#because bird boys are fancy lads

[bastart13]

I'm still on a winged humans kick, this time feat. slight redesigns of Remarried Empress characters

#the remarried empress #rashta #navier #sovieshu #heinrey #winged people #angels #art #by law winged men have to go extra on makeup #because bird boys are fancy lads #also thinking how wing clipping would be absolutely horrifying #ngl i think it's pretty horrible anyway with pet birds never mind humans

[the-angst-chronicles-fanworks]

Wayne comes home one day to Eddie behaving unusually - loudly narrating everything every time he leaves his room, playing his music quieter than usual but making abrupt loud noises when he’s in his room, checking on Wayne every ten minutes or so to make sure he’s enjoying his shows and asking if he wants tea, and generally bearing his biggest, wettest puppy dog eyes.

Now Wayne’s done this song and dance a few times, so after a few hours he gets up and makes his way to his nephew’s door, takes a moment to stop and listen-

And sure enough, he can hear the hushed whispers and giggles. Heaving a sigh, Wayne raps his knuckles against the flimsy wood. It’s immediately met with a flurry of scrambling from the other side.

To Eddie’s credit, it doesn’t even take until Wayne’s count of 10 before the door swings open, revealing his very ruffled nephew sporting a sunny grin and doing his best to look like he’s not taking up the entirety of the doorway on purpose.

“Alright, what’re you hidin’ in here this time?” Wayne asks, glancing at the bed. It’s a favourite hiding place of Eddie’s - where he’d hidden the stray cat, the raccoon, and any number of other strays he’s picked up.

“Hiding? I -uh - what are you talking about?” Eddie says it smoothly enough, but he’s eyes dart to the left briefly before he catches himself and looks back at Wayne, pulling his hair in front of his face in a display of nerves. Wayne glances over. The closet this time then.

“I ain’t born yesterday kiddo,” he says, shaking his head. “Now why don’t you quit bullshittin’ and open up that there door”

Eddie’s gaze follows his gesture to the closet, and then he turns back to Wayne, giving an indignant huff and puffing up like he’s gearing for a fight.

Wayne meets his gaze with an even one of his own and, after a moment, Eddie deflates. "Fine," he huffs and makes his way to the closet, shooting Wayne betrayed wounded-bird looks over his shoulder. Wayne just crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow.

He's prepared for a lot of things, but what he's not expecting is for Eddie to swing the cupboard door open to reveal some fancy-looking lad, looking sheepish as all get out.

"Ed-" he says, slightly lost for words. Eddie and closet-boy exchange a glance, and Wayne feels shock go through him as he suddenly places that face. "Is that... is that the Harrington boy?"

Immediately, a guilty look crosses Eddie's face and Wayne groans. "Jesus H. Christ," he groans, putting his hand over his face.

When he looks up again, Eddie is giving him that wide-eyed pleading face of his that always comes with the strays. "Eddie, he ain't some stray you can just take in!" He protests.

Eddies face hardens just a little with that stubbornness he got from his mother. "C'mon Uncle Wayne. His parents are terrible when they even bother to be around!” he argues. "And I mean it’s probably for the best that they’re not there because they’re the worst kind of people but it's almost Christmas and he can’t just be there alone on Christmas! Did you raise me like that Wayne? Did you?"

Harrington seems to get past his surprise at Eddie’s sudden rant and he frowns, opens his mouth to protest. Eddie, apparently sensing this, claps a hand over his mouth and turns to Wayne , his righteous indignation switching right back to his best puppy-dog eyes cranked to full effect at Wayne.

And Wayne... well, he's never been able to say no to any of the strays Eddie's brought home yet.

#steddie #wayne munson #eddie munson #stranger things #ficlet #my ficlet #my writing #writing prompts #stranger things ficlet #this started out as a prompt and morphed into a ficlet idk idk idk

[elaemae]

The premium version of human is here to wreak house, mfs.

Chp.2

[TwstxObeyme!AFAB!reader]

Whoa.. 😳

Thanks for the feedback, likes and reblogs guys~ It really makes me happy that my hard work is appreciated😊

Guys, what gender should my story's Yuu be in? It's quite hard to refer to two different characters with both gender neutral pronouns 😅

READ FIRST; PROLOGUE:1

• • • •

Again; Pronouns used to refer to MC are blue, because MC will be mistaken for a guy a lot.

SYNOPSIS:

With the Opening Ceremony going off the rails for a second time, MC is more than eager to get back home and probably binge-watch their stress away with their emotionally-repressed boys.

Though with the current situation right now, they don't think that will be happening soon.. Oh well, at least they're not the only otherworldly outlier here... *Nightbringer flashbacks intensifies*

$o|0m°N?

On the other hand, Yuu makes a new friend.

Yuu doesn't know if this makes them a problematic person or not, but Yuu is happy that there's someone else in a similar predicament as them in this strange world, even if it meant that their new companion also had to be kidnapped by a problematic school/lowkey-highkey a cult to be here as well.

But of course, there's trouble in the horizon as the whole fiasco in the mirror ceremony caused the students of NRC to keep a close and careful gaze onto the MC. I'm talkin' from but not limited to; The Fish Mafia, Queen of hearts and Evil queen Incarnates, even down to your perfectly normal 500+ year old war-veteran that looks like a child.

Meanwhile, The Devildom, Human world, and The Celestial realm are feeling a sense of something foreboding in the air... It's probably nothing though.. right?......right?? The calm before the storm. Or the calm before anyone barges into MC's room.

Prologue: 2 Electric-boogaloo

Watching the mysterious and somewhat confused-looking student continuously dodge Riddle and Azul's spells with a calm expression, sharp gaze and a frightening precision, Lilia is waiting for the perfect time to jump in.

Preferably when the student ran in front of him so that he could tackle him to the ground.

Crowley isn't doing anything but screech. Again.

Haah....

• • • •

Azul's smile widens when this ever mysterious new student blocks Riddles' Signature spell by quickly spinning his fancy staff into a make-shift shield once again. what an interesting staff, transforming from a necklace into a cane that can be used for offense and defense..

Azul straight up grins he can see Schoenheit's smile and Kingscholar's shit-eating smirk from here, as well as hear Shroud's maniacal giggles when Riddle screeches at the student to just cooperate and that "NO WE ARE NOT A CULT!!!!" "That's what cults always say!"

Prompting a round of laughter from the useles– *ehem* new students in the hall. How annoying..

What an amusing lad.. Though, Azul wonders.. can all his other jewelry transform as well? Besides the earrings, choker, necklace and forehead ornament that he's wearing, the student also has a ring in his middle finger and in both of his ring fingers, a wide bracelet, and even some bangles in his ankles.

And if all of those jewels can transform into something?....Ohhh, then he really needs to get his hands on them asap.

Seeing Lilia gearing up to jump the student, Azul shifted a bit and tried to lead the student closer to Lilia.

Help idk how to describe shit💀

You click your tongue as you got surrounded by Mr. bird-bitch, that red-mf, Solomon-but-from-wish, Columbina's cousin, lion-dude, "I'm a bad-bitch with a sad past" guy, and a floating tablet.

You ended up getting bound by the bird-bitch's whip the moment you tried to leap off a window in your belphie-escaping-his-responsibilities style. Your pact mark of pride flickered, and Lucifer wonders what MC could be dreaming about for their pride to have taken a hit at this time of the night.

You turned your staff back into a necklace by then, so you couldn't really block the whip and that redhead's spell from hitting you.

You had socked Walmart-Solomon in the face though when he sneakily tried to take one of your bangles while you were being yanked back from the window. Satan stirred in his sleep, feeling but not registering the creeping irritation under your skin.

So now you're here, with a collar for your troubles and a whip locking your arms to your body.

You're just about to resentfully summon Lucifer or something when the redhead who collared you with this uncomfortable fugly-ass neckwear started lecturing you and shit about etiquette and how disrespectful you are for trying to leap out the window and how you should be honored to be there blahblahblah—

Hell no. You ain't letting this short-pimp talk to you like this. (You should really stop hanging around too much with Asmo. Or Levi when he's being a hater on the internet.)

Satan stirred once again, starting to rouse from his slumber as he felt your irritation start to turn into embers of anger.

Lucifer furrows his brows, feeling a rush of indignity that can only have come from you. But why? Weren't you in bed? He hasn't felt you leave through any of the detection barriers he'd set up around your room so you should still be inside, right?

"I think it's much more disrespectful to have your fuckin horses kidnap someone straight from their goddamn bed just to attend a little ceremony they've never even heard of."

You narrow your eyes as you see the bird-man and goons look taken aback in varying degrees of obviousness. (A figure near the mirror perked-up; 'Maybe this person is in a similar situation as them!')

Bruh, what the fuck did they expect??

• • • • •

The Vice-prefects of all seven dorms lead the new students out of the Ceremony hall, leaving behind the five (sorry Mal. Also, Jamil's ass definitely dragged Kalim out with him.) dorm leaders with the headmaster to solve the issues of the sTiLl-uNdEr-tHe-efFecTs-oF-tHe-teLepoRtaTioN-sPelL new student who utterly refuses to cooperate with them.

Riddle is about to combust, Leona wants to go back to bed only to be dragged back by the headmaster—, Vil wants his beauty sleep but was dragged back by that petty bitch, Leona—, While Idia and Azul decided to stick around for their own personal reasons. ("He looks like an anime character—" "Brother, I don't think it's good to be taking pictures of someone without permission—" "AHH–! O-ORTHO?!")

While Yuu is.. hiding behind the mirror.

(The kinda-silver haired guy seems to be in his seventh ritual of making sure his face didn't get bruised from the solid right hook to the face he got.)

(Yuu would've felt bad for him if the guy didn't have such a shady smile on his face while he was massaging his punched jaw.)

Meanwhile...

"Oy human, it's me!"

Mammon knocked on MC's door, fully intent on bothering their sleep and cozying up on their bed again.

He waited for a few seconds, no answer.

He knocked again.

No answer.

... Look, it's not like The Great Mammon is worried or anything but this is strange..

The human always answers their door after a knock or two even if it's the middle of the night.

... Dammit.

Mammon is full of grumbles as he consciously sharpens his senses, tryna sense his the human.

They better not be ignoring him or he'll–

Wait.

What? W- wait a second..

• • • •

The quietness of the night in the House of Lamentation vanished as the sound of a door being busted down rang out.

It's other residents could barely even register the sound before a shout rang out. A shout that sent dread right into their cores.

"MC?!"

← Pr. 1 | Chapter List | Prologue 3 →

'What the?! Why can't I summon them??'

Elae: Hehe~ I'm back with some food~

Thanks for reading this far, I hope you enjoyed this chapter😊

Btw, do y'all want Yuu to be a love interest?

How do I tag ppl??

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obswd #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me mammon x reader #obey me levi x reader #obey me satan x reader #obey me asmo x reader #obey me beel x reader #obey me belphagor x reader #obey me diavolo x reader #obey me barbatos x reader #obey me mephisto x mc #obey me solomon x reader #obey me simeon x reader #obey me thirteen x reader #crossover #twst x obey me #twst x reader #obey me x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #polyamory #reader is a badass #obey me raphael x reader

[inthehoneymoonwithconnorrk800]

MY DARKEST DESIRE (joffrey baratheon x dark! reader)

Joffrey Baratheon x yandere! Reader

2 of 3

TW: mentions of death and unhealthy behaviors.

Sorry if there are wording errors, I have translated it to google because English is not my first language.

You growled in frustration in the solitude of your room. It had been nearly two months since your last talk with Loras Tyrell and the chances of a public alliance with them had disappeared. Apparently, a wily Cersei Lannister noticed your interactions thanks to a traitorous prostitute of your father's and commented on your after-meal outings to Tywin Lannister, foolishly believing it to be a point in her favor.

The idiot ended up with an engagement to marry the uninterested Loras, an anxious Margaery and the death of Ros.

You swallowed quickly when you found out how she had died.

His cold words still echo in your head.

"That happens if you despise the Baelish."

As if you hadn't seen firsthand the beautiful, tragic body of your former ally, her frozen tears and expression of eternal horror. Vaguely, you stroked one of her red locks as she was taken away to be buried in a mass grave without any ceremony or anyone to mourn her. No, that's weakness. That happens to the weak ones.

The cunning ones always win.

You walked vaguely to untie the fancy hairstyle you wore today; it was better to concentrate on something else when those useless thoughts started. Noticing the yellow blanket adorning the wall, you thought of another element of the big plan.

Joffrey Baratheon, the bastard.

Growing up at court, you were introduced to him on his fifth name day. He was a wee lad who enjoyed beating other children with lower positions to complain about, throwing pieces of cake at his sister while she cried, and killing animals like birds with broken wings and baby rabbits with twigs. You came forward and recited the words your father had taught you. Joffrey gave you a bored look as you spoke and dragged you into his playground with the other children. You knew the rules, but watching him tear out that little red-haired boy's hair was enough for you. You stood up and knocked him down with a kick, he looked at you in surprise because no one laid a hand on him until now. Obviously, that would have given serious reprisals for your father and you, however, you lied saying it was the redhead himself and that Joffrey was confused because he hit his head, you did so well that they believed you. You were relieved until your progenitor told you how the poor boy was whipped and how his family was quietly removed from the court. You felt so bad that you told him, to your surprise, he was proud and even happy, he gave you a talk to better convince people and explained what to do if something similar happened with Joffrey.

You reviewed the events of this morning. From Cersei's hurried journey with her betrothed to Highgarden, Tyrion Lannister's appointment as Hand of the King by the Lannister lion himself, and Jaime Lannister's hasty wedding to Rosemund of Lannisport, you could rarely have a peaceful time when King Joffrey was around. His mother was gone, his father also to Casterly Rock, he was often controlled by his grandfather, and his only release was to torment the maids and his uncle Tyrion who rarely let himself be seen. Margaery told you of her fear that he would do you any harm, you replied that, despite being a maid, you were thorn-proof. Your relationship with her was going quite well: Olenna asked you about Joffrey's activities in her granddaughter's absence after finally convincing her of your loyalty; both women mentioned cautiously about a possible marriage with Willas, more adult and powerful than your former betrothed, but of a boring character according to your father's words, and questioned you about the personality of the second son, Tommen.

Everything seemed to be going well, but it was not. You knew what they were plotting and that annoyed you greatly, an assassination that would shake the house of the lion and strengthen the Tyrell power over the crown. That didn't bother you because it was to your advantage, however, you didn't want to see Joffrey being finished off by the Tyrells.

You wanted to kill King Joffrey with your own hands.

You let out a groan as you found yourself almost naked on your bed. The thought of Joffrey paralyzed on the floor brought another moan and the conviction to masturbate; imagining him with an expression of fear was enough to caress your clitoris; and the thought of his tears of horror and submission was enough to touch you harder.

You closed your eyes. Your hands going to his neck with no one around to stop you, him trying to push you away with his clumsy efforts, watching his neck redden, seeing drops of blood from the pressure exerted, unspoken words dominating his lips and finally his lifeless expression.

A moan of pleasure flooded your lips. But from afar it was not enough for tonight.

After your ninth orgasm, you thought vaguely about how his presence would be wrenched from you and how it would influence Baelish destiny. No, there was nothing you could do but obey and see how he would die for the relatives of your lever. Tiredness dominated your head, tucking you in with your blankets, there was only one coherent thought: Not obeying.

You watched the Iron Throne along with the others as King Joffrey displayed his cruelty. The Tyrells were visiting some chamber of a vassal house, loathsome enough to stray away for a few hours, while you stood near your father with the nobles gathered like shivering chickens in a henhouse, and both shared the same vision, but with different goals. : he sitting comfortably as king of the seven kingdoms and you, taking Joffrey by his cloak causing him wounds by the edge of the swords and dragging him like a dog with the sole purpose of seeing him suffocate by the pressure of his own cloak.

Both thoughts were not compatible and you knew that well.

The screams of pain did not distract you, but Tommen's gaze did, the poor boy was holding back tears from the monstrosities committed by his brother. He's too innocent for Westeros, too whiny to get used to violence when he's lived with Joffrey his whole life, and not at all cunning. Too weak.

Being with the Tyrells would do him good. Even if it's just a piece of the game.

You pursed your lip. You were not a player, that place is for your beloved father, you were just a valuable piece. That was good right? He has been for years and years, for your entire life. Why change? Father can be an excellent king; he just needs the necessary push. But the order of the pushes can change, right?

"I'm done for today." The king's proud voice brought you back to reality.

“My king, please…”

Seeing how the citizens were beaten calmed you down. Everything was running its course.

"Let's go, dear daughter." Your father pushed you away with his classic paternal man role, you smiled following his ruse.

"Stop there! Your king commands you."

They turned around confused.

“Lady Baelish, I have received word that you have cured my brother, Prince Tommen, of yellow fever with your healing knowledge along with the maester.” Joffrey's annoying voice grew closer; you could feel your father's machinations in his head. "Therefore, I invite you to hang out in the king's personal dining room, if I'm feeling generous I could offer you a medicine box for your woman skills."

Feeling the perfect opportunity to make your fantasies come true, the satisfaction of knowing the answer was greater.

"My beloved daughter accepts your offer, your grace."

"Well, it's a unique opportunity, she couldn't turn it down."

The blush on your cheeks only increased as did King Joffrey's shit-eating grin.

“I will show you my gratitude for all the goodwill you have had with me all this time…, your highness.”

The sinister shine of your eyes was not noticed by anyone.

 @yandere-stan @yandere-daydreams @megsironthrone @letsasoiaftogether @missglaskin @witchthewriter @a-libra-writes  @agent-whiskeys-sweetheart @ladywinterwitch @anxiousnerdwritings

#joffrey baratheon #joffrey #joffrey lannister #joffrey baratheon x reader #wattpad #books #yandere #yandere reader #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones #asoiaf #got #petyr baelish #littlefinger #varys #tommen baratheon #margaery tyrell #lady margaery tyrell #the tyrell #house tyrell #obssesive reader #girl yandere #yandere game of thrones #yandere oneshot #joffrey baratheon is the victim now #subjoffrey baratheon #dom reader #obssesivethoughts

[mrsfrecklesmarauders]

TW: Eating Disorders

Being friends with James Potter and Sirius Black was exhausting. Peter had followed them around like a lost puppy after he was rescued by them from some bullies. Peter thought they were the coolest lads he had met. There was something about the way they thought they could do anything, like they were unstoppable, that made them attractive to be around. When Peter started being included, he felt at the top of the world. It felt incredible. When they got the nickname for him Wormtail, (he was the first) and they started calling themselves The Marauders, Peter felt like he could be part of something.

But at the same time, Peter felt he could never be at their same level. James and Sirius had a secret language he couldn't reach. It would always be James and Sirius, plus Peter.

When James and Sirius teased him, Peter felt special somehow. Even though sometimes Peter felt like an idiot afterwards. He wasn't cool as them. He wasn't handsome and flirty as Sirius. He wasn't funny and confident like James. He often compared himself with his friends. The way girls were attracted to them and didn't even pay attention to Peter. Peter wasn't attractive, interesting, funny or smart. The only thing he had were his ocean blue eyes.

When Remus came along, things started changing within the group. A fourth member complicated things. Especially for Peter. Remus was special for Sirius. Sirius worshipped him. And even if James didn’t want to include a new member within The Marauders, Remus soon won over his heart. And Remus quickly became the solid third place.

Peter didn't hate Remus. He was a good lad. But he was jealous of the way it was so easy for him to be part of The Marauders.

"Okay, Wormy... How are you?" James grinned suspiciously. James was using that comforting smile of his. While Sirius and Remus where behind him, looking worried and concerned.

"I am doing fantastic, Prongs" Peter answered sarcastically "What is going on?"

The three boys looked between each other. Peter hated the way he was left out.

"Well..."

"This is an intervention, Wormtail" Sirius spat.

"Yeah... Yes, my mate" James scratched his head nervously "We are a bit... Slightly worried about you..."

Peter's eyes immediately went to Remus. He told them. He promised he wouldn't say anything and he did. Actually Remus never technically promised but Peter assumed he wouldn't say a thing.

"We have been noticing... That you... Have been eating... Less and less..." James swallowed.

"What the fuck, Wormtail? Are you starving yourself?" Sirius asked.

"Padfoot..." James warned.

"I want to know..."

Peter looked at Remus.

"You told them, didn't you?" he was furious.

Now Remus looked guilty. But he didn't answer.

"You promised, Remus!" Peter yelled now "You fucking promised"

"I had to tell them, Pete" Remus murmured.

Somehow with Remus it was easy. The two of them knew that they didn't actually belong in The Marauders as much as James and Sirius did. They were just there out of coincide. That gave them a special bond. But Remus had betrayed him.

"And we deserve to know, Peter!" Sirius spat "We are your friends. Us Marauders support each other, don't we?"

Sometimes Peter really hated Sirius. He was so selfish. Like he told them everything anyway. Sirius was always hiding his own problems.

"We just want to know if you have a problem, so we will be able to help you" James gave him a sweet smile.

James' only issue was that the girl he fancied didn't like him back. But he had everything. Honestly, he could pick anyone else. Plenty of birds would die for Prongs.

"I don't know what Remus told you" Peter shrugged "I am fine... I've just been a little stressed with exams lately and other stuff and that made me lose my appetite a bit... That's all"

Peter didn't want to be judged. Peter didn't want to be weak. Peter didn't want to be the fat kid that had eating problems.

"Are you?" James asked carefully "Because I actually have been noticing you have lost appetite..."

"Have you?" Peter interrupted "Because all you notice are Evans' boobs!"

Sirius giggled with that "True", but Peter was being serious.

"And you, Padfoot! You only care about your stupid hair"

"Hey!"

"Peter..." James sighed

"No!" Peter snapped irritated, standing up "It is all you do... You think about yourselves and your issues. And none of mine matter, so leave me the fuck alone..."

"Your issues matter, Peter" Remus spoke as Peter was walking away. He stopped "Not eating is not okay... And are just trying to understand to be there for you because we are your friends!"

Peter didn't want to have this issue. He was so embarrassed and he felt like he wanted to cry.

"Peter, you are important to us" James added "I would choose you guys before anything and anyone... Including Evans, okay?"

"Sorry for being harsh, Pete" Sirius said apologetically "You know me being an idiot and making jokes of things I shouldn't. But I do care about you"

Peter turned around slowly and looked at his friends concerned faces. Peter loved them even if sometimes he hated them for being what he wished he was. But they couldn't help who they were. Peter was the one who was insecure. He thought he wasn't enough. Even as a Marauder. And now he was sick. Perhaps he was sick. And he hated that.

Peter couldn't take it anymore and he began crying, covering his face.

"I am sorry..." he sobbed.

Seconds passed until he felt his friends' arms around him.

"I don't know what to do. I don't know how to stop... I don't want you to be worried.... I am sorry"

"It's okay, Wormy" James kissed his head "We will figure it out"

"This is what friends are for" Remus added.

"We love you, Wormy" Sirius added, stroking his hair.

"I love you too" Peter whispered. And he let himself be embraced by them.

Being a Marauder was the best thing that had happened to him. Even though James and Sirius acted like idiots, they were good people. They were the kind of people that would accept Peter for who he was. Even with his problem. And Remus was an incredible boy as well.

Peter did have the best friends in the world.

#marauders #maraudersera #muggleau #peter pettigrew #sirius black #remus lupin #james potter

[amuseoffyre]

Don’t Tell Mama - OFMD SMAU

27-28

It wasn’t a complete disaster. Admittedly, that was being quite charitable but they had received some applause and some laughter, so some positives! And there were quite a few people in as well, even if a large cluster of them seemed to be very drunk men in football tops. They’d booed and yelled so loudly they’d scared off poor Mr. Buttons’ bird.

“Now!” Stede called out, trying valiantly to bring the audience back under his sway, “Since this is a special night for us, for one round only, the drinks are on me.”

In hindsight, given the crowd, he should have anticipated it, but the soaring arc of beer through the air still caught him by surprise. It hit him from head to toe, absolutely drenching him, as the football boys all roared and one of them yelled “Drinks are on you now!”

Dragging beer-sodden hair from his eyes, he didn’t quite catch what happened next, but there was some concerted yelling from the direction of the football lads and once he’d blinked his vision clear, he saw the entire unpleasant little group being marched out the door by a trio of men in black.

“Boss?” Olu tweaked his elbow. “Here.”

Gratefully, Stede accepted the towel Olu was holding and dabbed at his face. As always, the perfect prop manager.

“Well, that was exciting, wasn’t it?” he said to the room at large. “Nothing like an unexpected golden shower, is there?” From stage-left, he heard a bizarre choked sound from Lucius as he tried to remember the next act on the list. “Now, while I go and clean myself up, please enjoy the warblings of our own Swedish Nightingale.”

Thank God he’d planned ahead for several costume changes throughout the show. While the rather fab white number was a mess now, he got out of it and into the turquoise suit in a matter of minutes. His hair would have to wait, but at least he looked dry and a little more presentable.

From the edge of the stage, tucked behind the gorgeous red velvet curtains, he peeped out to see how the Swede was getting on. Her Valkyrie costume definitely needed a bit of work, slipping down here and there, but the voice by far and away made up for it.

Stede took a chance to glance around the audience too.

The football hooligans were definitely gone, which was a miracle in itself, and he could only see one of the three black-clad men now. He was sitting by the bar, leaning back against it, but he must’ve noticed Stede tweaking the curtain because his dark eyes met Stede’s and he winked.

Not the kind of person Stede had expected to attend, if he was honest, dressed head to toe in black leather, cascades of silvering black hair and beard and a truly impressive number of tattoos on display. But he was smiling and he’d got rid of the troublemakers, so that was something, wasn’t it?

Stede waggled his fingers in bashful greeting, then ducked back behind the curtain.

“You spotted the Daddy horde, yeah?” Lucius muttered from beside him.

“Daddy horde?” Stede echoed.

“The leather daddies? The ones who got rid of the arseholes?”

“Is… is that the technical term?”

Not for the first time, Lucius gave him a look that said he had a lot of homework to do. Well, if this particular Leather Daddy was still there after the show, he would make a start on it!

 -----------------------------------------------

It was turning out to be a fun night after all.

Ed hadn’t been fussed about a new bar opening up in the area. Why would he be? He was the best at what he did. No need to worry about it. Then Izzy got his knickers in a twist – great phrase that, he’d heard Bonny use it once and immediately stolen it – about some ‘fancy fuck’ trying to hone in on their business and steal their audience.

Ed would never have said he was a cat kind of person, but of course the second Iz said they should blackball the joint, Ed was already on his way across the road to stick his nose in. Took Ivan and Fang along for good measure and fucking good thing he did too.

Their host – ‘the Gentleman’, he called himself – was handling a room about the same way a toddler would handle a chainsaw. It should’ve been a trainwreck, but it… wasn’t. The man bounded about, all energy and enthusiasm and frills and froof and accidental innuendoes that had Ed laughing until his sides were aching.

The crew were… eh. He’d seen worse. A bit green. Needed some practise and some decent direction, but a couple of them had some stand-out skills. The knife-thrower, definitely. Costume was shit, though. Needed some flash, some drama. Same for the singer. Not lip-syncing, which was fucking impressive, but the poor bugger’s frock was too big. The last act was a guy was playing a funny-looking guitar for a so-so drag routine.

He leaned back against the bar and took a sip of the fancy drink that the barman had slipped to him, something pink and blue and tooth-achingly sweet.

“Enjoying the performance?”

Ed twisted on the stool to find the Gentleman perching next to him, his damp hair the only sign of his beer encounter. “Not bad for a first night,” he said, tilting the glass towards the man. “You’re the one to thank for this?”

“I rather think I’m the one who should be thanking you,” Mr. Gentleman said, beaming. “And saved by a fellow Kiwi! Fab!”

Ed rolled his eyes with a chuckle. “Ah fuck off,” he said. “Just handling them the way they needed to be handled.” He raised his eyebrows at the man. “You need to think about having someone on the door. Need to keep the arseholes out.”

“Lesson learned,” the Gentleman agreed amiably. “I didn’t think they would be quite so… enthusiastic.” He folded his hands together in his lap. “Are you in the business too?”

“Mm.” Ed took another sip. “Work across the road. The Queen Anne. Most people just call it the Queen these days.”

The Gentleman’s eyes went wide. “Do you work for Lady Blackbeard?”

Ed fuckin’ nearly inhaled the cherry and cocktail stick. “Do I work for–” Fucking hell, that was a first. “Yeah, technically, I guess I do.” He spun around on the stool properly to face the man and held out his free hand. “I’m Ed.”

The Gentleman beamed at him, clasping his hand. “Stede,” he replied. “Delighted to meet you.”

“Yeah,” Ed echoed, bewildered. “Delighted.”

Prev / Next

#ofmd smau #ofmd fic: don't tell mama #our flag means death fic

[harrison-abbott]

THE PINK MAN

The pink man clicked his fingers at me. I went over to this table.

 “Yes, sir?” I said.

 “We have a problem,” the pink man said. He was holding a fork.

 “What’s the issue, sir?”

 “That.”

 He nodded down. I didn’t understand and I blinked. He nodded, again, at his fork.

 “That,” he said. “It’s dirty.”

 “Oh, I’m so sorry, sir. The fork isn’t clean?”

 “No, it is not.”

 “Apologies about that,” I took the utensil off of him, “I hope you’re enjoying your starters at least?”

 He chewed his food. His family watched me. The family consisted of a boy and girl, in their teens, and a wife/woman, who was white haired and overweight, whom I’d never heard speak. The pink man was the only audibly verbal person. They were regulars at the restaurant.

 The offensive fork was now in my hand. I thought about plunging it into pink man’s neck. It would be so enjoyable. It was a mad, plush, lovely imagination, though only fleeting.

 “Okay well, let me know when you’re ready for your mains,” I said, and then left and went across the floor into the kitchen, where the chefs had ringed me to take more plates out.

 The chefs were remarkably calm people – lads, around my age (in their mid to late twenties) – despite having to work fourteen hour shifts. Some of them did seventy hours per week. Their tactics in their worklives was to do lots of practical jokes, talk about trivial stuff, chat about the waitresses who we fancied. There wasn’t much else to do.

 “The pink man,” I said to them, when I came into the kitchen, “is moaning again.”

 “Oh, he’s in. Again,” the head chef said, “what’s his problem this time?”

 “This fork is too dirty to use.”

 I showed them the fork. They shrugged. The KP was this twitchy guy who stayed in the corner by his dishwasher; he always made weird noises, like he was a bird or a cat. He didn’t give a shit about the fork, he just put it in his cutlery bucket.

 “Tell the pink man to go fuck himself,” the head chef said, and winked.

 “I’d like to.”

 I had to take other plates out to a different table. This was a Sunday. And a hundred people every Sunday ordered roasts, you know, classic Sunday roasts with chicken and beef and gravy and peas on so on.

 Weirdly, a lot of them never finished the chickens. There were all of these dead beheaded chickens in the oven and the chefs cut those in half once they were cooked and then hunk it on a plate with a bath of gravy and co. Barely anybody ever ate a full roast plate and you should have seen how much waste just went into the food bin in the kitchen. The flayed bodies of birds.

 Lots of people liked the smell but I hated it.

 Once back on the floor, I passed the pink man and his family. We called him pink man because, 1. We didn’t know his first name, and, 2. He always wore this pink shirt, which seemed to accentuate his already-pink neck: he forever looked drunk and coloured in the face, with high blood pressure or whatnot.

 Widely renowned, this man was, for being rude to the workers in the restaurant. Not just me.

 I wondered if he’d ever had to work a minimum wage job in his life. Whether he’d ever once been young and poor. Or if he’d had a job in hospitality. Maybe he had – and remembered what it was like – and resented us because of those bad memories. Or, perhaps he hadn’t, and saw himself as financially superior. That ‘posh arrogance’ or whatever you’d like to call it. Or, more realistically, the pink man only enjoyed being mean.

 Cos we couldn’t do anything back to him.

 Most of the people that dined in the restaurant weren’t mean; they were polite and complimentary and ate their food and left.

 As were the people that I served the plates to now. They smiled, and thanked me, and I left.

 It was around six o’clock – the rush hours had passed earlier in the afternoon and there weren’t that many people on the floor at this point.

 Because it had been so heavy earlier, we’d run out a lot of the roast meat. The chickens were aplenty but the pork had just ran out the last hour.

 I heard the waiter bell ding in the background. Meaning I had to go back to the kitchen. And, on the way, guess what?: the pink man clicked his fingers at me. His adolescent kids enjoyed gaping at me, it seemed.

 “How’s it going sir?” I said.

 “We’d like to order the mains.”

 “Brilliant, what would you like?”

 I took their orders. Or, rather, the pink man told me what his wife and kids would like to eat. His wife wanted some pork with her roast meal.

 “Ah, I regret to say, sir, that we don’t have any pork any longer.”

 “Huh?”

 “I’m very sorry but we’ve ran out of pork. But there is still beef and chicken, still. And some lamb, if you’d like?”

 He tutted. And turned to his woman and said, “Is that okay with you?”

 She gave him a thumbs up. Her necklaces glinted and she had these maroon-painted nails and was usually more drunk than pink man was. I took down the details from him (as he kept chewing the remains of his starters) and left.

 Fifteen minutes later I was called into the kitchen to take four roast plates out to pink man’s family. I wasn’t a good enough waiter to carry four plates at once. So I did two at a time. The first two I gave to him and the wife, and then I went back to get the other ones. When I returned the second time, pink man was scowling at me. Properly wrathful. And his skin colour had deepened to red.

 “Are you joking me!” he said.

 “What’s the matter sir?”

 He was holding a knife this time. A butter knife.

 “Are you the one that cleans the dishes?” he said.

 “No.”

 “Who is it, then?”

 “Well, one of my colleagues in the kitchen.”

 “Look at that knife! Does that look clean to you?”

 It did. Look clean. But I didn’t say this to him. There was a whole load of things I did want to say, instead, but I clamped them down. I apologised. Again. And took the knife away and brought him a new knife. Knives are far more lethal utensils than forks and there were further wonderful visions of attacking this obnoxious man.

 Elsewhere, the other tables finished dining and vacated. I made a cup of coffee and drank it. I thought about how it was kinda self inflicted that I was working this shitty job. Minimum wage. I was 29, for fuck’s sake. What was I doing here? Laziness, I suppose. If I were 19 years old I wouldn’t have pictured myself being here ten years henceforth. It was my own fault … and similarly gloomy thoughts proliferated.

I wished I could just bail. Wished that my two degrees (I had an MA and an MSc degree) would help me get a better job. I longed for this shift to be over, and I had four more hours to go. And I knew that that table was still there.

 I wondered, when I saw pink man, what he did for a living. What his hobbies were, if he had any. Was he really a nice person to his significant others? Was there some horrible story of how he was abused my his father (verbally and in a disciplinary sense, I mean) when he was younger, which would explain the way he was?

 Snapping his thumb and middle finger at me didn’t make me feel like a dog. Cos most people like dogs and are friendly to them. Dogs are likeable cheery animals and you don’t get their attention to cause offense.

 “Would you like the desserts now?” I said to him.

 He was way into the wine. I got the dessert orders. They were sundae glasses, ice cream and berries and chocolate sauce and,

 “My wife would like some toffee sauce instead of chocolate. Do you still have toffee sauce?”

 “Uh hu.”

 “Sorry?”

 “Yeah.”

 “Yeah what?”

 “We still have toffee sauce.”

 “Why are you being rude?”

 “I am not.”

 “You don’t speak to customers like that.”

 “Didn’t mean anything by it. I’ll get your sundaes for you.”

 I didn’t care anymore.

 If you were to put this man into a military zone. A war zone, I mean: drop him off in a helicopter in Yemen, or the Sudan, or Syria, or even Ukraine (the one that Westerners seem to care about) … if you could pop him randomly in such a place, would he act the same way? How long would he last? Or, if you were to fly him out to Alaska or the Antarctica, drop him on the tundra, would his ego remain intact?

 He must’ve been in his fifties. I was 29, and still on minimum wage. But I also knew that I wouldn’t be a cunt if I ever got past mu 50th birthday.

 I went into the kitchen for the desserts. The KP was the person that made the desserts – it was his job as well as the dishes.

 He was an interesting young man who would ask you conversational questions and he found eye contact hard and was insanely shy but you liked him and he was studied and underemployed as well and he was actually a total belter of a KP – he never put in a bad shift.

 “Is this for pink man’s table?” he asked.

 “Yeah.”

 “They complained about my ice cream the other week.”

 “What was wrong with the ice cream?”

 “They said it was ‘too melted’. It’d melted too much and was all liquidy.”

 I laughed.

 He finished making the sundaes. They looked glorious. Could belong on a billboard advert.

 I carried them out unto the colosseum. Using the same tactic as before – to give to the adults before the kids, two at a time, scared that I might drop something. Was full of hate and despondency, despite how much I loved the colleagues.

 Unto the floor. I saw pink man’s head. He didn’t do the fingers this time – only pointed at his empty glass. He wanted another drink.

 I picked up the speed as I crossed to the table. Then I pretended that there was something under my foot. Some object was under my boot. That snagged my gait. And it hit me and then I pretended to fall over.

 And I aimed one of the sundae glasses at the pink man. During the fall. Projected all the sugary junk at him.

 It went all over his cheeks.

 At the same time I dropped the other glass. Because I didn’t want to hit the kids or the woman. Only him. And that glass rolled away.

 The glass that I’d flung at him landed the right side of me and it didn’t smash. (Which I regret. I wish it would’ve smashed.)

 I thought I did an okay thespian. The clumsy waiter.

 “Oh, jeepers,” I said, standing up. And I addressed pink man. The cream and sauce and berries were all over his skull and his shirt and the content sluiced down towards his jeans. He sat. Stunned.

 “Oh no,” his wife said.

 “Dad, are you okay?” his daughter said.

 “What’d you do that for?” his son said, looking at me.

 “I didn’t mean it,” I said.

 And I laughed.

 I could not help it. Just smirked. You know when you ejaculate some laughter and it infects you. And you can’t override the avalanche.

 “I’ll run into the kitchen and get you some hankies.”

 I left.

 Never saw the pink man’s family again after that night. They never came back. They put in a complaint against me. I got fired.

 But, it’s one of my finest moments. Non violent revenge. Finest form of vengeance.

#short story #short fiction #prose #stories

[strange-destinations]

You mentioned transcripts of your Doctor Who RPG games. Any chance you might be willing to share them? (only if you want)

Of course! Here's The Big Masterpost of all our transcripts and audio files, updated as often as we play. Feel free to read and/or listen to as many as you want - I like to think I keep it pretty organized. Some things to note:

We pass around the GM crown from person to person, so we can all have a swing at running the game and also all get to play. So that's why our characters sometimes keep getting knocked out at the start of the arc and dragged offscreen, and why the GMing isn't consistent.

The sound editing can be a little hit-and-miss since I'm often speedrunning the editing/transcribing thing, so I apologize in advance if it ever gets funky or unlistenable. That's what the transcripts are for, I guess.

As of posting this, we've just wrapped up our fourth 'serial' and are probably going to kick off a new one next week! So now's a pretty good time to catch up with the story if you're curious.

Other links and content under the cut:

@trailmixtime's Thieves and TARDISes tag has most of our memery, art, and writing-related bonus content saved. (I have a tag for it too, but sometimes I'm a bit hit-and-miss when it comes to saving it all, so!)

I compose music for the campaign and edit it into the audio (along with sound effects and such) when the fancy strikes me. A playlist of all that original music can be found here!

The song used for the 'previously on' recap (and also the Doctor's theme) is this one. It's a banger, lads.

If you ever hear us reference a companion or some events that you are 100% sure are not canonical or even semi-canonical in the DWEU (for example, Millie or Roman) - that may be because we accidentally sort of ended up setting our game post-the Game of Rassilon, that one RPG podcast that I never stop talking about. It's very good, but you really don't need to listen to it to understand what's going on. We're just massive nerds who couldn't help ourselves.

Also, I'm extremely aware that we don't introduce our characters in very much detail in that first adventure, so I have prepared a handy little guide to the party down below (with bonus pictures!):

The Doctor (played by me!) - well, it's the Doctor. She's at a amorphous point in the future, far past anywhere we've seen in the TV series, and is very newly regenerated. In my head played by a Puerto Rican actress (a lot of planets have a Puerto Rico!). Fond of cats cradle, colors, plants. Not fond of eating.

Leela (played by @trailmixtime) - yes, that Leela. Plucked from the start of Gallifrey season one, Leela still has no idea what's happened to her husband. Working for President Romanadvoratrelundar (of course), rarely without a knife or janis thorn or two. K9's with her, also. (Good boy, K9!) Big ol' sweet tooth.

Unit-17, otherwise known as Dissent (played by @liria10) - a hospitality robot from the future gone rogue, Dissent is on a quest to reach the top of the most-wanted list. That's right, it's crime time. Eternally cheerful, just here for fun and chaos and thievery.

Caryophyllene, although we just call them Caryo for short (played by @bird-of-paradox), is a member of a a race of arachnoid psychic warrior spiders who use a scent-based language (the TARDIS is working overtime to translate, but we're managing). They're a semi-professional thief and very good at being sneaky and disruptive. We all love Caryo.

Verity Brown (played by @raindropsonwhiskers) hails from 1840s New York, where the Doctor and the rest of Team TARDIS picked her up. She was a weaver at the Ballston Mill Company until she got swept up in a bit of an adventure, and now she is having a very weird day. Down to fight, especially if said fighting involves asshole Time Lords.

Also, she might be a bit traumatized at this point. But that's all right! We're all traumatized here on the TARDIS! Ha ha haaa. We need therapy.

#Thieves and Tardises #DWRPG #my art #doctor who roleplaying game

[downywrites]

Purpled is interrogated about his linkage to the alien things that have been randomly appearing everywhere. Unfortunately for him, he genuinely has no clue. Aka, just an excuse for lee Purpled. Literally.

Ayo, mates! My requests are still open, if anyone wants anything written!

The whole alien theme was getting out of hand, in Philza’s opinion. The bird man couldn’t find a single place that hadn’t been affected by either the egg or the suspicious alien structures that kept popping up everywhere. They were pretty, but they were a nuisance otherwise. Tommy had been recently complaining of them appearing in front of his house, blocking his way out directly. Tubbo and Ranboo had complaints of the same caliber, having to blow the structure up with a few well-placed pieces of dynamite in order for them to get to their respective places of work on time. Techno had also spoken of random failed ship specimens slamming into him before, although the veracity of that claim is still hotly debated at the dinner table. Nonetheless, it was a problem. A very large, relatively irritating problem. And he knew one of the most likely causes was walking around the area at this very moment.

He scanned the area, sharp eyes undulled by the years scouring the grasslands. A small speck of purple made him grin. There he was.. Purpled. The alien hybrid was known to be a wanderer of his species, getting stranded on the SMP after his UFO failed to take flight again. Then, almost mysteriously, it disappeared. (As in, it blew up, and everyone tried to ignore the shrapnel that landed surreptitiously on their houses.) He had taken to wandering around, fiddling with the extra structures lying about with a look of indifference and a slight flicker of confusion, which added onto the SBI’s belief that he knew what they were, at the very least. Thankfully for the eagle hybrid, the alien usually didn’t pay attention to his surroundings when not in the field of battle. The key word there was usually, though. If he didn’t time his ‘attack’ correctly, he might get a wingtip chopped off by his quick-access dagger. Kneeling low to the ground, he slowly moved closer to the younger of the two. The other didn’t seem to notice, lounging about underneath the shade of a specifically tall tree. A bee landed on his face as he did, but he seemed to not notice, too absorbed in his thoughts. Perfect. The grass gently whacked his face as he slunk closer. Closer….a little more….

Purpled shrieked at the sudden sensation of being tackled to the floor, hand automatically reaching for his knife holster. His eyes shot open to stare straight into bolt blue. “What the fuck?!?” “Sorry mate, I thought you’d run away from me if I walked up to you normally.” He spluttered, mind quickly processing the absurdity of that statement. “So you tackled me instead?” Philza grinned from above him. “I mean, sounds about right.” Purpled narrowed his eyes at him. Wariness was a part of his genes, and he sure as hell didn’t think now would be a good time to let down his guard. “We’ve been wondering what the alien sculptures were. Y’know, the ones that keep miraculously appearing in the mornings. Half-startled the shit out of some of my pals.”

“Uh huh.” The alien deadpanned at the other, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “And this is the reasoning behind tackling me because…?” “I thought you’d know. It does look like you’re familiar with the markings and stuff on the sides of it. Is this true?”: The avian tightened his grip ever so slightly, in the hopes that he would take the hint and answer the question in a straightforward manner. “...Well, I don’t believe I can help you with that. I am not of that species of alien.”

It was Philza’s turn to deadpan at him. He cocked a corn-silk colored eyebrow at him, all playfulness forgotten in the staredown that he and Purpled were currently engaging in. “No, really. What’s going on, mate?”

“First of all, I’m not your mate, and second of all, I still don’t know. What, do you think I can magically glean things from markings?” Philza scoffed slightly. “Doesn’t your species do that? You know, your clothing and your fancy underskin lights?”

“Well,” Purpled answered, matter of fact tone slowly driving the hardcore warrior up the wall, “Our underskin lights and clothes don’t always match up, either. Do humans not have accents or...what was it?...dialects. Yes, that’s the word.”

Philza retorted, “I thought you were a child of your species. How the hell did you even get here, anyways? Do you think your family’s out looking for you? Is that why you don’t know anything outside of your species?” His words struck home.

A small spark of anger lit up in the backs of the alien hybrid’s eyes, pushing at Philza with a strength the other didn’t know he possessed. When he spoke again, his voice was brittle like ice frosting over wood. “My family didn’t want a mutant like me.” The avian felt a pang of empathy for him, loosening his hold a little. His eyes softened, a look of pity slowly growing on his face. The alien didn’t seem to like that very much. In a blur of purple and moss green cloak, Phil found himself smothered by his own garments, his prey’s footsteps leaving him behind. He shoved it off himself, trotting in the same direction to catch up. “Hey! Get back here!”  The sound of his footsteps on the pavement echoed slightly, catching his attention. With a powerful beat of his wings, he boosted himself onto the street, sandals making a screeching noise as they made contact with the cobble. A small shape in his line of sight made him ready himself for another boost, wing muscles rippling and wind blowing his family braid around.

Purpled thought he was safe. He had done everything to plan. It was all within his calculations. That was, until the sound of wing beats caught his attention. ‘Can he fly still? I thought his wing was damaged? Oh shit!’ He pushed  himself a little more, panting from exertion. He was tempted to use his own to get away, but he shoved the idea back down to the pit of hell it came from. ‘Oh, fuck no. Not dealing with that trauma chapter today.’ He swiveled his antennae around, straining to hear wingbeats… or any noise, for that matter. Confused, he slowed down to a jog, scanning the area for his pursuer. “Where..?” Suddenly, the world careened sideways. He found himself in a very familiar situation. “Uhhh...hi?” “Hello, mate. And sorry, mate.” The hardcore warrior unbottled a potion quickly, the grey potion swishing around as he did so. WIth a flick of his wrist, he poured it over the boy below him. The cold tingle of the potion made him yelp and buck under him. “No! What are you doing?!?”

As the potion’s effects began to make itself known, Purpled’s mind began to fog up, drowsiness slowly suffusing through his body. “If you won’t tell me straight up, I’ll have to enlist some help in finding out.” The alien wanted to retort, but the words stuck in his throat. Against his volition, his eyes began to flutter shut, his focus shifting from trying to push him off to just keeping himself awake. Philza decided to be a little daring. Before he lost his nerve, he pushed his hands through the boy’s platinum-blonde hair, scratching lightly at his scalp.

If he had any last fight in him, it dissipated. With a small whine, the boy’s eyes shut fully and did not open again, his chest rising and falling with his slow breathing. “There we go. And now, I just need to recruit my boys to help me get to the bottom of this mystery. No more of those stupid scupltures, not if I can help it.”  

“Seriously, are we just going to wait until he wakes up?”

“How else would we get him to wake up? Prime, Techno. Who do you think we are, brutes?”

Through the thinnest slit of sight he could, Purpled glanced at the menagerie of people nervously, hoping fervently that his antennae haven’t given away his consciousness. With the slightest movements of his limbs,he tested the bonds tying him down to the table. He was slightly grateful for the position, seeing that it had kept him from being in the direct line of sight of the duo next to him. The partially spread-eagle position still kept him in a state of unease, instincts screaming into his ears to struggle, to escape. The two people arguing sounded familiar. ‘Wilbur and Techno, maybe?’ It sounded similar, although he was pretty sure he was used to hearing the softer tones of the former’s voice from Ghostbur.

The only sight he had was the inside of the kitchen, the whole place brimming with chaos and entropy and… life. The fruit and food in the pantry was messy, certainly the product of the other people in the house. A twinge of longing snagged in his throat, stopping his smooth breathing pattern for a split second. He prayed that none of them noticed. It didn’t seem as if they did, continuing their banter and arguing over how they were to wake him. A heavy body got up from a chair, the furniture making an ugly shriek as it rubbed over the wood. Equally heavy footsteps moved into the kitchen, appearing in the boy’s view. The visage of the piglin made him sigh inwardly.

‘Yep, I think that’s Techno. And if Philza, Techno, and Wilbur are around together, that means the whole Sleepy Bois Inc. is here.’ An afterthought gave him pause. ‘And Tommy. I really hope Tommy’s not here right now. That would be embarrassing.’ Another pair of footsteps made him force his antennae from moving towards the sound mentally. ‘Shit, this is going to be a challenge. Curse my stupid biology! Why couldn’t I have had a better pair of sensory equipment?’

Philza came into his view, sending a slight chill down his spine. Was it fear? Was it adrenaline? He didn’t know. Whatever it was, it made his heart beat louder and louder, blocking out any ambient sound in the room. “Is he awake yet, lads?” A small frustrated huff escaped the only other person in his view. “Not that I know of. He’s out cold. How much of the sleep potion did you give him?” The avian had the audacity to scratch his head and look away sheepishly. “..the whole pot.”

At the startle and the turn of the head that the winged warrior got, it was evident that it wasn’t supposed to be used like that. “Heh? A whole potion?!?” Techno morphed into a significantly sleeker body, arms stretching out to grab at both of his shoulders. He shook the other slightly, eyes still wide with astonishment. “Why did you use a full potion on a child? Phil?!?” Wilbur piped up from behind him. “Shh, Techno. If you wake him up now, I don’t think we can discuss the plan of interrogation.” ‘Interrogation? Are they going to hurt me?!?’ A slight burst of panic flooded through his veins, forcing him to focus on tamping down his reactions in favor of listening to the others around him without clueing them into his awakeness. ‘Uh huh. The plan. As if we didn’t already discuss this twice before.” Techno made gestures he couldn’t quite understand. “We make sure we don’t hurt him, we get the info, so on and so forth.” Even his gestures were sarcastic. Purpled liked him already.

“Let’s just get on with it. Just wake him up already.” A smile played on Phil’s face. “Mate, I don’t think we need to wake him up…” He trailed off, tone smug and knowing. His antennae, the fucking traitors, curled up a little subconsciously as the man made side eye contact with him. The avian all but crowed. “I knew it. How long have you been awake, Purp?” The jig was up. He opened his eyes completely, wincing a little at the sudden burst of light coming from the skylight above him.

A gasp escaped Wilbur- at least, he thinks it was from Wilbur. It’s kind of hard to see who is who when you’re focused on one person and one person alone. “Don’t call me that.” His voice sounded unused, as if he had forgotten to drink water before he went to bed. Phil didn’t say anything in reply to that, simply grinning wider. “So, the three of us decided that we wanted to get info from you in a way that didn’t hurt you. It’s not something I’d like to have on my consciousness, the harming of an innocent person on the sidelines of something. Besides, it’s not that important.” Purpled’s muscles relaxed a little, reminding him of how tense he was at the moment. “But. I still need info, and it seems that ribbing you again and again won’t be effective for your caliber of stubbornness.” He had to bite back a retort to that, trying not to ignite the ire of the most merciful person in the room.

“I decided on something that I can guarantee has never been used on you as a convincing technique.” The avian moved closer to him, purple eyes following his every movement. WIth a slow, deliberate movement that he must have learn from ages of working with his hand-eye coordination, he placed his hands on his stomach, resting his arms there. Purpled tilted his head, puzzled. “How is this going to make me tell you anyth-”

He choked on his words at the sudden sensation of Phil’s talons scraping on his stomach. He froze in place, willing himself to not flinch or show any sign of weakness in front of the older. Wilbur and Techno stayed back, watching Philza’s movements with a focus that was almost unnerving to the teen. “What does this feel like? You stopped talking, are you okay?”

The avian definitely knew what he was doing, testing out different spots on his stomach with the accuracy of a well-learned tickler. Purpled trembled lightly in his bonds, still trying his best to not show his reactions. It was a challenge, especially so because of the bondage tugging at his limbs with every slight shift in his positioning. The feeling of being helpless was equally as maddening as the careful touch on his tummy. Even through the fabric, he knew that he wouldn’t last long with the way he was tickling him.

Just when the boy thought that he had gotten used to the sensations, the warrior shifted to his sides, nails barely scratching through his hoodies. “Snrk!” ‘Shit.’ “Oh? That was something! Purpled, you can make this stop if you tell us about those structures landing everywhere. Come on, little guy!” His antennae twitched slightly at his words. He shook his head, eyes determined and sharp. “N-no.” A sarcastic voice sounded out behind Philza. “Ooh, baby’s first words.” Purple bristled at the comment. “Why, you-”

With his mouth open, it was impossible to hide the squeak that escaped him as the light scratching turned into kneading. “H-hey!” Techno snorted. “Hook, line, and sinker. He is ticklish, Phil. Just need to find the ‘on’ switch.” Purpled really, really didn’t want him to find any of his sweet spots. He squirmed away from the winged man, trying to evade his clutches now that he was aware of the effectiveness of his interrogation methods.

“Stohop!”

“Oh, no you don’t. No escaping, Purp!”

He squeezed both of the alien hybrid’s sides, kneading a little more into the softer spots. The younger couldn’t hold his laughter back anymore. “Nohoho! Thihihis ihihihis uhuhunfahahair!” His legs and arms strained against the bonds, body bucking and thrashing in a vain attempt to escape the sensation arcing through his body.

“What’s unfair? All you need to do is to give us the info!” Phil’s eyes trailed up to his antennae. “Aww, your little feelers are getting all trembly! That’s so cute!” At the mention of his appendages, he turned his head to the side bashfully, a small bit of flush coming to color his face. “Shuhuhut uhuhuhup!”

“Is that flustering for you?” The eagle cooed a little, before an idea came to mind. “Hey, just a question for you...are your feelers sensitive?” Purpled’s eyes widened. “Noho!” The response was way too quick for his answer to be true. A cheshire grin slowly grew on his face, coinciding with the sinking/fluttering feeling pooling in his stomach. “Oho, is it your sweet spot?” His hands trailed teasingly from his sides up to his antennae, fingers barely grazing the bases of them. Just the lightest touch on them made him squirm and giggle. “Nohohonohoho! Nohohot thehere, p-plehease!”

“Oh? And why not, then?” Wilbur chipped in, chair making a squeaking noise as he stood up. “I think I’ll give you a helping hand, Phil.” A small, quiet “about time” escaped the avian’s mouth. Purpled wanted to speak on that, but the sensation of the light touch moving at such a sensitive spot made him bite his lip in a final resistance to the tingling sensation lingering there. He silenced himself, trying to stifle his giggles as well as he could. “What if I do this, Purp?”

The fingers scratched at either side of one of his antennae’s bases. He squealed, hiccupy laughter escaping him against his will. “EEE! Ihihihi! Nohohoho! Plehehease!” The alien hybrid shook his head, laughter squeaking a little when the movement accidentally scraped Phil’s nails against his skin. The fingers followed his movements, not giving him a moment to rest. Thankfully for him, the man ‘interrogating’ him seemed to understand how ticklish his feelers were, not doing much to speed up the tickling and absolutely destroy him. He was grateful for the moment of relatively gentle tickling, struggling slowly getting less and less and protests beginning to die more and more often before they escaped his mouth.

Subconsciously, his antennae curled closer to the avian’s fingers, as if they were trying to mutually stroke him back. The warrior glanced at Techno, then back at the feelers. ‘Is that some sort of sign that he likes it or something? Damn it, I should have tried to read up more about extraterrestrial body language.’ A sudden buck stopped him from wallowing in his thoughts. “AHA?!?”

“I knew your hips are a good spot!” He turned to look at his son, eyes snapping back to full focus. A beat of laughter from the younger below them passed. “Wilbur. Why did it take so long for you to get from the chair to here?” The musician shrugged. “Took my time, I guess.” Wilbur continued to rub slow circles into the squirming boy’s hipbones, a small smile playing on his face at the reactions he was getting from him. “Stohohop! Ihihihi-Ihihi cahahan’t!”

Purpled’s flustered facial expression and wide smile showed just how effective WIlbur and Phil’s tickling techniques were. The latter chuckled. “Guess the big strong bedwars player can’t handle a little tickling~” He spidered his fingers over his scalp teasingly, just barely grazing the feelers he was scratching earlier. The appendages twitched at the sensation, a small squeal escaping the owner through his already high-pitched laughter.  “NohohoHO tehehehe-AH!” His words were swallowed up by his own giggles.

Wilbur grinned triumphantly, kneading his hand into one hip while gently fluttering his fingers over the other. Purpled’s sweatpants blocked some of the sensations, but it wasn’t enough to keep the sparking feeling from coursing throughout his body like an adrenaline shot. He threw back his head, this time avoiding contact with the bird man’s hand. “You ready to tell us, mate?” The duo slowed down a little, giving him a chance to speak. Purpled gasped for air, a smile still plastered on his face. He panted, eyes glazed over a little from the exertion. “You...you guys suhuhuhuck…” His hands balled into fists, resolve (and lee mood) taking over for him. “Ihihihi’m nohohot gohohonna.” Wilbur scowled at him a little.

“Seriously? You have some stamina for a gangly kiddo.” “I’m not gangly!” “Says you. You’re so short.” He growled at the musician a little. Suddenly, a hand laced itself into his hair, making him flinch in surprise. “W-wha-?” “Shhh, Purp. Let me pet you for a bit. How does this feel?”

The fingers slowly raked down his scalp, careful not to nick the then skin. The feeling was heavenly. There was no denying it. Eyes fluttering shut, he pushed his head into his hand. His feelers twitched happily after each round of stroking, making Wilbur stifle a coo at the adorable sight. Techno put down his book, sighing. “Do you really need me to help-” A finger at his mouth stopped him from speaking.

“Shh, let Phil work his magic. Maybe he’ll be willing to give us the info then.” Wilbur whispered, his glasses slipping down on his nose and giving him a disheveled look. A single hoof-hand pushed it up for him. Soft silence surrounded the group for a bit, all for the low, rumbling purr that was emanating from Phil. Wait, from Phil? The two of them snapped to look at their father, a flash of surprise overtaking them both for a moment. Purpled was….purring? Almost reluctantly, the hardcore warrior untangled his hand from his hair, a whine and a stuttering purr following him a little with his head. “Hmm…”

“More headpats after you tell us.”

“Mmmmnooo….”

Purpled opened his eyes slowly, almost boneless in his relaxed state. Philza gently spidered his fingers over the alien hybrid’s neck, smiling slightly at the sleepy giggles it produced. “Aww, come on. You sure you don’t want to tell us, little guy?” Through his giggles, the alien shook his head no, a louder bout of laughter escaping him when the warrior’s hands trailed down to his collarbones.

“Ehehehehe!”

“Kitchy kitchy coo~”

He squealed quietly at the tease, his face blossoming with color again. Wilbur decided to join in again. He carefully traced shapes on the boy’s thighs, enjoying the hybrid’s laughter. “Man, your laugh is so cute! So, Purplee, you going to tell us yet? Or are you having too much fun?” Purpled squirmed in his bonds, sleepily nodding along to what he was saying. He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You are?” A mumble underneath his breath. “Phil , what did he say?” The winged man chuckled. “He just said he didn’t know, he just wanted to fuck with us.” Techno snort-huffed. “Of course he did. We are so getting him back for that.” “Why not now?” Blood red eyes shifted to the floor, then back to the bound alien hybrid.

“Because. Look at him. Do you really want to snap him out of this?” Coffee-colored eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief. “Is the great Technoblade being soft for a lil guy?” Techno cleared his throat, shaking his head and making his ears flop. “No. Wilbur, no.” The musician walked closer to him, looking up to stare directly into his eyes. “Is the great Blood God getting whipped over a bedwars player?” A low growl cut  through the air. “Wilbur, if you don’t stop now-”

Another round of purring stopped him mid-sentence. “That’s it, Purp. You did great.” Phil glanced at the duo who had done virtually nothing to help him, a small glare hinted in the back of his eyes. ‘You will pay for this.’ Wilbur took a step back. Techno did the same, tail whipping at the floor in anticipation. The hardcore player treaded his hands deep into his silky hair, coaxing him back into a resting state. “Did you like this? I hope you did.” Sleepy eyes opened just barely, eyes twinkling with adoration. “....yea...will y’ do ‘t again?”

A breath that he didn’t know he was holding escaped with a happy trill and lilt. “Of course, mate. Sleep well.” For the second time that day, Philza gently coaxed the boy into slumber. A sleepy smile plastered on his face, Purpled’s chest rose and fell rhythmically once more, calm and deep like the lapping of a purple-platinum ocean. “Now, as for the fact that you two didn’t help me at all with that…” He stepped closer to his sons, wings spreading outwards like a rippling wave of pitch. Nervous giggles escaped Wilbur and Techno.

“Nonono! Phil, pleasE-”

Purpled didn’t wake until the morning rays shone down on his face, the scent of pancakes and the smell of home wafting into his nose. And, no, he didn’t inquire at all about why Techno and Wilbur refused to look the eldest in the house in the eyes.

It felt good to be with them.

He hoped it would always last.

#my writing #downywrites #downy writes #tickle fic #sfw tickle #my fic #mcyt tickle #dsmp tickle #lee!purpled #ler!wilbur #ler!philza

[chudleycanonficfest]

young dumb thrills

Day 26, Post #2 by @accio-broom

Title: young dumb thrills Author/Artist: accio-broom Pairing: Gryffindor pals Prompt: Studying together Rating: T Trigger Warning(s) (if any): Ron likes to swear, a lot. Also, the lads enjoy not speaking very nicely about the women in their year.

“Merlin, this potions essay is a pile of wank. I'm so fucking bored.”

Seamus snaps his book shut, his Irish lilt filling the dorm room and disturbing the peace. Until the rude intrusion, Ron had been attempting to write a Transfiguration essay on the benefits of Non-verbal spells, although he was struggling without Hermione’s usual help.

Four heads, belonging to the various bodies strewn around the place, lift from their books and parchment. The sixth-year Gryffindors throw frowns and obscenities at their friend.

“Well, it was your idea for us to do something together,” Dean comments, letting his head loll to the side to rest on his arms, his eyes closing.

“Yeah, but when I suggested it, I had a night of debauchery and booze on my mind. Not being shut up here on a Friday night.”

Ron laughs and abandons his parchment on the bedroom floor. He rolls off his tummy then wriggles into a sitting position, his back flush against his trunk. It allows him a better view of his dorm mates.

Seamus is sat up in his bed, resting against the headboard, his now shut Potions book by his feet. Dean sits in one of the window seats whilst Neville is perched next to his bedside table, crooning at his Mimbulus Mimbletonia. Harry is in one of the cosy armchairs next to the fire, switching his obsessive gaze between the Marauder’s Map and the Half-Blood Prince’s Potions book.

“Debauchery?” Ron scoffs. “What kind of stuff did you think we’d be getting up to stuck in Gryffindor tower? You tried sneaking in the Firewhisky, but you were thick enough to let Filch catch you. McGonagall has got us on lockdown because of you, and we can’t even sneak out the window for a fly ‘cos it’s pissing down outside.”

Frowning, Seamus retorts, “At least I tried. Anyways, you and Potter don’t seem to have any difficulties getting yourselves into trouble, despite the rules and detentions and any other fucking thing the staff throw at you.”

Harry, who has been a silent observer up until now, finally pipes up, “You know, I’d gladly trade places with you, Seamus, if it means getting a quiet year without Voldemort trying to kill me.”

The other four boys shudder at Harry’s use of You-Know-Who’s real name. Once he has recovered, Seamus waves a dismissive hand before flopping down onto his stomach.

“Yeah, yeah. We all know that Voldie prefers to wait until the end of the year before trying to kill you. You could at least enjoy yourself up until then.” A heavy sigh escapes his lips. “How did it come to this, lads? We're all virile, good looking fellas. Well, apart from Nev. Yet, here we are on a Friday night, with only each other for company.”

“Oi!” Neville frowns, swivelling to face his friends with his hands on his hips. “At least I managed to get a date for the Yule Ball. Dean didn’t go with anyone.”

“Yeah, but I have a girlfriend now.”

Dean’s cheeks darken as Ron’s eyes narrow. The redhead’s stomach churns. Sure, he’s adjusted to catching Dean snogging his sister in the common room now, but it doesn’t mean he enjoys it. He knows the type of stuff Dean gets up to, the sort of things he says behind closed doors. He’d rather Ginny didn’t get involved with a guy like Dean, but Ron knows it’s out of his control.

“Out of all of us,” Dean continues, “It’s only Weasley and me who have birds.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Ron joins in, mostly to distract himself from his overprotective urges. Ginny is more than capable of looking after herself, and she’s told him enough fucking times, too. “And I could be downstairs with Lav right now, but you were so adamant that we were going to have a good night. Anyway, you can take the piss out of Neville all you want, but I bet you haven’t even snogged a girl, Seamus.”

The Irish Gryffindor’s eyes brighten with glee. “Yeah, I have. Your girl.”

Ron isn’t surprised at the emptiness he feels at the jibe. His feelings for Lavender fizzled out ages ago, and he’s been trying to finish things for weeks. The only problem is he can’t seem to say or do the right thing to scare her away. He should probably come out and say it, try this honesty thing Hermione is always harping about, but Ron likes his balls attached to his body. Plus, it’s kind of nice having a girlfriend and feeling like someone wants him.

Still, he has to keep up appearances. He reaches behind his trunk and fishes out one of his trainers from under his bed before hurling it at Seamus. The guy moves fast, rolling to the side to avoid being hit in the head as he bursts out laughing.

“And a good kisser she is too,” he adds.

“Who do you reckon is the best snogger out of the whole of Gryffindor?” Dean muses.

Ron mutters, “Aren’t you still dating my sister, Dean?” 

He knows his anger is irrational, Dean has done nothing wrong, but the images of the guy snogging Ginny then moving on to the next girl to compare them fills his brain, making him feel sick.

Seamus interrupts, still laughing. “For the guys? Then it’s me for sure. But I don’t know who’s the best out of the girls. I’ve snogged quite a lot of them. Some of them are amazing, and others are shit.”

“Fuck off have you,” Dean laughs too. “You’ve snogged Lavender, and that’s it.”

“Nah, I’m being honest with you. Weasley turned me down. It’s only her and Granger I haven’t snogged, truth be told.”

Ron sits bolt upright, all his fury at Dean forgotten as his heart pounds an irregular beat against his ribcage. However, he tries to arrange his face into a calm look. A few times, his secret crush on Hermione has almost been exposed, mostly via mutterings in his sleep. But so far, he’s managed to keep a firm lid on it, or so he believes.

“I don’t think Hermione has snogged anyone,” says Neville.

Dean shakes his head. “I’d put five knuts on her having snogged someone. She went to the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum, after all.”

“Doesn’t mean she kissed him.” Seamus shrugs.

Harry pipes up again. “She did.” He blushes as all eyes settle on him. “Only a small one, though.”

The rest of the room erupts in fits of laughter, but Ron can’t hear it over the roar of his heart in his ears. He digs his fingernails into his leg, ignoring the flare of pain as they break the skin. So, Harry knows that Hermione snogged Vicky, too? How many people did Hermione tell? How the fuck could his best friend keep something like this from him? Why hasn’t anybody told him?

Out of the corner of his eye, Ron can see that Harry is staring at him, but he refuses to meet the git’s gaze. His blood boils around his veins.

“She must be a good kisser then if she managed to keep Krum interested. Not exactly a looker, is she?” says Seamus, in between giggles.

Ron whips his head around to glare at Harry. Despite instigating this latest uproar, the specky git does nothing to stick up for their best friend. Their dorm mates are tearing apart Hermione’s honour right now, but Harry already has his nose buried back in that fucking map, tracing Draco’s path through the school. Harry is bloody obsessed with the Slytherin prick. He probably fucking fancies him.

“You can barely even see she has boobs when she’s in her jumper,” Dean agrees.

“Yeah, and don’t get me started on her hair.”

Neville frowns. “Now, come on, guys. I think you’re being a bit mean. Hermione’s alright.”

“Oohhh, she’s alright, is she?” Seamus rounds on Neville now.

Dean joins in, wiping his eyes. “Aww, that’s nice. At least someone likes her.”

No longer in control of his reactions, Ron jumps to his feet, trembling hands clenched at his sides.

“Enough!” he roars, loud enough so that everyone has their attention pinned on him. “Leave her alone! What the fuck has she ever done to you?” He gestures around the dormitory, daring any of them to speak up. “Don’t get her involved in your bullshit talk.”

“Oh, so it’s alright for us to discuss snogging your girlfriend, but not Hermione Granger?” Seamus slides off his bed, squaring up to Ron. “You need to work out where your loyalties lie. If Lavender found out, she wouldn’t be pleased.”

Ron eyes his friend, trying to determine if he should punch him. After a moment’s deliberation, he decides it’s not worth it. Ron is a prefect and is supposed to be setting a good example. Plus, there’d probably be a fight, and he isn’t sure he has the energy for that tonight. Seamus has a good right hook, after all.

“Fuck off.” Ron pushes past Seamus and strides towards the door, yanking it open. He leaves the dormitory without looking back, pulling the door closed behind him so hard, he’s sure everyone in Hogsmeade can hear the resounding thunk. The dormitory bursts into another round of hysterical laughter, fuelling Ron’s rage.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he reaches the common room with a loud huff, only to meet a startled Hermione at the foot of the staircase. Ron’s face floods with heat as she eyes him up and down, a disparaging look on her face.

“Ron, wh—”

He doesn’t give her the chance to finish her question.

“Leave me alone.”

Stomping towards the portrait hole, Ron barks at the Fat Lady to open without saying please, before heading out. He picks a random direction, then walks.

Fuck the lot of them.

Fuck his friends for being dicks about Hermione and girls in general. No wonder Harry wanted to keep out of it all. And fuck that specky git for not jumping to Hermione’s defence. Fuck Hermione for choosing now to break her months of silence, only to piss him off even more. But most of all, fuck his fucking feelings for making him react so defensively about the fucking witch in the first place. 

He’s never going to live this down, for fuck’s sake.

#chudleycanonficfest2021 #HP fest #hp canon pairings #canon fest platonic #submission #tw: swearing #tw: misogyny

[fatefulfaerie]

Flight

Zelink Week 2021 prompt #3/7 @zelinkweek2021

Word Count: 1,874

Incarnation: Skyward Sword (pre)

Additional Prompts Followed: Loftwings, Free Fall

Trigger Warnings: near-death experience, broken bone trauma

The Loftwings flew in perfect circles, their flight at all times parallel to each other as they followed the tail of the other, again, and again, blue and red and red and blue, crimson and purple and red and blue. It was an eternal race that none would win.

And it was obvious there would be no champion, as the loftwings were carved from wood and flew only by mechanism, circling like hawks above the crib of a child with shining blue eyes and honey-blonde hair. She laughed and giggled at the sight of Loftwings in flight, reaching out stubby hands as if to lazily reach for the illusion. She gabbled and her mouth buzzed a particular “v” sound. Her smile was infectious.

But nine years later, she frowned, stomping towards the plaza in the midst of a tantrum, fists balled and shoulders up to her ears.

Her father once told her that friends come and go but not him, never him, never that way. A new, more exciting best friend and he was up and away without a care in the world, not a single look of concern for the friend he left in his dust.

Her father told her not five minutes ago that her time would come as well, that she too would be matched with a Loftwing when the time came. Link merely was a few months older than her.

But the damage was done. Gaepora had already gone on and on about how splendid the match was between the rare Crimson Loftwing and Link, how the connection was uncanny, and how it usually takes years of training for someone to fly their bird like that. Zelda was green with envy and it did not become her.

She was jealous even now as she watched Link, her pale pink dress swishing in the breeze. Zelda wondered that perhaps if she had worn her blue dress, Link would not have forgotten her, perhaps her lavender, or her yellow, perhaps her hair in braids or perhaps her forehead covered by bangs that she saw some of the older girls wearing. Yet, of all the colors and all the options, green seemed to stick out the most when people saw her at the ceremony, her brow shaded with envy as the ten-year old boy with a cream shirt and patched brown pants just hopped upon his fancy, new Crimson Loftwing.

Zelda hated as well that she couldn’t even chase him down, couldn’t just hop on her own Loftwing and ask what was so insignificant about her for Link to fly away in such a rude manner, leaving his best friend behind. Gaepora didn’t think it rude at all, as the boy had literally smiled at Zelda before testing out this unique bond with his Loftwing, but Zelda saw it as the end of the world.

Her own Loftwing.

She bet she could ride a Loftwing just as well, and she bet that the Goddess Hylia knew she was more than ready. She bet that the Goddess was just as upset as her, and she bet that there already was a Loftwing in the skies for her, just for her, maybe even rarer than the crimson breed. She bet all of that on her life, foolishly employing her little nine-year-old legs and running off the edge of the island in the sky, believing completely that her Loftwing would come below her.

Her own Loftwing.

The free fall was exhilarating and she enjoyed it. Never before had she felt so unrestrained, so rebellious.

Her own Loftwing.

So she whistled, wanting to chase that feeling atop a Loftwing, to ride the rims of the clouds and pursue the horizon, to wonder at what laid beneath the clouds like everyone secretly did.

No Loftwing came.

She whistled again, but she was reaching the clouds. Fear twinged a chord in her heart and the note was sour. Her confidence wavered. No one survived a fall to the clouds. No one.

Her mother, Link’s father, Groose’s uncle, Cawlin’s sister, Stritch’s cousin.

None of them ever returned.

What was she thinking?

No Loftwing came.

She felt the wind knocked out of her and she almost upchucked her lunch into the blue skies that she was being lifted from, Loftwing talons secure around her small frame and the occasional red feather drifting across her eye-line.

She tried to flip over to look up at Link, but the hold on her was too tight. So she just laid limp like a doll, basking in the wind of her stupidity and thinking that maybe, just maybe, what she did wasn’t the best idea.

Link had never rescued someone before, so he was more than relieved when his Loftwing caught Zelda without a flinch of hesitation. He had even braved looking down to make sure she was okay, before setting his sights on Skyloft, on the Plaza where he would drop her off and make sure she really was okay.

Yet the Loftwing let go sooner than Link expected. They were much too high for it to be a soft landing on Zelda’s part and the shrill cry that ensued because of it told Link everything, his insides churning with worry.

“Zelda!” He practically jumped off the Loftwing as soon as it was close enough to the ground of the Plaza and he ran, ran with all his might to the little girl who sat clutching her bent leg and crying into her knee. Link knelt before her, panting.

“Zelda, are you okay?”

There were legends of a blue flame, that burned hotter and brighter than any fire hued red. Link didn’t think such a thing existed until Zelda looked up, her eyes enraged and fuming.

His lips parted. He wasn’t sure what to do and before he could think to do anything Zelda had balled a fistful of dirt and thrown it in his face, before returning to her kneecap and shaking and crying and whimpering.

“Okay,” Link said in response to the dirty welcome. “I’m sorry. The Loftwing and I are both new at this. I’m sorry we dropped you and…well…I wanted to take you with me on my first ride but you’re not allowed to take someone with you that doesn’t have their own Loftwing. If something happens your passenger has to be able to take the reins, or call their own Loftwing to ride to safety. It’s a rule and you know it.”

Zelda shook her head.

“No?” Link asked, trying to understand, but she kept shaking her head.

“Link,” she said incredibly weakly. “Hylia above, it hurts so much.”

Link scooted closer, lifting his hands slightly but not knowing where to put them.

“Where?” He asked. “Where does it hurt?”

Zelda spent the moment after the question just trying to breathe, to award her lungs stable breaths that they sorely needed. Link tried to be patient, tried to give her the time to tell him what was wrong, but for some reason he needed to know now.

He took a guess and lifted the hem of her pale pink dress slightly, revealing something that hurt his heart and made his entire body wince.

It was no doubt that her leg was broken, Link could see the horrid swelling that almost looked like another calf, that ebbed with hues of red and purple. Link didn’t know if he was going to cry or throw up first.

“Oh goddess, okay, I’m gonna get you some help,” he said. Zelda nodded as he picked her up, and neither had time to be surprised at Link’s strength.

By the time they reached the headmaster’s office, Link was in tears and Zelda had passed out from the pain. Link went on and on apologizing to the headmaster, expressing his guilt over literally breaking the daughter of the tall, orange and red-clad man. Gaepora, however, wouldn’t have it, telling Link that a daughter of the headmaster should have known better than to let her jealousy consume her, but ultimately the priority now was to get her treated.

Potions were acquired immediately from the Bazaar and Zelda slept like a baby as she healed. Link grasped her hand with the intention of being there all night long, of letting her know wordlessly that her friend was here and that she was okay. He wanted to be there in case she woke up, in case she was scared, in case she...

“Link.”

The booming voice of the Headmaster was what told Link that he, too, was dozing off. The wooden chair must have been more comfortable than he previously thought.

Gaepora smiled at Link’s big blue eyes. He walked forward with the large strides of a grown-up and Link was almost impressed that someone could be that tall. Gaepora held out his hand.

“I think you would be more comfortable in your own bed.”

“But…”

“Zelda will be fine,” Gaepora said in the most calming voice he could muster. Link’s next breath brought his eyes down and he nodded. Link looked over at Zelda and smiled.

“I’ll see you in the morning sleepyhead,” Link said. “I promise.”

Link returned his big eyes to Gaepora and took his large hand, the headmaster leading the orphan to his room downstairs and treating the lad like he always had.

Like a son.

The next morning was one of the few where Link got up on his own, where he didn’t sleep in for hours and was in fact excited by the prospect of morning. Most ten-year old boys got up early to fly their new Loftwing, but Link was far more concerned with another friend, one that he had known much longer, one that was sitting up with a bowl of oatmeal when he entered her room.

Link beamed a smile, and so did Zelda.

“Zelda!” Link exclaimed, entering the room completely and approaching her. “H-how are you feeling?”

“Better,” she replied. “It hurts a lot less, but I should probably stay off it for a while.”

“Yeah,” Link agreed, nodding. He looked at her leg, braced with packs of ice and resting on a stack of soft pillows. It looked far more painful than she was letting on and remembering how it looked yesterday, Link doubted it could be anywhere near “better” this quickly, even with potions.

“I’m sorry.”

They both said it at the same time, so their heads snapped to each other.

“Zelda, I broke your leg,” Link said abruptly. “What in the clouds are you sorry for?”

“You broke my leg?” Zelda questioned, not believing her ears. “Goodness sake, Link, it was my fault, not yours. I should be thanking you for saving my life. I shouldn’t have tried to get my Loftwing, I…”

She stopped herself, and looked down at the patterned blankets she was in.

“I thought getting a new best friend would make you as jealous as I was.”

It was nothing more than an ashamed mumble, but Link heard it well, taking a couple steps to sit on the edge of her bed. He took her hand.

“No one will ever replace you as my best friend,” Link insisted. “Do you understand me?”

Zelda nodded and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Yes.”

#zelink #zelink week 2021 #zelinkweek2021 #link #zelda #skyward sword #tloz #the legend of zelda

[fangirlyah]

✦put your head on my shoulder - Draco Malfoy x Muggle!Reader

summary: SOULMATES!AU when you turn sixteen, the person who is destined to be your life partner, begins to listen when the other person plays the sound that will unite them at some point in their life. but what if your soulmate doesn't know this?

word count: 1,621

warnings: none u think :)

“put your head on my shoulder…” 

oh no not again.

since his sixteenth birthday, draco malfoy couldn't stop hearing a sweet voice sing in his ear at least once a day.

"what's up lad?" zabini asked his friend seeing him rub his temples.

"this is the third time she has sung this song in the day" the great hall exploded with noise but to draco's ears it seemed all a distant whisper.

"I'm glad we can't hear it" your voice was sweet and the first time draco had heard it, he had been terrified; it was one day at night in the library, draco was alone but he heard a female voice next to him. that night he slept only a little, it was one of the few times in his life that he really felt fear.

"you are lucky that yours sings, my soulmate is a know-it-all, I only hear him recite quotes from transfiguration books" the day after he heard you for the first time, he commented on it in the common room and pansy was the first to explain that when you and your soulmate turned sixteen, you would begin to hear the sound that would one day unite the two of you. some people heard the sounds of birds and others the passing of sheets of paper; draco was listening to you sing a song.

"what does she sings, draco?" millicent asked, catching everyone's attention. he couldn't tell it was a muggle song, he couldn't. it was social suicide.

"I think it's the beauxbaton’s anthem" it was not.

you, on the other hand, listened to him mutter a song that you couldn't recognize. you listened little to it, but the few times your ear reached it, you desperately tried to search your cds and find which band it belonged to. but the rhythm always changed, never the lyrics. you had searched through books and books for the few words that reached your ear. the only thing you can understand was 'for now they are bare and full of air, dead files and bits of fluff, so teach us things worth knowing' was not enough to find out what it was.

unlike Draco, you didn't mind hearing him; on the contrary it was relaxing. a few times you had been lucky enough to hear him sing softly as you tried to fall asleep, he had calmed you down like a lullaby. there were times when he sang and you whispered hoping to hear an answer, but it never came. 

months have passed, since they heard each other, when draco took a liking to your voice. it was when he was running besides his aunt bellatrix escaping after dumbledore's death, he listened to you. this time you sang it sweetly, as if you were trying to calm a crying baby. you were in your room brushing your hair after showering when a wave of despair washed over you; you didn't know what it was, everything around you was calm but you felt the need to run. to distract yourself from your thoughts, so you started singing the song you heard months ago on the radio.

"put your head on my shoulder ... hold me in your arms, baby .... squeeze me oh-so-tight ... show me that you love me too ..." you didn't know that draco could hear you, no less that he felt your hands in his hair. as the dark forests surrounded him he felt a delicate caress on his head, no one was touching him for what he assumed it would be his soulmate.

that was the only moment he felt your touch and the only time you felt his feelings. you weren't a witch, you didn't know about hogwarts therefore you didn't have friends to tell you that you were listening to your soulmate. draco didn't know that, he held out to the hope that you were a witch with a fondness for muggle music.

but the day pansy sent a letter to malfoy manor with everything that was happening at school, she told him that everyone was starting to speak to their soulmates through their thoughts. that afternoon he tried and got no response; you did not know about him, therefore you were not a magician. any student of any school of magic knew what happened when you turned sixteen, as everyone was looking forward to that birthday.

 they were in the middle of a war, he was from the dark side battling every non-pureblood person and discovering that his soul mate was a muggle.

even if he wanted to, it was impossible to erase you from his mind because your voice was there involuntarily every time you sang. he didn't know what sound coming from him you were hearing, so he prevented his mouth from expelling anything with rhythm. he no longer gave himself encouragement in a low voice as he used to do, with fear that you will hear him. he wanted to eliminate you completely.

so you stopped listening. you couldn't show your hurt since no one knew what you were hearing, if someone had known they would probably take you to a therapist for help. you didn't want to go because you knew nothing was wrong; that voice calmed you down, gave you peace, it was nothing bad. there were nights when you hung up on your sheets trying to mentally call him to sing to you, but the voice didn't appear.

so you stopped, the song with which you had felt that feeling of despair, did not come out of your mouth for months. and draco noticed. the boy's life was to go from trial to trial, with his freedom in question every day, he needed that voice that bothered him so much before.

It wasn't until after four months of silence that he heard you.

that day narcissa and draco were wandering the muggle streets of london, looking for fancy clothes for the next trial. their mother had specifically asked them to leave the magical world for a moment, she wanted to escape for a while from that place that so badly wished them.

"that dress looks very elegant, I think I'll go in here" a black long-sleeved dress watched her from the window. narcissa opened the door and entered the business. but draco didn't move "come in, draco"

"I'm just going to tour the place a bit" even though his mother was not thrilled with the idea, he went ahead. he had never been alone on the muggle streets of london and for some reason this time he was curious to do so.

to the surprise of every londinese it was a sunny and inviting day, you could be outside your house with just a light coat. there was a large park with children running around and couples having picnics, very close to the business where his mother had entered. since he was little, draco had not been in pure nature like that park, so with a slow step he began to walk along the stone path that surrounded him. he saw old ladies sharing honey biscuits with children who stopped playing on the shaken swings and naive people throwing coins into the fountain making wishes.

his walk only stopped to take off his black jacket. when he did and hung it over his hand, he started walking to stop again. a familiar voice appeared in his ears, it was you. he froze with his head bowed as he tried to absorb the sound.

“people say that love's a game ... a game you just can't win ... if there's a wa-"

"you sing very nice, miss!" a childish voice made him raise his head violently, how did the girl hear the voice too?

"oh thank you very much, sweetie" the air caught in draco's lungs when he heard you speak for the first time. this was not happening in his mind.

when he saw the girl running towards the slides with a smile, he approached the tree in front of him and stuck his head out to the side to meet you. you were with a notebook on your lap writing what looked like school work, sitting on a folded sheet while you murmured a song.

draco couldn't come up and tell you: hey you're my soulmate, because you were muggle.

"good afternoon ... um ... I'm draco malfoy" you looked up to see a blond boy in a suit stretching his hand towards you, you recognized that voice.

"hello draco malfoy, I am y/n y/l" you smiled at him shaking his hand.

"I ... like the song you were singing"

"oh yeah, I wasn't supposed to get so much attention" you blushed, you had never liked being the center of attention, so you thought that if you whispered the song no one would hear you, but you were wrong.

"do you have another song that you like?" he just wanted to hear your voice.

"yes of course! emm ... I have more songs on a cassette at my house, only if you want I can bring it and show you"

"would it be fantastic ... here tomorrow at this time?" you kept eye contact, there was something that united you and him and it was not just the interest in a paul anka song, you thought.

"I'll be waiting"

when draco started walking towards his mother, after waving goodbye. he smiled, the idea that you weren't a magical person and you were destined to be with him disgusted him, but when he saw you as sweet as your voice, those thoughts faded. the idea of ​​being with a muggle sounded good if it was you.

#draco malfoy #draco x y/n #draco x reader #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy fanfiction #harry potter #soulmate #hogwarts #muggle #imagine #fanfic #fanfiction

[radiant-flutterbun]

Lair Review For Seijuurou

@koi-janai​

10 dragons

First impressions: I’m loving the vibes of your shadow lair. I love that your lair has a music theme, and that it’s from Stardew Valley too! I will definitely be listening to it has I write this review!

Asmodian: Handsome, beautiful, outstanding, amazing boy. I love how purple he is. I love how regal he looks. I love that his theme is Nobody Is Around to Help. I also love that he helps lost spirits cross into the afterlife. I’m a sucker for dragons with death related lore. The fairies are perfect for him, I always forget they exist in the game, but I’m glad Asmodian has them.

Fenrir: Oho that’s a handsome dragon! For a moment I had to think about how you made his eyes look like black holes into the abyss, because damn does it look cool. I see that you used the sanddune rages and layered a wrap on top, obscuring the skull but keeping the cool eye effect! Very well done! His lore though, very cool and nicely written. Such a shame he’s fallen out of grace though. I plan to review Obsidian too so I can’t wait to read her lore!

Midnight: Very pretty! I find their eyes quite striking, The blue from their accent combined with their red eyes looks really cool! I also like how nicely the accent blends with the treeshroud. Their stained also gives them a unique look, which is why they caught my eye!

Marchosias: Fancy lad! I didn’t know how pretty mulberry flaunt and flair was! The range of colors on this guy is a visual treat. And the way you matched their apparel from different set is so smart and creative! I love the use of the grape vines, it’s not the first apparel I’d think of for a guard but it works so well for this dragon! And I like how the one bunch of grapes is layered over the helmet. The bewitching bangles are also nicely layered. The horns 100% look like they’re a part of the helmet that for a moment I was wondering if I missed an apparel update.

Hawk: Baby spotted! This is such a cutie. A mean, coatl babies are always cuties, but I love their colors and genes a lot! He truly is the color of the night sky! And his bio contains such a cute story! it was a read that left me with a smile :)

Oleander: Another excellent dragon! Midnight toxin my beloved. He looks like a fierce some, sneaky guy. I love the wreath on top of his hood and the shadowstrike! He may be a traitorous snake, but he’s a handsome one. And again I see Obsidian’s name pop up! I think i may save her for last.

Glaciate: Abyss shell is always a win for me. It’s just so good. I love how you’ve incorporated his branches into his lore by making him a florist. Very sweet of him! His accent is also very cute! I love all the birds on him. And the one is even sitting on his branches! That’s adorable.

Montero: Hellooo cowboy! A dark, handsome cowboy? I love him already. His outfit is on point. Love a goth boy and a cowboy. Perfection. Oooo wait Montero. A cowboy. Old town road. I get the reference now :,) I love him (I see he’s not supposed to be a fandragon, i just think the reference to the song is neat). I absolutely love that he herds ophiotauruses. That’s so creative and fun!

Mirai: “ meet me in the pit 9:30, be there or be square”. Ok you’re on Mirai. You’ll probably kick my ass though. Is she one of your progens? And are your planning on keeping her basic? Because I’m in the camp that sometimes basic is good! And honestly I like that she’s all basic! You’ve got her dressed up enough so that she doesn’t look naked and the apparel blends so well with her primary and secondary. She’s very pretty as she is!

Obsidian: Ok finally onto Obsidian who I keep seeing referenced in your lair. Time to see what she’s all about. But first her looks: Her style in on point. Her checker patterned skin is very cool, and so is everything else about her (pun intended). Oh so she’s as icy as the inside as she is on the outside. I love that. I love an ice queen. And she killed her own mate? Hardcore. I respect it. I respect her. A very nice read, and some interesting lore. I’m glad I could wrap this review up with her.

#lair review

[violent-backed-starling]

Hatchetfield pokemon team thoughts

Tom: Arcanine, because this dude probably has raised it from a growlithe and he loves it okay, also just vibes. Ninetales because it was Jane’s and he wants to keep it in memory of his wife and he also loves it as does his arcanine. Tauros, it is a big and strong pokemon and it gives off Tom vibes, what more can I say? Bastiodon, it is a big burly pokemon that feels right. Stoutland, he wanted a pokemon who was good with kids when he found out Jane was pregnant and stoutland seemed like the obvious choice. Haxorus, it was Tom’s partner in war given to him by the government, by the end of his tours he became attached and got to keep it.

Paul: Torterra, a starter he picked because it was the friendliest looking one. Linoone, I just think he likes long normal type boys okay? Farfetch’d, a gift from Emma that he absolutely loves. Audino, he has this one in order to help him calm his anxiety and it is also just a good comfort pokemon, also friend-shaped. Furret, see linoone. Spinda, just a dizzy confused boy like Paul.

Emma: Serperior, it is her starter that she picked because they’re personalities meshed well. Victreebel, it is like James’ one from the anime and that is why. Breloom, is grass and fighting, these types just feel so accurate to my girl Emma. Roserade, grass types because weed farm. Sawsbuck, she got as a deerling from Paul. Gardevoir, she got in memory of Jane.

Lex: Blaziken, her starter that just felt right, she too is fiery and full of spite so they work well together. Mightyena, a strong dark lad who is very good with Hannah which is why she got him. Lucario, a fighting type who is very loyal to her and she trusts it deeply. Bisharp, a good reliable pokemon who she vibes with and loves the aesthetic of. Pangoro, a gift from Ethan that she cherishes. Malamar, she got this one to help balance her team also to kind of tie in with Hannah’s favorite type.

Hannah: Munna, psychic baby that helps with her nightmares. Espurr, another psychic baby that she loves. Fennekin, her starter that she is trying to level and evolve. Mimikyu, a gift from Lex that she loves. Galvantula, it reminds her a bit of Webby and she loves that. Araquanid, she loves spiders okay.

Ethan: Krookodile, a sneaky bastard that is also sweet so Ethan approves. Greninja, his starter that he picked once it evolved into a ninja frog. Mandibuzz, a gift from Lex that she subsequently named after her. Zoroark, a sneaky boy that loves to entertain his girls, Lex and Hannah, with its ability. Scolipede, a bug dude he got from Hannah as a venipede. Honchkrow, a fancy bird lad he uses to get around.

Becky: Blissey, she got it as a helper for her job as a nurse. Sylveon, she got an eevee from Tom in high school and she gave it a lot of affection and soon it evolved. Altaria, a fluffy dragon bird that is the powerhouse of her team that she got after leaving Stanley in the woods. Absol, she also got her after the whole Stanley thing as to hopefully avoid making that kind of mistake again. Wigglytuff, a soft pokemon that the kids under her care love. Meganium, her starter and longest friend.

McNamara: Empoleon, his starter and a really well typed pokemon that is a solid and strong team member. Skarmory, a gift from the military he uses in his job. Luxray, a fancy lad he got as a shinx from Xander Lee when they got married several years back. Aggron, another military gifted pokemon that he did get to pick out. Froslass, a rescued pokemon from one of the disasters that he got attached to. Excadrill, an emergency responder pokemon, good helper and even better friend.

#hatchetfield #starkid #lex foster #lexthan #ethan green #hannah foster #paul matthews #paulkins #emma perkins #general john mcnamara #John Mcnamara #becky barnes #Tom Houston #black friday #tgwdlm #the guy who didn't like musicals #pokeman #pokemon

[judediangelo75]

Kiss the Girl, Winger

Inspiration strikes yet again, thanks to Disney! Lol, if you don’t know “Kiss the Girl”, allow me to help.

-Disney movie version: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TrRbB-qUJfY

-Ashley Tisdale version: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=68-xSRHgxy0

I’m literally winging this so bear with me.

MC friend: David Willows ( @that-scouse-wizard ) (David is basically Judith’s best friend at this point, expect to see him OFTEN lol)

-----------------------

Talbott has no bloody idea how he got dragged into this situation.

But yet here he was.

Sitting with David and Diego on the Training Grounds. He was originally hanging out with David, training.

Judith and David had taken upon themselves to train their partners, especially since they were the main ones going into a dangerous profession. 

Diego came to do some training himself and now they were taking a “break”.

By “break”, Talbott means talking about relationships and such. Talbott did his best not to look too uncomfortable, but it wasn’t working. 

“I take that your relationships are going well,” Diego asked with an easygoing smile. Diego was too much of a “go with the flow” type of guy. Talbott can’t see him settling down with any one any time soon.

“Of course! I’m with the Most Powerful Witch at Hogwarts, what more can a lad ask for,” David chuckled. Diego turned his gaze to Talbott, waiting for a response.

Talbott gave a simple nod.

“You sure there’s no lass that’s caught your eye, Caplan,” David asked. Diego let out a boasting laugh.

“Afraid not, friend. Diego Caplan isn’t so easy to be tied down. It’s fun to flirt and kiss any beautiful witch I want with no strings attached. Sample every flavor there is,” Diego smirked. David rolled his eyes.

“Whatever you say, Diego. Being intimate with single person is pretty damn special in my opinion. There’s something indescribable whenever I kiss Mer. Doesn’t help she tastes sweet too. C’mon Talbott back me up here,” David argued. 

Talbott felt his face flush out of embarrassment and looked away. David and Diego glanced at each other before looking toward the silent Ravenclaw.

“Tal, you good there mate,” David asked. Diego tried to lighten the mood.

“Surely Judith isn’t a bad kisser, is she?” David sent a small glare at the Hufflepuff duelist.

Talbott mumbled something under his breath.

“Come again, friend,” Diego said. Talbott fidgeted before sighing.

“I never kissed Judith before.”

Silence.

“How?!” David and Diego exclaimed. 

“You two have been together for quite awhile now. Longer than David and Merula. How haven’t you kissed her,” Diego asked.

“Exactly! Judith has to be one of the most affectionate witches I know. And she’s head over heels in love you. How,” David stressed. The stoic Ravenclaw crossed his arms over his chest, face flushed red.

“I just never kissed her before...” Talbott wasn’t going to admit that he was too shy to do so.

David wasn’t wrong, Judith was indeed affectionate. It felt strange to be showered with attention and affection, but Talbott wasn’t complaining. He found it sweet.

And Judith did try to kiss him once. 

He ended up jerking away out of reflex and confusion. He could still remember the slight hurt reflecting in her gold eyes before she offered a shy smile and an apology.

She never tried again afterwards. And he cursed himself for it.

Because it wasn’t like he didn’t want to kiss her. Gods know how bloody curious he was to know what’s it like.

How her full lips will feel against his.

What flavor chapstick she uses.

How it will feel melting against her as he allows himself indulge in the intimate act.

Will there be sparks?

Will it feel like his heart will race out of his chest?

Would he crave for more once they pull away?

So many thoughts invade his mind whenever he catches himself looking at his girlfriend’s lips.

Don’t get him started if she was wearing her signature deep red lipstick-

“TALBOTT!” Talbott was thrusted out of his thoughts and turned his attention back on the two Hufflepuff wizards sitting next to him.

“You guys said something,” he asked. David pinched the bridge of his nose and Diego shook his head.

“Kiss the girl, Winger,” they both demanded. Talbott blushed and glared.

“Before you say how we have no right orderin’ you around, while you are right, we can tell you want to. You were bitin’ your lip and scrunchin’ your brows as if you were imaging it. While all power to you, I much rather you not fantasize about my sister in my presence,” David said. 

“As if you don’t kiss Merula whenever Judith and I are around,” Talbott huffed.

“Don’t change the subject! You want that experience. Just go for it,” David argued.

“Besides it’s not like she doesn’t know how to kiss. Andre was her first-OW!” David smacked Diego hard. He noticed the uncertainty that flashed in the Ravenclaw’s red eyes.

David knew Talbott was a bit insecure about himself, even though Judith had the biggest crush on him ever since they first met. He was there when Judith admitted that she fancied him when they were learning the Memory Charm with Professor Flitwick. 

Judith may thought Andre was handsome, but she would never see him more than a friend.

Talbott had trouble believing that at the beginning. 

Any mention of Andre and Judith in the same sentence would make him shut down.

And Diego was certainly not helping.

“Talbott, you know full damn well Judith only see Andre as a friend. Tonks was my first kiss and we’re just friends. If she really liked him, she would be with him. But she’s not. She’s with you, and literally sees no one else,” David said, staring the silent Ravenclaw dead in his eyes. 

Talbott let out a shaky breath.

“You’re right... I just don’t want to disappoint her...” Diego snorted, earning a glare from both boys.

“Talbott, my friend. Are we talking about the same Judith? She values everything you do. You don’t have to do much to make her smile. I highly doubt you can disappoint her,” Diego said, watching their glares lessen.

Talbott coughed, trying to ignore the warmth in his cheeks.

“You two make fair points,” he mumbled. David smirked.

“So kiss the girl, Winger...”

----------------------

“This is a lovely day for a date, Talbott,” Judith chuckled as they walked along the shore of the Black Lake. 

It was late in the afternoon, the sun was setting along the horizon. Talbott had taken them out to Hogsmeade, revisiting their first date spot. Madam Puddifoot had giggled seeing the pair again, serving them some cake and tea.

Lucky for him, conversation came easier this time around and there was no one there to crash their date. Talbott always enjoyed the sight of his little bird smiling sweetly at him.

Afterwards, they flew back to Hogwarts. Well, not before a few games of tag and chase along the way. 

Eventually they reached their current destination, waling along the shore while holding hands.

They sat in comfortable silence on the boardwalk on the Boathouse, overlooking the water. Talbott kept stealing glances at his serene girlfriend, whose eyes were closed.

Her hair was mostly down, the sides being pulled back to reveal her face. Her face was makeup free, revealing her natural beauty. 

Judith’s attire was rather simple. A short yellow dress with white flowers and white sandals. Her accessories were small gold hoop earrings and the key necklace he gifted her on Valentine’s Day.

‘Dear Gods, she’s so perfect that it hurts...’ he thought, drinking in the sight of the Hufflepuff witch being bathed in the sun’s loving warmth. A breeze gently pasted them, the sweet scent of coconuts and cocoa butter greeted the young’s wizard’s nose.

He felt dizzy with delight as he scoot closer to her. He knew he could have anything he could want from the Hufflepuff witch. His gaze fell to her full lips and he bit his lip.

“You’re staring...” Talbott flinched at the sudden sound of her voice. Gold eyes slowly opened, locking with his red ones.

“Something on your mind, my love,” Judith asked, delicately running her fingertips along the line of his sharp jawline. Talbott shivered at the barely there touch, leaning into it for a more solid sensation.

“Um...” Talbott felt the familiar sense of panic starting to creep into his mind. His heart began to race as he felt his palms turn a bit clammy. 

Can he really do this? 

Judith frowned at this, cupping his face in her hands so he can look at her.

“Hey, hey... it’s okay, Talbott. Talk to me,” she whispered. Her breath fanned over his lips, causing his heart to lurch in his chest. He can smell the faint sweetness of the cake she had earlier at the tea shop.

“I... I-I... I want to kiss you... Is that alright,” Talbott whispered breathlessly. He mentally slapped his forehead.

‘What the HELL was that, Winger?! Most wizards would’ve just went for it! Even those who do ask would’ve been much more smoother than that! Bloody hell, can the Giant Squid just grab me and pull me below. Ugh, this is so bloody-”

“Of course you can, Talbott.” Talbott was abrupted pulled out his self-berating thoughts at the simple sentence. Judith did her best not to giggle at the surprised and slightly lost expression on her boyfriend’s face.

“A-are you serious,” he asked, still feeling slightly panicked. Judith leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his cheek, which helped calm him a bit.

“Of course, bird boy. I was waiting for you to ask or make a move for awhile now,” she said.

“B-but I never kissed anyone before,” he blurted out. Judith’s eyebrows furrowed at this.

“I’m failing to see how that’s a problem...” Talbott sighed and looked away, feeling his face burn.

“I don’t want to disappoint you if I’m not good enough. I know this isn’t your first. Andre had that privilege,” he mumbled. Judith turned his head back so she can meet his gaze.

“Hey... just because this isn’t my first doesn’t mean this wouldn’t be special to me. And to be honest... I didn’t feel much from that kiss. You’re the only one I really imagined doing this with,” Judith whispered. Talbott slowly relaxed at her admission, wrapping his arms around her waist to bring her closer.

“I love you, little bird,” he said softly, angling his head so he wouldn’t bump into her nose. Judith giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck, mimicking his actions.

“I love you too, bird boy... kiss me, please...”

Talbott couldn’t ignore that soft request even if he tried.

He allowed himself to lean the rest of way.

He kept the contact light, testing the waters. Barely there brushes that teased him more than he expected.

These went on for a few fleeting moments until one of them decided they wanted more. Lips gently parted and locked, seeking a sweeter taste.

The taste of vanilla and cake registered in his mind, causing Talbott leaned in more for the delicious combination.

Talbott sighed through his nose.

If he knew kissing his girlfriend meant being sent to heaven, he would’ve let Judith kiss him that day.

Her lips were just as soft as they looked. Plush and warm against his own.

The taste of her vanilla chapstick had him craving for more.

He never felt more at peace, giving into his little bird and this enchanting kiss. 

He never wanted this to-

Her lips were gone.

A soft whine escaped the back of his throat as he blindly chased after her. A soft laugh snapped out of it as he opened his eyes to find the teasing glint in those gold eyes.

“That good huh,” Judith chuckled. Talbott grumbled, looking away. Judith outright laughed at her boyfriend’s disgruntled state.

“I’m just teasing... come here,” she giggled, pressing another kiss to his lips. Talbott perked up a bit, squeezing her closer.

He could get used to this...

#hphm #hphm mc #hphm jacobs sibling #jacob's sibling #jacob's sister #judith harris #hphm talbott #hphm talbott winger #talbott winger #talbott x mc #talbott x jacob's sibling #talbott winger x mc #talbott winger x jacob's sibling #other people's ocs #david willows #fluff #teeth rotting fluff #hufflepuff!mc #hufflepuff x ravenclaw #first kiss #talbott is a shy bird #judith finds it adorable

[perlen-gold]

Tale of a Forest

Prompt: *Freebie* for @14daysdalovers

Pairing: M!Fenhawke

They seek refuge in the embrace of the tree.

The rain, decisive withal light, descended upon them at no notice.

In one moment, the forget-me-not-blue and snowdrop-white sky an exuberant brightness, in another handfuls of ashen-grey clouds were summoned by the wind to befall the lands with astonishing rains.

Fenris espied the riven tree first. Born from one root it stretches its triplet-trunks luxuriously like a three-fingered hand. Above, their crowns reach to rejoice again and, while still bereft of their leafy dress, numberless limbs entwine twistingly as if to warm each other. It stands alone, as if left behind by its comrades.

So they are hurrying towards it with quick steps, their rebounding feet falling lightly on the springy gras spraying larksome drops of rain every which way.

Between the three bough-branched, moss-matted trunks Hawke and Fenris shed their cloaks to put them up. If not drying they would at least provide a woolen canopy fending off most of the hoydenish rain. The wetness is not fancying itself a storm, yet prevents the toilsome start of a fire.

Under this they settle, Hawke leaning against the inner side of one of the three tilted trunks, and soon he reaches for Fenris who is still busy with the arrangements of their makeshift roof, dauntless rain drops tugging at the white strands of his hair, afly now and then in the welling wind. In one well-practiced, fluid motion Fenris sinks down on Hawke’s lap, his arms around his waist.

Thus huddled midst the three-faced tree they listen to the quiet weeping of the skies.

After a while, Hawke reclines his head and smiles, eyes aglitter. “You wish to continue our fight from earlier on?” 

“I did not fight with you,” Fenris answers, “You did not yet know you were wrong.”

Roaring, Hawke throws back his head, his throat resonate with laughter. “They do not know where to go. They are refugees now.” he says after a moment, smiling appreciatively up at the man sitting in his lap, anticipating the game.

“Which did not prevent the man from attacking me with blood magic when we drew closer.” Fenris counters with arid readiness.

“I was assailed by the Templar first.” Hawke retorts slyly.

Fenris’ response is instantaneous and fast: “Whereas the blood mage attacked me behind my back.”

“Of course he did, you cannot expect the poor lad to attack you to your face.” Hawke replies, candid.  

“I was bending down for some badges to help him.” Fenris indignantly snorts.

“Well,” Hawke continues with relishing insolence, “you forgot to shed your murder-face first.”

Slightly Fenris’ eyes narrow, pondering this for a time while leaning back. “He was trying, if only amateurishly, to use my blood, Hawke.”

“Yes, and that is very outrageous,” Hawke concedes in serious graveness, “but the boy was only sixteen and, I think, he was far too afraid to cut his own little finger.”

Fenris grimaces and therefore Hawke, sensing advantage, is quick to plunge on: “Whereas the Templar I was to try and talk out of threatening the poor boy – “

“You mocked her.” Fenris interjects dryly.

“ – whereas the Templar I was trying to jolly along”, Hawke insists, “with her sword nearly hew off my arm.” he ends with a gleeful triumph.

Head slanted, Fenris raises a dark, versatile eyebrow. “The Templar who was about eighty years? At least?”

“She was a very agile eighty-year-old.”

“She,” Fenris dissents with blithe stubbornness, “did not use blood magic.”

“Because she did not know how to. Neither did the boy.” Hawke explains mock-gravely.

“He meant to.  Although I even smiled at him.” invokes Fenris displeased, his eyes an emerald conflagration.

“Baring your teeth at a mage is not smiling, Fenris. It is murder-face.” Then, as though adding an afterthought, Hawke impishly grins. “I, of all people, should know.”

At this the tension shatters and this time it is Fenris’ turn to give a low laugh, Hawke can feel it spiraling in his chest, a plumbless, youthful sound, his chesty voice vibrantly flying up to bead between hundreds of lucent drops of rain.

Gently, Hawke bows his head. Thus, Fenris forehead comes to rest upon his, their breaths mingling.

They listen again for the soft thuds and whispers of the rain.

After a while they kiss. Both hungry and savoring, a tender, silent game of questions and answers of lips. They graze each other’s skin, seek softly for familiar spots, a patch of rough skin, an unfamiliar and late bite, slightly swollen.

A little later Fenris and Hawke talk, dripping clouds lazily passing by, their voices quiet and clear to each other.

Hawke tells Fenris of his mother, the feel of her hard, rounded belly which he touched with young hands as a small boy, of his brother and sister, how they were born in the midnight blue middle of a storm-wrapped night, how he used to play hide-and-seek with tiny Carver and climbed ancient trees with little Bethany, and the fire the two of them once started, unwittingly, in his mother’s prized flower bed.

Hawke tells him stories of his childhood, stories of white-capped mountains which send their frigid howls down into snow-swirling dells in a Ferelden white, of forests so dark and mystical, moss-green and bark-brown, brimming with tales of walking trees and talking wolves hidden between shades of innumerable greens in short summer, every conceivable shade of white in winter. Lands, fields and streams still ruled by chilling winters and long-dead kings.

How did you survive, Fenris asks as the pads of his fingertips trace along the arcs of Hawke’s cheekbones and scrub against the defying black of his beard, in this threatening cold?  What does a frozen sea look like, Hawke?

Hot meals, Fenris, long-burning, flame-red fires from crepitant logs and twigs during long nights, and warm, heavy furs like the wild men wear in the south.

Fenris, in turn, talks then of dense jungles and tangled vegetation, the unmatched feeling of overwhelmingness in opaque, dark, colossal jungles of towering trees, giant green leaves, spear-like sunrays that pierce the otherwise impenetrable green, smoothing darkness. Of tall stone pagodas overrun with twining vines. Of roaring cataract waterfalls amidst lushes of leafy, muggy forest pervading the sight, the sun a remote memory under the eclipsing canopy of virescent leaves, a luminous baldachin shrilly alive with all manner of cries, chatters, chirrups and sundry shrieks. Of a turquoise blue ocean which sheds its color to a cryptic midnight blue after sunset, leaving a taste of salt on skins. Of a stupefying onslaught of water, dripping, drenching, dousing during incessant rains permeating for weeks on end. Inbetween these onrushs the continual dripping of beads on ferns and creepers like a sheet of crystals, mixing up with the pervasive thin layer of sweat on the skin, adding to the moisture in the air. Of the everlasting, impermeable, out-reaching fog veiling warriors of egregious stealth and skill, who harbor but secrets of the origin of the legendary Griffons from the vast mountains tangy with cinnamon and nutmeg, a fragrance that weaves in and out of the luscious greenery of ferns. Here, Fenris pauses. Somewhat lost in reflection, contemplation. As always.

At first, this was difficult for Fenris.

Speaking. Talking. About good things, too. Things worth to remember.

Testing the power of your tongue. Letting your voice fly out of your chest and settle somewhere within another heart.

Letting lose things, of birds and beasts, flowers and thorns, things you are not sure you dare to examine yourself, things that bear both blossoms and poison. Power indwelling and evoked in both. And by letting them lose, that power transfers into the listener.

So Hawke started it. By letting fly small stories. Kirkwall, the first year he lived there, Ferelden, his hometown Lothering. Short tales that grew larger eventually, as Fenris tried, hesitantly, warily, distrustfully the power of his own voice. Hitherto he had spoken, oh yes, words burst forth from within by runaway emotions, unbridled, only to be shackled again and frowned upon afterwards. So, with incredible difficulty, tentatively, cautiously, with a lot of faltering and long considering pauses between words while Hawke listened to him in silence, Fenris tried.

What does a white beach look like, asks Hawke, rubbing Fenris’ arm lightly as his quiet stretches on, how does a warm sea leaping at your naked toes feel like? How does it taste, the moist sky and jungle air?

And Fenris tells Hawke, under the shelter of softly padding rain drops, of ensanguined beaches and mossy ground trembling under the everlasting combat of Tevinter soldiers and Qunari warriors. Fenris tells, his voice clear and quiet, after great consideration, also of Minrathous, a city of marvels and terrors alike. Of how he endured nights of stomach-punching, mind-dulling hunger in a palatial, marble-pillared place brimming with food, of nights filled with the heart-pounding, ceaseless listening for hunting pursuers, of the guilt and pleasure of stolen crumbs of bread over a dead body.

There are stories, yes, stories Fenris does not talk about which Hawke hears in the mute, overpowering echo of his silence. Stories Hawke both fears and yearns for.

Therefore, Hawke talks of his father.

The tickle and scratchiness of his father’s ebony beard under his boyish fingers The way his mouth curved, sagged and arched into infectious grins. The reverberation of his resonating laughter when no one else would laugh but anyone be provoked into it by his quiet smile in a fuliginous hut. . The smell of tender arms. Of his father taking him for walks by hours on end into the winding forests, teaching him magic, pure simple magic, and considerably more.  His father whom Hawke invariably, ineradicably venerated and revered, a man of such kindness and protectiveness that he would help anyone who stumbled across his path. A man of unparalleled strength of will who wielded his magic before Hawke’s admiring boyish eyes with skill unrivaled, a man who seemed not to draw magic from the elements but rather be flooded by it from nature itself, while Fenris’ gaze lingers upon Hawke’s features with a softening, gentle expression whereas Hawke’s voice deliquesces to a throaty hoarseness.

Thus, a forest of stories arises, familiar ones they have shared many times before to one another so that they sound like lullabies from forgotten childhood days to either Fenris or Hawke. A forest grows of stories which they find new aspects to each time they tell the other again, a fresh point of view to ponder, a new silver light in the snow of a cold morning to behold, an almost forgotten, dusty taste to palpate in their mouths. And new stories as well. Stories which they are strangers to themselves until they have finished telling, somewhat scared, their gaze intend and steady upon the other’s face.

Inbetween stories they kiss again, patient and slow and between hushed words, indignant laughter and childlike giggles to find them.

The rain obscuring their sight, they have not seen the sun riding low in the sky and being pulled below the earth, illumined with streaks of light threading their way through the clouds. On the opposite side the moon rises behind the horizon as a vast, unbelievably sublime coin. It is aglow in ember-colored tones.

Meanwhile the rain has stopped, the clouds somehow, somewhen drifted along, revealing a welkin unsullied. Along the branches of the three-fingered tree buds glister lightly with the occasional drop, each heavy with the power of a rainforest’s monsoon, falling with a dead Ferelden king’s immortal might. A pale pink brushes the skies in the early evening, enchanting the horizon into a silky teal flowing into dainty rosy hues, dissolving to mysterious lilacs and, ultimately, velvety cobalt blue, their pastel shades disintegrating into one another.

The rain over, they rise from the embrace of the tree. Hawke tastes the squishy ground first with his boot, the grass springy and spongy underneath him. They bring down the almost soaking cloak which sustained shelter for them all the same.

Albeit smudged with winter dirt, the rain has bestrewn the wet ground with a scatter of shyly budding blossoms. But lying on a green bed of silk, violet crocus flowers wreathe among snowdrops of impeccable ivory and valorous-greened, saffron-yellow daffodils. Once night descends and soars again, hidden birds will begin their songs of time-old tales in every direction despite the cold dawn.

As of yet, Hawke and Fenris listen into the evening air, indicative of battle and fear, fading at last. The barely interrupted fighting has stopped to an exhausted stupor.

The lake from which they ran around midday lies shimmering and serene, struck by spring twilight, its depth wrought in the remembrance of a waning winter, not yet radiant with the lapis blue it will don to bedazzle its entranced surroundings.

With the cease of daylight, the war cries gradually cease too with tired people soon returning to their makeshift camps and jealously guarded camp fires, holding their enemies at bay by the threat of a night ambush, and a sort of weary silence returns to this once tranquil land.

Hawke’s boots squelch and Fenris’ incorrigibly bare feet slap onto the wet grass. Both of them look up to glance not at the spectacular fulgent full moon but westwards.

Behind them, under an unblemished plum-purple firmament, the low horizon would emanate a peach-colored, splendid glow, were it not for the bilious green exuded in the sky above. As both Fenris and Hawke look in its direction, upon their faces is cast a haunting light which throws their features into unfamiliar shapes, rifts and cracks, defacing, distorting them almost into unrecognizability.

Tentatively, Fenris hand touches Hawke’s chest.

“No news from Varric yet.”

Almost absent-mindedly, Hawke’s hand comes to rest on the pocket underneath his armor, too, where a carefully folded, thin package of swiftly-written and often-read letters rests, not speaking at once.

“I would never have believed to say this: No.”

Thoughtful, Fenris looks back at eerie sky. They both appraise it for a while.

This night, although they do not yet know of it, they will spend with rare company, sharing their food and secureness despite Hawke’s being careful of unearthing his name and self. Young and unkempt, a girl of maybe ten years will observe Fenris with curious child’s eyes, after setting fire to a winter-brown scrub, whom he calls witch. She, consequently, proudly informs him when I grow up I will become a witch of the wilds. They thereupon continue staring at each other, she peering, he glaring, till the girl lifts her dirty hands to snatch the apple in mid-air, revealing a gap between her teeth with her grinning at his gift.

For now, however Fenris’ hand easily slides into Hawke’s with well-practiced ease, a modest squeeze tiding through Hawke’s fingers, filling the chill which has descended upon them with warmth, a breathlessness and contentment flaring up inside him, as they set off for the winter-worn, mage-marked, templar-torn, spring-awaiting lake.

Behind them the solitary, three-stemmed tree slowly becomes one with the sinking crocus-purple night, a forest of trees fading with it.

______________________________________________________

😄 Okay, normally I don’t show drafts and I really don’t feel comfortable sharing  things I feel are not only unrevised but still rough, blurred and incomplete BUT I really, really, REALLY wanted to contribute something to this last day of February and @14daysdalovers so I’ve worked through this for the last three days on end and I'm deciding now to simply bury my face in my hands and be done with it! 😆😅🙈

💗 Thank you so much @scharoux for your invariable efforts and considerate kindness! With your help what would have been a disheartening, quarantine-ridden February was transformed into weeks of pleasure, creativity and love! 💗

🌹 THANK YOU!!! 🌹

PS. A million thanks, too, to all those incredible, invisible people who actually bother to read my stuff!!!

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