#just full charge at the bookshelf in the LIBRARY

[undercrofttt]

pretty pleaseee if you can, a one-shot of 7th year f!MC being the head girl and catching Sebastian sneaking around the Restricted Section and she teases him by giving him detention but he’s trying to wiggle out of it by rizzing her up hehehe

𝙳𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 | 𝚂𝚎𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚗 𝚂𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠

[sebastian x fem!reader]

sypnosis: in which sebastian attempts to sneak into the restricted section, but he didn't expect to run into the pretty head girl whilst carrying out his plan.

a/n: ah, thank you so much for the request. i really appreciate it! i hope you enjoy reading this. it was really fun to write.

sebastian figured that with the amount of times being caught by the librarian, scribner, he'd finally have a full proof plan into the restricted section. now that sebastian knew the ins and outs of the library, he was sure to finally sneak in successfully.

sebastian was right.

with the disillusionment charm, sebastian had managed to get through the pesky head boys and girls in the hallway which the library was in. he crouched past them slowly and as quiet as a feather, his hand twisted the doorknob. with a triumphant smirk, sebastian sneaked into the room with no one on his trail.

sebastian's eyes scanned throughout the dimly lit room, hoping that scribner wouldn't be present. lucky night it was as there was no sign of the blasted librarian in sight. the slytherin then stood up straight, breaking the disillusionment charm.

hm, if i remember correctly, sebastian thought to himself as he stalked over to the librarian's desk. the key should be...aha! sebastian's eyes lit up as he slid open one of the drawers of the desk, revealing the key to the restricted section. sebastian's lips parted as he let out a soft chuckle and held up the key into the light as if he had found hogwart's long lost treasure.

"a beauty you are." sebastian mumbled to the key with a soft whistle following after it.

he looked back toward the door he came from, ensuring that no one was outside before heading toward the restricted section. as sebastian stalked past the various, looming bookshelves, his peripherals picked up on a blurb.

"shit!" sebastian jolted in place as his vision finally made the blurb out to be a person. "what in merlin's name-"

more specifically, you. the head girl of hogwarts stood with her back against the bookshelf and a book in her hands before his eyes. you were still in your school uniform with your tie loosened and a button or two unbuttoned, revealing a bit of your collarbone. sebastian winced as your eyes shifted from the ink on the pages to his alarmed frame. what surprised him the most was the way your lips quirked into a sly smirk.

"well, sallow, not at all surprised to see you here." you mused, closing the book you were reading and sliding it into the bookshelf. you raise a brow as you give him a once over. "a bit late for reading, don't you think?"

sebastian rolled his eyes as he shoved the key into the pocket of his robes. of all the head boys and girls, he just had to be caught by you. you were merciless when it came to punishing students. you wasted no time reporting those who broke the rules. at least, that's what sebastian heard around campus.

"could say the same to you, (l/n)." sebastian quipped, folding his arms across his chest with a fixed frown.

"scribner had to run a few errands," you remark smugly while stalking closer to him and circling around him. "she left me in charge of catching intruders... or rather, you." you say before standing in front of him with an expectant brow.

"quite flattered, darling," sebastian smirked, unfolding his arms to scan his eyes down your smaller frame. "didn't expect such a gorgeous woman to be waiting for me like this. really, i feel honored to have received this treatment."

your smug demeanor shifted into a frown at his words. "i could report you to scribner, you know."

"ah, but will you?" sebastian's tone was challenging, yet teasing and you tilted your head in curiosity.

did he feel no sense of fear? with the amount of times he's been caught, there was bound to be a limit to his attempts. if you reported him now, he'd surely receive more than just detention. you guess his persistence was admirable.

"you're quite smug for someone who is about to be in detention for a week." you stab your finger into his chest before seizing his tie in your fist and pulling him forward. "do you perhaps enjoy the thrill?"

sebastian's eyes widened slightly at your actions and his freckled face flushed at how close your face was to his own. you smirked as you peered at his ears, which were also reddening. he could barely even keep your eye contact. "well, do you enjoy the risk of detention, sallow?" you ask again, causing the boy's eyes to meet with yours once more and you could've sworn you saw the bit of playfulness glimmering in them.

"perhaps i rather enjoy being caught by you, darling," came his response and the corner of your lip twitched. sebastian must've noticed the break in character because his signature smirk graced his lips once again. "i mean, any man would be stupid to not fall short a breathe at the sight of you. you look ravishing tonight."

sebastian leaned his face forward and you could feel his breath on your ear as he whipsered, "well, miss head girl, will you report me?" he asked before pulling away with that stupid, sly grin on his face and you winced internally at how his gravely voice made your heart flutter.

"(y/n), are you still in here, child?"

sebastian snapped his head toward the voice who called out to you, however you quickly slapped your hand over his mouth and pulled him behind the bookshelf by his tie. sebastian was surprised to say the least as he gazed at your furrowed brow and prominent frown. with your other hand, you slid your index finger to your lips, demanding that he stay quiet. with a confused nod, sebastian removed her hand from his mouth and you gestured for him to stay put.

"oh, professor scribner," you called out as you slid out from behind the bookshelf and toward the elder lady with a smile. "sorry, i was reading to pass the time."

the woman smiled softly at you before her eyes darted around the room. "well, were there any intruders tonight?" she asked you and while the woman had her back to you, you glanced at sebastian, who was crouched behind the book shelf.

shit, he was in trouble this time.

"um, no. thankfully, no intruders were here while you were gone."

or not...what on earth were you doing?, sebastian thought as he peeked his head around to glance at you, however you just stood there with an innocent smile. even as scribner looked at you in shock through her glasses that slid down her nose.

"no? hm, sebastian sallow must've given up then." scribner said with a triumphant tone. "well, it's about time! that boy, honestly, i was going to write a note to the headmaster if i caught him snooping around again."

you nodded as you followed her to her desk, listening to her ramble on about sebastian sallow. you found it quite ironic that scribner was saying this all while that same boy was behind the bookshelf in her library. nonetheless, you nodded your head with a smile until scribner let out a gasp as she opened the drawer.

"my word, where is the key?!" the woman exclaimed fearfully as she tore open every drawer of her desk, even rummaging through the many files and papers that were stuffed in some of them.

shit, the key! sebastian fished around his pockets, however his heart fell as he felt nothing. he could've sworn he stuffed it in there after he had ran into you.

"oh, you mean this?" you stuffed your hand into the pocket of your robe before pulling out the key to the restricted section. "sorry, i thought that if i had the key then no one was sure to break into the restricted section." you explained while handing the key back tot he woman who let out a heavy breathe of relief.

meanwhile, sebastian's eyes were wide with shock at your ability to lie. no not only that. when had you stolen the key from him?

"oh, my dear girl, thank you!" scribner exclaimed, before gasping once more. "oh dear me, i forgot to deliver the files that professor weasley asked for!"

"i can watch the library for you while you go!" you quickly offered and the woman let out a sigh of relief again.

"honestly, you are such a sweet girl, (y/n)." the woman gushed, patting you on the head like a child and making her way toward the doors of the library. "i will be right back, my dear. it'll only take a minute."

you nodded with a smile and waved your hand at the woman, who shut the door behind her quickly. as soon as the door shut, your smile dropped and you made your way to the bookshelf that sebastian was hiding behind.

"you can come out now." you said with a smug tone and you watched as sebastian came out into the light. his eyes were swimming with bewilderment as he stared at you in disbelief. "what?"

"y-you lied to professor scribner!" sebastian stammered as he pointed an accusing finger at you. "and when did you take the key? you're a sly one, aren't you? not what i expected at all. why'd you do it? am i-"

you rolled your eyes at his rambling before walking up to him and grabbing his tie. you leaned up to whisper into his ear. "please, sallow, this is the last time i do this for you. don't let me catch you in here past curfew again." your breath caressed his ear gently and even as you pulled away from him, sebastian could feel his ears tingling with warmth.

"you're very interesting, (y/n) (l/n)," sebastian finally uttered after a moment of silence between you two. "i think we'll be seeing each other here often."

your brows immediately wrinkled at his words. had he not heard you? you were going to report him again if you caught him again, so why was he so adamant in coming back once more. "i'm not sure if you're an idiot or what, but did you not hear what i said?" you quipped, stepping back toward the bookshelves.

"well, maybe you just have that effect on me, darling." sebastian replied as he stalked toward you once more. this time, he raised his arm to place a hand on the wooden bookshelf near your head. with a smirk, he leaned down toward your face. "i mean it. i'll be seeing you here again. maybe tomorrow night?"

your lips parted and your eyes couldn't help but shoot down to his lips that were oh so close. sebastian noticed this and drew his lips closer until you could feel his breath on your own lips. "i'm in debt to you, (y/n). i plan on repaying you back." he whispered against your lips and you felt your heartbeat quicken in your chest.

"shove off, sallow," you abruptly push him back with a frown, despite the heat rushing into your face. "if you don't leave, you're sure to be caught by scribner."

"a hero as always, aren't you?" sebastian chirped before taking your hand gently and pressing his lips against yours. "goodnight, (y/n). i'll be seeing you tomorrow."

your mouth gaped open slightly as sebastian turned away and headed toward the door. as soon as you heard the door shut, you slid your back down the bookshelf until you were seated on the floor. that stupid git, you thought as you shook your head with a small smile.

meanwhile, sebastian's heels clicked through the corridors as he made his way toward the slytherin's common room. his face held a smug smirk as he walked, not at all worried about if he got caught at this point. his blasted plan to break into the restricted section was a bust, but he encountered something way more interesting.

sebastian wasn't lying about seeing you again.

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy imagine #hogwarts legacy x reader #female reader #hogwarts legacy oneshot #sebastian sallow imagine #sebastian sallow x reader #hogwarts legacy requests #thank you for requesting! #sebastian x female reader

[aaronsrpgs]

A Worksheet Manifesto (Rough Draft)

The Worksheet Manifesto is an attempt to explain why I'm moving my game design toward something I can print for free at the public library and give away. It's not a scold or a call to action; I buy full-color zines and hardcover books, and I support people charging for their work. This is a personal manifesto—an exercise in self-exploration.

The first reason I pursue this is ACCESS. I want people to be able to find and play my games. (Accessibility is maybe a better word for this, but I don't want it confused with the process through which something is made easier to use for people with disabilities.)

Some of the main barriers I've seen are financial (someone can't afford my games), technological (lack of computers and/or printers makes it more complicated to read my games), and international (shipping to someone outside the U.S. is prohibitively expensive).

Combining these three elements, I realized I wanted my games to be cheap or free. The common "community copies" solution on itch.io is much touted, and for good reason, but as I tried explaining the process to friends who weren't familiar with the site (or who flat-out aren't tech savvy), many responses were confused or frustrated. So I've set most of my games to pay-what-you-want with a suggested price.

Going from computer tech to printer tech, my most recent games were laid out in black and white, without ink-sucking textures (although some still have large spots of black in the art--something I continue to consider). Many American libraries offer limited free printing, and I always hope people will "utilize" the printers at their jobs or schools. I want people to be able to easily print out my games and share them at the table or pass them to friends.

And more selfishly, I hate dealing with fulfillment and shipping. It's stressful for me, it requires money up front to print things, and I'm bad at it, which means shipments go out slow, or not at all if someone lives outside of the U.S. Creating a file that's easy to print hopefully encourages people to create their own copies.

These cheap print copies also hopefully contribute to a feeling of DISPOSABILITY. I grew up with comic books, magazines, newspapers, and mass market paperbacks, and I think these cheap, short slabs of culture helped them feel like someone could engage with them without having to be fancy or educated or in the know. (A lot of us gatekeep ourselves!)

Prices for RPGs, like so many nerd collectibles, have steadily risen at least since the start of the pandemic. Crowdfunders often capitalize on FOMO, encouraging people to go all in on deluxe hardcovers with fabric bookmarks or whatever. And if my experience working at a used game store is anything to go by, lots of those fancy editions go right onto the bookshelf, unread. Don't want to break the spine or get fingerprints on it!

And I guess I'm just against consumerism? If someone wants a nice thing, I hope they get it, but a culture of games as luxury items and status symbols is not something I'm interested in.

So if someone has a game of mine and they don't want it anymore, I hope they pass it on, put it in a little free library, or recycle it.

And those dirty little printouts of my games? I want people to touch them and write them. I want TACTILITY. This is partially a usability issue: 300-page hardcovers are hard to find information in, and they're heavy if you have to lug them to a friend's house.

So I try to design games where everything a player (including the GM) needs is on, at most, three sheets of paper. I want them to be able to spread a couple pages out and take in the shape of the game they're about to play. I want them to circle things and make notes in the margins. Moving a pencil around does wild things to your brain, the same way that picking at a guitar or molding clay does. It focuses attention in interesting ways.

And in the end, you hopefully have a personalized article of play. And if you spill beer on it, no one's worried about replacing that $50 hardcover.

Speaking of beer, I want my games to be available to and contribute to COMMUNITY. As the pandemic started, I retreated into lots of online spaces, and those were absolutely vital to my survival. But I lost touch with lots of my friends and acquaintances in my city. I want to reconnect with them.

One of my favorite cartoonists, Mark Connery, is known for drawing little zines and just...leaving them all over. Coffee shops, art galleries, bathrooms. And when I think of him, I think of an artist responding directly to the places around him. Is it sad that some of this work is probably "lost" to all readers other than the person that happens across the zine? A little bit. But I think that comes from a bad part of my brain, the part that wants to own things.

I certainly don't want the entirety of my own work collected and widely distributed. Some of those things were specific responses to specific times that I've moved past. Some were bad! But I want to keep responding to my specific times and my specific place. I want to give things to friends (even if they just pass them on or recycle them). I want to give a game to someone at a zine fest and have them recognize my name from a zine they read in a coffee shop bathroom. And maybe they'll give me a zine in return.

My last hangup is MODULARITY. First, similar to tactility, I want to be able to give a player only the rules that matter to them. Character creation and basic rules? Here's a page. And once you're familiar with that and we've entered a downtime phase, here's a page with those options. You want to start a farm? Here's a page. I want it to feel like printing coloring pages for kids or ripping out my favorite magazine articles. These are the parts that matter. And if they stop mattering, you can get rid of them.

But I also want modularity on a system level. I want to add a subsystem to game as I think of it. I want to throw in an adventure pamphlet when it comes to me. I can keep them all in a little box, like a care package from my past self, and when it's time to run a game, I can dig around like a verminous animal and build my nest out of the best bits.

In CONCLUSION, I want to reiterate that this is a personal practice, and I'm not criticizing people who work differently. I used to work differently, and in the future, I'll probably work differently again.

This is simply the way I've identified what's important to me, set that up against the things that cause me to stumble, taken advantage of the privileges I have, and tried my best to bring that all together in a way that keeps me excited about my own work.

#ttrpgs #indie ttrpgs

[sunnyrealist]

🌶️ Chapter 28: Stress Relief 🌶️

The Sun, the Moon, and All Our Stars

Summary and Details…

Chapter Background and Summary: Sebastian's partner on assignment for the Kelpies gang attempted to drown a child to entice his mother to give up a Time Turner (a new invention) hidden in their home. Sebastian took the Time Turner from her and was able to save the boy just in the nick of time. Sebastian was reprimanded by Mr. Rees Cuddy, the leader of the Kelpies, for doing so, but he was also rewarded for delivering the Time Turner. Sebastian is now going to be put in charge of safeguarding the Time Turner until the Kelpies have figured out how it works and how exactly they will use it. His mind is reeling with this information, along with processing the events that led to acquiring the magical item. This chapter takes place the following day after work when Kate and Sebastian get to see each other again.

Pairing: Aged-up, post-Azkaban Sebastian Sallow x Kate Mayflower (my OC)

Content warnings: In general, this story is rated 18+, so MNDI! This chapter features rough doggy-style sex, including very light choking.

The full chapter is available below the cut; it can also be found on AO3 (link is posted below). Any feedback is appreciated. A comment, like, or Kudos would make my day!

Chapter 28: Stress Relief

When Kate arrives home from work on Wednesday, she shuts the door, walks into her bedroom, picks up one of her pillows, and screams into it.

It had quite possibly been one of the worst days she had ever had in the Hogwarts library.

Pretty much everything that could have gone wrong did go wrong.

She flops onto her bed, clutches a pillow, assumes the fetal position, and begins to cry.

She is sniffling into a handkerchief when she hears a knock on the door and then the most welcome voice in the entire world.

“Kate?” Sebastian calls. “Are you home?”

“Yes,” she responds loudly. “I’m in the bedroom.”

He enters the room with a huge bouquet of sunflowers, a huge smile on his face, but it drops almost immediately when he sees her tear-stained face. 

“Merlin’s beard,” he gasps. “What’s wrong?”

He leaves the bouquet on her dresser, then sits next to her on the bed and takes her hands, his face filled with concern.

“Everything at work,” she replied somberly. “Terrible day.”

Sebastian rubs her hands soothingly. “I’m so sorry, my love. What happened? Do you want to tell me about it?”

“Agnes announced that she is definitely not retiring this year. I caught two Gryffindors literally having sex against a bookshelf. 14-year-olds. 14-year-olds!” She paused. “I’ve never dealt with more messes in my entire career at Hogwarts. It’s like a storm came upon the library and scattered books everywhere. The students aren’t cleaning up after themselves since they know the school year is over. Plus, I found at least twenty books incorrectly shelved in the wrong sections.” 

Sebastian is about to say something until she continues.

“Peeves was shouting in the library, causing a ruckus. I caught a Slytherin trying to sneak into the Restricted Section without permission - and then he acted like I am the most strict librarian in the world! I made a jam sandwich for lunch and spilled it all over my white shirt. That was an easy fix but still just another thing that went wrong. None of my student assistants helped with anything today - apparently they were too keen to gossip instead of work. They’re just done. And Matilda Weasley informed me we were getting an influx of cursed magical artifacts to store in the Restricted Section, which of course are dangerous as hell to work with. I told her I was too nervous to catalog them, and she seemed quite disappointed in me.” She sighs dramatically.

Sebastian begins to run his hand through her hair soothingly. “My poor, sweet sun. Well… I brought you sunflowers. I thought they might make you think of how close you are to your summer holiday. Now it’s clear you need them more than ever to cheer up. What else can I do for my darling?”

“Please help me relieve stress. I don’t want to cook. I don’t want to do anything or think about anything,” Kate begs. “I’m so glad you are here, Sebastian. I need you.”

He pulls her to him, holding her close. “I’m here. Let it out. I’ll take care of you tonight.”

Sebastian spends some time thinking about what he might do to help her calm down.

After a few minutes, he claps his hands together and says, “Alright. Here’s the plan. I am going to cook dinner for us both. We’re going to drink some good wine and enjoy some dessert. I’m going to draw a nice, warm bubble bath for you, and then we’ll read in bed until… Wait, am I staying over tonight? I forgot to ask, but I brought a bag along just in case.” He waves his hands around. “No pressure - I don’t want you to stress over it at all.”

“Gods, that sounds perfect, and yes, you’re staying over. I demand it,” she replies quite seriously.

“Of course - your wish is my command, princess.” He chuckles.

This wasn’t how Sebastian envisioned the evening going, but he’s happy to help her. Any time spent with her is better than the alternative.

“Seb… one more thing that might help,” she says hesitantly, putting her hand on his arm. “I need you to fuck me. Hard. Really hard. No holding back.”

Sebastian’s eyes grow wide, and he grins wickedly. “Oh, yeah? I can manage that.”

Kate screams as he pushes into her in one fell swoop, his hands gripping her hips tight as he takes her from behind. “Seb!!!”

His eyes practically roll back into his head at how tight and wet she is for him. “Oh, Merlin, Kate… feels… so good.”

Sebastian begins to stroke, not starting off slow. Soon, he’s practically leaving her body and thrusting completely in, taking her roughly. His fingernails dig into her skin as she cries out over and over again. The sounds of their bodies slapping together provide a rhythm to their moans.

After a while, he presses his chest to her back and reaches around her to squeeze her breasts tight. Continuing to rut into her, he pinches her nipples harshly, and she wails. 

“Don’t stop - don’t stop!” she begs. “Sebastian, don’t stop - please!”

“I won’t. You’re just going to have to take it,” he growls. “I need this, too.”

Sebastian’s hand slowly makes its way to her collarbone, his fingers spreading wide and closing around her neck. He squeezes - not too hard, just testing the waters, as she gasps in surprise. Deciding not to push his luck, he straightens back up, grabbing handfuls of her hair and pulling it back.

“Fuck!” he shouts out. “I’m close.”

Kate is so pleased she is actually drooling. “Mmmm…. Nnnnghhh……”

Sebastian slams into her harder, his tip kissing her cervix repeatedly. She begins to scream, and then he feels her inner walls closing around him. She’s coming. 

Finally letting go, he groans, pushing as deep inside her as possible. He knows he is going to release a huge load of cum into her. His movements become erratic, and then, he explodes.

“Kate… Kate…” he moans, staying deep inside her and moving his hips back and forth slowly until he is positive he has spilled all of his seed.

Sebastian collapses onto Kate’s back, kissing her hair and her shoulders repeatedly as he catches his breath.

“Was… was that how you wanted it, sweetheart?” he asked.

“Fuck… yes. Exactly what I needed, my moon.”

He rolls over, not wanting to crush her completely under his weight. He cups her cheek and kisses her lips deeply, then directs her to lay on his chest.

“Me, too, my sun. Me, too. Gods, I needed that. You’re not the only one who has had a bad time at work lately.”

That night, after relaxing, they both fall asleep soundly, wrapped in each other’s arms. Neither of them stirs at all until morning, when they inevitably realize how much of a challenge it is to get up together to an alarm and say goodbye quickly.

Fortunately for Sebastian, Kate never notices him chugging Wiggenweld potion that morning and walking with a slight limp from the horse bite. He wouldn’t have a clue of how to explain his bad day after hearing about hers. She’s not ready.

#hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy sebastian #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x oc #post azkaban sebastian #hufflepuff x slytherin #aged up sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy oc #hogwarts legacy original character #hl sebastian #hl Sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy Sebastian sallow #hl fanfiction #hogwarts legacy smut #hl smut #Sebastian sallow smut

[bates--boy]

Peter tucked the fitted sheet in after having ran the garment steamer over the mattress and scrubbing it clean of the nonexistent stains. He wiped each board book clean of the dust and scrubbed the shelves down to the corner. He switched out the plain blue drapery for the white one with boats and ducks embroidered along its hem. This was all he could do for his new child until he actually learned who his new child is (was it right to keep calling his foster charge “his child?”). He didn’t want to go out and buy new toys only for them to be the ones that the kid hated, or buy special food beyond the frozen vegetables and fruits and canned stuff he already had, only for the kid to be allergic and--

        Oh, god, food! He should’ve followed Ivan’s advice and learned how to cook, or watch Cait make her dishes and take notes. Was it too late to order a cookbook? Or pick one up from the library? Maybe he should look for restaurants with healthy takeout options, there was that vegan place he liked so much--

        Hands slipped onto his hips and gave a gentle squeeze. “You need to stop before you tear a hole in the carpet,” Naseem called out over the roar of the vacuum.

             Peter sighed and pulled the vacuum cleaner in. He tapped his foot on the power button and stared around the room. “I don’t think it’s enough, though.”

        “Trust me, it’s enough,” Naseem replied. He wrapped his arms fully around Peter’s hips and pulled him close. The waxy linseed oil coming from Naseem was not pleasant, but it wasn’t so pungent that it would send Peter gagging into the toilet. Naseem moved to take away the vacuum cleaner from Peter and unplug it from the wall. Wrapped the cord, Naseem asked over his shoulder, “You okay? How’re ya feelin’?”

        “Like I’m gonna puke.” Even though all he had for breakfast was a fistful of antiemetics and some coffee (half a cup of caffeine so he wouldn’t be jumping off the walls in agonizing paranoia, a full cup of the decaf to stave the craving).

          ...Maybe that didn’t help his nausea, maybe it made it worse, but that wasn’t a thing for him to worry about at the moment as he dragged his hands over his face. “Oh, god...”

         “Oh! Hold on!” Naseem rushed to snatch the wastebasket up and was right back where Peter stood, thrusting the basket into Peter’s arms.

          Peter stared into the empty basket and waited for the bile to come with his lips pinched closed. “...I’m not going to throw up.” Still, he sat the basket near his foot within reach, and let Naseem take his wrists with the linseed stink on his palms. “I just wish this assessment crap was over with, that’s all.”

        “I get it,” Naseem said with a nod. Then, broaching very carefully, he asked, “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

          “I’m going to have to be,” Peter replied. All that back and forth with the agency, all this cleaning he’s been doing, all the medicine he’s been taking to keep him from the edge of self-destructing, all the studying for the care assessment: he can’t have all that work wasted.

          But Naseem shook his head. “Except you don’t, sweets.” He rubbed his thumb in circles on the back of Peter’s wrists. “You just started confronting your traumatic past. You’re probably not in the right frame of mind for raising a kid, even for a little while. The agency would understand if you need to tell them to find someone else.”

         “And then what?” Peter gently tugged his wrists out of Naseem’s hands. “Wait another few months? Probably even years? I already gave up one opportunity for this, I’m not giving up another!”

           Peter snatched the wipe tucked into Naseem’s cleaning apron and turned to get the bottle of polish from the bookshelf. “I’m not letting them win.”

          “Peter!” Naseem hurried out the room after Peter. “No one’s ‘winning’ anything! This ain’t a competition or challenge, this is your well-being, and the kid’s too! Don’t jeopardize yourself and this kid trying to rush things.”

           “Jeopardize us, huh?” Peter soaked the wipe with the polish and knelt to wipe the coffee table with force. “Am I that fragile? Am I too broken to have a happy home? Am I so reckless that I might hurt a child?”

          “Didn’t say or imply that at all.” Naseem rolled his eyes and inhaled, held it, and released it in slow seconds. “I’m saying that if you’re this nervous about being a foster parent, especially after all this mental health stuff ya going through, then maybe you should put this off for just a little while. Until you’re in a good place.”

         “I’m making a lot of money, I’m dating two of the best people in the entire world, I’m writing like crazy and making music. What better place can I be in?” He saw the crossed arms and tired scowl from Naseem in the polished wood’s reflection. “...Besides, I’m doing pretty great in therapy. I even scheduled another appointment.” Which, luckily, will happen on the day after his first singing class. It was going to be bad enough for Peter to show up to the vocal lessons with wounds barely healed and just scabbing over, mind half-drowned with all the mess he opened the floodgates for, but to show up to training with the wounds opened and festering and bleeding after a therapy session requiring Peter to expose himself would fuck everything up. There was also no telling what Dr. Stieg would want to cover over the next few sessions, but it would definitely have to do with what Peter survived.

           But Peter tried not to think about how every day he was close to kissing that benefit concert show and his sanity goodbye. He didn’t want to dwell on how he regretted ever doing this, even if he was going to have to do it sooner or later. 

         Naseem sighed above him as his reflection uncrossed his arms. “That’s good, I guess,” he said. “There’s really no way to convince you to hold off on this?”

        “Nope!” Peter chirped as cheerfully as possible as he started working on the legs. He slowed to a stop. “...I deserve to be happy, Nazz.”

          “Yeah, you do, but a kid doesn’t automatically...” Naseem pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “Just... Okay, if you ever need help with the kid, call me and Sheer.”

             Peter craned his neck back to look up at Naseem and leaned back against his legs. “Thank you,” he said with a grateful smile.

            “No problem,” Naseem said. He placed a hand on Peter’s forehead and brushed the hair back. “Did you get to meet the kid yet?”

           “They sent me his profile.” Which had sat unopened in his inbox for a couple days now. All it would take was a tap of the finger on the attachment file, but Peter had been dancing around that simple task ever since it popped into his email. It was everything -- well, almost -- everything he wanted, it was something he would have given half his heart for to make real so he could give this kid his other half, but now that it was real, now that he had gotten that phone call, had gotten the profile of his foster kid, it was too real, another of that “too good to be true” shittiness. If he opened that profile attachment and read this kid’s name, read what kind of toys the child liked, what their favorite food was, what their favorite school subject was, it was all going to be taken away from him. 

            If this small chance of having a happy home with a child of his own was going to be taken away from him, Peter would like for it to happen before he possibly fell in love with the child. 

          But Naseem, as he ran his hand back on Peter’s head in a drawn-out pet, asked, “Can I see it?”

         “Sure,” Peter replied. He set the rag on the table and pulled out his phone from his pocket. As Naseem settled on his knees next to him, Peter swallowed down the thick bubble of puke and nerves. He tapped the email account open and opened the email Nytida sent him.

          And his hand flew to his mouth, the world suddenly stopped spinning while the rest of the solar system seemed to spin even faster.

          “Oh...” Peter gasped as everything felt right, everything felt so right that it started to hurt. “He’s beautiful.”

#The MizFists #life thus far ( story ) #droid noodles ( writing ) #hetalia #trying really hard to bring this story into fluff #especially now that my long-awaited baby will be coming!! #fanfic #writeblr

[decorationinside]

Immerse Yourself in Words: Crafting a Literary Lounge Cafe Experience

For bookworms and bibliophiles alike, the allure of a cafe infused with the spirit of literature is undeniable. Step into a Literary Lounge, and you'll find yourself surrounded by the magic of stories, where every corner whispers tales and every cup fuels imagination. So, how do you transform your cafe into this haven for word lovers? Bon Bock Cafe (c.1881) painting by National Gallery of Art is licensed under CC-CC0 1.0 wAndering through the Books Imagine the blend of a great coffee and perfect book in the lazy weekend afternoon. Heaven for book lovers.. Explore more Building the Bookshelf Backdrop: - Books, glorious books: Line the walls with floor-to-ceiling shelves overflowing with novels, poetry collections, and plays. Offer a diverse selection across genres and languages, encouraging guests to browse and discover new treasures. - Vintage charm: Opt for antique furniture like plush armchairs and worn leather sofas, creating a cozy atmosphere reminiscent of old libraries or reading nooks. Don't shy away from mismatched pieces – they add to the lived-in character. - Lighting the way: Warm, amber-hued lamps and strategically placed spotlights provide ample reading light without drowning out the cozy ambiance. Candles with literary scents (think old bookshops or parchment paper) add another layer of charm. Storytelling Through Details: - Quote corner: Dedicate a wall to showcasing inspiring quotes from famous authors, changing them regularly to keep things fresh. Encourage guests to contribute their own favorite quotes, creating a community-driven touch. - Themed nooks: Designate different areas based on popular genres or literary figures. Have a Jane Austen-inspired tea room, a Sherlock Holmes-themed deduction corner, or a whimsical corner dedicated to children's literature. - Literary touches: Scatter vintage typewriters, antique globes, and book-themed artwork throughout the cafe. Play classical music from films based on novels, or curate playlists specific to different genres. A Feast for the Mind and Body: - Menu with a twist: Name your dishes after famous literary characters, quotes, or book titles. Offer "Moby Dick's Whale Steak" (a hearty sandwich), "Alice's Wonderland Tea Party" (a selection of colorful teas), or "Romeo & Juliet's Love Potion" (a fruity cocktail). - Literary events: Host book readings, author talks, poetry slams, or even themed trivia nights to engage your book-loving customers. Partner with local bookstores or literary societies for collaborations. - Book exchange corner: Encourage guests to leave and swap books they've finished, fostering a sense of community and shared love of reading. Points to note: - Small spaces, big impact: Even a tiny cafe can be a Literary Lounge. Utilize mirrors to create the illusion of more space, and arrange furniture to create intimate nooks for reading and conversation. - Embrace technology: Offer free Wi-Fi and comfortable seating with charging points for digital readers. Encourage book discussions online and create a dedicated social media hashtag to connect with your literary community. - Be authentic: Most importantly, let your own passion for literature shine through. Choose themes and details that resonate with you, creating a space that feels genuine and inviting for fellow book lovers. https://cozypronest.com/step-into-a-dream-a-modern-hello-kitty-hotel-room-experience/ A Literary Lounge isn't just a cafe; it's a haven for the mind, a stage for stories, and a gathering place for kindred spirits. So, open your doors to the world of words and watch your cafe blossom into a truly unique and captivating destination. Read the full article

[bluebellseclipse]

anyway im back now i started playing alttp on my 2ds and theres so much to this game i dont even care how old i love old games

#theres so much weird stuff?? #why is there a very zoomed in picture of marios face on a wall #HOW are the CHICKENS fitting in the POTS??? #i just pick one up and WABAM theres another one of those darned chickens #also gotta love how you literally gotta dash attack to get the book of mudora #just full charge at the bookshelf in the LIBRARY #anyway i only finished the second dungeon #alttp #moon talks #personal

[dylansnbhd]

‘till death do we part, stiles

synopsis: as an angel of death, you’re used to picking and choosing souls to take back with you, but when you recognize one of the boys, it makes your job a lot harder

word count: 0.9k

notes: this is a pretty random one, but every time i remember this concept, i get so tempted to write a full blown fic with a valkyrie oc <3

warning: mentions of death

masterlist | wattpad

Beacon Hills — the place you frequented about as much as your own bed chambers — wept out your name like a disturbing ballad.

When it came to your job, you'd decide impulsively, wanting to finish before you could torment yourself over it. Besides one particular instance, it was successful enough. You were able to get in and get out with little-to-no hesitation.

Of course your job was grim — you were quite literally picking and choosing who lives and who dies based on first impression, alone. But there were only so many ways you could cope. You'd almost gotten used to the daunting task, until now.

You watched intently as the two boys struggled to get a hold on the other, studying the way their arms flailed. Screams and grunts echoed through the night air as elbows met jaws, blood spattered against concrete. Eventually, one of the boys got free and ran into the building, leaving the other to slowly follow behind him.

You paused for a moment to take a breath and calm your nerves. "It's just like always," you thought to yourself, "just pick one and get out."

Finally, you followed the path into a library and spotted one of them walking about while the other was out of sight. You walked around the towering contraption until you finally found the other boy, out of breath and fidgety.

"Did he tell you that he was too scared, too much of a frightened little bitch to go in after him?! Or do scared little bitches not tell their little bitch sons about their failures?"

Hidden behind a bookshelf, his grip on the bloody wrench tightened in an effort to restrain himself from charging at the chimera.

There was a clear winner of this battle in your mind, and it wasn't the human. So, like always, you impulsively chose the soul that you'd be taking with you.

Only, as the boy slowly walked out of his hiding place, your habit of impulsivity was faltering. You were met with his terror-stricken face and you suddenly felt something bubbling in the pit of your stomach; guilt and familiarity.

A wave of nausea washed over you once you realized where you recognized him from. Or rather, once you realized who his mother was. The woman with frontotemporal dementia and a little boy — Stiles — who hoped, prayed, begged for his mother to be okay. And the battle of the mind and body wasn't any easier than that between two able bodies.

You were supposed to save her. But she saw you. She wasn't supposed to see you, no one was ever able to see you. But she did. And she spoke to you.

"Please...he's trying to kill me. I can't do—he's going to kill me. Please, take me."

Your heart ached for the woman, for her husband, for her son. So, hesitantly, you fulfilled the woman's wish. Unknowingly, you also killed a little part of Stiles and his father, something they would never get back.

"You?" A faint whisper pulled you out of your thoughts and your attention was suddenly on the boy in front of you. His eyebrows were furrowed and he pointed the wrench in your direction.

He could see you. He'd seen you that day.

Before you could even react, a hand reached out from behind the shelf to wrap tightly around his throat and yanked him to the other side. It was like you were glued to the ground, paralyzed. You were drowning in confusion and remorse as Stiles was fighting for his life, much like his mother was.

Stiles fought him off enough to run to construction apparatus and attempted to climb to the top. However, he didn't get very far before the chimera was at his heels again with hands wrapped around his ankles. No matter how hard he tried, Stiles couldn't seem to shake him off.

For the first time in a long time, your legs felt weak and your palms were sweaty. You had already made your decision — Stiles was supposed to die here.

But Fate worked funnily, that way. As easily as you could follow Fate, you could rewrite it, too. If you so much as willed it to be so, the result would spin in your favor.

He cried out, desperately reaching for something, anything. His eyes finally zeroed in on a bolt that held the apparatus together. Using all the strength he had left, he threw his arm out to land on the metal piece, and he wiggled it until it finally came free, sending the beams clattering to the ground.

He shielded his face from the debris and felt a moment of relief when all he heard was sweet silence. But it was quickly replaced with terror once more as he peered down below.

There was the chimera, a pole protruding from his abdomen and blood spewing from his lips.

Then it was eerily quiet. Stiles didn't dare utter a word — not even a whisper would escape his trembling lips in fear of breaking the silence. Shallow breaths mingled with slow footsteps. You couldn't quite tell from where you stood, but he appeared misty-eyed. His mouth was parted in shock and denial.

After a few moments, he dialed 9-1-1 to report the incident, but still, no words came out of his mouth. You watched quietly as he retrieved his phone from the body and jogged out without so much as a glance back.

You sighed shakingly and surveyed the scene before you. He deserved to live and you gave him that option — that same option that his mother deserved. You made the right choice. So you left Beacon Hills, once again, unknowingly killing a part of him that he would never get back.

#dylan o'brien #dylan o’brien imagine #teen wolf #teen wolf stiles #stiles stilinski #stiles x reader #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles #stiles imagine #stiles fanfiction #stiles stilinski fic #stiles stilinski fanfiction #stiles x you #stiles x y/n #stiles stilinski x y/n #dylan o’brien x reader #dylan o’brien x y/n

[buckyownsmylife]

Diving Bell - Andy Barber smut

The one where Andy has been a patient librarian, but now that you’ve accepted his advances...

Warnings: smut, breeding kink, dubcon, (andy pushes the relationship into boundaries that weren’t previously consented), age gap, (reader is over eighteen and in college), semi-public sex, somewhat of an exhibitionism kink, oral (f), andy’s definitely dark but reader is generally into it, she just doesn’t know what “it” will be, dirty talk

Word count: 3k<

A/N:  this is for my own birthday celebration challenge! Like I explained here, I’m going to try to fill every single AU I listed with the characters I picked for the challenge, and since the deadline if May 27, these fics will be posted randomly, as I finish them, instead of on Thursdays, which are my usual one-shot posting days. Hope you guys like it!

Reader’s P.O.V.

My face burned and I wondered how I hadn’t spontaneously combusted from how hot I felt under the hot new librarian’s gaze. Sure, the girls had warned me about it - I’d hear so much about him, in fact, that I was sure I’d be disappointed when I actually did manage to meet him.

Boy, was I wrong.

He was the definition of daddy, luscious beard and hair just begging to be pulled and I could feel the burn his jaw would leave behind if he deposited kisses down my neck - or better yet, on the insides of my thighs - but he was at least twenty years older than me.

There was absolutely no way I’d ever catch his attention. Not when so many girls had tried to get in his pants - girls hotter than me - and had failed miserably, as I’d been told time and time again from the very same seductresses.

So I saw absolutely no point in trying. Although, one could very well admire, right? Also, fantasize couldn’t do any harm, not even to my extremely vulnerable pride. It’s not like I could control it, anyway.

But another thing I couldn’t control was his effect on me. The way my whole body warmed up when I felt his eyes on it, how I couldn’t immediately focus on his words whenever he addressed me.  I even stopped coming to the library to study because 1) I couldn’t concentrate with him around and 2) his presence had brought a whole new wave of first-time library users, and seeing as their interests weren’t on the actual books, they tended to be extremely loud.

Once essays started to get assigned though, there wasn’t much I could do. I had to get back to the library, and so I chose to go when it was already dark, hoping he wouldn’t pick up that shift, and knowing most frat girls would be at an impromptu Thursday-night party to celebrate (once again) the start of classes.

I didn’t understand why they couldn’t just throw a party for the sake of partying. Did they have to reuse the same excuse, over and over again? It’s not like anyone cared. I certainly didn’t, and the people who went for the free beer didn’t care about anything just as long as the alcohol kept flowing.

“What are you doing here?” His voice startled me, almost making me drop the pile of books I’d been gathering. Even though there was no way I’d confuse him with someone else, I still looked over my shoulder to make sure it was really him, that he was actually there, staring at me with those caring warm brown eyes.

“S-should I be anywhere else?” I tried to sass, even if my own voice gave me away. He chuckled though, extending a hand to help me with the load in my arms, and although I hesitated for a second, I ended up accepting his help. It was his job, after all. This couldn’t really be considered flirting, right?

“I don’t know. I’ve heard about this party tonight, figured you’d be there.” Frowning, I finally turned to stare at him directly in the eyes, almost immediately regretting my decision. Damn, he looked good.

“How do you know about the party?” I asked, and his lips immediately curled up, trying to contain a smile from stretching over his face.

“Some girls may or may not have invited me to meet them there.” Clicking my tongue, I decided to look back at the bookshelf, instead of paying him any more attention.

“Why? Are you jealous?” The question felt too much like something a fuckboy my age might ask me at a party, not a forty-year-old man who worked a full-time job. When I turned to look at him again, eyebrows raised high, he chuckled.

“Sorry, that’s not usually my style… I’m just at a loss of ways to get you to notice me, that’s all.” Well, now I was beyond shocked.

“Why do you want me to notice you?” I asked, utterly confused, but Andy just laughed, shaking his head at me like he was profoundly amused by my ways.

“I always notice when you’re around. Even worse, I always notice when you aren’t.” And then, as he looked around like he wanted to make sure other people wouldn’t hear him, he leaned over me and confessed, “It gets pretty lonely here without you.”

The accompanying wink almost gave me a heart attack. Stuttering out something even though I didn’t know what to say, I moved away from the bookshelf in search of the nearest table, finding it thankfully empty.

When I turned around to look for him again, he was right by my side.

“I don’t get it,” I managed to admit once my arms were book-free. “We’ve talked like twice. You helped me find books, I acted like a fool. You weren’t supposed to flirt with me, why aren’t you interested in the college girls who actually hit on you?”

He raised his eyebrows before frowning, hands deep in his pockets as he stared down at me in all of his height. “Have you ever considered… that I just don’t want them?”

The insinuation stirred something deep inside of me, leaving me flushed and overall a mess. Stumbling out an apology, I gathered my stuff and left as quickly as possible, determined to process what had happened that evening by myself, so it could actually feel real and I could decide what to do from then on.

But something changed ever since that evening. I stopped trying to run away from him and started to actively go to the library in the times I knew he was there, at first still avoiding him and looking away every time he caught me staring, silently grateful that he didn’t try to force me to open up to him.

His patience was rewarded when in a few weeks, I began to talk to him again. Asking him for book recommendations, never anything other than what was strictly related to his job, but the way his eyes glinted knowingly at me warned me that he did understand where my mind was at.

It didn’t take long for him to start flirting with me, and from then on, I slowly accepted his advances and even began to eagerly wait for them.

I smiled widely when I heard his low whistle, admiring the way he looked in that comfortable sweater as he put away the books he was holding to fully give me all of his attention.

“Well, don’t you look incredible?” He asked as I twirled so he could fully see the dress I’d put on just for him. “Did you dress up for me, pretty girl? Because I like to think that you did.”

Biting my lower lip, I tried to gather the courage I’d been trying to build up all week, before finally nodding and admitting, “Yes, I did.” From the stupefied look on his face, it didn’t seem like he was expecting that. Even worse, I wasn’t expecting the outcome of my little attempt to flirt back.

“I’m going to kiss you now.” And that was all the warning I got before his hands cradled my face and he took my mouth in his, kissing me breathless, leaving me aching and soaked when he finally released me.

I was panting by the time he let go of my lips, and he smiled softly at me as he brushed over my cheekbones, saying, “You know… if you ever need anything… You know I’m always here to help.”

Andy’s P.O.V.

“So, what brings you here tonight?” My own smile denounced just how much of her intentions I already knew, from how well I knew her. Her late-night visits to the library had become more and more frequent, and I couldn’t say that I hated it.

“I don’t know,” she feigned nonchalance, shrugging while perusing the bookshelves before looking back at me from over her shoulder. “The hot new librarian in charge of the night shift has told me he was always available to help me with anything I needed, and I’ve been needing a distraction.”

My chuckle was low, in order not to interrupt the few students still trying to finish whatever assignment they were working on, but she heard it. I watched as she shivered at the sound of my voice, prompting me to lick my lips at the powerful reaction I could so easily elicit from her.

“You didn’t use to be so blunt,” I teased, remembering how she used to come in here looking for me, only to run away at the last second. It was adorable. Ever since I started working at this university, it wasn’t unusual for college girls to come in groups and watch me from a distance, their giggles whenever I glanced at them unmistakable in the almost completely silent environment. Eventually, one or two would always break away from the group and try to flirt while their friends became a captive audience, but I was quick to shut them down.

They weren’t the one I wanted. She was standing in front of me now, pretending to be interested in a random book, biting her lower lip to keep a smile from spreading over her face. “Do you miss it?”

There was something undeniably attractive by her shyness back then, her inability to ask me for information or even sustain my gaze, but now that I knew what it was like to have her meet my eyes, now that I’d had the luxury of hearing her speak, of getting to know the intricacies of her mind, how could I miss what was, back then, a stranger?

“Not at all.” Her laughter, even subdued because of the place we were in, was enough to have my stomach doing backflips. I had to smile, instinctively getting closer to her, just like a moth, drawn to a flame. 

“I want to do dirty, dirty things to you,” I admitted, one hand on the back of her head as I pressed her against the bookshelf, my lips just over her ear as my beard undoubtedly tickled her neck. “Can’t very well protect my soul if I’m still thinking about you as an innocent little thing, now can I?”

Her eyes dropped down to my lips before meeting mine again, and just like that, I had all the authorization I needed to connect our lips and kiss her breathless. Humming in delight against her quiet neediness, her eagerness to open her lips, welcome my tongue with hers, I blindly moved us further towards the back of the library, relaxed in the knowledge that amongst taxidermia books no one would come to check on us.

Not that I cared all that much if they did.

“Hm… Want me, sweetheart?” I pressed, needing to hear her say it, taking sick pleasure in knowing this came from her, this was her own desire. She almost didn’t answer me, eyelids heavily pressing her eyes closed when our mouths parted, but in the absence of my touch on her, she jolted.

“Yeah, I do! I do, I do…” She insisted, pressing herself against me, feeling just how badly I wanted her too. It made her gasp, witnessing how hard she had made me - she didn’t know it yet, but it’d been this way ever since the first day.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” I whispered, just to see the way goosebumps took over her flesh while I got rid of her underwear, moving us towards an empty table where I could lay her out to take.

“No, I don’t want you to stop,” she moaned when she saw me leaning over to kiss between her legs, eyes still connected to hers until she closed them to throw her head back, overtaken by the sensation of my warm tongue slipping between her folds. It was better that way, she wouldn’t see the dangerous smirk that denounced that she would come to regret her words before I was done with her.

She tasted just as sweet as I always imagined her to. So wet already, it was clear she was desperate for me. The cock straining against my pants reminded me I couldn’t be too cocky about it - I wanted her just as badly.

“C’mon, honey…” I teased, dipping my tongue in her hole as my thumb frantically rubbed her tiny clit. “Give me more, I want more.” I needed her to cum before I could shove my cock into her. It was important.

The sudden tension of her thighs denounced the arrival of her orgasm, and where usually I’d love nothing more than to keep licking her, delighting myself with her taste and overstimulating her sweet body until she was crying, there was only so much I could take tonight.

“There you go,” I complimented when she easily succumbed to my directions, having turned her around and laid her with her stomach on the table, legs dangling off of it. “Want to feel me now, pretty girl? Want me to fill you now?”

Her answer was a whine as her hips searched for mine. She was offering herself to me, the innocent little thing. Didn’t know I’d take her regardless of it.

I had the instinct of slapping my hand over her mouth as I penetrated her, and so her moan came out muffled. I could still understand a breathless, “so good…” being uttered against my palm, and it only made me bite down on my lip harder, so my own sounds wouldn’t reverberate across the silent library.

It was a twisted kind of pleasure to hold her arms back as I fucked her roughly but as silently as possible, trying not to make the table squeak so it wouldn’t draw attention to us. Even though I didn’t particularly care if someone did find us - I wouldn’t stop fucking her if God himself tried to intervene -  I’d prefer to reach my goal without unwanted interferances.

So I was glad she didn’t seem to mind the fact that anyone could easily look our way and see us fucking. Had I really tempted her that much, that she would let me do whatever I wanted to her body, just as long as I fucked her?

Guess I was about to find out.

“Do you know how many times I masturbated in the back room, thinking about this sweet pussy?” I asked, voice raspy with desire as I kept jackhammering her as quietly as possible, but probably failing to do so in the midst of my arousal. “To think I finally have it now, wrapped around my dick…” My voice faltered as I realized all of my dreams were about to come true, right at that moment.

“Can’t wait to fuck my cum back into you, sweetheart. I’m gonna keep you so full from now on.” I felt her body tense underneath my fingers as she processed my words, but it was too late for her now. My hand still over her mouth, I stopped her from screaming or fighting me in any way.

“Just relax, honey. Doesn’t it feel so good?” I mocked, fucking her harder and harder as my control slipped from me. “It feels good for me, too. So now you’ll have to take it.”

Reaching around for her clit, I started rubbing it in quick little motions, desperate to feel her cunt clenching around me once more, milking my cum.

“C’mon, pretty girl. Cum again for me. Let me keep making you feel good as you do the same for me.” Her orgasm had her legs raising between mine, right when I started to spill inside of her, my eyes rolling to the back of my head. Once I was sure she wouldn’t scream, I took my hand away and pushed her back against the desk, massaging her ass eagerly, hoping it would take.

“You’ll look so good all round with my child.” Once I pulled my cock from her, I made sure to adjust her underwear so it would stop my cum from flowing, massaging the damp tissue with a smug expression.

She managed to turn around in my embrace, blinking confusedly, mouth opening and closing as if she couldn’t quite figure out what she wanted to say, and I cooed at her adorableness.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll take good care of you and the little one.” I rubbed my hand over where she would soon grow, licking my lips at the mental image of her pregnant. God, why did that make me so hard?

“You can trust me,” I assured her, pulling her closer to I could kiss her forehead, before adjusting her body so it rested on mine. I knew there were tears rolling down her cheeks, but it was just from her coming down from the adrenaline high. She wanted this. She just needed to be able to think clearly to see just how perfect this would be. “We’ll be so happy together.”

#tw dubcon #My 2k challenge #my fics #andy barber smut #librarian au #andy barber #smut #andy barber x reader #andy barber reader #andy barber reader insert #andy barber reader inserts #andy barber x y/n #andy barber x you

[brywrites]

Lock and Key I

Summary: In which Spencer Reid stumbles upon a GED class at Millburn and feels something like hope for the first time in weeks.

[Series Masterlist]

....

The prison library is a haven, for the few minutes he’s allowed to visit twice a week. It’s quiet, secluded, and full of his favorite things – books. The selection is nowhere near as nice as his personal collection at home, or the public library, but it’s better than nothing. Without words, he’d go mad. He needs stories to keep him sane, to give him a route he can escape by.

Today though, he’s startled to walk into the small space and find twelve other prisoners inside – accompanied by a face he’s never seen before. A woman. What’s even more surprising is that she doesn’t wear the uniform of a guard or an employee. Instead she’s in Converse sneakers and a lavender polka-dotted dress. It’s been so long since he saw that color – any bright color, really. But it’s his favorite and it isn’t until that moment that the realizes how much he’s missed the simplest of things. The sight of his favorite color. Bright images in dull spaces. Things that look hopeful.

Reid isn’t sure what’s going on, but the other prisoners seem to be too absorbed in the books to notice him. Just as he’s thinking he can back away quietly and return tomorrow, she turns around, smiling at the sight of him.

“Well hello there!” she says. “Are you Luis?”

Reid tilts his head, confused. How does this stranger know his friend? “Uh, no, no I’m not. I’m sorry, who are you?”

Her smile drops, though she doesn’t seem annoyed. Merely disappointed. “Oh. They told me Luis would be joining us today, but he never showed up. I’m Y/N. I’m one of the teachers here.”

This is the first he’s heard of such a thing. “You teach?”

She nods. “That’s right! I teach a couple of different groups – a few college classes here and there, a resume workshop. This is my GED class. We’re starting a unit on British Literature so they’ve all come to pick out a novel. You must be new here,” she notes, looking him over. He can feel himself flush under her gaze. It’s been a while since someone looked at him just to see him and not to evaluate his potential as a threat or a tool. “If you’d like, you can join the class. I’ve got plenty of open seats.”

“Oh no, I don’t need a GED.”

“It’s never too late to graduate,” she says. Then, considering him, “But that’s not what you meant is it?”

The way she’s studying him makes him nervous, though he’s certain it’s the same way he’s studied suspects and victims, trying to see beyond the obvious and understand what lies beneath. How strange, to be on the other side of that stare. “I’ve graduated high school already,” he informs her, hoping he doesn’t sound aloof. “And college. Actually, I hold three PhDs.”

“In what?”

“Mathematics, chemistry, and engineering.”

Y/N holds his gaze, taking this in. It’s as though she’s trying to decide whether or not to believe him. He figures in this environment, perhaps it’s not unusual to be told blatant lies by some prisoners. Delusion and paranoia aren’t uncommon. To teach in a place like this, she would have to be insightful and observant. For whatever reason, she must decide to trust him, because she smiles again.

“Well that’s rather impressive. You’re more qualified than I am. Just a Master’s for me.”

Reid decides against commenting in the irony of the situation, that despite his qualifications he’s nothing but a prisoner here. The same category as every drug-dealer, murderer, petty thief, and gangbanger. No better. But the way she looks at him, it at least makes him feel normal again. She looks at him like he’s a human being, with no disdain or disgust in her gaze, and no air of superiority in her voice.

“What did you study?” he asks her.

“English literature in college, education in grad school. I specialized in literature and languages, though I’m not too shabby when it comes to history. If it’s the STEM field you’ll be wanting though, you’ll have to check in on Tuesdays and Thursdays, my colleague teaches those classes.”

Glancing down at her watch, her eyes widen. “Goodness, we’re almost out of time.” She turns to the other inmates and instructs them to make their choices before she has to dismiss class for the day. To him, she adds, “It was nice to meet you – um…”

“Doct-” he begins, before stopping himself. This isn’t a normal introduction. Here, he holds no title, no position of importance. “Er, Spencer. My name is Spencer.”

“Well, Doc –” He tries not to smile at her casual acknowledgment – “if you ever change your mind, we meet Mondays and Wednesdays in room W15 during the afternoon rec slot.”

Despite having no need to attend a GED class, and for reasons he cannot quite explain, he finds himself slipping into that very room on Wednesday afternoon. Y/N glances up from the whiteboard she writes on, faltering for only a brief moment when she catches sight of him slipping into an empty seat in the back row, but she carries on. They’re talking about common themes in Brit Lit, and she’s explaining the Canterbury Tales, which they’ll be reading parts of. From what Reid gathers, there aren’t enough copies of books for them to all read the same novel, but she’s printed out large sections of the Tales for them to read together. It’s familiar, and for someone whose life has largely revolved in academia, it’s soothing to be in an environment where learning is taking place and discussion is happening. Even though he sits silently in the back row, observing.

The other inmates have all picked out books to read on their own and report on, from King Lear to Brave New World. A few have even selected Bronte and Austen novels, which Y/N applauds them for. When she divides them into groups to read and discuss “The Knight’s Tale,” she slips over to join Reid in the back of the room.

“I didn’t think you’d make it, Doc,” she tells him.

He shrugs. “I – I’ve kind of missed the classroom. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to sit in. If you don’t mind, of course!”

“Not at all.” She smiles, dismissing his worry with a wave of her hand. “The more the merrier. Besides, it’s rare that I have students with such an extensive education beforehand.  You’ll need to file an enrollment slip though, just for official records.”

She hands him a piece of paper and a commissary pen. While he doesn’t need the credit, he could use the normalcy. Discussions about books with other people in a space that feels a little safer – even if it doesn’t look like the classrooms he’s used to. The walls are stark white and bare save for three posters of famous writers and scientists. The two windows have thick bars on them. The desks are bolted to the floor. Every man in the room wears prison issued blues. But there is a whiteboard and a bookshelf and a clock. And Y/N, in a bright blue turtleneck. It makes him think of the sky, which he only gets a glimpse of for a few hours each week. Suddenly, she’s become the most vivid connection to the outside world.

“How long have you been teaching here?” he asks as he writes down answers to the form’s printed questions.

“Almost three years now. It started with just GED classes, but some volunteer programs have helped us bring new opportunities to the guys. It took me a while to convince the warden, but they’ve been a huge success. So are you coming from another facility? I know we had some transfers last week.”

He shakes his head. “I uh, I haven’t been sentenced yet. But there was overcrowding at the jail so they sent me here.” Reid pauses. “I assumed you would’ve known that.” The inmate records are publicly available. All she’d have to do is search his name or the number on his clothing and everything she needed to know would be right there – his charges, his admission date, his identifying information and that ID photo from his first day.

But she just shrugs. “I make a point not to look up what my students have been convicted of. I let them volunteer that information if they choose to, but I respect their privacy. Besides, I’d like to believe all of us are more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.”

He’s struck by her words. After all, for the last decade his job has been to see people precisely as the worst thing they’ve ever done. To delve deep into those actions and develop a profile of a person on that alone. He has an impulse to dismiss her statement as naïve, but it reminds him of Garcia, of her boundless optimism and her ability to see the best in the world even after looking at the worst of it. That memory and the smile Y/N looks at him with softens the heart he’s been carefully hardening since he arrived here. And so rather than dampen her spirit he asks, “Does it matter if I’ve read all of the books you’re discussing already?”

Her eyes widen ever so slightly with surprise. “All of them?”

“My mother was a literature professor,” he says. “And I just really like books.”

“Well, typically I’d encourage you to take the courses we offer for college credit but they’re full. Since you already have your GED, I suppose we could treat it like you’re auditing. It might help some of the guys to have someone with a little more academic experience…” She trails off and then gasps. “Oh wait! How would you feel about being the TA for the class? It’s been so long since I had one for the GED classes.”

“Like… grade papers and things?”

“No, not like that,” she says. “There are strict rules about who sees what here. Being a TA for me would be less typical TA duties and more of mentoring the other students, helping me clean up after class, re-shelving books, things like that. It’s not an official job so there’s no pay, but you would get good time credit.”

Though he doesn’t know what his sentence here will be, if he’s sentenced at all, he knows that any good time credit he can obtain to reduce the length of it is worth it. And so he says, “Okay.”

Y/N’s eyes light up. Her smile is the prettiest thing he’s seen since he got here. “Perfect! Oh, this is so exciting. I’m glad you joined us.” When he finishes the paperwork, she leads him to an empty seat at a group of tables.

“No, no, you’ve got it all wrong, Porkchop. It’s a love story,” one of the men is saying to another.

“Come on now, Xavier, you know the rules,” Y/N interrupts. “Nicknames stay outside the classroom. We use first names here.”

“Sorry, Teach,” Xavier says. He tries again. “It’s a love story, Carl.”

“That’s more like it. Carl, I can’t wait to hear your response. But first, I’m going to have Spencer join your group, alright? He’s our newest student and our TA for the class. He’s read a lot of these books so if you’re having a hard time or want to talk to someone about the material outside of class time, he’s a great person to ask.”

The group welcomes him – Xavier, Carl, Richie, and Luis. Reid is grateful to be with Luis, the one person he knows he can consider a friend inside. They talk about Chaucer and “The Franklin’s Tale,” and he’s surprised by the critiques and connections his peers make. Their debate is certainly different than the conversation he’d expect to find at a university class, but their ideas are still insightful and interesting. They make connections to their own lives, to the sacrifices they have made and the power of love they have witnessed firsthand. Mothers who never stop fighting for their appeal cases. Friends who send money so they can afford commissary. The difficulty of skipping commissary so they can send money home to their own families outside.

When their discussion finally winds down, Reid asks, “What’s the rule with nicknames about?”

“It’s Miss Y/N’s way of humanizing people,” Xavier says. “She says when we use first names like that, we’re all equals. But it’s different outside of class. We stick to nicknames because that’s what you do, y’know?” Reid shakes his head. Xavier chuckles. “You’re fresh meat, huh. First time you been down? In here, COs turn you into just a number or a last name. So nicknames inside are a way to hold on to some of your identity. Beyond that, there’s some guys in here you don’t want knowing your name, you feel me?”

“Nicknames gotta be given to you by someone else. Can’t make your own. Course, that means they’re usually a little insulting. They call me Porkchop,” Carl says. “Xavier’s Hammerhead. Richie is Spiders. And Luis, he been christened Slim Jim yesterday at chow. But don’t worry, we’ll find one for you soon.” Reid isn’t sure how to feel about the assurance. He doesn’t want to belong here, doesn’t want to fit in or get comfortable. On the other hand, he may be here for a while. Maybe laying low and finding allies wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

He knows one thing for sure – as he walks out of class, Y/N flashes that bright smile at him again. And for some reason, it makes him feel hopeful. More hopeful than any session with lawyers or judges has made him feel. Monday can’t come soon enough.

[Next]

..

Tags: @calm-and-doctor​ @averyhotchner​

#criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #reid x reader #prison reid #prison!reid

[my-unmanageable-mischief]

Book Club

For the anon who requested : can you do a professor remus one?

Remus Lupin x Reader

After complaints from parents about their kiddies not learning anything, Professor Binns was finally (politely) forced into retirement. That meant for the first time in centuries there was an opening for a History of Magic professor. You jumped on the opportunity immediately, never expecting to actually get the job. You were young, relatively inexperienced, but you were a wiz at history of magic, you had always been, even in your time at Hogwarts not too long ago. 

That’s why Dumbledore gave you the job. That and he was hoping that having someone young and relatable would inspire the students. And you hoped he was right, all you wanted to do was teach, from the time you were a young child. You sat nervously in your seat at the faculty table and looked around at all the young faces in front of you. You remembered being that young. 

“I would like to introduce two new professors this year that we are very lucky to have. Teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts will be Remus Lupin,” There was some scattered applause as a man a few seats down from you stood up, waving slightly. He was a handsome man, definitely older than yourself, but his eyes were even older than that. He had light scars on his face that were illuminated in the candlelight. “And replacing Professor Binns this year will be the lovely Y/N Y/L/N,” You took your turn to stand, there was a wolf whistle from somewhere in the gaggle of students. You flushed slightly and Dumbledore hushed them, “She’s recently been in your shoes, so I hope you will all take her knowledge to heart. Now, enjoy the feast!” 

You took your seat again, watching as the plates in front of you filled with delicious foods and your goblet filled itself to the brim with pumpkin juice. Merlin, you had missed Hogwarts. 

The first week of classes flew by in a whirl. You felt like you were slightly out of your league and you were beginning to panic. The kids were not much younger than yourself, and you felt like they didn’t quite respect you yet, and you had no idea how to gain it. You didn’t want to hand out detentions, that wasn’t your style. You didn’t want them to hate you or fear you via punishment. You wanted them to like you and to understand you were there to help them. 

One day between classes you were wandering the hallway, trying to clear your head when you heard a roar of laughter. You stopped, peaking into the cracked doorway. Professor Lupin was at the head of the class, and the students in front of him were laughing, grinning ear to ear. 

“Okay okay!” He raised his hand and the laughter died down, “Next up, remember,” He flicked his wand and spoke, “Riddikulus!” The next student stepped up and Lupin opened the chest at the front of the room, and a Bogart popped out, taking on the form of a giant snake. You watched from the hallway, smiling to yourself. 

“Remember, remember the spell! He called and the young girl looked at him worriedly before flourishing her wand and yelling out the spell. The snake morphed and changed and suddenly it was a giant clown, the students roared with laughter again. You remained watching, student after student went. They were learning, they were having fun. It was everything you wanted for your own class. Finally, a student stepped up, Harry Potter, you noticed. When his Bogart turned into a Dementor Lupin lept in front of him, and it changed into a full moon. You frowned. “Riddikulus,” He spoke, and suddenly it was gone, a balloon with the air let out from it. Everyone cackled but you continued to frown. Why would his biggest fear be the moon? “Alright, alright,” He announced, laughing, “That’s enough fun for today, I will see you all next class!” There were groans of protest from kids who didn’t go yet, but they all turned to shuffle out past you. 

“Ms. Y/L/N, I didn’t see you there,” Lupin greeted you, gesturing for you to come into the classroom, you stepped forward. 

“Sorry to impose, I heard laughter, I had to check it out,” You smiled politely at him, he smiled back. 

“I hope we weren’t too loud, Ms. Y/L/N.” 

“Absolutely not.” You assured him, “And please, call me Y/N.” He nodded his head, shifting around slightly. 

“Of course, Y/N. You’re welcome to call me Remus, if it pleases you.” He was so polite it was almost comical. You took a deep breath getting ready to ask the question on the tip of your tongue, but Remus spoke first. 

“How are you finding teaching so far?” He asked and you shrugged slightly, smiling sheepishly. 

“Alright, I actually wanted to ask you.. For advice.”

“Me? I’m sure there are much more qualified people to be giving out advice.” 

“Maybe, but none of them are new to being a professor. And your students seem to love you so much already. I want to know how you did it. Maybe over a cup of tea? I don’t feel like my students are connecting to me yet.” You explained and he nodded knowingly. 

“It’s a hard gig, especially so young.” 

“I feel like they think I’m just babysitting them,” You both chuckled. 

“How about Friday after lessons? My office, I can give you all the advice I have, even if it isn’t much.” You nodded and smiled. 

“Sounds lovely,” You checked the watch on your arm and nodded towards the door, “I have to go, it was good to finally meet you properly, Remus.” 

“You as well, Ms.- I mean, Y/N.” You laughed, offering him a small wave before turning to leave the classroom, looking forward to Friday. 

Friday rolled around faster than you thought it would, and you were grateful. You felt like your students were warming up to you, but there was still a disconnect. You walked to Remus’s office and knocked. A moment later the door opened and the man stood in front of you smiling softly. 

“Hello, Y/N.” 

“Hello Remus, how was your week?” You asked, stepping into the office. It was nicely decorated, and the bookshelves were brimming with literature, so much so that there were several boxes around the room with even more books in them still. 

“Sorry for the mess,” you waved him off.

“It’s lovely, have you read all of these?” You asked curiously as you followed the man to his desk, sitting in one of the plush seats on the opposite side while he settled behind it. 

“Most of them yes, there are some I haven’t gotten around to yet,” He admitted. You smiled, watching him conjure a teapot and two mugs over. He poured you each a glass. “How do you take your tea?” He asked, and you smiled sitting back in the comfortable chair.

“Just some sugar please,” He added a few cubes of sugar before setting the mug in front of you. “Did you go to Hogwarts?” 

“A few lifetimes ago, yes,” He chuckled, taking a sip of his own drink, you stirred yours with your spoon waiting for the sugar to dissolve. 

“Oh come on, hardly.” You laughed, “Is it as odd for you as it is for me? To be here and not be a student?” Remus nodded his head. 

“Yes, it’s odd. Being here, being in charge, not being...” He paused, and eyed you slightly, “Not being a troublemaker.” That made you laugh harder. 

“You were a troublemaker?” You pressed and he shrugged before nodding, his eyes glistening slightly. 

“A bit, well my mates were, but they dragged me into everything,” 

“Brilliant,” You snickered. 

“What about you? All I’ve heard from other professors is how brilliant you were.” You flushed slightly, glancing away. 

“I’m not that brilliant, I only ever really excelled in history of magic. And that wasn’t hard considering most kids didn’t even want to be there. But I love it, I love to read. And I would love for my students to find it even half as interesting as I do.”

“So make it more interesting,” He prompted, and you sighed,

“It’s not like defense, I can’t very well let a Bogart loose in the classroom,” You teased and it was his turn to flush slightly. 

“I’m sure you could think of something more appropriate to the subject, you seem rather resourceful.” You sipped on your tea and hid your smile behind the mug. 

“I will try,” You assured, “I think it’s hard for them to respect me, they look at me and they see their siblings, or older kids they attended school with. They don’t think of me as a professor.” Remus put his mug down and looked at your thoughtfully. 

“I’m sure they respect you more than you give them credit for.” You shrugged, “Dumbledore would not have given you this position if he didn’t think you were more than qualified, just remember that.” You smiled and nodded your head. 

“Thank you, I think I needed to hear that,” 

“Of course,” You made small talk as you drank your tea, and you eventually put the empty mug down with a content sigh. 

“You know, we should start a book club.” The man across from you chuckled, raising an eyebrow. 

“A book club?”

“That was my polite way of asking to raid your little library you have yourself here,” You grinned and he chuckled again waving a hand towards the shelves. 

“By all means, anytime you’d like you’re welcome to borrow. Or else they just collect more dust.” That was all the invitation you needed, Remus watched amused as you excitedly got out of your seat, going to the closest bookshelf, running your finger over the spines. You stopped randomly on one and pulled it off the shelf, looking at the title. 

“One of my favorites,” Remus informed you, leaning back in his own chair as he watched you. “I highly recommend it.” You opened the book and read over the inside cover, smiling to yourself. Remus thought you had a wonderful smile, but he shook the thought from his head. You were way too young, too pretty for him. Besides, he had way too much baggage to be dating. 

“I’ll take it then,” You decided, coming back to his desk, “Want to meet next friday for tea and we can talk about it?” You offered, unsure if you were overstepping. 

“That sounds lovely,” You smiled and nodded your head, brushing your hair over your shoulder. 

“Brilliant, I will see you around then, Remus.” 

“Have a good day, Y/N,” With that you left his office, going back to your own to start on a new lesson plan. Something fun. 

This week went by better, things were getting easier. The students were engaged, and seemed to be enjoying your class more and more by the day, something you were elated about. They were asking questions, participating, and doing their assignments as instructed. In your free time you read the book you had borrowed from Remus, and he was right, it was a wonderful book. Written by a muggle about magic, and it was fun and interesting to see how they believed your world would be. Somethings were almost accurate but most of it was.. What was the word? Fantasy. 

Friday arrived again, and at the end of classes you made your way to Remus’s office, excited to see the man and to talk about the book. When you got there, Professor Snape was leaving and you nodded politely at the man. You never cared for him while you were a student, and now that you were a teacher your feelings hadn’t changed much. 

“Y/L/N.” He greeted in a draw before brushing past you, leaving the door ajar. You knocked on the doorframe, popping your head in. 

“Remus?” You called, and he looked up from where he had been rubbing his face with his hands. 

“Hello, Y/N, come on in,” You entered the office, shutting the door behind you. 

“Cheating on me with Snape?” You teased and he flushed.

“W-What?” 

“I’m just joking,” You assured, coming to sit in the lovely plush armchair. You would need to get yourself one of these. 

“Oh no, I know, I am sorry. He just stopped in to ask a question.” You nodded your head, tucking you feet up under your legs as you sat. 

“I don’t think he likes me,” You admitted, “Not even when I was a student,” 

“He doesn’t like anyone,” Remus assured you chuckling, “Not even when we were students.” He gestured with his wand and the teapot came over to his desk landing between the two of you were two mugs already sat. 

“You went to school with him?” You asked, surprised. 

“Yes, I unfortunately did.” You snickered at that, watching Remus pour you each a cup of tea, before placing sugar in yours and handing it over. You thanked him and took it, holding it in your hands, letting it warm you up. 

“How was that?” 

“He was mostly the same, we, he and my friends, never got on.” He admitted, “But don’t let my petty squabbles influence you.” You smirked, taking a sip of tea.

“Don’t worry, they don’t. I’ve never been fond of the man.” Remus smirked in return, nodding his head. 

“How did you like A Wizard of Earthsea?” He asked, and you produced the book from your robes, setting it on his desk.

“Oh I loved it,” You gushed, and he smiled. He wouldn’t tell you, but he truly enjoyed having someone around who enjoyed literature the way he did. You talked yourself through three mugs of tea about the book, conversation flowing nicely. When it got dark you finally checked your watch.

“Dinner is soon, we should go to the hall,” He checked his own watch, disappointed that your time together was over. 

“Pick another book before we go, if you’d like.” 

“I’d love to,” You grinned, taking the previous book and returning it to it’s spot on his shelf. You looked around before settling on another one, holding it up to him. “Good?”

“Ah, you’ve got brilliant taste,” He grinned and you returned the sentiment. Months passed like that, fall turned to winter, but the tea and talking about books with Remus every friday remained a constant in your life. You loved having something to look forward to every week, and it was nice to have a friend. 

You were on your way to your weekly meeting when you were intercepted by Severous Snape a few corridors away from his office. 

“Ms. Y/L/N.” He greeted and you smiled meekly at the man.

“Hello, Mr. Snape?” You greeted, unsure what you were supposed to call him. His face darkened slightly, you guessed that was wrong. 

“May I offer you some advice,” It wasn’t a question, you nodded, shifting from foot to foot. “I wouldn’t go around spending all your time with Remus Lupin, not if you like your job.” You blinked a few times. 

“Excuse me, sir?” 

“There are many things you don’t know about that man, dangerous things.” He continued ominously. You scoffed, that cardigan wearing man? Dangerous? “You’re a bright girl, I’m sure you’ve worked out his... furry little problem.” You frowned. You hadn’t. 

“I don’t think it’s your business to be sharing his business, do you sir?” Snape glared down at you, and you did your best to hold his gaze. 

“Just execute... caution.” He finished and with a flourish he was gone down the corridor and you were left alone with your thoughts. You went directly to Remus’s office, not knocking before you entered, face still screwed up in a glare. 

“Y/N,” He greeted, “What’s wrong?” His face fell slightly. You shrugged, coming to sit in your chair across from him. 

“Just ran into Snape in the hall,” You admitted. Remus didn’t say anything, but you could see he was nervous, “He told me to be careful around you, that you were dangerous.”

“Y/N..” 

“Said you had a furry little problem.” You continued, glancing up at the man, who was pale as a ghost. 

“D-did he?” 

“Your Bogart...” The pieces were all there, right in front of you, “You’re always ill, once a month...”

“Y/N...” He stood up, eyes widening, “Please,” 

“You’re a werewolf?” You whispered, meeting his eyes, and he immediately looked away from you. The question hung in the air for an uncomfortable amount of time. You took your wand out, Remus still refusing to look at you, and you conjured the teapot over, pouring yourselves each a mug. “How do you take your tea?”

“What?” He spun around, like he was surprised you were even still there. 

“Tea, Remus, how do you take it?” You placed a few sugar cubes in your own mug then looked at him expectantly. 

“Oh, uhm, milk, no sugar.” You nodded, pouring a bit of milk into his mug before pushing it towards his chair. 

“I can’t believe I’ve never read this before,” You continued, placing the book on his desk and Remus slowly returned to his seat, hesitantly taking the mug. “Lord of the Rings, you said there were more of them?” You prodded, and he took a small sip of his tea. 

“Several,”

“Brilliant,” You smiled, tucking your feet up under your legs in your usual position. 

“Listen, Y/N...”

“Remus,” You spoke firmly, “It’s alright,” He waved his hand.

“No no, it’s not alright, Snape is right... I am dangerous.” You looked him up and down before smirking.

“I think I could take you in a duel,” He frowned at you.

“I’m being serious,” 

“You’re not dangerous Remus,” You argued. 

“I am, and ... and you shouldn’t be around me,”

“Too bad.” You shrugged, stirring your tea and taking a sip, “I rather like being around you.” He flushed, running a hand through his hair. 

“Snape is-”

“A git, I agree,” You took another sip, eyeing the man over your mug, daring him to argue with you, he chuckled.

“Well yes, but he has a point.” 

“He’s an arse, Remus, a fear mongering arse, He had no right to tell me that,” Remus shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t feel like he deserved this- you being so blase about this all. You should be running from him, screaming to everyone who would listen that he was a monster. But here you were, drinking tea with him, and discussing books. 

One the last day of school you went to your dear friend’s office, having heard the rumors by now. You knocked on the door before letting yourself in. The bookshelves were empty, and nothing but one last box sat on his desk. You frowned. 

“So it’s true,” 

“Parents don’t exactly want their kids being taught by a monster, Y/N.” You frowned deeper. 

“You’re not a monster, Remus, you’re a good man with a rotten condition.” He laughed bitterly. “You’re a good man Remus.” You repeated. 

“Whatever you say, arguing with you is pointless,” He teased slightly and you smirked coming to him, putting your hands on the back of the armchair you had grown to love.

“It’s yours.”

“Sorry?”

“The chair,” You looked down, surprised. “Put it in your office, these are yours too,” He gestured to the box of books on his desk, “I think you’ll like them.” You gazed into the box before coming around the desk to throw your arms around the man in a hug. 

“Promise me you’ll see me over the summer,”

“Y/N...”

“No excuses, take me out for tea, invite me over, talk to me about these lovely books of yours. We already agreed there is no point in arguing with me.” You chidded him. He hugged you back for a moment, letting himself breath you in before he pulled back. 

“I will,” He assured you, and you nodded. 

“Thank you Remus, for everything.”

“No thank you,” You smiled up at him before leaning up on your tippy toes to place a kiss on the man’s cheek. 

“I expect an owl as soon as you’re home safely,”

“Yes ma’am,” You both chuckled, “and I will see you Friday, alright?” 

“Alright.” 

“Promise me,” You demanded and he held out a pinky finger, which you took with your own. 

“Promise.”

#Harry Potter #Remus Lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #lupin #lupin x reader #lupin x you #professor lupin x reader

[solomonish]

no mistakes, only happy (magical) accidents

CW: none!

hehe hello, nonnie! you are so nice and it’s always a joy to have you stop by even if we’ve only exchanged a few messages <3 this was getting kinda long so I stopped it before it got to making things official BUT. maybe when i’m feeling up to it i’ll write a part 2. I do hope you don’t mind! it wasn’t boring at all! i get burnout really easy so i had to keep it to hc but this would make a really nice fic! (i also went a biiit off script but what can i say, i got a specific inspiration <3)

Solomon

Despite being banished and the bad blood he has with the heads of the institution, Solomon still finds himself at the Sorcerer's Society. Frequently.

Sometimes he is invited, his unrivaled knowledge and experience needed in some stuffy decision making progress. Others, he just slips in, sometimes through the front door and sometimes through more deceitful ways. All he does is observe, occasionally borrowing a specific book or artifact. The people in charge know about this, but so long as he returns the items unscathed and in a timely manner, they turn a blind eye. Best not to cause a ruckus where there doesn't need to be one.

Thanks to this little system, Solomon doesn't normally interact with any of the people he comes across. On the occasions he is recognized, there's always some awkward, half-baked attempt at confrontation, so he keeps to himself and only ever gets what he needs.

He's tucked in a shadowy corner of one of the libraries, searching for a book, when he hears it. Two witches whispering about a strange increase in magic in their area.

"For that long? Have you gone to check it out?"

"No, I never have the time. I just hope it isn't something dangerous."

"Well, does it feel dangerous?"

"No, but it is...strong."

"So you're just going to leave it for someone else to take care of?"

"When you hear a wolf's howl, do you head directly towards it?" As the two head out, Solomon hides himself further behind the bookshelf. He doesn't know exactly who the witches are, but he does know about where they're from, and that's all he needs.

Fun! He’s been looking into magical anomalies in the human realm recently!

so he’s checking out the area those witches are from, not really sure he knows what he’s looking for, but looking all the same. there is definitely a magical pull, but it feels.....off. he’s expecting something natural, like a small, hidden waterfall with waters that can be used for potions that elongate the natural lifespan, or a cave with an endless supply of crystals that can be used to double enchantment strength with half the effort.

but then he finds you instead after you managed to cause a small implosion in a cavern he was standing right next to but hadn’t noticed. if he hadn’t heard your shriek, he wouldn’t have bothered helping clear the rubble.

but he did hear you, and he pulled you out of the cave, watching you gracelessly fall on the grass and pat your sides to check for your belongings.

now, sometimes there’s a certain energy between human magic wielders that is just palpable. it isn’t a fool-proof way to know who can practice magic, but especially strong sorcerers can pick up on them more easily and especially unwieldy or inexperienced ones are often easier to pick up on. Solomon seems to be the former, and you...

He doesn’t mean to sound haughty, but he can’t help but ask who taught you how to cast your spells and WHAT DO YOU MEAN you’re using WHICH flowers for your spells?

Maybe it’s your pride, but your indignant “well what would YOU do?” was not meant to turn into a regular thing.

Hey, when you’re self-taught you tend to take a lot of shortcuts. And Solomon isn’t normally the type to just pick up random apprentices off the street, but he falls into teaching so easily. So maybe that day you spend the rest of it revising your spellcasting tactics, and maybe he finally leaves with an invitation to visit. And maybe he visits sooner than you’d expect.

You’re definitely not complaining, though. It’s good to not feel so alone in your magic and have a second head to bounce ideas off of. Plus, you’ve only grown more efficient with his help!! You hope the tea and meals you provide him with is payment enough.

Sometimes, he doesn’t just visit for a day. Sometimes he’s there for a few days, teaching you a few spells and stocking up on potions you’ve made that you offer him, glad for the company. he doesn’t visit every week - sometimes, it’s months between the times you see each other, but each time you fall into an easy rhythm and it’s nice!

You tell him about the area you live in, different local specialties that really enhance the ability of your potions and spells, and he tells you about his adventures throughout his life. there’s never a moment where you don’t know what to say - and everything he has to say is so interesting!

probably the most emotional moment you two have had is when you brought up extending your life. he went stiff, and started asking twenty questions before stumbling over his words and asking none of them. you asked him what was wrong, and he didn’t answer.

instead, he gave you the typical talk you’d expect - “are you willing to watch your friends and loved ones die? to watch humanity move on without you?” - and you answer cautiously like “yeah, and also this potion should theoretically only give me a few extra decades”

he sighs, and urges you that if you must live longer, never fall for the trap of immortality. he only gives you half-sentences that don’t make sense, but you promise him you wont anyway.

“be careful. the human mind can barely take what it was naturally given.”

he leaves solid answers unspoken, but you can add it all up.

and after that, the two of you just seem. closer? there’s something about opening up about your trauma that really brings two people together

so you do end up extending your lifespan, though not by much - you still aren’t powerful enough to give yourself over 150 years AT BEST, but you and Solomon stay in touch. and you both keep getting stronger.

eventually, though, it’s time to step into the magical world and start showing up places with him. You aren’t a unit, but you travel like one, and people start to notice.

at first, you’re asked all the time if you’re his apprentice, and you laugh it off and say “no, i just ask a lot of questions.” then you get the logical next step - “oh, are you two dating?”

it took you that long to notice that you had a crush MC good job

every time someone asks about it, you get flustered without a doubt. Solomon takes it in stride, which, ouch, but you sort of withdraw and your face feels hot. So it really bothers Solomon when people ask because you’re out of commission for a while and the two of you are pals :( you do stuff together on purpose

but now that it’s on your MIND you can’t SHAKE the idea of dating him.....you already know him so well....he’s spent long periods of time at your place.....you work well together......you wouldn’t mind kissing him......oh damn

it’s one of those “everybody can see it except for him” situations, and you start overthinking it. big time. it doesn’t help that you were sort of a recluse before he came along so what experience do you have with it??

none. the answer is none. and boy does it show when you get to the point where you can barely have a full conversation without turning red because your thoughts betrayed you AGAIN.

you’re really regretting that life-elongating potion, huh, MC?

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #swd obey me #obey me solomon #swd solomon #solomon #solomon x reader #obey me solomon x reader #swd solomon x reader #mine #solomon hcs

[mosswillow]

Books (Dark!Natasha Romanoff x Reader)

Summary: You meet the most beautiful girl. She’s everything you’ve always dreamt of. Red flags? What red flags?

Warnings: 18+ Adult content, Noncon/dubcon, smut, oral, yandere.

Word count: 1.5k sorry it’s shorter.

AN: This is part of my Dark! Avengers collections that you can find here. Any of them can be read alone but if you want to read all of them I suggest doing it in order.

Growing up your parents had a large bookshelf filled with all sorts of different books. You used to sneak out to the shelf and steal a book to read, hiding under your blanket with a flashlight until the early morning. It felt like there was always another book hidden away behind other books on the shelf. You would search and find the book, taking it back to your little spot and consuming it like candy.

You’ve always felt similar to a hidden book, collecting dust in the very back of a bookstore somewhere. Maybe someone will find you and carry you away. Maybe they’ll give you love and attention, putting you at the front of their bookshelf and showing you off to friends. You want so badly for someone to find you that you don’t consider that not everyone takes care of books the way you do.

---

She walks into your shop on a Thursday afternoon, sauntering in like she owns the place. Your eyes meet and she walks over to you, handing you a piece of paper.

“I’m looking for this book?”

You read the paper and lead her to a cabinet in the back full of first editions. You unlock the cabinet and pull out the one she wants, bringing it to the register and ringing it up.

“Will that be all?” you ask.

“Maybe I could get your number too.” Your mouth drops open.

“Um, yeah.” you smile, writing down your number on the receipt.

“I’ll see you later Y/N.”

You wave and smile having a mini panic attack when she leaves. How did she know you’re gay? How did she know your name? You look over to a mirror noticing your rainbow covered nametag. Ok, yeah you can definitely see how she was able to tell.

She texts you within the hour.

‘Hey, this is natasha.’

‘Hi! I’m glad you texted, it was so nice meeting you.’

You watch the dots appear and disappear several times before Natasha texts again.

‘I thought we could see a movie or something? A date?’

You let out a squeal which turns several heads in the quiet book shop.

“Sorry.” you smile.

‘I’d love that.’

---

You try on at least six different outfits, attempting to find the perfect one for your date. Every time you look at yourself in the mirror you feel ugly and unworthy of Natasha. She’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. You think about the slight wave of her red hair, the way her lips curve into a soft smile, how her hips sway elegantly as she walks around. You settle on a simple green dress and a pair of flats and take one last agonizing look at yourself in the mirror before leaving.

Natasha’s face lights up when she sees you. She walks over and puts her hand on your waist, moving her thumb up and down. Your heart flutters and you put your hands in your pockets, looking and down and smiling.

“You look beautiful.”

She slides her hand down, meeting your hand in your pocket and pulling it out.

“Your dress has pockets.” She smiles.

You laugh and nod, clutching onto her hand and walking in with her to the theater. Nothing that happens in the movie even registers. You’re so nervous and excited. Natasha holds your hand, squeezing it slightly during funny or sad parts of the movie. She leans in whispering little things several times, giving you goosebumps.

“We could go back to my place if you want,” She asks after the movie.

“I’d like that.”

Natasha leads you to Stark tower and you stop outside, looking between her and the tower while it clicks. How did you miss this? They're literally everywhere, on tv and the internet. You’ve even gotten advertisements at your house featuring their faces.

“You’re...”

“...An avenger.” Natasha finishes.

You almost back away and leave but instead take a steading breath and follow her in. You ride an elevator up to where Natasha lives, walking past several whistling Avengers and some women you vaguely recognize from gossip websites.

Natasha sits on her bed and you follow her. She takes your face in her hand and leans in for a kiss. You kiss her back, turning your body toward her and before you know what’s happening you’re on top of her, pulling off her shirt. This isn’t you, you don’t move this fast with people. You spend months just getting yourself psyched up to talk to someone. She pushes you off and unclasps her bra while you sit in awe. Natasha raises her eyebrow and you quickly get to work on your clothes depositing them on the floor. Natasha leans forward and kisses you again and you reach out feeling her breasts. She pushes you down and gets between your legs, smiling at you before bringing her face to your pussy. You come almost instantly, moving your hips against her mouth before relaxing. She climbs up and kisses you, pushing her tongue into your mouth and grinding against you.

“You like that baby?”

You nod and kiss her cheek before sliding down her body, leaving a trail of gentle kisses.

“I want you now.”

---

Natasha is the best thing to ever happen to you. You become a new person, your life starts revolving around her. You slowly pull away from friends and family, deciding to spend time with Natasha instead. finally your best friend calls you up.

“I just feel like you’re too caught up in her, it’s been a few weeks and you’ve already pushed away everyone you love.” She says

“I’m happy.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t, I just don’t want to see you lose everyone in your life. What’s happening is a huge red flag.”

You hang up and delete your friend's number. Natasha said your friends would do this, that they would try to say you’re moving too fast. You’re not though, what you have with Natasha is different, love doesn’t have a timeline.

--

It all happens so quickly. You’re sitting at breakfast with Natasha and then you’re standing in front of your business and home, watching it burn to the ground.

“It’s ok baby, I’ll take care of you,” Natasha tells you as you cry in her arms.

You move into Natashas room that day. She goes out and buys you everything you need, setting you up with a cup of tea and a warm blanket. You spend all your time with natasha. She takes you all over on dates, showering you with gifts and kisses. You slowly forget you even owned a bookshop or had a life outside of her.

That is until you walk past Tony’s room one day and hear them.

“I thought I told you not to leave this room,” Tony says.

“Please Tony, I just wanted a snack.” the quiet voice replies.

“And I want a girl who follows my orders. I think you need another lesson in who’s in charge here.”

You cover your mouth and listen to the sound of Tony’s hand strike his girl before running back to Natashas room. You grab your phone to call the friends you’ve been neglecting but notice that every time you try to call or text it won’t work. You check your settings and google it before finding an app you don’t remember downloading. It’s password protected and your heart drops realizing what it is.

“Did you put parental controls on my phone?” you ask natasha when she gets back to her room.

Natasha doesn’t say anything.

“I heard Tony and his girl earlier. He’s abusing her, we need to do something about it.”

“It’s not our place to come in between Tony and his girl, he knows best for her just like I know what’s best for you. I didn’t want you seeing what your friends were texting you.”

Suddenly, you realize every little thing Natasha has done to isolate you. You’ve ignored so much, so enchanted by her attention that you didn’t see all the little things. It’s not something you can ignore any longer. You stand up and walk to your dresser, pulling out clothing.

“We’re done. I’m getting a hotel”

Natasha closes and locks the door.

“Baby, you’re not going anywhere.”

---

It takes weeks for you to fully understand just how far Natasha was able to pull you from your life, how she cornered you and forced you to be hers. She found you at the back of a bookstore collecting dust, picked you up, and brought you back to her personal library. You were so happy someone was reading you that you didn’t realize how she was dog-earing your pages and writing in your margins. She cracked your spine, spilled coffee on you and wrote her name on your cover, and you enjoyed every bit of it.

Now you sit on her bed realizing that this is the end, it’s been the end for a long time. You belong to her now and nobody else will ever get the chance to read you.

#dark!natasha x reader #dark!natasha romanoff #dark!natasha x you

[yellowocaballero]

Jon & Sasha Arson fic

Little fragment of an idea that never went anywhere. No reason for it. Just thought it would be funny. I was right. Rest under the cut. 

Most people who were unlucky enough to meet Jonathan Sims assumed he had no friends.

This was true, up to a point two weeks after Jon became a researcher at the Magnus Institute: afterwards Jon had no friends, except for Sasha James.

Sasha James was attributable to arson.

Most people who were unlucky enough to meet Jonathan Sims assumed he had no friends. 

This was true, up to a point two weeks after Jon became a researcher at the Magnus Institute: afterwards Jon had no friends, except for Sasha James. 

*******

Sasha James was attributable to arson.

Arson was attributable to a bookshelf of Leitners, humming strange songs and spewing toxic energy into the air in rhythmic hissing motions. The Leitners were attributable to Artifact Storage, a testament to mankind’s hubris and a modern-day tower of Babel where a group of underpaid academics found themselves stress testing kevlar and fire suppression systems each day. Artifact Storage was attributable to the Magnus Institute, where Jon had managed to land a job after three months of desolate post-graduate unemployment. And the Magnus Institute was attributable to - well, probably Jonah Magnus, but Jon found that it was likely a bit of a reach to blame a long dead Regency gentleman for all of his problems. 

Jon needed this job. London was expensive and so were funerals, and he couldn’t keep living on life insurance forever. It was even a good job, with decent pay and the exact kind of limp, half-hearted academia that the private sector promised disillusioned English mastery holders. His coworkers were nice - well, Tim was nice, everybody else seemed to hate him for the same reason that everybody else hated him, likely intimidated by how smart he was - and the commute was short. He couldn’t afford to lose this job. Spiritually, metaphysically, and literally. 

Which was why he should stop staring at this piece of paper. The follow-up research to a statement given by some idiot unlucky enough to cross paths with what was certainly a Leitner. 

‘ORIGINATION OF PHENOMENA ISOLATED’, the page read out professionally, yet chipperly, like a young woman in a new office job. ‘ITEM QUARANTINED WITHIN ARTIFACT STORAGE (46B.1)’. 

Hm. 

Jon pushed down on the floor, rolling himself a meter to the left.

“Say, er, Mr. Stoker.”

Tim “I’m only four years older than you, please call me Tim” Stoker, who had been thumping away on his cheap plastic keyboard either writing up a report or messaging someone on one of those infernal casual sex websites, pulled down his headphones and blinked at Jon owlishly, before splitting his face into a grin. Jon could practically hear the David Attenborough-style narration within his mind: ‘After long weeks leaving out food for the wild Simothan, the feral yet gentle animal approaches the researcher of his own volition. A win for scientists everywhere.’

“Yes, Jon?” Tim asked, in an uncanny yet hopefully unintentional RP drawl. 

“What’s Artifact Storage?”

“God, I wish I was you,” Tim said feelingly. But he nodded sagely anyway, milking his ‘wise senpai’ thing for all it was worth. Jon could practically feel Tim calling himself a senpai. It was kind of embarrassing. “You know the shady room locked deep within the basement that exudes a terrible aura of malice and hatred towards you specifically?”

“The gender neutral bathroom?” Jon asked, confused. 

“No, the one that always smells somewhat of blood. You hear screams sometimes?”

“The Archives!”

“Yes, but no! It’s Artifact Storage. If the researchers dig up any creepy shit from a statement, or if a statement giver brings in something that melts the metal detector, then we dump it in Artifact Storage and let those miserable fucks take care of it.”

“Is it more of a containment facility, or would you say that they conduct experiments?”

But Tim just shrugged. “My source down there tells me that they do some experiments to justify their budget, but it’s mostly unscientific. Poke this and I’ll give you twenty quid, that kind of thing. They say that if you really want a sick day, all you have to do is touch a mysterious rock and whisper your mother’s name -”

“Fantastic, thank you for your help, must go back to filling now,” Jon said quickly, skittering back to his own desk. He tried to distract himself from the terrifying thought of the basement full of supernatural nuclear bombs underneath his feet by trying to remember his mother’s name, but he was stuck on if it was Marjorie or Margaret. Mary Anne?

Maybe Tim’s personal Meerkat Manor series of Jon’s life had paid off - Sims Shack? - more than Jon would like, because Tim squinted at Jon in an unsettlingly familiar way. As if he knew exactly what Jon was thinking about the literature of mass destruction, and he really wanted Jon to be thinking literally anything else. 

“I wouldn’t go down there if I were you, Jon,” Tim warned, sounding a little like a horror movie trailer. “Bushy tailed college grads who go down there don’t come out the same as they went in.”

“I’ll take that under advisement, Mr. Stoker.”

“For the love of christ call me Tim!”

It really was a pity - Jon had actually liked this job. 

*******

It was remarkably easy to commit arson in central London.

Jon had done it once or twice. Three times, actually, although when you think about it arson was a criminal charge and only truly existed so long as someone was charged with it, so technically you could say that Jon had done arson zero times. In his defense, you try making it through Oxford without doing anything embarrassing. 90% of your time was in class or schoolwork and 10% of it was being hazed. At least Jon hadn’t fucked any pigs. 

Jon hit up the usual stores, and stashed the usual implements in his rucksack. It was a careful week after his conversation with Tim, as he couldn’t afford for the older man to connect the dots. He made a show of going home at a timely five pm, startling everybody around him, and paced in a tight circle around his flat until he gave up and watched mindless telly until the clock struck midnight. 

He took a cab to the park a few blocks down from the Institute, and walked the rest of the way. It was a cool, dim night in London, and the foot-traffic had slowed down to a steady trickle of young people in tight clothing. Jon pulled down his baseball cap on his head, fished a key out from his pocket given to him by a helpful and friendly janitor, and took a back entrance into the Institute. 

Said helpful and friendly janitor, whose allegiance had been won because Jon was a “nice young lad” and “I always wanted to burn down the place myself, I’m happy to see the next generation give it a go” had helpfully told Jon that there were no security cameras inside the Institute. A grievous oversight, but good luck for Jon tonight. He took the stairs down to the basement, zipping his jacket up tight against the inescapable chill, and pushed his hat further down his head as he navigated his way towards Artifact Storage.

He unlocked the door with the janitor’s key, hands shaking, and slipped inside into the dusky and unlit room. 

It was pitch-black, and Jon quickly fished a torch out of his backpack. He flipped it on, letting it slowly scan the room. It was the lobby into Artifact Storage, familiar from his stake-out missions: you walked in, met the bored woman behind the desk, checked in or checked out what you wanted, and if you needed to go inside she would press the button that unlocked the heavy climate-controlled door and let you into the hallway inside. The only other door in the lobby was to the office of the Director of Artifact Storage, a terrifying short and squat woman with silver hair pulled into a bun. 

Jon leaned over the counter and jammed the button, holding his breath until he heard the door click open. He quickly twisted the handle, swung the heavy door out, and slipped inside, taking care to grab one of the chairs in the lobby and prop it open. Quick escapes were necessary. 

He was in. 

The torch lit up a map taped up to the wall, and Jon squinted at it. Section A, Section B, Section C...he remembered the classification from the document he read a week ago, and slowly walked down the hallway until he found the heavy climate controlled door marked ‘SECTION B’. He carefully wrenched it open, taking care to grab a rolling cart and using it to prop the door open, before stepping inside. He fished the canister of gasoline and the lighter out of his backpack, giving the gasoline a good shake. 

It was a library. Small, and instead of shelves there were long metal racks with filing boxes stretching long into the darkness, but Jon knew a library when he saw one. Each box had a clipboard attached to it, and most boxes had very large and terrifying stickers on them painted sickly yellow or dangerous red. 

The only thing in the library that wasn’t a filing rack was a battered and beat couch. And the only person in the room besides Jon was a woman, blinking up at Jon blearily from where she had been passed out on the couch. 

“Er,” Jon said. 

The woman sat up, squinting at Jon’s torchlight until he guiltily aimed it just to her left. She had a wild mane of curly brown hair, and was wearing a pencil skirt and ruffled burgundy blouse. A blazer was folded at one end of the couch, clearly being used as a pillow, and she looked strongly as if Jon had just woken her up from a very nice nap. 

“Whuh,” the sleepy woman said. 

“My mistake,” Jon said, “this isn’t the loo. Go back to bed, this is - er, a very bad dream, goodnight.”

“Whutuhiseet,” the woman slurred. 

“It’s - very late, go back to bed.”

“Alright,” the woman said, falling back on the couch. After a second, her snores echoed through the room again. 

Jon very slowly crept backwards. Actually, on second thought, his mission could wait for tomorrow. Bit of a cock block, this, but that was alright - 

“Hey! Who are you!”

Jon, hand on the handle of the door, squeaked and turned around. 

The woman was back up again, and this time she seemed actually awake. She was frowning mightily at Jon, and was already sliding off the couch in stocking feet to glare at him. Jon was aware that he did not look like an innocent person in these events. The gasoline did not help.

The woman’s eyes trailed to the gasoline, then widened. Jon ineffectually tried to hide it behind his back. 

“You’re trying to burn down Artifact Storage!” the woman accused, somewhat fairly.

“Not all of Artifact Storage,” Jon said guiltily, “just the Leitners.”

The woman stared at him further, as if she was a special guest on Tim’s Sims Shack nature documentary. 

“Why,” the woman said slowly, “would you want to do that?”

Despite himself, Jon found himself puffing up in indignation. “They’re evil, nasty little books that shouldn’t exist. Forget studying and - and containing them, we should be making sure no more of them ever disgrace the world again. We should be burning every one we see. They’re pure evil given literary form, they are a disgrace to books and libraries, and if I ever met Leitner myself I would beat him to death with a rusty pipe for subjecting me to his fucked up books.”

The woman stared at him. 

Finally, she said, “I’m Sasha James. Want some help?”

“I - er, wouldn’t that get you in trouble, Ms. James?” 

“I like this job but I hate Leitner and his fucked up books more,” Sasha said gravely. 

Jon, having found a kindred spirit, held out the lighter. 

Sasha James took it, a wide grin splitting her face. 

*********

Jon didn’t remember much else of that night. 

There was definitely arson involved - or, seeing as they hadn’t gotten caught, just some good old-fashioned fire starting. He had the sense that they had both been so giddy with adrenaline that they had immediately joined the raging uni students in the late night bars, toasting their success in toasting. There had probably been quite a bit of alcohol.

When he woke up the next morning, it was in his narrow and uncomfortable bed, face to face with an unfamiliar snoring woman. For a second, two, Jon was briefly convinced that he had done something so drastically out of character it meant that a fucked up book had body swapped him with Tim. Bodyswapping was more likely than him having casual sex. 

Then Jon remembered the arson, and he exhaled in relief as his life made sense again. 

“Ms. James,” Jon whispered, poking her in the arm. She snuffled and muttered something. Jon poked her harder. “Ms. James, we have work.”

Sasha turned around, turning her back to him and pulling up the blankets. “Go back to bed, Tim.”

Ti - oh god. Jon felt like he was in a CW drama. This was why he didn’t interact with people, far too much likelihood that he would accidentally end up interacting with somebody who had sex.

“Ms. James,” Jon hissed, extremely embarrassed, “you have to get up!”

“Mergh mergh fuck off,” Sasha James said. 

Jon, like a true gentleman and hero, got up and made them both strong tea. He squinted at Sasha, recalling everything he knew about her (slept a lot, liked arson, hated Jurgen Leitner) before digging out some instant coffee and making some of that too. Finally, after shoving a hot cup of sludgey black liquid at the woman, she grabbed the cup and chugged it until she was able to sit up and open her eyes. 

She blinked at Jon, who was already picking his hair in an attempt to get ready for work. He could clearly see the thoughts ‘you aren’t Tim’ run through her brain. Hah! He could be the narrator of the nature documentary for once!

“Uh,” Sasha James said, “I’m sorry, did we…?”

“Commit arson? Yes.” Jon paused a beat. “But as I don’t believe we were caught, call it an indoor campfire.”

Sasha James drank more of her coffee. Jon grabbed his clothing and disappeared into the loo to get changed. 

When he re-entered his bedroom, she snapped her fingers at him. “Right! We got pissed after! Good times, mate!”

“I have to assume,” Jon said politely. He was doing his very best to be very polite, because Jon knew he was rude and didn’t want his new coworkers to know that until his probation period was over. Maybe he should have waited until after his probation period for the arson? Would it look bad on his annual review? “Do you need to borrow some clothing? I think we’re about the same size.” Oh, no, was that rude to say to a woman?

Sasha James squinted at him. “It’s like you’re not hungover at all. How old are you?”

“Twenty five?” Be polite, Jon! “And you’re...thirty seven?”

“I’m thirty one, asshole!”

Oh no. Women hated it when you called them old. “You don’t look a day over twenty seven!” Jon cried, panicked. 

“Have you met a woman?”

“I had a grandmother?”

“I’m going back to bed,” Sasha James said. 

Unfortunately, Jon knew that it would be very suspicious if they both skipped, so he forced Sasha into one of his suits that...looked much nicer on her than him, but whatever, and hustled them both to work. Now that the adrenaline had worn away and the sense of purpose in his holy mission had burned up with the cleansing flames, Jon found himself biting his nails in agony in the Underground. 

They had to know. Someone must have caught them. Maybe there were secret CCTVs in the Institute. Maybe Sasha was going to rat him out - but she had helped, so wouldn’t she just be ratting out herself? Was she a double agent? Mr. Bouchard was never going to forgive him, no matter how nice he was and how much he seemed to like Jon to the point where he rather wished someone had given him the ‘Stranger Danger’ speech as a child so he would know what to do. Jon was going to go to jail, or worse - get fired. 

Sasha, cooly sipping her coffee and looking somewhat fly in sunglasses and his suit, did not seem disturbed by any of this. Jon’s rapidly spiralling panic attack must have been obvious, because she casually flicked a finger on his forehead. Jon yelped with pain. 

“Take it easy, mate. If they catch us, I’ll just say that the books made us do it.”

Jon scowled at her, rubbing his smarting forehead. “The books?”

“Sure.” She waved her fingers spookily as the Underground rattled forward into the heart of London. “Brainwashed us to do their evil bidding of -”

“Destroying them?”

“There’s a lot of arson Leitners,” Sasha James said sagely. “Trust me, this is just a normal day in Artifact Storage.” She clapped him reassuringly on the shoulder, and Jon fought a blush. “Don’t worry. We performed a public service, kiddo. St. Peter’s gonna give us a medal when we get to the pearly gates.”

“I’m an adult,” Jon said, scandalized. He had gray hair!

“Well, I guess, but I don’t know your name, so…”

 Jon squinted at her. She squinted at him back. 

“You’re thinking that if you don’t give me your name I can’t rat you out to the feds,” Sasha said flatly. 

Jon pursed his lips. 

Finally, he settled on, “You don’t rat me out to the feds and I won’t tell them that you’re in an illicit relationship with Mr. Stoker.”

“Mr. - how did - what!”

“It’s Jonathan Sims,” Jon said gruffly, crossing his arms. He was slightly hungover and his nerve were jittery and he had set fire to his workplace the previous night, but somehow Jon thought that his heart was jackrabbiting in his chest for a different reason. Somehow Jon felt as if his heart couldn’t stop thumping behind his sternum because Sasha James was staring at him, head cocked, as if he was a mystery she was interested in finding out. “That’s my name.”

Sasha James stared at him, as if surprised, before her face broke into a wide and happy smile. Jon hunched his shoulders up, embarrassed, faintly aware he was blushing. “It’s nice to meet you, Jonathan!” Then she grabbed him by the collar, shaking him slightly. “And there is nothing illicit about me and Tim, and there is nothing between me and Tim at all, we are just friends, so get that out of your little head -”

The train rattled on towards the Magnus Institute, and towards the slight smell of smoke in the air. 

*******

Sasha: are you coming 2 the pub w/us 2nite?

Sasha: come onnn you should comeee don’t feel awkwardddd 

Sasha: I know you hate a) group settings b) drunk people c) Tim in a group d) drunk Tim and e) Tim drunk in a group but that’s no reason not to come!

Sasha: Tim is physiologically incapable of not adopting men 3-5 years younger than him it’s in his blood you can’t escape his affection

Sasha: or at least I find it funny so I’m not letting you

Sasha: Jonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

Jon: Yes I’ll come, I need to talk to both of you.

Sasha: WAHOO

Sasha: wait

Sasha: really?

Sasha: did you commit ars*on again

Sasha: wait if you did don’t tell me the courts can request text transcripts

Jon: No, I just need your advice on an urgent matter.

Sasha: do you need to be drunk to do it

Jon: ...maybe.

Jon: ....Mr. Bouchard offered me the Head Archivist Job?

Jon: Which is stupid because I’ve worked here for barely four years and you’ve worked here for about ten years I think. And you’ve published five papers in parapsychological research. I know I helped you figure out that this place is a weird trauma mill but it was really mostly you. It’s completely ridiculous to promote me and I’m afraid it’s favoritism. For potentially heinous ends? This feels awful because it’s such an honor but I would never stop feeling stressed and guilty because I know so many more people (like you) are so much more qualified. Or qualified at all.

Sasha: holy shit

Sasha: ...do you remember the speech I gave you on stranger danger?

Jon: I’m afraid to mention this to Tim because he might beat up Mr. Bouchard for both my honor and yours.

Sasha: Jesus at this point I don’t even want a fucking job anymore. What bullshit. I’m never going to get promoted and I just need to accept that. This isn’t your fault, Jon, seriously, thank you for telling me. 

Sasha: we can talk about this at the pub

Sasha: in private. Off the radar. 

Jon: Looking forward to it :)

Jon: did I use the emoticon right?

Sasha: Yes, Jon, you did everything right. 

#tma #jonathan sims #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #the magnus archives fanfic #sasha james-centric #this is an implied fix-it everybody lives fic #crack #comedy #absolutely nothing sad? in a MEG FIC? #sasha james #tim stoker #jon is based off me at a new job anxiously calling everyone 'mr' #rest assured sasha is trans but it just never came up #my writing

[ibelongtowrath]

Merry Christmas @marianaredwixi!!!

I may be a writer, but there aren’t enough words in any language that could accurately convey just how grateful I am for you.

You are a beautiful soul, inside and out, and your light shines so brightly. From our chats, to ranting, to our fun RPs, and everything in between, you make me smile every single day.

Your Christmas gift might be stuck in the mail, but I wanted to give you another gift that will hopefully make you smile as much as you make me do. I love you dearly, and I wish I could give you the world because you deserve it, but sadly I cannot. What I can provide, though, are lovely Lucifer stories for you to enjoy ;)

Dedicated to you, my amazing friend! I hope you love it.

You Are My Light - Lucifer x Reader

Everything is ready, Lucifer thinks to himself, making his way quietly back into the bedroom. That is, everything but the most important part.

He had risen before dawn that morning, Christmas morning, in preparation. It was a day he had never really enjoyed celebrating that much - nor did he really care for the symbolism behind it, but he knew it was important to you, his love, and he wanted to pull out all the stops.

Lucifer turns the knob on the door, stepping in to close it softly behind him. It clicks, and he winces, turning towards your sleeping form sprawled out on his massive bed - you remain visibly undisturbed, cradling your head against the soft down pillows, snoring softly. He relaxes, letting out a deep exhale. Good, I didn’t disturb her.

Stepping out of his shoes to pad quietly over to the bed, he perches himself on the edge. His face softens as he studies yours - blissful, deep in the sweet embrace of slumber. He can feel his heart swelling in his chest, leaning over to stroke your hair with the lightest of touches, ghosting his finger over a cheek. It never got old, waking up to you like this. So beautifully sweet, relaxed in his arms, safe, home. Lucifer looks up to the ceiling and chuckles softly, shaking his head. Father, he thinks, you have done so much that I despise you for - but I cannot hate you for giving her to me. For creating her soul to fit so perfectly with mine. No, I think that, on this day, I should be thankful. So... I will say it. Thank you, Father.

Closing his eyes to reflect a few moments longer on his gratitude, Lucifer shakes his head; a deep sigh escapes him - not one of sorrow or annoyance, but in contentment. He turns back to you, still at rest, and he smiles. Gently, so to not shift the mattress, he leans over your still-sleeping form to press a kiss to your forehead, letting his lips linger against your warm skin before he pulls back, tracing a thumb over your bottom lip.

Reaching into his pocket, he places a small note on the nightstand next to your charging D.D.D. as he rises to standing, letting himself take one last longing glance at you as he turns back to step into his shoes, leaving the room as quietly as he had entered.

I await you, my love.

--------

“Mmmm...”

With a large yawn, your arms stretch above your head as you turn to the side to greet your demon lover.

“Hey, Lu-”

You pause, noticing the empty space in the bed next to you. Hm, maybe he texted me? He probably had to go somewhere, you think to yourself with another yawn, turning your body over to grab your D.D.D. A small, folded-up note rest atop the phone, your name written in carefully-etched black ink, perfect strokes that belong to only one demon - yours. Your curious fingers reach for the paper, sitting up in the bed as you swing your legs to the side.

Merry Christmas, my love. Follow the path of the ribbon, and I shall await you at the end with many a merry surprise. I love you, my light.

- Lucifer

“Ribbon? Wha-”

Confused, you stand from the bed and slip on a pair of comfortable slippers in front of the nightstand. Your gaze falls upon a crimson silk ribbon laid out on the floor, soft and shiny despite the dim candlelit room, leading to the door of Lucifer’s bedroom. A grin stretches across your face, broad and genuine, and you excitedly skip to the doorway, pausing briefly to smooth down your hair, still simultaneously wild on one side and flat on the other from where your head was pressed into the pillow.

Stepping out into the hallway, you raise an eyebrow at the seemingly endless ribbon, the likes of which even makes a turn at the end of the corridor. The door clicks shut behind you as you begin to make your way, following the path of the silk, the same color as Lucifer’s crimson gaze. Curiosity only deepens as you realize the ribbon is leading you to the library, confusion passing over your features when you see it pass under the large wooden doors before the realization dawns on you. With another grin, you push through the doors and saunter up to the special bookshelf situated in the back of the grand room.

As though sensing your presence, the shelf yields, opening to reveal the path into Lucifer’s sequestered study room. The silken path ends there, and you slowly begin to make your way in, gasping in surprise as your hand claps over your mouth. Suddenly overwhelmed, your eyes well up with grateful tears.

The room is swathed in warmth that comes not only from the roaring fireplace, but with the joy, and pride, that fills the room. Christmas music, a joyful and upbeat tune, plays from the old-fashioned record player situated on the desk, coupled with the gentle crackling of fire licking at wood. A large pine tree, adorned with the same silk ribbon that led you here and soft, twinkling lights sits in the middle of the room. Red ornaments hang from the branches, the dancing fire reflected in the shiny orbs that glitter in the light add to the magical atmosphere. Endless abundances of gift boxes surround the bottom of the tree, overflowing to rest against cabinets with their shelves filled with bottles and bottles of Lucifer’s alcohol of choice.

“Merry Christmas, darling.”

A sexy, low voice calls out to you amongst your grateful delight, drawing your attention to the fireplace. The sight before you causes your hand to drop from your mouth and down to your side, lips parting in both awe and desire, stunting your ability to speak.

Lucifer stands, completely bare, save for a deep red collar emblazoned with a black buckle wrapped snugly around his throat, and a smug grin upon his handsome face. Letting his demon form emerge, raven-black wings flare out to full wingspan. He raises an arm, turning a hand over to curl a finger, beckoning you over to him. In his other hand rests a swath of that gorgeous silken ribbon. Slowly, you begin to step towards him - your eyes never leave his, intense vermilion pools that shine beautifully, daring you to become lost in that jewel-toned gaze.

Wrapping you tightly in his embrace as you reach him, his lips find yours - kissing softly at first, letting himself feel you; until he cups your cheek with a hand, thumb caressing your skin as he presses his lips harder to yours. Your eyelids flutter, his wings doing the same - overwhelmed with love, and the tiny embers of lust that begin flaring to life as Lucifer breaks the kiss to slip your shirt over your head, and you shiver, though not from cold.

“I love you, my darling,” Lucifer whispers into your skin, pressing soft kisses into the curve of your neck.

“I love you too, Lucifer,” you breathe in response, closing your eyes and letting your hands roam the broad, muscled expanse of his smooth back, fingers resting just above where his wings meet the skin.

“When I gaze upon your face, all the unrest in this realm, and the others, falls away. Your eyes reflect my soul, and yours, the other half of mine. It shines so brightly, like the light of a thousand suns, despite the eternal darkness. You chase out the wickedness I hold within, the sorrow that becomes my very being, and replace it with a light that can never be snuffed out so long as I hold you in my arms. That is exactly what you are - my light in the dark, my home, my everything.”

Lucifer crashes his lips against yours once more, cradling you tightly in his arms, pouring every ounce of his devotion into the kiss. Your mouth opens, ever so slightly, inviting his to as well; a series of open-mouthed kisses, drawing out small breathy moans that escape into him. A few moments later, he pulls away, pressing the diamond in his forehead to yours, gently.

“Before you open all your presents, love, there’s one I’d like to give you first,” Lucifer purrs.

The demon steps back before sinking to his knees slowly before you, pressing wet kisses that trail along your torso, stopping just before he reaches your hips. He hooks his fingers beneath the waistband of your sleep shorts, tugging at it a few times to tease, delighting in the goosebumps that prick across your skin as you shiver in anticipation before pulling them off your body, placing more kisses between your hips - moving his lips to find purchase on the soft flesh of your inner thighs, nibbling gently at the sensitive skin.

Low moans escape from your parted lips, squeezing your thighs together, the warmth from the fire behind you rivaling the temperature of your now-feverish skin. Lucifer rises to stand before you with a smirk, his own desire flaring to life within as he licks his lips.

“Turn around, sweet pet,” he instructs, humming as you comply. “Good girl.”

Lucifer lets the silken ribbon in his hand unfurl, using his free hand to bring your wrists together behind your back. Wrapping them in the ribbon, your arms bound together, he steps back to admire his work, growing hard between his legs as the wetness begins to drip down between yours.

“Beautiful,” Lucifer breathes, sweeping his gaze over your nude form, slightly shadowed by the firelight. “Oh, darling, perhaps this is just as much a present to you as it is to me... but I don’t think I can wait any longer to open my pretty gift.”

Pulling you in for a searing kiss, he gently lowers both your bodies to the soft plush carpeted floor, laying you down gently on your back. He places his hands on your knees, spreading your legs apart, his now-hard length twitching at the sight of your wet heat shining in the light of the fire.

“So perfect, so wet and ready for me,” he breathes.

Sliding into you, his head tips back as he lets out a groan, reveling in the sensation. He rolls his hips, softly yet firmly, leaning forward to graze his lips against yours - eliciting small, gasping and breathy moans as you writhe beneath him in pleasure. Lifting your legs to allow him to get deeper, he rests them on his shoulders as he continues to make love to you, your bodies warm, bare chest flush to bare chest against the warm flames.

“I love you, my light. Merry Christmas.”

#obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer x reader #i hope you like it!

[generallybrontidefeelings]

I am once again thinking about Reading Chair Marcus - that sexy intellectual and his books. Geb...why am I thinking about him fucking Honey in a library with his big hand over her mouth to keep her quiet, pounding her against a bookshelf?

I think you've ruined me.

18+ below the cut, Marcus & Honey, Stressed universe ask

Dearest Maia;

SHAME ON YOU. At first, I wasn't sure - would my sweet man, the FBI agent, the department head, the team leader who wears his little crisp suits, who brings tupperwares with a balanced meal to work, would he defile a library like that? And then I thought and thought and thought and the answer was 'no.' And then I thought...would Honey?

Would Honey wear a summery tank top and a nice high-waisted flowing skirt with a ribbon in her hair on a hot day? Would she grab Marcus' bicep and tell him she's going to the annex section on the third floor? Would he watch her walk away with darkening eyes as she walked around the stacks with her hand lingering on the metal shelves? Would he haphazardly leave the book he was holding on the shelf, and follow her at a distance?

There's nobody up here. You know it - it's a Saturday, no one's in the campus library. You remember a spot back in the reference section where you'd pressed your back into the metal shelf to cool your body because you'd been sitting doing your homework and you'd heard his voice like a homing beacon and it made your pussy clench on nothing. You'd listened to him chatting with another faculty...and you hadn't stopped yourself. You'd grabbed your breast staring at the manila wall in front of you until he'd left.

You walk to that same spot and wait for him, back pressed into the metal. You can hear him behind you, soft footfalls on the crushed bus-seat-pattern carpet. Waiting kills. Your cheeks heat, you mess with your hair, knowing that in a perfect fantasy you leave this corner with his cum drying down your thighs and hair still perfectly done and red lipstick still perfectly applied like a goddamn present - like it never happened. Like a secret. Like you were fucking your professor.

It's too much to wait. You hike up your skirt and dip your hand under -

His fist catches your wrist before you can touch yourself as he rounds the corner and crowds you back against the shelf. Before you can say anything his hand plunges between your legs - straight into your panties - and swipes.

"You're going to get me in trouble some day," he murmurs, breathing the words into your mouth as you arch your neck and hips into his hand. "You wanna get fucked? Here?"

You bite inside your lip before answering. The crudeness, the tight grip on your arm pointed to a fast and hard round, which is exactly what you want.

"Yeah, I do," you whisper back.

His lips brush against yours, the barest taste of coffee and sweet cream, before he reaches down and undoes his jeans - you push your panties down your thighs just in time to watch him spit in his hand and rub it over the reddening head.

He hikes you up and feeds himself into you, pressing in delicious pumps until he's at full mast and your body jerks at the pressure. That's when your make-up gets smudged - he always makes you moan, those high weedy sounds but this is quick and dirty, I need to come in you, baby, so he holds your ass with one hand and covers your mouth with the other. You moan into his hand, muffled, and the vibrations set him off because the pace goes from hard to brutal, knocking into your gut. The metal shakes behind you, one book fumbling against it's stack mate as Marcus pounds into you as you hang on his shoulders for dear life, as you try to hold back your whimpers and wet eyes as his mouth falls open as he comes, and holds you impaled.

He kneels and you lean on his shoulders as he helps you back into your panties one foot at a time. He's careful not to get red from his palm on the cotton.

"You are going to squirm the whole way home," he says, his warm smile and crinkly eyes lighting his glowing features. "Then I am going to make you come in these." He runs the tips of his fingers over where they're wetting from him.

You try to slip past him and make it to the bathroom to wipe off the rest of your lipstick from where it's probably on your cheeks and chin, but he pulls you back. Your eyes go wide when he cups your cheek and leans his forehead against you. You can sense it, the lewd question coming. He's so cuddly after sex, even when he's in charge and strung out himself. Even when he slips into this dominant version of himself, he wants to hold you close near his heart so you know he loves you even when he's praising your pussy, your mouth, your, your, you.

"What do you say when you get what you want?"

"Thank you, sir." You lean up and kiss the tip of his nose. He smiles but doesn't release you.

He kisses your mouth sweetly, content to nuzzle into you for a moment.

"Let's check out and go," he says, wrapping a hand around your waist and letting you lead him toward the ladies room to clean up. "I need to make you come, and then we need to make dinner."

"Ah yes, the big two," you snark. He pinches your butt. And immediately checks to make sure it wasn't with the hand covered in red lipstick.

It wasn't thank God.

#stressed #honey and marcus #temptress hours #maia mayhem #sorry it took me a thousand years to answer this #hope you like it bb

[tipsycad147]

Beginner Witch Tips That You Won't Want to Miss

By Penelope Hughes

What are the Different Types of Witches and Which One Are You

There are many forms of witchcraft, and each one suits a different kind of person. Knowing which type of witch you are is essential. You will learn quicker and have a higher success rate if you lean towards your strengths and passion.

Hereditary Witchcraft

This type of witchcraft is passed down from generation to generation. When you were young, your family would have already trained you in their path. You would have learned family recipes with magickal ingredients and have a family grimoire. You will most likely have access to a Book of Shadows, which will give you an extensive advantage in your studies compared to other witches.

Green Witchcraft

A practitioner of green witchcraft works primarily with nature as their teacher and instrument. You will live in alignment with Earth and understand that everything living has a spirit. Your main tools will be plants and herbs. If you have a green thumb and enjoy working with herbs and plants, green witchcraft may be your calling.

The Faery Faith

This type of witchcraft works closely with the faeries (faery or fey). These are magickal beings such as undines, nymphs, pixies, or sylphs believed to live in the astral realm. The astral realm is parallel to ours. Practitioners of this craft will learn to work with the thirteen lunar months of the Celtic Tree calendar, and they will access different energies that each of the thirteen months holds. Green witches who work with the fey will often overlap their craft.

WICCA

WICCA is a religion that is neo-pagan and nature-based. Their beliefs are similar to the ancient Celts' religious beliefs. Wiccans do not have one single holy book, but they do follow two laws. The first law is the Rule of Three, which means "three times what thou givest returns to thee." The other law is the Wiccan Rede, which means "an ye harm none, do what ye will." There are many different sects of Wicca, and they all have separate traditions.

Kitchen Witchcraft

This type of witchcraft incorporates cooking into their spellcraft. The process of cooking and eating becomes a form of ritual. Consuming the food infused with magick kitchen witches release the energies from their food into themselves and the Universe. Kitchen Witchcraft is a calling for those who are skilled at cooking and enjoy working with food.

Chaos Magick

This type of witchcraft prefers to work with sigils and charged symbols. Chaos witches will learn how to enter a state of unconscious intention called a "gnostic state." They use breathing techniques, muscle relaxation, or intense emotions to enter a gnostic state to think and enact magick unknowingly.

Eclectic Witchcraft

This type of witchcraft is a combination of different practices that is unique to the witch. An Eclectic witch creates their path by drawing on their heritage, passions, and various types of magick. This type of witchcraft does not follow one single track.

Books for the Beginner Witch

One of the first things I will recommend to a new witch who wants to get started is to read lots of books. Knowledge is power, and you will not gain that knowledge by sitting idle and waiting for others to teach you.

I am always reading books and learning new things. I usually purchase my books, but you do not have to. If your short on cash or don't want to buy your books, check what resources your local library has. You might be surprised by the amount of information they have available.

The Book of Shadows: by Brittany Nightshade. This book is excellent for the new witch. Just understand it is not a real Book of Shadows. The book covers different types of magick and goes over how to cast simple spells. She does cover love spells in the book, and I would say love spells are very popular, but please be cautious with them and never cast a love spell with a particular person in mind.

The Green Witch: by Arin Murphy-Hiscock. I just finished this book and cannot praise it enough, especially if you are interested in Green Witchcraft. Arin does a beautiful job covering herbs, flowers, essential oils, and so much more than I expected. She has a handy index for a new witch at the back of the book that you can quickly flip to if you need information about a specific herb or plant.

The Wiccan Book of Shadows: by Ambrosia Hawthorn. If you are interested in learning about Wicca and its fundamentals and practices, I highly suggest the Wiccan Book of Shadows. Some books meant for beginner witches can be very biased or, on the other end, they do not offer much of a foundation. This book met in the middle for the perfect mix of a good and robust foundation. Another thing I love about this book is how gorgeous it is on display. When I got this book I knew at first glance it was not going to go on the bookshelf.  This is a beautiful piece of art that needs to be displayed.

The Door to Witchcraft: by Tonya Brown. This book covers the history of witchcraft through the ages and how it has evolved over time. You will learn about fundamental techniques, traditions, rituals, and ceremonies that every new witch should know. Our history is significant to know, do not forget that it was not so long ago we were burned at stake.

What The Colours Mean in Candle Magick

New witches will usually start with magick that they find most straightforward and the least complicated. Because candle magick is not as difficult or complicated as other types of magick, it makes sense that new witches would start with candle magick.

One thing you should remember when preparing to use candle magick is your candles need to be dressed. Dressing the candle is accomplished in two steps. The first step is exercising the candle of any negative energy or previous magickal energy. The second step is charging your candle. Neither step is complicated, but it will require a great deal of concentration and visualization skills.

Witchcraft Tools That You Should You Get First

The basic tools of spellcraft include the athame, wand, sword, cords, cauldron, chalice, and altar bell.

If you're a new witch with a small budget ( I know the feeling, I started in middle school), skip these tools and focus on candles, incense, oils, and herbs.

I would recommend forgoing the tools in the very beginning and encourage you to study. Join a coven, get some books from the library, join beginner witchcraft groups on Facebook (be safe when talking to people online, and meeting people from online groups could be dangerous).

The Athame: This is a ritual dagger with a double-edged blade. It will have a black or white handle that witches will paint or engrave runic names or magickal symbols on it. It is used for casting the circle, storing or directing energy during rituals, and stirring potions.

The Wand: The wand is the emblem of power, and it symbolizes the ancient element of air (some traditions believe it represents fire). Its traditional uses are to cast the circle, draw magickal symbols, invoke spirits, and stir cauldron brews. Wands are usually carved from the wood of the hazel, ask, rowan, or willow tree. Modern witches have had wands carved from crystal, ivory, and metal. I recommend sticking to wood but that's just my preference.

The Sword: If you are starting and new to witchcraft, you should not need to get this basic tool. Covens usually use it, and if you join one, they will most likely already have a sword for their rituals. The sword is used the same way as the athame, but it is considered more authoritative.

The Cord: Cords are used to store magickal energy for later use. A witch will tie nine knots into the cord to hold the magickal energy. When they are ready to release the power that has been stored, they untie the knots in the same order in which they were tied. Depending on the intent, you might untie one knot every night for nine days.

The Cauldron: The cauldron is made of iron and possesses great mystical power. It symbolizes the four ancient elements of air, fire, water, and earth. Its three legs represent the three phases of the moon (waxing, full, and waning.) Cauldrons are used for rituals, brewing potions, burning incense, and holding charcoal blocks, candles, amulets, talismans, and herbs. Be careful if you intend to buy a cauldron offline. A lot of times, they are a lot smaller than what the pictures make them look like.

The Chalice: A sacred goblet is a tool that represents the element of water. It is used for ritual mixing of salt and water, blending potions, and pouring libations (a drink poured out as an offering to a deity).

The Altar Bell: If you are interested in WICCA, they use a small bell to keep at their altar. It is rung three times to signal the start or close of a ritual. Other magick practitioners use altar bells to summon or banish spirits, dispel negative energy, and drive away mischievous fairies.

https://www.mysticalstudies.com/post/beginner-witch-tips-that-you-won-t-want-to-miss