#in conclusion: they are soft bitches your honour

[captainpulisic]

you've ruined my life by not being mine - m. mount

wrote this during a severe brain rot so I hope it isn't too mid, thank you to anyone who reads & I hope you enjoy :) word count : 4.4 k gif creds to owner

mason mount is absolutely gorgeous. nothing else to say, no need to elaborate. everyone who comes across him can confirm this. he’s a god amongst mere mortals, you’re sure of it. being an intern for chelsea's social media team, you have had the privilege of crossing paths with him several times a day. all these small interactions and polite ‘hellos’ have made you smitten. you’re positive that is the case for every girl who has the honour to be the winner of his attention.

you’ve come to the conclusion that he has a gift of making anyone he's talking to feel special. his eyes never leave yours, making it known that his attention is solely on you. the real killer is that smile of his. it’s very soft and boyish, with just a hint of shyness. as if he’s as nervous to talk to you, as you are to him. that bastard. how dare he make your cheeks go deep red and hands shake just by saying ‘have a nice day’. the audacity! 

he could be worn out from an extensive training session or surrounded by other important chelsea people, yet he’d always find a way to squeeze in a conversation with you. it was sweet of him, really. the fact that he was nice enough to make you feel so welcome to the family, like part of the team. he probably did it for everyone, yet it still made you feel special, nonetheless. 

mason was always going out of his way to make small talk with you, to ask how your weekend had been. he assured you that once you finished uni, he was positive the club would offer you a full time position. he’d confide that your ideas and content was the best, engaging everyone from fans to the players. 

‘why wouldn’t they try to keep the best when they already have them, yeah?’ he would assure you, squeezing your arm. you always felt you skin burning by the time he let go. 

you find yourself in that exact situation right now. 

after a particularly long week full of training, everyone was filing out of the locker room. freshly showered and exhausted, mason’s only mission in life was to get home and sleep for the next twelve hours. no agents or coaches or ‘after training, distress at a club’ plans will stop that. end of discussion.

he’s almost out the doors and into the parking lot.

well, that is until he sees you. you’re near the office doors, all smiles and cheerfulness as you talk to other people from the social media team. he’d never admit this to anyone but you have him quite smitten, too. one time he practically bumped into all his teammates when he saw you across the hallway. conor bitched to him for the next hour, annoyed at how he’d accidentally shoved him into a wall. he’d speed walk at an embarrassing pace, just to be able to say hello you, to be in your presence.  

as he approached your group, your co workers left you to face him by yourself. your small fangirl crush on him was a well known topic, since they swore he fancied you back. as if, you’d blush and wave them off. 

“hi,” he halted, ending his unusually fast pace. “hey, you.”

“to what do I owe the pleasure, mr mount?” you felt your grin go wide. you both laughed at the nickname. it was a recurring joke from when you had just started your internship, too starstruck and using only formal names to address the players. 

the first time you had been introduced to mason, you had addressed him as ‘mr. mount’. you were scared and confused when he started to turn around and look at all the people passing behind him. you weren’t sure what you had said wrong. 

“oh, ‘m sorry. I heard mr. mount and immediately thought my dad was here. please, call me mason.”

you had been a giggling mess since then and even now, you always found yourself laughing around him. on masons side, he heard your laugh that first encounter and vowed to himself he’d do anything to keep hearing it. 

“I just wanted to let you know that a bunch of us are going to a club tonight,” he didn’t even know what he was saying until he had already said it. his tired limbs were yearning for his bed but his y/n crazed brain overpowered him. the chance to see you outside of the bridge was such a sweet opportunity he couldn’t pass up. “come, please?”

you had never really been invited to those club or party hangouts, they were mostly reserved for the players and their girlfriends. you’re a bit stunned, you thought he’d come over to ask you if he had to do any reshoots for last week's youtube video. 

you’re both silent, waiting for your own response. your face is crimson red and he’s nervously tapping his foot. it doesn’t help that you can’t even make eye contact with him, too shy to look at his face. you’ve always found it hard to say anything directly to his pretty face. of course you want to go but you don’t want to make this into something bigger than it is. you don’t want to get your hopes up that this might be a step into seeing each other in a non work environment, like a pregame for a date?

no. what if he’s just being polite and this is a work get-together? what if he’s mistaken you with a different y/n, a cooler famous y/n?

before you can even choke out an answer, you notice a goddess type woman approaching the two of you. she’s wearing an all-access visitor pass around her neck and walking with the confidence of someone who owns the place. and her heavy gaze is set upon mason. she’s truly beautiful, like someone you’d see on the runway or a vogue cover. in a totally progressive and feminist way, you don’t like how much skin she’s showing. at least not when you’re forced wear such workplace appropriate attire, anyway. it makes you green with envy on how she looks like someone more fit for mason. now that’s the type of woman he would be seen with at the club . 

“time to go home, mason?” she sounds sweet, too sweet. hearing her delicate voice call mason makes your skin crawl and heart plummet.

he quickly gravitates all of his attention on her, giving her a nod. as soon as he’s in arms reach, her delicately manicured hand is wrapping around his foreman. she doesn’t even spare you a glance. she begins to pull him away from your shared spot, causing your mood to significantly dampen. 

“y/n,” mason says, pulling you out of your self wallowing thoughts. he’s giving you that award winning, boyish smile. “you’ll be there tonight, right?”

his tone is so soft and sincere. it warms your heart, even as that beautiful woman is clinging to his arm. 

you brave a fake smile, “i’ll try, mr. mount.”

he’s only able to smile in response, the probable supermodel eagerly tugging him out the door. you see her pull out keys from her purse, as he, ever the gentleman, opens the door for them.  

you feel a fool. mason is one of the most sought out men in the country. he’s sweet and handsome and funny and probably has a thousand girls at his disposal. your chances with him are next to zero. you’ve told yourself countless times to be content with the little attention you get from him. polite conversation and shy smiles is all you’ll ever get from him and that's totally fine. it has to be, anyway.

-

you’re stupid and idiotic. very stupid and idiotic. you knew you shouldn’t have showed up to the club, it wasn’t your place to be here. you weren’t even planning on actually showing, preferring to spend the night at your apartment, yearning for your unreciprocated crush on a certain footballer. yet, as you were heading out of the building for the end of the work week, you bumped into a couple of the other players. you had been too busy wishing it was you asking mason if he was ready to go home, you hadn’t heard them calling after you. 

all of the players were fond of you, fond of the cheeriness and lovely attitude you brought to the bridge. and you were equally as fond of them. so, when they asked if you wanted to join everyone else at the club, you said yes. you figured you’d make yourself miserable and see mason with his supermodel friend the entire night. yeah, you loved the pain.

being at said club now, you regret your decision. the music is too loud and the strobe lights are giving you a headache. everyone else has been nice enough with some small talk when passing by you, except for mason who was nowhere to be found. 

an hour passes by, and you’ve lost count of all the drinks you’ve taken. it’s pathetic to admit that all you’ve done is think of mason. how can someone so beautiful make you feel so sad? 

you finish the remnants of your drink and decide to head back home. coming here was a mistake and the original person who asked you to come didn’t even bother to show up. the bigger mistake though, is how you might have underestimated how many drinks you’d gone through in your short time here. you’re barely out of the main room and in the lobby when your vision begins to get blurry. your balance is wobbly and you’re quickly reaching to support yourself against a wall.  

you’re not sure how long you’re in that position. trying to somewhat sober up, you wonder how difficult it’d be to go back into the main room and find one of the players to help you. 

would you even be able to recognize any of them? you were royally screwed.  

your train of thought is broken when you see someone on the other end of the room relentlessly pacing. you’re only able to make out their moving outline, they look nervous. you disoriented state only hears them mumbling, as if they were talking themselves up.

it endears you. it reminds you of mason, you’ve caught him doing the same before any big game. come to think of it, the figure looks a lot like masons. same build and same pretty hair at the top of their head. plus, the jacket they’re wearing looks a lot like the one you once told mason you loved. that was months ago, though. surely he hadn’t remembered you’d said that. 

wait.

it is mason.

mason. 

oh.

oh.

he sees you right after, his pacing coming to an abrupt stop. not having noticed your intoxicated state, he’s quick to approach you. “y/n?”

your brain isn’t on your side tonight. your mouth speaks the first words that come to mind, “hey there, gorgeous.”

“hi, love.” his smile is instant as his gaze fixes upon your face. He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he’s always had. you adored his beautiful prince like hair. it looks as it had been perfectly styled at one point, now it was disheveled from endless tugging and fixing. he frowns when he realises you’re leaning next to the exit door. “are you leaving? I was just heading in there to see you.”

instead of responding, you try to take another step towards the exit. this is too much for you. on a good day, you’re barely able to handle being in his intoxicating presence. in your current state? you can feel him taking up every atom and particle surrounding you.

you stumble and his reflexes are quick to hold you up. as if this is a regular occurence, your hands instantly find their way onto his chest.

oh my god, you scream in your head. mason mount has his hands wrapped around my waist. my skin is burning where he’s touching me, please never let go. 

“i’m okay, i’m okay,” you mumble. 

“having too much fun, yeah?”

you’re tempted to lie to him. you want to tell him that you had the best night of your life without him, that you hadn’t even noticed his absence. you want to tell him that you drank too much because you were having too much fun with other guys. 

you’re tempted to tell him the truth, too. you want to tell him that you were having the worst night of your life, that you drank to forget that he was probably having fun with his supermodel girlfriend. you want to tell him that it should be you asking him if he’s ready to go home, after a long day of work. while you’re at it, you think of telling him that his face is so infuriatingly gorgeous that it’s all you ever think about.

would he even care?

you feel dizzier with the way he’s looking at you with those pretty, concerned eyes. mason has always had a knack for making you blush with just a look but tonight it’s stronger. all you want to do is kiss him silly. these stupid feelings irk you, really. 

“stop looking at me like that!” you take your hands off his chest and your fingers immediately miss the contact. you lightly shove him, “god, you make me so fucking mad sometimes.”

now mason is confused. the corner of his mouth dips, “i’m sorry, love. I don’t know what I did wrong.”

“oh, ‘i’m sorry, love. I don’t know what I did wrong’, bite me!” you try your best to copy his accent. you know you’re acting childish, but you can’t help it. common sense left you long ago and now is the only time you can tell him exactly how you feel. “you have no idea how infuriating you are.”

“y/n,” he tries to tilt your head up by your chin. “look at me.”

“please stop, i’m begging you,” you whine. you know you resemble a spoiled child, but you’re on a roll. “don’t you know its actually impossible to look at you? your face is so pretty and I never know what to say when you look at me and you’re always looking at me. can you imagine what that does to me?”

“yeah, well how do you know i’m always looking at you?” he muses. “that’d have to mean you’re always looking at me, too.”

at this point, mason finds the situation very entertaining. he can’t help but laugh. he had arrived at the club twenty minutes ago, trying to build up the courage to walk in there and find you. he still wasn’t even sure if you’d shown, never have given him a real answer. being ever the optimist, he was hopeful you’d be in there waiting for him. he had planned that tonight was the night he’d confess his feelings for you, that he’d ask you out on a proper date.

fear of rejection got the better of him and he had psyched himself out. so, there he was. pacing back and forth, working up the courage to walk into the main room and tell you that he was crazy for you. he was just hoping you felt the same way, that you’d give him a chance. 

the possibility of finding you drunk out of your mind, babbling about how pretty you found his face, had never crossed his mind. this was way better than him stuttering out his feelings for you. mason could spend the entire night in this position, longer, if it meant more time next to you. he’s not cruel, though. he knows he’d be proper embarrassed if the roles were reversed, he doesn’t want you to regret whatever drunken thing you say to him. plus, if you’re going to call him pretty, he wants you to be sober for it. “hey, lets go home, yeah?”

hearing those words are like a trigger to you, a switch that releases the impending dam of tears in your eyes. why can’t he tell you those words under different circumstances? 

“stop,” you’re sputtering out. “this is hurting me too much.”

he lets go of your waist right away, leaning you back against the wall. you miss his touch immediately. “what is? do you want to stay?” 

continuing your drunk tantrum, “you don’t get it!”

“y/n, help me understand.” he’s trying his best to wipe the tears on your cheeks but you’re shaking your head too much. you refuse to look at him, he’s desperately trying to meet your eyes. “what don’t I get?”

“that this is all your fault,” your tears can’t stop. you hate how you can hear yourself slurring your words. “you made me feel this way!”

“what way?”

you make dramatic arm gestures of the space between the two of you, “this way, idiot!”

mason is more confused than ever. nonetheless, he surrenders and apologizes for making you feel ‘that way’. you’re too distracted repeating a slurred ‘you should be’, that you don’t notice that he’s steered you out of the club and to his car. 

“c’mon along now, love.” mason isn’t sure how the night is going. on one hand, he’s with you and that's all he’s wanted for the longest time. on the other hand, he’s not having the easiest time trying to unlock the passenger's seat, while simultaneously making sure you don’t stumble onto the pavement. one things for sure, he’s not complaining on how you’re holding onto his arm for dear life. plus, you keep whispering something into his ear, and it keeps making him blush. 

gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous.

you don’t stop repeating the word to him, as if it's a secret only the two of you could know. you whisper into him once more, as he finally opens the car door and places you inside. the long, eventful night had started to take a toll on your body, your body lazily slumped into the passenger's seat. 

“you really do have a pretty face,” you whisper. you’re much more calm now and the tears have stopped. even in your state, the bittersweet thoughts won’t stop. he has the prettiest face you’ve ever seen, he’s the sweetest boy you’ve ever met. but he’s not yours, he’s someone else's. before the tears can return, you’re distracted because you have to tell him his face is beautiful but you had been using a different word seconds ago. what was it? its at the tip of your tongue. “it’s like… what's the word? what word was I saying?”

he spares you a quick glance as he buckles your seatbelt. teasingly, “gorgeous?” 

“yeah,” you lazily smile. it’s the last thing you say before the sound of the engine lulls you to sleep, “it’s gorgeous.”

-

the headache is already making you wish you were dead as soon as you open your eyes. before you can tell yourself off for drinking way more than you should’ve, you begin to panic.

this is not your bed.

this is not your room.

that is not your glass full of water on the nightstand that is not yours. 

you’re definitely going to scream when you look down and find yourself adorning a large, unfamiliar shirt and shorts. even though you can’t see yourself, you’re sure your face is red with embarrassment. 

please don’t tell me I hooked up with some rando, you silently beg any god that will listen. 

in this scenario, you’d usually pick up your clothes and sneak out before getting caught but, where the hell are your clothes? and whos fucking house is this? 

stumbling into the hallway, you feel as disoriented as you did when you left the club last night. you wish you could remember who you left the club with, too. 

finding your way through the maze of this large house, you come face to face with some picture frames decorating the wall. the face you see in these frames makes you wish it was actually some random guy house you were in. instead, you’re greeted by mason-fucking-mounts framed and pretty face. 

you hear him before you actually see him. you hear a commotion from the other end of the hallway. you’re tempted to turn around and find the exit instead of facing him. you don’t know what happened last night and you’d rather not find out. 

alas, your feet involuntarily move towards the sound and you’re met with mason sitting on his sofa. the television is on but you can faintly hear him mumbling to himself. his leg is nervously bouncing, and his eyes never waver from the clock on the wall opposite of you. unsure of what to do, you clear your throat. 

you fear he’ll get whiplash from how quickly he turned his head.

“oh, you’re awake,” mason motions you to come closer to him, a smile appearing on his face. he reaches for your arm, pulling you down to sit next to him. he points at the two mugs on the centre table, “I made you some tea, did you drink the water I left you?”

“mason, what happened last night?” you don't know why you’re whispering, but you are. unconsciously, you tug the hem of his oversized shirt you’re wearing. 

“oh, no no no,” he begins to sputter out. “we didn’t do anything, don’t worry!”

you’re only slightly disappointed. 

mason continues, “I think you had too much last night, you were pretty out of it when I saw you.”

you can’t meet his eyes, “oh god, i’m so embarrassed.”

“don’t be!” he’s quick to reassure you. “you said some pretty great stuff when I bumped into you but still, better not to leave you alone, ‘figured you’d need help leaving so I decided to help you home. I didn’t actually know your address so I brought you here. I left you to change by yourself and I slept on the couch, don’t worry.”

“oh,” you look away from him. “i’m sorry, I bet your girlfriend didn’t like that you left her to help me. sorry for ruining your night.”

“girlfriend?” he looks more puzzled than you look sheepish.

this is the last conversation you want to be having, especially hungover. you look down at the floor. “yeah, that stunning supermodel who drove you guys ‘home’ yesterday.”

the bastard has the nerve to laugh at this. seeing your not-so-pleased face, the laugh turns into an awkward cough. “sheryl isn’t my girlfriend. she’s part of the new partnership promotion, shouldn’t you know that? didn’t your team arrange everything?”

your answer without missing a beat, “we didn’t have any involvement in it, ‘above our paygrade or something’. i’d never seen her before.”

“oh, well she’s just part of the campaign, she’s not my girlfriend. the only reason she drove me home was because my car broke down at the film set and she offered to drive me to the bridge and home afterwards. she’s nice but ‘m not interested in her like that.” your heart had just mended a smidge but it was cracking all over again when mason added, “plus, I fancy someone else.”

“cheers.” you give him your best half assed smile. of course he had his heart set on someone, you should be happy for him. it’s not like you ever really had a chance, you’re only hoping you hadn’t said anything too incriminating last night. its better if you leave right now, with what dignity you have left, and act as if none of this ever happened. you can go back to polite conversations at the bridge and he can pine over his crush. you can only imagine how stunning she is. if mason wasn’t falling onto his knees for the goddess that sheryl was, this other girl must be aphrodite herself. 

“yeah,” mason is fully grinning now. “she’s just the best person. I don’t think she knows how stupidly obsessed I am with her, I do anything I can just for the chance to talk to her and be around her. I used to be too scared to make a move, because I didn’t think she’d feel the same.”

she’s an idiot if she doesn’t, you miserably think. 

mason rambles on, “I think all my mates know how I feel. i’m sure they’re just waiting for me to tell her, so they don’t have to hear me talk about ‘how pretty she looked today’ anymore. I say she looks pretty but I think there's a better word.”

you can only smile in return, not trusting your voice to congratulate him on this gem he’s found.

“you know,” mason cracks a smile, “i think she’s just so gorgeous.”

“what did you just say?” your eyes snap up to meet his. hearing him say those words trigger blurbs of last night to come back to you. you remember the drinking and the crying and the tantrum and repeatedly calling mason gorgeous. now you’re certain you’ll have to disappear off the face of the earth. shaking your head, “oh god, are you making fun of me?”

“of course not.” mason is in utter disbelief. is he not being clear enough? “christ y/n, are you really going to make me get on my knees? it’s you, i’ve been crazy for you for so long. I wasn’t sure if you felt the same but i’m hoping last night was some indication that you do.”

you can’t believe a word you’re hearing. now you’re sure you drank too much last night and got alcohol poisoning. you’re probably laying in the hospital and having these deluded fantasies of mason saying he fancies you. that is the only way this can be happening. 

“y/n, love.” his smile never falters but you can hear the anxiousness in his tone. here he was, being vulnerable and wearing his heart on his sleeve. he was just waiting for you to do the same for him. he was waiting for you to do what you’ve been doing for months now. what you both had been doing, just secretly and shyly. he reaches out to squeeze your hand, “please say something.”

you’re sure you might start crying again. happy tears this time. “god mason, of course I like you. my heart has been yours, pathetically and desperately and always.”

he doesn’t respond, choosing to finally kiss you instead. it’s better than either of you could have imagined, and you know his heart is yours just as much as yours is his.

authors note 2.0 : if I had a nickel for every time I wrote a mason fic where its an unrequited love and he confesses that he loves reader after reader sees him w some girl, I'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot but its still weird that it happened twice (idk im predictable ig)

#mason mount x you #mason mount x reader #mason mount #mason mount imagine #mason mount fluff #mason mount angst

[marketfreshfics]

The Stratagem Strain - Part III

Plot summary: Arriving at Hogwarts for an advanced graduate program on the direct appointment of the Minister for Magic himself, Paisley Gallos anticipates a successful sixth year of classes. Unbeknownst to her, she is a pawn in a sinister ploy orchestrated long before the start of the school year.

Tags: violence | angst | blood | vampires | tragedy | forced proximity | regret | denial of feelings | NDEs | eventual smut | dark magic | accidental death | read on AO3

WARNING: This chapter contains scenes of graphic violence, blood and gore.

Theophilus Harlow was never fond of taking orders, despite his immaculate delivery on the follow-through. Were it anything else besides this momentous occasion, he’d employ one of the handlers at Horntail Hall to check this mess off the to-do list. His compliance was bound to Rookwood's authority and reinforced by the occasional galleon payment. Thus, albeit warily, he resolved with a trademark determination to see this task through to its conclusion.

No stranger to the grittier aspects of his line of work, this assignment would undoubtedly earn him a prominent mention on his professional dossier. The honour was not lost on Harlow; he understood the weight of the curse that churned within his gut—a responsibility he considered both a gift and a source of potent authority. Every detail of the forthcoming endeavour had been meticulously planned, and he stood poised to initiate the chain of events with unwavering resolve.

Naturally, there was a sense of accomplishment. Pride and prestige for being entrusted with setting the components in motion, toppling the first domino, privy to watch as the rest of them fell on the next in line, the forward momentum of disaster and death brought on by his move. He could watch from his vantage point at the start of everything and see the fruits of his labour sprout, bud, flower, and decay in that kingdom of the beginning of the end. The prospect made his mouth swim.

Still, the idea of whetting his whistle with swill this evening fouled his insides.

“Mudblood little bitch.”

“What was that, boss?” The Ashwinder recruit piped up, tugging his snake-emblem bandana over his mouth and nose.

Harlow let out a curt groan. “Keep an eye out. They’ll be along any moment now, and I want to get the jump on ‘em.”

The recruit fidgeted with his wand, tossing it between his palms. "And, the plan?"

“She’ll be travelling with another student,” Harlow interjected with a steely edge. “Make quick work of them, y’hear? Can't leave any witnesses.”

The Ashwinder shifted his weight uneasily, swaying back and forth like a jittery pendulum in an attempt to quash his nerves.

Harlow sighed wearily, the weight of impatience palpable. “Oh come now, don’t bloody well tell me you’re one of those soft ones. You let an Ironbelly singe your arse hairs off, but the idea of snuffing out a mopey teenager is too much?” 

“They’re just kids, boss.” 

Harlow threw him a loaded cannon of glare.

The Ashwinder relented, throwing his hands up. “Alright, alright! I’ll get it done.”

Harlow sniffed the air, catching a faint lick of life on the barely-there breeze. Even through the slight mist, he could discern the subtle aroma of two heartbeats, synchronized in rhythm, growing more tantalizing with each step forward that carried them closer. It was a slow build to savour, a crescendo of anticipation, waiting for the wren to perch so the fox could snap it up. The sensation thrilled Harlow to the core, matched only by his unrelenting thirst.

As footsteps scattered pebbles on the path, marring the scent of blood with upturned dirt, an involuntary growl bubbled within Harlow's throat.

“Which one are you taking, again?” The Ashwinder wielded his wand, his gaze darting toward Harlow for guidance.

Harlow pinched the brim of his bowler hat, his gaze filled with predatory intent.

“The girl. Dispose of the boy, whatever means possible.”

It wasn’t every day that Paisley found herself comparing ratios of Bertie Botts bean flavours based on package size, but Sebastian seemed intent on making it a topic of debate, no doubt to help distract her ping-ponging fears. His freckle-dusted grin broadened before he popped another unsuspecting bean in his mouth, and his complacent expression deemed it savoury. “Honestly, I think the amount of bad versus good beans depends on how the candymaker was feeling that day.”

Paisley couldn't help but emit a derisive snort. “You cannot be serious.”

“There’s a kernel of truth to it,” Sebastian argued. “I’ve been a loyal customer to Honeydukes since my first year, even had the odd treat of stopping in before that when my parents were still around.”

A twinge of discomfort knotted her insides at the underlying tension there. Instead of addressing it, plenty dredged in the difficult anxiety of the present, she deftly changed tack. “Do they change flavour varieties often?”

“Nah.” His response was a chew of sound, of gelatin lodged between teeth. “They’ve been pretty consistent since I was a child, I’m guessing far beyond that as well. But I often wonder how they decide which boxes receive more good beans than bad." A sudden spark of animation lit up his features. "I swear, there was one week when I indulged excessively, and every box I opened contained nothing but delightful flavours! It felt like striking gold. Must have been a stroke of luck from the sweets-maker himself..." “Perhaps someone warmed his bedroll.”

Sebastian nearly choked on his candy. “That’d do it-”

The paradigm shifted so abruptly, so entirely, as Paisley was snatched up before her brain could detect the threat, a blur of broad, striped waistcoat dragging her into the dense cover of the Forbidden Forest. A silencing charm swiftly cut off her shrill scream, planned and executed with chilling precision.

And before Sebastian could even react, dropping the box of sweets to retrieve his wand, he was already dodging a blasting curse from an Ashwinder. 

“Paisley?” The underlying silence behind the zips and thrums of spell barrages heading his way caused Sebastian's voice to become tense mid-battle. He prioritized shield charms, suspecting, correctly, that the dark wizard would employ some more unsanctioned forms of magic. A hex narrowly skimmed his shoulderblade, passing over the arc of his shield spell, and the Slytherin countered with Confringo.

The Ashwinder was fast on his feet, tucking and rolling in the nick of time, and as he took a moment to right himself Sebastian bolted off the main path, diverting towards the Forbidden Forest, sprinting along the dirt path and past the countless signs foreboding the danger within. 

Caught in Harlow's overpowering grasp, Paisley found herself ensnared, her resistance futile against the immense force. She made twisted attempts to break away, but she was entangled in his sinister hold, her flailing movements a tragicomic dance of rebellion against an unchangeable force.

As Harlow's eerie laughter echoed through the air, Paisley's heart sank as she realized how far they had travelled in what seemed like an instant. A chilling sensation enveloped her as she struggled to make sense of their inexplicable journey, of the distance traversed in moments. Her logical mind desperately sought answers, even in the face of danger.

“Your little friend is trying to find you,” He looked at her with disdain, his breath fanning heat and horror on her face. She sensed the spell that had silenced her starting to weaken, her audible grunts of resistance serving as proof, while Harlow continued chiding her. “But I doubt he’ll be so friendly once he does. Perhaps he can be your first meal…”

“What the devil are you talking about?” Still confused by his uncontrollable power over her, Paisley mumbled under her breath as she writhed in fruitless attempts to break free. It terrified her, for more reasons than one.

Harlow grinned darkly at her, then leaned in, mouth open wide, targeting her throat.

“Diffindo!”

Paisley's spell struck Harlow point-blank, the abrupt impact freeing her. She took advantage of the moment to scuttle backwards, creating distance, but the outcome of her quick wandwork was nightmare fuel in itself. The spell shredded through his shoulder cap, flaying his skin, altering his silhouette. The sight of his exposed bone, with its pale pink and white hues, was disturbing enough, let alone the flesh torn asunder to reveal the pulsating agony beneath. The dark wizard howled more in shock than pain, exhaling forcefully through his flared nostrils as he glared knives into her. 

“You bitch…”

It would have been an ideal opportunity for escape then, but as Harlow composed himself, Paisley observed in startled fascination as his shoulder miraculously started to heal right before her eyes. A network of muscle fibres wove around his humerus, connecting with the sinew of bone and nerves, while a fresh layer of skin and visceral enveloped it all, similar to wrapping meat in butcher paper. The bizarre nature caught Paisley off guard, and as Harlow approached, he smirked with irritation. “Well, that pissed me off.” He lunged toward her, but she managed to evade the forward motion, relying on her agility to navigate through the thick bramble around her. She winced as the thorny branches snagged on her forearms, leaving angry, red, weeping scratches on her skin. Her sole focus was to escape from his line of sight, so she could stun or maim him further.

Harlow's head twitched, the scant scent of blood piercing the veil of focus, and a snarl-turned roar ripped from his throat. In an instant, her attention shifted behind her, fully aware that his threat dug beyond the mere barrier of simple harm. With determination, she raised her wand and unleashed another spell, this time shooting Glacius with intent.

The freezing charm struck Harlow's dominant arm, fusing his wand to his palm. With determination, he clenched his jaw as he shook off the layer of frost, raising the conduit of his dark magic to hurl a stun toward Paisley, which she promptly dodged.

Engrossed in an intense exchange of magic, the two ventured further into the Forbidden Forest, the canopy of trees growing denser, the daylight diminishing rapidly. And despite how steadfast she was in her resolve, Paisley couldn’t help but sense that fate had already predetermined the predicament. She glowered at Harlow, before dodging a disarming spell, countering with---

“Bombarda!” Sebastian nearly swung a full rotation around a tree trunk, narrowly evading the Ashwinder's attack. With wide eyes, he observed the enemy preparing to cast another spell his way. Ducking each of his limbs behind the sprawling white oak, he anticipated the impact of the spell on the tree. As the fractured bark shattered and splinters flew outwards, he seized the opportunity to unleash a torrent of Incendio toward his attacker.

“Ah!” The Ashwinder yipped, evidence that Sebastian’s spell hit paydirt. The wizard shook off the stray flames, caught on his pant leg, but it wasn't enough to hinder. “You’ll get raked for that!” He hollered, but Sebastian was already on the move, rolling down an embankment to transition to an entirely different path, intent on confusing his pursuer as he ambled upright into a full sprint again. He refrained from looking back, as the audible crunch of gravel beneath his feet served as a constant reminder of the Ashwinder's near pursuit. Projectiles of red swiftly passed by in close proximity, his erratic running pattern seemingly far from foolish for how effective it proved, and at one point he observed that he managed to dodge a stray tail of green light from a spell he had never seen before--

“Petrificus Totalis!”

Sebastian's body went stiff, his arms rigid at his sides, and he collapsed to the ground, letting out a pained groan as he felt the sting of broken skin along his forehead. The shit-eating grin of the Ashwinder evolved to a guffaw, much to Sebastian's chagrin. He approached Sebastian, panting with self-assured swagger, as if he had just proven himself by outsmarting a student. “About time you stopped trying to scurry off, little rat.”

The dark wizard nudged Sebastian’s petrified form and rolled him over, rendering him face-up. He sneered down with disdain in a sordid, pathetic demonstration of authority. “I’ve got you now…” Sebastian sensed the wane of the petrification charm, though he remained motionless, not letting a single breath escape. Drawing upon his duelling experience, he awaited the moment when the unsuspecting Ashwinder would raise his wand, providing patience over power. There would be one opportunity, no more; with the incoming Expulso spell at such proximity, the sheer force of impact alone would likely stop his heart.

Once the spell manifested, Sebastian immediately flicked his wand upwards, uttering, “Protego!”

As expected, the shield deflected the spell. It ricocheted and returned to the caster, sending the dark wizard flying backwards in a somersault through the air. His cry came to an abrupt halt as he collided with the nearby cliff face, a sickening crunch sealing his fate. 

Wholly unprepared to investigate after the Ashwinder remained still for several heart-wrenching seconds, Sebastian pivoted on his heel in the direction where his newfound companion had been taken away. He hoped above all else that the last of his luck had not run up just then.

Luck was not generous to Paisley. Her competencies in magic combat were remarkable, with spellwork finessed from dedication to her craft, Still, she was not prepared to take on Harlow, deftly avoiding her spells and leaving her in frustrated awe of his dexterity. He appeared to defy the laws of physics with every blurred sidestep, and Paisley couldn't help but wonder whether he had enhancement beyond what mere mortals could achieve.

“Accio!”

Paisley was abruptly pulled airborne towards her kidnapper, who yanked her wand from her dominant hand with a grin before she hit the ground. Her struggle only amused her impromptu captor, his smirk a testament to dominance. 

Harlow caught Paisley’s leg, and despite her kicks and thrashes, his inhuman strength managed to keep a hold of her, dragging her through the underbrush without cause or care for the scrapes and bruises she acquired along the way. “Let, me, go!” She grit through a clenched jaw, curling her torso upright to claw his arm, anything to get him to release her or loosen his grip, but her attempts were met with cruel indifference.

“Ah, a fighter are ye?” Harlow’s snide remark sunk in, wholly entertained as he pinned her to the dirt with an elbow pushing between her ribs, forcing the air from her lungs faster than she could welcome it in. “ That’s good, you'll need it… but for now, you’re just makin’ this more difficult than it needs to be, kid.”

His mouth opened wide, angled at her neck, his intentions clear. When the realization hit, panic surged through Paisley, her cries of terror rending the air as she pleaded for salvation, her mind racing with thoughts of escape, of rescue. Had Sebastian managed to escape from that other wizard? 

In the depths of her terror, Paisley clung to a desperate hope, a fervent wish that she alone would bear the weight of the impending tragedy. It was a selfish plea amidst the chaos of her ordeal. She prayed, with every fibre of her being, that she would be the sole victim of Harlow's depravity this fateful evening. For in that moment of anguish, the alternative was too monstrous to contemplate — the thought of another soul enduring the same fate, the same agony, was a burden far too heavy at this moment. And so, amidst the turmoil that harassed her hopeless soul, she clung to that solitary hope, a fragile thread of solace in the darkness that threatened to consume her whole.

His razor-sharp incisors lacerated her jaw as he missed his mark once, twice, then thrice, still a novice to feeding on something so alive and virile.

Paisley was determined to thwart his progress, writhing and coughing through the pinch point of his arm to her chest. Harlow muttered an expletive, withdrew his wand, and prodded her chin.

“Arresto Momentum!”

Paisley was rendered immobile, and her fate was sealed.

Harlow gave no pause or reprieve, finally biting into Paisley’s throat.

Suction pulled her jugular into his mouth, and he consumed her blood, her accelerated pulse practically flushing it to him willingly, as each heartbeat became a morbid offering. Paisley's final scream rent the air as the stopping charm faded, its fruitless attempt at intervention fading into obscurity, and the darkness swallowed her gargled pleas.

At that moment, Sebastian let the echo of her howl guide the way, his heart clenched with a mixture of dread and despair. The flicker of hope that sustained him faltered, its fragile flame threatened by the relentless onslaught of despair, like the first unsuccessful attempt to blow out a candle, bending the flame to near extinguishment.

“No…” A cold dread settled over him in a suffocating shroud. Sickening certainty assured him that his intervention would come too little, too late, a bitter realization. The burden of self-doubt bore down upon him with crushing force, doubling his center of gravity until he felt liable to collapse under its oppressive weight. He couldn’t manage to keep a classmate safe on a routine trip to Hogsmeade; what good was he for even attempting to cure his sister? Paisley’s already sapped strength was being let out entirely, her heartbeats slowing, her lungs rendered dormant. But for all the pain of holding on, therein lay a tranquil acceptance of the inevitable. As her life came to a close, she felt a strange sense of peace wash over her, as if the forest itself conspired to cradle her in its embrace. In the stillness of that fateful moment, the spectre of death loomed ever closer, its gentle whispers beckoning Paisley forth with a solemn invitation, and it was an all too familiar friend in the end. 

And yet, amidst the darkness, a yearning stirred within her.

Oh, how she wished she could see the stars one last time…

Before she lost consciousness, she witnessed Harlow slash his finger, inserting it into her mouth, and then spreading his blood across her tongue. Fortunately, at that point, she lost the ability to taste.

And then Paisley slipped into the very last sleep she would ever experience.

#the stratagem strain #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy oc #sebastian sallow #paisley gallos #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #ominis gaunt #amit thakkar #garreth weasley #natsai onai #hl fanfic #hl fanfiction #hogwarts au #hogwarts fanfiction

[safely-in-vhagars-belly]

Deliciously dark! Aemond taking his pet/wife (Dark!Aemond x oc) ((snow falls chapter 21, but can be read as a standalone for its all shameless smut anyway:)) The prince and the fox

You are Willa Wyldewoods, lady of Wyldecrest. After being denied your hand in marriage, Aemond murders your family and makes himself Lord of WyldeCrest, out-powering you. He claims you as his wife and spoils, He commands and goes over your home now and as you will learn right now: No one is safe under his reign. Not even you

WARNINGS: Especially for this chapter: Dark!Aemond (DUH!) ((We don't do half-blends here, he's 100% dark! Aemond slightly neglecting OC, but not on purpose (hes just busy) Slavery, abortion, non-con, insecure mc is willing to do anything to please her hubby and ...well hubby's mostly pissed lol. Sexist Aemond, unfeminstic Aemond, godcomplex/innocent kink as well as dom/sub themes,spankings, fucking, spitting, aemond degrading his pet and poorly translated high valyrian:)

It is late when you are preparing for your act. Aemond is still working, as his duties keep him late. Aurelia has put you into a new gown with a lot of leather and see-through fabrics, complicated designs, and confusing straps. You are also wearing more and brighter makeup than usual. Aurelia forbade you to braid your hair; it had to be loose and wild. You notice it tangles, and you absently play with a lock.

It is an uncomfortable long silence that follows. You both sit on the bed of Aemond and wait for him to appear. You hear Aurelia sigh impatiently. "Why does he even have to stay that late? He's a prince. He can quit whenever he likes. Have servants do his biding." You are a little confused by her description. For a girl that knows Aemond...

She has no idea who he is. That is more Aegon's style. Aemond would never do that. "He isn't as his brother. Aemond takes great pride and joy into fulfilling his duties. To hand it to a servant, he would never entertain such a thought." You tell her. "He is proud and stubborn.'

She sounds jealous when she speaks next. "You know him quite well. The Aemond I know does not care for duty. All He cares about is his cock." You wonder how the two of them became enemies or whatever it is they are.

"How did you meet?" You ask.

She smiles at you, though there is pain in her eyes. She proudly recalls how she meet the prince. You assume at a ball. Perhaps during a romantic storm and they both sheltered in the same building. Or he hired her in a brothel. "I was a 15th nameday present." Your eyes widen.

She is truly a slave. You are shocked. Your terror and pity are very amusing to her. "I am just as you, little snowflake. A dirty little spent slave bitch. Sold by my parents to Aemond as a gift by Aegon. You know what he told me, before he raped me the first time? That it was such a honour to be bestowed the possibility of carrying a son for the prince.' You feel shivers run.

You tear up even by her horrible description. Aemond had a slave. A slave he raped. "What if you had a girl?" You whisper soft. "What would he have done with you?' There is a chance that one day, you might give him a daughter as well. That would be a child he does not want. He once told you girls can be married off, and that is their use. Men will be heirs. Women will be property.

There is a long silence as you notice her fingers distantly rubbing her own stomach. "I did. Aegon handled it." Handled it. Handled it how?

Your mind draws the worst conclusion immensely fast. "They took the babe away from you?" You guess they put her into an orphanage.

She does not even hide the truth. "They gave me a potion. I spiralled, passed out, and woke up without any child in my belly, covered in my own blood, the remains of my child." So they did not even know for certain that the babe was a boy or a girl. They just saw a complication and went to solve it the easy way. With knives and poison.

You are disgusted. "Why would Aemond allow this?"

She scoffs. "Aemond? Aemond only liked me for one night. Aegon fucked me all the others. Aemond took my maidenhead, I spent the entire night sobbing. He hit me a few times to shut me up. He did apologise for it in the morning."

"I found him later fighting with his brother. They were screaming at one another and Aemond wanted to know if he still had the reciet to me. He wished to trade me for a unexperienced girl at the brothel."

"He would trade you just as that? For another girl?" Your heart bleeds. You have the feeling Aemond one day will do the same with you. Trade you for another girl. A younger, prettier, more innocent girl.

Aurelia frowns at you as if she is conflicted. "I pity you, little snowflake. It is a wonder you survived Aemond that long." She sighs sweetly. "I will take the lead during tonight's events. Aemond already thinks me a slut, you can be the innocent doe eyed girl and just be fucked."

Finally your husband enters. You have missed him so badly. You miss the way she smells as leather and burned wood. You missed the sound of his breathing and even the sight of his scar. You missed everything about him in a way you didn't knew you could miss someone that much.

Aemond has not seen you two yet and kicks out his boots first, put his coat over the chair by his desk and sights so deeply that you want to rub his back to comfort him. He takes a few steps back and turns, eying you finally in your new outfit with your new friend.

You have trouble reading your husband. You always have but now more than usual. You keep staring at him, waiting for any reaction.

He stares at both of you, tangled up together for him and him alone. For his pleasure. You wonder how you'll handle Aurelia touching Aemond. You don't like that thought very much.

Aurelia chuckles when slowly touching your breasts. "Good evening, my prince." She purrs at him when you are silent. She rolls you on your front and exposes your behind. She softly smacks you, lifting your gowns for him. He takes in your naked behind, fascinated by your lack of undergarments. "Greet him." She tells you.

You greet him as you always would. "Hello, husband." You say. "We eh thought you might wish to see us both tonight. We will do as you desire, husband." You speak soft as you practiced. Aurelia rolls her eyes at you.

"Don't mind your little pet, my prince. I am learning her all the deliciously dark things you like. She will be turned into a pretty whore once we are done here. It will be as if you took her from the silk of streets yourself." You gulp at her description.

Aemond leans in, breathing in your direction. You turn away, avoiding his gaze. He grabs your chin and forces his fingers to trace over your lips before he looks at your naked breasts. "You think I want anyone else fucking this little cunny?" His fingers go deep inside of you and you nearly grunt with anticipation. You buck helplessly but by the time you have processes his touch he is gone; leaving you high and hungry.

Aemond continues, rubbing your nippels and forcing your mouth open so he can ravish your mouth with a wicked smile on his lips. His eye shimmers beautifully and you are moaning helplessly against his powerful attack you can not fend off. "You think I want anyone else, touching what I died, fought and bled for? You think I want you to rise, crumble, and fall with anyone else but me in your mind, little fox?" He roars, firing himself up with his speech as well yourself. You tremble on the bed, and your hands are touching your clit. You rub eagerly, chasing the pleasure.

"I-" You mutter helpless, clutching your wetness and closing your eyes. Aurelia is slightly shocked behind you and she chuckles lightly when spanking your exposed cunt causing you to whimper it out in pure pain.

Aemond watches, his hands folded on his back. You assume discipline will be in order. You will be dragged, smacked, spanked, owned fucked and spend and sprayed upon. You will be a bunny fighting a wolf. You know who will top you. Who will force you into submission and who will enjoy your spoils and proclaim his victory over your body.

Aemond Targaryen. You weakly mutter a excuse for your behaviour as it becomes clear that Aemond is not aroused at all. You feel foolish. Ugly, even. "I only did it for you." You confess .

He lets out a wicked long laugh. He inspects your cunt, pushing your legs wide so he can see you properly. Nothing is hidden from him. He wets his finger tip and brings it it your soaked little cunt, making a few perfect circles that break your core and alight your soul. Your hips are grabbed by Aurelia and she brings them to Aemonds fingers. You are caught between them, helpless. You wish to speak again but Aemond covers your mouth with his hand, and you find it a little too exciting and clench your pussy muscles causing the finger to be taken deeper.

You beg aemond with your eyes for mercy and understanding. He only scoffs, a wicked gleam in his one good eye and a cruel smirk on his lips "O, Hush. You'll be silent until I have figured out a proper punishment for your treason."

You freeze, terrified. Aurelia is escorted out of the room by Aemond's hard voice. "Out, whore. Out. You corrupted my perfect pretty pet already. Crawl back to Aegon.'

He turns to you, his Submissive little dirty bad pet. He sighs, shaking his head, clicking his tongue. You feel your eyes wander, too frightend to look at Aemond. He slams the door causing you to flinch. He smirks, enjoying your fear.

When he speaks his voice is a mocking soft tone. "My sweet little naive pet. It appears I can't leave you alone without proper supervision anymore."

He might go back to restricting you or giving you a guard. Perhaps he will tie your hands on your back and chain you to the bed as his whore. You picture yourself trying to break free as his cock pounds you relentlessly, taking out his displeasure and anger on you. A small needy pressure between your legs reminds you are wet. "I can be left alone, husband. I have a been a good girl. This is all a misunderstanding..." You desperately try to explain yourself.

He scoops your asscheeks, making sure that you feel the pressure and warmth of his fingers. "I don't care, my little fox. You have proven to me that you need a big punishment." He whispers in your ear causing you to shiver and to twist on the bed. "You will be dealt with accordingly. You want to be a whore? You'll be treated as one." You let out a soft whimper as Aemond takes place behind you, first spanking you with the palm of his hand.

Once he thinks you have learned your lessons you crawl away from him only to be dragged back by your hair. You whimper in pain. "Ow Ow Ow Ow!"

"I didn't say you could leave." This time he changes his spankings into ruthless slaps that make your asscheeks jiggle with each crushing blow.

It is not spanking. It is slapping. He smacks down harder and harder as you come closer to where you wish to be. Your legs are parted and Aemond's finger eases in, you welcome him home.

Your breasts dangle as he slaps your asscheeks, inflicting anger and shame upon you. You are turning wet on his lap, cursing yourself for ir. You wish he would never discovered that you enjoy this brutal activity.

Aemond hushes you as you whimper, true tears spreading and clouding your vision. You are begging on your knees for him. "Please, husband. I only need the cock a few moments. You can have me as you like. I'll be your dirty little pet."

"Repeat after me: I am Aemond's little pet. My cunt is his and his alone. I will never commit treason to my husband again. The next time I need my pussy fucked, I come to him so he can fuck me, as is proper between man and wife."

You have no trouble repeating that. Desire dulls out your pride. You wait for him to continue. "Now, my little pet. You've had your pleasure." So it is time he will get his.

Excitement makes a slave out of you, eager to please your husband as you watch as he takes his pants off. His cock is red and swollen and pre cum drips down from it. You force your mouth under it, capturing the little drops of cum with soft moans and precision. "You will do your duties or I will punish you severely. Do you understand?" He whispers when a soft drop of cum splashes on your tongue, setting your body on fire.

You nod. "Yes, my Prince."

"You will refer to me as master or you'll be quiet."

You softly kiss his balls first, licking them for him. You taste cum and sweat a delicious combination that makes your cunt clench and your breath catch. You ease the tip of the cock inside your mouth, letting Aemond feel the muscles of your mouth work and softly message his length as he pushes it deeper and deeper inside of you. You start to suck.

A few drops of delicious cum are granted right away for your hard work. "That is it, little dirty whore. Take every drop I give you. You best swallow it all."

The erected cock leaves your mouth and you watch as it is pushed between your breasts. Aemond forces your fingers around his cockhead and you are watching speechlessy as he slowly paints your chests with a few beautiful white almost see-through drops of his cum.

You turn on your knees for him, so he may fuck you now that he is erected and hard. You clench your little cunny muscles already feeling the cock pound you without mercy or consideration. You'll be owned as a whore this time. It is what you always wanted from him but never could mutter outloud.

You repeat the words after him, desperately to get them right. "I am your whore. My cunt is yours. Please, my good master. I need to be humiliated. I need to be taught what it means to be a whore." You whisper.

You are met with silence. You beg him. You tear up. Until you feel a push in your back that forces you on all fours. You try 5o escape but are pulled back in a way that makes you gasp and giggle. Aemond smirks. "That was the answer." His cock meets your soaked entrance lips, pushing in gentle and soft at first. Your wetness makes for a very soft and smooth entering, causing Aemond to take you as deep as he can.

He stretches you out in a way, opening you up to him by slowly making his way inside of you, pushing forward as a soldier sieging a castle. Your moans and begs are desperate but ignored. It isn't long that you are filled completely by his thick and big shaft as your face gets wrinkles of pain and dedication.

"I feel your clenching. You are trying to milk my cock dry, aren't you, filthy whore?" You do just that. You don't even realize Aemond could feel you tighten around him as you do that. You repeat the process when nodding furiously. You feel him pounding away at your pussy, as spots cloud your vision. "Whores don't get to consent. They take the work they are given." He tells you when you are relentlessly pounded by his thick shaft. It hurts and yet you like the way it stretches you out. You tighten your muscles around him once more, eager for his release. He should coat your pussy with his cum. You are beyond wet and begging, your breath a soft pant.

He forces you to speak suddenly. "Tell me, slut. Do you wish to deprive me of my cum? Is that what you are trying to do with your pussy muscles?" He chuckles as you cry out once more crying.

You nod instead of lying. Instead of honourable you wish to get fucked. "Yes. It's...O...Good..."

"Since you can't make proper sentences and speak to your master with respect, you'll be silent." He tells you. The cock pounds harder and faster, ignoring your cries as he fully takes you with long hard possessive trusts. Your moans feel the room. Grunts and moans of pain leave your mouth as well as useless begs. You are owned by the prince.

You are so close. You brace yourself. Aemond notices your change very well and smugly pulls out. You watch his soaked cock, shimmering with your own transparent wetness as well as his own cum. You wish he would force it in your face so you can suck it clean for him. Your wifely duties have always fasinated you and you can't help but wish that one day Aemond would make use of you the way a owner makes use of his property. A good throat fucking when you suck and lick his balls for him, encouraging him to release himself inside your mouth. You would love nothing more to be grabbed and instead be injected into your face, the cum showing everyone at court what a whore you are. You fantasies take you further and deeper.

Aemond sits the iron throne, wearing a crown when having his legs crossed. He orders his guards to hand you to him. The entire court is present. Around dozens of people. His rich voice fills the room. "You are all here today because I commanded you all. You will see what my Willa, my little fox can do." He removes his pants very quickly and you are pushed on the throne. Your legs are spread and you are fucked when sitting the rough iron chair. You moan and gasp as your husband fucks you bloody on the throne, the iron causing small cuts and displeasure. He throws you as a animal on the hard grounds of the castle as you sob in pleasure, bucking your hips as he brutally takes you on your knees proving his dominance over you by ruthless pounding that makes you cry and beg. Noble ladies look fasinated with the prince's hard work, eager to have his cock for their own. You posessivly clench once more and start to clench repeating the process as he groans. You are milking him as he calls it. You will store all his cum inside of you, the way a dragon stores his treasure in his cave.

You are pounded as hard as Aemond can give his grunts and groans becoming harder. You need a big one. A good one. He takes a break, letting himself out...

Before slamming back inside of you, sending you closer and closer to the edge. "Such a good whore for me." He mutters to himself as he throws himself back inside of you, devouring your innocence and claiming you as his spoils. He pounds harder, pounding faster, pounding intenser. He pounds away at your body as your cries become a little louder. "I will make you cum you slut." He vows gripping your hips, driving himself inside of you as if you are a fallen soldier and he is a knife. You wish he would. You know he can.

He pounds away at you, until you are screaming incoherently and your lungs hurt from the cries. Your face is stained with sweat and tears as your husband makes his claim. He trusts even faster encouraged by your cries and your whimpers. "Beg for me." He groans.

You let go of your last bits of pride. "Please, husband." Your throat hurts when you Speak. He takes you mercilessly at this point. The pleasure kills you yet brings you back to life. You want it to stop but not that ends.

Your hips are grabbed tightly as Aemond takes a few deep breaths. "Scream for me. Let me hear how much you crave what I am giving you." He groans darkly. You nod weakly.

You scream for him, certainly loud enough for people outside the room to hear but you don't care. You wish to be good. "Aemond!"

Aemond takes you faster and faster and the line between paradise and reality blurs and blurs further and further. You hear the sound of flesh slapping against flesh as he takes you harder and harder he takes the control of you. "Say it. Say you will never belong to anyone else again." He whispers in your ear.

"I am yours. Only yours, husband, my master. My prince. My lord. My only one...My king."

Aemond eyes widen as he takes is these titles and your praise. You never been this bold before. He likes it. "Thank you, my sweetest little fox." He whispers before kissing your lips tasting his own cum on it. You nod, panting.

Aemond steadies himself. All it takes is one final push for the kinslayer to release his cum and load deep inside of you. You clench once more, eager to milk his cock when the cum flows so richly. You buck your hips desperately when Aemond curses in what you assume is high Valyrian. He finishes with a brute and inconsiderate pound, glaring at you as a animal.

It is enough to send you over the edge, causing you to fall down and to let go. Your body locks and tightens as Aemond takes it rapidly now, encouraging you to continue this marvelous show. He continues to pound a few times and with a slap on your ass and a hiss he sends you down for good. "My little fox, you will come now. You will soak yourself for your master. Show me. Show me what a marvelous whore I made."

With his approval and his approval alone, you finish in front of him, clutching him tightly inside of you when you cry out his name begging for mercy you are not worthy of.

Aemond Targaryen takes you in as you lay there, your cunt spend, wet and dripping. Your chest decorated with his cum and even your lips drip of saliva and cum. You feel tired and statisifed. You stop Aemond.

You need to tell him. Now. "Aemond; I have something to tell you." You whisper soft.

Aemond freezes and waits. You hesitate. His voice speaks and yoi hear a unfamiliar phrase as he touches your face gently. "Avy jorrāelan, willa. Issa byka dyni. Issa prince. Issa dāria. Issa jaesa. Issa ōños isse se zōbrie. Nyke jāhor zālagon dārȳti syt ao, nyke jāhor ossēnagon lī qilōni ōdrikagon īlva se daorun jāhor nykeōragon isse īlva ñuhoso. Avy jorrāelan, issa ābrazȳrys."

You don't know what he says to you. You become insecure. "Are you upset, my husband?" You ask worried.

Aemond sighs, smirking. "Go to sleep. When you have behaved tomorrow, I will share the translation." You nod, eager to please him. Aemond tucks you in and gives you a soft kiss on your forehead before he joins you under the soft blankets. Unaware to you, he does not sleep. He only glares at the door eager to get out. He has something to do.

(next chapter will be aemond pov)

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #dark aemond targaryen #house of the dragon fanfiction #dark aemond targaryen x oc #Aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #Dark Aemond Targaryen smut #Aemond one eye fanfiction #SnowFallsAtWyldeCrest #dark! #head the warnings #dubcon #possible triggering content #She/her reader #AFAB Reader #DarkFantasy #Possible noncon #Possible gore #Old work

[sluttymickey]

Happy wedding anniversary to ian and mickey <3

#in conclusion: they are soft bitches your honour #shitposts: wedding version! #shameless #gallavich #ian×mickey #gallavich+text posts #/d

[evil-dildo]

I am tremendously in love with myself. I love my body. It’s so cute and sexy and like,, silk? like a silk dress. I don´t quite know how to express it but i adore it it gets me in awe every time i see myself, like a shiny cute and elegant thing. Like a doll, but stronger. I love my legs and the way they always have to be all over the place cus they are long and have a great shape, i wish i could explain it better to you but they are the perfect shape and lenght. They are so soft. My grandma tells me im like a flamingo and i used to feel bad about it but now i see it as a compliment. Could you imagine kissing those legs or holding them with your bare hands, carressing them with them? i’d be the hapiest human alive. In fact i am, because i can do it

I love my hands and how big they are, i used to think they were like a man’s cus they are huge but now i love them. They are just like a woman’s, but big! and that’s it. I have held all of the people and animals i love with them, how couldnt i love them? if i didnt love them it wouldnt honour all of the people i love that i’ve touched

i love my ass. God is so cute and round, and in great shape. I cant stop staring at it. I love it. Just plain cute. I would say more things about it but i dont want to turn this text into a sexual thing yknow? not because it’s inappropiate (i mean, im talking about me) but now i want to put out how much my own being amazes me and if i start talking about how bad i want to fuck myself i would lose the point, i will make a text about things like that and how i feel about myself in that way, but later. Just let me finish talking about my ass by saying it is sexy as hell and i love it.It makes me smile

i love my belly. It’s great! i want to pierce it sometime, it deserves a jewelry on it since it is one of my favorite parts (have you noticed? i like to honour people or things that i think deserve the recognition, that’s curious and kinda interesting). It is also very soft and i love to show it anytime i have tha chance. It shines in the sun, my eyes are full of stars every time i see it.

Phewf. I think i am repeating myself with every part. The conclusion is am so in love with myself i love every part of me. My breasts are bomb, so so bomb and nice. I would sleep within them any time if i had the chance, my back is amazing, and athletic, but also beautiful. My arms are as long as hell and strong, i love how easily i can make them muscles out of them just by working out a little. Ha! What else? my feet are huge and cool, and my face and hair!!! masterpieces. But i will let that for another post later, because it will be long too. Just let me say i have such a sweet cute face it’s incredible, and amazing curls!!! that’s it. I wanted to write in more detail how much i admire and love myself. No joke, i am literally in love. And i havent been in like.. never. But now i am and im the happiest bitch alive. I love to look hug and touch and kiss myself. I am the love of my life forreal, like damn!!!! and i feel honored to be loved by such an amazing, intelligent, fun and great person like me, It’s a literal blessing

#me #personal

[tpwksienna]

Fine Line - Harry Styles

GOLDEN:

The initial light top hat & piano together, such a gentle and beautiful way to ease into the new era and doesn’t just drown us with a whole new vibe straight away we stan.

UGH YES THERE SHE IS THERE IS THE DADADADADADA THIS IS WHAT IVE BEEN WAITING FOR !!!

Love this whore

the unity of the psychedelic guitar and the vocals of Harry is incredible! Like it’s so subtle but so unified, so rare in newer music.

this is literally exactly how Harry described it, perfect summer song to just drive along the coast to

Harrys overlay echoing vocals is INSANE! Took me a second to even notice them that’s how well integrated it was, genuinely what a song!

AHHHHH THAT GUITAR SQUEEL AT LIKE 2.40 IS SUCH A GOOD TIME KILL ME MITCH PLS AND TY

What a pretty song AH so so pretty we love this dumb bitch

CHERRY:

idk how I feel about her... like it’s good duh but I don’t think she’s THAT bitch

it’s a very like strolling in the meddow type song that you’ll hear in like an old school movie.

It is a VERY European sounding song, with the forefront of the song being the guitar (banjo?) like this is so different to the previous songs where harrys vocals are used to carry the song while this truly lets the light shine on the instrumentals with the vocal effects on Harry’s voice used to grain and soften (maybe?) allowing for it to be such an easy listen.

It is a very very stunning song that truly allows us, as a listener, to just sit and enjoy.

the voicemail is strange, like it does fit the song and truly completes it I think it would end very unfinished without it. It was a controversial decision on Harry’s part but it really paid off, it’s a very pretty very airy song.

FALLING:

you can never go wrong with a piano intro to a song. With a gentle build behind the piano gives the song a very open feeling, making the listener feel as though they are immersed within the music and aren’t trapped by singular and intense instruments.

FTDT IS FUCKING SHOOK SHES GROWN SHE IS AN ADULT WE STAN

when Harry said FaLleN I felt that

damn this is so emotional I even was like shit maybe I am someone I don’t wanna be around

Harry really fuckin hit me in the soul with this bad boy OUCH

the soft guitar behind everything is so beautiful and angelic, truly opening the song up and creating such a gentle and subtle emotion to the song that has the effect to change the whole song and without it, the song would carry a whole different emotion. Instead of letting go it would created a sound that’s trapping the listener.

AGAINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN HOLY SHIT YES HARRY FUCKIING HIT THAT MOTHERFUCKING NOTE YES KING WE STAN A VOCAL LEGEND

I can’t wipe the smile off my face nor the tears out of my eyes

beautiful.

TO BE SO LONELY:

UKULELE LEGENDS ONLY (very islandy intro)

oof incredible continuation from falling with that opening lyric yes king

having such an easy continuation from the last song is such a gift to a listener because it eliminates the chance for it to feel incomplete because the continuation song allows it to be a seamless flow

HE SWORE OMFG HE SAID BITCH I CANT WAIT TO SCREAM THAT SHIT AT HIM ON TOUR

THIS IS MY FAVE FUCKING THING EVWR YES BITCH

the chorus is so gentle yet packs such a punch, the way the vocals guide the instrumental is such a rare thing to hear.

dude this song is so good, the chorus has be vibing so hard I can’t wait for the live videos of this

The flow between the chorus and verse is so smooth!!!!! The vocal and instrumental just flow so perfectly from a mellow hard hitter to something so soft is so WONDERFUL

This song is going to ruin me live woah can’t wait

SHE:

OH THAT OPENING FUCKING INSTRUMENTAL YES THAT IS WHAT I NEEDED IN MY LIFE

THIS SONG IS THAT BITCH

WE ARE 30 SECONDS IN AND I ALREADY KNOW MY FAVE SONG YESSSSSSS

this SCREAMS 70s, this literally threw a brick at my face and imprinted the 70s on my soul

THE CHORUS !!!! THE FUCJING ‘SHE’ OUCHHHHH

This album literally every song fucking tops the previous one WHAT THE FUCKKKK

dude I love this song so much

This album is such a vibe I am so in love

This song just keeps getting better

THE GUITAR WOOOOOOOOO!!!!! FUCK US UP MITCH HOKY YES WHORE THIS IS UR SONG TO FUCKING THRIVEEEEEE AND SARAH THE FUCKING DRUMS SRE SO GOOD LIKE IT ROCKS UR WHOLR SOUL THIS SONG IS GONNA BE THAT SONG LIVE

he better open the tour with this bitch, this would be the perfect Tour opener

THE GUITAR AND DRUMO SOLO AHHHHHHHHH YESSSSS LET THE STARS SHINE THIS IS ALL I WANTED FROM A AONG AND MORE AHHHHH LITERALLT THIS IS GONNA BE TOO GOOD LIVE KGNEKJTEKSKKSLS

ugh you can just feel the music that inspired this song and Harry did so well

SUNFLOWER:

AHHHH THIS IS WHAG I WAS WXCITED FIR AND ITS START IS SO PRETTY

I LOVE THE INSTRUMENTAL AHHH !!!

this is such an angelic song woah, dude I fucking love this 70s vibe Harry is emitting. Stunning. Truly and utterly stunning.

Dude I am gonna have the best time listening to this live woah like and the visuals for it I can just IMAGINE harrys mind and doing some weird ass fuckin psychedelic shit and I am HERE for it

this is such a revolutionary, decade defining album I am in shock that I am listening to music history right now like as it’s happening

HIS YELLS AHHH

SO GOOD WE LOVE AN ADLIB KING

THE BOOPBOOP AHHAHAHAHAHAHAH A LEGEND

dude the ending of this song is fucking incredible FUCK!!!!!!!!!

CANYON MOON:

initially I get HELLA Beatles vibes, very yellow submarine album vibes I live for it.

This is a feel good song we stan, us girlies are gonna have such good vibe dancing at love on tour to this

The CALPS!! ugh we love a clap

The acoustic guitar is literally what dreams are made of and the Tamborine! Too good.

The vocal effects for the ‘i am going’ stunning!

the harmonising in a diff key with himself WE STAN A KING OF MUSIC YES!

THE BASS!!!!! THE BASS! Fuck me up it’s such a subtle instrument in the song but when you notice it, SHE SLAPS!!!

TPWK:

Ok she’s the weird kid at the table initially

NVM SHES LIKE THE GIRL IN MOVIES WHO GETS HOT WHEN U TAKE THE GLASSES OFF!

oh the chorus incorporation is stunning, no lie the chorus idk if I LOVE her but she’s sweet

This is just a good self love track, like if ur ever not vibing yourself you can put this shit on and just bop around.

It’s very like Christmas movie uplifting vibes

Harry is so endearing it’s so sweet in this song

This is just a sweet song that I feel like is what harrys soul would look like if it was a song

Harry is literally church pastor in this song he’s so baby HAHAH

FINE LINE:

a stunning intro, unusual but a wonderful build NVM ITS ACLUSYIC I WAS FUCKIN PRANKEDNI WAS EXPECTING AN ONLY ANGEL THING BEKKSJFJKSLS

oh the vocal effects are BEAUTIFUL

Dude I fucking love this 70s vibe shit he’s doing it’s such a perfect fit for his voice and aesthetic

This is just a beautiful song.

the repitition of ‘we’ll be a fine line’ genuinely so stunning, so perfect the vocal effects enhances the emotion of the song and you literally are going on such a journey with Harry in this song it’s wonderful. Raw and I am so honoured he’s letting us feel these emotions with him.

The overlayed vocal echo is so stunning like that’s the only way I can describe this song is just it is so stunning.

The acoustic guitar with the occasional introduction of piano is such a smooth and melodic complimentary background for harrys voice

Oh the implementation of drums and the brass instruments is AMAZING! what an incredible mind OH THE SYMBOLS!!! what a soft way to include a heavy hitting feel on a very melodic track YES!!!!!

the gradual increase in each instrument towards the end of the song is such a beautiful conclusion to the album

oh what a finally, this is worth the 2 year wait. Truly a beautiful song that deserves all the praise it’s been given

***DISCLAIMER***

I haven’t included, lights up, watermelon sugar or adore you because there has been enough time for those songs for you to develop your opinions and understanding of them

#harry styles #fine line

[stereksummerexchange]

Bad Karma

@ritarmandi - After a bit of lurking on your tumblr, it seems you have a soft spot for magic!Stiles, so here, have some magic!Stiles causing a bit of mischief from the POV of an unwitting outsider!

by @kai-strex

Josh has come to learn that everything about Stilinski is a little odd.

Note: I have zero experience with college dorms.

Josh never believed in karma until he got to college. In just the first two weeks, Micah broke the vending machine that gave access to the nearest supply of chips and then every shower ran cold no matter which stall he stepped in; Brett set off the fire alarm at four in the morning and then had a pipe burst in the bathroom all over his only pair of shoes, which stayed dripping wet for an entire week despite being left on the radiator at every spare moment; and after Andy and Craig ‘accidentally’ ate the leftover pizza belonging to Stilinski - Josh’s dorm room neighbour - their room became a wifi deadzone. (Two months later and they’re still being forced to set up shop in the hallway with no fix managed. Stilinski always looks oddly gleeful whenever he sees them huddled out there.)

Though, Josh has come to learn that everything about Stilinski is a little odd. He grows herbs on the windowsill of the room he shares with McCall, has intricate red tattoos swirling up his arm like vines - probably the latest hipster trend that he’ll find himself regretting in six months time - and Josh is pretty sure his geeky, thick-framed glasses have no prescription, even though he always makes a point to perch them on his nose whenever he stares at the blank pages of the leatherbound book he carries everywhere with him.

Josh hasn’t really had much to do with him - except for that one time their hands brushed and he got an electric shock - but the guy’s door is always open and seems to be admitting a never ending stream of visitors. They leave with small packets of said ‘herbs’, leading Josh to the only conclusion that he must be the dorm’s resident dealer. (Once, he thought he saw the guy hand a nervous, waif-like girl a tiny stoppered vial of acid green liquid - though when he blinked, it turned out it was just a novelty eraser and Stilinski flashed him a wink.)

Josh is all for everyone finding their recreation wherever they please but he’s surprised at how blatant Stilinski’s activities are. It’s probably the reason for their RA’s eyebrows pulling down into a scowl whenever he catches sight of the guy.

Stern but fair, Derek is probably the best RA Josh could have hoped for, but something about Stilinski seems to just rub him the wrong way. Whenever he’s in the vicinity, Derek is all but gnashing his teeth and when Stilinski flutters his eyelashes and smiles that impish grin of his, it - inconceivably - ties the usually articulately-spoken RA’s tongue into knots.

It hadn’t taken long for a secret betting pool to open up predicting when they’d finally get each other’s clothes off. Josh’s prediction passed by a week ago so he’s down ten bucks to Micah, the only one of them who’d guessed it would take this long. Lucky son of a bitch. Or maybe it’s the karma? He’d better watch out. It has a habit of turning at the drop of a hat around here.

*

Josh is running late one morning in early November, cursing his lucky roommate who has a late start as he fumbles their door closed behind him. He’s just wrestling his bag onto his shoulder when Derek storms across the corridor and slams into Stilinski’s room.

“Stop it,” he snarls.

“Stop what?” comes Stilinski’s voice, dripping with airy innocence.

“You know what.”

“Get Isaac to apologise and maybe I’ll think about it.”

Isaac Lahey is the most recent victim of the karma curse, waking up yesterday morning with hands somehow stained bright red, though Josh has no idea what he did to bring that down on himself. He doesn’t know what problem Stilinski could have with him either.

There’s a thud and as Josh inches by, he sees Derek pressing Stilinski against the wall, hands fisted in his collar. Josh has heard the phrase ‘seeing red’, but for a moment he’s sure Derek’s eyes are actually glowing.

“If I’d have known you liked it rough, Sourwolf, I would have invited you in sooner.” Stilinski leans closer to Derek whose resident scowl has melted and now he just looks dazed, ears pinking. And is he staring at Stilinski’s lips? The way they quirk up at the corners say it hasn’t escaped Stilinski’s notice.

Josh accelerates down the hallway as Derek barrels out of the room and back to his own. He doesn’t need to be seen putting his nose where it doesn’t belong. He also doesn’t have the precious seconds to spare.

*

Thursdays are Josh’s longest day of classes so the dizzying trek to the top floor of the dorms that he usually considers the bane of his existence is, for one day a week, a blessed relief.

Derek and Stilinski are having a hushed conversation at the top. Despite having never met before, Josh has spotted them whispering in corners since their very first day in the dorms and at least three times a week since. They’re always accompanied by Derek’s usual scowl, but what’s not so usual is how serious Stilinski always looks. Josh has never been able to catch what they’re saying and the discussion today ends as he crests the final flight. It’s so commonplace he doesn’t even wonder what they mutter about anymore.

Derek nods at Josh as he starts to make his own descent, a stack of paper in one hand, and Stilinski has his elbows draped over the banister, watching.

“Just remember what I said,” Derek says to Stilinski over his shoulder.

“Sure thing, Alpha,” Stilinski purrs.

There’s a choking sound and swish of paper and Josh looks back to see Derek’s worksheets spiralling down the stairwell. He’s staring open-mouthed at Stilinski whose eyes sparkle above a wicked smile.

Josh shakes his head and continues his weary trudge towards his room. These guys are driving him crazy.

*

He’s jolted awake that very same night by Stilinski yelling, “I can take care of myself!”

There’s urgent shushing and a low, rumbling murmur that can only belong to Derek. Josh lifts his head from his pillow, straining his ears.

Stilinski is hissing, “You’re the one who nearly got your arm ripped off by that other Alpha.”

Getting into a fight with some fraternity? That doesn’t sound like usual Derek behaviour. Though, by the sounds of it, he was defending Stilinski’s honour, in which case it makes perfect sense.

Can’t they just bone already? Josh asks himself as he rolls over and tugs the sheets over his head. He just wishes he had the courage to open his door and yell it at them.

*

The next morning, Josh spies Stilinski and Derek in line in the cafeteria, standing close, though it looks like Stilinski is giving the RA the cold shoulder. The argument of the night before clearly hasn’t been resolved. Josh can’t help eavesdropping.

“What, are you going to punish me this time?” Derek is asking. “Turn all my course notes to Japanese? Zap all my underwear to the moon?”

Stilinski smirks, a dangerous glint in his eyes. Derek scowls coolly back, and though he can’t put his finger on why, Josh finds himself gulping for him.

*

When he gets back to the dorms after classes, all of Derek’s shirts have mysteriously been sliced open from collar to hem. It’s not exactly unusual for Derek to be walking around the dorm without a shirt, but Stilinski still leans against his doorframe and leers at Derek’s bare torso whenever he stomps by.

*

The next night, Josh goes for drinks at a friend’s place off campus which is exactly what he needs to get away from the weird and downright impossible goings on at the dorm, like the fact that all of Derek’s shirts had been inexplicably restored when he woke up that morning or that he’s ninety-percent sure he saw a black wolf jumping out of Stilinski’s dorm window in the middle of the night. He has no idea what’s going on anymore.

He’s still feeling pleasantly buzzed when he gets back to the dorm at one in the morning, already chalking everything up to sleep deprivation and the stress of an increasing workload.

As he passes Stilinski’s room, a thud comes from inside, followed by Derek snarling, “Jesus, Stiles, you can’t just-”

Josh heaves a sigh and rolls his head on his shoulders in exasperation. He’s had enough of their shit.

Fuelled by his liquid courage, he spins round and slams the door open. He realises too late that there was probably a reason why it was closed for once.

“Okay, that’s it, will you two just-”

The words shrivel in his throat as he takes in the two of them sprawled across Stilinski’s bed, Derek’s jeans undone and slipping down his thighs, Stilinski with his shirt off and revealing that his tattoos spread all the way up his arms, across his chest and down his stomach, all the way to the spot above his belly button where Derek had been in the midst of tracing them with his tongue.

“Oh,” Josh squeaks. “As you were.”

He pulls the door shut with a snap and stands frozen in the corridor for a few long seconds, already pretending that Derek’s mouth full of fangs and Stiles’ eyes shining gold was just a trick of the light. He focuses instead on the triumph of About time! as he continues on to his own room with a spring in his step resulting from the alcohol and a vehement denial of reality. His internal celebrating lasts even through Stilinski’s choruses of “Fuck, Derek, oh fuck-” echoing through the wall, even though that’s something he could really have done without hearing, ever.

On the bright side, he thinks, as he pulls his pillow over his head to block out the world he no longer understands, Maybe it will finally put an end to their constant bickering.

*

 The next morning, he’s awoken by a monumental crash next door.

“STILES.”

Maybe not.

#stereksummerexchange17 #sse17 #sterek #submission #fic

[roboticonography]

Book meme

Tagged by @indiefic and @littlereyofsunlight. Buckle in, pals.

1. What is your favorite book of all time?

Every time I do one of these I come to a different conclusion. I think in terms of sheer beautiful prose, it's a tie between Fall On Your Knees by Ann-Marie MacDonald and Slammerkin by Emma Donoghue.

In terms of books I read at least once a year, Gaudy Night by D.L. Sayers is the one I always come back to.

Fave guilty pleasure reads: the first eight or nine of the Amelia Peabody mysteries by Elizabeth Peters; Bridget Jones’s Diary by Helen Fielding (look, I know); and Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier (guys, I know. I knooooooow).

I Know This Much is True by Wally Lamb gets an honourable mention because I love the writing, but the older I get, the more I want to slap the shit out of 90% of the male characters, including the protagonist.

2. What are you currently reading?

For work: JavaScript: Novice to Ninja. Yaaaay.

For me: The Break by Katherena Vermette (everyone go and read this holy shit you guys). Also, because I can never read just one thing, Adult Onset by Ann-Marie MacDonald and The Inconvenient Indian by Thomas King.

3. Have you ever thought about writing a book?

I wrote one on contract (non-fiction) a while back. It was a good learning experience. I think if I do it again it'll be on my own terms, for fun.

4. What’s your favorite series?

Probably a tie between Amelia Peabody and Harriet Vane - I mean, Lord Peter Wimsey. ;)

Close second: Bridget Jones. The second and third books were not without their issues, but they provided some genuine laugh-out-loud moments.

Childhood honourable mentions: The Chronicles of Narnia, Little House on the Prairie, and Lord of the Rings.

5. What is a book you want to read?

The Lonely Planet Pocket Guide to New York City. I tried to buy a copy on the way home from work, only to discover the one copy left in the store had the map torn out of it. Boooooooo.

6. What’s in your TBR pile?

Someone gave me the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo books and I haven’t cracked into them yet. Maybe over Christmas.

I also have a handful of books I recently picked up at a book sale because I need to be stopped, and they include: The Sisters Brothers by Patrick De Witt, About a Boy by Nick Hornby, Curiosity by Joan Thomas.

7. Who are your favorite fictional characters?

We’re only talking books here, right? In that case, I think my answer to question 4 is probably a good start. Apparently I have a soft spot for practical, badass English ladies. ;)

8. Favorite ship?

Harriet Vane/Lord Peter Wimsey, aka the slowest of slow English burns.

9. Open the first page of the book closest to you and write down the first paragraph.

“If knitting with one ball of yarn is still a struggle for you, then knitting with more than one color may seem intimidating. But in this chapter you’ll learn the many ways that you can add color to your knitting and still work each row with only one ball of yarn.” From Stitch ‘n Bitch: Superstar Knitting. (I needed to look up a seaming technique for a project, so it’s sitting on the couch next to me.)

10. What was the first fandom you were in?

I don’t think I’ve ever been in a book fandom, per se - but I did avidly follow the Livejournal that posted the letters from Dracula in chronological order.

Tagging (no pressure!): @lavendersbleue, @theawkwardterrier, @jeannetterankin, @hannasus, @redonthefly, @reena-jenkins and anyone who wants to!

#a wild meme appeared