#‘its like he’s floating in midair’

[foolishgamers]

people talk about dream doing parkour as if hes doing witchcraft. like im watching ranboo and foolish whisper back and forth right now like two friends at a sleepover as they watch dream do parkour

#‘its like he’s floating in midair’ #💀 #dreams got those mad skills #foosh #foolish gamers #ranboo #dream #dreamwastaken #live-blogging

[prythianpages]

Dandelions | Azriel x Witch Reader

summary: Azriel asks you for an elixir to soothe his aches and you accidentally give him the aphrodisiac you had made for Nesta, bringing to surface one of his hidden desires.

warning: this is purely smut with a breeding kink. some fluff at the end

a/n: this is based off this request. I feel like this can be read as a stand alone imagine but if you're interested in reading more of Az x witch reader, you can find the masterlist here.

**

The door creaks open, signaling Azriel’s return from a day that seemed to drag on endlessly. His wings sag under the weight of fatigue and as he steps into your study, the scent of herbs and potions are instantly wrapping him in a soothing embrace.

And there you are, a sanctuary amidst the enchanting chaos. His mate.

You're engrossed in your apothecary work. Your spell book floats in midair in front of you, your keen dark eyes scanning through the ancient text as your fingers deftly work their magic to bring the essence of the herbs to life. The sight reminds him of the day he met you, when the mating bond had snapped.

A soft smile tugs at his lips as he stands in the doorway for a moment. The fatigue that clung to him like his shadows begins to lift as he watches you, admiration and love evident in the way he drinks in the details–from the concentration in your furrowed brow to the way your pretty lips move in incantation.

The weariness he feels is soon replaced by a warmth that radiates from the depths of his heart and quiet footsteps carry him closer. He’s surprised his shadows haven’t given him away. They love you as much as he does and it is often them who greet you first.

His arms wrap around you from behind and he pulls you into his embrace. He nuzzles his nose lovingly into your neck. “Hello, love.”

“You’re home!”

He can hear the smile in your voice and you can feel the exhaustion in his body, his tense muscles finally relaxing and body slightly slouching into yours. “Long day?”

“Yes,” he responds and you’re turning in his embrace to face him properly with a gaze of deep rooted concern. He kisses your worry away. “But coming home to you makes it all worthwhile.”

He takes delight in the way you grace him with a smile, your eyes softening into their natural color as you brush his hair back. “Should I draw you a bath?”

He pulls you tighter against him until you are chest to chest. Your heart, the emerald talisman kept safely in his chest pocket, hums between you. A bath sounds nice but he just wants to bask in your comfort. 

“Will you join me?”

“If you wait for me,” you reply and pull away to catch the slightest frown on his face. “It won’t be long! I have one more elixir to finish!”

Azriel’s eyes drift to the line of elixirs you have sitting on the counter behind you.  They seem to glisten enticingly under his curious gaze. “Do you have anything to soothe aches?” He asks as he reluctantly lets you go to carry on with your work. “Training was rough this morning.”

“Of course. The one with the green liquid should work,” you say as you mindlessly point to the array of potions you spent all afternoon making, failing to catch the way the aphrodisiac you made for Nesta morphs from its deep red to a verdant green. “Drink all of it, if you need to. I can always make more. Just let me seal this last one with a spell and then I can draw your–”

Your voice falters as you turn to face Azriel, your gaze momentarily flickering to the potions before settling back on him. He fails to catch the way your eyes widen in a sudden panic and swallows the sweet liquid in a big gulp. It’s only once all the liquid is gone from the vial that he picks up on your slight distress.

 "What?"

“Umm,” you stammer, your hand rubbing nervously at your neck as you sheepishly look up at him. 

“It wasn’t poison, right?” He jokes but your silence wipes the smile off his face. “y/n.”

“Of course not!”

You drop your gaze, murmuring something else quietly under your breath. Both his shadows and ears strain to discern your words but they fail in their attempt. “y/n,” he calls your name again, growing worried by the second.

You slowly raise your eyes, and as they meet his, a rush of warmth colors your cheeks, betraying the fluster that has settled on your face. You should’ve separated the love potion from the others, especially when you knew how sneaky it can be. It’s known to masquerade itself as any elixir beside it as it yearns to be used and your poor mate took the bait.

“Youaccidentallydrankanaphrodisiac.”

Though your words are mushed, your voice is louder this time and he’s able to make them out. He throws his head back and laughs. A deep and amused sound.

“You’re not mad?” You say and though he’s laughing, your body tenses at the thought of him saying yes. Your hands clasp behind your back in a timid manner, inadvertently puffing out your chest and drawing his attention there. 

“I’m not mad, love.”

His eyes land on the silver jewelry delicately hugging your neck and then to the charm with his initial. When you suck in a short breath of relief, he watches the rise and fall of the curves of your breasts as the sweet sound caresses over his skin in a heated whisper that pricks at his skin. 

“Azriel.”

“I’m fine,” he says, brushing off your concern but his gaze lingers on the movement of your chest for a moment longer before meeting yours again. He follows up with a boyish grin, despite the sudden racing of his heart and the familiar feeling of blood rushing downwards. 

“How about that bath?”

**

There’s a buzzing underneath his skin. All the soreness and ache of his muscles melts away and it’s not from the inviting embrace of the steaming bath. A burgeoning impulse stirs within him. It’s as though the elixir he consumed earlier is coursing through his veins, gathering strength and coalescing in the depths of his stomach before dropping to his hardening cock.

Every gentle lapping of the water against his hot skin, every touch of yours as you help clean him feels so good. It certainly doesn’t help that you’re putting on a show, intentional or not, as you bend down and shift around him, gracing his eyes with tempting views of your ass or breasts.

He submerges his head into the water and while his body is now clean, there’s nothing clean about his thoughts when he rises back up. You’re at the center of every single one of his whirling thoughts, filling his head with lewd images. Of you on your knees as you take him into your mouth, of you under him as he thrusts into you hard and fast, of you on your back as you let him have a taste. Fuck. He wants it all.

As you drag the stool and shift to sit behind him, he reclines in the tub. His hands are gripping the edge of the porcelain roughly, his knuckles whitening under the strain and he can feel the flicker of amusement it draws from you through the bond.

His head goes quiet when he feels your chest brush against his wings, muscles tensing as your cool breath fans over the back of his neck. A teasing brush of your fingers along a sensitive spot on his wing as you clean at them with a damp towel has him biting his lip, suppressing a whimper. It’s almost embarrassing the way you’ve barely even touched him at all and he’s already at the verge of coming undone. He feels like a touch starved horny teen all over again.

“What’s the matter, my love?” You whisper sweetly, lips hovering dangerously close to his ear. Your velvet voice is smooth and it sends a thrill down his spine and straight to his throbbing cock. When you brush your fingers along that spot again, the porcelain cracks under his grip. 

The air is thick and heavy with his scent and the damp towel falls from your grasp. When you press your hands onto his shoulders, he can feel the shift in your demeanor. “Need some help?”

“Please.”

“Please what?”

He can hear the smirk in your voice but the way you’re touching him renders him momentarily speechless and he can’t bring himself to muster a sly remark. Not when he’s completely at your mercy. He’d have to take what he can get for now.

His breath hitches when your hands graze the hardness of his chest, easing their way down to where the warm water of the bath laps at his abdomen in a slow and taunting manner. Your cool touch immediately soothes his heated skin. As you reach further down, his eyes flutter shut and head tilts back into your chest. His throat bobs when you stop right above where he needs you the most.

“Please, touch me,” he breathes, no longer caring how desperate he sounds and it’s like music to your ears.

Azriel is not one to beg…but for you? He’d do anything for you. If you’d ask him for the moon on the string, he’d deliver it to you and in this moment, he’d do so in a heartbeat. Anything to feel you. He’s aching to feel your touch. So bad it’s nearly painful.

Sensing his desperation, his shadows are trailing down your arms to his muscled chest, guiding you to Azriel’s cock so you can grant their master the relief he’s begging so sweetly for. Your teeth nip gently at his neck in approval before wrapping your hand around him and he lets out a sigh of relief.

“Like this?”

“Gods, yes.”

You continue to kiss along his neck, stroking his length just the way he likes it, drawing the sweetest whimpers and moans from him. The water laps against his chest at your movements and his nipples harden at the sensation. He’s never felt so sensitive. 

When your lips pepper kisses along one of his wings, he loses his resolve. His stomach tightens and he lets out a deep groan followed by a string of curses as he comes undone. His eyes flutter shut in pure bliss.

You kiss his temple. “Good boy.”

He doesn’t know if it's your words or the aftermath of his orgasm but that exhilarating buzz returns to his skin and he can feel the sinful liquid coursing through his veins again. More, more, more.

His eyes snap open and he stands abruptly, prompting you to do the same.

Water traces sinuous paths down his body, leaving glistening trails in their wake as he steps out from the bath. His wings unfurl behind him and his frenzied shadows disperse. Azriel’s gaze darkens until there’s only traces of hazel left behind, mirroring the gradual darkening of his shadows that envelop the room, casting an ethereal aura upon him. 

He looks like a god. 

Your knees tremble and you find yourself leaning against the counter behind you for support. His keen eyes pick up on the subtle movement, lips curling into a smirk. “You liked having me at your mercy? Hearing me beg for you, didn’t you?

You don’t answer but you don’t need to.

“My sweet girl,” he purrs as he steps forward and you clench your thighs in anticipation. “I can smell you.”

Long gone is the soft and whimpering male from moments ago. It’s as if a flip was switched from the intensity of his release. In his place, stands something darker and primal. He approaches you like you’re his prey and cages you in, his wet body pressing into yours. You keep your eyes on his, letting out a shaky breath when you feel something hard against your stomach. His smirk widens. 

“You’re all wet,” you protest weakly as you look up at him.

His hand caresses your face, a thumb sweeping in a long stroke along the side of your throat as he leans down and inhales sharply. “So are you.”

He nips at your neck the same way you did to him, his hand undoing the front laces of your dress. “It’s my turn to have my way with you, to have you at my mercy.”

Your dress pools at your feet followed by your underwear and he steps back, eyes tracing every contour of your bare body in deep appreciation. Mine, mine, mine. Dark tendrils curl around you, caressing every place his eyes do and if your scent had not given you away, the shadows would’ve. As they travel lower, they meet your dripping core, humming with eagerness. A cool stroke against your clit as a small moan escaping from your lips and when his eyes lifts back up to meet yours, there’s pure lust simmering in his heated gaze.

A slight pressure against your shoulders has you giving in and dropping to your knees in submission. It’s a silent agreement that you’re his to use and only his and he nearly growls at the sight. Desire consumes him like a raging storm, unleashing a torrent of unbridled passion. He’s filled with the primal urge to claim you and devour you in its wake. He brushes a hand against your face when you look up at him, thumb brushing against your lips.

“Open.” 

You do and your tongue eagerly swirls around the digit before sucking it into your mouth. He lets out a hum of approval, slipping his thumb out from your mouth with a pop. His hand buries itself into your hair, tilting your face the way he wants it while his other hand pumps his throbbing cock. 

He doesn’t have to ask. Your hand is already wrapping nicely around the base of him with the guidance of his shadows. You lean in to flick your tongue across his leaking head.

“Fuck,” he hisses as you take him into your mouth. His head tilts back, lost in the pleasure, barely giving you any time to accommodate his impressive length before pushing his hips forward. “So good for me.”

He begins to thrust, the hand buried into your hair guiding you to move in rhythm with him. He allows his shadows to continue to touch you and they brush along your folds, teasing your entrance. They rub against your clit and it doesn’t take them long to bring a wave of pleasure crashing over you. You’re moaning, sending delicious vibrations straight through him. His pace quickens, thrusting deeper with every snap of his hips.

“That’s it. Take it all.” he groans, digging his nails into your scalp. He holds you flush against his pelvis while you gag on him. Tears prick your eyes at the stretch but you’re desperate to bring him to his release and swallow around him. “Oh fuck.”

He feels the coil in his stomach about to snap and he wants to give in to it, to cum down your throat and make you swallow every drop. But there’s a voice inside his head, a deep and primal urge of need, that has him pulling away abruptly.

“Come here,” he says with a low growl as he beckons you to your feet and as soon as you're standing to your full height, his lips are slotting over yours in a heated kiss. 

He presses his body further into yours and you can feel every inch of him vibrating, his entire body pulsing with need. His skin feels so hot against yours and as his shadows envelop you both, you’re stuck in a dance of fire and ice. The dark tendrils disperse and you realize you’re in your bedroom now. You almost want to laugh. The walk from your bathroom to your bedroom is a short one but your mate is keen on not wasting anymore time.

His scarred hands are rough on your hips as he spins you around and presses your front against the bed. “I need to fuck you.”

You arch your back for him. “Please.”

Deep heat spreads over his skin at your whiny and desperate tone. He slaps your ass, reminding you that he’s in complete control now. “Please what?”

“Please fuck me,” you’re begging and he loves every second of it, his cock twitching in anticipation. “I need your cock so bad.”

One hand kneads the soft flesh of your ass while the other pumps his cock. He drags his thick length along your folds, coating it in your arousal. “I’m going to fill you up so good. You want that, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes.”

He pushes into you, reveling in the way your walls are wrapping around him. You’re so warm, so tight and he’s already completely lost in the pleasure. He doesn’t give you time he normally does to adjust to his thick length. He thrusts so deep into you, your hands are clenching around your silk sheets. He fucks into you ravenously like a man starved, hands gripping onto your hips so hard you’re sure you’ll bruise.

“Going to cum so deep inside you until you’re full with my seed.”

Your face falls forward from the strength of his thrusts, knees giving out. He sees you struggling to get back on your knees so he pulls you flush against his chest with a hand wrapped around your neck, squeezing slightly. You cry out at the new angle that has you seeing stars. His breath is hot and heavy and he brings his mouth to your ear. 

“Perhaps, I’ll fuck a baby into you so everyone knows you’re mine and only mine.”

“Gods, yes,” you cry out, clenching around him, his words bringing you so close to your release.

A deep growl resonates from his chest. He can feel everything you’re feeling through the bond. You want this as much as he does. The mere image of your body changing, swelling with his child has him quickening his pace. His brain fogs and he gives himself completely to that primal desire that was brought to surface by the aphrodisiac.

Bringing his free hand to your stomach, his fingers tease at the flesh right over where he can feel the bulge of his cock as he pounds deep into you, right where your womb would grow with his seed. All he can hear are the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin and your pretty moans.

One brush of his thumb across your clit has your thighs shaking and screaming out his name as you reach your peak. He can feel his own release trembling underneath his skin. A couple more thrusts and wave after wave of immense pleasure courses through him. His cock twitches and then he’s spilling thick ropes of cum into you, groaning as your walls spasm and contract around him. He cums so hard, he can feel his release running down your thighs.

He pulls out just long enough to turn you so you’re on your back. A sinful smirk graces his lips at your blissed out expression but he’s nowhere near done with you. He’s still so painfully hard. More, more, more.

Positioning himself between your legs, he sinks into the delicious warmth of your hot dripping core, both moaning when he bottoms out. 

“Please.” Tears stream down your face and you’re not sure what exactly you’re begging for. You’re so sensitive, hands clenching so tightly onto the sheets as he drags his cock over and over that deep spot inside you. “Azriel, I don’t think I can–”

“You’re going to take everything I give you,” he interrupts sharply with a growl, leaving you a whimpering and crying mess beneath him. 

“Az—oh fuck.”

“You’re so perfect for me.”

His arms wrap beneath your shoulders to mold your body to his and he presses hot, feverish kisses down your neck and chest. His lips then slot over yours, stealing your breath away. When you moan into his mouth, he swallows it and eases his tongue into you, urgently exploring every crevice of your mouth.

He’s well aware that the elixir he accidentally took has amplified his every sense. Yet, amidst his heightened state, his love and adoration for you, so deep and genuine, remains the most enchanting potion he has ever known. The candles flicker with the green glow of your magic and he continues his brutal pace, immersing himself in the pleasure of it all with a strong determination for you both to reach another painfully delicious release.

**

Azriel blinks his eyes open and his heart melts at the sight of you, his beautiful mate, curled up in his arms. The tenderness of the morning light casts a warm glow over you, highlighting the delicate curves of your face. He gently reaches out to trace a strand of your hair, relishing the softness beneath his touch. A stark contrast to the way he handled you last night. He knows you're awake when he feels you tug on the golden strings of the bond, flooding him with a profound sense of pure happiness that seeps into every corner of his being.

“I love you so much.”

“Good morning to you too,” you say, your voice still thick with sleep, but a hint of a smile on your face.

You stretch out your sore muscles and Azriel’s eyes flash with concern when the sheets drift lower. He catches a glimpse of the bruises littering your body and you can feel a flicker of guilt down the bond. “Are you–fuck. Was I too rough? I’m so–”

You shift in the bed and silence him with a soft kiss. When you pull away, you smile at him, sending a wave of reassurance down the bond because while yes he was rough, you loved it.

“You were perfect.”

He sits up in bed and when he finds no trace of hurt or regret of how rough he was with you last night in your features, he finally relaxes and returns your smile. 

Your smile falters. “If anything, I’m sorry. It was my mistake that you drank that aphrodisiac. I made it for Nesta and I knew I should’ve stored that sneaky elixir somewhere safer but it wasn't too bad, right?”

Now it’s Azriel’s turn to brush away your concern and he shakes his head at you with a deep chuckle. "It wasn't bad at all. I enjoyed every part of your mistake."

“The best mistake I’ve ever made,” you grin and he laughs with you, his shadows dancing happily around his shoulders.

“What was in that elixir anyway?”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean? It’s an aphrodisiac, it stimulates sexual desire.”

“I know what an aphrodisiac is,” he replies and he feels the heat rise to his cheeks. Oh gods, he was going to have to say this outloud.  “I’m talking about the way I was filled with the primal urge to–to breed you.”

“Oh,” you say and laugh again at the look bewildered look Azriel was giving you. “That was all you.”

You sit up and you don’t miss the way Azriel’s gaze flickers down to your bare body. Reaching out, you coax his gaze back to yours.

“My magic does not work that way, remember? It can’t create and destroy desires. It can only bring to surface what’s already lurking deep within."

Your eyes are alight with amusement as realization dawns on your mate. He’s flustered but only for a fleeting moment. The corner of his lips curve up and when your hand begins to move from his cheek, he places his own over it to keep it there.

“You wanted it as much as I did.”

“I did.”

There’s a warmth radiating from his heart that is so strong, you can feel it too. His hazel eyes hold onto yours with an intensity that goes beyond words, and when he speaks again, there’s a delicate vulnerability to his voice because in the year since you’ve been mated, this is a topic you’ve yet to discuss.

“You want to have children…with me?”

“Yes.” The response spills from your lips without a moment’s hesitation and his entire being seems to shudder in response. “Do you?”

"Of course I do," he breathes out, sealing his words with a tender kiss to the palm of your hand that has your heart fluttering. “I want everything with you.”

“I want everything with you too.”

Happiness dances in his eyes. Azriel is not a selfish man, always putting others’ wants and needs before his own. He had even accepted that meeting his mate was an unattainable dream. That is, until you came along, dismantling the walls he had spent centuries constructing around himself.

You, a manifestation of his long-buried dreams and wishes, emerged as a living, breathing reality. The selfish desire to have everything with you consumes him, even more so when your desires always seem to mirror his. You're his perfect match and he doesn't know what he did to deserve you. He can only thank the Cauldron, forever indebted to it for entwining your soul with his.

Overwhelmed by his profound emotions, tears brim in his eyes and you're kissing them away before they can escape, smiling when his lips capture yours afterwards. He pours everything into the kiss. It starts soft and sweet but quickly morphs into something more as he brings his hands to your neck.

He pulls away, rolling over to hover over you in your bed, bracing strong arms on either side of you. He kisses your nose and lowers his body until his lips are hovering over right where your heart is racing. Another kiss.

Heat pools down and your breath hitches when he pauses at your stomach to press a kiss there. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He murmurs and you can feel his grin against your skin as he settles himself between your legs. He hikes one of your legs over his shoulder, slowly running his tongue up your thigh. The gesture draws a soft sound from you that he will never tire of hearing.

“I’m worshiping the mother of my future children.”

**

a/n: the bath scene was purely inspired by this because hot damn 🥵 I do plan on writing some future imagines of Az and reader having kids but meanwhile, you can have a glimpse at their first born from this headcannon.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel fluff #azriel smut #azriel x witch!reader #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar smut #az!dandelions

[copepods]

#Hello

[beansprean]

Perfect likenesses.

My Familiar’s Ghost Masterpost

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Ghost Guillermo floats up to the taxidermy rabbit version of him sitting on a table, reaching out a finger as if to try to boop its nose. Guillermo smiles and says "So this is what you've been doing with your time? Making little taxidermied of me and Nandor? That's kinda sweet..." 1b. Reverse shot of Nadja, looking proud with one hand on her hip and the other pressed to her chest. She replies, "I made all of us!" 1c. Shot of a taxidermy scene mounted on a wooden base, showing two pigeons flying in midair. The top pigeon has a medium length brown wig and white cravat and has its legs spread open. The bottom pigeon has a long black wig and blue neck bow, laying back with its legs spread, their feathery pigeon crotches pressed together. Nadja says from offscreen, "Here is Laszlo and I as two beautiful majestic pigeons making love mid-flight." 1d. Shot of a taxidermy rat standing on all fours on a wooden base. The rat is hairless, has bright teal eyes, and is wearing a small beige tie. Nadja says, "And here is Colin Robinson as this rat I shaved." 1e. Wide shot of Guillermo and Dolly as he looks down at her and asks, "And what about Doll-Nadja?" Dolly looks up at him and replies, "I'm me." The only response Guillermo can give is "Oh." /end ID

#wwdits #my familiars ghost #ghost guillermo #guillermo de la cruz #nadja of antipaxos #nadja doll #what we do in the shadows #what we do in the shadows fx #my art #fanart #image described

[faeriekit]

The Firstborn Son

dp x dc | Batman 👻 tw for: dead body, brief reference to human trafficking

(Part II available now!)

****

Once upon a time, there is a boy who dies forever...mostly.

****

Once upon a time, there is a man who wants to live forever.

He does.

****

Once upon a time, there is a daughter born to an immortal man.

"I need an heir," her father commands.

She gives him one.

****

Once upon a time, there is a King.

(He is a dead boy.)

(Most do not know that.)

"My heir, for a hundred years of your power," the immortal offers; the King accepts.

****

Once upon a time, there was a family of acrobats.

There isn't, not anymore, but the son still loves his mother and father, and gravity cannot steal his wings forever.

He sleeps restlessly, and rarely in his own bed. The allure of flying is too much to resist. At night, when the world is quiet, the acrobat joins the black darkness of an endless sky, and claims it as his own.

His guardian is one with the night.

The petit Robin is bright light and spectacle, no matter how well he hides his colors. He is spotted first.

****

Dick didn't really remember waking up from his nap. Alfred had put him down for a cold; his head hurt, and he was sleepy all the time, so B was out without him and Dick was stuck in a too-big bed in a giant, dark mansion, all alone.

Except. At some point, Dick must have gotten out of bed. Because now he's in the chandelier.

Dick doesn't remember jumping to the chandelier. And jumping to the chandelier is hard work; it's not something he could have done in his sleep. It requires weight, heft; the shirking of gravity. The night is dark around him; there are no street lights outside of their windows to light up the hallway. The darkness makes the grand persian carpet so much farther away than it is in the daytime-- entirely, unfathomably far below him. Pale moonlight flickers across cut shards of crystal. It's Dick's own little bird's nest.

Dick and the chandelier gently sway. He doesn't notice the-- the ghost, the illusion-- for a whole minute. It just looks like moonlight, until it doesn't.

It's a body. A boy's body-- not much older than Dick. Suspended, midair.

His heart drops. But Dick doesn't scream.

For a second, there are two boys midair, silent and still in the morning moonlight.

The body raises its head. Hello, Richard.

Dick doesn't move.

I have a question for you. The body blinks sightless eyes. Does your guardian treat you well?

Dick...doesn't know what that means. He rolls his weight forward, careful, so careful not to tip himself over the edge and send him plummeting.

"...Why are you asking?"

I need something looked after, the body says. Its limbs sway in wind that isn't here. It is very precious to me.

"Oh." Well, B is Batman, sometimes. And when he's not Batman, he's Bruce Wayne, and he is in charge of a lot of people. "Yeah, he's respons- reponsbile- he does a good job. Can I see it?" Dick's interest is piqued.

The body stills. And then-- like a zombie clawing its way out of its grave, it reaches through the rotting skin of its own stomach and removes. Something.

It's a baby.

Dick leans so far forward that he almost does go toppling but he's gripping the silver of the chandelier so that he doesn't, and, look! It's a baby! It's so small and tiny and it's still purple!

"He's so new!" Dick gasps, and releases one arm from its death grip to make a grabby hand. The body only floats close enough that Dick can pet the baby's cheek with a careful finger, can feel the softness of the baby's hair.

He is my charge, the body explains. As such, he is precious to me.

The baby is so small. Dick wants to bounce him, like he's seen mamas and papas do with their little ones. "Can I hold him?"

The baby disappears back into the body. It looks like a maggot burrowing back into the corpse it's eating, and Dick is heartbroken and sick about it. No. Not until I know it's safe.

Dick pouts. Also, he needs to know how to get the baby away from the...body. Babies need a lot of light and warmth. A dead body monster can't give him that.

Your guardian played his part in making the little heir, the body says. This baby was given to me by his grandfather. His mother passed him onto her own father, and her father sold him to me.

"Oh no!" Dick gasps. That is one of the things B has had to explain to Dick, one of hundreds of terrible things that happens to people in Gotham. And it happened to B's baby?

Yes. The body floats sightlessly, thin skin sliding over too-pale eyes. I must know if he is safe before I leave the baby in his care. Will you help me?

Dick...doesn't know what that means. He bites down on the soft presence of his lip. (He tastes blood.) "How?"

The body and the baby inside it are still. Quiet. Dick is two stories off the ground, midair, and any wrong motion could be his-- his-- Dick can't even see the ground. It would hurt so much. He's so high up from the distant hardwood floor and with only ghosts to keep him company.

...It would be very scary.

Dick swallows.

Do you trust that he would come get you, if you were in danger?

Dick knows so. He nods.

Do you trust he would be smart enough to find you? Mean enough to defend you? Care enough to comfort you? the body asks.

Dick nods.

The body floats closer. Closer. Until they are almost touching-- limp limbs entangling on the crystalline arms of the chandelier. It would be very scary, if you said yes, the body admits, as heavily weighted as any corpse that cannot help you hold it. But you would be in no danger. Should your guardian succeed, I will entrust him with this precious thing.

One circus boy's fears for the safety of B's baby. It's an easy choice. Dick is Robin. He is always going to pick helping people over maybe getting hurt.

His pinky touches the cold, dead flesh of the body's.

And then Dick wakes up sweating and heaving in bed.

#ooo spooky ooky #idk kid maybe ask your dad about this before you agree to anything?? #this is why I can never finish anything #I always have like ten things in reserve #contracts signed by minors without consent are illegal DANNY #dp x dc #Danny Phantom #DC #DCU crossover

[captainmalewriter]

Mishap

It all happened so quickly. One moment, esteemed professor Dr. Brown was on the cusp of hitting a breakthrough in his academic paranormal research. The next moment, Dr. Brown was hiding in a cabinet while an angry spirit ran loose inside his lab.

Dr. Brown held his hand against his mouth in an effort to stifle his breathing. The spirit was going on a rampage in his lab. He could hear the sounds of glass breaking and heavy machinery getting knocked over. Dr. Brown forced himself to swallow a breath. He could feel his heartbeat growing louder with every second spent inside the metal cabinet.

This isn't supposed to be happening... Not to me! Geniuses don't make mistakes!

Dr. Brown thought to himself. Having a PhD at the young age of 26 put him a cut above the rest. But unfortunately, the accolades and fame got to his head. He became cocky, and it showed in his work. Brown had been attempting to summon a creature from beyond our world for quite some time now. While he had accomplished his goal, he did it with reckless abandon. Now he was suffering the consequences of his carelessness.

Dr. Brown pressed his ear against the cabinet door. A cold chill ran down his spine as he heard the spirit let out a loud ghastly moan. Dr. Brown shuddered within the confines of the cabinet. He swallowed his breath again. He continued listening, and his ears perked up when he heard the sound of the lab doors opening. Dr. Brown waited a minute, and once he was sure the coast was clear, he proceeded to step out of the cabinet. First he peeked his head out, then left the cabinet altogether. He gasped at the sight of his prized lab in shambles after the spirit rampaged. But he knew there were more pressing matters at hand. He needed to stop the wild spirit before the general public could find out.

Dr. Brown hurried to the double doors, but just as he was about to exit the lab, he could hear the spirit's blood curdling scream getting closer again. The spirit was fast. By the time the sound registered in Dr. Brown's mind, the spirit had already slammed through the double doors and into Dr. Brown.

The force of the impact sent him flying. Dr. Brown landed harshly onto his back. The pain from the landing was unbearable, but he knew he needed to persevere. But unfortunately for Dr. Brown, the spirit was already on top of him. Using its psychic energy, the spirit lifted Dr. Brown up from the ground and stripped him of his clothes. Dr. Brown tried to fight back, but the pressure the spirit was exerting on his body was too much. Dr. Brown could only whimper as he was floating naked midair.

He could see the spirit up close now. The sight of its distorted face terrified him. Luckily for Dr. Brown, he didn't need to look at it for long as the spirit began forcing its way into Dr. Brown. Using his mouth, nose, ears, dick slit, and asshole, Dr. Brown was being penetrated in every hole his body possessed. The spirit was quickly filling up his body, and all Dr. Brown could do was gag and moan in pleasure as the spirit invaded his body. It only took a few seconds for the spirit to finish the job. Dr. Brown's body lowered to the ground. His possessed body began to wiggle on the ground as the spirit made itself comfortable in its new fleshie vessel.

"Dr. Brown!!" a man rushed into the lab. He was taken aback by the sight of his naked superior on the ground, squirming and groaning in an erotic way. The man wanted to look away, but his fantasy of finally seeing Dr. Brown naked had come true. He couldn't help but watch. "Dr. Brown? Are you alright?"

Dr. Brown's eyes snapped open. An eerie smile spread across his face as the spirit took full control over his body.

"Never been better... In fact, why don't you come over here and make Daddy feel even better? I can't wait to feel what it's like to get fucked again..."

The ghost winked at the man, and the man proceeded to fuck Dr. Brown, not knowing what had just happened in the lab only moments prior.

#male possession #ghost possession #male body possession #male takeover

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Okay so I was going to try to post this on Christmas but I had the worst WiFi possible. So that didn’t happen. So y’all get two today because Christmas :)

Part 1 | . . . | Part 43 | Part 44 | Part 45

Or maybe it all just almost goes to shit.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m scared.”

“I know, Ellie. I am too. But it’ll be okay.”

She takes a deep breath, grabs his hand and squeezes, and nods. “Okay.”

The one on the car lunges, maw wide and terrifying, and El yells as she thrusts her hand towards it, stopping it midair. She throws it to the side, bowling over the two to their right, and throws the one on their left over that direction too.

“Check behind us,” she asks Steve, before bringing a car down onto the pile of demodogs.

Steve whips his head around. “Well,” he says, voice imbued with fake cheer, “there’s no demodogs.”

El whips around to see what he had: two demogorgons. She huffs, moves until she’s in front of Steve, and reaches behind her before quickly bringing her hand forward, tossing a different car in their direction.

Steve scrambles for his bat, having foolishly placed it in the trunk, grabbing it just before a demodog climbs out from under the car El had thrown. Another one is struggling, its back half pretty badly crushed, but Steve is a little worried it will make its way out. “El? How’re you feeling?”

“Okay,” she responds. “But I want to finish this soon.”

“You and me both, Ellie.” He flips his bat. “I’ll take care of the one halfway under the car if you can get the one heading our way.”

“Yeah,” she answers, and he advances, walking around the free demodog.

The trapped one snaps and claws at his feet and legs, trying to pull him closer, so he swings his bat, connecting with a leg. It growls and pulls away, long enough for Steve to swing at its head. He keeps going until it doesn’t move anymore, then surveys the area.

The rest of the demodogs are dead, including the one that had gotten free. El had taken care of it, alright; there’s a car buried three feet in the ground where the demodog once was.

The demogorgons met a similar fate, crushed underneath a pickup truck, which was also buried about three feet in the ground.

He turns to look at El and freezes, dumbfounded, watching as she extends a hand towards the group of demodogs under the car.

The car shakes, groans, then buries itself in the ground with a pop.

“Uh,” Steve eloquently says. He tries again. “Ellie?”

She slowly turns to look at him. It’s more like she’s looking through him, her gaze almost making him uncomfortable as he continues. “You’re floating.”

She blinks, then seems to realize where she is. She slowly lowers herself, and Steve’s ready to catch her when she wobbles and ultimately collapses when her feet touch ground. “That was amazing,” he whispers into her hair. “I’m so proud of you, Ellie, you deserve all the waffles, holy shit. Okay, come on, I got you, let’s get in the car, lay you down.”

She can barely keep her eyes open, “All gone?”

His heart clenches. “Yeah, Ellie. They’re all gone, you did such a good job. You can rest now, ‘kay?”

“M’kay,” she murmurs, falling into the backseat and curling up. “Wake… at home.”

Steve just smiles, cards a hand over her hair. “Just go to sleep, Ellie. I’ve got you.”

She does, murmuring something nonsensical, and Steve’s heart clenches again as he gently shuts the door and makes his way around to the driver’s seat.

The ride home is uneventful, and when El doesn’t stir when he turns the car off, he carries her inside.

Robin, Allison, Eddie, and Wayne are waiting for them. “She’s fine,” he assures them quietly. “Just exhausted.”

Eddie steps forward. “Let me take her,” he whispers. “You’re still injured.”

Steve grimaces. “You’re really not gonna like hearing what we just did, then.”

Eddie raises a brow with a slight smile, grinning when Steve sighs out, “Fine. Put her in my room, please?”

Eddie nods. “Glad you’re safe,” he murmurs before leaving with her.

Allison and Robin rush him as soon as El’s out of the room. “You goddamn idiot,” Robin gripes, wiping tears from her cheeks. “I was worried.”

“We both were,” Allison says, giving him a look.

“I’m sorry,” Steve murmurs, hugging them both. “I’m fine, I promise. Things got a little more exciting than we’d hoped, but we’re both okay.”

“I’m glad you’re safe,” Allison murmurs, and Robin nods before they both crush him back into a hug.

When they pull back, Allison grins at him. “I’m saying this because I love you,” she starts, “but you need a shower.”

Robin giggles, and when Steve turns an affronted look on her, she raises her hands in surrender. “I didn’t say anything!”

“No, but you were thinking it,” he mutters, grinning at both of them before following the path Eddie had taken.

When he walks into his room, he’s surprised to see Eddie standing at the foot of his bed, looking at El.

“This is all crazy, right?” He asks. “I’m not being dramatic?”

Steve smiles at him. “You’re always dramatic,” he reminds Eddie, getting a glare in return, “but no. This is definitely crazy.”

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#stranger things #if I should stay #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #el hopper #el is a badass #robin buckley #Allison Harrington #Steve and el are siblings #time travel fic #fix it fic #time travel fix it #time travel fix it fic #starambles

[lancermylove]

Hiiiiii! So, first of all, i LOVE- no, ADORE your posts okay!? I bet you've seen me a couple times in your inbox or whatever, but- thats not what i wanted to ask. I simply wanted to know how your day/night has been so far? (maybe i wanted to quickly ask for teen MC who has magic hair like rapunzel but she can also use her decay incantation. Maybe someone got really hurt and she just wraps her hair around it and is like, "Flower gleam and glow~".OR, Maybe a demon puts a spell on her and they make her use the decay incantation and all of the plants die. her hair also breaks out of its braid and just floats like in the show! Just a thought y'know~) hope you're having a great day/night! :3 Oops, forgot the fandom hehe, Obey Me! ty <3 (maybe she has even been emitted into a science labratory and was experimented on, before the RAD program)

Hi!!! Aww, thank you! 💖My day is going decently. Thank you for asking! I hope your day/night is going well.

----

Prologue: A lesser demon devoted to Diavolo noticed the changes in the prince after the demon brothers entered Devildom. To get back at the brothers for influencing the prince, he kidnaps you and forces you to use decay incantation to destroy in hopes that Diavolo will send you away along with the brothers.

When they see you with your hair down, floating in midair, draining the life around you, they are:

Scared. The beautiful hair he loved so much was a deadly weapon all along. He knows you wouldn't hurt him, but he is still fazed: Asmo, Simeon, Luke, Levi

Stunned. He thinks your decay incantation has the power to bring down an entire realm if used correctly, and this worries him: Diavolo, Raphael, Mephistopheles

More worried about your well-being than what you are forced to do with your powers: Lucifer, Mammon, Beel,

Curious. How did you do this power, to begin with? How could a being's hair have this much power?: Satan, Belphie

Fascinated. One could do a lot with this power...including dominating the world. /Insert devilish grin/: Solomon, Barbatos, Thirteen

Nope, still not agreeing to be in the same group as Solomon. She changes her answer to "She doesn't care what you do as long as you are okay": Thirteen

#obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me belphie #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me luke #obey me solomon #obey me thirteen #obey me mephistopheles #obey me raphael

[mindshelter]

for your consideration: kon sleep-floats—and not only does he take the whole damn blanket with him, but it's often laid over his entire body like a corpse found at the scene of a tragic accident. only his feet are sticking out (he's very tall).

more than once, tim has woken up—shivering, rubbing away the goosebumps on his arms. kon's missing from his usual spot to tim's left; he looks around the room, but finds nothing. that's odd, tim thinks. kon's no night owl; he rises with the sun, and is dead as a rock until then.

tim looks up.

and there he is. kon isn't totally still—he's a wraith, tucked where the wall meets the ceiling. the blanket covers his face, torso and legs while the rest spills over the sides, fluttering with the slight sway of kon's body. he's midair, rocking lightly like the tides move with the moon.

"kon," tim says. "you look like you're possessed."

no response.

"kon," he says, louder, "they announced a wendy reboot."

no response.

"it's horrible. that's me as a werewolf?" tim says, casting bait.

if kon were awake, he'd perk up immediately, clear his throat, and finish the line: i'm so evil, and skanky... and i think i'm kinda gay.

"i still can't believe that's how you decided to come out to me," he mutters. kon had looked so serious that day, asking tim if they could speak privately, too. "get down, jackass. i'm cold."

the winds outside get more forceful, easing its way through the half-opened window. the breeze rustles the bedsheet, and the dim light that limns the folds of the fabric and kon's silhouette shift, white migrating over blue-grey. tim's fingers feel like ice.

"ignoring me? are you dead?" dead as a rock. dead as a corpse. dead as his dad, or something. "booster gold made a soundcloud. his first track is, um... get your boost on? parenthesis, let me show y'all how it's done, parenthesis. it's rap."

no response. he might as well be sleeping through the end of the world.

tim throws benny beluga at him (his boyfriend won it for him during a strength tester game at a date to the fair). benny hits what might be kon's butt, and tim's head a moment later. kon does not stir. tim rubs his arms again.

tim would had worn more clothes to sleep, but had figured a t-shirt and boxers would have been enough. kon runs warm, after all—heat always radiates from his hands, his sternum, and the crook of his neck where he lets tim bury himself. sometimes it's the only indication he's alive; during daylight hours, kon's chest rises and falls with what is both a steady, natural rhythm and completely fabricated—but he's unnervingly still while asleep, forgoing all the extra adjustments he normally makes to blend in and make the people around him more comfortable. tim sometimes checks his pulse just to be sure kon is fine. it's slow, but the ten-beats-per-minute he counts by placing a finger under kon's jaw is enough for tim to be sure kon is just resting.

the mattress springs creak and whine as tim stands, grabbing the blanket on either side. it's an exercise in futility; tim pulls—with all his might, mind you, but kon remains lodged in the corner above him. tim is faintly reminded of aerial silks when he lets his feet lift off the bed, holding himself midair with fabric wrapped around his elbows.

up this close, tim can more clearly see kon's arms dangling underneath the sheet.

when he drops back down to his feet, tim extends his own to find it again, pawing clumsily until his fingers brush what must be kon's wrist. a forceful tug does not get tim any closer to bringing kon down, but if tim is anything at all, he's a problem solver.

the next option—lacing their fingers together, and giving kon's hand a firm squeeze before tim pulls—brings him down a few inches. for a moment, tim stares at where their joined hands are hidden underneath the bedsheet, and gets on his toes to brush his lips against kon's knuckles.

he pulls again, and kon sinks another few inches. the scoff tim lets out is incredulous. you big baby.

another press of the lips against the knuckles, then the wrist. then the lower half of kon's bicep. with kon following tim's touches in his sleep, tim nudges his body until he's hovering just above his usual half of their bed, and finally uncovers kon's face.

you gigantic baby, tim thinks, brushing his fingers against kon's cheek. kon turns to it. "what are you dreaming about, you weirdo?"

kon leans into tim's cold fingers. he rolls his eyes before leaning down to leave a soft, lingering kiss against kon's lips.

and just like that—the mattress creases under kon's full weight. he still doesn't stir.

tim breathes a sigh of relief when he gets back under the blanket—his teeth stop chattering, and he tucks his legs further inward to leach off kon's body heat.

the fabric over them rustles again, the tiny adjustments tucking tim in more snugly as kon shifts closer, an arm sliding between tim's arm and ribs, sliding down to his lower back to settle—

"kon," tim says, because there's no way this fucker isn't awake, right? "that's my butt."

no response.

he sighs—kon is nearby, keeping the cold at bay, and he can feel himself sink rapidly back into sleep. interrogation tomorrow.

tim closes his eyes.

#timkon #my writing #dc #um. idk. have this thing i wrote on mobile in an hour

[glassroo]

DannyMay 2023 Day 1: Fantasy AU

HOLY FUCK IM ACTUALLY POSTING 💀💀💀 day 1 was an excuse to go crazy on my demon au nonsense. demons are fantasy creatures, right? right. you're eating anyway. brief notes on this au, and if youre more interested you can dm me and ill send you a novel

Furcas is his name instead of Phantom. He's a demon that teaches astronomy/astrology, among other things. Perfect fit, really.

I designed him with the yetis of the Far Frozen in mind, while keeping the colour scheme of his original suit. His horns, claws and spines are ice. The black skin of his body absorbs most light, and the runes in place of his belt spell his name. Thank you to @potatoeofwisdom for the cipher they showed me!!

Invisibility is replaced with melding/turning into shadows. Most effective when there's other shadows to hide in on walls and floors and stuff. He can turn his body to shadow anywhere, even midair in daylight, but he'll still be seen as a grey spot against the sky.

Intangibility/phasing is replaced by static portal creation. Sorta like atom displacement? An affected area will have its atoms shift to allow other matter to move through it. Best used on still, solid surfaces. Can be used on ones own body to let some attacks pass through, but feels super uncomfortable. General rule of thumb is to make a portal on the largest object in the interaction.

Most demons can fly. They use various methods, so not all have wings, but Danny does. All demons can suspend themselves in the air though, to give their wings (or equivalent) a break. They can float as a treat :) helps to be able to hear midair banter without beating wings drowning it out.

Danny's ghost sense is now, of course, a demon sense. The hair on the back of his head, down his neck, and around his shoulders prickles up when sensing demons. It's not too noticeable in human form, but it makes him all puffy in demon form (more than usual).

Ectoplasm is now Ichor. It's typically black, and varies in hue when thinned out. Danny's is perceptively black, but green when thinned.

Not sure what to call a demons "ectoblast", but they can still do them. Danny's beans glow when hes charging one up :)

Demons have categories! So far ive got 5 listed; Humanoid, Beastoid, Beastial, Amorphoid, and Amorphous. Danny is Beastoid, but he's an odd case due to having a human face. There's a lot of debate among humans as to what his classification is.

ANYWAY as for the rest of DannyMay, ive done them out of order like the madman i am. so while other days are complete, i want to post them in order, so not a massive drop today until i finish some earlier entries.

#dannymay #dannymay2023 #dannymay day 1 #danny phantom #dp #danny fenton #sam manson #tucker foley #danny phantom au #dp au #danny phantom demon au #danny phantom fanart #dp fanart #phanart #danny phantom art #dp art

[lostmyremembrall]

could you do something where its Tom confessing to the reader but hes really nervous

i know that might be a little ooc but i love when big bad characters act soft

𝒯𝒽ℯ 𝒞𝓇ℴ𝓈𝓈ℯ𝒹 𝒪𝓊𝓉 ℒℴ𝓋ℯ ℒℯ𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇

𝑇𝑜𝑚 𝑅𝑖𝑑𝑑𝑙𝑒 𝑥 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: 𝑅𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝐹𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓

𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑛!𝑇𝑜𝑚 𝑅𝑖𝑑𝑑𝑙𝑒, 𝐴𝑤𝑘𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑑!𝑇𝑜𝑚 𝑅𝑖𝑑𝑑𝑙𝑒

Recommended music: Riopy's Embrasse-moi from the Danish Girl

You opened the door, skimming your eyes through the list of ingredients Abraxas had given you. As you were greeted by the pungent odour of the pickled ingredients, there was a sudden screech of the chair as a student stood up from his desk.

It caught you by surprise. But, as you calmed down, you were greeted by the Head Boy who had spun around. He seemed breathless, almost, as he continued to stare at you. You wondered if you’d walked in on something you weren’t supposed to see – the Head Boy deep in his private thought, or heaven forbid, brewing a potion without permission.

“Y/L/N,” he murmured, a curt dip of his head in acknowledgement.

“Riddle,” you responded, deciding it was best to return the courtesy.

You stood nervously, biting your lips.

He always gave off an unapproachable aura, with his tall figure, his billowing school robe trailing behind him, and his stern eyes. You never realised he could be even more intimidating up close.

Tom Riddle towered over you, his furrowed eyes never leaving you. In the dim lighting of the potion’s classroom, a ghostly shadow cast over his eyes, rendering his usually unreadable expressions nearly impossible to decipher.

A moment of silence ensued. It was suffocating, this tension. Your eyes wandered away, hoping someone would walk in. It was then that you noticed that the potion classroom was brighter than usual. Yes, candles lit here and there, floating in midair or on the desks. Together, they created a warm, soft lighting that brightened up the usually-bleak dungeon. 

Your eyes drifted, noticing the reds scattered across the room somewhat haphazardly like an afterthought. You crouched down to pick it up, furrowing at the texture that was silky and soft between your fingers. It took a long time, specifically the whiff of its pleasant scent that drifted your way, for you to notice that they were rose petals.

“I was brewing some veritaserum,” he cleared his throat all of a sudden. “With Slughorn’s permission, of course,” he added, as if reading your mind.

You nodded while standing up, unsure how to respond at this random fact thrown your way. “Well, I’m here to gather some things for Abraxas, so,” you mumbled, walking past him into the storage cupboard.

“Would you like some help?” he called after you, much too quickly than usual. While he usually took the time to enunciate, Riddle at the moment sounded like he was tumbling over his words to speak.

You couldn’t help but turn to look back at him. Riddle paused in his footstep towards you, swallowing hard under your scrutiny. 

“I’m alright, thanks,” you replied. His shoulders fell, seemingly losing the vigour in a matter of seconds.

You turned on your heels and began heading to the storage once again. 

“Y/N,” a hand caught yours in the air.

You stopped in your tracks. You turned on your heels to face the Head Boy once again, stunted by the fact that he called you by your first name. Your name rolled off so easily and pleasantly off of his tongue, yet it concealed a hint of breathless urgency behind it.

Everything seemed to slow down, even the dust that drifted in the candlelit air held a quiet, magical shimmer to it.

His hand was large against yours. Warm. It was the most gentle touch that you would have never expected from such a tall man. His fingertips lingered against yours as they disentangled from yours, almost as if he was afraid of hurting it.

Your eyes flickered to his hand, his knuckles turning white in a fist before unfolding. You thought you saw his hands shake slightly.

Your eyes followed the arm up to the man. But, now that he had your ears, the words seemed completely lost to him. He blinked twice, his eyes flickering in between yours.

“I–,” he stammered.

In a matter of seconds, his continuing incoherent mumble evaded your ears as you came to realise the astonishing fact: that Tom Riddle jr., the Head Boy, the man that towered in front of you, was afraid. Just as, or perhaps, even more so afraid than you.

“I–, well,” at this point, the man had grown completely frigid save for his lips. “You look–” his voice faded away as his eyes grew lost in yours. 

You waited to hear the next word as you began to understand what this was about. He was rendered speechless, however, and all he could do was stand still, his pleading eyes flickering back and forth between your shimmering eyes. Begging you to just read his mind.

You hesitated, biting your lips and deliberating whether this was an absurdily bad idea. But, as he stood in the potions classroom, his lips parting and closing helplessly like a fish gasping for air, you saw your reflection in the depth of his grey eyes. Smaller than him, yes. But, your reflection in his eyes looked far less afraid than the man that stood in front of you.

Hoping you were reading the air correctly, you reached out your right hand. It was as if it knew its way, reaching and searching for the warmth that was lost to it in this damp, cold dungeon. Your hand wrapped around his, and gave a slight squeeze.

All of this, Tom Riddle watched in shock. His eyes found you, smiling softly up at him in encouragement. His parted lips closed and pursed.

His eyes flickered to your left hand, still clutching the list of ingredients – some scratched off, some re-written. Finding the courage, he reached his open hand into his pants pocket, and under your curious gaze, produced a paper, crimpled and bent. As he slowly opened the paper, in the dim lighting, you made out rows of words, all scratched off and re-written.

It seemed that Riddle had now opted for letting you read the paper, instead of trying to finish his sentence. When he passed the paper, his hand was no longer shaking.

Your eyes widened, reading a very long list of unfinished sentences, encapsulating everything he wanted and did not want to say all at once.

Dear You’re beautiful You take my breath away.  Your voice is like the ocean

When you raised your eyes, you found Riddle intently studying your reaction, hoping to catch a glimpse into the thoughts and emotions that went through your mind.

“Will you–,” he faltered, inhaling sharply. You waited patiently for his next word, not even realising that you no longer found his voice apathetic or menacing.

His eyes shimmered, myriads of emotions swirling in his eyes. 

“Would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me this Saturday?” 

You couldn’t help but beam at the endearing sight of the Head Boy as he pulled the corners of his lips into an attempt at an inviting smile.

You took a step forward and murmured, “Yes.”

His eyes shot up, perhaps not expecting the answer. He blinked rapidly, dumbfounded, as he stared down at your smile.

Yet slowly, as he began to process your response, his lips ruptured into the most genuine, perhaps the most beautiful smile you’d ever seen. In the candle lighting, you were able to make out his cheeks that turned a shade of pink. It all seemed ridiculous now, the nervousness you felt around him. 

“That’s–,” he inhaled sharply, blinking rapidly as if still in disbelief. “Brilliant,” he breathed out. The flickers of orange candlelights twinkled in his soft walnut brown eyes. 

“Shall we say, 11am, then?” he peered into your eyes for confirmation that he was not dreaming. “I’ll meet you at the clocktower?”

You bit your lips, trying to stifle a giggle. Rendered speechless, you couldn’t do anything but nod at the perfect weekend plan that was quickly beginning to take form. You weren’t even paying attention to the cauldron of veritaserum that was beginning to bubble and spill over.

His eyes darted between yours with sheer glee and hope at the possibilities of what their future will hold. 

The places they’ll go. The things they’ll do.

As you still held his hand,  you silently watched the beginning of love blossom in the small corner of a potion classroom.

Bonus:

The cleanup was messy and arduous. But, you weren’t bored for a single moment, what with his constant humming of a tune, occasionally interrupted by his exhilarated eyes that turned to you to chat with you about the most mundane things: the fine weather they were having, your favourite colour, and your voice that sounded like the most pleasant ocean breeze.

A/N: Thank you for the request! Sorry it took a while; I had to chuck a whole story since that was more comedy, but I got a sense that you wanted a swooning romance. But who's to say that won't be published in the future.

Fun fact: Unbeknownst to the reader, Abraxas was in cahoots with Tom. He didn't need any of those ingredients. And Tom didn't need to brew veritaserum. I just picture Abraxas and Tom crouched over the floor, scattering it with rose petals. "They could be here any second, hurry." "No, not like that, Tom! Spread them out!" "The amount of time and energy I invested into this - you better not chicken out this time, Tom."

#tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle oneshot #tom riddle #tom riddle fic #tmr #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle imagine #harry potter #tom riddle x gn!reader #harry potter fanfiction #tom riddle romance #tom riddle fanfic #Karenina's requests #tom riddle au #tom riddle fluff

[givemea-dam-break]

Hi!!!! Your L&C fics are my favorite thing ever, your writing is absolutely incredible, I'm a bit obsessed I think XDD

Apologies if this request is too specific, but I would die for a Lockwood x reader fic where the reader makes up their mind to do something stupidly reckless for a case, something even Mr. Reckless himself can't support, especially not when it's YOU. He begs you not to, you do it anyway, get badly injured, but he's still there to patch you up after all of it.

Have an awesome day!!!!!

a/n: my day is absolutely awesome so far, i hope yours is too!! and thank you so much, i'm so so glad you enjoy my stuff!! i hope you enjoy <3

warnings: language, injury gn reader

You knew the case was going to be a bad one from the get-go, you just didn't know how bad.

Everything had seemed fine when you and the other members of Lockwood and Co met with the clients, a pair of men who owned a nearby butcher's. A Type Two haunting the place, nothing you couldn't handle. George had even found a lot a decent information on the place that could help you guys figure out where the source was. The notion of it being in a butcher's made you uneasy, and you knew very little about the Type Two, though Lockwood was sure you'd all be fine.

But, standing in the shop, facing a ghost you can't see, you know you're fucked.

It's just your luck to be faced with a poltergeist, honestly.

Unlike other Visitors, poltergeists can't inflict ghost touch which, in the long run, is very handy. If ambulances can't get to agents on time to give them an adrenaline injection, then it can lead to loss of limbs or death. It sounds like a positive, right?

Well, staring at the carving knife floating a few feet away, you would much rather be faced with a Wraith or even a Rawbones.

The thing is, poltergeists have no physical form so it's harder to look for a source, hence George and Lucy scrambling around in the backroom, clattering about as they rush to look.

Ahead of you, the knife hovers in midair, its sharp, gleaming point slowly turning as if to decide which person to dart at: you, Lockwood, or Lucy and George. It's like a horrible version of Spin the Bottle.

"So, this lovely Visitor was the old butcher?" you say, keeping your voice light. Poltergeists feed off negative emotions even more than other Type Twos.

Lockwood nods, rapier in hand as he looks around the rest of the room, rooted in place. "That's what George says."

"What reason does it have to be haunting the place?"

"Killed by an angry employee, I think."

You hold back a grumble, forcing down your anger at stupid people from the past. If they'd known how many problems they'd cause in the future, would they still have been such idiots?

Probably.

"Watch your back then," you joke. "You have three employees. Keep us happy, will you?"

"There's only so much tea I can make."

The knife rises in the air slightly and you falter back a step as its sharp end points at you.

"I think I'm the favourite," you mutter, trying to keep your fear in check. It's not often ghosts threaten you at knifepoint. "Lockwood, you go help Lucy and George look for the source. I'll keep its attention."

"No way." He looks at you incredulously. "We're doing this together."

Palms sweating, you say, "Your rapier isn't going to do much against a ghost we can't see, and not all of us can look for the source because then none of us stands a chance."

"I'm not letting you face it on your own," Lockwood insists. "Not a chance. The thing's got a knife, and it can do much worse."

But Lucy shouts something from the backroom, drawing Lockwood's attention. Through the buzz of fear in your ears, you think she says they might've found something.

"Lockwood, go!"

"(name), I'm not just going to leave you to -"

The knife whizzes in the air, lodging itself in the wooden doorframe, awfully close to your shoulder. It's like the Visitor wants Lockwood to stay, but you aren't going to let him. He's the leader of Lockwood and Co, the face of it. The company needs him. But not you. You're expendable.

Your Talent isn't anything special, not like Lucy's, and your research skills are nowhere near the standard of George's. All you're good at is using a rapier and sweet-talking DEPRAC when cases go tits up. Lockwood can easily fill in for you.

"Lockwood," you grit out, trying to keep the frustration at a minimum. "Go."

He's about to argue, but George calls for help - whatever they've found is stuck. He doesn't move.

Before you can think about it, you rush over and shove him in the direction of the backroom, and he stumbles, falling into the door. He barely gets his footing before Lucy's dragged him through.

"(name)!" he shouts, but he doesn't appear. Thank god for Lucy.

"All right," you murmur, turning to look at the knife in the doorframe. "Just you and me, now, Polty."

Slowly, threateningly, the knife dislodges from the frame, shining in the dim lanternlight. From the far wall, a knife rack trembles on its hooks, and more come free. Your heart is in your throat. Maybe you'll end up like a ghost you've defeated before, an old man who'd been jumped and stabbed endlessly.

Hopefully, you'll be an easy ghost to get rid of.

The carving knife comes flying at you, and you barely deflect it with the thin blade of your rapier. Another knife darts across the room, and you duck out of the way, though it nicks your ear. You can feel the little dribble of blood sliding down the skin already.

"Do you guys mind hurrying up a bit?" you call, eyeing the large collection of knives hovering. "Not to rush you or anything, but, you know, I'm not the biggest fan of being threatened by knives."

"Almost there!" Lucy shouts. "George got his arm stuck trying to get the source out. We're trying to get him unstuck."

Swallowing, you say lightly, "Yeah, sounds fun. Maybe speed it up a little."

You can hear a little arguing, likely Lockwood trying to come back out to help but getting told off by Lucy. You almost smile. Almost.

This time, the small knife that launches at you catches your shoulder and you resist crying out in pain. If you do, Lockwood will definitely come running out, and you can't afford that. They need to get the source.

Blood oozes down your arm, staining your jumper. Your grasp on your rapier weakens, and you swap the blade into your other hand, although this hand is considerably worse with it.

"It's rude to stab people," you grumble.

The next knife is deflected clumsily from your face, half from the inability of using your other hand and half from the pain in your shoulder. You'd pull the knife out, but you know it'll make things worse. At least it hasn't hit anything vital.

You can feel the presence of the poltergeist, thick and hanging over the whole room like a blanket. It isn't the most powerful one, not like the ones you've heard Fittes agents dealing with, because, even though its presence is everywhere, its focus is dealt solely on you. If it were stronger, it'd be targeting the others, too.

"Go on then, give me your worst."

Another knife, another dodge. It feels like it goes on forever, on and on and on with the same knives over again. The blood from your shoulder has reached your hand now and, god, how you wish you could throw a salt bomb at this thing. Your fingers itch to hold one.

"Hurry up!"

Mistake. You regret speaking immediately, having let out a little too much frustration, and the poltergeist feeds on it. The knives tremble in the air, every point staring menacingly at you, and the one hanging in your shoulder tears out, bringing with it another gush of blood. You can't help the cry that escapes your lips this time.

"Get the silver net, hurry!" Lucy's voice shouts.

The world moves in slow motion. As the knives fly in your direction, gleaming, one covered in blood, your heart feels like it ceases all functions. This is where you die. You'll never be able to dodge all of them in time.

Then the first blade sinks into your shoulder, just inches below the first puncture, and you shut your eyes.

You'll miss Portland Row and your friends. Maybe you didn't cherish their antics enough - the way George sings in the shower in the mornings, waking you up, or how Lucy will blast music at full volume while hacking away at the dummies in the basement for rapier practice. Most of all, you'll miss Lockwood. His smile, the way his eyes sparkle when he realises you've bought him a new magazine from the shop, the feeling of his fingers brushing yours as he passes you a mug of tea after every case.

There isn't much you regret, but you regret not telling him how you feel about him. About the nights you spend thinking about him, wishing for something more between you both.

Metal slams to the ground. The heavy pressure sitting on your shoulders dissipates, and silence ensues.

Slowly opening your eyes, you startle, seeing a dozen knives scattered on the floor right in front of your feet. Droplets of blood drip from your fingers, forming a little puddle on the floor. You're breathing heavily, much more than you should be, and your body is trembling.

The others stumble into the room, eyeing the blades that have fallen before you. Lockwood is the first to notice the blood soaking the sleeve of your jumper.

He practically leaps over the counter to get to you. "Lucy, George, go get rid of the source and get us a night cab. Quick."

Wordlessly, the two sprint from the shop and into the night.

"You're okay," Lockwood says.

You almost believe him, falling for the assured tone of his voice, but you feel a little woozy. Knees buckling, you drop to the floor, but he catches you with gentle hands, slowly lowering you down so you can sit after kicking the knives away.

"You're okay," he says again, though it sounds like it's more for himself than for you.

"I'm fine," you say, smiling albeit weakly. "Polty didn't stand a chance."

"Polty?" Lockwood parts from your side, grasping his bag from the corner and digging in it for a first aid kit. "You named the ghost?"

Nodding, you lean your head back against the wall. "He was my best mate."

There's a small laugh. "I don't think Lucy will appreciate that sentiment."

He's beside you again before you can even really process it, gingerly touching the ripped hole in your jumper. There's a lot more blood there than you initially realised.

"Do you think you can get your jumper off?" Lockwood asks. "I need to see the cuts."

Normally, you would've made a comment at that, but your throat feels awfully dry. "Take the knife out first?"

He goes pale, eyeing the - thankfully - small knife stuck in your arm.

"This will hurt. Hold onto my arm."

And you do. You weakly wrap your hand around his forearm, bracing yourself for the pain. He begins to count down from three, but he yanks the knife out on one, and you shout in pain, squeezing his arm.

"You pulled it early!"

"You would've made it harder to get out if I'd counted down the whole way." He looks a little bad for doing it, but you can understand why he did it. "Jumper?"

With his help, you manage to pull the thing off, hissing as you move your injured shoulder. Your T-shirt is stained at the sleeve, too, and partially at the neckline. It stings to pull it from the wound, but, soon enough, the cuts are visible. They're neat little things, nothing more than small slits in your skin, but they go deep. Lockwood will only be able to do so much.

With shaking hands, Lockwood pulls some things out of the first aid kit. You're too sore to really notice.

"You're an idiot, you know that, right?"

His voice shocks you out of the daze you were slipping into. "Hmm?"

"You shouldn't have done that alone. Look what's happened."

As he brings an alcohol wipe to the gashes, you wince at the sharp sting and the pressure he applies but say, "And what should I have done? Let you be the one to do it alone? We both know that you wouldn't have let me help, Lockwood. And you're more important in the grand scheme of things. I think I would've made quite the sacrifice if it had come to it."

"Don't say that." His voice wavers slightly, so quietly you barely hear it. "You're important to me."

He applies more pressure to the wounds, then he places wound dressings over them before grabbing a water bottle from his bag and soaking a tissue. Gently, he takes your arm in his hand and cleans away the slowly drying blood. It's messy work - the tissue keeps flaking apart, but it does the job and, soon enough, your arm is only faintly stained with your blood. He cleans the little bit of blood away from your ear quickly, placing a little plaster over the cut.

"I wasn't going to let you do it," you say, gratefully swallowing the painkillers he hands you. "You would've killed yourself to save us."

"And you didn't just try practically the same thing?"

There's an undertone of anger in his voice, but it's weak, taken over almost completely by his concern.

"(name) -" He hesitates, looking away from you. His ears are tinted slightly red. "You can't just be reckless like that. Not when..."

His fingers brush yours as you say, "When what?"

You can feel the tremble in his fingers. Although you're the one with stab wounds that still need medical attention, you worry. His smile, that cocky grin you've grown so fond of, is nowhere to be seen, replaced instead by parted lips and heavy breathing. The pulse you can feel in his fingers is erratic.

"Not when you mean so much to me. I can't lose you."

The words take you aback. For a moment, you're acutely aware of his skin touching yours, of the sound of his breaths, and the way the light accentuates the features on his face. His cheekbones look sharper, and his eyes glimmer, darkness set alight with little stars.

He mistakes your shocked silence for rejection. "A night cab should be here soon, then we can get you to a hospital and -"

His words falter when your good hand touches his cheek. Slowly, his gaze turns to your outstretched arm, gradually making its way up the limb until he's looking at you - your eyes, your lips. This is the most nervous you've seen him, and it makes you feel a little triumphant. Not many people make Anthony Lockwood nervous.

"I'm okay," you promise. "You've patched me up, and we're going to get me taken care of, yeah? But, first..."

"But first?" His eyebrow quirks, and he watches you closely.

It's something you never would do in normal circumstances. Really, you're probably not in the right state of mind, but you've wanted to do this for months. And Lockwood doesn't stop you.

When your lips touch his, you feel a sense of completeness. Like your soul has been made whole. It's as if they're the missing piece to a puzzle you've been trying to finish all your life, finally found after years and years of searching.

One of Lockwood's hands holds the back of your neck, his touch gentle, giving you enough leeway to pull away if you so wish. But you don't. You won't. No, instead your clutch his shirt with your good hand, holding him close. You never want this to end, this feeling of finally being whole. Your heart is racing, and it feels as though your very being is going to implode from pure elation.

Carefully, reluctantly, he pulls away, but his face stays close. His eyes search yours for any glimpse of regret, but he finds none, and he grins, at last. The smile sends a shiver down your spine, and you find yourself smiling, too, despite your pain.

"You don't know how long I've been waiting for that," he says, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You can feel his breath on your lips. "I might have an idea."

And then he's kissing you again, snatching your breath away.

Silently, you're thanking the poltergeist for the wounds, a thought that almost makes you laugh.

#lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood and co fanfiction #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #george karim #lucy carlyle #x reader #fanfiction #lockwood and co netflix #givemea-dam-break

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - The Void - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Jinx, what did you do now?

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

tw: jumpscares, horror

Snippet:

"Faster," Silco says to Sevika

His profile is turned to the window. In the green-tinged reflection, his skin holds a jaundiced pallor. The bruises are blooming full-flower across his cheekbone. The cut, on his temple, is the exact color and shape of a rusted fishhook. The blood has clotted into a dark smear, same as the mess gluing Vi's hair to her brow.

Same as Vi, he’d refused Sevika's offer to tend to the injuries.

"We're going top speed, sir," Sevika says evenly. "Unless you want us to tip the whole thing on its side."

"Do what you must. Just get us there."

"Yes, sir."

The crawler slaloms a corner. The interior sways on its axles. But whatever else, Sevika is an efficient driver.  She takes the next bend like a knife slicing through butter. Zaun's tunnels, an intricate network of intersections, branch-offs, and switchbacks, seem as straightforward to her as a flat plain.

As the crawler speeds toward Entresol, the cityscape unrolls: the craggy outcroppings of cliffs and a ramshackle gridwork of industrial complexes.  There are narrow swathes of Zaun still luminous with neon. Others show dark patches, where the power has fritzed out. Smoke rises in a dozen spots, curling like ghost-fingers toward the sky. 

A diffuse blue haze floats like a halo above the rooftops. Here and there, Vi sees what Sevika was referring to: clusters of translucent blue specks dappling the gloom. Some as tiny as bubbles in a champagne glass, others the size of balloons. They float in midair, bobbing on an invisible current. Their edges shimmer like the afterglow of a flame.

Ghosts, Vi thinks again.

A childish terror squeezes the ventricles of her heart. Her eyes cannot peel away. They follow them, those little blue shapes, as they pirouette and pinwheel. She has the strangest sense that they can feel her scrutiny. That they are... teasing her.

Daring her to unroll the window, and reach out for them.

As she watches, a small clutch of them shape themselves into a playful O, rolling side to side like a pair of eyes. Then, in a flurry of winking sparks, they coalesce into two straight rows at intersecting angles: X marks the spot. The shapes become a disorienting repetition—XOXOXO—until Vi's head churns with vertigo.

She's seen that symbol before.

Scribbled in the margins of Jinx's journal. Notched on the maps scattered around the Aerie. Embroidered at the edges of Silco's handkerchief.

Slitting her eyes, Vi catches a sense of silhouettes at the granular margins of the light-show. The faintest impression of human dimensions: familiar, and yet alien, like a memory that isn't her own. Old friends from lives unlived. Lovers she's never met. Strangers whose faces are her own.

Vander.

Stunned, Vi blinks.

He is a hulking shape in the middle of the road, his outline diffused by the glow of headlamps. It is a Vander whom Vi has never known: brown as a bear from a lifetime of sun and soil, and broad as a mountain slope from decades of farm-fed decadence. His hair, the same dark mane, is clustered light-over-dark into the signature wolf-cut. Dressed in well-patched brown trousers and a threadbare cotton tunic, heavy-soled boots shod at his feet, he could be a farmer fresh off the Ionian wheat-fields.

But his face, the warm complexity of lines etched into a grin, is the same from Vi's memory.

The twin circles of the crawler's headlamps coalesce into a spotlight. Vander moves forward. There is no mistaking his gait. The same purposeful stride, shoulders rolling and fists cocked. The same head-tilted swagger of a man accustomed to toeing the scratch, and owning what's on either side. Vi sees his lips stir: words of welcome spoken like an incantation.

Violet.

Blut.

I’m here where you are.

Vi reaches, in a blind fugue, for the door handle.

In the rearview mirror, Silco's eyes snap to hers.

"Don't," he orders.

Vi freezes.

The phantom of Vander is suddenly eclipsed by the glare of the headlamps. His delineations flicker and fade, and in their place is a swirling angry blue, so bright it burns everything it touches: skin, eyes, teeth. Reflexively, Vi throws up an arm, the brightness solidifying into a pair of fists whooshing toward her at phenomenal speed—

Nothing.

The infernal phosphorescence is gone.

Only the crawler. The headlamps. The bare stretch of the empty street.

A hot wetness films Vi's eyes.

"Fuck," she breathes.

Sevika glances sidelong, from Vi to Silco. Twin coals of confusion—and low-key concern—are burning in her dark eyes.

"What?" she asks. "'Don't', what? What'd she do?"

 Vi drags in a spooked breath. "Didn't—didn't you see him?"

"See who?"

"Vander." She makes a frantic stab toward the windshield. "He was right there. He was standing there, just a second ago!"

Sevika's eyes flick back to the road, then reorient on Vi.

"I didn't see jack shit," she says flatly.

"Neither did I," the guard on Vi's left says.

"Me neither," grunts the one on her right.

Quietly, Silco says, "There's nothing to see."

Vi whirls on him. "Bullshit! You saw it, too! He was—"

"He wasn't." Silco half-turns to face her. His good eye is a chip of frozen sea-glass. "It's only a figment. An echo."

"An echo of what?"

"The Void."

The single word sucks the oxygen from the crawler: a deep peristaltic flex, like the darkness itself has gulped.

#arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane silco #silco #forward but never forget/xoxo #forward (never forget)/xoxo #arcane jinx #jinx #arcane sevika #sevika #arcane vi #vi #arcane violet #violet #arcane zaun

[blogofahufflepuff]

Legacy of a Hufflepuff - One: Muggleborn (Sebastian Sallow x f!reader)

A/N: Hello and welcome to this series of one-shots that mostly follow the plot of Harry Potter Hogwarts Legacy with some changes and extra scenes to make it more interesting and fluffier (or angsty, depending on what chapter we are talking about)

It is helpful to have played the game to get the plot since I won´t explain everything in detail but I think that these one-shots can also be enjoyed for the interactions of the characters without knowing the game. If you know the game, be aware of spoilers.

The length of the chapter will differ a lot. There will be shorter ones and way longer ones than this!

Oh, and you are a Hufflepuff because we all know it’s the best house.

One: Muggleborn

Summary: With everything happening around you, you didn’t think that the most significant part would be the duel against a certain Slytherin.

Warnings: English isnt my first language.

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 1900

Ever since you had read that letter your life turned upside down. Everything had happened so fast. One moment you were talking to your concerned parents and in the next there was a man at your doorsteps, politely introducing himself as Professor Fig and your future mentor.

You barely remembered shaking his hand before you were thrusted into a world full of wonder and magic. You learned so much in the following weeks that your head hurt but you were also eager. Eager to do the impossible, eager to learn about your potential.

It didn’t take long before the new school year would begin at the most prestige wizarding school in all of Britain and maybe the entire world.

You had daydreamed about your days exploring the school and its mysteries while learning about everything that would make you a true witch.

Of course, there was also a nervous flutter in your stomach. You knew for a fact that you were behind on your schoolwork, and you weren’t even sure if you truly had it in you to take it all on. Academic achievements aside, you also worried how people would take to you since you would start in your fifth year while the other students had years to get to know each other.

You were scared to be the odd one out.

What your pessimism couldn’t have predicted was a dragon attack and everything it entailed. An explosion of emotions surged through you just thinking back to that day. The most prominent was fear for what you had discovered that day.

Still, you agreed to keep it a secret. While Fig only said he would look into it and didn’t specify any further steps, you already decided you would help him find out what this was all about. You weren’t particularly brave – most likely one reason why you weren’t a Gryffindor – but considering your special power you felt as if it was your duty to just do something.

And that’s how you ended up in front of the DADA classroom. You pressed your newly acquired field guide against your chest as you timidly entered the classroom. Luckily, the other students didn’t even notice your presence.

All attention was on the duel between two students that you didn’t know the name of. You shuffled closer with hesitant curiosity. While you definitely didn’t know the two boys that were throwing spell after spell at each other, you easily noticed their house colors.

A Slytherin and a Gryffindor. You think Arthur, another Hufflepuff, had mentioned something about a petty rivalry between the two houses as he tried to give you the basics about the school.

You watched as the Slytherin decided to end this duel by targeting the head of a huge skeleton that hung from the ceiling and which you identified as a dragon. You watched the head fall down towards the now cowering Gryffindor.

Your eyes widened and a gasp left your mouth as the instinct to do something kicked in. Unfortunately, you didn’t have the skill to help in any shape or form. Luckily, that wasn’t necessary.

Before the Gryffindor could be harmed the head started to float in midair. Considering everything that happened to you, you shouldn’t be surprised by such a simple trick, but you couldn’t help yourself but be amazed by anything magical, no matter how simple it was.

You soon realized the source of the magic. It was an elderly woman, standing on top of the stairs at the back of the classroom.

“Perhaps you´d be good enough to blast each other to pieces in your own time. I get new students every year, but I only have one Hebridean Black” she scolded the boys as the slowly walked down the stairs, slowly guiding the head to where it belonged. Her scolding easily transitioned into a lesson. Listening intently, you came closer, stepping next to the Slytherin but leaving enough distance, so you wouldn’t gain his attention.

“Today we review a spell that has saved me from death at the hands of Dark Wizards more times than I can remember: Levioso” the professor ended her speech.

“Levioso? A levitation charm?” Even you could detect the dismay of the Gryffindor as he said that, though he soon was shut up as the professor easily turned her wand on him, making him float in the air.

You had to bid your lip to keep your face straight as you watched the boy struggle. The Slytherin next to you didn’t even try to hide his amusement. A grin grew on his face as he crossed his arms in front of his chest in satisfaction.

You glanced at him, though you felt startled when your eyes met his hazel ones. You looked away before it could have gotten awkward but it was enough to make your heart beat in a nervous rhythm. You were not a people person.

You didn’t have too much time to overthink though as your professor soon made you sit down and gave a feather to each of you to practice on.

Something told you that your classmates aren’t new to this charm which ultimately made you question why you would practice on something as simple as a feather. You, of course, also considered that the professor was having mercy on you as it was your first day but somehow that didn’t seem right for her. Maybe she just lacked trust in the skills of her students.

You were quite pleased when you didn’t struggle with levitating the feather at all but that feeling of glee was short lived as your professor seemed to take this as a sign to step up the game.

“Now, the best way to practice this is by dueling” she announced. That was enough for your nervousness to come back.

“How about..” her eyes shifted between students until they stopped directly at you. You gulped. “You two.”

There was no question that she was talking to you but when you gazed to your right you realized that your opponent would be the Slytherin from earlier. You couldn’t help but dread the fact that you would duel against someone who wasn’t opposed to using dirty tricks.

When your eyes met for the second time today a smirk took over his face.

“Time for a proper Hogwarts welcome” he told you with a chuckle, walking by to take his position. You couldn’t keep a small frown off your face as you followed his example.

You weren´t good with having attention on you. You had already been mortified by having to enter the great hall late to your own sorting. You weren´t too keen on showing everyone how much you were behind on your magical skills on top of that.

You gripped your wand a little bit tighter as you stared at your opponent. Your heart beat in your ears and you felt your hand shake a little, signs you knew were caused by your stage fright.

You tried to think positive. You tried to think about all the things that you had to endure within the last 24 hours. The things you survived – barely – but you survived. You might have missed out on four years of education, but you survived a dragon attack, a goblin who for some reason was after you and a ridiculous amount of magical stone-knights.

The later were almost the worse of the bunch as you had to fight them alone at one point. It was terrifying but yet again – you survived.

The professor finally gave the go and for a moment you swore you saw one of these damn knights standing in front of you instead of another student and your instincts kicked in.

Your movements were a bit clumsy and enforced by panic surging through your body but somehow you managed.

Before you even registered what happened it was over and surprisingly enough, you came out as the winner. You blinked as you stared at the Slytherin that was now sprawled out on the floor.

Both of you found your way back to your classmates. The Slytherin stepped beside you without hesitation.

“Not bad for a beginner. You give as good as you get” he muttered, loud enough for you to hear but quiet enough to not gain attention from the professor.

“I just got lucky” you replied but by the look on his face you could tell that he didn’t believe you.

“Really? It looked like you knew what you´re doing. Didn’t seem like luck at all and it definitely didn´t seem like your first duel” his words made you look up at him, finding his tone a bit unnerving.

“Well, you are wrong. That was my first duel” your words came out too fast, too hectic as the warning of Professor Fig played on your mind. He told you not to let anything slip and you were going to follow said warning.

“If you say so” he didn’t believe you. “Sebastian Sallow, by the way” he introduced himself to which you smiled, glad that he dropped the topic so easily.

“I´m Y/N Y/L” you told him, “nice to meet you.” He hummed at that.

“I´ve heard about you and the rumored dragon attack that made you late yesterday” he watched your reaction, probably hoping to get a confirmation either way. You were stunned for a moment as you were confused about the fact that there was already a rumor about it.

Unbeknownst to you, there were several rumors ever since a new fifth year was announced. He thought they were at least interesting enough to investigate but after your rather spectacular arrival yesterday and the duel today you officially caught his attention, for better or worse.

“I-“ you were about to give a vague enough answer that wouldn’t be a confirmation nor a lie but before you could, you were interrupted by the professor who announced the end of the class.

“Maybe you are lucky” Sebastian snickered as he was about to leave with the other students. You thought about his words for a second before you realized something way more urgent.

“W-wait!” You called out for him, easily catching up to him.

“Yeah?”

“Well, you see. Professor Weasley gave me a rough explanation how to get around, but I may or may not be completely clueless about where my next class is located, and I don’t really have any friends to ask. Could you tell me where the charms classroom is?” You looked at him sheepishly to which he let out a snort.

“You truly are lucky because I happen to have the same class now, Hufflepuff. You can tag along. Seriously, you don’t know how often I got lost when I first got here” you didn’t know it at that moment, but this was the start of a friendship that would come to mean everything to the both of you.

You silently nodded along as you let him ramble about the school, a small smile tugging on your lips as he brought up a club that he was especially passionate about but that wasn’t 100% legal.

You weren´t exactly sure what to make of Sebastian but for now you were glad that you didn’t have to walk these halls alone.

#Sebastian Sallow x reader #Sebastian Sallow #x reader #Sebastian Sallow x you #Hgwarts Legacy #my writing #fluff #hufflepuff #hufflepuff reader #harry potter hogwarts legacy #harry potter

[beansprean]

My Familiar’s Ghost part 46

Masterpost

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1. Waist up of Nadja on a blue and mauve background wearing a purple dress and her hair up in a messy bun. She holds up a hand, brow creased in concern, and says ‘Wait, wait, Guillermo, slow down.’ 2. Zoom out to show her and Dolly sitting at a low coffee table with an open box labeled ‘glass eyes’ and a brown taxidermy rabbit wearing a striped sweater and a pair of round wire glasses. Nadja studies it with her hand on her chin, tongue poking out in concentration, and says ‘I am trying to find the best likeness…’ Dolly, little hands perched on the table, pipes up, ‘The mahogany, I think.’ In the foreground, ghost Guillermo’s shoulder and left arm are visible, hand hovering in midair and shaking with frustration. 3. Repeat. Guillermo curls his hand into a fist and lashes it downwards, shouting, ‘Are you even listening to me?!’ The table and all its contents bounces upwards, surrounded by his ghostly light, sending eyes scattering around and knocking the rabbit over. Nadja startles backward in shock and Dolly flicks her eyes toward Guillermo in surprise. 4. Shot of Guillermo on a blazing orange background splattered with red. He hovers, nearly-complete wraith cloak spiking around him with anxiety, and presses his hands to either side of his head with an expression of pure panic. He shrieks, ‘Vampire me is running on pure slayer instinct, mindlessly killing every vampire he comes across! And I just sent Nandor straight to him!’ 5. Reverse shot of Nadja and Dolly busying themselves by putting glass eyes back into their box. Nadja scowls and sucks her teeth dismissively, mocking, ‘’Slayer instinct’… I handled four of you on my own, Nandor can handle one.’ Dolly points out, ‘A vampiric one he can’t hypnotize.’ Nadja shoots back, ‘Whatever! What kind of great warrior would he be if he can’t even beat his own familiar?’ 6. Shot moves to include Guillermo floating on the other side of the table, Nadja in profile. She looks at him with an unimpressed expression and leans forward, elbow on the table, gesturing with her hand. She continues, ‘Besides, unlike your delightful murderful family, you never got the sweaty juice-bumps that made you want to kill us.’ Guillermo, calmed slightly, turns a bit pink and wrings his hands together, replying haltingly ‘Um. I mean. I did, at first. I just…may have…misinterpreted…’ 7. Repeat. Guillermo looks away, flustered, turning redder. Nadja drops her hand and stares at him questioningly. 8. Repeat. Nadja has a realization and gasps in delight, slapping her palm down on the table and grinning proudly at Guillermo, eyes full of stars. She crows, ‘You horny little mongrel!’ Guillermo avoids her gaze, only getting redder and more flustered, and tosses his hands up, saying, ‘Let’s not talk about that now!’ /end ID

#wwdits #my familiars ghost #ghost Guillermo #guillermo de la cruz #nadja of antipaxos #nadja doll #what we do in the shadows #what we do in the shadows fx #my art #fanart #fan comic #image described

[feydfuckernation]

no offense but if you haven't watched chess på svenska at 1am then you haven't truly experienced everything chess has to offer. it's amazing. it's terrible. its bizarre. it's entirely in swedish. freddie lights a cigarette with the statue of liberty and then puts it out in a russian nesting doll. the arbiter's name is jan jacques van boren and he has a chorus of leg flapping secretaries behind him singing his praises. at one point he literally floats in midair like a swedish trickster god presiding over his kingdom. tommy k��rberg is there. absolutely insane production 10/10.

#the amount of times i have listened to jag vill se schack (both acts) in the last 24 hours. concerning. #lion.txt #the tirolean spa (my brain) once again has the chess boys in it #also the staging is actually??? pretty good?? #especially for anthem/i mitt hjärtas land and where i want to be/där jag ville vara #perhaps when i am finished w the sweeney todd powerpoint i will do one for chess.......Perhaps... #chess the musical #chess på svenska