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temis-de-leon · 2 months

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Dateables as Single Fathers

Characters: Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon and Simeon, gn!kid, Luke and gn!MC

Part 1

Main Masterlist

CW: nothing, I think? Correct me if you feel something should be warned, but I think we're good to go. Just like in the other one, these HCs explain the characters' relationships with their kids and a romantic interest in MC at the end.

Diavolo

This one has to be the most difficult situation out of all, considering his political position.

He either had a child outside of marriage, who I think would’ve been considered a bastard, or he had the next heir with his wife, who would’ve eventually become the queen of the Devildom beside him.

No matter the option, each one would have had significant consequences.

Fortunately for his country, he’s too respectful and responsible to fool around and risk the chance of leaving his offspring behind, so political marriage it is.

I already used the ‘mother died in childbirth’ reason for Lucifer’s HCs, but I can’t see any other explanation for Diavolo being a single father. Both of them would be loyal and committed to their partners and Diavolo has the additional duty of keeping a kingdom going.

Now, we could do some AUs that could explain the future queen’s absence, but that isn’t what this post is about, so let’s leave it at that.

In the end, Diavolo is left with a child that is deeply loved and well taken care of.

I think Beautiful Boy by John Lennon would describe their relationship perfectly.

Loving his kid is not his only priority; raising him is also as important. He’s a caring parent, very attentive, protective and stern when necessary.

Diavolo is too aware of their duties as royals and future monarchs but tries not to act on them. Since he is already preparing himself to become king, there’s no need for his kid to lose their freedom and their childhood.

However, as occupied as he is, he tries to put his work on hold each time the child calls for his attention. They drew themselves with him and Barbatos? Okay, let him set these documents aside so he can admire the drawing properly. They saw a cool bug outside? Say no more, he needs a break anyway. They had a nightmare? Maybe they should have a sleepover!

The kid just needs to be careful not to do many of those things in front of Barbatos. Otherwise, the butler would chastise both.

He’s highly proud of them when they dive into a friendship with you; seeing their eagerness and comfortability around your presence as a sign for keeping the student exchange program going.

Still, he finds the need to have a somewhat serious conversation with them about you, your purpose in the Devildom and your status as a human; the imbalance in power and biology that makes you both so different.

As time passes and his own friendship with you deepens, so do his feelings. He isn’t obvious about it, or at least he tries, but his kid inherited his observation skills and soon innocent suggestive comments are trailing behind him everywhere he goes.

The situation amuses him and makes his heart flutter with enthusiasm.

With encouragement like this, how could he not try to pursue you?

Barbatos

I like to think there’s some kind of errand boy roaming around the castle. Not necessarily a boy, but still a child doing a little bit of everything and helping whoever gives an order. They’re quick and cheeky, making the staff cheerier and less stressed about their chores, and Barbatos finds them surprisingly charming.

He doesn’t mind them running between his legs as long as they know when to stop and don’t hinder his work and, unlike the little Ds, that turns out to be what happens.

Barbatos tries not to get attached at first and a long time passes until he can’t deny the affection he feels for the little devil.

When I say long, I mean long.

Decades, even a couple of centuries, unable to ignore the lack of parental presence in the child’s life. They’re always in the castle, going from one point to another, talking to everyone and sticking to no one. The few moments they have to rest are spent with the prince’s butler, talking about their day with breathless excitement.

It’s a nice dynamic that Barbatos enjoys more and more with each passing day, but it isn’t until the rest of the staff informs him of every little thing the kid does that he finally realizes how deep he has fallen into the rabbit hole.

He is a father figure.

Again.

He isn’t complaining, not at all, but it still surprises him.

More time passes until he gathers the courage to ask Lord Diavolo for a room inside the castle for the child to sleep in. His cheeks are warm when he specifies he’d prefer if the room were close to his and the embarrassment only grows when the prince laughs out loud with excitement.

By the time you are introduced as the second human exchange student, everyone treats the kid as Barbatos’s and they even call him ‘father’ when they’re alone. Neither are ashamed of their mutual affection, but they’d rather keep it private.

The child likes to tease you harmlessly, joking around, asking pertinent questions under the disguise of childish innocence and appearing out of nowhere when you least expect it.

They won’t mind if you lightly reprimand them for their constant playful behaviour, that’s what their father does after all, but they’ll quickly love you if you joke back.

Either way, he likes to follow you around and Barbatos instantly notices. It piques his curiosity and warms his heart, but with how highly the child talks about you and how much you captivate him on your own, he starts to wonder if he should’ve pulled the kid away from you since the beginning.

His strong feelings for you are foreign, but not unwelcomed. He’s just too vigilant of all the possible outcomes.

Fortunately for you, for every doubt Barbatos has about these feelings, the child has a dozen reasons to make them stronger.

Solomon

How many wives did King Solomon have again? How many concubines? How many children out of all of those partners?

I’m not saying that any of those children succeeded in achieving immortality like him, I doubt that could’ve happened so early in his life, but outliving human partners doesn’t mean that Solomon chose to refuse to have any more partners at all.

I can see him entering a relationship with someone who has a longer lifespan and, regardless of that arrangement being casual or committed, having a child with them.

Maybe the other parent passed away, maybe they didn’t want to be in a relationship, maybe they tried and failed to stay together… who knows, you can choose your favourite. The conclusion here is that Solomon kept the child and raised them alone.

Feral child vibes, I fear.

As devious as their father and completely oblivious to it, they are too curious for their own good. Exploration and experimentation through trial and error are fairly common practices in the family and the only reason Solomon isn’t worried is because he’s sure nothing wrong will happen as long as he is there.

The kid may appear at the front door of their house with an eldritch horror-looking creature and Solomon would be like: ‘You’re doing amazing, sweetie’.

He knows introducing his child to a human infant is not the best of ideas. They would have to move places constantly due to their slow ageing to not raise suspicion and that would be completely unfair to the kid. They’re allowed to have permanent friends their age, after all, not a playmate turned into a babysitter or faceless companions that would disappear in their memories over time.

So they mostly engage with other immortal beings, like witches, demons and fellow sorcerers.

That saddens Solomon in a way; the human part he passed to his child is slowly dying due to lack of interaction.

This is why the human exchange program Diavolo proposes is so interesting to him.

Not only is he going to meet one of his kind in a world he easily moves around, but his child is also going to get the opportunity to be with another human in an environment they feel comfortable in.

It goes as well as you could expect.

Both of them are curious and eager to meet you, but at the beginning of your friendship it feels more like academic research. You stick to the brothers and their antics and they stick to the angels and their kindness.

If Luke is a Chihuahua, then Solomon’s kid is a thirteen-year-old delirious Yorkie.

As time passes and your friendship develops into something more genuine, Solomon can’t help but feel like he’s finally breathing fresh air after being locked in a cave for years.

His child still explores their surroundings, but there’s a new hope in their actions that he knows doesn’t come from him. It’s true childlike wonder and care towards their subject of study. An appreciation of life only a mortal would express.

You don’t understand how much you changed his child’s life.

And you don’t understand how much he loves you for it.

Simeon

I mean.

Luke.

He already is a single father in canon.

I don’t know how angels are born in the game, but they do grow up. Maybe Luke just spawned and was put under Simeon’s direct care, but there isn’t any mention of other parental figures in Luke’s life back in the Celestial Realm (although that may be due to the game being lazy with lore).

We know Michael is Luke’s hero, but not a father figure, so Simeon as a single father makes total sense.

A single mom who works two jobs and loves her kids and never stops.

Jk, jk…

But for real, though.

Simeon is thoughtful, affectionate, careful with Luke’s emotions and conscious about his need to mature and grow up. He treats him like a child, because that’s what he is, but tries not to infantilize him to not hurt his dignity.

While proud of Luke’s morals and golden heart, Simeon wants to make him see not everything is black and white and he’s allowed to have opinions that can differ from what they’ve been taught.

Some demons are good, some humans are consciously devious and some angels need to reevaluate their priorities.

It is a difficult task since Luke is certainly stubborn, but spending time in the Devildom is the perfect opportunity to prove that point.

Thankfully, your presence only helps Simeon change Luke’s judgemental thoughts. You are patient, easy-going and lighthearted and don’t get too stressed when the young angel refuses to reject his views on demons.

They both enjoy spending time with you because your soul is still kind and free of punishment, but for Simeon is much more than that.

He enjoys being with you because it feels natural and because knowing you feels like the greatest gift he has received in a very long time.

Believe him, Luke’s praises about you have nothing to do with the love he has for you. Those are just an additional bonus.

Taglist: @ilovecandys2010 @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion @whimsybloom

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stinkywritin · 9 months

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Late Night Devil

Lee Heeseung x male reader

Short synopsis: You catch a glimpse of the mysterious figure and your life’s forever changed…

…a nice way of saying gay vampire Heeseung brain rot

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, essentially PWP, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap), top!Heeseung, bottom!male reader, oral (reader receiving), biting kink, praise kink, FILTH IM SORRY

Title from song Teeth by 5 Seconds of Summer

(a reupload a my favorite fic from my old blog)

You felt eyes on you ever since you arrived at the party.

Ever since you walked through the front doors with your mother and father, you felt as though you were being watched. No matter how many times you turned around and checked, there wasn’t anyone looking.

Not until you got to the banquet hall.

Everything was draped in luxurious red cloth, the high ceilings connected to a glass dome which allowed the guests a full view of the starry night sky. The tables adorned with the finest tablecloths and expensive tableware you felt nervous picking up for fear of breaking it, the near overwhelming amount of candlelight contrasting the darkness of the night. The dark wooden chairs complimented the equally as dark tables, the ballroom devoid of all color except for the hints of burgundy.

You continued to feel watched over even as you slid down onto one of the chairs next to your mother, your black coat draped over the back of the chair as you fiddled with the silver rings on your hand. One of the rings on your finger was etched with your family crest, handed down from your father once you became of adult age and joined your father’s oil business. Light organ notes danced in the air as the chatter amongst guests grew louder, more families arriving and filling up the tables.

“Sit up straight Y/N!” Your mother scorned you, her previous lecture of maintaining the family image still ringing in your ears. Her voice sounded strained through the tight corset, you were pretty sure her internal organs were all smushed together. A tight lipped smile stretched on her face as she looked around the banquet hall, many other families and members of higher society. Politicians, heirs to fortunes, royal family members, everyone who had more money than they knew what to do with.

Through your father’s business, your family was ranked fairly high on the social status, no where near the level of royalty but definitely a name with notoriety. You being the eldest son meant you’re the child who received the burden of continuing you family’s legacy, expected to not only further your business’s success but to also hand it down to another son. Either this or marry into an even richer family but you were never interested in any of the female suitors your father brought to you, denying any advance before retreating into your studies.

Your father suddenly beckoned you to his side across the hall, champagne glass in hand along with the most manufactured smile while speaking to other men with the same expressions. Your face was devoid of any emotion as you walked to join his side, the light tapping of your shoes on the banquet hall tile was drowned out by the band in the corner.

It’s not that you didn’t like your father, quite frankly you didn’t know enough about him in order to form a sold opinion about him. You’d seen his multimillion dollar company run so many small villages into the ground, clearing out acres of land for hopes of even drilling a single drop of oil. You heard the protests of the people in your country, pleading for companies to stop their mindless destruction of land but like all the other companies, your father didn’t listen. You had no intention of continuing the family business, hoping that maybe one of your siblings would take it over or that you could personally destroy it from the inside out. Plans to escape the damned family business flooded your mind as you stood next to your father, stone faced as he bragged to a distant colleague about whatever bullshit rich old men brag about.

It was during a conversation about coal plants that you saw him for the first time.

Your eyes mindlessly moved along the grand staircase, up along the marbled railing of the balcony, before spotting him alone with his hands folded along the railing. Eyes instantly meeting yours.

His skin was perfectly smoothed and sculpted, his appearance statuesque as he held strong eye contact with you. The darkness in his eyes matched the slant in his grin, a devious smirk was on his lips as his eyes raked you in, seemingly drawing you closer to him. The dark strands on his head complimented the dark velvet coat on his shoulders, the ruffles of his white shirt peaking forward elegantly.

“Y/N what do you think?” Your father’s voice interrupted your speechless encounter with the brunette, ripping your eyes from the beauty before you to bring you back to Earth. Dante himself wouldn’t be able to fully capture the beauty of the man you laid your eyes on, his descriptions of heaven coming second to the allure of the man who captured your attention.

“Sorry come again?” You replied haphazardly, already tuning out the conversation before you look back up to the gorgeous creature from before. Only in the mere seconds you looked away, he had vanished. Your bewildered eyes searched all over the balcony for him, refusing to believe he was a figment of your imagination.

“Sorry gentlemen please excuse me one moment” you politely moved away from the men, leaving behind a group of insulted men and your angry father. Your heart rate picked up as you began your search for the man from earlier, refusing to let him leave your life as quickly as he had entered.

Your footsteps echoed in the hallways of the palace, the tiled floor ways leading to multiple different rooms. You came across a portrait in a hallway far from the banquet hall, the frame picturing a family with an only child. A son whose eyes seemed to bore into your sole, the faces of the parents had been scratched out, the colors worn pale from age.

“Such a shame isn’t it?” A rich, melancholic voice startled you from your spot before the portrait, the handsome stranger from before suddenly appearing behind you. You hadn’t heard his footsteps, nor any other indication he was near you. “The colors were much more divine when the portrait was freshly made.”

“When was it painted?” You asked the stranger, his smile was playful as his eyes shifted from you to the painting.

His hands were folded behind his lower back as he spoke up, “I stopped counting after the third century.”

Well fuck. Even though everything about that response screamed ‘don’t come near me I’m dangerous,’ something about the way his eyes flatly observed the portrait before you pulled you in for more.

“Do you know the family?” You asked, your voice wavering as you continued to take in his appearance. The man before you seemed to have discarded his coat, the silk of his white shirt now on full display. There wasn’t a single wrinkle, every fold was pressed neatly on his body. If elegance was a person it truly would be him.

“Do you always stutter when asking questions?” His eyes quickly turned to make eye contact with you, a playful slant adorned his lips at his teasing. You couldn’t help the rush of heat to your face, hopefully he couldn’t see the blush on your face but judging by how his smile grew, it was evident he saw it.

“I guess only when I’m talking to pretty people” you shrugged, your eyes traveling away from his to study the portrait once again. The scratch marks on the faces of the parents tore through the canvas, making it obvious someone took a knife to the portrait. Although the colors were muted, you didn’t doubt that the robes and silks worn by the parents were more expensive than your father’s entire company. Then there was the little boy. He looked no more than 6 years of age, cheeks puffed and eyes full of childlike wonder, his face was the only one still remaining on the portrait.

“You can do better than juvenile pick up lines” the man scoffed, your eyes snapping back to him just in time to see him stifle a laugh. “This isn’t a school courtyard.”

You let out a chuckle, already cringing on your cheesy one liner. “I apologize for that sir but I don’t apologize for the pretty laugh it let me hear from you.” Now it was his turn to blush.

It was the chiming of the bells from the clock tower that erased the relaxed feeling between you two.

“Excuse me sir L/N but I’m afraid that’s my queue to leave.” As he started to turn on his heal away from you, a tight feeling within you snapped and you reached out to grab his wrist. Immediately you felt his ice cold skin on your hand, his face contorted in shock as he looked back to you. “What are you-“

“How did you know my last name?” You interrupt him, his furrowed brows softening on his face.

“Seeing as how I made the guest list I’m well acquainted with your family Y/N” his cheeky grin was back, his wrist still in your grasp. You relaxed your hold to let him escape but instead he took another step closer towards you.

“You’re part of the Lee family?” You questioned, even if you already knew the answer. The Lee family was one of the wealthiest royal families in the country, owning a luxurious castle away from all the surrounding villages. Your father said they were weird and antisocial but seeing as how they donated to many charities and political campaigns in the villages, they were immensely powerful. No one from the Lee family held any political or government position in centuries but that didn’t mean they weren’t pulling the strings from afar.

“And you still don’t seem to know my name?” His spunky grin broke you from your deep thoughts. You were face to face with a member of one of the most powerful families in the country, your father’s complaints of their wealth ringing in your ears.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized. “I just didn’t think I’d ever meet someone from your family.” You honestly stated, barely noticing just how close he was to you. Your noses were mere inches apart, a strong enough breeze would’ve been able to bring you two together

“Heeseung.” His voice was slightly above a whisper before he continued, “my name is Lee Heeseung.”

Before your brain could talk you out of it, you took his hand in yours before bringing the back of his palm up to your mouth. You have a slight bow as you pressed a feather like kiss to his ice cold skin, you knew he still had that damn smirk on his face even if your eyes were closed. “It’s an honor to meet you Heeseung, I’m F/N L/N of the L/N family.”

“I’m aware” he snatched his hand back, although the grin was still plastered on his face. “This is my home after all.”

Before turning around to leave, he added “Meet me back here at midnight.” It wasn’t a question, more of an order, but you wouldn’t have refused either way.

“I’ll be waiting.” You gave one more curt bow, at which he scoffed and walked away from you. You noticed he wasn’t walking back in the direction of the banquet hall, in fact he was going in the opposite direction.

You turned back towards the portrait before you and as you looked at the boy in the painting again you felt a heavy weight in the pit of your chest. You could suddenly recognize the boy being Heeseung, a smiling young Heeseung. And suddenly the remark of the painting being more than three centuries old made that weight in your chest even heavier.

——

True to your word you returned to your unofficial meeting spot.

It was a pain in the ass trying to shake off your parent’s prying eyes and overwhelming amount of questions. You hid the fact that you had met — and flirted — with Lee Heeseung from both of your parents, you knew they would demand that you introduced them to him so you made up a lie about getting lost trying to find a bathroom. Seeing your parents fake smiles and having to endure a terrible sales pitch from your father was a special kind of hell that you didn’t want Heeseung to experience. Thankfully they believed your lie and didn’t press any further, leaving you alone for the rest of the evening.

It was a little before midnight, right when you were about to leave to see Heeseung again, that you spoke to your mother. You told her you would stay behind for a little while longer and that they should leave without you, that you’d call a cab later and meet them back at the house. She seemed hesitant to leave you, wanting to know why you would be staying behind but in the end she hesitantly left with your father.

“Just promise you’ll be back in the morning?” She pleaded, cradling your face in the palms of her hands. “Or at least call me in the morning to let me know you’re still alive?”

“Yes mother don’t worry I’ll let you know everything” you offered her a wide grin as she pulled back, the clicks of her heels hitting the tiled floor growing quieter. Once she had gotten in the car with your father, you turned and quickly walked back to the hallway from earlier that evening.

—-

The corridors were empty, only the sound of your hurried footsteps could be heard echoing off the walls. The painting was still just as magnificent as it was earlier in the evening, except as you footsteps took you close to it, you could feel that familiar weight in your chest again. The breaths picked up as you eyed the portrait again, this time feeling as though it was pulling you in.

“You came back” the same honey voice startled you, Heeseung suddenly appearing next to you. He grinned at your attempts to catch your breath, your eyes still wide from the scare he gave you.

“Of course” you huffed out, composing yourself by straightening your back to look him in the eye. “I had some questions.”

Heeseung quirked his head to the side while his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, the smile still plastered in his face. “Questions?” He paused, you gave a shaky nod in reply. “Alright well, ask away.”

“Is that you?” You pointed to the little boy in the portrait, his goddamn grin was making it ten times harder for you to focus on trying to make sense of him.

“Yes that’s me.” Heeseung flatly responded, his eyes traveling to look at the portrait. “I think that was my sixth birthday if I can recall correctly.”

“And you said this was made over three centuries ago correct?” Your voice was wavering, your whole body feeling heavy with anxiety and dread. “How old are you?”

“Y/N don’t you know it’s considered rude to ask someone their age when you first meet?” Heeseung’s met with yours again, seemingly able to bore holes into your brain. As if he could sense the panic coursing through your veins, he sighed before answering “I can’t remember how old I am or how many years are passing by, they all seem to blur together and over time I found it’s easier to not count my age anymore.”

Heeseung’s entire demeanor changed; he was no longer carrying himself with a high level of confidence, instead of the usual cockiness there was a melancholic tone to his voice as he longingly stared at the portrait.

He continued, “I was normal just like you, just human. Until at age 20 I was turned into this by my lover. He turned me into this so that we could be together for all of eternity but shortly after I turned he was killed by some hunters from a village up north. I was 20, a freshly turned vampire and completely estranged by my family for choosing a male lover.” He clutched something in his hand, turning it over before he took a seat on the tiled floor. His back was pressed against the dark walls as he beckoned you to sit next to him.

Once you were sat next to him, your hands making contact with the cold tiles of the floor as your back rested against the wall, you could see a small locket in his hands. The metal was scuffed and old, showing signs of years of use.

“This family,” Heeseung continued. “It’s made up of vampires from all over the country who are just like me. No family to turn to, no friends and partners to depend on, nothing. The Lee family took me in, no questions asked and I’ve been here since. And while the banquets and parties have been quite distracting, I still haven’t been able to find anyone to grow closer to, not since I died and became this.”

A fresh tear had escaped from Heeseung’s eye, it traveled down his cheek until hitting the floor, the man not bothering to wipe it away.

“I’m sorry Heeseung” you shakily whispered, hoping your voice was loud enough to be heard by the vampire next to you. The weight you had felt in your chest earlier — the intense panic over what creature Heeseung was and whether or not he was dangerous — had started dissipating at his words. Not entirely however, and it seemed Heeseung could still sense the remaining anxieties.

“Don’t apologize I haven’t even answered your question yet,” Heeseung wiped the remains of his tears off of his cheek while letting out a small — forced — chuckle. You were forced to go to banquets and business meetings and a bunch of other gatherings of snobby rich people, you were used to fake smiles and even faker laughs; however Heeseung’s was the most heartbreaking of all.

“As for age all I can say for sure is that I’ve been a vampire for a little over 400 years,” Heesung’s fingers messed with the locket in his hand as he spoke. “Anything else you’d like to ask Mr. L/N”

Heeseung had cocked his head to look at you, his eyes instantly letting yours. Sitting beside you was a supposed ‘creature of the undead’, something that up until recently you believed to be fake and the material for fiction. And yet the way Heeseung’s smile seemed to fill your being with bliss was anything but fiction, the way he had drawn you in even if you had only met that evening was a beautiful reality.

But that doesn’t mean you don’t still have questions.

“If you say you ran away to join this family how did you get that painting?” The teasing in your tone evoked a surprised laugh from Heeseung, the atmosphere surrounding you two had lightened, no longer full of worry.

“I’ve been alive longer than your great grandparents don’t question how I get stuff brat” Heeseung playfully pinched your shoulder, sending you two into a lighthearted scuffle that ended with Heeseung’s thighs straddling your lower torso.

“Ok I yield!” You huffed out between fits of laughter. As your chest rose and fell from your attempts to catch your breath, you could suddenly feel how close Heesung was. His hands held your wrists to the floor, his upper body draped over yours. “Okay one last question.”

“Ugh enough with the questions!” Heeseung chuckled out. After seeing the pleading look in your eyes he nodded his head, telling you it was okay to ask what was on your mind.

“Why did you ask me to come back here at midnight?” You asked, the underlying tone of your question being ‘are you going to kill me because I would please like to know in advance’.

“Is my interest in you not obvious enough?” Heeseung softly replied, grin widening when he sees the blush rise to your face. The hands that were on your wrists were now interlocking with yours, his hands delicately squeezing yours as he rested his forehead atop yours. “And here I was thinking you were also interested.”

“I am!” You helped out, causing a fit of giggles to erupt from Heeseung at your eagerness.

Heeseung’s hands were still interlocked with yours as he calmed down, his face still so close to yours. The way his eyes were sparkling with joy made the weight dissipate completely. Heeseung’s faced leaned impossibly closer to yours, his lips mere centimeters away from yours. “You’re so gorgeous the second I saw you I knew I had to talk to you. I knew I would miss the rest of the banquet because I had some business to take care of with another town’s mayor. Corrupt politicians and what not, such a pain to clean blood stains on carpets by the way.” Heeseung rolled his eyes at his comment, you could feel your heart rate pick up at the way his eyes flicked between your eyes and your lips.

“But I knew I had to see you again which is why I asked you to meet me here.” You felt your dick twitch at his words, the smirk playing on his lips was evidence he felt it too.

He started to slowly — so achingly slowly — roll his hips over your bulge. “The entire job I pleaded with the universe to let me see you again, all I could think about was how gorgeous you are Y/N.”

“Heeseung” you panted out, the fabric around your cock getting tighter. “Please kiss me.”

“Absolutely my love” Heeseung’s lips slotted perfectly with yours, your body heat felt as though it rose an extra 30 degrees. The way his lips fit with yours felt like an explosion of pure bliss, immediately opening your mouth to let his tongue in. The way Heeseung kissed you as if he was planning on devouring you made your head spin.

It could’ve been 30 seconds or 3 years but the kiss felt of pure heaven. No amount of time would ever be enough to fully satisfy the need you felt for each other, you thought this as Heeseung’s hip rolls began getting faster. After a particularly loud moan escaped your lips, Heeseung murmured into your ear, “Let me take you to bed my beauty.”

You eagerly nodded as he lifted you both up on your feet, leading you to his bedroom door while having his hand interlaced with yours. You two couldn’t help the giggles or the chaste kisses while you ran to his room.

—-

“Lie on your back for me sweetheart” Heeseung’s voice has seemed to drop a few octaves, sounding huskier as he pushed you back onto his silk sheets and started undoing the buttons on his shirt.

You quickly undid the laces of your boots, chucking them across the room before fumbling with the buttons on your shirt. You huffed in annoyance as you had difficulty getting your shirt off, Heeseung — who was now shirtless — took notice of your frustration and let out a low chuckle. His hands clasped yours as he placed them on you, slowly moving your hands down onto the bed before eagerly grabbing the collar of your blouse and tearing the fabric open. You gasped at the sound of the fabric ripping but quickly began to let out a deep groan as Heeseung began placing soft kisses down your chest. His lips were ice cold, making goosebumps rise all over your body from the drastic shift in temperature.

“There’s no time for slowly unbuttoning clothing” Heesung whispered into the skin on your sternum. His eyes switched back up to meet yours, the look of pure lust painting his eyes, “I want you now.”

“Then take me.” You gasped as Heeseung pushed your upper body down onto his bed, grabbing your hips and quickly pulling down your trousers and underwear, leaving you bare under him. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him close to you to bring him into another heated kiss. You felt the fabric of his pants on your cock as he began to grind his clothed bulge onto yours. The friction causing you to bite at his lower lip, your fingernails scratching onto the skin on his shoulders. One of his hands moved to graze over your bulge, the cold skin causing a shiver to run up your spine.

Heeseung continued to kiss and bite at the skin on your jawline as he wrapped a hand around your cock, giving it a harsh but arousing tug. “Knew you would sound heavenly darling” Heeseung said into your ear, the strokes of his hand becoming more even. “Knew it the second I laid my eyes on you.”

“Heeseung-“ you were cut off by your own whine as Heesung sharply removed his hand to slap your thigh.

“That’s hyung to you brat” Heeseung gave your thigh another harsh smack before bringing two fingers up to your lips. The pads of his icy fingertips grazing along your lower lip so slightly you could barely feel it. “Now open up.”

You opened your mouth to let his fingers dance along your tongue, wrapping your lips around his fingers and sighing. Heeseung’s eyes were fixated on the sight of you sucking on his fingers, his cock growing harder. He pulled his fingers out from your mouth before sliding them over your tight hole, inserting one finger in as you gasped in surprise. His fingers were still so, so cold, causing you to shiver again.

He slowly worked his finger in and out of your hole, teasing his second one before pushing them both in and stretching you open. As his fingers worked to stretch you open, Heeseung licked a stripe from your thigh to the base of your cock. You let out a loud yelp as he licked up the length of your cock, your hands flying to yank at the dark locks on his head. “Oh hyung that feels so good” you moaned out, your eyes squeezing shut from the overwhelming waves of pleasure that were washing over your body.

His fingers quickened their pace as Heeseung’s dark eyes looked up at you, he whispered with the head of your cock pressed against his bottom lip, “cum in my mouth gorgeous.” Heeseung’s mouth took you in, warmth engulfing your entire body as you cried out in pleasure. You could feel the pleasure overcoming you, making your brain foggy as all your senses were being overwhelmed.

All of a sudden the coil in you snapped, you came down his throat as he eagerly swallowed every drop you let out. Even as you came down from the intense feeling, his fingers were still working you open — albeit at a slower pace. When his fingers grazed your prostate you shivered while your thighs began to shake, throwing Heeseung a confused gaze.

“You didn’t think we were done did you?” His smirk causing your thoughts to muddle, he abruptly removed his fingers before smacking your thigh again. “Sit up now darling I haven’t gotten my fix yet.”

He laid back against the dark wood of his bedpost, a pillow separating his lower back from the wood. He removed his pants and underwear before turning to you and patting his thigh, beckoning you over. You let out a small chuckle, your post orgasm brain somehow finding the cheesiness of it all a little amusing.

Heeseung tilted his head in confusion as you crawled over, placing his hands on your hips before saying, “why are you laughing, darling?” He pulled you down to sit on his lower torso, his cock nestled between your cheeks which caused the blush on your face to deepen in slight embarrassment.

“You’re so cute” you placed an innocent peck on his lips, Heeseung gave you what felt like a hundred more as a response. He held you close as the grin on his face grew larger, both of your giggles breaking the kisses. As you both calmed down from your giggling fit, the eye contact you held began intensifying. Heeseung’s eyes seemed to hold all the stars in the night sky with the way they sparkled up at you, the light blush on his face deepening as you held him close.

His hand ran through the hair on the nape of your neck, his wide eyes and large grin seemed to distract you from the fact that you were both completely bare. His finger started to drag from the bottom of your ear down the slope of your neck before whispering, “Can I bite you darling?”

You could feel your soft length grow interested at his question, your eyes widened as they filled with curiosity. “You want to turn me?” Your question made the vampire look up at you, an unreadable look in his eyes.

“I don’t have to turn you.” Heeseung started, his cold hands tightening their grip on your skin. “I can feed from you and as long as I don’t take too much you’ll still be alive and, well, human.”

When the word ‘feeding’ fell from the man’s lips, you suddenly remembered the man — the vampire — below you could very easily kill you in two ways; by either draining all the blood from your body or turning you into an undead creature for the rest of eternity.

“I’ve been alive a long time Y/N” Heeseung’s voice bringing you back to the present. He continued, “I can control my appetite, I will not take more than you can handle and I will stop if you tell me to. You have my word darling.”

Instead of giving him a verbal response, you tilt your head to the side to give him full access to your neck and collarbones and nodded. Heeseung’s hands roughly pulled your hips up, aligning his length with your entrance before pulling you back down to sit on his lap. Your body shivered at the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your veins, the head of Heeseung’s cock was pressing against your g spot, leaving you full.

As you tried moving your hips, Heeseung would stop your movements to slam you back down onto his lap. His hands moved from your hips further down to hold your ass, his tongue licking over a spot on the crook of your neck. Your neglected length had been interested even after already orgasming once, however all pleasure before this failed in comparison to the feeling of Heeseung’s fangs piercing into your skin. His hips moved achingly slowly as he sunk his teeth into your neck, your grip on him tightening. Even if you had only met Heeseung that night you already knew he had ruined sex with anyone else in the future, it would be only him for the rest of your existence.

Heeseung’s hips kept a slow pace, his soft groan was muffled while he fed from your neck. The intense pleasure coming from Heeseung’s movements juxtaposed the sharp pain on your neck, your post orgasm brain becoming even muddier. You felt Heeseung remove his fangs from your neck, placing kisses on the marks left behind while his hips picked up a faster pace. The sounds of your bodies moving together echoed throughout the room, your pants being interrupted by Heeseung’s voice in your ear giving you encouragements.

“There you go, that’s my good boy.”

“Knew I had to have you the second I laid my eyes on you.”

“Darling you tasted so good, did so well for me.”

“Be as loud as you can for me Y/N, don’t hold back.”

The familiar sensation from earlier came back, this time magnified by ten. You could feel your muscles tightening as you reached your climax, your grip on Heeseung’s shoulders becoming more tense.

“Hyung I’m close,” you whined out. His thrusts were precise and fast, aiming and nailing your g spot head on every time.

“How cute,” Heeseung’s low voice went straight to your hard cock, his hand wrapping around your length and stroking in tandem with his hips. He continued, “My good boy wants to cum for me a second time. Make a mess for me sweet boy, I’m right there with you.”

You reached a moment of euphoria, your entire body tightening up before you came all over Heeseung’s hand. You felt Heeseung reach his high because his thrusts stilled, his grip on your body tightened before he went slack. Your body slumped into his as you now began trying to catch your breath. You heard Heeseung let out a giggle as he held up your tired body.

“Nope you’re not getting off that easy.” Heeseung quickly flipped you onto your back below him, the speed shaking you awake. His body was bent over yours, he brought one of his hands up to your mouth and put his palm to your lips. It was the palm that was covered in your release, “lick it off baby, you’re helping me clean up.”

You quickly licked your release off his hand, holding eye contact with him the entire time so you could see his proud smirk. His lips graced yours once you finished, your entire body slugging back into the sheets below you. “I’ll be right back baby.”

Your eyelids felt heavy while you watched him get off his bed, making his way across the room while nude which gave you a shameless view of his body.

He returned momentarily with some bandaids, along with a glass of water. “Sit up for me darling,” he said as he sat down next to you, putting the glass of water into your hands once you were up right. You lazily drank from the cup as Heeseung applied the bandaids to the wounds on your neck. “It’s not too bad but better safe than sorry.”

It seemed the vampire’s entire demeanor had changed, his touches soft on your skin as he took your now empty cup and placed it elsewhere. He laid back next to you, pulling the covers over your bodies before pulling you closer to him. “How do you have so much energy?” You grumbled, looking up at the vampire to see his bright smile.

“I don’t get tired,” Heeseung’s hand carded through your hair and scratched your scalp as he started talking, making it very difficult to stay awake. He continued, “It’s that vampire stamina, I don’t need sleep or rest. I don’t eat food either, well besides blood but it doesn’t have to be human. I physically can sleep, I just don’t need it to function so it’s basically just a nap.”

“Does that mean you can go another round?” Your hand had been lazily tracing patterns onto the vampire’s cold skin, slowly moving down his torso. Your body was still sluggish from your two orgasms but seeing the devious glint in Heeseung’s eyes was lighting a flame to your body.

“I don’t think you can keep up with me baby” Heeseung roughly pulled the (H/C) strands on the back of your head, pulling you up to make direct eye contact with him. “But if you insist.”

His teeth grazed your bottom lip, the feeling of his fangs eliciting a high pitched whine from the back of your throat; you might’ve bitten off more than you could chew.

Authors Note: Hey it’s V sorry about deleting my old blog but I’ll bring back a majority of my old fics. If you enjoyed, thank you very much !!! These are v fun to make and help me take my mind off real life stuff lmao. That’s it for now, brb folks -V

#enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen x male reader #lee heeseung #lee heeseung x reader #lee heeseung x male reader

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novelizt · 11 months

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✨ IT'S BEEN WAITING FOR YOU ✨

📸 1989 TV SONGFIC COLLECTION INCLUDING :

tim drake, draco malfoy, peter parker, gojo satoru, percy jackson, anthony lockwood

❗Unfinished prompts are subject to change. Fics with no hyperlinks are coming soon!

📷 TRACK 1 : Welcome To New York

“ IT'S BEEN WAITING FOR YOU ” — TIM DRAKE

you start life at the big apple and unexpectedly meet a fortune teller who informs you of the name of your future husband. you try not to think too hard about it, but it's difficult. considering your boss has the same name as your future husband.

📷 TRACK 2 : Blank Space

“ DON'T SAY I DIDN'T SAY I DIDN'T WARN YOU ” — DRACO MALFOY

you act like a devil to get your husband to divorce you. only to discover that pushing him away only makes him hold on tighter.

📷 TRACK 3 : Style

“ WE NEVER GO OUT OF STYLE ” — TIM DRAKE

wayne enterprise heir x stark industries heiress

rivals in public, lovers in secret ; two heirs have an explicit arrangement because they can't risk their public image with anyone else.

📷 TRACK 4 : Out Of The Woods

“ WE WERE IN SCREAMING COLORS ” — ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

you think you're hard to love, but he loves you like it's breathing.

📷 TRACK 5 : All You Had To Do Was Stay

“ ALL YOU HAD TO DO WAS STAY ” — DRACO MALFOY

you and draco meet again after he had ignored you years before. he wants to tell you why he'd left but he doesn't know how you'd react to him being a criminal.

📷 TRACK 6 : Shake It Off

“ PLAYERS GONNA PLAY ” — GOJO SATORU

it's embarrassing to know that the rumors about you reach other schools. one faithful day, gojo satoru gives you unsolicited advice about doing the shit you want because you'd get hate whether or not you'd do it anyway. a bottle of wine later, and you begin to think he's right.

📷 TRACK 7 : I Wish You Would

“ I WISH YOU WOULD ” — PETER PARKER

your long-time friendship with peter had gone sour. after years of trying to put you behind bars, peter tries to save you from kraven, but you're not sure if you can trust him anymore.

“ I WISH WE COULD GO BACK AND REMEMBER WHAT WE WERE FIGHTING FOR ” — ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

PEERING EYES OVER WROUGHT-IRON FENCES

📷 TRACK 8 : Bad Blood

“ STILL GOT THE SCARS ON MY BACK FROM YOUR KNIFE ” — DRACO MALFOY

turning from childhood friends to enemies, and then learning to tolerate each other after the war is a storm waiting to happen. especially when he had tried to kill you and failed.

📷 TRACK 9 : Wildest Dreams

“ SAY YOU'LL REMEMBER ME ” — PERCY JACKSON

you and percy agree to only see each other for the summer but as august draws to a close, it gets harder and harder to untangle your fingers from his.

📷 TRACK 10 : How You Get The Girl

“ FOR WORSE OR FOR BETTER ” — PERCY JACKSON

hitman! percy

percy is hired to kill an important man in singapore, not expecting to meet and fall for his target's daughter.

📷 TRACK 11 : This Love

“ THIS LOVE CAME BACK TO ME ” — ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

you're back in town. as promised, lockwood welcomes you with open arms. the only difficulty was the fact that you kissed the last time you saw each other.

📷 TRACK 12 : I Know Places

“ I KNOW PLACES ” — PETER PARKER

marvel x pjo crossover ; daughter of athena! reader

peter's only trying to protect you but you're more scared of him than you are of the monsters coming after you.

📷 TRACK 13 : Clean

“ I THINK I AM FINALLY CLEAN ” — ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

lockwood was cursed to be alone. you prove that your love can break curses.

📷 TRACK 14 : Wonderland

“ YOU AND I GOT LOST IN IT ” — TIM DRAKE

you and tim are thrown into wonderland by mad mod. the line between fantasy and reality blur; now, tim stares at you like he wishes you weren't enemies.

“ IT'S ALL FUN AND GAMES 'TIL SOMEBODY LOSES THEIR MIND ” — ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

fantasy au!

you were a princess and you liked to dress in gold. one day, you're snatched by a dragon. come to find out that the dragon is a shape-shifting boy who thought you were a statue.

📷 TRACK 15 : You Are In Love

“ TRYING TO PUT IT INTO WORDS ” — TIM DRAKE

it's hard to find the right words to explain why you love tim.

📷 TRACK 16 : New Romantics

“ I CAN BUILD A CASTLE OUT OF ALL THE BRICKS THEY THROW AT ME ” — ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

you recruit the daring anthony lockwood to stage a relationship that will rile up the press.

— FROM THE VAULT !!

📷 TRACK 17 : "SLUT!"

“ LOVELORN AND NOBODY KNOWS ” — PETER PARKER

a publication comes out, announcing that your hero selves are dating. now, you and peter have to distance yourselves because one, mary jane watson—renowned journalist, has been suspecting you of having an alter ego.

“ IN A WORLD OF BOYS, HE'S A GENTLEMAN ” — ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

lockwood is tasked with the important task of protecting a foreign princess, you. you discovered that you liked his boyish charms more than expected.

📷 TRACK 18 : Now That We Don't Talk

“ THE MORE I GAVE, YOU'D WANT ME LESS ” — CHILDE

how bad can it be, to sleep with the enemy?

📷 TRACK 19 : Say Don't Go

“ I'M YOURS, BUT YOU'RE NOT MINE ” — ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

fantasy au!

you are the heir to the throne, soon to be coronated. he is your loyal guard. when repressed feelings come bubbling to the surface, it's hard to keep away. except, he has to, because a prince should be standing next to you, not him.

📷 TRACK 20 : Suburban Legends

�� BORN TO BE SUBURBAN LEGENDS ” — PETER PARKER

you became strangers when you thought you'd spend your whole lives together. one faithful day, peter gets sucked into an old polaroid picture, returning to the day it was taken; your 18th birthday.

📷 TRACK 21 : Is It Over Now?

“ FAST FORWARD TO 300 TAKEOUT COFFEES LATER ” — PETER PARKER

you and peter agreed to stop whatever was happening between you two for his sake. it wasn't good to date your employer's daughter, after all. the task wasn't easy when you work at the same place.

📷 HIDDEN TRACK : Sweeter Than Fiction

“ PROVED ME RIGHT WHEN YOU PROVED THEM WRONG ” — PETER PARKER

a lot of people had a lot to say about peter when his identity was revealed. he revered how you stuck by his side through all of that, even if all you did was run a fan account.

Feel free to message me if you want to be tagged in a certain fic 😊 I'm open to just squealing about our boys and/or Taylor Swift !!

🦋 — @novelizt 2023

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ladystoneboobs · 8 months

Text

[Bran, to Theon:]“But you’re Father’s ward.” [Theon, to Bran:]“And now you and your brother are my wards. [...] You’ll tell them how you’ve yielded Winterfell to me, and command them to serve and obey their new lord as they did the old.” -Bran VI, aCoK “He[Ramsay] is a great hunter,” said Wyman Manderly, “and women are his favorite prey. He strips them naked and sets them loose in the woods. They have a half day’s start before he sets out after them with hounds and horns. From time to time some wench escapes and lives to tell the tale. Most are less fortunate. When Ramsay catches them he rapes them, flays them, feeds their corpses to his dogs, and brings their skins back to the Dreadfort as trophies. If they have given him good sport, he slits their throats before he skins them. Elsewise, t’other way around.” -Davos IV, aDwD [Roose, to Theon, about Ramsay's mother:]"[...]I was hunting a fox along the Weeping Water when I chanced upon a mill and saw a young woman washing clothes in the stream. The old miller had gotten himself a new young wife, a girl not half his age. She was a tall, willowy creature, very healthy-looking. Long legs and small firm breasts, like two ripe plums. Pretty, in a common sort of way. The moment that I set eyes on her I wanted her. Such was my due. [...] This miller’s marriage had been performed without my leave or knowledge. The man had cheated me. So I had him hanged, and claimed my rights beneath the tree where he was swaying. If truth be told, the wench was hardly worth the rope. The fox escaped as well, and on our way back to the Dreadfort my favorite courser came up lame, so all in all it was a dismal day." -Reek(/Theon) III, aDwD

something something the way theon tries to rectify his childhood trauma by taking his captor's place as lord of wf and taking ned's younger sons as his "wards"/hostages, while ramsay repeatedly reenacts different versions of his own conception by hunting and raping peasant women. except theon fails in his role reversal when (unlike him in his own captivity at wf) bran and rickon escape custody. and ramsay enhances roose's "dismal day" by killing all the women he catches to prevent any more bolton bastards and further punishing those of them who fail to give him "good sport" (which his mother apparently did not give roose) while those who do satisfy him are "honored" with a quick death (and a canine namesake). and then the consequences of theon's failure to replace his captor/cold noerthern father figure include losing wf to house bolton and becoming the new "reek"/another of ramsay's dogs. (meaning he made himself ramsay's prey but gave him "good sport" in the experience)

ramsay starts out as deceptive dark trickster figure/evil adviser/devil on theon's shoulder in clash but he's also a dark mirror of theon, and a more successful one at that, not just better suited to villainy but more able to get away with his crimes. neither will ever be truly accepted by their fathers but ramsay is made heir once he's the only son while theon is rejected as such despite his better birth. ramsay profits from the alleged kinslaying of his actual brother by blood, while theon is more openly condemned (and seen as still not punished enough) for (falsely) killing stark boys who were never his actual kin. it's almost as if ramsay is an evil force who came into being to find theon and was drawn to him upon his return to the north. we first learn of the bastard of bolton's existence after theon returns to pyke and learns of his father's invasion plans, then his last hunt with the original reek just shortly precedes the ironborn attacks, all so that he's captured and waiting in wf right in time for theon's real plan to go into action, and we don't actually meet (disguised) ramsay in-person through dialogue with rodrik cassell or any other northerner but only when theon arrives as the new lord to free him from the dungeon. as the first reek may have corrupted ramsay, ramsay-as-reek corrupts theon. reek belongs to ramsay and ramsay belongs to reek.

#valyrianscrolls #asoiaf meta #asoiaf #theon greyjoy #ramsay snow #happy theon thursday!#(c)lsb #reek belongs to ramsay and ramsay belongs to reek

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sebastianswallows · 2 months

Text

The English Client — Thirty-five

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: none

— WORDCOUNT: 2.6k

— TAGLIST: @esolean @localravenclaw @slytherins-heir @thiefofthecrowns

Mr. Malfoy was losing his patience, although nobody would have been able to tell by looking at him. He sat as still and poised as a child at school, dressed in his muggle best, in a room well out of sight of all the other bidders going home. They filed out past the closed door, some stumbling drunk, some laughing, all of them loud and uncouth. Muggles. One by one they all had left within the hour, so when he heard the trapdoor open and steps approaching from the other room, he knew exactly who it was.

“What took you so long?” he thundered at the figure that appeared.

“Pardonnez-moi, monsieur,” said Donatien, bowing deeply in the doorway.

“Bring it over, you incompetent cur.”

The young man stepped forward, moving more slowly than Malfoy would’ve liked, and with a deliberately mocking sort of grace, presented the package. Malfoy took it from him, brow cocked coldly at Donatien. The boy lacked his usual obeisance. He even dared to smile at him. It bothered Septimus, but not enough to distract him from the book. Donatien stood back and to his left, out of sight.

“You’re rather quiet. Done all your croaking for the day? Irksome frog.”

Donatien did not respond, not that he needed to. Mr. Malfoy made short work of the wrappings, tearing off the carefully tied bow and throwing it, velvet wrap and all, onto the ground.

“Petty frills and ostentations. Is this what they wasted your time with downstairs?”

“Oui, monsieur.”

Malfoy grunted something scathing as his dry hands fumbled with the box.

“You’ve been speaking English too often on my account,” he said. “That accent sounds quite wrong, boy. You haven’t forgotten your own language, have you?”

He was too distracted afterwards to pay any attention to Donatien, although he was not so insensitive as not to feel a wave of anger from above his shoulder. None of it mattered, not more than Malfoy’s own anger at being kept waiting on what was the most important night of at least the last ten years for him. His hands were nearly shaking.

It had taken years to track down this book, one of the very last of its kind. The other two were well out of his reach, and this one would’ve been as well if not for his careful planning. Finding out about the Baron was easy, but making his way into his secret auctions took more skill than any muggle endeavour was worth. If not for his connections among vampires he might never have made it this far, and to his great fortune Ambrogio far respected wizards above his non-magical peers. And now he’d finally made it. He had in his grasp, in his old lap, that book the whispers of which caused shivers to run down his spine when he’d first heard of it some thirty years ago.

The lid clattered to the floor and the book was in his hands. At last.

He opened it, fingers almost trembling and read the title page.

“There you are, my beauty,” Malfoy whispered. From over his shoulder, Donatien could see his bone-white fingers trace the frontispiece. The inky devil on its throne waved silently at him, small as the palm of his hand yet dignified and cold. Each line, a thread of darkness pressed into the white that centuries had barely touched. Above, Delomelanicon. Below, Aristide Torchia & LCF. “Mine… At last.”

It was a marvel. At every turn of the page a touch of magic. The illustrations, headings, footnotes, the text that went from edge to edge in neat stout paragraphs in Latin, it made for an intimidating piece of art that hid the foulest magic. It was, under Donatien’s admiring gaze, like a nightmare given birth.

The air around them stilled. Mr. Malfoy read under his breath a spell from a page he paused upon at random but he was too frightened to actually cast it, and as he held it in his hands he had the distinct impression that he was close to dropping the book to the ground. It was a dizzying experience as if he could sense the very turning of the earth or the rushing of his blood inside him... Somehow, he knew the book wished to be placed upon an illuminated surface, shared, and read. It took a great deal of self-control to close it again and the sound of its shut maw echoed through the room. He sighed and closed his tired eyes, and inwardly felt grateful that he’d come all the way to buy the book himself rather than send his useless son. Abraxas was too busy throwing wasteful dinner parties for his friends — not that reading had ever been his forte.

“Shall I take it from you, sir?”

“I did not ask for your help!”

Donatien remained quiet for a moment.

“But yes. Take it,” said the wizard, caressing the book on his lap one last time.

Then, with some reluctance, he held it up. Donatien took the book with care, lifting it from the old wizard’s hand and into his possession. Mr. Malfoy didn’t even have time to regret it for a satisfied peal of laughter followed and the old wizard felt the unmistakable press of a wand tip at his temple.

Tom looked into Mr. Malfoy’s eyes like a baker checking a bun in the oven. He smiled at what he saw. Complete and utter contentment was there together with the usual arrogance, all in a mind that presently tried to catch up to its reality.

“Thank you, Donatien. You may go on ahead. Place it in my suitcase at the hotel.”

By now the Polyjuice potion had faded away and all of Tom’s features were his own, but that made no difference to Mr. Malfoy, not in the state he was in. He’d be lucky if that Obliviate didn’t leave his brains scrambled forever, but Tom had been planning for a while now exactly what memories to alter and which to wipe.

“Yes, sir,” he said with an overly enthusiastic bow.

His, finally his, and even old Malfoy didn’t stand in his way anymore. He’d eliminated everyone else who could — Oso, the Baron, even Donatien and Clement who foolishly thought they could have robbed a man like Malfoy themselves. Tom was so pleased with himself that it felt a real shame to give this book away to somebody like Burke, not after all the trouble he went through. But there was enough time left to make some arrangements.

With a chuckle, he turned to leave the room, book safe in hand. It had been given to him freely, after all. No spell could prevent him from taking it out of the building now… And by the time Malfoy returned to England empty-handed and realised something was wrong, the book would be far from Italy as well. Its protection spell, however cleverly designed, was no match for Tom’s designs.

But his smile died when he looked up and saw who was standing in the doorway. In her fingers, hanging limply, was a thin piece of paper — the receipt he had forgotten to take.

“Oh, fuck.”

Confusion, fear, panic. His heart dropped at the prospect of having to Obliviate her as well. She saw him still wearing Donatien’s clothes, saw him hold his wand and cast the spell, witnessed the unravelling of Mr. Malfoy’s mind — which was probably why she hadn’t said a word the whole time she was there. Now, she looked at him in innocent and sweet confusion and with every fevered heartbeat he could see her putting it all together in her head. She wasn’t just an ordinary muggle, after all. Her profession exposed her many times to the notion that magic was real… And now she’d seen it.

But instead of stepping away, pointing a finger accusingly at him and calling him ‘witch’, or even any hint of fear — instead of all of that, she came to him, admiration in her eyes. She looked at the enchanted Mr. Malfoy, his gaze no more intelligent than that of a child’s, and then at Tom again. He was breathless for long moments, and for the first time in a while felt… scared. Just as he’d been in fifth year when Dumbledore refused to let him stay at Hogwarts over Christmas. He felt the same violent surges as then, his whole self reduced to a volatile point. He was so distracted that he could hardly read what was going on behind her eyes.

“Tom,” she said with an uncertain smile.

“Yes?” he said, a little roughly.

“Why are you wearing Donatien’s clothes?”

“He, erm, let me b-borrow them?”

“And… did Mr. Malfoy let you borrow his book as well?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. I’m… looking after it for him.”

“Are you?” she said, her eyes lit with playfulness. She had the same sugary tone she did when they came across a stray cat and she wanted to entice it close enough to pet.

“I will see it all the way to England, in fact.”

There, he said. It was a naked challenge, and Tom could see her smile fade with the meaning of it. Between them, Mr. Malfoy groaned and rested his head in his hands as the effects of the memory charm finished taking root inside his mind.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Headache,” said Tom, and he quickly grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her away. “We shall fetch you a cup of tea, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Sod the tea,” growled the old wizard, his voice strained with the effort to keep his dinner down. “Where’s my wand?”

Tom shut the door behind them but not fast enough. The sound of dry heaving came through, muffled and confused, and in the quiet of the empty shop it seemed all the louder. The question was already in her eyes, which quickly flitted to the wand he held. Even though it was no use, he tucked it behind him.

“I knew that wasn't just a good luck charm!”

“Listen, you —”

He wanted to say that she was just imagining things but it would have been a stupid thing to do. There was no fooling her, not with everything that happened right before her eyes… Tom sighed, frustrated by his own stupidity and carelessness.

“I, what?”

He knew the only solution was to Obliviate her too… But the longer he waited, the harder it was to do. She was beautiful, standing so close, looking up at him, demanding that he share everything with her. Her hair was messier than when he’d kissed her last — still disguised as Donatien — her hands were dark with dust, her shirt unbuttoned at the top after a long night of working. He could see her blushing still, probably piecing it together and realising what he’d done. She may not have known how, but finding him in the French boy’s clothes cast the shrowd of guilt over him. Tom felt suffocated by it. And Mr. Malfoy… One didn’t need to know a lot of magic to figure out what happened there. He could hardly look at her — the accusations there, the fear, and memories of how his mother died rushing through his mind.

But when he looked into her eyes with all the shame of a child caught stealing sweets, and the wide expectant shine of them made a certain hope grow in his chest, wild and rampant like a rose bush.

“You did something to Mr. Malfoy, didn’t you?”

Tom kept quiet, fingers growing stiff around the wand, and waiting, waiting for her shock to turn to terror.

“D-did you… curse him or something?”

“Not… exactly.”

From behind the closed door, another wave of retching could be heard. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, gaze drifting, mind working fervently behind those tired eyes as she took in his clothes again — the awkward fit of them now that he didn’t have Donatien’s body — and the book in his hand and the other arm twisted around his back trying to hide that stick of his. She looked into his eyes reading things there he dared not even guess at and licked her lips to speak.

“Are you a… erm, a magician?”

In her voice was all the innocent wonder his own voice had one rainy day at Wool’s.

“The, ahem, the proper term is ‘wizard’.”

Was she going to laugh? She didn’t laugh. He feared she might scream instead but she didn’t do that either. Between them hung only a heavy silence, his blood cold, his body stiff, a slave in waiting for what she had to say.

“Tom!” she gasped. “That’s amazing!”

He looked into her eyes and frowned but seeing her smile at him made dangerous emotions grow. His brows smoothed and his lips curled at the edges and he felt on the verge of picking her up in his arms and twirling her. She’d looked at him many times in joy and sorrow but never quite like that — like she wanted to hug him and kiss him and crawl into his soul.

Was that his heart set aflutter or someone knocking on the door?

They turned together and hurried toward the sound — it was coming from the entrance. They found Frederico there, behind the glass, looking terrified and tired with his coat thrown messily about him as if he’d just been roused from bed. A taxi was waiting behind him.

“Open up!” he shouted. “The Baron’s dead!”

III

The Baron was found dead, or parts of him were. It was difficult to tell because his library had been set on fire with him inside of it. His secretary, Berit, was nowhere to be found. As Fred rambled on Mr. Malfoy stumbled past them, still dazed and somewhat angry that Donatien had gone to the hotel ahead of him. Without a word, he took Fred’s taxi and drove off, leaving them stranded at the shop.

The Carabinieri had tried to reach both her and Tom at their homes, but as they were at the auction all night they were forced to search further afield, and so reached out to Fred.

And now all poor Fred could do was tell them what had happened over an unsweetened cup of coffee. Tom took care to hide the Delomelanicon at the first opportunity while she sat Fred down and started brewing a fresh pot.

“They… they said arson was suspected.”

“But who could —”

“He had many enemies.”

“Yes, Tom, but arsonists?!”

“No, no, no, the Baron was a good person,” said Fred. “And his enemies are good people too! None of them would burn a library.”

“They could’ve stolen books before setting the place on fire,” said Tom as sat down, straddling the chair backwards.

“Yes, but so many books? Hardcopies too and leather-bound volumes?” said Fred. “No, no, no… They weigh too much, and there’s too many of them.”

She brushed a hand across his back as she placed the cup of coffee in front of him, then went to give one to Tom. “What else did the police say, Freddy?”

“That, erm, they can’t find Mrs. Boveri. They couldn’t find you two either, but I told them… I told them…”

“Will we have to speak to them?” asked Tom as he took a sip.

“The Carabinieri? Yes, they’ll want… proof. Of where you were, I mean.”

She and Tom exchanged a look. The bidders were a solid alibi, but how many of them would want to admit they were at an illegal auction?

“Cazzo!” shouted Fred. “I was supposed to tell you to call them right away!”

“Alright, alright, I’ll call the station.”

“No, I’ll do it.”

“Your Italian is garbage, Tom. Sit down.”

#Tom Riddle #Tom Riddle x reader #Tom Riddle x OC #Tom Riddle fanfiction #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #sswallow;fanfics #sswallow;made a thing #fanfic;englishclient

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mask131 · 6 months

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Arthurian myth: Merlin (1)

Loosely translated from the article "Merlin" of the Dictionary of literary myths, under the direction of Pierre Brunet.

The literary fortune of Merlin was often dependent of the Arthurian literature. However, through its various resonances, the character gained its own seduction and its own popularity that allowed him to return outside of a medieval setting, gaining the status of an autonomous literary myth. He was at first the prophet of the Briton revenge, the one who had initiated the Round Table and who had inspired the errant-knighthood. Through his unique position between good and evil (he is born of a devil and a virgin), between life and death (his paradoxical survival within a “prison of air” or his vault), he embodies in modern times the enigma of History and of the future. Finally, he is the enchanter: causing or suffering many metamorphoses, he is a mythical builder and engineer, and sometimes a warlock/sorcerer. Merlin stays one of the prime heroes of the world of magic.

I/ Origins

The name and the character of Merlin appear for the first time within two Latin-written works of the second quarter of the 12th century, by the Welsh cleric Geoffroy of Monmouth: the “Historia Regum Britanniae” (1136) and the “Vita Merlini” (1148).

Nothing allows us to claim that a character named Merlin (Myrddin in Welsh) existed before these works. The very name of Merlin might have been an invention of Geoffroy, based on the name of the city of Kaermyrddin (today’s Carmarthen). It is also possible that Geoffroy used the phonetic similarity between the city and a “Merlin(us)” which belonged to the Armorican tradition (or more largely the continental one). However, Geoffroy of Monmouth did not start out of nothing. In the middle of the 12th century, Robert of Torigny, library of the abbey of Bec, claimed that two Merlin existed: a Merlin Ambroise/Ambrose (Ambrosius Merlinus) and a Merlin Sylvestre/Sylvester (Merlinus Silvester). This opinion was renewed thirty years later by Giraud of Cambria. Thes two names seem to correspond to two different traditions that Geoffroy joined:

1) “Merlin Ambrose” designates a character of the 6th century named Ambrosius. Gildas (in his “De Excidio et conquest Britanniae) made him the descendant of a Roman consulate family. Nennius( “Historia Britonum” presented him as a child born without a father, and whose mother had sex with an incubus – a tradition maintained by posterior authors. Nennius also provided the motif of the child revealing to the king Guorthigirn (Vortigern) the existence of two underground dragons preventing the building of his citadel. Discovered by the agents of the king at Kaermyrddin, the young Ambrosius interpreted the battle of the monsters as the omen of the long battles between the Briton and the Saxon. When Geoffroy retells this scene, he explicitly identifies Merln to this Ambrosius (“Merlinus, qui et Ambrosius dicebatur”).

2) “Merlin Sylvester” appears mainly in the “Vita Merlini”, and he seems to be the heir of older Celtic traditions. These traditions, shared by both Scotland and Ireland, depict a prince who lost his sanity and ran away into the forest, living there a wild existence while gaining supernatural powers. In Scotland it is Lailoken, known through the “Life of saint Kentigern”: on the day of the battle of Arfderydd (located by the “Cambriae Annals” at 573), this character, companion of the king Rodarch, heard a celestial voice condemning him to only have interactions with wild beasts [Translator’s note: The expression in French here is unclear if it speaks of human interactions or having sex, and I unfortunately can’t check the original Life of saint Kentigern right now]. Several predictions were attributed to him, predictions that the “Vita Merlini” places within Merlin’s mouth. Another incarnation of the “Merlin Sylvester” can be find back as early as the 8th century: in Ireland, the legendary king Suibne, turned mad after the battle of Moira, lived in trees (from which he ended up flying away), and shared similar traits with Lailoken. Similarly, in the Armorique there was the prophet Guinglaff, known through a verse-work of the 15th century “Dialogue entre le Roi Arthur et Guinglaff”.

The link between Merlin and those “wild men” becomes even more apparent thanks to several Welsh poems bearing the name “Myrddin”. Three of them belong to the “Black book of Carmarthen” (Welsh manuscript of the end of the 12th century) : The Apple-Trees (Afallenau), the Songs of the Pigs (Hoianau) and the Dialogue between Merlin and Taliesin (Ymddiddan Myrddin a Thaliesin). If the prophetic passages of these texts cannot be older than the Normand invasion, several lines where the bard talks to the trees and animals of the Caledonian forest (especially his pet-boar), complaining about his loneliness and his sorrow, could be the remains of a poem between 850 and 1050, which could be the oldest record of the Merlin legend.

Despite these many obscure origins, it seems that even before the publication of the “Historia Regum Britanniae” Merlin had awakened a certain interest within Geoffroy’s entourage, since Geoffroy decides to publish in 1134, due to the demands of several people including the bishop of Lincoln, a fragment of an unfinished work of his: the “Prophetiae Merlini”. Inspired by the Books of the Sybil, by the Apocalypse and by the prophetic imagery of Celtic and Germanic tribes, these “Prophecies”, that Geoffroy claimed to have translated from the language of the Briton, is first a record of several events that happened in Great-Britain since the Saxon invasion until the reign of Henry the First. Then, they announce in an obscure fashion the revenge of the Briton, and a series of disasters prefacing the end of the world. This text was a huge success: until the end of the Middle-Ages, these “Prophecies” were commented and quoted as equals to the holy Christian books. Alain of Lille, the “Universal Doctor”, wrote a commentary of the Prophecies in seven books. Merlin, first the great prophet of Wales, then of Scotland, was adopted in the 14th century by the England, which completely forgot the anti-Saxon origins of the character, and took the habit of beginning almost every speech by quoting a Prophecy of Merlin.

The ”Historia Regum Britanniae”, after the story of the two underground dragons and the text of the Prophecies, attributes to Merlin the building of Stonehenge, in the memory of Briton princes treacherously killed. Finally, it tells of how the prophet gave to the king Uter Pendragon magical potions that gave him the appearance of the husband of the duchess Ingern. A trick that allow the birth of the future king Arthur. As early as this first work, Merlin appears at the same time as a prophet and a wizard: a character claims that no one can rival with him when it comes to predicting the future, or accomplish complex machinations (“sive in futuris dicendis, sive in operationibus machinandis).

The ”Vita Merlini”, told in verse, completes Merlin’s biography by telling adventures of a very different tonality. Seer and king in the south of Wales, Merlin became mad after a deadly battle, and lived in the woods like a wild beast. Only the music of a zither can appease him. Led to the court of king Rodarch, chained in order to be kept there, he proves his gift of second sight throughout several “guessing scenes”. Before returning to the woods, he agrees to letting his wife Guendoloena marry again. However, on the day of the wedding, he appears with a horde of wild beasts, riding a stag. Ripping one of the antlers of his ride, he uses it to break the head of Guendoloena’s new husband. The rest of the text depicts Merlin as being saved by his sister Ganieda: he performs a series of astronomical observations and makes prophecies about the future of Britain. His disciple Thelgesin (identified with the Welsh bard Taliesin), back from the Armorique, joins him and they talk lengthily about nature. Finally, Merlin regains his sanity thanks to the water of a stream that just appeared, but he refuses to rule again and stays faithful to the forest.

#merlin #arthuriana #merlin the enchanter #arthurian myth #arthurian literature #welsh mythology #myrddin

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eschercaine · 2 years

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DEVIL MAY CRY: THE ANIMATED SERIES • “Devil May Cry” (01×01)

Dante, a private investigator specializing in demon hunting, is hired as the bodyguard of Patty Lowell, a young orphan who is supposedly the heir to a large fortune.

#devil may cry #devil may cry: the animated series #dmc #dante #patty lowell #tw: blood #tw: guns #gifs

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naiatabris · 6 months

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That Rarest of Things

A little Regency AU drabble for Wyll Week in which Wyll tries to be the perfect heir, talks politics with a friend, and dances with a certain pale elf who has been watching him from the shadows. Prompt: "The Blade of Frontiers."

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The pale elf was watching him again.

Wyll tried to pretend he hadn’t noticed. He was supposed to be regaling Councillor Florrick’s guests with yet more tales of his time as the Blade of Frontiers, not ogling handsome strangers. And the man’s scrutiny should not have bothered him. Ever since his return to Baldur’s Gate it had felt as if all eyes were on Wyll whenever he entered a room. Some of the gazes were approving, the stares of people who looked at Wyll and saw a newly-eligible noble bachelor restored to his father’s good graces, the perfect target for a courtship. Other gazes took in his horns and the ridges on his cheeks and arms with loathing or fear; those gazes saw a devil, and little more.

The elf, however, did not seem to fall into either category. He watched Wyll with an air of weariness, of sorrow, of vague disdain. He tried to pretend he was not listening when Wyll described battles against goblins or encounters with a hag, but Wyll could see the way his eyes slid to the side, keeping Wyll in his sights.

Perhaps I am imagining it.

He knew he was not.

“Another stirring tale,” his friend Alys Towerfell told him once he’d finished the story and the crowd had begun to disperse. Wyll could see envious eyes on them the moment she favored him with her attention; Alys was a half-Drow beauty who happened to be the heir to a very large fortune, and Wyll knew that half the room would give their right arm for a conversation with her. To him, however, Alys was merely an old friend, the solemn teenager who used to read eight-year-old Wyll storybooks when their parents gathered for dinner.

“I have many more stories to offer before the evening is over,” Wyll said wryly. “Councillor Florrick and my father requested it specifically. Apparently, my tales of heroism are just what they need to swing the correct number of votes their way.”

Alys slid a companionable hand into his elbow and began to guide him into a turn about the room. “Ah yes, the city defense measures,” she murmured. “Lord Gortash cornered me earlier. He has many ideas about them. Most of them, somehow, seem to involve the city placing a large and lucrative order for steel golems of his own creation.” She scowled. “I do not trust that man. I don’t know how his golems work, but mark my words, there’s something amiss in their construction.”

“You’re right, I’m certain,” Wyll replied. Alys was a gifted sorcerer; if she said there was something wrong with a magical construct, he was not fool enough to bet against her. He was going to say more, about city politics or the golems or perhaps about Lord Gortash’s general oiliness, but a flash of white curls in the far corner distracted him.

The pale elf was lounging against the wall, sipping slowly from a wine glass, looking out over the assembled company like a predator evaluating prey.

“Alys? Do you know that man?”

Alys’s mouth twisted thoughtfully as she spotted the object of Wyll’s gaze. “Mr. Ancunin. A fixture of recent gatherings, but not someone I know well.” She arched an eyebrow at Wyll. “Do you desire an introduction?”

“Yes.” Wyll realized, a beat too late, what that answer implied. “That is to say—he seems to be watching me closely of late. It would be best to know his intentions.”

Alys bristled, her shoulders drawing back and her chin tilting up as she narrowed her eyes at the elf. Wyll felt himself half charmed and half amused at the sight. Alys had always considered herself something of an older sister to him, and had resumed that role almost instantly upon his return to the city. But the sharp expression was gone a breath later, replaced by her usual elegant poise.

“I agree.” Her drow-lilac eyes locked onto the elf. “Let’s see what we can do.”

To any onlooker, it would have seemed nearly accidental. Alys guided them around the room, chatting with the guests, continuing her conversation with Wyll. And then, when they were a pace or two away from the elf, she stopped and blinked as if she’d only just noticed him. “Why, Mr. Ancunin! What a pleasure to see you again. May I present Wyll Ravengard, only son of Duke Ulder Ravengard?”

“You may—and the pleasure is mine, darling.” The elf swept an elaborate bow. “Well. Haven’t you found yourself a handsome suitor.”

Mr. Ancunin’s eyes met Wyll’s as he straightened, and Wyll felt his breath catch in his lungs. It was a momentary reaction, fast enough that Wyll could almost pretend it hadn’t been there. The elf had been handsome from a distance, but up close… up close he was more than merely handsome. The other man’s gaze was nothing short of piercing and the smile that played around his lips was sharp and playful and wicked.

“You flatter me,” Alys said with a light laugh. “In truth, Mr. Ravengard is simply an old friend kind enough to keep me company.”

“As if you lack for company,” Wyll teased. “Every line of your dance card is full, whereas mine is woefully empty.”

“Well. That won’t do, will it?” From somewhere deep in his evening kit, Mr. Ancunin pulled out a pencil and his own dance card. He met Wyll’s gaze and arched one elegant eyebrow. “As it happens, my own card is rather bare. If I may be so bold?”

Wyll bit back a satisfied smile as he handed over his card. He had laid the trap, and the elf had stepped right in. “I would be honored.”

As Mr. Ancunin finished writing his name on Wyll’s dance card, the soft chime of bells sounded throughout the ballroom. “Just in time, it seems,” the elf murmured. He offered his elbow. “Shall we, Mr. Ravengard?”

The gleam of satisfaction in Mr. Ancunin’s eyes made Wyll wonder if he had been too quick to assume that he was the one laying a trap.

They took their positions opposite one another for the opening dance, studying each other all the while, pretending they were not. Mr. Ancunin was elegantly dressed in black with purple trim, a choice that highlighted his fair skin and pale curls. Wyll managed, just barely, to avoid tugging at the collar and cuffs of his own gold-and-white clothing. Even now, after nearly six months back in the city, he felt ill at ease in a noble’s garb.

As the music began, however, he felt his discomfort fade away. He had always loved dancing and he knew he was adept at it. He suspected Mr. Ancunin might be the same; the other man had shown a catlike grace as they made their way to the dance floor. But to Wyll’s surprise, as they began the steps, Mr. Ancunin moved with just a hint of hesitation—as if he were fighting to recall exactly what his feet were supposed to be doing and what came next.

Wyll’s object had been to learn more about the other man, to try to determine why he was being watched so closely. But seeing Mr. Ancunin ill at ease put him off-balance. Made him want to take the man’s hand and guide him through the dance rather than use the opportunity to press him with questions.

Spotting Wyll’s scrutiny, Mr. Ancunin flashed a smile, a quicksilver thing that did not reach his eyes. “When I woke this morning, I could never have imagined myself taking to the floor with the legendary Blade of Frontiers,” he murmured as their hands met for the first time, Mr. Ancunin’s black glove stark against Wyll’s white. “You’ve been amassing quite the audience for those stories you tell—all the tales of daring and heroism and mortal peril.”

There was an edge of mockery to his voice that set Wyll’s teeth on edge—and that sent a feeling of shame twisting through him. He enjoyed recounting his adventures for those close to him. But he was less comfortable doing so in public. He did not want to be thought a braggart or a fool.

I am doing it for the city, he told himself. Not my own glory.

“Do you have a favorite?” he parried, trying to act nonchalant as they spun round each other. “I believe I’ve noticed you listening. Once or twice.”

“Only once or twice?” Mr. Ancunin asked softly. “You should pay more attention to your surroundings then, my dear Blade. I don’t know what I find more astonishing: the number of stories you seem to have, or the fact that somehow, I believe them all to be true.” His mouth went tight. “A real hero. A creature that by all rights should not exist. And yet, here you are.”

Wyll wanted to reply, but the dance’s next steps took them away from each other, sent them weaving through the other couples until they had reached the end of the lines. When they faced each other again, Wyll met his partner’s gaze.

“I did what was necessary. Nothing more.”

Mr. Ancunin chuckled. “I think you almost believe that. Remarkable.” He stepped forward once more, met Wyll’s palm with his, resumed their steps around each other with more confidence and rhythm than before. “Perhaps it was necessary, all those risks and heroics and the years in exile. But few others would have done what you did. Which makes you, Mr. Ravengard, that rarest of things: a good man.”

The words nearly took Wyll’s breath away. It was as if Mr. Ancunin had stripped his soul down to its essentials and given voice to his greatest wish: to be a good man. A protector of his city. A defender of the weak. A worthy heir to Ulder Ravengard.

It was a wish he’d felt slip further and further out of reach every day he had worked with Mizora.

“I’ll make no such claim for myself.” He could hear the rough edge to his voice. “I hope I have helped those who needed it. Defended the city I call home. But I—”

“Too honorable to take a compliment, Mr. Ravengard? You’ve been so good for everyone else. Doesn’t it get tiresome?” Mr. Ancunin was teasing now—but his tone was not entirely playful. His voice softened to something near a whisper as they completed their turn. “Has anyone been as good for you?”

Wyll clenched his jaw. He did not allow himself to think about things like that. What mattered was doing the right thing, giving all he could. He did not keep score. He did not expect things in return. But—gods. It almost sounded as if Mr. Ancunin was offering something, and though Wyll did not quite know what it was, part of him ached to find out.

And with a flash of insight, Wyll realized that was exactly what Mr. Ancunin wanted. To put him off balance, to intrigue him, to draw him in. To what end?

“Why, it almost sounds as if you’re concerned, Mr. Ancunin,” Wyll said, letting warm amusement creep into his voice. “Or are you offering to be the one who evens the scales?”

The expression moved across the elf’s face so quickly Wyll might have missed it. But it was there: a twinge of revulsion, something close to a flinch. It was quickly replaced by a smile that did not reach his eyes. “And if I am?”

“Then I would decline,” Wyll said easily. He thought about telling Mr. Ancunin that he’d seen the expression, that he could sense the other man didn’t truly want a dalliance, but he worried that insight might scare the elf away—and Wyll very much wanted to know what this man was up to.

“Doing good is its own reason and its own reward,” he said instead. “Though I suspect you’ll call me tedious for saying it.”

“Dear gods. You actually do believe that,” Mr. Ancunin said wonderingly. “How utterly astonishing.”

As they stepped back to their places in line, their hands parted—but Mr. Ancunin’s fingers rested against his for just a heartbeat longer than they needed to, and Wyll did not pull his own fingers away.

He bent into his most elegant bow as the final notes played. When he straightened, Mr. Ancunin was watching him with those bright, knowing eyes, a half smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“It’s been a pleasure, my dear Blade. Until next time.” He lowered his voice. “And I do hope there will be a next time.”

#wyll week #blade of frontiers #bg3 regency au #wyllstarion #drabble #my writing

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male-body-swap-lover · 11 months

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Alcohol Led Me Down a Path to Age Progression

Note: Alcoholism is a real disease and if you are having issues with it, please seek help.

Picture it. 1990. I am a senior at Princeton. Colin Vanderway, only heir to the Vanderway fortune. I am on the top of the world. Rich. Hot. Smart. A different girl every week. I am one of the luckiest men in the world. It’s another Saturday night kegger. I love beer so much. Probably my only weakness. Derek, Nathan, and I went to Kappa Kappa Delta for one of the last blast nights before our graduation. The night is wild. One of the best nights of my life. But man I have had so much to drink. Fucccckkkkk. I’m going home. I get behind the wheel of my car. I’m falling asleep and I can barely see. I’m serving. Almost back to my apartment. Suddenly, an old woman comes out of nowhere and I hit her with my car. Oh God!

I get out and try to find a pulse. I can’t find one, but I am drunk. I yell for help but no one is around. Suddenly a man appears from out of nowhere.

“I can help you”, he says.

“I need to go find a pay phone. I need to call 911.”

“If you do, you’ll be arrested. Why don’t I help you.”

“Are you a doctor?”

“No, I’m your guardian angel. This woman is dead. There is nothing the paramedics can do. However, I can save her.”

“Then do it. Hurry! It was an accident.”

“Hold on. If I save her, then you will face my consequences. It won’t be the cops, but you will pay.”

“It’s fine. I’m rich. I can pay you whatever you want.”

“Oh I don’t want money.”

“I don’t care. Just save her!” I start crying.

“Okay, here goes”

Suddenly the winds start whipping and the woman seems to wake up. Suddenly, it’s like I’m sucked up into a vortex. I’m tossed around and and scream for help. Finally after what feels like eternity, I’m dumped in a dirty apartment. There are beer cans everywhere. Instinctively I burp and my stomach starts to rumble.

“Look familiar”. He appeared out of nowhere.

“Fuck, where did you come from. Where am I”

“You’re in the future. October 23, 2023 to be exact”

“This is like Back to the Future man! Why’d you bring me here?”

“This is how I am making you pay. You see, you had two options. Option one was to leave that woman on the street dead. Option two was to save her and you pathetically chose to save her. Had you chosen option one, your father would have helped you cover up her death and your life would have gone on like normal. He would have paid her family to be quiet. You would have taken your place as rightful heir to your father’s company. Married a girl from a wealthy family and had multiple kids. You would have amassed power and become a republican senator from Connecticut. And yet, you somehow have a soul, and chose option two.”

“What’s wrong with you. We saved a life. Why are you upset. You are my guardian angel”

“Yes, but I’m a fallen angel. I love evil. And that’s who I thought you were, which I why I appeared to you. Alas, you chose to be good, and now we are here.”

“A fallen angel. So you work for the devil”

“Hahahahaha yes I do. The mighty lord”

“So if this is option two, what does that mean?”

“So because she survived, she sued your family. Your father almost lost his company. He disowned you and kicked you out of the family company. He gave it to a distant cousin. Due to your college partying, you have had trouble finding work and have mostly worked factory and maintenance jobs, just enough to pay your bills, and enough left over for beer. You never got away from beer. You’ve been married and divorced three times with two kids who hate you. This is all you can afford between your alimony payments and beer. Isn’t it depressing. Oh, have you paid the price for being nice.”

“Wait, if it’s 2023, that means I am 55 years old. I still look like I am 22.”

“Oh yes, let’s fix that.”

Suddnely my stomach rumbles. I start burping repeatedly and my breath reeks of beer. My arm hair starts getting thicker. I feel a beard sprout on my face as hair falls out of my head. My chiseled jaw dissapears under a layer of fat. The worst is my stomach. It’s pressing out and turning into a big ball. My clothes are so tight, and then they change as well. My shirt turns into a pale button up that is left unbuttoned and underneath it, my undershirt turns grey and seem to barely fit me. My acid wash jeans turn into dad jeans and my belt gets thicker to hold up my new pants. My stomach finally stops growing and my grey shirt can barely cover it. The age lines come in everywhere on my face and my back starts killing me. With one final loud belch, the transformation finishes. I waddle to the bathroom and look in the mirror.

“I’m old and ugly and fat.”

“Yes, well that’s your punishment for choosing to save someone’s life. No good deed goes unpunished. Oh and one more thing!”

Suddenly, a mug of beer appears in my hand. The intoxicating smell of barley reaches my nose. I start drooling for a minute before taking a big gulp.

“Good luck. Your life is pathetic, but at least you have your beer. Your new memories should come to you soon. At the rate you drink, I give you fifteen years max. Bye”

My guardian angel, or guardian devil dissapeared.

I sigh dejectedly, realizing my life had not turned out how I wanted. I sit down in my recliner, turn on the football game, and eat some peanuts that were on the table next to my chair. Beer. The killer, but one would say my best friend. Lucky me. I drink my beer and scratch my new belly absentmindedly. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

#age progression #frat boy #college age to middle age #middle age #Punishment #Beer belly #beer gut #transformation #male body transformation

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shadowgast-recs-weekly · 1 year

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Check below the cut for 12 great long fics! And also! Don't forget to leave comments and kudos if you liked the fics!

The Fullness of Time by Cers (162788,Teen) Warnings: Canon Typical Violence and some dark themes around fatalism and death

The battle with Lucien is going badly, and Essek accidentally takes him and Caleb back in time several years in an attempt to escape. Now they have to find a way to get back so they can save their friends and stop Lucien

Reccer says: This fic has everything! It's got angst and pining and a heist and some twists. Just amazing!

Gravity, and all that's born within by SkyScribbles (132455,Teen) Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, none

On the Aeor trip from the epilogue, Caleb and Essek grow closer and discover a threat lurking within the ruins.

Reccer says: (wip) This fic gripped me from its first understated, sensitive, *real* portrait of the moment Essek learns that his time as Shadowhand is up. Aeor is a strange and imaginative place. And the Dynasty characters who are important in Essek's life, ones we only got a peek at or never saw at all, are fully realized and compelling in their own right as well as illuminating so much of who Essek is as a person.

The Upward Arc of Sun and Moon by marsastronomica (marswithghosts) (255854,Explicit) Warnings: None

Shadowhand Essek Thelyss takes a guest lecturing position at the Soltryce Academy, not knowing that the man he had a misunderstanding with three years ago is the Archmage of Civil Influence, Caleb Widogast.

Reccer says: There's mystery, a lot of coziness, courtly love, a little bit of enemies to lovers, and a really adorable familiar

heir to the devil's fortune by essektheylyss (midnightindigo) (348340,Mature) Warnings: None

Essek uses the Transmogrification spell to disappear, and finds a tentative home in hiding as the long lost son of the Ruby of the Sea.

Reccer says: This is an incredible fic full of intrigue, detailed character moments, slow burn build, and a mystery that has you guessing right up to how it's solved. It's long, but it's worth the commitment!

the breath before the phrase by KmacKatie (kmackatie) (171513,Explicit) Warnings: None

Caleb and Essek are professional violinists who get off on the wrong foot before finding common ground between them.

Reccer says: Another highly-specific au by an author that clearly knows the subject matter and material! It's an orchestra au, but it's full of rich character moments, detail and believable world-building, and both Caleb and Essek discovering what brings them joy.

coping skills by sumomomochi (133680,Explicit) Warnings: Needle play

WIP — BDSM au with disabled, high-social-anxiety Essek trying to navigate his very sudden and very strong feelings for Caleb, a new Dom in the Rosohna scene.

Reccer says: Beautifully written and incredibly soft while still being full of anxiety and messiness. Caregiver kink, chronic pain/disability representation, somehow both slowburn and not? Demonstrates both healthy and unhealthy behaviors and boundary setting in BDSM in a way that is realistic but doesn't take you out of the fic. And Essek's self-sabotage is... painfully real, so getting to read Caleb helping him work through that is an absolute gift.

Whistle Song by Chekhov (115412,Mature) Warnings: None

Caleb and Essek have settled down and then two pre-teen would-be assassins crash into the middle of the Soltryce Academy demanding Essek be surrendered.

Reccer says: Chekhov writes comedy in a delightful way, and this fic is full of it. There's emotional moments of both Essek and Caleb grappling with parts of the past not yet seen, characters full of life, and some twists that keep coming.

destructive interference by atlasarcana (141219,Mature) Warnings: Graphic violence, hallucinations, scene of accidental harm to a child

Essek and the Nein succeed in defeating the Somnovem, but their return to the Material Plane is a backwards trip out of Aeor. He is haunted by his memories, his guilt, the monsters around every corner, the threat of Trent Ikithon — and a shadow in his periphery that looks remarkably like himself.

Reccer says: Terror! Romance! Childhood trauma! The mortifying ordeal of being known! Essek reconciles with his perception of himself and the pieces of his past he is too ashamed to even think of, he has to do so *in front of Caleb,* and it is PAINFUL and magnificent. This fic is terrifying, brilliant, and occasionally adorable, and the ending is chefs-kiss-perfect.

the golden thread around your neck whispered visions of my undoing by MarsBar2019 (105565,Explicit) Warnings: None

A modern with magic AU where Essek is a CEO and Caleb is his assistant

Reccer says: It has incredible slow burn tension with some interesting world building

And Two recs each for:

Hard Mouth by road_rhythm (216257,Explicit) Warnings: CNTW - this is a heavy fic which touches on themes of SA, rape, and suicide.

There's something in Caleb's dreams. It wants him to know that he's not alone. It wants him to know that he'll never be alone again. Elves don't dream, so all Essek can do is watch.

Reccer 1 says: A canon-divergent fic at 2x138 with an alternate ending for C2 that is utterly gripping and believable. You thought you hated Ikithon? You're gonna hate him more at the end. Very real and high stakes with great character moments, this fic is an intense ride but worth it. Reccer 2 says: When I read a longfic. I want the slowburn to be s l o w. This delivers so well that it actually manages to deliver on it twice (for Shadowgast both times), and meanwhile the plot is gripping and all of TM9 get their chance to shine, especially Jester and Beau.

The worlds between us by Nellaplanet (159392,Mature) Warnings: Graphic discriptions of violence, the typical Caleb and Yasha stuff. Mind manipulation/control, torture, non-consensual body modification

Caleb and Beau have to rapidly reexamine their worldview upon discovering that magic is not only real, but exists in a world all of its own (and that the people wielding it are unfairly attractive and very, very dangerous).

Reccer 1 says: It's a wonderful ensemble fic, with a compelling story and one of my favorite Verins. Reccer 2 says: It focuses on both Beauyasha and Shadowgast, but it has some delicious enemies to friends and difficult relationship shadowgast parts, and a satisfying ending

And three for

I’ve been lost before (and I’m lost again, I guess) by toneofjoy (165080,Explicit) Warnings: Panic Attacks and discussions of disordered eating

Caleb is a competitive rock climber. Essek is his coach

Reccer 1 says: There's such good yearning in this fic, and I love highly specific AUs - this fic legitimately got me interested in climbing Reccer 2 says: The slow burn is very well done, and the ace representation is immaculate Reccer 3 says: Incredible world building from an author that loves climbing, it fits so well with the personalities of the Nein. There's emotional beats with some wonderful discussions of sexuality, a slow build that feels earned, and a richness that shines through.

Aeor is for Lovers is an 18+ Shadowgast Discord server. The above fanfic recommendations were pulled from our community for this weekly event. All fics, unless otherwise specified, will primarily feature Shadowgast. And hey! Don't forget to leave comments and kudos for the lovely authors!

Have any questions about what this is? Check out the FAQ! Next week’s theme is our recurring theme: Caleb and Essek's Cats!

#critical role fan fiction #fan fiction rec list #aeor is for lovers #shadowgast #cr fic recs #long fic #fics over 100000 words

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jester-creates · 1 month

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thinking about that Mechanisms persona 5 au again. The one where it's the mechs cast in p5. So I might as well put who I think should go where.

This is also a college au. I guess. It just fits better

The phantom thieves- the Mechanisms. This is obvious why. They choose the Mechanisms as their phantom thieves group name first, but after a certain someone kept basically saying to everyone that they were the Mechanisms in public, they made the band as a cover and now they have to manufacture beef between themselves as the band and themselves as phantom thieves and that the phantom thieves definitely stole their name.

wildcard- Jonny D'ville. He's the narrator of the Mechanisms and one of the first members of the Mechanisms. He's up there for most roles over all the albums, so wildcard. I'm half tempted to make his persona Prince Charming because one, it would tick him off to no end and two, it the role he as himself played in ouatis.

0 fool - I think Yog Sothoth or one of the elder gods would make the best fit for Yaldy. No idea who Igor would be though

1 magician - the Toy Soldier. It is the least organic of the Mechanisms which is in line with Morgana's origins. I'd say it was given instructions to find the wildcard and eventually found itself in the first Palace pretending to be a Shadow or something. Haven't decided on a persona for it yet though

2 high priestess - Ashes O'Reilly. They have mob connections (though a lot different from how Makoto's went). Ashes would slso manage to become the student president at their college. Their persona would probably be Hades

3 emperor - Raphaella la Cognizi. She and Yusuke are both eccentric weirdos (/pos) in their fields. She has probably neglected herself and her finances in her focus on science as well. Haven't decided on a persona for her yet

4 empress - Nastya Rasputina. A princess and an Heir to a food company are basically the same thing right? (I almost had her be the futaba of the group due to Out, but I figured that being the Haru of the group fit her better. Plus she deserves to be the most terrifying member of the group. And also a big weapon.) Haven't decided on a persona for her yet.

5 Hierophant- Dr. Carmilla (unless I find someone better). She is somewhat of a parental figure? I'm not too sure on this one.

6 the lovers - Gunpowder Tim. His whole thing with bertie parallels Ann's thing with Shiho pretty well.

7 chariot - Baron Marius von Raum. He seems like he would be the most like Ryuji. He does do the talking about the phantom thieves out loud thing which results in them having to make the band as a cover.

8 strength- the Aurora. As the most inhuman of the crew, she gets to be Jonny's attendant in the Velvet Room. They do figure out that something is up with the VR and rescue her much earlier than lavenza gets rescued in p5. (Aurora and Nastya are together in this au still)

9 hermit - Ivy Alexandra. She would definitely be a Navi type.

10 fortune - undecided maybe loki?

11 justice - drumbot Brian. He gets to be akechi due to the whole 2 modes thing, so two personas. To keep in line with his mostly robot thing I am going to make him a anti shadow weapon (think aigis from persona 3)

12 Hanged man- the pendragon trio (or at least arthur). the thing with mordred could be a good parallel between iwai and his kid

13 death- Oedipus. tae and oedipus are both doctors who do kinda have a similar storyline. plus the image of oedipus in tae's outfit kills me

14 temperance - undecided. maybe cinders?

15 devil - Ulysses. Ohya and them have a very similar starting point when we meet them. And Ulysses is a gumshoe (a detective) so that would take the place of ohya's investigative journalism.

16 Tower - undecided. Maybe Heracles?

17 star - undecided. Maybe rose red? Maybe Guinevere?

18 moon - undecided. Maybe pilchard? (Though he'd do better as a Palace ruler or the Shadow that leads them to the second palace)

19 sun - snow white. She and Yoshida both are politicians campaigning for peace and better stuff.

20 judgement- Lyfrassir Edda. They and Sae are both long-suffering people in kaw enforcement who have to deal with the Mechanisms/phantom thieves and all their shenanigans.

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lullabyes22-blog · 8 months

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Snippet - Deflowering (?) - Mal de Mer

Mel navigates her way through the inspid sea of aristocracy....

Mal de Mer on AO3

Snippet:

Now, she plucks the closest string in reach: the Demacian dignitary's wife. The woman's a social stalwart: moneyed, magpie-eyed, and a moralist of the first degree. Paired with a penchant for petty gossip, she is the chief purveyor of the aristocracy's scandal-mill.

But her pedigree is a goldmine, and her support is a vital step toward Zaun's ascent into the global spotlight.

Mel, accordingly, makes her the target of a slow, subtle campaign.

"Lady Dennings," she says, with a radiant smile. "How lovely to see you."

"Mel!" Lady Dennings, her peacock fan a blur of emerald and azure, flutters over. "By the Protector! What a fright you gave us! A week belowdeck—and nary a glimpse above!"

"I do apologize for the alarm."

"Alarm? My dear, we believed you were at death's door! And your husband, that dreadful man! He made a jape of it! Every evening, our queries about your health were met with a different tale." The fan flutters faster. "First, you were abed with an ague. Then: bitten by a viper. And then—the final outrage—you were abducted by pirates!"

"Oh," Mel says, and can't quite keep the smile from curling,

"Oh? Mel, is that all you can say?"

"What else would you have me say?"

"Acknowledgment! The man's a rapscallion—and a devil!"

Mel's eyes go guilelessly round. "Devil?"

"Of the highest order!" The fan snaps shut, and the falsetto drops. "The word is, he forcibly confined you to your berth for six nights! All to conduct an infernal Fissure ritual. The bride, stripped and bound as a sacrifice to the dark gods. Then—" a shudder, "—a barbaric consummation. Is it true, my dear? Tell me it's not. Tell me you've not been brutalized in some pagan sacrament!"

Mel hides a smile behind the rim of her glass. Her mind conjures a vision of Silco, in a dark cloak, looming over her bound and naked body. The glow of his bad eye: a fire opal offset by a dozen low-burning candles.

The scenario is not, she admits, without its unholy thrill.

But the Dennings, she reminds herself, are a devoutly religious clan. Like the rest of Demacia, their stance on magic is unequivocally condemnatory. If they had their way, all practitioners of the arcane would be hung, drawn, and quartered. Even the mention of the subject is enough to provoke an apoplexy.

No doubt, during Mel's weeklong absence, Lady Dennings' imagination—and tongue—has been running rampant. Her mind, already primed to find fault with the union, will seize upon the most sordid scrap. In the process, she inadvertently reveals how little she understands of Zaun.

Or, indeed, what transpires in the privacy of the marital bedchamber.

The Dennings own marriage of a year, if Elora's reports are true, has gone unconsummated. Whether it's due to her husband's crippling bashfulness, or her own pie-eyed prudishness, is an open question. This voyage, at the behest of the Dennings patriarch, is a final bid for the pair to prove their mettle. A successful coupling—an heir—would seal a lucrative merger between their clans. Whereas a failure on both counts would see them disinherited.

Lord and Lady Dennings, on borrowed time, feel each toll of the bell keenly. A pity they cannot share the same cabin together without squabbling incessantly.

Silco, possessing no surfeit of sympathy for prudish quirks and provincial qualms, has summed up the couple's predicament thus:

"Two virgins, and not a lick of sense between them."

It's a brutally sound assessment. But not, Mel thinks, without a measure of pity.

It must be excruciating to suffer the weight of a parent's expectations in such a private sphere. Not to mention the public mortification, should the failure come to light.

Fortunately, Mel's mind has sketched out a satisfactory solution.

Somberly, she says, "It's true."

"Dear heavens! You mean—?!"

"Bound to the bedframe, with a length of silk." Mel circles a finger along the rim of her glass. "But not for reasons you imagine."

Lady Dennings, eyes wide, is already imagining a great deal. "Gracious, Mel! What was he thinking?"

"Chiefly, of my safety."

"Safety—yes!" Lady Dennings clasps one of Mel's hands in both her own. "Zaunite men are a barbaric lot! Look at their women: all pinched cheeks and blackened eyes. They're beasts, by any other name. The notion that a darling such as yourself—" another shudder, "—locked in a cabin, and subjected to deflowering...!"

Mel's eyebrows wing skyward. In her ear, she can practically hear Silco's drawl: What, precisely, am I deflowering? Your left nostril? The right's seen its share of traffic.

Taking another sip of juice, she stifles her snort. The Demacian peerage hold such archaic notions about chastity. Silco, if he ever caught wind, would take fiendish delight in dismantling them.

Fortunately, her husband is elsewhere. And Mel, more fortuitously, has the perfect string to pluck.

"My dear Lady Dennings," she chides gently. "You must put aside those scurrilous pamphlets."

"Scurrilous?"

"The ones from the gutter-press. Written, I wager, after a tankard of rotgut. I hear the stories, myself: the Fissurefolk, sacrificing virgins to demigods of the underworld. Drinking the blood of newborn babes. Really, it's too much. One would think, given the scope of their enterprise, that their hours would be better employed." A sip of juice, sweet on the tongue. "They should write, instead, of Zaun's many wonders."

"Wonders?"

"Their herbal tinctures, for one." Her tone, perfectly balanced between soothing and secretive, reels the woman in. "You see, I'd been struck with a terrible fever. Sweats, delirium, and the most excruciating chills. If I hadn't been bed-bound, I might have taken a tumble down the stairs. Or flung myself into the sea."

"By the Light! And he—what, locked you up?"

"As a precaution. Nothing more. Mine was a rather stubborn malady. After five days' vigil, Silco took it upon himself to brew a concoction. A tea, of sorts. Boiled from powdered red clover. Quite astringent, but most effective." Mel sighs. "I haven't felt so well-rested in years."

It did not occur in exactly that fashion. Mel was too woozy to summon the particulars. All she recalls is Silco's shadow looming in. A cup's rim, steaming, pressed to her lips. A bracing tang, and the slow, steady, searing drip down her throat. She'd succumbed to sleep right after. But she'd awoken much refreshed, and lucid.

When she'd queried him, Silco had shrugged: It's a tonic for the blood. Fire it up, and sweat the fever out.

Then, with the smallest of smirks: Good for firing up the loins, too.

Lady Dennings is listening raptly. "He tended to you, personally?"

"Like a physician. Only sweeter." Mel smiles, wistfully. "It's a rare man who'll kneel at his lady's bedside." She doesn't, in fact, recall much kneeling. But every good story needs a spin. Diplomacy's bedrock is built on fact and well-told fiction. "Truly, the tales of Zaunite men as brutes are wildly untrue. In their own way, they're quite..." A delicate pause, "... devoted."

"Oh, indeed?"

"I dare not divulge too much. Modesty compels me. But..." Mel's register drops. "... I will say this: Zaunites may lack the polish of a Piltovan gentleman. But they more than make up for it with the... ardor... of their pursuit."

Lady Dennings' mouth forms a perfect 'O.' "Gracious!"

"Gracious? No. Gratifying? Certainly." Mel's lips curve. "And gratifyingly often."

Lady Dennings turns a telling shade of carnation. "Dear me. That's—how intriguing!"

"Isn't it?" Another sip, and a smile. "The Fissures, I find, have much to teach us. I've only just begun my lessons. But I've made such fascinating discoveries. Did you know, for instance, that powdered red clover, steeped in tea, has an aphrodisiacal effect?"

"An aphro—really?"

"Really. In fact, it's quite potent. It can be used as an antidote for..." Then, as if suddenly remembering herself. "But forgive me. This is no place to discuss such a delicate subject. I must beg your discretion."

Lady Dennings, fan fluttering, has gone from carnation to crimson. There is, as Mel suspected, a great deal of pent-up frustration simmering below that prissy surface.

Mel, in turn, makes her move: a single strum, and a long, sustained note of intimacy.

"If you're amenable," she murmurs, "I'll share more details with you. Perhaps over a quiet tea? Just us girls."

"I—yes! Of course! Red clover, you say?"

"A singular plant. It grows at the edges of the Fissure cliffs. Many a scholar has written of the benefits." A conspiratorial dip of lashes. "You and your lord husband may find the taste a revelation."

"My, erm, husband," Lady Dennings stammers, "is quite—" fan dangling limply, "—fastidious."

"Then, my dear, it is high time he was reacquainted with his reckless youth."

"Oh, Mel, do you truly think...?"

"I shall do better." Mel imparts a light squeeze to the woman's arm. "I will send a gift with you: a small satchel, for your bedchamber. Try a spoonful, with two glasses of cold water. One for yourself. And the other, to share." A significant silence, then a final pluck. "The results, I promise, will be expeditious."

Lady Dennings' eyes take on a hopeful gleam. "How expeditious?"

"Let's just say: by the summer's end, you'll be celebrating more than your wedding anniversary."

It works like a charm. Lady Dennings, clutching Mel's hands, exclaims, "My dear girl, you're a dove! I shall owe you a thousand favors!"

"None required." Mel's smile is sunshine through clouds. "Consider it a gift, from a dear friend."

"You darling thing! We shall have a girl's talk tonight. And afterward—" a flushing glance toward her husband, stoop-shouldered and sour-faced in the corner, "—why, we'll see what comes."

With luck, him, and you too, Mel thinks.

"Tonight, then," she says. "I'll have a basket sent up to your cabin. But, remember: sssh. It is a private affair." Her fingertip, pressed playfully to her lips, earns a titillated twinkle. "Now, if you'll pardon me. I must catch up with the others."

"Oh, of course! I shan't hold you up." Lady Dennings' fan resumes its flutter. Her thoughts, plainly, are palpitating elsewhere. "And do send up the basket! I cannot wait!"

Mel, her work done, glides off.

One down, she thinks, sipping her drink. A half-dozen to go.

Red clover's effects are not, in fact, a fiction. Mel, during her research into Zaun's history, has read volumes on the subject. And experienced, firsthand, its efficacy.

She'd shared a spoonful with Jayce, back when they were together. Purely for research reasons, of course. She'd only given him a mouthful, and he'd been wild to have her, so much, she'd ended up with her dress in shreds, one slipper dangling from the ceiling fan, and the other flung straight through the window.

Jayce had, afterward, apologized shamefacedly. Mel, secretly charmed, had assured him the fault was hers.

They'd never touched the stuff again. But Mel has not forgotten.

By tonight, she suspects, neither will Lady and Lord Dennings. With luck, a little Dennings-to-be will soon be in the picture, courtesy of Mel's powdered charity. Mel, in turn, will have gained a pocketful of Dennings coin, and the political currency to bargain with Demacian traders for red clover as a mass-market commodity.

Soon, word will spread. The Fissures are in possession of miracles, in potentia.

Zaun's economy could use a healthy boost. And Piltover, by proxy, will feel the benefit.

Marriage, Mel thinks, by any other name.

#arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane silco #silco #forward (never forget)/xoxo #forward but never forget/xoxo #arcane zaun #arcane piltover #arcane jayce #jayce talis #arcane mel #mel medarda #meljay #mel x jayce #melco #silco x mel #mal de mer

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