#otp: not even sharp razors

[twisted-tales-told]

regulus for the ask game <3

Omg hi bestie I love u

This ask game

My favourite thing about Regulus Black is that he’s SO clever. Like he’s not smart, he’s not witty, he’s Clever. It’s different. He sees a way around problems other people wouldn’t even BEGIN to think about. Like this is not the kind of cleverness that is taught to someone. It comes from within. It was always present inside of him and he has shaped it and molded it into an instrument. I feel like people get him wrong when they say he’s “sharp as a knife” or whatever. That fucker is a violin.

Least favourite thing about Regulus Black. He has a tendency to think he’s abandoned when he hasn’t been. And I think it hurts him more than it could ever hurt the other people around him, but it still does wound those who care about him.

Favourite Line: I don’t necessarily have a favourite line but my favourite characterization of him is Winterlude by @otrtbs

Brotp: I gotta say him and Dorcas for this one. I think they are ride or dies. There are secrets shared between them that not even Veritaserum could cut out of them. I think it’s a quiet friendship that they share, and an even deadlier loyalty.

OTP: Jegulus, I answered this a bit with James’ post, but for regulus specifically I think he needs James’ love so badly. It’s the good thing he has earned through all the bad.

Notp I Hate Bartylus. I hate it with everything in me. Unless you’re nat I will literally not interact with you about it

Random headxanon: literally uses magic to tie his shoes because he doesn’t know how

Unpopular opinion: I left this fandom for almost a year because I just hated the turn in characterization most people were writing for him. Like HATED it. Made my blood boil. Who is this plucky, razor mouthed, dead inside man. Not my regulus that’s for sure. Like I got so fed up with it because it was just in every fic I turned to and it started to affect my own writing!! And that’s not okay. So now I read jegulus fics just by the people I trust to write him well because I honestly cannot take it. My Regulus is precious. He is a little freak nerd who doesn’t know how to make eye contact with people.

Like I’m making a big deal out of this entirely because the way people began to write him was ENTIRELY too much like my abusive ex which is NOT the writers faults at all but it did mean I had to step away from the fandom for a long time unless I wanted to become a crazy person.

Song I associate with him: I’m sorry I’m gatekeeping (message me privately I’ll answer u probably)

My favourite fanart of him has a bright red background and he’s lighting a cigarette into the mouth of Godric Gryffindor

[dangermousie]

Farscape rewatch - Sons and Lovers, 3x02

“Sons and Lovers” is one of my favorites, in some ways. For Farscape it is a light, happy ep, much needed before the sorrow of the coming two parter, then the bleakness of Different Destinations and all the queasiness starting with Eat Me. Of course, by standards of most other shows, this would be a heavy, serious ep: Zhaan is still dying, D’Argo finds out his son and his gf cheated with each other etc. But it is not like that at all, and not just because of razor sharp writing (some of the best, sharpest dialogue of the season is in this ep.) Zhaan is dying but not gone, and there is hope she will find a proper planet and heal. No one is dead or driven insane. No one is even hunting Moyans this time, and you can’t even say they are merely at the wrong place at the wrong time because they end up saving the situation so it’s good for people at the station they ended up there. No one important dies, and the death toll is super low even for the extras. It is, in Moya terms, a good day. In a way, this whole episode is about three romantic relationships, all in a state of flux. There are John and Aeryn, just beginning, in their giddily hopeful-tentative dance (soon to get complicated with Eat Me enormously, of course). There are Zhaan and Stark, a relationship ending, through outside forces: through Zhaan’s impending death. And there are Chi/D’Argo, exploding in a messy, neuron bomb kind of way. It is also an episode drenched in sex. Not just, on a most obvious level, Chiana and Jothee, both acting out through their betrayal of D’Argo, but also the sex that John and Aeryn are not having, and the self-gratification Rygel indulges in (I never got it before, but when he is watching Chi/Jothee on the holovid, he is stroking his eyebrows which is his equivalent of you know what.)   You know, my favorite scene in this ep is actually…well, actually it’s two scenes. One is Zhaan and Stark in the bar, with Zhaan telling Stark to stop fussing because ‘I am dying, Stark, I am not an invalid’ (OMG Zhaan love - so very tough, always.) 

And also his seeing the lesions on her head and realizing that her disease progressed much faster than they thought and the helpless distraughtness and his insistence despite it all that they will find a place for her to heal (is he, like John, holding on so unimaginably tightly to his OTP because she is the one thing he has left?) 

And then that quote, when she tells him about helping her to pass on is the one thing he can do, and he is an expert (btw, seriously, I bet he was fucked up even before the Aurora Chair, that sounds like a gift no one would want to have). And his reply ‘I am an expert on dying, I am just not an expert on you dying.’ 

Well…soon you will become an expert on this, Stark. Ok, must think happy thoughts, happy thoughts. This is a happy ep, if I say it enough it will be true. But honestly, Stark breaks my heart in this ep and not just because Paul Goddard is gorgeous. (I am finding a man with no hair and half his head in a metal mask hot, Good Lord.) But neat points to the writers for little touches of character consistency, as when Stark tips those servitors some enormous tip and is all communist about ‘servants are never paid enough.’ I think his dislike of exploitation is pretty personal: guy is a former slave after all. The other favorite scene is in the conduits, John and Aeryn discussing the sex they are not having. This is the first time we see them after the mutual love confession and the crazy, incredible kiss. And their chemistry is as thick as ever, but what I am noticing is the sheer amount of physical contact, of joyfully matter-of-fact invasion of each other’s personal space that is in this ep, from their hands nearly touching when she shows off her new ammunition, to her sitting by him, as she comes in (and of course, when there is the storm, Aeryn is the one John yells for, first, to make sure she is OK, just like Stark is doing same with Zhaan). And then in the conduits, I love the scene where Aeryn basically offers pure sex, no emotional attachment necessary. She says they can have sex and to be emotionally detached. I have to say, I so do not follow the lady’s logic here. Point one, she and John love each other, and have admitted said fact to each other. Point two, now they are going to have sex, if she has her way. But how are you not having a relationship if you are in love and you are friends and you are having sex? Whaaaat?

I don’t think she connected the dots and desperately trying to compartmentalize. I suppose she can be hoping that their love is only lust which will pass if they do it, but they have done it already and she doesn’t seem to want to deny she loves him, she just doesn’t want to act on it, but isn’t sleeping with the man you love and who loves you back, acting on it? How is it supposed to work? She is all ‘I don’t need emotions’ but she already has them, she shares Crichton’s feelings. Oh, poor Aeryn, feeling her way in the dark. Plus, there is the simple fact that she always found John attractive, on a purely physical level, way before any love stuff. Heh, girl is frustrated. I do think John should have taken her up on the offer (as Chi said in LATP in S2, he should go ‘fast with the body and slow with the soul’ with Aeryn, and Chi should know stuff like that). But instead, he doesn’t and his line of ‘I got two hands, I can alternate’ when rejecting is one of my ep faves (of course he’s the one who wants feelings and she’s the one who wants only sex. I love the constant stereotype reversal.)  Not to mention how close they are to each other there, and all the touching is driving them both nuts, and making me a little hot too. It’s a combustible scene. And then she starts taking off her shirt before falling into a hole. Awww. I do love that he totally wants to take her up on that offer at the end of the ep but before he can say so, she tells him he was right and they should hold off. Good Luck, guys. And they are mutually grinning at each other, and they tell Rygel to shut up in unison, while grinning, and OMG, I love my ship so much. On non-shippy front, it is fun to see Crichton legend being born/formed (as that security chick recites it, greatly distorted). And fun to see the boy get a bit smashed in the bar. He needs it. I also love his ‘no patience with this crap’ for the fanatical religious security chick villain. If you think about it, he has a right to be fed up. Not only were they down there for r&r, but she is total small fry, comparatively, so it’s annoying having to deal with this.

  Let’s see, what else? I love Pilot’s evil cackle as he spaces villain girl. It’s so interesting though, because in the beginning, death of evil an awful person bugged John, but no more. His compassion is shrinking, isn’t it? But did I mention my love for competent, sane, not tormented Crichton? So much love. And then there is the betrayal of D’Argo plot. I feel horrid for D’Argo (love the John and D’Argo bonding scene outside, so much though. In a way, they have such a best buddy thing). I have to say though, while Chi might be a sucky gf, she is generally a loyal friend, a brave person, and a useful crewmate. None of which I can say for Jothee (look at their different reactions when Moya is in a crisis, he is useless. Or when D finds out about cheating, Chi tells D it’s her fault, not Jothee’s, as Jothee just stands there like a tree). But of course, he leaves, shamed by his actions, to grow and be worthy, and he actually becomes that, see his return in PKW. I love that possibility of grace. Even for Crais, and obviously so much more reachable for Jothee. Oh, and Rygel. I love the obnoxious, hilarious little toad.

Next ep: Zhaan, oh no! And Jool, oh yes! (A lot of people don’t like Jool but even before I liked her by her own rights, I thought she was a great comic relief from the darkness. You enjoyed her getting in trouble. Plus, if I was stranded on a ship of alien criminals in space, I am afraid I’d be more Jool, less John).  

[atypicalacademic]

Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Sahi Tabris

They watched the  vhenadahl, the living heart of the Alienage, glow with the light of a thousand lamps. *

For the Zevwarden week prompt: Homesickness @zevraholics

[angstmongertina]

7KPP Week 2022: Day 1

We’re doing another 7KPP Appreciation Week over on @fyeah7kpp, and I thought I’d start the prompts with an introduction to how my ultimate OTP meet in their cutest iteration, the Childhood “Friends” AU. It’s so cute, I almost feel bad for what I put them through on most iterations.

Day One - First

Lady Camellia Guo of Jiyel had barely turned nine years of age when she attended her first academic lecture.

Cousin Jiya, three years her elder and born with the triple advantage of an influential lineage, razor sharp intelligence, and not insignificant beauty, had adapted quickly to the expectations placed upon her, rising to the challenges of academic study and social niceties with aplomb. As such, it was only natural for the entire extended family to be invited to the budding young scholar’s first officially hosted event; after all, few had mastered the art of both paying respect to others and humbly bragging about themselves as thoroughly as the Jiyelese elite.

Which was, of course, why Lia found herself in the library, contemplating the impressive collection of books with curiosity and no small amount of envy. The lecture on Jiyel’s changing philosophy towards its relations with its fellow kingdoms had been most fascinating, particularly with regards to the introduction of the famed summits, to be sure. However, and much to her chagrin, its conclusion had soon brought about mingling and dancing with the peerage of Jiyel, a pastime that she, still a child with barely a name of her own compared to her much grander cousin and the other, more esteemed, guests, had little to contribute. But the library, on the other hand…

She reached out, running a gentle finger along the worn spines. Leather, smoothed by years of careful handling, greeted her as far as she could see, from the floor to the ceiling in carefully arranged rows of bookshelves, covering everything from art and music to science and history. Craning her neck to one side, she mouthed the titles to herself as she shuffled forward, each one more intriguing than the last.

Rounding a corner, she continued forward, transfixed, until her arm bumped into something hard and she tore her gaze away, just in time to watch as a precariously stacked pile of books teetered on the arm of a chair… before collapsing onto the floor as well as the lap of its occupant.

In the suddenly deafening silence, she winced. “I’m so sorry.”

Cool dark eyes blinked several times from behind a thin pair of spectacles before their owner sighed, brushing his hair out of his face as he looked down at the mess she had made. “It is no matter. I should not have kept them so.”

“And I should have paid more attention to my surroundings as well. I apologize for not noticing you sooner.” As she spoke, she knelt, gathering the fallen books and depositing them into a stack that she rather suspected would rival herself in height.

And, given the diminutive form working beside her, would probably give her newfound companion a run for his money as well.

After setting down another two onto the pile that was already threatening to reach her waist, she turned to him. “Were you planning on reading all of these?”

To her surprise, he flushed a faint red, halfway through putting the final tome on their careful tower. “I admit it is unlikely that I even could, but many of these are new to me and their perusal seemed a… more interesting way to spend the evening than performing social niceties.”

“At least until I interrupted?”

He paused, considering her with something that, for all the world, resembled Master Hinata’s expression when discussing the unknown mysteries of astronomy, the expression of a researcher possessed by a scientific curiosity bordering on fascination. “I confess I am not entirely certain. I suppose that remains to be seen.”

She smiled with some mischief, even as she folded her hands as demurely before her as she had been taught. “I see. Do you need more data?”

“It would seem that that would be ideal for proper analysis.”

Try as she might, she couldn’t quite hold back a giggle. “Are you hoping to conduct an experiment on social interactions, then?”

“That would be an efficient way to…” He blinked, apparently taking in her amusement, before his expression drew into a hint of a frown. “I… apologize. I am not well-versed in the social arts, nor do I find much enjoyment in their performance. I fear I am poor company for you to keep.” With that said, he returned to his seat, this time free from the looming threat of collapsing books, though she couldn’t help but notice that even though he had a book in hand, he didn’t seem as impatient as he could have been to read it.

“If I wanted to find sociable company, I’d go to the ballroom. Since you’re clearly not there, I think it’d be safe to assume you aren’t interested either.” The only response she received was a shrug, which was, given the situation, acknowledgement enough. “Besides, there are better ways to improve at onvu than reading a manual on strategy.”

When he met her gaze, this time with a brighter curiosity, she grinned. “I think I saw a board earlier. You can always test your new strategies against another player. See how much Liu Zhu’s manual can actually help you.”

“I didn’t— I was brainstorming how to counter them!” His protest floated over her shoulder as she walked away, laughing; the quiet shuffles following her were indication enough that he was more amenable to her suggestion than his mannerisms might have implied.

Which was how, an hour later, Camellia found herself in the most evenly matched game of onvu she had ever played. Contrary to her teasing, he had proven himself to be a formidable opponent, armed with quick thinking and a hidden spark of spontaneity that took her entirely by surprise.

Then again, considering the astonishment that slowly turned into respect in his expression, perhaps it was a mutual experience.

Scarcely daring to breathe, she watched him sit forward, absently pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose as his eyes scanned the board and her scattered pieces. A thin finger nudged a cavalier to the side, neatly avoiding her attempted Taniguchi maneuver, before he slouched back with a genuine smile. “A good attempt.”

Finally relaxing, she grinned back and slid forward in her seat to shift her sage over a square, disrupting his counterattack. “Not quite. Check.”

Consternation flooded his face as he leaned forward, contemplating the board with renewed intensity. “That was… unexpected.”

She laughed, swinging her legs rhythmically as she waited for him to settle on his next move. “The game would be over much too quickly if it were not. Except…”

“Except it may just as well be now as well.” Her companion scowled, though his gaze never left the board.

Before she could reply, the door to the library creaked open. “Lia? Where are you?”

She heaved a breath, sliding out of her seat with an apologetic look and padding around the corner to the doorway. “I’m here, Mother.”

Her hand on her hip, Lady Hyacinth sighed, though it sounded more resigned than exasperated. “Of course you are. Heavens forbid we should find you properly socializing as opposed to ensconced in a library somewhere with your nose buried in a book.”

“I like reading, and I’m certain nobody even noticed my absence. It’s not as if any of them would want to dance with me, so learning is a much more efficient way to spend my time.”

“Learning and socializing need not be mutually exclusive, my dear. But no matter. Your father is ready to return home.”

Camellia nodded. “I’ll be just a moment.”

“Of course. It would not do to leave the room a mess.” Her mother smiled. “We’ll meet you in the entryway.”

When she returned to the onvu board, it was to find her opponent a little distance away and back to perusing a book in what was once again threatening to become a fort around him. He didn’t bother to look up as she drew near, though she couldn’t help but notice that his literature of choice was another manual on onvu strategy… and that his general had been tipped over on the board in a show of surrender.

She smiled, sweeping the pieces into their drawer. “Thanks for the company. I had fun.”

At that, he did glance towards her, eyes flicking so quickly that she almost missed it. “Good game.”

“You too. Rematch next time?”

Nearly at the corner, she paused, turning her head back just in time to see him shrug, though he did drag his gaze fully away from his book to meet her eyes.

Grinning wider at the acquiescence, reluctant though it might have been, she dropped into a brief curtsy before hurrying away.

[lunaticsandidiots]

hi! so for the sending chars stuff, Zsasz?

send me a character and i’ll list…

favourite thing about them: his razor sharp wit. my man is so naturally funny and nobody gives him any credit. plus he likes disco which is the biggest green flag in my books (everything else about him is a red flag ok let me have this). also anthony carrigan/zsasz is the reason i got into gotham (i saw him in Barry as Noho Hank and needed more)

least favourite thing about them: the lack of episodes he’s in xx

favourite line:

brOTP: zsasz and headhunter. i feel incredibly robbed that there’s no assassin bff sitcom spinoff, i could watch HOURS of them being silly little murder himbos together.

OTP: i really don’t think i ship zsasz with anyone in particular now i think about it …..

nOTP: i also don’t not ship zsasz with anyone…

random headcanon: zsasz feels repulsed by physical contact but its actually just because he’s just super duper touch starved (and he has deeply repressed this). he’s so used to isolating himself that even the way he works/fights is detatched - he loves guns because he doesn’t have to be anywhere near the person to get the job done. (also i simply melt into a puddle at the thought of caressing his cheek or resting your hand in the crook of his neck and he just nuzzles into it like a kitten)

unpopular opinion: again, i truly couldn’t care less about who other people ship cause u just gotta float ur own boat, hell its not even a nOTP for me but some people used to be really annoying about zsasz and alvarez lmaooo. i havent seen anyone do it in so long but i swear people used to be like ‘zsasz is in love with him it’s canon’ like no it’s not he’s just horny and bisexual and wanted to piss off gordon and bullock lmao (i truly have 0 idea why this annoyed me but it did, let me be cranky for 0 reason xx)

song i associate with them: Лёха by Alena Apina

this is such an oddly specific & niche song, but its lowkey exactly how i found gotham, like this song marks the DAY. just after i finished barry & wanted more anthony carrigan content (before i knew he was in gotham) i found an edit on tiktok of zsasz set to this song. and the rest is history.

favourite picture of them:

i also love the gif of him doing a little kiss face out the window but i couldn’t find it

~

send me a character and i’ll list…

[cosmicstardustx]

I was asked on DM and am spectacularly late to the party.

Yuriy

Angry

Yuriy has a cold, calculated temper. He's not prone to angry outbursts (unless he's REALLY been pushed) but he has a razor sharp tongue when he's angry, and he's witty and often sarcastic during arguments.

When he truly truly loses it, he goes for the jugular and has no problem leaving one bleeding seamlessly from his words. When warranted, he knows how to hurt one, with just his words and he's viscious then. You don't want to cross him when he's angry unless you wish to endure his wrath

Sleep

He can't sleep, he has chronic insomnia. To get a good night's sleep, he has to physically and mentally tire himself out.

Most of the time, what little sleep he does get is peppered with nightmares. He used to have abbey and post Garland nightmares and therapy helped with that. But as they moved past that in therapy, in his late 20s he's struggling more and more with his childhood pre-abbey and those are just as, if not more chilling than the beyblade related ones.

He sleeps a little better with someone next to him. When he was younger, he'd go check on his team a few timess at night, to make sure they were still breathing. Now, if there's someone next to him, the sound of their quiet breathing is very calming.

Romance

Like everything he does in his life, it's calculated. He weighs the pros and cons before he gets emotionally involved. At one point, he even researched how not to get emotionally attached to someone - and it's all because he has issues trusting people, and struggles with abandonment. He has to be absolutely sure before he's going to give someone a shot.

Bryan

Appearance

He knows he looks intimidating and has more than once used that to his advantage. He has scars all over his body from practice, and this is a recent HC that he's never bled in a beybattle. But he's processing the scars now

Borya loves his selfies, especially the shirtless ones after his workout. Yuriy has just about blocked him on snapchat coz he doesn't want to see that first thing in the morning. Kai doesn't mind so much

My choice

Driving HC FOR Bryan.

Bryan drives dangerously fast. It takes a few tries before he's able to fully control his driving skill and speed.

(Because YuKa is my OTP) Yuriy was tired of his best friend and the love of his life bickering all the time like children around him. Kai got Boris racecar driving lessons for his birthday and then he crashed the car (but shh, don't tell Yuriy) and then Kai was (stupid) naive enough to let him borrow his own car - which Bryan also crashed. - Listen, he only became a safe driver after the crashes.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Sharp Edges

Sam Winchester x Spencer Reid

Word Count: ~4880

Warnings: BDSM. Pain play and impact play (hands only, no tools) and discussion of sadism/masochism. The working title for this was “Reluctant Sadist Sam.” Memories of a time Sam pushed the limits of a previously negotiated BDSM scene. Very brief non-explicit masturbation. No actual sex, but it’s very sexy... or at least I think it is? 

A/N: This pairing just, like, snuck up and made itself my OTP when I wasn’t looking, and I’m kinda obsessed with it. Big thanks to @mskathywriteswords for a super helpful edit, to @stunudo for an early read and characterization cheerleading (plus this whole Spencer Reid Thing, which is pretty much her fault), and to @fookinghelljensensthighs, for a brainstorming sesh about crucial jizz-related plot questions. 

Sam hesitates outside the door for longer than he wants to admit. He’s been thinking about this for years, now. It’s not like there’s any doubt left in his mind, but stepping through that door makes it real. Until he steps through that door, he can brush this off; he only acted on the impulses when he didn’t have a soul, right? They’re not his. Not really. 

They are. He knows it. 

Years of wondering, guilt, self-loathing. Months of research, asking around, making connections. Weeks since he got the invitation, weeks of nervous anticipation and doubt. Fuck if he’s backing out now, even if he does feel like he’s choking. 

He wipes sweaty palms on his jeans and goes inside. 

He’s not expecting Lindsey to remember him, but she does, and she greets him with a smile and a kiss on the cheek. She’s wearing knee-high boots and a corset that shoves her cleavage up toward her chin, and Sam feels underdressed in his plain black t-shirt, not to mention painfully inexperienced. 

“Want a soda or anything?” she asks brightly, like she’s the head of the PTA instead of the dungeon mistress. “Need me to show you around?” 

“No, thanks,” Sam says, tucking his hair behind his ears nervously. “I think… I think I might just want to hang back for a bit.” 

“Of course, sweetheart, whatever you need.” 

Sam’s good at hiding his fear; he’s practically made a career of it. He puts on his most confident mask and starts walking. 

He’s not really sure where to look, at first. His immediate instinct is to avert his eyes. There’s a startling amount of skin on display, but more importantly, there are scenes being played out all around him that are straight out of Sam’s fantasies - the dark, secret ones - the ones he couldn’t admit to, for most of his life. 

It took losing his soul to ask for what he really wanted. 

The memories from that time, back when something important was missing, are tinted red and foggy. He was selfish, when he didn’t have a soul. It’s the one thing he’s always vowed not to be. 

He met a girl in a bar, somewhere in Colorado, and he took her to whatever grimy motel he was calling home that night. When he asked, she giggled, giving him some stupid line about needing to be punished, but when she realized he didn’t just mean a couple light smacks on the ass, she asked him to stop. He shrugged, fucked her anyway, and told her to leave. 

The next night, he found a professional, and he made sure they negotiated the price before he took her back to the motel. Even then… Sam feels a twist of guilt when he remembers the moment her moans became whimpers of pain,  the look of apprehension in her eyes when she realized she might be in over her head. She never used her safeword, but he knew she wasn’t comfortable with it.

He’d made it up to her, of course, afterward, even before he paid her, but it wasn’t out of any selfless desire to see his partner enjoy herself. It was just ego, just another game. The predator in him just wanted to see if he could make her beg for more after she’d begged him to stop. 

When Sam got his soul back, there was a laundry list of foggy red memories that made him feel slimy and sick with shame, but that little vignette was one of the worst. 

Sam doesn’t want it to be like that. He doesn’t want to be that brutal, selfish person who got what he needed, no matter the cost. 

He wants romance: dinner and a movie, flowers, shy first kisses. He wants those things, but he’s starting to realize that he needs more. He needs that sharp edge of pain with his pleasure. He knows, logically, that there are people out there who need to feel it, in the same way he needs to cause it. It’s a matter of finding the right puzzle piece, is all. 

All around him, now, he hears people asking for more, yes, harder, and there’s a sweet, breathless relief coursing through him. He pauses in front of a couple, watching the dom unclip his partner’s leather cuffs from where she’s chained to a ring in the wall. She’s smiling as he murmurs something Sam can’t hear. 

“Please,” she says, beaming up at her partner with this incredible blissed-out expression on her face. 

Sam’s stomach swoops with such an intense longing that it’s almost painful. He looks away. 

He wants that. 

Sam glances around the room again, and his eyes catch on a man who looks like he should be in a college lecture hall, instead of a BDSM party. The guy sticks out like a sore thumb in this sea of black and red and leather; Sam can’t help but notice him, and once he notices, it’s hard to tear his gaze away. He’s wearing a sweater-vest and a tie, for fuck’s sake. He’s got a mop of long, messy hair that makes Sam want to tug.   

The longer Sam looks, the more he notices the sharp edges. The guy is tall and twig-thin, gangly, all elbows and angles. The line of his jaw looks like it was cut with a razor. 

It’s not just the shape of him, though, that’s making Sam think of glinting steel and the rasp of a whetstone. The guy is on his own, hanging back in the same way Sam is, observing… his eyes dart around the room, glancing back and forth, taking it all in with a bright, clear, whip-smart awareness. He’s not smiling, and there’s nothing about his body language that’s welcoming. If someone handled him the wrong way, he’d slice them open.

Sam’s hands twitch. He wants to fit his fingers to the angle of those bones, thumb along the underside of the jaw, index finger running up to the cheekbone. He imagines it would be a perfect fit. 

Sam shivers and looks away. 

He sneaks a glance again, a few seconds later. The guy’s looking right at him. Sam’s stomach flips. He smiles hesitantly, and gets a blatant assessment in return, an appraising up-and-down. Sam feels like he’s passed some sort of test when the guy starts walking toward him, weaving easily through the crowd. 

He stops abruptly when he’s in front of Sam, and Sam feels off-balance, somehow. 

“I’m Spencer,” he says, in a soft scratchy voice that makes Sam want to lean in to hear better. 

“Sam.” He sticks out his hand. 

Spencer doesn’t take it; he waves instead, an awkward little gesture that’s oddly goofy and endearing, even with the frown line creasing his forehead and the shrewd expression on his face. 

“You’re the new guy Lindsey was telling me about.” He tilts his head, almost birdlike as he blinks and waits. 

“I… guess so? Why would she…” 

“I assumed she meant new here, but you’re new to all of it, aren’t you?” It’s not a question. 

Sharp, Sam thinks again, flustered. He shrugs. 

Spencer’s eyes flick over his face like he’s reading lines of text. There’s something closed-off about the way he’s holding himself, tension in his features, mistrustful or maybe defensive. 

Spencer licks his lips as he thinks, and Sam stares at his mouth. His mouth isn’t all points and angles like the rest of him; it’s plush and pink, wide, expressive. 

“Hey, Professor,” says a woman, brushing a hand down Spencer’s arm as she passes, and Spencer gives her a quirk of his lips that’s not quite a smile. 

“Are you really a professor?” Sam asks. 

“No. It’s just because of the way I dress.” He says it matter-of-factly, but Sam notices the way his eyes drop for a second. He’s self-conscious. 

“I can’t picture you in leather pants,” Sam says wryly. 

“But you’re trying, aren’t you?” Spencer asks, with a flicker of an amused, mischievous smile. It’s gone just as quick as it came, but it leaves Sam feeling warm and pleased. He already wants to see that smile again. 

“I think I missed the memo about the uniform,” he admits. 

Spencer glances around and says, “I can see how adhering to a certain set of aesthetic cues would help members of a subculture identify each other in everyday life, but it does seem unnecessary here. Something about dressing up just to meet expectations seems disingenuous.” 

“You’re really not a professor?” Sam asks, almost unbearably curious. 

“No.” Spencer hesitates. “To answer your earlier question, Lindsey told me to keep an eye out for you because she seemed to think we were here for… similar reasons.” 

“Oh,” Sam manages. He feels hot and cold and panicky, and he wishes he’d gotten a drink, if only to have something to do with his hands. “You, um. You like…” 

“Pain,” Spencer says crisply, with an almost clinical detachment. “I enjoy experiencing pain. And you enjoy inflicting it.” 

“Yeah,” Sam says, mouth dry. 

Spencer’s watching him closely, frowning again. “There’s nothing wrong with it, you know.” 

“I… yeah,” Sam says. “I guess I know that? Just, um, I always thought of myself as pretty traditional. Not big on one night stands, I like… relationships.”

“And you don’t think people who are into BDSM can have traditional relationships?” Spencer asks, smirking slightly. 

Foot, meet mouth. 

“No, not like that, I just - if I’m into someone, I want to treat them right. I’m a romantic.” 

“A beating can be very romantic,” Spencer deadpans. 

Sam sputters out a laugh. “I - I guess. Sure.” 

“So, what, you’ve always been about the Al Green and missionary, and you figured you’d try something new?” His voice is dry and amused, and he’s watching Sam, just waiting for a reaction to the needling. 

“Not exactly,” Sam says, grimacing. 

“What, exactly, then?” 

Sam can’t remember the last time anyone made him feel like this, like the conversation is a fencing match that he’s losing spectacularly; Spencer disarmed him already and is still toying with him, landing one glancing blow after another, just to see if he can. 

Sam stammers for a second before saying, “I’ve always been interested in this, I just - never had an opportunity, really.” 

“Don’t lie. You don’t have any reason to be embarrassed,” Spencer says, frowning. 

Sam sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. He forces himself to spit out the truth: “I always wanted to think of myself as a nice guy. The things I want… there’s nothing nice about what I want, when it comes to sex. I couldn’t admit that until recently.”

Spencer smiles, and his whole face is incandescent with it. He tamps down the wattage of the smile with a twitch of his lips, eyes darting around as he thinks. Sam gets the feeling he already knew the answer, and was just waiting to see whether Sam would admit it. 

“It’s not always about sex,” Spencer offers. “Sometimes you just… want to get out of your head, you know?” 

Sam considers that for a moment, and he looks at Spencer, watching his fingers as they tap a silent rhythm against the side of his leg. 

“Is that what you want?” he asks, and he’s proud of himself for how steady his voice sounds. 

“Maybe.” Spencer meets his gaze evenly. “But you’re very strong, very inexperienced, and very anxious, and that’s not usually a good combination in someone who gets off on being in charge.” 

Sam bristles instinctively before he hears the question in it.��

“That’s not - it’s not like that,” he says with a sigh. “It’s not a power trip thing. It’s not about overpowering someone, I don’t want to tie you up, I don’t - it’s not like that. And I’m not inexperienced.” 

Spencer’s eyes narrow. “You said -” 

“I’m new to this,” Sam interrupts, and gestures around them at the party. “I’m not new to… pain.” 

For the first time, there’s a hint of curiosity in Spencer’s eyes, an inkling that he doesn’t have Sam quite as figured out as he’d thought. 

“Why are you here, then? What do you want to get out of this?” Spencer asks. 

Sam thinks about that, trying not to fidget as he figures out how to say it. 

“I don’t want it to be just about… what I get out of it,” Sam says slowly. “I want someone who - who needs it the same way I do, so that it’s not… I don’t want it to be something I do to someone, I want to do this with someone.”  He hesitates and adds, “With you. If you want.” 

He can see Spencer analyzing him, analyzing his words, weighing the odds, calculating the risks. 

“I’m not going to have sex with you. Not tonight,” Spencer says coolly. “You can touch yourself, but I’m not going to touch you.” 

Sam shrugs. “Okay.” 

“No tools, no toys, no restraints, not the first time.” His voice is dispassionate, matter-of-fact, like he’s reading out a grocery list. “Just your hands. You can scratch, but don’t draw blood.” 

“Okay,” Sam says. He’s glad Spencer said it before he had to admit he wasn’t confident enough, yet, to use a flogger on a stranger. His voice cracks. “Safeword?” 

“Lateral orbitofrontal cortex.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Yes, I’m aware that it’s three words.” 

It startles a laugh out of Sam. “That’s not what I meant.” 

Spencer’s mouth twitches as he suppresses a smile. “Seriously. But I only say ‘stop’ if I really mean it.” 

“I understand. If I didn’t get the joke, would you have called this whole thing off?”

Spencer’s lips twitch again. He just shrugs. “Anything else we need to talk about?” 

“After?” Sam asks. “What can I - how do I help, afterward?” 

Spencer pauses, a strange expression flickering over his face for a moment before he says, “Don’t leave?” 

It sounds like a question. Sam doesn’t think it was supposed to sound like a question. 

“Of course. Is that all?” 

Spencer shrugs. “That’s all. Just. Stay, for a minute. I’ll tell you, if there’s anything else I need. That’s the only thing I… can’t always bring myself to ask for, in the moment.” 

He gives Sam a very practiced, casual sort of smile, nonchalant, blinking up at him innocently as if to say I’m fine! See? 

The protector in Sam is snarling. He just nods calmly. 

“What about you?” Spencer asks. 

Sam frowns, taken aback by that. It didn’t occur to him that he might need to be taken care of. 

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Is that okay?”  

“Yes. That’s okay,” Spencer says. This time his little half-smile is sweet and genuine. 

Sam looks around nervously. “Is there anywhere more private? This isn’t really...” 

“Agreed,” Spencer says. “There’s an open door policy, I’m sure Lindsey explained, but there are other rooms where there won’t be a crowd.” 

He leads Sam through the living room, heading up a flight of stairs and down a hallway. Sam catches glimpses of scenes through three open doors before they reach the last room. It’s small, some sort of office, he thinks, lit dimly enough to feel comfortable. There’s no bed, just a loveseat, an end table, and a desk with an office chair, but the desk holds an assortment of toys, chains, and condoms instead of a computer. 

It’s quieter, here. It feels warmer, too, but that might just be Sam’s nerves kicking in. He glances at the open door instinctively as Spencer starts to loosen his tie. 

Spencer notices, of course. “There’s an understanding, with the regulars, that this is where you go if you don’t really want an audience.” 

Sam nods and turns to get a better look at some of the implements on the desk, skin prickling with adrenaline. He runs his fingers over the sleek handle of a riding crop, imagining the sound it would make on skin. 

He’s all too aware of his own inexperience, and he’s all too aware of how badly he could hurt someone with a misplaced blow from the gorgeous leather whip that’s lying next to the crop. He’d want to practice, first, and he’d want to be with someone he trusts, but there’s no denying that he wants. 

Someday, he thinks, and shivers. 

When he turns around again, Spencer’s putting a neatly folded pile of clothes on the loveseat. He brushes his hair out of his eyes as he straightens up, tilting his chin almost defiantly to meet Sam’s gaze. He still looks sharp around the edges, from the angular shape of his Adam’s apple, bobbing as he swallows, to the jut of his hipbones. There’s something brittle about the way he holds himself. 

“Where do you want me?” he asks quietly, with a crack in his voice that belies the careful blankness on his face. “Um, bearing in mind that most of this room is probably highly unsanitary and I’m something of a germaphobe. Minimal contact with furniture would be… ideal.” He wrinkles his nose and Sam huffs out a laugh. 

“Over here. Brace yourself against the wall.” 

Spencer walks over silently and settles with his forearms on the wall, his head bowed, and goes completely still. 

Sam lets himself stare for one long moment, taking it all in: the delicate curve of his bent neck, the prominent ridge of his spine, the lean muscles that shift under pale skin, shoulder blades that Sam wants to run his thumb across to test whether they’d cut him as easily as he imagines. 

There’s tension in the way he’s holding himself, though. Sam frowns to himself and steps closer. 

Sam’s been hiding this, his whole life; he’s been burying this sharp, nasty piece of himself, ignoring need in favor of romance, affection, emotion. He didn’t think they could coexist. 

He has a feeling that Spencer’s been doing the opposite: slipping into this formal, scripted exchange of limits and safewords and scientific explanations, being perfectly clear about what he needs but never admitting what he wants. 

The party is still going on outside, but the silence between them is heavy enough to drown out the noise of it. Sam takes one deep breath, then another, syncing his inhales to the steady rise of Spencer’s shoulders, and sidles closer, standing at Spencer’s side where he’s visible.

He hesitates for a moment, wondering if he’s crossing a line, before following his instinct and resting a gentle hand on Spencer’s back, right between his shoulderblades. Spencer doesn’t flinch at the touch, but Sam can tell he’s surprised.  

“You good?” Sam asks quietly. 

Spencer turns his head slightly, looking sideways at Sam through long lashes. 

“I’m good,” he whispers, in that soft, smoky voice.

“Okay.” 

“Sam?”

“Hmm?”

The corner of Spencer’s mouth crooks up in a shy half-smile. “I’m not gonna break. I’m stronger than I look.” 

“I’d fuckin’ hope so, cause you look like I could snap you with my pinky finger,” Sam says bluntly. Spencer ducks his head and laughs, bright and surprised, and Sam can feel the vibrations of it under his palm. 

“Fair enough,” Spencer says, grinning as he goes still again. He’s not tense any more, though. He’s calm, breathing evenly under Sam’s hand. 

Sam rests his fingertips on the nape of Spencer’s neck for a moment, making his intentions clear. The first drag of his nails is gentle, nowhere near enough pressure to sting. He twists his wrist to drag them back up along the same path, still gentle, and then moves to repeat the process on a new strip of skin, once and then again. He can see the goosebumps running down Spencer’s arms, the way his neck arches, silently asking for more. 

“Are you sure?” Sam asks. 

His voice is quiet, but there’s no hesitation when he whispers, “Yes.” 

Sam curls his fingers in and drags one knuckle down the knobby bumps of his vertebrae. 

“Okay,” he repeats. 

Every lingering bit of doubt and hesitation and anxiety disappear with the first sharp crack of his palm coming down. Spencer hisses in a breath, shivers, and Sam exhales with him. 

His body goes fizzy and focused, suddenly. It’s like in the last moments of a fight, when Sam knows he’ll win, he knows exactly what to do, he sees what needs to happen with absolute clarity, and all that’s left is to trust his muscles to get the job done. It feels good. It feels like this is exactly where Sam’s meant to be. 

Two more blows, in quick succession, and the next exhale is more like a gasp. The sound sends heat lancing through Sam’s gut. 

He’s careful about it, precise, still holding back, as he moves lower. He knows how to use his hands, how to hit with just the right amount of force, which spots will hurt, which spots he should avoid unless he wants to cause real damage. Sam’s been practicing for this his whole life, in a way. 

He lands a light smack on one thigh, then the other, then harder, on the same spots. Sam’s vision tunnels down to the red flush that’s already blossoming on Spencer’s pale skin. Something dark and possessive curls in his stomach. 

The next impact pulls a rough, gorgeous sound from Spencer’s throat. Sam gives him a second to recover before doing it again, and then again, until his palm is smarting with the force of it. 

He pauses abruptly. He can see the way Spencer tenses, waiting for a blow that doesn’t come. Instead Sam brushes the tips of his fingers over red, heated skin, feather-light, making Spencer shudder, before dragging three fingernails delicately up his spine again. 

“I like the way my handprints look on you,” Sam says quietly. Spencer sucks in a shaky breath. Sam rakes his fingernails down again, digging in this time, and Spencer’s exhale breaks on a low, gravelly groan. 

The raised red lines trail down his back, a perfect set of three all the way down the right side of his spine. Sam takes a moment to admire them before giving him a matching set on the left.  He traces those lines again, smoothing them with his fingertips, fascinated by the feel of raised flesh. 

Spencer is trembling, but he’s still, waiting, ready, and there’s a dizzying level of trust implicit in that stillness. 

Sam’s blindsided by the gut-punch of arousal he feels at that realization. He takes a deep breath, putting it to the side. He’s determined to prove to himself that this doesn’t have to be selfish. 

He brings his hand down again with a powerful snap of his wrist that makes Spencer whimper. His skin must be sensitive now, blood rushing to every spot Sam’s marked, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. 

Sam puts some muscle into the next one, and that’s saying something. He’s strong, he knows he is, and he pauses to gauge the reaction. Spencer lets out another of those breathy, beautiful whimpers, and Sam can see the shudder that goes through him. Sam rakes his fingernails up the tender, overheated skin he just hit, nothing gentle about it, and Spencer arches his back, squirming slightly. 

He’s panting; they both are. Sam realizes that they’re breathing in sync, and he takes another deep heaving breath that matches the rise and fall of Spencer’s shoulders. 

Sam gives in to the urge, finally, and tangles his fingers in Spencer’s hair, tugging his head back so Sam can see his face clearly: eyes closed, lashes fluttering, a sheen of sweat on those lethal cheekbones, his mouth slack. There’s a flush decorating the pale skin, patchy, spilling all the way from his cheeks to the hollow of his neck and down his chest. He looks totally relaxed, peaceful, like he could melt under Sam’s hands. 

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Sam bites out, before he can help himself, and then asks, “You good?” 

“Yes.” It’s a gasp more than a word. Spencer’s eyes are still closed. 

“More?”

Spencer licks his lips and swallows hard, and Sam watches the way his throat moves with it. He whispers, “Please.” 

Heat thuds through Sam’s belly, urgent and overwhelming. He ignores it, ignores how hard he is, ignores everything but the way Spencer’s head lolls forward when Sam releases his hair and the way he moans at the next hit. 

Sam’s not holding back any more. 

There’s a rhythm to it: the sound of his palm, crack, and the choked, rasping sound that it pulls from Spencer’s lips, nnngh, and the steady thump-thump of Sam’s heartbeat pounding in his ears, and it crescendos quickly, until the ragged cries turn desperate and wrecked.  

“Last one,” he warns. 

Crack.

“I need -” 

Sam thinks of Spencer’s “no touching” rule, but he can’t bring himself to move away entirely. He tangles his fingers in Spencer’s hair again, tugging gently and then combing through the messy curls, and Spencer leans into it, catlike. He lets out a deep, ragged groan as he touches himself, movements fast and urgent.

“Did so good,” Sam says fiercely. His fingers twist and tug, sharp enough to sting, and he curls the other hand around Spencer’s side, digging his thumbnail into the ridge of his hipbone. That’s all it takes; he can feel the head-to-toe shudder, the last surge of tension before Spencer shakes almost violently under his hands.

Spencer crumples like a puppet with his strings cut. 

“C’mere, I’ve got you,” Sam says hoarsely, getting an arm around him and maneuvering so that they both have their backs to the wall as they slide to the floor. 

Spencer ends up tucked against Sam’s side, folded under his arm like he belongs there. He’s breathing harsh and heavy, and Sam cups the round of his shoulder with one hand, running his thumb in mindlessly soothing circles, waiting for him to come back to himself. 

As for Sam… he’s hard, still, more turned on than he can remember being in a long time, but there’s the strangest sense of calm settling into his body, a bone-deep satisfaction that has nothing to do with sex. 

This isn’t the same vicious, feral sort of satisfaction that he remembers. It’s nothing like crimson-tinted memories of lashing out rough and wild, like some sort of savage animal he’d unleashed. There’s nothing selfish about this.

He closes his eyes for a moment, breathless at the wave of blissed-out relief that’s crashing down around him. 

“You good?” he asks, falling back on what seems to be his mantra for the evening. 

“I’m… no, not really, hang on,” Spencer mumbles, and Sam flinches, moving away instinctively. 

“Shit, sorry, what -” 

“No, wait, that’s not - just… can you reach the tissues, or do I actually have to stand up right now?” Spencer asks, with a disgruntled sort of glare at the box of Kleenex on the end table. 

Sam laughs, awkward and self-conscious. Spencer blinks owlishly up at him, shaking his hair out of his eyes. Then a smile spreads over his face slowly and he’s laughing too as Sam leans and stretches over to grab the box. 

“The male orgasm is really inconvenient sometimes,” Spencer mutters. 

Sam lets out another snort of laughter, looking away to give him some privacy as he cleans up. He’s not sure what the etiquette of this whole situation is; it’s such a strange thing, oddly intimate, and even though Sam’s still fully-dressed, he feels exposed in a way he’s not used to. 

“Now I’m good,” Spencer says quietly. He’s got his knees tucked up to his chest, arms wrapped loosely around them, but he tilts his head back against the wall and aims a hazy, heavy-lidded stare at Sam. His lips part and curl up in a barely-there smile, and his tongue flicks out over the pink curve of his lower lip. 

Those edges that Sam first noticed are harder to see, now; he’s all soft eyes and softer mouth, flushed skin, messy hair… all except the line of his jaw. That’s still wickedly, unmistakably sharp. 

Spencer should come with a warning sign: handle with care. Sam’s not sure who that sign would be protecting. It could be handle with care: fragile, or, just as easily, handle with care: sharp edges. 

Either way, there’s a good chance of someone getting hurt here. 

“Can I kiss you?” Sam asks. 

Spencer’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly with surprise, and his pupils are huge and dark, liquid-looking, hypnotic. He blinks, slowly, and suddenly looks about ten years younger. He’d been so self-assured ordering Sam not to draw blood; that confidence is gone, now, like he’s had less experience with kissing than with telling people how to hit him. 

Oh, Sam thinks, and tries not to let his own surprise show on his face. 

“Yes,” Spencer whispers. He licks his lower lip again before adding, thready and shy, “Please.” 

Sam reaches out slowly. His pinky, ring, and middle fingers curl around the side of Spencer’s neck, sliding through thin, sweat-damp strands of hair. The L-shape of his thumb and index finger slots to the angle of Spencer’s jaw. He can feel the bone under thin skin, the way the pad of his thumb nestles so neatly between the hard edge of jawbone and the soft give of vulnerable throat. 

It’s a perfect fit.

.

.

.

[bush-viper-cutie]

At Least – DAY 7

Pairing: none. Just fifth year snape

Word Count: 995

Rating: E for Everyone

Plot: Severus has a nightmare.

Warnings: none

A/N: Day seven! nightmare from snapetober! HAPPY SPOOKTOBER! >:D (Sorry if the ‘keep reading’ cut is not working! Not sure why or if its only me seeing that but I can’t get it to work so... :c idk)

Posted: 10/7/20

Masterlist

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Spinners End was quiet, save for the rush of the river in the distance and the whispers of the winds through the bare tree branches of the few left standing. The doors of every house began to rattle on their hinges and windows creaked and thumped shut, filling the night with violent hisses of noise.

Severus stood on the empty street and stared at his shoes, at the way the toes split from the sole and the way the laces frayed at the ends. They seemed familiar, like it was just yesterday he was studying the way the worn leather if the tongue cracked at its natural fold.

He closed his hands and opened them. Something was missing from them. In the stinging cold making his pale hands paler by the second, he knew his skin was missing the delicate red lines from accidental cuts. Where were they?

There was a howl and the moon above him seemed to grow bigger, staring at him. It was warning him of something. “The night is not to be trusted,” he whispered. “It doesn’t hide things, it traps them.” His thin lips felt numb but his voice was his own.

He started walking down the desolate street, towards his home – no, his house. He walked down to his house and saw his father out on the wild grassy lawn of theirs, drinking a beer. He squinted his eyes as he approached, and wrinkled his noise at him. The disappointment was evident in his eyes.

“Don’t you ever ‘ave anything t’do out there?” he spat, his words too heavy for his tongue, tumbling out like the dribbling beer off his lips.

Severus walked passed him into the house where his mother stood motioning for the kitchen. He entered, finding a large buffet of food, all home cooked and glistening with butter and grease. His stomach growled and he had to wipe his drooling mouth with his sleeve.

“What’s this?”

“I ‘eard you got invited to join the Slug Club, and as a fifth year. I made this for you. ‘ave as much as you’d like.” His mother didn’t smile, and her mouth didn’t move. Her voice had sounded distant… but it had been hers.

“Th-thank you… This means a lot to me… I-I didn’t think you cared. I didn’t know you even kept up with my Hogwarts schooling…” He sat and watched his tears mix into the sweat of the turkey leg, glistening brightly as he buttered it and mashed steamed peas on top with his fork. He hadn’t eaten in so long.

It tasted sweet, like the butterbeer did during the winter holidays when extra syrup was added into the steaming liquid. He sipped the scotch and sighed against the burn in the back of his throat.

The glowing yellow eyes to his left widened and blinked. He turned, watching the green creature’s grin cut its wrinkled face in half. It’s yellow, razor-sharp teeth parted wide and an ear splitting cackle erupted out. He couldn’t turn away, wanting to hear the cackle in its entirety. How could a creature hold so much air in its small body? Its pointed face closed and just as Severus took another bite of the juicy turkey meat, it raised a large hollowed stick to its lips and shot out a dart, hitting his neck directly.

He fell onto the floor, his muscles slow like cold honey. His mother was frowning, until he managed to roll over and saw she was smiling at him from above, her long thin hair hugging her face like it did him sometimes.

“H-elp,” he croaked and reached out for her.

Her lips parted and her smile deepened as she extended her hand out to receive a large bag of coins from the erkling.

His father stepped into the room and leaned on the doorframe, crossing his ankles. “Didn’t think you’d be worth much. Least you surprised me ‘bout that.”

“Tobias,” his mother held out the gold coins.

Severus gripped his neck and looked down at himself. His school uniform had suddenly turned baggy around his now small, even younger, body. The erkling took him by the shoulders – he hung limp and flimsy from its taloned hands – and opened its mouth wide to the size of a large cauldron’s rim. There was bubbling yellow liquid inside, popping up at him.

“Why,” Severus cried.

“We never wanted you,” his father said simply.

And in he went, into the massive moist mouth of the green creature.

~ * ~ * ~

“AH!” Severus bolted up from his pillow, sweat dripping down his forehead, sticking his ink-black hair to his face. He touched a spot on his neck, feeling it damp but smooth, no abrasion. He looked around at the lumps in the dark, other sleeping bodies tucked under the safe covers of their beds.

His dorm mates snored quietly, unbothered by the sudden yelp that had come from his mouth. Severus’ labored breaths were started to calm as he looked around and traced the familiarity of his Slytherin room. It was just a nightmare. His brows came together as a shiver traveled up his body and reached his shoulders.

He pulled the covers off and whimpered. The sheets were soaked under him. He slowly crawled off the bed and ripped the sheets off, dragging them into the shared bathrooms. He couldn’t look at himself in the mirror and his nails dug into his palms at the anger and shame he felt. Wetting the bed as a fifth year… He shuddered, wishing it hadn’t happened.

He started a bath and peeled off his clothes, dumping the sheets and all into the large hamper. He walked over to the half-filled bath and quickly got in the warm water. He held his arms and sat with his legs pressed into himself, letting the water run over his head, soaking his hair and hiding his tears.

“At least I was worth something,” he whispered.

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

Masterlist

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Day 7 Prompt: nightmare + erkling (green elf-like creature with a pointed face, likes to eat children and has an alluring high-pitched cackle; shoots darts at unsuspecting victims.)

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General Taglist:

@severuslovebot @bionic-otp

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[kismetconstellations]

@ the character ask: Phillip Carlyle!

Last but never least... !

--

Favorite thing about them: Everything. No, in all seriousness, I would have to say that my favorite thing about him is his character as a whole. His profuse misery that has him seeking solace in glasses of whisky and flutes of champagne. His razor-sharp wit. His complete acceptance of all of the circus performers- he never once looks shocked or appalled by even the most striking of the Oddities. The subtleties poured so lovingly into Zac’s performance. How P.T. Barnum comes along and both upheaves and saves Phillip’s life in every way possible. Phillip’s complete happiness when he finally finds his place in the world among the family that he chose. He’s a depressed playwright with a drinking problem, very heavily implied to be, if not repressed and closeted gay, then at least bisexual, snarky and reckless, Phineas’s perfect foil and partner, and has a warm heart of purest gold in spite of the frigid cruelty of the world that he was born into. 

I didn’t go into this movie expecting to fall utterly in love with him, or for any aspect of the “Whimsical Barnum Musical” to have a profound impact on me, but I don’t regret any bit of it. This film was a seven-year labor of love, and I am so very grateful for all of the joy that it has brought into my life.

Least favorite thing about them: Nothing comes to mind. 

Favorite line: “You know, Barnum... When I first met you, I had an inheritance, claim, an invitation to every party in town. And, now, thanks to you... all that’s gone. All that’s left is friendship, love, and a work that I adore. You brought joy into my life.”

BrOTP: Phillip and Anne. Tell me these two don’t have best-friends energy.

OTP: Phillip/P.T. If Phineas Taylor Barnum hadn’t barged his way into Phillip’s life after spying him across the room, Phillip never would have found a true home, friends, family, and a sense of purpose. He would have continued to walk through life in a daze, penning “virtuous” plays he hated, being forced to entertain every woman of age his parents expected him to court, and drowning his sorrows in the biting contents of his trusty flask and every glass he could get his hands on. 

The subtext of Phillip’s confirmed bachelor status comes roaring to the surface every time he shares the screen with Phineas. He can’t keep his eyes off of this man, and his eyes speak volumes. 

Phillip’s first real smile in the entire movie is for Phineas. 

Because of Phineas.

In my mind, Phillip’s speech atop the rubble of the burned down Barnum Museum was a declaration of his love; a pledge to devote everything he had left to his name to Phineas and their family and helping Phineas rebuild the realization of Phineas’s million dreams. 

As Zac so often said, Phineas taught Phillip to stop caring what the rest of the world thinks and “color outside the lines”, and, as a result, Phillip discovers freedom, and true happiness. 

NOTP: Nothing comes to mind. Though, I have seen a few Phillip/Caroline fics floating around and... No thank you. Please. No. 

Random headcanon: Phillip is fluent in French and can read and understand bits and pieces of spoken German. Phineas, who is a bit of a walking omniglot, due to all of his time spent working with all shades of immigrants on the railroad, helps expand Phillip’s vocabulary and they have occasional full- albeit slightly stilted and unwieldy- conversations in German when they don’t want to be overheard. 

Unpopular opinion: I love Phillip and Anne, but I just can’t ship them the way that everyone else does. (◞‸◟；)

Song I associate with them: Because it’s playing on Itunes, right now, and incredibly fitting, “Wasteland”, by Woodkid.

Favorite picture of them: 

He’s right where he wants to be. ( ´͈ ◡ `͈ ) ❤

--

Thank you so very much for asking. 

[stormxpadme]

@mallornblossom asked 10+Russingon? If I wanted loneliness, I’d choose to go.

(Send me numbers and (a) character(s), bonus points for OTP. )

“If I wanted loneliness, I’d choose to go. Finno. Stop. Avoiding. Me.”

There’s no bite to Maitimo’s carefully worded remark when it finally breaks the silence. Weariness, of the whole situation, slurs his speech, but not tiredness. While the brilliant silver of his eyes is still darkened by memory and doubt about the sheer necessity of his existence, they’ve been free of fever for a while. The healers would like to see a little more meat on his bones before he considers traveling; but Findekáno who has spent the last six months blackmailing his husband into taking in at least basic nutrition, knows, that’s not going to be a victory achieved anytime soon.

Maitimo is doing as well as can be expected after three decades of torture, and now home is calling for him.

Someone has talked. Findekáno still doesn’t know who, and it’s probably better that way, or the next kinslaying might not be an accident. Especially since he can’t rule out that it was his own brother being responsible for Macalaurë’s host almost marching right into their house to allegedly free their long lost brother. An unpleasant encounter stopped just in time by Maitimo’s first and only letter home, as far as they know.

Their estranged kin is not happy. That, Findekáno can live with. Most of the time, his husband is the only one of that bunch he doesn’t feel like strangling.

But Maitimo is not happy, and that’s his problem. As much as he hates it to let his lover out of sight after bringing him back from the almost-dead, Maitimo has duties, and a family, and he needs to dedicate some time to both.

So Findekáno has been trying to spend less time than usual in his husband’s chambers in the last days, trying to ease them both into the imminent farewell. Only now when he sees Maitimo’s not reproachful but hurt expression, it dawns on him, that was the wrong approach. Again. Since Angband, much of their relationship feels like finding their way through a labyrinth of razor sharp icicles, in the darkness before the moon and the sun.

Findekáno wants only what’s best for Maitimo but that’s just so damn difficult when no one knows what that is, least of all Maitimo himself.

“Don’t you want to see your people?”

“If they saw me now, it wouldn’t do anyone good.” The fingertips of Maitimo’s remaining hand ghost over the scar tissue almost splitting his face in half. It’s been closed for a while now, but the angry red keeps refusing to turn into a paler, less conspicuous shade. And that’s before one notices, Maitimo is hardly more than skin and bones, still, or the handicap he’s started trying to hide by resting his too soon-ending lower arm between the buttons of his tunic.

Maybe he’s right. His people would be scared, seeing him like this. Maitimo is the perfect image of Fëanáro’s failed quests, and the last, their kin needs right now is more instability. He can’t hide here forever, but the message that he’s alive should at least keep the peace in that other dwelling for another while.

There’s still those who are supposed to love him either way though.

“What about your brothers? They could visit. Ada will ensure their safety here.”

“But I cannot ensure yours as long as I can’t even lift a sword. You don’t know them, Finno. Not anymore. Not after ada’s death.”

Maitimo turns away from him again to look outside, to the first falling white flakes, a sight, Findekáno can’t find half as much peace and quiet in, naturally. “It’s not them I’m missing.”

Findekáno wants to ask, but he’s not sure, he can handle the answer.

So he overcomes his reluctance instead and finally closes the door that he’s meant to flee through earlier when he realized, his husband was present. Instead, he comes to stand behind him, wrapping his arms around Maitimo’s too narrow waist. The stiff leather of his brace makes it hard to bury his face against his back like he used to, so he just lightly rests his forehead against his healthy shoulder blade, with Maitimo’s still so short red hair tickling him as he seeks out his touch through the thin silk, hears the throb of the heart that almost gave out on him so many times during Maitimo’s healing. Findekáno tries to let the closeness soothe away the fears the same way, his lover’s taller shape blocks out the snow, in vain.

“I wish I could be all that you lost for you. I wish I could be enough.”

He will never be, not as long as the cursed oath remains the last, ever-present wall of doom between them. It’s selfish and irresponsible, but Findekáno is relieved that Maitimo isn’t leaving, not yet, as nothing good will come from that surely.

Maybe letting him feel that, assuring him that here, he’ll always have a home is all he can really do for him right now.

Maitimo’s hand closes around his, rubbing the always too cool air of the room out of them. A blaze of red and gold gentle penetrates Findekáno‘s anxious, worried thoughts and wraps around his mind like a blanket of most precious fur.

You’re here, that’s more than enough.

Findekáno is not sure if he heard it with his ears or with his mind, but the iron fist eases its grip around his heart a little. They’re still tiptoeing, but they’re getting better, every day.

“I need to write them back. It’s been a month,” Maitimo suddenly says when Findekáno already considered the subject closed, and now there’s mostly frustration and deeply-rooted hate on everyone who wronged him in Morgoth’s fortress left in his still too deep, too quiet voice. “But ...”

Findekáno nods in such a way that he’ll feel it.

The last time took three days and a lot of healing sessions in between. Maitimo’s left hand just isn’t used to doing the job of the right yet.

That, at least, Findekáno can do.

“Just tell me what you want to say. I’ll write it for you.”

When Maitimo turns around to him, his embrace has lost the last tension, and his kiss is sweet, grateful. “As long as you promise, you won’t hide any insults or bad jokes in that letter behind my back ...”

“No promises.” Findekáno stretches his neck to kiss the next annoyed pout of Maitimo’s lips. “I write. You eat. Deal? Dessert in bed, afterwards, when we’ve both been good,” he adds before Matimo can protest.

His husband rolls his eyes at him dramatically but finally gives up his place by the window to follow him to the palace kitchen.

As long as they still can, they need to make the best of every evening.

[johaerys-writes]

As It Was

OTP: Solas/ OC (Maordrid)

Since it is apparently Solas Appreciation Week (or, should I say, Solas hell Week? Sobbing-always-and-forever-over-Solas Week?), here is my small and slightly angsty contribution. This little one shot is inspired by my beloved Keeper of Chronicles @thesaltyhealer‘s OC Maori and her undying love for Solas, and it’s my gift for her achieving 400k in her fic The Guardian! (which is so beautiful and amazing, please please read it if you haven’t already).

Inspired by Hozier’s As It Was.

Read here or on AO3!

******************

Solas is the bearer of a terrible curse.

He watches, silently, unmoving, as the aeons flow in a never-ending stream. Even as he stands, time, hateful, runs a thousand miles, the seasons pass, the leaves on twisting branches turn from green to gold to brown, empires rise and crumble in his wake, while he stays the same. The same, but different.

He has lived to see his name changed to a title, the title to a curse. It tears at him, tugs at the frayed edges of his consciousness, but deep down he knows. Such is the way of the world. A righteous sword cuts readily through a rigid, lifeless title. Less so at the man breathing underneath it.

There was one who saw past that.

The thought should have been a comfort, but the weight of it has made him weary. It’s in the stagger in his step, in the edge in his voice, in the circles under his eyes, in his heart of hearts that has become a dark, bottomless well.

The world is dying, and he is wasting away with it. Still, he carries on.

His dreams are his only solace, his refuge from a world that hates him. At nights, he sheds his broken, tattered skin, carries his soul in the shape of a wolf. Eyes red and burning, paws pounding on the soft earth, fur bristling, tongue lolling, teeth gleaming, stark and unforgiving.

He treads down familiar paths, worn smooth by the passing of countless years. He runs over mountains, streams, snowy peaks and scorching deserts.

The world as he knew it is gone. It might as well have never been, it might as well never again be, consumed by the shadow of his presence. But when he walks those old paths in the Fade, unchanged, even now, he himself might never have existed.

A poor consolation. It is not easy, being among the few remaining to remember the old dreams. It will never get easier, carrying on through the centuries alone. In the emptiness that surrounds him, he remembers everything that’s been lost.

In that vast, cold emptiness that surrounds him, he remembers her.

Her feral grey stare. Her dark hair. Her lips of winter, her heart of fire. Her smile, that screams of murder. Her tongue, sharper than the sharpest blades hanging by her belt, softer than a cloud drifting along an untroubled sky. Sweeter than honey.

Her long fingers running over the staff he helped her make. Plucking the strings of a lute that’s out of tune, caressing the murals he painted. The brisk wave of her hand as she summons a spell to warm them on a cold winter night. Brushing his lips over every inch of her slender arm as she recounts an old story, long forgotten by everyone but them.

Her feet, soundless against the cold stone floor of the rotunda. The smell of paint on his clothes, the feel of plaster on his palms. A brush of stray magic that gets tangled in his fingers, her clever laugh ringing softly in his ears. He turns around to see her perched on his desk, watching him work.

The smile that comes unbidden, the flutter in his heart that he knew he should suppress. He goes to her regardless, drawn to her as if by instinct. A smudge of paint on his cheek. She reaches out to brush it away. She smiles, her mischievous smile that’s warmer than the sun on a summer day, brighter than rays of light rippling through stained glass.

She is a mystery to him. There’s a million questions he could ask her. About her life, her dreams, her most well-kept secrets. He could wring her out, squeeze her dry, search for every crack on her smooth surface.

The questions, one by one, die on his lips.

“Tell me about your day.”

The spark in her eyes, his soul the tinder that could set the world aflame.

Moments that he shared with her, moments he remembers clearly. Hollow echoes of a time that almost felt like home. Almost. He lives through them, again and again, there, in the serenity of the Fade. Threadbare dreams. Broken promises. The pain he has caused her, his only legacy. It follows him like a mangy dog, stubborn and merciless.

She calls for him, even now. Even after everything, she still calls out his name. In her pain, in her fury, in her joy, and in her calmness, too. She cries it out like a curse, like an arrow worked to a razor-sharp edge. Like a plea. A benediction. It crashes against his heart, his soul, soft whispers running over his skin, like they did so long ago.

His name, always on her lips. Always.

He turns into a wolf, runs free in the world of dreams. He runs, even when there’s nowhere left to run to. He runs and runs, until his lungs ache, until his bones grate. But there’s no running away. He becomes the wind, the rain, the snow, the storm, the lightning, but there’s no breaking from these constraints. He climbs the highest of mountain peaks. Hides in the darkest of corners. But still, her voice finds him.

She calls to him.

No matter how far he runs, he can never outrun her. “You can’t run from what lies within your heart,” someone told him once. A long time ago.

Days pass, months roll by, turn into years. Still, she calls. Her voice, tearing at him, eroding his resolve, eating away at steel and stone. It pierces his soul, cuts through blood, through skin and bone.

He is bound to her. Just as she is bound to him.

He finds her sitting under the ancient trees of Arlathan, the memories of them holding strong against the shifting currents of the Fade.

She has changed. He has changed her, just as he has changed everything. But there are some things that never change.

In her dreams, her long hair falls freely down her back, flows languidly in that other-worldly wind. In his dreams, he stands tall. He doesn’t carry the weight of a thousand battles, the pain of millions, the anger of a universe in chaos on his shoulders. In his dreams, he’s the man she met all this time ago.

“Solas.”

The Fade shifts and warps around her. Her mere presence pulls at its edges. She is there, always there, immovable. Never takes her eyes off him.

He has taken everything from her. She refuses to take even that.

They gaze long at each other. The hawk and the wolf. The guardian and the eater of worlds.

She goes by many names, but in his heart of hearts she has only one.

“Maori.”

He breathes it, so softly that it could be the night air stirring in the trees above them. In his ears, it’s a deafening roar.

She comes closer, extends her hand to him. Touches his cheek, as if to brush a spot of paint away. He leans into her touch. He could never do otherwise. His soul reaches out to her, fits seamlessly with hers. All the pieces that were missing, falling into place.

The world is crumbling - he is crumbling-, and she is tearing at the seams, but still, their memories refuse to die away. Memories of all the moments that have been lost, moments inescapably tangled in the passing of a merciless time that obliterates all. He grabs at them, clutches them close to his heart, even as he tries to shut them out.

The moments of calm in the midst of a shattering storm. Countless nights they spent together, wide awake until the grey light of morning found them, the echoes of them still quivering through the Fade. His lips pressed against her forehead. Her hands tangled in the fabric of his shirt. The love they shared.

Tell me if any of it remains.

The words rush through him, come to him like waves, only to crash against his teeth.

Tell me if you wait for me still.

He shivers in her arms, but she holds him fast, even as he withers away.

Tell me…

“Tell me about your day,” he whispers.

And everything is as it was. Everything he is, everything that’s left of him, is hers, just as it was. If only for a moment. If only in their dreams.

[tellywoodtrash]

Sanjivani - Weeks 7 + 8

Overall Plot

Sid and Ishani are about 10 minutes away from hardcore Love. And literally every single person knows and is rooting for it (including the security guards at Sanjivani/Ishani’s apartment complex!!!!!), except the two idiots themselves. Shashank is still dealing with the fallout of the thing with Juhi and the admin issues stemming from their unresolved issues, but small mercies, his relationship with Anjali seems to be looking up. Nurse Philo's daughter Jessica has been admitted mere days before her wedding and found to have a terminal illness and it's heartbreaking as fuck.

The Medical Stuff

Lol, does Ishani's "sickness" count? She's pretty convinced that she's dying of something serious, the way she was charting her symptoms and kept getting diagnostic test after diagnostic test, so I think it should. Glad she's finally gotten a diagnosis and the prognosis looks promising! Other than that, Nandini got operated on successfully by the Shashank-Juhi team, and the only active case we have is Jessica's Stage IV cancer. But I think that's going to focus more on the emotional side of things (getting her the dream wedding she wants), since it's at such an advanced stage that it wouldn't respond to treatment anyway.

The Acting

Thank the lord above, they have started giving Surbhi comedy to do, which is where she really shines as an actor. Namit is most excellent at heart eyes, and his crying has improved from the first few weeks; dialogue delivery still needs to be more polished though. Jason and Kunal are being used effectively by giving them hilarious, snarky scenes while they drill some sense into Ishani/Sid. Robin is still pretty much in the background other than to pop up and deliver the occasional wisecrack. Very sad to see Rashmi go, she'd really won my heart as Asha. The seniors got to ease up on the angsty scenes these weeks and I'm grateful for that; it's nice to see them loosen up a bit and smile and joke around. Special mention to Vedika Bhandari as Jessica, who's just ridiculously adorable and sooooooo likable, that I already am having trouble at the thought of letting her character go.

The Characters

Sid: MY DUDES, I DID NOT EXPECT TO FALL THIS HARD FOR SIDDHANT FUCKING MATHUR, BUT WELP, HERE WE ARE. I honestly cannot believe that this boy exists on Tellywood. Where to even start with him in these two weeks? How much younger than his years he seems when he was imploring his mom to stay to meet Shashank; his heart eyes when he wakes up to see Ishani first thing next morning (after waiting to see her the whole night!!!); his bashfulness at all the love he's getting from the whole hospital staff; his good-natured humoring of Ishani's weird behaviour... He's just so unassuming and Soft. I can't really recall seeing this lovable a male lead in tellywood in forever (all I can think of is Hussain K. characters in the early 2000s, in Krishna Arjun and Kumkum and all.) But by no means is Sid a pushover who tolerates any kind of BS. He rightfully rips Rishabh to shreds when he tries to discredit his relationship with Ishani, and understandably calls Ishani out on her nonsense when she's evading her duties, but in a decent way. There is some against-the-wall-caging (because Tellywood), but in a non-threatening manner; he maintains an appropriate distance, does not touch her, and while he does talk in a raised voice due to frustration, never does it veer into yelling that feels dangerous, and he repeatedly asks her if he said or did anything that's making her uncomfortable to be around him. I found it a little strange that he was so vehemently in denial of his feelings for Ishani in last week's episodes, because he seemed to readily accept after his conversation with Guddu Mama (“Halwa banaa ke leke jaaoon? Usko achcha lagega?" with the most hopeful smile; calling Ishani a "bohut hi pyaari si princess" to her face and specifying that he specifically made the halwa for her "pyaaaaar se", being open to the idea of marrying Ishani when Nurse Philo/Jessica jokingly suggest it....) but I guess it would be pretty incongruous for him to instantly fall hard for Ishani AND recognize it, with his past as a "player". So I like that they brought in one of his flings to contrast how different his feelings for Ishani are compared to the other girls he's dated; and subsequently how he's processing his many emotions about the situation. Most of all, I love that his feelings for Ishani don't hamper him from doing his job right; instead they just make him more sensitive to understanding her and making her feel good in any capacity that he can. He came all the way over to her house to apologize for making her cry, AND MADE HER PARATHAS!!!!!!! He slept over, but respectfully all scooched up on her tiny couch! What a goddamn Good Boi. Also, him crying over Jessica's diagnosis? Heart-fucking-breaking. We should all be so lucky to find a doctor who cares about his patients THIS much.

Ishani (or lol as Guddu Mama calls her, "Pareshaani"): I really was expecting the absolute worst with this "Ishani has Loveria" track. And it did not start out well; almost 3 whole episodes were just her puerile lovesick imagination waale music videos and that goddamn CGI titli and I was just like jfc whyyyyyyyyyy. BUT THEN!!!!!!! They finally started showing us the funny side of Ishani, and it's succeeded in making the character lovably kooky, instead of just unpleasant to be around. Her panic attack in the bathroom where she legit thinks she's having a stroke and tries to literally shake off the crush, making all the first year residents repeatedly do ECGs on her, her awkwardness around Sid, the rant where she bemoans falling in love with Sid of all people, her child-like crying to Asha when Sid finally gives her a dressing down for acting idiotic ("Mujhe ITNA daanta! ITNAAAA! Aur unprofessional bhi bola! *violently stabbing finger in the air* UNPROFESSIONAL!!!!!!!!"); all of it was just hilarious as fuck. We're finally seeing the endearing side of Ishani's addled personality. I'm also very glad she got the much-required wakeup call from Sid/Asha, that she's being very unprofessional by running away from her duties, and hopefully from here on, she'll be learn to focus on her job, even with Sid's distracting presence. She's also made quite a bit of progress when it comes to her germophobia; but realistically: it's only with Sid (and Asha) - the two people she's really close to; she's still seen being touch-averse with the rest, but slowly getting better; letting children touch her, offering to shake hands with Jessica and Jignesh, etc.

Asha & Aman: I'm super bummed that Rashmi is being replaced as Asha, because she was honestly so good in the role; cheerful and hilarious in most of her scenes, gentle and sensitive with Ishani, helping her out as much as she can with this inconvenient crush... It's not an easy role, with the accent and all. I hope this new actress is as competent as Rashmi, who always highlighted the humour but without making the accent the punchline; it was always the things she said and how she chooses to word it. It's an important distinction, to not make the regional background into a caricature.

Aman is Aman as usual, lol; vicariously getting kicks thanks to the shenanigans of everyone around. Also, to my surprise, Aman and Asha live together! They offer up their place for a party for Sid; when Ishani freaks out that the cake he ordered isn't Sid's favt. flavour, Aman just shrugs "Meri Asha ko butterscotch pasand hai." I still don't really know what his equation with Asha is, but whatever it is, I love it. Asha's a self-sufficient girl, but it's obvious that Aman feels really protective of her and wants to see her happy always. I really hope the new actress maintains this ambiguous chemistry with Robin too, till the writers decide what direction they wanna take this relationship in.

Dialogue of the Week: Asha [walking in on Ishani holding a sleeping Sid's hand]: Abbe! Humaare saamne toh badi "garma"phobic bani ghoomti hai, ab dekho Dr. Sid ke saath kaise touchy-wouchy ho rahi hai!!!!!!!!!!!

Rishabh: Fucking asshole. He Tried, but he's no match for the razor sharp wit of Sid, or Asha's jugaadu skills to relieve an overworked Ishani. Chal dafa ho, be! Manhoos kahinka.

Neil: He's really really enjoying Sid and Ishani's crushes on each other, taking the mick out of both of them at any given opportunity. I truly lmao-ed when he was seriously examining Ishani for an illness on her insistence and then eye-rollingly dismisses her with "Kuch nahi hua hai tumhe." Cutest snark bean.

Rahil: MY ACTUAL FAVE. Lmao, if Ishani’s got her little purple titli, then Rahil is Sid’s grownass plaid-shirt-wearing TITLA, who appears outta nowhere to serve up piping hot sass at his confused dumbassery. His acerbic, plain-speak snark seems to be the only language Sid understands (as opposed to the first years' gleeful teasing, or the good-natured ribbing of elders like Shashank and Philo and Guddu Mama), and him having to exasperatedly explain things to his boss-who-is-also-his-bff is just hilarious. I relish every single scene he appears in to the max! Also props to him for giving us the gem "same level ke ajeeb" as the OTP tag for SidIsha!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Shashank: A much better fortnight for Dr. Shashank! Two of his idiot babies are very obviously in love (that scene of Ishani showing him her reports and describing the butterfly through pantomime though, lmao) and now his relationship with Anjali is defrosting (the exchange about the surgeon she was interested in and how he wants grandkids from her??? The cutest!!!!) Things still remain frosty with Juhi though, and I don't understand why he won't just address the issue and clarify things in a straightforward manner, instead of dragging it out like this and making it awkward with his COS/mentee. Anyway, good on him for getting that win on Vardhan, but I feel like he needs to stop being so damn stubborn on his issues without giving reasons. It’s not helping matters around here, personally or professionally.

Juhi: Literally the classiest female professional on TV??????? She hasn't stopped holding Shashank accountable for how he sabotaged her career, but I love that she has sorted it out enough to work with him, but also engages in minor acts of pettiness like gleefully scraping his car with hers, cheekily grinning and apologizing saying she needed to get out some of the angst before they operated on a patient together. For what it's worth, I was fully on her side during the argument with Shashank about the machines for the hospital; it sounded like a good deal, but of course, she should have had the foresight to know Vardhan would try to do some kinda fuckery. She’s right in not really trusting Shashank anymore, but needs to be a little more prudent with how she proceeds while making decisions for Sanjivani. In a way, it’s really sad how she doesn’t really have any allies at her level. Shashank was the only one she could really rely on, and he went and blew that relationship up, and now she’s kinda adrift in the organization. I hope Shashank does good by her and repairs the relationship.

Anjali: Phew, finally a good break for Anjali. I'm ecstatic. She's realized that Vardhan's manipulating her and broken free of his gaslighting nonsense. She's much smarter than both Shashank and Vardhan thought she was and yes sis, play them both!!!!!!! She got her COS post, but also isn't playing by Vardhan's rules. Ultimate winner! But does she also have some romantic feelz for V? Coz that last scene between them had very intimate vibes, from the way she walked into his office and knew where the booze was, to her pouring him a glass and casually lounging against the wall like a wife/girlfriend would. She wasn't even really fazed when he grabbed her; either she's a hella strong woman who cannot be trifled with, or she's familiar with this side of him. I really hope it's the former coz she deserves someone who's a grown up version of Sid (*cough* Atul Joshi *cough*) who's super good and healthy for her, not this deceitful fuckwad.

Vardhan: What is his deal? No honestly, does he have some kinda personal stake in saving Sanjivani from financial ruin? It seems so, with how overwrought and devastated he seemed at Shashank exposing the machine waala scam. Also, the way he manhandled Anjali? Unforgivable. Die in a fire, scum.

Rahul: Still haven't seen him but apparently he's hiding in that secret room in the luxury ward? What the everloving experimental fuck is he doing with pregnant women who look to be unable to afford medical care? Nothing ethical, that's for sure. I have a feeling this will maybe tie up to Ishani's parents waala plot, but for the meanwhile, jfc, just reveal yourself man, coz this shit is getting scary as fuck the longer you go unseen.

Overall Rating: 5/5

[lytefoot]

Parvati and Padma Patil

favorite thing about them: Unlike the Weasley twins, Parvati and Padma aren’t at all shy about being extremely different from one another.

least favorite thing about them: This is another problem of thin characterization. Like, Parvati is Lavender’s also-”silly” shadow, and Padma is Lavender’s sister in Ravenclaw, and that’s about it.

favorite line: I can’t think of a line, but I do love the shot in the movies where Parvati turns her boggart into that horrifying jack-in-the-box.

brOTP: Each other, probably.

OTP: Parvati & Lavender, high femme power couple. Padma... I’m not sure. We see so little of her. Maybe someone she didn’t even meet in high school?

nOTP: Like Seamus, the only objectionable shipping of the Patil twins I’ve seen is when they’re randomly used to pick up the slack in a broken-up canon couple.

random headcanon: Okay, gonna do these two separately here.

Parvati got swept up by the Aurors along with the rest of that crop of Gryffindors, but she’s one of the ones that stayed. She and Justin Finch-Fletchley are Harry’s go-to squad leaders in Auror training, and Parvati one of that crop that gets pulled rapidly up through the ranks on Harry’s coat-tails. (Not that she doesn’t deserve the promotions--it just would have taken her a couple more decades to accumulate them if she hadn’t been on the short list of people Mr. Head Auror Fast Track trusted.) Parvati is known for having eyeliner as razor-sharp as her dueling technique. Call when the situation demands someone too smart to be a hit wizard.

Padma followed the course more popular with Ravenclaws, and went back to Hogwarts for a proper seventh year. Her career trajectory was less direct than her sister’s--she did a brief stint with the Aurors, largely because they were drooling after everyone who had been key players in the DA, and then a tour with the Obviators. I think she ended up somewhere in the Office of Muggle Relations. I think she might be Arthur’s hand-picked successor to run the department, come to think of it.

unpopular opinion: I don’t think it’s unpopular any more to say that it’s highly unpleasant to think less of Parvati and Padma for being offended that Ron and Harry were terrible Yule ball dates, is it?

song i associate with them: Parvati - Killer Queen (which I will never not regard as a song about an assassin); Padma - harder, I’ve given her less thought. Ballad of a Politician gives me interesting ideas.

favorite picture of them: Tumblr is full of good art of what the Patil twins’ Yule ball dresses should have looked like, but this is the one that I think of first.

[pottsisstarksheart]

ask characters: pepper potts

overall: who? / i hate them / i dislike them / kinda wanna fight them / they’re alright / i like them / i love them / *accidentally drops thousands of pictures of them*opinion: again, who??? / the purest bean / cinnamon roll / who knows really / sinnamon roll / the problematic favotp(s): Pepperony forever and ever until the end of time.other ship(s): Black Pepper. Pepper/Tony/Bruce and Pepper/Tony/Steve if they’re done properly.#noromo ship(s): Pepper/Happy. I know they’re a thing in the comics, but I’m not particularly a fan of Happy in the MCU. I know he’s trying to be protective but he comes off as too overbearing and slightly misogynistic. crack ship(s): Pepper/Hope. Again, that goes back to me thinking of Pepper like an older sister to Hope but omg if I could get past that, they’d be something else together. Also... Pepper/Tony/Loki. Yep. There are fics out there in which they’ve been written solidly in character and they can work! fav headcanon(s): Pepper is from the Midwest. She grew up in a small town or on a farm and wanted to go to college in the big city. She’s terribly good with numbers, even better than Tony, and her degree is in accounting. It’s one of the reasons she’s so good at her job as CEO - her sense for numbers is razor sharp and combined with the business acumen she honed over her experience with Stark Industries, she’s a force to be reckoned with.

Thanks for the ask!  

[mythopoeticreality]

Maglooorrrrr

8D Yeees~ My favorite silm character! (though really between all of the Feanorians it’s so hard to choose xD) 

favorite thing about them

The potential he has for kindness? The weird – though weary and tinged with bitterness – sense of hope he has even after all these years? Okay yes, he is a Fëanorian, there is no denying that, he has participated in the same kinslayings and can be characterized by that same haughtiness that his family is so well known for, but there *is* more to him than that? It’s no mistake that among the sections of the book that focus longest on Maglor are his adoption of Elrond and Elros, and the moment he and Maedhros first see Gil-Estel. The moments where he shows pity and compassion, or even wisdom gained after over 500 years of war. Honestly the same things that draw me to him are the same things that draw me to Faramir xD what can I say? I love nerdy intellectuals with hearts of gold xD

least favorite thing about them

Ohhh Maglor, why couldn’t you have a bit more backbone in standing up to Maedhros there at the end? *facepalms. siiiiiiighs*

favorite line

‘If it be truly the Silmaril which we saw cast into the sea that rises again by the power of the Valar, then let us be glad; for its glory is seen now by many, and is yet secure from all evil.’

Look at that! Look at the hope in that line, and the hard-gained wisdom! It’s just like, “look, see, now? The Silmarill has been rescued from the hands of the enemy and now sits in a place where all may lay claim to it (including us)” also, that’s a clever bit of playing with loopholes there Maglor. Very nice.

brOTP

Is it any surprise that my brotps for Maglor happen to be with his *literal* bros? xD I love the Fëanorians and the sense of loyalty there that is strung through the whole family. Maglor and Maedhros are *especially* good examples of this, and I love how much they come to depend on one another by the end. It’s very much an ‘us against the world’ dynamic between them and I *love* it.

My other brOTP for Maglor is actually something I haven’t seen nearly as much (though if any of y’all have some good fic recs for It I will utterly devour them! 8D), But I really like he and Caranthir as being pretty close.  Maybe it’s just the idea of ‘music soothing the savage beast,’ maybe it is how starkly their personalities clash, or maybe it’s the idea of both of them feeling that they don’t measure up to their father’s expectations (Maglor in his chosen career path, Caranthir in his less obvious talents). I do think they’re the sorts to constantly be at one another’s throats, arguing and bickering often, not a single opportunity for razor-sharp sarcasm to be spared, but at the end of the day, they’re always the first ones to stick up for one another as well.

OTP

Maglor/Happiness, all the way! He can be with anyone he chooses, or even with no one at all, so long as he’s just…happy.

nOTP

Mostly anyone in his family, and that extends to cousins. Y’all do you of course, I’m just not much one for incest.

random headcanon

His Father was a linguist, He is a poet and has lived through thousand of years worth of watching languages grow and change.Weather it is in humor, sarcasm, or insult, Maglor is truely the master of the use of register and implication to say *exactly* what it is he means to say. 

To put it in  more modern context as an example: Imagine this guy going through road rage. He can go from shouting “Oi! Watch the Road ya Bloody Wanker!” out the window one moment, to casually turning to one of his brothers and speaking in beautifully eloquent High Quenya the next. 

unpopular opinion

For the longest time, though he wanted to spare the twin’s lives and didn’t want to see any harm come to them, I don’t think Maglor was completely willing to take on the role of “Caretaker” for them. Both he and Maedhros preferred to view themselves as hostage-taker, it was…easier. There was too much guilt, both in the idea of replacing his own younger brothers, and in the constant reminder of what they had done that Elros and Elrond had ended up with them to begin with.

Eventually the distance that he tried to keep between them broke down and they began to grow closer, but from both ends things were a very rocky start

song i associate with them

Let your silence sing by Thoushaltnot 

favorite picture of them

ohhh, that’s a tough one, I don’t think I have a *single* favorite pic, but this one is definitely up there.

[nordics-out-for-harambe]

You know when you make a really cute au/have a really cute idea for an otp, then someone says something and all of a sudden you just have angsty/dramatic ideas??? That has now happened. I still want to continue the nøkken au that I’ve made, and I’m more than willing to write out of chronological order, but this development will entirely alter some future fics. Just a heads-up, there is main character death.

“I Suppose I Do”

Mathias had been living in the cottage for two years now. While his fishing didn’t bring in too much money, it was enough to be comfortable in the house. It was also worth it to visit his neighbors – a pair of nøkken that lived in the lake near his home that he had grown close to. Well, he supposed, close wasn’t the right term for it. He and Lukas had become increasingly more and more intimate, now flirting outwardly with each other – much to Emil’s disgust. Mathias grinned. No, close wasn’t the right word. Romantic and familial were more appropriate.

The three had gotten into a routine – Mathias would visit every afternoon at two, then stay until six. Sometimes he would arrive earlier, some days he would leave the lake later. It really depended on when he was done fishing and selling his catch. Today, he was incredibly early – he arrived at nine in the morning.

The winter air was bitterly cold, so he wore a thick winter coat and boots. “Hej! Lukas! Emil! Don’t tell me that you’re asleep!” He carried a large bag of fish on his back, the weight of it heavy on his broad shoulders. “Guys!!! I brought some mackerel! I know that it’s your guys’ favorite.” He laughed to himself as he remembered two brothers fighting over the single mackerel that he had brought last time – he had yet to make that mistake again. Reminiscing, he was distracted and completely overlooked a slick patch of ice near the lake’s edge.

Had he not been weighed down by heavy winter clothes and a large burlap sack, he would have been better able to catch his balance. Had the lake not been so close he wouldn’t have fallen into the icy waters.

The frigid water quickly closed over his head and he saw nothing but darkness. He blindly struggled to take off his coat, hoping to lighten himself enough to swim back up to the surface. Still, as he scrambled and fumbled for his coat buttons, he sank deeper and faster. Lungs burning, he clawed upwards, the light of the sun so tantalizingly close. Yet the light steadily grew dimmer as he struggled.

As the remaining air burned in his lungs, he reflected. Mom and Dad won’t have anyone to take care of them. Berwald won’t have anyone to get him to ask Tino out. That lady in town won’t have anyone to give her food for her family. Emil will be alright, I guess. He has Lukas. Lukas…

Finally, he stopped struggling. His last memories of the nøkk flashed through his mind: meeting him on a dark October night, nursing him to health, laughing many nights away with him and his brother, learning to swim, sweet and salty kisses under the moon. The dark obscured his sight and his eyes closed for the last time.

Lukas.

“Emil, you must go slow. You are scaring away all of the prey.” Lukas patiently tried to teach the younger nøkk how to hunt, yet he was steadily approaching his last nerve. The boy groaned. “I don’t even know why we still hunt. Mathias brings us fish all the time! Can’t we just eat that instead?”

Lukas frowned. “We will not take advantage of his kindness. We must try to repay the debt in some fashion. Perhaps we can show our gratitude by killing a deer for him. He has mentioned that he likes venison.”

Emil smirked. “You mean you two talked about what you like to eat, and you just happened to take note of everything that he said. Right?” Lukas’s eyes smoldered. “Emil. Walk. Quietly. Now.” “Ugh, fine!”

An hour later, the brothers had failed to catch anything – mostly due to Emil’s loud complaining and purposeful stomping. When they arrived at the lake empty-handed, they paused before entering it. “Emil, do you feel that something is wrong?” The young one crossed his arms, “Yeah, it’s cold” His tone was sarcastic, yet his eyes reflected his brother’s apprehension.

“Lukas, is that Mathias’s bag?!” The elder water creature snatched the still-full bag up from the ground, eyes steadily widening. “He brought fish, yet…” Their heads simultaneously snapped towards the water. “You don’t think…” Without answering, Lukas threw himself into the water, Emil following soon after.

The two abandoned their human forms in their stress; Emil became a sleek white horse and Lukas’s eyes glowed yellow, razor sharp teeth jutting from his jaw. They frantically searched the entirety of the lake bottom until Lukas found him.

Mathias had long since passed – his skin was a deathly pallor and his eyes were still shut. He was cold to the touch, and his long blonde hair flowed with the lake’s waves. Lukas’s tears disappeared in the water as he pulled the soaked winter clothes off of the man.

Out of the water and in the cave, Lukas’s wailing became both audible and heartbreaking. Tears coated his pale cheeks and fell onto the corpse below him. His now-sharp nails practically ripped through the man’s shirt with how tightly he clutched it. “Mathias!!!” His unearthly wails were interjected by his occasional pleas and screams.

Emil slowly pulled himself out of the water, now returned to his human form. Tears fell from his lashes as he clung to his still-distraught brother. “Lukas, Lukas, Lukas…” he sobbed his name brokenly, unable to form a full sentence.

After a while, the wails and sobs slowed and quieted to soft hiccups. Emil touched Mathias’s face, his neck. “Lukas, he’s d…d…” The words choked and were lost in his throat. “He cannot be dead, Emil. He cannot be dead. He cannot.” Lukas took the man’s shoulders and shook him, “Wake up, Matt!!! NOW!”

He frantically shook the man, glowing eyes fearful and angry. “Wake up, jævla rasshøl!!!” “Lukas! Stop!!!” Emil pulled the other of the man, crying as he did so. Lukas stopped and slumped where he now sat.

“He is gone.” The words echoed, final. “Yeah…I guess.” They sat in silence, neither moving.

“We cannot leave him here. We must…do something.” Emil turned to his brother, who turned to him as well. “We might take him to his house. Bury him in his yard.” “But what about his family? Should we leave a note or something?” “I..I am not sure right now. But he cannot stay out like this.” Unbeknownst to the two, Mathias’s hands had begun to clench into fists.

“Maybe we leave a note. We can’t have no one know what happened. His family-“ “I understand that his family will be hurt. But if we lead them to know that he drowned, our lake will be examined. Dredged. We will be discovered or our lake destroyed.” “But he has friends in town, they’re gonna notice he’s gone.” Before Lukas could reply, a hoarse coughing interrupted them. Mathias was now lying on his side facing away from the two, hacking up lake water.

“Mathias!!!!” They chorused and leapt towards him. “Matt! We thought that you died!!!” Lukas and Emil bawled, salty tears falling onto the already soaked man. He finally stopped coughing and laid on his back again, eyes still closed. “Is it just me, or is the light really bright?”

Lukas and Emil faltered. “Maybe a little, yeah. But aren’t you used to the sun?” “Ugh, not like this…” He covered his eyes with the heels of his hands. Lukas took notice of his still-deathly pale skin, hands gently rubbing the man’s cheeks. “You are probably sick, Matt. Let us get something for you to wear and something to eat.”

Mathias groaned and nodded, pulling his hands from his face. “Yeah, I feel awful.” Lukas and Emil gasped when he opened his eyes. “Mathias, your eyes…” “They are yellow.”

“Yellow?! Like, Lukas on a rampage yellow?!” The brother nodded, though Lukas did so more slowly and with a narrowing of his own eyes. “They’re literally yellow. Wait, open your mouth!” Stunned, Mathias slowly parted his mouth. Inside rested a single row of sharp fangs. “D…Does your jaw or anything hurt?” “Now that you mention it, it feels like my wisdom teeth are acting up again.”

The nøkk brothers glanced nervously at each other, eyes reflecting each other’s concern. “Matt, I must now tell you something that you will find hard to believe.” Matthias noted the tone of Lukas’s voice and almost sat up in fear. “What? What’s wrong with me?!” Lukas took a breath before continuing; gently placing his hands on Mathias’s shoulders once more.

“Matt, when a human and a nøkk love each other, they are separated by mortality. The water creature must live while the human passes one day. But when that human dies in the nøkk’s waters and has nothing but pure love for the creature then…” He paused, worrying his lip with a now-human tooth. “Luke, tell me. Please.” Lukas sighed. “We believe that you may have been transformed into a nøkk as well.”

Matthias’s pale face became ten shades lighter. “I’m…I’m a-a…” His eyes promptly rolled back into his head and he fell backwards with a thud. Silence reigned once more. “Well, at least he heard the news.”

The process of turning actually took an entire week. During that time, Emil and Lukas took care of the new creature. Especially Lukas.

“Matt, you must eat the fish. You need the energy and strength.” “But it’s raw! That’s gross!” Lukas huffed and rolled his eyes. “You are a nøkk now, you eat raw fish. It tastes quite good, actually. You caught this one – mackerel.” Lukas practically drooled as he held the delicacy out. “There is a reason that it is our favorite fish. Eat it.”

Matthias indignantly turned and narrowed his now blue eyes. “No, it’s gross and smelly and fishy and-“ He finally caught a whiff of the offending dish, “-really. Good. Smelling.” His pupils dilated as he reached for the fish. Lukas offered it again, and it was ripped from his grasp. Mathias tore into the food voraciously as both bones and skin disappeared.

When the meal was gone, Lukas smirked. “‘Gross and smelly’?” Matthias grinned. “Maybe not.” He held out his arms. “I wish someone would lay here in this lonely cave with me. I’m alone all the time.” Frosty blue eyes rolled once more. “Matt, I must go help Emil hunt.” “I’m sure he’ll be ok for a little bit. Please?” He pouted, eyes watery. “Besides, I’m on mandatory bed rest for three more days.” “The process takes a full week, we’ve been over this.” Even as he spoke, he moved to embrace the other.

“Would you have missed me?” “Hm?” Matthias glanced away. “If I hadn’t turned into, you know…Would you have missed me?” Lukas bit his lip and glanced away. “I am not very good at expressing myself.” “I know, try your best.” His expression was the most morose and honest that the elder had ever seen it. “Yes, I would have missed you terribly.”

He paused. “…Do you remember that I mentioned that the human must have a pure love for the nøkk in order for this to be possible?” A nod. “…The feelings must be reciprocated.” “You mean-“ “Yes, I love you, more than life itself.”

Matthias tackled the smaller creature in a death-grip, then kissed him roughly and lovingly. “I’ve been waiting for years to hear you say that.” His dopey grin nearly brought a wide smile to Lukas’s own face. “Yes. But do not do anything like that again. Or, I swear, I will kill you.” “Hej, but you love me.” He kissed him again, this time with no resistance.

“I suppose that I do.” This time, the smile was returned.

I realize that this is not very close to folklore. I had to make up my own version for how a human can transform into a nøkk. Icelandic ones are generally ‘water horses’: they appear as a beautiful white horse and lure children and farmers to touch it/climb on its back.  Like I said, I will gladly write more if you guys want more of this. I figure that I can write more from before Matthias was transformed. I hope that you guys enjoyed!