#writing snippit

[deadgirlwalking91]

i can totally see Lute and Adam being all lovely and tender, but only if the privacy of their quarters,

and i can definitely think those are rare moments of weakness for both parts, they don’t give me the vibes of someone who’s able to express themselves and their emotions, but one with the other they always will.

btw i can totally see Lute tease Adam with all this “First Man” thing whenever she’s able to dominate the situation, wouldn’t she?

i would like some examples from u tho, since they way u write is divine ngl..

Hey Anon,

Yesssss this is something that I love about their relationship (or at least, my headcanon for it haha). At work or in public it's strictly professional but in the privacy of behind closed doors they are soft with one another. Lots of kissing, cuddling (but ew if anybody else cuddles), touching, etc. Deep and meaningful conversations in the middle of the night while they're in bed together that they wouldn't dare speak in the light of day. That kind of soft <3

Ahhhh I love it SO much <3

And yes, absolutely! I mean I can see Adam calling her 'Lieutenant' in the bedroom (funnily enough, I don't think he would address her like that in public or even at work, I think she'd still just be 'Lute', haha), so she would definitely give it back to him.

Here's something I whipped up for you, Anon ;) thanks for the prompt (and compliment - really, thank you, that's such a lovely thing to say). I need to do some more work on TYFTV today so this is a good little warm up.

"Look at you," Lute purred as she slung one leg over Adam's lap, straddling him. She raked her nails down his chest, leaving light golden marks that peeked through the thick, dark hair that coated him. "You've gotten yourself all worked up."

"Can you blame me?" he asked weakly, hands coming to rest at her hips. "You've been walking around fucking naked for the past half an hour." He ran his hands up her sides, thumbs lightly brushing against the underside of her breasts.

"I would have thought you'd be used to a little nudity," she mused, leaning into his touch. "You know, considering that's how you hung out in Eden back in the day."

"Well, yeah, but-"

"Or," she continued, leaning forward so that her lips brushed gently against his neck. "Did I make the First Man shy?" She pressed a kiss to the hollow of his throat, pausing just long enough to feel the bulge in his neck bob up and down as he swallowed nervously.

"Not a chance."

Lute pulled back, grinning at the blush that had spread over Adam's cheeks. "Liar." She deliberately glanced down to between their hips, letting her eyes linger hungrily on his erection before flicking them back up again. "I think the Original Dick is going soft."

"I think the fuck not." With a growl, Adam grabbed Lute by the waist and flipped her, ignoring her squeal of delight as he pinned her hips into the mattress with his own. He rocked into her, and if the sight of him earlier wasn't enough evidence, now she could feel that there was nothing soft about him at all. She gripped his hips and pulled them roughly against her own once more, the smirk on her face gone as she gazed up at him through half-lidded eyes.

"Prove it, then."

[shouldersshrug]

behold, a snippit (under the cut) from my soon to be released sambastian smutfic. I don't usually post smut because I'm scared of it being bad, but I've been chiseling away at it for a while now and hope to post it sometime soon! I really want to start writing more and this fanfic is very much helping me with that!

[thesmollestsnek]

Death echoes

So a while ago, i found this dp x dc post that had a really interesting lore headcanon for Danny’s ghostly wail. Idk if I’ll be able to find it again, I’ll link it here if I do, but essentially it posited that every ghost has something called a “death echo”, which is an ability unique to them based heavily on their deaths. These echoes are the most powerful move in a ghost’s moveset, but they’re also extremely volatile and draining, typically damaging the ghost in some way when used, with Danny’s being his Wail because he died screaming. The original post then went on to some really cool halfa!Jason ideas based on these death echoes, but for this lil snippet with an extremely long intro I’d like to focus on Danny a bit more.

Edit: Apparently I may have extrapolated a lot of the actual lore behind these death echos myself? The inspiration post was a lot longer in my memories. Or I might've mushed multiple posts into one mental box and then forgot lol. So a lot of the actual detail from this point on is seemingly mostly original material? I think? Idk man, sometimes my brain spits out information without giving me any clues as to where it got that information. Anyway, this post got kinda long and since I'm... decently sure this is where I shifted from summarizing @ailithnight's post to writing all my own thoughts I figured here would be a good place to throw the cut lol.

So! with all of the context-for-the-context out of the way, let’s move on to the actual context for what I’m writing cause I can’t be bothered with writing an intro XD

Essentially, this is an au where Danny is an established member of the Justice League, or maybe one of the teen hero teams? I’m a slut for eternal teenager Danny, but maybe he’s enough of a powerhouse to be on the main team despite him both looking and acting like the dumbass fourteen year old he died as. Either way, he’s on a League/League-sanctioned mission and things go bad. Like, everyone-almost-dies bad. And so as a final desperation attack, Danny uses his Wail, a power he’s never told anyone on the league he even has. And it works, and they make it out, but after the fact everyone has. Questions. And because in this au death echoes are deeply personal, Danny dodges those questions, but the league coughbatmancough isn’t satisfied with that. So they push for answers. Answers Danny’s not willing to give, because. In my mind death echoes aren’t just based on how a person died, but also their experience of that death. What their last thoughts were. When Danny died the only thing that he could process beyond just an all-encompassing painpainpainpainpain was the sound of someone screaming. His screaming. And so his death echo is the sound of a fourteen year old child screaming in deathly pain and terror weaponized, which definitely gave the league Even More Questions than they would’ve had already. Which finally brings us to the actual snippet, which is a conversation between John Constantine, who was brought in for his experience with the supernatural once it became clear Danny wasn’t going to talk, and Danny himself. 

~~~~~~~

“So, kid. Batsy tells me you’ve been hiding some of your abilities, wanna tell me what's up with that? Call it an occultist's intuition, but somethin’ tells me you’re not just being stubborn for the hell of it.”

“It’s... complicated. And not anyone’s business, either!”

“Kid...”

“Why does it even matter?! It’s not something I want to or am even able to do on a regular basis! I saved the mission, can’t they just accept that and move on???”

Sighing, Constantine reached up to start massaging his brow. “Kid, you and I both know that ain’t gonna be enough. Now I know that some things are better left alone, but the rest of these idiots? They can’t accept that, Batsy especially. That man’s never left bloody well enough alone in his life”

He looked up just in time to see the otherworldly teen shrink into himself, looking every bit the child he was. “I know but... why? Why do they need to keep asking questions? And why do they only ask the ones that hurt to answer?”

A sharp glance. “The fuck kinda questions are they asking? Batman was speaking in more grunt than word, so I didn’t really catch all the details of what this power you’re supposedly hiding even is.”

Phantom shrinks even more into himself at that, and responds in a voice so small it’s more sigh than speech. “I... I can scream. And it breaks things and pushes people back. But it, it sounds. Bad. And it brings up bad memories and I don’t like to do it or listentoitoreventhinkaboutitandtheywon’tletmeforgetand-”

“Breathe kid. I know you don’t need to but just take a deep breath with me. Don’t you go getting lost in your own head on me now., Constantine reassured the kid automatically, the sheer hopelessness prompting action long before the words themselves could be understood. Then the rest of him caught up, and he had to pause. Looked up at the kid, saw just how distressed he was. A picture was starting to form in the back of his head, and Constantine didn’t like what he saw one bit. A last-resort power that the normally open Phantom was strangely reticent about. A scream so horrible sounding the rest of the league would not to stop asking questions about it. Terrible memories to match said scream. And one truly miserable child who couldn’t bear to even think about any of it. 

“Phantom... is that your Echo? Screaming?”

A miserable nod is his only response, the tears that had been welling up in the kid’s eyes finally starting to fall. Cursing softly to himself, Constantine stood to leave, bracing himself for the Bat’s inevitable questioning. “Well then you just take all the time you need love, and leave the rest to me. I’ll make sure the rest of those idiots know not to ask you about this ever again.”  And with that Constantine turned and strode towards the door, leaving the quietly sobbing child to collect himself in privacy.

~~~~~

I had a whole-ass lore dump conversation between Constantine and Batman planned here, explaining how death echoes are deeply personal, and asking about one is a taboo on par with, potentially even worse than, asking a ghost about their death outright. Because they are formed from an amalgamation of how a ghost died, their last thoughts, and their final emotions, in some ways asking a ghost about their Echo is like asking them to describe their death in painstaking detail. But uhhh... inspiration bug left. So yea. Side note, I’d like to apologize if my depiction of Constantine’s accent was Bad, I’m but a lowly USAmerican whose only exposure to British accents is through tv ^-^’

[ghost-tings]

the foxes all at the cabins outside:

kevin: he's perfect age to start playing exy

andrew: *keeping an eye on elio* ...

the foxes...

elio: *comes running over holding something* mommy I've found a racoon can we keep it

neil: sur- YOU WANT TO KEEP A FUCKING WHAT

[homosexualworkaccount]

Ripped Teeth

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Relationship: Bi-Han | Sub-Zero & Shang Tsung

Summary: “I said,” With grace, Shang Tsung leans onto the bone of his knees and focuses back on a tensed jaw Bi-Han, whose teeth grind at the fraction of close movement. “What were you like with your brothers when you were children?”

A foot slides in his direction. “And why—“ Bi-Han seethes, hand clenching in rising fury. “—is that any of your business.”

“You think lowly of me Bi-Han,” Shang Tsung points out, fingers spinning into wide gestures, face moulding into something resembling a poker face; had it not been for the pinch of his brows, he would have succeeded. “If we are to defeat the Shirai Ryu – so you can reclaim your clan's glory, and so I can in-act my revenge, we must know any emotional points that we can exploit for efficient takedowns. So, tell me, Bi-Han,” A lowered tone, something far beyond the realm of commanding. “What were your brothers like as children?”

A hesitant pause. Perhaps Bi-Han still stows some fondness away, be it from the way his mouth thins, as if holding something back.

(Or, Shang Tsung wrings out of Bi-Han what his relationship with his brothers used to be like.)

[skinwalkingxana]

That prompt list was indeed JUICY.

So, if you reblogged it to have some...

7. “You not giving a flying fuck about me is all I’m seeing right now.” 

For whomever fit best. :)

YESSS I'm always accepting prompts! Thank you for sending this in, have some Post-Therinfal arguments with Cullen and my MCiT Marisol! (Hope this is ok! ^_^) Here's the link to the promptlist this is from

“You not giving a flying fuck about me is all I’m seeing right now.” Despite the pain in her throat, Marisol’s voice carried enough that it echoed off the mountains around them. They were some ways away from the encampment, but there was no doubt their argument could be heard by the others now, even with how deep into the tree line they were. Cullen wanted to have this fight? Fine. She hoped everyone could hear them.

“This has nothing to do with y-!” Cullen started, his hand falling to the hilt of his sword at his side, but Marisol interrupted him before he could finish. “Doesn’t it? Otherwise you wouldn’t have pulled me aside to have this argument!” Marisol jutted her chin up, making sure he knew she wasn’t going to back down. “I told all of you back in Haven what was happening with the Templars and Mages! I even told Josephine not to bother with gathering the nobles- ” “You could have told us sooner! “ It was Cullen’s turn to interrupt her now, his eyes practically glowing from how intense his eyes bore into her. “ We could have marched to Therinfall weeks ago and saved them all before they began taking Red Lyrium! Could have saved Lord-Seeker Lucius before Envy took over!” Marisol wanted to vomit at the mention of Envy, but her blood was boiling so hot in her veins she felt she could have taken on ten of it and kept going. She wanted to punch Cullen. There was no way he could be this blind, not after everything he just saw! “Envy was already masquerading as the Lord-Seeker way back in Val Royeaux! That damage was already done long before I got here!” “You could have told us before we sent you! You knew what Envy was doing there! We could have-“ “Could have what? Exposed an Envy demon in the middle of a large populated market? Run up to whatever Templars we could find and tell them they were following a demon around? You were one of them, tell me how you think that would have gone down?” Her words finally landed, albeit more roughly than she had intended. He turned his face so quickly away from her, one would think Marisol actually had punched him. Their angry huffs blossomed into vapor as it warmed the air in front of them, though his had begun to slow as whatever fight Cullen had left drained out of him. His shoulders had begun to sag, but she was still fuming. Marisol shoulder checked him as she attempted to pass, not caring that he was larger and in heavier armor than her. Instead of moving out of her way, he reached a hand out and caught her by roughly by her wrist. “Wait I-“ “Cullen, I swear to my God and yours if you don’t let go of me right now, one of us isn’t walking out of these woods alive.” It was an empty threat, both of them knew it, but he at least had the decency to let her go.

[nixylubouv]

🌺 Snippet Request 🌺

Dear Anon, thank you for your snippet request. I know I you sent this a while back. I finally got around to finishing it. I really liked your prompt. It was very unique and gave me a lot of inspiration!

Prompt: [Garden, Tears, and Cage with fluff/hurt and comfort vibes]

The sound of footsteps clicked against the singular marble pathway that led to Hero’s cage. Hero shuddered, curling in on themselves in the furthest side of their prison. It was like a giant birdcage, gilded and ornate gold. And Hero, like a little bird, displayed for Villain’s pleasure. The enclosure that surrounded Hero was meant to be a replica of their home world, giving the illusion of a forest. 

Trees with rough russet bark and flowering foliage in all shades of blue grew to the crystal dome ceiling high up above. Purple vines were woven in the canopy and entwined in the bars of Hero’s cage. A gentle article waterfall burbled somewhere behind, falling into a lazy stream of cerulean waters that ran throughout the glorified garden.

Small white flowers dotted the shrubbery like stars, and glowing orange moss climbed the scattered rock fixtures. Maybe to a stranger, the likeness to Hero’s home would have been astounded. To Hero, it was a mockery. Everything was too well maintained and manicured. It was nothing like the wild beauty of a true native forest. 

The worst part was the stillness. No birds twittered or insects chirped, no breeze blew or leaves rustled. Everything was just wrong. It was terrifying. Hero would have preferred a windowless basement room over this death-like silence. 

Click. Click. Click. The footsteps drew near, rounding a huge flowered hedge into the cage’s line of sight. Hero didn’t look. They braced themselves for Villain’s saccharine sweet voice and disgusting honied words of love.  

“Hello, Hero.” 

Hero’s head snapped up. That wasn’t Villain’s voice. Hero gaped at the person standing just outside their birdcage. Supervillain, dressed head to toe in finery. And covered in blood splatter. They walked right up to Hero, sword clattering to the floor. They fell to their knees and gripped the golden bar with one hand. 

Hero was frozen. Trapped in Supervillain’s dark magnetic eyes. Supervillain smiled and held up the object in their other hand, something that sparkled brilliantly in the artificial sunlight. Hero tried to process what they were seeing. It was gorgeous. Hundreds of crystal tears welded together in a crown, almost as many as Hero had shed in their lifetime. 

“How? I thought Villain had sold them all.” Hero couldn’t resist asking. 

Supervillain smiled at that, the gentle expression so out of place on their beautiful face that it caused Hero to shiver. “I know. I tracked them down.” 

Hero inched closer to the front of the cage, mirroring Supervillain’s kneel. “You didn’t use them?” they questioned. Hero’s people rarely shed tears, and the power contained in them could lead people to wage war. It was the reason Villain had captured Hero, no matter how they liked to pretend otherwise.  

“I never wanted you for your tears,” Supervillain said. The bar in their grip started to glow. Hero watched in silence as the glow spread around the cage, disintegrating the vines and melting it down around them.

“I wanted you for you,” Supervillain finished in a hushed whisper. Slowly, reverently, they placed the crown on Hero’s head with both hands. Finally returning what was stolen so long ago. It was very stupid, Hero supposed. To feel touched. Kneeling here, face to face with Supervillain. Wearing a crown made of tears and kneeling in a puddle of gold with someone who they had considered an enemy a lifetime ago.

Tentatively, Hero reached up and cupped Supervillain’s face. Supervillain leaned into Hero’s palm as Hero wiped a thumb under their eye, smearing away the blood. 

“If I leave now, will you stop me?” 

“No.” Supervillain responded simply. And Hero believed them. They felt the bud of an unknown emotion bloom in their heart, something they long thought had withered away. 

“Good.” Hero stood up, pulling Supervillain along with them. “Then let’s get out of here.”

[sofiadragon]

Magic and Bluejays

Lord, she coming. First, however, I need to get through writing this stupid Hogwarts Express chapter. It's been through 2 full scraps and a major re-write and... you know what? Have at it. I like this much of it, so I'll post this much here and continue to fix it before posting on AO3.

Concrit welcome on this, it is a draft!

Most of the train to Hogwarts was empty since people who arrived this early were still mostly out on the platform waiting for friends. The carriage where the Prefects’ meeting was held was near the front, just behind the engine and a carriage with an employees only sign. Figuring thats where the snack trolley started, Harry Potter wanted to try a compartment closer to the front than he normally had. Gryffindors tended to be near the end of the train while Ravenclaws were nearer the front, but he was sure his friends would find him eventually no matter where he sat. He wanted people to assume he was a transfer Snape picked up from France at least until he got to the school where he could better evade public opinion. With long red hair tipped in black like a fox’s tail, high-quality thin lens glasses that emphasized his mother’s features instead of obscuring his eyes, and a coming of age that had him growing to look more like his mum in general, he wasn’t very recognizable. Most of a month in hospital getting his head shrunk by mind healers and the curse scar healed properly meant the usually red and irritated scar on his forhead was now a hair-thin line that was nearly impossible to see without bright light and an invasion of his personal space. In robes bought in Paris that were wonderfully androgynous he was easily mistaken for a girl, the traditional cut high-quality robe and waitstcoat he wore something The Boy Who Lived with his baggy mismatched muggle rags would never wear. The idea that he’d set a trend and caused a lot of people who read Witch Weekly to wear outfits that weren’t fit to use as dust rags was something the tailor said that Harry ignored to process later, and it still sat poorly in his head. Thankfully he had his emancipation as a ready excuse for why he changed his look now. He could just say he’d never been allowed, and leave it at that.

The second carriage open to students had at least one upperclassman or trunk in each compartment already, but there was one near the lav in the second that he claimed by leaving his trunk on the seat. There was a remote possibility that someone would recognize the trunk, especially if it wasn’t in the hands of a long-haired redhead in traditional wizard clothing, but with Hedwig’s cage shrunken inside he hoped only his dormmates would recognize it, if anyone did. He double-checked the security spell Sirius showed him, which would cover anyone who broke through it in bright red paint and feathers, and headed back up the train.

The first open carriage of the train had no compartments, just rows of bench seats with fold-down tray tables on the back of each row. MacMillan was there already, with a few older students Harry didn’t know well. The stout blond boy had the Defense book laid out in front of him on the tray table close to the window. He’d been decent back in second year about the whole Heir of Slytherin thing, and not too rabid about supporting Cedric, so Harry cautiously took a seat on the bench across the center aisle from him and hoped to make some kind of conversation. Ron and Hermione did a lot of the talking even when he was with other kids, and the mind healers had gone through a whole thing about him hiding behind them too much that hurt his Gryffindor pride.

“That book’s thick as treacle,” Harry said. “I hope the professor makes up for it in class, but I wouldn’t bet on it.”

“Eh? Yeah, it’s a thick one. Better than Lockheart’s nonsense, at least,” the Hufflepuff said. “Sorry, I don’t recognize you.”

“Bonjour, I’m Master Snape’s new apprentice, fresh back in England from Paris,” Harry babbled, a bit nervous despite himself, and the older prefects all turned around to look. “He’ll be right hacked off if we ruin his big announcement, so we should probably keep the finer details in this compartment if we can. I got cornered by Lord Malfoy on the platform when Master Snape dropped me off, though, so I’m sure some people saw that. Best I can do now is keep the rumor mill starved for details, so I’ll just sit on my family name if you don’t mind.”

“I’m all for keeping him in a good mood,” MacMillan agreed. The older students nodded.

“What year are you in?” The tall brunette asking the question had pinned the Head Girl badge to her lavender casual robes. The badge was blue and bronze for Ravenclaw.

“Fifth, and I’ll be playing a bit of catch-up so Master Snape doesn’t plan for me to help with prefect duties until the second term, but the Headmaster might overrule that at the meeting he’s in right now,” Harry said. Other prefects were tricking in, and Malfoy looked at Harry’s seat choice with open irritation. Pansy Parkinson was just behind him, so Harry figured they wanted to sit together and hopped across the aisle to sit next to MacMillan. Parkinson giggled a bit and pulled Malfoy down onto the now free bench.

“Are you behind?” a seventh year Slytherin boy asked. Harry decided to tell as much of the truth as he could now, when people wouldn’t be judging him as The Boy Who Lived and deciding not to listen to any of it because it didn’t fit their expectations of how he should be.

“Last year was awful for me for a dozen reasons, and I had a curse put on me that has been making it hard for me to concentrate and giving me insomnia since I was really little. They made me wait until I was fifteen to get it removed, which Master Snape thinks was very stupid and unnecessary. The specialists we were working with this summer all agreed. Master Snape may not be the nicest person, but he really does hate it when kids get hurt, especially when it’s any kind of on purpose. We got to know each other after he helped me out with all that, he thinks he can get me up to standard enough to take the arithmancy O.W.L. this year despite never taking the class before, and then we had the bonding ritual just a few days ago.”

“You’re doing three years of Arithmancy in one?” MacMillan asked, aghast.

“That sounds like Professor Snape’s work ethic,” the Slytherin seventh-year boy said sagely.

“I went to muggle primary school, long story don’t ask, and he says that I remember the maths I learned there well enough that I should pass as long as I put the work in. It’s the N.E.W.T. score that really matters, anyway, so I just have to do well enough to get into sixth year Arithmancy,” Harry said with a shrug. “He doesn’t expect straight ‘O’s on my O.W.L.s because I’m starting on the back foot, just passing marks, but he wants passing marks in at least ten and no excuses. I’m just glad he didn’t ground me from playing Quidditch if I want to.”

“You any good?” Malfoy asked.

“I love flying,” Harry replied vaguely.

“Do you know why Professor Snape’s plan for you to start prefect duties late wouldn’t be approved by the Headmaster?” the Head Girl asked. A school owl flew in with a scroll with a wax Hogwarts seal, and she turned to take it while she talked. “Masters tend to have total control over their apprentices, and Slytherin has two prefects per year already as far as I’m aware. It’s always nice to have another person available in case somebody needs to switch up the schedule, but we should be fully covered.”

“There’s some kind of silly thing going on with the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher he warned me about, not that I know why one thing would effect the other short of him having to teach some of their classes,” Harry said. “That’s a total guess, by the way. I just can’t think of anything else that would throw things off, and he couldn’t rather than wouldn’t give me details, which irritated him on its own so there wasn’t much I could read into it beyond that he doesn’t like it. He had been hacked off about the whole thing since whoever it was got the post, so I assume the new Defense Professor either isn’t qualified or has upset him personally some way.” “Who was upset by the new Defense professor?” Anthony Goldstein asked as he walked in. The Ravenclaw took a seat ahead of Harry. “Professor Snape,” MacMillan said. “Is he on the train?” Hanna Abbott asked as she chose the bench behind Malfoy and Parkinson. “This is Professor Snape’s new apprentice,” Malfoy cut in. “We haven’t had proper introductions, yet.” “And you won’t be having any. Professor Snape wants to have his big announcement at the feast tonight,” the Head Girl called out over the gathering group. “Snape’s Apprentice stays nameless and as unknown as possible unless you want to step on his cloak about it, so we’re not. End of.” “It isn’t just Master Snape the new Professor rubbed the wrong way. From what he said even Professor Sprout is upset, though that might be a bit of cause and effect,” Harry said. “Why would Professor Snape being upset make Professor Sprout upset?” Abbott asked. The older students weren’t even trying to pretend they weren’t listening. “No, no, the other way around. She was at the bonding ritual for my apprenticeship and they act…” Harry trailed off, waving a hand vaguely as he tried to come up with something without saying anything too personal.

“What’s this hot gossip?” asked a sixth year girl that asked Harry to the Yule Ball, getting up to take a seat closer to Harry. All he could remember about her was that she was a Hufflepuff and wore about three times as much perfume as necessary. “No!” Harry shouted, raising both hands defensively. “Not like that. She’s married to one of her old apprentices for Merlin’s sake. I was trying to figure another way to say they act a bit like she’s his mum. I… He told me he lost his mum before he graduated, and Professor Sprout was his Herbology teacher too; I think she sort of scooped him up like an especially grumpy stray cat. If not immediately, then when he started as a professor. He’s only, like, thirty-something, you know? Anyway, I think if someone was mean to her he’d start looming menacingly around the place until they backed off or earned a hex.” With his expressive gestures, his sleeve fell all the way down and exposed the flapping bluejay. “Oh, that’s so pretty!” A seventh-year Gyrffindor girl said. He really should know her name, but she’d never so much as given him the time of day and very deliberately ‘wasn’t taken in by famous Harry Potter’ as she made clear whenever he approached a prefect for anything. “Is that the bondmark or just a tattoo?” “It’s my bondmark,” Harry confirmed, and then was swamped as all the prefects wanted a closer look at it. He ended up scrambling onto the back of the bench Goldstein was sitting on, pressing against the window, and grabbing onto the curtain rod for stability to escape the sudden lack of personal space. “SIT DOWN!” The Head Boy shouted as the train lurched into motion, causing most people to stumble. The brunette Hufflepuff glared in disappointment at everyone from the front of the carriage. Harry wondered if he practiced mimicking Professor Sprout to get that look just right. “Have you all lost your minds? Let her alone.” “Not a her,” Harry said, pointing to himself from his perch as the rest of them slid back into their seats. Outside, parents were waving goodbye to the departing train. “It’s not just the hair, it’s the way that waistcoat lays over the robe,” Malfoy said. “It’s pulling your waist in, flaring out the fabric at your hips, and giving the illusion there’s something hiding under the top to give you a girlish shape.” “I know what I look like, and like I said before I don’t mind it,” Harry said, walking on the back of the bench a couple steps so he didn’t drop down on MacMillan’s books. He gathered his courage as he stepped down onto the seat where he’d been sitting before. “I’m queer, and it’s a bit like a compliment in my book if you think I’m pretty.” “Wouldn’t gay boys want someone that looks like a guy?” MacMillan wondered aloud. “Queer doesn't just mean gay,” Hermione said from the back of the carriage. Ron looked like he wanted to push up closer, but there weren’t any empty seats left except in the very back.

“And with that, we should get started before we go off on an inappropriately wild tangent,” the Head Girl said. “We’re all going to pretend we know nothing about Professor Snape’s new apprentice when we leave this meeting, so we don’t ruin his big announcement at the feast tonight. If you’ve made it this far without realizing that getting on his bad side is a bad idea not even Merlin could help you. If you aren’t a prefect or a quidditch captain, or an apprentice to a professor, get out. Let’s get this done and dusted.” Nobody left, everyone settled down into silence, and she started to read off the scroll the owl brought. “All of last year’s fifth and sixth year prefects are returning as sixth and seventh years. New fifth year prefects are: Hannah Abbott, Anthony Goldstein, Hermione Granger, Ernie MacMillan, Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Padma Patil, and Ron Weasley.”

“Weasley?” several people said, looking back at the taller redhead incredulously. There was general muttering over how most people expected the headmaster to pick Harry Potter. “George isn’t still mad he didn’t get the apprenticeship, is he?” Harry asked to cover the rather unflattering comments. Ron looked at him weird then smirked as he caught on to the subject change. “The twins are a law unto themselves, mate. If anyone thinks I’m going to do what Percy couldn’t to keep them in line, they’ve lost the plot,” Ron said. “Best I can do is give McGonagall a bit of advanced warning for the big things. I think it should be fine, though, since Snape helped them with their patent and they want another star from the potions’ guild like nothing else. Just don’t eat anything they offer you without asking them what it does, first, though anyone in here should be smart enough to know that much already.” Harry gave Ron a thumbs-up, and the meeting continued on from there. The upper years introduced themselves in a flurry of names Harry mostly absorbed. After that, it was basically a rehash of all the school rules prefects were expected to enforce and listing out the usual point deductions for each infraction. Prefects could take a few more or less based on circumstances, but they couldn’t take points from other prefects and were expected to focus on policing their own house. More than twenty points would need a written explanation. Prefects could report infractions worthy of detention to a member of staff, but couldn’t assign detention themselves. They could also report actions of distinction if someone was helpful in a way that should earn points, but couldn’t give any out. It was in the official scroll the Head boy and girl had that Snape’s apprentice wasn’t starting as a teaching assistant until next year at the earliest and might not be part of the patrol schedule until second term, confirming what Harry had told them. “The name’s been burned off this paper, I can only assume by Professor Snape himself, so he’s serious about not spoiling his announcement,” the head boy said with a nervous laugh. “I’m tempted to just keep you safe in here wrapped in cotton batting.” “I really wouldn’t try locking me in anywhere,” Harry said, his smile showing too many teeth to be friendly. “Well, I was thinking he’s too nice to be bonded to Professor Snape, but there it is,” one of the older Hufflepuffs said. “Fred and George came back right terrified of the pair of them, when Snape picked him over George,” Ron added from the back. “I’m nice,” Harry grumbled. “Just, not indiscriminately, and I’ve been locked up just to make other people feel safer before and that’s not on.”

“You what?” MacMillan said, leaning away from Harry before checking himself and very carefully trying to look neutrally pleasant. “Part of that long story,” Harry said, realizing he’d said more than he should. “Master Snape got me out of it for good, and you can ask me to explain after you know my name if you want to, not that I’m likely to answer.” “Oh, shit,” said one of the four older Slytherin prefects. They shoved their heads together to have a muffled conversation. Malfoy and Parkinson weren’t sitting close enough to join in, and looked very put out by it. “You need anything related to getting pulled out of where you were, you can come to us directly,” the Slytherin seventh-year boy, Arturous Stems, stood up and waved at the other Slytherin prefects. “Professor Snape did the same for me. Nobody is welcome to ask me about that, and if you badger anyone about what we might be talking about expect me to take it personally.” “Thanks, Stems, I’d like to get back to my trunk for reasons I think you can guess, so… Can we drop it for now?” Harry said. Stems nodded and sat down, clearly getting the message.

“I think we’re about done,” the head girl, Conifer, said. “Unless someone has questions.” When nobody did they declared the meeting closed, and most people started moving out of the carriage to find their friends. MacMillan didn’t move, clearly intending to use the tray table as desk space to study for a while. This was probably meant as a dining car but used for studying since everyone ate in their compartments when the trolley came by, and that was probably why the upper-year Ravenclaws liked to claim compartments close to the front of the train. Once the prefect meeting was over, anyone could come use the space and there was a schedule for one of the seventh-year prefects to always be here in case someone needed them in addition to the patrol schedule that was now written across a board at the front of the car. Ron and Hermione were scheduled for the back end of the train first thing and then again just before arriving at Hogwarts. Harry hung back to avoid the initial crush of traffic, and found himself surrounded by all six Slytherin prefects crowding in the seats in front and behind him. The air got fuzzy, a muffling spell wrapping around them.

“Are you living with the professor now, or do you have to go back for inheritance reasons?” Stems asked quietly. “I’m emancipated, I’ve already inherited my father’s estate, and there’s a friend of the family willing to put me up in exchange for helping him out with the house. It was a moldy pile when he moved in, but it gets better every day. By winter holidays it should be nice and cozy, at least in the most important areas.” That should be sufficiently vague. They would likely assume he means Lupin once they realized who he was. Stems whistled lowly.

“Emancipated? That’s lucky. I got yanked out in third year, after a bad spring break. My family isn’t wealthy enough to bother worrying about being disowned, so I just left. I was living in the Professor’s spare room for part of the following summer, and then the professor found a second cousin of mine that wanted me around,” Stems said. Malfoy’s pointy face was scrunched up in total confusion. “Yanked out of what?” Malfoy asked. “My mum’s magic flared up when I took your mum’s hand at the station. There is no way you’ll understand without detailed diagrams and several hours to think it over,” Harry said with a shake of his head. Malfoy puffed up in indignation. “I mean that as a compliment to your parents,” Harry added, and then Malfoy was confused again. “Yeah, Malfoy’s got a winning hand in that game,” Stems laughed. “Don’t dismiss him too fast, though. He’s good at understanding people, and you’ll be sharing a dormroom for the next few years.”

“That assumes a lot,” Harry said with a bright smile. “You seem like a Slytherin to me, and you said you aren’t a girl anymore,” Stems said, leaning back with a casual shrug. “Some reason you don’t think you’d be in your master’s house?” Harry held up his left arm, and all of them got a good look at the image of a bluejay in flight. “I assume you’ve seen the papers recently. We should run. It would be smart to run, to save our skins and never look back, but we’re too brave and loyal to do that. Maybe a bit of that stubbornness that borders on stupidity, too, but mostly bravery. Master Severus should never have left France, or if he did he shouldn’t have come back to England. Not with a bluejay on his arm instead of a snake and skull. He wouldn’t do it, though. He’s Hogwart’s Head of Slytherin House, and he’ll hold the line until the castle falls around him.” “Professor Snape was really a Death Eater in the way?” the sixth year girl asked.

“He was a spy in the inner circle working against you-know-who. He talked his way around it as if he’d been a double-agent so neither side questioned his loyalty. He was prepared to do it all again if he had to, but then when our bond overwrote the dark mark, well, there’s no explaining that except the obvious. His bond to me was more important to him than whatever made that other mark. It’ll be on sight, if you-know-who comes around. For either of us.” Beside Harry, MacMillan swore. “You’re inside the privacy spell?” “I won’t say a word, I’m not that suicidal,” he replied. “Olive,” Stems said, shooting the other seventh year an irritated look. “Sorry, the seats aren’t very big,” Ollive Olmo said. “So, it’s true then?” MacMillan asked. “You-Know-Who is back?” Malfoy, Parkinson, and the sixth-year boy looked down to avoid eye contact, while the rest shared MacMillan’s expectant expression. “Do any of you think Harry Potter capable of killing Cedric Diggory in cold blood? Because that’s the best explanation if he’s not back,” Harry said. “I’m not sure exactly what the English press was saying, but in France the British Ministry was torn to bits about that whole thing.” “You mean Potter’s trial? I heard he got off on a technicality,” Parkinson said. “Which one?” Harry asked. “The technicality that defending a muggle family member from a six-X creature when they already know about magic neither breaks the statute of secrecy nor is an unexcused breech of the underage sorcery laws, or did you mean the technicality that participating in the tournament to his best ability emancipated him so the trace shouldn’t have still been on his wand to register the spell being cast in the first place?” “Wait, the muggle was a member of his family?” Stems asked.

“His cousin, who he’s lived with since, well, you know,” Harry said, trailing off with a shrug. It was weird talking about himself in the third person like this. Beyond the huddle of Slytherin prefects (and one unwilling Hufflepuff) the carriage was nearly empty. A few people had come in with books or a late breakfast, but they stayed in the back well away from Stems’ group, and the head boy and girl were at the far front. “The Minister didn’t seem to know the details before the trial, so someone hadn’t bothered to do even the most basic fact-finding. Not that there could have been, since they decided to snap his wand over it inside of five minutes late in the evening after-hours and had to be talked down to treating it like he’d been shooting off fireworks in front of Buckingham Palace. There was an interview in the French papers when it first happened, and his solicitor put out a statement explaining it all when the case was dismissed. Wasn’t that published in the Prophet?” “It certainly wasn’t,” Parkinson said. “So you know all about it? How?”

“Only one magical hospital in Paris,” Harry said with a shrug. He was blushing a bit, more because he was flustered trying not to give himself away than from embarrassment. “Master Snape came to check up on what the interview implied, we got to know each other, and it really was all over the French press the last month. Madam Maxine came, and the French Minister, and lots of other people coming and going all the time. The Weasley twins are impossible to miss, and George really did ask to be Master Snape’s apprentice while I was still bedridden. I was too sick to notice much in the middle of the month when they were pulling the curse off me, and Master Snape was with me every other day through the worst of it, but the broad strokes were known to everyone on that floor of the hospital no matter how off their head they were. There are privacy spells so I can’t tell you anything about the health of other patients, but it was tcompletely impossible for me to miss.” Considering it was happening to him, that is.

“Snape. At your sickbed. For more than a week.” MacMillan’s mind was blown.

“He absolutely does not have a soft gooey center, it’s spikes all the way down, but the spikes are all pointed outward. If you’re brave or lucky enough to make it inside, the spikes will protect you too,” Harry said. “He would have been at Potter’s sickbed too, if he could manage it,” Malfoy said. “Professor Snape would know first hand what went on, so we might be able to ask him. My Father told me what he knows about it, of course, but Professor Snape wasn’t around for tea. Mother has him over once a month, usually, so she was quite worried. We get the French papers, of course, though I didn’t believe half of what I read. Potter’s always being so dramatic.” “Pot meet kettle, Malfoy,” MacMillan said. Harry bit his lip to stay silent. He wasn’t supposed to know anyone. “Where’s your trunk? Professor Snape packed it for you, right?” Stems asked. “He did back on the fifth of August, yeah. Didn’t miss a thing, and I’d pay good money for a picture of my aunt’s face when he laid into her about it,” Harry said. “The trunk has some really nice anti-theft spells, but it’s still, you know, everything.” “Let’s get it. You can stay in one of our compartments,” Stems said, standing up. “Assuming you are sorted Slytherin, is there anything we’ll need to know? Things that might set you off that we should try and avoid?” “Master Snape reconfigured the class schedule to be less explosive. Beyond that, I think I’m good,” Harry said. “No more Longbottom in our class?” Parkinson said. “Thank Merlin for that.” “It’ll be Gryffindors with Ravenclaws and Slytherin with Hufflepuffs,” Harry said, nodding. “Sounds like I dodged a hex,” MacMillan said. “Longbottom really is that bad,” Malfoy said. “It was always a bit fun watching him implode, though it ruined my shoes more than once when he was sitting near me.” Harry felt the privacy spell pop around them. “Master Snape says the Ravenclaws who want to experiment too confidently should be humbled by class with the Gryffindors, Gryffindors need someone to match Granger’s energy to make some slackers more obviously behind, and the Slytherins could do with seeing what consistent hard work looks like when it’s at home,” Harry said. “Ha!” MacMillan laughed. “Sounds like Professor Snape’s favorite fifth-years aren’t his own.” “I was just taking a breath. Fifth-year Hufflepuff needs to see Slytherin creativity and not plod along in mediocrity by doing everything by the book,” Harry finished. “It should be a better mix all the way around, so both fifth-year potion labs should be less likely to go bang or fizzle.”

[theoriginalladya]

WIP-it Snippet

Gotta love Discord servers that can take something aggravating - autocorrect 'correcting' the word nudge to nude - and turn it into something ridiculous and, in the end, useful...

~~~

“Nudge it,” Shepard suggests as he pitches his voice down to where Kaidan is kneeling. Kaidan nods, reaching out to do so but not before Coats sputters, “What did you just say?” Three pairs of eyes shift from the body to him.  Shepard’s brows crease in confusion.  “What?” Abby walks over to Coats and snaps her fingers in front of his face.  “You okay there, soldier?” He swats her arm away and she laughs, but then he says, “I swear I thought you said ‘nude’.” Shepard fights back a strangled laugh and Kaidan glances away.  Even Abby looks as if she’s struggling not to choke.  Eventually, she manages to rasp out, “Soldier, you need to get your ears checked.  This isn’t 007: Tits To Die For.” Coats mutters something unintelligible and heads back over to keep an eye outside the door.

[majorproblems77]

Yall, metamorphosis is a ride holy shit

[iridescentdelicatessen]

Showed these to my friend and realized that tumblr would probably appreciate it.

[shouldersshrug]

idk i just really like this line. please enjoy this miniscule snippit of WMHH chapter 2

[angelcasendgame]

“Deadbeat dads, man. They love letting you down and making you feel like it’s your fault.”

Cas looks at him, impossibly soft. “But you loved him still?”

And there’s something about Cas, how easily Dean opens up to him, all his filters, gone. “Sometimes, yeah. I feel like,” he breathes in, “I feel like I was born like this, y’know? To love him no matter what he did.” 

He’d never tell Sam this, Sam would either argue with him or look at him with so much pity, Dean would rather bury himself alive then have this discussion with him. 

“We went on a hunt, once. We left Sam at home obviously, couldn’t risk him getting hurt. Just a simple salt and burn. And I’m standing over the body, lighter in my hand when she grabs him. And just for a moment, not even a second, I thought, what if I just waited? Just for a second, for the ghost to…” he shakes his head. “And Dad just looked at me, over the shoulder of the ghost and I dropped it. The ghost went up in flames but,” he swallows. “I always wondered...”

“If he knew.”

Dean nods. “He usually tears into me after a hunt if I fucked up. But there was nothing this time. We just quietly packed up and went to the hotel and the next day it was as if nothing happened.”

He looks up at Cas cautiously but there's no judgment, no change in how he looks at Dean. If anything, Cas looks even more open, more understanding and vulnerable.

“Fathers,” Cas says in a way that sounds so ridiculously human, as if he’s just some poor fucker like Dean with a boatload of daddy issues, and not an ancient celestial being talking about capital G, God.

“Fathers,” he agrees and Cas smiles at him.

lil snippit of deancas bonding over absent fathers <33

[rackoon-whore19]

For @ilovevewritingfanfic who encouraged me to post it ☺️🌷🩷💕

(Hopefully it’s ok)

"You always start things, can't you for once just not make a scene!"

She was pissed, rightfully so. Why did he always have to go out of his way to do something like this, to prove how tough he was?

"He catcalled you and then tried to make a play at something worse." Was the only reply that came from him. He has a look of no regret and boyish innocence in his eyes as if what he did was perfectly called for.

With an exasperated sigh, she pulled the first aid kit from its place under her bed and led him to her bathroom. She sat on the sink beckoning him to come closer and he did so without protest. He stood between her legs as she placed the med kit on her lap.

He slowly put his hands or her hips careful to look at her reaction. She made no move to stop him, her concentration purely on the package in her hands. He looked down at her as she opened the anti-bacterial wipes, a smile he couldn't stop, flashing on his lips.

"No don't look at me like that, you're in trouble."

"Like what?" He said as the smile crept wider on his face.

She rolled her eyes as she took his face in her left hand and gently started wiping the cut on his cheek.

"This could have been so much worse, you are so lucky it wasn't."

"It really wasn't that bad."

He said as he winced. She rolled her eyes again watching for his reactions.

"It really was 'that' bad. Why would you even think of fighting. What do you get out of it?!"

"Whatever this is."

He whispered softly looking into her eyes which were focused on his face. His smile slowly turned to a bit of a smirk as he started tracing his fingers over the exposed bits of her waist and her lower back where her dress leaves her open.

She cleared her throat a pinkish hue spreading across her cheeks as she finally made eye contact with him.

"I'm gonna move to the bruising on your chest now, if that's ok."

She was being more gentle than usual. Her short clipped manner of speaking all but abandoned her gaze soft instead of steely.

[katiefrog217]

I had some thoughts on the Ineffable Wives for probably a section in my AZ Fell fic

So y'all get to see it too I guess

[kdmerchant]

Conversations and smooches

Snippit:

“Are you mad that I cuddled up with Halsin?” She brushed a lock of silver out of his face. He did not answer but somehow managed to pout harder, avoiding her eye contact. “I really meant nothing by it. Sometimes I hate touch, other times I crave it and in that moment it was helpful.”

“I understand that he brought you comfort. I wish I was the one who could have supplied it is all.” He still wouldn’t look her in the eyes.

“Do you want to keep us exclusive?” Paradigm brushed his cheek while she asked.

“I’m guessing that isn’t exactly what you need.” Astarion finally met her gaze, a look of defeat in his eyes. Paradigm leaned down and kissed his forehead.

“How much have you pondered love?” She asked in return and before he spoke she added, “to be more specific, have you personally broken down the idea of love and considered what you need?” Paradigm gently massaged his ears, and he looked at his hands as he contemplated.