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fantasywriter19 · 1 year

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Amortentia

"All You Need is Love"

The theme for February on @hp-12monthsofmagic being "All You Need is Love," I was ecstatic to find that, though I was uninspired last month and missed making an entry, I was able to pull this scene from my proverbial hat!

This is just a little snippet showing some never-before-seen history of the mother of my Voldemort's daughter OC. It's shorter than what I originally wrote, since all that I had written in my notebook nearly gave everything away for the series of Melody Riddle... so I had to clip quite a bit.

Anyway! I hope it's enjoyable! ^_^

February 13, 1978 3:10 PM

For a woman who causes her own healthy amount of trouble on a regular basis, even Orele Ollivander had to admit to herself that she’d really stepped into it this time.

It had been nearly a year since she finally graduated Hogwarts, and yet the former Ravenclaw had been adamant about continuing her seventh year research project beyond the castle’s protective walls — a project she hadn’t told anyone about due to the level of danger she was putting herself in to accomplish it.

It all started with a passage in a book hidden in the restricted section of the library that struck her as off… one mentioning the dangers of witches or wizards conceived after ingesting a love potion. The lack of basic psychologically human tendencies thus induced so the poor soul(s) may never know love.

It was so simple and short… and yet it gnawed at Orele’s very being. Magic could do many things, that was true, but to completely erase such a base emotion in a human being sounded ludicrous. No matter what she, herself, or anyone else did, love was not something she could easily discard from her very existence.

From there, an idea stemmed and spiraled into her current situation. One she reasoned she wouldn’t — couldn’t — shake no matter how idiotic she knew it was to act on it.

Now, all she could do was think back on everything she’d done to get to her current situation. Everything from the wise headmaster she’d managed to con into giving her the identity of a known love potion child, to the Slytherin friends she’d forced to tell her what they knew, to the identity she created as the Predator, and the atrocities she’d committed to get the attention of the one and only….

Lord Voldemort.

A rough shake of Orele’s shoulder pulled her out of her deep thoughts to find Severus Snape towering before her.

She was seated on a bench outside the Royal Ground Coffee Shop in Diagon Alley. However long she’d been sitting there, she wasn’t sure, but her coffee cup no longer provided her hands with comforting warmth against the freezing cold.

Orele scowled up at her hook-nosed friend with glaring silvery gray eyes, “I’ve been waiting here for hours! What took you so long?”

“Certainly not hours,” Severus drawled with a roll of his eyes.

Muttering obscenities under her breath, she stood, pulling out her wand to cast a warmth spell over her hands. Her height barely reached past his — or, really, anyone’s — stomach. Her short stature an ongoing joke amongst all her friends, only offset by the enormity of her temperament.

When she looked back up at Severus to say she was ready to go, she was floored at the addition to his face. “Wait, I could have sworn I’ve seen you recently. When did you grow a beard?”

His beard was thick yet silky, but it just barely covered his responding sneer as he started walking and Orele worked at matching his pace. “Your attention span tends to be lacking. Of course you haven’t noticed.”

“It’s only when I’m distracted,” she pouted, crossing her arms, “… or bored.”

“Yes, well, shockingly I know it hasn’t been boredom, though that is the usual culprit. Your distraction has been… him.”

Orele had to stop herself from giving a loud gasp, wondering just how much he knew about her secret crush.

It hadn’t been the original plan. Not by a long shot. But becoming a powerful ally alongside the darkest wizard of all time, she ended up spending a lot of time around him. Somehow, while secretly trying to figure out what or who he would have love for, her heart started pounding faster whenever they were alone together.

Despite Voldemort’s appearance looking mangled from his use of Dark Magic, Orele found she actually began to admire his appearance and enjoy the time she spent with him. Though she’d, as of yet, never brought up love potions to him, she was finding her dangerous predicament turning into something rather ironic…

Orele was slowly, but surely, falling in love with Lord Voldemort. Somehow managing to look past his cold demeanor to find a lost soul who didn’t know what it was to be loved — who leaned instinctively, yet unknowingly, into the gentle touches she stole on occasion.

She’d even found his cruel streak endearing, their spurred arguments over how he treats his Death Eaters becoming more and more like playful banter the longer they quarreled.

She also loved how, when he would get lost in a good book, he’d tilt his head against his hand and get comfortable wherever he was sitting. When a thoughtful smile would escape him in the middle of a passage, Orele found it difficult to want to look at anything else.

Clearing her throat to interrupt her ongoing inner admiration, she asked, “What ‘him’ are you even referring to?”

Severus’ eyebrows furrowed as he looked back down at her, “Lockhart. Who else?”

Orele’s mind drew a blank on the name, strangely enough, until it suddenly clicked in and her eyes were as round as saucers. “Craaaap, I forgot to owl him!”

Furrowed eyebrows rose at her outburst, but Severus gave no response.

Gilderoy Lockhart was her boyfriend of a year and a half, still a student at Hogwarts. He’d only just recently sent her a Valentine’s Day card, and no doubt expected one… or a thousand… back in return.

Groaning exhaustedly, Orele brushed closer to Severus to avoid a passerby as they stepped up to the entrance of the apothecary. He opened the door and silently ushered her in first, allowing the door to freely slam shut behind them.

“Gil has been the last person on my mind,” she admitted regrettably.

“Then what are we even doing this for?”

“It’s… well… Tom…” she said shyly, drawn to one of the first shelves in front of the door to pick up a few packets of aromatic red rose petals and razor-sharp rose thorns. She twirled a strand of her curly brown hair with one finger, a deep blush covering her nose and cheeks.

Her companion’s black eyes narrowed in her direction, so deeply that she felt as if they were burning the side of her face. “Who?”

Orele sighed in exasperation, “Fine, it’s for — as you so call him — ‘the Dark Lord.’” The latter part of her sentence, she mimicked Severus’ usual droning tone of voice… which he did not appreciate.

Severus’ expression turned stormy, and he nearly dropped the jar of powdered moonstone he’d just picked up. “Orele..!!”

“What?” she asked defensively, reaching forward to snatch the jar from him for fear of having to pay more galleons than she’d brought.

“What would you want to give him a love potion for? It would be —”

“Completely ridiculous..!!” she sputtered, feeling deeply offended. “How insane do you think I am? The change in his behavior would be too obvious!”

“I don’t know! You’re the one asking me to make it!”

Despite not being in a library, they both paused and glanced around as they realized they were getting too loud. Fortunately, the owner and other patrons paid them no mind, merely continuing with their shopping.

Still, Orele took a deep breath and stepped closer to him so she could keep her voice low. “What, or who, in the world did you think I was going to use it for? Gil? Please. Even with a love potion in his system, he’d still probably go on about how perfect his hair is.”

Severus released a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose in thought. “I suppose I was more under the assumption that it was a romantic gesture in the form of fragrance for Lockhart…. Where, if your scent is what he smells, then he’d have something of you while he’s still at Hogwarts.”

A small smile involuntarily tugged at Orele’s lips at his thought. “Awe… Sev, that’s such a sweet idea. Albeit, it’s not one for Gil — I imagine he’d only smell himself… and quite possibly his mother.

“Anyways, what I intend to do with it does have to do with the fragrances it gives off, so you were almost completely correct…. I do need to ask, though. Amortentia is potent enough to cover any smell, right? No matter what?”

“By itself, without mixing it into anything, yes. Why? What do you intend to do?”

“Come now, Sev, the less you know about my transgressions, the better your chances are of not being blamed if he manages to catch me.”

Severus’ frown seemed almost worried. “Orele, be serious. Why do you really want me to make Amortentia? You’ve been spending a lot of time with the Dark Lord, but I never presumed anything would be less than… business related.”

“And thus far it hasn’t,” she said candidly. “But what if I told you… that I think I’m falling in love with the darkest Lord of all time? What then?”

“I’d said you’d gone mad — no, you’ve gone mental,” he whispered back.

“Perhaps I have,” she said, raising one challenging eyebrow before wandering away to find more ingredients. “Is that so wrong?”

Following quickly, Severus’ strides fell into her pace and he rejoined the search. “I just…” he ventured solemnly, “… never took you for a backstabbing cheater.”

Orele howled with a laughter one could only describe as maniacal. “Oh, please! With Lord Voldemort —“ Severus shushed her frantically, other clientele of the shop scurrying out of there immediately, “— expressing an interest in me, what is a girl supposed to do? In the perspective of many, it would be an honor to be his right hand. I’m merely taking advantage of the possible offer.”

Severus’ frown was deeper than ever. “Possible offer?”

“Yes,” she gave a prideful grin. “Between you and me, he asked me to have dinner alone with him tomorrow night. And you know, if a certain someone found out about that, I’d have a pretty large target on my head.”

“You mean Bellatrix.”

“Of course I mean Bellatrix!” her smile dropped into a sneer as the image of the dark wizard’s biggest sycophant — emphasis on psycho, of course — crossed her mind. “I mean, the way she turns her head the minute I catch her giving me a death glare — like I didn’t already sense it! She would love such a relationship with him. But, of course, the difference between me and her is that she’s a married woman.”

Shaking his head, Severus replied, “The marriage is only for protecting the sacred pureblood line. Not one she’d have chosen for herself.”

“Clearly,” she dryly stated. “Ridiculous excuse considering that, in order to protect the pureblood line, you’re supposed to have children. They haven’t even —“

“Meanwhile,” Severus interrupted, continuing his point, “you’re choosing to sneak behind the back of someone who is, shall we say, ‘head over heels’ for you. I may not have any particular fondness for the boy, but even he deserves better than that. It’s not like you.”

“Who says it’s not like me?” she asked, pointing out a vial of pearl dust for him to grab, along with a carton of ashwinder eggs. “If I so choose to do it, then that changes everything you think you know about me, right? I’m supposed to be evil incarnate along with the wizard who deems me a worthy ally. Who would question my cruelty?”

“That heart beating inside your chest.”

“Shows what you know,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Severus still seemed to doubt everything that had been written about Orele’s alter-ego, the Predator, in the Daily Prophet, despite all the evidence to the contrary showing that they were actually telling the truth about her. She rationalized that it was only because he had never seen her in action… and that the Daily Prophet generally laced some lies in… but, even though she rolled her eyes at his comment, some part of her knew he was right.

She cared enough about Severus’ friendship that she didn’t yet want him to see her in the bad light she deserved to be seen in. He was one of the few closest friends she had. And that was another form of love she knew she couldn’t go through life without.

When they left the apothecary, Orele bemoaned the price of all the ingredients she had to buy, but she hoped the end result would be worth it. She held the bag tenderly against her chest, her heart pounding roughly at the realization that the time was ticking ever closer.

“Are you really not going to tell me what you’re doing with the potion when I’m finished?” Severus prodded her again.

Orele smirked, waggling her finger at him. “I told you why I’m not telling you that. The most I'll reveal is that I’m first hoping to confirm he likes the smell of my pie.”

Severus’ pale face contorted in surprise, “You’ve baked pie for him?”

“Oh, yes, plenty of times,” she said proudly. “I even let him watch me make one once — ooh, can I watch you brew the Amortentia? Where are you —?”

“No!” he immediately refused, taking the bag of ingredients from her with a look of absolute dismay. “I don’t need you breathing over my shoulder while I work. You are still the most impatient witch I’ve ever met. Write a Valentine’s card for Lockhart to pass the time.”

“Fine…” she relented with a sigh, turning to walk away. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“What are you going to tell Lockhart about his card arriving late?”

“Easy,” she called back over her shoulder. “I’ll tell him Ebony was being difficult, and didn’t come back with his card when she was supposed to.” For being a trained owl Orele had owned since she first got accepted to Hogwarts, Ebony had a nasty attitude. And Eeylops would never take her back.

Severus merely gave her a long, dubious stare.

“What? It’s not that hard to believe. Ebony is a downright menace, and even you know it.”

For once that evening, Severus gave no form of disagreement.

#orele ollivander #ollivander's daughter #hp12mom #severus snape #amortentia #all you need is love #valentine #harry potter fandom #voldemort x oc

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turvi · 10 months

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Reichenbach for my Growing Pains - Remus Lupin fic!

Congratulations again on 500 followers, very well deserved ❤️

Thanks, babe for the request

Here is part one of the series and it is so well written and always find myself waiting for the next part. So I love the series but here are some of my favourite parts in it.

SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

PART 1:-

‘I’m not really in the mood for small talk, miss L/N,’ he said without looking at you. This angered you even more. ‘Excuse me? Miss L/N?’ you repeated. You were so surprised at his sudden cold approach to you that there was nothing else you could say. You started to tremble slightly. ‘We’re not doing this,’ he said coldly. When he finally looked at you, he looked even more tired than when you met earlier, his eyes bloodshot.

Oh gosh, this was the moment that got me hooked on the series. The tension, the drama. I'm living for it.

‘I was genuinely happy to see you, Y/N. I stupidly forgot I intended to keep my distance. I felt drawn to you,’ he said softly. The silence felt heavy. So many things were left unsaid. ‘But I have remembered it now and that’s just in time. Good night, Y/N.’ Once more he turned around and this time, he walked away.

Nooo baby..come back. My heart shattered.

PART-2

‘Friends? Not at all. We sometimes sit next to each other at breakfast. And last week, I let him borrow one of my books. Yeah, that’s about the depth of our friendship,’ you said sarcastically. ‘He speaks very highly of you to the other teachers. I’ve never heard him compliment another person ever before, so I assumed you must be friends. But then again, he always had a thing for bright and pretty witches.’ Remus’ flushed cheeks matched your own in the silence that followed.

I giggled. Remus you flirt.

You could feel his warm breath against your hair. He put an arm around your shoulders and pulled your body against his. There was no need to talk. Nothing to say, just being held by him was all you needed in that moment. There was an urge to turn around and kiss him, but you weren’t brave enough. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. You two broke apart as if you were being struck by lightning. ‘Come in,’ you said after quickly wiping your eyes. The door opened and Severus Snape appeared, holding a smoking goblet. He was looking through the curtains of his greasy hair with a look of disgust on his face.

Look I love Severus everyone knows that but DAMN YOU SEVERUS. Why you gotta be like this?

PART 3:-

'Would you mind taking off your shirt? I need to see the wound,' you explained. You looked into his eyes and then let your gaze travel over the rest of his body. He was hurt. Dirty. Covered in mud and half-dried blood and Merlin knows what else but still you were so deeply attracted to him you had a hard time focusing on what you had to do. Remus didn't reply but took his shirt off. He flinched when the fabric touched the wound.

hihihiihihi. I'm blushing. STAHP

‘After you,’ Remus said gallantly and you felt his eyes burn on you when you walked out of the staff room.

this is my favourite chapter man. Loved it.

PART 4:-

‘I want to show you something,’ Remus had said before you followed him, out of the castle and past the lake. When the cold October wind made you shiver, he removed his cloak and put it around your shoulders without a word. You appreciated the kind gesture, but were still angry with him so you didn’t say anything either.

yes babe make him work for it.

'I hate trees,' you mumbled, which was a lie. You were perfectly indifferent about trees, but you weren't going to let Remus off easily. He had been nothing but rude to you and it was time to mirror his behavior.

hahaha this is relatable.

‘Go? I’m sure you don’t have to,’ he answered. He wasn't even trying to hide his disappointment, it was written all over his face

How do you expect me not to melt for this man?

PART 5:-

‘Harry,’ you said, when your eyes landed on a boy with messy hair and bright green eyes who was standing in the door way. ‘I’m Remus, love,’ Remus said with a look of confusion in his eyes. You sat up straight and pulled your arm back.

Ladies and Gentlemen. HIM. This is the man who has us in a chokehold.

PART 6:-

‘Remus Lupin, are you asking me to go on a date with you?’ you asked surprised. ‘No. Or yes. I don't know. Guess it depends on your answer,’ he said quickly, stumbling over his own words. You giggled. Shy Remus was adorable and you wanted to hug him there on the spot, but you resisted the urge.

Alexa play head over heels by tears for fears.

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin fanfiction #fic rec #remus fic #ask turvi #turvi's moots #turvi writes #500 followers celebration #500 followers

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luverofralts · 2 years

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Arkhelios University

“When I grow up, I want to be a fire fighter. That and a rock star. I’m going to have my own band.”

Theo resumed holding court in the play area as soon as he’d seen his father leave. He knew some of the kids from school, but a few of them attended the fancy school his father had attended years ago and were unfamiliar to him. Once the other kids had seen what magic he was capable of, Theo was immediately showered with attention, which was still a new experience for him.

“I want to be a violinist,” one of the sisters replied. “I take lessons now and I really like it.”

“You know Dad wants us all to be witches when we grow up,” the dark haired girl said. “You don’t go to witch school now, but you know he wants you to transfer someday.”

“The demon queen probably wants me to work for her someday,” Theo sympathized. “I’ll have to fit her in around the fire fighting. I really like fires.”

“I don’t think that fire fighters are supposed to like fires,” the red haired sister pointed out. “They want to put them out.”

“I’m going to head back to the castle. Keep an eye on the kids,” Abe called out, stepping into the car Maura had sent for him. “I need a proper nap and to sign some forms for the crown to release the money we need to book a caterer for the wedding. Make sure that Theo doesn’t burn the place down while I’m gone.”

“Well, if it isn’t my arranged husband. I’ve been looking for you.”

Roman turned around, curious to see who was comfortable enough to make a joke like that in the presence of Ulyssa.

“I’m sorry, I can’t remember your name,” he said diplomatically. “Did we go to school together?”

The man laughed and shoved Roman playfully.

“Your grandfather tried to marry you off to me a long time ago,” he explained. “My sister regrettably declined the offer, though I bet she would have reconsidered if she knew that you’d grow up to be this handsome.”

Roman blushed at the compliment, suddenly glad that Abe had gone back to the castle.

“Ah, the straight prince,” he replied, trying to project an image that was friendly, but unavailable. “It’s been awhile. We had math class together, right?”

“Well, I may have learned some things about myself in college that challenged the idea that I was straight,” he confessed. “And yeah, we had math together. It’s Ben. Ben Siew. Prince Ben Siew in fact, despite my sister abdicating the throne to Claudia. It’s a useless title with no money or land to back it up, but it’s higher than a duke, if you ever feel like trading up your current title.”

I think my grandfather is spinning in his mausoleum to hear a pick up line like that. All of these rich, titled people want me, and I only want Abe. The prince Grandpa wanted me to marry is all but throwing himself at me, and I’m turning him down. If he were still alive, I’d bet that he’d help Grandma kill another Abe just to get him out of the picture.

“I’m engaged, actually,” Roman replied, displaying the ring on his finger proudly. “I’m marrying Theo’s father and we’re having another kid, so I’m afraid that I’m going to have to decline your offer.”

Ben smiled, a response that Roman hadn’t been prepared for.

“Yeah, I heard. Well, if you ever break up, or you two ever want to hang out, I’m easy to get in contact with. But I imagine you’d hook up with Claudia over me anyway. You don’t look like you’re engaged when she’s around.”

“I’d disagree with that,” Roman said as politely as he could. “Her Majesty and I are just friends, nothing more. She’s invited to my wedding too, just like my other ex, Ulyssa. I appreciate the offer though.”

“What game are you playing, Bellamy?”

Ulyssa glanced over her shoulder, trying to look disinterested in the conversation Roman was having with an extremely interested foreign prince. She was still trying to distance herself from the annoying man still rambling on about some religious based program for kids he was running, but she had the distinct impression that her previous wish for Roman drama had been granted.

That’s that jerk Maura dated for awhile. He’s got to be sniffing around Roman as some kind of payback for me stealing his girlfriend. Which, I mean, isn’t even true. Maura chose me all on her own. But why else would he be interested in Roman? The man never shuts up about Abe, and the few times he does, he’s talking about Adrian. He’s got four kids and he’s nothing special in bed, why is everyone obsessed with him? Is it a demonic thing? It has to be a demonic thing.

“Excuse me,” she said quickly and bolted her way towards Roman.

When I asked for drama, I didn’t mean this.

“Our band is going to be amazing!” Theo gushed, as he sat down to play a very expensive looking piano.

His group of followers seemed just as excited as he was to hear him play. The only problem was that he didn’t know how to play anything. He’d fooled around with the piano at Grandma’s house, but he’d never received any lessons before. As soon as his fingers hit the keys, Theo felt a rush of excitement. All of these kids wanted to hear him play. It was a baby step closer to being a famous rock star. Everyone started somewhere after all.

“Theod-Uh, Theodore, stop that before you break something,” Roman called, catching himself before he shouted out Theo’s birth name in front of a group of magic users. That was a lecture he didn’t want to repeat with an angry demonic sovereign. It was becoming something of a game for him and Abe to think of some other name that began with Theo to shout out instead.

“Your kid is...enthusiastic,” Ben murmured, trying to be discreet with his attempts to cover his ears. “Has he been taking lessons?”

Ulyssa fumed at Ben’s reaction, trying to figure out what he could possibly want with Roman.

He’s obsessed with Roman! How badly does this guy want to sleep with him for him to stick around and listen to this noise? I have to bring this up with Maura, there’s no way he’s this interested in an engaged father of soon to be four. Whatever this is, I don’t believe a word of it.

“Hey, Roman,” she called out, all but shoving herself between Roman and her wife’s ex. “Why don’t you go back to the castle with Abe? He’s pregnant, so you should be taking care of him. Maybe you can work on your wedding plans together. Actually, I’ll go with you. That way I know you’ve made it back to him okay. I wouldn’t want you to get lost or confused, even though your dead husband probably showed you how to get to the castle before. Hey, Ben, did you need a lift back to Pleasantview? I can send someone to take you home; I know you’re not from around here.”

“Uh-”

Ulyssa dragged Roman by the wrist into another room before the stunned prince could even respond.

“Look, Bellamy,” she hissed. “I’m not going to stand here and watch you get taken in by an asshole with a fancy title. I know you’re smarter than that. For once could you just think without your dick?”

“I was just minding my own business!” Roman protested, crossing his arms defensively. “It’s not like I’m going home with him. We were just talking! You’re paranoid over nothing.”

“No, you’re losing your focus,” she replied. “You’re getting complacent, which is a dangerous thing to do. Your father was murdered. Your son nearly combusted with magical potential and has the leader of the demons watching him intently. You are getting married in a ceremony endorsed by the queen of this country when a small minority of people think you had something to do with Adrian’s mysterious death. You’re smarter than this. The Roman who saw his mother do terrible things to the people he loves is smarter than this.”

Roman was silent for what felt like an eternity to Ulyssa. She never knew if the old cocky Roman would emerge and bicker with her, or if she’d see the devastated mess he’d become in the wake of Adrian’s death and Abe’s betrayal. It was always difficult to guess what emotion would win out when Roman was in crisis. At least if he tried running away, she could easily use magic to follow him, but he wasn’t likely to run when Theo was here playing with the other children.

“You’re right,” he sighed, allowing Ulyssa to reconsider her next words. “I’m too focused on Abe and the kids to think about schemes against me. I should be thinking about the danger that seems to follow me around. I haven’t bothered reviewing my security footage for this week and I could always buy-”

“Let’s not get too crazy,” Ulyssa interrupted quickly. If she allowed Roman to spiral with worry, she’d be getting angry messages from Abe for weeks. “Just think twice about penniless princes who want to immediately run to bed with an engaged father, okay? I’m sure that there’s no demonic plot he’s following, so don’t even consider that possibility. Just think about Jolanda back home.”

“Jolanda?”

“If you can picture her pitching something similar to you, maybe don’t trust what the person’s saying. It’s not always some grand scheme cooked up by Dorhack or your mother. There are a lot of shitty people out there.”

Roman pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed again.

“I’m going to go hang out with Abe, if you don’t mind watching Theo and making sure that he’s not breaking an expensive piano. I just...I just need a break from this.”

Ulyssa smiled softly and nodded.

“Of course. I think I can manage to keep Junior out of trouble for awhile.”

#sims 2 #arkhelios #arkhelios university #Roman Bellamy #Ulyssa Durant #sim: theo bellamy #sim: leo toyonaga #sims 2 pictures

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yellowsuitcase · 3 years

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In the Prefect’s Bathroom Part 4 // Draco Malfoy

A/N: Guys!!! It's the FINAL part, yay!! I'm super proud of this and I think it's super cute and just AAHH I really hope y'all like it. Lemme know what you think of it and if you expected any of it. Thank you so much for reading, and Happy Thanksgiving (if you celebrate it)

Summary: Draco has been trying to get Y/N to talk to him since he confessed, but he hasn't had any luck. Until, he finds something she left in his dorm.

Warning(s): SMUT! Unprotected sex, lots of fluff, swearing, angst

Word Count: 5k

Masterlist & Taglist

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Three weeks had gone by, and now Draco was on his bed, toying with the idea of giving up. Y/N had been avoiding him ever since that day he confessed. No matter how hard he tried to get her to warm back up to him, she kept her distance. He had tried everything. He'd sit next to her in class; she'd move seats. He'd wait outside the Gryffindor tower; she'd strut right past him. It seemed as nothing was working, so of course, he was getting a bit discouraged.

Just a couple days ago, the two of them had been in Charms class, and on his way out, Draco noticed that Y/N had dropped her book. This is my chance, he thought to himself. He quickly bent down to pick it up since he assumed she would've been already halfway down the corridor by the time he got back up. But when he arose from the floor, she was standing right in front of him. His heart pounded in his chest. Draco knew he had to stall for time, try and get her defenses to weaken. He turned the book over in his hands. "The Tales of Beedle and Bard," he read aloud. Y/N blushed and averted her eyes. He opened the cover and read the first few lines to himself.

There was once a kindly old wizard who used his magic generously and wisely for the benefit of his neighbours. Rather than reveal the true source of his power, he pretended that his potions, charms and antidotes sprang ready-made from the little cauldron he called his lucky cooking pot.

Draco shut the book and said, "I've actually never read them. My father didn't permit me to. Said it was written by a muggle lover. Supposedly he filed an official request to remove it from Hogwarts's shelves." Draco chuckled as he ran his finger along the spine of the light blue book. But his laughter died when he glanced up at Y/N. She looked rather upset, causing Draco to panic and quickly backtrack. "That isn't to say I don't want to read them now. I mean, I'm sure they're not as bad as Father thought they were," he sputtered. Y/N remained silent. "Perhaps... we could read them together, maybe?" he asked hopefully. He knew it was a shot in the dark, but he did it anyway. Draco hadn't heard Y/N's voice in weeks, and it was making him grow desperate.

Softly, she reached out her hand, and Draco held his breath. But then her fingers grasped the book, and the Slytherin felt his heart shatter. He cleared his throat, trying to push away the lump that had formed in it. His grip loosened, and Y/N pulled her book towards her chest. She didn't even look at him before she turned around and rushed down the hallway, leaving Draco feeling stranded, hopeless, and, quite frankly, stupid for even trying.

Since then, he hadn't put in nearly as much effort into rekindling their friendship. It was painfully obvious Y/N wanted nothing more to do with him, and as much as it hurt, Draco had to accept that. But that didn't stop his thoughts. It couldn't. Every night, he would lay awake, worrying. Worrying about Y/N's wellbeing. Was she happy? Did she make any new friends?

Did she still feel alone?

Draco didn't know. From the little he'd seen of her, he assumed she was alright. He hoped she was. But he had no real way of knowing. He had tried reaching out to her roommate multiple times, but all Stephanie would tell him was that she thought Y/N seemed fine, just a bit quiet. That answer never sat well with him. During those few weeks, before he confessed, he had learned so much about Y/N. One of those things being that she was not quiet. She had talked his ear off many times, telling him funny stories from her childhood. Like how, after one of their study sessions, she told him about the time she had made her pet fish turn yellow just by looking at it. Draco remembered that day clearly.

"My mum was terrified! One moment my fish was blue and the next he was yellow! I mean, imagine that." Y/N laughed. Draco shook his head in disbelief. "Sounds like you were quite the little mischief-maker," he replied as he twirled his wand between his fingers, it was becoming a bit of a habit. Y/N continued giggling, kicking her legs as she did so. "You should've seen the look on my dad's face when he got home. That was the day he sat her and me down and told us he was a wizard. My poor mum. She had no idea."

Draco sat up in shock. "Wait, wait, you're a half-blood?" he asked, eyes wide. Y/N cocked an eyebrow. "Is that a problem, Malfoy?" she questioned as she began to sit up. Her tone was somewhat threatening. Draco raised his hands to show his lack of ill intention. "No, no. I was just surprised," he quickly explained. Y/N chuckled and waved her hand towards him. "Relax, I'm only playing with you," she assured him. Her words piqued Draco's interest. He wiggled his eyebrows and licked his lips, staring suggestively into her eyes. "Well, I'd sure like to play with you," he husked. Y/N gasped loudly and swiftly removed the pillow from behind her back and chucked it at the blonde boy sitting across from her. "Draco!" she screeched. "Joking!" he mumbled. "Just joking...unless."

Y/N crossed her arms, and obnoxiously shook her head while clicking her tongue disapprovingly. Draco snickered before throwing the pillow back at her, making her giggle. His heart skipped a beat as he watched her eyes twinkle. She looked unreal to Draco, ethereal almost. However, he was torn from his trance by her continuing the story. "Anyways, as I was saying, my lovely mum had the shock of her life. I was surprised as well. I mean, I had just found out I was a bloody witch. Although I was much more delighted than she was. Come to think of it, she might've cried," Y/N said with a small frown. "Wow..." Draco muttered. "But what does she think of it now? What with you being at Hogwarts and all."

Y/N hummed to herself, recalling that last time she and her mother spoke about Hogwarts. "Well, I think she thinks it's a bit surreal, you know? She always imagined I'd graduate and go off to university to become a doctor or something, but here I am at a school for wizards and witches," she said while gesturing to the castle walls around her. Draco nodded although he was a bit confused. "She just doesn't understand, right?" he asked. Y/N pursed her lips. "I think she will, with time. Maybe I can introduce her to you and your family. Now that would be really fun," she suggested with a mischievous glint in her eye. Draco furrowed his eyebrows. "And why is that?" he questioned, staring at the giggling girl. "Just imagine me introducing you. I'd say, hey mum, this is my best friend and his wizard parents who dress like they're going to a funeral every single day. Oh, and they also own a mansion in the countryside because they're rolling in galleons!" Y/N bellowed, nearly falling over as she clutched her stomach, erupting in laughter.

Draco would've berated her for the slander towards his parents, but his mind was fixated on three words, "My best friend." He waited until Y/N ceased laughing before asking her, "I'm your best friend?" She looked at him as if he had grown a second head. "Well, duh, you're my only friend, Draco." The Slytherin did his best to hide his blush as he looked to the floor. "You're mine too," he mumbled. But Y/N didn't hear.

Draco sighed as he sat on his bed. He missed her. He wished so badly that she'd walk through his door. But she wouldn't, and he knew that. Slowly, he pushed himself off the green covered mattress and walked over to his wooden desk. A piece of parchment was already on top of it, so he took a seat, and he reached for his ink bottle and quill. His nimble fingers unscrewed the cap, and he dipped the point inside it, drenching it in black liquid. He'd written letters to Y/N many times, but every time he finished one, he'd get scared and chuck it into the bin. Draco knew he'd probably do the same tonight, but he wanted to try. So he pressed his quill to the paper and began.

"Dear Y/N, I hope you are doing well. I'm writing to you to give you my apologies. I should've known better than to confess my feelings for you at such a time. I really hope..." he stilled his hand, not knowing what to say next. His head was reeling as different thoughts and feelings flooded his brain, none of which he knew how to convey in words. She made him so dizzy. But, ever persistent, Draco started again.

"Dear Y/N, Are you doing well? I truly hope that you are. I write to you to tell you that I'm sorry for everything. I said and did so many foolish things that day, and if I could take all of them back, I swear, I would. I know I must've frightened you that day, but Y/N, I fear you don't know how much I miss you. I've never felt this empty before. But I know it's because you're not here. I need you..." Draco, in his frustrated haze, crossed out the last line and crumbled the parchment in his fist. He then tossed it across the room, watching as it hit the wall next to his door, and bounced on the foot of his brass coat rack. He stared at it, thinking about donning his coat and taking a walk around campus. But then, he noticed something underneath. He jumped to his feet and rushed over to the rack. Curious, he lifted his black coat off the hook to reveal a brown cardigan underneath. His chest tightened; it was Y/N's. She must've left it in his room after one of their study sessions. Come to think of it, it was probably from the night before Draco confessed.

Hesitantly, the boy reached out and touched his fingers to the cardigan. It was soft. He lifted it up and held it in his hands, letting his emotions settle. Then, he brought it to his nose, breathing in deeply. It still smelled of her: apples, hazelnut, and cinnamon. Draco felt tears begin to gather in his eyes, but he hastily blinked them away. With care, he hung the cardigan back up and retreated to his desk. He got seated, pulled out a new sheet of parchment, and began writing for the third time that night.

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

Dear Y/N,

I hope this letter finds you well. I'm writing to you to inform you that I've discovered your cardigan in my room. The brown one that is. I suppose you left it after our last study session. I can return it to you tomorrow morning at breakfast, or if you'd prefer, you can fetch it tonight. The current password to the Slytherin common room is Jobberknoll. Hopefully, you remember where my bedroom is, but should you have forgotten, it's at the very top of the stairway on your left. Please knock three times before entering.

There's no need to send an owl with your reply. Just make sure to come before 9:30. If you don't, I'll assume you wish to receive the cardigan at breakfast, in which case, I shall wait for you by the door.

Draco

Y/N clutched the parchment tightly in her hands. She had been scared half to death when an owl landed right beside her while she was sitting by the open windows. But now, she was more afraid of getting her cardigan back. She glanced around her room frantically, as if she'd find an answer to her dilemma upon the walls. Her eyes then drifted back to the parchment in her hands. She looked at where Draco had signed his name. Above it was a dark scribble as if he had scratched something out. What did he write there? It was probably just 'sincerely,' but what if it was something else. What if it was 'with love'? Y/N wondered. She closed her eyes; she needed to calm down. There was no way she'd be able to make a rational decision with such thoughts running through her brain.

But Y/N had nobody to consult, nobody to refer to. Ever since she'd pushed Draco away that day, she'd been alone. Her roommate spoke to her on occasion, but only about school-related things. Almost the entirety of her house had shunned her. And the whole school knew what she did, so making friends had proven to be difficult. But because of this, Y/N had been able to do a lot of thinking. Truthfully, she missed Draco. She hated herself for rejecting him that day. She hated herself because she liked him. The only reason she had rejected him was that she knew she wasn't ready for another relationship. And on top of that, she didn't think she deserved one. Draco wasn't someone she deserved, not in her mind.

But here she was, being forced to make a decision. Should she just wait until tomorrow, or should she go to his room? Her brain was telling her to wait until tomorrow; that way, she could take the cardigan, thank him, and be on her merry way. But her heart screamed at her to go to him. Go to him, confess to him, bring him back into her life. Y/N glanced at the clock; it was nearly nine. "Fuck," she muttered before pushing off the window seat; her loneliness had gotten the best of her.

She rushed towards her closet and flung the doors open. Her eyes scanned the array of clothing for a few moments before she pulled out her favorite pair of light grey sweatpants along with her pale green crewneck. She threw them on and tucked her wand into her pocket. Then she checked herself in the mirror. Her hair was already pulled back, and she had light mascara on. It was good enough, in her opinion, so she slipped on her shoes and turned her doorknob with a shaky hand.

--------

Draco was sitting in his armchair with a blue book in his hands when he heard three distinct knocks at his door. His breathing began to hasten; surely, it couldn't be... Only one way to find out. "Come in!" he called. The door swung open to reveal Y/N. She looked nervous as all hell but nevertheless, stepped inside his room and closed the door behind her. Neither of them said anything. They simply stared at one another. But luckily, Draco came to his senses. "Right, your cardigan," he said as he dropped his book and stood up. He grabbed the cardigan off the back of his chair and walked over to her, holding out the garment. "Here you are." Y/N took it into her hands and examined it. "Thank you, I thought it was lost forever," she told him with a smile. Draco faltered for a moment. He'd forgotten how sweet her voice was. But then he nodded, and the awkward silence returned. It hung in the air for a few moments before it was broken by the two of them simultaneously blurting out, "I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry, Y/N," Draco insisted while shifting his eyes to the floor. "I acted like a fool that day a-and I frightened you, and I made you so overwhelmed. I should've known better, and I am so sorry...I've missed you so much," he said, whispering his last few words. Eventually, he found the courage to look up, and when he did, he saw that Y/N was crying. His heart clenched, and he felt regret pool in his gut. But before he could apologize again, Y/N spoke up.

"I've missed you too, Draco. And I'm not sorry I rejected you that day, I'm sorry that I kicked you out of my life. I thought I was protecting myself because I just knew I would've gone back on my decision if I had let you stay. I liked you too, I still do, but I just wasn't ready. You're too good to be true. I don't deserve a second chance; I don't deserve you. But you didn't deserve to be shut out, and I really hope you can forgive—"

Y/N was cut off by Draco smashing his lips against hers. He held her face in his hands as she gasped, allowing him to sneak his tongue out and run it along her lower lip. She moaned into his mouth as he started to nibble. His hands traveled downwards until they settled on her hips. He pulled her closer and groaned when his hips touched hers. God, how he had missed this. Then, Y/N reached up and ran her hands through his hair, successfully messing it up. Draco knew he wanted more but pulled away from her lips. She breathed heavily and looked into his eyes, puzzled as to why he stopped.

"You're mine...right?" Draco asked anxiously. Y/N smiled and pulled him close for another soft kiss. "I'm yours," she whispered. Draco kissed her again, and she eagerly returned it. Hesitantly, Draco sneaked his hand underneath her shirt, merely letting it sit there against her hot skin as he slipped his tongue into her mouth again. Then, he began to slide his hand up her torso, all while paying attention to her reactions. She seemed to be kissing him harder as he gently ran his thumb along the underside of her breast. He took that as a sign he was doing good, so he placed his hand on top of it and squeezed. Y/N let out a loud moan and pulled away from the kiss. "Draco, please," she whined. He snickered as he studied her pleading face. "What do you need, princess?" he asked in a sultry voice. Y/N squirmed and continued to whine. Draco clicked his tongue. "Always so scared to tell me what you want. There's no need to be embarrassed. I'll give you whatever you want. I just need you to tell me," he reminded her gently. She bit her lip and stared at the floor before finally answering.

"I wanna have sex with you," she whispered. Her face was crimson. Draco felt his heart squeeze; she was too cute. He put his hand underneath her chin and tilted it upwards. A gentle kiss was planted on her lips. "I wanna have sex with you too, darling," he murmured. Y/N couldn't hide her smile as she swiftly took his hand and led him to the bed. Draco smirked and, with sneaky hands, pushed her onto the bed, making her squeal. "Draco!" she yelled with her back now pressed against the mattress. The Slytherin wasted no time; he jumped on top of her while mimicking a roar, causing Y/N to burst into laughter. Her laugh was music to his ears.

Draco tugged her shirt up and off her body, throwing it to the floor. His hands immediately traveled to her back where he unclasped her bra, throwing that away too. Draco felt his dick twitch in his pants upon seeing her nipples harden in the cold air. He leaned down and latched his lips onto one of them while twisting the other between his fingers. Y/N's gasp sent a shiver down his spine, and he sucked her even harder.

"Draco..." she moaned. Draco let go of her tits and sat up, admiring her flushed face. Then Y/N suddenly sat up and grasped the bottom of his shirt and proceeded to yank it off him. Draco only watched as she did this. Her hands then traveled to his pants. She unzipped him and pushed his waistband down, exposing his briefs. He helped her out by maneuvering himself off his knees so that he could kick his pants off.

Once the pants joined the rest of the clothes, Y/N reached for the top of his underwear. But before she could go any further, Draco stopped her. She looked at him, confused as to why he wouldn't want her to touch him. "Tonight is about you, darling. Lie back for me now," Draco instructed. Y/N's face turned red, but she did as she was told and lowered her body onto the bed. Draco's hands grasped her pants, and he slowly pulled them down, stopping to press kisses to her thighs as he went. They were both in only their underwear now, and he could see Y/N was getting impatient. "Speak princess, what do you want?" Draco asked. Y/N pressed her thighs together and rolled her hips a bit before she spoke. "Finger me, please," she begged. Draco smiled at her and immediately pressed his fingers to her pussy, still covered by her panties.

"So polite," he purred as he gently rubbed her clit through her underwear. She closed her eyes and hummed in pleasure. "That feel good, princess?" Draco asked. Y/N nodded and opened her mouth to reply, but a long moan quickly replaced the words on her tongue as Draco applied more pressure to her nub. He continued to swirl his finger around it for a couple minutes, then he slid a different finger past her panties and slowly pushed it inside, feeling her thighs clench as he did so. "So tight," he mumbled before leaning down and giving her a sweet kiss. The intrusion of another finger caused her to gasp into his mouth. Draco groaned and pressed down on her clit, making her hips jump.

"Did you miss this? Did you miss my fingers inside you and my kisses on your body?" he questioned as he thrusted into her. Y/N clenched her walls around his digits and nodded eagerly. "So much. So fucking much," she mewled. Draco added another finger and increased his pace. He noticed Y/N's breathing beginning to get quicker, and he knew she was close. So he finger-fucked her hole for a minute more before withdrawing his hand. Y/N cried out in frustration and glared at him angrily. "Why did you do that?" she whined.

But then, without warning, Draco lifted up her shirt and pressed his lips to her soft stomach, blowing a raspberry onto it. Y/N instantly screamed and wiggled violently underneath him. "STOP, STOP!" she shrieked, trying to get away as her giggles became uncontrollable. Eventually, Draco took mercy on her and ceased his torment. He leaned up to see Y/N was out of breath, and her hair was a mess. "Quit playing games and put your dick inside me, you twat," she ordered. Draco's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "If you say so," he muttered, taking his cock out of his underwear. Y/N's eyes widened, but before she could say or do anything, Draco slid all the way inside her, burying his dick in her pussy. "Ohhh, fuck," she moaned. Draco grunted as he adjusted to the tightness of her hole. He had the instinct to begin slamming into her, but he controlled his urges and allowed her body to adapt to him as he positioned his hands next to her head.

Y/N's walls clenched around him, and she bucked her hips. "Move, please," she pleaded softly. "As you wish," Draco said as he slowly pulled himself out and thrusted back in, setting a slow but consistent pace. Y/N let out quiet mewls as he moved in and out. Her legs found their way to his waist, and they quickly wrapped around it. This pulled him closer and forced his dick deeper inside her. "Fuck," Draco moaned as he leaned down for a kiss while continuing to thrust. Y/N hummed into his mouth and flicked her tongue against his. "Shit, you feel so good," she purred. Draco's cock twitched at her words, and he increased his pace. A harsh grunt escaped him as Y/N reached up and dug her nails into his back. "You're so gorgeous, Y/N," he breathed. "So goddamn gorgeous."

Suddenly, Draco's sensual thrusts were halted by Y/N calling his name. "Yes, darling?" he replied. "You can be rough, I don't mind," she told him gently. Draco smiled down at her and pressed quick kisses along her jaw. "I know, but I can do that another night. Right now," he angled his head so that his lips were by her ear, "I'm making love to you," he whispered, feeling her shudder beneath him.

Y/N's eyes grew soft, and she moved her hands to his face. "You're perfect," she mumbled before pulling his lips to hers, where they shared a passionate kiss. "So perfect." Draco started to thrust again, resuming his slower pace. The force of his cock rocked the couple back and forth on the plush pillows. But then, he had an idea.

He moved his hands from their spot beside Y/N's head, slid them underneath her back, and lifted her up. "Shit," she cursed as she was now on Draco's lap, his dick still buried deep inside her. Slowly, Draco raised her off him and turned her around so that her back was facing him. He then repositioned her hips above his cock and gently lowered her onto it. "Ohhh," she moaned as she once again became full. She was about to lift herself up and fuck herself on his dick, but Draco's hands stopped her. He pushed her legs wide and placed his hand over her pussy. This didn't please Y/N. She started to squirm and buck her hips forward, causing Draco to groan as she stimulated his cock. "Stay still, princess. I'll take care of you," he assured her. His fingers pressed against her heat and slowly spread the upper lips, exposing her clit. With his other hand, he touched his fingers to her nub and slowly began to circle it. Y/N's head fell back onto his shoulder, and a long, deep groan escaped her throat.

"Oh my god," she whimpered as her breathing became ragged. Draco's hands never stopped or stuttered, not even when Y/N's walls squeezed him tight. He just kept rubbing and rubbing; her soft pants sounded like heaven to him. Suddenly, Y/N's thighs began to tense. "Draco, fuck, I'm close," she muttered. Draco turned his head and once again hovered his lips next to her ear. "Cum on me. Cum with me buried inside you," he ordered. Y/N gasped and rolled her head on his shoulder. He could tell she was almost there. "Oh, god. Fuck, fuck, fuck, just a little more," she begged.

Draco kept circling her clit until finally, she inhaled sharply, and her walls clenched him hard. His finger didn't stop; it continued to rub her throughout her high. It only ceased when Draco felt her body jolt from overstimulation. He then pushed her forward onto her hands and knees and began pounding into her, chasing his own climax. The sounds of skin slapping combined with the tightness of Y/N's pussy lit a fire in Draco's abdomen, and soon, he was pushed over the edge. "Cumming," he warned her before he released inside Y/N with a deep groan. The couple remained in that position for a good minute, breathing heavily. Then Draco pulled himself out and laughed as Y/N immediately collapsed face-first onto his bed. He gently flipped her over and kissed her cheek. "You alright, darling?" he asked. She smiled and turned to him. Then, without thinking, she blurted, "I think I love you." Immediately, Y/N slapped her hand over her mouth. But Draco only grinned and said, "I love you too, Y/N."

She lowered her hand and averted her eyes as blush filled her cheeks. "Draco, are we..." she trailed off, looking apprehensive. "Boyfriend and girlfriend?" he asked. Y/N nodded. "I'd love to be your boyfriend, darling," he said sweetly. In less than a second, Draco was attacked by a forceful hug from Y/N. He wrapped his arms around her still naked body and held her close, breathing in her scent: apples, hazelnut, and cinnamon.

"Thank you for not giving up on me," she said softly. "I don't know what I would've done with myself if you had just stopped caring one day," Y/N confessed. Draco gently pulled away from the hug and cradled his girlfriend's face in his hands. "I never would've stopped caring. Y/N you were all I thought about," he assured her. He watched as her tears began to fall from her eyes. "Don't cry, sweetheart, I'm here now; I've got you. There's no need to cry," he said sweetly, trying to comfort her. But Y/N kept on crying, so he dragged a blanket over his lap and pulled her on top of it. "Look at me, darling," he instructed lightly. She rubbed her tears away with her arm and looked into Draco's eyes.

"I love you. I love you so much. Do not waste your tears on the mistakes of the past. All that matters is that I've got you, and you've got me. Alright?" Y/N continued to wipe her tears and nodded. "Alright. I love you too," she replied.

Draco pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, slid her off his lap, and stood up from the bed. He grabbed some tissues and cleaned himself off before doing the same for Y/N. Then he pulled on his underwear and tossed Y/N hers. As she was getting dressed, Draco strode over to his armchair. In the seat of it sat a small blue book. He picked it up and took it with him as he went back to bed. Y/N was already under the covers; she looked at him quizzically when she noticed the object in his hand. Her mouth opened to speak, but Draco quickly shushed her. He slid under the covers and cozied up next to Y/N. Then, he cracked open the book, cleared his throat, and began to read.

"There was once a kindly old wizard who used his magic generously and wisely for the benefit of his neighbours. Rather than reveal the true source of his power, he pretended that his potions, charms and antidotes sprang ready-made from the little cauldron he called his lucky cooking pot."

The End

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marisandini-chu-blog · 3 years

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How Shadow and Bones Differentiate Villain and Anti-Hero

Alright, first I need to claim the fact that I love dark, edgy, but misunderstood bad boy in stories with the potential of epic redemption. Loki from Marvel. Jason Todd from DC. Captain Hook from Once Upon a Time. Zuko from AtLA. You name them, I simp them.

So when I watched this new show on Netflix and shown a tall, handsome man in dark clothing, both respected and feared for his power. I feel... nothing.

WHICH IS WEIRD! Like... he’s obviously my type. Complete with the sad backstory and vicious streak. So I kept wondering why I wasn’t enamored by the Darkling, Alexander Kirigan. I wasn’t surprised he was the main villain, I even expected it. But I usually at least have a bit of sympathy for them. This OOC behavior of mine made me introspect myself and the show, trying to find out which part gave me the red flags before Mother Darkling decides to pop the chosen one out halfway in the season.

That’s when it hit me; there were red flags! The show had been subtly trying to tell us Kirigan is a manipulative boyfriend not just by great acting and good directing, but by comparing him with the actual anti-hero of the story who I actually love; Kaz Brekker.

Here’s the list of signs you might not notice of why Kirigan is meant to be a Villain instead of an Anti-Hero.

1. The Eyes

"The eyes are the window to the soul" is a common saying and and the key to good acting for any good show. Eyes tell us a lot about what a person’s character is like and SaB showed us the difference of a sincere man and a man with a hidden agenda.

Look at him! Look at that little smirk. Look at the gaze. That's the look you find when someone's evil little plan is finally coming together. Not one awed by the power or by Alina. A blatant sus move is what I'm saying. Congrat, first flag planted.

Sure he could still fall in love with Alina, but that doesn't stop his agenda either. All it does is potentially create conflict for him to pick either his plan for revenge or life with Alina.

In comparison, look at Kaz when he said this to Inej; "She isn't like you, no one is." Straightforward eyes. Serious grim. No nonsense tone. Inej is one of the most talented and terrifying rogue-assassin and Kaz just blatantly said that he kept her from 'slavery' because of who she is, not what she's capable of. Like... the man has no shame being known to love her while still trying to be professional (or as professional a thief can be). I can respect that.

This is the eye of a man who would abandon everything to make sure she comes out alright in the end. Do not argue with me on this!

2. Leverage and Status

The moment Alina steps into the Little Palace she was treated like a princess. A palace, by the way, that’s managed by the Darkling. She gets favorable treatment; from the food, Zoya displaced when she fought Alina, a horseback ride just the two of them, asking her to call by his name to make them familiar, a black uniform that might as well be claiming???

Dude is desperate is what I’m saying.

Sure, this could all be romantic gestures. There’s the problem that Kirigan is superior in status and name, powerful Grisha, and has a vested interest in her power. Pursuing romance while Kirigan has the ability to make her life heaven or hell with a snap of his finger made every single decision be seen with wariness.

"Beware of powerful men," Genya couldn't put it any better.

Had they pursued romance after they destroy the fold, cementing Alina’s position as a saint more. Then I might have let go of that wariness.

I’m only proven correct when the moment Alina turned away from him, Kirigan made another leverage by (spoiler!) putting an antler to her collarbone... eeeewwww much?!

That’s how desperate the Darkling is to be in control of a person and a situation.

And when no letter came for Alina? That a big red flag because who else in this castle can control the coming of going of letter with the Savior. HMMMMMMMMMMM.....

Then there’s Kaz. My man. There’s no competition. This guy held no leverage on my dear Inej. When she almost decided to leave, Kaz didn't force or convince her to stay but he ask her. Doesn't remind her of her debt whether monetary or life debt to him. In fact, this guy needs money for revenge but instead mortgage his main source of income for her freedom.

HE POSTPONED HIS LIFE GOAL TO FREE HER FROM DEBT ASJHAKFSDJGLDFJ!!!

What more do I need to say?

3. Sympathy Card

This is the type of point you want to watch out from your partners, ladies, gents, and others. The sympathy card is the way to go when anyone wants to reach out to you so you can take care of them before they abuse or gaslight you.

While it’s good to share trauma and eased the burden, sometimes it's healthy to ask yourself whether the person can take advantage of you and to verify whether they lie to you or not.

When Kirigan shared about his past as a sympathetic boy with his secluded fountain and coin. Everything about that scene rang warning bells for me... the part he had requested her to use his color... requesting to horse ride with just them two... sharing sob story that may encourage Alina to help him...

Kudos to Alina to see through the fact she's seen as a means to an end.

It was only when Kirigan showed righteous anger and frustration of a war that's killing his people did Alina finally opened her heart to him.

Kaz however doesn't use the sympathy card. Heck, the man likes to believe he shed away any weakness and threw it in the harbor where it belongs. Kaz hates weaknesses. And garnering sympathy is an admission of weakness for him.

We still know there's a tragic backstory as any decent anti-hero would have... but by not sharing that, this implies that Inej and Jesper stayed because of who he is, and not because of who he was or how he came to be. They don't need a sob story to stay together and that showed a stronger bond between them.

4. Friends

To be frank, I find this the most hilarious because this point is the one that convinced me that Kirigan was secretly an evil bastard.

He doesn’t have any friends!!!

Like... dude had a literal witch army, a wife once, a fuck buddy, and a girlfriend but there wasn’t a single moment in the show where someone, outside of Alina and superior, to speak casually to him.

You’re telling me this person... the most powerful and influential Grisha in the East Ravka, charming as hell, handsome as fuck, and yet he doesn’t have friends?!

“I’ve buried good soldiers... friends...” Get the fuck out of here! WHAT FRIENDS?!?! Maybe if you get off your little power trip from your self-made pedestal, you can actually be less of an asshole and make one.

Sure he excused himself by blaming his ‘ancestor’ for being a shadow summoner. I can see how the fear makes it hard for him to get close to anybody. But all the other characters who are part of his army only ever shown to speak with him respectfully, and the royalty even commend him. No one disrespected him even openly and you’re telling me he doesn’t have one friend amidst all these people?!

In comparison, look at Kaz. He’s brash, crude, and unapologetic. He held true to his moniker ‘Bastard of the Barrel’ and yet this ass has friends. They show Jesper joking with Kaz, and Kaz has shown to banter with him back as well as tolerating his gambling addiction when it could have jeopardized the Job. Inej was shown to actually argue and have disagreement with Kaz when he’s technically her boss. Can you imagine the Darkling doing that? CAN YOU?!

No. Because he's a pretentious ass. That's why.

This is a great example of the use “show not tell” of how Kaz despite his obvious edges has a soft spot shown through his relationship with Inej and Jesper, who have a friendly dynamic. I can attest that while Kaz didn’t create a good first impression, I love Jesper and Inej (they are precious!) so much that I project it to Kaz in extension.

On the other hand, Kirigan’s goodwill had only ever been told by outsiders or himself. None from his inner circle (which he doesn’t have!) other than his mother, who ended up outing him instead.

So I applaud the writers and showrunners of SaB to actually have subtext signs of a manipulative bastard. The Duckling is a good villain character that's complex but unredeemable. Sometimes, you just have a good ol' charming villain you can't redeem and that's okay.

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capsized-heart · 4 years

Text

l’ incendie

Pairing: Hal x Reader

Summary: You grew up as witness to the atrocities committed under the British crown. Lord Grey is your father and newly pledged councilman of the royal court. Now, England has a new boy king, one who is set on keeping peace in Europe. You are determined to see England burn, even if it means corrupting the lionhearted boy of Eastcheap.

Word count: 10k+

Warnings: explicit smut, strong violence, sacrilegious imagery a blowjob in a chapel lmao

A/N: l’ incendie ; French translation for fire

..so..I watched The King back in November and have had this idea in my brain for the past 2 months now?? It literally consumed me. All throughout my last few weeks of classes and final papers, this is honestly all I could think about, like I’ve been bumping the soundtrack and rewatching the film to plan this, I looked at Lord Grey’s true lineage (he aint Scottish btw I made that up..but he really was related to King Edward lol).......I’ve just had to get this out of me for so. long. and I’m so happy that I finally have! It feels like this huge weight is gone, but I’ve enjoyed this creative process so much, like it’s so exciting when you hyper-fixate find a new piece of media that you enjoy so much that you dive completely and utterly into everything about it that you can get your hands on, and this is my piece for this!

And my boy Timmy?? Had no fucking clue who this guy was before I saw the film, now I’m writing fics about him a;sdkfjskj but you’re here reading this so. we’re both guilty.

I love story arcs like this where you see a character’s slow descent into corruption and having it revealed that someone was talking in their ear the whole time....i eat that shit right up. Reader’s character is heavily inspired by Lady Macbeth. Using wiles, using sex, etc. Ooh baby. I had fun with this.

gif credit to @michonnegrimes

Scotland was once your true home. Moors, lochs, rugged mountains, biting cold, all. You remember the endless mist and gloom, the wet winters of your childhood that made the creaking wood of your cottage whistle and moan. Summers were warm and mild and the highlands bursting with rich green and sunlight, running through fragrant fields of heathers, bluebells, myrtle with your skirts damp with dew, shrieking and choking on laughter as your older brother, Callum, chased you all throughout your little village of Kirkcaldy. Laughing himself, grabbing at you and wrestling you down into the mud, blossoms, and river water.

“Yield! Yield to the English crown or perish, wretched witch!” Callum would boom in mock play, tickling your sides until you’re gasping for air and tears stung your eyes.

“Aye! I yield!”

“What? You mad girl! Take it back! We are Scots!”

And then Callum would descend on you with all the wrath of England and you’d be howling with giggles and screams.

Returning home at nightfall smelling of wind and rain with vibrant wildflowers tangled in your hair and dirt streaking the skin of your cheeks, still plump with baby fat. Scarce food, but stomach full of adventure and blissful naivete. You were happy.

Your father would scold you promptly before his voice would soften a touch, smoothing back your hair from your face. Round, curious eyes and missing teeth. A feral, untamed child.

Daughter of Lord Thomas Grey. His precious girl. So much of your mother in you, the same fight, the same spark and love for life. Until you had ripped her body from the inside out and she had lost too much blood, the wet nurses unable to stop the bleeding and she had given her last breath cradling you lovingly against her naked chest.

You had killed your own mother.

In your early years, Callum and your father gave you nothing but warmth and protection, the sole surviving daughter of Grey lineage. But a child can only be sheltered for so long. Your world is a man’s world. Your country is no stranger to bloodshed.

The Anglo-Scottish Wars have endured for as long as you can remember, rebel leaders beaten down by English captains and more Christian blood staining the lush lowlands with every day. Robert the Bruce. Percy Hotspur. Blood all the same.

You are bleak, wild, uncivilized in the eyes of the English.

It’s all your people have ever known. Weary, resilient Scotland.

You have no memory of your mother, your earliest memory being the image of William Wallace’s torso strung up in the village square and the ensuing riots that had truly put the fear of God in you, mounted soldiers and civilians clashing in a fury of slick, gory steel, longswords and blacksmith daggers, a fear so raw and primal it struck you frozen and you’d soiled yourself in the midst of chaos. Callum had grabbed you and raced the four miles home as you bellowed atop his back with great, ugly heaves, snot and tears dribbling down your chin.

You didn’t need to understand the politics of rebellion or Wallace’s stake in it all to understand a massacre.

You have no memory of your mother, only murder in the name of the English king.

But you’ve learned to nurture that little glowing kernel of survival, of the fighting spirit and grit inside you that had evidently cost your mother her life. You’ve kindled it, watched it ignite with every passing year of war, your body flourishing into the figure of a young woman with embers in her soul. A stable simmering of flushed coals beneath your skin, glistening in the pools of your irises, ready to flare up and burn all you touch should you choose to.

You feel it now as a jostling carriage takes you to Northumberland, England. You sit quietly, watching the hills of Scotland tremble by, eyes hungrily drinking up as much of its strong landscape as you can.

Your father and brother have already gone ahead to England to make arrangements for Callum’s recent engagement to Isabel, Countess of Essex and only daughter of the Earl of Cambridge. You are reuniting after a lonely week, perhaps your last, to ever see your homeland.

Callum’s betrothal didn’t come as much of a surprise, rather, you’ve been counting down the days until your village lifestyle was doomed for inevitable change; for years, your father has been preparing the two of you for noble life outside of Scotland. Son and daughter subjected to the arts of chivalry, proper etiquette, gentility. The best that your little village could accommodate.

Your father and his maternal ancestry have interestingly long influenced the English courts, as his title of Lord would suggest. Through his grandmother’s side, you are distant descendants of Margaret, Duchess of Norfolk.

King Edward himself. Now cold and buried in London’s Westminster Abbey.

The coals jump, flames twisting at the idea of relatives long dead sitting idly on the opportunity and resources for a coup d'etat, instead choosing to line their own pockets and watch your country crumble from the comfort of their English estates.

The carnage and murder of monarchy feel that much more personal to you.

With your brother’s new marriage, Callum will acquire lordship and be gifted property in Essex. Your father will be secured a seat in the king’s council. You will be given rooms and hospitality in the castle as a noblewoman available for marriage. As Lady Grey.

A lick of fire coils up your throat.

God save the king.

The switch cracks so hard against the skin of your knuckles that your lip draws blood when you bite back a scream. Pain diffuses up your arm in fractured, ringing jolts and your eyes flood with hot tears. You hazard a look at where an angry welt has already started to flush, red and pulsing on the back of your hand.

“Again.” Says Miss Hunt.

Your gaze falls to the open manuscript in front of you, to the passage that you’ve rehearsed aloud for the past two hours. Your tongue works nervously in your mouth, swallowing. Sweat glistens your brow. You think you may even be trembling.

You draw in a quick breath and begin again:

“Time and tide wait for no man.

The life so short, the crafts so long to learn.

People can die of mere imagination.

And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche-”

Another crack and this time you can’t restrain the cry that leaves you. You blink back the heat blurring your vision, set your jaw when Miss Hunt clasps her hands coldly behind her back and looks down at you over her hooked nose.

“Your voiced consonants are absolutely horrid, girl. Don’t close up your mouth. If you are to perfect the King’s English, you are to completely forget that savage dialect before I cut out your tongue. Am I understood?”

Miss Hunt gives you a smart swat to your cheek.

You nod quickly.

Another stinging swat.

“Am I understood?”

“Yes, Miss Hunt.”

Satisfied, she turns on her heel, granting you a few precious moments of quiet, of rest. Afternoon light filters into the chamber in dusty, silvered shafts, hueing the book’s pages in a drab of diluted grey. The inked words of Chaucer bleed back up at you as you settle your breathing.

This English sits like gravel in your mouth, low and rough and choking up your throat. Sharply iambic, as if everyone is talking down to the other.

England’s English sounds slow and stupid.

You wonder if Callum had this much trouble mastering the accent. You wonder if Callum, as a Lord, has ever been slashed with a switch.

Since your arrival to England and for the better part of a year, Miss Hunt has dissected every syllable of your speech through bodily punishment and repetition, ripped out any trace of Gaelic, any remaining trace of Scotland on your tongue and sutured it back together with mouthfuls of Chaucer and pompous, exaggerated vowels.

But pain, degradation, and humiliation are wonderful motivators. And to your horror, it has worked.

Your father recently introduced you to a few councilmen out of courtesy and as the sister of the soon to be Lord Grey of Essex. You politely discussed politics, entertained banter and jests of marriage proposals. None questioned your status as an English noblewoman.

Masquerading with voice and poise.

But that hasn’t stopped your secret, unseen resistance.

Miss Hunt may have taken your language and cadence, but her practices have only shown you the true powers of speech, knowledge, shown you just how intimidated and afraid all of England is of the bold north, of any European empire threatening its legitimacy.

A cowering dog with raised hackles and snapping teeth, but only so out of mad fear.

The harder Miss Hunt pushes, the deeper you dig into your own studies. By day, you are her sole pupil. By night, by candlelight, you are the pupil of Cicero, studying rhetoric and the power of spoken influence. You’ve also begun to study French as a means to bolster your wiles and mental arsenal.

You are already a so-called savage by blood. Learning the language of England’s arch rival will do nothing to hurt your reputation.

You feel a bead of sweat slide down the base of your spine as the switch swishes impatiently in Miss Hunt’s clutches. Oral recitation and the simultaneous reduction of your accent demands every ounce of your concentration. You know already that if you are hit again, the skin will break and you’ll only be reprimanded harder. Miss Hunt is sadistic and cold with her beady eyes and that ugly high starched collar.

“Again.” Her voice clips evenly.

So, you inhale a strong, supportive breath and begin again, pushing down the smolder in your chest.

The day of the wedding is cloudless and full of sunshine, a rarity for England. Callum has been bustling about the chapel’s back rooms in nervous energy all morning, fixing his hair and dress shirt over and over. You send your father to go and calm him down as you tend to Isabel, shooing him away quickly so your father’s mirrored jitters won’t affect her before the start of the ceremony. She gives you a small smile of thanks.

Isabel looks beautiful sitting in front of the mirror as her maids finish arranging her hair. Back straight as a board, plump lips and cheeks the color of a rosy, coral pink. You help to pull the veil over her face and the thin fabric does nothing to mute her radiance.

You see the flickering range of emotions in her eyes as she sees her own reflection. The life that all women are fated to live. Her last moments of true freedom, uncertainty for the future, and that small, significant trickle of vanity at having a perfect day of her own.

You see it all. After all, you are a woman.

She relaxes a bit when you lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. Her gaze finds yours in the mirror.

“You and I will soon be sisters,” she laughs softly. You give her a pleasant smile.

“I would want nothing more.”

Her throat works as she swallows tears, gives you another radiant laugh. “Someday, you will be sitting here, too.”

The truth of her words causes your smile to weaken, but you quickly hide it by busying yourself with her skirts and lace. Your world is a man’s world, even outside of war-torn Scotland. One man’s world, to be exact.

King Henry IV.

“And I expect you, my dear Isabel, to be at my side when that day comes.” You say to her. She nods kindly.

Your brother and Isabel are married a few hours later beneath the rainbowed, iridescent wash of stained glass and chiming church bells. And as the newly wed couple beam at you and their close company of friends and family, as you see Callum hold his wife proudly on his arm, you think that the bride and groom may truly love each other despite their arranged marriage. The possibility of such a happiness makes you grin wide and the familiar coals to simmer down ever so slightly.

The reception then moves to the chapel’s outdoor gardens. Ornately trimmed hedges, chirping birdsong, bubbling marble fountains, and the sweet fragrance of daisies and roses perfume the budding spring air.

The sun is warm on your skin, the air brisk and comfortable. You keep your fur lined mantle draped around your shoulders, your embroidered sleeves catching hints of daylight, the jeweled metalwork glittering about your waist. And with your hair twisted with ribbon and pinned back with a light linen caul, even Isabel herself murmurs that you look as refreshing and incandescent as the flowers surrounding you. You smile back teasingly, whisper that no one could possibly compare to the blushing bride.

As sister of the groom, you mingle politely, accepting congratulations and kind regards.

You see familiar faces, lords and fellow council members alike, and some of those not yet well acquainted. You meet Cambridge, Isabel’s father and a bird of a man. Gangly limbs and a flittering that accompanies his quick movements, but cordial and gentle. He tells you the union of your families will be prosperous, benign. You agree.

Then, Cambridge is pulled aside by a young man. Cambridge seems to recognize him instantly and clasps him into an embrace, chuckling heartily.

“Hal! You made it!” he exclaims. The two talk together briefly before the young man turns to you.

He’s tall and lean, broad chested with sloping shoulders. The angular planes of his face are undeniably handsome, a strong nose, full dark lashes and brows that frame his bold complexion. Black, unkempt curls and soft, hooded green eyes that hold an undertone of vigor, like his very gaze has commanded attention his entire life. They flicker over you quickly, as if you’d imagined it yourself, a trick of the light.

You don’t miss the way they linger at the exposed dip of your neckline, however.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” He then asks of Cambridge, his voice a soft murmur and his eyes never leave you.

Cambridge looks quickly between the two of you, as if acknowledging your presence again for the first time since this young man’s interruption. He burns bright red, stammering, then gestures to the stranger beside him.

“Of course. My lady, may I present my cousin, Henry. Prince of Wales.”

The suddenness and sheer absurdity of it all almost makes you burst out in laughter.

Cousin? King Henry IV’s eldest son is the cousin of your father-in-law?

With this marriage, you realize your family is now tied to the most powerful family in all of Britain. Yet, no one in the wedding party seems to have even acknowledged the presence of the boy prince dressed simply in dark cloak and tunic.

And then you remember. Prince Hal is a drunk, a dangerous playboy from Eastcheap. His claim to the throne is as illegitimate as the probable dozens of children from his bedded girls.

And asking for a formal introduction from his cousin? It’s utterly laughable, pathetic even.

Hal’s gaze is unwanted, skin prickling from where his eyes trace the curve of your chest in a way that makes you feel vile.

So, you wet your lips, pretend to wordlessly accept his flirtations and give him a slow flutter of your lashes. The reaction he so craves from you as his chin tilts back in delight, hungry to see more.

“Your reputation precedes you, my lord.” Your words drip with venom. Flowery girl with a serpent’s sharp tongue.

The barb makes Hal’s features tick in surprise, shock before settling back into a cool demeanor.

“Then you’ve heard of me.”

Your mask of amour stays firmly in place.

“It is hard to be deaf against such defamatory gossip.”

Hal hums softly with a hint of a smile, breaking his gaze to look out over the reception, ego obviously bruised. Cambridge goes pale as a sheet.

Isabel suddenly swoops in with the apology of wanting to introduce her father to a newly arrived guest and excuses him, hauling him away by the arm. Cambridge looks relieved to go.

And then it’s just the two of you beneath the halo of rose-tinted light.

“Beautiful ceremony.” He says simply. Hal is incredibly soft spoken for a prince and you find yourself unconsciously leaning in to hear him speak. Part of the intimate charm that makes him so alluring to women, you think. A whispered promise only for you.

“I thank you, sire.”

He takes a step forward. It startles you, enough for him to crowd you against the garden trellis wall. Ivy and lavender press into your back, dancing in the same breeze that peppers goosebumps down your spine. You shiver softly. Hal steps closer.

“I pray this is not the last of today’s festivities?” His words ghost over your throat, tickling the shell of your ear.

“No, sire. There will be a dinner tonight,” you reply just as quietly. You understand the game perfectly because it is the same one you have been playing your whole life. You indulge him, fire sparkling behind your fluttering eyelashes. “Surely your cousin will be expecting your attendance.”

Hal leans over you, hair tickling your face, green eyes glimmering. Up close, you see that freckles and beauty marks dot his skin. “I’m sure he will.”

You think you see him incline his head as though to kiss you. For a moment, you’re frozen, entranced.

You turn your cheek and his lips brush your temple. He hesitates with a low chuckle, keeping his close proximity.

“Then, I will see you tonight, my lord.” You whisper. Your fingers graze his arms as you sidle out of his reach. You can feel his eyes on you as you go and rejoin the other guests.

You leave him burning.

The tavern teems with merriment and the sound of fiddle, fife, and drum. You feast on broiled meats, roasted potatoes, greens, sweet breads and cakes until your stomach is full to bursting.

The glow of candlelight is lush and sensual, throwing shadows over the faces that only hours before you had shared with in prayer and communion in the church of God. Now, every attendant indulges in debauchery.

You’re drunk, blood pounding with mulled wine and spiced ale and cider. Pleasantly warm and head swimming, watching Callum and Isabel and friends and family dance about the room as if possessed, twirling in swirls of colored fabric that make you laugh and clap along in breathless euphoria.

You catch a glance of a figure standing in the doorway. You see the motion of a glass moving to lips, throat working to swallow drink. When the glass falls, you lock eyes with Hal.

You beckon him forth with a crooked finger. He grins wickedly and sets down his cup.

Despite the obvious wine in him, his steps towards you are sure and true and his hands feel good against you when they caress your waist, pull you against him.

You play coy and twist out of his arms. He groans.

He follows you like a dog until you’re in the midst of spinning bodies and then you turn to him. Giving him the permission to finally touch you.

His eyes ignite. He splays a hand on the middle of your back, perfect pressure, authoritative, the other gripping you tight and then you’re both cackling with drunken mischief as he guides the two of you across the creaking wooden floor.

You let him support you, lean against his chest, enjoying the sensation of being held so close. The thrill of feeling wanted.

Even if it is all a charade.

The strings and beat of thumping drums careen to a crescendo that has the entire tavern whooping and hollering in delight. You break apart from Hal to join in as the music flows through your limbs, absolutely enchanted, throwing back your head like that feral child from girlhood.

Hal looks just as wild, the rumored wayward prince. Long, dark locks falling in his eyes, tunic unbuttoned and disheveled. Light and shadow dancing across his face in a manner that makes him look devilish.

He pushes a glittering goblet into your hands, eases his strong fingers around your own to help bring it to your lips. You see the unmistakable red slosh of wine and wordlessly drink. He watches you tip back the goblet, watches rubied jewels of crimson spill down the sides of your mouth and down the skin of your throat.

“That’s it. That’s a good girl.” He cooes.

The flames feel desperately hot, flushing your skin and cheeks, burning bright behind your lips. Or perhaps it's the alcohol? Or the prince’s wandering touch that now seems to be cupping your breast, tongue lapping at the trails of wine…

The heat is suddenly too much and you push away to a secluded corner filled with empty tables to catch your breath. Hal slumps beside you. His head lolls, dipping to press another whisper of a kiss to your jaw and his weight feels comfortable against your side.

You don’t know what comes over you. Perhaps you truly are possessed.

You turn into him and then your hand is reaching between his thighs.

Hal exhales sharply in your ear. You harden your touch, feel him widen his stance to accommodate you. He braces an arm behind the small of your back, supporting himself on the space of the wooden bench as your fingers slip below the waistband of his trousers.

He gives a strangled sigh when you grip him tight and begin to coil your hand. His head lolls once more, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, panting, bursts of hot breath fanning over your throat. You feel your own breath quicken, feel yourself getting excited.

You mesh your other hand into his curls and pull him closer, press your body flush against his. Hal moans, keening, his arm now around your waist. You shush him quietly, tightening the hold in his hair.

To any patron, you look as though you’re only consoling a drunken boy, simply talking in the muted light. The shadows hide you both but the flames shine in your eyes.

“Enjoying the festivities, my lord?” You sigh into his cheek.

“Please don’t stop..” Hal whimpers.

You chuckle through a half-lidded gaze and work him harder. It’s delicious, erotic.

You hold all power, all of England in your delicate grip.

You watch his mouth fall open, dark brows furrowing, feel him tense against you before the eldest son to the crown spills himself onto your fevered palm with a sharp gasp, chest heaving.

“Good boy..” you murmur with a cheshire smile, running your fingers soothingly down the line of his jaw. Hal shudders with aftershocks, eyes closed, forehead glistening with sweat.

Before he can attempt to try and reciprocate the favor, you wipe your hand on his cloak and stand to fetch another drink.

You avoid Hal afterwards and don’t see him again for the remainder of the night. You think he must have gone home with another girl to satisfy himself and it makes you smile knowing you are responsible for laying that trap, for letting him taste pleasure, driving his desperation and taking it all away just as easily.

Your brother and Isabel spend their honeymoon in London before returning to her home in Essex. They write to you, informing of their safe arrival at the new estate and that you will have to come visit in the very near future. It warms your heart. You already miss them terribly.

Soon after, your father is awarded the scarlet, fur-trimmed peerage robes of the House of Lords and with your new rank, you experience the privilege of wealth for the first time.

Rich foods, dresses and flowing silk skirts, cosmetics, more books and manuscripts than you can imagine. You glow with health, beauty, pride, and sharpened wit.

But you have not forgotten your burning flame. Aided by money and status, your little light only grows stronger.

King Henry IV dies of sickness on a warm March morning. It had only been a matter of time, the stubborn man had been calling your father and the other lords to his bedside for the past several months to continue to discuss the politics of his own wars. In his dying breath, Henry IV saw that his empire had fallen to civil strife.

Court and kingdom are called to witness the coronation procession and as you stand with the lords and ladies of the crown inside Westminster Abbey, inside the church containing the tomb of your distant descendant King Edward and the generations of his forefathers, the same Gothic abbey where British monarchs have turned men into rulers and tyrants, you watch the archbishop anoint Prince Henry of Wales with holy oil.

His curls have been trimmed clean, his bare skin and body presented to be blessed with the sign of the cross. All old ritual, old prayer and Latin incantations that have been performed for over a thousand years.

So what is a new boy to wear the crown?

Beneath the arched stone cloisters, baptized in the sunlit streams of stained glass, you watch that same ceremony unfold again with burning heart. And harmonized by the tolling of bells, Hal is dressed in royal robes, regalia, scepter and all, shedding the title of prince as you all pledge homage to your new King of England.

“All hail King Henry.” The archbishop calls out to clergy, God, and country.

“King Henry!”

Neither you nor Hal feel the heat of embarrassment when the court is ushered into the dining chamber and you meet again in candle and firelight. The feast is an intimate setting, shared by the company of Hal’s new council, clergymen, and close family. Your father is seated alongside Cambridge, Chief Justice William Gascoigne, and the archbishop; even his sister, Queen Phillipa of Denmark, is in attendance.

Hal’s appearance and demeanor is surprising to you.

He looks striking, handsome as ever in his new robes and you can sense that familiar aire of charisma and confidence you remember from the wedding as Lord Chamberlain presents gifts from the monarchs of the world. A jeweled vase from King Wenceslas of Bohemia, a trinket of a mechanical bird from the Doge of Venice. Hal is jovial, good humored and merry.

The presence of his cousin and sister seems to comfort him greatly. And rightfully so, considering he now sits on the throne of his dead father. Dead as well is the alter ego of the delinquent prince.

Like a spoilt child opening wrapped packages at Christmas. The privilege of royal blood.

When the final trunk is presented, a gift from the Dauphin, you quite nearly let out a low snicker.

A ball for the boy king.

You see Hal hesitate before picking it up and the silence throughout the chamber is long, uncomfortable. The entire court seems to be holding its breath. Yet, you know there is an aspect of truth to the Dauphin’s gesture.

A boy indeed. You recall Hal’s touch and him gasping into your neck, his muffled begging, how quickly he had finished in your hand…

Then, the cool magnetism returns to his features. He locks eyes with you and you wonder if he is thinking of the same moment. You are both proud challengers, wielders of personal charm.

You wonder how long it will take to break him completely.

There’s a glimmer in his gaze you think to be from the blazing hearth as he tosses the ball once against the chamber’s stone wall, then catches it deftly with youthful poise.

After the coronation dinner, the court is dismissed and you find yourself to be one of the last remaining patrons as guests trickle out into the adjacent hallways and disperse through the rest of the castle. You deliberately hang back, watching your father, Cambridge, Phillipa, and William slip through the doors, slowing your step so that Hal can catch sight of you.

“Lady Grey,” you hear. His voice is galant, hushed with that same temptation of seductive promise. With your back still facing him, you can’t help but smirk.

You feign surprise and turn.

“Yes, my lord?”

Hal beckons to where he stands by the fireside. You gather your skirts and join him in the welcoming nimbus of light and warmth. When you bend to curtesy, his fingers find your chin, tilting your eyes to his own and forcing you to rise to your feet.

“None of that is necessary, my dear,” he whispers. He keeps your face cradled between thumb and forefinger, a delicate pressure, one that makes you feel precious as he holds you close. “Tell me, did you enjoy tonight?”

“Immensely.” You smile. Indeed, you have. The Dauphin might as well have spoken on your own behalf.

Hal hums, pleased. His thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, then eases in between the petals of your pink lips. You purse them ever so slightly and watch his self-control start to simmer. The candles burn low around the two of you, the only source of light emanating from the hearth itself. You are reminded of how the shadows flickered on the planes of his face the night of the wedding. Now, you see the same shadows again, but as king.

“I want you to have something.” He says finally.

He looks reluctant to break his touch from you, but you see his hand disappear within the folds of his robes. He then produces a glittering pendant with a golden chain, a necklace that looks ablaze.

Amber, you realize.

The surprise that crosses your features is genuine. Baltic amber set into teardrop sterling silver and gold, a gift from Rupert of the Palatinate and the kingdom of Germany. An extraordinary piece.

Hal’s hand finds your waist and you turn to offer him your bare neck, pulse pounding. You have no say, no power to even deny this token of affection.

His caresses against your skin as he fastens the chain are soft and featherlike and you can feel his breath on the top of your spine. The pendant is heavy, rich with precious stone and gilded metal, settling between the valley of your breasts. It feels cold, but shines like an inferno.

He lingers, tracing your shoulders when his mouth presses to your ear.

“Turn. Let me look at you properly.”

When you do, the weight of Germany itself, of foreign and fallen kingdoms and countries, conquered and pillaged and burned, simultaneously settles between the tender skin of your sternum.

Hal’s eyes cloud with dark delight when he sees the flaming amber. He takes your chin back in hand, angling your face every which way, studying how the firelight glints off the pendant with a sensual curiosity.

“Beautiful.” He murmurs.

Your body begins to react on its own accord, chest rising and falling with faster breaths, your cheeks blooming.

“I thank you, my lord.”

Still cradling your jaw, he brings himself closer with only a whisper between the two of you. His crimson robes seem to swallow you completely, like the gaping maw of Britain’s lion, a mantle of blood. He speaks into the gap between your mouths, yet you feel every word upon your lips.

“With this gift, I expect to see you more around my court, Lady Grey. Am I understood?”

The tension he commands is unbearable. He watches you carefully, dark eyelashes fluttering. Trapped like a pinned butterfly. Then, you understand he’s waiting for a verbal response.

“Yes, my lord.”

He releases you.

The pendant suddenly feels more like a collar.

You’ve underestimated Hal. He is just as much the player as you.

You keep your promise. You see Hal daily in passing, often dressed in full regal attire as he comes from the council chambers, your father, William, and the rest of his train tailing close behind. The twinkle in his eye when he sees you is discreet, reserved only for you. The amber pendant remains fastened around your neck at all hours of the day, even while you sleep and bathe, like fire and ice between your breasts. A piece of Hal always with you.

The two of you are a queer, twisted pair of sweethearts. You’ve yet to be fully intimate since that wedding night, but the pressure that ripples with every fleeting glance, every grazing touch of lips and skin is enough to prove your attraction for each other. Or rather, the attraction to the game.

You keep Hal on his toes, never fully give in even when he invites you out for evening strolls in the palace gardens and the safety of darkness envelops you both. It is your nightly ritual to walk the grounds together amongst hushed breezes and chirping crickets, you as a means to unwind before bed, and a way for Hal to clear his mind of the day’s tolling demands.

And tolling they are. Despite his bravado, he is easily irritable, tense. You listen when he speaks to you plainly about his frustrations for the court and archbishop, how they all expect from him the same swift retaliation of his father.

You find Hal’s consciousness of this want to break tyranny quite curious. Sons are typical to idolize their fathers and see past faults. It is why you know how cruel kingship has endured in Britain for generations; learned behaviors become expected and change more difficult. You’ve even seen that same behavior in your own brother.

And Hal’s trust in disclosing even this to you is telling. The thread to unravel the boy king.

Tonight, you dare to pull at it, heighten your girlish wiles and offer him a lingering kiss and soft words. You tell him that Christendom is damned and tease that it’s his own fault his council is made up entirely of old, graying men, your father included, when he could have anyone else.

Hal’s spirits seem to lift a little with a ghost of a smile, understanding you perfectly as his arm snakes around your waist. He pulls you into a secluded labyrinth and settles into the stone seat of a fountain, pulls you atop his lap. The kiss he returns is fierce.

Without the burn of alcohol to subdue your senses, every touch is intensified tenfold. Hal feels it too, his breath coming ragged as he breaks the kiss to mouth down the skin of your neck, the dip of your collarbone, your chest. His hands wander beneath your skirts.

“It is only polite that I return the favor..” You hear him say.

Your mind is reeling. You knew this moment would eventually come, yet you feel ill-prepared when his fingers brush your core, his other hand gripping the back of your neck. You gasp, finding his lips in another tangled kiss, straddle him completely.

It’s strange, exhilarating to be on the receiving end of your little game.

If you are to truly break Hal, you are to first make him believe that he holds any sort of power over you, to reverse that dynamic you had set the night of your brother’s wedding.

You are to let him touch you.

And like the flaming sword of Raphael, Hal’s pendant, it is time to finally draw upon your fire.

You hate how good Hal is at this. He knows just where to caress inside you, the right amount of pressure, the weak spots at your throat and just below your ear. Your competitiveness takes over and you push him back against the fountain, start to circle your hips, grind yourself down on his hand and grip at the rich fabric of his tunic to better anchor yourself.

His eyes pool with lust with every sigh from your lips, watching you closely. He rolls his thumb, picks up the tempo of his fingers, relishing the sight of you slowly falling apart on top of him.

But it isn’t enough. You lean in and wrap your arms around his neck. He responds in tandem, gathering you close as you rock against him, the friction of his thighs sending you closer and closer to that threshold of pleasure.

“Please..I need t-to…” you whisper into his neck, into his mouth.

Words of magic. Hal’s expression flares with masculine pride, the delight of pleasing a woman.

The last of the day’s golden hour spills over you both in glowing, peached splendor and with the sound of the fountain’s rushing water as your only witness, you muffle your final moan with a desperate kiss, bliss pulsing behind your eyelids. Hal keeps his fingers where they are, coaxing the last waves of your orgasm out of you, cradling your chin with his other hand as his lips part yours, slipping tongue as you come floating back down to earth.

You’re dazed, flushed, lazily kissing when he removes his fingers. Slick when you suck them into your mouth and taste yourself. The velvet of your tongue makes him shiver.

“Now, what ever are we going to do about your council, my lord?” You murmur once you catch your breath. You gently kiss his fingertips.

Hal only smirks and pulls you to him.

Your plan begins to take motion. With each passing month, you worm your way deeper into Hal’s heart with honeyed words and empty promises. He confides in you more and more as he grows wary of his councilmen, trusting only the pretty face he sees in the privacy of his bedchamber each night. Graced against silk pillows.

You sense the crushing pressure upon him, his own doubts and fears. You slowly leech away his magnetism, his charisma, and take it for yourself. His eyes dim, harden with resolve. Gone is the assurance for peace. Hal instead grows cold, timid, questioning his every move.

You only burn brighter.

There is talk that a French assassin has breached the castle.

You hear the conversation for yourself when your father and William are called down to the dungeons, hear Hal speaking directly to this assassin as you linger at the top of the stone staircase.

“Qui êtes vous?”

“J'ai été envoyé par le roi de France pour vous assassiner.”

Hal’s voice is cool, calm as he pries for details. The assassin’s responses are noticeably vague. You infer it to be out of his own self interest.

Then, nothing. Days go by with no direct action from Hal.

You grind your teeth. War with France would be the perfect fruition of your schemes, the final act in a tragedy deemed to be an epic of British monarchy. War with France would show Europe and the rest of the world the extortion and murder of the English crown; not that these neighboring countries needed such a reminder. But England and her king have been blind for too long.

Previous attempts at quelling war had caused Percy Hotspur to rebel, Prince Thomas of Lancaster to push on and die alone on foreign soil.

Is Hal not trying to prove himself in this same way? Proving he is not like his father? Just as Thomas had wished for his peers to see him as a commander and better equipped to bear the crown despite being the youngest son, is Hal not guilty of this same charge of public approval?

And having the privilege to sit idly atop a throne amidst all this makes your blood boil. Idleness is instability, you’ve learned this years ago.

You will be the one to push Hal to war.

You are sewing one afternoon in an empty chamber when the strained voices of your father, Cambridge, and William reach your ears. Hushed and argumentative, it draws you to your feet, possesses you to lean against the frame of the door and just out of sight.

You hear the disgust in your father’s tone when he speaks of the king. The weakness in forgiving France, the lunacy of Hal’s ascension. It amazes you, grips you tight at hearing such passion and loathing; you’ve never heard your father speak this way about anyone, let alone the head of England’s monarchy. Slander and defamation carry swift punishment.

You learn that he and Cambridge have been approached by French agents. The three men debate quietly as you stand against the door, nearly panting. A coup d'etat? The idea excites you more than it should. But you perish the thought quickly before you can get ahead of yourself.

Why only approach the two of them? Surely to turn England’s people against their ruler, a greater number of conspirators would prove to be more efficient? You know distrust is not uncommon among Hal’s council, so possible traitors would not be hard to find.

This approach means your father and Cambridge have been judged weak in character by the French. Insecure, lacking, most likely to bend at the knee for candied prospects in exchange for loyalty.

And now as you eavesdrop on your own father, you know Lord Grey does not have faith behind his king and is too afraid to do anything with it. You know that if you had not gathered this knowledge for yourself, you would never have been told so, unseen as all women are expected to be.

These French agents and councilmen think they hold all power with their debates and their meetings in private, oblivious to the fact that it is women who move the world. Women like you, wielding their very sex to push these men as pawns.

Are men not born into this world by women? Do men not seek a woman’s tender embrace for love and comfort and to carry on long, unbroken lineages of royal blood?

Your own father, as all his peers, are blind to the influence you bear over Hal. Even Hal himself.

You find yourself in the king’s private quarters one cold night, sitting in front of the hearth and watching the crackling, shimmering flames that warm the room. The soft silence is comforting to you as you sit bathed in orange glow, wrapped in furs and waiting for Hal’s return.

Your mind wanders. You think of the French assassin still held captive in the dungeons beneath your feet, how the man had been granted asylum in exchange for a confession.

“Quel était le l'ordre?”

“Que je devrais tuer le roi d'Angleterre.”

And with the French approaching Cambridge and your father, it is certain, undeniable that tension is thick and stakes high for all of England.

You are standing on the very brink of war, standing flush at the edge of a swallowing cliffside with dragging winds and dark, inky waters swirling beneath you down below. Waiting to embrace you, like the jagged shores of St Kilda, the northern shores of Scotland. Calling you home like a siren’s song.

And Hal only needs one final pull before you both fall together.

The chamber door opens and the king steps inside. His presence is stormy, like a cold wind blowing into the room.

He’s dressed handsomely in a navy tunic and dress shirt, a mantle that drapes over his burdened shoulders. Yet, his hair is mussed and disheveled and you can see the tightness around his eyes. His once youthful glow now gone, but a sharpness to him that you think resembles a pike; diligent, wary, and still capable of hurting you if you’re not careful.

You pretend to quickly wipe away tears before you stand to greet him. Hal sees this and his brows draw together in concern, further contorting his expression into one of pain. He comes to the fireside.

“Good evening, my king,” you say as he takes your hands.

“What upsets you so?” he asks you directly. His voice is strained, sets your pulse aflutter more than it should. You give a small, breathless smile, a shake of your head.

“Nothing of your concern, just innocuous thoughts, my lord. Let us go to bed.”

But you do not move in the direction of the luxurious canopied bed, one you have grown intimately familiar with. You stay exactly where you are and let Hal’s mind race.

His fingers grip your chin and when you meet his eyes, they’re bold and smoldering, the first touch of life in them you’ve seen for sometime. His grasp is strong and a muscle ticks in his jaw.

“Speak freely to me. Please,” he whispers. “Of all people. My dear, speak true.” The last word falls like a plea from his lips. You suppose it is one as he pulls you closer. A boy desperate for truth, constricted and poisoned by a council of vipers.

Unknowingly turning to the girl with the pretty mouth as she pours poison into his ear.

At this, you bite your lips and summon tears that spill forth, pool your vision. You let the familiar sensations take over, the shortness of breath, the depleted posture, and pretty soon you’re trembling, weeping in Hal’s arms.

“This assassin. It frightens me,” you say finally, broken. “If he had fulfilled his order and taken you from me, left me here all alone…oh, Hal. I’m so afraid.”

His thumb circles your cheek, silent. You sense that dangerous cocktail of anger and darkness simmering just beneath his skin. Anger at the world, anger reserved for his dead father.

“France means to have you killed, Hal. Then what of us?”

Us? England?

Tears drip down your neck and onto your rising chest. Where you’ve left the first clasp of your blouse carefully unbuttoned. You press yourself to him ever so slightly, look up through tear-soaked eyelashes and embered iresis.

“Then what of me?” you whisper.

Hal’s lips are crushing against yours. You feel every ounce of his anguish, every bit of tension wound tight in his frame, every doubt, every fear. You feel the restraint as he cradles the back of your neck, his other hand finding your waist as he pushes you flush against him. The dichotomy to feel love, to feel comfort and safety and to relieve and dispel just a hint of the pressure building inside him. The dichotomy to conquer, the urge to channel this animosity in a way he must be familiar, to ravish you completely.

With your bosom rising and falling so sweetly, eyes glittering with tears, looking almost divine with firelight circling the shine of your hair in a golden halo, you watch Hal’s walls collapse. You let him succumb to that mirage of safety and warmth, to ease his conscience. You will both get what you want, eventually.

You break apart to kiss the line of his throat, his pulsepoint, where you know he’s weakest. Hal gasps as you thread your fingers through his curls, bring your lips to his ear in a soft lull.

“May I have you tonight, my king? Completely?”

His response is immediate, yet wordless when he tilts back his head and feels your mouth against his jugular, the hand at your waist tightening.

At last, you lead him to the bed with the intent of christening it.

He pulls you atop him, helps you unthread the bodice of your nightgown. Despite the blazing fire behind you, the air chills your shoulders, your chest as you slowly expose more and more skin, finally letting the thin fabric pool around your waist. The feel of his bare hands cupping your body fuels you, act as your catalyst. Soft, firm.

The amber necklace swings like a golden pendulum when you stoop to kiss him again, his fingers ghosting over the skin of your back. Hal’s desires are plainly stated as you feel him harden against your inner thigh.

There is no time for coy deception tonight. You make quick work of his tunic, leave his trousers and instead unfasten and pull him through, positioning where he wants you most. Hal is already nearly panting.

You arch as he settles inside you, a biting stretch that has both of you sighing when you bury yourself into the crook of his neck. Something long-awaited. You stomach the discomforting pressure and set a rhythm, one that has Hal cursing into your hair.

“You must protect the women of England, my lord,” you whisper. “Who will do so if you are gone?” You punctuate your point with a well-timed swivel of your hips and Hal moans low and guttural. “Your wives and children. Can you protect me?”

Hal’s arms wrap around you, nearly choking on pleasure. “I will. Anything for you. Please...”

Unseen by him, you grin. You can practically hear the crashing ocean waves, to feel the quench of water at long last! You think you could make him do anything in this moment with how enthralled he is in bliss.

You sit back and Hal’s hands glide over the smooth expanse of your stomach, watching his eyes grow dark, the amber pendant swinging between the two of you. The discomfort in your belly is gone and you start to mirror Hal’s pleasure, head falling back, sighs growing louder.

And as the two of you finally fall from the cliffside and towards the waiting waters, Hal gives a soft cry, vision rolling and you feel his heat spill onto your inner thigh. You kiss him until the strength drains from his body, a true succubus as Hal at last descends into sleep, relaxed.

You have the king’s word.

You awaken the next morning to find the bed empty and cold. Surprised, you dress alone and return to your chambers to call for your breakfast. When you send for your father to share his company, the servant returns and tells you Lord Grey is currently engaged and his presence cannot be requested.

“A meeting, you mean?” You ask the servant rather crossly. Why must everyone speak to you in riddles? You obviously did not sleep much the night before and had trouble long after Hal had finished, like a slumbering babe beside you. Typical.

Your mood sours further in that you won’t be able to share this meal with your father. You despise spending mornings in solitude. It seems like it’s been ages since you’ve last seen each other in private, with no councilmen lurking about.

“No, my lady,” the servant stammers slightly, the words stumbling out of his mouth. “Lord Grey is condemned and is forbidden from taking meals before tomorrow morning.”

“What?” You growl at his vagueness. Your anger and irritation rise hot and fast and you’re tempted to hurl the glass cup of strawberries at this blubbering young fool.

“Lord Grey and Cambridge await execution tomorrow morning for treason, by order of the king.”

Your world stops. You send the servant away with a ghost of a whisper.

When the door snaps shut, you laugh mournfully. So the gossip had come to naught. Hal had indeed kept his word. Your stomach turns in nausea. Food is suddenly the last thing on your mind.

You rush to your writing desk, overturning bottles of ink, hands shaking when you retrieve quill and parchment, attempt to pen a desperate letter to Callum with a fevered hand. But before you can draft a single sentence, your blood turns cold.

You have not heard from your brother, from Isabelle in weeks. Have your worst fears already come true?

Glass and fruit explode against the far wall.

You tear out of the room like a bloodied banshee in search of Hal, fingers tinted crimson from cut glass and mashed berries.

And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and

cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee

that one of thy members should perish, and not

that thy whole body should be cast into hell.

One of Miss Hunt’s chosen passages from the book of Matthew comes crashing into your mind. You are like Eve, you think. Bearing the burden of Original Sin with lust and curiosity. You have tasted the fruit and have seen the evils of mankind. Never in your wildest dreams could you have imagined your plan backfiring so horribly.

Now, hellfire awaits your father, for you when you draw your final breath your last day on this earth. Suddenly seeming to loom that much closer.

You approach Hal like Samuel’s ghost did to King Saul on the eve of war, the Philistines instead of the French. Interchangeable, cycles of warfare that have dawned for milenia and will continue until the end of time.

He looks terrifying, colder and more severe than you’ve ever seen, outfitted in those horrible blood red robes that one coronation dinner long ago you had once thought he looked becoming.

You know with one wrong word you could be joining the two men to die at first light. Your mind races.

“My lord, to think my own father had been plotting against you sickens me,” you speak slowly. The sentence stings like venom in your mouth, damning your father. Hellfire burns brighter. But it is the only way you can protect yourself. Your grisly appearance, your quick breaths, it is all to sell your story. “May I accompany you tomorrow morning as witness?”

Hal’s lips twist into a hint of a smile, the shadow of his former self. “Of course, my dear. Lord Grey may have failed his fatherly duties as protector, but I will not.”

And so, with your hands wrapped in fresh bandages and stitchings, you stand in a courtyard with wind whipping around you, the only Christian woman among councilmen and knights as you watch your father lay his head upon the chopping block. His hair has been shaved off to ensure the killing blow will be swift and true. Shivering, pale, and damp with sweat, he looks like a ghost. Soon, he will be one. You want him to see you in these final moments, for him to know that you will utterly destroy this king, but you cannot risk the danger.

Like the coronation, Latin prayers are recited, only this time they are prayers for your father and father-in-law to find peace in the afterlife. The last time you, Hal, Cambridge, and your father had shared company like this had been at the wedding. You know now that Callum and Isabel are truly dead. In the blink of an eye, Hal has slaughtered your entire family.

Weary, resilient Scotland.

You do not cry. You must show your loyalty.

“Requiescat in pace.”

Weak, fragile as Lord Grey starts to whimper aloud. No daughter should see their father, their protector through girlhood, like this.

The axe glimmers in the sunlight and is brought down with deadly precision. Your father’s head rolls grotesquely off of his shoulders in a wet gurgle. His body is shoved aside and Cambridge is pushed onto the block next, now slick with fresh blood.

Neither you nor Hal flinch.

You are now fatherless, Hal, kinless when you enter the neighboring chapel alone. You sit in the first pew respectfully, head bowed as Hal crosses himself and kneels before the altar. With his back to you, you study the firm line of his spine, his clasped hands with the beaded rosary held firmly between. Unmoving, statuesque. He prays for a long time.

Thou shalt not kill.

You wonder if God is so forgiving.

The images of angels, of Mary and Joseph and flawless purity are what drive you to march up to Hal and kiss him hard. He hums in surprise, brows furrowed, the pressure behind his mouth mirroring yours when you grip the back of his head.

You want to kill him the same way he had murdered your father. But you settle with digging your fingers into the back of his neck and relishing in the way he hisses against your lips. You fumble blindly with the fastening of his trousers.

“What are you doing?” he growls.

“Shut up.” You bite back.

You’ve never been afraid of Hal before today, you’ve had no reason to be. You’ve been so careful to build the reputation and the facade he sees, using words and sex to push him like the chesspiece you had thought him to be. And he’d pushed right back.

You want to hurt him in the only way you can.

He cries out when you suck him into your mouth with teeth and harsh pressure. You’re anything but gentle, taking him as far as you can so that you’re choking and Hal is grunting and pulling at your hair and the lewd sounds of your lips and tongue echo to the tops of the vaulted ceiling.

You’ve both lost family today. You are both selfish and full of quiet rage. The consequence of Hal’s choice is evident in how hard and wet you mold your mouth around him, how his hand tightens and pushes you farther down, wordlessly ordering you to finish him off in this holy church.

Like Christ Himself with bandaged hands, you twist and work at whatever you cannot fit between your lips. His hips snap forward, tears collecting at the corners of your eyes with burning throat, your scalp stinging from where he yanks back your hair, your linen caul disheveled. Saliva dribbles out of your mouth.

When his moans grow high and desperate, you take him out of your mouth and Hal’s release splatters white on the skin of your cheek, mouth still agape. He slumps forward on his knees, panting, as if still in prayer. The rosary dangles between his fingers.

Thou shalt not commit adultery.

The cross looms before you, silhouetted by candlelight. It is too much and you turn away.

If the change in Hal’s nature had not already been felt by all, it is seen in his dress. No longer does he donn the regalia of red cape and sceptre, but dark tunics and jackets that fit snug over the expanse of his chest. No more are the billowing robes, now replaced with tight military clothing and jackboots. A captain preparing for battle.

Hal recruits John Falstaff and countless other marshals for his campaign. It’s truly happening, you think. France will soon feel the wrath of England as your homeland and countless other countries have.

The amber necklace sparkles.

Tomorrow, Hal sets sail across the English Channel. Another crusade to add to the Hundred Years’ War. You wonder if French women are just as lustrous as the rumors suggest.

This is the last night you will be together like this for some time. The thought of Hal with another woman makes you quicken the hand you have around him and he gasps into your chest, spilling onto your thigh like that wedding night centuries ago. You’ve already made love countless times tonight, your bodies fitting together because it is only natural for two corrupt souls to find solace in the other.

Masquerading with voice and poise. A boy from Eastcheap and a Scottish girl.

As Hal shudders against you, kissing your throat and twining his fingers into your hair, he tells you he loves you.

You think you may love him too, in that twisted way of how fire craves oxygen. You need each other to fuel chaos.

You understand better than anyone the burden of a child forced to grow up, the weight of decisions and the toll it takes. Only the strong can endure such hardship, only the strong can triumph and come out on top. It has been so forever, a law as old as the world.

The speed at which Hal is already hard again makes you chuckle darkly. He pins you to the bed, hovering, eyes bearing into you before he enters you just the same.

“You were made to be beneath me,” he rasps, gripping your face with a single hand. His eyes glitter in the low light. The double entendre of his words make you rake your fingernails down his back in angry lines of red. He sucks a bite into the skin of your collarbone.

You know that when Hal returns from France, he will no longer be yours. He will be changed, most likely to marry a foreign princess to ensure peace. You think of Isabel and how she had evidently been the one to put you in this position of status, how a marriage is a man’s means to gain power. A law as old as the world.

Do you want him to be yours? The same way the English crown has raped and pillaged for the thrill of conquering the barbaric? A trophy? A prized kill? Still, the thought makes you bitter.

You say you love him back when he finds the spot below your ear, pushes your legs apart to drive into you that much harder.

There’s a bit of you that prays he will be victorious, that he will return to England and be yours again. But even if your paths do not cross in the future, you know you will see him again where the flames grow hot. Be that in his chambers or down below.

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ace-in-a-shopping-cart · 3 years

Text

Love on Open Waters: Chapter 1: The Capture

Prologue

Word Count: 1,419

Five Years Later

Patton smiled at Roman. “Alright, kiddo, time for bed.”

Roman looked up at him from his position on the bed. “Do you think Virgil will come back soon?”

Patton patted his head, dipping down to place a brief kiss on his forehead. “I don’t know, young prince. Maybe one day.” He walked to the door, leaving it open just a crack but turning the light out as he went.

Patton walked down the corridor, checking to make sure the other castle residents didn’t need anything. He went up a floor and did the same thing there, checking in on the king in his study and informing him of the time. He was thanked and sent on his way. He stepped through the main spaces, checking the other studies and the main living areas to make sure that everything was in place and that the maids had done their jobs to the best of their ability.

When that was done, he made his way over to the servants’ quarters and checked in on everyone. He sped up when he got to the maids’ quarters, not wanting to be caught in conversation with a certain person. He walked at a slightly faster pace, exhausted and wanting to get to bed before much else happened that night. His mind ran through all the projects he still had to do, the mending he wanted to do on his favorite suit jacket but also the new skirt he was planning on making.

His distracted thoughts had him slowing down until he almost ran into the one person he was trying to avoid. She stepped back but blocked his path in the narrow corridor. “Where are you off to, Patton?” Gaelle’s voice was higher than it was when talking to anyone else as she tried to put on an accent she thought he liked. Gaelle was someone that was under the impression that Patton was anything but exclusively gay. She seemed to have some sort of obsessive crush on him despite him wanting nothing to do with her.

Patton sighed. “Gaelle, I’m tired. I just wanna go to bed. Maybe do a bit of sewing first.”

She frowned and he knew he’d said something to displease her. “You know, sewing isn’t a very manly thing to do.”

Patton closed his eyes and nodded. “You tell me this every time you see me. And every time, I could not possibly care less about your opinion. I must, once again, inform you that I am not romantically inclined toward you. If I am to be blunt, I’m not even platonically inclined to like you. So, if you don’t stop harassing me every night and let me pass, you won’t have a job in the morning.” His voice had changed from tired to a honey smooth tone that meant he was extremely upset but wouldn’t show it.

She scoffed, not hearing the danger in his voice. “You can’t do that.”

He dropped the ‘customer service’ smile he’d been maintaining and gave her a look that was deadly. “Not only do I have the ear of the king, I’m still your boss. Either leave me alone, or pack your bags.”

She scoffed again but moved to the side. Patton gave her a tight lipped smile and passed, going on to his room. He stretched when he finally closed the door behind him, reveling in the feeling of dropping his mental burdens at the door.

He moved away from his bedroom door and toward the small balcony that overlooked the ocean a few miles away. He leaned against the railing, trying to get lost in thought as he stared at the shifting water. Just as he was relaxing, an arm wrapped around his waist, a hand coming up to cover his mouth with a cloth. He tried to shout but made the mistake of breathing in. His vision faded as he clawed at his attacker, who simply held him until he passed out.

⚓⚓⚓

Patton woke with a headache. The ground shifted under him, constantly in a rocking motion. He raised a hand to his temple only to find that he wasn't bound. He stood and looked around the small room. There was a bed that he’d woken up on that was tucked into a nook of the wall, a desk that was attached to the wall with a chair which was attached to that by leather straps for arms, and an empty shelf above the desk. Looking around the small wall, Patton found a trunk sitting at the base and a hook for a coat on the wall.

He took a few steps forward, the cabin wasn’t very wide, and tried the door, only to find it locked. Sitting on the bed, he wondered what was happening to him.

He didn’t have long to wait before the sound of a key in the lock reached his ears and a man entered. The first thing Patton noticed about him was how tall he was, barely fitting through the door. He had on a long dark green coat that went down to his knees, a grey shirt that was open to halfway down his chest and revealed his chest hair, and loose fitting black pants with a sword on his hip. When he came into the light, Patton noticed that he wasn’t as tall as he’d thought, having a large and dirty green hat with a feather in it on. His boots were simple work boots, the kind that Patton had often seen on the hired help that came to the castle for a quick paycheck.

When the man came into the room and shut the door behind him, it took Patton a minute for his vision to adjust again as the green-clad man took a seat in the desk chair, taking off the hat as he did so. Patton noticed his hair was a bleached brown, his skin tan from the sun, he wore a mustache darker than the rest of his hair, and his right iris was almost white compared to his dark green left eye.

“Can you guess why you’re here?” The man’s gruff voice brought Patton’s attention back to the situation at hand.

Patton sighed. “Sir, I don’t even know where here is, let alone what I’ve done to deserve this.” He tried to put his usual authority into his voice to hide how badly it was shaking.

The man nodded. “You’re being held for ransom. You’ve harbored a person I have interest in for too long and I intend to have them back. Thus, you are going to write home and tell them that until they hand over the mer or a sum of money to his equivalent to make up for the loss of revenue, you are staying with me.”

Patton furrowed his brow. “The mer?” He thought for a moment but soon realized there was only one new addition to the household recently that would constitute such actions from someone. “Virgil,” he said under his breath.

“So you do know who I’m talking about,” the man said, a note of triumph in his voice.

Patton nodded. “Unfortunately, I don’t know where he is.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “Explain.”

Patton shrugged, not breaking eye contact. “Virgil did indeed stay with us for four months. However, he disappeared a day or so before my capture and, as far as I know, has yet to return. I can’t give up a location I don’t know.”

The man nodded and slapped his thighs before standing and putting his hat back on. “In that case, I’ll be back with food in a few minutes.”

Patton reached out a hand but didn’t touch him. “Wait! Am I at least allowed to know the name of the man keeping me prisoner?”

The man didn’t turn around but did speak. “Remus Cadoc, Captain Remus Cadoc.” He left without waiting for a response.

Patton sat in the locked room for what felt like a half hour before the door opened again. This time, it was someone else bearing a tray of food. Unlike Captain Cadoc, this sailor didn’t seem to have any weapons on his person. The man put the tray on the desk and doffed an imaginary hat at Patton. “Cap’n got caught up in work and couldn’t bring this to ya but told me to do it.”

Patton thanked him and stood. “May I know your name?”

He smiled. “The name’s Apollo Aiman. What’s yours?”

“Patton Hope.”

Chapter 2

Main Taglist (Send an ask to be added or removed!): @antisocial-xxxpert, @more-fandon-than-friends, @vindicatedvirgil, @star-crossed-shipper, @the-sympathetic-villain, @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun, @punk-academian-witch, @sarcasmremovedsoul, @private-snippers, @mygenderisidiot, @mistythegenderqueermess, @5-falsehoods-phonated

LoOW Taglist (Send an ask to be added or removed): @cute-and-angsty-princess, @im-an-anxious-wreck, @lonelyanxiousbean, @akatsuki-no-katira, @pixelated-pineapple, @winterwynd, @acetatertot, @viva-la-pluto-dam-you, @pansexualpuppet

#loow #remus sanders #patton sanders #dukeality #momus #intruality #pirates #pirate!remus #beauty and the beast au #ace writes

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quibbs126 · 8 days

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You know Twitter was talking about something, namely that with this update we’re could be getting yet another Legendary group

I’ve been told that they aren’t, and these are just the Epics to come with the update, but that’s not the point I’m making

The point is that I’m noticing just how many new Legendary/premium tier groups there have been. Just in 2024 alone, we got the Novas in Ovenbreak, the Beasts in Kingdom, and then the Archons/First Cream’s group in Witch’s Castle. That’s 3 groups and we’re not even halfway through the year

On some level it feels like they keep trying to give us new big things to be excited about, while not delivering on their already made promises, such as bringing in the Ovenbreak Legendaries, which they teased in late 2022 and we’ve only gotten one new one so far (not counting Pitaya)

It’s like me coming up with a new idea every couple of days and abandoning previous ideas I said I was going to work on, especially with AUs. Except I’m not a company with millions of players, I’m one scatterbrained, ADHD riddled person. So following my example is a very bad idea

I mean maybe let some new Legendaries just be one offs, like Xylitol Nova and just let it be one space themed update, or maybe First Cream (though I don’t know enough about her yet to say). The Beasts can stay, they work as a group since they’re basically evil Ancients/the original holder of the Soul Jams, though maybe they should have come after the White Lily chapter, and have Beast Yeast come after her story, after all the Ancients are recruited, instead of jamming in new hooks and shuffling the actual focus to the background

Like at this point I’m getting concerned about this company, since these releases feel like short term getting your money for promise of future updates while neglecting the hooks already set up (like the Dragons or Dark Enchantress (especially Dark Enchantress)), and it’s not gonna go well in the long run. Granted I’m not knowledgeable in how businesses work so what do I know?

I mean personally I just want closure to arcs that have been set up, as well as possibly seeing my old favorites again, I don’t really care that much about the company itself, I don’t even pay money. It’s just that they make the stories that I like and want to see more of

#I am excited for this new update #I just have thoughts about how Devsis has been operating recently #and tbh I wonder if part of it has to do with all the new spin-offs and projects #because I feel like at some point this is gonna be a problem #maintaining 2 games seems manageable enough #but now there’s a 3rd one with a 4th on the way #not to mention Brixity or the other Cookie Run spin off things (though granted those are other media)#or how they were going to make a 5th game with Ovensmash but have to shelve it bc there’s no one to work on it #like it feels like maybe the company is spreading itself out too far too fast #and in turn the current games are suffering #but again I don’t know business so I don’t know if this is the case #but still #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cookie run ovenbreak #cookie run witch’s castle #legendary cookies

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galacticidiots · 2 years

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Happy Thanksgiving Fran! 🍁 Hope you’re doing well and get yourself that Scottish castle soon! That way you can invite me over and we can watch P&P together all we want! 🤍 You always have really good taste in films/TV shows btw! Seen anything new lately that you’d recommend for my escapist mind?

Happy Turkey Day to you, my love! I hope you’re making the most of it, wherever you are 🤍

Ohh, I’ll get one of those posh projectors so we can watch P&P in one of the fancy drawing rooms. Sounds like the perfect afternoon!

I can’t and won’t stop recommending Dickinson. It’s my favourite and I’ve been obsessed since season 1 came out. It’s a masterpiece.

Speaking of obsessions: MOTHERLAND FORT SALEM. I haven’t shut up about it since I watched it (basically all in one sitting). It’s about badass witch girlies and it’s amazing.

I’ve also been binging Invasion— it’s from Apple as well, and I’m totally hooked. It’s an alien show but it’s really more about the characters and their personal journeys. It’s got some really touching moments. Definitely worth a watch.

The Great is… great, to put it simply. Elle Fanning and Nicholas Hoult do a really phenomenal job and it’s just so much fun to watch.

Thanks for you sweet message, let me know if you give these a try! x

#ask

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karlyfr13s · 3 years

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Helping Destiny Along

A fluffy CS one-shot for the lovely @teamhook

Thank you @veryverynotgoodwrites for being one heck of a beta, and @the-darkdragonfly for your brainstorming powers!

Summary: Henry Mills has a theory: for each Captain Hook, there must be an Emma Swan. Well, he found Princess Emma Nolan at long last and is determined to bring her together with Killian Jones now that he's back in the Wishverse version of the Enchanted Forest.

Read it on AO3

At nineteen, Princess Emma Nolan believed in True Love. After all, her parents had found each other, and everyone knew theirs was a legendary love worthy of poetry and song. She watched for a prince from the high windows of her tower bedroom, waiting for someone tall, dark, and handsome to sweep her off her feet. He would be bold, romantic, dashing, and kind-hearted—she just knew it.

At twenty-two, she concluded that such a love was rare and that her parents may be the only two people with a Capital-T, Capital-L True Love, so she started looking for the more run-of-the-mill variety. Instead of waiting for someone to ride up to the castle gate and court her, she took a more active approach and sought her love by traveling and meeting new people. When that didn’t work either, Princess Emma tried for mutual attraction, which was fun at twenty-four, but grew stale by twenty-five. So she resigned herself to loving her kingdom and her people.

At twenty-eight, a man knocked on the door and utterly transformed her life. To be clear, she did not love that particular man. Henry came from a faraway land and told her fantastic tales that seemed beyond the reach of even her magic, and while she did not love him, he told her somewhere out there in a world beyond her grasp there was an Emma Swan who was his mother, and who loved him ferociously. For days, she and her parents welcomed Henry to stay in their home and share meals at their table, and for days he regaled them with stories of his world and of other versions of each member of the Nolan family. They were spellbound by his narratives. He was a gifted storyteller, and as if he’d known this was too fantastic to be believed, he came with something called photographs that showed a still window into his world. She saw a version of her mother, Queen Snow, but much younger and with close-cropped dark hair instead of the silvery tresses she was accustomed to. Her father was another surprise--he looked barely older than Emma herself, sandy hair where now there was gray, and while she knew her father was still a strong and capable swordsman, this version of King David seemed able to challenge even the mightiest ogre.

Princess Emma Nolan even saw herself, but not herself. They looked identical, she and Henry’s mother, and while her style was different from this unknown twin’s, she couldn’t help but notice some similarities. Emma Swan was often pictured in a short red leather coat, while Princess Emma Nolan’s favorite doublet was a rich blue leather. When she commented, Henry told her they both wore them like armor, gesturing to the bruise on his shoulder from their earlier sparring session in the yard. Emma Swan liked to pull her hair back, wearing it high on her head much like Princess Emma Nolan when she wasn’t expected at court or in her regal finest. Henry even had a picture of his mother with a sword--is she trained as well? She’d asked, and Henry grinned at the question, answering with another tale of his mother besting a pirate in single combat!

“I’m pretty sure that fight was rigged though,” he admitted as they walked the castle gardens one afternoon. “And that’s part of why I’m here.” He stopped and faced her, saying he hoped she could believe one more outlandish story before he had to return to his world.

“You seem to come well-armed with evidence, Henry. I don’t see why I should doubt you at this point.”

“My mother, Emma Swan, is an incredible woman. It took her a long time, but she found her True Love, and I think you can find yours. When I learned there was a version of her--of you--here, I had to find out if you were with him too, and when you weren’t…” Henry trailed off, frowning at the ground. He was quiet for a long while, and Emma ran through his words over and over. Henry thought he knew who her True Love was? How? How could he know that his mother and whoever she was with were one another’s True Love?

“I know he’s here now--I’ve met him before, and back in my world--”

“What? Then how can he be my True Love if he’s from your world?” None of this was making sense, and for the first time she doubted Henry. It seemed he could see the uncertainty within her, and he steered them to a bench to sit and talk as he clarified this man was not from his world, but had been brought there by a curse. The same curse that separated Henry from his own family.

“I know you understand curses and magic,” he began and she nodded at his words. “So when I tell you he was swept up in a curse and brought back in time to my world, that should make sense, right?” She nodded again, wondering who could have cursed two men from different worlds at the same time. Someone powerful and dangerous. Henry sighed and continued. “His name is Killian Jones, and he’s the best man I know. He’s my father in every sense of the word, and while there’s a version of him who is my mother’s True Love, I know there is one who is also yours. He has to be.”

Henry told her a lengthy story about a witch who ensnared a group of people from this kingdom, trapping them in a place called Hyperion Heights. He spoke of a coven leader who cursed Killian Jones so he could never be in contact with his daughter—a child she had abandoned him with after tricking him into spending a night with her. “But you see, Emma, you can break that curse. Your love--yours and Killian’s will break that curse. You will have each other and Alice--hell, and Robin! I haven’t even told you about Robin,” he was lost in thought again after that. Emma waited and tried to make sense of all she had learned.

Is it possible? In some way, his tale made sense. If what he said about the curse was true, it would explain The Gap. Emma had never mentioned The Gap to Henry, though he may have learnt of it through other means. It was rarely spoken of, but everyone in the Enchanted Forest shared one simple truth: there was a block of time no one could account for. Whenever Emma or her parents tried to focus on that space, thinking back to her twenty-sixth birthday, there was a strange void where there should be at least some memory of the year. She could remember the celebratory ball and the night of her birthday, but every time she tried to focus on what came next it only earned her a persistent headache.

“Please don’t hate me, Emma,” Henry put a hand on her shoulder, bringing her back to the present. “I told him to meet me here three days after I arrived. That’s tonight. He’ll be here, and he knows what I believe about you two because he also knows my mother and her Killian. He’s, uh...not entirely convinced. He’s been through a lot, but…” He shrugged and gave her a lopsided smile.

“It’s his story to tell, so I won’t go into detail, just...go easy on the guy. He might be a little gun shy—uh, guarded,” he quickly clarified when he saw her blink in confusion. “I don’t think he’s seen anyone since that witch who duped him, led the coven, and tried to destroy Hyperion Heights. Think that might do a number on a guy.” He looked so sincere, so much like he did when telling all his other tales that Emma chose to believe. Henry hadn’t lied to her before, so what would the motivation be to do so now?

She chewed at her lip, fretting over what to do and how to greet someone who might be a part of her very soul--someone who had been through tricks and curses, and had suffered real loss. She couldn’t simply turn him out in the night, that was unthinkable, but what do you say to the other half of your heart? If that is what he is. This had to have been simpler for her mother. At least she’d simply caught her father in a net after robbing him. That seemed easier than calmly welcoming fate to dinner and introducing the man to your parents on day one.

“Well,” she got up and dusted off her breeches, “I suppose we’d best let my parents know we’re expecting another guest. And I may need to change as well. I think I’d rather not smell worse than the stables when I meet him.” Emma faltered on the last word, not knowing how to address Killian Jones. Henry smiled and followed her lead.

-----

One thorough and contemplative bath later, Emma emerged in a blush pink gown that shimmered softly in the waning sunlight. It had taken her three other dresses before she settled on this one. It was simpler than what she wore to galas and State events: tea length and embroidered in sheer flowers. She knew it would glow softly under the lights of the candles and torches at dinner, and Princess Emma Nolan found herself hoping he would like it.

When he arrived, it was Henry who greeted Killian Jones first, clasping the man’s hand and giving Emma a moment to simply observe. His smile was warm, a bright white flash of teeth and Emma noticed the slight creases at his eyes as well. An authentic smile, she noted, enjoying the genuine moment between the two men. He was dashing there was no other word for it--dressed in black and rich crimson, rings and charms gleaming in the firelight, their glimmer echoed in the silver strands that threaded here and there through his otherwise coal-black hair. Where his left hand ought to be, Emma found instead a polished silver hook and she remembered whispered gossip of a pirate captain referred to only by the moniker Hook. Once a fearsome leader of a brutal band of thieves, he had all but vanished into lore years ago. She realized too late that she’d been staring, and cleared her throat softly before curtseying to cover the awkwardness. Henry took the moment to introduce them, “Captain Killian Jones, may I present Emma Nolan, Princess of Misthaven.”

She offered her hand and Killian took it up, placing a chaste kiss across her knuckles. His eyes met hers, their brilliant lapis blue making her breath catch in her throat. Regardless of the formality of their meeting and the fact Henry, her parents, and several serving staff looked on, she felt the pull immediately. From the moment her hand was in his, it felt right. She wanted to keep hold of him more than she’d wanted anything in her life, wanted to memorize the rough calluses formed by his years at sea, but she forced herself to maintain propriety and brought her hand back to her side. Emma reminded herself they did not know one another, to not get swept up in Henry’s notions without evaluating the truth of the situation. Though she saw in his gaze a strange flicker of recognition, a brief knitting of his brow that asked a silent question she could not interpret, she let the moment pass and returned to her expected duties.

Emma introduced him to her parents, watching her father’s scrutinizing gaze contrast with her mother’s brilliant smile. No doubt her father was riddling out Henry’s purpose in inviting this man to dinner, though she couldn’t fathom him guessing the truth. All through dinner, Emma could barely take her eyes off Killian. He shared a few stories from his days at sea, talking of far-off kingdoms and uninhabited islands, and Emma felt a longing take hold of her as he spun a tale of a snow-covered northern kingdom where they carved elaborate ice sculptures, held firelight festivals, and celebrated the beauty of winter rather than fearing its chill. His voice was low, its velvet warmth wrapping around her and pulling her from all sense of time. The evening passed quickly, and long before she was ready, Emma’s parents stood to signal the end of the affair.

“It’s far too late for you to make a return journey, Captain Jones,” Queen Snow spoke. “We welcome you to stay as a guest in our home. We will have a room made up for you at once and hope you will accompany us for breakfast in the morning.” At his thanks, the Queen turned to Emma, “Oh, and Emma, darling?”

“Yes, Mother?”

Emma approached and her mother drew her in for a close hug, whispering softly, “See to it that Captain Jones can find his way. Most of the staff have already retired and I’d hate for him to get lost in search of rest.” With that, the Queen turned and gently tugged her husband toward their own chambers, leaving Emma to escort their two guests.

She could hear her father grumbling about leaving Emma unchaperoned, but Snow’s voice echoed back, “David, she’s twenty-eight, not sixteen, she’ll be fine. Our daughter is perfectly capable--” Their voices were lost as they rounded a corner, and Emma suppressed a smile. It didn’t matter that she was a full grown woman, her father would always be protective of her.

When she turned around, Emma realized Henry had vanished. Someone seems to think himself a matchmaker, she mused and as her eyes fell upon the man who waited by the fireplace she could understand why Henry had made himself scarce. Deep breath, Emma. He’s simply a man like any other. If she tried very hard, she just might convince herself of that. Well, unless she stopped to listen to the way her heart raced when the corner of his mouth ticked up in a smile.

“Did you want--that is,” she faltered and tripped over her tongue, coming to stand near him where he leaned against the back of a chair by the hearth. “I don’t know how long a trip you made today, and so…” Why was this so hard?

“I’m quite alright, Princess. Would it be terribly inappropriate of me to ask you to keep me company and perhaps share a drink?” She smiled in response, slipping a large book from a shelf over the mantle after pointing out where her father kept a set of glasses on a shelf nearby.

“He thinks I don’t know about this,” she opened the volume to reveal a bottle. “Rum he had imported from the south--is that acceptable, Captain?”

“Aye, that will do nicely. Bit of a pirate in you isn’t there, Princess? Pinching a man’s rum while he’s fast asleep.” They shared a conspiratorial grin as she poured and each took up a chair near the fire. “To what shall we toast, love?”

She hummed in thought, considering the man before her. The pull was still there like some invisible thread entwining the two of them and she hoped it wasn’t only she who felt it. “To new beginnings,” she offered, holding her glass aloft. He echoed the sentiment and crystal clinked as their eyes met over the rims of their glasses before both looked away shyly and took a sip. The warmth and spice slid down her throat, settling in her stomach and making her shiver. They were quiet for a time, simply sharing the space while they glanced at one another, eyes never quite meeting, nor acknowledging they were both performing the same dance.

“I take it dear Henry shared his theory with you?” Killian broke the silence, addressing the weight that had settled in the room. She confirmed he had shared that along with several other stories, asking if it were true he’d been swept away to a land without magic. “Aye, and for some time I had no memory of myself or this place. When the truth finally came back to me it was...difficult to deal with. Did he...mention Alice?” He swirled the rum in his glass, eyes flicking up to meet hers.

“Yes, he also mentioned a curse is keeping you apart,” she reached across the small distance that separated them, hand resting on the brace that held his hook. “Killian—if I may call you Killian,” she felt herself flush at the informality and he nodded encouragingly. She said it once more, feeling the musical quality of it as she continued. “What kind of monster keeps a father from his daughter like that?”

His shoulders sagged as he said the story of Gothel was one for another day, that it was a story filled with dark shadows he dare not conjure without the sunlight to dispel them. “I only mention Alice because...well, given what Henry has told both of us I have been...” his brow furrowed as he searched for a word, and she leaned forward, absently running her hand over his sleeve and feeling where the firm leather of his brace ended and the warmth of his arm began. His gaze dropped to where her hand rested and she looked up, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. “Concerned,” he finished at last. “That is, I’d thought perhaps because I have a child with someone else, and because I am obviously older than you are, that you might feel...or not feel a certain…not that I think Henry is necessarily right…”

His words tapered off and she became very aware they were both leaning in now, the distance between them nearly closed. She could see the silver in his hair glinting in the firelight, the strands at his temples more greyed than the rest. Greedily, she took in all she could in this moment. The heat that radiated from where her hand still rested atop his arm, the scents of leather and petrichor that clung to him were so close she could nearly roll them on her tongue. When she searched his eyes she saw a lingering hurt, but behind that was what appeared to be cautious hope. Setting her glass aside, Emma brought her hand up, allowing herself to do what she’d been wanting to all evening and running her fingers through his hair. He held her gaze, eyes wide and uncertain and she realized his past hurts ran deep enough that he wouldn’t act on that hopeful glint she’d seen moments ago. She would have to be brave for both of them.

With a whisper of his name she closed what little distance remained between them. She’d intended a light brush of her lips, had simply wanted to know what may lie between them, but the moment their lips met Emma knew she would never be satisfied with so little. She poured herself into the moment, moving to grip the front of his shirt and pull him tightly to her. He followed her lead, their kiss deepening as he tilted his head, the two of them moving as though they had done this a hundred times before. She heard her pulse pounding away in her head, felt his breath ghosting over her lips as they breathed into one another for a moment before he captured her lips again. Something shifted then, like the single beat of a massive heart, a shockwave rippled outward, though neither could be bothered to break this moment. Finally, the two pulled back, eyes searching one another.

“Was that?” Emma asked, not knowing how to complete the thought. Her parents had told her their story several times: the kiss that broke the curse. The kiss that radiated out from them in a burst of force and light. The kiss that sounded an awful lot like what she had just shared with Captain Killian Jones.

Killian rested his forehead against hers, breathing out slowly before replying in a soft voice, “Aye love, I think it may have been.” She asked how that was possible, neither naming it yet and both quaffing their rum before leaning back in their chairs. “Years ago,” he began, “I ran into a fortune teller on the docks. He told me I would find my happiness though it was presently locked away in a tall tower. So, when the time came and I found myself facing a witch and finding a woman locked away in a tower I had thought my moment had come. Instead, I found Gothel and her tricks. I brought a daughter into this world only to have her freedom snatched away by the cold-hearted woman who bore her.”

Emma watched him closely, he seemed far away and lost in another time. “Tonight,” he continued after several beats, “when I saw the westward tower of this castle I had to stifle my hope that perhaps after so long--what is that tower to you?” He leaned toward her suddenly, his sapphire eyes searching hers as though he could read the truth within them.

“My bedroom,” she admitted. “My parents thought it would keep me safe. With only one known entrance and exit, it was easy to post guards and easy to know who sought my attention. Of course, there is another exit, but no one other than me knows of it. I devised it when I was sixteen and desperately wanted a way out without the entourage of guards.”

He fell silent, his forehead creased in thought as he tapped a finger against the bow of his lips. The mantle clock’s rhythmic ticking was nearly deafening as Emma waited through each drawn out second. Mesmerized by the path he now traced along his bottom lip, her mind drifted back to the soft press of his mouth against hers and she wished fervently to undo whatever had him so lost in his own thoughts. Come back to me, Killian, she sighed aloud and he snapped to attention. “My apologies, love. I believe I may be in need of rest.” His explanation rang hollow and she leveled a gaze at him, knowing this wasn’t the full truth.

“I swear to you, Princess, I will make my theories known. I do not intend to hide anything from you.” He stood then, stretching languidly before offering his arm and waiting for her to rise. She acquiesced if only for the chance to feel the warmth of him once more before she retired for the night. She tried to stifle her yawn behind her hand and heard him chuckle low in response. “It seems I may not be the only one in need of sleep. Lead the way, love.”

She led him to one of the guest rooms not far from Henry’s. As she bid him goodnight, Killian leaned down to brush a featherlight kiss across her lips, wishing her sweet dreams. Emma felt as though she floated on air the whole way up to her room, content to leave him to his musings tonight and trusting he would speak his mind soon enough.

----- The morning saw Emma waking earlier than usual, calling a chipper “Good morning” to her sleep-rumpled lady’s maid before dismissing her and attending to her own routine. Still abed at this hour? It seems dear Tink has been keeping late hours herself. She let herself ponder whose affections might be persuading the spunky blonde to be less than punctual, smiling at her reflection as she brushed out her golden tresses.

Once ready, Emma hummed to herself, making her way down the innumerable stairs in search of breakfast, her parents, and Killian--the thought made her grin. His sudden shift into contemplativeness notwithstanding, he had been the perfect gentleman last night. Thoughtful in their discussion at dinner, genuine and curious without overstepping, and then there was the kiss. She flushed, pausing before the dining room doors to gather her thoughts and put on what she hoped was a soft smile rather than the doe-eyed look she’d undoubtedly been wearing since she woke.

Her parents, Henry, and Killian were already seated when she entered--the latter both rising and inclining their heads in deference. “Good morning, Princess,” they intoned in unison. She laughed, insisting they sit and continue the conversation she had interrupted, taking her place at her father’s right hand and quietly thanking the servingman who filled her cup with coffee and cream.

“Killian, you were asking about the tower, yes?” Queen Snow offered an encouraging half-smile before sipping demurely at her tea. At this, Emma heard her father mutter under his breath about the Captain inquiring about his daughter’s bedroom.

“Yes. You see, Your Majesty, I can’t help but notice it is nearly identical--from the outside,” he clarified at her father’s rapidly reddening face, “to one I encountered years ago. That particular structure was the residence of a rather powerful witch.”

“Gothel,” her father spat, and all eyes shifted to him. Emma saw Killian’s jaw clench at the name and he gave a single, curt nod in affirmation.

With her mother’s hand resting on his shoulder, her father began the story she’d heard many times over the course of her life. The story of how Gothel heard the regents were expecting and deduced there would be a child born of the most powerful magic in all realms: True Love. That she knew as well that child would have light magic, and that even if it never manifested there would be power in their blood. It was the story of why Emma’s parent’s fortified their home so heavily once word of Gothel’s covetous wish reached them, and why they insisted she train with sword and bow.

“It’s why my little girl was taught to ride like a soldier and not a courtier. Hell, it’s why I gave into her frankly dangerous wishes and allowed her to learn to sail--in case she needed to escape quickly.”

“Does it help to know Gothel can’t harm anyone anymore?” Henry offered helpfully, trying to lighten the weight that had settled on the group. There was general agreement at the table that, yes, it did help. Quite a lot, in fact, and it felt as though the sun broke out from beneath the clouds as they returned to their breakfast.

“Is that what you were concerned about, Captain?” Emma caught herself in time and used his title, not yet ready to have that discussion with her parents.

“The thought had crossed my mind, Princess, but it seems your own construction must have inspired hers for some reason.” He dismissed the thought, though she could practically hear the gears of his mind grinding away. The conversation returned to banal pleasantries about the weather and what game was in season. Her father consulted Killian on the conditions at sea, and in general the rest of the meal was like any other. Like any other meal you share with your family, a new friend, and the man you just shared True Love’s Kiss with less than eight hours after meeting him. Perfectly normal. Emma put on her court smile and commented politely, waiting for her moment to pounce.

“Join me for a walk in the gardens, Captain?” The moment arrived after a lengthy debate about the benefits of traveling by horse in comparison to ship. Thank the gods for the momentary lull as her father’s cup was refilled yet again - Emma didn’t think there was enough coffee in the whole of Misthaven to keep her alert on this topic.

“Of course, Princess.” He smiled bashfully, running his hand through his hair and standing as she rose. “May I?” He offered his arm and she accepted, the two making a long overdue exit.

The grass was still damp as they walked the grounds, the morning sun hinting at a warm day to come despite the slight chill that had Emma leaning in close, basking in the warm line of contact with Killian. “So, what was it you held back up there?” She broke the silence and watched the arch of his brow as he glanced at her. “I’ve always known when people are dishonest, or not fully honest in this case,” she explained. “It’s a feeling, sort of like a rock settling into my stomach. I don’t know if it’s part of my magic or something else,” she shrugged at this and watched his expression shift from curiosity to contemplation. No doubt he was thinking up a way to explain whatever was plaguing his mind.

He remained in that state as they passed her mother’s bed of crimson roses and all the way through the lilies that always made her nose twitch, their heady scent overpowering. Spotting the bench she and Henry had sat on—was that only yesterday?—she took the lead, turning to face him as they sat.

“There are some strange coincidences,” he began. Their knees brushed and she leaned into the contact, hoping her touch might ground him in the present. His past included darkness, and here in the bright morning sun amongst the flowers she hoped to keep those grim memories at bay.

“The tower is the first of them, and I’ve no idea which came first. Given Gothel’s numerous deceits, I’m not inclined to believe any of her tales nor any of Belfry’s—the woman who claimed to be the missing princess, Rapunzel,” he clarified when he saw her puzzled look. “Did you know the witch?”

She shook her head, “Only what my parents told me: that she was interested in my magic and had a reputation for taking what she desired by force.” He expressed clear agreement, and when his focus became distant Emma took hold of both hand and hook. “Whatever it is, that doesn’t change who we are to one another, Killian.”

That must have heartened him, for it earned her a gentle smile. “Aye, love, I suppose you’re right. You see, the other strangeness was Gothel’s impersonation. I’ve never given it much thought, but why should she play at being a princess? I’d no notion who the woman was, yet she changed her appearance, her voice, her name. Why?” He hypothesized then that either Gothel bribed the fortune-teller, planting the man in Killian’s path with a bogus story about happiness in a tower, or that she somehow knew Emma would be important and hedged her bets by occupying her own tower and putting herself in Killian’s path.

“You see, I’ve considered the strangeness of these overlaps and in part I wonder if one of the gifts she or a fellow witch of her coven acquired was prophecy. She seemed to know far more than anyone ought to, and perhaps thought to entrap me and use me to get to you.

“If she knew we were, uh,” he gulped, and flushed a charming shade of pink all the way to his ears. “Destined for one another, then it would be well within her character to exploit that. To make me think she could lead me to my happiness, then snatch you away for her own nefarious purposes. As well, I’m starting to suspect the unaccounted year the townsfolk allude to may well have been a longer span of time than any of you realize.”

It made sense in a way, and while they couldn’t be certain of Gothel’s intentions, Emma was definitely grateful the woman was gone and could do them no further harm. As far as The Gap was concerned, she supposed there was no real way of knowing how much time had passed, only that it seemed like a year. Had she slept as Aurora once had? Every answer seemed to lead to more questions, but Emma resolved herself to focusing on what mattered most first: reuniting Killian with his Alice.

“Despite her purposes, Killian, whatever they may have been,” she reached up and cupped his cheek. His eyes were blue as the sea and she let herself fall into their depths as she brought him back to the present. “Last night, Killian, True Love’s Kiss is potent magic and I think—I’m almost certain, actually—that we broke your curse. We can find Alice, and you can finally hold your daughter in your arms again.”

“We?” He grinned at her, nuzzling against her hand before turning to kiss her palm. “Then you’ll accompany me, love?”

“Of course! I know we’ve only just met, but I think it’s more than obvious how I feel about you given the fact we broke a witch’s curse with our first kiss.” They shared a laugh, shifting so she could rest her head against his shoulder as he draped his arm around her.

“She’s a bit different, my Alice,” he cautioned.

“And we aren’t?” she challenged. “Tonight at dinner, let me handle my parents. We’ll tell them what happened and make plans to seek out Alice. Henry said she’s with someone called Robin—does that name mean anything to you?”

“Aye, that’s Alice’s love. I know where to find them.”

“Then that’s our next course. Reuniting you with your daughter is the first step toward, well, I guess…” she paused, pulling back to meet his gaze again. “I guess toward becoming a family, right? I mean, my parents will have questions and all things considered, I guess we have other planning we’ll need to do in the future, but—“ he cut off her monologue with a kiss. It was sweet and slow, like he was trying to memorize the feel of her lips on his. His tongue flirted with her bottom lip and she twined her fingers in his hair.

Pulling back to meet her eyes, Killian smiled. “I love you, Princess Emma Nolan,” he whispered.

She felt warm all the way to her toes, grinning as she replied, “I love you, Captain Killian Jones.” The two shared a lingering kiss, the spell suddenly broken by a loud whoop of excitement.

“I told you both!” Henry hollered, emerging from his hiding place behind a large oak tree and performing some bizarre dance Emma had never seen. The three laughed, Henry congratulating them on their newly blossoming relationship while Emma and Killian thanked him for the unlooked-for but welcome help.

“What can I say except: you’re welcome.” His smile was bright at the sun and he slung an arm over both their shoulders, walking between them as the three returned to the house and, for Emma and Killian, toward the start of a new life together.

Tagging the usual suspects: @kmomof4, @teamhook, @veryverynotgood, @caught-in-the-filter, @hollyethecurious, @laschatzi, @donteattheappleshook, @lonelyspectator12, @the-darkdragonfly, @zaharadessert, @winterbaby89, @jrob64, @wefoundloveunderthelight, @ultraluckycatnd, @stahlop, @alexa-fangirl-forever, @superchocovian, @monosalvatore16, @snowbellewells, @batana54

#love4teamhook #cs ff #captain swan #captain swan fan fic #cs fluff #emma swan #killian jones #henry mills

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a-simple-imagine · 4 years

Text

The Smarter Witch

Synopsis: You like to consider Hermione your academic rival but things begin to fall apart between the two of you when Malfoy and friends start asking questions. The reader is in Slytherin sorry.

Pairing: Hermione Granger x fem!reader (can be read as romantic or platonic)

Words: 3.5+

A/N - I’ve been rewatching all the Harry Potter Movies at the cinema recently and I think i like it more now than I ever did before. This is my first HP story so go easy on me, okay? Comments are appreciated and requests are open!!

Warnings - Swearing, excessive use of the word mudblood... i think that’s it.

"Granger," You call out, shoving your things into your bag as quick as humanly possible before charging after her. The crowd of other students growing the distance between you as you slip between them but not without almost crashing into people a bunch of times along the way. "Granger- wait." You try but she continues to walk away with Potter and Weasley beside her. You eventually manage to push your way through until you're walking in step with the trio. The girl stands in the middle, guarded by her two best friends.

"Hey," You offer them a smile, "Guess who got a perfect?"

"How?" It's instinctive to turn your nose up when it comes to Ronald Weasley. Not because of his social status like Malfoy suggests but you just found him rather... irritating. You completely ignore his question; breaking formation, you get ahead of the group and begin to carefully walk backwards so you can focus on the girl. She looked anywhere but at you, however, she had a smirk on her lips. Small but visible.

"Only because Snape favours you," The brunette proclaimed. This was routine for the two of you as of late. Always making excuses as to why the other came out on top. Only because of this. Only because of that. It was never as simple as just studying and doing well.

"You're just jealous that I'm a genius." You insist, your smile growing as you teased your own brilliance. Her head shakes a little.

"Since when were you, two friends?"

"Nobody said anything about friends Weasley-" You growl, your once happy expression morphing into one of pure distaste as you look at him. Spinning gracefully on your heel, you begin to walk normally again. "Since I'm so much smarter than you, I can help you study if you need it."

"I don't need any help from the likes of you, thank you," The likes of you? Did she mean a Slytherin? Or just someone who was smarter than her? Although you didn't actually believe you were smarter... well, not entirely anyway. Hermione Granger was often proclaimed as the smartest in your grade, didn't matter how hard you worked; you'd never quite be the promising young witch everyone seemed to think she was. Which is why you find yourself constantly competing. If you can prove to her you were smart then maybe everyone would see you as more than just a Malfoy crony.

You slap your hand against your chest just above your heart; stumbling backwards as if she just shot an arrow straight through. "Oh, how you wound me, Miss Granger. Care to share how well you did? One hundred percent?" She wouldn't have done badly at least not by everyone else's standard of bad. "Ninety maybe?" You turn back to them, coming to halt directly in front of the girl. "Merlin's beard Hermione, don't tell me you got less than eighty? That would be a travesty."

"if you don't mind, we're a little busy." She hadn't answered the question and as she walked around you, you expected she wasn't going to. "Come along Harry," she took his hand. "Ronald." And his before marching away. You watch them as they go, a smirk lingering before slipping off in search of your friends.

Come Friday afternoon and you found yourself in the great hall. The busy castle was beginning to calm and few people sat in the tables alongside the two of you. You take a sip of some water as you watch the gears in her head turn, debated her next move. At this point you already knew you would win; you always did. While everything else was more of a competition; Hermione Granger surprisingly wasn't all too hard to beat at Wizard's chess. Your Fridays together we're brilliant times to chat though, you'd often sum up any achievements from the week just to see who's doing better.

"I can't believe you beat me in history of magic again- I spent hours on that stupid essay. I basically lived in the library."

"I can help you study if you like," she offered, her eyes not leaving the board as she ordered her bishop forward. You watch as the chess piece moves along the board.

"You're not funny Granger," you tease, ordering your knight forward to take down her bishop. "Check,"

A paper ball hit the back of your head, drawing your attention away. Pansy stood with a wide grin on display, you ignored her and returned to your game but Hermione was also focused on your friend. "I think she wants your attention."

Another paper ball collides against your head. You sigh loudly before turning and mouthing 'what?'

"We're going down to the black lake? You coming?" She asked. "Or are you too busy with the Gryffindor?"

"just give me a sec." You wave her away, turning back to the other girl. "Have you moved?" She nods a little, her hair bouncing with the movements. You examine the board trying to figure out who she had moved but it didn't really matter. With a final move of your queen, the king was knocked off the board. "I do believe that is checkmate."

"I'm beginning to think you're cheating."

"Me?" You ask, pretending to be offended by the notion. "Never. How little faith you have me in, Granger."

"Slytherins are known for being cunning."

"We're not all cheating monsters, my dear sweet Gryffindor. Some of us actually have a conscience."

"I find that hard to believe," Her lips were curled into a cheeky smile. You'd never quite noticed the way her eyes crinkle when her smile is so big or how teethy it was. It was adorable.

"I gotta go- same time next week? Maybe I'll even let you win."

"I don't need you to let me win,"

"You sure?" Nothing more than a harmless joke as you stand. "How many times in a row have I won now?"

"Slither away," Hermione smiles as you back away towards Pansy. You had to admit, you did firm Hermione to be intriguing.

Being in the same year, meant you actually saw Hermione rather frequently, however, your actual interactions were limited. Yes, you played Wizard's chess together every Friday but other than that, you basically only had very short conversations. It was like being in two completely different worlds simply because you were put in different houses. This school had a weird obsession with separation by houses. You were a proud Slytherin as were you friends but your ambition to branch out was often looked at as beneath some of the others. It was dinner time and you sat at the Slytherin table but your focus was pulled towards a certain familiar Gryffindor student. She just happened to be sat in your eye line, so you couldn't help but amuse her from afar. With funny faces and playful winks. Her most common reactions were shakes of the head or rolling her eyes but you knew secretly she enjoyed the teasing.

"Are you even listening?" A sharp elbow slams into your side. You bite back a groan as you shove the boy gently.

"The hell Draco,"

"What are you staring at?" There was a particularly bite behind his words but you'd grown used to how aggressive he could come across. He was always trying to be the alpha and frankly, everyone let him be. You simply shrug at his question; grabbing an apple and taking a bite.

"What did you want?"

The grey of his eyes flickers in curiosity as he tries to figure out what had you so distracted. When you look across at Granger, she's chatting to Ginny Weasley about something.

"Sometimes I wonder if the sorting hat got it wrong with you," He muses. "Should have put you in Gryffindor since you're so obsessed with Potter."

"Says the boy who never shuts up about him." You fight back. You couldn't care less about Harry Potter or his chosen one status. You knew Malfoy hated him though; it was a little weird just how much.

"You gravely misunderstand my interest in potter."

"I don't care if you have a crush on him Malfoy," There are a few snickers around the table but he's definitely not laughing.

"Don't be ridiculous." He growled, leaving the table. It was only a joke. You follow after him along with the others.

After dinner, you're lounging in the common room. One leg hooked over the arm of the couch as you read a book all about dragons. Fascinating creatures.

"So are you and the Gryffindor friends?"

"Who?" You question. Not even looking at the blonde as he sits down beside you.

"Granger." He confirms. "Pansy thinks you have a crush or something?"

"Pansy is a liar." The joke isn't as funny when it's against you. Your feelings towards Granger was nobody else's business but your own. You were often left conflicted when it came to her. You roll your eyes, sitting up straight. "I just like proving that I'm better than her."

"You spend a lot of time with her," Goyle adds.

"So?" You finally lower your book. Your brows knitted together in a clear frown as you scan the room. A few people had invited themselves into the conversation. "I spend a lot of time with you but doesn't mean I wanna get into your pants,"

"I don't know why you associate with any of them." This was beginning to feel like a lecture. Why do they even care who you hang out with? You didn't care much for the boys but you liked Hermione. She was kind, funny and really smart. You enjoyed the little time you ultimately spent together but if you admitted that, they would crucify you.

"They'd probably say the same about you lot," you state. Bringing the large book back up to cover your face. "Now if you don't mind, I'm trying to read here,"

"You can tell us if you like her," Pansy contributes. "I mean we all know you have a soft spot for the weak."

"Are you taking pity on her?"

"Maybe she wants to start hanging out with Potter. Can you imagine?"

You grit your teeth, not at all reading the words on the page in front of you. They're just trying to get a rise out of you.

"I can't imagine anything more pathetic," Malfoy chuckles followed by a few of the others. "They're an embarrassment to the wizarding world if you ask me. Parading around like they own the place-"

"We're nothing okay?" You slap your book shut. "Not friends or secret lovers or anything, I would never date someone so.... dirty." The word slipped out before you had a chance to stop. You didn't see her that way; she was much too grand to be considered dirty. And you couldn't care less about pure bloodlines. It didn't make her any less of a fantastic witch. "I'm not joining Potter's Merry band of monkeys, so just drop it okay." Ignoring the snickers and hushed whispers, you march off to bed.

It's the Friday following your little session in the common room. You forgave them all of course; you always did. There was no point in being angry at them over some harmless teasing. You had the chessboard set up and even brought along a pack of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans but she was running late. Normally it was you showing up late; very unusual behaviour from someone known for punctuality. But as time ticked on and you were still left alone, you began to realise she wasn't going to turn up. Packing everything up, you decide it'll be best to search for her; something bad must have happened for her to not show at all.

"Weasley," you shout, jogging up to Harry and Ron who seemed to be missing their third arm. "You seen granger?"

"Why?" Asks the redhead. Harry presents you with a smile.

"None of your business," you spit at Ron. "Have you seen her or not?"

"Last we saw her she said she was heading to the library," Harry answered. You offer a grateful smile but you can't help but wonder why she's decided to head to the library. Was there a test you didn't know about? Was she trying to get the upper hand? Surely she could have just told you that instead of having you wait.

"Thanks, Harry," You skip along to the library but the journey proves pointless when you discover she isn't there either. You would be lying if you said you had searched particularly hard before giving up though. There was always next week. With a defeated sigh, you head back towards the common room. Luck must have been on your side because you spot her on the way back. Perched on a ledge with her head in a book. Typical Hermione Granger.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," you announce as you walk towards her. "I thought we were gonna play wizards chess so I could annihilate you again." The faintest sniffle hit your ears and you froze. Was she... crying? Shit. You don't do well with criers; you never know how to handle situations when people cry. It's always so... awkward. "What's wrong?"

"Go away." Her voice is quiet but echoes through the empty corridor.

"Granger?" You closer to her now, leaning against one of the stone columns.

"I said go away," Her words are harsh; she shoves her face further into the book. Was she trying to hide the fact she had been crying? It was pretty obvious at this point.

"What's up with you?" You wonder, folding your arms over your chest.

"I don't want to talk to you,"

"What did I do?" The confusion is very clear in your voice. You'd hardly even spoken to the girl recently so how could you have possibly upset her.

"You're as bad as the rest of them, now leave me alone," Sharp words as she grabbed her things and stormed off. As bad as the rest of them? What did that even mean? Pushing yourself upright, you follow after her.

"What's gotten into you?"

"Just some filthy mudblood am I?" Venomous words spat at you with the speed of a viper. You stumble back a little; she's never been so angry with you. Tears spill down her rosy cheeks."Malfoy told me what you said- Guess I should have known better considering your so-called friends. You're just as cruel as the rest of them."

"Hermione..." you sigh softly. You couldn't exactly defend your fellow Slytherin friends. "Why do you believe him anyway?"

"So you didn't say it then."

"No, I did," you shrug a little. "Well I said you were dirty, I didn't say... that word."

"Mudblood- Same thing though right? You think you're so much better just because you're of Pure blood."

"I didn't say that, I-"

"Just stay away from me." Her tone has you backing down from the fight. You consider following her as she charges off down the hall but instead, you go back to the dorms.

"You're a right git," you exclaim, storming into the room, grip tight on the book you launch at his head. Platinum blonde hair darts of the way.

"What the hell."

"You told her?" All eyes are on you as you confront him.

"What are you on about?"

"Hermione- you told her I thought she was dirty."

"Your words, not mine." Draco shrugged a little. A huff of a laugh passing his lips which pissed you off even more.

"I-," you look around, picking up a pillow and tossing it at him. "You are such a pain in the ass."

"Why do you care about that filthy mudblood, you said you don't even like her?"

"I don't even like you and yet we're best friends," You shout, looking at the coffee table you grab a mug and aim at the boy. Draco's hand shoots up in defense.

"Don't you dare throw that at me or I swear-" He fought back. You lower your hand and so does he then you throw it anyway, hearing it break as you collapse on the couch. "You don't need someone like that." He muses as he cautiously approaches the couch.

"We can't all be insufferable snobs Malfoy," you grumble, rather casually considering what just happened. "You mess up everything for no bloody reason"

"Probably shouldn't go around calling her dirty then," He argues. "I didn't make you say that..."

The boy hovers over the back of the couch and you shove him away. "I hate you."

You realise you have to be the one because Malfoy's not about to admit he did anything wrong. And you know at the end of the day it was your fault for saying it in the first place. You retire to your bed, no longer watching to deal with other people.

For the next week or so Hermione avoids you like the plague. You'd obviously see her in some of your classes but when you'd try to speak to her after, she'd rush out before you had a chance to so much as saying hi. If you managed to catch her gaze, she'd stare daggers; if looks could kill you'd be six feet under by now. You'd sometimes find her in the library, it was the one place she could cause a scene but neither could you. When you tried to whisper to her, she'd completely ignore you. You were beginning to miss the limited interaction you hard; Half the fun of studying was ultimately doing better than her in the end.

The girl was alone today, searching the shelves. The library was fairly empty and it was getting late. You take the opportunity to make some paper birds and send them fluttering over to her. One by one until she whispers yells at you to stop. You chuckle. Doing it again. This develops into a habit throughout the next couple of days. You'll send paper birds her way, just to get a reacting out of her. You start writing little messages on them too but you don't think she ever reads them before setting them on fire.

It becomes abundantly clear she's not giving in and therefore one day during breakfast you abandon your table and enter what Malfoy would consider enemy territory. Pushing Neville aside to sit next to Hermione. A bunch of lions look to you like you'd just entered their den without permission; in their defense, you never sit here. Hermione gets up to leave but not before you can grab her wrist.

"Can you please stop ignoring me," she yanks out of your grip, walking away to leave you surrounded by kids you've only ever spoken to in passing. You groan loudly.

"What happened between you two?" Ron asked.

"Do you ever keep out of other people's business Weasley or do you have some obsessive need to weasel your way into everything."

"Just tryna help, jeez."

"If you must know, Malfoy told her that I referred to her as a... y'know."

"Mudblood?" Harry continues for you.

"I called her dirty but I didn't mean it."

"Thought you weren't friends anyway," Ron wore a smirk like he caught you out or something so you just ignore him.

"Now she's ignoring me. I just want her to talk to me."

"Have you apologised?"

"How can I apologise if she won't bloody talk to me, Harry? I thought you were supposed to be smart." You comment, dropping your head against the table. "I've tried writing notes but she burns all of them. I'm running out of ideas, I can only be so charming."

"Can't really help you there," Ron replies.

"All the boys in this school are so bloody useless," you sigh dramatically, slamming your hands on the table to push yourself up. "You’re her best friends and you can't help? Pathetic."

You debate joining the others but you decide against it and leave the great hall. You're not hungry anymore.

"You really should stop sending paper birds," The voice catches you off guard, whipping your wand out before realising it's her.

"I'll stop if you talk to me again," You counter, lowering your wand.

"I'm not ashamed of my parents."

"And you shouldn't be." Your head falls, "I really am sorry for what I said, it was definitely a peer pressure thing and I was stupid." You blurt out. "Malfoy can just be a lot sometimes and I was trying to study so... I don't think you're less than just because your parents are muggles Hermione. Not even a little." You take a deep breath. "I just want my friend back."

She hesitates. "Oh, so we're friends now huh?"

"Only if you want to be," You shrug. There was part of you that wanted to say maybe you like her as more than that but you kept it to yourself; at least for now. "I understand if you don't like... I was really shitty."

"So Friday then?"

"What?"

"Wizards chess? I think I may be able to beat you now, I've been practising."

"Pfft not likely," You tease, your smile growing. "Friday sounds good."

// NEXT

#hermione granger #Hermione Granger x reader #hermione fanfiction #Hermione x reader #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #emma watson

383 notes · View notes

mego42 · 3 years

Text

Shamelessly stealing @foxmagpie’s monthly rec thing without the ability to get my life together to do these on a monthly basis so, seasonal recs! So excited to see if I manage to do this again with anything remotely resembling consistency but i’ve been keeping the notes for approximately 43 years (or since ~september, whatever that means) so by god i’m gonna use them.

found my thrill - s_t_c_s / @sothischickshe

Turner POV!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

guys turner is SO OBSESSED with Beth and Rio

both canonically and in this fic

it’s gr9

also features a weirdly soothing and relatable cord untangling moment as a metaphor

truly disturbingly relatable turner pov tbh

relentless boomer disdain, always a plus

led to the creation of this monstrosity, not sure what kind of a monster would do that

War In My Mind - mintletters16

Backread!!!!

post-213, gorgeous character study

guaranteed to make you feEl stUfF

I really love the like, cyclical, fractured pattern of Beth’s internal monologue, it gives the whole thing a really affecting at times dreamy, at times haunted vibe

the end twist is *chef’s kiss*

mourning bells - Ejunkiet / @ejunkiet

Backread!!!!

Later s2 era, Rio’s at a funeral, gets drunk and calls Beth

V short, kind of…..mmm, not sweet, but almost? Idk

It’s got a wistful sort of almost/i can be quiet with you vibe that i go extremely bonkers for

delinquents - foxmagpie / @foxmagpie

Lol are any of you actually not reading this yet?

g o d ch 8 where do i start

First off how ABSOLUTELY VERY DARE for the tragic angst that is delinquents!beth boland. This poor baby, this precious bean. MUST PROTEC

SHE’S TRYING HER BEST AND I LOVE HER

zero percent deserves dean’s clammy hands, no i have not forgotten, tattooed on my brain, will never forgive

I also love love love love LOVE the ruby/stan subplot happening

(and ruby’s mom!!!!!) (seriously though you write the best moms)

oh god and baby beth starting to have confusing feelings about rio?????? *chef’s kiss*

p sure i was just like, straight screaming the entire end of the chapter

the dugout is like, pure serotonin

I can’t even talk about the closet

tHe teNsiOn

thank you i will take eleventy billion

don't give it a hand, offer it a soul - medievalraven / @medievalraven

am a desperate heaux for any fic that features rio and mick friendship

you are all incredibly shocked i know

still would not be mad if this swerved into rio x mick fake dating but beth x rio is cool too i guess

Speaking of things i am a desperate heaux for: DIANE!!!!!!!!

and DATING ANNIE???????????? Blessed

honestly this fic is worth it purely for the assertion that mick watches queer eye

Why don't we go to Venus? - watermelonriddles / @bensonstablers

another grief study!

apparently i was working through some stuff in september, idk, that was like 4 years ago

considering it’s the premise of the fic, i don’t think it’s a spoiler to say this fic is canon divergent and working with the premise that rio killed beth in 302

he is uh, not coping well

extremely haunted you might say

lots of marcus and rhea which is a delight!

rhea is to good for him tbh

i said what i said

truly top notch dream (nightmare?) sequences

the conversation at the end is extremely uncalled for

drop the game - Ejunkiet / @ejunkiet

Backread!!!!

Am going to die mad Beth and Rio didn’t hook up in 211 but luckily this fic scratched the itch

(temporarily, it’s a fairly permanent itch)

Bonus rec: missing scene series i wanna do bad things to you featuring 2x02 and 2x04

Viva Voce - zetuslapetus / @querenaxx

Whoops we woke up married Vegas shenanigans!!

So cute!!!!! So sexy!!!!!

What more do you want?

am desperately obsessed with how beth can’t help stalking rio

feels right, feels organic

this makes me feel a lot of stuff about how they could be without their canon garbage between them

🎶 we could’ve had it aaaaaaaaaaall 🎶

you showed me colors (i can't see them with anyone else) - gild_fire / @gild-and-fire

really into the use of color to illustrate beth’s emotional state, i feel like there’s a word for that but idk what it is

UNIMPORTANT

really nice job capturing beth’s inner vulnerability balanced by her outer stubbornness

am DESPERATELY into Mick playing matchmaker

more please???????

Both Sides of the Law - JoeyLee / @joeyjoeylee

LAW SCHOOL AU! I suuuuuuper love Beth and Rio here (alt pov!! a gift!!!!) I love how initially prickly they are, I love how it’s evolving into a grudging respect, I love how INCREDIBLY AND HILARIOUSLY OBSESSED WITH EACH OTHER THEY ARE and neither one of them seems to see it

listen I know we’re all already foaming at the mouth over this one but as it’s gonna go down as one of my all time favorites it bears repeating/rereccing

cannot stress enough how masterful the use of POV is here, both voices feel completely true and distinct and I love how the alternating chapters revisit, reveal and emphasize pieces of each other

i can’t talk about this fic without hyperventilating

I LOVE IT SO MUCH YOU GUYS

the slow burn is going to ACTUALLY KILL ME

rip, no regrats

Earned It - wakeupflawless / @wakeupflawless

spanking

that’s it that’s the pitch

H O T

living for beth’s exit in the first chapter, rio and i are both incredibly into it

second chapter also features violently possessive Rio who cannot deal with anyone messing with his girl so if that’s your thing boy howdy get on it

shake, baby, shake - openhearts

backread!!!!!

according to my bookmarks this was a reread but ???????

must’ve read it in the fugue state that followed reading for a moment we were strangers which is gr9 and I believe I have recced it before. If not, horrible oversight, reccing it now

beth and Rio POV lead up to the bathroom break, beautifully done, low-key feel bad reccing it bc the end point of both chapters makes me want to throw things but it’s super worth it for the tEnsiOn. ENJOY

What the Sea Wants, the Sea Will Have - flashindie / @pynkhues

I’m assuming all of y’all are already reading this

If not OH MY GOD FIX YOUR LIVES

P I R A T E A U

I’m sorry maybe you didn’t hear me piRaTE aU

meticulously researched, brain-meltingly vibrant, already painfully sexy slow-burning PIRATE AU

god where to start okay so first off, the world-building here straight up breaks my brain, sophie’s put in the work and it SHOWS

second, the atmosphere. i’m generally a pretty like, vague mental picture sort of reader but the sensory detail here grabs you by the throat and like, forcibly hauls you in whether your brain’s wired that way or no

and hey speaking of throats if you, like me, go a little funny about the knees at the idea of beth holding a knife to rio’s throat (he’s fine, calm down), there’s a v excellent beth-in-a-barrel moment for you

oh christ and the sexy tension

it’s gonna be a race to see which slow burn takes me out first, this or law school

Stunner - foxmagpie / @foxmagpie

Another high school AU, this time with baby Rio absolutely head over heels for his older sister’s bff

stunner!Rio has an emotional earnestness about him that I feel like delinquents!Rio has already outgrown and it’s so SWEET I can’t get enough

Desperately cute!!!!!!

alL he waNts iS foR beTh tO bE hiS girL

also unreasonably angsty???????

ANN ARBOR IS NOT THAT FAR MEGAN

A Heart's A Heavy Burden - tooshyforthis / @bathroombreaks

Howl’s Moving Castle AU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I love Howl’s!!!!!!!!!!!

perfect opp to roast Rio for being a Dramatique Heaux

and it’s gonna be 9 chapters?????? H Y P E

author’s note boldly presumes I did not know I needed this AU when the reality is I did in fact know I needed this AU, I just wasn’t expecting anyone to deliver

so blessed

author also claims to not be team nose stud and yet it features prominently in all its magnificent glory

what is the truth dot gif

A Bit of a Stretch - septiembre / @septiembur

SO????? CUTE?????????

would be on this list for Rio calling Beth E alone tbh

really really really really really love this Rio POV of being settled into a relationship with Beth

It manages to be sweetly domestic af while still holding the edge that makes brio brio which is a neat trick

@septiembur may be a witch

beth’s approach to getting rio to do yoga with her is hilarious and exactly right, canon-typical amounts of subtlety

1000000/10

Post Break-Up Sex - femalegothic / @bethsuglywigs

stg this was called Hit Shuffle

no matter

h O T

with a side of damn i’ve made some questionable choices in my life haven’t i introspection

(no regrats tho)

(esp not with this fic)

not the point of the fic by a long shot but i’m also extremely obsessed with Weed Eddie, so real

She drains my soul... she drains it not - niham87 / @niham87

ABSOLUTELY OBSESSED WITH THIS CONCEPT

am a complete sucker for paranormal world building that satirizes bureaucracy

Is that a trope? If so that’s my favorite

I did it. I’m picking a single favorite. You know what that is growth dot gif

ANYWAY i love the concept, i love the humor, i love beth instantly clicking with annie

I love her and mick’s sort of grudging professional courtesy

Love beth as a champion of environmental responsibility and all of the underworld being like …...okay??

cannot wait to see where this goes

Nine-Tenths - riosnecktattoo / @riosnecktattoo

*INCOHERENT PTERODACTYL SCREECHING*

sometimes i think about rio putting beth’s hair in a ponytail and have to go lie down

science please explain why this rUinS mE

wait hold on i skipped ahead

HEY KIDS DO YOU LIKE UNBEARABLY CUTE DOMESTIC TENDERNESS

opens with rio sleepily holding beth’s hand to his heart so that’s the kind of thing you’ll be dealing with

uGH theY’RE sO CUTe

idk why precisely but rio adding hair ties to his bracelet collection is my undoing every time

Missed Call - foxmagpie / @foxmagpie

Rio doesn’t come home from a job when he’s supposed to. Beth (and I!!!!!!!) slowly loses her mind

Truly a masterpiece of rising tension

Will literally never forgive her for calling this light angst

I was SO STRESSED OUT

The first person to point out there was an author’s note at the beginning I obvs didn’t read is getting blocked

crush - foxmagpie / @foxmagpie

Listen even though this is centered around two OCs, they are OCs FROM a (n iconic) brio fic AND Beth, Ruby and Rio all make cameos (I mean, Rio’s pretty present since he lives in Mar’s mind rent free bc they are THE SWEETEST MOST ADORABLE BEST OF FRIENDS so idk if i’d call it a cameo but whatever)

and even if it didn’t feature any official GG characters I’d still rec is bc that’s mY SON AND this fic is TOO CUTE

I have so many feelings over mar and rio growing up and not knowing how to cope with girls becoming a Thing in their life and how it affects their friendship and mar feeling left behind but (SPOILERS) at the end of the story rio starts feeling that too and it’s so poignant knowing how that’s going to continue in delinquents

while mar may be my son, i also claim elena’s #1 stan status

before you’re like meg you’re only reccing it bc it’s a bday present ask yourselves do i really strike you as the kind of person that wouldn’t be equally obnoxious about this either way?

truly cannot fathom how hard i have fallen for these OCs i don’t normally do that

@foxmagpie is definitely a witch

The Ottoman - Niham87 / @niham87

look i will be the first to admit that i don’t go near as bonkers over the ottoman line in 308 as y’all do

(don’t get me wrong, i love it!!! I love that he laughs and i love that she’s pleased it just doesn’t hit my lose my whole mind button like idk, the dubby or the 306 convo, idk why)

BUT i v v v much love the context this delightful Rio POV pwp gives it

am also absolutely feral for 209 missing scene fic

and anything that captures the complexity of Rio’s s3 feelings for Beth and how twisted they’ve become

so this scratches a bunch of itches, is what i’m trying to say

Bet On It - zetuslapetus / @querenaxx

*INCOHERENT PTERODACTYL SCREECHING*

That’s what my brain does when I think about Beth and Rio meeting in ch 1

am DESPERATELY OBSESSED WITH the tension between the two of them in this fic

I love how it plays with the ways they have to rely on but don’t trust each other

plus FAKE DATING and BED SHARING (fair warning hasn’t happened yet but the set up is there)

originally supposed to be 2 chapters, already up to 4, prayer circle it goes on forever

do you like drugs (tonight) - s_t_c_s / @sothischickshe

v important focus on hydration, other fic should take note

extremely about the use of cut to and then flashback to enhance the ‘we were on drugs’ vibe

speaking of, beth and rio absolutely would take ecstasy to prove they are fun bc they are the exact kind of idiots that would peer pressure themselves

so glad beth kept her purse, got a bit stressed there for a second, clutches in that kind of circumstance are A Risk

not that i would know

FLAWLESS USE OF VOICEMAIL TBH

really love the ongoing denial that they are remotely into each other while proceeding to demonstrate how they are in fact, extremely into each other, great vibe

rio dances

I know my brain broke too

mmmm bacon

Navigate A Broken Path - flashindie / @pynkhues

*INCOHERENT PTERODACTYL SCREECHING*

I have a long standing tradition of getting unreasonably obsessed with side characters so i’m not like, entirely surprised by how obsessed i am with both Mick and Mary Pat but i never in a million years considered them as a ship

AND Y E T

they fit????? so perfectly?????? It’s amazing how she developes them individually enough that i look at them together and think ah yes this makes perfect sense for both characters

and they’re such an amazing foil to Beth and Rio?

can ships have foils? do i know what a foil is?

unimportant

GUYS you dON’T uNDERStAN d

hell i don’t understand

how absolutely very dare you make me care about YET ANOTHER set of gg ‘verse children

do not read this fic if you have no interest in feelings you zero percent asked for

wHA t hAPPeNED iN aLASkA?????????

A Moment’s Silence - femalegothic / @bethsuglywigs

*makes sign of the cross*

y’all are gonna make me rediscover religion

extremely appreciate the author’s note approach to backstory top notch prioritization

listen it’s basically 3k of beth deep throating rio idk what more you need me to say about it

it is…..good stuff

bless the kinkmeme or fest whatever we’re calling it

praise - civillove / @blainesebastian

I mean you had me at “three times rio calls beth a good girl and one time he really means it”

ephemeral rio

I left that note for myself in here in the middle of the night and haven’t the foggiest what i was thinking but i stand by it none the less

okay okay i think i know what i meant, this fic (as do all of my fav civillove brio fics) has this sort of like, liminal, in the quiet moments feel to them that makes the moments and feelings somehow feel like i’m catching a glimpse of something secret and precious???

idk i just really like it okay

Heart and Soul - riosnecktattoo / @riosnecktattoo

oh look more unbearably sweet domestic tenderness, this time to music

thank you ma’am for my life

rio remembers beth used to play piano and gets her one and revoltingly cute shenanigans result

also hilarity

and sexiness

this fic has it all, truly

shout out to mick who sees no reason to keep rio’s feelings to himself

good girls tumblr fic - prettylittlementirosa / @hypermania

cheating and reccing a whole series

It’s my list and i can do what i wanna

stop crying about it, it’s four fics and they’re all AMAZING absolutely impossible to pick a fav

truly flawless characterization, next level ability to capture evocative mood, cannot get enough

three’s a crowd: who knew ballroom dancing while dean watches and grinds his teeth could be so sexy

(trick question everything about that premise sounds A++++ and boy howdy does it live up)

feel it on the way home: rio tries to break up with beth, it goes about as well as you’d expect

(thE angSty tenSioN)

i want to play the game: [from the floor] i’m still not ready to talk about it

(rio/turner, missing scene, 10000000% a taste of what went down in that hotel room)

june after dark: pitch perfect annie pov, really really love the take that Annie is the baby whisperer, can’t fully explain why but it feels incredibly right

(ANNIE X NANCY COULD WORK SO WELL YOU GUYS)

#fingers crossed these links are right i did not double check #i like to live on the edge #truly mind boggling amount of fluff on this list i surprised myself on that one #no i will not at any point get my shit together enough to write out thoughtful commentary this is a shit posting blog first last and always #fic recs #gg fic #nbc good girls #i'll come up with a tag for these if i ever do them again #check back 37 years from now #or ~~~~~~march #whatever that means

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iliveiloveiwrite · 3 years

Note

What are some good book recommendations? I’ll be honest, I’ve never considered myself very much of a reader because I’ve never really found a genre that I’ve fallen in love with. But your taste in books is rather beautiful and makes me want to give it another chance

omg no-one has ever called my taste in books beautiful before, thank you 🥺 This is going to be an extensive list, I apologise in advance! I’ve provided a brief description of each book/series so you can go through and decide whether it would best suit you. The last thing I want to do is inadvertently trigger anyone.

Fantasy/Paranormal Romance

Wicked by Jennifer L. Armentrout - A series of three books following the life of Ivy Morgan. Good fae, evil fae, secret orders and a love interest with dark hair and green eyes. 18+.

Throne of Glass by Sarah J. Maas - A series comprising of seven books and one book of novellas. This series follows the assassin Celeana Sardothien as she enters into a competition to become the King’s Champion. This series is violent, and has some distressing scenes as well as scenes of 17+.

Crave by Tracy Wolff - I like to think of this as Twilight if it took place in a boarding school in the middle of Alaska. For those that read Twilight in high school, or have recently read it, this book is a hit of nostalgia you didn't know you needed. It is so entertaining and the love interests are *chefs kiss*.

A Touch of Darkness by Scarlett St. Clair - A series comprising of three books so far. A modern retelling of the famous Hades and Persephone myth. I adore this series. I seriously cannot tell you how much I love this series. The world building to the character development to my love of Hades by the end of it. It’s such a great read, I even waxed lyrical about it in one of my Fred Weasley fics. 18+ (scenes of mature nature).

A Discovery of Witches by Deborah Harkness - Like history? Like vampires, witches and demons? This series is for you. A trilogy following the love shared by Diana Bishop, a historian and witch, and Matthew Clairmont, scientist and vampire. This series is for mature readers - it doesn't hold back on violence as well as sex. However, if you choose to read, I promise you, you will enjoy. It is also a series on Sky with a second series being aired in January (in the UK anyway). 18+

Stalking Jack the Ripper by Kerri Maniscalco - A series of four books following the lives of Audrey-Rose Wadsworth and Thomas Cresswell. Set in Victorian London, the first book follows the Jack the Ripper investigation ending on a cliffhanger not even I saw coming. This does get maturer as you continue the series and there are some gruesome scenes throughout. 16+

From Blood and Ash by Jennifer L. Armentrout - What can I say about this series that I haven’t already cried about? I bought the first book in lockdown and devoured it. I bought the second book about a week after it was published and it has not left my mind since. World building? Astonishing. Character development? Stunning. Handsome love interest? You best believe it. This isn't YA Fantasy; this is NA and it is mature. There are scenes throughout both books that are violent as well as mature. 18+.

Heartless by Marissa Meyer - The origin story of the Queen of Hearts and with no better way to put it... it’s heartbreaking. This book had my heart soaring only for it to be crushed in the best way possible. An incredible read. There are some violent scenes but it’s YA so it’s at a minimum. 15/16+.

The Wicked Deep by Shea Earnshaw - I read this book in one day. I could not put it down, I loved it so much. This books follows three sisters set on a quest for revenge - and how love may be the only thing powerful enough to stop them. 16+.

Historical Fiction

The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller - Patroclus, an awkward young prince has been exiled to the kingdom of Pthia where he meets Achilles. Follow them through their coming of age tale through the Battle of Troy. So I adore this book, I love this book. I could talk about it all day long. It’s fantastic - go read it. LGBT+, 17+.

Lovely War by Julia Berry - A multi-layered romance set in the perilous days of World War One and Two, where Gods hold the fates - and hearts - of mortals in their hands. Oh... my... word... this book left me speechless. It left me speechless. I couldn’t not finish in the day that it arrived on my doorstep; it’s prose is poetic, it’s romance is dreamy and I just found myself tearing up at the words on the page. 17+

The Disappearances by Emily Bain Murphy - Every seven years something goes missing from the town of Sterling: people’s reflections, the stars in the sky, the ability to dream. Aila realises her mother may have something to do with such a curse. Again, I read this in a day. I couldn’t put it down. It’s set through WW2 and I just think the plot is genius. 15+.

Prose that makes me want to cry

The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern - I read this for the first time back in 2014 and have read it so often since that I have had to buy a second copy so I don’t ruin the pages of my first. I LOVE THIS BOOK. It follows the creation of a circus that only opens from night until dawn and how this circus weaves itself into the lives of its workers/owners. An absolute masterpiece. 16+.

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab - This book has been one of my most anticipated releases of 2020, and it has not disappointed. When Addie LaRue makes a pact with the devil, she trades her soul for immortality and the curse of no-one remembering who she ever was. Until one day, somebody does. Every part of this book, I savoured, I made myself read it slowly for the fact that I didn't want to miss a thing. Utterly breathtaking. 18+.

We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson - Anything by Jackson deserves to be on this list. It drags you in and keeps you there. Why do you think they made a Netflix series of her work? 16+.

The Bloody Chamber by Angela Carter - This is a collection of short stories that are dark retellings of classic fairytales. It is so utterly fantastic. 18+.

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid - Definitely in my top 10 reads of 2020. A former Hollywood starlette tells her life story to a reporter; every seedy detail of her life including that of her seven husbands. I was hooked from the first page. 18+.

18+ (This section can be ignored if this genre of books is not your thing).

A Lesson in Thorns by Sierra Simone - When librarian Poe Markham takes the job at Thornchapel, she has only two aims. One - to stay away from Thornchapel’s owner, Auden Guest. And Two, to find out what happened to her mother twelve years ago. This is a series comprising of three books so far with the fourth published at the end of this week. This series covers a lot of dark themes as well as mature content.

A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah J. Maas - I have only involved this series here for the fact that it does have a lot of smut involved. Not as much as other books, but a lot more than your typical YA. However, these books are gold and so far this year, I’ve read the whole series about six times. I love them, go read them.

A Touch of Darkness by Scarlett St. Clair - I mentioned this series earlier but it does have a lot of smut.

Pestilence by Laura Thalassa - The first in the Four Horsemen series. This has a lot of violence and a lot of smut. However, the overall plot is so interesting as well as badass female characters that bring so much energy to the plot.

The Bargainer series by Laura Thalassa - If you’ve read ACOTAR, then this series is the perfect hangover cure. A love interest to swoon for and a plot to only keep you interested.

Authors I buy every book of

Cassandra Clare

Sarah J. Maas

Jennifer L. Armentrout

Scarlett St. Clair

Deborah Harkness

Kerri Maniscalco

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the-reaper-of-maidens · 3 years

Text

Arrival

YEET, some Alcina x OC stuff, because I’m horrible with x Reader stuff. I suppose chronologically, this is the first in my Alcina x OC stories, since this is how my OC met the tall vampire lady~ It kinda ends a bit abruptly, but I wanted the smut to be its own chapter, lol. I know I have the good lady far nicer in this than she really is, but she’s kinda mentally flipped upside down with this nutty OC~ I hope I did the tall vampire lady justice with this, regardless!

TW: mentions of self harm, homophobia implied

The diminutive woman arrived at the castle grounds. Her brown eyes were weary and showed her depression. Her brunette hair was long, flowing freely in the cold breeze, and her jeans were doing a poor job keeping her legs from freezing. She had some nose and ear piercings, so they were especially cold. She shivered and pulled her bomber jacket tighter as she went in, adjusting her duffle bag. She was a bit of a horror blogger, though she ironically was scared easily. Recently, she ended her blog, figuring it was best to end while she was at her peak, so she didn’t tell anyone about her trip to this haunting castle that was reported to be sites of vicious attacks.

Really, the blogger was hoping for one more fright before moving on from her fame, or maybe she wanted to end her suffering, so she hoped to see a monster. Though she was well-liked online, her personal life was… awful, to put it lightly. The blogger certainly felt unsettled, taking a look at the foyer. She thought it was weird that the doors were totally unlocked, though she figured it was different cultural norms, since she was American.

And then… she saw one of them. The blogger started sweating as the witch stepped towards her, she didn’t think anyone still lived here. The tiny woman stepped back, trying not to wig out as the witch continued her creeping. She whipped her head around when she heard another door open, and that was when she started running, dropping her bag.

She didn’t know where she was going, she just wanted to get away from them while trying to explore what the castle had to offer, despite her better judgement. Maybe she should have just turned tail when she saw the witch…

“Well, well… what an interesting visitor we have here,” a low, but darkly alluring voice called out, its owner crouching through a doorway.

The blogger froze like a deer in headlights as she saw what seemed to be an enormous woman towering over her. This woman must have been twice her height. Great, she thought, I have that creepy woman after my tail and now there’s this… hulking piece of… hotness. The blogger blushed a bit, this woman was just stunning, and she couldn’t help but get the hots for her despite being pretty terrified right about now. “S...sorry,” she finally managed to croak out. “I just got curious is all. I’ll just grab my stuff and leave now if you want.”

“How adorable, thinking you can just break in and enter someone’s house willy-nilly,” Lady Alcina Dimitrescu giggled charmingly and sinisterly as she eyed the petite woman, baring her claws. Of course, she felt it was a bit unfair for this especially tiny woman to go down easily; she usually liked giving her prey a fighting chance, it made the hunt all the more exciting. “I’ll give you a chance to run. If you make it out the door before my daughters or I can catch you, you’re free to go~”

Instead of running, though… the blogger just screamed and went down on her knees, cowering in fear. Her stomach was in knots, and she almost felt her breakfast wanting to come back up as she prepared herself for the worst.

The mutant tilted her head in curiosity and retracted her claws. Normally, most people took the chance to run off, but this one thought giving up and staying was a good idea. Alcina was suddenly interested in this strange human. “Hmm… you know what, I’ll call off my daughters. You pique my interest, how about we chat over lunch?”

The blogger was still shaking, though she mustered up the courage to open up her eyes. Though still anxious, she did relax a bit when she realized she was still unharmed. “I… yeah, sure. Lunch sounds good,” she stood up on shaky legs, unzipping her bomber jacket a bit. The adrenaline really heated up her body. Her stomach still felt a bit nauseous, though, so the thought of food didn’t sound appealing to the blogger at the moment.

“Trust me, I’ll make sure my daughters won’t bite. How about you go make yourself… comfortable in the meantime?”

Naturally, the blogger was still on high alert for the next few hours. She looked at her phone, tempted to make a blog post about all that happened, but she decided against it. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to be back in the limelight again… if she wanted to be criticized by her family again. She didn’t have any friends, really, so it wasn’t like she had anyone that would worry about her. She sighed, and Alcina caught the pained look on the blogger’s face.

“So… what brought you to my humble abode?”

“Oh! Sorry! Sorry…” the blogger fretted a bit. “Like I said, I got curious. I also used to run a blog about all sorts of scary monsters and stuff.” Of course, this was all lost on the vampire lady, so the blogger explained more. “A blog is kinda like a digital journal entry, you see. You write it up on your computer and post it up and everyone gets to see what you wrote. Kinda like a bulletin board, but it’s on the Internet.”

“And you… used to?”

“I… yeah. I just wanted to scare people about the things I write about, I didn’t want to be famous. But it happened, and I felt like I had to go along with the ride. Eventually, my folks found out. They’re… not the most supportive,” the blogger divulged. “So ending the blog was a little bit of panic and mostly my choice, because I knew I can’t handle juggling family issues and the blog.”

The mutant woman tsked a bit, feeling an odd sense of pity for the blogger. “How shameful of your family. Do they not have their own business to tend to?”

“Like hell that I care. I cut them off after I stopped blogging. I’ve got enough money to travel around as I please, so… if I’m stuck where I’m misunderstood and demonized, I can just fly off,” and the blogger had anger flash in her eyes for a second, which surprised the mutant vampire. “Imagine being in hillbilly hell, where everyone is a churchgoing fanatic, and you don’t fit what they want you to be. I don’t have friends. My family hates me because of who I love… the guys laugh, and the women? Well, they’re grossed out because I’m a woman and I’m... I’m not supposed to love women.”

“Ah, so you escaped when you finally had the chance,” Alcina wasn’t stupid, piecing together that the smaller woman was waiting for the funds to get out. It was admittedly rather admirable to the vampire, knowing that someone freed themselves of their shackles.

“It took a few years… but you can bet I hauled ass the second I reached my goal. Still, though… I wake up every day, and I’m dragged down by my self-hate. Like my demons follow me wherever I go, and it’d be nice if I can escape for real.”

Alcina shifted a bit, and she grinned mysteriously. “I know a way, if you’re willing to stay for the night,” she offered, hoping the blogger would accept. Perhaps this woman could give her her fix, since it had been a long while since Alcina had any fun in her private quarters. Though she had her witches, she really did see the three as her daughters… she just couldn’t see herself doing such an act with any of them.

The blogger blushed a bright red, trying to decipher what this extremely tall vampire lady meant by that. “...Are you asking me to sleep with you?” she sniped in. She wouldn’t mind it, per se, but she was certainly surprised at the proposal.

“I can tell in your body language, you’re in love with me~ Luckily for you, I don’t care what’s in someone’s pants or how they identify as when I put them to bed. All they need to do… is be a good plaything for me,” Alcina giggled seductively, tossing away any subtlety she might have had.

“I… hold on, just a sec,” the blogger ran off to the nearest bathroom to compose herself. She felt herself flush with heat as she took off her jacket. “Don’t… do anything stupid,” she told herself in the mirror as she washed her face with ice cold water. She was wracked with nerves, but she just couldn’t pass this up. Well, what’s the worst that can happen? It’s not like anyone back home cared about me, she thought to herself. The blogger took a deep breath to compose herself as she zipped her jacket back up and she went back out, her emotions put into check for now. “Sure, I’d like to stay for the night,” the blogger grinned awkwardly when she returned, fidgeting a bit.

“Trust me, you have nothing to fear,” Alcina purred, putting a hand on the blogger’s cheek. Of course, decades of experience meant she knew how to not crush the poor thing during their fun. This woman must have been half her size, if the height difference was anything to go by. “When you’re as tall as I am, you simply have no choice but to... adapt.”

“Hehe, lucky me. I’ve never… did any of that, obviously,” the blogger admitted, blushing as she shifted her weight between her feet.

“Oh? So you’re saying that you’re a maiden?” Alcina was definitely hooked now, leaning forward a bit. Having a new fling was always nice, but having a potentially new source to make another batch of Sanguis Virginis was always even better.

“What? You’re not gonna like, sacrifice me to some demon or something, are you? Or gut me with those huge claws… right?”

“Oh, no, not at all. It just has a rather poetic ring to it is all,” Alcina hummed casually, debating whether to get the blogger’s blood or enjoy the night with her. Then again, there was no hiding from the tiny woman that she was a mutant vampire, so she had to come clean. “Though,” she leaned back in her chair, “I’m admittedly not sure whether to ravish you or turn you into my wine. We need maiden’s blood for the wine, you see, since it’s just so... delectable.” Normally, the countess would have no issue deciding to turn someone into wine, but given the events from earlier that day... the blogger could make for a good plaything instead.

The blogger swallowed nervously. She had a feeling that whatever she would say, Alcina would manage to have her way. “...How much blood? Are you gonna… turn me? If not, can you not… like, kill me? I need my blood to live.” So many questions raced in her head, she was almost regretting accepting the offer. Almost.

“Charming. Don’t you worry, I won’t drain you of all your blood, should you end up being my pet instead~”

The blogger spent most of the day just relaxing in her room after lunch, thinking about her future. The money won’t last forever, after all, so she needed to start planning. So far, her hostess seemed amiable enough, despite the initial scare. “Ugh, think, think, think! What can I do for Lady Dimitrescu to make her enjoy my stay if I have to come back?” Or, perhaps, she could forgo her travels, instead staying at Castle Dimitrescu for the rest of her life in service to Alcina. She felt a cold in the air, the hairs on her neck standing on ends. She slowly turned and her eyes met with Daniela’s, who she learned earlier was one of Alcina’s daughters.

“Mother says dinner is almost ready, plaything~” the witch giggled, a strident laugh that made the blogger feel a pit in her stomach.

“I… thanks,” the blogger gulped in fear, following the witch for what seemed like forever. She still wasn’t sure what to think about Daniela, truth be told. She eyed the mutant vampire, and realized the mutant was still inhumanly tall, though not as tall as Alcina. She gulped nervously, wondering if she’d be tossed to the witch if Alcina decided she wasn’t good enough.

“Ah, our little guest. Thank you for fetching her, Daniela,” Alcina nodded, a smirk revealing her fangs a bit as she waved Daniela off to take a seat. The blogger looked around, watching the maids hustle and bustle, setting food out to the table. She saw two other women similarly dressed as Daniela sitting at the table, and she assumed they were sisters. That still didn’t make her less uneasy.

The blogger’s mouth watered a bit, smelling the food. If lunch was anything to go by, dinner would be spectacular. “Thanks for letting me stay for the night, Lady Dimitrescu. Tonight’s pretty cold, or so it seems,” she took a seat.

“Oh, it’s not an issue at all, and please… you may call me Alcina,” the vampire mutant purred, trying to get a bit more emotionally close to the blogger. She rarely had any romantic emotions, she usually felt they were in the way of the real action, but… she didn’t mind it when she did have romance flare up in her heart, if someone truly was interesting to her. She frowned a bit when the blogger didn’t take her bomber jacket off, even as she started eating. “Oh, come now, how long have you worn that jacket today? Surely, you must be sweating buckets in there!”

The blogger blushed a bit, mid-bite into her chiftea. “Oh, um… you don’t need to worry… Alcina. I’m not hot at all, trust me,” she tried to dodge, knowing the lady wanted her to stop roasting.

“Well, if you get it all over your coat, you’re going to have to wash it anyways. I’m amazed you didn’t do that at lunch earlier.”

The blogger just cast her eyes downward at her food, fidgeting a bit. She knew she was locked in; one wrong choice, and she would be dead, and she’d rather be alive and uncomfortable than dead. “You’re right,” and she took off her jacket, revealing scars and tattoos on her arm peeking out from the rolled sleeves. She shivered in the brisk breeze, but kept eating.

Alcina leaned back a bit, realizing why her guest refused to shed her coat. “Who did that to you? The scars, that is.”

“...I did,” the blogger clenched a fork, her eyes still downcast. “...Most of it, anyways,” she finally looked up and made eye contact with Alcina. “Some of it was from my dad.”

“...My apologies,” Alcina truly meant it. “I had no idea.”

“It’s fine, the scars are all in the past now,” the blogger took a sip of what seemed to be wine, perhaps a merlot or a cabernet. She coughed, she hated alcohol… “Sorry… I get that wine is good for dinner, but… I prefer tea,” she admitted. “Dad was an alcoholic, so… stuff like that makes me uncomfortable. I think maybe an Earl Grey tea with some cream and sugar would be nice?”

Alcina nodded and called for a servant. “Prepare a tea kettle for our guest here. Earl Grey with cream and sugar,” the vampire lady commanded. “My dear guest… I really am sorry for making you uncomfortable. I’ll take note of that next time you come here.”

“Um… actually, about that… I’ve been thinking, Alcina. The money I’ve got won’t last forever, so I was thinking of just staying here… working for you,” the brunette woman rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly.

Each and every hour, the blogger became more and more interesting to Alcina. It was rare for girls to come and willingly work here, unless they had some sort of death wish. “I see. Well, in that case, I will spare you, my dear... if you can tell me what you can bring to the table.”

“I can make music, and I can do art. Think of all the beautiful paintings I’d make of you~” the blogger cracked a grin. “But more importantly… I can help you bring maidens into the castle for your wine.”

“Oh?” That definitely rules out making her into wine now, Alcina thought, though she decided hours ago she likely wouldn’t do such a thing to her little pet.

“If you can turn me into one like yourself and your daughters, I will. I promise. I’ve… when I was twelve, I wanted to become a vampire so badly,” she admitted, snorting a bit. “But... really, Alcina. The maidens I’d hunt for you would be my rent payment, so to speak.”

Alcina seemed to consider it, sipping her wine, and smiling in amusement at that confession. The blogger seemed multi talented, at least, so it would be nice to have some entertainment if she wanted, though it was new that someone wanted to be turned, and she was tempted, though she’d have to talk to a certain Mother Miranda. “You’ll get your chance, my dear. Patience is the key here,” she reached over and gently grasped her guest’s hand. “Perhaps not now, but you can say goodbye to your past… to the pain… soon.”

Dinner was accompanied by lots of talk, mostly of the blogger telling Alcina all about herself. Soon enough, dinner was done, and Alcina invited the blogger to her bedroom. “A deal is a deal~ I promised you that I’d help you escape your self-loathing, and I will,” she offered a gargantuan hand to the blogger.

#lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x oc #fanfic #resident evil 8 #self harm ment //#homophobia imp //

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