#yes this painting is the namesake for the book

[angelnumber27]

Girl Interrupted at her Music (1658)

Johannes Vermeer

Oil on canvas

#yes this painting is the namesake for the book #girl interrupted at her music #art #painting #susanna kaysen #paintings #johannes vermeer #Vermeer #Vermeer painting #the frick #frick museum #Dutch art #Dutch artists #dutch artist #baroque #baroque art #dutch golden age #art history #girl interrupted #the frick collection #oil painting #oil paints #oil on canvas

[fayes-fics]

Somewhere Only We Know

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: Five hours of snowfall, four miles from the nearest paved road, three weeks before Christmas, two old friends and one bed….

Warnings: 18+smut, minors DNI, fingering, handjob, vaginal sex, passing mention of oral sex, all sorts of feelings.

Word Count: 7.9 k I'm so sorry...

Build a blurb prompt 1: Benedict 👅 smut 🌲 mutual pining 🛌 only one bed - from @amillcitygirl Build a blurb prompt 2: modern Benedict 👅smut 👥friends to lovers 🌲mutual pining 🛌only one bed - from anon

Authors Note: *beep beep* make way for the trope bus, it’s coming thru!! Is this original? No. Was it fun to write? Hell YES! This thing was supposed to be 1k follower celebration Drabble (HAHAHA) but it grew its own legs and took over my brain for the last week. This is my winter epic and I even listened to the namesake song as I was editing it. I hope you all enjoy. Betaed by the total trooper @makaylan and beautiful artwork above made especially by @bridgertontess thank you 🧡

“You’ll just have to stay here,” he shrugs, peering out at the falling snow.

You glance at your watch. It’s 5pm and already dark, snowflakes swirling furiously in the glow cast by the window.

This was not your plan. You are booked onto a late flight back to London tonight. You only came out to the beautiful Highlands for a day in nature after your business trip to Glasgow. OK, and a dose of time with the most handsome friend you have, but mainly for the scenery.

He’s rented a tiny cottage for a week as a painting retreat. Why he would do that in early December is a slight mystery. However, the scenery will undoubtedly be even more breathtaking with a blanket of snow tomorrow—an artist's dream.

“Look, the roads here are tiny and treacherous. It’s too risky to attempt the airport drive tonight in the dark in this snowstorm. I will pay for you to fly home tomorrow instead,” Benedict assures, “penance for not checking the forecast before inviting you?” he winces in the hopes of forgiveness.

“But…” you protest weakly, not exactly hating the idea of being trapped in a remote cottage in the mountains with the man who has haunted your dreams for more years than you care to remember.

“This place is warm,” he points to the roaring fireplace. “And well stocked, in more ways than one,” he adds, gesturing to the kitchenette full of supplies and, with a flourish, to the small selection of single malt bottles on a nearby shelf. “There’s even some festive decor,” he argues.

You are entertained that he believes some sprigs of holly, which he has obviously collected on one of his hikes, count as Christmas decorations. Although, to be fair, wrapped around the bookshelves and candles the way it is, it does look lovely.

‘Yes, but… there's also only one bed,” you argue, nodding to the not-exactly sizable double bed at the other end of the room, partially obscured by a room-dividing bookshelf. Even as you mention it, your belly has a warm fizz at the fleeting thought of waking up pressed against him.

“I can sleep on the sofa,” he says hurriedly in a reassuring tone.

“Ben, don't be ridiculous. You are six feet tall, and that thing is barely five. We are not so young we can just sleep anywhere and still be okay anymore,” you remind him.

“Yeah, thanks for that reminder,” he deadpans.

“We are grown-ups; we can share a bed,” trying to keep your tone breezy, but it feels like the reassurance is for yourself as much as him.

You pretend not to see how he swallows thickly at your suggestion, his Adam’s apple bobbing heavily.

“If it makes you more comfortable, I can fashion a barrier with some throw cushions,” you shrug, a short nervous laugh bubbling up as you secretly chastise yourself for suggesting such a thing.

“No, no,” he rushes out very quickly. “What I mean is… it’s not a big bed, so by the time we do that, we would both be clinging to the edges. Let’s just, as you say, be adults about this and share the best we can.”

“Agreed.” You give a business-like nod, wanting to change the topic.

“Besides, the night is young,” he states, clapping and rubbing his hands together as if reading your mind. “What do you say we cook dinner together? Then, well, it’s card games or jigsaw puzzles, I’m afraid,” he skews his mouth with an apologetic twist.

“Sounds delightful on all counts,” you assure and bump him with your shoulder.

The evening seems to fly by, and the snowstorm outside somewhat abates as you make a delicious spaghetti bolognese together. Even though it's a tiny kitchen space, you make it work, moving around each other with an almost balletic fluidity as soft music plays from a Bluetooth speaker. There's no Wi-Fi or even much phone signal out here, but he came prepared with songs loaded onto his laptop. You exchange easy chat about mutual friends and what has been happening since you last saw one another a few weeks before.

As you sit down to eat together, the conversation flow continues. It's one of those meals you sop up the sauce from your plate with the warm bread rolls you serve as a side. Lingering in your chairs long after eating is complete, chatting amiably and animatedly about anything, everything and nothing all at once, with a delicious bottle of scotch.

Later, you take turns in the bathroom, cleaning teeth and changing into pyjama bottoms, and then you drift to the living room area. You watch as Benedict pours you both a nightcap into scotch glasses and glance outside to see the storm has picked up again, large clumps of fluffy snow gather in the corner of the window pane; you feel very cosy in this small but perfectly formed little rustic cottage.

“So, how have you been entertaining yourself all alone here for the last four nights?” you inquire, enjoying the smooth, smoky burn of the single malt.

Benedict is now sprawled across the nearby armchair in the most Benedict way, legs akimbo.

“I’ve read two books, and I’ve slept for nine hours every night,” he confesses, taking a sip of his drink and looking at you over the top of his glass.

The room feels like it's getting warmer regardless of the fire; how much is due to the delightful fog of whisky in your veins versus the handsome man across from you is indecipherable.

“Are you not lonely?” you blurt out.

“I live alone in London. What's the difference?” his brow knitting in confusion.

“Alone in the city is very different to alone out here,” you offer, “you can’t be that lonely when you’re only twenty feet from your neighbour through a wall.”

“Hmm, never thought about it like that,” his mien turns thoughtful, scratching his palm on the shadow of stubble on his chin.

You hear the rasp from where you sit, and you almost squeak in surprise as your treacherous mind supplies a vivid snapshot of that stubble teasing the soft skin of your lower belly as he looks up at you with a seductive smirk. You have to shake your head to get rid of it.

“Fear of murder out here is different,” you offer, trying to reroute your thoughts.

“Morbid,” he shoots back, raising an eyebrow with a bemused expression on his face.

“Out here, no one can hear you scream,” you jest, aping the movie line.

He guffaws into his glass. “Sometimes that can be a good thing.”

“Murder?!”

“The ability to scream and not be heard,” he clarifies, his tone markedly more languid than before.

“Painting not going well?” you ask with a chuckle.

“It’s going great, but not what I was referring to,” he argues, and you can’t seem to look away from his mouth all of a sudden.

Damn, how much whisky have you had?

“Had a girl here, Bridgerton?” your venture, a flutter in your chest even as you ask.

“Not until now,” he scoffs, but the intensity in his hazy blue stare causes a riot in your stomach.

You have to look down at your feet before you do something stupid, like climb into his lap and suck on his luscious bottom lip.

“Have you been masturbating loudly?” you quip, still looking down, the thought leaving your lips before you can censor it.

There’s a sharp intake of breath, making you look back at him—big mistake. His eyes look stormy, and you can see a vein in his neck pulsing hard. Like you’ve awoken something.

“I’m sorry, that was rude of me,” you stutter even as your mind floods with images of just that—him stroking his cock and panting, preferably your name.

The atmosphere feels a little too thick, and you briefly curl your lip into your mouth and bite it to give yourself something else to focus on.

“More whisky?” you offer, standing up and changing the subject.

“Sure.” He holds out his glass, and you swear his fingers intentionally slot between yours as he passes it to you.

You use the few moments it takes to refill your drinks, with your back turned, to gather your thoughts and slow your breathing. Having served, you sink onto the couch again but intentionally shift to face him more directly. The alcohol makes you bold and intrigued to know where this might go. He seems to do the same, his feet looping over the armchair's edge and almost touching yours.

“Hey, do you remember that summer when we were, l think, maybe twelve and…”

“Excuse me, point of order,” you butt in, “If you were twelve, I was ten. OK? Continue…” you motion with your hands for him to go on.

“Yes, thanks for reminding me I am older,” he snarks and skews his mouth into an affectionate pout.

“You are welcome, old man,” you tease with a slight smirk.

“Well, anyway… do you remember that summer Colin came home with headlice? And Ant’s answer was to shave all of our heads? Mum almost had a heart attack when she walked in on that. She was forever grateful he’d only gotten around to doing us three boys. She might have died if we’d made it down to Daph or El…” he is laughing heartily around his scotch glass at the memory.

“Remember it?!?” you pipe up, “of course I do! Don't you remember you were trying to push me in front of your sisters in Ant’s barber line? You seemed concerned to ensure I either got rid of or never got them in the first place; I don't remember which,” you laugh, an ache of fond nostalgia in your chest at little Benedict.

“Well, of course, I’ve always looked out for you,” he rolls his eyes as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

You smile a genuinely warm smile at him. He's been a wonderful person in your life for as long as you can remember.

“But you’ve always looked out for me too. I remember you brought me a Malteser every day when I was sick with the mumps.”

“I did?!” your voice incredulous; you do not remember doing so.

“Yes, and I've never forgotten it,” he voices sincerely before he takes a draw of his drink. “But then there is so much about you that is unforgettable, isn't there?” he adds, looking at you with an intensity you don't know what to do with.

“Stop it,” you answer bashfully, embarrassed to meet his gaze, staring beyond his shoulder at the snow falling heavily and sticking to the window in fluffy clumps. “And if we’re on this flattery train, what about you? You think I don’t know it’s been you sending me an ‘anonymous’ rose every single Valentine's Day?”

He gapes at you in surprise. “Wait, how did you know it’s from me?’”

“You are the sweetest person I know. It could never be anyone but you, Ben.” You shrug as if the answer is obvious, “and I know it was never out of pity for the times I’m single because you sent one those years I was with Dan, which used to make him so mad, by the way, and when I was with Julian and Paul….”

“Urgh, Dan deserved to be mad,” his tone dismissive, and his face ticked, “I always hated him.”

“You hated everyone I dated, that you met anyway,” you point out, that fact just dawning on your as you speak it.

“But him the most,” he grouses with a sour expression.

“Why?”

“‘Cos he got the closest to marrying you. And I really didn’t want to have to do that whole stand-up in church and object thing. But, by god, I would have.”

His powerful words stun you; you had no idea how deep his feelings on the subject ran.

“Y… you would?” you stutter.

His eyes are so intense now. Even as he takes a swig, he doesn't look away. “He was not worthy of you,” he declares, slow and deliberate, enunciating each word crisply.

“So, who is?” you ask quietly as you take a sip, the question echoing hollowly in your glass.

“I haven't met anyone yet,” he notes with finality.

You had no idea he had judged every single one of your boyfriends and, what’s more, found all of them to be somehow lacking. In hindsight, he was correct, but he never said anything to you at the time, and you can't decide if you want to hold that against him. It might have saved you a lot of heartache and possibly a lot of money.

“Well, if you meet someone that has the Benedict seal of approval, you’ll be sure to send them my way, yeah?” you volley, your voice light.

He breaks into a smile that makes something flutter strong in your ribcage.

“Certainly. I hope you don't mind waiting until possibly your eighties for me to find a worthy suitor,” he jokes.

“Oh god, really?” you groan, “but I can’t not have sex until then,” you lament and kick your legs out as if in a fit of pique.

“Oh, you can have all the sex you want,” he lobbies back, waving his hand dismissively, “you just can’t fall in love,” his eyes twinkle with mischief you’ve always found beguiling.

“Duly noted,” you giggle.

There is a beat where you just look at each other with a shared fondness that makes your heart ache a little—perhaps under different circumstances, he could be the one person worthy of you, as he puts it.

“Well, that is the last log on the fire dying down. I'm not going out in that damn snow to fetch more, so I think the safest thing to do is get under the covers before it gets too cold in here.” he opines.

“Ben, it's 10:30 pm… really?” you whine, “are you really going to bed already, grandpa?” but as you complain, you stifle a yawn.

“Haha, I saw that yawn!” he retorts triumphantly, “and I've got news for you, missy. You are going to bed too.” He grabs both of your hands and easily hauls you off the sofa.

“Why?!?” you scoff but are secretly enthralled when he rounds behind you, his sizable hands landing warm on your hips and propelling you towards the bedroom area.

“Because I’m not having you crawl under the covers later bringing in all that cold air with you, nope, no thank you, not happening,” he chimes over your shoulder.

“So I have to go to bed now?!” you throw your hands up in the air, but he keeps propelling you forward.

“Yup,” he grins, popping the ‘p’ rather obnoxiously.

You capitulate with a weary sigh. “Urghhh, fine. But I will be up reading for a few more hours, so I hope you can sleep with the light on.”

“Fine with me,” he chuckles, herding you towards the bed. “I once slept in your dorm room when your flatmate was having a full-on dance party. I think I can sleep through your reading.”

You collapse onto the bed giggling at that memory, tugging off your shoes and socks but nothing else as he does the same. He pulls the covers back, and you both settle under, still in your fleecy jumpers. Without your socks, however, your feet feel freezing, and with a wicked grin, you cook up a solution.

“Oh my god, what the hell is wrong with your feet?!? Why are they so cold!!” he exclaims as your toes wrap around his exposed ankle.

He twists to try and get away from you, but your feet chase him under the covers, you laughing, him shrieking.

“My hands are cold too,” you chortle, clamping them onto his surprisingly muscular forearm.

He squeals in the most undignified manner, trying to shake your grip, but you just limpet on harder, giggling in that way only tipsy people do.

There is the most delightful resulting tussle, him trying to wrestle your hands and feet away as you try your damndest to keep them on him—the duvet entwining around all of your limbs.

You end up with his weight and warmth partially on top of you, pinning you down, him triumphantly ensnaring your wrists and holding your hands firmly onto the pillow. Your joint heavy breathing and giggles slowly die out as you stare at each other. Your faces have never been so close before. You have no doubt your pupils are as blown as his, and you are certain that he can feel the racing heartbeat at your wrists where he pins you down. His breath is warm on your cheek.

After a few silent moments, his gaze drops to your mouth; he suddenly mutters an apology and starts to pull away.

As if in slow motion, you push up and press your lips to his. You are not thinking at all, just going with your instinct. His lips are warm and plush, and you want more. So much more.

You feel the moment his whole body freezes; he is stunned in the truest sense of the word.

You pull back quickly, sinking into the pillow under him.

“Oh god. I’m so, so sorry,” you whisper, mortified, “please forgive me, I….”

Your words die out as he makes a noise you’ve never heard before. It seems to come from deep inside him, making every hair on your body stand on end.

Then he is on you. Closing the gap between you and capturing your lips with a passion that steals your breath and thoughts. He is kissing so hard, so quickly, you feel lightheaded, pressing you into the mattress under his body. His lips open over yours, his tongue teasing against your lips. He tastes of toothpaste, traces of whiskey and something that is all him, and you flood your underwear; there's also a noise from your throat that doesn’t sound human. He kisses like a storm, hot and electric, and you want to drown in him.

Suddenly his hands are everywhere, and so yours follow suit. It’s a desperate clambering of wanting more. Before you can completely acknowledge it, his hands are questing under your jumper, squeezing your waist, sliding up and over your bra, and tweaking a nipple as his tongue parries with yours.

“Please, please take this off,” he implores passionately into your mouth, tugging at your top. His voice, this close and breathless, is lethal. He is everywhere, surrounding and covering you, and your focus narrows to just him as he sits up to peel off his jumper and t-shirt together, exposing his torso. You freeze. Your arms crossed, halfway through taking off yours.

“Fucking hell,” you exhale before you can stop yourself.

You figured Benedict would be in shape from the feel of his body when you hug, but you haven't seen him shirtless in a long time, and just how much in shape he is, is a revelation. He smiles demurely at your outburst, which makes you want him even more if that were possible.

“Take yours off,” he sounds impatient, and you realise you are still frozen in the same position. You quickly whip yours over your head; his responding noise is your new favourite sound. You feel so grateful you only brought nice underwear on this trip; your lacy bra appears to work for him.

“The knickers match,” you murmur, revelling in the flash in his eye.

You grab his hand and move it to the drawstring on your pyjamas. His long slender fingers pluck the bow tied there; his gaze is on your face the whole time, his kiss-damp lips glowing softly in the low light. You breathe deeply and can’t look away from his captivating face. When the string relents, he winks. Rather than pull them down, his hand quests inside and between your legs.

You gasp and buck up off the pillow as warm, strong fingers press on your clit through the lacy fabric. You know he can feel your heat, just how wet the material is.

“I’ve wanted you for years,” he rumbles low and sinful as his fingers tease a circle over your clit. “Although this seems unreal - I half assume I’m going to wake up in a minute with my hand wrapped around my cock, alone.”

Hearing him say the word cock makes you moan. He licks his lips, and his fingers curl firmer on you.

“Tell me this is real; I’m not dreaming again,” he pleads fervently, pressing his forehead to yours, breathing your air. He is achingly beautiful this close up, his eyes just a thin ring blazing around dark inky pupils staring into your depths. This man has always been able to make you feel seen, but this close, this intense, it feels like he’s peering into your soul.

“You’re not dreaming, Ben,” you reply shakily, trying not to lose all composure at what the word ‘again’ might imply as he gradually tortures you with unhurried, steady movements.

He is watching your face, so closely observing, cataloguing your micro-expressions. His fingers move, spidering along the lace trim before pushing under the fabric this time, sliding down through your trimmed pubic hair and into your naked, soaked folds.

“Ben!” You call out, grasping that strong forearm again, biting your lip and staring into his fiery gaze.

“What do you need?” he questions. It’s the first time anyone has ever asked you that in bed.

“You,” you reply honestly.

“You have me, 110% you have me,” he asserts in a tone that melts something in your chest. “As if you don't know it, you’ve had me for many years,” he admits as his hand slides lower. You cry out as he pushes two fingers just a fraction inside you.

“Fuck, you are on fire,” he exclaims, a shaky exhale across your lips.

“Only for you,” you answer, knowing you’ve never been this turned on before in your life.

He growls, actually growls. And then his lips are back on yours in the most potent kiss yet. You pulse around him and groan into his mouth as he sinks his fingers deeper. When the kiss ends, you glance down your body, seeing the stiff peaks of your nipples poking insistently through the lace and his sinewy forearm buried into your pyjama bottoms.

“Do you like what you see?” his voice a velvety tease.

“I’d like it even more if we were naked,” you respond honestly.

He chuckles at that, and his lips descend, dropping light kisses down your neck as his fingers tease you, surging in and out of your body so achingly slow. His thumb rests on your clit, a little nudge of pressure every time his fingers rock into your channel.

“I need to make you come like I need air,” he confesses, his voice resonant, his warm breath skittering over the sensitive skin of your throat. It’s the hottest thing you've ever heard.

“Please do…” it’s a quiet plea.

You feel the curve of his cheek as he smiles, and the fingers inside you flex.

“I suppose if you’d like to be more naked, then I’d better strip you down first,” he remarks, gently withdrawing his fingers.

Warm hands hook into your underwear, and he scooches away, pulling them down your legs, taking your PJs with them. Suddenly, the image that flashed in your mind earlier becomes a reality, his stubbly chin grazing your belly as he crawls back over you.

“You look amazing,” he sighs over your belly button and leans his forehead on your stomach as he takes a deep breath. “You smell it too.”

He runs his nose and lips over your skin as he surges up and nuzzles your bra, pleading with his eyes for you to remove it as he pulls the straps down over your arms, kissing along the lacy cup edge.

When his lips wrap around one of your nipples, you grab his hair and push up against him, the swoop of sensation in your belly like riding a rollercoaster, the thrill tingling along the back of your scalp.

He moves to lay beside you, and you watch the duvet move as he strips off his bottoms under it. Suddenly there is a thick wave of body heat as he rolls next to you; you feel something sizeable and solid brand your hip.

“Oh, Ben,” slips out on instinct, but he stops your questing hand.

“Not yet,” he shakes his head and smirks at your corresponding pout. “When you have come, preferably screaming, then you can touch my cock. Okay?”

You physically feel the shiver down your spine at that line. Who even says things like that?

He smiles against your temple as he slips his fingers back into you, and you moan at the sensation. He curls his body around you, legs twining around your right one to hold you open. That cock is still rigid on your hip; it feels sizeable and delicious.

“Tell me what you like,” he murmurs, his thumb rubbing a circle over your clit his fingers stroking in a come hither motion.

“This… exactly what you are doing,” you reply breathlessly, “just please don't stop and maybe go a little harder?” you request timidly.

He smirks and pushes his fingers deeper; his motions get stronger and faster. You close your eyes and nod, licking your lips.

“Yes, that oh god Ben, thattttt,” you stumble as his magical fingers spiral you higher.

When they jab a spot inside, a bloom of pleasure hits you, and your eyes fly open, going wide.

“Oh, that’s the spot,” he preens, redoubling his efforts as you start to pant loudly, clinging to his arm and whining his name—the hot and intense pleasure building remarkably fast.

“That’s it come on,” he encourages, whispering into your hairline right above your ear; his tone is both soothing and achingly filthy.

“Ben… I,” your words morph into needy noises, drunk on the sensations rippling through your body, fanning out from his fingers buried inside you.

“Yes, yes,” he hisses, “you’re close now; I can feel it. Look at me,” he orders.

And you do. Mouth hanging open, squirming on his fingers, feeling something primal washing over you. His eyes burn into yours.

“Don’t fight it,” he warns.

It's almost like permission; you feel something inside you give way. You scream loudly as a tide of orgasm washes over you. Blood rushes in your ears, and you feel his leg bear down over the apex of your thigh, holding your pelvis onto the bed as you cry and convulse. Your body fights his fingers, trying to push them out as your whole channel clenches in strong waves.

After a few moments of deep breaths, you open your eyes, and he kisses your cheek, then your lips.

“Wow… that was…. absolutely amazing,” he confides, kissing more. “And it's a damn good thing no one can hear us here. You scream like a horror movie queen, and I mean that with all the very best compliments.”

You laugh a little abashed and bury your face into his armpit, loving the smell of his deodorant and just him.

“Your turn,” you mumble, deciding to be bold and snake a hand down your side to grab his cock at your hip.

It’s large and thick enough your fingers don’t quite meet when you wrap around it. It makes your insides melt at the thought of how it would feel sliding into you. He makes the neediest huffing noises as you twist onto your side to face him and begin an unhurried rhythm, watching that pretty cock twitch in your hand.

You tease him with a gentle twisting motion, squeezing a little as you reach his head, swiping a thumb over the bead of precum that appears, gently massaging his frenulum as he lets out a faint moan. His hand covers yours, stilling your movements.

“This is so wonderful, but I need you to stop if you want sex. Do you want to… have sex?” he asks so demurely your heart clenches.

“Yes, Ben, please,” you whisper.

“I didn't bring any condoms with me,” he says quietly, “I didn't think I’d meet another soul up here, let alone well…” he trails off, pitching forward, so his lips are warm on your cheek.

“I didn't either, but I'm on the Pill,” you shrug. You've never had first-time sex without a condom, but this man isn't a stranger; he's a lifelong friend, and you trust him with your life.

“I know,” he says softly, kissing your nose.

“Wait, how do you know that?” your brow knitting lightly.

“I know everything about you,” he asserts against your skin, staring into your eyes. “How you take your tea - English breakfast before 2pm, Earl Grey after, both with milk and one sugar. I know how the tip of your tongue here,” he softly trails his nose over the corner of your mouth, “sticks out of your mouth when you type on your laptop. I know you always loop your glasses into the neckline of your top,” a finger tracing gently over the swell of your breast, “and somehow always forget they are there and have a ten-second panic every time.” He laughs gently. “I even know how you prefer plain Hobnobs over chocolate; I have no idea why, and you are so wrong on that, by the way,” he shoots you a devastating lopsided grin. “And I know you are on the Pill because I've watched you take them religiously for years; when I stay at yours, and you make coffee in the morning, it’s the first thing you take before your multivitamin.”

His casual recounting of so many little, human things that make you, you, astounds you. This man knows you better than you know yourself, and you get a weird swooping sensation in your chest. Of elation that you've finally figured it out, he might just be the one - your human, but also a crushing regret you haven't done so sooner. You could have been doing this, intimately entwined with this wonderful, thoughtful, sensitive, handsome man, for so many years.

Not wanting to waste any more opportunity and so very desperate to have him inside you, you use all your strength to roll him onto his back and climb on top. Surprised and aroused, he looks up at you devotedly, his pupils blown wide.

Silently and without breaking eye contact, you reach between your bodies, line up his weeping beautiful cock, and sink onto him without another thought. The needy noise he makes is like poetry.

He feels perfect, and you close your eyes to revel in being stretched around him, a solid hot presence filling you up and holding you so open. Just the perfect length and girth for you, almost like his cock was made for you.

Warm hands grasp your hips, and your eyes fly open and look down at him, his expression pleading with you to move. Gradually you rise up, then drop down just once, savouring the sensations as he drags against your walls.

“You feel perfect,” he groans “please….”

You know what he is asking, begging for - more. Something in you wants to draw this out, go so achingly slow both of you get mindless. Luxuriate in this carnal, sensual meeting.

“Talk to me,” you implore, starting a leisurely pace.

“What about?” you watch him glance down between your bodies, watching his cock disappear into you as you sink down.

“Talk to me, Ben,” you repeat but pointedly, grabbing his chin to look at you and raising an eyebrow.

There's a lightbulb of understanding behind his eyes, and that killer crooked smile spreads across his face.

“You like my voice, don't you?” he says, pitched low, and you bite your lip, grabbing his hands as leverage for your movements.

“Yes,” you admit quietly, gasping as the pleasure grows between your legs just as he says those few words.

“I know,” he smirks, “I’ve known for years.”

You look at him in surprise. “Wait, how?” you breathe, disbelieving.

He grabs your shoulders and pulls you down on top of him: so much heat and warm flesh.

“I have noticed your pupils dilate every time I drop my voice just like this,” he murmurs low and sinful into your ear. “The temptation to say so many dirty things has been so strong. God, I love it when you are aroused, and you think you can hide it. I knew you were getting wet; it would take all my willpower not to grab and kiss you senselessly. Especially those days when you are only in a little floaty skirt, I could actually smell it. Delicious and sweet and so fucking sexy. That little squirm you would do. How you move your body is fucking sinful. And now I get to enjoy it. You riding me like this. Fuck, if this isn't every fantasy I've ever had coming true.”

By the time his filthy soliloquy is done, you are panting hard, not from the exertion as you rock on him but the way he has pushed you so close to orgasm with so little effort - just his voice and words.

“Ben,” you shudder, “I….” words fail as you feel your body flush.

“I can feel you are fluttering. Are you going to come so soon?” he exhales, impressed. “Oh god, please, please do it,” he urges. “I need to feel it.”

You sit up and reach down to touch your clit, and he swears at the sight. You are tipping over the edge, stilling your movement as you sit with him at your hilt and clench around him. He feels impossibly huge inside you, twitching and pulsing.

“Fuckkkkkkkk,” he groans long and loud, clenching his teeth. You know he is also fighting the urge to come, wanting this to last much longer.

Greedy for more, for another stronger climax, you go to move again, but he stops you.

“Please don't move, not yet,” he pleads, grabbing your hips and quelling your movement. “I need… a few moments, please.”

You smile down at him indulgently and link your hands again, bringing the back of his hand to your mouth and kissing it delicately. Then to be a tease, you envelop his middle finger in your mouth, running your tongue over it, tasting his tangy skin. He growls as you add his pointer finger and suck hard, staring down at him heatedly.

“This isn't really helping,” he warns reluctantly with a playful pout.

You let his fingers slip out of your mouth and guide his hand to your breasts, pressing his now-damp fingers against your nipple. He enthusiastically grips your flesh, and you throw your head back and moan as he teases your sensitive buds, pinching them between his fingertips. You gyrate your hips, dragging his tip against your cervix.

There is another growl, and suddenly you are tipped over onto the mattress, him still buried inside you. He grabs your legs and loops his arms under them, pulling your body so open under him.

“Hold onto me… twine your arms around me,” he instructs.

You do, fingers digging into his smooth, muscular torso. Panting in anticipation; at the feel of him holding you down, his pelvis crushed against your engorged clit.

He begins to move, and you can't help but make noises; he just overwhelms all your senses. His kisses, his skin, his arms, your legs held high and wide. He is almost delicate in his motion, but you can tell he is holding back.

“Don't be too gentle, Ben,” you beg, bringing one hand up to cup his jaw and running your thumb over his bottom lip. “Please just fuck me.”

His mouth captures your thumb, and you gasp as he spears into you hard. You hiss your approval as he crowds over you to kiss you fiercely. Then everything is a haze as your mind switches off, and you are rooted in your body, chasing sensation as he takes you hard. He feels so hot and rigid, pounding into you as you lay under him, pinned and almost helpless to this onslaught but wanting nothing more than being right where you are. For a first time together, it’s not awkward or timid; it's exciting and mindblowing but somehow still safe, knowing you can trust him with everything, including your body.

Between kisses, there are whispered encouragements against lips and hands grasping so tight to each other as movements become more frantic and fast. He is hitting your clit on each stroke and panting, so present in the moment, eyes boring into yours. You know he is so close, hanging by a thread when he screws his eyes shut and pleads with you to come with him. A few more strokes and it is happening, your orgasm hitting you hard and breaking over your body in waves, fanning out from your core as you clench around him, making your muscles spasm and your toes curl. You feel him coming hard, too, a warm bloom inside you as he jerks a few heavy thrusts, then stills, mouth open over yours and huffing gulps of air as he twitches.

After a few moments of deep breaths and slumped limbs, he pulls his face up to kiss you tenderly.

“Wow,” he breathes, and you giggle and nod your head. “Why haven't we been doing that for the last god knows how many years?” he shakes his head, his voice a little ragged and rough-edged.

“I don't know, but we should be doing a lot more of it,” you respond brightly, “make up for lost time?”

He laughs warmly and agrees, taking his weight off you and rolling and rearranging your bodies so you are both on your sides, facing each other, hands laced together, noses touching. And that is how you fall asleep.

—

You awaken to dazzling sunlight streaming in, reflecting off all the snow. You wince against the brightness and clamp your eyes shut, burrowing back into Benedict. You feel surrounded, in the best sense of the word. He is a warm solid presence behind your back, an arm slung around the dip of your waist, a hand curled around your breast, legs entangled, downy hair tickling your calves. And best of all, a hard cock nestles the back of your thighs. You flex your hips and shuffle until his tip is poised right at your entrance. He stirs, and there is a hot exhale on the back of your neck.

“Get inside me, please,” you petition quietly, voice scratchy from sleep.

Wordlessly, he rolls his hips, surging into your body in one swift stroke. You moan so loudly that he huffs a laugh, then stills, buried inside you.

“Now go back to sleep,” he grumbles affectionately, arm pulling you into him tighter, your whole body flush to his, curling his legs up so you are almost in the fetal position.

“Like this?!” your tone incredulous, as his fingernails trace an idle ellipsis around your areola.

“Mmm hmmm,” his hum vibrates into your spine.

“Bennnn…” you protest, clenching around him, so he groans deeply.

“I promise to fuck you so hard you forget your name… later, if you let me sleep just a little more,” he proposes, nuzzling your hair.

What a lovely thought. You lay still in his arms for a few minutes, but his cock holding you open is far too distracting.

“Bennn…” you try again.

“Shhhhh…” he reacts, but you can tell he's not sleepy anymore; there is a smile on the nape of your neck.

“You feel too good; I can’t sleep,” you whine, slightly petulant.

“You’re not even trying,” he chuckles richly.

“You can't do this to me,” you wheedle, your breath hitching triumphantly as he tilts his pelvis and slips a fraction deeper.

“If I fuck you right now, will you stop complaining?” his tone laced with amusement.

“Hmmm, maybe,” you shoot back, twisting to glance at him over your shoulder, seeing his eyes dancing with mirth.

Your lips meet, and it's a breathy passionate kiss, all open mouths and tongues, teasing each other and fighting for dominance.

As your mouths dance, he starts to move at a languid pace, just rocking into your body gently, and it’s the best wake-up you have ever had. You cover his hand on your breast, and he intuits what you are asking, squeezing the swell, your nipple snagged between his middle and pointer finger. You break the kiss, and his teeth gently skim the cord on your neck as he speeds up a little.

“Will you wake me up like this every day, please?” you sigh, not thinking about the implications of your words, just drunk on the sensation.

“Happily,” he rumbles and spears a little stronger, making you call out his name.

“The sound I really want to wake up to though….” his voice teasing and low. “is this one…” and his hand slips from your breast to between your legs.

You moan and writhe in his strong hold, little sparks of pleasure firing where he touches.

“That’s it, that’s the sound,” he encourages as you both move together in sync.

It’s a wonderfully sensual experience, growing in intensity until he rolls you over onto your front, still inside you, fucking into you from behind, covering your entire body with his. His hand is trapped between your body and the mattress while teasing your clit.

“Oh god, Ben,” you cry as he seems to slide deeper than ever, your thigh trapped shut together, his legs bracketing yours, using all his effort to drive into you, the tone shifting from languid to vigorous. You’ve never been taken in this position before, and at this angle, he is hitting all the right spots inside you to make your eyes roll back and bite the pillow.

It hurtles you fast, beginning to pant raggedly, and you urge him on, asking for more and harder, and he obliges, thrusting so strong your whole body rolls and the bed squeaks loudly in protest. Your voice becomes one long moaning sound; you are pushing back onto his cock as much as possible, a chorus of please don't stop as he drives you fast towards a climax. His body is bowed, breathing hot puffs of air across your upper back, with an occasional kiss, his lips soft and wet.

He holds you on a precipice for a moment; you crane to look back at his face pleadingly; his expression is wild and so gorgeous it catches your breath.

“You are magnificent,” he rasps against your skin.

Then the hand not on your clit suddenly spanks your butt cheek while his teeth sink into the top of your trapezius muscle, pushing you over the edge, calling his name as you pulsate hard around him. Him grunting and thrusting deeper, fighting your clenching muscles. Then he stills, and every muscle tenses as he empties into your body, almost shaking from the intensity.

He collapses onto your back, breathing in wracked sounds.

“Fucking hell,” you both say almost in unison, then giggle at your matching assessment of the experience.

He pulls out of you reluctantly and flops down onto the mattress to your left, wrapping an arm around you and manoeuvring so are the little spoon once again.

“That was intense,” he voices, and you make a noise of agreement, lacing your fingers with his and holding your joined hands up, watching his fingers sink between yours and curve over, his fingertips resting on your palm.

“We are awesome at sex,” you opine. Benedict chuckles at that, hooking his chin over your shoulder. “And you know what that means?”

“What?” his tone lilting.

“We just have to keep doing it all the time,” you observe with a mock, burdened sigh.

“What a terrible hardship for us,” he concurs with an ironic laugh, nuzzling your neck with a grin on his face. __

Half an hour later, you have showered together - which proved almost as distracting as morning sex until the hot water tank ran out, and you jumped out squealing as the water turned ice cold - and are now leisurely making brunch. You both only wear towelling robes you stole from your Glasgow hotel room, the fireplace roaring again. You agree to go for a walk in the snow later, neither of you mentioning booking your flight home.

“Wait, why is this sofa so bloody uncomfortable” you bemoan, taking a sip of coffee and flicking idly through a book you took from a shelf. “I don't remember it being this bad last night,” you ponder aloud.

“Well, you had had a couple of whiskeys by then,” Benedict points out as he cooks an amazing-smelling breakfast a few feet away in the kitchenette.

“True, but honestly, what is going on with it?” you grumble, putting the book aside, not yet sufficiently caffeinated.

“Sofa beds tend not to be comfortable. As either a sofa or a bed,” he rattles out, flipping a slice of bacon in the pan.

You grind to a halt in your efforts to get comfy.

“Sofa bed…?” You echo out loud.

He suddenly freezes and realises what he has admitted.

“Benedict bloody Bridgerton!!” you exclaim loudly, standing up, “did you trick me into sharing your bed?!?”

He turns around slowly, knowing he is foiled and pulls a sheepish face.

“Yeahhhh, a lil bit…” he admits as you gape at him, attempting his most winning remorseful smile. “But, in my defence…” he adds, waving the spatula, “you are the one who kissed me first. I just stacked the deck; you drew the first card.”

He expertly swerves the cushion you throw at him before flicking off the stove and pushing aside the pan.

“Right…” he charges at you as you squeal.

He corners you with ease in the compact space and throws you over his shoulder.

“We are using this stupid sofa bed right now,” he instructs and, rather attractively, casually flicks a handle on the side with his foot to open it. He practically throws you onto the (admitted thin, rather uncomfortable) bed and tugs open your robe, snaking his way down your body and throwing your legs over his shoulder, shooting you a molten hot gaze from between your thighs.

You have no arguments with this development. None whatsoever.

—

You return to that tiny cottage every year for that same week as a ritual—a little private anniversary. Sometimes you stay through New Year, just the two of you ringing in the entire festive season.

He buys it for you as a wedding gift, and you cry at the sentimentality of the man buying you the place you first got together. (One thing you do early on - buy a new, comfortable sofa.)

It becomes a haven for your lives together, even when you have to bring cots and camp beds for your children, all sleeping communally in that one room. (You don’t tell them, but all of your children are named after characters in an obscure old book he finds hidden in the rafters when you are renovating while pregnant with your firstborn.)

Nothing brings you more joy than when you can escape to that little cottage in the Highlands. You never tell anyone besides your children where it is—it’s your escape, your sanctuary. The “somewhere only we know,” as Benedict always called it.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @wysteria-clad @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton smut #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton #1k follower celebration #build a blurb celebration

[bogbiter]

League Concept: Flying Wyverns (ft. THROGG?!?!)

Hello beasties! Remember that guy I was rewriting? This man started in the same train of thought as Kyridon. Actually he was the OG. And he was admittedly not as cool. Or lore wise, thought out. He was PURELY designed for being a monster champ with a brawler kit.

And boy he has grown in concept since the start of 2021.

Let me tell you about a troll. His name is Throgg

Throgg from Warhammer Fantasy is one of the most intelligent individuals in the Old World. And most definitely the most intelligent troll period. While his original appearance did not paint him as especially bright, if just exceptionally competent in tactics. Yet The Kinslayer and End Times saga painted him a far more intelligent force. Like, he was Warhammer Fantasy's take on Smaug, having such a Shakespearean flair that one did not expect from some senior aged troll.

milkandcookiesTW does an exceptional video on the dude, and I do recommend reading Kinslayer as they not only make him the big bad, but also just because Felix and Gotrek books are just swag.

What does this do with our boy here? Well, the story below details that juxtaposition between pure predator and architect of the future of an entire species. Also yes we're revisiting the Freljord again fuckers because the Northern Lands of Ice and Frost need more things to kill you.

----

In the Frozen lands, there lies the ancestral site of the Laitivern, the original Rulers of the Sky. For Generations, hundreds of  these wyvern clans would roost within the massive elder volcano of Wyrms Furnace, their kin dominating the skyline. And at one point they were not just limited to the Freljord either, for they had in older days conquered the world. They were cunning, and recognized that in a world of great beasts, numbers overwhelming lead to victory. They existed alongside Man, Troll, Minotaur, and Vastaya, but they were not on equal terms. They raided Man and Minotaur, competed with Troll, and preyed upon Vastaya. Their namesake became synonymous with dragons, for a flock of wandering Laitiverns could very easily overwhelm a territory and strip it of livestock and soldiers. 

The Rune Wars changed this dynamic however, for the sorcery unfolded onto the world would scar the lands they called home. Magibeast once dormant before days of creation rose up, and tempered the land in strange horrific ways. Magic radiated into new and terrifying plagues, and for as clever as the The Laitivern were, they did not know how to combat these new threats. But the other races did, and though they too had an uphill battle, they gained a footing when the Laitiverns themselves could not. They disappeared from most of the world, and those who resided in the Freljord soon found that Man and Troll had grown stronger. Now their meals were stolen away, or their hunting flocks ambushed and feasted upon. Some of these terrible magic plagues tore into scales like scalding iron, and left them too weak to fly. And those who could not fly, they starved. Many clans were razed in this era, and the Laitivern went into hiding, less they attracted the unwanted attention of Dragon Hunters and Slayers.

Those around the Freljord could sometimes go weeks without a successful kill. And as the magibeast roamed the land, and the shamans spread themselves out far and wide, those at Wyrm's Furnace had an idea to feed on them instead. The flesh of Balestag or Frost Casting Yeti could suffice a flock for much longer than a typical boar or cave bear. These hunts were not… always successful… but those who came back proved themselves the most capable and cunning of their flock, and were awarded the title of Mach'dala, or "Soul Downer''.

To their surprise, the young that ate upon the sweet meat of these corrupted creatures seemed to grow a powerful resistance to crippling frost magic, or bolts of channeled fire. Seeing positive effects of their more daring hunts, the tradition carried on, and slowly did their magical potency grow as those same hatchlings would then grow up into Mach'dala themselves. Near the modern age, as Noxus crashed the gates of holds in the east of the Freljord, some Laitiverns could deflect the magic, and those that had hunted shamans could now bring their own runic powers to the hunt. But they had also harnessed in this time the "Styg '', or "Wrath". The ability to breathe a clouded emission black as storm clouds and rolling with red thunder,  that could direct at prey and foe alike. The Laitivern became known as Galdrveiðrormr, or as the Mage Hunter Wyverns. And those of Wyrm's Furnace grew bold, and even with Anivia in the skies… they claimed the heavens as their domain.

Wyrm's Furnace however was full of more Laitiverns than the Mach'dala. There were the Oldsouls who guided the roost and healed its soldiers, the Foragers who gathered supplies for nesting and firemaking, the Bouncers who protected the roost, and the Carvers, who carved out rock for them to build more nests and roosts. An apt home for hatchling, with many careers to seek. Among a clutch of eggs that belonged to a esteemed Carver and Mach'dala, was Veyolkos. 

It was very clear after he hatched he was born a gifted hatchling, with his scales sharpening very early on, and learning to glide within a month of hatching. But this caused the problem where he was a bit too curious. Curiosity in the Freljord for even humans and Yordles has to be tempered, otherwise death would be the answer to the inquiry. So they kept him near the Oldsouls, who had no qualm with watching a hatchling. Except Veyolkos the moment he learned to speak, had too many questions. He asked why they collected spears, and was told they were warrior's trophies. When he asked if he could make a spear, the elders were dumbfounded, and had no idea if they could. Humans seemed to make them with ease, but they were so thin the Laitivern's saw them as an inconvenience. What use was a weapon if you were already so dangerous unarmed. He didn't like the answer, and attempted to make such spears. And then axes. And then disastrously, a bow. After a few days and a few more missing scales and bruises from the Laitivern Chick's attempted craftsmanship, they relieved Veyolkos of their watch, the Oldsouls growing tired of his boundless energy and always fidgeting talons resulting in injuries around the roost. 

This was unseemly, as chicks could easily get lost or snatched up by an Azurite Eagle. But a few experienced foragers agreed, for his mother couldn't take him as she hunted far more dangerous beasts, and his father worked near falling stone for a living. Taking him under their wing, they showed them the shells they used to forage water, and the branches they searched for that carried the healing ingredients needed for the Oldsouls to use. They showed him flint, and chunks of metal along the cliff faces that helped start flame. And this, seemed to get him wondering if the wood they harvested for the fires couldn't be used to make something else. Especially seeing how easily the wind could snatch their cache from their talons. So he took to some branches, and as the veterans foraged, attempted to make a basket. He had never seen a basket, but he figured something that could hold multiple supplies at a time they could carry in their jaws and talons, was far easier. And to his chagrin, after six fell apart, the seventh carried back 3 shells of water and a bundle of medicinal batteries. The Veterans were curious about the little thing, and asked the young hatchling how it was made. And Veyolkos was more than happy to show.

As he grew into a Yearling, he would continue as a forager. Though he would not lie, he wasn't particularly fond of just being a forager. Yes he made baskets for collecting, but he also wanted to make more with the sticks, bones, and stones at his disposal. So he made for larger baskets yes, and sleds to make transporting caches easier, but he also took to equipping himself with armor. Most notably, taking the hides of kills and tanning them to make leather. To make into stripes. And to create spears around his face and shoulders, as to create a formidable defense as he and other foragers would descend into the valley to steal from the Freljord's wolves and bears. Veyolkos despite his size would always attempt to lead the attack, for though he was similar in size to the bears he believed his craftsmanship would stand the test against them. And the first couple attempts did not. But he learned to treat the wood with flame, and sharpen the bone instead of just relying on its broken pieces. And soon his body was among the veterans as they reaped hard earned scraps, as he tore into their furred hides with sharpened blades and claws, bringing back extra to be eaten, and additionally bringing him more materials to work with. 

Though the Bouncers found his designs to be… the work of a fledgling that had yet to realize his true strength, the Foragers were more than happy to use his new equipment. Veyolkos at first believed he could create a new career, here in Wyrm's Furnace. As much as he enjoyed gathering, he couldn't help but feel it would be wasted potential. While others saw shapes and landmarks, he saw patterns. Patterns that could be manipulated and made into something new. For his siblings he created shields of bone and hide, to protect their sides once they were applied. When they went off to hunt, they wouldn't be as scathed by a predator's blows, but they did return with the armor mangled and torn. Which only incentivised him to cure leather and toughen the hide at his disposal.

But at two years of age, all his planning and testing was interrupted by his mother. His mother saw his tinkering not as the work of a brilliant mind or an opportunistic artist, but a soul yearning for conflict. Wolves and Elk wouldn't cut it, no, he'd need bigger prey. She told him that since he could fly with expertise now, that he must return home with magically gifted prey. Veyolkos was mortified at first, for he had heard his mother's stories of those beasts beyond in the Old Pines and Evergrowth. But before he went out, he asked her to let him prepare for it. She accepted, and for 2 months he fastened himself a suit of leather, bone, and took from an abandoned den, a worn out and torn chest piece of steel to make as a helm. And so he went out on his hunt, soaring through the skies in ragged armor. There amidst stormy skies he scoured, the pelts of his armor keeping him protected from the bite of winter's wind. 

The storm he flew into made it so visibility was low, but amidst the flurry he caught sight of a fire deep in a cave. He perched outside of it, resting atop the mouth of the cave, as he let himself lay low and hid beneath the white blanket of the precipitation. There he saw a lone man, decorated in bear furs moving back to the cave, unaware of the danger lurking above his own refuge. He had heard of Shamanic Werebears, and wondered if though not the largest kill to make, if it would draw the praise of his roost. This was his first magibeast to down, not fed to him in shreds from the mouth of an elder or his mother.As soon as the shaman passed under the roof of the cave Veyolkos shot forward like a panther leaping towards a bird in flight. His body contorted, facing the man as the man instinctively entered his Ursine state. The two collided, bouncing into the cave as both tried to land their jaws on the throat of the other. But Veyolkos’s face spears became too difficult to navigate around, and so the Ursine departed, bleeding from his chest and arms, and tried to find a new way to attack this armored Laitivern. Veyolkos would look around, to find that indeed, Laitivern scales were used in the making of spears and axes. He snapped his jaws as the Ursine tried to rush for his flank, only to pull away, revealing that hidden along their neck was the teeth of bear, wolf, raptor… Laitivern. This Shaman most likely had experience, and knowing killing a slayer like him could prove dangerous to his people, he immediately went to flee, only to feel the Ursine crash into him and knock him over, immediately trying to go for his chest, yet seemed somewhat stunned when his claws only struck hide and stone. Which he had still torn apart, but had not reached the vitals of the Laitivern. Taking advantage of the situation, Veyolkos slapped the Ursine onto its back, and flipping himself up with cat-like agility. He plunged his head spears into the Ursine Man’s side and continued the fight, as the bear man clawed away at his face only for Veyolkos to plunge his spears deeper into the shaman. The struggle was long and brutal, Veyolkos withdrawing only after the Ursine stopped swiping away with their claws. His own face was a bloody mess, but beyond the blood flowing down his eyes, he was able to see the man’s bag. Torn up during their brawl, he noticed its contents included a long scroll, made from the skin of a seal. He nabbed it and the man’s body, flying off with his catch.

He returned to his mother and the elders, presenting his kill as he panted, before showing off his armor. He harshly dropped the shaman before their feet, before ripping a chunk out of the Ursine’s flesh, harshly gulping down the pelt and viscera. He couldn't hear anything they said, but he assumed he had pleased them. He climbed to the top of the Qyrm's Furnace, and took to studying the runes engraved onto the pelt, occupied only by the howl of the wind.

----

            Laitivern mature rapidly at a young age, then it slowly peters out once they reach twelve years of age. As sub-adults they are not yet old enough to court or start their own clutch, but they can hunt amongst one another with some independence. Veyolkos had decided to flip flop between the Forager groups and Mach'dala. Amongst his siblings he was an alien, they adhered to the ways of old. And so he was most regarded not as a pack mate, but a tag-along. And so on their hunts he'd disappear for a time, since they wanted nothing to do with his inventions. But that was fine for Veyolkos. He'd begun smiting since he was seven, and had outfitted his talons with claws befitting a king. Silver he had learned, had some properties that could protect him from the surge of energy his prey usually outputted. Mystical stags he'd search for, not awake. For their speed was so frighteningly swift he could never keep up. When he found such prey he'd make sure they were sleeping. Sometimes he'd silently move in and pin the magibeast down, eating them alive. Other times he just found it easier to grab a large chunk of ice or a boulder to drop on them and concuss them. Before taking his talons to their throat. Should he find the campsites of hunters, he'd make sure none were around before taking any armor or artifacts they possessed as novelties to research. Most treasured to him was literature,for even power fantasies where the author obviously transposed himself into his work he found utterly fascinating. His favorite thing to catch he had created a pulley system just to harpoon the beast: The Frost Serpent. He had found their hide was too sharp and smooth to gain purchase with talons, and they moved so quickly that it would be a miracle to catch their giant eyes to rangle the beast. So Veyolkos had learned to harpoon them as soon as possible, and cranking the pulley could effectively keep one in place and slowly drag it to be butchered. His siblings called it cheating and barbaric. He called it an opportunity, for their sharp scales and fangs made for excellent blades and armor scaling.

         Among his foraging kin he'd fashion them nets, should everyone be feeling more in the need for fish and seal. And he'd create great traps to capture Elnüks. The Foragers also noted how he often searched for herbs when they were available, and whatever food they had he would use them on the meat. At first they found it strange to add greens to their carrion, but when cooked, or he put it in a stone pot he had made and boiled them together, opinions changed quickly. He was always fast on the wing, and that made him exceptionally good at catching the more mundane prey.  And they knew for a fact he would hunt the yetis that marched around their territory, plucking them straight from the sky only to drop them to the earth, like an eagle does with a tortoise. 

          Though his most macabre behavior of butchery. Impaling his prey to the trees and their branches, so that he could take his claws and remove their hides, and cut their flanks. He had made a basket specifically for this act, and he'd return with the cut pieces and prepare it for whoever was willing to eat from his kills. Sometimes he'd return with the helm of a Frostguard, other times the necklace of the Ursine, and rarely the weapons of the Winter's Claw.  To the Laitivern he was still Veyolkos, but he had heard himself spoken about in times where he lurked in the shadows outside of man's fire glow… as The Windrazor. Veyolkos appreciated the name, and on his 14th year decided that his title should be just that: The Windrazor.

Naturally though as tensions rised in the Freljord, with the coming of the Dominion and the Walled Settlements of the Avarosans, hunts were now far more stressful. Especially now that Wyrm's Furnace was repeatedly being raided by Tribal Yordle, Trolls, and Slayers of The Winter's Claw. To kill a Laitiverns had always been a statement to one's hunting prowess, but their sharp scales and strong hide made for excellent armor and weapon crafting. The Bouncers were strong folk, but they were being overrun. As some bouncers fell after raid after raid, and The Mach'dala themselves would fall,  Veyolkos stopped his hunts, and stayed behind to watch over his kin's ancestral site, ready to prove himself capable of protecting their roost. He took to what resources he had, and through convincing, equipped the remaining Bouncers In Armor, protecting their faces and chest, yet still allowing them to shoot their scales out at the enemy. He asked upon the Carvers to find fine stone deep within Wyrm's Furnace, and bring it to him. There he'd teach them, including his own father, to make blades for the tails of The Bouncers, and these blue, steel-shining great blades were so refined in quality that they could take down scores of men, and even without their cutting edge the weight alone could crush a troll's skull. 

He rallied the foragers and equipped them in shields that protected their flanks, and branded their heads with metal spears and their chest with plates made of thick hides and stone. They would go out there to scout first the whereabouts of these hunters, using the cover of night and thunderstorm to determine exactly how these raiders planned to take them. Mach’dala and Bouncers occupied any forces coming from their east and north, while they determined the best possible way to strike. Veyolkos also searched out the Vellox tribes that wandered near their territory, and communed with Yetis. He raised to them teh cruelty they had been experiencing, and how together, they could not only protect Wyrm’s Furnace, but all those in the freljord. He was no longer just trying to protect the Laitiverns, he was amassing an army to do so. He asked his siblings and mother to aid him in such encounters, and at first confused and just going along, they had not the slightest idea why? Only to see Vellox cowering and Yetis lowering their ice clubs in their presence, as Veyolkos spoke with haunting authority, though the other Mach’dala could not discern what he was saying. They would bow to each other, and then the non-laitiverns would leave. Only for Veyolkos to tell them each time:

“Numbers make us look professional. A mad Laitivern rambling does not hold the same power unless occupied by his kin. Especially if he speaks their tongue.”

He would soon talk with the Oldsouls his next set of plans, to continue teaching the carvers how to sculpt armor, and to carve out more dens for the new alliances.. The Oldsouls at first seemed offended by the preposition. They lambasted him for getting distracted. He had always needlessly complicated everything with redundancy and risks. At first Veyolkos let them ramble on, insulting his plans and his reliance on historical enemies, and his cruel affection towards melting metal to crudely reshape it. He then snickered after they had their say, and wandered back to his den. But not without departing to them some words, his tone callous,

“I was not asking for permission, I was letting you know.”

Continuously during their scouting, Veyolkos would plunge deeper past their territories to find covens in the moonlight, gliding silently to learn of their language, and their magics. For his many years with the scroll of his first kill, it had yet to dawn on him what it could mean. But as he had gotten older, he had gotten wiser, and more keen to meaning and interpretation. And understanding the magics their enemies often used was part of the battle. Know the enemy, more than they know you. And as he grew to understand the runic languages, he’d return back to the roost. He would make sure armor was being made, weapons being carved, food being prepared and stored. He’d have the foragers learn to create new tonics and wrappings to aid the bouncers, and then he’d retreat to his den. Only to take the scroll out and reach the highest peak to study the writing. The humans were obsessed with things beyond them. They shared that, and yet as he came to rehearse the incantations, he understood the nature of the scrolls. To shape into something else. To shape into another form of beast. He held in this information, and seeing what needed to be done, he tucked it away into his den. And prepared for conflict. Afterall, blood was to be spilled.

----

It turned out a large group of mercenaries, slayers, and soldiers of the Winter’s Claw had made their trek to Wyrm’s Furnace to finally get the materials needed for their employers or clan. War is, in part, a business, and buyers have strict schedules and due dates. As they ventured towards Wyrm’s Furnace, they noted how quiet it was. The Freljord could be isolating and haunting, but even here the wind seemed only distant. And as they reached the edge of the treeline heading towards the clearing, four of them took a step too far to the right, and were suddenly plunged straight into the earth. Looking down at their comrades, all they found was the four impaled on spikes of carved cedar, bleeding out as they stared down at the bottom of the pit. As if on cue, bolts were fired at the encroaching band of hunters and mercenaries. Many mages put up barriers for them and their crew as they ran past the treeline, shields raised for those who did not have arcane energies protecting them. But the bolts had come high from the peaks, before a new wave set upon the encroaching men. These bolts were massive, more akin to ballista as they descended down, taking a seventeen more of the hunters, limiting their numbers. As they saw no Laitivern in the sky, many shouted for their fellow man to take cover, as they rushed for the massive jutting stones that surrounded the mountain. Many took bows or muskets and fired up where the shots were coming from, hoping to score some blows.

Then they heard something coming from where the Laitiverns roosted. An eerie, discordant hymn, and it felt like those at the base of the mountain were no longer alone. They all felt it: something has gone deeply and irreversibly wrong… and they needed to start running. As soon as they were going to reposition, they heard screeching as a great pack of raptors descended upon them. With the beasts’ strong back legs and jagged bills, a few more mercs fell before the raptors were ignited by the magics of the mage or the molten lead of muskets. And yet the raptors stayed firm, dragging people out into the opening clearing. Some of those people dragged out were able to down the beast with spears and axes, and as soon as they stood up to seek cover, they were pelted with boulders. Attacking the hunters now were Yetis, roaring and beating their chest as they grabbed clubs and warpaddles before charging in. Some of them, the smaller white haired primates, fell, but the elders stayed strong and crashed into their flank. 

Retreating up, they soon were beset upon by Vellox, whose snow leopard print helped them camouflage into the mountain, as their human faces suddenly bared saber fangs as robust monstrous winged arms threw them towards the hunters, tussling with them as they scrapped on the steps of the Laitivern’s roosting site. Weapons striked against flesh with the same ferocity of claws and fangs sundering armor. The Vellox had ways to avoid a direct engagement, with some departing to blow onto their foes winter’s cold embrace, freezing them in place. Yet still Vellox would fall, but as they did the Raptors and Yetis charged from behind, hoping to take the hunter’s down with them if they could. And the hymn above became not some eerie whisper, but a chaotic cacophony being blown through the horn of a ram. Before a Vellox would climb onto a rock and chant, and as she began her most terrifying dirge, the roost erupted with the sound of metal and flapping wings.

The chaos that ensued was swift and brutal, as the Laitiverns defended their ancestral site with an unmatched ferocity. The hunters and mercenaries found themselves vastly outnumbered and overwhelmed as descending onto the group like a horde of wasps were the Laitiverns they had come to hunt. Many bolted for the treeline, running as the Laitivern’s armor blocked their shots, and they threw themselves towards the mages, dragging them away as more of their kin flew ahead of the humans, claws lowering as they lifted the men into the heavens, tearing them apart as they took the remains back to the roost. The ground shook beneath the clashing forces, and the air was filled with the sounds of battle cries, roars, and the piercing screeches of the Laitiverns. Many of those from The Winter’s Claw stood their ground, and those slayers were able to counter the aerial dives of the Laitiverns. Yet they didn’t expect to suddenly be confronted by the heavily armored form of Laitivern Bouncers, Yetis, and Vellox barreling down the mountain towards them. Nor the synchronized volleys of scales being thrown at them. 

Veyolkos had expected a larger group, and though mildly disappointed at only two hundred something men, it made his job way easier. He soared through the sky, leading the foragers and his siblings in a coordinated attack. He darted through the air like a dark shadow, shedding his scales like a storm of glinting blades to lacerate and weaken their forces, before with the cold calculation and agility of a falcon in the dive to strike with deadly precision. And when he noted the flank they were striking was in disarray, he lunged for a sorceress clinging behind a rock for cover. He dived down again, tucking in his wings as he descended from a great height towards her. He angled himself to the side and spread out his wings, coasting down towards her with talons outstretched, seeing the hunter witch’s eyes widen as his talons enveloped her chest. As he nabbed her he flew towards the center of combat, letting loose a series of Styg projectiles onto the enemy to scatter their forces. It wouldn’t be long now till they either broke, or were devoured. So as he applied crushing pressure to her ribs within his grasp, he had to act quickly. He flew behind many a peak to hide his position, as he landed on his perch for which he had titled his study, harshly throwing her down.

He grabbed his scroll, and as he set the stone down on the edges of the scroll, she began to scream at him, of course. She had expected to hunt creatures a little above yetis in wit, not, whatever this armored beast was.

“What!? What the fuck are you planning?!”

He scoffed at her, making sure the seal skin scroll was secure as he turned to face her with a look of not pride nor indifference, but the look of a tiger caught stalking its quarry.

“The intellect I have can be gifted unto another. I refuse to see my society surrounded by witless animals.”

Now was her turn to scoff, as she leered at him with a mocking tone.

“Awwww… golden boy feels he’s wasted on chewing bones with the rest of his packmates-”

He slammed his bladed tail onto her with a sudden harshness, the woman hacking and wheezing as she felt her body crumple from the strike, as he approached her with way too much a casual stride, as he picked her up with his wing claws.

“Though river streams and hills grow steeper, man grows a little more shallow. What right do you have to try and belittle me, witless tool? You have come to slay, and now are to be slain. At least your death will merit some greater use!”

She squirmed in his hold, as he held her over the paper, the Laitivern chanting as she screamed for him to let go, a spell loading within her palm to smite the Laitivern. Veyolkos could see the runes begin to glow in her presence, and so he raised his other wing talon, aiming it at her neck, knowing to make it quick-

“I will give you the taste of the beast that you see in me!"

And in a sudden slicing movement she felt skin tear, then muscle, then a tingling warm pooling before her consciousness fled. And she coughed, though as her blood fell onto the scroll, and as it did she too began to fade, though slightly, as color fled from her skin and hair, her body a dull gray wash as the luminance from the pages poured into his chest. The new rush of energy was paralyzing at first, as he stumbled back, her form turning into mere ashes as they blew over his scales, branding his face in white stripes that ran down his nostril and under his eyes, branding some of the patterning in his wings. When he could finally move, he heard Yetis howling, Vellox roaring, and Laitivern’s trilling. He soon flew back to the scene below, as the many parties feasted on those who decided to experience a warrior's death. Veyolkos landed before them, breathing heavily from the exertion of the ritual. They seemed oblivious to what he had done, assuming him to have just been pursuing the marauders. 

To his surprise, the Oldsouls and the Elders approached The Windrazor, their demeanor now changed. They had witnessed the rewards of his planning, and wordlessly bowed to him. He was dumbstruck by the wordless praise he had received. One of respect. His mother and father, having been in the fight, showed their throat to him, the highest level of trust and respect a laitivern could receive. He began to fidget in place, before broadening out his wings, and roaring to the crown a decree. A promise.

“THIS! THIS MARKS THE BEGINNING! TO AN AGE OF BEASTS!”

For now he had the skills gained to understand his enemy… far more intimately than before.

Veyolkos Kit:

Passive-Volatile Coating: The more damage he takes from Epic Monsters, Dragons, or Enemy Champs, the more his energy bar is filled. Once filled Veyolkos can charge his next attacks with draconic energy with increased movement speed for 3 seconds

Q - Voltaic Lunge: Veyolkos lunges towards a targeted location, knocking back any enemy champion or minion he collides with. Upon impact, a searing energy mark is left on the target, dealing physical damage.

W - Thousand Blades: Veyolkos sheds part of his armor for a brief moment, sending shards flying outward in all directions. These shimmering shards damage any enemy champions and minions they hit.

E - Evasive Maneuvers: With lightning speed, Veyolkos rapidly dashes away while releasing Styg energy forward, dealing additional searing damage if performed up close. From a distance, the Styg inflicts minor physical damage.

Ultimate - Flight of The Razorwing: Veyolkos takes to the skies, gaining enhanced mobility. During this time, his abilities undergo changes:

Voltaic Lunge becomes Thunderous Grapple, allowing him to tackle and immobilize a single enemy champion.

Thousand Blades transform into Draconic Cleave, a 360-degree tail swipe that damages all nearby enemies.

Evasive Maneuvers evolves into Laitivern's Dive, granting Veyolkos an arching leap with a powerful energy blast upon landing.

----

Aighty so physically he's gone like over... several hundred iterations. What remains consistent is the general build of Seregios, from the sharp scales, wing walking, and face. While also incorporating the more panthurine movement and tail slams of Nargacuga.

He's also gone through like several hundred actual redesigns, and while he started as just that: A flying wyvern capable of speech, he did evolve more into an analog to Throgg. And while Trundle is a legitimate troll king and is pretty sick, he more or less serves as a modestly competent himbo in a alliance with Lissandra. Veyolkos fills the roll of a cunning beast going through great lengths to ensure he has the means to play his cards correctly. He likes to innovate, he likes to build, but most importantly he likes to share that knowledge to elevate his people. But he also understands the sinister nature of his action, and how it spawned partially from necessity, but mostly through curiosity.

His own desire to stake out his claim and plunge Runeterra into an era of beast speaks to as sense of him wanting to elevate his people, and a naivety to the danger of his ambitions.

#league of legends oc #flying wyvern #bogbiter #I made him in the sims and he gravitated towards creating the mafia #character concept

[hativy]

Roxanne Weasley was thirteen years old, five foot two(and still growing), the Gryffindor daughter of two war heroes and the best prankster in all of Hogwarts, take that James.

She was quite proud of these facts, and wore them on her chest like they were badges.

But it’s not like anyone ever cared. 

Everyone seemed more preoccupied with paying attention to her brother, Freddie. They all have this idea in their heads that he’s supposed to be a carbon copy of their Uncle Fred.

Which will never happen, she didn’t understand why they think he will be. Her family spent thirteen year with Freddie and his small, quiet smiles and they still thought he’d be anything like his namesake.

People will see his Ravenclaw tie and the book in his hand as he’ll sit quietly in the corner in the room and they frown. 

They should not frown. 

Freddie is Freddie and he’s perfect the way he was, just because he wasn’t like someone he never met doesn’t mean they should whisper behind his back with disappointed tones.

And because of the spotlight on her brother he didn’t even want, it meant that Roxanne was invisible, pushed to the side to favor her twin brother. It didn’t matter how genius a prank she pulled off. It didn’t matter how well she did in Charms. She would always be Roxanne Weasley, the forgotten twin. 

Well, today Roxanne is going to kick that in the butt and pull the biggest prank she can. 

Bigger than her dad and Uncle Fred, bigger than the Marauders, bigger than any prank ever done on the grounds of Hogwarts. 

But first, she needed to sneak down to the Potions closet. 

Roxanne tried to be discreet as she tiptoed out of Gryffidnor common room. James could not find out she was doing this, he would immediately want to join and her little cousin wasn’t a thing she wanted to deal with right now.

Luckily, she managed to keep quiet and was almost to the staircase, preparing to walk down it then—

Mreow!

Oh no. 

Oh no. 

“What is it?” She heard Mr. Filch called from down the hall.

Roxanne glanced over to see a shadow appear in the light from the torchlight at the end of the hallway. 

Then booked it as fast and sneakily as she could. 

She spotted an open door, running in and turning the doorknob so it wouldn’t make it sound as she closed it. 

Roxanne waited a moment, listening until the echo of Filch's footsteps faded. 

Once she heard no trace of them, she leaned away from the door and sighed. 

That was a close one. 

“oooooo, what was all that about?”

Roxanne shrieked and whipped her head around to see no one else in the dark room. 

“Come on, don’t leave me hanging.”

She hoped she wasn’t going crazy

“That’s none of your business.” She said slowly. 

“Well, then I’ll make it my business! There isn’t a lot going on on this neck of the Hogwarts halls, I gotta take what I can get.” The voice answered jovially. It was a more masculine voice, and weirdly, it sounded familiar to her.

Roxanne frowned, quickly drawing her want and muttered, “lumos.”

She hoped Filch wouldn’t see the light coming from the room she was hiding out in. 

Roxanne moved her lit want towards the voice only to come face to face with her father. 

Her breath stilled. 

Because, one, it was a portrait, and two, it wasn’t exactly her father. 

Yes, the man in the painting shared the same face, the same Weasley red hair, even the same freckles and nose. But he was way younger, and he had both years. And the smile on his face was more mischievous and carefree than her father. 

Roxanne scrunched her eyebrows and glanced down to see a golden plague on the bottom of the portrait that said—

“Uncle Fred?!” She exclaimed with surprise.

Uncle Fred laughed, sound a bit startled, “I guess so, although I don’t recognize you. Which one of my siblings' little gremlins are you?”

“You’re going to have to guess,” Roxanne said, pretending she wasn't staring at her uncle in shock and a little bit of awe. She didn’t know he had a portrait at Hogwarts. Did Freddie? Did mum? Did dad?

At her nod, he hummed, “hmmm, let me guess, you can’t be Bill and Fleurs, I’ve already had a run in or two with their daughter. You are certainly not Percy’s! He’s an ol’ goody two-shoes and would have a heart attack seeing you sneak out in the middle of the night like you!”

Roxanne snorted, “his daughter would have a heart attack if she knew I snuck out tonight.”

They both laughed. She felt dazed, this was like a dream. 

“I guess you could be Charlie’s kid? Though, I thought he’d never have kids, his dragons were his kids, they were more his family than we were!’

“He sends christmas cards of baby dragons every year,” she told him. 

“Ha! Classic Charlie.” Fred examined her for a moment, contemplating his guess. 

“I can’t place it. You got to be Ron or Ginnys kid right? You have a bit of their rebellious streak—“

“I’m George’s kid.” Roxanne interrupted hurriedly.

Fred blinked, looking like he was taken aback. His eyes soften as he look back at her with a sorta of melancholy look.

“Oh.” He said simply. 

Roxanne fiddled with the bracelets stacked on her wrist, feeling put out by his reaction. Was he disappointed she was Georges daughter, did he think what everyone else thought, “oh there's Freddies sister, ignored her,” and he’ll ignore her even though all she wanted to do was talk to him?

“Yeah.” She eventually replied, to fill the silence. 

“I can’t imagine him all grown up. Having kids and all that” Fred murmured. 

And she took back her thoughts immediately. 

Fred never grew up, he stayed 20 years old. In this portrait and in the minds of people who knew him. While his twin brother grew into a man, no longer looking identical to Fred. 

Roxanne understood why he was so sad now. 

“I can bring you family pictures if you’d like.” she offered, not really knowing what to say to him. 

“Nah it’s fine,” Fred declined, waving his hand, “anyways, at least I kept my young handsome looks!”

She laughed, still noticting the weak way he said those words. She’ll ask her parents for pictures to send to her in her next letter. 

“So, what's your name? George Jr.?”

“No! It’s Roxanne,” she said, still laughing.

“Nice to meet’cha, Roxanne. But, you never answered my question, what are you doing lurking around in the dark?”

Roxanne lit up, excited to talk about her greatest prank ever. 

“So basically, I’m sneaking out to get some stuff from Potions so I can enchant the cups in the Great Hall so if anyone drinks anything from them their hair turns Gryffidnor red.”

Fred raised his eyebrows, “Wow, I’m impressed, that’s a high quality prank right there.”

She beamed with pride. 

“I know! I was careful that no one found out because it was so genius! It’s going to be hilarious,” she deflated, “if people actually cared I did it.”

“Why wouldn’t they care? It’s going to be so funny!’ Fred said while smiling at her.

She folded her arms and looked down, “‘cause everyone wants Freddie to do stuff like that. Not me. Never me.”

He scrunched his eyebrows, “Freddie?”

“My brother.” She replied dimly. 

Really, Roxanne loved her brother but it got old being pushed aside. 

“And his name is—“

“Fredrick Gideon Weasley, my resident twin brother.” 

Fred softened.

“He named his son after me,” he asked. 

Roxanne sorta wanted to punch something, everything always became about Freddie. But the look on her uncle's face looked like he wanted to cry so she just smiled and nodded. 

They fell silent, Roxanne looking around the room to see other portraits like Freds, except the people in them were sleeping. Thank Merlin the two of them didn’t wake them, it would have blown her cover immediately. 

“But why would people be mad if you do this but not your brother?” Fred eventually asked, drawing her away from her thoughts. 

“Because everyone wants Freddie to be like you,” she replied honestly,” he doesn’t do stuff like this. But everyone wants him to be Fred Weasley, fun prankster extraordinaire, not Freddie Weasley,the Ravenclaw who would rather sit in the library with a book. And because they were hooked on the fact he crushed their expectations, no one thinks I should be the prankster.”

She leaned on the wall opposite of Fred's painting, feeling tired all of a sudden, “so I’m just stuck trying to do something awesome no one will care as much as if James did it or Freddie just cracked a small joke.”

They fell into silence again until—

“Well, screw them, yeah?” Fred said. 

Roxanne blinked, “what?”

“Screw them, you’re going to do a hysterical prank, and pull it off. It's going to be amazing so if people don’t care what you did, why do they matter? Because you’ll be proud of what you've done and that what matters the most, ey?”

The words warmed Roxanne's heart, making her feel ten times better. Her uncle was right, why do they matter to her? At the end of the day, she’s doing something she’s proud of, why does she care about being noticed? 

“That was actually solid advice.” She replied, pretending his words didn’t affect her as strongly as it actually had. 

“Well being a portrait for like a decade really does wonders for your wisdom, I can tell you the secrets to the universe now.” He said, winking at her. 

She smiled, feeling more relaxed than she did before, then she  looked back the the closed door. 

“I better get going,” Roxanne announced sadly. 

“Well, go on your way then, don’t want to be caught by Filch. I don’t know how that man’s still here.”

“I don’t think even McGonagall knows,” she said, slowly turning the doorknob until she opened it without a sound.

Roxanne looked back at the portrait of Fred and smiled, “have a nice night.”

He smiled back, “have a fantastic night, you better come back to tell me how the prank went or i’ll jump through all of Hogwarts paintings until I find you myself.”

“Maybe I’ll not come just so you do that.”

“Hey you better not!” He called to her as she slipped back into the hallway, a smile on her face and her heart feeling happy. She couldn’t wait to come back to tell Fred how it went.

(The prank was pulled off perfectly and all the Slytherins were sulking. She told Fred all about it, laughing together. And for the first time in a long while, Roxanne didn’t feel invisible anymore)

#harry potter next gen fic #harry potter next generation #roxanne weasley #fred weasley #harry potter #fanfic #hp next gen

[seashanties]

@killedarlingsarchived asked : She’s weightless in his arms; a ghost so like her namesake as she stands atop his boots that step from side to side across the floor bathed in moonlight.  One hand rests on the small of her back where the ruffles of her dress begin, while the other hand remains clasped around hers, guiding her movements as they sway back and forth to the piano that echoes almost melancholically off the stone walls.  Golden hues remain upon her, while her eyes are fixed downwards.  With a frown, Mihawk removes the hand placed against her back in order to tilt up her chin, for gold to meet black so that he may hold her gaze.  “ You don’t need to look at your feet. Just at me. ” ( idk where the music is coming from maybe one of her hollows is playing lol but i just needed mihawk and perona slow dancing together )

RECEPIENT : PERONA THE GHOST PRINCESS

she had been curious, this ghost princess ; mihawk was a man of worldly talents and tastes, from his aged wine of dressrosa that sat in the dusty wine cellar, to the books placed neatly into the high shelves of his office. within that same office, dark and depressing at is seemed to be, was a grand piano -- one nicer than any she had played upon the thriller bark. yes, perona could play, delicate fingers plunking away at the heavy keys. to her pleasant surprise, it seemed mihawk kept it tuned. the dark melody, and the melancholy of the piece fit in well inside the dimly lit office.

it was to her surprise when she felt the presence of the castles owner, just leaning against the tall doorway as her observed her. his golden eyes burned into her back, her fingers stilling upon the ivory keys, nervous now that she had an audience. without realizing it, he had approached, a strong hand held out to her. she wasn't sure what that meant until he nodded his head to his outstretched hand. did he . . . want to dance?

" i don't know how - " she tried to explain, but his hand stayed steady in front of her, the man expecting her to take it no matter her excuse. she glanced to the hallow next to her before she stood, a pale, near transluscent hand resting in his. as the music started back up, he scooped her into a dance ; a dark waltz as the emotional music filled the air once more.

she couldn't help the way her gaze felt to her heeled feet, eyebrows furrowing as she attempted to follow his movements. though he made her want to yell of annoyance regularly, she hadn't wanted to step on him. the confident hand upon her chin, distracting her from her concentration, made her relax somewhat. he was right ; he was leading this waltz, he was more than capable of keeping them on the right track.

the clicking of her heels upon the stone floor grew slow, and finally halted as the music ended, her chest heaving up and down as her concentration went entirely on the gaze that had captured hers. his eyes were always something she enjoyed, whether they were glaring at her in annoyance, or downcast to read the newspaper. everytime they turned to her, watching her in interest, whether feigned or not, made her heart skip a beat.

in a moment of bravery, she reached up, soft hands resting upon his face, thumbs upon his high cheek bones. she brought him down to her level, and pressed pink painted lips upon his in a chaste kiss. her mind was only filled with him now, the nervous feeling bubbling up from her stomach. she felt such affection for such an infuriating man.

#☠️ ( ooc ) queued ! #☠️ ( perona ) ic ! #killedarlings #i !!! dont know this blog is archived but i wanted to answer this anyways <3

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

The Red Viper suite

Summary: Thousands of years went by since the royal family of Dorne died. The Royal palace is now home to a luxurious hotel and every year, on All Hallows Eve the prince of Dorne comes alive. And you make sure you’re there for it every single year.

Pairing: Ghost!Oberyn Martell x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 2.9k

Rating: E

Warnings: ghost smut, Somnophilia, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving) a little yearning?

A/N: another update. Today with ghost Oberyn and some yearning. (I don't even try to not write soft smut atm tbh)

“Please enjoy your stay, Miss,” you looked at the receptionist as he handed you your keycard.

“Thank you, I will,” you nodded with a small smile as you turned around. Your first way led you to the five star restaurant of the hotel for one last business dinner. The staff would bring your luggage to your suite.

Every year around the same time you made your way to Sunspear, the historical capital of the old kingdom of Dorne. Thousands of years ago the whole royal family was killed leaving the buildings deserted. That now a luxurious hotel was inside the old palace was something that just happened over time. Many old buildings, whole cities had been destroyed in the war between the Lannisters and well… everyone else. But Dorne survived. And it was beautiful.

You had been just out of college, your big first business trip bringing you here for the first time almost 8 years ago when your life changed. You had made it a habit to take this trip around the same time every year, and more importantly, take whatever day Halloween was off. You’d stay for almost two weeks this time, your last project having been the biggest success in the company's history.

“Did you hear the stories of the ghosts that are supposed to be lingering in these walls?” you looked up to the woman you were having your business dinner with. You were eating dessert and frankly a little jet lagged from the flight.

“Ghosts?” you asked, taking a sip from your wine.

“Apparently people randomly run into the old prince of Drone walking through these walls at night..”

“How do they know it’s him?”

“He introduces himself as the Red Viper,” the woman chuckled and you smiled.

“The paintings apparently don’t do him justice,” she winked and you chuckled.

“No they don’t…” you murmured to yourself as you emptied your glass of wine.

“So what are your plans for the next two weeks?” she asked and you smiled.

“I’m going to relax. Definitely need a spa day or two. I might finally go and visit Highgarden. I saw the pictures online. It looks beautiful.”

“It is. I have family there. I try to visit as often as I can,” the woman smiled at you before she yawned and you both laughed.

“I think it’s time for me to go home. I will send you the report next week and make the arrangements as we agreed on.”

“Thank you so much! I might end up spending even more time if this all works out.”

You followed her out of the restaurant after signing the bill to your room.

“I mean it is beautiful here. I’ve never been to Nefer, so I don’t know if it would be an upgrade,” she said.

“Oh it most definitely is. Nefer is all about being the modern capital of the world. I like the historical part that Westeros tried to maintain,” you said honestly. It’s not like you couldn’t do your job online these days.

“Well then. I hope to see more of you in the future,” she hugged you and you smiled.

“I hope so too. Good night,” you nodded and watched her leave before you slowly turned around and made your way towards your suite.

It was a mistake all these years ago that you ended up in the Red Viper suite. You had been booked into a regular room but the hotel had lost your reservation and the only thing that had been available was the suite. It was beautiful. The suite was bigger than your apartment at home and as luxurious as it’s namesake deserved.

The Red Viper suite had been Prince Oberyn Martell’s chambers until the day he was killed by the Mountain almost two thousand years ago. It was a dream. Light yellow, almost golden walls in the living room that dove the whole room into soft light as soon as you stepped into it. A big dark blue velvet sofa across from a big flat screen TV that just screamed for you to relax in. A big bedroom, the walls in deep red, a big king sized bed in the middle of the room you had some of the best hours of your life in.

But right now, as you unlocked the door, pulling the do not disturb sign on the doorknob from the outside and locked the door, and made your way inside your went straight for the big bathroom, stripping your clothes off and went into the big rain shower that overlooked the big gardens of the estate with it’s big window. It took three visits of showering in the dark, scared of people seeing you from the outside until someone pointed out that while you could see everything happening outside, no one could look in. Which when you thought about it, was only logical. You stepped under the warm stream and began to wash off the long journey you had, washing your hair. Relaxed, you stepped out, reaching for the big soft robe, drying your hair with a towel before you walked out of the bathroom. You grabbed a glass of wine on your way as you opened the doors to step out into the warm night breeze on your balcony. Leaning over the railing you set the glass down next to you as you closed your eyes and breathed in. The ocean smelled different in Sunspear. It was like coming home and you couldn’t understand why. Your skin was still damp from the shower, the warm air doing the rest to dry you off. You looked in the distance, seeing the moon over the ocean, the night so quiet you felt like you were alone with your thoughts.

You had just emptied your glass of wine when arms wrapped around you from behind, a firm body pressed against your back. You smiled, closing your eyes as fingers brushed your damp hair from your shoulder and lips kissed up your neck.

“There you are my dove,” he whispered and you sighed, your hand coming to rest on top of his on your stomach. You melted against him, inhaling the scent that seemed to linger in the air, before you opened your eyes and turned your head so you could look at him. His lips wandered up your throat, kissing up your jaw before one hand came to rest on the side of your face.

Warm brown eyes found yours before you closed the distance between the two of you and kissed him softly. Slowly you turned in his arms until you were chest to chest and you could let your hands run through his hair. He was as naked as when you first met him. His tongue licked into your mouth and you moaned softly, one of your hands running down his spine until you squeezed one of his ass cheeks and he smirked against your lips.

“For a moment I thought you had forgotten about me, my dove,” he murmured against your lips and you shook your head as you looked up at him.

“How could I forget you, Oberyn?”

“Still no suitor good enough for you?”

You shook your head.

“What about the man you told me about last hallows eve? Kolana?” he looked at you with curious eyes.

“Turns out he was more interested in my sister than me,” you shrugged and he sighed, before he kissed your forehead.

“Then I must make you forget about the undeserving men of this century…” he hummed before he pulled you back inside.

It was a shock the first time you woke up here on Halloween morning and found a man sitting naked in the living room of your suite. You had screamed at first, running back into the bedroom, demanding he should leave, threatening to call security when you heard him merely say that it was you who had to leave as you were in his chambers.

When you had opened the door and saw him eying you curiously, still naked. You had tiptoed to the bathroom and thrown the second robe towards him, that he reluctantly put on as you tried to decide what to do next.

He had introduced himself as Oberyn Martell, Prince of Dorne and you had laughed at him. For at least 3 minutes in which he grew more and more annoyed.

So you entertained him for a while. Pretending to believe him until you actually found yourself believing him. The way he talked, the way he held himself. The way he demanded to know what kind of box it was that you had been looking at. The box that was your phone. You frowned at him while you googled his name and found some of the leftover portraits that were saved before everything had been burned down. Hesitantly you had approached him as he sat on the couch and shown him what you were looking at.

He was fascinated, demanding to find more information. Wanting to know how the world had changed as you told him which year it was.

Before you knew it it had been late afternoon and you hadn’t left the suite all day, just talking to Oberyn who you thought by now must be real. Well, as real as a ghost could be.

“Is it real what they say about you?” you had asked at some point.

“About what, my dove?”

“About, you and… About your sexual appetite?”

The smile he gave you was downright mischievous, his eyes wicked as he leaned in closer.

“Would you like to find out?”

On the next morning, after he spent all night showing you pleasures you had never experienced before, he had vanished. As if he was never there in the first place. The only remains being the many bruises all over your body where he had held and kissed you.

Ever since that first year, you came back for Halloween every year. And every year, on Oct. 31st, when the clock turned to 0:01 he appeared in the flesh in his old chambers, your suite.

You didn’t know when exactly you fell asleep. Oberyn had led you to the bedroom and strippped off your robe before he had ravished you. Kissing up your thigh before spending what felt like hours with his head between your legs.

You must have fallen asleep at some point. You had learned that Oberyn was a giver. Something you hadn’t experienced outside of these walls ever before. You were not sure what woke you up. An arm was wrapped around you, a big hand holding on to your breasts. You felt a body pressed against your back, lips on your shoulder, sucking on your skin. Another hand on your thigh, slipping between your legs to play with your clit. You felt full, so full. Blinking your eyes open, you gasped as your climax washed over you. You heard a chuckle, finally noticing that it was indeed a cock that made you feel so full, as you forced your brain to wake up with you.

“I was wondering if I could make you cum again, while you were asleep…” his deep voice mumbled against your ear and you whimpered.

“Again?”

“Once on my tongue, before I maped the rest of your body with my lips…” he continued to thrust lazily into you, humming against your ear.

“You feel warmer this time than the last time…” you mumbled, pushing your ass against his cock, making him groan.

“It must be your beautiful body that is warming my ghosty shell,” he grinned.

“Are you ready for the next 18 hours, my dove?” he asked as he slowly pushed your body so you were laying flat on your stomach with him still inside of you. He kissed up your spine.

“I already booked myself into the spa for tomorrow, my prince,” you teased.

“Then I shall make the most of this day,” he said before he began to fuck you in earnest.

“Oberyn….” you whimpered. It was noon and you were in the shower. You were leaning with your back against the glass while Oberyn was on his knees in front of you, one of your legs over his shoulder, as he brought you to your eight? Ninth? (who was counting really?) orgasm of the day.

“Fuck Oberyn, right there…” you moaned, your hands pulling at his hair and he groaned against you. His three fingers inside of you angled in just the right way, rubbing that spot and you felt yourself explode, soaking him in your release.

“Perfection,” he hummed as he lapped every drop of it before he kissed your inner thigh and looked up at you with dark eyes.

“If you’d lived all those years back, I'd have taken you as my wife, my dove,” he kissed up your stomach.

“I’d have shown you my world,” he licked on the soft skin on your breasts before he sucked a nipple in between his lips and you sighed.

“Killed everyone who dared to even look at you,” he bit softly into your skin and you moaned.

“I thought you loved to have multiple lovers…” you whispered and felt his lips smile against your skin before he got up to stand in front of you in all his naked glory.

“I did, but now that I only get to have you in the afterlife, I see the positives of only being with one person…”

“And here I thought if I would bring someone with me next year, you’d be delighted…” you teased and he stopped, his eyes wandering over your body as he stepped closer.

“Who would you bring?” he asked as he wrapped one of your legs around his waist, his cock already hard again and teasing your entrance.

“One of my friends? Mostly because they don’t believe me but… frankly I always wanted to be with another woman,” you confessed, crying out as he filled you completely in one motion.

“My my… And here I thought the dead prince of Dorne was enough for you my dove,” he teased.

“Would be even better if the dead prince of Dorne would be available for more than once a year,” you grinned, biting your lip as he pumped harder into you. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he kissed you and you could swear you could taste him. Clinging to each other he fucked you to your next orgasm, before you felt his release inside of you.

At some point you ordered room service, almost inhaling the food that was brought. It was night by now and you were lying with your head in Oberyn’s lap as you looked up the stars. You were both spread out on the warm floor of the balcony as you watched the stars.

“What will you do in the coming year?” he asked, his hands stroking over your hair.

“I might end up moving closer to Sunspear. I have a very big project coming up which would mean I have to travel here every week.”

“You would love it here, I’m sure. Well, from what I know about what’s left of the kingdom.”

“It is beautiful. I can only imagine how it was back when you were alive.”

You were tired, snuggling into the blanket you had brought as you looked up at the prince. That your yearly bootycall was the dead prince of Dorne was still something that made you think that you’re insane. He looked down at you, with a melancholic smile.

“It was beautiful. The people who lived there made it beautiful. Sleep now Dove.”

You blinked your eyes close, as he caressed your cheek with his fingertips.

“I’ll see you next year, my prince,” you whispered before you fell asleep.

You woke up in your bed the next morning, a blanket wrapped around you. Blinking your eyes open you sighed, turning in the bed to look at the other side, where Oberyn had been yesterday. A sad smile came to your lips as you found a written piece of paper on his pillow.

“Rest, my Dove. I’ll see you (and your friend?) next year. I will be watching over you. Oberyn.”

Your thumb ran over the written lines he wrote before you pushed yourself up to sit on your bed, before you climbed out and walked towards the bathroom to start your day.

Unknowingly to you Oberyn watched you leave the room as he laid on the other side of the bed. He was always right next to you. Every day he was with you, watching over you, counting down to the day where he was allowed to touch you, to pleasure you, to love you. He didn’t know why he was allowed to be seen and felt for just one day throughout the year. Maybe some fucked up joke by the universe. But he would make sure that as long as you lived, he was there to watch over you.

#my writing #oberyn martell #pedro pascal #gost oberyn martell #oberyn martell x female reader #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction

[cannedcrow]

Empires/Flower Frost Messenger-Birds HC

I think each ruler would have a bird as a personal pet/companion, and others of the species would be messenger birds for the whole kingdom. They're cleverer than the average bird and very close to their owners. I've introduced a few so far in Flower Frost, but here are a full list + headcanons! ^ ^

I chose the species/genders based on colour, habitat, and temperament, strength, and what I think the rulers would like.

Messenger birds are given as chicks when the ruler is also a child. They grow up together and develop a close bond. Most have names that the little lords found in books of folklore.

GEM - Male, gyrfalcon, Asher

- Ash likes to crawl into Gem’s hood when he gets cold. Many people are often surprised when a little grey head pops out at Gem's shoulder while they're speaking.

- She named him for his colour and calls him Ash for short.

- Asher and Kipper get along very well. Ash tries very hard to outfly her, but while he's very talented, Kipper is always faster and more agile.

JIMMY - Male, osprey, Oscar

- Oscar is a seabird, but he's trained not to hunt cod.

- The other rulers often tease Jimmy about how Oscar is more intimidating than him.

FWHIP - Male, raven, Rosaki

- Rosaki is a great enjoyer of shiny objects. He's also an excellent scout for redstone, and Fwhip regularly brings him mining.

- Ravens can imitate human speech, and Rosaki is cleverer than most. He’s learnt quite a good impersonation of most of the empires rulers, and Fwhip has taught him a variety of curses which he exclaims loudly at intervals. Sausage and Fwhip find this hilarious, everyone else is disappointed.

- Rosaki has also somehow picked up on his master's teasing towards Jimmy, and occasionally interrupts Jimmy specifically.

KATHERINE - female, Mauritius kestrel, Meadowsweet

- Meadowsweet got her name when, as a chick, she brought Katherine a sprig of meadowsweet for no particular reason.

JOEY - female, black-and-chestnut eagle, Onyx

- I considered giving him a harpy eagle, or possibly a hornbill or macaw. Ultimately, I thought he’d go for the aesthetic of a black-and-chestnut eagle.

- Onyx is extremely contemptuous towards the other empire's birds. She doesn’t fight them, but regards them all coldly.

- They’re very close, and Joey has a habit of asking Onyx to help him choose jewellery, which she does with enthusiasm.

JOEL - Male, bearded vulture, Ozymandias

- Called him Ozymandias because of course, his companion/messenger must be ‘King of Kings’ (look on my works, ye mighty, and despair)

- Lizzie attempted to convince him to name his bird Orpheus (to go with her Eurydice), but he insisted that Orpheus and Eurydice was a tragedy, and thus a bad omen.

- Ozy is the largest of the rulers' birds and knows he's the most intimidating. That does not stop Rosaki from messing with him.

- He's just as narcissistic as his master

LIZZIE - female, black-browed albatross, Eurydice

- Calls her Yuri for short

- She's close friends with Ozymandias and Oscar. Yuri and Oscar, being both seabirds, often hunt together.

- Lizzie often laments that Eurydice has better (permanent) eyeliner than her.

PEARL - Female, barn owl, Blodeuwedd

- In their youth, Fwhip teased Pearl about how Blodeuwedd was ugly (owl fledglings are not famous for their beauty). Rosaki, a raven, matured earlier and was very handsome, but Blodeuwedd soon grew up to be as beautiful as her namesake, silencing Fwhip.

- Sausage gave Blodeuwedd the nickname 'Oak' after the legend the name came from, and most rulers fell to using that name when referring to her for the sake of simplicity.

PIX - Male, Egyptian vulture, Pharoah

- He's had a portrait painted of him and Pharoah because they're just that regal.

- When he was young, he found the word 'Pharoah' whilst reading a book of fairytales, and adopted it instantly.

- Pix has had jewellery made for him

SAUSAGE - female, peregrine falcon, Kipper

- man adores his falcon. Definitely has a falconry dedicated solely to her.

- named her when he was very young. He’d had kippers (the fish) for breakfast, thought it was a funny word, and named his new falcon thusly. He's never regretted his decision once, even though a young Count Fwhip burst out laughing at the fact that he'd named his bird after a fish.

SHRUB - female, pileated woodpecker, Redcap

- Red for short

- While she is the smallest of the birds, this suits Shrub excellently, being the smallest of the rulers.

- Redcap refuses to be ignored and is prone to harassing birds five times her size if she considers it necessary. Has also been known to peck at the heads of rulers who don't answer her message immediately.

- Not very strong, but is very small and not an easy target. This means she can easily navigate skies that are being monitored at arrow-point.

SCOTT - male, snowy owl, Drift

- Xornoth’s owl (Nico) was the brother of Drift, and disappeared when Xornoth did.

- Drift latched on particularly strongly to Scott, as they had the same wings. Scott has frequently used the line “don’t talk to me or my son ever again,”

#empires smp #empires headcanon #empires hc #flower frost #empires scott #empires solidarity #empires joel #empires lizzie #empires gem #empires katherine #smajor empires #empires jimmy #empires pixl #empires joey #empires shubble #empires smp headcanons #crow writes things

[weighty-ghosts]

‘Hearts of Palms’ (wolfstar)

Hearts of Palms, by weightyghosts

“A first kiss story of pining, shameless flirtations, a heart to heart under the stars, and palm reading.”

Rating: teen

Word count: 4325

Pairing: Remus x Sirius

Published: November 9, 2020

Warnings: swearing, snogging, real talk about feelings

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27379321

    Sirius Black walked out onto the deck of the Astronomy tower, gently shutting the heavy wooden door behind him. He paused to look around for a moment, breathing in the earthy scent of early Spring, before he spotted his reason for coming up here.

He couldn’t help the smile pulling at his lips at the sight of Remus Lupin. Remus was leaning against the inner wall of the tower with a plaid blanket underneath him, focused and scribbling on a scroll of parchment, a textbook in his lap to keep the paper flat.

“Hey, Rem,” Sirius called out loudly as he walked over.

Remus jumped, then cursed under his breath when he saw the big ink splotch he’d just created on his star chart.

“Shit, I thought you heard me,” Sirius said apologetically as he got closer.

“No, I didn’t,” Remus replied, smiling up at him, “You’re as quiet as Padfoot when you want to be.” He took out his wand to clear up the ink and asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Keeping you company, of course,” he shrugged nonchalantly and sat down next to Remus. Remus had permission to be up here after hours to finish his Astronomy project, which the rest of the class had done, unfortunately, on the evening of the full moon a few nights ago. Sirius technically only had an hour until he was supposed to be back at Gryffindor tower, but it’s not like he hadn’t broken one or two school rules before, and he happened to be with a Prefect who tended to look the other way when his friends got into trouble. Remus didn’t seem surprised or bothered by his presence.

Sirius stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankle as he looked out at the breathtaking landscape in front of them. The sky was painted in brilliant shades of orange and pink from the sun, which was just setting over the grassy hills. The ghost of an incomplete moon loomed above the impressive castle turrets.

Remus was watching Sirius. The cool evening breeze brushed his inky black hair away from his face, and there was a contented smile on his mouth that Remus found very distracting. He was just wishing that Sirius would look at him the way he looked at the beautiful sunset- when he did.

“What?” Sirius asked with a quirked eyebrow, his voice soft but amused.

“Oh, er,” Remus fumbled, “It’s just not often I see you admire the finer things in life.” He smiled quickly, gesturing at the sunset, then looked away, embarrassed at being caught doing his own admiring.

Sirius tilted his head to the side as a cheeky grin spread across his face.

“You see me look in the mirror every day, Moony.”

Remus snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Prat,” he said, smacking his arrogant friend’s arm.

“You know, Remus,” Sirius continued in a haughty voice, “I’ve been appreciating the finer things in life since the first time I saw my reflection in something shiny.”

“Really, Padfoot?” Remus put his ink and parchment down beside him and tried very hard to keep a straight face, “What, when you were a baby?”

“Yes,” Sirius laughed as Remus shoved him again, now attempting to tackle him onto the ground, “I distinctly remember looking in the mirror and thinking, ‘Who is that stunning baby staring back at me with those dreamy-’  Ow!”

Remus had elbowed him in the side.

Struggling to level a threatening glare at the werewolf, he threw his force into flipping Remus over on his back.

“Ha,” he exclaimed triumphantly as he looked down at his friend, successfully pinned beneath him.

“Get off!” Remus cried half-heartedly, trying to squirm out from under Sirius, but the boy on top had clamped down on Remus’ arms above his head.

“Nope, I’m forcing you to appreciate this finer thing, Moonshine,” said Sirius, wiggling his eyebrows.

Remus rolled his eyes again and stilled.

“Yes, yes,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm, “you’re the most gorgeous creature to ever grace the halls of Hogwarts and we’re all lucky to have the pleasure of looking at your stunning form every day.”

Sirius gave a fake flattered gasp.

“Such a charmer, Mr. Lupin,” he said, batting his lashes provocatively, “and having you in this compromising position… One could almost swoon.”

“Who says I’m the one in a compromising position, Mr. Black?”

Sirius blinked at the wicked gleam in Remus’ eye, and Remus took advantage of his hesitation, rolling over with lightning speed and surprising strength so that he was now on top of Sirius.

“You were saying?” Remus asked innocently.

“Definitely swooning,” Sirius beamed.

Remus knew he was joking, but something in Sirius’ eyes made his stomach contract in a not-entirely-unpleasant way.

They were definitely looking at each other for too long now.

“I have to work on my star chart,” Remus said, a little embarrassed at how unsteady his voice sounded.

“And is my ‘stunning form’ distracting you from doing that?” Sirius asked in a low voice, with a wink.

“Right, I’m fairly certain I’m immune to your form after seeing too bloody much of it over the years,” Remus teased as he climbed off Sirius and moved over to prop himself up against the wall again.

“So you’ve been looking, Moony?”

“Only in my peripherals, Padfoot,” Remus replied, studiously avoiding Sirius’ eye as he picked up his book and parchment, placing them back in his lap, “You walk around the dorm starkers most of the time.”

“I like to air-dry my bits,” Sirius stated, as if that were a normal thing to do, and sat up facing Remus, leaning back on his hands. “You’re welcome to look, you know,” he added with a smile that should be illegal.

Remus scowled at Sirius, but couldn’t hide the rosy warmth that had spread along his cheeks.

“You’re quite cute when you blush, Moonshine.”

“I am not-”

Sirius’ smile grew even wider and Remus knew it was because his blush had deepened. Remus looked back down at his parchment and made a point of carefully flattening out the creases.

“It’s generally not considered polite to point that out to someone. It only ever makes them blush more,” he said in a measured tone.

“Yes, and as I’ve just told you how very cute you look when you blush, why should I refrain from making that happen?”  

Remus glared at him through narrowed eyes. The dazzling smile on the other boy’s face did nothing to help his pink cheeks.

“I need to focus,” he said, looking back down at his paper and dipping the tip of his quill in the pot of ink.

“Stars aren’t out yet, Moons.”

“I can see that, Pads,” Remus replied with the patient air of someone speaking to a child, “But I have to finish setting up the chart so that all I have to do, when the stars do come out, is plot them.”

“Okay then,” Sirius said pleasantly, taking off his jacket and bunching it under his head as he lay down next to Remus.

“What are you doing?”

“Settling in,” Sirius replied, finding a comfortable position, “I told you, I’m here to keep you company.”

“You don’t need to…”

“I know I don’t need to, Remus."

Remus eyed him for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek, and then went back to work.

After a few minutes of pretending to doze, Sirius turned his head minutely and looked at Remus through his lashes. He sighed inwardly at his oblivious, beautiful friend.

The sunset gleamed off the werewolf’s scars, giving them an other-worldly shimmer, and his lips parted as his focus settled on his work. His shoulders were more rigid than usual, probably still stiff from his recent furry transformation, but he looked content, apparently enjoying what he was concentrated on.

Sirius’ eyes flicked down to Remus’ hands. He loved watching those long fingers, delicate but strong. His mind wandered against his will to images of what those hands might be capable of, and where exactly he wanted them, especially all alone up here in the Astronomy tower. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, pushing those forbidden thoughts away.

Sirius had been shamelessly flirting with Remus since the start of term, which, granted he did with many people, but he recently realized how much he actually enjoyed making Remus blush, or the way Remus would shake his head and try not to smile at his antics, or even the way Remus would get exasperated with him and give a long drawn-out sigh. He realized he looked forward to those moments more than Quidditch or even pranking the Slytherins. Which was why he’d come up here tonight; just to be around Remus and try to make him laugh or roll his eyes.

The problem was that he didn’t know how Remus felt. But sometimes...Remus would look away from him too quickly, or not quickly enough, and he could swear there was something between them. Something intense and exciting.

Eventually, Sirius found the dimming sky and melodic scratching of the quill soothing, and he drifted off to sleep.

*

Sirius opened his eyes to the clicking sound of a telescope being collapsed, and was briefly disoriented by the complete darkness surrounding him. He blinked rapidly and looked down at the plaid blanket covering him.

“You looked cold,” Remus explained in a kind voice, as he packed his homework and things into his bag.

“Oh, thanks, Rem,” Sirius replied, sitting up and stretching his arms over his head, “Got your chart finished?”

“Yup,” Remus replied, “Sirius is particularly bright tonight,” he nodded at the glowing Dog Star above them.

The star’s namesake chuckled, and looked up at the sky, clearer now that his eyes had adjusted, and gloriously speckled with millions of stars and planets.

“Do you want to head back to the dorm now?” Remus asked, “Or...do you feel like staying up here for a bit?”

Sirius was surprised at the masked vulnerability in his voice, like he was nervous Sirius wouldn’t want to stay here with him. Which was ridiculous because he would love nothing more than to lay under the stars with Remus.

“I’m happy to stay here,” he said, his lips pulling into a warm smile.

Remus smiled back and rolled his coat into a pillow, placing it under his head as he lay down beside Sirius.

Sirius’ eyes lingered on his friend for a moment, trailing over his face and long, lean body, before he flung the blanket out so it covered both of them and lay down again. He tried to keep a few inches between their bodies, but couldn’t help the length of their arms pressing together.

“Would you ever go up there?” Remus queried after a quiet minute, “In space?”

“...Are you daft?” Sirius asked incredulously. Brooms were one thing, floating up to the heavens was another.

“The muggles do it,” Remus said, chortling, “Don’t you remember learning about rocket ships?”

“Aren’t those the ones that go under water?”

“No, you twat, those are called submarines.”

“Oh. Yeah, that makes more sense.”

Remus shook his head and they both laughed.

“Do you want to go into space?” Sirius asked.

“I don’t know…” Remus said, turning his gaze back to the stars, “No, probably not. It seems cold, and dark. And very lonely.”

Sirius watched Remus as he said that. They were so close to each other he could see the night sky reflected in the other boy’s hazel eyes. He felt sad all of a sudden and looked away.

“I don’t need to go up into the sky for that.”

Remus frowned at the somber and surprisingly blunt statement.

“Are you lonely, Padfoot?” He asked softly.

Sirius was about to brush off the question with a joke about how there were plenty of people at this school who could take care of his loneliness, but when he looked into Remus’ eyes and saw the concern and tenderness there, he found himself speaking truthfully.

“Sometimes,” he answered in a low voice, “I mean, I’m not alone. But sometimes... I don’t know, it’s stupid.”

“I’m sure it’s not.”

He inhaled deeply. “Sometimes…I feel like I’m on the outside looking in, you know? Like everyone is far away, up there,” he gestured to the sky, “and I’m down here, looking at them through a telescope. And I’m so- so different from them. I’ll never escape my fucked up childhood, I’ll never be normal.” He hesitated when Remus said nothing. “Do you ever feel that way?”

“All the time,” Remus said with a kind smile, which Sirius returned. “But I usually feel like I’m floating above everyone,” he continued, “looking down at them from afar… Watching them live normal lives that aren’t controlled by the moon, and I’m worried I’m going to drift further and further away. Like a loose balloon.”

Sirius couldn’t resist saying, “I knew you always thought you were above us.”

Remus poked him in the side.

“That’s not what I meant!”

“I know, I know,” he chuckled.

They looked at each other for a while, both pondering the other’s words.

“How do you think people stop feeling like that?” Remus asked, his words just above a whisper.

“I don’t know,” Sirius replied honestly, “but if I find a way to tether you to the ground, I’ll let you know.”

Remus breathed a soft laugh.

“Okay.”

He looked down and noticed Sirius’ hands resting on his chest. He had no idea what came over him, but he found himself reaching out and taking the closer hand in his.

He held it above them, turning it over slowly, feeling the smooth skin and soft hairs on the back. He traced a couple of healed-over scars that you couldn’t really see anymore.

Sirius watched Remus intently. He was surprised at first at the intimate contact, but found himself enjoying the feel of Remus’ fingers.

His warm, strong fingers.

Sirius’ pulse quickened.

Remus observed the palm he was holding, the pad of his index finger moving over rough calluses and dipping into valleys.

“Do you remember anything we learned about palm reading?” Sirius asked in a thick voice, then swallowed loudly to clear it.

“Yes,” replied Remus with a wry smile, “but it’s too dark for me to make out the lines and I don’t want to misinterpret an untimely death or seventeen children or something.”

“Seventeen children?” he scoffed, “Not likely.”

“No children for you? What, you have some growing up yourself to do first?”

“Something like that,” Sirius said, gently elbowing Remus in the ribs. “Do you want kids one day?”

Remus tensed and Sirius realized what he’d just asked.

“Fuck- I’m sorry, Rem. I know how you feel about that. I forgot- I mean, I wasn’t thinking,” he stumbled over his words, “I just meant if you ever wanted to adopt or something, but that’s- that’s not much better. Fuck.”

He wanted to kick himself. He knew Remus had a paralyzing fear of passing on his lycanthropy, and that adoption for werewolves was out of the question due to asinine Ministry regulations.

“It’s alright,” Remus said quietly, “I haven’t thought about it much.”

Which they both knew was a lie.

“Sorry, Moony,” Sirius repeated, gently squeezing the fingers still holding his hand.

Remus’ face smoothed out and he went back to his task, taking the time to feel every bone and divot of Sirius’ knuckles.

Sirius revelled in the touch. Little zaps of pleasure rushed up his arm when Remus’s fingers travelled down and brushed over the sensitive skin on his inner wrist.

After a moment, Sirius felt comfortable to continue talking, also wanting to distract his friend from the goosebumps quickly raising on his arm.

“You know, if James ever convinces Evans to have a kid, you could always nick it.”

Remus snorted.

“You could! It would almost be a public service. Can you imagine Prongs as somebody’s dad?”

They both chuckled at the image, but only half-heartedly, deep down knowing James would make a great father one day.

“Don’t worry, I would help you raise it,” Sirius added.

“Would you, now?” Remus asked with raised eyebrows.

“Yeah. I’ll be the cool, hilarious godfather and you can handle all the rubbish baby stuff.”

Remus abruptly flipped Sirius’ hand over and squinted his eyes, pretending to re-examine his palm.

“Hmm, actually I can see better now,” he said mockingly, “it says in huge flashing letters to keep Sirius Black away from all children ever- and probably puppies and kittens just to be safe.”

“Git,” Sirius laughed, reaching over with his other hand and poking Remus in the side. Remus jerked away to keep from being tickled, but Sirius was too quick, fingers digging into Remus’ ribs, making him squirm and giggle.

They stilled after a minute, a little breathless, and saw that they were still holding hands.

Remus hadn’t realized how close they were laying, but he was now acutely aware of where their thighs touched. He glanced up at Sirius and blinked, taken aback by how dark his grey eyes were, something stirring behind them. He quickly looked back down at their entwined fingers to escape the intensity.

Sirius knew he was in one of those electric moments with Remus, and it was up to him to see where it could go from here.

He twisted his wrist so he was the one holding Remus’ hand and brought it closer to his face, tracing the channels along his palm. He meant to tease Remus, make a prediction about meeting someone tall, dark, and handsome, but he was having a hard time concentrating while holding his friend’s hand so intimately.

“I predict a bright future for you, Mr. Moony,” he managed to say, his voice mostly stable.

“Oh? And what do you predict will make my future bright, Mr. Padfoot?”

“Loads of chocolate, to start-”

Remus laughed heartily, and the sound warmed Sirius’ skin as his breath blew the hair away from Sirius’ forehead.

“And tea, too much tea, some would say,” he snickered as Remus frowned at him, “Lots of laughter, of course... Happiness… Love,” his voice softened, “And me.”

“Y-You?”

“Of course. My presence makes everyone’s lives brighter.”

“Oh, right.”

“Were you not expecting my presence in your future?”

“No, no, I was.”

“Good. Plan on it, Moony,” Sirius replied with a nod.

“I’ll start preparing myself for the longevity of our friendship now,” Remus said in a serious tone, “Might take me a while to come to terms with it.”

“Oi! I don’t have to be around forever if you’re not going to appreciate me!”

“No? You’re just going to up and leave me one day?”

“Nah, you’d miss me too much. I could never do that to you.”

“Yes, how would I ever survive without a pompous, needy megalomaniac in my life?” Remus said sarcastically.

“Shut it, wolf boy. You love me.”

“Mangy mutt.”

“Hairy beast.”

They both cracked up, and Sirius was sure the dopey grin on his face looked idiotic, but he couldn’t help it. He felt like an idiot around Remus all the time lately. He didn’t know where this feeling had come from or when it started, but he knew he never wanted it to stop.

“You know I’d never leave you, right, Moony?” Sirius asked suddenly, holding on to Remus’ hand a little tighter.

“What?”

“I’ll always be there for you,” he said softly, smiling at Remus’ confused face, “Says so on your palm.”

Remus cocked an eyebrow.

“Does it?”

“Yep. Says you’re stuck with your devilishly handsome friend with the flawless body and flowing locks of raven hair.”

“So, James.”

“His hair isn’t flowing!” Sirius cried indignantly, “More like a raven’s nest, the unkempt wanker!”

“True. Must be talking about you, then.”

“As if you have any other devilishly handsome friends.”

“Pete’s alright.”

Sirius glared at him so fiercely, he had to concede.

“But you’re the handsomest, Sirius.”

“Thank you, Remus. Your palm also says you should compliment me more,” he added, pointing to an invisible spot on Remus’ hand.

“Seems to say a lot that only you can read, doesn’t it?”

“Mm,” Sirius agreed, “Also says you should bring me breakfast on Sundays.”

“Ah. Anything else?”

“Yes. Says we need to come up to the Astronomy tower alone more often.”

Remus bit his lip as he felt a blush creep up his neck. Sirius was grinning at him but there was something vulnerable about his grey eyes, and it made Remus feel equally eager and uneasy. They seemed to be in some world of their own where nothing and no one else existed for the moment, and time had stopped just so they could be here together right now.

Sirius hesitantly reached up to brush his thumb along Remus’ reddened cheek. He really did look quite cute.

Heart pounding, he took a chance and leaned in fractionally.

Remus’ eyes widened slightly in alarm and Sirius froze, worried he’d made a mistake.

But after a moment, Remus’ gaze slid down to his mouth, to the pair of lips that were now much closer to his. Sirius felt emboldened and leaned in once more to place those lips lightly on Remus’.

He drew back and Remus slowly exhaled a shaky breath.

Sirius was trying to read his face; he looked a little surprised, and a little confused, but, mostly, Sirius saw desire stirring in the werewolf’s eyes. A hot wave of his own desire hit him, like he had stepped outside from a cool room into the blaze of summer.

He closed the distance between them and pressed their lips together again. This time Remus responded, turning on his side towards Sirius so their entire bodies were touching, and breaking the hands they had still been holding to wrap an arm around Sirius’ back. Sirius smiled into Remus’ mouth, and brought one hand up to cradle his face as he tilted his own head to deepen the kiss.

Remus made a pleasant, rumbling noise deep in his chest as their tongues met, and Sirius’ mind went blank with the sounds, touches, and tastes of Remus.

Their skin felt hot and tingly wherever it connected, and Remus wanted more. As if hearing his thoughts, Sirius rolled on top of him.

Remus gasped as their hips collided and he broke the kiss, turning his head slightly, embarrassed that Sirius could now feel his growing reaction to the contact and wet kiss.

Sirius braced his weight off of Remus, concerned that he’d hurt his friend somehow. Seeing the scarlet blush on Remus’ cheeks, he smiled and bent down to place feather-light kisses on the warmed skin on either side of his nose.

“Who knew palm reading was such a turn on, eh, Moony?” Sirius teased, a little out of breath.

Remus laughed but it caught in his throat as Sirius pressed his lips to the sensitive spot on his neck beneath his ear. He bit his lip and gripped the tops of Sirius’ arms as Sirius ran his lips up his neck and along his jaw, his fingers following the same path.

Sirius leaned back to look into Remus’ eyes once more, and moved his thumb over Remus’ bottom lip to release it from his teeth.

“Don’t,” he whispered in a husky voice, “I’m quite fond of that lip now.”

Remus automatically bit his lip again to keep from moaning, but let go immediately at the scowl he got from the boy above him.

Sirius grinned and planted a quick kiss on the abused flesh, then sighed, figuring he shouldn’t push his luck with taking things any further.

He sat up, pulling Remus with him. He was about to stand when the light from the castle caught Remus’ face and he swallowed a groan. His lips were red and swollen, wet from Sirius’ saliva, his hair a little tousled. It was quite possibly the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

“What?” Remus asked when he saw him staring, his ears turning pink.

“Do you know how bloody sexy you are?”

Remus’ eyebrows shot up in shock, but the way Sirius was looking at him sent hot blood rushing from his head to…other places, and he felt a little dizzy.

“Er, no?”

Sirius exhaled frustratingly and he yanked Remus to his feet. He leaned against the wall to steady himself as Sirius picked up Remus’ bag, throwing the strap over his shoulder, and grabbed the blanket.

Remus tried to wrap his head around the fact that he’d just snogged his best mate. His best mate who he lived with. His best mate who he’d been pining after for a year and a half.

“Was this okay?” he suddenly asked.

Sirius straightened up and met Remus’ eyes.

“Was what okay?”

“This...” Remus gestured embarrassingly between the two of them.

“You have to ask, Moony?” Sirius cocked his head to the side.

Remus didn’t answer and Sirius resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he came up close to Remus. “You know I kissed you right?”

“Yeah, but I kissed you back.”

“Well, I held your hand.”

“I held your hand first!”

“But I lay down next to you, Moony.”

“I lay down first, Padfoot!”

“I came up here-“

Remus grabbed Sirius’ face with both hands and kissed him hard, thrusting his tongue into his mouth.

He pulled back after a few glorious seconds, to look into the flustered face of his friend. Sirius blinked a few times and tried to speak, but his mind seemed to have gone curiously blank again.

“Hmm,” Remus smiled wickedly at him, “Have I finally found a way to shut Sirius Black up? I’ll have to remember that.”

He pressed his lips to him one more time, then interlocked their fingers and walked towards the staircase leading back inside the castle, trailing a thoroughly dazed Sirius behind him.

*

#wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #ao3 #wolfstar fluff #ficbyweightyghosts #this is my baby #my first published fan fic #it holds a special place in my heart #sirius is shameless #remus loves him #there's flirting #wolfstar flirting #sirius black #remus lupin #marauders

[thr-333]

Mismatch- Part 6

Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020

Sibling bonding at its finest, fighting and breaking rules

First< Previous> Next

----

“Maman, Papa, we’re fine,” Marinette holds the phone between them.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come home?” Tom asks through speaker phone.

“No Papa, Nette worked hard for this trip,” Marion insists, they are sitting in the back of Bruce's car with him and Selina in the front.

“We both work-”

“Both want to stay, that's right,” Marion cuts her off, grinning at her glare, “Besides we have things to do here remember ?”

“Ok, but if you change your minds,” Sabine frets, they do have a concert coming up.

“We’ll be on the first flight back,” Marinette agrees, Aunt Selina leans back and she holds up the phone for her.

“Don’t worry Tom, I’ll keep them out of trouble,” She tells her brother.

“You’re the last person I trust to do that,” Tom laughs from the other end of the line.

“Rude,” She glares down at the phone.

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine,” Sabine speaks over her husbands laughter.

“Thank you Sabine, you're my favourite person in Paris,” She winks at the twins, whispering "Right now,"

"Hey!" Tom shouts from the phone.

“Of course,” Sabine chuckles over her husband,“We have to go back to the bakery now,”

“We’ll talk later,” Tom promises, "Have fun,"

“See ya,” Selina sits back upright.

“Bye Papa, Maman,” Marinette moves to hang up

“Also we met Aunt Selina's fiance! Bye!" Marion blurts, everyone in the car freezes.

“WHA-” Marion hangs up.

“Marion! That was…..” Their Aunt shouts before giggling, turning into full blown laughter,“... That was so…”

The twins start laughing as well, making her give up on whatever lecture she was going to launch into.

“Selina, your phones ringing,” Bruce says, as she calms down.

“Yeah, it’s probably going to do that for awhile,” Selina turns it to silent and ignores the call, then turns to Marion,“Don’t ever do that again,”

“Are you planning on getting remarried?” Marion asks cheekily.

“Quite the thing to admit in front of your fiance,” Marinette adds, glancing at Bruce to see he is also smiling slightly. Years with Kagami had trained her to notice those hints of emotion.

“Brats,” She huffs turning back around.

“We love you,” They chorus.

“Brats,” Selina shakes her head fondly just as they approach the gates.

Marinette stares in awe at the large estate. The architecture and gardens immediately had her pulling out her sketch book to jot down ideas. She gets pushed out of the car by Marion and keeps drawing as they walk towards the Manor doors.

"You're home is beautiful," Marinette compliments Bruce.

"Thank you, I think so too," Bruce says as the doors open.

“Welcome home, Master Bruce, Miss Selina,” Alfred stands in the doorway, “And you, Miss Dupain-Cheng and Mr Cheng-Dupain, welcome to Wayne Manor.”

“It’s good to see you again, please, just Marinette's fine,” Marinette puts away her sketchbook.

“Yeah, I'd rather you just call me Marion,” Marion beams at him, before whispering, “Did we even tell you our last names?… witchcraft,”

“Very well, please come this way,” Alfred guides them into the Manor, stopping outside a door, "Master Damian is waiting, I must be off to prepare dinner,"

"Thank you Alfred," Bruce tells the butler as he leaves.

They enter the living room type area. A boy who couldn't even be thirteen yet stands. 'He's so small' Marinette thinks to herself.

"Father," He glares at her and Marion.

“This is my son Damian,” Bruce introduces, “Damian met Marinette and Marion,”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Marinette smiles, holding her hand out.

“Tt” Damian looks away, getting a glare from Bruce before taking her hand, “... Likewise,”

Selinas phone buzzes again. Drawing attention away from the insincere tone.

“I should probably answer them, or they’ll never leave us alone,” Their Aunt sighs taking out her phone, “Bruce come with me, I’m sure they’ll want to meet you,”

“Is this going to be a pleasant conversation?” He asks.

“No its going to be very painful,” Marinette smiles, knowing they were about to have a very long conversation with her over excited Papa. He would probably have planned their wedding by the time they manage to hang up.

“Right,” Bruce says hesitantly, he turns to Damian with a pointed look, “Behave,”

"Tt," is Damian's response as he is left alone with them.

Marion sits down. Marinette follows sitting next to him on one of couches, surprised at how soft it is. Damian sits down on an armchair, picking up a book.

“So, Damian how old are you?" Marinette asks, after a full minute of silence

“12,” He doesn't look up from his book

“... We’re 18, twins if you couldn't tell,” Marion steps in gesturing between them.

“I could,” Damian answers shortly.

“Right... so what are your hobbies?” Marinette tries again.

“... painting,” Damian concedes under her expectant gaze.

“Oh, can we see?” She asks excitedly.

“No,” Damian snaps. She doesn't let that discourage her, she doesn't like showing strangers her designs. Apart from the millions of strangers who see her designs anyway.

“Alright, I get that," Marion shares the sentiment, "What about-Oh my god,”

“What?” Damian finally looks up from his book, scanning the room for the cause of his outburst.

“Kitty!” Marion practically leaps from the couch to get a better look at the cat sauntering across the room.

“Oh no,” Marinette sighs watching her brother melt over the cat.

“That’s Alfred,” Damian tells them eyeing the cat and Marion with mild amusement.

“After Alfred, Alfred your butler?” Marinette tries not to snicker at the name.

“Yes, pennyworth is his namesake,” Damian nods, glare daring Marinette to laugh.

“Can I pet him?!” Marion pleads, with baby-doll eyes  that could put Manon to shame.

“You can try, Alfred is very selective about who pets him,” Damian grants, and Marion sits on the ground, inching closer.

“I wouldn’t worry, Mari has a way with cats,” Marinette smirks, thinking back to the time she had to fight an Akuma alone because he was being smothered by cats.

“Come here Alfred,” Marion rubs his hand on the ground, Alfred watching closely.

“Do you have any other pets?” Marinette asks, Damian puts down his book.

“I have Titus, a great dane,” Damian watches as Alfred gives in and pounces on Marion’s hand, “Batcow, self explanatory,”

“Bat-cow mutant?” Marion guesses letting Alfred sniff his hand.

“No,” Damian's irritation shows, “She has patch shaped like the Bat symbol,”

“Oh, that was my second guess,” Alfred lets Marion scratch behind his ear.

“Can we see them?” Marinette excited over meeting Batcow.

“They’ll be around here somewhere, roaming the manor grounds,” Damian responds, non committaly.

“Alfred the Cat, feels weird to call them both Alfred,” Marion muses, Damian looks surprised as the cat climbs into this lap.

“Have you any pets?” Damian asks his first question about them.

“No, we live in a bakery so it would be a health code violation,” Marinette answers sadly. She doubts a box of animal type Kwamis are regulation either but no one has to know about that.

“Al-at? no,” Marion talks to himself, or more likely the cat.

“That’s a shame,” Damian acknowledges monotonously, watching as Alfred the cat starts to purr as Marion scratches his chin.

“We did try to sneak strays in when we were little,” Marinette is unwilling to let the conversation drop.

“Ca-Fred, Cat-Fred!” Marion exclaims, apologising seconds later to the newly dubbed Cat-fred for startling him.

“Try?” Damian sneers.

“The first few times were a disaster, we didn’t get past the front door,” Marinette explains, “Maman and Papa would send them to the shelter straight away,”

“At least they didn’t put them back out on the street,” Damian muses.

“They would never,” Marion responds, in baby talk directed at Cat-fred.

"You don't have to use that ridiculous voice," Damian scolds.

"I know," Marion answers, in the same voice, Damian glowers.

“As we got older we started being able to actually get them inside before being found out,” Marinette distracts him from Marion's taunting.

“One of us would be the distraction and the other snuck in, with a sleeping cat or dog, that one we learnt the hard way,” Marion uses a normal voice, still showering Cat-fred with attention.

“I think that is how I got my reputation for being clumsy,” Marinette sighs, it was always left up to her to distract their parents by knocking something over while Marion snuck in.

“What can I say? Cats love me,” Marion proves his point as Alfred turns over, letting him see his belly.

“I can see that,” Damian seems amused as much as he is surprised.

“At first, they’d find them in a few hours, so we learnt by trial and error,” Marinette continues, relaxing into the couch. "We must have taken in at least a hundred strays,"

“I think the last one we had managed a few months before we go found out,” Marion guesses, they hadn't tried again since the received their miraculous.

For one because they couldn't afford their parents searching their room regularly and coming across the Kwamis. However being the heroes of Paris had also proven effective in getting people to adopt. Usually the first person they asked would immediately agree, if they were suited up.

“So how many more pets have you managed to smuggle in?” Marion stage whispers to Damian, the gap between them being too big to actually whisper, “In a place this big should be easy,”

“I’ve tried… Pennyworth has caught me each time,” Damian admits, looking down at the almost asleep Cat-fred.

“That man is a witch,” Marion declares with certainty.

“What?” Damian seems taken aback.

“He appears out of nowhere and knows too much,” Marion provides what Marinette is sure he considers evidence.

“Hn, that is true,” Damain starts to share his multiple accounts of such behaviour.

The three fall into easy conversation after that listening to and sharing stories.

“I must be going insane,” All their eyes snap to a man standing in the doorway “Demon spawns actually getting along with someone,”

“Todd,” Damian acknowledges coldly.

“Hi,” Marion waves with far more friendliness, “I’m Marion, this is Marinette, your names Todd was it?”

“Jason actually, I lived here and drop by every now and then, mainly when Alfred asks," He explains, sitting on another couch near Marion, "Heard about you had a run in with a villain today,”

“Did you?” Damian asks, the two having avoided it in their conversation so far.

“Yeah, got an earful from Aunt Selina,” Marion laughs nervously.

“Did you get hurt?” Jason looks over Marion, concern written all over his face.

“What? No I’m fine thanks,” Marion smiles, Marinette rolled her eyes she stretches her leg to press to his bruised side, "Ow! Nette!"

"No lying," She shrugs as Marion turns to her. Cat-fred runs at the sudden movement, making Marion pout.

"Rich coming from you," He mutters, turing back to see the look on Jason's face, "My side just a little bruised, doesn't hurt unless someone, oh i don't know, kicks me!"

"I didn't kick you, you drama queen," Marinette sticks her tongue out at him and he copies.

“Did Selina train you?” Damian reverts the conversation.

“A little when we were younger, we still to spar together,” Marinette pretends to go for a kick to his side again, expecting the easy block.

"One of the few instances we're allows to punch each other," Marion jokes, "Although I think I'll hold off for now, you're not above using my injury to your advantage,"

"I'm resourceful," Marinette corrects, "Also, now you're hurt when you're afraid to get you're ass beat?"

"Such crass language, young lady," Jason teases, Marinette pokes her tongue out again.

"I can spar you if Marion is unwilling," Damian offers, Marion grumbles something along the lines of 'I never said that'.

"Right now?" Marinette sizes him up, she could tell he had some training.

"If you want," Damian also starts to size her up.

"Hold up now, you can't do this," Jason steps in, Marinette starts to deflate, "In here, Alfred would stop you, lets go outside,"

She perks up, following Jason, Marion and Damian outside to a clear area of grass. She toes off her shoes and socks, knowing they were steel capped and would cause some serious damage. She also pulls off her scarf, not willing to give him any advantage. Damian keeps his shoes on, clicking his tongue. They start to circle each other, waiting for someone to make a move. Marinette feels the grass beneath her feet, she feels more like Ladybug in a way.

Damian breaks the standoff, lunging at her. Marinette side steps at the last second, reminding herself to tone it down. She tries to make use of the opening by getting behind him, but Damian instantly pivots to keep her in front of him. Marinette takes note he's a lot faster than anticipated and decides to test it. She makes the next move forward throwing a few punches to see how he reacts. Damian easily dodges each one, Marinette realises that she is unprepared to fight someone smaller than her. They did occasionally have to fight Akumatised children but that was with superpowers. She had never actually gone hand to hand with someone smaller.

Taking this into consideration she adjusts to a style she uses more when sparring Marion. They're both about the same size and he's fast so she can rarely use his weight against him like she usually would. Marinette stops trying to get behind Damian, instead planning to send him to the ground, knowing she had the size advantage. Damian seemingly notices this change and adjusts his defences.

'how well is he trained?' Marinette asks herself. Damian tries to goad her into attacking, throwing out punches. Marinette doesn't rise to the bait, dodging and blocking. Marinette dances around their sparring area, testing Damian's stamina while waiting for an opening. She sees her chance and is about to move into counter attack.

"Damian!" They both pause looking toward the manor to see Bruce and Selina.

"Marinette! what do you think you're doing?" Aunt Selina storms towards them.

"Uh... bonding?" She laughs nervously.

#pop star au #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fic #bio dad bruce wayne #Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020 #Mismatch #badass marinette #Marinette #marinette is mdc #twins au #vigilante au #biodad au #bio! dadbrucewaynemonth2020 #b!dbwm2020 #Maribat #mlb #salt #but like lightly salted #maybe #class trip #class trip au #class salt #Lila salt #lila lies

[raevenlywrites]

Dasi High 2 of ?

All day long, all I wanted was my book. My book. I thrilled at the way the thought seemed to pulse in my head, heavy with the weight of destiny or something. It had to be some kind of strangeness at work, to put this exact book into my exact hands with my exact little name on it. Kiesha... It wasn’t exactly a sorceress’s name, but still, it wasn’t that common. Not for books that looked like they’d been buried under the sea for the last thousand years or whatever. “This should be in a museum,” ala Indiana Jones and all that. My book. It filled my chest with warmth just thinking about it.

But I kept it in my bag all through school, even during lunch. No Coke, greasy pizza, or nosy teachers were going to threaten my ancient tome. I wasn’t an idiot. I was going to keep it safe until I got home.

Safely ensconced in my beautiful window seat, the envy of all book lovers and cat nappers everywhere, I savored the moment, feeling the heft of the book in my lap, breathing deep of its good, good book smell. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a technophobe, but books man--nothing compares to the feel of thick pages beneath your hands, the crinkle, the earthy smell. Yeah. There was a reason Brass thought I might be into it, namesake notwithstanding.

The cover was plain, well-worn, shiny and slick to the touch with the press of so many hands before. The finish had worn off the lettering and embellishments, but fingers could trace the rise and indents of them. I suddenly wondered if I should be handling something so hold, then realized I had no idea how old it even was. Oh well. Brass’s mom wouldn’t have let him have it if it was priceless, right? With a steadying breath, I cracked the cover.

The glue had long since stopped holding the pages in, but the binding was still sound. Maybe I’d ask Donte or Nalini later if either of them knew anything about repairing old bindings. They were both always doing handsy stuff, Donnie with his computers, and Nani with eir soaps and stuff. Surely one of them would know something, or be able to point me in the right direction. For now, I gingerly laid the cover open in my lap and turned the pages with a reverence I almost never felt for anything. I hadn’t been this careful with a book since my Sandman hardcover omnibus I got for my last birthday.

Enough stalling. It was time to read.

I was surprised to note my own reluctance. I’m not usually one for drama, but this... it just felt heavy. Important. Like it mattered.

The front endpaper had a yellowed bookplate pasted in, painted with an elegant symbol or crest or something I didn’t recognize. It looked almost like a stick figure of someone dancing, arms reaching up and stance wide--except there were weird branches coming off, like cursive flourishes. Maybe it was a signature? If so it wasn’t in any language I could read. I suddenly panicked at the thought that I wouldn’t be able to read any of it, aside from my name, and eagerly turned the page, anticipation mixing with dread.

But instead of a title page, or anything even printed, it was another handwritten page, like a dedication, or maybe a poem or something. It was written in the same kind of cursivey, wavy letters as the bookplate, and with growing anxiety I turned to the next page.

The family tree.

Thin, spidery hand writing covered the pages, faded, but definitely in the familiar English characters. Arabic? Or was the for numbers? Whatever. I could read it, that was what mattered. It was hard to parse, just as it had been at school, but I found the letters of my name quickly, and my finger hovered over the page, tracing the line down. Don...Donovan? Sisal... Salem... It was almost impossible to make out, save for the ever-clear Kiesha. Almost like that was the only part I was meant to read. I stared at the whole page, trying to let my eyes go soft focused, to see if anything else jumped out at me, but the longer I looked, the harder to read it became. I gave up and turned the page.

A list of names and dates followed, like you’d expect from an almanac. But instead of useful things like “March 3rd” or “Spring Equinox” it said things like, “the fourth night of cheres” or “the eve of Namir-da”. It was English, but just barely. I skimmed the page but quickly moved past it, eager for something that made sense.

It was hard not to let my disappoint take hold. This book had felt so special--it was special, just... not what I’d been expecting. Recipes, as Brass had said, and almanacy things, lie when to plant, but nothing that gave me any sense of wonder, or importance. I was just about to give up when I finally came across a section written in plain English.

They say the time has come. I have been given the family book, and told its mine to keep. But what I am expected to do with it, I cannot say. I have nothing of my own to add. I am not even the oldest of the family line. But I feel I should write something, to mark the occasion if nothing else. So here I do write, on this, the first of August, in the year seventeen hundred and seventy-one, that I, Kiera Cortana, am now in charge of the family book, for better or for worse.

Whoa. Now that was seriously cool. I flipped back to the family tree, to see if I could find Kiera. There, near the bottom, Kiera Cortana, 1753. Neat. That made her... seventeen, eighteen when she wrote her entry? Wow. Barely any older than me. That warm tingle started again, that sense of connection, and I just let my hand rest on the page, fingers just below her name. There wasn’t any more after hers, though there was room for more. Hope for the future that never came.

The warmth turned to sadness, a kind of longing I couldn’t really put my finger on. I got that way sometimes, just out of the blue. Homesick for a place that didn't’ exist. At least here I kind of got it, sad for a girl who may or may not have ever grown up. There was more after her first journal entry, but it was just more recipes and things, and more of that squiggle script I had no idea how to read. On an impulse, I got out a notebook and copied down what letters I could make out, including the symbol on the front book plate. I wanted to look at it more later, when I was stuck at school, but I didn’t want to risk bringing the actual book there. It was so old, at least three hundred. Man, Brass totally shouldn’t have let me have this. I decided to call him and give him a hard time about it.

“Hey, Ki, is everything okay?”

I frowned at the concern in his voice. “Yes, Dad, I’m fine. I’m not always in mortal danger or whatever you seem to think.”

Brass snorted. “Well I assumed you had to be in trouble since you’re calling. Normally you just text.”

Oh. Right.

“Just wanted to chat,” I said, too casually, but he'd caught me off guard. I used to call Brass all the time. It was weird to realized I’d stopped. “I’ve been looking through that book you gave me.” When in doubt, change the subject.

“Yeah? Anything good?”

I heard the sound of a sliding glass door in the background, the tell-tale sign of Brass going out to sit on the back deck. He used to do it to be near the TV antenna, hoping it would give him better cell signal. Now it was just habit. I smiled, picturing him there, long and lanky and lean, back against the side of the house as he balanced on the deck railing, one long leg trailing down...

“Kiesha?”

“Hm?”

I made a startled little noise as I came back to myself. “Oh, right. Yeah, it’s pretty cool. Did you know it was so old? There’s an entry from the 1700’s in it.”

“Oh man, really?” He sounded equal parts excited and embarrassed. “I didn’t know that. Maybe I should let Mom look at it again...”

“No way,” I teased, “It’s mine now. Has my name in it and everything.”

“It has mine too.”

His voice was so soft I almost missed it. But I scanned the page and sure enough, Brassal was on a similar line as Kiesha.

“Weird... Almost as weird as your stupid name.”

I laughed to take the edge of, both from my words and from the creeping feeling working its way up my spine. Brass had always gone by the nickname, with Brassal being reserved for his father. I guess it shouldn’t have surprised me to see it in an old timey book like this; it had probably been handed down a long line of people, like Maeve’s super grandma name. But still. It freaked me, and when I got freaked, I teased. Make everyone else feel off balance and it was an even playing field again.

“Yeah, yeah, Cobriana. Tell me all about weird names.”

I stuck my tongue out, even though he couldn’t see. Still, it made me feel better. Sky blue, grass green, Brass and I teased. I had missed this. It was good to be getting it back.

“You wanna come over for pizza and movies Friday?”

It was out of my mouth before I’d really thought about it. But his hesitation made me wish I’d just kept railing on his stupid name.

“Uh, how ‘bout Saturday. I have... plans. For Friday.”

No way. No freakin way. “Don’t tell me you gave in to Izzy,” I said with a disinterest I didn’t quite feel. “You know she’s only sharpening her claws on you for a real takedown.”

“Don’t be like that, Ki. Isadora can do what she wants, with who she wants.”

I mocked “Isadora,” in as childish a tone as I could manage. No one called her that, not even Izzy herself. Except Landon. But Landon was cyborg and completely incapable of using contractions or imprecise grammar, like ever.

“And what she wants is apparently to play kissy face with Serv, for all the good that’ll do her.”

“Serv?!” I could not keep the surprise out of my voice. Serv was like, canonically asexual. Or at the very least, not interested in someone as bubblegum pop as Izzy.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Brass said. “I didn’t ask, not that that stopped her from volunteering. Apparently they’re driving into the city to see a show or something.”

“Okay....” Izzy on a date with Servos. What an odd couple. I couldn’t fathom what sort of attraction would hold interest for both of them. But then, if such a thing existed, it would be in the city, not in this whole in the wall town. We didn’t even have a mall. “Well, good for them, I guess. So what about your mysterious plans?”

Brass groaned. “I’d hoped you’d forgotten. ”

“Nope. Spill it.”

He sighed. “I’m going to the movies... with Syfka.”

I gaped. “You’re joking. You’re joking! Why on earth would you want to go to the movies with her--xem?”

I was normally better with Syfka’s pronouns than this, but it was hard not to think of anyone out on date with Brass as anything but a her--a her he might want to kiss. Trying to apply that mental box to Syfka, of all people--

“Because--” Brass cut through my thoughts, “we have a project due, and it was either write a paper on a French film, or try to speed read through a work of French literature that I have zero hope of understanding because its kind of my worst subject.”

Oh. Right. School stuff. A perfectly reasonable reason to go to the movies with someone.

“Right. Okay. Yeah. So, does that mean you need to stay in and write it on Saturday.”

Brass laughed, and I couldn’t help but feel like it was at my expense.

“Nah. Come Saturday night, I’ll either be done, or I’ll be failed. Either way, pizza and a movie sounds great.”

“Okay...”

I couldn’t shake the little tight feeling in my chest. This call had thrown me. Everything about Brass seemed to throw me lately.

“Why don’t you invite Nikki over too? Or maybe Maeve?”

My toes curled under at that last. Maeve may or may not have been the reason Brass and I finally broke up. I hadn’t decided yet. Either way, I couldn’t imagine him volunteering to hang out with her.

“I wouldn’t subject you to that....”

“Ki, I told you I’m alright with it. Have her over, see if you still feel all tingly.”

I laughed, but it was hardly humorous. “I can’t believe you’re encouraging me to get my flirt on in front of you.”

I could feel him shrug through the line, that careless raise of a shoulder that meant everything and nothing.

“You’re too shy to do it yourself. I’m just gonna keep inventing reasons to get you two together until you get over yourself. Or she asks you.”

“Brass!”

But now I was really laughing, and his goal was achieved. I felt better, so he felt better. Stupid big brother mother hen. I smiled through the rest of the phone call, chatting about everything and nothing, and feeling more like myself than I had in a long time.

-

Raev’s general tag list: As always, let me know if you want to be added or removed or whatevs (especially since this is kind of a far cry from what I usually do)

List is currently: @lordkingsmith @writinglyra @drbibliophile @mperialscribe @adie-dee @lexiklecksi @theramwrites @writinginslowmotion @faithfire @apollon-arium  @thehellinsideyourhead @raenawrites @adventuresofacreesty @anika-writes.

#dasi high #kiesha'ra fanfic #kiesha cobriana #I've been threatening this hawksong fanfic for years #raev does fanfic

[luciehercndale]

Girl’s Night In

For @lucieblckthorn 💜

Characters: Emma Carstairs, Mina Carstairs, Kit Herondale Rating: T Type: AU. In this story Emma is Mina’s sister and Mina is only two years younger than Emma.  Prompt: “Girl’s night in?”

Emma and Mina want to have a girl’s night but Kit presents them with the possibility of having a different kind of night. Of course it backfires. 😂

“Girl’s night in?”

Mina was lost in her book when her older sister Emma interrupted her. She considered reading sacred, and she hated when anybody dared to pull her back to reality while she was focused on the pages of a book. She raised an eyebrow, almost annoyed, but also relieved. “This book I’m reading is bad anyway. What do you have in mind?”

Emma hurried towards Mina’s bed and sat down. “Slumber party?”

“Em. Aren’t we too old for that?”

“I’m not talking about the typical slumber party with mundanes. I’m talking about a slumber party with downworlders?” Emma wiggled her eyebrows and smirked.

Mina crossed her arms on her chest and puffed. “And how we’ll call the downworlders here, let me see. We can’t.”

“I have the solution to that,” somebody said from the doorway.

“Kit, you’re obviously not invited,” Emma protested.

Kit entered the room with confidence, and he had something in his hand which caught Mina and Emma’s attention. “Even if I have this?”

“What’s that? Don’t tell me you’ve stolen something from the London Institute again, Kit, or I –“ Mina began, but Kit didn’t let her finish.

“What are you gonna do, Mina? You’ll tell Jem?” Kit wondered with a mischievous expression painted on his angelic face. “I can put it back where it belongs in no time. You know I can.”

Mina shook her head with impatience. “Come on, tell us how this damn thing works,” she conceded.

Kit sauntered in front of the girls and showed them a small object that looked like an old phone, but it obviously wasn’t a phone. “This, my dear sisters, is a downworlder sensor. I found it in a golden box at the Institute. It caught my attention on the spot,” he explained with a smug grin.

“As usual,” Emma rolled her eyes, but Kit glared at her.

“Yes. But you know why I took it? Because a guy named Christopher Lightwood made it.”

“Kit, your narcissism is showing,” Emma commented. “Come on, show us how this thing works.”

“It’s not narcissism, Em. He just likes that a guy named like him made that thing, that is all,” Mina tried to intercede for Kit, but Emma was already glancing at the weird object and stopped paying attention to her younger sister.

“I think you need to push this button.”

“You think? Kit, does this thing really work?” Emma wondered, which made Kit roll his eyes. He hated when Emma couldn’t keep her mouth shut and criticized whatever he did.

Kit glared at Emma and observed the small black thing in his hands. It looked dead to him. Heck, he didn’t know about his namesake who made it, but he believed he created it several years if not a century before. He pushed the red button in the middle of the artifact and waited. They all waited for something to happen. After more than five minutes, nothing changed.

“This thing is broken, Kit. Otherwise…” Mina started again, but like a few minutes before, she was interrupted. Her room, which was painted in lilac hues, suddenly turned darker when the lights dimmed as if they were in a seedy nightclub. Then the walls started to shake, and the empty spaces filled with bodies, different bodies. Some of the people were so tall that their heads touched the ceiling, while some were dwarves most likely, because they were shorter than them. At the same time, a techno tune started blaring from invisible speakers.

“What the –“ Kit gasped, mesmerized.

Mina put her book on the nightstand and gazed at the twenty or so people who had appeared out of nowhere. She didn’t know whether to be afraid or just shocked, surprised, or to start dancing with them.

“By the angel, the music taste is horrible,” Mina commented, frowning.

“Who cares, we have our party now!” Emma said, grabbing Mina’s hand and pushing her in the middle of the crowd.

Kit followed the girls and started to dance to the music. He had to admit the song was indeed very terrible, but who cared. “There is a damn downworlder party in da house! I never thought I would say this out loud.”

Emma and Mina laughed, then they closed their eyes and tried to be transported by the thump thump of the song, as much as it sucked. They felt in another world, in another time. They felt free, careless. Emma hated parties while Mina tolerated them – when she didn’t have her head buried in a book, of course. They gave their all as they danced barefoot, not caring that they were wearing their jammies and there was a bunch of strangers in their home.

But it was short lived.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Three heads turned at the same time when their heard that voice. “Papa, we…” Mina started, but damn, she was probably unlucky that night because she couldn’t finish her sentence. Again.

Jem took the device from Kit’s hands and pushed the red button. As if they had been conjured by magic, all of the people in the room disappeared at once, leaving the three teenagers and their father in a room that looked bigger than it already was.

“So that’s how that thing worked?” Kit wondered with interest.

“Your ancestor Kit Lightwood made it,” Tessa explained. The kids hadn’t noticed she had just entered the room, since they were enraptured by the shitty music. “He created it, because…” she frowned, looking at Jem as if silently asking him something. “Because once an Iblis demon sent love letters to him and he wanted to look for him and thank him.”

Emma, Mina and Kit exchanged glances, and they couldn’t keep their serious and shocked faces on because in all honesty, the whole thing made them laugh.

“Don’t laugh. You still shouldn’t have called for downworlders. They weren’t real, but just a projection. What you saw was a random retreat of theirs,” Jem explained.

“Ah, so they weren’t actually here,” Mina realized.

“No, but there could have been somebody who could have had the sight and could have crossed the border between that illusion and this place,” Tessa told them. “You need to be careful.”

“I’m going to take this back to the Institute tomorrow,” Jem announced. “But I just want to know one thing. Who had the brilliant idea to throw a downworlder party in our household? I’m curious. It’s for science.”

The teenagers could tell that Jem wasn’t angry, he was just amused.

Emma and Mina looked at each other and they didn’t need words to understand what the other sister was thinking. “It was Kit’s fault!”

Kit glared at them as he always did, while Jem and Tessa gazed at each other and started laughing.

#emma carstairs #wilhelmina carstairs #mina carstairs #kit herondale #jem carstairs #tessa gray #jessa #jem and tessa #tessa and jem #christopher lightwood #the dark artifices #ghost of the shadow market #christopher herondale #tsc #the shadowhunter chronicles #tlh #tid #tmi #twp #the wicked powers #my edits #tweety writes

[eleven-times-lively]

The Twins - Part 2

In which you and Fred continue to raise your beautiful baby girls.💕 masterpost

Summary: The twins grow up from babies into toddlers, and from toddlers into children. Word Count: 3368 Note: Sorry this is so short! This chapter was basically just a way to give some happy moments with the twins and to serve as a bridge into the next chapters.

Two days later you and Fred could finally bring the babies home. You each held one infant as you came in the door, Fred whispering to the babies once you were inside.

“Hi, girls. This is your first home. Your whole family worked so hard on it, and so much love went into it. You’ll both grow up here and be very happy with your mummy and I.” You just stood staring in complete adoration for the man before you. The love of your life, your husband, and the father of your children was the most perfect human being on the planet. “Oh dear, mummy is staring at me. You know, the last time she gave me that look, we ended up making you!” “Fred Weasley not in front of the babies!”

He just laughed as the two of you managed to swap; he took the hospital bag out of your hands, holding it with the other bag he had, as he handed you the baby he was holding. “Shall we show them their nursery, love?” he asked you, already heading up the few stairs. 

You and Fred entered the beautiful nursery, which he hadn’t been in since the two of you did up the room shortly after finding you pregnant. You on the other hand would spend a lot of time in there when nesting tendencies kicked in, especially when you couldn’t sleep. The former guest bedroom had been totally converted to comfortably accommodate the two babies. The walls were a soft yellow and the ceiling was a light blue, to resemble the bright sky, and you and Fred had painted a few small flowers here and there on the walls. The room was practically a mirror image on each side. A white wooden crib and rocking chair were on each wall, with identical mobiles above each crib. At the back wall was the dresser/changing table. On the wall above each crib was the respective baby's name painted in swirly pink letters. Fred placed the babies’ bag on the floor to be unpacked later before heading into your room to place the hospital bag down. Once he returned you handed him a baby--Callie--and you each sat in a rocking chair on the side of the room for whatever twin was in your arms. You and Fred remained silent for a moment, rocking the babies until they fell asleep.

“How are you, love?” He finally piped up.

“Fine, I guess. I mean, as good as someone can be after having just had twins. Overjoyed to finally be home with my family.”

He gave you a soft smile before continuing, “When do you think we should have the family over?”

“Well I suppose it isn’t terribly urgent, they were all there when I had the twins. Maybe give it a few days for us to rest and enjoy our babies, yeah?”

“Whatever you say, love. How about you go take a nap, I’ll stay in here with them.”

“No, Freddie. I want to stay with the babies.”

“Y/n you’ve barely slept in three days. You need it.”

You sighed before carefully standing up. You set Cassie in her crib before giving Fred a kiss and begrudgingly heading into your own bedroom. You were asleep mere moments after getting into bed. Fred stayed with Callie in his arms for a few more minutes before setting her into the crib and sitting back down in the rocking chair, where he stayed awake diligently watching the babies.

***

After a few days of rest and recovery, you felt well enough to start doing more around the house again. Fred had been so sweet and considerate, not allowing you to do anything strenuous. 

“No, love, please sit down and let me do the dishes.” “I’ll change the bedsheets, it’s more than okay, yes I’m sure.” “Can I get you a cup of tea? Do you need anything?”

While you appreciated your husband’s efforts, it was becoming a bit suffocating, and you couldn’t take anymore. “Fred, my love, I appreciate everything you’re doing, but I think I’m fine to undecorate the tree on my own.”

“Are you sure, y/n? I don’t want you to do something you can’t handle just yet.”

“I know,” you gave him a kiss, “you know what you can do for me?”

He practically jumped up and down, “Yes?”

“Watch the girls for a bit so I can finally finish my book?”

“Of course. Wait, the book you started five months ago?”

You chuckled lightly, “Yes, Fred.” He gave you a warm smile and a kiss before the two of you parted ways for the afternoon.

After finishing your book, a long-forgotten thought came back to you. You searched the house and found Fred in the nursery, watching the babies sleep. He perked up when he saw you enter the room.

“All they do is sleep!”, he whispered, “I just want to play and have fun with them, but all they do is sleep and eat!”

You smiled at him as you said, “You know, love, we never added their birthday to the doorframe.”

“Oh! Shall we go do that then?” He stood up and made his way over to you, placing his hands on your hips when he reached you. He gave you a sweet, wanting kiss before smiling. 

“Do you think they’ll be okay without us here?” You wormed out of his grasp and turned to gaze into the room. 

He placed an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. Kissing you on the forehead he whispered, “I’m sure, love. They’ll be alright.” He walked out of the room and started to head down the stairs when he noticed you weren’t with him. “Coming, love?”

“Hmm?”, you whispered, “Oh, yeah.” You shuffled away from the doorway and took his hand to head downstairs.

You grabbed the paint and brush from the drawer and crouched down to paint, when you noticed something on the doorframe. “Fred, the paint is chipping.”

“What?”

“There’s a whole flake of paint missing, love.”

“Oh dear. Can you repaint it?”

“Well yeah, I’m just not sure how it came off.” You shrugged it off as Fred handed you the gold paint to fix the door frame before you added the words in black.

December 27, 2002: Calliope Molly Weasley and Cassiopeia Ginevra Weasley are born

Fred knelt down next to you to admire your work. After a moment he helped you stand up and the two of you were standing in the doorframe pressed together.

“I love you,” you muttered as you pulled him into a kiss.

“Love you, too,” he responded as he ran his fingers through your hair before pulling away. 

You stopped to look at him a moment before a thought hit you, the store. “Fred, love, when do you need to go back to work?”

“Oh, right. Georgie and I agreed that I should take as long as I need to help you. And of course you can come back whenever you want.”

You were an auror for the Ministry at one point, but quit about two years ago to help Fred and George run the store. Coming up with new items with them was your favorite part of the job, but you mainly handled the finances and business side. “Very well, then. When do you suggest we go visit mum and everyone?”

“Well they’re all still in town for the holidays, so preferably before we start to disperse again. Charlie already left, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, pity. How about over the weekend?”

“Brilliant.” He placed a kiss on your forehead just as both of the babies began to cry. He let out an airy chuckle as he took your hand and led you upstairs with him. 

***

Two days later you and Fred were preparing for your first outing with the babies.

“Can you believe they’re a week old already?” Fred mused as you and him carried the babies downstairs.

“Two weeks and a day, to be exact,” you added with a laugh. The two of you got Cassie and Callie settled in their prams before apparating to the Burrow.

“My goodness look how big they’ve gotten!” Molly exclaimed when you and Fred stood at the front door. You got things organised with the twins and entered the house.

“Mum, they’re only a week old,” Fred chuckled.

“Oh I know, but babies grow so fast, and oh look how cute they are!” she exclaimed gleefully as Fred handed her Callie.

“Oh miss Calliope you are just gorgeous!”

“You can tell them apart?” you questioned, handing Cassie to Ginny.

“Of course?”, Molly responded, “How could I forget my namesake! Besides, I have some experience in the twin department.” She winked at Fred before settling on the couch, Ginny beside her. 

Ginny was softly cooing to Cassie as everyone else filed into the living room upon realising you and Fred had arrived. After a moment, Molly perked up remembering something.

“Oh, Merlin, I almost forgot!” She stood up gently before handing Callie to Bill--the nearest person--and running upstairs. Bill looked absolutely bewildered, but adapted quickly--especially with Fleur cooing over his shoulder. Molly was back downstairs in an instant, carrying two tiny lumps of yarn. “The girls’ jumpers!”

You lightly yelped with excitement before heading over to her. You placed them in the baby bag for later, and you and Fred thanked her.

A few hours later everyone had admired the babies, and of course asked their multitude of questions for you and Fred. You packed up the babies and went home after the tiring visit.

***

Five years had gone by in the blink of an eye. On the first Valentine’s Day after the babies you and Fred celebrated your first wedding anniversary, and he went back to work that Monday. Three months later you were back as well, leaving the babies with Molly and Arthur every day. This routine continued onward as the babies grew. Birthdays were celebrated, milestones reached, and memories made. The once tiny and adorable babies had grown into toddlers with budding personalities, and then young children learning about the world, but they were still just as adorable. 

“My love, where are you?” Fred called from upstairs.

“In the kitchen, dear.”

You could hear his feet padding down the stairs before you felt his arms around your

waist and his breath on your neck. “Hello, love.”

You chuckled, “Hi, Freddie.” You spun around to face him, and put his hands back on your hips. You pulled him into a deep kiss when the two of you heard snickering from behind you. 

“Look at mummy and daddy!” Cassie giggled.

“Cassie!” Callie groaned, “Stoppit!”

You and Fred turned to face your adorable daughters standing before you in the kitchen. Fred cocked an eyebrow at them as a smirk spread across his lips. As if knowing what was about to happen, the girls went off running and screaming, with Fred laughing “I’m going to catch you!” as he went after them. You heard a squeal from the livingroom as he picked up the girls and there was laughter all around. You finished cleaning up the countertops and went to join them. You grabbed Callie from Fred and the four of you sat down on the couch. The girls tried to worm away from you and Fred, but you both held them firm. 

“I think,” you began playfully, “we should take the girls to Diagon Alley tomorrow and show them around the store.” You shot a wink at Fred as you spoke.

“Oh… Well absolutely, I think it’s time to show them the ropes.” The girls’ attentions were piqued as they both stopped squirming.

“I wanna go see mummy’s store!” Cassie yelped over Fred’s shoulder.

“Mummy and daddy’s store. Me too!” Callie yelped in response. You and Fred shot silent smirks at each other.

“Maybe we shouldn’t…” you began, earning a chorus of ‘nooo!’ and ‘whyyy?’ from the girls. “Girls with a messy bedroom shouldn’t go to Diagon Alley.” You winked at Fred once again.

“Exactly!”, he responded, “I do believe that there is a rule. No little girls with messy rooms shall be allowed.”

“What!?” Callie exclaimed. She successfully wormed her way out of your grasp and down to the floor. “C’mon, Cassie. Come clean!” Both girls ran off hoping to be able to go to the store.

You and Fred smirked at each other. “That is top notch parenting,” you said. He and you high-fived as you stood up to attend to other matters around the house.

***

Once the girls turned eight you and Fred started to bring them to the store with you each day. They absolutely loved it and they took quickly to the space. They were meant to stay in one of the back offices and to not get in trouble, but Fred or George would often bring them out into the main part of the store. This only resulted in you constantly stressing and running around after the girls. You found them one day in the potions section, reading the labels and nearly testing some out. You rounded the corner just in time to see Cassie test some Confusing Concoction.

“Cassiopeia Weasley do not drink that!”, you yelled, causing her to drop the bottle, which in turn shattered. 

“I told her not to…” Callie muttered.

“I don’t care who had the idea or who advised against it. I care that you broke the rules!” You were utterly baffled, they had never gotten into much around the store before. “Back in the office!” You were met with a chorus of ‘But mummm!!” as Fred rounded the corner as well to see what the commotion was about. 

“Daddy!” Callie cheered as Fred picked her up, cocking an eyebrow at you. “Mummy says we have to go to the back again and can’t be out here!”, she pouted.

“Oh did she now?” Fred said, gazing at you, “Well I suppose we better listen to mummy, then.” With Callie in one arm and his other holding Cassie’s hand, he brought the girls back to the offices. He was also met with his own chorus of protests.

With a flick of your wand, the mess on the floor was cleaned up and you returned to work.

The funny thing with children is that they usually end up inheriting much of their parents’ personalities. So while your’s and Fred’s cleverness and wit had come in handy throughout Hogwarts and your adult life, it was an absolute nightmare coming from two eight year olds. The girls escaped from the office more times than you could count. Of course they weren’t locked in there, but you usually caught them fairly quickly upon an attempted egress. Yet somehow they managed to get by you at least three times a week.  On one such occasion, the girls snuck out and hid inside storage boxes until you had walked away. Fred found them a while later playing with some pygmy puffs. 

“Hello ladies,” he smirked, peering into the box.

They startled and shrieked. “Daddy!” they both exclaimed. They climbed out of the box and prepared for a punishment from Fred.

“Looks like you take after your dad!” Fred exclaimed, astonishingly proud. The twins looked up at him more than confused. “Your uncle and I were masters of disguise and sneaking around. Good on ya!” Fred looked genuinely proud as he walked off. The girls exchanged smiles before climbing back into their little hiding space.

***

The girls grew less energetic over the years, but unfortunately for you and Fred they grew to be smarter and more cunning. Even though they didn’t have magic yet, no room could hold those girls. This, of course, got them into a fair share of trouble--which they always managed to talk themselves out of. Aside from this, they were constantly devising plots and plans to mess with Fred and yourself, but more typically each other. They certainly were Fred’s children. Countless nights were spent with you and Fred simply lounging on the couch as you admired the beautiful girls you had raised. However a heavy air loomed over that no one seemed to want to discuss: the girls would be leaving for Hogwarts soon. They had just turned eleven, so come September they would be off to the school. You and Fred both knew that the other was upset beyond explanation. You and Fred had gotten so used to seeing them every single day that the absence would surely be strange. You’d find yourself getting into sullen moods where you would ponder this, and these were always the times you would regret not becoming a professor. However Fred was always there to cheer you up and reassure you.  Eleven years had gone by in an instant, and you weren’t sure you wanted it to end just yet. Fred was always so carefree and happy, but you could tell he was hurting too. 

The four of you spent the summer having fun and enjoying being with each other. You let the twins help you out in the gardens for the first time, and even let them plan out their own sections. Fred and George took them to quidditch games along with George’s kids, and brought everyone to the store everyday. Then the fateful day came when the girls received the Hogwarts letters.

“The owls are here!” Callie and Cassie shouted in unison as they ran down the stairs to the front door. You and Fred knew that letters would be delivered and were already at the front door waiting for them. Callie flung open the door and retrieved the letters from the doorstep. Naturally, the girls were ready to tear into their letters immediately.

“Hold on a second, girls,” you chuckled, “Come to the table.” With everyone seated, the girls carefully opened their letter and each read them aloud. There were excited screams from the girls and joyful smiles and glances from you and Fred. It had been a while since either of you had seen an acceptance letter, and you’d forgotten how exciting it was. 

“Congratulations, girls,” Fred smiled down at them, “We’ll go shopping tomorrow.” There were more excited shouts at the girls ran upstairs to their rooms. “This should be fun,” Fred chuckled.

“Shopping for one is hard enough,” you began, “let alone two.”

“Oh but think of the exciting parts!” Fred exclaimed, “Getting their wands will be the highlight of their year.”

“Maybe just the week,” you laughed, “they’re pretty excitable. Come outside with me?” You asked him, but he was already standing and taking your hand, the same idea in his head.

The two of you strolled into the gardens and sat in the white chairs in the center. “The girls did surprisingly well in the gardens,” Fred remarked, glancing around.

“They have quite the knack for gardening,” you smiled, “and a brilliant taste in flowers.”

“That’s only because you convinced them to plant roses,” he laughed. “I’m going to miss them.”

“Me too, Freddie. But we’ll see them at Christmas.”

“I suppose, it’ll just be a new adjustment to get used to.”

You let your eyes close, enjoying the late afternoon sun and breeze. You were so wrapped up in your own little world that you hadn’t even noticed Fred stand up and take your hand. You stood up with him, more than puzzled.

“Dance with me?” he asked, winking.

“You’re such a dork,” you laughed, “With what music?”

“I don’t need music when I’m with the most bloody beautiful woman in the world,” he smiled down at you as the two of you began to sway back and forth. He kissed you lightly and let his forehead rest against yours. “I love you,” he muttered.

“Love you, too, Fred.” However the moment didn’t last long as out of the corner of your eye you caught the girls watching from the upstairs window. You looked downward as you smirked, separating from Fred. He looked confused before he saw the girls. As soon as they realised they had been spotted, the girls disappeared within the house. You and Fred both chuckled, yearning for more moments like this.

#HP #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley series #series #marriage story #harry potter series

[phoebehalliwell]

whos kids do you think are matthew and prue (from the final)

i mean i think like. i think matthew (which is the kid that telekinetically orbs the book in magic school with leo) is gen3 right he’s someone’s kid like wyatt chris melinda tam kat ’s kid (as he is a witchlighter, so like. these r the witchlighters) (another sidebar yes someone else could also have kids w a whitelighter but like. henry’s mortal so they’d just be half whitelighter no witch half and pj parker peyton are all cupitches so i feel like that hybrid would manipulate tlk orb in a new fresh way (ideally w tiny pink hearts <3)) so yeah wyatt chris melinda tam kat. i mean. my gut says chris and bianca because that’s really the only gen2 couple we have. But. the lads name is matthew so this is presumably a paige namesake. which i think bodes well for either kat or tamora (wyatt too but wyatt’s middle name is matthew so like. idk would you give ur kid ur middle name? i have never seen it happen.) so i think if i just get to say whatever i’m probably saying either tamora’s or kat’s kid. hmm. alliterative name tho. matthew mitchell. maybe not. okay fine wyatt final answer.

and then in regards to the lil girl who closes the door in the end, i think she’s actually gen4!! bc like. like w mathew we still have leo it’s just his hair is spray painted however here we have the Old Person Actor also piper gets name checked as grandmama instead of grams which we already established is her Grandmother Title when she time travelled so i think grandmama is Great Grandmother Title. also like. okay disclaimer i’m horrible with age but like. old piper is what. 80? and lil prue is like. 8. and then since piper had popped out all her kids by like you know 30 i don’t think everyone else is having kids at like 40 or whatever i think this is gen4. and since this is at the manor and with piper i think this is from piper’s direct line you know i don’t think this is one of peyton’s children or whatever bc then piper’s be like a great aunt so i think this is melinda’s grandchild so melinda’s kids kid. final answer.

#charmed #💌

[catubarca]

Harry Potter Next Generation Headcanons

im bored. im full of emotions, and am rly missing the HP world... i just want to write down my headcannons for the next gen kiddos tbh.

please remember these are just my opinions? its okay if yours are different. im just bored and want to share my thoughts,,

Teddy Lupin

his name is Theodore Remus “Teddy” Lupin. it’s just what it is

I don’t care what JKR says, to me his name will always be Theodore

i can’t do this “Edward” stuff im so sorry,,,

h u f f l e p u f f

proper school uniform? never heard of it

messy hair, messy clothes

punk rock child

we’re talking like,,,at least two (2) lip piercings ok

absolutely terrible in herbology. do not leave this child alone in a greenhouse, bad things happen

fuckin hoards chocolate

its a problem

dating Victorie Weasley

random bursts of dancing

keeps a lock of hair pink for his mother

lives with the Potters, enjoys pretending to be Ginny to ground his siblings

“Lily, why aren’t you coming out of your room? Dinner’s ready?” “You said I’m grounded! You tell me!” “What? Oh, for the- THEODORE REMUS LUPIN-“

s m i r k s

effortlessly cool,,, but so so dorky,,, in a cool way

Victorie Weasley

ravenclaw!

looks a lot like her mother, Fleur, but inherited those Weasley freckles

a little confused a lot of the time

absolute sweet tooth (teddy abuses this fact a lot)

Mom Friend™

will help you with your homework

always got a book on her

super beautiful and like,,,, the absolute nicest person,,, but

cannot dance

like at all

adores Charms class

a softie you don’t want to cross

“I’m the oldest”

Dominique Weasley

inherited the Classic Weasley Red Hair™

idolises her Uncle Charlie

“I wanna save animals and work with cool dragons, just like Uncle Charlie does!”

Bill almost has a heart attack

always bringing stray animals home

(“is that a lizard in your pocket, Dominique?” “Yes! His name is Blob.” “You know how your father’s afraid of reptiles, sweetheart, you can’t bring it inside.”)

Gryffindor child

favourite class is definitely Care of Magical Creatures, she and Hagrid like to talk about proper care methods for rare creatures

perpetual dirt stains

BIG middle child vibes

doesn’t really label her sexuality… just kinda does what she wants rly

all the pets in Hogwarts love her

rumours are she’s got an innate, natural magical ability to make them all love her

(she feeds them under the table)

it’s a mystery

big advocate for animal rights

f e m i n i s t

willing to throw hands at all times

usually all smiles though

one of those people who use their whole bodies to laugh

kind of an accidental heartthrob

romcoms

Louis Weasley

looks the most like his mother

ravenclaw

absolutely filled with curiosity. always reading or talking or learning

random facts

(how do you even find that sort of information?

you don’t want to know)

coffee boy

sort of musically talented?

he and James Sirius preach the importance of skincare to all who will listen

secretly full of sass and dry wit

vry graceful and fluid

e y e r o l l

awkward smiles? can never smile properly in photos

on the ravenclaw quidditch team

Ravenclaw Prefect

(“You might be older, but I’m taller.” “Fuck off!”)

only watches High Quality™ tv shows/media

kind of a disaster, despite the gracefulness

Molly Weasley

Classic red hair

comes across as a bit uptight, like her father

I don’t care what you think. (She really cares what you think.)

E y e b r o w s

death glares

drinks like 5 cups of coffee in the morning

studies,,, like a lot

definitely a Gryffindor though

mom jeans

always ready to debate a topic. will destroy opponents.

has been trying to start a successful Debate Club for like 4 years now

naturally falls into the position of a group leader

would be a teacher’s pet, if she wasn’t ready At All Times™ to debate the relevancy of the course syllabus or outdated teaching methods

got into a fight with Severus Snape’s portrait in Headmistress McGonagall’s office.

(Dumbledore’s portrait was laughing, until she turned and ragged on him for a bit. Minerva thought it was absolutely hilarious, so she just let Molly go at it for a while).

full of rage towards everything, but wears a very careful mask of aloofness

to calm down, she likes painting her nails

she’s very good at it

she’s also very good at painting and art in general, weirdly enough

Lucy Weasley

G R Y F F I N D O R

adores shitty puns and has a terrible sense of humour

brown hair, not red

loves to prank people, which makes her Uncle George very proud

Percy complains about her behaviour, but makes sure he knows he’s proud too

(charming all the cauldrons in the potions classroom to scream whenever they’re stirred takes a more complex understanding of spell work than one would expect).

a pit of a punk streak

rly loves hip hop

high key drama queen

does she ever stop yelling? we’re yet to find out

average grades in terms of theory, but she’s the best in terms of applying information

especially for her pranks

has allies throughout the castle, from the portraits to the students

the bigger the prank, the better

but is a firm believer in “confuse, don’t abuse”

all her pranks are mostly harmless

is a surprising lover of older literature, like Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, an influence of her sister

a bit rebellious

Fred Weasley II

name isn’t officially “the second”, but it sounds cooler

James Potter, Lucy Weasley, Molly Weasley and Fred Weasley are like the Marauders 2.0

says “squad” and “lit” unironically

niche humour

hipster vibes

avid music lover

smiley sunshine child

takes after his mother the most in looks, just like his sister

a chill type of gryffindor

plays quidditch, and is an excellent chaser, just like his mother

the absolute undisputed King™ of puppy-dog eyes

just,,,, beautiful

the True teacher’s pet

hands in his work on time,, asks lots of questions,,, likes helping students understand their work,, what a boy

can hella nyoom

runs so fast

look at him go

as you might expect, loves a good prank. always down for a laugh

Roxanne Weasley

Gryffindor and pROUD

absolute Queen tbh

was definitely Head Prefect or Gryffindor Prefect at some point

loved by the school

absolute legend

G I R L   P O W E R

infectious laughter

has a soft spot for Louis Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy

these poor disaster children,,,, they need a Mother

M O M

big mom vibes

mothers the hell out of all the first years

a feminist through and through

can be found nodding aggressively to Molly Weasley’s semi-deranged, furious ranting

YAAAASS

loves slang. uses so much slang. always up to date with trends and memes

has all the gossip

becomes a mess around pretty girls

absolute blushing, stuttering disaster around cute girls oh my god

her eye make-up game is killer

sparkly

Distinguished Lesbian

Rosie Weasley

did someone say Weasley™?

red hair and freckles and curls oh my

on the autism spectrum, has trouble socialising sometimes

hella passionate about stuff

hangs out with Scorpius and Albus, the Golden Trio 2.0

f em ini st

her jokes are the best. high quality sense of humour.

Ravenclaw

likes to read. it’s quiet in the school library, which is nice.

abysmal at herbology

surprisingly good at Care of Magical Creatures though? Animals are just,,, so much easier to deal with

overall, really good grades though

bit of a silent type, but she’s actually a riot to hang out with

actually pretty good at quidditch? She’s not on the team, and she’s not super interested in playing, but?? She’s not bad??

She can land a solid hit with a beater’s bat

(eyes you judgementally over the top of a book)

dry wit humour

will throw hands over chess

Hugo Weasley

hufflepuff

unbeatable at chess, like his dad

a lost puppy

someone please help this child

softie

kind of low-key emotional

so supportive!! and loyal!! high-key best friend material

foodie. loves food. please feed him.

takes a bit more after his dad appearance wise

loves to cook. spends lots of time with grandma Molly and his dad in the kitchen

Professor Longbottom is his favourite professor, because he’s more chilled and laidback.

other professors and classes fill him with Distress™

loves astronomy too

maths whizz, so good at arithmancy

(“uh, actually-“)

a little bossy, like his mother

is trying so hard

maybe a little too hard

a bit insecure and nervous, but so soft

please treat this child carefully and with love

James Sirius Potter

Gryffindor

L O U D

a fucking disaster child

what’d you expect, putting “James” and “Sirius” together?

DRAMATIC GASPING

flails his hands around when he talks

s t r u t s

bisexual mess, had a crush on both the Longbottom children at some point

is better than you at everything

including being a different gender

fuck you that’s why

so pretty

he’s so pretty

is thIS CHILD EVER NOT LAUGHING AT SOMETHING OH My god

laughs at everything

all the time

always

high-key emotional

badly timed finger guns

looks like a model in photos? wtf?

gets invited to Girls Nights™

wears nail polish and makeup

loves to yell at people about gender roles and defying stereotypes

TEA SIS

not on the quidditch team surprisingly enough, even though he’s pretty good

prefers to be in the stands, doing A+ commentary on the games

if he can get Fred to stop mid-air due to unbearable, suffocating laughter at least once a game it’s a win in his books

has it OUT for the hufflepuff quidditch team and no one knows why??

definitely makes puns on his name

it drives everyone insane

harry always replies he’s just making his namesake proud

that also drives everyone insane

smug lil shit

Albus Severus Potter

“It’s just Al.”

S L Y T H E R I N

will always find a way to get what he wants, eventually

“dad, why did you name me this way?”

unimpressed

sigh

hella smart. is topping at least five classes

Aunt Hermione is his favourite. She’s the fucking Mistress of Magic! All that power, the ability to make change and improve the Magical World as a whole-

sass master

the reason headmistress mcgonagall keeps a bottle of scotch under her desk at all times

the only potter child to inherit The Eyes™

absolute insomniac

kind of emo, but turns into a fucking softie around Scorpius Malfoy it’s hilarious

adverse to violence. prefers a verbal beatdown method

really tall? despite having shorties for parents??? no one saw it coming

(especially not Teddy. He’s always scared of losing his last few inches of height)

Functional Gay

he’s on the slytherin quidditch team, as a seeker

Lily Luna Potter

Gryffindor

FEMINIST

do not mess with lily luna potter

she may seem cute and sweet, but she will destroy you

inherited her father’s black hair

disaster lesbian

transfiguration is her favourite subject, by far

has no idea what she wants to do with the rest of her life.

Existential Crisis Father-Daughter Bonding Time™

do you ever sleep?

takes after Ginny the most in personality

also, kind of the most like James Fleamont Potter in personality, too?

Loves to help her brother out with pranks, laughs at him when he gets caught and she gets away with it

The only one of the Potter Children who hasn’t got into a fight with Severus Snape’s portrait

because she just ignores him instead

loves talking to the portraits around the castle

Super good at Quidditch, is on the team as a Chaser

Quidditch Captain at some point

adores Hagrid, but who out of the Potter children doesn’t?

Idolises Minerva McGonagall

just as oblivious as her father

Scorpius Malfoy

Actually in Ravenclaw, not Slytherin, much to many people��s surprise

abSOLUTE DADDY’S BOY

super close with his dad

Draco is just so supportive of like everything he does (unlike his father)

classic blonde malfoy looks

actually really funny?

a cuddler. loves hugs. always leeching warmth off of someone

he and Rosie sometimes finger-tip-touch which is their version of a hug, because he know’s she’s not super comfortable with touch

was basically adopted by the Weasley’s and Potter’s

James Sirius will murder for this child

booknerd, always rambling to Al and Rosie about new books coming out he’s interested in reading.

has had a crush on Albus Potter since like 1st year

always worried about making his dad proud, and keeping up the Malfoy name

sweet tooth

he’s just,, soft. just a warm, happy child. he wants love, and affection. someone tell him he’s doing okay, please.

needs,,, validation,,,

he’ll tell you out loud that he has no favourite aunts or uncles, but he secretly really likes spending time with his Uncle Ron

they had a talk, once, in like the middle of the night at a sleepover with Rosie and Al, about feeling insecure in comparison to others, and learning to be proud of yourself for your achievements

there were a few tears, but it was nice

Ron was actually the third person he told, besides his dad and Rosie, about having a crush on Al

openly a disaster romantic. trash taste in romance novels.

always welcome in the Potter-Weasley households

#harry potter #harry potter next generation #next generation headcannons #headcanon #it's just my opinion #please don't hurt me #teddy lupin #victorie weasley #dominique weasley #louis weasley #molly weasley #lucy weasley #fred weasley #roxanne weasley #rosie weasley #rose weasley #james sirius potter #albus severus potter #lily luna potter #scorpius malfoy #scorbus #scorpius x albus #next gen hp #next gen harry potter #next gen kids #headcannons #headcannon #slytherin #gryffindor #hufflepuff

[curlytemple]

niche interests list 

okay sure yes this is fun! i havent posted a thing like this in such a long time. thank you new gal pal @scottspack for tagging me! 

pigs????

alright first lets throw it back to preschool! my fav childhood toys were my baby doll (snookums) and a plush pig that my grandma got me that i just called ‘pig’ ...i watched the babe movies countless times, and piglet? that anxious little guy GETS ME bro. when my preschool did a nativity play and my class got to choose an animal to be in baby jesus’ manger, my mother recalls me saying that i would be a pig because jewish people (jesus christ) wouldnt eat me. she has no idea how or when i learned about kosher foods. ironically despite my namesake i was too afraid of the movie charlotte’s web to watch it more than once because the scary farmer tries to kill wilbur for being small and the pretty spider dies. 

sugar creek gang 

OKAY this is a book series from the 40s-70s about a group of christian little boys in indiana who went on adventures in the woods and helped people. my dad read a LOT of chapter books to me as bedtime stories when i was little (see also the mandie series, nancy drew and the hardy boys, little house on the prairie) but sugar creek gang is one that really hit. i read all 36 books with dad and at least once again on my own. there was a series of 4 or 5 movies in the early 2000s when i was the Perfect age to have a crush on most if not all of them. this might be too much detail but i have to tell you about these boys. we WILL not be revisiting the heavy religious themes. 

 the narrator is bill who is Good and Kind and wants to be a doctor when he grows up. his best friend is a chubby boy nicknamed poetry because he memorizes and quotes poems, he is the Detective of the group. BIG JIM is the leader of the group who is supposed to be like, 14, which was very cool and hot, to me. and yes there is a little jim, who is the baby of the group. then there is CIRCUS who is known for his climbing and acrobatics, and his FIVE SISTERS AND BEAUTIFUL SINGING VOICE. dreamboy. i’m almost done listing boys, i promise. a boy called dragonfly who is allergic to everything and hella superstitious. later in the series a new boy named tom moves to town and tom has an older brother bob who is NOT A CHRISTIAN (bully) 

tangentially, the buttercream gang, a movie from 1992 that was almost definitely made by some christians who grew up reading the sugar creek gang series which i’m guessing on vibes alone. will spare you Good Boy details but scott is in love with his best friend pete who moves to chicago and falls in with a bad crowd and scott just refuses to stop LOVING HIM. very gay christian film in retrospect. 

peter pan

so i know liking disney’s peter pan isnt niche, but it was the way i liked it. tinker bell stan from day one, i watched all of those disney fairies movies, even the ones that came out after i was definitely not intended audience. there was an online pixie hollow game where you could design your own fairies and play mini games where you gathered dew drops or something. had a HUGE CRUSH on jeremy sumpter in peter pan (2003) then i got really darkly obsessed with the idea of growing up when i was 12 or 13, and everything peter pan was deeply My Shit for my entire adolescence. i read the original book and every other twisted version of the story i could find and seriously freaked myself out about wasting my youth. 

shug

you’ve probably heard of jenny han now, or at least the netflix adaptations for to all the boys i’ve loved before and the sequel ps i still love you (always and forever, lara jean, coming soon?) but before she wrote THOSE, she wrote my first ever Favorite Book, about annemarie “shug” wilcox, a girl in the summer before starting middle school. it is SO engraved on my heart i cannot explain. i felt so incredibly understood and cant even tell you how many times i read it. thinking about all of the ways it made me feel SEEN is actually making me very tender so i’m gonna go on.  

the summer series

on the subject of jenny han, since she was now my Favorite author, when she came out with the summer i turned pretty in 2009, i was ALL IN. it’s not summer without you, and we’ll always have summer were published the next two years. a coming of age series about a girl isabel “belly” conklin who stays at her mother’s best friend's house at the beach in the summers. i really could talk about it forever yall. i actually dont know how to be succinct about it. i will try. her mom’s friend has TWO BOYS. one brother, jeremiah, is the golden boy and her best friend who is in love with her! the older one CONRAD is her childhood crush who's just sort of around while belly is firmly getting over her childish feelings and going out and experiencing teen beach life with jeremiah for the first time and figuring out who she is and wants to be! by the end of the summer he admits he feels differently about her (hence belly internalizing this as The Summer I Turned Pretty) and they get together. this is already too much so i will just say that the next two books deal with a PROFOUND LOSS and the selfishness of grief and the SELFLESSNESS OF CONRAD and i will absolutely lose my shit if netflix picks it up for a second jenny han series adaptation. 

pappyland

this was a kids show in the 90′s that features a character named Pappy Drew-It, an artist dressed like a 49er who lives in a magic cabin in pappyland. there’s tons of characters and music and life lessons but the meat of every episode is a detailed drawing how-to (pappy is actually a cartoonist, michael cariglio) and i have a hard back cover sketch book from my grandpa that i FILLED with drawings that pappy and DOODLEBUG taught me to do. there is a running gag that pappy always breaks his crayons.  

boy meets world

i KNOW this is beloved by many but i’m counting it because i’m simply too young to have such an obsession with it! the show ran from 1992-2000. i was born in 1996, but reruns on the disney channel and abc family cemented it as one of my favorite shows. cory and shawn, closer than brothers, shameless homoromantics, shawn is cory’s first wife!!!!! truly showed me what a best friend can and should be!!!!!! the great love of your life!!!!! TOPANGA, the og weird feminist girl who said stop shaving your legs and start speaking your mind, ladies! the characters are so richly developed that they are real people to my heart. YES every character on this show is in their late 30s-early 40s and YES i feel like we grew up together. in season one they’re in the 6th grade and we follow them all the way to COLLEGE. countless poignant life lessons, often literally dictated by the wise and hilarious MR. FEENY, cory’s next door neighbor and somehow one of his teachers for YEARS. my love was only solidified by the 2014 girl meets world reboot, centered on cory and topanga’s daughter and her best friend. (which was literally cancelled because disney didn’t want to transition from a kids show to a teen show, something essential to the original. also because that teen show would have had CANON LESBIANS. extremely shameful move in 2017!) boy meets world lives rent free in my heart and i will never evict it!!!!!!!

i consulted my mother when i got stumped for more and she reminded me that i had obsessions with the impressionist art period and babies and ANYTHING fairies or pixies, and i was way too young when my love of the canadian teen after school special degrassi began. she also said bob ross, which i was hesitant to include because he’s been super ~trendy in recent years, but to be fair (To Be Faaairrr) she’s right! i don’t think people really watched the joy of painting as much as i have throughout my life. best sick day show of all time.

lastly i could honestly list anna herself as a niche interest, my mom actually metioned that ive always hyperfixated on my girl friends (gay) but i’ll just note that YES friday night lights, YES barry lyga novels. love to share so many things with you, niche or not, they’re niche in Our Mind.

#with the baby obsession came an obsession with adoption #my aunt and uncle adopted and when i learned that there were ORPHANS whew #i was in preschool judging people for getting pregnant when there were SO many babies without mommies #she had a good point! #also does being a niall girl in 2012 count