curious…”

“What’s curious,” you asked, furrowing your eyebrows at him.

Mr Ollivander’s silvery gaze hooked onto yours. “I remember every wand I’ve sold, Ms (L/n). Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather - just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother - why, its brother gave you that scar.”

Your throat became dry.

“Yes, thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember… I think we must expect great things from you, Ms (L/n)... After all, He Who Must Not Be Named did great things - terrible, yes, but great.”

Great things. 

Terrible, yes, but great. That was right.

Ollivander, in his old manly rambles and silvery light gaze, was correct. That was you — (Y/n) (L/n). The only survivor of Voldemort’s wrath, and the sole hero of the wizarding world.  It was you who bore the weight of this burden now, and you sure did hope that your shoulders were steady enough.

→ Author’s note: Hello my lovelies, thank you so much for picking up The Girl Who Lived series! 💖 (I think I’ll abbreviate it to TGWL when I write about it though hehe)!!! If you couldn’t tell, this will follow the plotline of the books but it will deliberately omit, add or change some events ;0 Hoped you somewhat liked the whiff of interaction we got between reader and Harry (verrryyy brief but there is more to come, promise!) You don’t have to read this next part but I like analysing and explaining texts so I’m kinda gonna go ham on this chapter//series Reader grew up with her foster family rather than her aunt and uncle like Harry. There was no particular reason for this, ‘specially since both families are pretty similar 😀 Though, one thing that I wanted to point out was that the Caddels aren’t supposed to be as abusive as the Dursleys. The Dursleys are cruel to Harry because they hate magic and they’re spiteful of it, because Petunia was jealous of Lily.  On the other hand, the Caddels are an ordinary, Muggle family who happen to be quite prudent and stingy. They have a small house that’s not big enough to house four people, which is why reader lives in the cupboard under the stairs. Odette and reader’s relationship is a more hostile version of a typical sibling relationship, not the social hierarchy pyramid that was Harry’s and Dudley’s.  Anyways, the point is they hold no real grudge against magic, but they aren’t fond of reader herself, hence the mocking jabs. Because of this distinct lack of hatred, not only did reader receive her letter on the first day, rather than that canon goose chase/hunt thing, but Hagrid also wasn’t as aggressive to them as he was to the Dursley’s. They don’t hate magic, nor do they hate the reader. To them, she kind of just exists This partly ties into reader’s quite arrogant and brazen personality (which I will analyse more in depth later on… no spoilers!) So yeah, the Caddels aren’t evil or abusive at heart, just a family who needs money and happens to have taken in a teenager with a bucket load of angst (which I will also tap into later ;)  (One more thing soz… but if you’re wondering why you met Harry instead of Draco in Diagon Alley like in the og books, well in the canon, Harry goes to Diagon Alley like on the 31st of July (very late). On the other hand, reader received her letter first up so they went to get the supplies on like the 1st hence her and Draco’s times don’t overlap! I chucked Harry in here because since he lives with his parents now, James would def want Harry to get his stuff ASAP to teach him random crap and Lily would want him to start studying or practising for school LOL) Series Masterlist

[mewkwota]

Do you have any tips on how to draw Omega-xis' spikeyness?

Oh gosh, I wanna assume you are talking about the light of his body? I guess I see the material being like an explosion, where it starts really big and wide then starts to narrow down. On that note, I see the material as sporadic so I think it's okay to make it look as non-uniform, so some spikes can be real long and some not.

His torso looks like the zig-zag of a lightning bolt to me, so I try to go for a shape like that and but it "explosion" again.

For his "mane", which I think of it like X-Zero's ponytail where it has this big hump at the start (but it starts at the top of his head and connects back to his neck?) then follows the same idea from before.

So maybe think about it as if Omega-Xis had regular human proportions but then make then "explosion", I'm sorry if that doesn't make a lot of sense as I'm very bad at explaining things. L(///L )

I also made a visual of what I mean if it may be more helpful:

If you were otherwise talking about his head, I find that I start with his "ears" then draw the "spikes" over his eyes to figure out the perspective I want to go for. To me, he's like recalling how to draw a furry-anthro, dragon, and a box at the same time. ^^;

[bestiarium]

Tambanokano [Philippine mythology; Mindanao/Mandaya myths]

In the native religion of Mindanao and Mandaya (in the Philippines), the moon and the sun are somewhat important characters (or, rather, personifications of the moon and the sun). The moon was married to the sun, but her husband was angry and prone to outbursts of rage. One day, for reasons that are unknown to me, the sun became particularly mad at the moon. The moon ran away with all her might, but the sun gave chase and pursued her relentlessly. At times, the moon grew tired and slowed down, nearly allowing her pursuer to catch up with her. But he never reached her, because every time he comes close to catching his wife, the moon starts running again. And the two of them are still running, sometimes coming close to one another but never touching. And that is why the sun and the moon move across the sky.

In better times, though, the moon and the sun had children together. Among them was a magical creature, shaped like a man but glowing like a star. But the sun got angry and murdered his own son before horribly cutting the corpse up in hundreds of little bits. He then spread the tiny little bits across the night sky, where they are still glowing, just as the son did when he was whole. And that is why you can see stars at night.

Not all offspring of the sun and the moon were slain, however. One of them is named Tambanokano, and to this day he still resides in the depths of the ocean. Tambanokano is a humongous crab with power over lightning: every time the creature opens and closes his eyes, a bolt of lightning flashes in the sky. Tambanokano unfortunately inherited his father’s temper and he, too, is often angry at the poor moon. It happened several times that he becomes enraged at his mother and rises up, trying to devour the moon alive. But the people saw this and left their homes, beating gongs and shouting at the crab until the creature becomes scared of the noise and retreats to his oceanic home. And that is why the moon still exists. (Note: it is believed that this story refers to a lunar eclipse!)

Tambanokano’s dwelling is a huge hole somewhere in the ocean floor. When he is there, the ocean stands high. But sometimes he leaves his dwelling, and the water rushes into the cave, after which it becomes low tide. The movement this titanic creature makes as it wanders about the ocean floor causes waves to appear on the surface of the sea. When the crab re-enters his home, he pushes the water up again. And that is why the ocean has high and low tides.

Sources: Cole, M. C., 1916, Philippine Folk Tales. Eugenio, D. L., 2007, Philippine Folk Literature: an Anthology, UP Press, 500 pp. (image source 1: Alfred Ismael Galaroza on Artstation) (image source 2: ZanderBarcelo on Deviantart)