#i recognize like six characters from it

[toddhewitt]

Todd Hewitt for the Reverse Unpopular Opinion meme 😁

my favorite of all time 😭 i have extensive notes written on why exactly that is but to sum it up it's mostly about just being human. making mistakes, feeling bad and saying you'll learn from them, then making more mistakes and that cycle repeating itself. redemption as a non-linear process, the way both todd and mayor prentiss raise complex questions about what makes a person ir/redeemable - this all weighs so heavily on todd's shoulders and he's not dealing with it like a hero, he's dealing with it like a human. more specifically, a human raised by two parents who are more moderate (and one of whom actively strays away from toxic masculinity) in a violent extremist society based on said toxic masculinity, and the contradictions that come with this kind of upbringing. he's kind, but he fails. he feels everything so much, he has so much rage and love and anguish in him. he's just a kid who's not remarkable at anything of his own making, it's just that upbringing that made him into the emotional guy he is.

and the intensity of these emotions is that power. this is made explicit by the mayor (and others) multiple times, and is shown to us specifically with everything regarding his noise. todd is undoubtedly at his weakest in the middle of the second book because he's numb, and echoes of it, a different kind of numbness, appear in the third book. both times, that numbness breaks when he's at a sudden emotional extreme - in the ask and the answer it's seeing viola again, especially when she shows him the band, and in monsters of men it's hearing ben's song. as he gets farther away from the mayor and closer to ben, his noise literally opens up. it's such a perfect way to show the power that is in todd's emotions, and i haven't even mentioned the noise battles.

but the thing is - he doesn't want to use that power, and it's not a necessarily positive or heroic statement. there's being greedy for power, and in opposition there's giving up on power and the indication that it's resisting greed and so it's valiant. but that's not the case with todd; he's actually told that his power could do the world good, that he can help bring change. viola tells him that in the tent scene in monsters of men, which is, in my opinion, the most important scene for his whole character arc. and it's because he's simply saying - no. i know i have this power and that it can help, but i've been trying to do a lot of good, and it's exhausting me. there are adults who can help handle the situation. i just want to live quietly with the people i love.

that rejection of the hero role imposed on you by others is not something that this story invented, but here it's the most powerful way i've ever seen it used, because for three books we have been inside the mind of this kid, who is full of anger and full of care, reading about his constant turmoil at the questions, "am i moral? am i forgivable? am i good?" so this is todd saying he doesn't owe anyone an answer to these questions, including himself. this is him recognizing that the world should not put him in situations where he constantly needs to ask these questions, that a society which challenges his goodness in its cruel reality is not one that he wants to keep living in, and that he wants to find an alternative. it sounds almost naive but i think it's also mature in its implications, or like, accepting his own naivete. he doesn't know he's the protagonist of a story but everyone seems to think he's special anyway, and he's rejecting the responsibility that comes with these things. sounds selfish? maybe. but it's human. maybe "i'm human" is the best answer he can give to the questions he's been asking himself... embracing the chaos of personhood, this intuitive wording feels right.

i love the way his internal voice is written. it's so genuine and so fluid, like a flowing stream of thought. i love his terminology, especially in the hebrew translation. i love his imperfections as a human being and i love that he feels so much like a human being. he's human. that's the thing i love most about him ❤

#mayareplies #chaos walking #i know for a fact that not everyone agrees it's a likeable quality of his/of the books #(in fact that's why i'm here now - a negative review i stumbled upon about six years ago #made me feel guilty for liking and relating to todd's character #and then i read the trilogy again with the intention of figuring out what this character means to me and in general #and what i've written here is a significant part of my conclusions from that journey) #but regardless of whether it's a likeable quality or not #i feel like the simple notion of that humanity is recognized by readers #and it is what makes him likeable to many readers who i've had interactions with #so this is me expanding on the idea in my own way #'i have extensive notes' she says and proceeds to write their contents in a new way lmao #nah to be fair this IS only summing it up. i have a beginning of a doc of meta on the entire trilogy so this is quite short really #chaos walking books

[caramel-ribbons]

I just watched Avatar for the first time all the way through, and yeah, it’s great, but the one thing that surprised me was how different Katara was compared to the fandom interpretation I’d seen and internalized before watching.

Like, before you watch Avatar, you’ve seen all these memes about Katara and her mom, and based on those memes, you assume it’s one of those lines you have to get used to hearing at least once every episode. But then you watch the show and realize that she only talks about her mom maybe five or six times per season and you also realize she only brings her up when she’s trying to comfort someone or empathize with them because that’s how she processes her grief and that’s one way she connects with people.

Or you hear the infamous line, “then you didn’t love [our mother] the way I did” and you prepare yourself for one of the worst character assassinations ever only to see the scene after nearly three seasons worth of context and realize she was kinda right. She’s been the mother, the nurturer, the comforter. She’s been patient, gentle, and accommodating where everyone else has gotten to be insensible and reckless and childish, and the one moment where she allows herself to feel her grief, suddenly she’s this evil bitch and not, y’know, a 14 year old girl whose been thrusted into adulthood in a way no other character has. A 14 year old girl who should be allowed immaturity and raw emotion and anger instead of the patience and grace she’s been forced to extend to every character without even the smallest amount of gratitude or even consideration in return.

Or you see all of the clips where Katara puts Aang in the “friendzone” and you expect to have this wishy washy back and forth where Aang is putting his feelings out there only to have Katara neither commit nor express any clear reciprocation or rejection. Then you watch and realize that, as cute as the ship is initially, that there’s never a point where Aang returns any comfort or grace to Katara despite her always doing this for him to the point of coddling. That for as much as Aang says he loves her, he never seems to outgrow his perception of her so he can recognize her as someone who feels grief, anger, and pain as much as she expresses love, kindness, and maturity. And instead of having moments where he learns to see her beyond her strength or compassion, you’re instead given moments where Aang forces his feelings onto her, both romantic and non-romantic, and Katara is expected to just…shoulder those feelings the way she shoulders everyone else’s.

Katara is the most misunderstood character in the show. As much as people recognize the complexities of Zuko, Sokka, and Azula, they struggle to do the same for Katara because they see her struggles as somehow lesser, and therefore, less deserving of sympathy. They can handle her so long as she’s being endlessly patient and loving and kind, but the moment her endless love, patience, and kindness runs out, she’s suddenly this annoying bitch who can’t shut up about her mother or reciprocate Aang’s feelings. But Katara’s trauma does matter as much as anyone else’s. No, she wasn’t banished from her kingdom. No, she didn’t lose her entire community, and no, she isn’t the only one who lost her mother. But the difference between her and everyone else whose experienced loss because of the Fire Nation is that she’s never given time to process her trauma. Aang gets to lean on Katara constantly. Toph gets to express her feelings to Katara, and yeah, Sokka also lost their mother, but unlike Katara, he isn’t put in the position of being a substitute for everyone’s parent. He even admits that he sees his sister as a mother. The only characters who ever comfort Katara or allow her to vent is Zuko and her father and that’s, like, three scenes in a show where the other characters are consistently given opportunities to seek out Katara for unconditional support.

The fandom interpretation of Katara has been so bastardized that even those who haven’t watched the show know her for this fanon version and not for who she is. She’s such an interesting character beyond her fandom limitations, though. She’s brave, hot-headed, and hopeful as well as gentle and caring. She wishes to learn waterbending, not only because she wants to fight in the war, but because she wants to continue her culture’s practices because, and people often forget this, she also lost an entire subculture within her already fractured tribe. And she wants to defeat the Fire Nation both because of her deep love and empathy for other people, but also because she wants to avenge her mother. But because some of the fans have reduced Katara to a bitch who constantly whines about her mother and friendzones Aang, you wouldn’t know any of this, and it sucks because she’s the only character whose been dumbed down to such an extent.

#avatar the last airbender #avatar #katara #you can tell she’s my favorite character #female character #zutara #I’m not anti or pro either #just something I noticed #I’m ​not against Aang either #just this writing

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Terry Pratchett about fantasy ❤

Terry Pratchett interview in The Onion, 1995 (x)

O: You’re quite a writer. You’ve a gift for language, you’re a deft hand at plotting, and your books seem to have an enormous amount of attention to detail put into them. You’re so good you could write anything. Why write fantasy?

Terry: I had a decent lunch, and I’m feeling quite amiable. That’s why you’re still alive. I think you’d have to explain to me why you’ve asked that question.

O: It’s a rather ghettoized genre.

Terry: This is true. I cannot speak for the US, where I merely sort of sell okay. But in the UK I think every book— I think I’ve done twenty in the series— since the fourth book, every one has been one the top ten national bestsellers, either as hardcover or paperback, and quite often as both. Twelve or thirteen have been number one. I’ve done six juveniles, all of those have nevertheless crossed over to the adult bestseller list. On one occasion I had the adult best seller, the paperback best-seller in a different title, and a third book on the juvenile bestseller list. Now tell me again that this is a ghettoized genre.

O: It’s certainly regarded as less than serious fiction.

Terry: (Sighs) Without a shadow of a doubt, the first fiction ever recounted was fantasy. Guys sitting around the campfire— Was it you who wrote the review? I thought I recognized it— Guys sitting around the campfire telling each other stories about the gods who made lightning, and stuff like that. They did not tell one another literary stories. They did not complain about difficulties of male menopause while being a junior lecturer on some midwestern college campus.

Fantasy is without a shadow of a doubt the ur-literature, the spring from which all other literature has flown. Up to a few hundred years ago no one would have disagreed with this, because most stories were, in some sense, fantasy. Back in the middle ages, people wouldn’t have thought twice about bringing in Death as a character who would have a role to play in the story. Echoes of this can be seen in Pilgrim’s Progress, for example, which hark back to a much earlier type of storytelling. The epic of Gilgamesh is one of the earliest works of literature, and by the standard we would apply now— a big muscular guys with swords and certain godlike connections— That’s fantasy. The national literature of Finland, the Kalevala. Beowulf in England. I cannot pronounce Bahaghvad-Gita but the Indian one, you know what I mean. The national literature, the one that underpins everything else, is by the standards that we apply now, a work of fantasy.

Now I don’t know what you’d consider the national literature of America, but if the words Moby Dick are inching their way towards this conversation, whatever else it was, it was also a work of fantasy. Fantasy is kind of a plasma in which other things can be carried. I don’t think this is a ghetto. This is, fantasy is, almost a sea in which other genres swim. Now it may be that there has developed in the last couple of hundred years a subset of fantasy which merely uses a different icongraphy, and that is, if you like, the serious literature, the Booker Prize contender. Fantasy can be serious literature. Fantasy has often been serious literature. You have to fairly dense to think that Gulliver’s Travels is only a story about a guy having a real fun time among big people and little people and horses and stuff like that. What the book was about was something else. Fantasy can carry quite a serious burden, and so can humor. So what you’re saying is, strip away the trolls and the dwarves and things and put everyone into modern dress, get them to agonize a bit, mention Virginia Woolf a few times, and there! Hey! I’ve got a serious novel. But you don’t actually have to do that.

(Pauses) That was a bloody good answer, though I say it myself.

#terry pratchett #interview #terry interview #fantasy #terry on fantasy #fun fact #<3 #the onion

[dollwrites]

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!sorcerer!reader, rough sex, orgasm denial, sukuna’s mean, begging, degradation, pussy spanking, suggested noncon prior to the beginning of the fic, name calling ( brat, whore, bitch ), dacryphilia, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟯 ∣ day six [ sukuna ryomen ( megumi ) + orgasm denial ]

“W-wait, please— fuck!!”

another howl of disapproval tears from your throat as the King of Curses pushes you off of his cock, again. your body trembles and twitches; your used cunt trying to clench around air and hold on to the orgasm that you’d been right on the cusp of.

“Let me…” you’re panting, trying to stabilize your weight on your scuffed-up knees, but the muscles in your body had all but turned to gelatin after hours of relentless fucking. “Let me cum…” it’s an attempt to demand, to sound tougher than you were, but you sound pathetic and weak, pushing your ass back towards the bastardized visage of your best friend.

beyond the curse marks that etched into his complexion, Sukuna Ryomen had twisted Megumi into a monster that you didn’t even recognize. or, perhaps, it was because of the tears blurring your vision or the haze your poor brain had been fucked into. you didn’t know anymore.

“So entitled for a little, fucking whore. You’re not acting like you don’t want this, anymore.” one powerful hand grabs most of your hair at the roots in a tight vice and pushes you forward, smearing your face into the floor, and he hunches over you. you squirm and whine, but not from the screaming pain in your scalp or the taste of blood in your mouth, but because you could feel his cock, hard and throbbing, as it rubs against your ass cheeks when he hunches forward. his body is on fire against yours, smearing sweat from his broad chest across your shoulder blades. “A few hours ago you were trying to kill me, screaming for me to stop, and trying to threaten me, and now you’re yipping for my cock like a wild animal. Begging to be mounted. Cum-hungry. You’re an easy one to break.”

“Go to hell,” you groaned, but you still writhed, winding your hips in an attempt to convince him to push back inside.

“I’m taking you with me.” he retorts with a raspy chuckle, before doing just that— and none too gently. with a forceful thrust, every inch of solid cock and pulsating vein barrels through your spongy canal, filling you to the brim and knocking the wind out of your lungs, before he uses his free hand to dig his digits into your fleshy hip and fall into the same, brutal rhythm he’s been decimating you with. you mewl and clamor to hold on to something. your nails scrape against the tiles on the floor, some of them chipping into jagged edges as your eyes roll back. “You know that, don’t you, brat? You’re damned— you were damned the moment you started to enjoy the way I fuck your helpless, little cunt.” his breath is hot and heavy against the shell of your ear as he ruts against your body, pounding it mercilessly. you try to shake your head, but his grip holds it steady and smeared against the floor and he guffaws, “Don’t think I can’t feel you, whore. Your cunt is sloppy wet, but the harder and faster I fuck you, the more I deny your release, the more frantically your hole squeezes.” your stomach feels like it’s in knots, your climax quickly approaching, and he must’ve felt your body start to tighten and prepare to cum, because he snickers and jerks on your hair tighter. “Just like that,” a low grunt dies in the back of his throat, “you’re already going to try and cum again.”

“Please,” you moan, trying to convince him to allow you release by pleasing him, since begging hasn’t seemed to be working. your ass bounces back to meet his violent thrusting, and the way you squelch and the sound of your wet skin slapping against his fills you with shame. “Please, let me cum! I need— need rest— can’t do this—“

“Greedy bitch.” but you could tell by the way he grinds his jaw when he says it that he likes the way it feels. pulling himself back up on to his knees, Sukuna places both hands on your ass cheeks, which were already sore from his relentless spanking, and he digs his sharp nails in. “What makes you think you deserve it? Because you can take my cock, you think I owe you pleasure or something?” he stills you with his strength, and pulls himself from your abused cavern right as you’ve started to hold your breath and knit your brows, on the edge of your climax, much to your dismay. “You get wet because I abuse your pussy, that’s because you’re filthy, not because I want you to like this.”

“Noooo!” you squeal, deflating like a balloon as he soils yet another orgasm. this time, the sensation slipping away was so intense, that your eyes had begun to water, and you try to look over your shoulder at him, glare daggers up at him for being so cruel, but you find his form, massive and daunting and flushed pink with sparkling sweat trickling over marked skin, too dizzying, and you gawk instead.

Sukuna smirks, wide— red eyes alight with malevolence upon seeing your tears. “Pitiful, aren’t you? Ah, but seeing that look of despair on your face only makes me harder. You want it so badly, it’s almost cute.” he looms over you, pushing on your ass to force your chest back down to the floor, your back arching so your ass sticks higher in the air. your thighs tremble hopelessly, and he enjoys the way you shake and sniffle. “Go ahead and cry, brat. Beg me until your voice goes out. I still won’t let you cum. I love this too much.” grabbing his massive cock at the base, he guides the swollen tip to tease your sticky folds, and for a moment, you try to open up and welcome back inside, regardless of the way your walls ache from the stretch, but he doesn’t force his way back inside. rubbing up and down, he teases your cunt from hole to clit, before slapping the squishy head of his cock against you in rapid-fire spanks.

when you start to squirm and babble, working up the nerve to beg once again to be blessed with an orgasm and relief, he leans closer, his tongue licking a fat stripe from your chin to the apple of your cheek, gathering a mass of salty tears on the buds so that he may taste your anguish. “I’d so much rather watch you suffer.”

#sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna smut #sukuna ryoumen smut #sukuna ryoumen x you #sukuna ryomen #sukuna ryoumen x reader #jjk #jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader

[waterlilydrops]

Jealous Looks Good On You

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x fem!reader

summary: Lewis can’t stand you flirting with other men anymore, even though there isn’t anything real between you two. For now.

word count: 2.1k

warning: angst, fwb to lover, 18+ only, nsfw, explicit sex content, oral sex(f received), dirty talk, slightly Dom/Sub, edging, actress!reader, mentions of film Anatomie D’une Chute

note: That’s inspired by an anon, thx! I really enjoy describing Lewis kneeling down :) As always, advices are welcome.

Tonight marked your debut at the Caesar Awards. Following your recent collaboration on Anatomie D’une Chute with Justine Triet, where you showcased exceptional chemistry, and the film clinched six awards at Cannes, your life took a dramatic turn.

Looked at your publicist, she nodded encouragingly, signaling for you to make your grand entrance.

Stepping out of the limo, your Jimmy Choo stilettos firmly planted on the ground, you exuded confidence. No longer clad in the Zara dress from the roadshow, you donned a perfectly fitted Dior dress, meticulously altered by several experts to your exact measurements. As you emerged from the luxurious car, the dress swayed gracefully, complemented by Cartier jewelry adorning your neck, items you hadn’t dared to look closely even in the most prominent billboards.

As you began walking down the carpet, fans and photographers started calling your name as soon as they recognized you. It was a surreal moment, and you felt overwhelmed with emotion. Never in a million years would you have imagined that people would know you and actually like you.

You smiled and waved at the fans, blew them a kiss to show your appreciation.

Turning to your publicist, you asked if you could go over and sign a couple of autographs, and she nodded in agreement. With her guidance, you made your way over to the fans, ready to meet them up close. You signed autographs, took selfies, and even shared hugs with a few fans.

When you were told to go for the red carpet interviews, you said bye to them and continued walking along the carpet. Standing beside the host was an young actor from a recent blockbuster film.

His mocha-colored skin glowed under the bright lights, accentuating the sharp contours of his jawline. His eyes, a mesmerizing shade of emerald green, sparkled with an enigmatic allure, like hidden depths of a lush forest.

You walked up the steps and gave them a side hug.

“Hello Y/N, how does it feel being at the Caesar Awards?” The host asked you.

“In all honesty, I’m a bit overwhelmed. I grew up watching you interview celebrities, admiring your skill and professionalism, and now I find myself in there interviewing by you — it just doesn’t feel real yet!” you answered with a light laugh.

“We are absolutely thrilled to have you here! Now you’re making me feel old!” He laughed, and you couldn’t help but join in, his easygoing demeanor helping to calm your nervousness. He continued, “Now, about the Anatomie D’une Chute, was it difficult to handle such a complex character?”

“It’s always daunting to step into uncharted territory, especially when tackling such a multifaceted character. Fortunately, having collaborators as gifted as Justine Triet, Sandra Hüller by my side made the journey infinitely more rewarding. They truly were my anchor through it all, and I owe their everything.”

As you were engrossed in conversation, your heart skipped a beat as your fingers brushed against your borrowed necklace, which suddenly slipped off. With a gasp, you watched in horror as it tumbled downward, a shimmering cascade of precious diamonds.

Acting on instinct, the young man standing beside you swiftly sprang into action, his chivalrous instincts kicking in as he intercepted the necklace just before it could kiss the ground.

You let out a breathless sigh of relief, momentarily forgetting the interview as you exclaimed, “Oh my goodness, thank you so much for catching it. Otherwise, Cartier would have my head!”

He gave a small, bashful smile, “Would it be too much if I ask to put it on you?”

“Not at all.” you smiled at him and his smile stretched across his entire face.

And so you turned around and scooped your hair up, allowing him to graze the back of his fingers ever so gently across your skin and secure your jewelry where it once was.

That evening, the video of the young celebrity putting a necklace on you went viral on social media. Everyone marveled at the sparks flying between you two, especially after the almost cheek-to-cheek selfie you took at the afterparty. Among the millions who viewed the clip, one pair of eyes lingered longer than the rest — Lewis Hamilton.

Of course, he followed you and your fan pages on his alternate account; Those videos would certainly appear on his reels. But he truly despised seeing you walking with another man on your arm. You seemed awfully comfortable around him, your hands touching him easily and your body tilted towards his.

“Looks like you were having fun.”

“It’s none of your business, Lew.”

Lewis tried to hold back his scoff. It’s none of your business. As if you were just casual acquaintances. As if you didn’t nuzzle into his chest at night, his arousal awakening to find your legs draped provocatively over his hips. As if you didn’t welcome him with a sultry smile, intertwining their fingers after passionate encounters, your thumb tracing teasing circles on the back of his hand as you share intimate secrets of your past. As if you didn’t prefer his hoodie over your own clothes, the fabric clinging to your curves like a second skin, or eagerly moan his name from the other end of a steamy video call.

But yeah. None of his business.

“Where are you?”

“Home.”

Lewis was driving a sleek silver sports car on the roads of South France. The car zoomed past the twisting roads, its engine emitting a deep roar, leaving a blurry trail of exhaust in the air. The spring breeze brushed against his face, tousling his braids, but it didn’t calm him down. He just wanted to go faster.

As you turned the doorknob and opened the door, Lewis stood before you.

Inviting him inside, his gaze immediately met yours with an intensity that didn’t go unnoticed. Oh. You recognized the familiar signs – the darkening of his eyes, the tightness of his jaw. his knuckles, tightly gripping the edge of his hoodie’s hem, displayed a tension you couldn’t ignore.

He looked god damn handsome.

“Lewis, What’s gotten into you?”

“Do you honestly think it’s none of my business?” he questioned straightly, his frustration evident in his tone.

Raising a brow, you met his gaze steadily.

“I do actually,” you replied, a hint of amusement coloring your words. “Why do you care so much anyway? It's not like we’re in an actual relationship or something.”

The truth between yours was that one day at a premier of your film held in Monte-Carlo, Lewis and you crossed paths and exchanged a few lines.

“Congratulations on your wonderful film”,“Thank you, Mr. Hamilton, I really appreciate it”, “And I must admit, You’re even more stunning in person than you are on screen.” he added with a charming smile.

And just like that, Amidst the glitz and glamour of the event, your encounter marked the beginning of something unexpected. What had started as a casual fuck swiftly evolved into a friends-with-benefits arrangement, two souls found solace in each other’s company, navigating the delicate balance between passion and discretion amidst the azure coastline.

“And what the hell was with you? Do you even know how bad it would be if the media find you were speeding driving—”

“Then let's make this real.”

Lewis interrupted you with a declaration. “I‘m done with this charade.”

His voice tinged as he stood before you, his hands clasped tightly together, “I’d be a better choice than that actors. F1 is a global sport, and I’m a seven-time World Champion.” His eyes were searching for any sign of agreement or understanding. “Plus, We understand each other better, in various ways.” He expressed his points as clearly as if he were speaking at the UN.

“8-time actually.” You corrected him, causing a groan rasped out of him.

“Lewis,” you whispered, inched closer, invaded his personal space and allowed your bodies to touch.

“What?” he grunted roughly, his body betraying him as it relaxed under your touch.

“Are you jealous?” Your hand rested on his, a playful grin dancing on your lips, your voice a seductive murmur grazing his skin.

“Yes. I’m deeply in love with you,” Lewis sighed, his gaze wandering, avoiding your intense stare.

“Hmm, is Lewis Hamilton is asking me to be his... girlfriend? and apparently he is an extremely jealous type.” You feigned innocence with a playful tilt of you head.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

He suddenly gripped your arms, pulling you close against his chest. Before you could react, he fiercely pressed his lips to yours, kissing you passionately as if he wanted to pour all of his emotions into this moment.

“Hey,” when Lewis stopped, you said gently. “Look at me, baby.” You called him by the name reserved for your most intimate moments.

Caught in the warmth of your gaze, Lewis relaxed. With a tender gesture, you leaned in, brushing a feather-light kiss upon his lips, your hands still entwined.

“I know,” you whispered softly. “I’m in love with you too.”

He could feel his heart engulfed in a whirlwind of joy and elation, every beat resonating with an overwhelming sense of happiness.

As your gazes locked, the tension between you ignited, enveloping you in a cocoon of desire.

You wrapped in Lewis’s arms as he initiated a passionate kiss. You could feel the prominence of his erection pressing against you.

As his hands found their place on your hips, you felt a sudden lift, your body effortlessly rising from the floor as he gently deposited you onto the counter.

Moving large tattooed hands up the length of your thighs, Lewis hiked your T-shirt up above your hips and tucked his fingers under the waistband of your panties. A mixture of desire and reverence floods him as he slides them down your legs.

He panted, “fuck, I need to taste you.”

He knelt before you, drawing himself nearer as he firmly grasped the underside of your thighs, his hands spread you open just wide enough that he could lean his face into your mound.

Mere seconds stretched into an eternity as the warmth of his breath caressed your delicate skin.

His tongue gently grazed the sensitive inner thighs, his warm and moist mouth enveloping the lips. And then tongue cunningly explored the slit, alternating between tight purses and sucking, causing juices to flow freely.

You couldn’t make a sound, your thoughts wholly consumed by each flick of his tongue, every firm press against you, and every pass of his hands over your thigh. He were pushing you to the edge of the cliff. Unable to resist, you lightly rubbed against his face, eager for release.

You closed eyes, feeling every tiny current coursing through your body. Just as the sparks were about to ignite, his tongue suddenly leaved.

“Can’t have you cumming yet, baby.” He looked up at you, wicked grin grown.

“Tell me, can he eat you out like this?”

You couldn’t utter a word, shaking your head eagerly. You groaned at the loss of him. You pussy felt open and empty without his tongue.

“So, he’s already tasted your little cunt?”Lewis slapped at your clit relentlessly. His gaze, a mix of jealousy and anger, consumed every inch of you with insatiable hunger, resenting the pleasure you were receiving from someone else.

You gasped sharply, a desperate “never”escaping your lips, reached down and tangled your fingers in his hair, pushing his head into you, with pleading eyes.

“My Good girl.” He lowered his head, the scruff of his beard rubbing against the skin of your sensitive thighs added to the overwhelming sensation of being held into place by his strong hands and that tongue fucking every part of your cunt so thoroughly.

He picking up his pace as he desperately sucked and slurped the folds of your pussy, lapping up your juices as if he were starved and this was the only thing that’d quell his insatiable hunger.

“Let go,” he moaned into you, “come on, baby, let me taste it.”

Your toes curled as you finally gave in to that all too familiar feeling, trembling in his grasp as he brought you to climax with his mouth, and it took every ounce of restraint to not screaming out in pleasure.

As you gradually descended from your euphoric peak, the man followed up with a series of slow, drawn-out licks, gently coaxing you back to reality. Moments later, he rose from the floor, his chin glistening with a sweet combination of drool and your own essence. He pressed one final, tender kiss to your lips.

“Bedroom, babe,” he murmurs, he voice husky with desire. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

“Lew, what’s the deal with this contact and your credit card?”

“My stylist. Maybe she could help with your red carpet look.”

“And the card?”

“Grab yourself a tough necklace that never comes off your neck.”

#lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton x reader #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 smut

[strrwbrrryjam]

that scene between arthur and dutch in chapter six where arthur insists to dutch about letting john, his family and the girls is one of my favourite scenes from rdr2 because it packs so much about arthur and dutchs character/relationship

this was likely one of the first times that arthur had ever outright challenged dutch to his face, he's not even challenging him, really, he's merely insisting dutch put the lives of the gang over the money, which is something i and arthur would think dutch would appreciate given all of his preaching of loyalty and freedom and family. he's very clearly passionate about this, given his raised voice and hand gestures, but it's clear that he's nervous, too, his words coming out rushed

and when dutch responds with "john? ...insist?" it's clear that arthur has every reason to be nervous, because dutch did not like that at all, with his slow, almost spelling out the word "insist," repeating arthur's word as if clarifying exactly what arthur is telling him, almost giving him a chance to go back on it. he sounds and looks angry, almost shocked at the notion, like he expected arthur to still be blindly following him after everything

and arthur can clearly tell that dutch didn't like that, his eyes are shifting and he takes a second to answer, "yeah, insist," which is just so brave of him, because this is the man who arthur has looked up to for twenty-two years, loved like a parent, who he had ruined real relationships for, his fiance, his partner and son, for again, twenty-two fucking years and yet he's standing his ground and telling dutch that yes, yes he said that, and he meant it too. he's not blindly following dutch anymore and can recognize that dutch isn't good at following through on his word, he isn't the dutch he recognizes from his memory and yet he still respects dutch so much that he still comes to him about letting them go

from this scene you can also tell that their relationship has gone so downhill, because there have been times earlier in the story where arthur has spoken out against dutch, the time when dutch tells arthur to go rescue micah comes to mind, where it's very light, almost joking in a way, but here it's very clearly a confrontation, the tension is literally suffocating that you, as the player, can feel it seeping through the screen where end up holding your breath

and dutch, like he does earlier in the story, tries to cover up his reaction, and attempts to reassure arthur that he's listening and trying to disperse the tension in the air between the two, but it doesn't work, because he can't hide what happened with his charisma, arthur's still keeping his distance from him, so instead he distracts him with the upcoming train robbery

its just so fucking good i love it so much

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 arthur morgan #arthur morgan #rdr2 dutch van der linde #dutch van der linde #van der linde gang #rdr2 van der linde gang #strawberry speaks

[taifenggg]

hii I'm not exactly sure if your request is open, but nonetheless, I'm just going to drop it here. feel free to do or ignore it.

requesting for solomon, simeon, and satan hcs : they're currently out going to a bookstore with their s/o. y/n is a huge fan of reading and loves to take their time reading the contents of a book before buying. so imagine at that time, the guy spots them being lost in deep of reading, and he decided to sneak up behind them, only to discover their s/o is currently reading a steamy part of the book while smiling and blushing. make it NSFW or not is up to you. thank you and have a nice day! :)

Content Warning(s): NSFW duh, semi-public sex, mentions of exhibitionism but you don't actually do anything(Satan), spanking(Satan), probably ooc Simeon? idk

Character(s): GN!Reader, Solomon, Satan, Simeon

Authors Note(s): hehe hawhaw horny, anyways my first nsfw request! tysm for reading my guidelines <3.

MINORS DNI OR I WILL BLOCK YO ASSES IM BEING FR, interact with my sfw stuff instead <33

Please keep in mind I'm still learning how to write smut so please bear with me LMAO

nsfw under the cut!

Reminder to abide by my guidelines for NSFW content tysm :]

Guidelines for NSFW Content [ ◇ ]

Solomon [🪄🤍]

Solomon adores your adorable reactions whenever he sees you reading a book that you're invested in. You're his adorable apprentice and lover after all! He finds many things to appreciate about you. From the way you squeal with excitement after getting to the part where the main character finally kisses their love interest after what feels like forever, or your little gasps as your eyes race across the page taking in an exciting battle scene, he loves it all.

Solomon could just spend all day watching you react over your favorite books and it strangely gives him a sense of satisfaction as he watches you gush over your favorite books to him.

Solomon isn't that surprised when he sees that you've reached the spicy part of the book you were reading, your reaction gives it all away. The two of you had decided to take an impromptu date to one of the newly opened bookstores by Ristorante Six. You had split from Solomon for a bit, opting to look over the numerous books they had in stock. One moment you were there and in the next, Solomon turned around, noticing that you had disappeared from his side. When he did find you, he discovered you sitting in a secluded corner, your eyes wide as you read the contents of a book. You didn't notice him as he walked up to you and leaned in close, a knowing smile on his face.

"Wow, you look awfully familiar, although it isn't like me to not recognize someone as good-looking as you," Solomon laughs softly, teasing you as he takes a seat next to you, draping an arm around your shoulder. Your face grows flushed as you angle your book away from him. "Hi handsome," you laugh softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek, feeling your face grow warm as you try to discreetly set the book to the side but you wince as you accidentally let go of it too early and it clatters against the floor.

Solomon stares at you a slight smile on his face before reaching over and picking up the book, faster than you can stop him. "Solomon give it back!" You reach over and grab his arm, but he opens it, his smile splitting wider on his face as he holds it above you preventing you from taking it away from him. "No, I don't think I will," he laughs more continuing to read the contents relishing in the way your face flushed even more.

"So..." he leans over you, a playful smile on his face as his hand starts trailing down to your waist where he squeezes it gently. "What should I do with you hm? Would you like me to reenact the very scene you were reading, my dear apprentice~?" His nose brushes against yours and you shrink back, your breath hitching in your throat as he cages you in against the chair. Your mouth feels dry and you clear your throat to speak up, "Don't-" You press a hand to his chest, halting his movements. You feel your face grow warm as you turn to the side, "We'll get caught."

Solomon stares down at you, laughing softly as he ruffles your hair. You pout at his actions, moving to grab his hand, but instead, Solomon interlaces his fingers with yours. "We'll only get caught if we make noise." His free hand moves upwards from your side, his fingers brushing against your collarbone and you squirm, your legs shaking slightly, from the anticipation of getting down and dirty or the thought of getting caught by some bystander passing by, you didn't know. You could feel a warmth pooling in your nether regions, and against your better judgment, you pulled him closer.

"Dammit...but you better make this up to me later for making me lose my page," you scowled. Solomon chuckles softly his bangs hanging over his eyes, "Oh trust me, I always keep up my end of a deal."

Satan [😾💚]

He enjoys his outings with you, especially when the two of you visit his favorite bookstore in the Devildom. There are vintage and rare tomes that you're unable to find anywhere else. They also host a variety of different books.

Satan himself fancies romance novels. He likes to envision himself and you as the main protagonists in each. Of course, he also indulges in the more risqué novels, and his face flushes at the thought of committing such acts with you.

So imagine his surprise when he finds you reading that type of novel. A grin splits open on his face and soon he finds himself pressing himself on you against the bookshelf. It wobbles and the numerous books threaten to cascade over the side onto the two of you. Satan doesn't miss the small gasp of surprise you make as you feel his body rocking against yours. His breath ghosts over the shell of your ear causing you to shudder underneath him and you feel your legs grow weak as he continues rutting against you.

"You feel so good~" Satan smirks as he rubs his hand along your ass before smacking it lightly causing you to jolt up, "Already so wet for me, are you so eager for this? Or perhaps you're enjoying the thrill of potentially being caught hm? Or would you rather like it if I took you against the window where everyone walking past can see you drooling from how good I'm going to make you feel?" You can't even utter a word, focused on the feeling of his fingers prodding at your hole.

"Satan please-" you whine softly, trying to keep your noise level down so you don't get caught by the other customers within the bookstore. Your grip on the bookshelf tightens as you try to keep your balance, some of the books have already fallen out and are strewn haphazardly over the floor. Normally, Satan would have let out a scandalized gasp and would have picked up every single one but in the situation the two of you were in at the moment, it seemed he couldn't bring himself to care. You bite your lip as you feel his erection rub up against your ass, trying to keep your moans under control.

"Do you feel that? That's what you do to me," he laughs softly, pressing his face into your neck, nipping lightly. This causes you to squirm more, inadvertently rubbing against him more, eliciting some breathy groans from Satan's end.

You can hear him muttering to himself and the sound of him fumbling with his belt as he flips you around so that you're face to face. "Why don't you take some responsibility and...help me out? Does that sound good to you?"

Simeon [🥞🩵]

Simeon loves his outings with you, especially when your dates with him are unhindered by the presence of the brothers who constantly crave and demand your attention. Simeon knows that you're immensely popular in the Devildom, not that he minds. But there are times when he prefers silence and just enjoying his time with you.

Simeon is not naive by any means. He's more than aware of the types of books that you read and look for whenever the two of you visit your favorite bookstore, not that he minds. After all, who is he to tell you what you can and can't read.

Today's date isn't any much different than what the two of you usually do when you plan a bookstore date. Have a nice dinner at Ristorante Six, walk around for a bit, then end the date by spending some time reading at your favorite bookstore. Seems nice right? Thankfully it doesn't seem too busy.

"Simeon-" you gasp out, fingers digging into his shoulders. "How naughty, reading this where anyone could just walk up behind you." Simeon teasingly scolds you. You bite your lip, averting your gaze from his. Simeon laughs, pressing his hand against your cheek, "You're adorable, do you know that?" You huff, feeling your face grow warm. "Well you can't blame me for being interested in reading that sort of thing, especially when my boyfriend is so hot. It's not that hard to envision it's us doing what the characters are doing.." you mumble, feeling your face grow warmer from embarrassment.

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about," Simeon smiles softly, tilting your face so that you're looking at him, "These urges are completely normal, though I do wish you had told me sooner so I could have done this." You stare at him in confusion, until you watch him lean in more, the feeling of his lips pressing against yours. You groan softly in the kiss, arms pulling him in closer as you deepen it. Your tongue brushes against his bottom lip and you feel Simeon shiver against you. His hands rest against your hip occasionally dipping underneath the hem of your shirt but never further. When the two of you break off the kiss, you're both gasping for air and there's a thin string of saliva connecting the two of you.

You cling to him, pressing your cheek against the crook of his neck. You lean up, lips brushing his ear, your tempted to bite his earlobe bjt you hold off...for now. "Fuck...I need you so badly," you whine softly into his ear, feeling his figure stiffen against you. "Can't you feel how much I need you?" you smirk, taking one of his hands and pressing it down there. You bite back a moan, watching for his reaction. Simeon's eyes are closed, but you could sense his resolve wavering.

"Please~"

And that's all it takes for Simeon's last semblance of control to snap. He's tugging you out the door and back towards Purgatory Hall, his footsteps hurried.

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#ash writes #ash after hours #obey me #obey me x reader #obey me! shall we date? #omswd x reader #obey me x you #obey me x mc #obey me! #obey me smut #obey me x reader smut #obey me x gender neutral reader #obey me solomon #obey me solomon x reader #obey me solomon x mc #obey me satan #obey me satan x reader #obey me satan x mc #obey me simeon #obey me simeon x reader #obey me simeon x mc #obey me solomon smut #obey me satan smut #obey me simeon smut

[comicaurora]

What are your thoughts on guardians vol.3? (If you have watched it) I went into it, expecting it went to the garbage like the rest of the mcu, but I was pleasantly surprised by its creativity, trope subversion, and how it wrapped up the previously unresolved arks of its characters.

That's what I've heard!

The thing is, Guardians 3 could be the most transcendent work of cinema ever made, and I'd probably still feel little to no motivation to watch it at this point. It's not Guardians's fault - it's just suffering from the same problem that superhero comics have been struggling with for decades: no matter how good an individual arc or run is, absolutely nothing good lasts or matters in the long term, and the stories are shaped in such a way that "the long term" is the only thing anyone gets to build towards.

Whenever I complain about the MCU I get a handful of people loudly complaining about my complaining, with the general thesis that if I don't like it I shouldn't watch it or talk about it - if I'm not having fun, just stop engaging with it. And the thing is, I have. I am intellectually interested in why this massive franchise is fumbling the bag so hard, which is why I still check in on it sometimes, but I've long since stopped turning to the MCU for uncritical entertainment. And even the good movies or shows with a lot of interesting ideas - good character arcs, fun concepts, interesting planting for future payoff - don't draw me in anymore, because they're hooked into a massive moneymaking machine that will scrap and squander anything if they think it'll make them more in the quarter. It doesn't matter how good the writing is, because the writers are not allowed to tell a complete, finished story, and they have no control over what happens to their characters outside of their own script.

Captain America's arc was set up from literally minute one to answer one burning question at the core of his character: does a world without a war still need Captain America? After that incredibly basic tee-up at the end of First Avenger, half a dozen movies failed to come up with a reason to say "yes," and now Steve is retired for good after getting fumbled through four different storylines that couldn't even pretend that they needed him (the unused Chekhov's Phone from the end of Civil War still haunts me). The foundational arc of his entire character never happened because nobody bothered to keep track of it past a single movie.

Taika did something interesting with Thor in Ragnarok - take away Mjolnir, force him to recognize what it means to be the god of thunder, give him a very Odin-y missing eye - and the very next movie undid all of it. Just kidding, never mind, here's an eye and a new weapon and also his old weapon again, and in one more movie we're even gonna give him his hair back, probably as an apology for all the completely unironic fatphobia we're gonna slather him in for two and a half hours. I'm not even surprised Love And Thunder was such an overblown mess that barely took itself seriously - why would Taika bother trying to give Thor another arc when the powers that be will just roll it back in six months anyway?

I hear Rocket Raccoon has a fantastic arc in this movie. That's great, and demonstrates that he's being written by a writer that deeply cares about him. But he's part of the MCU, and the MCU doesn't let anything end, so if current patterns hold, Rocket is going to continue to serve as quippy plushie-bait for the next dozen movies and none of that depth is going to come through in the long term. Hell, since they're making Kang noises for the Next Big Threat and Kang's entire gimmick is rewriting timelines, literally none of this is guaranteed to matter. By next year, it might not have even happened anymore.

The MCU has successfully shaped itself into a paradigm where the bright spots of good writing are overridden and lost as soon as the writers room turns over, and that makes it really hard for me to muster up the enthusiasm to watch even a really good movie that's locked into the exact same grist mill as everything else. I'm glad people liked it, I hope it gets to stay good this time - I just have no desire to watch it.

#asks #not aurora

[pondering-gales-left-orb]

i will not accept shane spouse room slander anymore im sick of it

I'm so mad at everyone who is mad at Shane's spouse room and i cant keep silent about it anymore

let me start by saying yes Shane was my first ever spouse in SDV and no i was not thinking i could fix him i was just impressed by his progress and self improvement so i had my character marry him

then i went online to see what are people saying about him and i was SHOCKED everyone was so mean to him and were absolutely wronggggggggggg about him

this man does improve himself he absolutely is better after marriage and everyone that's mischaracterizing that because of his spouse room is a coward sorry i don't make the rules

facts: Shane goes to therapy and starts getting his alcoholism under control by eliminating the source of his pain which is wasting his life away at joja and doing something he loves which is raise blue chickens THAT HE MADE MIGHT I ADD HE INVENTED A NEW BREED OF CHICKENS BTW. that last point alone pisses me of so hard because people so often over look it! he is just as smart as Maru just as creative as Eliot and just as ambitious as Sam, let me repeat myself HE INVENTED A NEW BREED OF CHICKEN WHILE HE WAS DEPRESSED AND SUFFERING OF ALCOHOLISM.... recognize his brilliance please

so that means people saying he falls back into his old habits because he has a six pack in his room is wrong, imo he stops being an alcoholic and goes back to having drinking be a hobby he does while gaming or hanging out with friends at the bar THAT'S THE POINT UR SUPPOSED TO GET FROM HIS HEART EVENTS

yes his room has mud tracks but consider this this man's WHOLE JOB is to RAISE CHICKENS IN A COOP !!!!! chickens who again he literally invented their breed who track mud shit and drop feed on the floor of the coop he is in all day!!! OF FUCKING COURSE HES GONNA HAVE MUD ON HIS SHOES!!

he works all day for his blue chickens and then just wants to come in and relax playing a video game and drinking a beer if he was a horrible dirty alcoholic like people claim he is he would track mud ALL OVER THE HOUSE AND DIRTY UP ALL THE HOUSE but no its just his tiny hobby room

you as a farmer also work all day on chores and after you are done you also just wanna do something fun to relax and guess what YOU HAVE THE ENTIRE HOUSE EVERY ROOM IN THE HOUSE TO MAKE INTO YOUR HOBBY ROOM some of you fill the house with kegs because you are making it your thing hell one of my farmers who was a witch had an entire room that's just crystals potions and a fucking cauldron , in my Shane save i had a room LINED with fish tanks that was my farmers Hobby, do you think Shane gets mad that i had 4 to 6 fish tanks running all day with puffer fishes and some legendary fishes stinking up the house?? NO because he gets his hobby room and the farmer gets their hobby room everyone keeps to their space period.

i think everyone needs to understand that having a messy hobby room is not a bad thing and that Shane and the other spouses have a right to their own room to look however they want and it doesn't have to match the house

everyone also needs to look at Shane in a better light please I'm begging you to let characters have small flaws and not be squeaky clean perfect

Shane sought help he is helping himself and trying to be better but that doesn't mean he doesn't get to indulge in some guilty pleasures he is human and is aloud to be one even while still in recovery! the difference now is that he HAS CONTROL OVER ALCOHOL AND GAMING CONSUMPTION AND IS NOT SPIRALING OUT OF CONTROL LIKE BEFORE he has job he loves a family he takes care of and he makes sure he doesn't dirty up his entire house but gives himself a break in his ONE room and doesn't stop himself form having fun doing the things he enjoys without over indulging or falling into bad habits.

Edit: i know in the end the drinks are non alcoholic as confirmed by him and i mentioned beer and drinks cause i know there is non alcoholic Versions of them som.. but as i said im adressing the MISSCHARACTERIZATION of shane by the shane haters who didn't go through his heart events hence me saying "you are supposed to learn all this from his heart events" cause they dont go through them :D

Anyway,

in conclusion SHANE IS GOOD SPOUSE, a good man and an inventor in his own right. yall just need to be gentle to him in your judgment cause man is he trying his earnest and that needs to be recognized. i mean look at him look at this healthy man <3

#stardew valley #stardew valley 1.6 #SDV #SDV shane #stardew shane #shane stardew valley #leah stardew valley #haley stardew valley #Sam stardew valley #Sebastian stardew valley #Elliot stardew valley #Maru stardew valley #emily stardew valley #abigail stardew valley

[to-the-stars8]

The Waynes' Nanny

Notes: So, this is my oopsy of adding another story to my roster, but oh well. Here's my other note: Just a little side note. To make this story work, I had to de-age the majority of the characters. So, Dick is 15, Cass 10, Jason 9, Tim 7, Duke 6, and Damian 4. Just FYI. Obvi The Nanny Inspired

Bruce Wayne x Reader, Batfamily, platonically, x reader

Summary: One day, after getting fired from your job by your ex, you somehow ended up in Wayne Manor as the family's new nanny. Working with six kids is tough enough, but the handsome, rich, and emotionally confused father, billionaire Bruce Wayne, who is just too charming makes it a bit more difficult as your feelings for him confuse you. Nonetheless, you love the job and the kids, but soon enough you realize that maybe you're falling in love with the boss, too.

Pilot Pt. 1

“You have to be kidding me, fired?” You said shocked, leaning over the counter.

Your boyfriend then quickly added, “And, I’m breaking up with you.” 

The words could not come off your lips. Instead, you babbled for a good thirty seconds before just turning on your heel to leave. You stopped a couple of times to say something, but the shock was still settling in. It wasn’t until you were outside, watching people on the street that your senses came back. Turning around, you sucked in a breath and threw open the store door.

You pointed at your ex and loudly announced, “You have a small dick, and I’m collecting unemployment! So, hah!” 

Not feeling the victory, but glad that there were more than a dozen people to continue the rumor of your boyfriend’s supposedly small penis, you left.

Luckily, you were quick to find another gig thanks to a family friend. Granted, you hated going door to door trying to sell insurance in Gotham, but it paid you just enough not to be out on the street. This week, however, you were assigned to the other end of the city—The rich part. And, it certainly did live up to your expectations. These people had yards and gardens, and the air even smelled better. If you could only find a rich man, you think you’d be very happy in such a place. 

You looked down at the list of addresses your boss had given you before looking back up at the impressive sight of the house. With a sigh, you pressed the buzzer on the gate and went over your script. 

“Hello, my name is…” 

Before you could finish a British accent came through the buzzer. “Are you here for the nanny position?”

Looking around, you didn’t see a reason as to why you shouldn’t say yes. Absent-mindedly, you said, “I could be.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, um, yes! Yes, I am.” It couldn’t hurt 

Suddenly, another buzz and the sound was clicking of the gate unlocking. Cautiously, you pushed your way through and you headed up the path to the front door. It was a near quarter mile to get to the house and up a hill. By the time you got up to the front of the house, you were winded and slightly sweaty. At the top of the stairs stood an old man in a suit, looking down at you with indifference. Slowly, you climbed the stairs to him. 

“You really gotta warn a girl if she’s gonna take a hike,” You huffed. 

“Most people drive,” The old man said, and you recognized the accent from the buzzer. 

You snickered at the old man, following him in, and you were amazed by just how wonderful the place was. As you entered, you did a turn, and you were amazed by just how big the house—No, mansion—was. 

“Would you like me to present your resume to Mr. Wayne?” Asked the man. 

Luckily, you were quick on your feet, “No, I’ll do it myself. Thank you.”

The man relented, giving you a disbelieving look, and went away. You sat down in one of the chairs in the foyer, quickly pulling out some papers to write some type of passable resume. As you were going for a pen, you realized quickly that you didn’t have one. Panicked, you looked around for one. 

“Ugh,” A voice said, and a boy no older than seven or eight stumbled from a doorway. On him, fake blood and a knife. He cried, “I’m dying!�� before collapsing onto the floor. 

“You wouldn’t happen to have a pen, would you?” You asked, but the boy didn’t respond. Defeated, you decided quickly what you said as you saw the old man and a younger, much more handsome return. 

“Tim,” The younger man said. “We’ve talked about this. You can’t scare the guests.”

The boy opened his eyes, “I'm studying people's reactions to gore and pain.”

The man rolled his eyes before turning his attention back to you. He held out his hand toward you to shake, you took it and instantly liked the way his grip was strong. “I’m Bruce Wayne—”

“Oh, yeah! I’ve seen you on TV,” You said excitedly. “I loved the black suit you wore for that ceremony in the park last month.”

Mr. Wayne seemed taken aback by the compliment, but thank you anyway. “Just follow me into the kitchen. We can talk more there.” As he started to lead you away, he turned to the boy still lying on the floor. “Tim, go clean up, please.”

“I will, but only because you said please!” The boy cried out. 

Mr. Wayne shook his head and asked you not to mind him for now. Smiling, you replied that it was no big deal, kids were going to be kids either way. He seemed to agree with you on that and asked you more about yourself. You told him as much as you could think of, not willing or wanting to hold anything back. 

When you finally sat at the kitchen table did you stop talking to let Mr. Wayne talk, but he seemed more pleased to listen. Though, you knew better than to rattle on more than necessary. Maybe, you thought, this was why so many women thought him to be such a charming guy. 

“Can I see your resume, then?” He asked. 

Laughing nervously, you said, “Oh, uh, well, you see, I lost it on my way over here.”

“Is that right?” Mr. Wayne said, sounding like he didn’t entirely believe you. 

“Yes! Yes, it’s the damnedest thing,” You said. “I always seem to have these bouts of terrible luck.”

“Uh-huh,” He said. 

You were going to answer when a voice called out, “Dad!” 

Just then, two boys, one about fifteen and the other around ten, walked in. They seemed surprised to see you when they entered, glancing at their father before telling you hello. You got up, walking over to the boys and cupping their cheeks. 

“My, look how handsome!” You looked over your shoulder at Mr. Wayne. “And those pretty blue eyes! They must get them from you.”

“We’re adopted,” The younger one said. “And I’m Jason.”

You grinned and bent over to look at the boy. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m…”

“You’re the new nanny?” The older boy said. 

You started to answer, but Mr. Wayne cut you off. He told the boy, named Richard, that he could be nicer to you. Richard, or Dick as he called himself unfortunately, protested that Bruce was shuffling his responsibilities on some random lady from the inner city. Bruce was quick to dismiss him to his room, stating that they would speak later, and immediately apologized to you. 

“A kid makes a smart-ass comment, what’re you gonna do?” You smiled. 

“Right,” Bruce cleared his throat, not paying attention to what you were saying. “Well, those two were the oldest boys, I have one girl between them. Then, it’s Tim, Duke, and Damian. My youngest is four.”

“Trying to build a basketball team, Mr. Wayne?” You couldn’t help, but laugh at your joke. He didn’t seem as amused by it, so you quickly went quiet. 

“Yes, well, thank you for coming, but I don’t think I’m in the mood to hire sales girls from off the street.”

You rolled your eyes, mumbling that you could do it and that you had plenty of experience in taking care of children as you babysat a lot when you were a teenager. Mr. Wayne didn’t seem to hear anything you said, though, nor the phone ringing off the hook. 

“Alfred! Will you get that,” He called, seeming a bit stressed. 

“Oh, you cannot be that rich not to answer your phone,” You said, getting up and picking up the phone from the receiver. Putting it to your ear, you answered, “Wayne residence.”

“Give me that,” Mr. Wayne said and snatched the phone from your hand. “Hello?”

He went back and forth with the person on the other line, talking about how he needed a nanny. Yet, he seemed to be getting nowhere. The entire time, you laid yourself in front of him as he tried to talk to the person on the other end to get him a nanny. After a minute or two, he put the receiver down and looked at you. 

You grinned, knowing that you got the job. “You’re hired—On a trial basis!”

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Wayne!” You threw yourself at him, squeezing him tight. “You won’t regret it.”

“Right,” Bruce cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll have Alfred show you to your room—”

“I get to live here?” You asked excitedly. 

Bruce almost smiled, but held it back. “Yes. If you like.”

“If I like,” You laughed like he was joking. “Of course. Oh, it’s going to be great.”

Mr. Wayne nodded, acting like he believed you, but didn’t know for sure. He wondered if he made the right choice not only for his children but for himself as well. Since he only knew you for half an hour, he found himself being intrigued by you.

Despite this, how he felt didn’t matter. All that did matter was if the children liked you and if you were competent enough to look after them. After all, it wasn’t like he was going to fall in love with you. 

#jason todd #red hood #bruce wayne #batfamily #clark kent #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth #damian wayne #damain al ghul #tim drake #nightwing #robin dc #robin #cassandra cain #duke thomas #bruce wayne is a good father #dc batfam #batfamily shenanigans

[nerdyandweird]

Strained

Summary: Coriolanus Snow x reader- Marriage AU. Snow is a neglectful husband who only loves his ambitions as usual. Gets a bit spicy near the end. My first fic on the young President Snow, my latest obsession. Don’t judge me, but I think my type is complex and attractive fictional characters with red flags. Enjoy!***

 You are in an arranged marriage with Coriolanus Snow. A handsome and ambitious young man whom your father married you off to for the sake of the family's reputation. Although Snow tolerates you, there was no love in the marriage and more often than not, you would receive cold demeanors from him. However, you were still trying your best to find love in this arranged marriage of yours with a husband who seems adamant on having no love in the marriage.

This was obviously a marriage of convenience. There was no love at all. Both of you behaved like a happy couple in public, but as soon as the cameras was off and you were within the four walls of your home, the facade would be broken. Both of you behaved like strangers despite living in the same house. Both had separate bedrooms, both barely exchanged a word with one another, both hardly shared meals with one another except for dinner. Unless Coriolanus needed your support for public events for his upcoming presidency elections, you were of no use to him. He ignored your presence at home like you weren't there at all which was easy to do considering he wasn't home most of the time.

You knew quite well before your alliance that he was only marrying you for the sake of the reputation of his family. Snow was aiming to be the President of Panem and he wanted to have an image of a happy married man with a beautiful wife at his side to win the citizens over. However, he made his own grave mistake in getting too wrapped up in his duties and left you neglected. You weren't that bitter about it as you already knew from the start what you were getting yourself into and was even fine with the lack of attention given to you for the most part.

It has been six months now since the two of you have been married, and in those six months, both of you knew your limits, especially for you. Coriolanus was a handsome and intelligent man who makes an excellent politician. He is an ambitious man which is something that you admire, but you wished that he was able to see you. To recognize you as a fellow human being, but at the same time, you pitied him because he was stuck with you as you were with him and has no one else by his side. Overall, even though he was on top of the world, he was just a lonely man.

Even after these six months, Snow barely acknowledged you and only spoke to you when he needed something or when he needed a proper lady on his side for public image. He had to maintain this image of being a perfect man and an equally perfect husband to boost his chances of becoming President. You would always be left in the back burner every time he comes home and would make sure you understood that you were just a means to an end. You would never get in his way of his goals.

You were making dinner for yourself because you liked a bit of normalcy even though you had servants available at your every call. You cooked some pasta and some garlic bread as well. You were craving something heavier due to that time of the month. You knew Snow wouldn't really like something heavy, considering he was always trying to stay in shape to keep an image in front of others. So, you made some fresh salad for him with grilled fish to suit his needs. You told the servants to lay out the table before sitting at the table, waiting for your husband.

Just as you have finished preparing dinner, you hear that Snow had finally come home for the night. You knew from the start that he was still in his work suit, with a bit of sweat mixed in with him as it was a hot day for both in the Capitol and in other districts. His perfect blonde curls were a bit messier from the climate change, but he still looked beautiful nonetheless. Snow made his way to the dinner table and didn't make a sound as he sat down in silence. He would usually be the one to wait but you did it for him today to show how appreciative and patient you can be if he wanted you to.

You both began eating in silence, but for some reason, you decided to break the silence. "How was your day, Coriolanus?" You asked, almost cringing at the question that you had asked.

Snow stops eating to give you an emotionless and cold glare before going back to eating. You weren't exactly surprised since that was his usual demeanor and you had gotten used to being ignored.

"It was fine. No need to concern yourself with my affairs or anything that I do." He said without facing you, his lack of interest in giving himself to you has always been a recurring theme between the two of you. You were used to his indifference, but for some reason disappointment still settles in within your heart. It made you wonder how you managed six months of this. Six months of embarrassment, neglect, and a complete disregard of your existence.

Usually, you would have ignored his indifference, but tonight something in you snapped. You don't know what it was, whether it was your hormones or if finally, all of the frustration that had been silently building up in you in all of those months had reached its limits. "If you can walk around me in public claiming me as your wife, you can do the same at home as well. You are my husband; your affairs are my problem! As your wife, at minimum, I deserve some respect." You taunted him.

Snow paused for a long moment before looking you straight in the eyes, his eyes were more piercing than ever before. He was usually cold and calm but for once, you've managed to anger him to the point of showing what he's truly feeling. In any other circumstance, you would take a step back, but this was different as he actually started speaking.

"You are a means to an end. You are a trophy for me to parade around until I become President. Nothing more, nothing less. Do not think that you matter to me in anyway because you do not."

Tears welled up in your eyes as the harsh words hit you in the face, but you refused to let them fall even though your lips betrayed you by trembling, and the lump that had formed at the back of your throat. Instead, you nod in agreement. "I guess I misspoke. Thank you for showing me my place." You said, looking straight into his cold eyes as you tried your absolute best to speak with a steady voice. Feeling humiliated, you abruptly stood up from the dinner table and walked away, leaving your half-eaten dinner and Coriolanus behind.

Snow just watched as you walked away, he didn't have much more to say as all of that was said. He let out a small sigh before deciding to leave the dinner table himself and left the food for the servants to clean and he went up to his room, his home might have been filled with people, but you could still feel the emptiness in it. Snow knew this too well himself although he wasn't going to tell a single soul about it.

You didn't meet with Coriolanus at all for the next few days. Whenever he was in the house, you tried your best to not come out of your room. You didn't even bother eating meals with him anymore either, you would just ask the servant to bring the food into the room after he had eaten. You no longer wanted to see him. Enough was enough. You wanted out of this marriage which was more like a cage.

You could feel the tension and frustration within the house as neither of you were trying to talk to each other with both of you doing your own thing, Snow trying hard to focus on his career and you distancing yourself away from him. You were trying hard to think of a way to get out of this marriage but with Snow as the most popular candidate for the position of President, the divorce papers were unlikely to make it through if it were to be announced. Both of you were stuck in this cold and distant relationship.

But despite all of this, you still managed to contact your personal lawyer to make the papers ready. As soon as Snow got his presidency, you were going to leave him and live your life the way you wanted to. As soon as the papers are made and his victory at the election is announced, you would then hand him the divorce papers first so he could sign it and be free from this hellhole of a marriage. He probably won't hesitate as marriage wasn't in his plans to begin with and he only agreed for the sake of the family. He would have no qualms in signing the papers now, the only difference is you could tell that he looked quite lonely in an empty house. He would probably find another woman to marry anyways to replace you. After all, you were just a trophy wife, it shouldn’t be too hard to find a replacement, you thought bitterly.

Interrupting your thoughts, you got the news from a servant that "Mr.Snow" wanted you to get ready for the pre-election party happening at your house tonight, and a dress was waiting for you on your bed of his choice to get ready. Scoffing at the situation you were in, you decide to get ready, but you weren't going to wear a dress of his choice.

Instead of wearing the dress he provided, you wore a dress of your own choice along with your own make up and styling. You would make sure to carry yourself with ease at the party despite how you had a bitter relationship with your soon to be ex-husband. You didn't want to let them all know about how bad the actual relationship was as it would stain Snow's reputation. After all, no one would want to vote for a man that couldn't even keep marriage vows intact.

Instead of the long red gown that was left untouched on your bed, you opted for a backless black dress with a slight low neck. It was a slightly bold dressing for the occasion, but you still thought it was classy, nonetheless. You opted for a light make up and had your hair straightened and let down flowing freely down your shoulders. Coriolanus always ordered you to wear your hair up for these events. But you often wondered if he told you to do that because it reminded him of Lucy Gray. Nonetheless, today you were feeling a bit rebellious, and you left your hair down and wore a dress of your choice because you wanted to.

You walked down the stairs slowly, watching your house filled with affluent people from the capitol. Your eyes met Coriolanus’, but you quickly looked away as you descended the step. Snow was quite surprised to see you walk down the stairs with hair flowing freely while also showcasing more skin than normal. It was probably the first time he's ever seen you wear a dress of this style, and he felt his chest tightening at that. His usual cold eyes started to glaze with something else but he refused to let himself be seen in a vulnerable position. Instead, he made sure to keep himself busy in greeting all the guests and making sure you weren't a problem as the future President's wife.

You greeted the guests the way you were accustomed to doing. You put on your best fake smile, drank your wine, and laughed at people's non-funny jokes while not meeting Coriolanus eyes at all as you interacted with the guests. The time eventually passed by as the party continued to go on and you could feel Snow's eyes on you every time, he got a chance to get a glimpse of you. It was hard to tell but it appears there was some semblance of jealousy in his eyes now. You were enjoying the party as much as you could even if he wasn't exactly a pleasant husband but for this moment, you were content.

A previous classmate of yours from the academy whose name you couldn't remember, was it Felix? You think to yourself as he came up to you and asked for a dance. You politely declined out of respect for Coriolanus and his reputation, but he was persistent and grabbed your hand, forcefully bringing you to the dance floor.

Snow was watching the whole thing unfold while trying to keep his eyes off you as you were dragged away by a former classmate. His usual jealousy flared up as you danced closely with the man, enjoying yourself and having a good time. Snow wasn't going to let this continue and got up from his seat to head to the dance floor.

You smiled sheepishly as you still attempted to get out of that man's grasp as politely as you could without causing a scene. As you try to get yourself out of Felix's grasp, Snow appears by your side and cuts the two of you off. Looking at Felix with a look of pure contempt as he gently pulls you away from him. He looks at you with narrowed eyes and speaks harshly to the man.

"You've danced enough with my, wife. I do hope you understand that this is not an open invitation for you to lay your hands on her. Is that understood?"

You looked surprised as Snow pulled you close by side, keeping his arm firmly around your waist. You felt shivers down your spine as you felt his hand touch the bare skin of your back which was exposed by the dress. But quickly composed yourself trying to act normal as Felix apologized then excused himself, leaving you alone with Snow.

As Snow pulls you closer to him with his arm around you, you were surprised by the gesture and felt a bit of butterflies in your stomach. Snow was always cold towards you and would show the bare minimum of attention while ignoring you most of the time. You knew he was jealous by the way he kept you close to him, even though he was trying so hard to not let his emotions show through his eyes.

"Coriolanus? Um, I think you can let go of me now." You whisper to him.

Snow doesn't let go despite you wanting him to. Maybe it was the jealousy that was still eating him up inside but Snow still kept his grip on you and kept you close.

"Was he annoying you?" Snow asked you, the jealousy in his tone was evident.

"Yes. He was. But thank you. For coming to my rescue." You say, looking him in the eyes.

Snow lets out a small hum in acceptance of your compliment as his eyes seem to be glued to you. He was being very protective of you tonight and he's sure to let everyone know who you belong to. As he keeps his grasp on you, you could feel his hot breath on your neck, and for some reason, you didn't really mind it one bit. This was the most emotion that he had shown in the entirety of your marriage, and you weren't sure how to feel about it.

A couple hours later, the party had ended, people left your home, and now it was just you and Coriolanus. The two of you were the only ones left in the house. The servants were either asleep or have already headed home. You were just about to take off the dress when the door of your bedroom suddenly swings open without any knock, in enters Snow who was staring straight at you. You could tell from the look on his face that he was trying not to show any emotion but he was failing pretty bad at it.

"Did you need something." You asked, you had your dark hair pulled forward to one shoulder, fully exposing your back and shoulders to him.

Snow doesn't answer you immediately as he was still taking in the sight of you with his eyes. It was clear he had quite the urge to walk up to you and kiss your lips, but he quickly shook that thought out of his mind. His cold and logical side preventing him from showing any sort of affection. He clears his throat first before he starts talking.

"Did you find yourself enjoying today's party?" He asks in his usual cold voice, which you are quite used to by now.

"It was alright." You replied, as you took off your earrings and placed them gently on your dresser.

It was quiet for a moment as he just watched you as you got ready for bed. His cold eyes were still locked onto your movements, but his pupils would follow your curves that were showcased in the dress. However, he manages to snap out of it and looks away momentarily before he speaks up.

"It was a bit bold of you to dress like that for the party." He says as he finally looks back at you.

You laugh in amusement, feeling kind of pleased that this was what was bothering him. "Is that what you really want to talk to me about? My dressing sense? Don't worry, everyone thought I looked beautiful and happy to be your wife. Just like a trophy wife like you said. " You remarked.

Snow's expression hardens at your comment and his tone becomes stiffer and colder than it was before.

"I said what I said because your role is to play as my wife and nothing more. That's all the role of a trophy wife is for, just to look pretty on my arm. Not to be used by other men who wishes to lay their hands on you" He says, he was being harsh towards you now and it was obvious he was more mad about the fact that you were danced with by another man for far too long.

"I was not dancing with him, he forced me to go on that dance floor. And if I refused outrightly, it would have caused a scene which would have hurt your image."

Snow remains silent for a long moment as he pondered on your statement before deciding that it was the truth. But he wasn’t going to easily accept that fact.

"Did you enjoy it though? Even if he forced you to, did you find the experience of dancing with him enjoyable?" He asks you, his eyes narrowing at you as he tries his best to not let his jealousy overflow over him.

You stare at him from the reflection of him in your mirror, your eyes locked onto his as he took slow steps towards you in your room. You smirked slightly, looking at the frown on his face that usually carried no emotions. "And what if I did?"

The fact that you didn't deny it pissed him off even more as the frown on his face grew darker and more apparent. He slowly walks towards you until he's standing directly behind you, his hot breath wafting onto your neck which made you shiver slightly.

"So you've enjoyed being in the arms of another man eh?" He says, his voice taking a darker tone.

You roll your eyes as you turn around to face him. "There's no need to worry Coriolanus. As long as I'm your wife, I don't have the luxury to do any sorts of those things. But, just for your sake, I'll be sure to be more mindful next time."

As you speak, you could almost feel Snow's anger growing as your words aren't exactly what he would like to hear.

"My wife is my property and as my property, you are not allowed to put yourself into such situations" he says as he now steps so close that both your bodies are almost touching. His hands were on your arms now, his fingers gripping harshly on them.

You hiss in pain at the sudden contact. "Okay. I understood your point, Coryo. Now let me go!"

As he hears you hiss in pain, his anger grows even more as he doesn't release your arm at all.

"Is that what you really want? For me to let you go? To be free? If so then I will be more than happy to let you go. After all, why keep something around that I don't really think is important." Snow says as he's finally starting to let his anger bleed through completely.

Using your full strength, you shoved him off of you, now getting frustrated from his treatment of you. It annoyed you to see how discardable you really were from his perspective. Tears welled up in your eyes as you yelled at him, "Well the day you do that, I'll be really happy. In fact, I'll celebrate the day that I'm free from this prison. So go ahead! Once you become president, I'm leaving you anyways." You unintentionally let that piece of information slip from your lips.

Upon hearing your words, Snow looks down at you with a glare. He can't believe you would mention that in front of him like it's nothing.

"Leaving me? After all the time we spent together?" Snow says with a sarcastic tone, but the look in his eyes are pure rage now.

"You don't need me after that anyways. What's the point of me staying? I'm not even a human being in your eyes. Once you become president, you will have all the power you want in the world, you don't need a trophy wife to appease to your citizens. And if you do, get someone else because I can't pretend to be happy being your other half anymore."

Even if Snow knew that statement was the truth, he couldn't help but be extremely offended by it either way.

"Did you think I would just let you go without a fight?" Snow asked, his tone still carrying hints of sarcasm as he closes the gap between the two of you.

A tear escapes your eye, but you quickly wipe it off. "Get out!" You say. "Leave my room this instant, I don't want to argue with you any further!" You demand.

The look of rage on Snow's face grew even worse as he heard you order him to leave your room.

"You are ordering me to leave now? Did it ever occur to you that maybe you should watch your tone a bit more?" Snow asks as he moves even closer to you, closing off any chance of you moving away from him.

You try to move away but only stumble into the dresser behind you, leaving you with no room to escape as he closed the gap between the two of you.

Snow continues to close the gap, getting right in front of you before he grabs your chin and forces you to look up at him.

"Do I not treat my wife well enough? Do I not provide for you? Do I not give you everything you wish for? And yet despite all this, you would leave me as soon as I become President?" Snow asks as his grip tightens on your chin slightly.

His words make you feel a bit guilty, but you know that you're not completely in the wrong. "Wife? Since when have we ever lived as husband and wife, Coriolanus? We don't even sleep in the same room and hardly eat meals together. Yet, you think I'm getting everything a wife should in a marriage?"

Snow's expression grew a bit colder upon hearing that, knowing that he couldn't really argue with you and the truth in your statement.

"You think that by becoming my wife, you'll get to experience true love or something of that sort?" Snow asked, but even he doubted the validity of the question. He was never someone who really could express his emotions, even when he did have them.

"Yes. I did. Even though I know this is not a real marriage, but I still foolishly wanted it to be. Somewhere deep down, I still wanted some affection from my husband." You confess, tears now streaming down your face.

Snow was taken aback by the sudden outburst of emotions from you. He never expected you to break like this and part of him felt regret about how he had treated you this whole time. The fact that you wanted an affection and some love just felt heartbreaking to him.

He lets go of your chin as he wipes away your tears with his hands now resting on your cheeks, as he tries to find the words to say to you right now.

"I want your love Coriolanus. I want you to love me without expecting something to fall in line with your current ambitions for power in return. I want you to love me selflessly. I want you to actually be mine. I want to be free rather than be a shallow puppet in this ridiculous play we act in front of the cameras."

Snow's eyes grew slightly in surprise, his mouth slightly gaping as he listens to what you said. He can't really argue with what you said as he's never really thought of you as anything more than a trophy wife. But to hear from you that you want him to love selflessly, to not want something in return, that you want to be yours. It was something that he's never heard before, so he stayed silent for a long moment as he contemplated what he should do now.

You slowly grabbed his hands that were still placed on your cheeks and slowly removed them from your face as you awaited his response.

Snow remains completely still as you remove his hands from your face, his eyes now were looking at your face trying decipher any form of deception or lies. It looked like he's in deep thought regarding what you have said to him. His mind was being conflicted from one half that still wants to uphold his cold attitude towards you and the other half wondering what would happen if he tried just loving you unconditionally.

You took his silence as his answer and sighed. It was no use. He didn't love you. "Just leave Corio." You tell him, giving up on this mockery of a relationship.

Snow remained silent for a few more seconds, but as he sees you looking away from him and he can read the emotion on your face, your disappointment and lack of hope, he can't stay silent anymore and finally answers you.

"No." Snow says, his tone was still cold, but you can tell he's trying his best to not let his emotions show.

You look at him in shock as Coriolanus just comes in closer, erasing the gap between the two of you.

Snow had finally decided; he'll do what you asked him to do. To love and care for you selflessly without asking for anything in return. But it'll take some time to break out of his cold nature which only focuses on his ambitions above anything else.  As Snow invades your personal space, he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into him.

Feeling shocked, you hesitantly wrap your arms around him as well, embracing him.

Snow holds you close, feeling the softness of your body against his. He lets out a small sigh of relief before moving his head down and pressing his lips onto yours. You gasp at the foreign feeling of his lips on yours which felt like it had been an eternity since the last time you’ve felt them. You can’t remember a time where you’ve shared a kiss with him not since your marriage ceremony. His lips felt so soft and full as he kissed you with an intensity that you had never felt before.

As your lips finally locked with Snow's, you have a rush of emotions flooding through you. The way he kissed you sent a chill down your spine as Snow's hands finally wrap around your upper back. It seems all the anger and emotions that he has been bottling inside of him for a long time is finally unleashing.

You moved your lips with his, moving your arms around his neck to pull him closer to you. The moment you pulled him closer to you, Snow completely loses himself as he kisses you back with even more fervor than before. As the kisses got longer and more intense, Snow's hands slides down past your back as they reach your hips.

You accidentally let out a moan against his mouth as you feel his touch. That moan of yours was the last push needed for Snow in letting his inner emotions explode. His grasp on you gets tighter still, his kisses getting even deeper than before, his hands now firmly squeezing your waist.

Somehow, both of you made your way to the bed with him laying on top of you, his lips attached to your neck while his hands still wandered over your body.

Snow's sudden shift in emotions was enough to catch even him off guard as he's now on top of you, his hands roaming over your body in places he never had the courage to touch before. He finally leans down and nibbles on your neck gently just below your ear while he starts to unzip your dress from behind.

You reciprocated by undressing him as well, letting the material of his shirt fall to the ground as you touched his toned skin. As Snow felt the touch of your body against him, he felt an electric feeling going through him. His hands immediately moved from your body and grabbed your arms to bring them above your head. Your bodies now pressed against each other completely as it was almost like your breath was becoming one and you could feel his every heart beat.

His lips attacked your once again, your hands still captured in his above your head as he continued to  press himself against you. Snow continued to kiss you even more aggressively now, his heart beating rapidly as this was the first time since you had married that he had actually touched you so intimately. His lips were moving down your neck until he reached the area around your collarbone, and he started to trail his kisses towards the center of your chest.

Your breaths get more shallower and heavier he continued with his actions. "Coryo." You moaned.

Snow hears your moans of pleasure and it only fuels his ambition and desire even more. His hands finally moves to your hair, his fingers gently running over your head as he continues to kiss and nibble on your neck.

Your nails scratch against his back pulling him closer. The sound of your nails scratching against his back makes Snow feel even more like he's lost in passion. As this continues on, Snow can feel his emotions rising even more and he starts to move his hands around your curves.

You finally feel his lips once more on yours, as his hands intertwined with yours pressing against the mattress firmly while he entered you without a warning, causing you to cry out in pain which was muffled by his mouth.

Snow was almost completely losing himself in this whole situation. He was so caught up in his feelings and emotions that even that loud cry of pain from you was not enough to deter his desires from him. His body was now pressed completely against yours, and he's no longer even trying to move around causing you to feel the full impact of his body as the pain grows.

You struggle against his body to make him slow down, as tears stained your cheeks. You felt like your body was being ripped apart from the pain. Snow begins to slow down his pace when he realizes that he's hurting you. But at the sight of your tears and the pained expression on you face, Snow just loses himself again.

"I'm sorry darling." Snow says, his voice was slightly shaky now. "I-I forgot what my strength was in comparison to yours. I should've been more gentle with you."

He wipes away your tears and kisses your forehead softly and doesn't move until you relax and give him a sign that you're ready.

When Snow sees that you have finally relaxed, he moves with a much more gentle pace. His hands are still tightly gripping around your hips as he moves more slowly and carefully with each of his movements. He gives you a few small kisses before finally moving his head down to your ear and speaks softly. "Am I hurting you now?"

 You shake your head, feeling the pain eventually subside and feeling the pleasure instead as the pressure between your hips continue to rise and the force and speed with which he moves increases.

As this continues, Snow is once again losing his emotional control. His breath grows heavier and sharp, his movements becoming more urgent with each passing moment as he starts to slowly pick up the pace. You can already feel the tension slowly build up as the impact of his body starts to be felt more and more.

Your nails scratch down his back as you press your teeth down on his shoulder, feeling your body shake from a foreign feeling rippling through your body. The feeling of your nails against his back turning him on even more, and with each passing second he starts to let himself go, increasing the force and speed of everything. With that one sharp moan of yours, Snow finally completely loses it.

His pace gradually slows down and he presses his lips against yours gently. As his pace slows down to slow, deep and soft kisses, the emotions and desire inside of Snow suddenly feels like it has disappeared with each kiss that you've shared with each other. But as you feel the gentleness of his lips press against them, you can still feel the aftermath impact of your previous actions as Snow's body is still pressed directly against yours as his breathing is still quite heavy and sharp.

He removes himself from you momentarily to lie down beside you, but immediately afterwards, he pulls your body into his embrace. As you are pulled into Snow's embrace, you can feel that his grip is much more protective now. He starts to wrap his arms around you tightly and even his breathing has started to slow down gradually.

"I love you." You quietly whisper against his chest.

Those three words, those three words that have never been uttered by the both of you throughout your whole marriages, is enough to make Snow's heart flutter. His heart beat feels like it's about to come out of his chest as his breathing is now very calm and relaxed.

You close your eyes slowly falling asleep, feeling peaceful with Coryo's arms around you. Snow was also completely exhausted after what you both just did, but he doesn't mind as he feels content as he holds you in his arms now. He finally feels free now that you had confessed your love towards him, although there may be more struggles along the way to be a true loving couple due to your marriage being nothing more than a political arrangement. Snow feels as though this is the start, the start of what could be an actual relationship.

[END]

***Thank you for reading. I know Snow probably wouldn’t care if the person he married left him although his ego would be bruised and he might just take harsh decisions to ruin that person, but I just wanted a happy ending for once even though I was thinking of a more tragic ending initially. LOL.***

#coriolanus snow #president snow #the hunger games #coriolanus x reader #lucy gray baird #hunger games #katniss everdeen #katniss and peeta #thg katniss #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #marriage #arranged marriage #toxic love #dark coriolanus snow #sejanus plinth #tom marvolo riddle #sejanus deserved better #gale #coryo x reader #coryo snow #tigris snow #president #capitol #district 12 #panem #tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth fanfiction #coriolanus imagine #coriolanus fanfiction

[sunshine-and-moonshine]

Baby Matching Outfits

Requested: Yes [Since request are open.........I HAVE ONE.... CAN YOU PLEASE WRITE 141, KÖNIG, ALE, KEEGAN. WERE THEY MATCH THERE OUTFIT WITH THEY'RE KIDS, BUT YOU DON'T KNOW ABOUT IT AND THEY COME TO YOU AND SHOW (YOU KEEP THEM ASKING WHERE IS YOURS)🤭💞 PLEASE CAN YOU WRITE 🥹🫶]

Warnings: Sweet enough to rot your teeth

A/N: Trimmed off Price to make this six characters (the limit).

Gaz

Gaz grinned proudly at you as he held your daughter in his arms, the little one grabbing at the controller design on his t-shirt, probably recognizing it as the same thing that she’d see her Daddy holding when she was snuggled up next to him or in his lap as he played. A favorite activity of his, he liked to pretend that she was playing with him.

“I think this is the best purchase I’ve ever made before.” He tells you, bouncing Sunshine in his arms when she started to get a bit fussy. “I think she likes it! It’s a sign that she’ll like playing video games just as much as me.”

Ghost

Ghost does it unintentionally. It’s likely something that you bought because why wouldn’t you? It’s cute, references him, and it was just overall wholesome. But Ghost never really wears the shirt, and even more rarely puts the onesie on Asa. He just doesn’t understand the point. But he’s in a rush one morning to surprise you at work so he throws on the first shirt he sees and dresses your daughter in the onesie at the top of the pile.

Which leads to him holding Asa, surrounded by a group of your coworkers cooing about how cute it is that he’s matching his daughter. It’s very uncomfortable for him to say the least and he’s forever grateful when you finally meet him in the middle, shyly fiddling with Asa’s little hands.

Soap

It was a spur of the moment decision for Soap. He’d already been on his way to meet you, Bombi in his arms, when he saw the matching set in the window of a store. Ever the impulse shopper, Soap hadn’t even thought twice about whipping out his wallet and changing out his shirt and Bombi’s onesie in the bathroom before continuing on his way.

And of course he basked in the attention he got from you, even if 99% of it went to Bombi instead of him. He was proud that you liked it! “Maybe next time all of us can match, yeah?” He says, already coming up with a million and one ideas on how to do just that.

Alejandro

The matching outfits were given to him by his Mama, a late Father’s Day gift! She didn’t read English very well so she really only saw the cowboy hats and went “Perfect!!!!!” And Alejandro couldn’t help but agree. Which would be why he changed them both into the matching outfits right away and swiftly started making his way to your work, a grin on his face at every compliment he received along the way.

And then he was standing in front of you, practically glowing with pride as you cooed over him and your daughter, tickling her chubby tummy before giving him a kiss on the cheek. He definitely wouldn’t mind matching with your little one again.

Keegan

Keegan is really not one for dressing up. Barely owns a decent pair of jeans and a single shirt or two without holes all over. To say he doesn’t really care about his appearance when he’s not deployed is an understatement. Life Ghost, he probably matched with Skully unintentionally. Threw on the first shirt he saw and went with it.

So he was definitely confused when you kept giggling to yourself, looking between him and Skully, tickling the boy’s tummy as you complimented Keegan on his fashion sense. That was when he finally noticed and couldn’t help but chuckle, reaching over to hold one of Skully’s little hands in his. Maybe he could dress up a little better, as long as he matched the little one.

König

König loves to match with Princess! He has several matching shirts and onesies for him and her and he likes to wear them whenever possible. Today is one such day, your tiny baby in his arms, whining all the way to the park where he would be meeting you for lunch.

And oh he just melted when you cooked over them both, praising him for finding such cute clothes as you gently readjust the crocheted cap on Princess’ head, amused by the floppy green ears that were attached.

#cod #call of duty #mwii #mw2 #call of duty mwii #cod mwii #call of duty mw2 #cod mw2 #Kyle garrick #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #Simon riley #simon riley x reader #Simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #John MacTavish #john mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #Alejandro Vargas #alejandro vargas x reader #König #König x reader

[calmcoldevening]

Pov: You loved vampire!slashers in your past life and now you met them again

TW: mention of blood, biting, vampire and e.t.c

Characters: Vincent Sinclair, Michael Myers, Hannibal Lecter

English is not my native language, so sorry about misspells. I hope you enjoy it ♡

Mieloji (Lithuanian) — Darling

You have just moved to a new small town away from the hustle and bustle of megacities. Surprisingly, you quickly found a place to live and settled into a small house, beautiful and cozy. After unpacking all the things, you decided to explore a new city a little. After all, you've been living here for quite a while, haven't you?

And now you are standing in front of a large mansion, made in the likeness of a certain Gothic style. The massive building was made in dark colors. Large windows with a pleasant view of a surprisingly well-kept garden with bushes of blood-red roses; a dark pointed roof with neat tiles; dark gray walls of the mansion with peeling paint in some places. In front of your face were massive doors made of dark oak with a neat intricate engraving on them. Something like snakes.

You take a deep breath, gathering your courage, and slowly open the door. It does not give in immediately, the old hinges creak disgustingly. And here you are inside. You can see a huge corridor with a large staircase directly opposite the entrance. The interior is made in black and red tones, in some places you can see elements of silver or gold. Huge paintings in gold frames hang on both walls of the lobby. They depict some important people with menacing faces, but you can't make out the text on the captions to the portraits. It's a language you don't know. A huge chandelier with red candles burning on it hangs on the ceiling. Even the very flame on them seems scarlet. And although it's only early autumn outside, it's strangely cool in the mansion. Almost grave cold.

Michael Myers

You notice that your kitten is behaving strangely. Perhaps you shouldn't have taken him to such a strange mansion. The black little animal begins to meow often and asks to get off your hands. You slowly put him on the floor, and he runs straight up the stairs to the second floor.

"Michael, be a good boy and come back!" You mumble in a voice a little louder than a whisper.

Your boy has never been so restless, on the contrary, he was usually even too calm. Even when you first found this baby, he was a quiet, albeit wayward cat. As if he understood you.

"Michael..."

You hear the cat meowing from one of the distant rooms and sigh in defeat. Slowly climbing up the burgundy trunk to the stairs, you hold on to the smooth black railing with your hand. When you reach the back room, you notice Michael sitting on a large velvet bed with a satisfied smile. It was a huge double bed with a gray canopy over it and a carved headboard. A truly aristocratic bed. You come closer, holding out your hands to the kitten.

"Come on, be a good boy, we need to go. We don't want to meet the owner of this place, do we?"

Finally, the cat climbs into your arms and you turn around to leave, but abruptly bump into something. He was a huge man. You back away in fear, landing on the bedspread. You just crashed into his chest...

Your eyes go up, examining the man with horror. He was at least six feet tall, menacing and cold as a statue. His dark curly hair fell in careless curls over his pale face. The man's face was expressionless, and his large copper eyes were bloodshot.

You reflexively hug the cat to you, trying to protect him, and you close your eyes. The man raises his hand and...

Nothing?

Oh.

His big cold palm with rough fingers gently touches your face, stroking your cheek. You slowly open your eyes, looking at the stranger in disbelief. But now his face wasn't so impassive. Behind all this cold facade there was a hint of... Happiness?

The man was standing there, stroking your face, as your kitten jumped to the floor, starting to rub against the man's leg. What a... He never recognized strangers, even hissed at them if someone got too close to you.

You look up at a man, and your eyes meet. Why is he silent?

"Y/ N..." he mutters faintly, and your heart starts beating wildly in your ears.

How does he know your name? A moment later, and the man gets on his knees, hugging you around the waist and putting his head on your lap. Even in this position, he was huge. He covers his red eyes, starting to slowly rub his face against your knees and emit a light purr. Just like a kitten...

"Missed you."

And again just one phrase. But it's enough to make your heart start to ache strangely in your chest. Your hands seem to move by themselves, burrowing into his unruly curls and massaging his tense skin. A strange feeling of deja vu appeared inside. As if it really was before...

Looking up, you don't find a kitten.

"Michael," you mutter softly, frowning, and notice that the man raised his head, looking at you with his puppy dog eyes. His name... Michael? Just like your kitten. You sigh softly and smile at him. The man... No, Michael, he smiles a little in response and you see little fangs peeking out from under his lips. A vampire... But it doesn't scare you. For the first time, nothing scares you. It's like you've finally come home.

Vincent Sinclair

It was a huge picturesque mansion where you wanted to stay longer. All this mysterious interior in the mystical light of blood candles caused a strange excitement in your stomach.

You slowly climb up to the second floor, looking at the paintings and leading your hand along the different railings. A truly blood-stirring place.

Walking to the second floor, your feet lead you to the first room you come across. A spacious room with dark curtains on the windows, inside there were several tables littered with papers and paraffin candles standing on them. But what caught your eye were the drawings. Oh, Father, it was a whole picture gallery! All the walls of the room were hung with old, slightly yellowed and frayed paper. And on each sheet there were different faces, as if alive. You came closer to examine them and... Your face was here. It was almost perfect. The accuracy with which your facial features and your hair were transferred, although they were somewhat longer in the portraits... Your smile is so bright and colorful. Your eyes... It was really you. But you've never worn such strange dresses... And where did your image come from here?

There was a thump behind you, as if something heavy had fallen to the floor. You turn around and freeze in place.

It was a man. He was dressed in unusual clothes for modernity, rather resembling the costumes of the Victorian era. His long hair fell over his broad shoulders, and his face was covered with a snow-white mask. Several heavy volumes of books lay on the floor in front of him. So that's what it fell...

It seems the man is hesitating. His ringed hands are shaking a little as he gathers his thoughts. It was as if he had seen a ghost. Or a goddess.

The stranger is slowly moving towards you, his dark hair flowing over his strong shoulders like silk ribbons. He slowly knelt down, gently hugging you with trembling hands. You feel this cold touch on your hot skin, but it seems almost... comforting. You look down at him, your hands almost reflexively reaching for his hair, gently running through the soft strands. And he shudders. A dull, barely audible whimper fills the room. The man presses closer to your body and mutters something indistinctly.

A simple "Vincent" flashes through your head, and you don't notice how you say it out loud. The man shudders, looking up at you, and your heart freezes. His blood-filled eyes look at you with unprecedented love and tenderness. You're back, they say.

Hannibal Lecter

"You're finally here, Mieloji."

It was a deep male voice that made your blood run cold in your veins. You slowly turned your head towards the stairs, noticing a tall man on it.

He was dressed in a dark suit with a starched white shirt peeking out from under his vest. His entire appearance radiated elegance and sophistication. Those carefully arranged hair on her head, shining in the bloody candlelight. This sweet, but at the same time dangerous, intoxicating snow-white smile with plump pink lips. And, oh, those blood-red eyes looking into the very depths of your trembling soul.

As he slowly descends towards you, you back away, pressing into the wall. The man reaches out to you with his pale hand with neatly sharpened nails, touching your cheek. Only now do you notice how much he towers over you. Like a predator over a prey.

"I had no hope of meeting you again, Mieloji," He whispers, leaning against your neck and looking at you with his burning eyes.

"S-Sorry... But I don't understand what you're talking about..." You mutter softly, feeling your knees slowly give way, "Maybe you're confusing me with someone..."

"Oh, no, dear. I recognize you from a thousand," He whispers with a predatory smile, baring a pair of sharp fangs, "I recognize you from a thousand, Y/N."

"How do you know my name?" Your voice is shaking. It seems like it was too much for you. You were scared.

"Shh, Mieloji. I didn't mean to scare you," His gaze softens for a moment as he runs his thumb over your trembling lip, "I'm Hannibal."

He probably expected this name to give you some hint of what's going on, but you just nervously pursed your lips. What a strange man he is... Although it was worth this name to fly off his plump lips, as your heart skipped a light beat. But this is not enough to believe his words. You're just scared...

"It seems you've really forgotten me, Mieloji," Hannibal murmured with a slight bitterness, looking into your beautiful eyes. Oh, he was drowning in their alluring depths every time, "I shouldn't have let you go then... But I cherished you too much to deprive you of the joys of mortal life."

The man wrapped his free arm around your waist, pulling you into his cold embrace. Your smaller body looked so perfect in his hands... The pleasant aroma of his body hits you in the nose, mixed with a slight taste of copper and sandalwood. At this moment you feel so calm, here in his arms. It's as if the whole world around you has ceased to exist, just you and him.

His cold hand slowly looks at your tense back, lightly sliding his nails on the fabric of your clothes. Hannibal remembered it all too well: every curve of your body, the scent of your hair and your gentle voice. It was definitely you, his beloved, who returned to him after centuries. He knew it right away, as soon as he noticed you at the gate through the window of the second floor.

"Mieloji, I've missed you so much... I thought I wouldn't see you again," he muttered, a hint of relief in his voice.

Oh, how you wanted to believe him. It all seemed like a pleasant dream. You just moved out of your old town and entered a mansion you didn't know, but this was the first time you really felt at home. You were in the right place.

You almost reflexively squeeze the fabric of his vest between your fingers, and the man lets out a light laugh. He pulls away, still holding you by the waist and burying his free hand in your hair. Hannibal tilts your head slightly to the side.

"Let me show you my love again," he whispers, and you feel a painful burning sensation in your neck.

His sharp fangs cut into your flesh, and his pink lips begin to slowly suck your skin. It was painful. But gradually this feeling was replaced by something like... pleasure?

"Let me help you remember everything, Mieloji."

#slashers x reader #michael myers #michael myers x reader #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x reader

[dduane]

Re: Magic systems

kosmonaunt asked:

I have the weird hyper-fixation of wanting to know all their is about The Speech and just how everything works!! I love learning about how power systems work, and it helps since I’m trying to develop my own. I’m always stuck on soft or hard magic systems. Since I don’t know all there is to really know about my system. Do you have tips on crafting magic systems? How do you feel about someone being inspired by pieces of your system?

Inspiration is fine! What you want to make sure you do with whatever inspires you, though, is to work hard to make your own take on it different from or better than what you borrowed. Around here we refer to this as "the magpie principle:" if you're going to pick up and play with/make off with a bright and shiny idea, you need to be working to produce something even brighter and shinier as your part of the "exchange". Whether or not you succeed at this (or can succeed), either sometimes or never at all, isn't the point. The point is to always be trying.

As regards building magic systems: there were three different ones in the foreground or background of my first novel alone—all of them with features that at this end of time I can recognize as being inspired by elements of magic systems in other writers' work. But by the time I'd more fully developed them, each had become something unique. The system I'm probably better known for—the system based on the wizardly Speech and its use—sprang more or less automatically from the increasingly complex answers to the question, "What if there was a manual that could tell you the truth about/the secrets of what makes the world go?". (Because once you answer one question, another pops up. "Where did that manual come from? What're you supposed to do with it? What's wizardry for?" Etc., etc.) I've spent the last few decades, on and off, answering that question in ways that (intentionally) mirror the main characters' exploration of the art of wizardry, and what it means to engage in the business of errantry in a world that mostly thinks wizards are a fairy tale.

Before getting into describing my own approach to building a system, I needed to take a little time to look around and make sure I knew what you meant when you mentioned hard and soft magic. My best guess is that you're referring to what a lot of people are calling "Sanderson's Three Laws of Magic" (fairly enough, as Brandon calls them that himself). I had a look, and have come to the conclusion that they're more general guidelines than laws... as in each of his three essays on the subject, Brandon no sooner names his basic laws/principles than he starts punching holes through them to make room for systems that don't follow them rigidly. (And frankly I find this kind of endearing.)

With his first one, in particular, I have no quarrel at all: the concept that in one kind of magic, which for his purposes he defines as the "hard" kind, rules are extremely important. (Which is why I'm kind of horrified that he apparently got dogpiled about this take on a Worldcon panel, because to me it seems so intuitive. Some of the best fantasy storytellers I know, like this one, would agree with him.) Then later he gets on to the equally valid ideas that limitations on magic are really important, and that culturally interconnecting multiple systems is useful; and here too we're in agreement. This is reassuring to me, considering that I built my first four systems—all of which feature approaches resting on similar concepts—while Sanderson was between four and six years old. :)

People using Sanderson's Laws will look at the three systems in the Middle Kingdoms books and classify them as varying sorts of relatively hard magic, with their power rooted in two or maybe three different sources. (The blue Fire is a gift of the Divine, nearly lost since ancient times and much damaged, but now slowly being recovered: sorcery is a language-based art in which no one's terribly sure where its power comes from: and the so-called "royal magics" probably started out as a blood sorcery that over centuries was shifted toward very specific uses by the power of the demigod-descendants who employed it.)

The Young Wizards novels, though, feature an extremely hard magic deeply rooted in science and (more or less under the hood) very, very rules-intensive... while its power relies on correct use of the language used to create the Universe, and the active cooperation of the Powers still busy about that work. And this is the reason why, though people are going to naturally be curious about the Speech itself, no one's going to hear very much from me about its actual words.

This is because the Speech is canonically described as so powerful that its use is something you can feel in your body and mind (and theoretically your spirit): bone-shaking, life-changing, unmistakable. And there's no way that made-up words on the page can realistically be expected to evoke physical sensations like that in the reader... or like the sense of the universe going silent around you, leaning in to listen, as you speak your spell. The careful writer knows that it's unwise to attempt to produce responses in the reader that, when they fail, will only emphasize how that thing is not happening, and stands a good chance of shattering the illusion one’s trying to weave.

So a Speech-word gets dropped here and a phrase there, but no one's ever going to get enough of it out of me to try to build a spell. Readers are better at doing that work for themselves in their own heads, out of hints and whispers. Over ten books and their interstitial material, there are plenty of those scattered through the text: not to mention the most basic principles of wizardry, which are laid out before the end of the first chapter of the first book in the series. So I'll leave you to get on with deducing what you can from canon.

Meanwhile, if I was about to build a new system, I'd look at my main characters—in the setting of their home cultures—and ask myself for answers to these questions:

What do they want more than anything?

Why can't they have it?

What kind of power will help them get it?

When they do eventually get within reach of the power / the desired thing... what will its achievement cost them?

And will they pay the price?

...Because the payment of such prices is where you find out what your heroes are worth. (Or aren't.) The above arc succinctly describes, in broad strokes, both The Door into Fire and So You Want To Be A Wizard, and a good number of the books that follow them. (Because why abandon what works, or try to fix what's not broken?) :)

With answers to the questions above you can start feeling your way toward what you need—always looking closely at the cultures your characters spring from, and how those cultures will shape their response to the magic they seek. (Or that finds them.) Maybe it's no surprise that the preferred arc structure of a writer who was a psychiatric nurse will be deeply involved with questions of motivation: because motivation is at the heart of almost all human behavior. Find the motivation and you find the character's heart—and, often enough, what kind of magic they need to make their desire and intention overflow into triumph.

...There are quite a few "How to design your magic system" pages out there. You might glance at these to see if there's anything useful in them for you:

How To Build An Amazing Magic System For Your Fantasy Novel

How To Create A Magic System In Six Simple Steps

Building Your Magic System: A Full Recipe

How To Create A Rational Magic System

However, my favorite is the "So You Want To Write A Functional Magic System" page at TV Tropes, which is nicely arranged yet also completely nonprescriptive—a pick-'n'-mix jar of prompts, things other writers have done that've worked, and generally useful ideas. (And try not to vanish too far down the many interconnected rabbitholes...) :)

Now get out there, build the world, and make the magic(s).

#magic systems #building magic #magic #writing advice #fantasy

[novelizt]

EXPECTO PATRONUM I ☁︎ ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

⚜ PART 2 | SERIES MASTERLIST

GENRE ➺ HOGWARTS AU [slytherin! lockwood x fem! ravenclaw! reader]. rivals to lovers (and a dash of 'everyone knows but them'). fluff and angst.

WC ➺ 13.7k

SYNOPSIS ➺ after a six year rivalry with lockwood, your patronus suddenly matches his when it didn't before.

DISCLAIMER ➺ reader is implied to be shorter than lockwood. appearance of harry potter next gen characters and a few ocs. lockwood calls reader 'sweetheart' and 'my dearest vexation'. prefect! lockwood. (i also headcanon him being a cunning-flirt, so lockwood might read slightly ooc.)

WARNINGS ➺ strained family dynamics (for reader), love potions (misuse of magic), dragons on the loose, wizard duels, and a lot of unpolished dialogue.

NOTES ➺ it's been a long time coming. i hope this finds you when you need it 💙 happy nanowrimo !!

this was originally a one-shot that got split in two. please read part two after this to see their happily ever after 💙

For every Gryffindor came a Slytherin waiting to trouble them. You thought you were in the clear after you'd been sorted into Ravenclaw four years ago. So, you questioned how you had the misfortune of being vexed by a serpent such as Anthony Lockwood.

He boasted the status of being the sole muggle-born Slythern in your year, as well as a colossal thorn in your side. He made it routine to test you. You knew his M.O. well enough to recognize the sound of his footsteps before he even reached you.

"We're learning advanced protective charms in Defence today," he announced like you didn't speed through the syllabus already.

You didn't have to look at him to know he was sporting that lilted smile of his. If you were in a bitter mood, you might have even slung a hex at him.

Luckily for him, you just wanted to get through the day. You quickened your steps. He followed like a parasite.

He even had the gall to bend at the knees to be at eye-level with you, the right side of his mouth curved higher than his left. "Come on, sweetheart. Not even a nod of acknowledgement?"

"If it will get you to leave me be..."

You granted his request and even offered a stiff nod, hoping that would suffice.

You hoped too much because all he did was grin and return to his regularly scheduled goading by matching your stride.

"Away with you," you shooed.

You threw your arm out, aiming for his shoulder. He caught your hand before it even made contact—giving your knuckle a quick tap just to aggravate you.

"I know that trick, sweetheart." He unfurled fingers from yours, slow and deliberate. "Let me walk you, at least. I am a gentleman. Oh– Don't make that face. I really am!"

"If you are such a gentleman, you'd pay attention to my request and leave."

"Suddenly, I'm a barbarian." He shot you a wink that made you wish the floor would swallow you whole. "I could do much worse, you know. Have you heard of oobleck—the stuff muggles are raving about? Bet you'd have a jolly time finding out how to get a non-Newtonian fluid out of your hair."

He feigned a yawn, dropping an arm over your shoulders and giving your arm a subtle squeeze to drive home the fact that he had no intentions of letting you go.

"Arse," was your gracious response.

"Oh, don't be like that. If you are going to play that game, I do have a divine rump. So do you," he said without missing a beat. He played a fool to your slack jaw and widened eyes. "And would you look at that! We've arrived to your classroom. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

If only looks could kill.

Your systems stalled when he dipped his head and planted an ever-cheeky kiss on your temple.

It was futile to throw out a fist to dent that pretty face of his, because he caught your hand before you could even land a hit.

"Cheeky," Lockwood crooned. He tapped your nose before letting you go. You made a show of flicking off the invisible mites he gave you. "Nice try though, sweetheart."

"You—" When you tried to stomp on his foot, he veered out of the way, finessed as a Chesire.

At that point, you knew you were fighting a losing battle. You lifted your chin and crossed the threshold into Potions, ignoring the exorbitant waves and kissy faces he made at you.

Your classmates levelled you with looks of intrigue but you ignored them, too.

Of course, Lockwood had to have the last word. "Remember not to mix up your asphodel and lavender. Wouldn't want another smokey incident, would we? You basically handed me that perfect score."

You tried not to shrivel when a ripple of giggles disrupted the stillness of the classroom.

You threw a nasty look over your shoulder and turned sour when he left, his laugh echoing down the hall. You estimated that he'd be a few minutes late to his class, even if he had to run to make it. Poor chap.

Finally, you were rid of him, but the newly realised smell in the room replaced his slot as your morning vexation. The smell of old parchment, clipped grass, and (much to your bereavement) the Lockwood Stench viscerally assaulted your senses.

You blanched, falling into your seat. "Heavens, did he leave his perfume in here? It smells awful."

As if seeing his face wasn't bad enough, he managed to be the subject of your irritation even if he was absent from the room.

James Potter II, your seatmate and friend, laughed. Eyes crinkling like he knew something you didn't. "He, meaning Anthony Lockwood?"

Your lip curled at the name. Even while preoccupied by your review notes, the smell clouded you. Your attempts to wave away the stench only made it stronger.

It wasn't the worst smell in the wizarding world but you'd rather go through the only class you don't share with him without the incessant thought of him. A huff left you as you came to peace with the fact that your nose would lose its sense eventually.

James's most devious grin stretched across his face. "That's Amortentia over there."

Your breath caught. He jutted a finger at the cauldron that sat at the end of your two-seater desk.

Surely enough, the brew had a pearlescent sheen with curls of peach smoke spiralling into the air, infecting the room with its fragrance. Now that you'd been made aware, your ribs felt too right for your lungs.

Your laugh came out stiff. You coughed, hoping it sutured the cracks in your façade. "I was mistaken then. I only smell the Quidditch Pitch."

James hummed, unconvinced.

—

Time passed slower when you were dying to forget the incident at Potions. Your eyes kept jumping to your watch before the middle of the day had even passed.

Classes had come and gone, and a certainly foul smell clung to the walls of this classroom—as was always the case for Defence Against the Dark Arts. For a moment, you missed smelling the amortentia, then jolted at what other thing that implied.

You knew class started when your peers fell silent, listening attentively on tipped toes. It was every man for himself on days the tables and chairs were pushed to the side of the room.

"On this fine day, we are covering a very tricky, but very utilised charm." The Professor circled the room, inspecting posture and wand grip as she passed.

For a moment, her eyes fell on you, and you stiffened under her gaze. Her lip quirked, like she found comfort in scaring you.

You were made aware that she was a rival of your grandmother's, back in their heyday. You surmised that because she couldn't get one up on your grandmother, she transposed her efforts onto the next best thing: You, and she wasn't afraid to show it.

Her heels clicked, grating your ears as she went on to terrorise a few more unfortunate souls in the way. The vast majority were daft to her impartiality.

She went on a lecture about the charm's importance in the Battle at Hogwarts. You were about to doze off when she slapped her wand against her palm. "Now that the lot of you are in your fourth year, I feel that it is important to know how to cast it in light of grave circumstances."

She waved her wand and muttered a few words before a silvery line jumped from her wand, spinning in the air and illuminating the room before taking on the shape of a rabbit.

The silvery manifestation hopped along with great speed, passing you briskly and making you stumble.

A hand caught your arm before you hit the floor. You were quick to retrieve yourself when you realised that it was Lockwood. You tuned out his mild laugh as you turned away without thanks.

The patronus then skidded to a halt at James's side, speaking in the Professor's voice. "I expect you to know this, Mr. Potter."

It dispersed and a vicious applause shook the room. Even you found yourself wide-eyed in exhilaration. Fighting the fact that the professor was rude, the patronus charm was something you'd been dying to learn way back when.

In the midst of the celebration, your eyes caught Lockwood's, only to find him already staring. There was a pinching sensation in your gut. It forced you to look away. You missed his smile completely.

The Professor ordered the class to break into pairs. Lockwood glued himself to your side before you could blink. He was shooing people away before you could even shoo him away.

"She's got a nasty temper, that one. Wouldn't want her patronus to lunge at you."

"I will have it bite your head off," you murmured, watching a nice Hufflepuff back away. Thus, leaving you alone with the bane of your existence.

"You're too nice for that," Lockwood replied, tapping your side with a half-smile.

"You just said I have a temper."

"With me, yes. But I can handle you."

You had a lot to say about that. The Professor spoke before you could.

"Now," Professor mused. Her voice bounced off the walls in higher vibration. "Using the instructions in your books, attempt to cast your patronus. Remember! The lighter the memory, the more efficient the patronus."

A chorus of turning pages echoed. You and Lockwood withdrew your wands, already knowing which spell to use.

His lips quirked. "Did some advanced reading, did you?"

"You know me so well."

You shook in anticipation, but, after shortly regarding your partner, you refrained from looking too eager.

"Dunderheads first," you urged with false cheer.

The insult flew over Lockwood's head. "Gladly. I like to think my patronus would be a lion."

You couldn't help but snort. "I assume yours would be a housecat with a lot of overgrown hair."

"That would be you."

You had an inkling that he found joy in watching you frown.

After a long while and a generous amount of griping, his wand moved, and he muttered, "Expecto patronum."

A silvery burst of light exploded from his wand. Wisps spun in the air before the dust settled, revealing a crane. It stretched, showcasing several inches of its incandescent neck and wingspan before Lockwood waved his wand once more. The motion sent it in a circle around the room.

It was so majestic, you couldn't pry your eyes away. Other students stared in envy as the crane weaved past other patronuses, nipping at them playfully before soaring back to you.

Wait, not to you... At you.

You found your feet, ready to duck before the silvery bird crashed into you, but it never did. It dispersed before it even touched a hair on your head.

It was an explosion of silver sand. It brushed your cheek with unexpected warmth. The cold seeped into your robes as the darkness veiled you.

"Shame." Lockwood clicked his tongue. "Thought I could freak you out a bit. I couldn't hold it for too long, though."

"Truly a shame," you simpered.

Professor's applause rang out from the other side of the room. Likely for Lockwood's expert execution or his taunting you. Mayhaps both.

"Good work, Mr. Lockwood! Keep practising and your patronus could glide over the Atlantic one day."

"Hear that?" He brightened at the compliment, standing taller as he leaned toward you. "It's your turn, dunderhead."

The number of hexes you could have used . . . You didn't need them. You needed happy thoughts to conjure up a patronus. It was hard enough standing in the same room as Lockwood and Professor Loathes-Your-Guts.

Your inspirations were of holidays and golden scores; your parents' approval; Lockwood falling on his face during Quidditch (your lips twitched at the memory); and the muggle fantasy novels you hid in your room.

A warm feeling shot down your arm, heartening you to mutter the enchantment. The feeling wrapped around your body like a blanket, and when you opened your eyes, your own patronus stared back at you.

It stood metres above the rest, towering over students and patronuses alike. Wisps of silver waved to and fro its body. The only apt description for it was 'colossal'.

"Is that a giraffe?" Lockwood muttered.

"No, It's a pelican." You smiled at his frown. "Of course, it's a giraffe, Lockwood."

You'd never seen one so pretty.

It glowed so bright that Lockwood looked blue in its light. He spared you a look of resignation.

You win.

A swell of pride came to the surface before the patronus wilted away. The space it stood turned black.

Hollers rung out, shaking the bricked walls. A new wave of excitement seized the room. You didn't even glance at the Professor but you could feel her heated gaze on the back of your head. That was victory enough.

—

Three years following that day, you're harrowed by the thought of leaving this place behind. Hogwarts felt like home, more so than the one you shared with your parents.

It was difficult to imagine life without the sky above the dining tables or the constant presence of Prefects scolding lower years.

Soon, your rivalry with Lockwood would fade to the black, too. As far as you knew, the fool was gunning to be an auror. Becoming one yourself wasn't a path you were inclined to take.

You passed the hourglasses of House Points and watched as more trickled into Slytherin's glass, and you felt nothing. The fact that you came to peace with having less points should have been concerning. Your mother would scorn you if she ever caught you thinking that way.

Not wanting to linger, you turned for the dining hall.

You didn't flinch when a weight fell over your shoulders and Lockwood's pretty face invaded your periphery. You should have known he couldn't leave you alone for too long.

"Lockwood."

He grinned. "My dearest vexation."

Your nose scrunched, irritation injected with the smallest feeling of familiarity. "Don't call me that."

"Copy that," He smiled, dragging you closer by the arm around your shoulders. "sweetheart."

It was a lost cause to correct the priss.

"I thought you would've matured by now. Disappointing, really."

"I could be mature, or I could point out the fact that we have fifty points above Ravenclaw."

"I don't mind."

He stalled, and you stopped with him. You didn't really have a choice when he had you under his wing.

He searched your eyes, bewildered. Unsettled, even. "What's on with you?"

You tried to shrug him off but he held fast, fingers practically melded to your arm. "I'm fine, thank you very much. I just don't see the point of upholding this... this–" What was this? You didn't finish the thought before swaying the conversation elsewhere. "We're graduating this year. Might as well set an example for the first-years."

"Our squabbles make it fun for them." On the brink of being offended, he insisted, "They have plenty of examples as is. Kat Godwin sucks the life out of everything, George is best friends with Moaning Myrtle, and Lucy is off talking to the illusive Gray Lady."

You groaned. "That isn't the point."

You made an attempt to shove him, but he caught your hand.

"You have got to start thinking of better ways to express yourself other than hitting or shoving. You should know I always see it coming."

"I can express myself just fine," you respired, yanking your hand away. "But do go ahead. Indulge me. What, pray tell, does that make us?"

Lockwood flourished his free hand as he spoke. "We are 'the arch rivals who makes their problem everyone's problem'. The lower years adore it!"

"Do they?"

In time for your asking, a group of second-years waved at Lockwood, and then to you. He waved back whilst you offered them a terse smile.

One of the girls elbowed her friend. As whispery as her tone was, everyone still heard her. "See? Told you they suit each other."

"They are a couple. Of course, they do," the friend replied.

"Not a couple," you corrected swiftly.

They scurried faster. Before they left the hall, one yelled out, "Just kiss already!"

Despite his matching flush, Lockwood turned to you with a cheeky grin. "You heard them. Let us kiss." He advanced, lips puckered.

You blocked the way with your palm, spreading your fingers until you could push his head back by his forehead. "Yeah– No."

You pried yourself free from his grip to sit with your friends. He didn't fight it, but you weren't surprised that he shouted after you. "But I was right! We have to give the audience what they want!"

"Mr. Lockwood!" Professor McGonagall stood to reprimand him.

You turned away to hide a laugh.

—

The day was lovely. The previous day's rain left a dewy haze in its wake. It was chilly but not cold, and the sun and clouds looked remarkably friendly that morning.

Even then, you didn't know what it was. Your stomach churned for a reason unseen. In the stillness, you could hear a pin drop. You could hear yourself think for once.

Not long after the nagging feeling arrived, you came to the horrific conclusion that Lockwood's absence felt off-putting. You were walking to potions class alone, for the first time in years.

There was no Anthony Lockwood galloping behind you, throwing his arm around you and messing up your hair when you shrug him off. There was no warning as to what your class would be covering that day or a passive-aggressive jab about the most recent Quidditch match.

And, bizarrely, you missed the chaos. You shuddered as the thought struck you.

You held your books tighter and quickened your pace to get to class. When you arrived at Potions, Lockwood-less, your classmates stood to verify the emptiness of the doorway for themselves. Even they were puzzled.

James cocked a brow as you sat and laid out your items without a noise. "Where's lover boy?"

"Using his brain and finally leaving me alone," you responded, wincing at the hint of exasperation in your tone. You didn't mean to sound so dejected, and you definitely didn't intend to slam your things on your desk either. There's a lot of things you didn't intend to do today and 'mentioning Lockwood' was now at the top of that list.

"Mhm," James leaned back in his seat, eyeing you warily. "You don't look too happy."

"I stayed up late doing that essay about counter-potions," you reasoned, having a hard time getting the words out.

James looked pained when you mentioned it. Seconds later, you stifled a laugh when he admitted to forgetting all about that assignment.

Contrary to what you'd promised yourself, Lockwood remained in the back of your mind the entire period.

—

When had Anthony Lockwood ever been interested in Oriana Cai?

That's the first question that popped into your head as you watched him kneel before her with a bouquet of the reddest roses you'd ever seen.

The display was so unexpected, it knocked the air out of your lungs. Your jaw fell slack. James had to pick it up off the ground before you came back to your senses.

In that time, Oriana squealed and clapped, throwing herself forward and strangling the bane-of-your-existence in a hug he enjoyed a little too much. The flowers ended up discarded on the floor.

You had more sense than to gawk. Your chest constricted when Lockwood didn't even acknowledge you as you passed. You shook off the feeling along with the sense of dread you felt from earlier.

His affairs were none of your business, yet, you found yourself thinking about it when you didn't intend to. It's a stake to the heart that his scheduled banter and crude comments were put on hold for whatever that was.

Lockwood had forsaken his seat across from you in favour of sitting with Oriana and her clique. They laughed all through lunch break, his teeth on display, stuck in an unmoving smile.

He looks like a clown, you thought as you skewered a floret of broccoli onto your fork.

You glanced at the professors' table to see if they'd caught onto Lockwood's bizarre behaviour, but they were daft to it.

To any normal person, Lockwood was being a silly boy with a crush. To you, it was abnormal.

Lockwood didn't have the balls to be that forward. How could you say that without sounding obsessed with him?

"If you stare any longer, you might actually burn a hole through his head." James nudged your side and you returned it with a harder shove. "Woah! Cool down, smarty pants. I'm on your side here. I'm just saying, glaring daggers at him won't do much."

"He's being odd," you whispered petulantly.

"I know!" James set his elbow on the table. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Me? Why would I do anything?"

Your eyes landed on Lockwood again. You sucked your teeth before looking away.

James snapped his fingers, forcing you to look up as he pointed an accusatory finger at you. "That. That's why you would do something."

"I don't meddle in Lockwood's affairs. He can do whatever he wants," you said tersely. "If he's so immersed in his romantic life, I might as well get ahead and score more points for my house."

"It bothers you, doesn't it?"

"No." Another unfortunate vegetable faced the wrath of your fork. James flinched. "It doesn't bother me in the slightest."

"If you need me to help, just give me a bell." James vacated his seat, gave your shoulder a firm pat, then went off to check on his cousins, praying none of them caught whatever Lockwood's got.

You stewed in your own thoughts before you gave into temptation and looked at Lockwood for the last time. For lunch, at least.

He blinked rapidly, like there were stars stuck in his eyes. The distorted look on his face dissipated when Oriana popped a wad of gum into his mouth. He chewed and chewed until the colour returned to his face. Redder than before.

You tried to shovel your conspiracies down with your lunch. You even chewed slower to put your focus elsewhere, but you couldn't shake off the dread that roiled in the recess of your mind.

—

"I can extend my essay by three paragraphs," you said to Lockwood in the library, attempting to coax him out of his stupor. "I'd beat your record."

"Yeah." He sighed, daydreaming. He hadn't written anything in his scroll. His competitive spirit died somewhere between his confession and now.

You slid into the seat across from him and waved in his face. He looked right through you, staring at the wall. When you followed his gaze, your expression fell flat.

He wasn't staring at the wall, he was staring at Oriana Cai, again. She wiggled her fingers at him, giggling behind her hand.

The moment she saw you, she didn't even attempt to hide her disdain. Suddenly, the library felt colder than before. For the first time in forever, you couldn't find the right words to explain it.

—

You watched Lockwood's change of behaviour with a scrutinising eye. You managed to pick up on a few things that changed.

First, he was infatuated with Oriana Cai. You caught them snogging the other day and you had to hold your breath to keep your lunch down. So much for decorum.

Second, he'd lost all interest in everything other than his girlfriend. He hadn't mentioned Quidditch in the past week, and he didn't have a modicum of concern for his plummeting scores. It was a scenario you never thought possible.

Lastly, Lockwood had a newly acquired addiction to bubblegum. Not just any type of gum. It was Bombarda of Flavour: Berry Kiss.

With a bit of research, you discovered that BOF was a brand run by Oriana's family. Any sane person would assume that Lockwood was an avid fan of his girlfriend's family business, but you were everything but sane.

When you presented the facts to James, he continued to chew on his liquorice. "And? Where is this going?"

"The sweets are infused with Amortentia," you concluded.

James stopped, stared at his liquorice with distrust, then threw it into a bin. "How can you be so sure?"

"Cai's family runs a gum business. Lockwood's been acting weird since he started chewing the gum Cai brought him. It can't be simple coincidence."

"So, not only are you accusing Cai of spiking gum with amortentia, but her family of being an accessory to misuse of magic as well?"

"They've got to be aware of what she's doing, at least! And they're not stopping her, are they? They're just as guilty," you said fervently.

"Fine," James relented. "How are we going to prove that and save your guy?"

"He's not my guy."

"Sure."

You cleared your throat before sitting down. "We need to steal from the potions classroom."

"You are... insane."

There was a bated silence that followed. You raised your brows at him.

He cracked a smile. "I'm in."

—

Potters had a speciality for breaking rules. You came to that conclusion after James, Albus (James's younger brother), and Scorpius Malfoy managed to steal the ingredients you needed without being caught. They looked quite proud of themselves too.

You wasted no time laying out your theory scrolls and recipe book.

"What's she doing?" Albus asked.

"Saving Lockwood," James answered as-a-matter-of-factly.

"I knew something was wrong with him," Scorpius rasped. "Knew something was up with them too."

You silenced him and ordered James to escort the boys back to their dorm. They didn't go without a fight, but James was experienced enough to wrangle them away.

—

"Lockwood—"

He passed you without a second glance.

Your heart flatlined, but you fought against the feeling and recalled why you were there. You steeled your resolve.

With shining eyes and pulled shoulders, you pivoted and captured his arm. The indifference in his eyes was an arrow passing straight through you.

You had to swallow the lump in your throat to find your voice. "Could you try this for me?"

There was no readily available remedy for amortentia, leaving one with the mere hope that its effects diminish over time. The problem was that Oriana Cai had a continuous supply of bewitching gums intentionally keeping him under her enchantment.

You used all your potions knowledge to concoct a solution that would—cross your fingers—work. It was blended into a scrumptious looking cookie thanks to the expertise of culinary enthusiast, George Karim.

You were worried that he wouldn't even give it a try, but he took the package from your hands.

"Thanks."

He walked away without a second thought. It tore your heart in two, but he accepted the cookie! You raised your arms in triumph, stopping short when he tossed the cookie and its cute wrapper out of the nearest window.

Your excitement plummeted along with it.

—

You took a chapter out of Lockwood's book and persevered. He no longer competed with you to answer the professors' questions, but you took every chance to goad him into a debate. All for naught. He barely did anything anymore.

You tried to cure him several more times with the same anti-Amortentia solution. Three times to be exact: ice cream, soup, and—your most desperate attempt yet—gum.

In the end, he'd throw them all away.

All he would put in his mouth was anything Cai spoon-fed him. It made you want to throttle him.

Lockwood was a capable wizard, and the witch had reduced him to something short of being a man-baby.

On your worst days, you'd reluctantly admitted to missing the banter. Even his annoying grin; the one that rose higher on the right side. The same one that had eluded you since the beginning of term.

The seasons changed. Oriana Cai still had Anthony Lockwood under her thumb.

You melted into the velvet blue couch, sighing to the starlit window of Ravenclaw turret. Even the sheer beauty of the common rooms did little to console you.

You draped your arm over your eyes. "Who knew things were this boring without that pest?"

James, who wasn't even supposed to be allowed into the tower, grasped his chest. "Ouch. What of the rest of us?"

"Rowena!" shouted George. You jumped when he slammed his book shut. "I thought your raving about your books was bad enough. Just tell him you miss him already,"

He was done with you sneaking James in to concoct whatever else you were thinking up. He had lost the plot. At that point, even he was versed in anti-amortentia theory.

"She doesn't miss him," James sighed, bored. "apparently."

"I don't," you said promptly. "Karim, you should be more concerned. Your friend is being spelled into being a muppet."

"I am concerned," George retorted hotly. "But I am so sick of staying up 'till Merlin knows when to find out what you're going to spin into a dish next. I can't even study in peace!"

"We're not that bad, are we?" Looking for backup, you propped your chin over the back of the couch, shooting your most precious smile at your youngsters, Lorcan and Lysander Scamander.

Lorcan shook his head, and Lysander nodded his.

"It's a draw," James chuckled.

Frustration poured from George. "Can you please just find somewhere else to scheme? I want to study and not hear 'Lockwood' every bloody second."

"Fine." You hugged your pile of recipe pages to your chest. "We'll go somewhere we're appreciated."

"Oh, please. Don't go too far. The end of the world doesn't actually exist," George nipped.

James snorted, amused.

You closed the door behind you, finally giving Ravenclaw Tower some much deserved silence.

—

Another crumpled up piece of paper rolled on the rim of the bin before unceremoniously falling out.

You knew your onions, but this was getting tedious. After wasting hours relishing in the staleness of your coffee and the soreness of your fingers, you were just about ready to throw in the towel.

James had left you a bit ago, something about helping Lucy with setting up the flying lesson for the first-years.

They were probably done with it by then and you were still there, trying to brainstorm a method that would knock some sense back into the tosser you called a rival.

About a metre of wasted scroll and dried ink were the results of your efforts. Even then, you didn't reach a plausible solution to your problem.

When you succumbed to your headache and glanced at the clock, the lateness kickstarted your bloodstream. When you stood, you swayed from the dark spots that danced in your vision.

You didn't allow yourself to stay in a haze for too long. You had already missed two and a half classes by the time you broke out of your reverie.

The halls were all empty. You were bound to be in trouble.

You were a punctual student, an excellent student. You were miffed that all it took for you to slip was the absence of a boy. Pathetic. Then again... The boy was what made winning fun.

Your brisk walk quickened to a jog, dreading the inevitability of explaining your tardiness.

"Sweetheart?"

You paused, opening your ears.

Silence.

You scoffed and picked up your stride. Then you heard him again, saying your name. It was odd — odd enough for you to realise that it wasn't a figment of your imagination.

His voice was a trap and you submitted to it too easily. You spun back around to trace the voice and stopped short of the bend. Anyone would have stalled at the rare sight of Oriana Cai angry, her nails sinking into Lockwood's cheeks.

Bile rose to your throat.

Lockwood's back was pushed flush against the wall, he was fervently shaking his head like he was shaking the daze out of his system.

"Quiet!" she commanded him. "Darling, I'm only doing this for us."

His hand closed around her wrist but whatever the potion had done to him left him fatigued. "No, my—" He licked his bottom lip, correcting himself. "She's—"

"Not here! How many times am I going to tell you?"

To your relief, she retracted her nails from him. Your heart started back up when she produced a pack of gum.

"You're better off with me, Ant. I love you, not her. She's nothing but a bitter wench who didn't realise what she had until someone took it from her. See how she only looks for you when we're together? She's selfish!"

"You don't understand," he tried to slap the gum from her hand but she was more sober than he was. For the first time in a long time, the right side of his mouth tipped up. It wounded you. "She needs me. She just won't admit it."

Oriana didn't take it well. Her face bursted in shades of red. Her beautiful features twisted into a grizzly scowl. "None of her!"

"Expelliarmus!"

Your hand quivered as you casted, but your magic did what it was meant to. The gum flew from her hand.

Her glowering face turned to you with killer intent.

"You!" She flew at you. Her billowing robes a thing plucked from your worst nightmares.

Your hand flicked instinctively. "Expecto patronum!"

She shrieked. Your silvery protector crashing against her face.

None of you saw what form it took, but the burst of silver straight into her eyes stunned her long enough for you to run around her and take Lockwood by the arm. His hands quivered; less from adrenaline, more from pure exhaustion. You could almost feel his pulse under your palm.

You coaxed him to muster his strength. "Come on, you barbarian. We need to get help."

The chuckle he let out was pathetic, but it's familiar enough to make you crack a smile. There's your Lockwood after all. He wasn't all gone.

"Knew you'd save me," he rasped. You held him tighter when he stumbled. He held on with what strength he could muster. "You always do."

Not the time to disarm you with a statement like that. An angry stupefy soared overhead, quickly followed by what you assumed was the cruciatus curse. You grunted when an angry zap nicked your side.

You held onto Lockwood and he held onto you, both clattering down the longest steps of your lives. An inspired, deranged girl at your heels.

"Give me my boyfriend back!" She shrieked, casting a fury of spells at you. The echo of the halls amplified her bellows. "He's mine! I earned him!"

He tripped on a lifted tile, leaning on you as you rushed for the landing.

Your heartbeat made it's way to your ears. Every breath felt forced. You pushed ahead, dragging Lockwood's weight down every winding twist in the moving steps.

A very explosive bombarda forced you to stagger back and reconsider your escape route. Only, there was no escape route. The changing stairwells had you and Lockwood trapped on a landing.

Oriana descended like an angel made from her own delusions.

Your lungs struggled to take in air with an unbearable stitch in your aide. Lockwood collapsed to his knees, drained of energy. As his eyes fought to stay open, he clung to your hand like it was his lifeline.

You shifted to hide his crumpled form from Cai.

"You've had your chance, Scarecrow." Cai laughed, on the brink of tears. In her eyes, she was as innocent as a girl who simply had something swiped from her. "He was at your knees for years! Why can't you let him be happy with me? Give him to me, please..."

Your jaw tensed. The lick of anger in your chest stoked to a fire the longer she spoke.

"He's not an object," you managed without spitting flames. "He can feel what he wants, when he wants. If he wishes to walk away from me after all this... I wouldn't blame him. But casting a spell on him? That's not love, Cai. It isn't love. You're trapping him."

Cai's nose flared. "What a saint! Sorry, should I let him grieve something he never had with you? You're blind to not see it. You ruined him! This is the only way. I can help him if you just let me—"

Something moved in your periphery. A mop of black hair, the best wingman in Hogwarts.

You were on the verge of a smile, feeling your adrenaline decrescendo. "Your family, they know what you're doing?"

She grinned. "My family supports my decisions. Contrary to yours, I hear. They agree that you're a heartless witch, and a dose of amortentia should fix him for me."

Your breath hitched. Lockwood clenched your hand, bringing you back.

"For your information," your lip twitched. "I'm an Eagle, not a Scarecrow. Get your house representatives right."

You collapsed the moment a barrier surged around her, her screaming muffled by the incantations.

James came down the steps in stride with Professor Flitwick.

"Not 'your guy', huh?" James taunted, crouching beside you. You offered him a tight-lipped smile.

Professor Flitwick fortified his barrier before he addressed you. "Splendid patronus. You're the first to project your voice and have it travel as far as it did. I expected no less from our ace student. As for Ms. Cai..." He looked at her with pinched brows.. He wasn't sure what to do, really. There had never been a situation that drastic before. "She will be penalised accordingly."

The weight on your shoulders lifted, but a new one came just as quick. You straightened your back to support Lockwood's limp weight.

The warmth of his breath fanned your neck, a feeling that made your stomach churn for all the wrong reasons. He still smelt like the berry-flavoured gum that got him into this mess in the first place.

The same mess that had made you miss a few classes for the first time in six years.

With the last of your energy, you raised a trembling hand. "Professor?"

"Yes?"

"Are we considered tardy?"

He pushed his glasses higher up his nose before replying. "That should be the least of your troubles, you." Professor Flitwick turned to your friend. "James Potter?"

James saluted. "I've got them, prof."

"Please refrain from calling me 'prof', Mr Potter."

"Yes, prof."

—

Madame Pomfrey had a lot to say about the unforthcoming mess that was Lockwood, post-Amortentia.

For the better part of the appointment, Madame Pomfrey concluded that Lockwood wasn't severely altered by the prolonged exposure to love potion. For the worse part, he was advised to sit out of anything too physically demanding until he felt like himself again.

"But how can I feel like myself without Quidditch?" he agonised, as if you beheld all the answers.

You were forced to hear it, seeing as you were roommates until Madame Pomfrey declared you both stable enough to go free.

You buried yourself into the stiff pillows of the medical ward. "A week of rest and observation isn't as bad as the months you were bewitched, honestly."

"Pray, how can it be worse?"

You lifted your head. "Ever read out a lengthy love poem in the middle of the dining hall?"

"No..."

Your lips tipped up. "Yes."

He shut his eyes and splayed his hand over his head, trying to wash out the visualisation of actually doing that for all of Hogwarts to see.

"End me," he rasped.

"If you insist," your smile stretched. "You recited one for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Every. Single. Day."

He slapped another hand over his face. "Oh... what have I done to deserve this?"

"Caught the eye of a loony, apparently. It was horrid. I felt sorry for you."

"Don't patronise me."

You jerked a finger at him. "I earned the right. I got a nasty laceration in my side for you. Unwillingly, might I add."

His arms fell away, honeyed eyes set on you. "Please, if you were unwilling, you wouldn't have tried so hard to save me."

"If I left you for dead, I would be a monster."

"A very pretty one," he chimed.

"So you can still pull that drivel out of your arse. Good to know we didn't lose you."

"Say what you will." He crossed his arms behind his head, smiling like a jester. "I know you have a place for me in that shrivelled, darkened heart of yours."

"My heart isn't shrivelled or darkened," you said defiantly.

He quirked a brow, smirking. "You correct that but not the fact that I have a place in it?"

"You—" You opted to chuck your emptied juice carton at him.

In classic Lockwood fashion, he caught the carton in his hand and waved it triumphantly. "Try again, sweetheart. I know your habits like I know the back of my hand."

You raised a not-so-friendly finger and slid your curtain to hide yourself from his view. Still, you heard his laughter, loud and alive.

You weren't aware of how much you'd missed it until you caught yourself smiling.

—

Anthony Lockwood was the kind of child who would climb up the slide. Not because it was fun, but because he liked the thrill of breaking the rules.

Some things never changed, because he had convinced you to accompany him on a night fly while Madame Pomfrey was off collecting herbs from the green house.

You had flown through the worst weather while playing Quidditch, but it struck you that you'd never been out this late. Not one-on-one with Lockwood, at least.

It was a terrible, unsafe idea, but he had a way with words. He made it seem like a once in a lifetime opportunity. You weren't sure whether that was true, since he did use his prefect status to sneak into places he wasn't allowed into.

You knew that turning around was crossed off your list the moment he broke into the closet and extracted your broom for you.

"I have a hard time believing you've never done this before," you whispered as you took in the sight of the Quidditch Pitch, void of life and light.

It was a haunting sight, but Lockwood had been right about it being a once in a lifetime scene. The moon was the only guiding light, drowning everything in a seductive mauve colour. It brought out the beauty of sparse light and silhouettes, you almost believed you stepped into one of your fantasy novels.

He flashed his teeth at you before he vaulted over the partition and traipsed across the grass. His trusty broom already levitating by his side. "I've never done this with you before, if that's what you're asking."

It wasn't, but you didn't want to know who else would join Lockwood in his idiocy.

You followed suit and mounted your broom, allowing yourself to rise several metres to feel the bite of the nocturnal chill.

"It's an amazing feeling, isn't it?" Lockwood shouted, his two feet still on the ground.

"I'm not going to admit that I enjoy breaking the rules," you responded, flying modest circles while taking in the scene.

While the wind whistled in your ears and tousled your hair, he wheeled a box out of storage and flipped the latches.

You squinted, trying to see what he was doing but his back was covering the contents of the box.

"What's that?"

A golden streak of light veered away from him. Even as the breeze bellowed in your ear, you could hear its tinkling wings.

The Snitch.

"Can't have fun without a challenge," Lockwood said. His boisterous laughter echoed in your ears as he hopped onto his broom and zoomed up, up, and up, already chasing the golden menace.

He passed you, his robes grazing your elbow. You didn't think twice. You gave chase, following the direction you had seen the Snitch blitz to.

Lockwood's curls fought against velocity. You were almost tempted to comment on it before you saw a glimmer in the corner of your eye.

You and Lockwood swerved at the same time. Waves of black, blue, and green flagged through darkness as you bent forward, urging your trusty broom to overtake Lockwood's. You were closing in on the Snitch, stretching your hand to reach for it.

It's buzzing crescendoed in your ears, forcing your blood to pump as Lockwood did the same.

Oh, so close.

The Snitch brushed your fingertips before it zagged. Spinning in the air before rushing right at you.

You bent your body, narrowly missing a Snitch to the nose. The same couldn't be said for Lockwood.

You heard the thump of the collision before you saw him clutching his mouth. It was futile for you to hold in a laugh.

"You alright?"

His glare only made you laugh harder.

"Ouch," he hissed, taking his hand away from his mouth.

You snorted after seeing the damage.

Luckily, nothing was broken, but there was a faint pink smudge across his bottom lip and cheek.

You raised a brow. "You wear lipstick?"

"It's lip balm," he said haughtily, wiping away the smudge. "Is there something wrong with that?"

"No," You held a laugh long enough to reach across to wipe the smidge he couldn't quite swipe away. He stiffened at your touch. You did your best to hold in a reaction of your own. "I just didn't expect you to be a lip balm sort of guy."

"Do I look like a lipstick guy?" he inquired, regaining himself. "Thank you for thinking so, but you can keep your pigmented cosmetics to yourself. They look better on you anyway."

"Complimenting me now? You're sure your noggin's alright, chap?"

"Don't 'chap' me, sweetheart. It makes me feel old."

"I thought you liked the seniority," you taunted. "'Being in seventh-year means the youngest look up to us' and all. Your words, not mine."

"You're a real ray of sunshine, aren't you?"

You gasped, clutching your chest. "How can you say that when the moon is out?"

"Oh, bother." He bristled. "You've shown greater concern for the moon's feelings than you have mine for the past six years. You wound me."

"That's because the moon listens. You never do," you pointed out.

"I do," he replied. "Only for things that matter."

"So, the camel-llama debate didn't matter?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "You're still on that?"

"I always will be. What muggle can't tell those animals apart? You should be ashamed."

"We were eleven!"

"Old enough for you to have admitted defeat, but no! You kept getting them wrong and saying you were right." He pinched his nose as you went on. "Then you started bothering me because you couldn't admit defeat. Now look at us. Six years later and I'm still right."

His eyes met yours, creased with an impending smile. "When we passed the hourglasses, Slytherin was ten points above Ravenclaw."

"You prat—"

Your head was thrown sideways as a flit of gold smashed into you. Your lip pulsed. Luckily, you had the mind to stretch your hand and catch the golden bugger.

The Snitch fought in your grip. Eventually, its wings tucked in. Then, a bated silence. Only for a moment. Lockwood snorted as you massage your jaw.

You gave him a nasty glare. "Not a word."

"I wasn't going to say anything," he lied. "Except, your lipstick smeared."

"Rowena..."

"Here, let me."

He sported a boyish grin as he reached across, mirroring your actions from earlier. You swatted him away and he simply laughed in response.

—

With your feet on the grass, you were glad to be done with your excursion; More relieved that he let you take the win.

You're not sure a bleeding lip was worth it though, but, at least, it was over.

After packing up the Snitch and putting away your brooms (plus making it seem like you two had never been there at all), you started the walk back up to the castle's medical ward.

Somewhere on the cobblestone path, Lockwood had drawn a curious notebook and quill from his robes. "So," he flipped to a page that had been sectioned into two, scored by stick lines. "What have I missed while I was bewitched?"

You eyed the notebook. "Is that... a tally?"

"Yes," he replied. "Now, what did I miss? I had one up on you before my memories went hazy."

"Just start a new one," you urged him.

Thinking of what you achieved while he was out of it was in the same league as winning a race against a slug. There was no fulfilment.

"C'mon," Lockwood cajoled, stepping closer to you. "I've been tallying since fourth year."

You raised a brow. "Fourth year?"

"The class on the Patronus charm inspired me," he replied. "Since we're always butting heads, having a tally made it feel official."

"How do I know you haven't picked your wins and excluded mine?"

"Have you no faith in me?"

"Do you want a real answer?"

He pursed his lips, earning a laugh from you.

"I respect you, you know. Even if you are the way you are," he told you, turning the notebook to show you the tally.

The first column was his score. The second one beheld 'vexation' instead of your name. The scores were neck-and-neck, save for the singular tick on his side that put him in the lead.

He quickly drew one more stick under your column, putting you two at a draw once more. "I'll count this impromptu Quidditch match, on the condition that you won't tell a soul that it was me who snuck out first."

"You must be dedicated," you chortled. "Just count from here on out. I haven't done much, honestly."

He quirked a brow, speaking slowly. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Why are you talking like that?"

"Nothing. I'm just surprised." He closed the notebook and pocketed it with his quill. "You're usually more competitive."

"That's when I don’t spend an afternoon running for my life, Lockwood."

"You make a fair point."

You were making your way into the thresh of the castle now. The torches warmed the air, thawing the chill as you flounced forth.

There was a peace in the silence and a sweetness in the solitude. You felt Lockwood's hand brush yours and found that you enjoyed it more than you thought. Not that you would say anything about it.

You're not sure whether he caught on to the lilt of your lips before he threw his arm over your shoulders, just like old times.

This time, it felt different. The heat he let off was a juxtaposition to the bite of the night, and you found yourself melting into him even more.

You would have been fine in the quiet, but Lockwood had never been friends with it.

"George told me you were scheming to cure me. How were you planning to do that exactly?"

He kicked a pebble out of your way. You withheld the urge to smile.

"It was an amplified version of a regular love potion reversal. Same one we did research work on last year."

"What did you change?"

"Thrice the dose of rosemary and dried salamander. I also added a touch of pig tongue."

"Wouldn't doubling the wormroot do the same thing?"

"No," you scoffed. "That would expel the fragrance, but it wouldn't counteract the effects of the love potion."

"Doesn't the dried salamander do that?"

"Rosemary thins out the viscosity of the love potion and the dried salamander washes down the magic that messes with your thought process."

He smiled but there was no commitment in it. "Apologies, I'm no love potion whiz."

"Next thing you know, you'll be telling me crushed jasmine will cure insanity."

"I get it, sweetheart. That doesn't explain the pig tongue."

"I was hoping the horrid taste would wake you up from your delusions."

"I think it would have worked."

"It would have," you boasted, "if you had any sense in you to try."

He chuckled, apologising in smiles. Lockwood closed the distance by ruffling your hair. You waved him away, but that did little to stop him.

"You got the higher mark on that research paper," he recalled.

"I did." You glowed with pride. "As is always the case for Potions, and Transfiguration, and Charms—"

"What are you planning to do when we're done with Hogwarts?"

His expression turned dire, like he had been agonising over when to ask the fated question. It might have been a trick of the light, but his eyes glazed.

You considered his question for a moment. "I'm expanding into healing magic." Just envisioning how far your knowledge could go brought a smile to your face. "I'm good at the cardinal subjects for healing. I enjoy them enough to see myself heading in that direction."

"That's serious," he said, genuinely taken by your answer. "You have to be recommended by a professor to take on a role at a hospital or ward, don't you?"

You tried to keep your smile humble. "I already have a recommendation."

He tilted his head so you could see the surprise on his face. "Really? Who?"

"Madame Pomfrey. I'll be her apprentice next year. Hopefully, I'll move to St. Mungo's in a few years."

"Funny," he jested, bumping your hip with his. "What would she say to the bludgers you've batted at me?"

"Your insults about me are tantamount to nothing in her eyes. She adores me."

"Because you're a kiss-up?"

You stopped, jabbing a finger at his chest. "Because I have wit."

His lips lilted into that smile you knew so well. The right of his mouth rose higher than the left, short of turning into a smirk. "You have a lot more than wit, sweetheart."

Your heart did unspeakable things. For a heart-stalling moment, you forgot to say something back.

You looked at him, he looked at you. He was closer than you'd thought. Lockwood was unfairly dashing in torch light. Windswept hair, sweat on his brow, and everything.

He seemed to drift closer and closer, but it's you who inched forward. The lesser the distance, the more honest you felt.

His eyes dipped to your lips and—

A shriek, high and shrill, broke the spell. Both you and Lockwood leapt apart. You dusted off your cloak and he rubbed his nape.

The shrieking voice returned. "Dragon!"

Dragon?

You lurched for the entrance. You couldn't see much in the mouth of the castle. Neither could Lockwood, but you felt it. The buzz before the chase, the stacking of adrenaline and the thrill of trouble creeping up on you.

Your eyes locked with his, and you knew you're thinking the same thing.

When the winds of a Romanian Longhorn flattened the trees and blew out the torches, it was the flag at the beginning of a race. You and Lockwood were running for it.

—

You found that sprinting in the dark was akin to swimming upstream. You'd tripped over several roots and rocks, and you still haven't found which pocket you hid your wand in. It was a humbling experience, being in the throes of losing something with extension charms in your robes.

After furiously tapping himself down, Lockwood found his. He flicked his wand and yelled into the air, "Accio Brooms!"

"Why didn't we do that earlier?"

Lockwood flashed a smile. "We have an excuse to destroy the storage room door now."

You were on the verge of yelling. "How would we explain why we're out here?"

"Don't think too hard, you'll hurt yourself." He made another gesture with his wand before a glow illuminated from the tip of it — lighting up the path. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there, sweetheart. We have a dragon to catch."

As the Lumos rose in intensity, the path turned treacherous. The cobbled walkway was turning into pointed stones and angry branches. The trees began to move, contorting into all sorts of grotesque shapes and snares.

Lockwood had taken the lead, taking the brunt of their greedy clutches. You had to grab the back of his robe to make sure he didn't get snatched away by the foliage.

You would have buckled at the wooden stakes that bent toward you if your brooms hadn't snapped through their grappling, snapping inferior splinters before you found your grip.

The uptake was sharp, desperate to get away from the furious trees. You clung to your broom and swallowed down the urge to retch.

Lockwood, who had levelled beside you, looked fine. You would have thrown a rock at him if you weren't turning green.

He set a hand on your back, rubbing slow circles as he surveyed the area. You appreciated the gesture.

"It's heading for the Quidditch Pitch. If we get there fast enough, we can trap it there. Easier to manage in a controlled area."

"It's a dragon, Lockwood. It would burn the place down." You straighten up ever so slightly. "On top of that, it's a Romanian Longhorn."

"I know. Endangered species. We'll have to be cautious. She could turn us into a kebab." His lips tilted into a smile. "I wager we can tame her in less than an hour."

You exhaled the last of your nausea. A grin forming on your face. "Think half."

"Ambitious, aren't we?"

You flew forward, seeing the whiskers of fire curling in the distance. "Scared, serpent boy?"

There were flames in his eyes as he sped ahead, robes soaring behind him. "Never!"

—

"You distract her. I stun her," Lockwood prompted as soon as the Quidditch Pitch came into view.

Metres above you, the Longhorn huffed plumes of smoke down on you. You tried to be quiet, but you did have qualms with Lockwood's plan.

"You're the faster flyer, why am I the distraction?"

He pointed at his chest, like that was the answer. "I'm still recovering."

"That's rich!" You still haven't found your wand and the tosser was playing sick. "You dragged me out here to fly thirty minutes ago. Don't give me that."

"What? I can't hear you!" He veered further from you. "You're the most capable witch of our age. There is no one else I'd do this with!"

He was gone from sight before you could bump him off of his broom.

Then again, you'd rather die fighting than die a sitting duck. You angled your broom up, zooming into the beast's sight before it spotted Lockwood.

Its breath was sulphur against your skin, fighting the chill but lighting a spark of fear. Its pondering yellow eyes circled on you before its mouth creaked open.

"Lockwood, work quickly!"

In a dragon chase, one must remember three things: your size advantage, the dragon's breath hurt as much as its fire, and the dragon can and will play dirty.

You were an agile flyer, ducking whenever the strokes of its inner fire hurled for you, but even you had to exercise all of your flyer's knowledge to evade its claws. A swipe, a lick of flames, a swipe, another swipe — it was practically toying with you.

The only good thing that came with it playing with its food was the fact that you had lured it right where you wanted it.

The Quidditch Pitch was gargantuan compared to the juvenile specimen. You just hoped the place wouldn't go up in flames.

You hadn't seen Lockwood in a good minute, almost believing he'd shirked you, but then you glimpsed a flicker of serpent green in your periphery and ease up.

Before long, the dragon grew tired of the play and decided that she wanted to sink her teeth into something real.

You felt a nip at the end of your broom and zagged in the air. You steadied your mount before feeling your blood rush faster.

She was snapping at you. You chanced a glance and found the black in her eyes flattened to slits, hunger dancing in the embers of them.

"Lockwood!" you cried, narrowly dodging an eager claw. "Double time!"

"I found a soft spot! Give me a minute!"

"We don't have that much time," you surmised based on the increased momentum of the beast's strikes.

After a full turn-around to swing her tail at you, you dove. Nose aimed right down to the grass. You didn't even want to look back and see how close she was.

Gravity would be on her side but pulling up now could mean flying right into her furnace of a mouth. You didn't know which gruesome death was the lesser of two evils.

In the distance, you heard Lockwood. "Stupefy!"

The dragon nipped on your broom once more before you felt a tug on your robe. Your grip slipped, your broom flew in the opposite direction. Leaving you to crash and roll into the grass, ignoring the pain of carpet burn as you helped yourself onto your feet.

You didn't get far before your legs collapsed, your whole body weight crashing on your shoulder. You were never the type to go down without a fight. You kept kicking in a desperate attempt to escape the giant.

"Lockwood!"

"Wait for me!"

You felt its breath. Molten and fear-rushing, melting the hair on your legs as you watched your own reflection in its eye.

And then, its head hit the ground and its jaw lulled. Craning open but never snapping, just barely missing your foot as you pulled your limbs towards yourself.

The lines on Lockwood's face were deeper when you laid eyes on him. When he saw that you were alright, his expression flipped like a switch. A smile formed on his face, like you didn't almost lose your life.

He hopped off of his broom and approached.

"I didn't know you could look scared."

"I was almost a dragon's dinner," you spat.

You didn't fight him as he hooked his arms under yours and hauled you up. He kept an arm around you while the feeling returned to your legs.

He chuckled in a way that could make anyone believe he was faultless. "Sorry. It was a bother finding a soft spot. This big girl has pretty solid armour for a juvenile."

"That is the last time I ever follow your instructions. I knew getting mixed up with you was a death sentence."

"Yet," he chirped, brushing off the soot remains of the edges of your hood. "you're standing here, alive."

"I regret trusting you."

"No, you don't." He flourished a hand at the slumbering beast. "Just look at what putting your heads together did."

"It won't stay asleep forever," you whispered.

Just standing there, right at the alcove of its jaw, felt like standing on the tightrope of death. Suffice it to say, you wanted to be elsewhere.

You tasted the sweet, cool air as you replenished the oxygen in your lungs. Annoyance crept in as you realised that, despite your best efforts, you were still heaving. Adrenaline refusing to crest.

You tried to shove Lockwood but he had caught your arm. "Had to wait 'till the last minute, didn't you?" you nipped.

"I just told you, it's not easy to look for a chink in a dragon's scales. Be optimistic. I could have let her take your legs."

"You wouldn't."

"You're right, I wouldn't, but it's nice to imagine that I could be spiteful."

You snorted, trying not to flinch as the beast blinked its bleary eyes at you. "Let's put the big guy to sleep. Whoever takes care of him must be worried."

"She's a lady," Lockwood corrected.

You forced a smile. "My apologies, I didn't have the time to check in the midst of my near-delimbing."

"Easy mistake." He shrugged. "How about we tie up those loose ends?"

"We would've had it done by now if you stopped chattering."

"Last I checked, you were chattering back."

"You—"

The dragon blew out a warm breath, chilling you. You would've crumpled if Lockwood wasn't holding you up.

"Never you mind," you rectified. "You know the Sleeping Trance Charm, don't you?"

He balanced you on one arm, his hold snaking around your waist. With his free hand, he raised his wand at the dragon. "How to Pacify A Dragon 101. Of course, I do."

"Semi-circle motions," you reminded as the giant gold eyes blinked at you.

"I know that already, sweetheart. You know," Lockwood trailed off. His eyes landed on you. You ignore it for the sake of your already racing heart. "We make a pretty good team."

You allowed yourself a smile. "When you're not being insufferable."

"You always think I'm insufferable."

"So, you are self-aware."

"Oh, shut up." He didn't sound like he meant it.

The world must have been pitted against you, because the drowse in the dragon's eyes disappeared before Lockwood could even mutter the spell.

Its jaws widened, and Lockwood pulled you back just before they snapped. Half a foot from taking a chunk out of you and Lockwood.

"That's not good," Lockwood grunted. He accioed his broom closer. By how hard he was pulling you, you assumed he was trying to get you to clamber on as well.

That would be dooming the two of you. Being a singular target was like turning yourselves into a barbeque.

You pushed him away, catching the panic in his eyes for a moment.

You threw your arms out, signalling him away. "Go!"

Lockwood stalled, hand on his broom. "But—"

"Go!"

He mounted reluctantly. Taking off to grab the Longhorn's attention while you were squabbling for your broom.

When you found it, your worst fears were confirmed. The world really did want you dead.

Your broom was snapped clean in two after colliding with the base of the highest hoop. Mourning your trusted companion wasn't an option, because the dragon had spotted you. Its neck craned, rearing like a snake before it struck.

You tapped your pockets, desperate to find your wand. Not in that pocket, not in that one—

At long last, you fished it out of your most unused pocket. You pointed its end at the beast but a flash of green and silver disrupted your vision.

A tug on your arm and the feeling of rising winds brought you to the present. Lockwood had grabbed you and given you a seat on his broom, saving you from a very fiery end. The patch of grass you were standing on was charred to a crisp.

"Calm down, sweetheart. I can feel you shaking." His mouth was at your ear. You shrunk even more to hide from his view.

Your heart lurched as the Romanian Longhorn roared. You leaned closer to Lockwood, feeling the steady lub-dub through his shirt. It sang your anxieties to repose.

"We need a new plan," you told him, trying to keep your mind in one place. "I don't think she'll fall for another one of our two-person schemes."

"We're one broom down, so, how do you suggest we do that?"

You two watched as the Longhorn stretched its wings, kick starting your panic.

Lockwood leaned forward and tapped your leg. "Hold on tight."

Your hands on the broom fastened until your knuckles turned bloodless.

With renewed determination, he said, "We have to try the Sleeping Trance Charm again."

"While it's wide awake?"

"I'm sorry, would you like to ask her to sit and make it easier for us?"

You pinched his arm in response. The gesture was returned with Lockwood twisting his broom to have you two dangling upside down. One hand jutted out and grabbed Lockwood by the cloak.

"Lockwood, you prat!"

"Say sorry."

"You — Gah! Sorry!"

He smirked as he righted the broom.

Given a new perspective, you wheezed. "We have to do something before it burns down the whole pitch."

"We could summon the rest of the brooms," Lockwood suggested.

He flew higher as the Longhorn swiped for your legs.

"That would just make a mess. She can burn them. Then we'd have a bigger mess to clean up, plus a debt to whoever owns those brooms."

"Well..." Lockwood looked down at the dragon. "I could offer a special deal on pens to rack up enough pounds to pay it back."

"Pens?"

"A muggle writing device. Better and cleaner than ink and quill," he quipped. "I sell them to earn a few pounds. Don't give me that disapproving look, I gave you one for your birthday."

You reeled. "That's what it was? I didn't think 'pens' looked like that. They're supposed to be made of metal, no?"

"The archaic ones, yes. Now, there are plastic, ballpoint pens."

"Why are we talking about this? We can be turned into crispy bacon at any second now."

"Sweetheart, it's either we sacrifice the brooms or we turn into bacon, as you so nicely put it."

Your heart lurched. "My mother would kill me if we fell into debt, Lockwood. Thinking about it now, she'd behead me if she finds out about this mess."

He was genuinely perplexed by the fear that laced your voice. "I thought you were from a pureblood family."

"I am!" You trilled, sounding like you needed to prove something. "But things aren't that easy. Things are earned."

"They would understand. This is a life or death situation here!"

"No, I– Just– We can't."

"Okay..." He did his best to calm you down. It didn't help that he could practically feel the dragon's breath at this distance. "We ditch that idea. How's a firework charm?"

"Yes! Good idea."

You readied your wand. Only to stop short as silver-blue figures circled the dragon. It didn't take a genius to spot a patronus, a handful of them. You spotted a silvery cat crash into the dragon's side.

A non-corporeal patronus materialised at your side, speaking with the voice of Professor Flitwick. "Do your best not to use explosives. Her caregiver's orders."

More patronuses rose like shrouds of smoke and magic, disorienting the dragon in the midst of them. Some were fully manifested, some were faint — like they had been casted by a novice.

One look down confirmed your thoughts. Students and teachers alike were casting patronuses to keep you and Lockwood from turning into Dragon Dinner. Others were busy casting a large-scale protego to isolate the creature.

The Romanian Longhorn's only choice was to fly higher and higher. Lockwood followed, strategically hiding behind patronuses as they passed.

"You have your wand?" Lockwood inquired as the air began to thin. Breathing was a task you had to do consciously to stay awake.

"Of course, I do."

"This is our chance," he told you. He poised his wand.

You raised yours, too. "I'll cast a patronus to hide the glow of the Sleeping Trance Charm."

"Here's to hoping we keep all of our limbs."

He eased closer. You readied yourself, going through all of your best memories. You didn't go back to thoughts of your favourite books or your academics—No. Your mind kept circling back to your earlier moments with Lockwood: the sneaking out, the snitch, that moment at the threshold...

Blue sand trickled from the tip of your wand. Kicking up magic that twisted into the form of a crane. Your brows furrowed as you muttered the enchantment again, only for the patronus to stretch its wings and soar towards the dragon.

You threw a glance at Lockwood from over your shoulder. "I told you I would cast the patronus."

"You are," Lockwood quipped. He did a terrible job of hiding his smile, voice pressed like he was using the last of his air to say it. "That's your patronus."

"No, it's yours." Your tone lacked conviction, and substance — seeing as the crane did burst from your wand.

Lockwood chanced a glance at you, giving you a glimpse of that smirky smile that you'd recognize even in another life. "Have something you need to tell me, sweetheart?"

"Piss off," you said. You pulled his cheek forward, forcing him to face the winds of the dragon he was supposed to be charming. "Focus on what you have to do!"

"We'll get back to this."

He aimed at the dragon and muttered, "Dormitus."

Its eyes were locked on your patronus, following its path, unaware of its eyelids drooping and its waving wings slowing.

Slowly, the dragon began to lose altitude. Closer and closer to the ground as students and professors scuttled out of the way.

The winds dissipated as it laid its scaled head on the grass, finally quelled.

You expelled a breath you were holding in. Lockwood did the same, you felt his chest flush against your back as he laxed.

Lockwood landed a ways away and dismounted first, helping you off but never actually letting you go. Your connected hands dropped between you as you both took the time to calm your heartbeats.

A deranged laugh slipped from your lips. "If you weren't such a danger magnet, you'd have a promising future as an auror."

He looked at you, a confusing mix of disbelief and hope on his face. "You mean that?"

You shrugged with a lipped smile. Not even his habit of looking at the floor could hide his smile from you. You could see it clearly as the sun rose higher.

The moment of peace was interrupted by the furious shuffling of boots on grass. You raised your heads and spotted the unmistakable figures of Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, and Hagrid.

"There you are." Lockwood said charmingly, casting a smile to match. "We were just about to come and ask what we should do about this—"

McGonagall called you both by name. Even you flinched at her vehemence.

"Why, I never!" She looked between you, clear aggravation carved into the lines of her face. "In all my years, I have never seen such a display of recklessness! You could have died. How could we ever explain that to your parents?"

You watched Lockwood's smile widen. A precursor to him saying, "Professor, with all due respect, my parents are dead."

Professor McGonagall was speechless, momentarily at a loss.

You took the chance to fill in the silence. "And I do believe Mr. Harry Potter has done worse."

Her eyes hardened as she wound her cloak tighter around herself. "I apologise for my earlier statement, Mr. Lockwood, but this kind of disobedience and endangerment cannot be tolerated. I expect you both to know where this is leading."

"Cleaning the toilets?" you two said in sync.

"Worse," Professor McGonagall looked quite proud of herself. "Detention."

You and Lockwood sobered.

"Professor, I'm a prefect," Lockwood reasoned. "And still in recovery."

"And I'm your best student," you chipped in. "Certainly, that means something."

McGonagall tipped her chin. "Then you'll be pleased to hear that the pair of you are the first to make it to detention with those accomplishments." Her tone turned frosty. "Friday evening. You know which room. Good day."

You were still reeling when Professor Flitwick motioned to his mouth. "You two should clean yourselves up, lest some misunderstand the smudges on your lips."

Hagrid flashed you two a friendly smile as you and Lockwood disconnected arms to swipe at your lips.

—

Detention didn't last too long. After a good three debates where you and Lockwood vaulted between being friends, being enemies, and being on the brink of committing murder, the kind, ghostly professor in charge let you free for his own sanity.

—

By the time you two returned to your regularly scheduled programming, Cai had been expelled and given a fancy room in St. Mungo's. Lockwood was properly compensated by the BOF company, and the pair of you received an additional fee to assure your silence. You gave your word, but one, James Potter, never made the pact. He reported the happenings to his father and promptly had the company shut down for misuse of magic.

Best wingman, indeed.

In the aurora of a half-realised friendship, you allowed Lockwood to keep his arm on your shoulder as a form of gratitude. He took every chance he got to practise his privilege.

He pulled you closer, practically nuzzling your hair. "You do appreciate me, after all."

"Barely," you replied.

The admission was enough to bring a smile to his face. If you got too soft, he'd assume you transformed into someone else entirely.

Lockwood, himself, had returned to his usual self; disputing you in class, outdoing your word counts, and (a recent development) stealing your quills to replace them with pens. How the professors didn't notice was beyond you.

You missed the banter and the thrill of the competition, but not the dingy smell of the DADA classroom. It was as pungent as always.

"Seventh years." The Professor's tone was different compared to the hundred lessons you've had before this. Dare you say she even sounded melancholic. There's a gaggle of students that laughed about it but she was more lenient, she said nothing to them. "This is your last year in Hogwarts and your last year under my tutelage. This year, we focus on practicality and efficiency. Using your knowledge against another witch or wizard."

She flicked her wand and the crowd parted, pulled in opposite directions by invisible hands.

Gasps rang out, friends clung closer to each other, and you grabbed Lockwood's sleeve when you were shoved aside. His arm dropped to support your weight by the small of your back.

You looked up and he was smiling down at you, the right side of his smile higher than the left. Familiar. Though, he was rather close.

You opened your mouth to complain, only to shudder at the sound of glass breaking. The chandelier above fell, and Professor proceeded to transfigure it into a glass cage of sorts.

She looked pleased with herself as the crystalline cage settled into a dome shape, resting both hands on her wand as she beamed at the parted crowd. "Today, we duel!"

You covered your ears at the sheer volume of your classmates' bellows. Several students looked forward to this day. They could finally let loose and cast spells like they were meant to. The girl to your right bit the end of her wand, looking a lot like a panther ready to lunge.

You grimaced and sent your prayers to Rowena Ravenclaw to save you from the hungry ones.

"Looking forward to it?" Lockwood asked, glueing himself to the spot next to you, chivalrously blocking you from the onslaught of moving bodies.

You could barely see him because the lights have been dimmed to bring all eyes to the duelling cage. You didn't know why you were even searching for his eyes in the first place.

"No," you finally answered. Your eyes landed on the cage, catching the faint veins of blue shift in and out of existence around it. Kind of like the webs of light at the surface of muggle pools. You would have missed them if you weren't squinting. "I aspire to be a healer. This is the type of thing I advise against."

He caught on to the magic, too. "Don't stress too much. The cage is enchanted to snuff out all malignant magic to avoid injury."

"How do you know?"

"That's a large-scale protego charm. Knowing the professor, she tweaked it to limit anyone who goes too far." He nudged your side. You heard the smirk in his tone. "Not bad for an aspiring auror, right?"

"Right," you agreed.

You didn't expect him to sputter. You shushed him when several heads turned your way.

"What was that?"

He patted down his robe, like it would help him collect himself. "That was surprise, sweetheart. I didn't expect you to agree with me."

"Are you suggesting that I'm unnegotiable?"

"No," he answered. "You simply... oppose me most of the time—all of the time."

"You're very easy to oppose. I just pick the choice that has a lower mortality rate. You always seem to be doing dangerous things, Mr. Lockwood."

"I'm Mr. Lockwood now, huh?" That smile again.

"Yes, you are."

"Could you call me that more often?"

His smile made you conscious. You crossed your arms over your chest, like that would protect you. "Why?"

"I like how it sounds," he replied. "I'd do just about anything to hear it again."

"Hm..." Your eyes drifted to the sparks of spells being swished back and forth. The cage turned into a mirrorball. "Win your match."

Lockwood drew himself up to full height, rolling his shoulders back with a confident grin. "Easy."

"Really? Easier than being love-spelled by a fangirl?"

Your stomach turned. That's how you knew you'd said something wrong. Your stance changed. You almost hit yourself for saying something so uncalled for.

He opened his mouth to defend himself but the Professor's voice cut through his.

"Anthony Lockwood and James Potter versus Daria Thomas-Finnigan and..." She dragged the silence on, smirking as she finally uttered your name. Professor Loathes-Your-Guts clearly, still, loathes your guts.

The room divided into two once more; those cheering for Slytherin and Gryffindor, and those cheering for Ravenclaw. The energy could rival that of a Quidditch match.

"May the best team win," was Lockwood's cold farewell. He was gruff and unjesting—a complete departure from his usual visage that it scared you. He had never been so forbidding to you, even as rivals.

He and James entered on the right wing, and you and Daria entered through the left. The circle under you lit up blue. The Professor's magic gripped you, encompassing your whole body.

Lockwood had been right. Professor kept strict tabs on everyone in the cage, and you regretted stepping in when you looked across the way.

Both Lockwood and James were ready to kill. It was an exaggeration, but you'd never seen either look so deathly competitive.

Daria's hand on your shoulder reeled you back to the present. She graced you with a smile. "Gryffindor might have good fighters but we've got something better." You were tempted to say 'female anatomy' but she spoke over your thoughts. "We've got brain."

You drew your shoulders up and gripped your wand fiercely. You faced forward as the Professor yelled, "Start."

⚜ PART 2 | SERIES MASTERLIST

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⌠ @novelizt 2023 ⌡

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[journeytothewestresearch]

Can you please tell me what abilities sun wukong have because am always confused about it i even hear some people says that sun wukong is omniscient and omnipresent and can control time or that he is is a boundless character

At no point in JTTW is Monkey ever depicted as a boundless character with omniscience, omnipresence, and control over time. Anyone claiming that has never read the novel. Never ever trust any online claims about Sun Wukong unless a cited quote is provided.

Having said that, I am slowly compiling a comprehensive list of all of Monkey's magical abilities and skills, complete with corresponding Chinese terms and citations. However, I am nowhere close to being done (and won't be for years), so I can only give you a general list at this time. But I will link to my past articles where applicable.

The following is based on a list I wrote a few months ago for someone looking to make their D&D campaign more authentic.

Immortality - He has six layers of immortality. But these are more like layers of invulnerability. As a "bogus immortal" (yaoxian, 妖仙) he is still susceptible to injury and death because he hasn’t yet achieved Buddha-nature and broken free of the wheel of rebirth (see note #1 here for an explanation).

Invulnerability - He has an adamantine hide that can't be pierced or hurt by earthly or heavenly weapons and elements (this doesn't count the times that he allows himself to be cut). This is thanks to all of the immortal foodstuff he had eaten in heaven being refined within his body by his samadhi fire, giving him a "diamond body" (jingang zhi qu, 金鋼之軀). Sometimes he uses this invulnerability to freak out demons by blocking a sword strike with his bald head. However, he can still be hurt. For example, he is twice wounded by special elements born from spiritual cultivation, samadhi fire and wind (the book treats cultivated and heavenly elements as two different things). Also, one villain, a scorpion demoness energized with Buddhist dharma power, is able to successfully penetrate his skin by stinging him in the face with her tail.

72 changes - He can transform into anything. The only flaw is his tail, which doesn't always change the way he wants it to. Or, a character recognizes him because of his red butt.

Cloud somersault - This allows him to fly 108,000 li (33,554 mi / 54,000 km) in a single leap. The skill is actually a metaphor for instantaneous enlightenment, for those who achieve it will immediately arrive in the Buddha's paradise.

Magic hairs - He can change any one of his 84,000 hairs into anything he wants (tools, random objects, living creatures, etc.) These include hair clones, which are autonomous copies of himself that can range into the tens, hundreds, thousands, millions, or even billions. However, he only deploys these on a small scale in the novel. He never uses the power to its full stated extent.

Super strength - His greatest feat is carrying two mountains while running "with the speed of a meteor." But there are characters physically stronger than him. For instance, Monkey cannot escape the grip of the Great Peng bird once he is caught in his powerful talons.

Martial arts - He is proficient in armed and unarmed combat, being able to go toe-to-toe with deities with centuries more combat experience than him. "Short Fist," a historical style, is listed as his preferred boxing method. But he mainly relies on his magic iron staff for fighting.

General magic - Monkey is shown capable of calling forth gods and spirits, growing or shrinking to any size, parting fire and water, creating impassable barriers, conjuring wind storms, casting illusions, freezing people in place, putting anyone to sleep, unlocking any lock, bestowing superhuman strength, bringing the dead back to life, turning invisible, changing someone's appearance, traveling to and from heaven and hell, etc.

Magic Eyes - He can see through illusions. But this isn't always portrayed consistently, for I know of several times where Guanyin fools him, and even a god of the soil, a lesser deity, is once able to do the same thing.

Medicine - He can diagnose maladies and concoct medicines to solve the issue.

You can see that omniscience, omnipresence, and control over time are not listed. I think the problem is that people are confusing Sun Wukong at two different points in his character arc. The powers listed above come from the journey itself (ch. 13 to 100). The omni-level powers would come after he achieves Buddhahood at the end of the novel (ch. 100). However, it's very, very important to know that the story ends before Sun Wukong, now the "Victorious Fighting Buddha," performs any feats (i.e. he has no feats as a Buddha). I'm sure people could assign him powers ascribed to other Buddhas in religious literature, but what happens after the story ends is beyond canon.

I hope this helps.

#Sun Wukong #Monkey King #Journey to the West #JTTW #monkey buddha #Victorious Fighting Buddha #Buddha Victorious in Strife #magic powers #People who make spurious claims about Sun Wukong need to read the fucking novel!!! #Read the fucking novel!!! #Do it!!! #Just do it!!! #Lego Monkie Kid #LMK