#guest muse / james

[divinityunleashed]

"Seems like you're finally winning, James."

"Somehow. I can still taste the lipstick she uses. It's... a nice feeling."

"What's your next move then, James?"

"My next move? Well I already extended an invitation to Lastation's Tech Expo that's coming up soon. While she admitted that she isn't great with technology, she found it interesting enough to accompany me."

(He's so dense. That was not at all what I was referring to...)

"Winter?"

"Winter!"

"Hmm? Oh, excuse me. I have somewhere I need to be."

Winter quickly left Ironwood's side.

"I can never read her..."

[livesinthebalance]

"What the hell happened t' you...?"

@quick-drawn​

There is no sharp retort at the question. [ No, What do you think, jackass? ]

There’s not even any real confirmation that Jesse had been heard. [ Unless a hissed breath and a failed attempt to raise his head from his chest is a sign? ]

There isn’t even really anything to say for certain that James is even aware Jesse is in the room, or that he knows the two who had been left to guard him when the commotion happened outside are now on the ground, unable to interfere with his [ completely unexpected ] rescue.

[ What he had known with certainty before it started… was that he was going to die here, but the cartel wasn’t going to get a damn thing from him before he did. He had to protect them. He owed them that much and more. ]

As it stands, there is no answer or acknowledgement to Jesse’s question except silence and unsteady breathing.

Not a moment later, however, there’s a strong, easily recognizable voice shouting “Clear!” from further away [ James doesn’t even move ]… though the next words are spoken from the other side of the door. “Hold your fire.”

The door is thrown open, and Gabriel enters the room, already pulling a knife from its sheath at the back of his belt and tossing it to Jesse.

“Get him cut loose and on his feet. They might have reinforcements. We need to move,” he orders, even as he crosses to the window and looks out, starting to keep watch.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Precious Truths: Part 13

Fandom: Bridgerton

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!Reader

Summary: After your father finds out you’ve been writing under a male pseudonym, he threatens to marry you off to an atrocious man unless you find yourself a husband within a month’s time.

A/N: hello! yes, finally, an update! thank you to all of you who were patiently waiting for this. tbh the Benophie announcement gave me a bit of a spark of motivation to finish this chapter! enjoy!

Series Masterlist

My dearest Y/N,

I am not sure what else to say other than I am sorry. I am sorry for making you feel as though you meant nothing to me. I must admit, due to my own self-induced heartbreak, I refused to read your letters previously. However, you will not find me doing that again. I have missed your friendship dearly. It is my own fault for doing this to us. I will never do that to you again, I promise.

Always feel free to write to me. You will receive a response from me, now and always.

Yours,

Benedict

You read the short letter over and over again. You're in a bit of disbelief, yet you're overjoyed. You kept your expectations low after sending that letter to Benedict. However, you're pleasantly surprised that not only has he written back, but he desires to renew your friendship once more.

You immediately go to your writing desk and begin to write a reply.

You spend some time writing everything down, how grateful you are for Ben, how you've been spending your days, as well as your moments of grief.

James' parents have provided good company to you. Ever since meeting you, that have been so kind and loving. They remind you of how your parents used to be prior to your mother's passing.

In your letter, your relay to Benedict how you've been trying to write poetry to help you process and cope James' passing, but nothing has come from these attempts.

Admittedly, Benedict was your muse for so long. After he left, James became your muse. Now he's gone. You don't want to think about Benedict potentially taking up the place as your muse again. A part of you feels as though that would be a betrayal to James, however, your muse was originally Benedict...

It's fine. You won't worry about it too much right now. You'll just take things day by day.

After you finish your letter, you fold and seal it. Calling upon a footman, you ask him to send it to Benedict and the young man leaves promptly.

__________________________

Dear Benedict,

I may be going stir-crazy here. Mama and papa have been very loving and supportive, however, I feel that, even in this large estate, I cannot get away.

I've been riding a lot more than usual now just to get out. I know, it is shocking to me as well since I was never fond of it. However, now I find myself wanting to ride every single day just to be out and about.

Maybe I should discuss with mama and papa if I can start accepting guests again. For I am not sure how much longer I can take this.

Anyway, I hope you are well. It has been some time since we last exchanged letters. I am sure you have been busy with the new exhibit coming up. I hope it is successful. Everyone will be able to see just how talented you are.

I am so proud of you and what you have achieved, Ben. Never forget that.

Yours,

Y/N

Benedict sighs, reading over your letter. He is visiting his family, taking break from working on his last painting for the exhibition.

"What ails you, brother?" Eloise asks as she sits beside him.

"Would it be improper if I were to visit Y/N soon?" he asks her with confliction written on his face.

"Why would it be improper? You two are friends again, yes?" Eloise asks confused.

He lets out a deep breath before explaining, "After the death of a spouse, it's customary to mourn them for a year before accepting guests and taking part is society again. It's only been sixth months."

Eloise scoffs, "Benedict, you know that I am the last person to tell you of what you should or should not do in terms of societal rules."

"Of course," he says with a roll of his eyes.

"What is it that you really want to ask me?"

Benedict remains silent, contemplating on how he should ask his sister.

The truth is, Benedict has felt whole again. Having you back in his life has brought so much happiness, familiarity, and comfort that he's been seeking for the past few years.

It's clear to him that his love for you will never seize. You will always remain a part of him and he will always hold you in a special place in his heart. However, if he takes this step to be close to you again, will it end in heartbreak once more? He doesn't want to think of such an outcome, but there's always a possibility. No. Nonsense. He can't think about that.

Benedict may love you, but you are first and foremost his best friend. Therefore, any feelings he has of you must be cast aside. Being your friend, in your company, speaking with you, being there for you, that is the priority. Benedict's feelings be damned. He will not make the same idiotic mistakes he made before. He's wiser and stronger now.

The relationship you two share is much more important, now that ever.

Benedict turns to Eloise and smiles, "I think I'll alright, Eloise," he stands with confidence.

His sister looks at him with uncertainty, "Are you sure? You're not going to do anything stupid again, are you?"

He shakes his head, "No. I promise, I am better. I will be better for Y/N."

"If you're sure," Eloise says before Benedict exits the sitting room.

______________________

The wind is blowing through your hair as you ride through the forest. It is midday and you have a lot of energy. James' horse, now yours, Bluebell, is fast and agile. She leaps over bushes and fallen tree trunks with ease.

You and Bluebell have gotten quite close these past few months. She's been able to grant you the freedom you've been aching for.

The first three months after James' passing were hard. Now six months later, you've finally accepted his death. It was unexpected and there was nothing you could do to help. You had loved him dearly and he accepted and understood you like very few have.

You are grateful for the short time you had with him, but now you'd like to slowly move on with your life.

You've been trying to get back into writing. Very few pieces have come out well. The rest thrown into the fireplace, burning to ash so you wouldn't have to see it again.

You've come to realize that the few works that have been kept, you've come up with while riding. Another reason why you have gone out a lot more. You're trying to find that spark again that you once had before James' passing.

You stop at a small creek flowing through the Montclair land. You dismount Bluebell and guide her to the water so she may quench her thirst and rest a bit. You sit by the creek, watching as the water flows by. You listen to the birds chirping, the trees swaying in the wind.

You think about how you've been feeling the past six months. How only in the late hours of the night is when you experienced the heart ache of James' passing, how you felt knowing you will no longer experience his freeing and doting love.

You pull out your journal from your satchel and begin to write:

Deep in the shadows where heartache grew

Mourning hearts match skies of grey

A love once bright as morning dew

Now drifted gone as night to day

The halls keep our memories

Our laughter and tears

Walking among those walls, memories sunken

deep within the seas

It's short yet conveys the feelings you want it too. You don't hate it, but it may need some work. So you keep it in your journal and stand. Some time has passed for Bluebell to catch a break. You mount her once more and head back to the estate in more of a trot rather than a flying gallop.

When you arrive back, you see Clarissa waiting for you.

"Something the matter?"

She gives you a small smile, "I know Jean Louis and myself have informed you of the mourning customs, however, it has been brought to our attention that sometimes one does not need twelve months to mourn the loss of her husband."

"Mother?" you ask her confused.

"I just know that you have always been more of a free spirited woman, which is why James was so drawn to you. I also know that you did love him dearly and I will not be upset that you shorten your mourning period. You wanted to be free from societal standards from the very beginning, therefore, we will allow you to start accepting guests back at this home. You are also free to go back to yours and James' home in London."

You're not sure why your mother-in-law is saying all of this, "I-Thank you, mama. I do appreciate all of that, however, I must admit I am confused why you are mentioning this."

"I received a letter from Mister Benedict Bridgerton. He was requesting to see you."

Your eyes widen in surprise, "I assure you, I didn't ask him to do that. I was planning on asking you myself."

Your mother-in-law chuckles, "Yes, well, it seems Mister Bridgerton beat you to it."

You sigh, "So it seems."

"Everyone mourns differently, cheri, we understand that you would also like to be in the company of others during this time. Mister Bridgerton is a close friend of yours, yes?"

You nod, "He is. I'll make sure we can be seen and-"

Clarissa chuckles, "You don't have to worry about those things here, cheri. I trust you. I will write back to Mister Bridgerton right now."

You curtsey, "Thank you, mama. As usual, your kindness is greatly appreciated."

The older woman sighs, walking up to you and cupping your face, "You never have to thank me for kindness. It is a mother's duty to listen and understand her children. Although you are not my blood, you are my daughter just the same."

Her words brings tears to your eyes. She reminds you so much of your own mother, it hurts a little. To know that your own mother can't be here with you during this time. You're sure she would have provided a lot of her wisdom and advice. Nonetheless, you are grateful to now call Madame Montclair as your own mother.

"Thank you, again."

"Of course," she kisses your cheek, "Best wash up before lunch, yes?"

"Right. Excuse me," you pick up your skirt and rush back into the house to have a quick bath.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

pls let the peak dilf era Bruce almost marry Selina. I live for the drama

I mean I ship Brutalia before Batcat sooo. Whoops. Keyboards slipped

"Why are we here?" Selina stage whispered, snuggling against Bruce's side.

"Scouting," Bruce said chuckling a little. "Alfred's idea. He's heard this wedding coordinator is very good. So he reached out and asked if she could find a place for us on the guest list."

"But-"

"I wanted to watch her work before we hired her," Bruce said shrugging. He'd been working with the same team for years but. They were starting to retire now. And it was time to start putting other people on retainer.

He nodded discreetly to where you were off to the side. Dressed professionally in a nude-sleeved skirt and blazer set with matching heels. Modest jewelry. Hair in a French twist. Toned down makeup. But for the earpiece and clipboard, you could almost be mistaken for a guest- not in a bad way.

"Ugh. So serious."

"But the three drunk uncles, two fighting cousins and baby mama running around haven't even caused a blip in proceedings," Bruce noted. Either you'd hired good security OR you had them tied up in a closet.

"How did you-" She broke off and huffed a laugh. Of course he noticed. "Would she get us a chocolate fountain do you think?" she mused.

Bruce smiled a little and kissed the top of her head, "If she can stage a helicopter to land on a beach so a groom can play James Bond, I think she can manage a chocolate fountain."

[weepingwonder]

Lost Boy

In which there is a portrait of Regulus Black hanging in Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.

-

The first time Sirius Black steps into Number Twelve Grimmauld Place and finds the screaming portrait of his mother, he nearly decides to burn the place down with the memory of her in it. Even after he’s pulled the curtains shut on her snarling, furious face, her yells echo off the walls and reverberate in his skull. He might as well be back in Azkaban for how miserably sick it makes him. He wants to sink his nails into something, to feel blood gushing up between his fingers.

Grimmauld Place is a knotted, twisted sort of space. It is dark and disorienting, and even a whole childhood spent within its walls was not enough for Sirius to become fully familiar with it. Layers and layers of old magic leave a sort of burnt smell in the air and wrap around his chest like a vice. For some, it would feel comforting, like coming home. For Sirius, it is a tight, oppressive thing. He's been running out of air since the moment he stepped inside.

There is a part of him that is tempted to sit there in the hall and tuck his knees into his chest with his hands over his ears. For one despairing moment, Sirius wonders if he's merely traded one cell for another. Not even the dementors could make him feel as small as his mother could.

But Sirius, for all that he has tried to shed his family name, is still a Black. So he straightens his back, tilts his head up, and puts his shoulders back as he walks through the house. They are all dead, he reminds himself, and he is alive. And isn't that just ironic? That he could spend his whole childhood raging against his family, only to be burdened with the task of carrying the name alone. It makes him want to vomit.

As he walks, lights flicker on, though it does little to brighten up the place. He makes his way to the kitchen, stepping gingerly through the sitting area and halting at the sight of his mother’s favorite chair next to the fireplace, the cushion still slightly depressed from years of carrying her weight. It’s as if she has only just gotten up, perhaps to greet a guest or grab the morning paper to read.

“Never thought I'd see you step foot in here again.”

In Azkaban, Sirius often replayed every conversation he could remember having with James. He would agonize over every inflection, clinging to the cadence of his friend’s voice. He was so afraid of forgetting.

But this voice. He could never forget it. He'd know it anywhere, no matter the horrors, no matter how much time has passed.

He looks up, and his heart seizes in his chest. There, just above the fireplace, sits a portrait of his little brother. He is depicted just as Sirius remembers him: sharp features, steely eyes, an impassive expression on his face, still slightly rounded with youth. It is so undoubtedly Regulus that Sirius wants to run. It is all at once too much for him to handle: the hurt, the longing, the resentment, the disgust, the grief. But he can't run from it, so he does the next best thing.

He turns into a dog.

Regulus looks down at him with a raised brow. “This explains a lot. You never were very good at getting a handle of your emotions,” he all but sneers.

Padfoot raises his hackles, muzzle pulled back into a snarl.

“Really, Sirius,” Regulus sighs. “Aren't you a bit old for the dramatics?”

Padfoot growls.

“I suppose they didn't just let you out of Azkaban, then?” Regulus muses. “Not sure the life of a fugitive suits you, but even Mother would be impressed you managed to break out.”

At the mention of their mother, Padfoot barks loudly.

“Of course, we both knew you didn't belong there,” Regulus continues. “No one knew better than us that you'd never betray the Potters.” Even to Padfoot’s ears, Regulus’ voice sounds bitter. “Mother was most displeased that they wouldn't even give you a trial. Said it was an insult to the family. Stormed the Ministry, even, but Crouch was too eager to have everything wrapped up and much too righteous to be bribed. Truly pathetic.”

Despite himself, Padfoot finds himself listening intently. Most people, he thinks, would take this story as a show of Walburga Black’s love for her son. But Sirius knows better, and so does Regulus.

“She only made it a few years after your incarceration. I watched her go mad. I don't suppose talking to a portrait of her dead son everyday helped much,” Regulus says, as if he's simply filling Sirius in on the morning news. As if they're old friends catching up over tea. As if there's not a chasm of grief and anger that sits between them. But Regulus was never very good at voicing his emotions either, so maybe it’s fitting that they've both reverted back to doing what Blacks are best at: enduring.

“There were times, near the end, where she thought she was talking to you. Her greatest failure, she always said. Her biggest regret.” Regulus looks down at Sirius with a look he can't quite parse. And you? Sirius wants to ask. What do you think?

He's not sure either of them could bear for him to ask it aloud, and he's sure he already knows the answer anyway. Padfoot flattens his ears back, and growls again. It comes out a bit like a whine instead.

For a long moment, Regulus simply watches him. Then, quietly, he murmurs, “Welcome home, Sirius.” His mouth quirks into the barest hint of a smile, no doubt indulging in the irony.

And Sirius, well. He can't do this. He can't do this. Above all things, Azkaban was a monument of grief. He had cried for Lily and James, cried for Remus, cried for his old life. His life Before. But when he was most cold, and equally as out of his mind, he’d cry for Regulus. He thinks, in some ways, he will always be crying for his brother. And having an echo of Regulus here in front of him makes Sirius feel as though he's going mad all over again. He just can't do it.

So Padfoot tucks his tail between his legs with a whimper, turns around, and runs.

-

From then on, Sirius makes a point of avoiding that room altogether. And if, for some reason, he has to go through it, he turns into Padfoot before Regulus can speak to him and trots by as quickly as he can, but not usually before he catches Regulus muttering something to the effect of, “I see your immaturity is still intact.”

Some nights, though, Sirius just cannot bring himself to close his eyes. He's afraid he’ll wake up in a cell again. He's afraid he’ll wake up in his childhood bedroom. He's afraid of being alone. And god, but he just wants to hear someone talk, to hear a voice outside of his own head.

Before he can even think too hard about it (he tries to avoid thinking entirely these days, except for where Harry is concerned), he makes his way to the fireplace. More importantly, he makes his way to Regulus.

Against all instinct to transform into a dog so that he may bear it easier, Sirius stays himself. The painting of his brother is asleep, and Sirius can't help but notice that it doesn't quite capture how much younger Regulus always looked when he was sleeping. There is a lack of depth to the painting that will never do justice to real life, and Sirius is reminded all over again that his brother is really and truly dead. Looking at it is like pressing his thumb into a bruise.

Regulus opens an eye. “Can I help you?”

Sirius laughs like it was punched out of him. How can he? he thinks somewhat hysterically. What could he possibly fix now?

“Have you ever?” Sirius retorts. He grasps, desperately, at the thread of anger inside of him, and pulls, letting the grief fall away around it. He does not know yet, that anger and grief are one and the same.

Regulus raises a brow. “That’s hardly fair.”

"When has a Black ever played fair?”

“I thought you weren't a Black,” Regulus challenges.

“I thought you were,” Sirius shoots back, but there is a question in it.

“Of course I am,” Regulus tells him, and there is something in Sirius that is inexplicably disappointed. Regulus died upholding Black family values. What did Sirius expect?

“You always did like to lick Mother and Father’s boots,” Sirius sneers. “Was it worth it? Dying for your cause.”

Regulus tilts his head then, considering. His lips quirk for a moment, like there's a joke somewhere that Sirius is not picking up on.

“Yes,” Regulus says simply. “I think it was.”

And it makes sense. Of course it makes sense that the boy who was a blood purist and showed nothing but devotion to Lord Voldemort would think that dying for him in a blaze of glory was worth it. In death as he was in life. It makes Sirius want to burn the portrait in front of him.

“I hate you,” Sirius spits, and Regulus just looks at him, face unchanging. Still a little amused, even.

“I know,” Regulus agrees, and it's not, I hate you too, which, to Sirius, counts for something. Maybe even everything.

He doesn't want to think about it. He turns on his heel, ready for some much-needed distance.

“I’ll be back to burn you,” Sirius mutters.

He thinks he hears Regulus laugh as he goes.

-

Sirius does not burn the portrait, but of course they both knew he wouldn't. They were always each other’s weakness, and no amount of time or space could change that.

But the days persist, each followed by a night plagued by nightmares and twisted memories. He wakes up gasping, with James’ name on his lips, followed by Lily’s, and always, always followed by Regulus’. These days, Sirius is nothing more than a waking, walking graveyard. He stumbles through the halls of Grimmauld Place, both haunting and haunted.

Almost inevitably, he finds himself back at his brother’s portrait. On this particular night, Regulus is already awake, as if expecting him. Maybe he was. Maybe Sirius has become predictable in his mad sort of grief, and he hates himself for it. He hates how weak he feels, like a child climbing into his brother’s bed after a bad dream. It had always been the other way around.

“You're back.”

“I don't want to be,” Sirius admits.

“I'm not real,” the portrait reminds him. Regulus is not gentle or kind when he says this. His voice is sharp and vicious, merciless as Regulus so often was, as he had to be to survive in a family like theirs.

Sirius clenches his jaw. He wants to reach through the frame and shake his brother’s shoulders. He wants to pull him close, he wants to shove him as far away as possible. The conflict in him swells and spills over, a wretched combination of longing and hate and years of bitterness wrapped in love and life. He does not know what to do with it, he wants to shed his own skin to be rid of it. For one hysterical moment, Sirius thinks he might cry.

He hastily turns himself into a dog and sighs as the transformation dampens his emotions. Regulus gives him a pitying sort of look, and it makes Padfoot’s hackles rise.

He says nothing else, though, and Sirius, in spite of himself, can't get himself to leave. Padfoot’s head droops in exhaustion, and before he can think too hard about it, he lets himself drop to the floor, curling his tail around his body. He knows his brother is still watching him, and as Sirius starts to fall asleep, he can't really bring himself to care.

-

The first time Sirius brings Remus into Grimmauld Place, it goes about how Sirius would've expected. He was half-afraid the Blacks had drenched the place in some sort of dark magic that would burn anyone deemed less than “pure” the moment they walked in, but instead they were simply met with Walburga Black’s enraged portrait, spewing a litany of curses and slurs their way.

So, it could have been worse. After they've pulled the curtains shut, Remus gives Sirius a look. “That can't be good for you.”

“Well, it's not like it's my choice,” Sirius says bitterly, and Remus gives him a sad look. It makes Sirius want to snarl at him. “Anyway, it gets worse.”

“Worse?” Remus asks, looking slightly ill at the thought. Sirius smiles grimly and leads him to the spacious living room.

Regulus looks up at them when they arrive.

“Bringing half-breeds into the house, now, are we? Mother must be rolling in her grave,” he comments, and Sirius wishes he could punch him.

"Mother no longer has a say in anything. And neither do you,” Sirius says coldly.

“Sirius, what—” Remus looks like he's seen a ghost and, well, he basically has.

“My mother apparently saw fit to have a portrait of Regulus installed,” Sirius informs him. “Of course she couldn't live without her precious son. It's all very sweet.”

Regulus sighs.

“Sirius, you've got to remove this portrait,” Remus says. “This is definitely not good for you.”

At that, Regulus looks supremely offended. “I have more of a right to be here than you do, werewolf,” he says haughtily.

“How do you even know—?” Sirius starts to ask, and Regulus gives him a deadpan look.

“You and your friends weren't exactly subtle in school. Besides, I have been known to actually shut up and observe, unlike you—”

"And yet, you're the one who's dead—”

"Thankfully,” Regulus mutters darkly.

“—and I'm still very much alive, so I will continue to do as I please,” Sirius says hotly.

“You mean do as Dumbledore pleases,” Regulus practically spits. “The man who left you to rot in prison.”

And Sirius flinches back at that because… yeah. He has thought, several times, that maybe he's still in prison, except this time, it’s Dumbledore holding the keys. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, and his jaw clicks shut.

Regulus tilts his head. “So you aren't just his brainless lapdog.”

Remus grabs Sirius’ arm. “Why don't we go make some tea? We can talk about… whatever this is.”

Sirius shrugs his arm away, and Remus coils back, as though burned. Sirius can't bring himself to care.

“Fine. Let’s talk,” Sirius all but snarls and heads for the kitchen without a second glance at Regulus or Remus.

Remus sighs, steeling himself for an overdue conversation with a very volatile Sirius. He's not excited for it. He makes to follow Sirius, and gives the portrait one last disapproving look.

Regulus is looking exceedingly smug. Remus scowls.

-

Sirius knows Regulus’ portrait will pose a problem as the Order moves in, but he still can't bring himself to move it.

For the most part, Regulus just watches people come and go without comment. A couple of them give his portrait a nasty look as they recognize him, but most of them pay him no mind. But Sirius knows his brother. He knows Regulus is listening and watching intently. He's interested in news of Voldemort’s second rise to power, and Sirius cannot wait to rub Voldemort’s defeat in his brother's face when this damned war is over.

Because it will end. It has to.

So, all in all, Regulus listens a lot and talks very little. That is, until Hermione Granger comes in.

Sirius finds himself quite fond of her. Not just because she's one of the reasons he's free, and not even because of her loyalty to Harry. No, Hermione reminds him very much of Lily Potter. Not just because she's a fiercely intelligent and talented muggleborn witch, but because she, like Lily, is also the perfect mixture of kind-hearted and hot-headed.

Hermione avoids Walburga Black’s portrait like the plague for obvious reasons, but when she finds the portrait of Regulus Black, she can't help but approach it curiously.

“Hello,” she says politely. “I didn't realize Sirius had a brother.” She shoots Sirius a questioning look, and he just shrugs, unapologetic.

Regulus gives her an assessing look. “Yes, well, ‘had’ is the key word there. In any case, Sirius is rather averse to acknowledging me as such. And you are?”

“Hermione Granger,” she says confidently.

“Granger,” Regulus repeats slowly. “How… mundane. Half-blood?”

“Muggleborn,” Hermione says firmly, without shame.

Regulus looks past her to where Sirius is standing. “Mudbloods and blood traitors and werewolves,” he tuts softly. “You always did have such… peculiar taste in company.”

"Fix your language,” Sirius says sharply.

But Hermione, used to Draco Malfoy’s liberal use of the term, remains unfazed. “You're not very kind,” she tells Regulus.

He looks amused. “No, I’m not.”

"Hermione is one of the reasons I escaped the Dementor’s Kiss,” Sirius tells him.

“What a shame,” Regulus says mildly. “I think it would have been an improvement.”

“It would have been cruel,” Hermione says heatedly. “Nobody deserves that.”

“Oh?” Regulus raises an eyebrow. “Not even the Dark Lord?”

“I can't say I think he has much of a soul to suck out of him,” Hermione says icily. Regulus barks out a laugh, and it's so uncharacteristic of him that Sirius does a double take.

“Indeed,” Regulus agrees.

Hermione gives him a thoughtful look. “You worked for him, didn't you? Voldemort. No one ever calls him ‘the Dark Lord’ unless they worked for him.”

If Regulus is surprised by her use of Voldemort’s name, he doesn't show it. Sirius wonders if he’ll lie. He wonders if he’ll correct Regulus if he does.

As it turns out, he needn't have worried because Regulus inclines his head. “I did.”

“Did… do you regret it?” Hermione asks, as if she can't believe this boy, who couldn't have been much older than her, would swear his life away. And Sirius, who has tried to have this conversation before and knows how it ends, prepares himself for the inevitable disappointment.

“You are quite bold for someone of your, ah, background,” Regulus observes, appearing more curious than bothered.

“Am I supposed to be meek and timid because my parents are muggles?” Hermione challenges. “They raised me to be good and kind, which is more than you can likely say for yourself.”

“Some purebloods would kill you where you stand for talking to them like that,” Regulus tells her, and Hermione puts her chin up defiantly.

“I don't make a habit of talking to those kinds of people.”

“That’s probably wise.” He watches her quietly, considering. He seems to be choosing his next words carefully. “To answer your question… I did what I had to do, in the end. And what about you, Miss Granger? Will you be able to say the same for yourself, when it's all over? Will you still be good and kind?”

Hermione clenches her jaw. “I can try to be.”

Regulus looks at her like she's a particularly interesting puzzle he can't quite figure out. The corner of his mouth lifts, just slightly.

“You certainly can.”

-

Halloween was never going to pass without Sirius getting drunk out of his mind. Remus is already passed out in bed, but Sirius… he can’t seem to rest. He paces through the hallways, jumping at things that aren't there, flinching at the sound of Kreacher rifling through some forgotten closet for some trinket, some memory of what used to be.

Sirius keeps his hand on the wand he's been using. It doesn't feel right. Not like his old wand. But he grips it tightly anyway, and resists the urge to blast the shit out of everything around him.

Azkaban put a stasis on Sirius’ grieving process. It kept him hanging right at the beginning of it. It kept him replaying his last words to Lily and James over and over again, seeing their bodies unmoving on the floor, and his own rough, calloused hands closing their eyes for the last time.

Before Azkaban, when Sirius had found out Regulus died, he didn't let himself grieve at all. He hadn't seen his little brother in years, and there was no body to be found, so he could almost make himself believe that Regulus was still out there, somewhere. That maybe they would eventually cross wands in battle, and they'd get pretty damn close to killing each other but never actually would.

But in the prison, reduced to only his most potent miseries, Sirius was unable to avoid the truth: his little brother was dead. Almost everyone he loved was dead.

And now, here he is, on the anniversary of the worst night of his life, and he is just itching to pick a fight, to release all the pent-up, unfiltered grief that sits right under his skin at all times.

He takes a swig of firewhiskey and makes his way to his brother’s portrait. It's not his wisest idea, but Sirius has never been wise, especially when it comes to his brother.

Regulus takes one look at Sirius and wrinkles his nose in disgust.

“You're an embarrassment,” Regulus tells him, and Sirius just barely resists the urge to throw his bottle of firewhiskey at the portrait.

“I hate you,” Sirius tells him, and Regulus sighs.

“So you've mentioned,” he says dryly. “Is that all?”

“No!” Sirius practically shouts. His ribcage feels tight with a pressure that's been building for weeks, and he digs his fingernails into his palm as if to try and relieve it. Sirius has always been a little too much of everything all at once, and James was one of the very few people who could manage it. But he's not here. Sirius is. He's here and painfully, achingly alive, and he feels a rush of fury at the unfairness of it all. And his stupid, stupid brother—so fucking soft, so weak—how pathetic it is to die licking someone else’s boots. “Why did you have to follow him? Why couldn't you just—why couldn't you just be—”

“Like you?” Regulus sneers.

"Strong,” Sirius spits. “Brave.” Not like me at all, Sirius thinks.

“You’re the one who ran away!” Regulus accuses.

“You’re the one who stayed!” Sirius rages.

Which is worse? The unspoken question sits heavy between them. It takes up all the oxygen in the room and Sirius can't fucking breathe. His chest heaves, heart pounding hard enough that he's sure the room is shaking with it.

For a long while, Regulus says nothing. He looks at a space just past Sirius’ shoulder and Sirius wants to grip his brother’s chin in his hand and make him look at him. He wants bruises to blossom under his fingertips, to feel the warmth of blood rushing underneath skin.

“You didn't ask me to come with you,” Regulus finally says. His voice is quiet, as if he knows how fragile the moment is, as if he's afraid to see what might break.

“Would you have?” Sirius shoots back.

Regulus purses his lips. His eyes lock back onto Sirius. “I guess we’ll never know.”

And Sirius—

Sirius shatters. He just sort of keels over, the air wrenched from his lungs, because for the first time, maybe ever, he is realizing that his little brother is truly dead. That this… this echo of him cannot give him the closure he so desperately wants because the real Regulus never gave it either. Sirius presses a hand to his chest just to feel the thrum of his own heart and, oh god, it aches, please make it stop and Regulus is right there, bloodless, forever stuck on the cusp of adulthood, and neither of them will ever get to know what could of have been, because both of them failed to be brave for each other when it mattered most. Regulus lived with that bitterness until the very end, and Sirius knows, with sudden clarity, that he will too.

He chokes back a sob, shoulders curling inward, and he thinks he hears a low, pained whine coming from somewhere. It gets louder and louder, until there are hands on his shoulders, arms wrapped around him tightly, tugging him backwards, away from the portrait. It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay, someone—Remus—is telling him and Sirius opens his mouth and screams.

He kicks and snarls and yells as he's dragged out of the room, half-mad with grief and longing and all the love in him he never got to give. He screams louder than his mother, louder than his father, louder than his guilt and his hurt and his shame.

“I tried!” Regulus is yelling, desperately. “I tried to be brave! I betrayed the Dark Lord!”

And Sirius screams, louder than his brother.

[actuallymoon]

Ficlet: Strawberry Costume 🍓

Narcissa Malfoy had always believed her son was destined for greatness. Not just because he was a Malfoy, but because he was, undeniably, the most beautiful baby she had ever seen. From the moment Draco was born, with his silvery-blonde hair and piercing grey eyes, she knew he was special. So, it wasn't long before she decided to share his beauty with the world, signing him up to be a baby model.

Draco's early career was illustrious; his chubby cheeks graced the covers of baby food jars, and his tiny feet were the star of toddler shoe advertisements. As he grew older, he transitioned seamlessly into a child model, showcasing everything from high-end toddler clothing to magical toys. Narcissa, proud of her son’s accomplishments, kept every photograph, every advertisement, in a pristine, leather-bound album.

Years later, when Draco and Harry found themselves in love and dreaming of starting a family, Narcissa couldn't help but drop a subtle hint over tea. "Draco was such a beautiful baby," she mused. "He even modeled. I do hope your child inherits Draco’s looks rather than yours."

The underlying jab at Harry’s ‘inferior, half-breed appearance’ went unnoticed, as Harry’s ears perked up at the word “modeled.” His curiosity was sparked, to say the least. "Modeled? You mean like… professionally?"

Narcissa’s lips curled into a smile as she reminisced nostalgically. "Indeed. I have an album, if you’re interested."

Harry was beyond intrigued. When Narcissa handed him the album, he couldn’t help but gasp. Draco, as a baby, was even more adorable than he could have imagined. Page after page revealed little Draco in various poses—tiny wizard robes, enchanted toys, and the cutest baby outfits one could find in the magical world.

But it was the photo of Draco dressed in a strawberry costume that truly stole Harry’s heart. The way the baby Draco pouted at the camera, his tiny hands clutching at the plush strawberry suit, was too much. Harry’s eyes sparkled with delight as he turned to Narcissa, practically begging, "Can I keep this one? Please?"

Narcissa, who could easily say no to anyone else, found herself unable to resist the hopeful, puppy-like expression on Harry’s face. “I suppose,” she relented, though she secretly relished how even the Boy-Who-Lived was smitten with her son’s baby pictures.

Harry kept the picture a secret from Draco, a mischievous plan forming in his mind. Months later, when their son James was born, Harry finally unveiled his plan. With a grin, he presented Draco with a tiny strawberry costume—identical to the one in the picture—and two adult-sized ones as well.

“We’re going to recreate that photo,” Harry announced, holding up the old picture of baby Draco.

Draco couldn’t help but laugh, rolling his eyes at Harry’s suggestion and refused. Harry, of course, didn’t give up and begged him to reconsider. When he saw how excited Harry was, Draco reluctantly relented. Soon enough, the three of them—James, Draco, and Harry—stood together in their strawberry costumes for their new family photo.

The picture found its place on the mantel, right next to the original photo of baby Draco. Every time guests came over, they would pause, bewildered at the sight of the three matching strawberries, before bursting into laughter.

And Draco, though he would never admit it aloud, found himself rather fond of the ridiculousness. After all, only Harry could turn a forgotten moment from his childhood into something so wonderfully, absurdly memorable.

Story inspired by a tiktok I saw of a child wearing something like this picture

[kaaaaaaarf]

snippit saturday/sunday

thank you for the tags, @sommerregenjuniluft & @emjayeingray!! <3

Guess what, everyone? I've been writing museum again. I haven't wanted to scream it too loudly in case the muse goes away, but fingers crossed I'll finish chapter 3 one day in the not too distant future. For now, here's a snippit:

“Wait, he guest lectures at the university, too? He's such a nerd. Does he tell you dinosaur facts while he fucks you? Be honest.” Sirius pauses, for perhaps a bit too long. “Well...no, he—” “Oh my God, he does, doesn't he?” “Okay, maybe one time.” He can hear James cackling down the receiver, and can’t help but to laugh along with him. “To be fair, it was about a very exciting new discovery, and—” "I bet it was exciting. Christ, I nearly forgot what a nerd you are, too. Match made in dinosaur heaven." "Fuck off, James.”

np tagging: @lynxindisguise, @fruityindividual, @kaleidoscopexsighs, @colgatebluemintygel, @tortoisebore & @spindrifters

[five-miles-over]

Since I am currently obsessed with your Tom Hiddleston character headcanons and I noticed requests are open👉👈 Could we get some soft, fluffy Headcanons of the Tom Hiddleston characters on their wedding day to you?

Aaah, thank you so much for your request, @queen-paladin and thank you even more for your patience! This was fun to imagine, I hope you like it!

Multi-Character Headcanons: Tom Hiddleston Characters On Their Wedding Day

(Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or images. This is just a fun listicle, not designed to offend anyone. As always, please feel free to leave comments and/or constructive criticism below. Thank you, and without any further ado, please enjoy!)

Characters in this list: Will Ransome, King Henry V, Prince Loki Odinson, Loki of Asgard and Jotunheim, Bill Hazeldine, Coriolanus, Jonathan Pine, Robert Laing, Magnus Martinsson, Oakley, Thomas Sharpe, James Conrad, and Jaguar Villain! Tom Hiddleston.

Will Ransome from The Essex Serpent

On his wedding day to you, Reverend Will Ransome would wake up at sunrise, taking his time to wash himself, get dressed, and make his way to the church for his own wedding

He would take advantage of the early hours of the morning to be alone with his own thoughts, except almost all of his thoughts would be on you. Will would mull over how tomorrow, he would wake up as a married man. Instead of an empty bed, Will would find you by his side as his wedded partner, a gift bestowed upon by God for him to cherish for the rest of his life. Instead of spending the morning contemplating in circles, the reverend would be with his newly wed wife, talking to you about his thoughts and eagerly listening to yours. And instead of retiring alone at nightfall, he would be comforted by your warmth and your love, spending hours in your arms until you both drifted off to sleep.

Heavenly father, hallowed be thy name, grant him the strength not to stray from the path of a devoted husband.

After an hour or two of solitude that would finally come to an end after years of longing, Will would politely interact with the guests while taking his rightful place at the altar as the groom.

As soon as Will saw you enter the church, holding a bunch of wildflowers and forget-me-nots, his heart would swell with joy and gratitude. He would silently thank God for bestowing him this gift of spending his life with you. And before the official vows, he would make his own, silent promise to make you happy as possible for as long as he lived.

Wedding superlative: Most likely to get caught in a compromising position right before the ceremony (don't ask me how I know this, I just do)

King Henry V from The Hollow Crown 

On his wedding day to you, King Henry V would remain as stoic as possible in the presence of his servants while they readied him for the ceremony. 

Yet, occasionally his eyes would drift towards the small, intricate portrait of you that stood on his dressing table. Henry commissioned for it to be painted (based on his own description of you) for his personal desire after the first meeting with you. Every morning and every night that he could not be with you, he would look at the portrait and remind himself of the one that ruled his heart, his only beloved. 

And it delighted him to know that one day, that portrait would be replaced with a larger, more grand painting of you and Henry, the rulers of England. Perhaps, if God willed it, you would be holding his future heir in your arms when the time came for your portrait. 

Thinking about the heir would almost make Henry break his stoic facade, not because he would be thinking of fatherhood but because he would be musing over your wedding night. How would you feel after the ceremony? Would you be open to consummating your marriage? 

He would gently lick his bottom lip, remembering the first time he kissed you on the lips. It was on your third meeting, after Henry sweetly asked for your permission to do something so bold as to embrace you. If it weren't for his own restraint, Henry would have been caught blushing like a virgin by his own servants. That would certainly set some tongues wagging about the castle.

"Nev'r has't i seen true beauty until this moment.  How f'rtunate i might not but beest, yond while oth'r men spendeth their whole liveth seeking Elysium, i has't t bef're me", were King Henry's thoughts as soon as he stood in the church, gazing upon you while you entered, wearing a pristine white wedding gown and holding the arm of your father.

(Translation: Never have I seen true beauty until this moment. How fortunate I must be, that while other men spend their whole lives seeking paradise, I have it before me.)

At that moment, all of the royal stoicism the king of England had faded away like the morning dew. He smiled as if he were blessed with everything he could ever want. 

His eyes did not leave you even as you stood beside him at the altar and knelt before the priest. 

Henry recited his vows without flinching or faltering. As soon as the priest gave him permission, the king of England lifted your veil and proudly brought his lips to yours.

Your wedding would be one of the happiest days of the king's life, and one he hoped that you would also cherish

Wedding superlative: Most likely to have a coronation and a wedding on the same day

Prince Loki of Asgard from Thor:

On his wedding day to you, Prince Loki of Asgard would be pacing through the palace in the hours before the ceremony, his hands behind his back

He had already imagined this day more times than he could count, marrying you, the love of his life. And with each day leading up to your wedding, his fantasies would grow so vivid, so exciting, so intimidating that he would hardly be able to sleep

Thoughts would be plaguing his mind every waking moment while the palace was being decorated for the celebrations

Would he be a good husband to you? How would he be able to satisfy you on the wedding night? And what if he displeased you in some way, shape, or form? Would you go to Thor instead and seek comfort in his arms? No…no, no, it couldn't be. Loki shook his head. You loved him. You would never betray him and he would never betray you. 

With a million butterflies in his stomach, he would go to the throne room with Thor by his side, wearing his armor, brand new emerald green robes, and his signature golden horned crown. 

Seeing you standing next to him in a beautiful wedding gown completely took his breath away, and it only strengthened his resolve that he would stay by your side for the rest of his life. 

He would probably struggle to look you in the eye, keeping a shy, boyish smile on his lips the whole time simply because of how much you resembled a goddess of beauty

In the presence of the All-Father, Prince Loki would make his vows to protect you, remain loyal to you, and perform his duties as a husband with utmost respect. And when the time comes, in front of all of Asgard, he would bring his lips to yours, sharing your first kiss as a married couple.

Wedding superlative: Most likely to get shy when putting the ring on his bride's finger

Loki of Asgard and Jotunheim from Avengers: Infinity War 

On his wedding day to you, Loki would probably be overly excited about making sure this wedding was one to remember for the centuries to come

Until he met you, Loki believed he would never be able to find true love, let alone find someone to spend the rest of his life with. But all of that changed when Loki had a crush on you and Thor decided to play Cupid, conveniently leaving his brother alone with you in parks and cafés. Loki and you eventually caught onto Thor's plan, and eventually began placing bets with each other about what stupid excuse Thor would use to leave the situation. The result? Loki fell hopelessly in love with your wit, your humor, and your beauty.

And now that he would finally get the chance to celebrate his union with someone so special, Loki decided to leave no stone unturned in making your wedding as wonderful as possible.

With his brother's help, he arranged to have the magic of Asgard brought to your Midgardian venue, complete with a long banquet, floral arrangements with Asgardian flowers, and even a few lute players to entertain the guests while they dined

Loki even had a special tiara made for you to wear during the wedding - a simple yet elegant golden wreath tiara with diamonds and emeralds. He would've had a more extravagant design made, but every other female in his life suggested that he should choose a tiara that would suit any wedding outfit you chose

The moment he saw you, walking down the aisle in your wedding outfit, his jaw dropped. For a moment, he felt like his heart stopped and he went to Valhalla. When you approached him at the altar, he couldn't help but whisper, "You look absolutely ravishing, my dear…My Queen."

After bringing his hand to your lips, he would recite his vows to you

"I, Loki, prince of Asgard, Odinson, the rightful king of Jotunheim, God of Mischief, do hereby pledge to you my undying fidelity. I promise to always keep you safe, to keep you happy, and to keep you loved. You are my everything, and I will never ever stop fighting for us, wherever our journey may take us. And I swear on all that I hold dear in this life, that I shall never betray you, nor let anyone, man or god alike, take you from me. For as long as I live, you will be my wife and my lover."

Possible first dance song: "The Only Exception" by Paramore

Wedding superlative: Most likely to instigate a brawl between two people at his wedding (and do nothing to stop it)

Bill Hazeldine from Suburban Shootout 

On his wedding day to you, Bill Hazeldine would wake up, giddy as a schoolboy (after being unable to sleep last night until he called you on his mobile). His parents would giggle while he darts about, getting ready at a pace never seen before.

It was no secret that Bill was excited about marrying you. He spent weeks planning the perfect way to propose to you, visiting at least six different jewelry stores for the perfect ring and seeking your entire family's permission two weeks prior. And the night he proposed to you, he surprised you with a homemade attempt of your favorite dessert and your favorite film before presenting the ring to you. 

And of course, you said yes, much to Bill's immense delight. Finally, he would be starting a life with the you, the person whom he loved the most. He would be marrying someone who loved him for who he was and made him feel like he was capable of anything.

When it came to the wedding, Bill would be critical of every single thing about himself, bugging his parents and his best man with questions 

"Is this enough cologne? My tie, is it too short? Please, I don't want her to be disappointed."

"Bill, she loves you," his mother assures him. "She's marrying you. She wants to spend the rest of her life with you. Now stop fretting. You'll sweat through your suit."

After about a thousand assurances and countless intrusive thoughts, Bill would be nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet while waiting at the altar.

But as soon as he saw you, coming down the aisle, all of those thoughts would disappear. All Bill would be able to think of is how gorgeous you are, and how he's going to marry you in front of the whole world. 

Your first dance song would almost 100% be "Wedding Bell Blues" by The Fifth Dimension. It was his mother's choice, and once you heard the lyrics, you couldn't help but approve (seriously, if you haven't heard this song before, look up the lyrics because it's about marrying a guy named Bill)

Also, someone would probably need to make sure that Jewel Diamond doesn't show up and seize the microphone to sing "Part Time Lover" or "Like a Virgin" at the reception. But if that's taken care of, you and Bill will probably have a great time celebrating with your family and friends.

Wedding superlative: Most likely to cry when he sees his bride walk down the aisle

Caius Marcius Coriolanus from Coriolanus

On his wedding day to you, Caius Marcius Coriolanus would put on his armor and his military regalia as if he were going to lead a campaign. His mother insisted that it would make him look distinguished, and send a message that his bride - and their family - ought to treat him with respect. 

Many of his army men and his comrades would be in attendance, some of them even bearing gifts. They all knew of Coriolanus's feelings for you, teasing the general of how reluctant he was to approach you when he saw you for the first time and Cupid struck

But instead of rudely telling them all to shut up as usual, Coriolanus would bear it with gritted silence because deep down, it was all true. Coriolanus deeply loved you, and would never wish to live without you or hurt you in any way. 

Too proud to be caught smiling in public, Coriolanus would simply let his eyes speak his adoration for you when you entered the temple of Mars, dressed in fine robes and jewelry with a veil over your head. 

His eyes darkened with lust when you came closer to him. And in that moment, all he wanted was for the priest to hurry up and stop talking so he could kiss you, claiming you before everyone as his wife

After the ceremony came to an end, Coriolanus would keep one hand on the small of your back, determined to keep you close to him while he musters small talk with the guests…and insults some of them.

At some point, perhaps at sundown, he would cut his conversations short and bid his in-laws good night. Tightening his grip around you, Coriolanus would bring you to his home as fast as possible so he could finally drop his guard and…privately celebrate your union

Wedding superlative: Most likely to get into a fight at his own wedding

Jonathan Pine from The Night Manager

On his wedding day, Jonathan Pine would be extra vigilant, keeping an eagle eye for anything that might go wrong. 

While you were getting ready, he would be pacing along the oceanside and through the rows of seats for a possible threat, or someone who could be smuggling a weapon. Even after Angela Burr assured him that no one knew about his wedding except for the few people in attendance, he would still insist that someone keep a tab on you and give him constant updates while you were getting ready.

Jonathan had already loved and lost someone, and he would never forgive himself if someone took his bride away from him.

Until he saw you, he would not be able to let himself rest for a moment, rubbing the nape of his neck while pacing, adjusting his cufflinks (which happened to be the ones you gifted him for Christmas), and thinking of every single way that someone could sabotage this special day

And the moment you came down the aisle in your beautiful wedding gown, Jonathan would breathe a sigh of relief and beam with pride. At that instant, the only thought in his mind when he looks at you would be how amazing and how happy you look while you approached him. And how every moment leading up to this one was definitely worth it. Nothing would be able to hold a candle to the first time he got to see you as the one he, Jonathan Pine, was going to marry.

Holding your hand, Jonathan would quietly say his vows, knowing that he had already made every single vow to himself when he proposed to you. That in his mind, he had already promised to love you through thick and thin, in good times and bad times, even when the two of you would be miles apart. You would be the one he fights for and stays alive for, every single time.

Possible first dance song: "Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls or "The Way You Look Tonight" by Frank Sinatra (Or "Shakespeare" by Miranda Cosgrove)

Wedding superlative: Most likely to have a destination honeymoon

Robert Laing from High-Rise 

On his wedding day with you, Dr. Robert Laing would be thinking of nothing but you, simply put. 

("Ruhi, come now…" "You know what, Robert? Somebody had to say it.")

When Robert originally moved into the high rise, he was disillusioned with the thought of being involved with other people. He wanted to be alone, nothing more. But now, three years after that day? He couldn't picture a day without seeing you, without indulging in your witty banter, without giving you a kiss before going off to the medical school, or without you simply calling his name. It had to be magic of some kind, an enchantment Robert couldn't quite explain with all of his scientific knowledge.

And that's how Robert Laing, a doctor of physiology who lived on the twenty-fifth floor of the high rise, let himself fall in love you and share his life with you. 

Sure, Wilder and a few other guys in the high-rise would be pouring drinks and making crude jokes about Robert finally getting a 'ball and a chain' but Robert knew better. You wouldn't be a ball and a chain to him, but rather an angel. 

With you by his side, Robert could begin a new life at the high rise, one where he wouldn't have to be alone. A life of comfort where he could come home to someone who would care for him, and a life where he would have someone to cherish and protect. It would be a new life with a new purpose, all thanks to you

So when he saw you in your wedding dress for the first time, he couldn't help but stare. You looked like an absolute dream, so radiant and so gorgeous. 

He'd continue to steal glances throughout the ceremony, even while reciting his vows. And when the officiant finally says "you may now kiss your bride", Robert would put one hand around your waist and use his other hand to cradle the back of your head, passionately capturing your lips with his

Possible first dance song: "Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You" by Frankie Valli 

Wedding superlative: Most likely to burn the dance floor at his own wedding (and get quite tipsy in the process)

Second wedding superlative: Most likely to eat more cake than the bride

Magnus Martinsson from Wallander 

On his wedding day to you, Magnus Martinsson would be one of those grooms who makes snarky jokes about his life being "over" but is secretly freaking out on the inside

It wasn't helpful that his colleagues at the station kept making jokes about him being 'tied down' and how you were way out of his league. 

Magnus would find himself in a downward spiral of thoughts about the kind of husband he'd be, and whether you really were making the right choice in marrying him when you could have better. 

His comments might get so bad that even Kurt Wallander would have to intervene and tell him to stop unless he wanted to hurt his bride

Wallander would take Magnus aside and assure him that there are many great things about marriage, and that he is lucky to be spending his life with someone like you. That most men, especially those who joke about marriage being the 'end of their life', would desperately want to find someone who loves them as much as you love Magnus

With those words, Magnus would calm down, fix his curls, and go to the altar to wait for you. And as soon as he saw you walk down the aisle, he would realize how right Kurt was. That he, Magnus Martinsson, was the luckiest man in the world because he was going to marry you. That all of those jokes were false, and the only thing that mattered was how much you loved each other

Magnus might not choose to write his own vows, sticking with the traditional "in sickness and in health, till death do us part", but he would be sure to tell you how much he loved you throughout the wedding

Possible first dance song: "My Girl," by The Temptations

Wedding superlative: Most likely to show up to his own wedding completely hungover

Oakley from Unrelated

On his wedding day to you, Oakley would be the most chill groom ever. Seriously, anything could happen and he'd be the one reminding everyone to calm down. The rings are missing? Don't worry, they'll turn up anyway. 

His chill attitude also means that he would be perfectly fine in getting married while wearing a t-shirt and cargo pants. Somebody might need to drag this cocky handsome bastard into a suit, reminding him it's his goddamn wedding day, not some picnic

Oakley really isn't a fan of formal wear, especially anything that requires a tie

He would probably be joking around with his friends, having a smoke during the hour before the ceremony. 

He wouldn't even be freaking out about the fact that he'll soon be a married man because…this is exactly what he wanted the minute he fell in love with you. He knew that he needed you in his life, that you were the one he wanted to love for the rest of his days, and that the best thing to do was to tell you exactly that… before asking you to marry him

And the moment he saw you standing in your wedding dress for the first time, all of those memories left his mind and the only thing that Oakley could think about…was how he would never forget this moment. And that if the world were to end tomorrow, he would be the luckiest guy on the planet just because he would get to call you - this gorgeous, funny, and kind person standing before him - his wife.

Also, Oakley would totally be the type to make his wedding kiss with you totally epic, either picking you up and spinning you around, or turn it into a dip and kiss (which looks something like this)

Possible first dance song: "Teenage Dream" by Boyce Avenue or "Lucky," by Jason Mraz and Colbie Caillat

Wedding superlative: Most likely to get drunk during his own wedding and say something extremely inappropriate

Thomas Sharpe from Crimson Peak

On his wedding day to you, Thomas Sharpe would have every detail in its perfect place. From the flowers to the organ playing the wedding march to the seating arrangement, every single thing would be immaculately arranged to your liking.

He would play the part of a doting groom very effectively, almost ignoring Lucille most of the time in favor of talking to your family members. He'd play with the little ones, laugh at your father's attempts at humor, and assure your mother that her child will lack nothing in their marriage

The moment you entered the chapel, a warm smile would spread across Thomas's face and his face would light up as if the in the world darkness was finally gone for good.

As if you were made of glass, he would carefully take your hand in his and lead you to the altar, kneeling before the priest. 

Then, Thomas would make his vows to be with you in sickness and in health, till death do you part, and kiss you slowly, savoring this moment of purity. 

After the ceremony, Thomas would lead you in a waltz - your first dance as husband and wife - with a pace so swift yet so delicate that it would not extinguish a candle

At a specific moment, when the guests are dining, Thomas would lightly tap on his glass with a fork to get everyone's attention. 

"On behalf of the Sharpe household, I would like to thank you all for attending this lovely occasion. I could not be more happier than to be marrying the lady seated right here," Thomas would gesture to you with a proud smile. "She is truly a blessing, and until death parts us, I promise to hold her close and to treasure her always. May our days together be filled with happiness and joy."

Wedding superlative: Most likely to have an eloquent wedding toast that makes everyone go "Awww"

James Conrad from Kong: Skull Island

On his wedding day to you, Captain James Conrad would be silent to almost everyone before the ceremony, pretending to be completely calm about his impending nuptials. But his dark circles and his red eyes wouldn't fool anyone; it would be pretty clear that he hadn't sleeping so well lately

Actually, after he'd finally left Skull Island and settled in the United Kingdom, James had been dealing with nightmares about Kong and other terrifying creatures he'd encountered. Eventually, Preston Packard and Mason Weaver coaxed him to start seeing a professional about his nightmares and traumatic flashbacks. 

That's how James Conrad gained the courage and the hope to start a relationship with you, the beautiful neighbor who lived a few doors from his flat. And now, nearly two years after your first date, he proposed, you and James moved in together, and you were getting married. 

James could not have been happier about your union, but the past week leading up to the wedding had been tough. 

The two of you thought it might be good to have a little separation before the ceremony, and James thought it would make the wedding sweeter, so you agreed to sleep over at a friend's place. 

James found himself deeply missing your touch (and your cuddles - shh, don't tell anyone I told you) and many of the nightmares from his past returned. So after talking to you on the telephone every night, he would hold one of your sweaters like a security blanket while trying to lull himself sleep

When he finally saw you coming to the altar in your wedding gown, it felt like he'd been underwater for hours and was finally coming up for fresh air. From now on, he would never have to sleep alone, or face anything all by himself. Whatever happens, if he ever has to return to Skull Island in his dreams or in real life, he would have you by his side.

He'd be grinning the whole time from ear to ear, just enjoying the moment with you, and would always have his arm around you. Whenever James wasn't trying to stifle a yawn, he would be holding you close and stealing kisses, much to the amusement of everyone else around him.

Possible First Dance song: "Can't Help Falling in Love with You" by Elvis Presley

Wedding superlative: Most likely to never let anyone else dance with his bride because he gets jealous

Jaguar Villain!Tom Hiddleston

On his wedding day to you, Thomas would be dressed to the nines and poised like a prince, wearing a sharp three-piece suit (with a pistol concealed in his jacket) and Dolce and Gabbana citrus cologne

To him, this wedding was not unlike any other important engagement. A place where deals could be made and broken, offers could be extended and retracted, and alliances could be tested

Therefore, only the best of decorations could be present. The cake and the champagne had to be of the utmost quality (no cheap, off-brand liquor allowed), and the floral arrangements needed to be elegant enough for royalty

It would also be an opportunity for Thomas to reward his those closest to him in his inner circle; by inviting them, wining and dining them with a gourmet meal, he could reward their loyalty while also keeping them near should they try anything suspicious. 

But none of that would apply to you. No, Thomas may be emotionless and calculating in matters of business, even at his own wedding, but you were not to take part in any of it. In fact, your innocence was one of the reasons why Thomas was so attracted to you. You gave him something worth living for, something that was worth defending and protecting. He could not afford to corrupt you with his dirty world of schemes and plots

During the wedding, Thomas would be your Prince Charming (like always), making sure that you were comfortable. 

He would hold your hand and tell you how beautiful you looked whenever you got nervous. If you were hungry, he'd make sure that a plate of food was brought to you. And if someone dared to make you uncomfortable on your special day? They had better prepared to have the living daylights pounded out of them.

Also, Thomas would never admit this to you until possibly years after your wedding to him, but he secretly bribed the person who showed you your wedding dresses to only show you designs that he approved of. He knew that you would look stunning in anything you wore, but he always liked to be the one in charge

Possible first dance song: "Fly Me to The Moon," by Frank Sinatra or "Stand By Me" by Ben E. King

Wedding superlative: Most likely to carry out a murder at their wedding 

Taglist: @thatdummy-girl @icytrickster17  @mischievoushiddleston,@lokischambermaid , @lady-rose-moon , @lokisgoodgirl , @lokisninerealms @jennyggggrrr ,, @tom-hiddleston-imagines , @lokiismineforever @smolvenger @winterfrostlovetriangle , @the-haven-of-fiction , @turniptitaness  @cakesandtom ,@sallymagnoliaposts @leahs-reading-nook @holdmytesseract @muddyorbsblr

[sarahowritesostucky]

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x Bucky

Word count: 2101

Tags: a/b/o, arranged marriage, domestic discipline, spanking, head of household, dom/sub elements, alpha Steve, beta Bucky, hurt/comfort, wedding night, alternate history, nobility/royalty au, Edwardian time period, m/f/m poly marriage, enemies to lovers

Summary: To save House Barnes from scandalous ruin, eldest son James must agree to a contracted marriage, accepting Lord Senator Steven Rogers as his Alpha, Husband, and Headship.

To read previous parts of this series first, got to the story's masterlist

12. A Sojourn in London

This Chapter: He imagines his life, spent stifled and serving Steve in mundane ways, watching some faceless omega inevitably claim all of Steve’s sexual interest and produce children for him while Bucky slowly goes insane from the boredom of an unimpressive, domestic life.

Bucky and Steve might be high Society in America, part of the Senatorial ruling class, but they aren’t actual royalty. The Duke and Duchess of Kent however, are. And their living accommodations reflect it.

The carriage pulls through to the inner courtyard at Kensington Palace, and Steve offers his hand to help Bucky down. He takes his arm as they’re guided into the palace and shown the way to a grand ballroom. Bucky has to double check that his mouth is closed a few times as he looks around.

There are lots of other people, all just as finely or better dressed than Steve and Bucky are. Bucky catalogues the number of diamonds and other jewels that he can see adorning the heads and dripping from the throats of all the ladies, quickly deducing that, outside of the British Museum’s Crown Jewels exhibit, he’s never been surrounded by such wealth. “Jeez,” he mutters to Steve. “The Queen’s not making an appearance, is she?”

Steve chuckles and mutters back, “I don’t think so, Buck.”

Bucky smiles politely at the first two couples who come up to introduce themselves and chat. The Lady Cavendish is alpha and there with her beta husband. Another, Lord Barrows, is with both of his triad. The alphas both talk with Steve and eventually Bucky joins in. But the group gets quiet when he does. Lady Cavendish seems taken-aback. “My,” she says, looking unsure if she should be amused or annoyed. “You Americans certainly have relaxed manners.”

Bucky frowns, not understanding her meaning but pretty sure that he’s just been insulted. Steve’s hand comes out and pulls Bucky in against his side, almost possessively. “You’ll have to forgive my husband,” he says. “He’s never traveled enough to acquaint himself with European customs.”

Lord Barrows and his spouses smile and nod, and Bucky is left both confused and annoyed. He can’t help feeling that he’s being laughed at. “What?” he asks, peeved.

Steve squeezes him the tiniest bit tighter against his side at his tone. “It’s customary in British society for Spouses to wait on their Headship for invitation into the conversation,” he tells Bucky.

Bucky can tell from Steve’s tone that he’s trying to appear in-control to the other people. He can also definitely tell that Steve is waiting for him to blow up. Though he does feel indignation zip through him at hearing such antiquated nonsense, Bucky doesn’t say anything more than, “Oh.”

Steve seems relieved. His hold on Bucky relaxes. “That’s alright, darling. You didn’t know.”

Bucky wants to make a face at Steve calling him ‘darling’. It’s so obviously faked. Sure, Bucky understands that airs have to be put on at Society functions, but he’s not used to it with Steve. He doesn’t like it. “I’d be interested to know what other customs I’m ignorant of,” he muses, then pauses to look at the other two alphas. “That is, if I’ve been ‘invited into the conversation’?” He looks wide-eyed at Steve, pretending like he cares.

Steve’s lips quirk the barest amount, but he nods and says, “Of course.”

“Oh thank you, husband,” Bucky simpers. He doesn’t think the other guests are aware of how close he is to gagging. He looks back over to Lady Cavendish and her husband. “Well?” he asks. “What else should I know?”

“Your fashions are more liberal,” Lady Cavendish says. Now she looks mostly amused by Bucky, if also somewhat disapproving. She nods to her beta and says, “What do you think, Dear?”

Lord Cavendish perks up at his chance to speak. “Yes, I had noticed that.” His eyes run up and down Bucky’s outfit like he’s found several things lacking. It makes Bucky uncomfortable, and he has to fight not to squirm and look down at himself. “Your wrists are covered,” the other man notes. “No beta in London Society would be caught in public with such an ill-tailored jacket.”

Bucky flushes. “It’s not ill-tailored,” he snaps. He’d noticed after a turn of the ballroom that all the other married betas’ suits and dress sleeves don’t reach past their wrist bones, leaving their wedding wristbands on full display. “It’s what’s fashionable.”

Cavendish Shrugs. “In America, perhaps.”

“In the twentieth century!” Bucky scowls. “Christ. Get over yourself. Not everyone needs to advertise themselves like property.”

Lord Cavendish doesn’t say anything back to him, just stands there smugly at having gotten such a reaction out of Bucky. His wife, however, says, “Well I never,” as if that fully-encapsulates her disdain for Bucky’s attitude.

Maybe it does, because the next thing Bucky knows, Steve is gripping him by the back of the neck, jostling him in a classic scruff. Bucky’s mouth falls open at the domineering gesture, a surprised sound leaving him without his permission. The shock of the action outweighs any outrage he might otherwise feel. “I’m sorry,” Steve is apologizing to the group. “Please, do excuse us.”

The two other Headships titter as Steve steers Bucky away. Bucky goes red all the way to his ears, he’s sure of it. Steve has gotten him out into the hallway before Bucky can manage to react in any way, which is good news, because he’s not sure what he might have yelled at those people, if given the chance. He jerks out of Steve’s hold the second they’re alone in the hall. “Are you fucking kidding me?!” he yells, relieved when Steve lets him go. “Scruffing me? In front of a whole room full of people?!”

“Bucky, calm down.”

He glowers at Steve, feeling like his head is going to explode. “What the hell, Steve!”

Steve steps into his space, pressing him against the wall. “Lower. your. voice.”

Bucky would scream, if Steve hadn’t just Voiced the specific command to do the opposite at him. “How could you do that?” he hisses instead, feeling betrayed. “How? Are you trying to humiliate me?”

Steve shakes his head. “No. Of course not. It’s their custom, Buck. I couldn’t be seen to do nothing when you spoke to them like that. I told you: everything’s a lot more formal over here.”

Bucky growls. “You didn’t have to do that.” He hasn’t seen an adult, let alone an adult beta, be scruffed by their Headship in public in he doesn’t know how many years. It’s a demeaning, authoritative sort of thing. Bucky feels like crawling into the ground, knowing that a ballroom full of British Society just witnessed it being done to him. “I hate you,” he spits.

Steve sighs. “No, you don’t.”

“I do!”

“Shh!” Steve looks reproachfully at him. “I can’t let you disrespect our union in front of those people, Bucky.”

“I wasn’t!”

“To them, you were.” Steve looks pointedly at him. “And you know it, too. You were being rude.”

“So what?” Bucky snaps.

“Seriously?” Steve frowns at him. “Do you want me to have to discipline you? Because I will, if you keep this up in public.”

Someone nearby clears their throat, and both Steve and Bucky’s heads turn to see Lord Barrows standing there. “Sorry,” he says, not looking sorry at all. He steps over and pulls something from under his dress coat, handing it to Steve.

Bucky’s eyes widen when he sees what it is. “The fuck?” he breathes before he can help it. “You carry a cane on you?”

Barrows smiles at Bucky like he’s a misbehaving child, but he speaks to Steve. “It’s a switch. I thought you might need it.” His eyes flick over Bucky, then Back to Steve. “See you at the dinner table, yes?” He turns and starts walking away.

“Um, yeah,” Steve mutters. He waits until Barrows is gone before turning back to Bucky. He holds the switch between them, looking just as shocked as Bucky feels. “Well.”

Bucky’s belly flips at the implicit threat of the implement. He doesn’t like seeing it in Steve’s hand, wants to knock it to the floor. “Christ,” he mutters. “These people live in the fucking dark ages.”

“They’re strict.”

“Ya think?” Bucky scoffs.

“All Senatorial Households have canes,” Steve says. “Even your family must’ve.”

“Not as an amenity for dinner guests to use!” Bucky snatches the switch from Steve’s hand and holds it in front of his face. “You’d seriously hit me with this?”

“Senator?” Both Bucky and Steve’s heads whip up again. It’s Lady Cavendish this time. She looks distinctly interested in what she’s interrupted as she informs them, “Dinner is about to be served. Everyone is convening in the dining room.”

"Butt out!" Bucky snaps.

“Thank you,” Steve says. “We’ll be there presently.”

Lady Cavendish affords them one last, curious glance, then nods and hurries out of sight. Steve turns his attention back to Bucky. He looks very displeased. He holds out his hand. “Give me that. Now.”

Bucky gulps. Slowly, not wanting to, he gives the switch to Steve. He’s unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of Steve’s fingers curling around the handle. “Are you going to hit me?” he asks, surprised by how tiny his voice sounds when it comes out.

Steve sighs heavily. “No, Bucky. I’m not.” He sets the switch aside. “I’d never hurt you like that. Not for anything so minor.”

Privately, Bucky wonders what infraction would be serious enough in Steve’s book to warrant such a punishment. He decides against asking. “I don’t want to go back in there,” he says instead. “They’ll all think you were out here punishing me.”

Steve arches an eyebrow. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“Hey!”

“Come on," he says, with a bit of a snicker. He takes Bucky's arm and guides him back out to the ballroom. “Try and act like a properly admonished Spouse now, would you?”

Bucky makes a low growling sound, but says nothing. They are only steps away from entering the dining room, after all.

Dinner isn’t much better than the ballroom, unfortunately. The upside is that, once again, Bucky's not expected to participate in any of the conversation. So he can just focus on eating his—delicious, he must admit—food. The downside is that he has to wait for Steve to serve that food to him.

He's taken aback when he first notices it: the footmen bringing the courses out and setting them down only in front of the alphas. Bucky stares at a triad across the table as the Headship moves some of the food from her plate onto her beta’s plate, and then some onto her omega’s. Bucky flushes, suddenly remembering how that’d been one of the customs he’d observed when his father had brought him to a British state dinner when he was younger. Seeing it again, and especially with Steve sitting next to him as his Alpha, is oddly mortifying. Bucky has to wait while Steve is served his dish and the lid is pulled off. Steve looks over at him expectantly. “Well?”

“Seriously?” Bucky hisses. The other Spouses all have polite phrases that they use to ask their Alphas to be served. Steve smirks at Bucky as he waits for a response. “You’re enjoying this,” Bucky accuses, and the alpha shrugs.

“Maybe a little. Here.” He takes Bucky’s plate and gives him well over half the portion. “I’m not actually going to make you say it.”

Bucky grunts, angry but also a little bit pleased that Steve is ladling over most of the spinach puffs. I’d rather starve, is what he thinks, but out loud he says, “Well ... good.”

The rest of the dinner is spent in a similar, mildly-torturous fashion. Bucky sits quiet and pretty and lets Steve serve him each course, and he observes all of the Triads with their proper etiquette and rigidly defined roles, how insipidly all the beta and omega Spouses behave. He imagines his life, spent stifled and serving Steve in mundane ways, watching some faceless omega inevitably claim all of Steve’s sexual interest and produce children for him while Bucky slowly goes insane from the boredom of an unimpressive, domestic life.

When the Headship of the Triad directly across the table from them makes a rather obnoxious joke about omega suffrage—and Steve laughs along, mind you (Bucky doesn’t care if it's forced or not)—Bucky makes up his mind that he’s not going to let this happen to him. He’s not going to become one of those beta Spouses across the dining table, not going to resign himself to a life as an invisible Second who takes only what he's given and says 'thank you' for it.

Omegas and betas don’t have the right to divorce their Head of Household, but Alphas can choose to initiate the process if they wish. With the dowry to protect his family now permanently secured, Bucky makes a decision right then and there to do everything he can to drive Steve away.

If he can make Steve want a divorce, he’ll be free.

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[rose-of-the-grave]

Birthday Party

Pairing: Harry x Hermione

Happy early birthday to one Harry James Potter! I finished this early and couldn't wait to post it 😄 This is based off of these two requests! As always I'm the author (please don't repost)

Masterlist. Read on Ao3

Warnings: fluff, Harmione being cute, Hermione and Lily bonding, James and Lily are alive and well

Word Count: 603

Description: Harry Potter celebrated his birthday with everyone he loves, including Hermione who ends up bonding a bit with Lily over the similarities in their relationships with Harry and James respectively.

Taglist: @sylveryfire, @fuckyeahsuperheropowercouples

Everybody was gathered around the table, singing Happy Birthday to Harry. The room was packed with friends and family, whether it was all of his parents’ friends that were like aunts and uncles to him or his friends from school. Ron and Hermione sat on either side of him as he leaned forward to blow out the candles, making a wish.

He looked up, grinning as everyone started cheering. Lily started to cut and serve the cake, giving Harry the first piece. It was a chocolate cake shaped like a snitch and covered in gold frosting.

Taking a bite, he exclaimed, “It’s really good! Thanks mom!”

“Anything for the birthday boy!” Lily said, teasingly before continuing to serve the cake.

“This is really good, Mrs. Potter!” Hermione said from where she sat next to Harry.

“Oh, please. Call me Lily.” His mom said.

Hermione smiled. Harry looked over at her and they shared a shy smile, they had started dating only a few weeks ago and not many people knew, including his parents. He knew that they suspected that there was something more between them but up until now they had just been friends.

The guests started to wander around into the living room and outside where games had been set up for the party. Lily and James were clearing up some stuff from the dining room, leaving Harry and Hermione virtually alone.

Harry had just finished his cake and was about to get up before realizing Hermione wasn’t quite finished.

“All done!” She said, a small piece of cake on the side of her mouth.

“There’s a…” He motioned at it before giving up and deciding to get it himself. He wiped it away with a finger before slowly leaning in for a kiss.

A plate clatter in the background and they pulled away, laughing a bit.

“Mmmmm… you taste like chocolate.”

She giggled,”That’s because I just had some, birthday boy!” Her eyes lit up with joy. She was beautiful. The two of them were lost in each other, not paying attention to their surroundings while Lily and James came back in from the kitchen.

“Seems they finally are official, James” Lily said.

“It would seem so.”

“Harry, get out here! I need a partner for this game!” Ron yelled from outside.

“I’m coming!” He yelled back before apologizing, “Sorry, ‘Mione.”

“It’s fine, I’ll see you out there.” She said before standing up and starting to gather some of the plates to take to the kitchen.

“Oh, you didn’t need to do that dear.” Lily said.

“It’s no problem. I was actually wondering if you needed any help cleaning?”

“Well, since you’re asking…” She gave her a rag and started her on wiping the dishes she was cleaning. Even though Lily could have easily done so with magic she had always preferred to wash dishes by hand.

“So, how’s school been going so far?”

“It’s been good. I’m waiting for the OWL results right now.”

“Right, of course. That should be any day now.”

“Hopefully.”

They shared a smile before returning to the task at hand. From where they stood they had an excellent view of the backyard where Ron, Harry, and Sirius were facing off against Fred, George, and James in a game of three on three quidditch.

“It’s funny, isn’t it Mrs. Potter?” Hermione mused.

“What do you mean, Hermione dear?”

“Both of us fell in love with a boy with glasses, who plays quidditch, can be clueless but still an adorable dork. Sometime, history does repeat itself, huh?”

Lily smiled, “It sure does and I couldn’t be happier.”

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

Astrid hiccups holding a couple empty bottles of Brandy and had a ribbon necklace on. She closed his office doors behind her.

"I...I heard it was your birthday James"

She undid the necklace exposing her throat.

"Care for a... a drink?"

James blinked, definitely not expecting Astrid of all possible guests. " I shall assume the little bird who told you that is named Homelander" he mused with brow raised. But he could scent that brandy instantly. His favorite!

" You.. mean that? " a pause, then a blush and a warm smile. " It would be terribly rude of me to decline such a heartfelt gift. A drink sounds lovely. "

He beckons her closer to his desk. " Have a seat. "

[rehnwriter]

Tag Game Here We Go!

My good friend @girlfromthecrypt mentioned me in her recent writeblr tag game and I decided to join in the fun!

1) What motivates you to write?

To be honest? Anything. I've written ever since I was little, and have enjoyed it ever since. I'm a very creative person, and I'm constantly thinking about stories, ideas, and what not, and putting them to paper always feels great. I'm also a very driven person, and like to work on projects / keep myself busy, and writing definitely ticks that box.

2) A line/short snippet of your writing that you are most proud/happy of. If not maybe share a line of someone else's work you love (just please credit them)

I'm currently working on the final edits of my novel 'New Haven,' based on my series 'A guest at my motel asked me to post his story. He looked like he went through hell…' It's been quite a ride, but I'm finally on the final stretch and the end is in sight. Here's just a random little snippet from a dream sequence that I quite enjoyed:

At that moment, Mom got to her feet. She was impossibly tall and towered high over every other member of the congregation. Her face was stern and her appearance was that of a stoic believer. Around her head, a halo of dark, hellish flames had formed. In a bellowing voice, she answered that there was indeed yet another sinner.

3) Which OC makes you smile every time you think/talk about them and what are they like?

It's got to be Ethan from my 'New Haven' novel. He's your typical loner, rebel-type (and loosely based on James from Twin Peaks). He's quite the interesting character, one who might seem half mad and angry all the time, but he's got quite the depths to it. I just really enjoy writing him and his dialogue.

4) What process of writing do you enjoy the most?

The first draft hands down. While I usually outline a story beforehand, the first draft is the most creative part of writing. The best thing is that after a good ten to fifteen minutes, I get fully immersed in the story and things just come to me. It's almost as if the process of sitting down and forcing myself through those first minutes hands me the muse's kiss (as weird as that sounds).

5) What part of writing do you think you are the best at? (Yes stroke your own ego it's okay)

This is really a tough one since I'm very bad at judging myself. I think I've gotten quite a bit better when it comes to writing dialogue and I enjoy it a lot. On the other hand, I think I've got a hand for otherworldly, and weird imagery/descriptions.

6) What is something in the writeblr community is most enjoyable?

Gotta be honest, I'm not really a part of the community. I guess even when I'm on social-media, I'm a rather anti-social person who keeps to himself and just shares/rebolgs his own stories. I'm, however, always happy to see other people interacting with one another, and motivating each other to keep on writing and pushing forward. You guys are all the best!

7) A writing tool/device you use that helps you with writing? (It could be speech to text, a writing program etc)

I really, really love WriteMonkey. It's a distraction-free writing software that essentially gives you nothing but a black screen on which you type. I've got serious focus problems and pretty much anything can distract me, even if it's just a menu with formatting options.

Another piece of software I've recently started working with is Scrivener. It doubles as a writing and organizing tool, but the best thing is that it comes with an export and formatting function. It means you basically just type out your story/chapters and the program puts it into a publishable ebook or submittable manuscript. This honestly saves an incredible amount of time and headache, since there are so many things you've got to look out for and keep in mind otherwise.

8) A piece of worldbuilding that you like in your own story? (It could be the magic system, a particular place in the story, a law etc)

I really like the backstory of New Haven. It's essentially a small, unimportant religious town in the middle of nowhere, but as the novel continues my main characters discover that it's got quite a history. This includes Lutheran Christians, a German nobleman from the city of Gotha, and quite a few other things. I really love adding these tiny bits and pieces to make the settings seem more alive.

9) What piece of advice would you say to encourage others to write if they are having a rough patch?

This might sound a bit harsh, but the best advice I can give people is to just sit down and write. Anything, really. If you're stuck on your current WIP, write something else for a bit, or maybe put out an entirely different story. I've been stuck before, and it's a terrible place to be in, and sometimes things just might become a bit too much, or you might grow to hate your current WIP. It's happened to me before. So just taking some time off, and writing something just for fun, is a great way to rekindle your creativity.

Another thing is, to allow yourself to take breaks! Sometimes, you've just got to recharge. Over the years, I've been extremely disciplined and forced myself to write every single day, even if I got home late, I'd force myself to put in at least half an hour. While I got a lot of work done, it honestly wasn't healthy, and I had to learn that taking some time off isn't a bad thing, and sometimes, it's truly necessary.

Just last month, I didn't feel things. All the stories I was working on were tough, a new novella I'd started didn't feel right, and I was in no mind to work on editing New Haven. And so, I took a few weeks off, until the spark was there again and I just help getting back into things.

10) Tag some people whose works you love/have been your biggest supporters

Oh man, this is so tough. @girlfromthecrypt was the one who originally tagged me, so I've got to give thanks for this little break. Other than that, I'd tag @octoberconstellation who's been sneaking me little sets of questions that are quite fun to answer.

Well, that's about it! Hope you guys enjoyed this little look into my head. And I'm sorry, some of my answers might have gotten a bit out of hand.

[unquietspiritao3]

so we’ve heard james first learning (and part two) of this supposed fic where he crawls into ed’s flat crying (i still haven’t found it. perhaps it was taken down after being read out on this other podcast?) and oh boy he goes on a whole emotional journey being disturbed by it. which is fine, obviously he can have whatever feelings he has and feelings are messy—especially when you’re processing them out loud, in real time, on the record, for public broadcast—but i do have some thoughts to share.

mainly, i wish more celebrities understood what i outlined in my musings on rpf essay. james’ main objection (after working through his feelings a bit and calling fic writers/his fans in general weird creeps) was being put in a submissive role when that’s not what he prefers irl. and even then, he concedes by the end that he does give off submissive vibes in his public persona with ed. he just didn’t like the extent of it in this particular fic, where he was described as crying and crawling around throughout the entire story. i suspect that was an exaggeration from the guest, but can’t find the fic to read so who knows? i’d say fair enough, that is a bit extreme.

(i do also think a lot of guys’ reaction to being seen as submissive is rooted in toxic masculinity that needs to be addressed, but that is a whole other thing i don’t want to get into too much.)

the bottom line, though, james (i say, as if he will ever see this, lol), is what we write is not how we think you are as a person irl. we don’t know you and we are aware of that fact. it’s a character based on a tiny bit of you and a whole lot of other things. i’m glad you won’t be reading any of it and upsetting yourself any further, and i’m glad that you seem to have moved into seeing more of the humor in the situation on your live tour, which presumably happened after this podcast recording. go back to enjoying your life, i’ll go back to writing my kink about fictional characters for the people who need to read it.

eta: oh, also, i’ve just remembered this little essay i found on ao3 awhile back when i was poking around the meta tag. i largely agree with it and wish someone would send it to off menu, but it ain’t gonna be me, lol. ‘so you’ve found fan fiction written about you’

second eta: have read the fic now (not going to link it bc the poor author does not need to be put even more on blast) and can confirm huge davies is a huge asshole who exaggerated and entirely made shit up to get maximum shock value.

[dcmoniism]

[ so, the weekend is here. i will take the time to reply to ALL memes and drafts i have now. you should be able to find it in my pinned post under the tracker part (adding a few memes there from this morning. UNTIL THEN LET ME LEAVE YOU WITH THIS SONG. it reflects half of my muses and their relationships (allow me to tag some of the current ones this applies to) ]

yeah , i always keep

making the same mistakes,

maybe i never

deserved you anyways.

i can make you mad,

i can make you scream,

i can make you sad,

i can make leave,

i can make you hate me,

for everything,

but i can't make you

come back to me.

@survivingpierce — our first kalijah thread because he knows that although he tried to save her he didn't, he couldn't and he knows that is the reason she doesn't trust him and everyone trusts elijah so katherine not doing so hits him especially hard, steferine threads because stefan still carries the guilt of katherine's capture and supposed death even after she was found in the tomb, and even datherine because damon knows he's a ticking bomb ready to go off any second and she's usually at the receiving end of it, unfortunately.

@starwrittenfates — our current snily thread when she finds out severus became a death eater to protect her. he will wish he had not done it at all, but it's too late. she can't even bring herself to be around him. in that moment, he will definitely wish to be james for the sake of being able to see her, talk to her still.

@italianexotiicbeauty — elijah and him putting his family above them, seth and his constant fear of bringing death to those he loves which makes him push her away, damon because he knows he is complicated to be with and though she keeps trying he always finds a way to fuck up in the end.

@malka-lisitsa — stefan would have rather katherine felt all those ways towards him than her passing, he believes he cannot bring her back to him, unknowing that she has been there all along.

@safestpsychoticbiitch — if things go down according to canon, klaus will end up finding elena and using her in the ritual. i am almost certain that not knowing whether their latest 'prisoner / guest' will wake up may have a certain someone feel this way. oh, the panic.

more may be added as i remember them throughout the day.

[letsstaytuned]

💭

( @themosthatedbeing :3 ))

Send 💭 to see one of my muse’s earliest memories or a flashback to a pivotal moment in their life!

It was his wedding day and it should have been one of the happiest days of his life. He was there, dressed his best next to his bride to be at the alter, tuning out what the priest was saying. He was smiling though inside he just wanted to bolt out the doors past all the guests and his parents.

There was nothing inherently wrong with the bride. Her name was Jeannette and she was actually quite gorgeous. Luscious long chocolate brown locks of curly hair, big brown eyes one could get lost in, a beautiful smile... but he felt nothing for her.

It was an arranged marriage, one his parents had pressured him into. Jeannette was the daughter of a wealthy client of his father's law firm and, well, his own family was out of money. His father planned on him supplementing his failing business and his mother's socialite lifestyle.

And he was too weak to say no.

"Do you James Alexander Hardaway take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?" the priest asked.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, I do," Jamie replied snapping back to the moment.

"And do you Jeannette Marie Woodruff take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"Yes, I do!"

The priest pronounced them husband and wife and then told him he could kiss the bride. Jamie lifted her veil and gave her a chaste kiss, fulfilling his obligation. The crowd cheered and clapped for them as the organ played the congratulatory song.

The couple held hands and turned to the crowd.

Jamie smiled widely, not because he was happy, but because his father always said you're never fully dressed without a smile.

[alannacellucci]

The Breakers Music Room —

The MUSIC ROOM, designed by Richard van der Boyen and Allard et Fil, reflects the French Baroque interior the Vanderbilts would have seen in places like the Paris Opera House, and was the setting for family weddings and debutante parties. Gold and silver leaf, blue-grey Campan marble from France, mirrors, and crystal light fixtures combine to make a glittering effect for evening concerts and receptions. The spirit of music and numerous great composers are celebrated in the ceiling painting. This room and furnishings, in addition to those in the Morning Room, were designed and constructed in France then shipped to this location for installation.

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The Breakers Morning Room —

The wall paneling in the MORNING ROOM was designed by Richard van der Boyen, who carved elaborate garlands and figures in the late Renaissance style. Classical mythology and allegories decorate this room, from the painted allegory of the four seasons on the ceiling, to the Muses who appear in the corners of the room, painted on platinum leaf panels.

The room also displays portraits of Cornelius Vanderbilt II by the preeminent American portrait painter, John Singer Sargent, and the Count Laszlo Széchényi and Countess Gladys Széchényi, by the Hungarian artist Philip Alexius De László. Countess Széchényi was born Gladys Vanderbilt, the youngest of Cornelius and Alice's children. In 1908, Gladys married Count Laszlo Széchényi, a member of Hungary's premier aristocratic family and a minister to the Court of St. James in London and, later, to the United States.

When her mother Alice passed away in 1934, Countess Széchényi inherited The Breakers. In 1948, to raise funds for the Preservation Society's restoration of Hunter House, Countess Széchényi opened The Breakers to the public for tours. That same year, she leased The Breakers to the Preservation Society for $1.00 a year and continued to fund the maintenance of the house. The Preservation Society purchased The Breakers in 1972 for approximately $400,000. As an early member and supporter of the Preservation Society, Countess Széchényi made a major contribution to the preservation of Newport's architectural heritage.

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The Breakers Breakfast / Dining Room —

The BREAKFAST ROOM served as both breakfast room and informal family dining room. The table, which may be extended to seat 16 would have seated the entire family or served as seating for a small, informal dinner or luncheon. One of the premier decorators for America's elite families, Jules Allard et Fils Cules Allard & Sons) of Paris, supplied the Louis XV style furniture for the room and decided on the room's color scheme. The Vanderbilts were surrounded by imagery of the harvest.

Look around to see fruits and vegetables plentifully adorning the walls. The 12 rose-colored stone columns are solid alabaster and draw your eyes upward to the ceiling painting of the goddess Aurora heralding the dawn. The massive chandeliers and wall sconces in the Imperial design are made of French Baccarat crystal, and were piped for gas and wired for electricity at the time the house was built. The crown shaped tops indicate the style, while the rings on the chains were used to adjust the flow of gas.

Allard and Sons of Paris assisted Hunt with furnishings and fixtures, Austro-American sculptor Karl Bitter designed relief sculpture, and Boston architect Ogden Codman decorated the family quarters. The mansion covers nearly an acre of the 13-acre property and has 70 rooms including 48 bedrooms for family and staff. There are 27 fireplaces. It was equipped with electricity – still a novelty in houses during the Gilded Age – as well as gas for lighting.

The Breakers has entertained presidents, royalty and guests from across the world for more than 125 years and today is visited by hundreds of thousands of people each year. It is the flagship of the Newport Mansions and a world-famous iconic image of the City-by-the-Sea. The Breakers was designated a National Historic Landmark in 1994.