#and at the end of the hall is a great portrait of a man with long hair — black as night — and red eyes that still gleam after all this time

[rosemaryblossomworld]

Her Portrait

𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝙰𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚃𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚢𝚎𝚗 𝚡 𝙵𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚜 𝙱𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚘𝚗 (𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝); 𝙰𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚃𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚢𝚎𝚗 𝚡 𝚈/𝚗 𝚅𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗 (𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝).

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝙵𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛, 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚢. 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛.

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝙳𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎! 𝚅𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔! 𝙺𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚜𝚎. 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 (?). 𝙳𝚊𝚛𝚔! 𝙰𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚍. 𝙼𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍. 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚍𝚞𝚝𝚢

𝙰/𝙽: 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚋𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 (𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛, 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚎𝚝𝚌.) 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝙴𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚐𝚎. 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗!

Floris was so nervous that her knees were shaking. Today she will marry Prince Aemond, who is steeped in madness. She was his fourth wife. The others had disappeared under mysterious circumstances.

She stood before the doors of the temple, where they would be pronounced husband and wife. She will say goodbye to her kin and goodbye to the Baratheon name.

Her father, who held her hand in his, smiled proudly, finally he will give his daughter to the ruling family and he will be inbred to the crown.

The door opened and the guests fell silent. They rose to greet the bride. At the end of the hall stood Prince Aemond, the current King, the Dowager Queen, and the High Septon. Floris glanced at the guests and saw the bored looks, the women whispering to each other and the men sneering or averting their eyes.

Floris understood the court, this was the fourth time they had gathered here and they expected a fifth. What the young girl had feared. She was afraid to look into her husband's eyes when her father took her into his arms. She was afraid of the Supreme Septon's calm and weary voice. The queen's look that said nothing. The contemptuous eyes of the young king. She wanted to run away, she turned her head slightly towards the hall where her father sat and met his stern eyes, which could be understood without words.

There was feasting, drinking and dancing, and the girl was left alone in the banquet hall. Her husband had disappeared after the vows. The queen sat next to her, her look radiating a kind of hostility and non-acceptance, it seemed to the girl. Only Floris couldn't figure out if it was because of her or the situation that was developing.

"I am glad you have become Aemond's wife. Your father praised you and your merits. It's rare to meet such an educated lady," Alicent elegantly cut off a small piece of meat and placed it in her mouth.

A grimace appeared on Floris' face for a second, her voice drenched in fake friendliness, as if she was holding back poison.

"I am also happy that my husband is the second prince. It is a great honor," Floris muttered.

"I would like to give you some advice," Alicent turned to the girl who had put down the cutlery.

"I will accept any instruction from you," the girl said respectfully.

"Do not force your feelings on him. And listen to him, if he tells you not to go out, you must not go out," her quiet voice was ominous.

"I realize that. My father raised me to be the kind of person a man might like. "Gentle and understanding," the current princess replied, and Alicent curled her lips.

"I hope so. But my son is not any man, he... has given his heart to another... and that is something even I could not fix," the queen turned away, indicating that she would not continue the conversation.

Floris swallowed. She knew of whom Her Majesty spoke. Everyone knew.

The current princess had personally met with this 'mysterious' girl. And their meeting had left her with conflicting emotions. Floris shook her head, avoiding the image that formed in her mind, azure eyes and white hair...

Several moons had passed since then, but the girl only saw her lord husband at family dinners. The rest of the time she was alone. Talking to the queen was a dead end, and talking to Princess Helena was difficult because she was in her own thoughts. So Floris preferred the company of the young ladies of the court, all the girls were her age and had one thing in common - gossip!

"I am so sorry for you, Princess," the red-haired lady murmured.

"Why?" Floris put the cup of tea on the saucer.

"How! You have tied your fate to a mad prince..." the lady continued conspiratorially.

"I don't want to talk about my husband," the princess did not like the subject, although she agreed with the ladies.

"I heard that after the death of Y/n Velaryon he fell into madness, in order to subdue him the queen married him, pity no girls were found after that," the lady in the green dress and the black hair giggled.

“I beg you," Floris tried to stop the lady, but it was too late.

"And I have heard from the servants that there is a room in the castle where the body of the dead princess lies. Prince Aemond couldn't bear to part with her, so he hid her from everyone," the lady in blue giggled strangely.

"What?" Floris was astonished.

"Goodness, my dear, have you not heard of this?" the lady in blue clarified.

"Could Y/n Velaryon's body not be found?" the princess inquired.

"Most likely, as soon as Prince Aemond learned of her death, he immediately appeared to retrieve her, which is why she wasn't found. She was killed by Green Faction assassins," the red-haired lady snickered, taking an obscenely loud sip of her tea.

Floris became uncomfortable and she changed the subject to the scandal that had recently occurred in court. The ladies immediately giggled and chattered, distracted from the subject of the prince. To them it was just another amusing rumor, but to the young princess it was a real tragedy at the cost of a life. The girl's gaze wandered until it caught a silhouette in a half-closed window that quickly passed him by, and only then did Floris realize that it was a tower window.

"The tower? How long has she been here?

Floris walked beside her lord husband while the Queen Dowager and Princess Helena walked ahead.

The queen insisted on a family walk where she dared not include the young king. Alicent knew that Aegor could ruin this peaceful walk with his lewd jokes.

Floris' palms were sweating and she held them in front of her, trying to escape the awkwardness that hung between her and the prince.

"What are you doing today, my prince?" the girl decided to start a conversation.

"I had a morning workout planned for today that had to be canceled. But I will take care of her when our walk is over," Aemond replied neutrally.

The young princess noticed that her husband did not ask about her affairs. In a way, the girl thought it was a good thing, because her plans were...boring.

The conversation was over, so the girl began to wander her eyes again, and again and again her gaze fell on the tower.

"I find this tower very mysterious," Floris began from a distance, Aemond looked in the same direction she was looking.

"Hmm," the prince nodded, and for a moment the girl saw his gentle gaze and how the corners of his lips lifted.

"What is this tower?" asked Floris.

"You will not be interested, my lady, it is used to store various... things," Aemond chose his words carefully.

"For garbage?" the girl clarified.

"No!" the prince replied a little irritated and abruptly.

"I'm sorry... "Floris hastened to answer.

"It's you I apologize to, I was too harsh and didn't explain it to you, these things are precious to someone, there's no rubbish in there and there never will be. Everything is stored there...it's just that someone doesn't like...clutter," Aemond's tone became calm again.

"To the queen?" the princess clarified.

"Oh...yes...to the queen," said the second prince more dreamily.

Floris staggered, not expecting such intonation and behavior from him, but soon Aemond came to his senses. He said nothing more and the young lady did not want to ask. Now she was curious. Ignoring the queen's words, which were heard in the background of the girl's mind, she decided to see what was inside the tower.

Quietly, the girl walked down the round stairs and looked around. A small room awaited her at the end, with a few boarded-up crates spread out on it, and then... there was a wall. A man-sized painting hung on the wall; in fact, Floris only assumed it was a painting because it was wrapped in a red cloth.

The princess listened to the noises and when she realized that no one was there, she pulled the canvas and froze in surprise.

Princess Y/n's azure eyes looked up at her, her blonde curls gathered into an intricate hairstyle, her blue cloak draped over her shoulder, indicating that she belonged to House Velaryon.

Floris reached up to touch the picture frame, trying to find a spot that would open the secret door hidden behind the painting. Even in her home castle there were hidden passages, and most of the time they were hidden behind the painting.

Suddenly the girl heard the sharp sound of a door slamming and hurried footsteps below. She threw the cloth back on and hurried to hide behind the drawers. She was ready to kiss the man who had left them here and put them so well that the girl was hidden from view, but she could see the wall, where part of the picture was visible.

The footsteps came closer and Floris held her breath. She peeked out from behind the drawers to see the man who had approached the painting.

Floris did not realize what she was feeling when she saw Aemond's back. She realized he was connected to this place, but deep in her heart she hoped it was someone else.

Aemond pulled down the canvas, admired the portrait for a few seconds, then reached out his hand from the right side of the painting, grabbed something, and pulled. The princess heard a mechanism work and the painting opened. The young man made his way into the hidden room, leaving a small slit behind him.

Floris sat behind the drawers and listened to the prince's footsteps, the rustling of papers, the rustle of cloth and the creak of a chair. Then the girl heard a soft whisper.

"Oh, don't worry, my dear," Aemond said.

Floris concentrated on the sounds.

"I'm sorry for leaving you for so long. You are angry, aren't you? Oh, my love, my sun and moon, forgive me," the young man cooed.

The young princess's heart fluttered; she had never heard Aemond speak to anyone so lovingly and enthusiastically.She probably had a chance to get away unnoticed, but the girl's curiosity was aroused.

Boldly, she approached the painting cautiously and peered into the silk. Floris saw the prince sitting on a chair, cradling the girl in his arms. The princess could not see the face, but she guessed who it might be. Floris put her palm to her mouth and tried to stifle the sound.

"It can't be...she's alive?"

Floris tried to get a closer look, she was alarmed by the way the girl was lying in Aemond's arms. The princess hurried back to hide behind the drawers as soon as she saw Aemond get up and walk toward the bed.

"I'm sorry, my love, my life, I have dinner with my family tonight, my mom doesn't want to separate us, but she would like to see me with... never mind" Aemond was taken aback and silent, there was the sound of a kiss and hurried footsteps.

Floris staggered to a halt. She heard her husband's footsteps and the door opening at the end, but she waited. The girl realized that she couldn't go into the room now and convince herself of her suspicion. They would be looking for her! For there was dinner tonight. And the princess ducked out of the tower to get ready for her family, thinking about how to sneak back in.

Just as the girl had thought, the dinner passed in the same tense atmosphere. Floris couldn't get used to it.

After dinner, she returned to her chambers.

"Ollie," the princess called to her faithful maid.

"Yes, my lady," Ollie left her business and ran to her hostess.

"Tell everyone tomorrow that I'm not feeling well, call the healer for me at first light, and then don't let anyone see me until evening," Floris explained, rising from her chair.

"Understood, but why?" the maid asked, concerned about the actions of her young mistress.

"I have to check on something, so I need a reason not to be at dinner," the girl explained.

"My lady, I have a bad feeling, perhaps you will give up the idea that has visited your beautiful head," the maid dropped to her knees at the princess's feet.

"It'll be all right, I'll be careful. But I need to be sure of something," Floris smiled and hurried to her bed.

In the morning, the healer came in, Floris acting like a theater actress portraying extreme fatigue and pain.

"You have a rapid pulse, most likely a common ailment, I will give you a decoction of herbs. And I will advise you to go to bed. And everything will be wonderful," the old man said, placing a bottle of decoction on the table.

Ollie let no one into the room, only stepping aside when it was necessary to give the queen information about the second princess's well-being. In the evening, under the cover of night, Floris left her room and went to the right place. Again, the guards were nowhere near the tower, and the young princess confirmed the theory that only the prince knew about this place.

The girl climbed the round stairs and found herself once again beside the portrait, this time uncovered. The princess listened to the sound, afraid that her husband was here, but only the hum of the wind met her.

Exhaling, Floris found the mechanism on the side of the painting and pulled it. The painting creaked, clicked, and opened. The girl's face crumpled, not because of the noise, but because of the smell that immediately filled the corridor. The smell was mixed: flowers, incense, fragrant oil, and... rotting flesh. The princess covered her nose and went into the chambers. They were small, the entire space filled by the bed on which the body lay, hidden behind a thick veil. It seemed to Floris that a body was moving.

"Excuse me?" the princess tried, but was met with silence. She approached the bed, the smell intensifying.

Floris already realized who she would see under the veil and in what form. But she reached out and pulled off the cloth, cringing at the sight of the disfigured face. She froze in surprise and fear as she watched the white hair fall from Y/n Velaryon's face.

Respectfully, the princess turned away from the horrible sight. The once noble beauty of the young princess was gone, the Stranger had taken her and would not bring her back. Floris had seen Y/n a long time ago, but had never ceased to marvel at the Dragonstone princess' attractiveness. All she could do now was cover her mouth and try to keep from gagging.

"What are you doing here?" came the prince's stern voice.

Floris' heart froze, stopped beating. And her breath caught. She slowly turned to face the prince. His crazed eye stared at her. Is this her death?

"Did I tell you not to come in here?" Aemond asked his question as coldly as ever.

"I...I..." the princess tried to make an excuse, but she failed. It's hard to think of something in a situation like this, where there's no way you could come in here by mistake!

"You're no different from them..."

Floris stepped aside after noticing that the prince had approached Y/N's body.

"Roughly pulling off her head veil like that... She doesn't like sudden movements," Aemond sighed heavily, gently stroking his beautiful princess's hair.

"I don't understand, my prince, how..." the dark-haired girl was confused.

Aemond moved closer to Y/N's face and kissed her on the lips. Floris turned away again holding back vomit.

"They were betrayed by people they trusted. Rhaenyra decided to hide Y/n in Dorne, and turned to a supportive family. During the crossing, the coachman killed the princess. The traitors rushed to us to show us the body and thus prove their loyalty. But as soon as they shook off the cloth and our Y/n's face appeared before their eyes, their heads flew to the ground. Mother cared deeply for the young princess, and she fell into grief. And for me, that was the end...There was a chance we could be together at the end. But what those things did..." Aemond snuggled against the girl's body again, his long hair falling down, warding off the world and Floris' eyes.

Now the princess knew the truth. The whole story. And Floris felt sorry for Aemond and Y/n, who loved each other but couldn't be together. And herself...for herself, she was afraid, what would happen now?

At that moment, the sound of heels was heard on the stairs, and the panting Queen Dowager burst into the room. She was horrified when she saw her sister-in-law and the prince lying on the bed.

"Aemond..." the queen said cautiously.

Floris was distracted by her and didn't hear the clash of sword metal. But she felt a sharp pain in her stomach, blood spurted from her mouth. She collapsed to the floor and looked shocked at her husband, who was wiping the blood from his sword with a cloth.

The princess thought that the queen would scream and call for a Healer. But she just sighed heavily and scolded her son.

"You could have restrained your fervor," Alicent said resentfully as she watched the young beauty's eyes fill with tears.

"I asked no one to come in here," the prince replied calmly.

The former queen looked sadly at Floris and crouched down beside the girl's body.

"I'm sorry, I hope the Stranger treats you warmly," Alicent folded her hands in front of her and said a short prayer.

Floris saw all this and she wanted to scream! She wanted to cry, to jump up and run away, but she was lying on the cold stone floor and life was draining from her body. Gods, what injustice is this? One last breath and another young princess left this world.

"How will I communicate with her father now?" the woman said unhappily.

"You always found ways, mother. I'll get someone to clean this place up," Aemond lovingly covered Y/n's body with a veil and left her alone.

Alicent looked at the painting, sighed heavily and left Sleeping Beauty's chambers, it seems she will leave her son alone this time.

A/N: this idea is three months old...I hope I don't get blocked for this. Well, they shouldn't, since they can post p&rn pics here.....

[flowerandblood]

Sweetly desire, bitterly deprive

Halloween Request Oneshots Series

[ Victorian Horror • Aemond x female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, partial rape, choking, violence, murder and suicide, obsession ]

[ description: Lost in his own emptiness and cold, Aemond lives with his family in their large estates, wandering their halls like a ghost, lost in his own madness. One day, his mother's friend arrived at their manor with her husband and daughter. He becomes obsessed with her, which leads to a series of unfortunate events. Obsessive, delving into madness, poetic, very dark! Aemond. ]

This oneshot is my idea and a reference to the wonderful work of Edgar Allan Poe, his Eleanor and Morella and is created with Halloween in mind, so unlike what I usually write, these fisc will be very dark and uncomfortable. Keep this in mind before you start reading.

*English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy!*

My others works: Masterlist

_____

It seemed to him that something in him had disappeared, collapsed when he lost his left eye − he had partly ceased to be human and had become some kind of caricatured creature, menacing, tall as a tower, pale and cold as marble.

He had never lacked anything − his family was wealthy, owning many mansions all over the country, all identically decorated, sumptuously adorned with portraits of their ancestors looking at him melancholy and proudly out of the canvas, continually judging him.

He had the impression that at night their faces changed − his great-grandmothers and great-grandfathers seemed suddenly to be some kind of phantoms, their faces contorted, displeased at the sight of him, his existence.

He still felt watched, he felt overwhelmed, he felt that something hovered over him, but he could not name this premonition, this certainty.

He had tried to explain it to his mother once, but she had looked at him with such concerned, frightened eyes that he decided he would never mention it again.

He knew that his family considered him insane − a man out of his mind, irrational, aggressive in his words, with a gaze that cut like a sharp blade, making interlocutors turn their faces away from him, unable to bear it.

He saw her for the first time when she arrived at their residence with her parents, Mr and Mrs Orwell, at the invitation of his mother, who had been friends with Mrs Orwell as a child. He watched closely her small, graceful figure standing in the corridor behind her parents, her gaze lowered downwards, thoughtful.

She shuddered as if she subconsciously sensed that she was being watched and glanced in his direction − her pupils dilated suddenly, as if from a dream world she had returned to earth with the cruel pull of some unknown force, as if his figure, his silhouette had crushed her.

They stared at each other for too long to be considered in accordance with good manners − only when her parents walked into the living room where he sat did he rise from his chair, reminding himself of such a basic thing as breathing, and straightened up, folding his arms behind him, allowing himself to introduce the people who would be guests in their home from now on.

He knew that Miss Orwell could feel his burning gaze on her, fleeing from him to the far end of the room, looking at the books stacked on the shelves of the old oak bookcase.

He watched from behind her beautiful neck, her hair pinned up in a bun and braids framing her head on either side − her gown was sewn from a delicate, light-coloured fabric, its cut was simple, perfectly emphasising her figure, her almost bare shoulders.

Her neck and her shoulders drove him mad.

The perfect curve of the transition of one part of her body into the other, her shiny, soft skin, the softness of the shape that was forming.

Then he lifted his gaze higher and discovered her slightly rounded, short, proportionate nose, forming a perfect angle with her straight, smooth forehead, the totality of this view framed by her eyes like precious stones, bright, shining, surrounded by long lashes like veils, emphasising its depths, giving her an aura of mystery.

Finally, he struggled to dare to shift his attention to the most intimate exposed part of her body, her fleshy, full, pink lips, both pressed against each other, still remaining virtually imperceptibly parted, the point of their contact seeming incredibly soft and moist.

He saw her throw him an uncertain, frightened look and clench her hands in front of her, not knowing how to act, how to dissuade him − she only relaxed when his sister, Helaena, walked into their living room.

They greeted each other as if they were old friends − even though they were seeing each other for the first time, they grasped each other's hands and from then on they were inseparable.

He often watched them through the window, seeing their silhouettes move unhurriedly ahead of them through their vast park, discussing with each other something in a cheerful voice and laughing, their pearly sounds reaching his ears muffled by the glass.

In his presence, her smile disappeared from her face, her laughter died in her throat and a faint dread coated her, her pupils dilated suddenly, her lips pressed together in fear.

His tall figure standing over her frightened her, his hands folded stiffly behind his back seemed frozen like a stone − unable to make a sound near him, she lowered her gaze quickly, terrified.

One day, however, she dared to take a step towards him − a step towards the unknown, as, realising that he spent every evening by candlelight sitting in their library reading books, she joined him.

He watched her every move vigilantly, not taking his eye off her − her delicate figure strolled around the room in a light, slow motions, her hands folded in front of her in a humble gesture.

He could not express how melancholic and heavenly she looked walking like that in the faint light of the candles, her person seemed as if enveloped in a mist, a glow.

He felt himself to be merely an observer of events, a point to which all her presence referred, being a counterbalance to her subtlety, spread out around her like the blackness of the night that surrounded them.

She looked at him at last, for the first time as if she really wanted to see him, what was inside him, what was inside his heart, inside his mind − he looked at her with empty eye, knowing that there was only nothingness there, an abyss, a coldness without end or measure.

He was surprised at her courage, at how confidently she walked towards him, standing by his side, looking over his shoulder, wanting to see what he was reading.

He did not turn his head behind her − he only watched the shadow of her silhouette out of the corner of his eye − he could feel beside himself the warmth emanating from her body, her scent, the rustling of her gown made him feel a tickle in his fingers.

"Machiavelli. What a brutal choice." She whispered, but there was no disapproval or judgement in her word, more a soft surprise − there was something in the way she said the last sentence, in the way the tip of her tongue clicked as she uttered the syllables, that made him lick his lower lip involuntarily, turning the page.

"Brutal?" He asked lowly, hearing the timbre of his own voice, glassy, cutting like a blade, clear, assured, cool.

He heard her swallow quietly and draw in the air, her body standing beside him somehow enveloping him in her existence, pleasantly teasing all his senses.

"Cesare Borgia was his ideal of a ruler. That says enough about him." She said lowly − he heard her avert her gaze thoughtfully, looking at some point in the distance.

Involuntarily, the tip of his tongue ran over his lower lip, moistening it − he grinned at her words, shifting in his seat.

"They are both no longer among us and have no way to defend themselves from your cruel judgement." He murmured softly, lifting his eyes to her at last.

Their gazes crossed, her eyes at once full of uncertainty and curiosity − he had the feeling that her figure was quivering and trembling, too filled with life, the desire to breathe, to move, to feel.

They looked at each other and he knew that they had both experienced this when he first saw her, when they were unable to stop, when they both realised that something was happening between them that they could not tell anyone about.

He didn't know how it happened, what moved his loins to stand up, towering over her to grab her with ease and seat her on the table. He decided that it was just purest curiosity, as his fingertips ran over her shoulder, over that gorgeous arm, and traveled up the hill of the length of her neck, his hand tightened around it, again, merely in curiosity, and he found to his surprise that it fit there perfectly.

He looked at her face, into her eyes glittering like the most expensive precious stones darkened by the veil of her lashes, looking at him hazy, hesitant, at once fearful and devoted, wanting and demanding. When he took a step towards her her thighs spread in front of him like a book, as if it were the most natural of reflexes that didn't even surprise him.

Without letting go of her gorgeous neck he began to travel and explore the mysterious nooks and crannies of her body occupying his mind, the finger of his free hand lifting tentatively the material of her gown and her petticoat, running over her ankle covered from him by the soft material.

He ran his hand upwards, higher and higher, as if running his finger over to the surface of the water, until he reached the soft, surprisingly hot skin of her naked thigh and they both parted their lips, looking at each other wordlessly, breathing deeply.

His fingers ran over her flesh as if it were the keys of a piano, pressing her skin, and made their way to what was between her thighs, to what he could feel the pulsing heat from, the source of her trembling, of her sleepless nights.

She let out a shuddering, sweet sigh as he touched her there and found her sticky moisture, with circular motions collecting it on his fingers, both of them looking at each other as if surprised by this discovery, this disturbing, intimate act.

With each movement of his fingers, with each circle across her warmth, her thighs spread wider and wider in front of him, her body finding support on her palms placed on the table top, her breasts hidden under her gown rising and falling, her hips beginning to meet his movements.

He had the feeling that they were both in a trance, that they didn't understand what they were doing and didn't want to understand it − they weren't thinking about it or judging it, they were simply discovering a new experience, testing the taste of the sweet, unspoken secret that hid deep between her thighs, the loud, shameless click of her wetness accompanying every flick of his hand.

He licked his lips when at last the tip of his finger met the tight slit between her folds which throbbed with heat, wet and pulsing. Encouraged by this intriguing discovery, he slid his finger there, wanting to see what she felt like inside − he found with interest that her core was rough and fleshy, throbbing and slick, clenching steadily on his skin, her head arched back with a cry of exertion.

He slid his finger deeper, feeling it stretch her entire structure, pushing deep into her flesh, and a quiet, ungodly mewl erupted from her lips, her eyes clenched, her mouth parted in something akin to elation, delight.

He felt his body react, a pleasant heat and pulsation in his erection, the same as he felt inside her − he thought they were like two parts of the same thing, like two sides of the same story, beginning and end, day and night, sun and moon.

Just as everything had its companion, just as the world had for centuries misunderstood the nature of loneliness, telling people to discover the joys of living with someone, man and woman were destined to explore themselves with amazement.

He slipped his finger out of her and, with a light, unhurried movement, untied the fabric of his breeches, lowering them slightly so that she could not see what was beneath them, hiding that sickeningly physical, animalistic sight beneath her gown.

She knew what was about to happen, and though she didn't understand it, she felt subconsciously that from the moment they looked at each other they were destined to connect, to take something and give something to each other.

She trembled all over as he directed the tip of his length with his palm against her burning, hot entrance, her body instantly refusing this sudden, unholy act of divine violation.

"− don't −" He hissed coolly, and she froze, looking at him tearfully, letting him force the pink head of his erection, dripping with his moisture, inside her.

With surprising patience and devotion she endured the discomfort of fitting him inside her, a weary, helpless sob came from her lips − he opened her slowly on his manhood, bit by bit, stretching her tight muscles, sinking into the warmth of her flesh.

He realised suddenly that he was inside her, that he was her and she was him.

That they were a whole, that he would never be complete again without her.

His hand tightened around her neck and did not let her escape, slamming into her with a quiet grunt of sickening pleasure, sliding into her so deeply that she throbbed, seeking fulfillment in it, any kind of relief.

He gave in to his animal instinct, the feeling that he craved to rub against her, craved for her to squeeze him, craved to move inside her − the thrusts of his hips were violent, intense, deep, sure, as if taking her, filling her with himself again and again, physical stretching of her body with his flesh was written into his nature.

Their bodies pounded against each other with wet, loud clicks of her moisture as if they were fighting, as if he was about to pierce her with himself − her head was tilted back, her expression showing simultaneous delight and horror at this unexpectedly pleasurable act.

She was panting along with him, giving herself over completely to his brutal thrusts, needed to be filled, to be satisfied.

"− you won't escape from me − you know that, don't you? − I'm going to fill you −" He growled between one quick, hard slap of his hips and the next, and she only mewled a desperate plea, refusing and at the same time asking him to do it, writhing beneath him, her face all flushed with pleasure.

"− no − please − God, forgive me −" She cried out with difficulty, tears of effort, pain and delight running down her cheeks, her body leaning back, surrendering at last.

He felt her insides suddenly clench violently against him and begin to convulse, a moan of sweet suffering came from her lips, her body shook with a wave of something he was yet to understand.

This sight made him speed up instead of slowing down, feeling that something was about to happen, that he was already so close.

"− yes − don't resist me − fuck! −" He cursed for the first time in his life, feeling that his whole body was in a hot frenzy, his hips moving deep inside her throughout her fulfilment, her hands trying fruitlessly to push him away with her loud, broken moans, unable to take any more, overstimulated and sensitive.

He made a low, throaty, animalistic sound as a wave of pleasure shook him − he felt his own fluid spilling over her insides, filling her like wine fills a chalice, and he thought it made him feel the most natural reflex in his life, the filling and that she felt exactly the same way about the sensation of being filled, as if it was her primal, most important need.

Not to be empty.

They stared at each other, breathing loudly, feeling the fog around them begin to blur and disappear, their vision began to sharpen, their cool judgement returned to their minds, and with horror they realised at last what they had done.

They pulled away from each other in pain, both feeling that the fact that they were no longer one was unnatural, ungodly, against some fundamental law.

They were incomplete again.

They were imperfect again.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as she corrected her gown in despair − she stepped down from the table and ran out of the room with a loud, broken sob, terrified of their act, of what consequences it might bring.

He tied his breeches back, sitting down in his chair with difficulty and listened to the intense pounding of his heart, staring blankly ahead, trying to calm his breathing, feeling more empty than ever.

Over the next few days she avoided him again, her face even paler than when he first saw her − he had the feeling that she was in a progressive agony, that she was dying before his eyes.

Wanting to put an end to their torment, one morning he moved after her, seeing that she had gone for a walk through their park, and asked for her hand.

Only then did she confess to him, crying with unspeakable pain, that her fiancé had been waiting for her for weeks.

He felt like he had fallen into a state of complete emptiness and wasn't sure he understood her words.

He even thought they were amusing as he sat in the living room, taking a sip of wine from his glass, chuckling under his breath, much to the consternation of those gathered.

It wasn't until several hours later that people began to be concerned about her disappearance.

He took no part in the search.

As he walked down the corridor of his mansion in the evening heading towards his room, he looked at the appraising faces of his grandparents, their eyes seemingly bulging, terrified, their lips clenched as if in rage.

He began to rip portrait after portrait off the wall, destroying frames and canvases, causing a commotion all around him − his mother tried to calm him down, but he broke free from her embrace.

It was only when he walked into his bedroom that he noticed her silhouette, pale and corpse-like, her eyes wide open, looking towards the door as if she was waiting for him, his bedclothes all covered in her blood.

He saw out of the corner of his eye an open window facing straight into their park and realised that she had broken in here, taken his letter knife and slit her wrists.

He approached her slowly, feeling the pounding of his heart, the sweat on the back of his neck as he noticed the bruises on her neck, a clear marks matching his hands that he was sure he hadn't seen when he had spoken to her that morning.

How could that be?

He glanced at the floor out of the corner of his eye and saw his shirt, all dirty from the sand and grass.

He began to breathe deeply, feeling the whole room swirl around him.

He pushed from his mind the sight of her terrified face, the sight of her tears when she fell with him to the ground, when he told her that he was empty without her, that he had filled her with himself and she could not be anyone else's, just as he could never be anyone else's again.

It seemed to him that she had come to terms with his words, for she stopped struggling, looking at him with affection, and he praised and comforted her, telling her that the end would come soon, that she would fall asleep, that she would not be in pain.

When she stopped moving and fainted he took her body in his arms, numb and spilling in his fingers, and walked as if in a trance through his open window into his bedroom.

He laid her on his bed, where she belonged, right beside him, and left, longing to return to her in the night, believing that she had fallen into an eternal sleep.

She woke up.

She finished his work.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

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[cherryslyce]

masterbook | the runes and such

F = fluff | A = angst

Harry Potter Series:

Tom M. Riddle

Holding Hands With Shadows | [F]

Being the Minister of Magic was not easy for Tom, but you are always there to keep chaos from erupting. OR, you are Tom's assistant and the babysitter of the group and Tom finally confesses.

Regulus A. Black

Second Son (Series Navigation) | [F&A]

Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.

The Avarice Files (Series Navigation) | [F&A]

Boundless uncertainty ensues when you’re tasked to complete a mission requiring time travel for the Ministry. The best part? Your partner, acclaimed hero of the Great Wizarding War, Regulus Black, a man who was supposed to be long dead.

Enclosed To You | [F&A]

To cope with your lonely marriage to Regulus, you begin to pen letters to him without the intention of ever sending them. As you both grow closer, you decide to continue the hobby until the very end.

That's Life | [A]

Memories of your relationship with Regulus surface at the arrival of a letter with the House of Black seal.

Unearthed | [F]

You felt your world turn upside down at the revelation that your husband was a wizard, and you get a sense of deja vu when three teenagers appear on your doorstep seeking him out about a locket.

Familial Impasses | [F]

Pressure arises as a familiar face becomes embroiled in political trouble and moral ambivalence. Alternatively: As James Potter’s younger sibling, you fight for Regulus.

Theodore Nott

By NEWTS and Nott | [F]

The stress from studying for your NEWT level classes has you spiraling into confusion from burnout, and perhaps, simultaneously inspiring a certain slytherin to approach you. But it was all a coincidence, right?

Like Clockwork | [A]

You meet Theodore as a child, but the promises and laughter of your youth are left to be forgotten as war approaches.

Amalfi Coast | [F]

The end of your years at Hogwarts brings about stirring changes: the unveiling of your betrothal to Theodore Nott and an all-expense getaway to Italy for alone time with your husband-to-be.

Blaise Zabini

Love, Anonymous | [F]

The rumor mill at Hogwarts has expanded into physical print, and with it, a buzzing section dedicated to anonymous confessions.

Hunger Games

Clove Kentwell

Sharp Knives, Sharp Gazes | [F]

A dangerous attraction to one of the deadly careers leads to more than you could have bargained for, including unlikely friendships and romance.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Sticking Point 2

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, possible violence, illness, death, bullying, ableism, and other elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are sent in the place of your ailing sister to marry a stranger. (Regency AU)

Character: Loki

Note: Thanks you everyone who read the intro!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

The main hall is bright and spacious. As alluded to by its name, Jade Hall is adorned in varying shades and cuts of the stone. Gilt frames, golden trays on glass lamps, crystal sconces housing amber flame, veined marble, and polished stone. 

The large plinths at the base of the staircase seem unsuited to the statues atop them. Curling snakes of shining gold with great jade eyes and long curved fangs. A long rug of eastern patterns and tassled edges leads the path to the steps, arched and lined with curling banisters.

"Madam," the groom addresses your mother, "I will show you to your chambers."

"Thank you, sir," she accepts nobly as you give a dignified nod.

"You may refer to me as Parson, I am the master's personal groom. He has tasked me with your welcome."

"Oh how gracious," your mother remarks with a fawning grin, "he sounds like a true gentleman."

"He keeps an orderly house," the groom affirms.

"Immaculate," she looks around with her hand to her chest, "ugh, absolutely resplendent."

The groom bows his head and waves towards the stairs before proceeding. Your mother trails him and you follow after her. You glance around at the tall portraits, a woman with loose golden hair with a single haloed braid around her head. Another of a man with dark hair and thick beard, gleaming blue eyes, and an indomitable square jaw. His clothing belongs to a previous season.

You ascend and ease out a stunted breath, exhaling in short spurts as your heart races. You continue down a wide corridor, a standing jade vase beside a whitewashed table beneath a bowl of white lotuses floating in water. A peculiar decore but quaint.

A set of double doors is presented to your mother as the groom faces her with another respectable dip of his head, "Lady Thea, I will allow you to accommodate yourself. Then I shall show the younger to her own chambers. You will be summoned for lunch."

"Thank you, sir," your mother preens, "you must send my gratitude to your master. The duke is very generous."

"Yes, my lady, I will be certain to inform him," he avows, "lady," he looks at you, "you are not very far, just the very next."

He leads you onward as your mother enters her rooms with a dreamy sigh. Her mood has lightened since you left your father's estate. Perhaps being far away from home has cleared her mind of mourning.

You are stopped before a door carved with winding vines. The groom steps back to allow you to pass.

"My lady, if you require anything, there is a bell you may ring and I will be certain you are attended. I will have your maid join you shortly, and your luggage."

You look at his shoulder and attempt a smile, it might look more a grimace as your cheek strain. You swallow and muster some strength, "thank you, sir." Your last word floats at the end, not quiet a sharp R, more aw sound.

"Most honoured, my lady," he responds without pause, "and welcome home."

You bat your lashes and slowly turn to the door. You try to restrain your nerves as they swirl to a maelstrom. Home, is this truly it. Are you truly to be the Lady of Jade Park. Married to a man in place of your sister. An imposter.

You march through the door and the groom pulls the door shut in your stead. You bring your hands up, folding them over your chest. You have a blackness in your heart. You feel as if the world is empty. As if you're lost in it. As if you don't belong to the land of colour and light and life.

It is as much grief as it is dread. You miss your sister, you long for the past, and you fear the path ahead. The unknown is underlined with a certainty, deep inside, that you will as ever be less than you should.

🔹

There is a knock at the door. You break from your trance, reluctantly releasing the window sill and turning away from the sight of birds winging over the gardens. You sweep to the door and open it, facing the servant in their evergreen attire. A man with lines in his cheek and a dourness that darkens his sockets.

"My lady, lunch is served," he declares in a brittle timbre.

You nod and thank him, mouthing the word as your voice refuses to rise. You are taken down the corridor and the man fetches your mother from her chambers as well. She emerges with the aroma of roses. You suspect she was anxiously primping all the while.

You descend the stairs, the noise of the kitchen and shuffle of servants drawing you around to the sunroom near the rear of the house. A round table is set near the tall paned doors, open to let in the summer air. There are tiered trays of cut sandwiches, a tureen of creamy soup, a plate of colourful pastries and sugar cookies, along with a silver tea set and elaborately painted porcelain dishes.

You are shown to your seat and sit with some trepidation. It is only you and your mother amid the rush of servants. Where is the duke? Has he seen you and changed his mind? Is he not eager to meet you?

You keep your hands in your lap, squeezing a fold in your skirt as your mother admires the high ceilings and embroidered edges of the tablecloth. She comments on every detail; the thick brocade curtains drawn to the side, the settee with the knobby birch feet, the round-bellied fire stove set into an alcove; a mixture of eras mingled in a most natural allure.

"Parson," the deep voice chokes you and you shakily tilt your head, peeking form the corner of your eyes as you hear the approaching steps, "how can I be tardy when I am the host? Do not pester me."

You rise as your mother does for the entrance of the duke. For it must be him. He as good as announced it and his appearance all but confirms it. Tall, sleek, with a chin set high, and a nose just short of aquiline. He is handsome, pale, but sardonic. His green eyes remind you of the jade stones set into the serpentine statues near the stairs as he considers the table first then deigns to glance between you and your mother.

He approaches her and bows, his posture eased but refined.

"Lady Thea," he proclaims, "what great effort you did take to be here. No doubt a strenuous journey in this heat."

"Your grace, how generous of you to welcome us," your mother responds, "and I do apologise that our arrival was so delayed."

"Mmm," he shifts and lets his eyes wander to you, "and I regret the news of your firstborn."

"We hoped she would strengthen but... we also did not want to renounce our contract. My husband is a man of integrity."

"Surely, he is. I did think him much so when we met," he says as he strides towards you, fully turning in your direction. He offers a smaller bow, "you do look rather different than your sister."

You blanch. You don't know what to say. You thought he hadn't met Edith.

"However, we cannot always trust a portrait's likeness," his eyes flit in a way that unsettles you, "and I do know how different siblings can be."

Your mother gives a small hum, a reminder and reproach at once. You fix your shoulders and do your best to meet the duke's demeanour. You bow.

"Yaw gwace," you raise your head slowly.

You see the subtle twiddle in his long fingers, the way he brings them to touch the trim of his jacket, the tick in his jaw. The long breath that says more than he ever could. He leans back on his heel.

"Honoured to welcome you both," his tone betrays his judgement. How could he not notice? How could he not hear it? You are defective, not only in appearance but all else.

"And we are so grateful to be here. That we can continue on in this union of our names," your mother sits as a servant holds the back of her chair. The duke lowers himself as you do the same, watching the table.

"Mmm, yes, I have yet to discuss the amendment with my father but I'm certain they care not for which daughter I wed."

His meaning is clear. You are not as stupid as many believe. His father will not care but he very much does. Your insides freeze, cold and stiff, and you feel as if you might shatter. It is as bad as you expect, yet expectation rarely meets reality. No, it is worse. To sit and stew in being unwanted.

🔹

You sit at the vanity, watching your lips move. Over and over in the silent repetition. Slowly, painfully working at curving them, shaping them just right. In your head, you imagine the words clearly. ‘Your grace’. 

You still and stare at your reflection. You summon your voice and pronounce the words aloud.

“Yow gwace,” you declare to yourself.

You try again. And again. Anon until your mouth aches from your endless attempts to get it right. The words are wrong. Two simple words and you can’t say them. Two syllables. You drop your head forward as you plant your elbows on the table and catch your forehead.

You see the duke’s disappointment. You feel it still. How could he not be utterly repulsed by you? He alluded to a portrait, no doubt he was sent an image of your sister, and how he would have been surprised to find her even more attractive than the artist’s rendering. But in you, he is entirely dissatisfied.

You blow out a long exhale and prop your chin up on the heels of your hand. You look at yourself through bleary eyes, tears wobbling just on the edge. You sit back and drop your hands, smoothing the front of your dress and over your skirts.

The embroidered brooch draws your gaze. The oval pendant your sister made you, a blue bird on its face. Your most treasured piece. She reminded you of it when you said your farewell and you assured her you could never forget it. She asked you to wear it at the wedding.

You cradle it in your hands and give a bittersweet smile. You think of those days you played in the pastures and hopped over the fence where the sheep chewed on grass. How she would fearlessly run between the thick-bodied beasts as you worried for being bit. She has always been the braver of you two.

You pin the brooch to your dress and admire it in your reflection. You push your shoulders back and force a smile. You look yourself in the face.

“Yow gwace, I am so honawed to be yow wife.”

Your words hang like a noose. You throw your hands up and grunt in frustration. Stupid! You sound insipid. No matter how you try, or how the words sound in your head, they just come out all muddled.

“Edith,” you whimper, “I cannot…”

You lean forward and hold your head once more. You sit, ears thrumming, temples pulsing, your whole being hot with despair. The futility floods you and makes it hard to breathe.

There’s a knock at the door. You push yourself up, dizzy as you teeter on your feet. You swallow and stand as straight as you can. You lift your chin.

“Come in,” you beckon firmly.

Doreen lets herself through and you can’t help the relief that flows through you. You could not face your mother or the duke or another stranger. You lower yourself back to the stool and rest an elbow on the table, sideways as the maid eases the door shut. She lingers there, her hand on the oblong handle, as if she thinks to pull it open and flee.

“Doween,” you murmur as concern winds its way up your spine and tingle in your nape.

“My lady,” she faces you and you hear a sudden shriek. Your mother.

Doreen lowers her lashes and puts her hand to her chest. A shroud falls over you, even as the sunshine casts a yellow glow through the room, even as birds titter without, and ornaments sparkle all around. Her tone says more than any words can. You slump and stare at the maid’s wool collar.

You feel along the front of your own dress and clasp your fingers around the brooch.

“Edith is dead,” you say before she can.

She sniffles and comes forward. You shy away, turning to the vanity as you unpin the pendant. You lay it down and stand. The maid halts, hovering as you walk to the window. The tweeting of the sparrow grows to cacophony then silence all at once. The sky fades and the greenery hazes to an ugly smear.

You told Edith you would be brave. So you must. You can never replace her truly, but you can keep your promise. For her.

[georgianaortiz]

OPEN | @lunarcovestarters

A. Capture the Flag [ The Cove's Jail ]

The retreat events weren't the kind of games Gia liked to play. Still, the vampire participated on behalf of the clan. Her loyalty to her people unassailable but questionable with everyone else. "Well I study prehistoric archeology, mostly, but a colleague of mine is a maritime archaeologist. Brilliant in his field." The brunette commended. "But bless his heart, he's a mess of a man. Steps out on his wife who gave him five children. He can't keep an assistant, either, and no one has to guess why." Head still shaking in disapproval, Gia continued on. "So this colleague, he told me that the bottom of the ocean is called the abyssal plain and isn't made of sand but sediment from everything that's ever lived in the sea. How interesting!" The exclamation was followed by an abrupt change in her tone as the eyes in the back of her head, from motherhood, told her someone was trying to escape. "Sit back down."

B. Canoeing [ During the Vampire's bracket ]

Wearing a long, flowing skirt, and kitten heels with a parasail and picnic basket in hand, Gia declined her canoe's paddle and settled into her little boat. The only thing she knew about boats was how to float down river. Which was a favorite past time of hers, growing up, as a young girl in Savannah. The middle child of a dozen and one siblings, they all loaded into oak boats with picnic lunches to bask in the southern, summertime sun. Today filled Gia with nostalgia and champagne, which she packed in lieue of her childhood's picnic lunch. She popped the bottle the second she set sail, bubbling with delight as the liquid poured over the top. "What a lovely day this will be!"

C. Bonfire [ Opening Night ]

They were all just stories at the end. Stories and bones; two of Gia's great loves. Scary stories her favorite kind, ever since childhood when she'd sneak out of bed, wander down the hall, and eavesdrop on her older siblings attempts to spook one another. In a sort of poetic irony that Georgiana amusedly appreciated, she was a ghost story. "They say I haunt the house where I died in Savannah. The story seems to change every few decades. I tripped down the stairs, my husband's misstress pushed me, an evil spirit from beyond did the deed.." A laugh, half-hearted in sound, proceeded the recount. "All are false, of course. They do have my portrait up, though the artist's rendition is hardly as damning as a photograph." Her tongue clicked in audible annoyance, as she grumbled something about stupid cell phones.

D. Werewolf BBQ

Why the clan was invited to a werewolf BBQ was beyond Gia's knowing. Once more, she joined in on the festivities like a good sport and brought baked goods for the food table. One look at the cuisine and she knew she wouldn't be eating anything she hadn't brought herself. Georgiana had a particular palette for human food these days, and it did not include anything that could be prepared on a BBQ. She resigned herself to drinking and people watching, making observations in her mind until someone was in ear shot to hear her commentary. "That guy.." The vampire gestured at someone, random, in the crowd. "..is a beer shy of being able to start a brewery. I give him another half hour, at best. That's being generous." Not so quietly she scoffed, "Light weight."

[flusteredmoonn]

superman; regulus black

summary: "he has his mothers eyes, his fathers ambition," in which she is proud of him that he is the one chosen, succumbing to his parents expectations.

tags: (SFW), fluff, drabble, slight one sided angst, mentions of war, threats of war, implied previous threatened violence, implied voldemort supporter!reader, she/her pronouns, third person y/n.

words: 700+

speak now tracklist. request.

the meetings end was uncharacteristically abrupt. chairs screeched as the members of the organisation were dismissed, not even an ambient conversation filled the stagnate air in the great hall of the manor. eeriness loomed outside of the houses walls, it felt haunted, like they weren't alone. though the silence was soon shattered by a husky voice,

"regulus, you stay behind, boy," it's owner's tone was authoritative, making the boy still in the archway of the room. he inhaled sharply before turning around and retracing his steps back into the room, posture assured yet his shoulder's slumped.

"my lord," his voice was suddenly adolescent, like he was back home and talking with his parents. a stark contrast to the boy that many who lingered on the other side of the heavy door had known.

"i have something to ask of you.." the older man alluded, "and who better to trust than a member of one of our world's most loyal families," he held a snide smile as something akin to cunning glistened in his usually stoic expression.

"what is it, my lord," the boy nervously questioned, though his voice never wavered and he rolled his shoulders back in faux confidence. the air in the room became stagnate when the dark lord revealed the favour he asked of the younger boy. surely it couldn't possibly be so simple, the trade of a house elf for unwavering trust.

he had apparated back to his parents home, releasing a hesitant breath as his ancestors discussed conspicuously about the agenda of the meeting. summoning his beloved house elf with a small pop, he commanded kreature to serve the dark lord for as long as voldemort deemed to be suitable.

regulus caught the exchange of words from several of the portraits, questioning how he could be in such close quarters with voldemort, speculating if he would copy the betrayal of his brother. he pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing he turned toward the staircase, ascending them and walking toward his bedroom.

using his fireplace, he travelled the floo network to the leaky cauldron, where he was set to meet with someone. she sat quietly in a corner of the pub, a stein of butterbeer in front of her as she watched the entrance. her eyes moved over to him, a smile gracing her face, meeting her eyes as he strode over to her.

he shouted at tom, the pub owner, for another round of butterbeer before he seated himself opposite her. "hey," he smiled shyly at her, thanking the barman for bringing their drinks over.

"hi," she replicated his tone, taking another sip from the glass in front of her. she began to ask about the death eater's meeting, her tone becoming swiftly hesitant as he features hardened, her voice soon trailing off.

"it was good, i think," he began, eyes looking around in avoidance, "i got tasked with something, finally," his expression lightened at the prospect of his importance. surprise graced y/n's face,

"really? that's really good, reg, i'm proud of you," she smiled, "how did your parents react?" she queried with a small smirk.

"oh, uhm 'haven't told them yet," he mirrored her expression. "well i'm sure they'll be proud."

"yeah."

a beat of silence lingered in the space between them, each taking the opportunity to fill it with a sip of their drinks.

"just don't wanna disappoint sirius, you know," he spoke after a while, avoiding eye contact.

"you won't, he'll be happy so long as you're happy, i'm sure of it," the girl spoke softly, extending her hand to him, squeezing it in response to him taking it. he nodded solemnly, smiling briefly at her before suggesting that they take their leave from the pub and spend the rest of the evening in town.

with a hum in agreement, she stood up from the table as the pair made their way to the bar to pay, before making their way into town.

"i am really proud of you, you know?" she exclaimed comfortingly.

[thepenultimateword]

Claws and Fangs Part 2

CW: Discrimination, essence of racism and hate speech (just with made-up terms because its supernatural creatures)

Part One

[Vampire!]

The little girl standing tiptoe in the doorframe sprang at the vampire's chest, nearly knocking them backwards down the long flight of stairs. Luckily, Fangs managed to catch her under the arms and swing her weight back toward the door just in time.

"Aggie!" they cried, matching her energy. They rubbed noses with the child as they shifted her to the crook of their free arm and reached behind them to find Claws’s arm again.

The child, Aggie, clung to their neck. "Daddy said you weren't coming!"

"Plans changed." They gave the little girl an extra squeeze before smoothly positioning Claws in front of her. "This is [Werewolf]. They're staying the weekend with us."

The little girl lit up for an instant but then froze, sniffing the air and wrinkling her nose. "Why do they smell like that?"

"Aggie!" a new feminine voice scolded, this one older, huskier. "That's no way to treat a guest."

A tall, raven-haired woman in a long red dress appeared in the doorway. Claws only needed a second to recognize her as another vampire. She carried the same red-eyed glint and predatory elegance as Fangs.

Her gaze roved up and down, taking in their utter unvampireness, but she still smiled as she met their eyes.

“Excuse my daughter. She hasn't had much exposure outside a clan.."

Aggie wriggled out of the Fangs’s arms and darted past her mother's legs and into the house.

"I'm [Vampire's] sister, Nerezza. You must be [Werewolf]."

"You know me?"

"Of course, we've been trying to get them to invite you for a dog's age." She gasped, covering her mouth. "I am so sorry."

Fangs covered their face with one hand. "Nerezza."

Claws's face heated. Apparently, their identity was no mystery. "Er, it's fine. I didn't really notice."

"Until you made a big deal out of it," Fangs said.

"Excuse me, [Vampire] for being careful," Nerezza snapped. "I didn't want to offend them before they even got through the door, and I only just remembered that dog is a derogatory term!"

"You can say dog, just don't call them one."

Nerezza glanced at Claws for confirmation, as if she only trusted the explanation from the source's mouth. When they nodded, she noticeably relaxed.

"Well come on in before you catch a cold standing here. Just leave your bags by the door; the staff will take it up to your room. Now. Let's introduce you to everyone else."

Fangs squeezed their hand as they crossed the threshold. "Here we go."

The house was even more beautiful inside than out. Rich red rugs swathed pearly marble floors. The walls and banisters were dark chocolate wood decorated in tapestries and oil portraits of vampires that looked suspiciously similar to Fangs and Nerezza. At the end of the hall, Nerezza turned through an arched entryway into a great, round sitting room. The sofas and recliners were draped in white fur throws and a rose and silver-leaf garland hung over the hearth, the hearty, pine-scented fire within accenting the room with an orange glow.

"Evening everyone!" Fangs said

Several vampires twisted their heads around as they entered, one man on the end of one sofa with his dark silky hair pulled into a bun immediately began sniffing the air.

"What in burning silver is that smell?"

The man beside him, looking nearly identical except for his hair--pale blonde and plaited over his shoulder, promptly punched him in the ribs.

"Told you, told you, told you!" Aggie sang from the floor where she was very meticulously putting together a puzzle of a frog pond.

Fangs's hand slipped out of Claws's grip and settled more protectively around their waist, seeming to forget for a moment that their partner was over a head taller and a few palms bulkier than they were. Though they wouldn't deny that having that supernatural vampire strength wrapped firmly about them was comforting.

"This is [Werewolf]. You know about them. My...er...well, we're engaged. Sort of."

"Sort of?" Man Bun said condescendingly, this time blocking his brother's fist.

"I haven't actually asked yet, but we both already know--"

"You're going to," Claws helped. "It just hasn't officially..."

"No, not quite yet."

"Soon though?" Claws tipped their gaze meaningfully toward Fangs’s face. Standing in front of their family for the first time probably wasn't the time or place for hints, but they couldn't help it now that the topic was out in the open. They had been waiting for a while now.

"Oh, yes, yes, very soon!" Fangs said, and they both strained smiles at the room. Fangs clapped their hands together. "Anyway. Aggie and Nerezza greeted us at the door, this is my brother-in-law, Gabriel."

The vampire he gestured to was in fact the only one who had not bored holes into Claws upon entering. Mostly because he was reclined all the way back in the biggest armchair, snoring. Claws still committed his enormous frame and the pink elastics in his auburn beard and hairline to memory.

"My brother Renwick,” Fangs moved on, introducing the blonde man. “The especially rude one is Lauden." They pinched Man Bun's cheek and turned their tone babyish. "Our baby."

Lauden swatted them away. "Shut up, I'm grown! ...Unless the last blood custard is up for grabs, then I'll gladly be the baby."

"My mother and father, you can call them Jacqueline and Valerian.

Jacqueline strained a smile, but Valerian was as still and austere as one of the oil paintings in the hall. Claws could definitely tell who had the strongest genes. Jacqueline's blonde hair and storm gray eyes had passed to Renwick, but the rest of the siblings shared their father's raven hair, amber eyes, and delicate bone structure. They still needed to get used to vampire parents looking nearly as young as their children.

Fangs gestured to a regal, middle-aged man in the armchair closest to the fire, not a recliner for how stick straight he sat, pale hand planted firmly around the gold knob of his cane. His dark hair was a mane brushed straight back and streaked at the temples with silver.

"Grandfather Ambrose," they mumbled quickly and then immediately brighter, "And that’s everyone!”

Before Claws could reply so much as 'pleased to meet you,' Fangs's strong arms dragged them off balance, plopping them both on the floor beside Aggie, Claws in the center of Fangs's lap.

Claws looked at the floor. It still wasn't the full moon, but the phantom sensation of a tucked tail and ears plagued their body. Maybe this hadn't been such a great idea. The air of awkwardness and disapproval was worse than being alone.

"So, [Werewolf]," Nerezza said, breaking the quiet. "How long have you and [Vampire] been together."

"W-we met a year and a half ago. So I guess officially...a year? How long have you known about me?"

"A year sounds right," Renwick said, leaning his elbows forward on his knees and resting his chin in his hands. His eyes seemed intent on dissecting Claws bit by bit. "You're name came up several times, but [Vampire] has always been a closed trap on the topic. Now I know why."

"Not that it matters, of course," Nerezza piped in quickly.

"Of course," Renwick agreed, though his tone was much less concerned. "How old are you?"

"Er, 27."

"Ah."

What was that supposed to mean?

"Ren," Fangs warned.

"What I'm just getting to know them. Isn't that what you want? Isn't that why you brought them?"

"This a probationary meeting. For if you ever get to see them or me again."

Claws melted closer to the floor, tracing the pattern of the rug with their eyes.

Aggie tugged on their sleeve. "Can you help me find the froggy eyes?"

She pointed to one of the background frogs on the box, his eyes only the corner of a mostly pond puzzle piece.

"Of course, let's see..." They sifted through several nearly identical, greenish-gray pieces. "Ah ha! One set of froggy eyes!"

Aggie's amber eyes lit like embers as she fit the piece into place. "And the dragonflies?"

Claws slowly slid off Fangs's lap and sprawled onto their stomach. "Pink or blue?"

"The pink."

"Ah, those ones are tricky, huh? Well, it looks like they're an edge piece, so can you help me find all the pieces with flat sides like this?"

She nodded adamantly, and together they made a small pile. Claws already saw the dragonflies, but instead of handing the piece to her they said, "See any pink ones?"

Aggie bit her lip mildly with one fang, flicking her eyes back and forth like a cat stalking a mouse. All at once, she pounced, finger landing on the center of the piece.

"Right there! Right there!"

"You found it!"

Aggie giggled. Claws was vaguely aware of a slight back and forth of their hips, habitual even with the absence of a tail.

"Look at them wriggle, just like a--"

"Why don't we all change for dinner," Jacqueline said, cutting Lauden off. She stood with a flourish, fluffing the skirts of her creamy vintage evening gown. “Lauden, dear, come with me, and I’ll help you with your tie.”

“What are you talking about?” the young man said, crinkling his pale brow. “I know how to tie—”

“Come.” Her eyes flashed like lightning in the violent storms of her irises, and Lauden quickly got up to follow her.

***

Claws threw themselves on the bed, giving a luxurious stretch as they stared up at the rich velvet canopy. They rolled on their side as Fangs closed the door.

“Alright, infamous outfit change #1. Help me, my love, what am I ever supposed to wear?” They tossed their head and pressed the back of their hand to their forehead.

Instead of playing along, Fangs sat on the edge of the bed and took their hand. “Do you want to go home? Because one word, and we’re out.”

"Hm?"

"We've only just arrived, and they're already being rude. It's going to get worse as they get more comfortable."

Claws crawled the couple of feet between them and flopped their head on their legs. "I’m not so much of a coward that a few mean words can chase me away. I’m from a wolf pack, you know. We deal with rough every day. Besides, I’ve been through worse.”

“Like what?”

“You.”

“Ow. What?”

“You were not pleasant when we first met. In fact, you called me the d-o-g word. Multiple times.”

“Because I was stupid! And I didn't know it was a slur! I didn't exactly talk to werewolves yet."

Claws reached up and smoothed the creases out of their face. "I know. The point is I can handle it. I'll let you know if can't."

Vampire wore a pout but nodded. They pointed at the suitcases. "It's the grey suitcoat with the red cravat. I'll help you tie it."

"You think I can't do it on my own?"

"Oh, I know you can't. Now stay there and sit still. I'll explain a bit about dinner."

Master Taglist:

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[moonchildrenandflowercrowns]

Starks Royal Love in the Palace / The story of Red Keep palace

Aemond Targaryen x Y/N

All characters are inspired by House of the Dragon and Gake of Thrones, the events and characters in this series have nothing to do with the plot of either shows. The events are inspired by two chinese costume dramas “Ruyis Royal Love in the Palace” and “The story of Yanxi Palace”

Trigger warning - Murder, death, sexual assault, miscarriage, polyamoury, children die, loss of children, loss of close ones.

——————————————————————-

As archaeologists in modern-day Westeros in Kings Landing and the Red Keep did their studies, they found a mysterious grave. In the mausoleum of the Imperial Noble Consort of Pure Intelligence is another grave belonging to a mysterious Concubine Elegant. After research, it was discovered that this is the second empress of one of the longest reigning emperors of Westeros, Emperor Aemond of House Targaryen.

But it puzzled the historians. Why would an empress be buried in someone else's mausoleum and why downgraded to a concubine? The documents in the vast tunnels of Red Keep turned out to be useless. No documents remain of her, her name taken out of every official document, her portrait never drawn. Who was she? What was her name? What happened to her? What is her story? Those questions puzzle the historians. Did something happen between her and the emperor?

After two popular theories arise, the main question becomes to light. Was she the greatest love of his life, or was she the greatest villain of his life?

Two stories with very different views and endings are about to unfold in front of your eyes as you take these two different journeys. In the end, the answer is up to you.

As she enters the hall, she feels the vastness of the palace. The big gates, the throne, the chairs around it. Looking around, she remembers it all. And then she sees him, Emperor Aemond. A young man, a ruler, of the big country of Westeros to whom everyone bows. Just as they bow to his first Empress, the Lady Helaena of Tyrell. And all that has happened. Dark rooms, full of shadows dancing. The story of her and him. Of evil scheming, sad endings, tragedies, murder, innocence, anger, the upholding of the Targaryen Dynasty. But most importantly, love, love between them, longing that turns to sadness, heartbreak, and great injustice. Between those big walls of the Red Keep, as if you could turn back the time, nothing has changed. Looking back on what I had been through, it seemed as though nothing had happened.”

Or a different view …

“As the gates open, the vast palace of Red Keep in Kings Landing can be seen. A servant girl is there on a mission. She is noticed by Empress the Lady Helaena of Tyrell. She treated her, a common seamstress, with kindness. But this palace is not a shelter to hide in; it is just a grave, and you do not know when it will be shut. A girl who is unruly, a servant girl especially, how can she survive the life at the demanding hands of his highness the Emperor Aemond's harem? As she is walking in snow barefoot, she thinks, I deserve to die. She becomes the Noble Lady Baratheon in one of the last palaces of the Red Keep. The second Empress of Emperor Aemond, formerly Concubine Elegant, is not happy with this arrangement. In the face of life, everything is nonsense. Watching the people around you die in this palace. What surprised me the most is that you always take part with her, he asked her. Because she is my hope, she replied to him. A palace of splendour, fireworks. Even if Lady Floris of the house Baratheon became Consort Wise, it is impossible to get in the way of others. However, every time I think about you, a surge of hatred flows through my blood. I just hate you. The sentences were shouted at this palace. Between sisters and brothers. As if they never want to see each other again! Overlooking the vast keep and Kings Landing.”

It is up for, you dear reader, to decide and embark on this journey through history.

[leviathanswingman]

the one that got away - Michael centric one-shot

chapters: 1/1

ship: general, implied dialuci

words: 1450

Michael was standing in the Great Hall, his arms firmly tucked behind his back as he stared at the empty wall before him. Many years ago, seven portraits used to hang here, perfectly lined up from left to right, from highest to lowest in rank respectively. He remembered them quite well. Each portrait had been adorned with a golden frame which only served to emphasise the subjects’ beauty and reverence. It had been the most breathtaking sight, no matter how many times Michael walked by it.

Nowadays, the empty wall was nothing but a grim reminder that appearances could be deceiving. After all, every one of them, once so beloved, once held in such high regard, ended up betraying the Celestial Realm, throwing it all away for a moment of rebellion, just to experience a sip of the nectar of freedom before plummeting down forever.

All the recognition and all the glory, thrown away in mere seconds, and for what? For the sake of a man who’d poisoned them with his honeyed words? It had all been led by one angel, no, demon, who found himself seduced by the silken words of their enemy. Now they were known as nothing more than filthy traitors.

Slowly, Michael lifted one hand, tracing the indents of a frame, a shape he still remembered far too well. The calculated strokes and splashes of color that used to make up the most breathtaking portrait of them all were still burned into his mind. Its memory was seared into his brain, ingrained there despite its lack of presence on this empty hallway wall. The painting of Lucifer had been a masterpiece, rivaled by nothing and no one; not only the painting itself but its muse just as much. The angel’s hair, dark like ebony and silky smooth in the ways it cascaded down his back, his eyes, two lively splashes of red, glistening like the finest of gems in stark contrast against the sky-blue backdrop, his wings stretching beyond the bounds of the painting, itching to spread out and break free. No one could've represented purity quite as beautifully. Michael still remembered how he used to shudder under their intensity whenever they set sight on him, such warm and determined gems. Sometimes he wished he’d taken them before they could’ve become tainted, wished he had added them to his treasury before it all went down.

Michael pushed his fist against his mouth, grinding his teeth.

There was a reason he refused to go to the Devildom. He was quick to send others and was even quicker to send Simeon and Raphael. They could even send the obedient angel child for all he cared. They would all report to him accordingly, he was sure of that, for under their Father’s gentle rule, they all stood in a perfectly straight line.

Most angels believed Michael’s refusal to visit the Devildom came from a place of pride and assumed it was nothing more than a high-ranking angel’s dignity as a well-respected holy being.

Pride.

The word now had a dirty aftertaste to it. In the end, everything came circling back to Lucifer. Far too often, Michael’s thoughts wandered downwards, sinking so far down below to that place that knew nothing but varying shades of darkness. Few angels were aware of the truth. Michael refused to go to the Devildom, for his purity just as his own sanity’s sake. Father had ordered it and Father's word remained the law. That specific fact though, nobody seemed to be aware of.

It didn't take much for his mind to wander. Thoughts of that place were enough to bring his blood to a boil and his mind to conjure up the one person he could never truly forget.

They had the same upbringing and nearly the same date of birth. Rarely had they ever been separated, always seen together in one way or the other. Yet they had still ended up on opposite sides of the same coin. Michael had thought it over time and time again, had tossed and turned in the deepest hours of the night until he arrived at one single conclusion.

Truthfully, he did not know how he would act if he ever set sight on that wretched demon. That homewrecker, Diavolo, the crown prince of the Devildom. He must have been the defining factor.

Every restless second was spent wondering, anguishing over that one simple question: had Michael not sent Lucifer in his stead, would things have turned out differently? If he hadn't allowed Lucifer to set his eyes on that silver-tongued devil, would he still be by his side? That man was the one who had planted the first seeds of doubt, he was certain of it. He had pulled Lucifer close, had whispered into his ear softly, sweetly. One single meeting was all it took to achieve the one thing Michael never managed to do. Somehow, that prince had figured out the deepest, darkest parts of Lucifer’s soul that had always been closed off to the rest of the realm. Was that demon truly so much better than Michael?! That certainly couldn't be it. He was the snake in the garden, luring Lucifer in to come and devour the apple of sin in a deceptive act of intimacy. Before that destined meeting Lucifer had been obedient. He had been much purer than all the other angels combined. All it took was one meeting with him to make it all come crashing down. Lucifer had never bothered about appearances, so that could not have been it. Diavolo must have told falsehoods to seduce him with honeyed words and half-lidded eyes, a soft yet pliable smile on his lips. How could Lucifer have known what was truly hiding behind it, innocent and perfect as he had been?

When Lucifer returned to the Celestial Realm, pensive, already changed, that seed of doubt planted inside his heart, fueled by the Devildom’s burnt soil, the roots thick and unrelenting with the way they wound around his once pure heart, Michael had known trouble was in the air. He asked Lucifer about his mission and when he barely answered, he relayed his suspicions to their Father, who in turn confronted Lucifer. The spark in his eyes dulled after that and the angel turned cagey.

Perhaps if he chose to return to him, Michael’s soul would feel soothed again. He'd lock Lucifer up in an ivory tower and feed him ambrosia and prayers until all that bad blood was gone and their Father would feel more compelled to allow him to prove his willingness to repent again. And Lucifer would be bent on his knees until he'd bruise golden and blue, the colors of the Celestial Realm returned to him once more. A bird, oh so beloved and darling in its cage. Michael would make him forget that revolting prince whose side he never seemed to leave now. He would get to keep him; safe.

He remembered it still so vividly, the day they heard of their fates. The day all voices whispered, so disbelieving, so full of confusion about how Lucifer had become that crown prince’s right-hand man. Michael had been forced to remain in the confines of his room for more than a month, stuck staring at one of Lucifer's feathers he had kept for himself.

Years later, shortly after he entered that futile exchange program, Simeon brought him the news in that hushed, pitying tone of voice that seemed to be reserved for their talks about Lucifer only. He believed them to be a pair, Lucifer and that prince. If they weren't one now, he was certain they'd become one soon.

The Devildom Prince loves him, he said. And Lucifer remained by his side, his back straight and head held impossibly high.

Wordlessly, Michael returned to his room and pulled at his hair for many nights, his pillows damp from all his tears. Whether he cried out of anger or sadness, he could not say. His mind had become a muddled little thing. Jealousy was a venomous thing, certain to taint his purity. Yet all he could think about was the fact that that should've been them. No matter Lucifer’s feelings, they would have become a pair sooner or later. Father would have given them his blessing. Michael was a force to be reckoned with once he wanted to impress and convince. They could’ve brought down the entire Devildom with a union like theirs.

Alas, it was not meant to be and it was all that demon’s fault. Still, Michael was not willing to give up just yet. One day, he would get Lucifer back, he’d make sure of that.

[sitp-recs]

any fic recs where harry falls first??? thanks :p

Sure! Sometimes it’s hard to identify whoever’s falling first because of different POVs, but you might enjoy these:

Play Dates by bixgirl1 (2017, E, 8k)

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Blind Date by josephine_wenteworth (2016, T, 8.6k)

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Solve Us Like a Mystery by tryslora (2013, T, 12k)

When Harry stops in at the bookstore where Draco works, they find a surprising shared interest in mysteries.

In Which Harry is Magnetic North and Draco Is An Idiot by bryoneybrynn (2014, T, 13k)

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Voices From The Fog by noeon (2010, E, 13k)

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Take the Moon by @tackytigerfic (2022, M, 15k)

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Magical Menagerie by DorthyAnn (2017, T, 16k)

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Take These Lies by @pennygalleon (2021, E, 20k)

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I Bet That You Look Good on the Dancefloor by birdsofshore (2015, E, 28k)

Harry felt lit up from inside as soon as he entered the bar. There were blokes dancing together, their bodies close to one another, not keeping a wary distance as Harry was always careful to do when he was near another man.

The Gentlewizard Club by Sophie_French (2014, E, 28k)

Draco wants what Draco wants. And if he has to snuggle up to Harry to get it, well, surely, Draco can handle that. Problem is, not sure Harry can.

Potential Gravity by zeitgeistic (2014, E, 32k)

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The Moon Looks Lovely Tonight by Omi_Ohmy (2014, M, 35k)

When Harry moves into the damp and empty Black house, it doesn’t quite feel like home. And then the first owl moves in. After that, it’s a steep slope leading to bed-sharing, more owls, assorted housemates, strange potions experiments, and terrible cooking. And a bit of waltzing, too.

The Vanishing Department by dictacontrion (2014, E, 47k)

The things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end, even if that involves a lot more form-filling, bickering, covert glancing, miscommunication, and flying furniture than we might expect.

Here's The Pencil, Make It Work by ignatiustrout (2013, M, 50k)

Harry thinks "Why is Malfoy working in a coffee shop in muggle London?" is a much simpler question than, "Are you going to accept that auror offer and, if you don't, what will you do?"

Take the Air by dysonrules (2018, M, 51k)

Someone or something is attacking Muggles and leaving them for dead. Auror Harry Potter is assigned to the case, but with his usual partner unavailable, he is stuck with the most annoying Auror ever to walk the halls of the Ministry.

The Trouble with Wanting by waldorph (2021, E, 60k)

Draco Malfoy is cleared of all charges; this is what happens next.

Tea and No Sympathy by who_la_hoop (2014, E, 70k)

It's been nearly a year since the unpleasant business at Hogwarts, and Draco's getting on with his life quite nicely, thank you, until Harry sodding Potter steps in and ruins it all, just like always.

Kept in Cages by sweet_s0rr0w (2022, E, 76k)

Deep in the heart of the Ministry lies the Beast Division: a hidden room where ancient beasts roam, and winged creatures soar, and grumpy giant ferrets eat all your biscuits unless you keep them well hidden. Draco Malfoy would know – he’s been working there for five years now, after all.

Azoth by zeitgeistic (2013, E, 88k)

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Little Deaths and How to Avoid Them (or Draco Malfoy's Guide to Stop Dying and Start Living Instead) by nerakrose (2018, T, 96k)

Malfoy is way too interested in coroner reports for somebody who's definitely not looking for ways to die, Harry wants to be friends with him, and Ginny wants to break up with Harry.

Can't Sit Still by wilteddaisy (2018, E, 193k)

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A Secondary Education by Thunderbird587 (2018, E, 234k)

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[fixaidea]

This is not something I intend to sit down and seriously write up until I've read all the relevant bits of Xiaoge's backstory first-hand, but the idea won't leave me be, so here's a Concept:

At the great joint-effort Mystic Nine dig in the 1960s, an amulet is found. Those present theorise that it is something that can give the user a glimpse into their future (and yes, I've written this plot before AND I WILL WRITE IT AGAIN!). After much Shuffling of Feet and Averting the Eyes from the others Xiaoge decides to test it himself.

After entering the vision, he immediately calls the amulet's authenticity into question, as he finds himself in bed with a naked man.

It is a testimony to his calm willpower that he doesn't immediately kick the guy right through the wall, but pauses to asses the situation first. He is not restrained and feels perfectly clear-headed, so this supposed future self of his probably got into this situation on his own accord.

He gets up to investigate - and in the process wakes the stranger up. Thankfully all he does is grumble about how early it is, and then asks Xiaoge to check something in the garden when he's done training.

...All right then, so this future Zhang Qiling has known this man for a while, long enough for them to have an estabilished morning routine. Curious.

Instead of training though he explores the house. He finds another, much more sparse, bedroom with his own black-gold sword hanging on the wall. ...So he's supposed to live here? With that man? And it's not even just the two of them, he can hear someone snoring further down the hall. Do either of these people know who and what he even is?

...And it is at this point when he spots a large portrait of himself hanging on the wall. So yeah, they probably do know. Or did they assume it depicted one of his ancestors?

He intends to keep assessing the situation and observe the other inhabitants (the guy he woke up with and a slightly older and much larger man) but the two clock that he's acting weird with surprising ease. Apparently he has a number of different silences.

He tests the waters by telling them that he doesn't recognise them, which is met with some dismay, but no surprise at all. Again, curious. Instead of acting hurt or panicking they introduce themselves (Wu Xie and Wang Pangzi), tell him where and when he is (Yucun, 2020) and ask him what's the last thing he remembers. Seems like they've been through this before?

At this point he decides to take the risk of not being believed and tells them the truth. The two are bewildered, but not entirely incredulous. Sure, Pangzi half-seriously checks for a human skin mask first, but they do take him seriously, and soon they are deep into a discussion about the details of his situation - a discussion that makes it obvious that this Wu Xie is fully in on all the secrets of the Zhang.

Could it be that he's some officially assigned partner of his? It would be a bit strange, but then again, the world was already rapidly changing just in the couple of decades Zhang Qiling can remember, and this is more than half a century later still, who knows what counts as normal these days? He might have to ask though, because so far Wu Xie himself hasn't brought up the matter, he was more focused on the possible mechanics of this time travel situation. Zhang Qiling himself expected a simple vision but now he's interacting with the people in his supposed future, and one of them is rambling about 'the question of a time-loop versus the Multiverse Theory'. Zhang Qiling thinks he gets the grist of it, but the one thing he learns for sure is that Wu Xie is very bright and he likes the sound of his own voice a bit too much. That is, when he gets to hear it, because Pangzi is even more talkative.

How did he end up living with these people?

(...Meanwhile Wu Xie is internally screaming over what he can and can't tell this younger Xiaoge, like, what would even be relevant if this is a parallel timeline and not a time-loop? Maybe THEIR Zhang Qishan is a perfectly nice, standup guy? Because if not, and if there's and way at all of sparing this version of Xiaoge 20 years of medical torture at Golmud then WU XIE WILL DO IT, CONSEQUENCES BE DAMNED!)

(...At least all this overthinking keeps him from dwelling on the small matter of waking up beside a Xiaoge who is at this point a virtual stranger.)

[x-junwrites-x]

Reader Gets Turned into a Vamp

Tom x Reader

Summary: Tom and Reader used to be a pair of monster hunters with a specialty in hunting vampires. Of course, as life would be unfair to the two of you, Tom got turned into a vampire many years ago by Tord. Throughout the years, Tom would always keep away from you. A flat-out refusal to get near enough to be enticed by your blood. He can only do so much to protect you this time when Tord as coven leader decides to pay your shop a visit and get rid of Tom's distraction so-to-speak. In the end, reader gets turned into an immortal leech, the kind that Tom promised you would never be.

Tw: mild blood and injury, minor violence, near character death

Tom slammed through the door, the ache in his shoulder barely even registering. He let out a snarl at the offending vampires that turned to lunge at him as soon as he barged in, using his jowls to rip the throat of one young rogue. The other was quickly pacified with a swift slash to his throat along with a kick in the groin. The only goal in mind was to get to the alluring scent of blood upstairs. The shop that you worked in was in ruins, shelves knocked over and broken glass vials crunching underneath his feet as he charged through the hall. He got to the base of the stairs, hearing whimpers of other wounded rogues in the middle of the stairwell. Tom cursed, knowing that Tord’s men were already there. When he caught wind of a small group of vampires rounding on your side of the town you lived in, he knew he had to get to you even through the consequences.

Once he reached the second floor all he had to do was round the corner to find Tord looming over Tom’s prized possession. You were limp in the arms of the coven leader, neck bared by the strong grip that the vampire had on you. His sharpened claws were careful with the fragile flesh of your neck, thumb feeling for your fluttering pulse under the frigid skin of his finger no doubt. Tom felt a growl bubble out from his chest without meaning to, gaining the attention of his superior. His head snapped up in search of the source of incompetence, piercing red gaze finding Tom’s trembling figure. 

“Ah, Thomas. How rather surprising to see you, especially since I am certain that you were stationed elsewhere.” The last bit of the sentence was made into a hiss as his red glare got sharper. “I thought we were clear that you were to go on a coup with Patryk’s division” 

“And I thought,” Tom could feel the anger inside of him start to boil over as he advanced onto the elder’s space, “we were clear that they were to be kept unharmed.” Tord’s grip on your neck tightened, Tom noticed how your brow furrowed as a low whine found its way from your throat. 

“Ah, yes, well. They seem to be your weakness and I can’t be having any weak links in my coven. You are of great use to me, Thomas. You will serve to bring me the position of reigning elder in the community, therefore I have to get rid of any distractions.” He sniffs, body moving to turn back to the mortal in his hold. Tom saw the way Tord’s fangs elongated, flashing red eyes narrowing as he was about to bite your jugular. A growl bursted out of his chest as he barreled towards his sire. The other man seemed to expect this already, side stepping carefully over the floorboards to be a few feet away. 

“Come now, Thomas. I do not recommend fighting me right now when the blood moon is out no less.” 

“I would be able to contend with you then, Tord.” Tom glowered at the other. Tord’s smug face faltered, brows furrowing into a stern glare.

“The gall you have to claim you’re as strong as your sire is laughable. You insult me. Now, shut up, and stop being a pest.” The elder seethed with a flick of his wrist towards Tom’s form. The other vampire felt a sudden pressure on his neck, shouting as he was flung back into the far wall. The portraits that were hanging fell to the floor just as he slid to the floorboards after them with a groan. He rubbed the back of his head, vision blurry as he tried to focus on the form of the tall vampire again before he was flung back to the other wall. He heard Tord huff out a small chuckle at the sight, the noise only fueling Tom’s anger. 

He took to his feet, the hair on the back of his neck raising as he sidestepped another one of Tord’s force attacks. As an Ancient, he was able to do weird magic like that. It frustrated Tom to no end sometimes. With little fanfare, Tom took the wall closest to him to push himself at Tord. Just as he was about an arm’s length away, he tilted on his heels, dodging Tord’s nasty swipe. He could feel the air move above his head where Tord’s claws ripped through the air. He didn’t hesitate to clamp down on his coven leader’s exposed shoulder with his own elongated fangs as the other man recoiled back for another attack. The vampire snarled, gasping as Tom flung his head back, nearly pulling Tord’s shoulder with him had it not been for Tord clawing at his face. Tom let go, using his leader’s brief stupor to move back, grunting as he dodged another attack before dashing to your side. He heaved you up in a bridal carry, ignoring the angered shouts of the other as he rushed to leap out the window. 

He didn’t turn back to look at the shop again as he continued to run through the forest at the edge of the town, ignoring the screams and cries he heard from the rest of the burning buildings. Although he was a vampire and didn’t need to breathe, it felt as though the rush of adrenaline coursing through his body was making his chest pinch tightly. Might’ve been the anxiety that suddenly crept up on him. He didn’t stop running until he got to a clearing. The big blood moon was the only thing that was illuminating the scene, its orange glow basking everything in an eerie light. 

He let out a breath, shifting you in his hold so that he could gaze at your face as he placed you down on the patch of grass. Tiny little yellow flowers had sprouted over the spring mornings, their delicate petals sagging underneath the body that lay atop them. He muttered a curse as he brushed some stray hairs from your face, his attention being snatched by the moving form of his lover as your eyelids fluttered open.

“Tom…?” You groaned out, sitting up among the ticklish grass. The movement elicited a sharp gasp as you felt a sharp pain erupt in your abdomen. Tom moved closer to you, holding your hand to his chest as he shushed you gently.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, a little bewildered. He hadn’t smelled any blood from you throughout the time that he was at the shop. Your parted lips formed a grimace as you moved a hand to press against your lower stomach, fingers coming back drenched in crimson.

“What?” You faltered, feeling your hands start to shake from the realization. The pain seemed to increase tenfold once you knew that you were bleeding. It felt like being torn apart from the inside. Tom stared at your drenched hand in strange horror as the scent of your blood elicited a burning desire to clamp his fangs over your pulse point, wherever he could get a taste of that delicious blood.

“I wasn’t hurt before, wh-what’s going on?” You whined as more pain shot up your spine, causing you to clamp your jaw tight. Tom shook his head to clear the unnerving thoughts. Now was not the time. He hovered over your form, gently coaxing you to lean further back so he could get under the clothes that covered your middle. He winced at the sight of the blood that seemed to just seep from your skin, unable to find a cut or laceration that would cause it. 

“It hurts so much.” Your eyes clamped shut as you held onto his buttoned shirt, your fist curling tighter around the fabric. His hand went to cover yours. Thinking about it more, it dawned on Tom that it could be Tord’s magic. He could feel the fire inside of him strike up again as he realized it was the coven leader’s doing. Through all that he’s done for the man, is this any way to repay him. Tom’s free hand reached to cup one of your flushed cheeks as tears collected on your bottom lashes.

“I think this is Tord’s magic.” His murmured words rang clear in your head as your eyes widened in realization. It made sense that it was ancient magic, it felt like you were burning.

“Tom,” you panted, blearily feeling Tom’s hold on your hand tighten over his chest, “I think i’m gonna die.” The grass below you was wet with blood, a sick feeling beginning to claw in your chest at the sight. If your head were any clearer, you would be moving away from the poor flowers. Tom sat stockstill, the crease in his brow pinching tighter before he was swallowing. Your eyes fluttered, feeling fainter as the moments passed. You looked over at your immortal lover, finding beads of sweat on his brow. Your lips parted to ask what he was thinking about, words escaping you as thoughts of your impending death hit you. If you knew you were going to die today, you would've given the cat that was always at the shop’s windows a feast.

“Hey…” You began softly, his grip on your hand tightening as his head shot up from where it had dropped against his chest. His expression looked troubled as he looked at you. It didn’t settle your nerves at the moment. He held a finger to his lips, head tiilting from side to side as if listening. Tom’s head swiveled to look around the clearing. You tried following his gaze but the sharp pain returned, eliciting a gasp from you. 

“They’re coming.” Tom’s tone sent a shiver down your spine as he pressed against your prone form, one arm cradled you to his chest while the other began to reach down to press against your wound..

“I don’t want to go, Tom.” You whispered, feeling his head shift to look at you as black spots began dancing in your blurry vision.

“Hey, stay with me.” His tone finally showed worry as he tilted your head towards his face. You could feel your eyes start to close, beginning to get comfortable in his hold. Even though your immortal lover was a vampire, he was still warmer than the cold of your bed you had to face every night. He started saying a few more words, panic seeping into his pleading but you couldn’t really understand it.

 He could save you, but it would put too much of a risk on both of you if either person died without the other.

“My love,” He tried, palm finding your chest. His own slow heartbeat thudded away in his chest as he felt the way yours was beginning to grow faint. Fingers skimmed over your warm skin, fingertips feeling the slow vibrations of the only thing that kept him going. “Love, look at me, come on.” Tom swallowed back the lump in his throat as your head tilted towards him just a little. 

“I can save you, you just have to trust me.” He could almost feel your hand tighten over his own weakly. He gave a slight chuckle at the warmth he suddenly felt. The noises of the coven were getting louder, no doubt sourcing the smell of blood in the air as they hunted for the two of you like hound dogs. The beasts that they were. That he was.

Tom took a breath as he caressed your face with his icy hands, moving some loose strands of hair aside before caressing your neck with his thumb. Your heartbeat was a dull thing now underneath warm skin. He closed his eyes as his fangs elongated, the hunger that had been simmering under his skin this whole time finally resurfacing again. It was harder to control this time. Focus, his mind hissed, he had to remember that this was a transforming bite. He had to put intention behind the force of his jaw, not only to feed but to have you drink his blood as well. 

He moved back enough to look at your closed eyes. Just like this, he could pretend that it was one of those slow mornings the two of you shared so long ago, when he was able to hold you closely without having to worry about rules or his own bloodthirst to satiate. Never with you. It was never supposed to be you. You were supposed to be kept out of this life as the monster that he was, but you were stubborn. 

This was the last time he was going to see you as a human. He brought his mouth to the crook of your neck. His hunger was a roaring thing now, willing him to bite into delicate flesh and drink from the source that he’s been wanting to claim ever since he turned. His lips sealed over your neck to lay an open mouth kiss to the skin before letting his fangs plunge over where your pulse was the strongest. Tom felt you jerk in his arms as a surprisingly lucid yelp escaped your lips, the action causing him to almost falter before the taste of copper saccharin blood coated his tastebuds.

In an instant, he felt the monster inside him snap as power surged through him like a lighting strike. A feeling of near orgasmic euphoria washed over him, a deep seated groan slipping from his mouth, eyes fluttering closed. His hands trembled as he clutched onto your form tightly, gulping copious amounts of blood as he tried quenching the immense hunger that burst from the pit of his very being before snapping out of it. He shuddered at the sight of all the blood smattered over the collar of your shirt, raising his shaky wrist to a bloodied fang. He sliced his own pale skin, bringing his bleeding wrist down to your parted lips. Tom watched intently as you took small gulps, the furrow in your brow never leaving as your face began losing some of its glow. He knew it would take a little before the transformation was complete so he took the chance to lick around the puncture wound on your neck once more, saliva closing the bite marks until they were small indentations. A rush of endorphins suddenly surged through his body, making him gasp at the flurry of emotions he was bombarded with that surely weren’t his own. He looked down at you, watching as it almost seemed like you were sleeping. Even so, he was still experiencing this rush of emotion. If he focused hard enough, he could sift through them, finding tendrils attached to you in some way. Somehow he knew. Is this what being a sire was like? Just as quickly as they came, it seemed like they were dispersed somewhere in his mind. It felt like they had been tucked away carefully in the back of his head somewhere, leaving him a little dizzy.

He was probably dazed over the thought that he had finally put a claiming bite on the one person he promised he would never put one on. He thumbed the wound gently, a lick of strange arousal finding its way from the pit in his stomach at the thought that you bore his mark now. He grunted at the intruding thought. A snap of a twig made him snap out of it completely, putting him on edge. Just across from the clearing, he could see the flashing red eyes of a very angry coven leader. Tom made sure to step in front of your prone form as he took to his feet, meeting Tord’s fiery gaze head-on.

“Thomas,” a seething growl found its way in the tense air of the cold night. Tom shifted, shoes crunching in the loose dirt that had been kicked up by his scrambling earlier. The action caused Tord to pause his advancement, eyes boring into your limp figure on the grassy plane just at Tom’s feet. “What have you done?”

“I saved them.” Tom panted, feeling his fangs elongate again as Tord tried getting near. 

“You sired them?! You seething imbecile. You dare sire someone under my leadership. There are rules, Thomas.” Tord hissed, flicking his wrist so that the rest of the coven came out from the clearing’s edge, previously covered by the shadows the trees provided. Tom took a step back at the sight of them all. Their eyes were glowing red as they closed in. 

“Take the fledgling away before they turn feral.” Tord grunted, flicking a wrist towards Tom while he was distracted by Paul and another vampire who came closer to you. “And you, you will be punished for this, Thomas.” He sighed as Tom squirmed in his invisible grasp. His feet didn’t touch the ground as Tord teleported the whole coven back to the dwellings of the grand castle all the villages around feared.

“No! Don’t take them away from me!” Tom growled, jaws snapping at a vampire that was passing by with you in tow. Your face was still slack, still unconscious from the vast changes your body was facing. Immortality sure was a heavy thing to bare. Tord tutted at the display. 

“Oh, Thomas. How pathetic you are. Here’s hoping that they won’t cause much trouble in the dungeons. It would be a shame if I had to cast them into the sun so prematurely.” He gave a smirk as Tom froze, mouth snapping shut as he watched you be taken down the winding halls. Tord laughed sinisterly at the look of sorrow that crossed Tom’s face for a second before an icy mask took its place. “Now, let us discuss the terms of your punishment, yes?” He says as he turns towards the opposite side of the castle with a struggling Tom in his hold.

The end.

[animerina]

The Third Leaf Represents Love-Rill Boismortier

Summary: Part 2 of a collection of Black Clover x Reader stories.

Note: 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. Meant to do Fuegoleon or Julius, but ended up doing Rill. How? Don’t ask. I hope you enjoy the second chapter of this series, and please feel free to let me know who else you’d like to see featured.

Their arrangement had started easily enough, though when she looked back on the day they met, she still felt dazed at how it all came to be. She still couldn’t believe something so wildly unfathomable had happened to her of all people. Work had been scarce and she had traveled to the Noble Realm to seek better opportunities. Her search had already left her exhausted by the time she had come to rest outside the market. She’d been rejected by just about everywhere with the exception of one job that she was desperately trying to avoid. The pay was little and the work back breaking, but it was looking like her only option.

She leaned against the brick of a building bordering the stalls and watched as people passed by. Huffing, she reached down to adjust her boot when she heard the commotion.

“Oh,” a young girl exclaimed excitedly. “Look! It’s a Magic Knight squad!”

She peered bast where the girl had pointed to her companion and caught sight of several people wearing light blue cloaks. Racking her brain, she finally realized they must be from the Aqua Deer. She’d never seen a Magic Knight before and she caught herself staring intently. Afraid of looking foolish, she averted her eyes back to her boot, but she felt compelled to look back up for one last glance. That was when her eyes locked onto pink orbs.

The young man was upon her before she blinked. He was short, with aqua hair, and was smiling so wide she wondered if his cheeks hurt.

“Hello!” He exclaimed. “Hi, I’m Rill Boismortier. I’m sorry to bother you but I was wondering if I could paint you?”

“Paint me?” She asked, bewildered by the strange boy.

“Mhm! You looked so inspiring right now.��

“But I wasn’t doing anything?”

He nodded in agreement. “But you looked so natural. You’re just really pretty and I just feel so inspired and-,” he continued on and she lost track of his rambling.

“I’m sorry,” she said over his muttering. “Maybe some other time, sir. I still have some things I need to do today.”

“Oh,” he said a bit disappointed. “I could help you and then you’ll have some time, right?”

“Actually, I need to find a job,” she explained. “I don’t think it’ll be so easy either.”

“I’ll pay you.”

“What?!”

“Yes!” He nodded in excitement. “I want to hire you to be my model.”

She agreed faster than she intended, but it had been great so far. It later became clear that Rill was the captain of his squad, something she had not seen coming at all, but it meant he had time and money to work with her. She was happy to have such an easy job for the time being, but always wondered just how long it would last. However, it seemed Rill never tired of her. He had done several dozen portraits already, enough to fill a hall of worship for her. She never complained about the long hours sitting, for Rill had treated her well and always made sure she was taken care of.

The day had started like any other when Rill called for her. She dressed, grabed a quick breakfast to eat on the way to the Boismortier mansion, and was greeted by Walter upon her arrival. He bowed and brought her to Rill’s chambers where the captain already had an easel and canvas prepared. Usually they would get right to work, but today he had been more demure as he ushered her in, and instead of having her change into whatever he had picked out for the day, he invited her to sit and join him for tea.

Rill seemed to be buzzing in his seat but had remained quiet for the most part. She sat across from him, the only barrier the small tea table set with his usual midday snacks between them. She shifted to allow his butler to fill her cup, the man already knowing how much milk and sugar she took.

“Thank you, Walter,” she smiled and took a sip. “Perfect as always.”

“You are very welcome, my lady. Please enjoy yourselves.”

“Thanks Walter. I’ll call if we need anything.”

“Of course, Master Rill.”

The man bowed before leaving the two of them alone again. Peering back at the captain, she took another long sip before speaking.

“You said you’d like to discuss something with me, sir. Are you no longer in need of my service?”

Rill’s buzzing ceased and his smile faltered for a moment, a blush forming across his nose and cheeks. He nervously stirred his tea, the spoon chiming against the expensive porcelain.

“It’s nothing like that,” he laughed. “It’s, well, I had a question for you really.”

“Oh,” she nodded. “Ask away.”

“You’ve let me paint you so many times. I just keep getting inspired by you.” Another nervous chuckle erupted from the boy. “I have an idea, but please feel free to say no.”

“You’re paying me to be here, sir. There is little I’d say no to.” She gave him a soft smile.

“And that’s the problem. I don’t want you to feel like you have to, but I just have this great idea and I just want to flesh it out so bad.”

“Of course.” She was eager to hear him out.“What do you need from me?”

“Would you be willing to pose nude?” She didn’t think his blush could get much brighter, but she was wrong. He had squeezed his eyes shut afraid of her reaction.

She was taken aback at first, not expecting the request out of his mouth, but she found she couldn’t turn him down right away. What if he didn’t want to keep their arrangement going if she refused? She’d need to find another job, one with an employer who had treated her as nicely as Rill had.

“I-,” she paused not knowing what to say.

“You don’t need to decide now,” he assured her. “And even if you refuse, I’d like to keep you on as my model.”

“It’s not that,” she said but it was that, wasn’t it? She wasn’t hesitating for any other reason than her employment, right? Could it be that she actually wanted to do it?

She couldn’t deny the crush she had developed on the young captain. After all, he had been so kind and generous. Her ears were ringing so loudly from the buzzing of her own thoughts, she didn’t even realize she had mumbled out a quiet agreement to Rill’s proposal. Which led to the current predicament she found herself in.

In a trance, she removed her dress and slip from behind the safety of the partition that hid her from view. Her corset came next and before she knew it all she had left were a thin pair of panties. She took a deep breath before pulling the undergarment off. She folded it and placed it under her other clothes on the chaise lounge.

She looked at what Rill had laid out for her to wear. The robe was long and billowing, the white material sheer against her skin. It almost seemed to sparkle in the light. It was finer than anything that had ever touched her body and she wondered how much the garment actually cost. She quickly tied it closed.

The necklace he had laid out was a whole other story. She didn’t even bother wondering how much the chains of diamonds and pearls cost, knowing the amount would only send her head reeling. Even though she was nervous, she could not help the excitement at putting the heavy necklace on. It was cold laying across her neck, the sweeping strands of alternating stones draping down her chest.

“You can take your time,” Rill chirped from the other side of the partition.

“I’m almost ready.”

Another deep breath as she appeared from behind the partition to face Rill who looked equally as nervous. His easel was already set up facing the settee he had thrown a white, fur blanket over. He said nothing of her closed robe and instead ushered her over, hands ever so gentle, and placed her as he wanted on the settee. His smile was infectious, and as he continued adjusting her, she started to relax a little.

“Alright, you look perfect!” He chirped. “So,” he nodded more to himself than to her. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Her fingers trembled as she reached for the knot at her waist. Suddenly, his own hands gripped her, thumb grazing her skin soothingly.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know,” she forced out.

“If you’ve changed your mind-.”

“No,” she insisted. “You always make me look nicer than I am. I want to see myself through your eyes.” She cleared her throat. “There’s nothing special about me, so I want to see all of this through your eyes.”

His bright smile returned finally reaching his eyes. “Don’t be silly! My works are so beautiful because I paint you as you are. I don’t add a thing.”

His words made her stomach flip in excitement and suddenly, the weight of being bare before him was not such a heavy burden. The knot loosened as she pulled the tie free, the robe opening to reveal herself. She looked away, missing the way Rill’s eyes lit up in awe.

“Wow! You’re so pretty!”

Her face flushed bright pink as he made his final adjustments to the way the material lay on her, his fingertips brushing across her flushed skin. Realizing he should probably give her space, he quickly retreated behind his easel and began working on capturing her image.

The longer she sat on display, the easier the task became. Though she remained nervous, she no longer felt so exposed. Rill had always made her feel comfortable and even now, as she lay bare before his gaze, she felt adored.

The open window allowed for a comfortable breeze that made her nipples harden against the chilly Spring air and sent a shiver down her spine. Her eyes shot down to her chest for a split second to see most of her chest was covered in expensive jewels. That was the most of her he could really see now that she thought about it. He had strategically set her legs so that what lay between them was hidden by her body and the robe. He had wanted a nude portrait, but he had still kept her comfort in mind. She swooned against her own will.

Before too long, he was wiping his hands clean and examining the canvas before him. His brows furrowed in concentration and he took a few hips back to get a better angle.

“Is it alright?” She asked before she moved from her spot.

“It’s-.” He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to disappoint her, but he hadn’t captured her image the way he intended. Yes, she looked beautiful but he had imagined it would be more ethereal than this. He felt like he hadn’t done his best and it was probably due to the fact that he had been trying so hard to hide his erection the entire time. It wasn’t his fault, but he was so distracted by how gorgeous she looked.

“I don’t think I did as good a job as I’d have liked. I hope you don’t mind, but I’d really like to try again.”

She pulled the robe closer to her body, hiding her skin once more.

“Today you mean?”

“No,” he shook his head. “No. I know this was a lot, but thank you. It wasn’t you. You’re perfect.”

Another flutter erupted in her belly. “We can try again whenever you’d like, Rill. It was definitely different but not unenjoyable.”

He approached her causing her to clench the robe tighter. Even though he’d pretty much seen it all, she was still embarrassed though far less than before. Rill stared down at her, a serious look on his face, one that made him look more mature than he actually was. His eyes drifted down from her eyes to her lap before darting back to meet her gaze once more.

“It’s just-you’re just so beautiful I can’t help myself.” He kneeled before her, offering her his hands which she gladly laced her fingers with. Her robe slipped open once more, but she didn’t stop it. His cheeky smile reappeared before he leaned forward and laved his tongue from her belly to her sternum. His lips traveled from breast to breast, leaving a trail of kisses in their wake. His body slotted against hers as they reached her neck leaving love bites so soft, she thought she was imagining them.

He hummed against her throat. “You taste so sweet.”

“Rill,” she gasped as he palmed her breasts, unbelieving that this was actually happening.

“The sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.” He whispered against her lips as he made to move over her on the settee.

“We can’t,” she shook her head. “You’re a noble and I’m just me.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he insisted. “Noble or not, I’ve already fallen for you.”

Her eyes widened at his confession, freezing under his touch. The sudden tension in her body made him pull away.

“Are you alright?”

Arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him back toward her, lips latching onto each other in a heated kiss.

“More than alright, Rill.” Her smile widened as she dove back in.

———

It had been so quiet, and Walter was never one to abandon his master for so long. He knocked twice on the door and when there was no answer, he peeked his head in and called for Rill. The sitting room was empty and that surprised the butler. He entered the room fully, walking over to the easel still set up by the settee.

“Oh my!” Walter exclaimed as he averted his eyes from the center of the painting. His finger tapped the edge and felt the paint had dried enough and made to cover the painting in a white sheet.

He turned and made his way over to the bedroom door, leaning his ear against the frame against his better judgement. Rill’s notable snores could be heard along with another person’s much quieter ones. The butler chuckled to himself, shaking his head, and made sure the door was locked. He cleaned up the tea table and made a note to have no one disturb his master. As he left the room, he made an additional note to discuss proper courting with the young master.

[zephiraz]

Okay so in my head there lives Magus and an alternate timeline Janus. They say they don't like or trust each other, but they get along better than anyone.

(This got a lot longer than I thought it would whoops.)

There once was a king of Zeal, surely. Janus and Schala didn't just come out of nowhere. And the queen wasn't always...like that. No one really likes to talk about how the king died, though. Illness, the seneschal said, though he was newly appointed and had not the full details himself. Illness, the queen cried, deep in mourning, as she tore down the king's portraits and replaced his aides and servants and research partners. Only the Gurus remained, too vaunted to truly be touchable. It was such a sudden thing, the sickness that took him. None who had seen him believed him ill or frail, and he'd been in such fine spirits just the day before, though any murmurs of such are quickly silenced lest the queen dowager hears. You don't wish to upset the lady in mourning, do you? You don't want to disappear.

But the king had been in perfectly fine health, in fact. The only thing that wore on him was his wife's insistence on pursuing a field of research that he viewed as dangerous. The couple had argued about it, the queen proclaiming this new energy source she'd discovered would propel Zeal to ever greater heights, and the king decrying it as madness. He forbade her research entirely after one day walking into her lab to see her research assistant—one Norstein Bekkler—shatter before his very eyes, Bekkler's essence drawn into a black hole in space, ripped from his body with such force that only pulped meat remained.

For weeks the queen pleaded for another chance, defending her research and describing all the different safety measures she could—would—implement, if only she were given the chance. She was so close to a breakthrough! Eventually, the king relented. He did love his wife, and he wanted to believe in her, after all. He allowed her one more chance, on the grounds that he supervise her next experiment. Should at any moment it appear too dangerous to continue, it was to be shut down immediately.

Little Janus with his brand-new kitten in tow saw his parents wandering the halls together, oblivious to his presence underfoot. He followed them, only noticed when he tripped on robes too big for him. His father turned, a face lined with stress and worry brightening like the sun emerging from behind storm clouds at the sight of his son. The king scooped Janus up in a big hug, then set him back down on his foot and urged him away to find his sister. Mother and father have important research to do; it is not safe for little kittens!

Janus watched heavy marble doors shut behind his parents. He never saw his father again. None would ever find out what happened behind those doors.

...But time is as fickle as a kitten struggling in a young boy's arms, spurred by the tantalizing mystery of a slowly closing door. Alfador leaped from Janus's grasp and bolted after the king, the young prince hot on his heels.

Thousands of years later, a motley group of time travelers wanders Guardia's forests at the behest of the Guru of Time. From his perch at the end of all things, Gaspar had seen a disturbance in the vast darkness of time. A loose thread, forgotten in the ebb and flow, causing the weft of reality to fray. It was with great trepidation that Crono led his friends through the dense wood. A bright flash of blue light had signaled the opening of a gate, but finding the thing was proving tricky. Voices echoed amidst the trees, jeering laughter and barely-audible murmuring interspersed with the crack of magic and infrequent shouts of pain.

After long minutes of searching the party found the source of all this noise; Dalton, half obscured by hanging branches, cackling as he channeled magic, draining energy from a groaning man just out of view. It was Magus who acted first. He leaped from the forest's grasp and bolted straight for Dalton, slicing the man's head clean off with a flourish of his scythe. ...And Dalton, a different Dalton, fled into a hastily-summoned black gate with a second prisoner in tow just before the rest of the party could bring their weapons to bear.

With little else to go on but a headless, lifeless body, Crono turned to help up the Daltons' victim, but was startled to find him a spitting image of Magus. With the party too shocked to act, the man stood shakily on his own and dusted his fine robes off. He thanked the party for their timely intervention, and introduced himself as King Zeal.

Magus refuses to believe it, at first. This can't be the king of Zeal. He'd died years ago! The stranger's jaw sets at that, fists clenching at his sides. He states again that he is the king of Zeal; Janus, son of Alfard, who he watched perish before his very eyes.

Janus had pushed the door ajar just in time to see his father disappear into a black hole in space, his mother's face twisted in vicious triumph. Janus ran crying for guards, for Schala, for anyone. The queen in her panic chased him through the halls, hoping to silence the prince. She was captured, raving mad, and sentenced for the murder of the king and attempted murder of her own son. Her lab was shut down, her research burned. It fell to Schala then to lead Zeal under the guidance of the Gurus, who she later joined in scholarship when Janus was old and learned enough to take the burden of the throne from her. There he ruled with fairness in relative peace for several years, until he was recently approached by a man claiming to be a prophet. This prophet spoke of a people divided, of those without magic cast to the frozen earth to toil away building technological marvels they would never benefit from, of a ruined Zeal. Janus ushered the prophet behind closed doors so as not to alarm his subjects. He believed the prophet a madman, of course, but it was his duty as king to thoroughly investigate any potential threat to his people. It was only when the heavy marble doors fell shut behind him that he realized he'd walked into his mother's old lab, and only then that he recognized the prophet as a sycophant who used to aid her in her research. And there beside a yawning black gate stood a man identical save for the ragged patch covering one eye. The false prophet pushed Janus into the gate, and his world went dark. It felt like eternity in a single moment, terror tearing through his mind as suddenly he was a child again watching his father succumb to this same fate, and then he was himself, sprawled upon an unfamiliar forest floor. And then he was nothing, his whole being suffused with blinding pain as the two Daltons drained him of his magic. He was lucky these kind strangers intervened when they did, lest he be drained entirely.

Magus mulls this over, staring at the blood-soaked ground beneath him. Still he struggles to find this true, but... His eyes alight on Dalton's head, face-down at his feet. He gently kicks it over. Two glassy eyes stare up at him.

With no sign of the gate that brought him here remaining, the party takes King Janus with them. He is shocked to hear their tale, appropriately dismayed and awed at each turn of fate, but it is hearing what very nearly was his own fate that shocks him into silence. At length, the king resolves to accompany the party in their quest. He might not be much of a warrior, but he is the King of Magic; a peerless enchanter, his wards and barriers know no equal, and the party could surely benefit from a highly learned support mage. He takes the name Magil, after an old tutor of his. He knows that this is not his own timeline, and he defers the name to the self who truly belongs here. Magus, for his part, is hesitant to take the name himself. He is only just starting to get used to hearing it again, after all. Regardless, they both still answer to Janus, and they both share the same goal, unspoken yet firmly understood between the two of them. If one King Zeal found his way here through a black gate, then what of the first? Could their father yet live?

(This was originally a put-me-to-sleep story in my head that I revisited like five times over a few months so the details got muddled between iterations, and some got left out. In one iteration the Other Zeal timeline was literally falling apart as time unraveled from Primary Dalton fucking stuff up in pursuit of power. Also Schala was there. Anyway I just think Magus and Other Janus would hate each other and then be friends. Magus would be so so so jealous of Other Janus getting to grow up in Zeal without a lot of the bullshit. Not much for Other Janus to be jealous of except in the first iteration of this plot it was a love triangle turned half-merged consciousnesses due to time fuckery to we're sharing him now between Crono and the Januses, but that plot is All For Me. Okay goodnight)

[reviewinghiccup]

RIDERS OF BERK | HTTYD SERIES | BREAKING DOWN HICCUP

Blog Post Series : Breaking Down Hiccup

Title : Portrait of Hiccup as a Buff Man

Ep/Season : Episode 8, Season 1 (Riders of Berk)

Premise :

Following a proud Viking tradition, Stoick and Hiccup pose for a portrait which will hang on the walls of the Great Hall. However, much to only Hiccup’s chagrin (it seems) some “minor” modifications were made depicting a very different him. At the same time, the great treasure map left by the son of Hamish the 1st was discovered. Many have failed trying to decipher its codes, yet harder they try still. Upset by the portrait and trying to prove that he is more than his make, Hiccup embarks on a journey to find the elusive treasure. Something that even Stoick the Vast himself failed attempting.

THEME & MESSAGE

THINGS ARE NOT AS THEY SEEM

I felt really bad for Hiccup. At the start of the show, you can see him get super excited about the portrait, loving that he gets to take part in Viking history / culture.

Stoick has grown a lot too. He accepts Hiccup for who he is. After all, he has proven himself many times to be a worthy heir and son. And we know Stoick loves him.

However, the painting was exaggerated and Hiccup’s built and size was way larger in proportion to the actual fact.

Yet, no one seems to mind it, except him. It must’ve been confusing and degrading to find that everyone else, including Stoick, loved the work. Even comments like “now that’s the son of a chief,” echoed through.

Common, even Astrid simped over buff Hiccup.

So, Hiccup then goes on this rant, where he believes that his father loves the painting more than his real self.

And the “am I worthy enough” debacle starts brewing in Hiccup’s mind.

So, there he goes, leading the team on an adventure to find the treasure.

What ticked Hiccup off was, that his father couldn’t succeed in this treasure hunt and knowing that the “clues are so complicated that only a brilliant mind can decipher them,” meant that if Hiccup could, then all insecurity about his capabilities would be quashed, i.e., doing something even the strongest Vikings couldn’t do.

Hiccup manages to breakdown the riddles and find the treasure in an afternoon, of course w the help of the dragons and the riders, but the fact remains, he is and will always be the brains of the operation.

Stoick is reprimanded by Gobber for what he said to Hiccup about the painting, pointing to Stoick’s obliviousness and how it had affected Hiccup’s perception about himself.

I love that Gobber is like a check and balance for them. No doubt that Gobber has helped Stoick parent Hiccup. No doubt there.

Then, we have Stoick’s over-protective parent personality seep out, knowing that this adventure was dangerous, nearly even fatal and that he could actually lose his son, which made him realise that he would not want buff Hiccup, or stronger Hiccup, he just wanted Hiccup.

I love how just like the perception we have of Hiccup, the story is also nothing like we expect it to be. Hiccup admits that he knew his father accepts him, it was a question of whether Hiccup accepted himself.

Nothing was sweeter than to see Stoick run to his son and Hiccup running to his dad when the adventure ended.

Parents aren’t perfect. Stoick is far from it. But the most important thing about being a dad, is showing up. Sure, they fail. Stoick did, big time. But he makes up for it and thankfully, Hiccup has a big enough heart to forgive his dad.

COMMENTARY

This episode was heart warming. For an adventure story, I enjoyed the pacing. It made sense why they were quicker. With Hiccup’s mind and the ease of transport the dragons provided (and that of fire and safety) they could manoeuvre in and out of the dangerous bits of the exercise w ease. I also love how the story panned out and how, sometimes it really takes the least of the herd to do something spectacular.

Definitely one of my top favourite episodes in the HTTYD Series Universe.

[cinemaocd]

This week in Rylanceland: wordy addendum

So Yesterday I posted an all pictorial Rylanceland but I miss giving you all the WORDS about Mark, and boy are there a lot....

Top story is of course that Wolf Hall has begun filming again in Bristol. I am throwing this out there as a plea to tumblr: if you live in the Bristol area and would you be willing to be a correspondent to this esteemed organ, please let me know!

This season or series of Wolf Hall will cover the events of Mirror and the Light. I've been trying to work out WHY they are filming in Bristol, since I don't remember them using any locations there from the last season, but of course it could be something like Mark having a commitment at Bristol's Young Vic, where he has written, produced and acted in plays; and has a position on the board.

The series is due to be released at the end of 2024 or the beginning of 2025. I am trying to tell myself it will be 2025 and then be pleasantly surprised if we get it earlier. It will have been a decade since the last season so that is ONE HELL of a hiatus.

Since the beginning of MATL picks up exactly where Bring up the Bodies left off (after the execution of Anne Boleyn, but with a substantial flash back to the day of her execution), I am of great hopes that Claire Foy will return for at least a few new scenes..

Also Mark was spotted with a heavily bookmarked copy of The Mirror and the Light on set. I believe he could be seen studying Wolf Hall in a similar manner in behind the scenes photos from Wolf Hall IIRC.

Mark was also wearing a wig with bangs, which he did not have in the last season (reason being it was a freaking DECADE ago and the man has aged) so I assume for continuity's sake the scenes that are being filmed now are not being done chronologically. Also the presence of Jonathan Pryce on set means we are either getting another flashback to Wolsey service days or another Wolsey's ghost scene.

It was raining on the first day of filming, so Mark wore a "pack a mac" over his cloak for some of the scenes (maybe closeups) and I am now going to call on @teadrunktailor to revive their brilliant Tom Crom cosplay with the addition of a pack a mac...because that would be amazing...

Thomas Brodie Sangster who plays Ralph was also on set, in more lordly attire than we have previously seen him, another clue that they are not working chronologically. I think Ralph Sadler would have styled himself similar to Cromwell through the events of MaTL since by that time he was Crom's man in the Privy Chamber. Ralph is a key character in the third book and I look forward to seeing more of his life and back story than we got in the first series.

Still no IMDB page for Series Two/Mirror and the Light but I am checking daily, lads.

Well that's about it Wolf Hall News, but I have a few other bits and bobs. Gonna save them for next week, since they are old enough at this point, they can wait a bit longer...

Bonus High Res pic of the week: This lovely portrait from 2012