strange stirring

Bard: Fuck you, you’re a dragon!

GM: After killing one of your followers with lightning from a “Wabbajack” -
Druid (OOC): Unintentionally! I was hoping to turn her into a flock of butterflies!

Rogue: I throw daggers at the knowledge to torture it into submission.

GM: The barbed devil feels a strange stirring in his chain.

Druid: I want his scimitar. I’m glad he’s a dick.

Foxhole - SLBP (Mitsunari)

Because I’ve been looking for a reason to start writing for this fandom, and @yoolee gave me one. Thank you! Go easy on me everyone, it’s been awhile. (Also wtf is 2nd person and consistent tense *flails*)

From her prompt post: AU -  Reincarnation – they meet again in the modern world (Mitsunari x MC, ~3k words)


“An old book, eh?”

The day you’d mentioned your fruitless quest to find a vintage cookbook to one of the regulars at your cafe, he had nestled his chin on his hand, lips pursed thoughtfully as his fingers drummed your worn formica counter. “A friend of mine owns a bookstore, if you can believe those still exist today. And he loves collecting vintage and rare stuff like that. Maybe he could help you out.”

Mischief sashayed through his eyes, and that should have tipped you off right then and there. Would have, if you hadn’t been eagerly scrambling for a piece of scrap paper to write down the address Hideyoshi gave you. Instead, the moment passed as he shoveled the rest of his breakfast down the hatch in an impressive gulp and gave you a cheerful thumbs up, standing and tossing a handful of bills down to settle his check. “You’ll have to let me know how it goes,” he said as he tucked his wallet away, gracing you with one last cheeky wink and a broad grin as he left. “Good luck!”

Little did you know how much you’d need it.

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Who Will Protect You? || Peter Parker x Reader

{summary: After Peter Parker witnesses a young superhero who goes by the alias Midnight quickly diffuse a hostage situation at the bank, he begins to admire her while searching for her true self.

His search for Midnight’s identity leads him to Hagstrom Academy [1], where he briefly sees a young woman who reminds him of his favorite superhero. Convinced that she is Midnight, he takes a photograph of her and keeps her picture at his desk to always inspire him to do what’s right, no matter how difficult the situation may be.

However, things start to get a little awkward for Peter when his aunt May sees Midnight’s picture on his desk, and she is completely convinced that Midnight is Peter’s girlfriend! Unable to explain the true reasoning behind why he keeps a photograph of her, Peter must find a way to introduce her to his Aunt May…

Could things get any worse for him?}

warnings: none, just a half naked Peter near the end. But it’s nothing too explicit or sexual, really, I promise.

**don’t plagiarize/repost this story; reblogs are fine!

——

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A Series of Accidents

Happy belated birthday, @fangirling-airi-style!!!

Based on my own gifset, because well - that’s how my brain works. 

In Which Dean and Cas (accidentally) adopt Satan Jr. Enjoy!

It’s an accident, really.

Well, adopting Lucifer’s kid is.

Taking him to the bunker is a given.

What else are they going to do? Chuck the kid into the streets and hope some non-satanist finds him? Take him to child services when every demon on the planet will be eagerly looking for him?

So, yeah, they take Satan Jr. to the bunker with them, because that’s the only thing they can do. Kelly died, just breathing long enough to see her son and whisper “I love you”, the failure to save yet another life on their shoulders.

At least they got rid of Dagon, or Crowley did.

Hey, he saw Lucifer’s kid and didn’t immediately try to kill it, so that’s a plus too.

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Stay with me

Based on “Imagine pleading with Thranduil to heal the Durins as they all still have a glimmer of life left in them and you know that he has the ability to save them” from ImaginexHobbit.

——————————————-

Cautiously, wary of stray orcs that might yet be lurking in the depths of Ravenhill’s tunnels, you ventured onto the ice at the tower’s base.

A lone figure lay close at hand, and as you edged nearer, casting a glance across the frozen river to where a handful of your comrades searched the rocky terrain for casualties of the battle, it was quickly apparent that the body was not that of an elf. He was smaller, stocky and powerfully built, wearing a heavy leather coat rather than gleaming armor, and a mane of golden hair framed a handsome, bearded face with eyes as blue as the sky they no longer saw.

The dwarf’s rugged beauty stirred a strange rush of pity in your heart and you sheathed your sword to sink to your knees beside him, feeling yourself unsettled by a deep sympathy for this poor, lost soul who had been your enemy only hours before. His lifeless face spoke wrenchingly to you of youth, strength, nobility, hopes for the future all cut short at the merciless hands of an orc, judging from his wounds. Carefully, though you could not have told why, you took his broad, gloved hand between your own and held it as if to comfort him before reaching to close his eyes in a futile gesture of compassion.

Your fingertips gently touched his face and you started, as though you’d been stung, instantly withdrawing your hand.

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p i n i n g || pt. 1

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: angst, eventual fluff 

summary: in which you spill your feeling for your crush since childhood–while he’s dating someone.

author’s note: i apologize in advance in you’re a fanboy, since i tend to switch to female pronouns as habit!

[Part Two]

Originally posted by jeonwilds



It would be an understatement of the century to say you’d changed.

Some had noticed, including you, how those circles under your eyes grew darker each day. How your smile was plastered on like a requirement, no emotions at the root of it. How you kept to yourself in university classes, even though you knew every answer.

You weren’t… you.

But nobody knew the reason was just three words that had left the lips of the most beautiful person you’d seen. Nobody knew that this intense reign of sadness on your life was because of a breathtaking pair of chestnut-colored eyes, with lighthearted flakes of copper within them. Nobody knew that this was because of the one person you’d loved since you knew what love meant.

Jeon Jungkook.

It was that bright, bunny-like grin he’d sent you that day. Those round eyes that brightened at the sight of someone behind you. That voice you’d never grow tired of as that phrase left his mouth.

‘She said yes!’

You’d changed, and it was all his fault.


You had tried to avoid him since he’d brought you the grand news of his new relationship four months ago, doing anything in your power to stay away. 

Scrolling past every post from him or his girlfriend as fast as possible, dismissing your need for coffee if they were at the cafe, practically anything to keep yourself distant. You’d even changed your number to avoid texts.

But, how far could you run away from someone in a college campus. You were bound to run into him, and you did.

It was the end of the last day of your exams, and it was safe to say you felt a little confidence in the results. After ‘the incident’ you’d confined yourself enough to feel satisfied with the intense amount of reading you’d done. The stress never truly ended, since, even though your were content with the fact that studying was on hold, you just weren’t happy anymore. 

In hopes to cheer yourself up a bit, you threw on a coat for the December weather, and went to the cafe. Fatigue slightly dulling your thoughts, it slipped past your mind that they might be there. Sighing in relief at the warm, Korean-Christmas-like atmosphere, you trudged into the line of students at the counter.

It all reminded you of your first holiday here, when an argument with your parents angered you to the extent of not visiting home. Jungkook had taken it upon himself to make sure you weren’t lonely by staying at the college with you. You spent the first evening here, in this cafe, and laughed while taking turns on your old Nintendo DS. It was painful to think of him, but it’s all you did anyway.

“Y/N..?”

God, you were hearing his voice now–

“Y/N!”

You turned around in an instant, the tiredness flooded out of you rapidly. Your lips were stuck in an ‘o’ in surprise.

Jungkook was waltzing up to you faster than you could process, pulling down the beanie on his dark hair and shoving his hands in his pockets. He still looked the same, with his doe eyes and bunny teeth. He still looked the same. But instead of the surge of sadness that dominated you due to his presence, a strange anger began to stir.

“I haven’t seen you in so long, what’s up?” Jungkook inquired happily before you could sneak away. “I was just here to pick up some pastries for So-yeon!”

“Ah, So-yeon,” You replied, trying your best to cover up the bitter sound of her name. Keep your answers short and simple, you reminded yourself. He had a girlfriend now, so you had to stay the way you’ve been lately.  “I was just here to get some coffee.”

His eyes gazed into yours, and you swore you could see a glint of confusion for a split second. You shuffled backwards so you didn’t hold up the line, and bit your cheek in the awkward mood. But Jungkook was busy staring at his phone, eyes lighting up as a new message seemed to roll in. 

Scoffing to yourself, you nearly turned around as he piped up again.

“You really should meet Yeon-ie, she’s almost exactly like you. The amazing cooking, smarts, humor–I’m surprised you’re not best friends!”

Nodding along to him gushing about his girlfriend, you felt all the emotions you’d trapped away boiling up. Attempting to keep your cool, you could taste the faint, metallic flavor of blood in your cheek. And all of a sudden, the wall you’d built around this feeling went crashing away.

“I was trying not to think about her, but of course you’d bring her up,” You snapped, nails digging into your palms as you stepped out of the group of waiting people. In the back of your mind, you knew you had to get out of there, since it wouldn’t be too long before you said something you’d regret.

But Jungkook was already following you out into the cold, harsh wind outside with no intention of letting you out of his sight. You felt each hair whip your face roughly as you trekked through the horrible weather, not caring about being sick the next day. When Jeon Jungkook was curious about something, he wasn’t going to let you go, and you knew it.

A twig came under your foot, and you came tumbling down. Right as you were bracing yourself for the impact, an arm caught you just in time and pulled you up. It whirled you around, grasping your shoulder before you could move again.

“Y/N,” Jungkook murmured softly, his lips slightly parted as puffs of air drifted from them. “Why are you so different now? You’ve been this way ever..ever since..”

You looked to your feet, feeling the tears already prick your eyes. A silence grew between the two of you, apart from the weather outside of the tree shielding you, his hand falling off your shoulder. 

“What are you hiding from me, Y/N?” He asked in the most serious tone you’d ever heard him speak in. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything! Everything is wrong, Jungkook!” You sobbed, tears beginning to flow down your cheeks, each one triggering the next.

Jungkook stared at you, dumbfounded. Questions ran through his mind rapidly, and he went to pull you in for a hug. You stepped back, shaking your head and making his heart ache.

“You chose her, and it’s never made sense! W-When you came home and called me because you were crying about something, I was the one who’d r-run to you and make sure you’re okay. I’d do your homework for you on days you wouldn’t have energy after band p-practice. I’d stay on the phone and calm you down when your parents fought all night. I gave my everything to you, and you made it feel like it was worth nothing..like I was nothing.“

You took a shaky breath, not bothering to have your ashamed gaze meet his. The last words you hoped you’d say to Jeon Jungkook left your trembling lips.

“I’m hopelessly in love with you, and I hate you for it.”

I Think You’re Beautiful (Castiel x Reader)

A/N: Hello hello my reader-chans! Here’s the Castiel x Reader smut, as promised. I came earlier than expected I realize. I had alot of time on my hands! Anyway- Enjoy!

Word Count: 3,208

Warnings: smuuut! Slight dom!Castiel.

Originally posted by sooper-dee-dooper-natural


When the Winchesters introduced you to the infamous Castiel, his reputation had preceded him. 

It was just another normal evening when Sam decided he finally wanted you to greet the celestial being in person once and for all. Dean seemed reluctant at first, but with a few persuading words on how you’ve been parading with them for the past couple weeks and you deserved to know, the older Winchester finally agreed.  You were a tad nervous as the younger Winchester sat in a chair, hands clenched together as he prayed for the angel to come down to greet you. It only made you nervous because Dean was so hesitant about it. 

He was leaned against a counter, arms crossed and a scowl etched onto his face. You swallowed. Not a good sign. You sat up on the table, arms propped back and your legs swinging off the edge. Your thoughts began to swim with your mind, memories beginning to play like picture shows.

 However before you could get too lost in them, an unfamiliar voice shoot its way into your ears. “Hello Sam. Dean.” He greets the brothers. Sam smiles while Dean simply nods, scowl unwavering. You jump slightly at his sudden entrance, heart jolting. You look to Castiel, who’s blue gaze shifts to yours. “You must be Y/N.” He turns to face you, dipping his head. “My name is Castiel. It is nice to meet you.” You smile to him. “Likewise.” You reply. You hold a hand to your heart, taking a few seconds to calm a bit. You weren’t expecting that. “Did I scare you?” He suddenly asks, eyebrows furrowing. You nod. “A little bit. But you’re fine. Nothing I can’t handle.” You smile again, your hand returning to its place previous on the table. He nods. “Well, I am still sorry.” You wave him off, hopping off the table and walking to the kitchen for a beer. 

Walking to the refrigerator, you took a minute to revise what just happened as the brothers and the angel caught up. The brothers had talked fairly of the angel, although it was mostly Dean ranting on how he was inconsistent in keeping contact with them. They hadn’t really described him, but you were sure they wouldn’t have done justice. He was tall but not as tall as Dean. Still taller than you however. His jaw was set and square, shadowed by his stubble. Lips were wide and a very pale pink in color. His eyes were the bluest you’ve ever seen and were set beneath dark brows. His dark hair was messily tousled in a way that resembled a bedhead. He wore many layers of clothing you realized, though you were able to discern under all of it that his body was beyond good looking.

 You grabbed three beers for you and the boys and closed the fridge, walking back out to a very sorry Castiel explaining why he hasn’t called to an angry Dean. Sam silently thanked you as you handed him one, going back to watching as his older sibling scolded the celestial being that was far older than them like a child. You silently slide a beer over in Dean’s general direction, taking a seat of your own. You quietly sip on your beverage, waiting for the disagreement to be over. You felt bad for Castiel. Whenever anyone gets thrown under Dean’s anger, there was just no escape. He seemingly wouldn’t let you go until he was finally done. You hoped it wouldn’t always be like this around them.

A few months passed by. 

 You were hunched over your computer currently in boredom, waiting for the boys to get back with a promised dinner. You were searching for cases and you’ve only gotten bupkis with a side of squat so far. You groan in frustration as you finish yet another pointless article, running your fingers through your hair. You wonder what Castiel was doing. You rarely saw him around, only catching him hunts. Even then, that wasn’t much. The angel would only nod to you and keep his distance, only making conversation with the Winchesters. That hurt you a little honestly.  

You’d never admit it out right, but you did develop some feelings for the rogue angel. He was handsome, always looking as if he’d flown through a storm of some sort with his messy hair and rumpled clothing. He was very intelligent and bold, making you even have stop to reiterate what he says. His social skills were lacking, but then again so were yours. Let’s not forget how badass he is in a fight. Anything that stood in his way never survived unless he let it. 

He was always so serious, though he had his moments of gentle kindness and adorable awkwardness. What intrigued you most about him were the times where he seemed to have a loss of words since he always seemed to have so many. He was so curious about the little things, like why grass was green and how flowers bloom. It made your heart ache a little. It’s too bad he’ll never wonder about you like you do him. With that usual pain in your heart, you sigh somberly and close your laptop. No matter how hard you punched away your feelings, they always hit back harder.

 As if on cue, your phone rang. You check it. Sam’s name glowed on the screen. 

You answer it. “Hey Sammy. What time did you guys say you were getting back again?”

 “Y/N. Yeah about that. Dean and I rolled into funky town. We probably won’t be back for a while. Sorry-” The line cut off soon after. You immediately shot up, panicking. Funky town. That was the word they taught you if either of you all got into trouble. You grab your weapons but stop soon after.. Your heart rate increases. You don’t know where they are. You mentally begin to scream, beginning to pace around in fear. You didn’t know where they went and now you were paying the price for it. Wait. You stop pacing. Castiel. He could help. You didn’t have his cell though…but you could pray right? You kneel over a chair and clasp your hands together, closing your eyes and shooting out a quick prayer. 

 Castiel wondered about a lot of things, but he almost always wondered about you. Your pretty E/C, you’re radiating smile, your agile body. You stirred strange feelings in his vessel that he himself couldn’t explain. It always ached and burned whenever he saw you. His stomach evoked a strange, pleasurable sensation deep within it too. Thoughts, full of nothing but sinful things, clouded his vision whenever he watched you fight. He’d have to isolate himself after hunts to…relieve himself. But he scared you, so he decided he should keep his distance. It was hard, but for the best he’d tell himself. He was in the midst of a conservation with someone when he suddenly heard your prayer. 

 ‘Castiel…I pray you can hear me. The Winchesters are in trouble and I have no idea where they are. Please help me find them before it’s too late.’ 

Quickly, he excuses himself and flies over to where you were. Upon his arrival, he stops in surprise at your position. Sam, when he often prays, does so in a chair with his head bowed down with his elbows on his knees and his hands tightly clasped together. Dean, when he prays, does so loosely, like he was talking on a phone or to a person. But Y/N…the woman was propped up on her knees, head tilted up towards the ceiling. Her eyelashes brushed against her cheeks, lips pouted out in a frown. So many thoughts cross the angel’s mind, none of them pure. A low heat sparks within his vessel but he shoves it down. That’s irrelevant to why he’s here right now. 

He walks over, placing a hand to your shoulder. You immediately react, whipping up to a stand and holding a knife to the angel’s throat. The thoughts only resurface in his head. He quickly dispels them again. “Castiel?” You breathe, putting the knife back in its hidden place in your boot. You back away a little. “Oh god I’m so sorry-” ‘It is quite alright Y/N. You said the Winchesters were in trouble?” You nod vigorously. “Where are they?” “I don’t know! That’s why I prayed for you! Please tell me you can find them.”

 Castiel then explains to you the concept of GPSs, leaving you feeling like an idiot. Soon, you found yourself and the angel near a run down house. “I’m seeing dozens of demons inside. It is imperative we work quickly and eliminate all of them.” He says, looking to you. You nod, swallowing. You load your gun with bullets melded from an angel blade. No offense to the angel standing beside you of course. “I’ll pop as many as I can. You work your way up from downstairs and I’ll take the upstairs ok?” You say, cocking your gun. Castiel nods, resting a hand on your shoulder. It causes a flutter down by your heart. You ignore it as the dizzying feeling of teleporting takes place. It only lasts for a second until you’re inside the house. 

Quickly, you shoot at a few demons to make it easier for Castiel, making a break for the stairs. They’re all hit and fall over quickly. The angel begins to work on the others left as you climb your way up the stairs, shooting at those who come out of the rooms. Soon, you run out of bullets and demons to shoot. You walk up to the room the brothers are being withheld in, walking over to untie the last of their restraints.  

You saw the knife of the demon too late, as well as the warning that left Dean’s lips. The knife slides into your side and your nerves come to life, flaring up in white hot pain. You scream, managing to untie Sam’s hands before yours fly to your side. Sam quickly jumps up as wide-eyed Castiel comes in, stabbing the demon in the back. It falls over, dead. You scoot to a corner, blood seeping out at an alarming rate. Definitely nicked an artery somewhere. Sam worked on Dean’s restraints as Cass walked over to you quickly, sitting you up. “Y/N- Y/N stay with me.” Your vision was failing you. You feel a roughened hand palm your cheek and a sudden warmth spread throughout your being. It was a comforting warmth, like finding a fluffy blanket just out of the laundry sort of warmth. You felt the fixing of the wound and your vision slowly became normal. Now you were just tired. You wanted a shower and a nap. 

The hand stayed on your cheek a while longer until it was gone. You feel yourself being picked up and carried out. “Hey…I have two legs…’M not useless.” You mumble. “Y/N you were just bleeding out not a few seconds ago. Humor me alright.” You hear Dean’s voice grumble above you, shifting you in his grasp. You decide it was best not to speak as he wasn’t wrong and wait until you’re back to the apartments. 

 ________

It felt nice to shower after that encounter. You washed off whatever blood was left on your being and mourned the loss of yet another set of clothes. They were too far gone to be saved. The water ran red, to pink and to clear and you soon turned off the shower, wrapping yourself in a towel and exiting the bathroom. 

You came too close to death. Too close for Castiel’s liking. He cared for you, even if you didn’t think so. It was a different kind of care, not like the care he felt for Sam or Dean. This care made him yearn for you whenever he was lonely. Made him wish you felt the same. He wish he could tell you this, but something always held him back. He didn’t know what but it really bugged him. Maybe Sam could help. He seemed more in tune with his emotions, rather than Dean.  

As you walked out into your room, you were greeted with Castiel sitting on your bed. You screech, covering up your already towel covered being. A blush rises up on your entire face when he snaps his head to yours. He slowly stands, his eyes looking to all the exposed skin before him. He wonders what you look like without the towel…”C-Cass! What are doing in here?!” You squeak, hunching your shoulders. His blue eyes finally focus on your E/C ones. 

“Y/N. I apologize for invading your personal quarters, but I must admit something that’s been pestering me for a good while now.” You move some of your wet hair out of your eyes and quickly put your hand back to its job to holding up the towel. “Sure! Couldn’t you do this another time when I’m not practically naked?!” You say, standing a few feet away from the handsome being. His gaze seems to darken at your wording, head tilting and blue eyes dilating. He licks his lips.

 “I think this is an excellent time.” He says, looking at you with…is that desire in his eyes? You gulp, nodding for him to continue. It was getting cold for you, since you’re only in a towel. Goosebumps rise up on your skin, making themselves present. “Y/N…It’s hard for me because I don’t feel many things but somehow…I have feelings for you. Different from the Winchesters. It only comes with you.” He suddenly says and you swear you feel your heart skip a beat. Holy shit. Did Castiel seriously just say that? You weren’t sure you believed it. “Wh-what?” “I see…you do not feel the same-” There was hurt in his voice. You freak out a little. “N-no! That’s not it at all! I think I like you too much but how could you like someone like me?!” You suddenly blurt, eyes wide in disbelief. Castiel’s eyes narrow and his brows furrow, like he’s trying to understand something. “What are you trying to say?” 

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them. “That you can do so much better! I’m nothing! There are so many more people worth your time. I’d just slow you down.” You lower your head. You need to learn when to shut up. But alas, it was the truth. For you anyway. A beat of silence plagues the room. You swear you hear your own heart beat. Suddenly, Castiel’s shoes show up in your vision. His hands ensnare your hips in his grasp and he slams his into them with a growl, rolling them against you. You yelp in surprise, hands quickly tightening onto the lapels of his jacket. A moan is quickly followed afterwards however. He was undeniably aroused. There was no mistaking the obvious bulge within his pants. You shiver then, low in your spine as his voice impossibly drops a few octaves with a newfound huskiness to it. His head lowers to your ear. 

“Are you trying to say you are imperfect? That you are not good enough for me?” He growls, undulating his hips into yours again. A shuddering gasp leaves your lips and your hands tighten into a death grip onto his jacket. “C-Cass-” “No! I do not want to hear you speak of yourself in such a way. You are the most beautiful being I’ve encountered on this miserable rock so far. You are strong, resistant and kind.” He snarls, tightening his grip on your hips. You moan, unable to form words for second. “Mm- i-it’s just the truth Castiel-” “Do you have any idea the things you make me feel Y/N?” “Cass-” “You’ve driven to self pleasure Y/N” He grunts, rolling his hips yet again against yours. You whimper, tightening your grip more and throwing your head back. Everytime he did that, it reminded you that you still only had a towel on. 

“Wh-where the hell did you learn to talk like that Cass?” You breathe, feeling his lips trail over neck. He doesn’t respond, taking the time to kiss your skin instead. You shudder, mewling a bit. “I’ve always wondered what was hidden under those garments of yours…as well as the taste of your lips.” He mumbles against your skin. It tickles a little. You feel his hand tugging at the top of your towel. So you rid of it and step back, looking at your feet self consciously.  You weren’t innocent by any means, but this was wayyy more intimate than any times previous. You can hear Castiel’s breath seemingly stop.

 A warm hand finds its way to the curve of your hip, the other lifting up your chin. You slowly look up to his heated gaze and are greeted with nothing but lust and gentleness. His head tilts to yours. Understanding what he wants, you touch your lips to his and kiss him. A spark immediately shoots down your whole being as he kisses back, wrapping his arms around your waist. You wrap your around his neck, the kiss becoming intensely passionate. Apparently, he needs no coaching in this area either.  Becoming impatient, you squeak as you feel yourself bouncing on the bed. Castiel is immediately over you again, kissing you more fervently. 

You could feel your slick coating your thighs and he hadn’t even touched you yet. He was much to overdressed and you tugged at his clothes. He breaks the kiss and with the snap of his fingers, he sits before you. No clothes covering his being. You shiver, letting out a moan at his muscled physique. He was just so unfairly perfect. Your eyes stayed glued to his arousal when they find it, unbelieving. You reach out a hand to it, but Castiel quickly deters it. “This is about you.” He mumbles, catching your lips again. With that, he slowly kisses his way down your being, giving your breasts a little love and continuing down to your pussy. He purposely misses the area and puts a leg over his shoulder, licking at your inner thighs. They were so soft. He softly nips them, listening to you mewl before soothing them with a lick. You grab a fistful of his hair, petting softly. It was every bit as soft as it looked. His face eventually came in front of your sopping wet folds. His tongue came out of hiding and took a long, slow lick of your slit, tasting your slick. You squealed at the sudden invasion of the warm appendage, tightening your grasp of Castiel’s hair. He simply grunts, continuing to move his tongue against you. Eventually, his hand came into play, index and middle finger making you almost scream. His nose hit against your clit every so often, making you yelp in pleasure. Eventually, it began to overwhelm you. You were practically begging the angel to make you cum, praising him just as much. Finally, with the sight of his blue eyes staring up at you, his pink tongue lapping at your honey pot and the flex of his tendons as he thrust his fingers into you one last time, you scream, cumming onto his hand and into his mouth. He groans, lapping up as much as he can. You come down from you high, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, hands running up his neck. Slowly, his hands ran down your sides, grabbing at your hips. 

He grinds his member between your folds, covering it in your juices. You shudder, bucking your hips. “Pleeease put it in.” You whine, lifting your hips. You’ve waited far too long for this moment. Castiel grunts, swiftly entering you with a single thrust. You moan loudly, arching your back. He grunts, setting his forehead against yours. He set out a fast pace, driving you absolutely insane. He hit everybody part in you that made your body sing. 

You claw his back, having a difficult time keeping your voice down. The angel simply grunts and groans, a soft moan making itself audible every once a while. You praise him repeatedly, getting closer and closer. “Y/N.” Was all he said against your ear as he came, dragging you alongside with him as you careened into the stars for a few seconds. Slowly, you came down for your high as he did, trying to control your breathing. Castiel simply cleaned you off in silence, coming back around to cuddle you in his arms.

 You giggle. “What?” The angel asks, curiosity clear in his voice. “Nothing. I just hope I did alright.” You look up to Cass, who graces you with one of his rare smiles. “Oh I’d say you did way better than just ‘alright’, Y/N.”  

liebesleid (m) · one

ongoing miniseries |  request: reincarnation au with yoongi.
(—or a story of perpetual unrequited love.)

pairing: yoongi | reader
genre: a lot of angst and drama with a sprinkle of smut.
word count: 7.313
warnings: alcohol mention.
author’s note: a thousand thanks to @lthyl for helping me with the outline, you have the patience of a saint :’D ILY 

⇢ chapters: one | two


Chapter one: dolente.

The same melody repeats itself every dawn.

It is one of those casualties of life you want to deem insignificant, even if it has been going on for years now. Every time you find yourself in that narrow space between dormant and conscious, you can hear the sound of a piano with a clearness that’s almost eerie — as if someone’s caressing the black and white keys right next to your ear, producing a song that resonates in your chest and makes your throat constrict in ways you cannot understand.

It’s a melody you’ve loved ever since day one. It stays deep in your heart even if it keeps repeating itself to the point of annoyance, echoes against the corners of your mind and makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand. It is as familiar as the voice of your mother, as the cool sheets of your bed and the warmth of the shower that prickles at your skin.

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Roots (Part Four)

Originally posted by blondejongin

EXO Fanfic: Fantasy AU
Main Pairing: Female Reader x Byun Baekhyun (Light Fairy)

You are an Elven Outsider living in the Human World, living peacefully as a florist and gardener. But your peace shatters when you are discovered by a Representative from the Council of the Other World. Will he discover your secrets?

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‘Go on a date with me Blossom,’ he said, and you blinked at the sudden intensity of his voice, ‘I’ll pick you up later.


‘Idiot,’ you cursed under your breath.

‘Sorry?!’

You blinked and blushed, seeing your customer looking at you in alarm, a mild look of offence on his face, and his hand frozen half way to handing over his money to you.

‘Oh, no sir, I am sorry,’ you said quickly, pulling yourself to together, ‘I was talking to myself.’

The customer looked at you warily as he deposited the money in your hand, picked up his order, and left the store.

As the door swung shut behind him, you let out a deep breath and then a grunt of frustration.

‘Uuuhhh,’ you groaned leaning your elbows on your counter and burying your head in your hands.

After Baekhyun had shot off that morning, you had been in a state of panic. What were you going to do?

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Kiss Me Better (16/?)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader, Loki x BFF!Reader

Word Count: 961

Summary: Bucky wakes to find the spell’s been lifted.

A/N: I wasn’t sure which pov I wanted to use, but then realized there’s really no good reason not to include both, so here’s Bucky’s side. Also, @the-wintergirl, all of a sudden I’m having trouble tagging you. :(

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A strange sound stirred Bucky from his peaceful slumber. He looked down at your sleeping figure beside him and smiled. Brushing the hair out of your face as gently as he could, he noticed his hand was the size of your head and froze. He lifted the blanket and looked down the length of your bodies, finding that his legs extended past yours. The sudden chill he felt also alerted him to the fact that he was naked from the waist down. He presumed the noise that woke him was the sound of his tearing bottoms. As carefully as he could, he lifted himself off the couch and reached for the biggest scrap of fabric he could find and bolted to his room before you awoke yourself. 

He did his best to shimmy out of your hoodie so he wouldn’t rip it. That was the last thing he wanted to do. He loved the way your scent, paired with your voice, lulled him into the best rest he’s had since before the war. His whole body slumped at the realization that this was the last hoodie he’d be able to borrow. He brought it up to his nose, inhaling your sweet scent, before gingerly folding it and placing it under his pillow. 

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llamagoddessofficial  asked:

Well at least let us have some Insane Doctor and his Patient headcanons

Mad Doc Sans and Captive Patient Frisk:

● Doc Sans is a creator and tester of new drugs and anesthetics. This is not, however, a legal practice. He sells most of his wares on the black market. But in spite of the shady nature of his business, many of his sedatives are used by big name doctors and scientists to put patients and specimens under.

●Despite selling to such prominent companies and making hefty profits on the sale of his wares, Sans lives and works in a lab hidden in a large underground bunker. He’s very private and rarely leaves.

● Sans had just finished off his last ‘patient’ testing a new sedative, and was in the market for a new one. Through his underworld connections, he heard of a girl who’d just been kidnapped and was going to be sold off as a slave. Deciding he liked the look of her, Sans bid higher than the other auction goers. The girl known as ‘Frisk’ was later dropped off at his door step wrapped up like a present in duct tape and rope.

●Sans was surprised to find her in good mental and physical health (not so much emotional) given what she’d been through. She gave smart but quiet answers to his questions, and seemed calm for someone who’d been stolen, bought, and sold (he could tell that deep down she was terrified, however).
Frisk also seemed to be…untouched, for lack of a better word. The men at the auction house must’ve held themselves back for the sake of merchandise quality.

●Sans feels…strange around Frisk. Something stirring in his soul that he hasn’t felt in a long time. He almost winces when he gives her shots. He’s been giving her much smaller doses than he would to any other 'patient’.
Unfortunately for Frisk, this kinder Sans is merged to a darker, more possessive, more cruel entity. A personal Jekyll and Hyde.

●Sans enjoys watching Frisk as the anesthesia takes effect. The fluttering of her eyelids, the small parting of her lips, the slow rise and fall of her chest as she sleeps. He could sit and stare for an eternity. He runs his phalenges through her hair.
He’s falling deeply in love with her, with every passing day.

Drawn to Life || Klaroline

Klaroline Infinity Day 1 - AU/AH

Caroline’s finally getting to voice an animated character (her dream!), but she didn’t know how much time and effort goes into it as a creative team. She’s paired with Klaus, who studies her character traits and facial movements to bring life to the screen.


“Hold still, please.”

Caroline fought the urge to fidget as the massive camera revolved around her, capturing her image from every possible angle. It was hard not to track the man operating the camera with her eyes. His attention to the placement of her freckles was almost invasive, but he was incredibly hot.

The brass curls were artfully mussed, just enough that Caroline wanted to run her fingers through them. And his lips, god, they were so pink-

She shook her head, hoping to get rid of whatever lusty demon had taken hold of thoughts. Really, it was her own fault for swearing off dating after Tyler moved out. A cleanse was standard breakup routine, but maybe three months was too long.

“I said to hold still,” Klaus snapped, though his hand was gentle as he gripped her chin. “If we don’t get the digital model right, I’ll have to start all over.”

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anonymous asked:

Hi! Can you do #67: “Are you getting jealous?” - “You’re changing your outfit, now!” for the prompt thingie for rebelcaptain please?

Thank you to both anon’s who requested this prompt! I’ll be honest, I had like, three separate ideas for it but this was the only one I was able to sort of flesh out. Takes a few liberties with the Rebel army and rankings and such, but … I just wanted to write a slightly flustered Cassian :P This is after Jyn’s debriefed on leading the Rogue One mission, and let’s put this one about a month after Scarif, once they’re all better and bacta’d out.


“So, how did it go?” Cassian asked, trying to hide the waver in his voice.

“About as well as you’d think,” Jyn said. “We went rogue, Cassian. We disobeyed orders.”

Cassian watched as she shuffled her feet towards him, head lowered in defeat. He’d wanted to be by her side, attest for her to Mon Mothma and Draven that he’d been behind it all, he gathered the team, he made her disobey orders.

Of course, he knew, that wasn’t all true.

It wasn’t that he questioned her ability to handle her own in the face of discipline — that had been the least of his worries –- it was that strange, unfamiliar feeling stirring in his chest.

He still hadn’t put a finger on exactly what it was stirring there, running rampant and uncontrolled, just that it made him want to do anything in his power to help her, just as he’d gathered the team for Rogue One. He’d lost countless soldiers and recruits in the war, it was a simple fact. But that didn’t erase his desire to do anything in his power to keep her on base, fighting for the Rebellion, to keep her home.

He had promised her that, after all they’d been through in the past three weeks – waking up in medbay terrified of being alive, of having survived knowing that the other might not have lived – he wouldn’t accept it if Draven or Mon had stripped that promise from his lips.

By the time his mind had finished processing the “what if’s”, she had closed the distance between them, her arms tight at his waist as she dug her nose into his jacket. His own arms had found their way around her shoulder blades, pulling her tight to rest his chin atop her head. She squirmed against him, and he felt something cold and hard jut into his chest.

“Jyn,” he pulled back, enough to see the glint of silver and green attached to her jacket. “What is that?”

She smiled, as wide as Jyn ever allowed herself too, and fought a laugh in her throat. She shook a few more moments in his arms before whispering, exasperated, “They made me Captain.”

“Captain?” he eyed her, equal parts shocked and confused. “But you said—-“

“But— Captain? So … so soon?”

“Wait,” she cocked a brow, poking at his own rank incredulously, “Are you getting jealous?

“No,” he said, almost too quickly. “I just, you — you’re changing your outfit, now.

“What? Why?”

“Because, Captain’s don’t—, they don’t dress like—”

“Like what, Cassian?” She fought the grin warming her cheeks, “how should a Captain dress?”

“For starters, the jacket.” His voice faltered, breaths coming quick while his eyes shifted from hers to the badge at her chest. “Did they not give you new fatigues?”

“No, I didn’t think to ask,” she sighed, reaching into her pocket. From it, she took out a silver badge and slid it between her fingers. “Besides, we had more important things to talk about— like you.”

Cassian looked down at Jyn, her fingers poised above the rank badge tacked above his heart. She slipped her thumb and forefinger behind it, unclasping the metal badge while he prayed she couldn’t feel how fast his heart was pounding beneath her touch. He shut his eyes to breathe – feeling both ridiculous and foolish at how a mundane action such as this could set his body aflame – and felt the cool, familiar clip of metal replaced on his jacket.

“Congratulations, Major Andor.”

She stepped back, her gaze fixed on his shoes.

“Are you— but,” he ground his teeth, “this can’t—– how?”

Jyn shifted, “Easy. You deserve it, they were going to give it to you even without my convincing. I just — I wanted to be the one to tell you.”

“But the way you were acting, how you were upset, I—-,”

“I have to get my fun somehow,” she squeezed his elbow, speaking into his chest as she continued, “besides, you’re … cute when you’re jealous.”

“Don’t scare me like that,” he brought a hand to her chin, lifting her head gently to meet his eyes.

She looked at him through her lashes, unsure she could finish her next thought looking him straight in the eye.

“Now, why don’t you show me how a Major should dress.”

Kitchen Adventures (4 Weeks of Fluff #2)

Why do all of my fics this month have to do with the kitchen? Btw, I’ve pretty much made all of these cooking mistakes myself so…yeah lol @4wksoffluff

Word Count: 820


Baz

“Are you ready for this?” Baz asked.

“I’m not sure,” Simon said, biting his lip.

“C’mon. We’ve been talking about doing this forever,” Baz said.

“All right,” Simon said, determination in his eyes.

Baz turned back to the boiling pot of water and dumped the spaghetti noodles into the pot, wincing when the pot spit water at him. Simon had a ridiculous looking apron on and stood a foot or so back, tail twitching nervously. This was the first time they were cooking together. Unfortunately, neither one of them were very good at cooking in the first place so they’d decided to stay simple and make spaghetti. 

“Um, should we make a salad?” Simon asked.

Baz scratched his head.

“Well, besides lettuce, what would we put in it?” Baz asked.

“Those crunchy nugget looking things,” Simon said.

Baz wanted badly to laugh at Simon’s word choice but he wasn’t sure what the crunchy nugget things were called either so he held himself back.

“I don’t think we have any,” Baz said.

Simon’s face looked scrunched in concentration.

“What did you get for the salad?” Simon asked.

“Lettuce and dressing. I grabbed a pear too, I think my stepmom uses them in her salads,” Baz said. 

Simon made a face.

“That doesn’t really sound like a good combination.”

“So no salad then,” Baz said.

“I guess not,” Simon said.

Baz shrugged and walked over to grab the baguette they’d bought. The instructions said to preheat the oven and warm the bread for ten to fifteen minutes. He glanced at the oven warily.

“It says we should wrap it in foil,” Baz said.

Simon’s eyes widened.

“Is that, I don’t know, safe?” Simon asked.

Baz frowned.

“Well, it says to do it so it has to be right?” Baz asked.

Simon shook his head.

“No I’m pretty sure it’s not safe. I learned my lesson a long time ago with the microwave,” Simon said.

Baz nodded.

“Good thinking.”

Baz had no idea what the package meant by preheating so he pressed the preheat button on the oven and threw the bread in, turning the oven up 177 degrees Celsius. Then he clapped his hands together, feeling ridiculously proud of himself.

“Dinner is going to be great,” Simon said.

Baz smiled.

“Hey Baz, have you been stirring the pasta?” Simon asked.

Baz spun around.

The spaghetti didn’t look too strange. Panicked, he stirred the clump of noodles, relying on his vampire strength to separate the congealed mess. After a few minutes the spaghetti appeared to be normal. He turned to lean against the counter tiredly. 

Simon smiled at him.

“My hero,” He said.

“Shut up,” Baz muttered.

Suddenly there was a loud beep from the oven.

“What’s that for?” Simon asked.

Baz frowned.

“I don’t know,” He said.

“Does that mean the bread is done?” Simon asked.

Baz shook his head.

“It hasn’t been fifteen minutes,” Baz said.

The beeping continued, loud and insistent. 

“Maybe we should just check on it,” Simon said.

Baz bent over and peeked into the hot oven. The bread looked fine. He touched it carefully and frowned. It was barely warm. 

“It’s definitely not done,” Baz said.

Simon shrugged.

“I guess we should just focus on the pasta then,” Simon said.

Shit!” Baz said, suddenly remembering the pasta.

A few minutes later Simon was sloppily draining the pasta while Baz glared at the marinara sauce. He knew he was supposed to heat it in a saucepan, he’d seen his stepmom do it. But he was so scared he’d mess that up too that he was debating whether or not to just pour the room temperature sauce directly on the pasta. 

“Baz what are you doing? Bring the sauce over,” Simon said.

Baz decided to forgo the saucepan and poured the entire jar over the pasta. They stirred for a bit and Baz was disappointed when he realized that they had used too much sauce.

“It’s fine, we can just add more pasta later,” Simon said.

“I guess,” Baz said.

Simon checked his watch. 

“I’ll take the bread out,” He said.

When Simon opened the oven the unmistakable smell of burnt bread hit Baz. Simon took out a charred lump that barely resembled the baguette it had once been. He looked confused,

“How? Honestly how could this have happened? We did exactly what the package said,” Simon said.

“Maybe that’s what the foil was for,” Baz said.

Glumly, they took their lukewarm and soggy spaghetti to the table. Simon had grabbed the baguette as well, claiming that the inside might not be so bad.
Baz sat down heavily in his seat.

“We cannot cook,” Baz said.

“At least we match?” Simon said, laughter in his voice.

Baz rolled his eyes.

“Not as cute in this situation Snow.”

Simon raised his glass of wine.

“To us, the hopeless pair,” Simon said.

Baz smiled unwillingly.

“To us,” He said.

anonymous asked:

after the curse is broken, another curse is set in place. as punishment for the villagers being so cruel to belle, they are all turned into inanimate objects, and the castle forgets about them and continues on with their lives. in order for the spell to be broken, someone from the castle must wander into the village, stay, and truly forgive them all for whatever secret and dark past they may have. -☁️

oh wow that’s fucking weird. also the Perfect excuse to write the Fucking Trash Fic starring the V I L L A G E R S  i’ve been wanting to do


“Did I have a papa, once?” Chip asks his mum. He’s not sure why, but playing with his little toy donkey—carved from wood, with little wheels for legs—has stirred something in him.

“All little boys have papas,” says Mrs. Potts absently. She is busy drying the dishes, and doesn’t look up from her saucers and plates. “Why would you think of that now?”

Chip tries to string the words together. Something like where is he now, then? Or who is he? Or why don’t we talk about him? Is he dead?

He can’t think of any of the words. His eyes go back to the donkey, and he forgets what he was asking.


Jean Potts is not dead. But sometimes, he feels he might as well be.

There is something about being a plate that feels particularly humiliating. The fact that his lovely porcelain border is striped in the same way his old hat was does nothing to diminish the embarrassment.

He didn’t even like that hat, that much. But now it’s all he is: a white plate with a striped border, and painted eyes and mouth, and nothing else besides. He wish he had thought to bring a change of clothes before encountering the old hag from the mountains.

Agathe hadn’t turned him into a plate. This curse was done by someone else entirely: a hag with corkscrew, blue-streaked hair, and a cranky nose, and a spitfire temper that doomed them all. They didn’t know her name. Just that she was malicious, and had curses to burn.

“If I had known she was like this,” argued Clothilde, newly a fishhook, “we could have bought her jam, or sommat.”

“I don’t think jam was what she wanted,” said Jean. 

The curse had been swift and brutal and ironic in its care to detail. Everyone knew what it was for: to tell them, in no uncertain terms, that Mobs Are Bad, and Hating People You Barely Know Is Bad, and Falling In Line With Tyrants Is Bad, and Being Stupid Is Bad. (the hag had really gone on quite a while before she actually cast the curse.) It was a taste of their own medicine, for acting like tools in the hands of a crazed, angry man.

That didn’t help assuage the feelings of plate, though.

Some had it worse. Alléchant Agriculteur, the local supplier of eggs, couldn’t complain at all; nobody had ever seen such an unbelievably attractive hen coop in their lives. But Forgeron Rouge, the blacksmith so beloved for his bright red cap and helpful manner, had turned into an anvil. He couldn’t move. The horses—now all just horseshoes, poor creatures—whinnied around him pitifully, and all he could do was clang in response.

The hatstands in the window tittered and sighed. They still wanted to be pretty, and here they were, with big bonnets as always, but no pretty black hair to make it worth while. They wondered if Chapeau, their brother, might find them. They wondered if Chapeau still remembered them.


He didn’t.

Sometimes—given to subtle turns of thought, as he was—Chapeau wondered how the castle was meant to survive, in a forest with no villages around. Surely that affected the local economy? Where was Cuisinier meant to buy his eggs and bread, with no farms around to supply it? Given that, where did the servants come from? They couldn’t all come straight from Paris, like Lumiere and Plumette. There had to be some village boys, with pretty mothers—milliners maybe—who could come up to the palace to find work. He had to give it some thought. There was a riddle here he needed to remember.

He didn’t. He forgot.

It was odd, at nights, when some told stories of their families. Mrs. Potts talked about her mother at length—the weaver-woman from Yorkshire, who she hadn’t seen for so long, ever since she left the country and came here. Lumiere, if pressed, will laugh and mock his father, the old man in Paris who wears spectacles and worn brown vests and who he loves so much, so complicatedly, so completely. Even Belle remembers a little of her mother, even though she died so far away.

But nobody seems to come from around the palace. There are no village boys.

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Against All Odds Pt.1

Against All Odds ~ACOTAR FIC~

—>Link to Part 2<—

Feysand’s heir Estrella goes on an adventure to find out what is pulling her south toward the forbidden  Spring Court.  Andras, Tamlins youngest son has been having dreams of the night sky for weeks. It is only when he decides to venture out of his comfort zone that he realizes there is a larger meaning behind those dreams and that he will do anything to find it.


THE BEGINNING

*Estrella*
I had heard the tale a million times. The War of Courts, Hybern and his armies, Vassa and birds made of flames. Ships that bore the names of my family and creatures so feared that even the dark ran from them. Yet, I felt as though it was so far away, so much time had passed and these stories became watered down versions of the truth. My mother never talked about what happened to her under the Mountain. She never included those memories in her re-telling. I’d heard the whispers though. Everyone still remembered her bravery. Everyone still called her The Cursebreaker. My father looks at her with such pride, such adoration that I can only wonder what led to their pairing. It feels like an entire chapter of their lives was swept away, dust under the rug. I cannot explain the feeling.. but something from their past is calling to me. It’s a warm breeze caressing my cheek, a whisper in the wind, the sweet scent of a flower I cannot ever recall smelling. It’s pulling me somewhere foreign and yet familiar. It’s pulling me into Spring.

-Andras-

It was the same dream I’d been having for a while. The North Star glimmering in the night sky amidst a myriad of colors. Hues of periwinkle, deep blues and greens dancing behind it. The moon resting just under the star like a great shining eye, beckoning me forward. I take a step and feel my feet snag on something with thorns. Red roses creep up above my knees and twine their stems around my wrists. The panic sets in almost immediately and I’m overcome with a feeling of dispair. I must follow the North Star, I need to know why it is drawing me forth into the night. More vines come slithering out of the earth, pinning me in place. There is nothing I can do, no amount of struggle or screaming will loosen their grip. The colors in the sky start to fade into grey, the Star fades too. All that is left is me and the moon. For a moment I am still; defeated and weak. I hear it then, a howling of defiance. A wolf in the distance, silhouetted against the moon itself. It cries out into the void louder and louder, building into crescendo that rattles the stars back into the sky. It is only then that the realization hits. I am the wolf. I am shepherd to The North Star and I will howl until it finds it’s way out of the dark and back to me.

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His Favourite Things

Gen. 1257 words. @happy-snape-week


There were a few things that Severus loved.

Like tea. Obligatory loose-leaf, kept securely in fancy cans nicely lined on a shelf in his small, cosy kitchen. He enjoyed the deep, strong taste of English Breakfast – mellowed by addition of milk and just a drop of honeydew honey, the musky sweet and mossy aftertaste of Darjeeling, robust and malty Assam and the notes of bergamot in Earl Grey.

Sometimes he would experiment with different blends, but – sooner or later – he always came back to his favourites.

On the days when slight tremors in his hands wouldn’t stop, preventing him from work, he would take out some spice and a ginger root and set out to prepare Masala Chai. It was much more forgiving to slight mistakes and miscalculations in measurements and the size and shape of ingredients than any potion would ever be. As he cut the ginger root and ground cloves, nutmeg, green cardamom pods and bits of cinnamon bark, his tensed muscles would relax. The scent of spices would fill the air, bringing back the memories of long hours spent on potions brewing.

Today was one of these days. The not so bad one, but not overly good one as well. As he gathered the ingredients, he decided to experiment as well, adding allspice and peppercorns. He considered adding anise seeds to the mix, but resigned from the idea in the end. Then he spent long minutes, stirring the mixture of milk and water, to which he had added the spices he had prepared. Perhaps the stirring wasn’t much needed, but it allowed him to relax his tensed muscles and he enjoyed the act itself. He also enjoyed establishing strange stirring patterns, different for every mix, continued until he threw tea leaves into the boiling mixture of his making. It was like magic, but without real magic being involved.

With the tea pot full of chai he went outside. He stood in the back door for a short while, letting his gaze slide over the plants filling his little garden. His chest swelled with pride at what he saw.

He  loved gardening. There was nothing better than to feel soil – sometimes warm and dry and easily sliding through his fingers, and sometimes wet and sticking to them instead. His plants and flowers grew beautifully, filling the air with strong aromas and attracting humorous comments about how magical their growth appeared.

Severus would always snort when he heard them. He was nowhere near to being as talented as his mother had been – she had had green fingers after all – but he did took some pride in his small garden.

Through his gardening he also developed a liking for sunny days, warm but not hot, which he spend outside, covering his skin in sunblock and hiding his head in the shadow, but exposing the rest of his body to the sunlight. He let it seep deep into the core of his bones, where eternal cold seemed to rein these days. The aftereffect of the venom, he supposed, quite pleased that he didn’t live in the dungeons anymore. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to put up with their chill, strong drafts and hints of dampness always present in the air, should he live in them ever again.

Here he was now, seated comfortably in a wicker chair in the partly shadowed corner of his little garden, surrounded by flowers and herbs. The sun shone brightly, gently warming his body. The scent of thyme and rosemary filled the air. There was a wicker table next to his chair and another chair on the other side of it. There were two mugs on the table and the big tea pot stood next to them. At the edge of the table a book was lying – the poor, worn out thing, with the cover bent and torn in places and plenty of dog ears.

He stroked the cover fondly.

Severus loved all his book, old and new. The ones covered in leather, with gold letters adorning their surface, sometimes barely legible due to their age. He also loved the ones with thick paper-based covers, sometimes possessing dust covers and sometimes not. His love wasn’t as strong for modern paperbacks, but he still valued and treasured them greatly.

This book, he mused, was special. It was old, given to him when he was but a child, but still one of his favourites. His fingers brushed over the uneven surface of the cover as he reminisced the first time had read it. Much older now, he was able to see the story with different eyes, noticing things of existence which he had had no idea when he was still a child. What he saw now was the story of a lonely boy, who found himself in the place in which he didn’t fit. He saw how this lonely boy found a friend and together, not quite voluntarily at first, they set on discovering magical worlds. How the boy, thoughtlessly, set into motion events that endangered the existence of other worlds, magical and not. And how in the end, the boy managed to do the thing that protected the magical world for a long time. These days the story made him both, bemused and amused. And then forced him to consider the life in general and all its twists. And the life irony as well, of course.

His musings were disrupted by a cat, hopping into his laps and curling into a tight ball in them.

The cat, usually called Monster or the mangy beast, was a half-stray ­– which at some point had decided to adopt Severus as his human – and looked like he had gone through quite a few battles over his life. He missed half of his left ear, had a scar just under his right eye, which made him look a bit like a pirate or a rogue, and quite a few scars on the rest of his body. He was missing the fur in some places on his back and sides, and had a strange kink at the end of his tail, which suggested an old, badly healed injury.

Severus’ lips curved into a gentle smile as he stroked the cat’s head – just behind his right ear ­– and the cat purred. He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. The cat’s body vibrated in a way that soothed Severus’ mind and made him feel better in general, pushing away the lingering traces of pain. It was as if the cat was casting some magic spells on him.

He didn’t hear steps at first. It was the squeaky sound of the garden gate that alerted Severus to his visitor. He startled, but the cat didn’t even shift at the sound.

“You’re late.” Severus schooled his features into a disapproving frown as he stared at the person who visited him. Or rather he tried to look disapproving, as the corners of his mouth twitched.

“Such a warm welcome.” The reply came, said in a warm, soft voice. Severus could almost hear the smile in it. “You never change, I see.”

“Why should I change?” There was a mock hurt in Severus’ voice. “Isn’t my sunny personality exactly what attracts people to me?”

A burst of cheerful laughter was the reply he got.

Severus shifted in the chair, a warm and fuzzy feeling slowly filling his chest.

Here he was, surrounded by his favourite things.

All of them were here.