#quite the bloody fall from grace you got there

[retoldflames]

Retold Flames: Succession War

Got the first piece of many for a retelling AU here (holding multiple AU ideas). For some AU world building, Animus Magic has rules such as one has to have the intent to use animus magic to create an enchantment, you must be touching an object to place an enchantment, an enchantment can only do one thing, creating an enchantment has costs (preventing that cost can prevent the creation of an enchantment) enchantments can be overridden unless they are made permanent, enchantments can form a personality, enchantments based in memory or animating an object can form sentience. Twin eggs also have their own thing going on for each tribe with one dragonet being a fire scale variant and the other being of a subtribe. (There is a more detailed version for both on Ao3.)

Burn: Before the Succession War, Burn would be a somewhat kind yet fierce dragon, caring for her collection of odd creatures (getting inspiration for her hobby of poetry from them as they wandered around the Palace and giving the place some life) with help from her brother Smolder and sister Blaze who she would be close to (also including their father Char who would help teach Burn and Smolder about caring for creatures before his untimely death); Being on trusting terms with her mother Oasis and not so with her sister Blister. (Burn was also generally favored in being the one to be accepted by the Eye of Onyx, used as a way to choose a new queen.)

With the death of Oasis at the hands of Scavengers, Burn would enact her revenge on them and lead a small force that would push out most of the Scavenger population out of the Kingdom of Sand. Following this, Burn would find Blister has fled and enacted war on her, being allied with Queen Coral and the Kingdom of Sea (Forming the Shoreside Alliance); Burn herself retaliating with an alliance with Queen Harp and the Kingdom of Ice as well as being joined by Queen Scarlet and the Sky Kingdom. The Alliance itself come to be known as the Burning Alliance. (Scarlet’s involvement would lead the war to spread into the Mud Kingdom and lead High Queen Moorhen and her sibs to ally with the Shoreside Alliance.)

During the early years of the War, Burn would be tempted by Scarlet into choosing to do some unsavory stuff and escalating to her becoming her more brutal self and killing queen Harp. Leading to the Ice Kingdom breaking off their alliance with Burn and allying with Blaze with Princess Glacier taking the throne and forming the Sand-Ice Alliance. (Burn would come to kill and stuff her collection of creatures that would eventually be joined by the remains of dragons with abnormal parts, having her tower constructed to hold said collection.)

During the later years of the War, Burn would acquire an ally in the Mud Kingdom and its monarchy after they were blamed for failing to stop the assassination of Commander Tempest and being cut off from the Shoreside Alliance. (The Mud Kingdom is ruled by a Sibtroop of Kings and Queens with the Bigwing acting as a High Monarch.) Burn herself would connect with Moorhen as older siblings, building into a somewhat close friendship as Moorhen and the rest of her sibs would help temper Burn’s more destructive tendencies over the years. (Burn’s tower would be left to collect dust in the wake of past memories.) 

Sometime after the brightest night 0f 5,005 A.S. and destroying the supposed Skywing egg for the prophecy, Burn would form the Talons of Power; A group tasked with bringing order to the Souther regions of the Kingdom of Sand that have become rampant with crime due to lack of enforcement due to forces being pulled to the war up north. While the Talons would be generally successful in their endeavors for a few years, they would eventually collapse due to internal conflict/sabotage (such as from crime Lord Vulture sending his daughter Cobra to infiltrate the Talons).

As the War nears its end, the Burning Alliance nears complete victory over the Shoreside Alliance, being held back by Scarlet who has continued to cause issues for the Burning Alliance throughout the War; Leading Burn and Moorhen to assist Princess Ruby in usurping her mother Scarlet so they may finish the fight against the Shoreside Alliance.

-

Scarlet & Chameleon (& Cobra): When the Succession War began, Scarlet would join the Secret Alliance with Blister and Seawing Advisor Whirlpool then the Burning Alliance with Burn under the pretense of infiltrating; instead using it to prolong the war and its suffering for her own personal enjoyment, taking up a little pet project in shepherding Burn into becoming merciless and brutal. Taking an even greater enjoyment as the War becomes more miserable for others.

During the early years of the Succession War, Scarlet would catch/first meet Chameleon using his Nightwing Enchantment Shapeshifter, along with his enchantment creating scroll, to steal treasure from her. Finding his seeming skill to create transformation enchantments (as well as artistry), Scarlet would seek to use his skills for herself (along with not wanting to personally deal with the consequences of using animus magic). Having him create a Skywing enchantment named Soar and use it to become champion of the arena so she can keep him close without suspicion, getting her guard Osprey (former champion and present defense attorney) to train Soar who would eventually succeed in becoming champion of the arena (suffering through till the end).

With Chameleon an arena champion as Sora, Scarlet would use his skills to her personal benefit from creating small, unnoticeable enchantments dealing with inconveniences for herself to having him create immaculate art and jewelry for her; Even going on to use him for her personal enjoyment, using him as Soar to produce an heir to eventually replace her daughter Tourmaline (as she has done many times with her previous daughters and male arena champions). From this, Scarlet would have her twelfth daughter Pyrite, a bit of a clumsy dragonet that would be adored by her father; An adoration that would turn to grief as Tourmaline, taking after her mother, would kill her sister as a threat to taking the throne and in jealousy of being more loved. Such an act would enrage Scarlet with her plan being ruined, taking revenge by personally using Chameleons scroll to transform Tourmaline into being her thirteenth daughter Ruby and permanently replacing her memories of being Tourmaline with a willingness to follow her mother’s commands (a willingness that Ruby would eventually overcome).

As the Succession War rages on, Scarlet would enact a breeding program to increase a dwindling population, getting her arena champions Soar and Kestrel into the program as well; Eventually leading to Scarlet catching Kestrel fleeing with her Fire Scale and Featherwing (Twin Egg Subtribe) dragonets, getting her to kill one of her dragonets with the promise of letting her other dragonet live; Watching as Kestrel would give in and throw her Featherwing dragonet in a raging river (not seeing any chance of it surviving), leaving Scarlet to attempt to kill Kestrel who she had no plans of letting go; Something that wouldn't come to pass as they would attempt to flee with their Fire Scale dragonet, dropping the dragonet from their burning talons (of the third degree). With Scarlet now in possession of a Fire Scale dragonet, she would use them as another of her arena champions and ensure they make their fight brutal with Osprey training them (teaching a few other things behind Scarlet's back as well).

Not wanting Chameleon/Soar to learn of one of his dragonets surviving, Scarlet would send him to infiltrate the Talons of Power (for the Secret Alliance) as a Sandwing named Platyr (bringing a few other enchantments with him to use). While in the Talons, Platyr would meet Talon members Thorn, becoming somewhat friends, and Cobra who would attempt to allure Platyr (believing him to be an animus due to the new enchanted items he keeps getting and being tasked by her father Vulture in getting his supposed animus magic, something she would be woefully unprepared for due to her general lack of social skills from solely living as an assassin for Vulture. Leaving Cobra to reluctantly go to Thorn to figure out about Platyr and not giving away her true intentions, leading to a comedy of errors with Cobra unintentionally making it seem like she romantically likes Platyr to Thorn; Something that Cobra would roll with, seeing it as a way to get Platyr with help from Thorn who would help her actually be able to somewhat socialize with Platyr. Building into a forming relationship between Cobra and Platyr that would take a bit of an escalation with the two having a twin egg that would hatch into being their Bile Flame (Fire Scale Variant) daughter Rattlesnake taking after her grandfather and their Cactwing (Twin Egg Subtribe) son Sirocco taking after his mother. Eventually, Cobra would come to learn of Platyr's enchantment creating scroll, still bearing a loyalty to Vulture; Escalating into Platyr fleeing for his life, never to be seen again as Cobra would attempt to kill him to take his scroll (unknowingly leaving her with another egg).

With Chameleon returning to the Sky Kingdom, Scarlet would send him out again, this time as an Icewing named Cirrus sent to work with Mudwing Crocodile to infiltrate the Talons of Peace for the Burning Alliance. She would bring Chameleon/Soar back for a short period to enchant a captured Prince Hailstorm, a powerful and charismatic warrior in the Sand-Ice Alliance, to ensure is hidden and not rescued. Scarlet would convince Chameleon/Soar to use it as a way to bring his daughter back, using it as a way to strengthen his loyalty to her; Permanently enchanting Hailstorm to physically be Pyrite and enchanting their necklace to replace Hailstorm's memories with Pyrite's. Scarlet would have Pyrite go with Chameleon/Cirrus to infiltrate the Talons as it would be suspicious if a dead princess was walking around. Cirrus would go on to ingrain Pyrite to never take her necklace off as it is keeping her alive.

During the latter years of the war, Scarlet would assist Blister in a gambit to get Whirlpool to take the place of King Gill next to Queen Coral for political gain. Scarlet would be tasked in capturing Gill but be left with the unfortunate task of making Whirlpool into a dragon that can swoon Coral, working with Nightwing Morrowseer in both tasks. With Scarlet holding Gill captive, she would make him into her pet project; Quite literally in fact as she would deprive him of water to make him insane, using him as a beast of a champion for the arena and for her own personal enjoyment.

As Scarlet's hatching day draws near, Morrowseer would pay a short visit and grant her a chance at some 'gifts'. Giving her directions on where to get them, leaving her to round up a group of guards to do so.

-

Blister: Before the Succession War, Blister would be conniving brat that would scheme against her mother Oasis, the rest of her family and other dragons of her home; Ranging from simple pranks to being nearly fatal (the latter more targeted towards her sisters in an attempt to take them out as competition to the throne). Occasionally, Blister would help her siblings in hanging out behind their paranoid mother’s back (not joining them herself), if only to get at Oasis who would seek to mold the siblings into being caricatures of theme selves (attempting to make them not a threat to the throne). This would culminate in Blister not getting Burn to help Oasis in stoping Scavengers from stealing her treasure, instead going to the treasury to steal the eye of Onyx for herself (being rejected by it once she got it).

With her mother’s death, Blister would be the one to start the Succession War against her sister Burn; burying the Eye of Onyx (being believed to have been stolen by scavengers) within her mother’s grave and fleeing. Forming the Shoreside Alliance by manipulating Queen Coral and allying with the Kingdom of Sea, the same being done with High Queen Moorhen and the Mud Kingdom. Blister would also form a Secret Alliance with Queen Scarlet as a way to cause issues in the Burning Alliance and Advisor Whirlpool as a way to gain more power and influence in the Kingdom of Sea (as well as to help gain more influence in manipulating Coral herself). The Secret Alliance would later be joined by Nightwing Advisor Morrowseer.

During the early years of the War, Blister would create the Talons of Peace as one of its founders alongside Commander Tempest. (Tempest would later be assassinated after coming close to uncovering the Secret Alliance, leading to the Mud Kingdom being blamed and being cut out of the Shoreside Alliance. The Talons of Peace would also be ostracized from the Kingdom of Sea) The Talons of Peace themselves would have goal of ensuring the war ends with Blister on the throne, being pushed by the Dragonet Prophecy created by Morrowseer. (The Talons themselves having two groups of dragonets being raised for the prophecy, one hidden with the Talons themselves and another hidden elsewhere.)

During the latter years of the war, Blister would enact a plan to get Whirlpool on the Kingdom of Sea throne. Having Morrowseer ensure King Gill is captured and make it look like the Sky Kingdom solely did it with Scarlet holding the King Prisoner. Blister herself would work to convince Queen Coral to move on from Gill and give at least a chance at dating Whirlpool, giving both Scarlet and Morrowseer the unfortunate task of getting him to be a dragon that can swoon Coral into marrying him. They would succeed in getting Whirlpool and Coral married (the two even having a clutch of eggs with one to eventually hatch Auklet). With Whirlpool successfully married to Coral, Blister would use them both to manipulate the Kingdom into preferring herself and favor her ruling over the Royal Family.

When it is found out that Coral daughter Anemone has animus magic, Blister would seek to use Anemone and their magic for herself; Using her influence over Coral to keep an eye on Anemone without her mother in sight. With Coral generally being quite controlling and heavily restricting what Anemone can do with Whirlpool a very awful tutor that would undermine her use in animus magic at the behest of Coral (going somewhat against the rest of the Secret Alliance now that he has what he desires), Blister would work to ensure that Anemone is skilled in using Animus Magic as well as healthy and happy enough to use said magic to help Blister (along with ensuring she is knowledgeable on how animus magic works as well). Put simply, Blister would eventually become somewhat of a decent parent (much better than Coral) to achieve her goal and unintentionally becoming close to Anemone, becoming an exception in her life.

As the war nears its end, Blister would make preparation for the dragonet prophecy by having Morrowseer acquire the Dragonets of Destiny for the Dragonet Prophecy while she and Scarlet would cover up any traces to the Talons of Peace by wiping them out. (Their plans having to be enacted early due to the Burning Alliance enclosing in on victory over the Shoreside Alliance.)

-

Stonemover & Thorn: During the early years of the Succession war, Stonemover would be closely guarded and restricted from moving around the Nightwing Island before it became desolate from the volcano first erupting (wiping out the vegetation and a majority of the Nightwing Islands inhabitants).

As an animus of the Nightwing Island, Stonemover would be tasked with creating an enchanted portal tunnel that would connect from the Island to the Rainforest and to the northern region of the Kingdom of Sand (being used for operations of the Secret Alliance). This would send Stonemover on a journey (as animus magic works differently) that  would lead him to traverse through the Kingdom of Sea and Mud Kingdom to get to the Rainforest where he would create the enchantment for the second part of the portal tunnel, continue on his journey through Jade Mountain into the Southern areas of the Kingdom of Sand where he would meet the traveling Sandwing Thorn who would help Stonemover travel up north (the two growing close along their journey). With Stonemover completing the third and final enchantment for the portal tunnel, he would choose to stay with Thorn where they would return back south away from the war (unaware of the conflict ahead).

During their early years together, Stonemover and Thorn would settle into the Scorpion Den to hide away; The two eventually meeting the deserter trio of Six-Claws, Kindle and Dune with the five of them forming a trusting friendship. Eventually Stonemover and Thorn would eventually have an egg, a joyous time that would turn in the days leading up to their egg hatching as Dune would suddenly flee with said egg. Stonemover would take charge after Dune, enchanting a skulk of foxes (bound by memories) in desperation of finding him; Something that would never come to pass as Dune would succeed in escaping. Feeling shamed for his failure and what he has done with his animus magic, Stonemover would put himself into isolation within the caverns of Jade Mountain; Enchanting his scales to turn to stone for all the enchantments he has created, only being kept alive in his now immobilized form by the skulk he enchanted caring for him (being changed by the enchantment and becoming something more). 

With Dune, her egg and Stonemover gone, Thorn would go on a desperate search for the three (bearing a growing hatred towards Dune for stealing her egg); Eventually focusing her efforts of finding her lost egg/dragonet, finding help and comfort in her friends Six-Claws and Kindle.

Thorn would eventually joining the newly formed Talons of Power in hopes of having a better chance of finding her dragonet (finding a friend among the Talons in an enchantment using Sandwing named Platyr from the Sky Kingdom). In time, Thorn would form a small group within the Talons, eventually splitting off from the Talons and becoming known as the Outclaws (being joined by Six-Claws in leading and Kindle in healing). Thorn would go on to conquer and somewhat restore the Scorpion Den in the wake of the Talons collapse with her Outclaws, eventually becoming an aunt to Six-Claws and Kindle’s daughter Ostrich. (Thorn would also go on to take one of Platyr’s sons from Cobra a few years after his disappearance, raising them as part of the Outclaws.)

-

Blaze: During the early years of her life, Blaze wouldn’t really be the brightest; Preferring to go out and acquire treasures and odd gems for her own collection like her Big Sis Burn. (Got herself in-trouble at times cause of it, be it from her own foolishness or Blister playing a trick on her.) Blaze wouldn’t really be close to Oasis as a dragonet, instead being closer to her Big Sister Burn who would help care for Blaze after their father’s passing.

With the death of Oasis and Blister enacting war on Burn, Blaze would side with her sister Burn and wanting to help eventually acting as a spokesdragon for her sister who would stick to leading the front lines. To effectively do this Blaze would come to learn about the common folk of the Kingdom of Sand and its politics (not having interest in them before) with help from Princess Glacier who Blaze would grow close to. The two would come together to comfort each other in their grief after fleeing from Burn killing Glacier’s mother, Queen Harp (Glacier taking her mantle as Queen of the Ice Kingdom). Glacier would bear grief for the death of her mother and Blaze would bear grief for the sister she loves becoming a monster.

In the following years, Blaze and Glacier would grow closer to one another, eventually becoming romantic partners as they form the Sand-Ice Alliance with Glacier being the one to mainly lead. (Their relationship wouldn’t be commonly known as Ice Kingdom Queen’s don’t officially take a partner.) Eventually they would have their first daughter Crystal (being both a pure Icewing along with Glacier and Blaze as their biological parents thanks to some old Icewing Animus Gift, same with Snowfall and Mink) and bring with it a joyous event celebrated in Where-Sand-meets-Ice (a Sandwing/Icewing dominant town formed during the War, south of the Great Ice Cliff); said event unfortunately turned sour as it would be ambushed by a group of dragons (formed by the Secret Alliance) lead by Queen Battlewinner in an attempt to kill Blaze and eliminate her from the war. The attack would be pushed back as the Battlewinner’s forces would retreat with her being incapacitated from Ice Breath, though it would not be without loss, nor without impact.

Following her near assassination and Glacier nearly dying to protect her with many other (some less fortunate), Blaze would find the drive to take more of a leading role in the Sand-Ice Alliance; Taking a more direct approach in the war and growing into a dragon the Eye of Onyx would deem worthy of being queen. (Going through a bit of combat training as well for self-defense, not really liking the training but going through it non the less.)

-

Narwhal & Tundra: Hatched around the time of the Sand-Ice Alliance forming, not knowing his mother Harp before she was killed by Burn. Narwhal would be distant from his sister Glacier who would be occupied with ruling the Ice Kingdom and Maintaining the Sand-Ice Alliance. Instead, he would be cared for by his brother Permafrost, learning to live by the beliefs of the Circle Rankings (eventually going on to push those beliefs onto his children), even personally making sure they were kept in order whenever Glacier was occupied elsewhere. Eventually he would meet Tundra who would allure Narwhal and eventually marry him.

Among the Icewings, Tundra would be both one of the more traditional and most disliked; Seeking to take control of the throne so she can return the Ice Kingdom back to what it was before the Succession War. Marrying Narwhal so she can gain a daughter that she could control to usurp Glacier and take the throne, using said daughter to enact her will. Something that wouldn’t come as soon as she wanted with their first hatch being their eldest son Hvitur (an eventual prodigy that would quickly prove himself).

Things would change when they would have a twin egg, hatching their twin sons Icicle with Aurora Ice (Fire Scale variant) and Winter a Ternwing (Twin Egg Subtribe). With Icicle having Aurora Ice, Tundra would have them be raised as a princess to take the throne (Tundra taking to ignoring her eldest) with Winter being neglected and berated by her and Narwhal for being a Ternwing. Something that would take a turn with Hailstorm being captured while taking Winter on a trip to get a scavenger, both Tundra and Narwhal would blame Winter (returning with only a scavenger). 

With Hailstorm captured, Narwhal would leave for the front lines of the War with Icicle in hopes of getting him back. Leaving Winter with Tundra who would continue to berate him without end (even destroying one of the limbs of his scavenger as punishment, expecting it to die from its wounds). Only after Glacier would send Winter to act as a herald (messenger) for Blaze would Tundra stop her tormenting her son, choosing to focus on other things with him gone.

#wof #wof au #Retold Flames #wof burn #quite the bloody fall from grace you got there #wof scarlet #taking villainy to a whole other twisted level #wof chameleon #life can be quite the pain #wof blister #the unbreakable bonds of love and why they suck #wof stonemover #from soon to be father to accidently becoming a god to foxes #wof thorn #stacking up on family #wof blaze #pawn promote queen #wof narwhal #life of pride #wof tundra #ambition or death

[danaewrites]

you with the dark curls (you with the watercolor eyes)

part ii: i wanna hear you speak to me

james potter x reader // read it on AO3

word count: 3.6k

summary: “Falling in love with your best friend was never a good idea, but you’d managed to do the idiot thing anyway, carrying a torch for a boy who would never look past Lily’s emerald eyes to see the watercolor ones that had always been by his side.”

tags: best friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, based on the song "dear arkansas daughter" by lady lamb, fem!reader

author's notes: new year, new chapter! i started writing this one back in SEPTEMBER and finally had enough time away from the terrors of calculus homework to finish it. thanks for reading my story so far and i hope you enjoy this incredibly self-indulgent chapter, because i had way too much fun writing it!! i promise that the angst in this chapter *will* be resolved, but it was too deliciously tempting to resist sprinkling a wee bit of hurt/comfort and dramatics in there as well. sorry not sorry!

read it all here: part i, part ii, part iii (coming soon!)

“I’ve got no bloody clue how Dumbledore can be so energetic all the time,” you groaned, head in your hands as you peeked out at the headmaster’s more-than-slightly manic grin from your seat at the Gryffindor breakfast table. You were far too sleep-deprived to process his latest choice of garish attire: a bright chartreuse robe covered in plaid polka dots, topped off with what appeared to be rhinestones and tinsel attached to his beard.

Perhaps if Kettleburn hadn’t assigned you three feet of parchment on the seventeen glorious properties of dragon dung yesterday and expected it done by this afternoon, you might have appreciated the headmaster’s creative fashion choices– oh, who were you kidding. There really was no understanding that wizard, even properly rested. James and Peter had made a bet during fifth year on how long it’d take Dumbledore to crack under a constant deluge of pranks in his office, but they’d quickly realized that the man was too far gone to do anything but take inspiration for school events– an idea that was quite frankly, comically frightening, and the sort of thing you weren’t keen on pondering on a normal Tuesday morning.

Sirius wrinkled his nose sympathetically and slid the pile of raspberry jam tarts closer to you. “Late night in the library again?”

You nodded sheepishly, gratefully taking a pastry from the pile. “I honestly don’t know why Pince allows me to stay past curfew. Marauder’s luck, I guess?” Your attention was diverted by the sound of hoots and flapping wings as the morning owl brigade arrived, apparently choosing a kamikaze dive-bomb approach to deliver this morning’s newspapers. Ah, the joys of living at the world’s most advanced magical school.

Sirius, ever the epitome of grace, slipped under the table as a rogue owl zipped past, popping himself back up just enough to throw you finger guns. “Exactly right, doll, exactly right,” he grinned. “Trust me, Marauder’s luck gets you everywhere. And I mean everywhere,” he winked, sending you a lecherous smirk.

“Ew, Sirius, I don’t even want to know,” you sniffed. “I’ve learned my lesson after the mental trauma your tales of Dorcas’ birthday adventures inflicted upon my psyche. Please, spare me the details.”

“What? All I meant was Slughorn’s Christmas Party, of course!” He batted his eyelashes angelically, still partially covered by the tablecloth.

Your mouth gaped open in shock. “Last year’s Christmas party? Sirius Orion Black, I refuse to hear another word! What on earth would your ancestors think, with you bragging about such exploits-”

He leaned over, eyes wide with laughter. “No, I meant the one Slughorn is throwing on the 21st, it’s exclusively for us lucky seventh years this time. Although, you bring up some very fond memories… okay, okay, I’ll stop, don’t kick me–”

“What are we kicking Sirius for?” James slid onto the bench across from you, eyeing a groveling Sirius with interest. Peter joined him, but wisely chose to stay away from the ruckus, piling his plate high with the bacon the owls had spared. Remus was noticeably absent, spending the morning resting in the infirmary after a rough night of shifting– which you assumed was much more peaceful than the current chaos at the Gryffindor breakfast table.

“Oh! Good morning, Jamie,” you beamed up at him, passing him the plate of desserts you’d been protecting from Sirius’ nefarious advances. “Morning, dove,” he greeted you, and then paused. “Ha, get it? Morning dove?” He puffed up his chest smugly and nudged Sirius with his elbow in a futile effort to make him laugh. You huffed fondly at his antics. Boys.

Sirius rolled his eyes and took advantage of your momentary distraction, retreating back onto his seat to nurse his wounds– to your ever-growing delight (and Sirius’ woe), you had recently discovered that the Hogwarts girls’ uniform shoes were quite sharp. “At this point we should call you Lames. ‘Cause your puns are lame,” he muttered.

You shooed him away with a brush of your hand, remembering what Sirius had mentioned earlier. “According to Sirius, Slughorn’s hosting a Christmas Party again this year. Let’s pray it won’t be like the last one.” You muttered. James and Peter both looked vaguely ill at the prospect, shuddering in unison. “My tie will never look the same again,” Peter griped, but suddenly sat up straight in his seat. “Hey, wait, we’re finally old enough to bring dates to this one! Without sneaking them in, I mean.” 

Sirius snickered and lightly punched his shoulder. “Why, Petey, got some lucky girl in mind?” Peter reddened and glanced over at the Hufflepuff table, where a certain freckled blonde was chatting with her friends– a move that didn’t go unnoticed by James, who gave a delighted wolf-whistle. “You got a thing for Lucy Abbott, huh? Might want to make a move before Smith does,” he grinned, gesturing to the tall brunette boy who’d just arrived and sharing a knowing smirk with you. You giggled at Peter’s increasingly pouty expression; he’d figure out sooner or later that Smith was definitely not interested in Abbott– or witches in general– but it was entertaining to see him out of his comfort zone. Peter had always been the quietest of your little group, and you privately thought that a bit of momentary romantic angst might spur him to be more assertive. An ironic opinion, considering how your own love life revolved around the fact that your best friend had feelings for someone else… and you couldn’t do anything about it except mope.

Peter scowled. “Easy for you to say, Prongs, you’ve finally got precious Lily-flower wrapped around your finger. I bet you’ve already asked her!”

There it was: another reminder that James wasn’t yours, and never would be. You watched as the Gryffindor boys good-naturedly jostled his shoulder and tousled his curls. James grinned sheepishly, shrugging off their teasing. “Not yet,” he admitted, glancing hopefully at the end of the table, where Lily was chatting with her friends. 

Peter rolled his eyes. “Aw, come on, we all know she’ll say yes this year.” Sirius winced, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. Peter glanced at Sirius, drawn by the movement. “What’ve you got to worry about? Half the population would kill Dumbledore to get one dance with you. The only person who’s got to worry about a date is me– well, and maybe Y/n, I guess.” His face suddenly turned contemplative, looking you up and down. “Are you going with someone?” 

Sirius’ grimace became doubly pronounced at Peter’s tactlessness, and you felt your face heating up. Peter had a way of accidentally hitting on the issues others tried to hide. It wasn’t his fault he’d never heard about your trips to Hogsmeade with a paramour– in fact, none of the boys had. Because there hadn’t been any. You’d spent your entire time at Hogwarts pining after James, and as a result had missed the romantic milestones your classmates had already blissfully bragged about. 

Peter looked at you expectantly, waiting for a response, and you opened your mouth to confess your lack of experience when you spotted a familiar redhead walking gracefully towards your side of the table– to James, you realized with a start. Something within you ignited as you watched her glow with confidence, carefree and lovely as ever. Lily would never pine after someone uselessly; she knew she could get anyone she wanted with the right amount of banter and flirty gestures. You... Well, you weren’t there quite yet, but maybe it was time to take inspiration from the Muggle saying and ‘fake it til you make it’. And before you could think about what you were about to do, you turned to Peter and smiled coyly. “I might.”

James’ and Sirius’ heads snapped up immediately from their perusal of the breakfast lineup as they let out an identical murmur of surprise. “What?” James furrowed his brow, looking you up and down– seemingly trying to discern whether you had taken a holiday from your senses, most likely via Bludger-induced concussion at the last Quidditch match. Sirius merely raised a questioning eyebrow at you. You groaned internally, knowing that you’d have to explain yourself later… although, if your half-baked idea worked, you’d be spending a lot more time with him anyway. For now, you beamed innocently at both of them and took a sip of your pumpkin juice. Apparently, the Sorting Hat had placed you in Gryffindor for a reason- you were either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish to commit to this plan, but with Evans quickly approaching, you saw no other choice.

Peter looked momentarily shocked, then glumly began to assemble an egg and bacon sandwich seasoned with the occasional mutterance of “unfair” and “perpetually single, my arse”.

James’ eyes were still trained on you. “Who is it?” he asked, searching your face again as if he was looking for some indication that you were joking. You shrugged, trying to look casual. “I guess you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”

“Dove-” he began, but Lily finally reached his seat and placed one stupidly perfect hand on his shoulder, diverting his attention momentarily. “Sorry to interrupt your breakfast, but Professor McGonagall asked me to bring you to her office for Quidditch scheduling.” James blinked, glancing up at her and then at the rest of the table. He stood up and focused on you again, expression clouded. “I’ll see you in Potions, yeah?”

Sirius stood up quickly, ushering him out of his seat with a speed you’d only seen him use to gulp down cheap Firewhiskey. He gave you a significant look. “Actually, Y/n and I were just about to take a walk, isn’t that right? So we'll both see you in Potions, what a sublime coincidence, now don’t be late for your meeting–” he chattered on as he shoved James toward the doors of the Great Hall, the latter eyeing him suspiciously but moving nonetheless. Sirius turned to you and pointed to the courtyard entryway. “You. Me. Talk, as in right now.”

Once you were sure that you’d made it out of earshot of Peter and the rest of the Gryffindor table, you wheeled around to face him. “Okay. First of all… I didn’t plan that.” Sirius raised an eyebrow again. “Second of all, I need a favour,” you pleaded, staring up at him with the most adorable doe eyes you could physically summon. They were usually most effective on James, for some reason, but you were sure that Sirius wasn’t immune to your manipulation either. He groaned, resting his face in his hands. “How do you even have a date? Last time I checked, also known as yesterday, you were still head over heels for Prongsie, doll. So do I need to check you for Amortentia or somethi–” He peered out from between his fingers with annoyed realization. “You don’t have a date, do you.” 

You blinked innocently up at him. He let out a long-suffering sigh and ran his hands through his hair. “This is what you need the favour for? You want me to go with you to Slughorn’s party so you can pretend in front of the rest of Hogwarts that you’re not madly in love with Jamie?” 

You grinned confidently up at him and slung an arm around his shoulders. “Aw, Siri, you know me so well. It’s almost as if you were maaaade to be my date for the party...” You fluttered your eyelashes up at him one more time for good measure, trying to hide a smirk. “Alright, alright, stop with the Bambi act, I’ll take you.” He scowled good-naturedly. “You know, this is going to ruin my dating pool for the next month.” 

You scoffed. “As if! If anything, you’ll just have more people fawning over you– temptation of the forbidden apple and all, you know.” 

Sirius brightened up considerably at this revelation. “Well, why didn’t you say so in the beginning, doll! I vote that we match in purple velvet, it does wonders for my complexion–”

You gave a very unladylike snort at the thought of you and Sirius swanning into the party in some sort of horrendous plum-coloured disco getup, and shooed him away towards the Potions classroom. That was an eyesore to imagine sometime when you weren’t about to get a headache from the dim dungeon lighting.

Slughorn greeted you and Sirius by directing you to the front of the classroom with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oho, a pair of latecomers, I see!” He winked at you and Sirius in exaggerated motion. You winced as Snape jeered and nudged Malfoy, who was busy enjoying Flint’s crude gestures at you. Ugh, Slytherin boys. The worst of the lot. Their snickers were quickly stopped by James chucking a handful of powdered wormwood at their heads when Slughorn turned away, making Malfoy’s prized hair appear covered in soot. You shot him a grateful smile. 

“Since you two missed my initial remarks, let’s see if you can make it up by identifying today’s potion, hmm?” Slughorn gestured dramatically to a shimmering green brew in a cauldron next to his desk, cherry-coloured smoke curling off of the top invitingly. 

Sirius shot you a panicked look, clearly not expecting to be put in the academic spotlight, but you shook your head and stepped closer. You smelled something rich and incense-like, which meant that Bumburrel leaves were a key ingredient. And combined with the way the smoke was drifting lazily around your wrists, curling higher and higher… “Brew of Mandelian, sir. Used for sharpened acuity under times of pressure.”

Slughorn gave a delighted chuckle and clapped his hands. “Well then! Ten points to Gryffindor for paying attention in lectures!” He dismissed you and Sirius with a wave, moving on to explain the finer points of ingredient preparation to a very bemused George Goyle as you slipped into your usual seat beside James.

You worked in quiet harmony for a moment, methodically slicing and crushing the slippery beetles needed to give the brew its signature green colour while James handed you the insects. He broke the silence after six beetles (not that you had been counting or anything) with an awkward, “So… you have a, erm, date?”

You huffed, motioning for him to hand you the foul-smelling Moorish tubers next. “Honestly, James, is it that surprising?” He scratched the back of his neck, frowning. “Well, I– yeah, I guess.” he trailed off, seeing your expression. 

“The tubers, Jamie, thank you. I mean, you looked at me like I was a ghost back in the Great Hall!” You were decidedly not making eye contact with him, trying your best to focus on the slimy plants in front of you and not the fact that your best friend-slash-unrequited crush doubted your romantic potential. What a way to be humbled– and while covered in tuber juice, no less!

He huffed, running a hand through his already messy curls. “Come on, Y/n, it’s not like that. What did Sirius want to talk about in the Great Hall, anyway? You two looked… chummy.” 

You glared down at the copper slicing board. “Well, it’s none of your business how chummy we are, is it? I don’t interrogate you every time you converse with Peter. In fact, it’s rather expected that Sirius and I speak to one another on occasion, considering the amount of time we all spend together thanks to you.”

You moved to grab another tuber from the jar, but James reached out and grabbed your hand, forcing you to look at him. His hazel eyes were alight with frustration, a look you knew by heart thanks to the hours you’d spent tutoring him in History of Magic after he napped his way through the entire first semester. “Are you serious? You’re actually going with someone?”

“Please, Jamie, do enlighten me on whyever you think I couldn’t possibly get a date with my numerous and diverse charms,” you sniffed, hoping to Merlin that he would just leave the entire subject alone. 

“No, it’s–” he groaned, leaning back in his seat. “The other boys, they don’t know how– you’re so, I mean, just look at you!” he exclaimed, gesturing at you. He stopped, frowning to himself, looking more confused than before. He glanced over at Lily, expression becoming even more muddled, brow furrowed and hard to read to anyone but you. 

Your mouth parted in shock, and to your dismay you felt tears bubbling up again. You blinked fiercely, refusing to let him see you cry. James thought the issue was… your looks? You suddenly wanted to crawl under Slughorn’s desk and never come out again, except perhaps to find a shovel to dig your grave with. This was far, far worse than watching him transfigure chocolates for Lily every Valentine’s Day. Now you knew for a fact he didn’t find you attractive– thought other boys didn’t either, even! And the way he’d clearly mentally compared you to Lily after what he’d admitted… well. There was no recovering from that. Teenage boys could be dense, but Merlin, how you had wanted him to at least let you down gently. 

You wished you’d never opened your mouth to lie about having a stupid date in the first place, but you forced yourself to laugh and mutter something trite about how that could all be fixed with a couple glamour charms anyway so it really wasn’t an issue for the party, thank you very much. He looked even more confused, opening his mouth to respond, but Snape chose that moment to interrupt.

“Hey, Potter!” James turned to scowl at the greasy Slytherin as you thanked your lucky stars for Snape’s interruption (a rather disturbing thought– potentially a harbinger of an imminent apocalypse. You’d never thanked Snape before in your life and hoped to never do it again). “Here’s payback for earlier,” he smirked, checking that Slughorn had dozed off and the other students weren’t paying attention before whipping a mottled yellow bottle at James.

James’ carefully honed Quidditch reflexes kicked in and he quickly dodged the object, but as the vial soared up, up, past your carefully diced tubers, over James’ messy notes, it hit your arms and shattered. You flinched in pain, crying out as the glass shards embedded themselves in your arm and the congealing, repulsive liquid dripped down your hands and onto your thighs. James lunged towards you, but it was too late– the potion had already seeped into your skin, causing an awful sparking sensation. 

You gasped, grabbing onto the desk as the feeling bubbled upwards. “Jamie, I don’t– I don’t feel–” you stuttered, suddenly lightheaded, and you heard someone gasp as you began to taste something metallic. You absently touched your nose. Why was it so cold and wet? You had been so careful not to touch your face around those horrid tubers and oh, oh Merlin and Morgana what was that pain in your hands and legs, please no make it go away someone help me help me HELP

You vaguely registered someone whimpering in the background. It might have been you, but you weren’t entirely sure what was happening outside of the electric symphony of agony crescending in your nervous system. The pain built swirled flooded through until you weren’t sure where you ended and the potion began which was a funny thought because of course you were you, but you couldn’t remember who you were before this so you laughed but that really hurt, oh how that hurt no no no no no bad idea–  

“Fuck– no–” James? Was he here too?

You blinked– when did your eyes open?– and saw him reach for you, frantically pushing his dark curls off his forehead. Why would he do that? You loved his hair, even when you were feeling funny awful things from the potion. You felt his arms scoop under you, lifting you off your seat as he caught your head from falling back. You heard a door slam open, footsteps, darkness clouding your vision–

His voice. “Sweetheart, no– don’t do that, I need you to keep your eyes open.”

You blinked again, trying to focus on James’ face. He looked pale, jaw set and tensed like it was before his Quidditch games. Were you moving? You couldn’t tell whether James was walking or the hallways were walking around you. He glanced down again, exhaling with relief once he saw whatever he was looking for. “Yeah, just like that. Keep those pretty eyes focused on me, okay?” 

He thought your eyes were pretty? 

James gave a tight laugh. “Yeah, I think your eyes are pretty, dove. Hold on a bit longer, we’re almost there,” he choked out. 

Oh. Had you said that out loud?

But you thought– he had said something, before, you couldn’t remember now but it was important and it hurt–

Some part of you, deep where the potion hadn’t reached, had melted at his words. That part was tinged with pain, too, but in a different way, raw and honest and hopeful and all for him. Or maybe that was the potion, you were pretty sure witches weren’t supposed to melt unless they were green and lived somewhere much further west, but your thoughts on the whole process evaporated as you reached a white door and a woman and your words started to swirl until they melted too and everything went black.

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[shalotttower]

Cultivating Flowers

Title: Cultivating Flowers

Fandom: Original

Summary: Marquis is a man of many interests, including gardening. Specifically, his new roses.

Word count: 3500+

Characters: OC!Marquis x Reader (female)

Notes: yandere!OC, manipulation, animal cruelty (not detailed, briefly described), seduction.

The first bloom appears two weeks after spring starts and it's the most glorious flower in all Marquis' garden. Gentle apricot color, like your favourite dress. You were saving for months — a whole autumn — and grandfather grumbled and grumbled about the frivolous waste of money, but once you finally put it on, his scolding didn't matter a bit. The dress made you feel like royalty — elegant, graceful, important.

You wonder if this is how Marquis feels all the time.

Gorgeous outfits, a splendid castle, a life of aristocracy and ease where everything is taken care of by servants and every other weekend there's an opulent dinner party full of refined conversations.

Your envy for him is almost as big as your caution.

Marquis Nicolae is rich. Like many rich people he possesses time. And when one has too much, they become terribly, infinitely bored. That's what grandfather told you in one of his drunken rants: people who are rich, castle-rich, private carriage-rich for generations are bored like nobody else, because nothing is scarce to them and so nothing is precious either. Work for them. Take their money. Keep your head low and remember — they don't see us like we see them.

Grandfather doesn't work in the castle anymore. He's got old hands which shake from years of physical labour and fruit brandy, back-aching hunched posture and swollen feet that need rest. Now he stays at home, waiting for you to return with stories and bread rolls baked by the cook.

He used to serve Marquis Nicolae's father, who was twice as rich, but thrice as wicked, according to grandfather's words.

"I was a stableman, your grandmother was a seamstress, God rest her soul. Sewed all my shirts, this one included," he tugs at the fabric with pride. "She did well on it... Look at those stitches."

For a moment he gets lost in muttering and rubs his index finger on an even patch of stitched fabric, as if hoping his touch can conjure a spectre. "Not like now, where clothes fall apart after just three seasons. Quality... Sturdiness," he smacks the table. "People used to think long term. Made their shirts for decades, strong like this."

Grandfather is forgetful these days, he leaps from one topic to another and loses the main line of thought, especially after a few glasses. But you wait.

"When I worked for Lord Cazimir, you see," he says finally. "He had horses, all strong, sleek, looked like jewels. A new horse each two months, said it wasn't right for a gentleman to have one for too long, but by God, I never saw a man treat them worse than him. Not enough sleep, ridden until bones hurt. If the carriage hit a stone, it was the horse's fault, if the reins got tangled it was the horse's fault, not the bloody driver. He had that whip with metal feathers which could cut through an apple. And before he made the last swish, he'd pause. Look the horse in the eyes. That was the scariest thing, how he stared at them, so calmly."

He glances at you, as if fearing an admonishment. For what? You wonder how it felt, caring for something that looked like a jewel time after time, after time, and knowing the goodbye was certain and inevitable, like a turn of a watermill wheel. Did grandfather mourn the horses? Or did he get used to burying their bodies under the soil? Maybe they fed someone later — people who don't have much are resourceful, they don't bury good meat.

You squeeze the water from the sheet in silence.

"None simply lived past two months, that's why he changed them so often."

"Why didn't you quit?"

"And then do what?" Grandfather snorts. "There was little job outside the castle, everyone who didn't have land or livestock worked for Marquis one way or another."

"It must have been difficult."

"Life is difficult," he answers, and you can't disagree.

Life is difficult, that's a fact, and it didn't get better when you started working for Marquis Nicolae yourself. A good thing is that unlike Lord Cazimir from scare stories he doesn't torment horses and rarely pays attention to anybody in a servant uniform. All of you share the same mindset: a quick "Good morning, m'lord" or "Have a pleasant day, m'lord" and then being gone as fast as possible.

Rumors circulate that Marquis never once had a full smile on his face. Charming chuckles when he's in a good mood, courtly lips stretches for ladies, bemused sneers when he's addressed by those who used to be in favour but now are out — yes, but the genuine and full-hearted joy: nobody has witnessed it.

He doesn't seem unhappy though, nor he is too serious. When you see him Marquis Nicolae always looks like he has eternity at hand and there's no hurry to spend it. To you, he is uninterested in anything and sharp about everything at once.

You can't describe him better. Words fail you when trying to fit him into boxes of easy understanding. But after all, it's not your job to fit him anywhere, your job is dusting shelves and scrubbing floors, and, since recent days — taking care of roses.

It's unusual for the castle to have such plants this early in spring. They're imported, said the gardener, from cooler places and prefer winter over the blooming season of May and June. That's why Marquis commissioned a greenhouse construction weeks prior, to have beautiful flowers which can bloom regardless of the weather. It took an entire month of hard work, people hired from nearby towns and a promise of good money. You watched them build from the kitchen window where you were helping with meals.

Roses arrived next. Seven bushes filled with buds ready to open up any day. And oh they did. Soft apricot colors covered stems like dewdrops, beautiful enough to make one gasp.

One morning you bring your rag and a bucket to the greenhouse a bit earlier to enjoy the fragrance before breakfast is served. Nice things like these are not for maids like you — the petal scent and the gentle touch of leaves — they're for ladies in beautiful dresses who have time and luxury to appreciate them, but nobody will know anyway if you stop to lean down close enough for your nose to almost bury itself in velvety softness. It's a small indulgence which can hardly hurt anyone. Nobody will know if you pretend to be a lady just for a minute.

"They're quite extraordinary, aren't they."

You freeze, nose in the middle of the rose bush.

"I- Yes", you straighten up and curtsy. "They are most beautiful, m'lord."

Marquis' figure, backlit by the morning sun, casts a shadow which stretches far beyond your own feet.

"Do you know why I chose it?" he asks. "This breed."

He's dressed in a dark waistcoat with delicate embroidery on the collar and doesn't have a single hair out of place, not a strand too thick, not a strand too thin; as flawless as a painting which hang on the walls of his library, but not as solemn. Those paintings seem to measure everyone around them. Marquis Nicolae looks more approachable in appearance, and that's where the approachability ends. His eyes, burgundy brown colour you've never seen before, measure people too, in value rather than worthlessness.

You shake your head, "No, m'lord."

"Because," Marquis continues without minding your answer at all, "it's pretty."

His lips stretch in a courtly smile of a gentleman who is amused by his own joke. You don't understand it but smile in return anyway, because you must. Because this is how the world works — nobles are amused and maids fake understanding so the amusement can persist a little longer.

"Go on," he says. "They are meant to be smelled after all."

You nod and curtsy again.

Later he will be served tea at the ornate greenhouse table while you scrub the floors until your fingers ache. Marquis' focus will shift towards letters, and this is how it's supposed to be. Him reading correspondence, you being invisible like dust under the shelves you clean. It feels better when he doesn't look at you with those eyes of his. They pierce through everything they see.

There's something wrong about him. But you can't tell what yet.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Life is monotonous, especially in a place like this, even banquets and events have that homogeneous taste, because there's at least one every three weeks, not speaking of brunches which rotate regularly depending on who's currently in Marquis' favour. You serve dishes full of rich fragrances that make your mouth water but can't ever dream of trying them. Meat dripping with wine sauce, roasted chicken breasts wrapped in crispy bacon and glazed with honey syrup. Fresh fruits coated in powdered sugar. Sometimes in the evening when everyone is asleep you mouth the names of those meals: "Beef Bourguignon," "Veal Piccata", "Chicken Florentine". Those foreign words are hard to pronounce — Beef Boo-gee-nyon, Veel Pick-kata — you do it quietly and mostly in your head so grandfather doesn't hear and scoff about wasting time on useless things.

"You're not starving," he would say. "There's bread, there's soup, you don't need those. Be happy, girl. We used to eat potatoes for months straight during famines."

You've never been hungry enough to know what famine tastes like but suspect that the flavor must be something similar to the dull feeling between the busy hours of work, which gnaws at you and makes your thoughts drift to the lunch break.

Sometimes, in a particularly sour mood he adds, "Don't stuff your head with fancy nonsense you can't have, it's only gonna make you bitter."

True.

You're a maid. A girl. A nobody.

And this is how it's supposed to be.

How to tell grandfather that you don't wish to be fancy? Just to try once the roast duck stuffed with grapes and apples, or fresh sardines baked in butter sauce, which smell heavenly as they're carried up the stairs to Marquis Nicolae's salon where guests are gathered.

How to tell him that it's not about food, not really.

It's about knowing what an apricot rose smells like early in the morning while others sleep. How velvety its petals feel when touched. Delicate things like these you're not supposed to have, but do anyway, because a moment stolen out of monotony pulls you from beneath the apron. You, yourself, not just a pair of hands with tired fingers, exist briefly when roses bloom in Marquis' greenhouse and a little piece of yesterday's cake is smuggled into your pocket.

You understand why he's wary. Grandfather's right: with longing comes bitterness. But you're careful not to overdo it. There's only one stolen minute of appreciation each day, not more, so you remember who you are — someone meant to be seen rarely and unnoticed most of the time — and return behind the apron.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Spring goes on.

Daylight stretches a little longer. Ground gets a little warmer. Marquis Nicolae often spends time in his private study after breakfast, then at noon — in the greenhouse. He strolls there among the greenery or sits by one of the tables with a book. Reading seems to be an activity he favors, and unlike some other gentlemen who grow tired within pages Marquis can stay completely still for hours without once getting restless.

You know because you watch him from the corner of your eye.

What kind of books he likes to read if they manage to keep him entertained for such lengthy periods, what titles do those leather spines hide, which stories are good enough for a gentleman like Marquis? He always seems so politely disinterested. You wonder if there are books that can make even him laugh.

Sometimes he asks you questions which startle you.

"Have you read 'The Castle of the Lady'? It's a novel."

You shake your head. "No m'lord. I can't read."

His eyebrows raise. Not in astonishment, Marquis Nicolae has a face of a man who rarely encounters surprises, his reactions are akin to mild interest bordering on curiosity, as if he enjoys discovering something new, something that doesn't fit into his existing assumptions.

"Can't?" he repeats.

You shift uncomfortably under his gaze, "No, m'lord. Never learnt."

"Who raised you?"

"My grandfather. He's a stableman... was. Now retired".

"I see," he returns to his book.

You fidget with a rag in your hands, why does he care to ask such question? What difference does it make whether you read or don't? It's not that uncommon. Most servants only know the basics, letters which form their names and the ones that stand for numbers. You don't really need the skill. What for?

"You may continue," he adds.

So you do.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

"Are you the only child?"

"Yes, m'lord."

"Your mother? Father?"

"My mother passed away giving birth to me, and father was a soldier, so he died in a war."

"What a shame," Marquis says, but it sounds like a comment on bad weather.

You're standing with fresh linens in his opulent bedchamber. It's spacious: tall windows and furniture made of rare wood. Old, like the walls of Albastru castle itself. A maid's life story is neither interesting nor important enough to pursue it, at least not in the place like this. Marquis Nicolae is bored, that's the most reasonable explanation to the current arrangement. He's looking for entertainment, but what entertainment can come at your expense, you're unsure.

Grandfather warned you not to draw too much attention, but it's not exactly your fault. Marquis' schedule is well known — he spends evenings in the salon and retires long past midnight. The chamber should've been empty. You should've been able to change his bedding, clean the fireplace and leave without as much as a sound.

Yet here he is, in a high armchair by the fireplace.

And here you are, in front of him, waiting for a dismissal that doesn't come.

On a small coffee table there're squares with simple pictures — a dog, a cat, an apple, made of thin wood with letters engraved in black ink. You step from one foot to the other, the lemon-scented sheets hide the way your fingers twitch.

Marquis traces a square with a rose.

"Sit down," he says and motions to the other chair.

"Your linens, m'lord-"

"They can wait."

No, they can't, you think. The bedding needs to be done, the fireplace cleaned, carpets swept, wilted flowers removed — there's so much to do to linger, and it's already getting late. If you're not able to finish on time-

But Marquis Nicolae didn't give you permission to leave.

You sit and put the linens on your lap.

Grandfather would say that Marquis enjoys the sight of your discomfort behind that courtly smile of his, but he doesn't look amused, he looks the usual. Calm and slightly disinterested. Sharp, despite being relaxed.

"If you figure out what letters stand from this," he points at the apple picture square, "to this one," then moves his finger to the picture with a goat, "you'll get a treat."

"M'lord?" you frown.

There must be something wrong with your hearing, but no, Marquis leans back and crosses his long legs. "A treat."

Treats are for children, treats are for dogs, treats are for horses who are obedient and look like jewels. You stare at him, puzzled, but try not to let it show; nobles have strange hobbies sometimes: races which cost thousands of gold coins for one bet alone, hunting dangerous animals, forcing their servants into duels to pass time. This must be one of those, an entertainment beyond your comprehension.

Still, time is moving forward and the complexity of your situation is becoming more apparent with every passing second; you've never felt particularly powerful — why would you? — but now you're acutely aware of how fragile one's position is when it depends on someone else's whims.

You take the first picture.

An apple. Letter A. Then a ball — B. Cat... So that's what they look like written down.

Marquis' eyes follow your fingers as they slide across the wooden squares, you feel his gaze like a touch, even though there's a coffee table distance between you and a bit more. You quietly mouth each word and letter by habit, unaware of this little detail. His eyebrows raise, this time with a hint of amusement which you don't see, too focused on your predicament.

Dog — D.

The clock is ticking.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

"Well?" Marquis asks later when shadows cross the room. The sun is gone, the fire in the fireplace burns lower but bright enough to illuminate the space. Sitting like this has given you a headache which makes thinking harder.

"I have them figured out m'lord", you say carefully.

"Tell me then."

"This is A," you slide the apple towards him across the table. It feels a little silly. "This is B."

The way you say them isn't quite accurate. It's "bee" instead of "b" and "dee" instead of "d", but he doesn't tell you that. Your voice goes quieter with each following letter, perhaps because you're nervous or maybe simply tired — who knows what time it is by now? Ah, quarter to ten. He watches you struggle with spelling and pronunciation until finally there they are. All squares from Apple to Goat, in order just like he arranged them.

"What about this one?" Nicolae points to the playing cat.

"It starts with 'K', m'lord."

You're quite sure, not that much variation is left after all, and say it with the most conviction you can muster so he would finally be satisfied and end this odd game. Your head hurts and stomach grumbles with hunger — there was no time for the lunchbreak today —both physical and mental exhaustion blur together.

Grandfather must be worried sick by now, he hates when you're late without telling anything beforehand.

Then Marquis covers his mouth, and for the first time since you entered Albastru castle, laughs.

Not chuckles. Not smiles without smiling. Laughs that his shoulders shake, that his eyes crinkle at the corners. You stare bewildered, not knowing what to do. Laugh yourself? Smile politely? Say "m'lord" again?

Marquis' laughter dies down eventually and he collects himself, straightening his waistcoat which doesn't require any adjusting in the first place, he's perfect as always.

"No, that's C."

Your cheeks flush red, how were you supposed to know? It would seem that a gentleman such as Marquis Nicolae should know better than mocking someone's lack of education, but apparently he finds it amusing. You lower your gaze and look away.

"How are you called?" he asks.

After a pause your name rolls off your tongue; small in his bedchamber, it barely leaves an echo.

"Well, I said a treat, didn't I?"

You don't want any treats, or to spend here even a minute longer; Marquis rises and walks towards his desk.

"Come here."

Reluctantly you stand up and follow him. The linens are left on the chair in a crumpled pile, they need ironing now. There's nothing to do other than obeying so you stop next to him where he opens one of the drawers. Inside you can see something wrapped in white paper with a thin ribbon bow around it. He takes the item out and pulls the ribbon off. Delicate scent fills the air, the little cakes, you know their name from the cook ─ macarons ─ bloom inside the wrapping.

Marquis Nicolae picks one up with two fingers and brings it to your lips.

The macarons smell sweet like almonds and look beautiful like roses in his greenhouse. They're not for maids, you think, no, this is...he shouldn't be doing that.

Your mouth waters anyway.

His eyes don't leave your face, "Do you want it or not?"

You do.

"Then take a bite."

The dessert melts in your mouth instantly. Its texture is soft, like petals, like everything else luxurious you've never had but imagined countless times. A little chewy, a bit crunchy, it's the most delicious thing you've tried, better than a piece of cake taken from the kitchen pantry, better than honeyed walnut bread.

"Another one?"

Marquis Nicolae feeds you two more, before you realize what exactly is happening — a bite by a small bite your dignity dissolves into his hand. You swallow the last morsel and quickly step back; you've forgotten yourself, forgot who you were and where, and now there's sweetness lingering on your tongue, while Marquise' fingertips smell faintly of apricot.

What have you done?

He looks amused again.

"Thank you, m'lord," you curtsy, then turn around to gather the discarded sheets.

"Clean the fireplace and change the linens. Then you might be free."

"Yes, m'lord."

It's a dismissal at last.

Marquis sits down and reaches for a book — he's done with you it seems — so you hurry to complete the assigned tasks. The fireplace isn't too dirty fortunately, just some ashes and coal leftovers. Next, the sheets, then the flowers.

Before you close the door and rush down the empty hall he speaks again, "If you still remember them all by tomorrow evening, you'll have another treat."

#shalott fanfiction #yandere #original character #original work #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader

[simp-ly-writes]

Missed Memories & Otherworldly Visits

Can be read as a standalone: What is Left by the Lakeside (pt.3)

Pairing: God!Gale Dekarios x Sorcerer!Reader & Tara

Summary: You recount the memories of your relationship with Gale of Waterdeep, explaining your story to Mrs. Dekarios before you both are welcomed with the presence of a divine.

Warnings: mentions of sadness and regret, dialogue spoilers.

A/N: will this be the ending of their relationship?- who knows! but I am having a jolly good time writing this.

Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

What is Left by the Lakeside Series (pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3) (pt.4) (pt.5) (pt.6) you are here

Meeting Mrs. Dekarios warm brown eyes that twinkle in curiosity in your presence has you blushing while placing your teacup back on the table. Tara turns to listen, curious as to what parts of the story you are willing to share or moments she left out from earlier. 

“It was a stage meeting, I had just fallen from the sky- saved by the grace of an otherworldly being before becoming strapped with the task of saving myself from a parasite infecting my mind and magic alongside riding the world of many great evils,” you start with while your hands make grand gestures- a social tick you adopted from Gale. 

Mrs. Dekarios nodded along eagerly as she placed her own cup down and settled further into the couch as Tara placed herself upon the woman's lap. “From cultists to demons and goblins alike, I journed up many mountainsides and got my boots wet within various swaps. I met your son at a odd time for the both of us, I was coming back freshly bloodied from a battle against mindflayers while Gale’s hand motioned in an animated fashion from a cliffside- stuck within a portal.” You shake your head, giggles erupting from yourself on the memory that started it all as the other two ladies joined soon after. 

“He spoke like a tried-and-true performer, stating his name proudly in the sunlight-” you puff out your chest while furrowing your eyebrows in a mocking manner that has Tara reeling in laughter and Mrs. Dekarios appears transfixed into your storytelling capability, “Gale of Waterdeep at your service” you say with a drop in your tone, extending your hand towards Mrs. Dekarios with a large smile before returning back to plot. 

“He then listed varios facts about himself, much to the group's amusement- Astarion had a few choice words to say about Gale that I cannot quite recall but later they would become good friends surprisingly… whoever would have known Gale's blood tasted like poison…. Anyways! He joined us on our journey to help the tieflings and a great battle commenced. We fought back to back from that day forward, slinging spells till tomorrow and back,” you eyes hold brightness as excitement fills your tone, Mrs. Dekarios has leaned forward- wanting to ensure she grasps your every word as Tara nods along- awaiting. 

“Skipping ahead through the various nights we shared stories, knowledge, even our hearts deepest desires and regrets while resting underneath the stars- I think then is when I began to fall deeply in love with your son. His witty jokes, the passion in which he spoke about magic, and how he always seemed to know what I needed most- or at least he did then…” you train off, your excited tone wavering as you continue. 

“...Nevertheless, time continued on, he spoke to me every morning, walked beside me down every path we took towards now, and answered all of my questions, concerns and wavering thoughts throughout the nights between cooking dinner and books . Oh the books!” you cry out as Tara shakes her head in remembrance. 

“His tent was always filled with so many of them, many of which I had yet to hear of, he knew boundless knowledge… he was so many things to different people, a valiant warrior to those who deserved justice, a peacekeeper to those without the ability to fight back, a cook to those who would otherwise poison the camp, and a good friend to many- so much so he was even willing to risk it all to save us at one point.” You shake your head at the possibility as Mrs. Dekarios eyes fall sullen for a moment as do yours. 

“Yet there was one night… Long ago when we thought to be reaching the end, he pulled me aside and to the outer planes we went. I was battered, broken and bruised as he sat with me in a pool of my metaphorical blood yet he still took my hand in his. The one that has slaughtered all these beings in the name- for what I hoped to be the greater good. He pulled me out of that darkness I was forgetting myself in and later that night I learned I did the same for him. I was so lost in my joy- my bliss- he mentioned all this power that surrounded us…” you shutter back at the thought, “and that is when I felt cracks beginning to stir from my earth- I was stupid, ever so stupid to look past them even in my own happiness…” you feel yourself slightly drifting away as your eyes well over and your hands shake. 

“I-I do not believe in many moons that will pass us that I’ll meet another man like Gale was. I do not know if I would even want to. I loved Gale Dekarios, so much so I got lost in the present with him without looking towards the future of what he was becoming. I am so sorry Mrs. Dekarios” you sob out before repeating the last phrase over and over as your head falls into her lap beside Taras body. 

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…”

“Do not feel sorry for what you could have done, for what it is- is done, Y/N. That is a sad reality that I have learned as of recently, I hope those words do well to calm your mind as well,” she adds softly, quitting your apologies while brushing a hand through your hair, humming lightly as your body shakes as you feel her own strength wavering at the sight of you. 

Yet as all three of you are captured in this moment together, holding on just barely in your sorrows. You miss the sound of divine humming lightly, creating a light breeze that turns the pages of an opened novel atop the table as Taras nose twitches in recognition. Jumping off the couch to meet the new visitor of the space. 

A clearing of a throat that echos in an otherworldly fashion has you and Mother Dekarios jumping out of your skins and knocking heads. Turning your newly aching head to match your heart that jumps as your eyes widen in recognition. There stands the God of Ambition as your eyes burn through his new appearance and confident demeanor. 

His skin is painted a silver colour, the light from the late sun casts rays while coming in contact with the skin that matches his hair. Your heart aches as the metallic appearance has your fingers missing the soft locks of his mortal hair yet his eyes stab your very soul causing a shutter to turn through your body, a rush of cold blood running through your system. 

His eyes glow in a similar fashion to the moon lantern, a dark memory of your journey together you did your best to forget happened. The only familiar trace you hold of this current appearance is in the colours of the new robes he wears that are more revealing than your last memory together. 

Looking down at your own appearance, you feel as if the robes burn your skin as you pick at the coloured fabric. Disgust hollows itself in your stomach as does your throat- unable to come to words with the new presence. 

“My, isn’t this a pleasant sight, all the people I hold dearest together in one space.” Gale says before kneeling to pat Tara gently across the top of her head- she tenses before forcing herself to relax within the gods touch. Mrs. Dekarios remains speechless, taking in her son with pity-filled eyes that hold regret in their deepest parts. 

“What have you become of your ego, Gale?” Tara questions the god of ambition, her tail flicking to remove Gale's hand from her body. 

“I have become my best self, Tara. It does my heart a world of pain to hear my closest friend speak of me so negatively” Gale replies with a saddened tone while straightening his posture once more- looking over the two of you still sitting on the couch- unmoving. 

“My mortal loved ones, how I have missed you both in the revolution of this all” Gale states while moving towards you both and settling himself on the opposing couch where he pats a spot beside him, motioning for you to join him. 

“Madness is another way of putting it,” Tara quips back before returning to her corner on the windowsill, taking in your exchange from a distance. You look towards Mrs. Dekarios, uncertainty clouding your vision as you grasp on her hand to anchor yourself in this moment as she squeezes your own in the same reaction. 

Gale grapes both of your attentions once again, his voice holding an echo-like and empty quality to it that haunts your ears. “I imagine this must be quite a shock. Whatever you’re feeling, do not be afraid. It’s still me, just an… improved version,” as Gales speaks you notice the lightning-like veins that grace the left side of his face, they glow in a familiar pattern- his heartbeat. 

Yet fear is the only thing that consumes you as you take in more and more of his inviting divine presence that you do your best to reel away from. His body is still open, his arm resting over a spot- hoping that you would join him yet you do not feel the courage within yourself to face the man of your current distressed state so closely. 

“I thought you forgot about me- about all of us Gale! You left me at camp- worried sick over what had become of you!” you launch back with more vice than you were intending, your heart learching out- fighting back on its last stilts of strength. 

“Forget you? Never.” Gale replies with utmost certainty within his tone. The glow of his eyes sharper as if trying to portray his journey towards you. You watch as his hand clenched over top of the couch cushion, stress beginning to fall upon him. 

“Time moves differently within Elysium. I didn’t realise how long I had been gone before worshippers kept devoting for my presence,” the God of Ambition explains simply, crossing his ankles while speaking with his hands, “I imagine you both are wondering how all this came to be.”

Gale pauses for a moment as if checking his next words, “The finer points of divine ascension are beyond mortal comprehension, I’m afraid, but in a sparknotes so to speak- I used the crown we obtained to further myself with the help of the orb. And then I put all of that to work after a few discussions with Mystra- we or well I decided that making a realm of my own was on the cards and thus I have claimed my own dominion: ambition.” He pushes himself further, elbows resting against his thighs as he leans in to watch your brains observe this newfound information. 

Gale’s heart drums faster in his chest, the lightning in his veins glows stronger as he loves to view your eyes soaking up everything he holds to offer, this holds good odds for what is to come next, Gale thinks to himself. 

“And what does the God of Ambition lay for his devoted followers?” you ask back, curiosity brimming over the better half of your judgement. 

“I look to inspire my followers as you have done so to me when I followed you. To be living proof that the impossible is obtainable” Gale speaks back, tone soft as ever, his hands reach out to place them overtop of yours that connect to his mother. 

“Oh course” Mrs. Dekarios speaks up for the first time as you both tilt your heads towards her. The woman's expression is far from happy as her smile has become lost, “My Gale was always the one to make the impossible possible, even when it would drive himself to ruin” she finishes with uncharacteristic spite in her tone as she drops your hand, hiking up her dress and storms out the room- leaving the door open. 

With a snap of Gales fingers, the familiar door-greeter you met on the doorstep appears within an instant, bowing before the divine as they await new orders. Your eyes go wide in recognition of the purple hue that overtook their eyes moments ago as Gale silently orders them to close the door, exiting the room once more. 

It appears Tara has done the same in the chaos of it all as the low sun no longer casted her shadow against the hardwood floors. You sigh, not waiting to look at the god in front of you in a childish endeavor as you feel the couch dip beside you and Gale drops one of his hands from holding yours to tilt your head back up to facing him. 

“There are a plethora of temples being risen in my new wake, yet I stand alone in each one thus far. This is only the beginning of what our love could be- eternity. Please tell me you fare the same way I do?” Gale squeezes your hand while the other cups your cheek, thoughtfully rubbing circles into your skin. A small breath escapes through your tight lips as you allow yourself this brief memory of his once familiar touch. 

Gale talks over his question towards you, hoping to clear more of your sprouting doubts before they leave roots in your mind. Yet little did he know your decision had already been made on the lakeside those few nights ago. 

╰┈➤ A/N: so I may be a bit obsessed with writing this scenario... yet I promise to turn to something differently soon. Just had to get this all out of my system.

What is Left by the Lakeside Series (pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3) (pt.4) (pt.5) (pt.6) you are here

#bg3 fanfiction #gale bg3 x reader #gale bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #tara the tressym #gale baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #gale x reader #gale dekarios x reader #bg3 #bg3 gale #bg3 fic #fanfic #fanfiction #simp-ly #simp-ly-writes #gale x tav #gale romance #tav x gale #gale dekarios x tav

[the-awful-dread-that-leaves]

yknow what? get foggyskied. here's a short fic

Inspired by @dcartcorner 's art post (sorry for the link being weird. mobile layout meet me in the pit)

Enjoy Sky Blue

Simon Fairchild pays a visit to an old acquaintance. The reunion is remarkably one-sided.

The skies above Moorland House were grey and foggy.

Of course they were foggy, Simon thought - how terribly thematically appropriate for a plot of land belonging to the Lukas family. A dry chuckle came forth from between his lips.

He wasn't here for the house, though.

After quite a while spent wandering the frankly delightfully expansive territory, Simon finally found the object of his attention - the family burial grounds, and on it, a gravestone with letters engraved on it, reading “Forgotten”.

Well, all of them were like that - but this one was fresh. Not even quite dusty enough to fade the writing yet. Simon figured that this was the one he needed.

It hasn't been very long since it happened. Maybe two or three days - difficult to measure time with a lifespan this prolonged. He wasn't at the funeral, of course - such events were a family affair, and he recognised quite well that he was anything but. Besides, he doubted that the deceased would like him barging into his reprieve of solitude again.

Still, he couldn't help but pay a visit.

“Hello, Peter.” He said with a smile and sat down on the ground next to the lonely grave, leaning his cane on the side of the gravestone. “Long time no see, hm? Admit it, you missed me.” The old man laughed and pulled something out from his pocket. A seashell. A small, grey-and-white spiral seashell that looked so remarkably out of place among the faded flowers lying in the dirt.

“Here's a little souvenir, courtesy of the Falling Titan. Thought you'd like it - I know you had a fondness for the seas.”

He chuckled softly. “I know, I know.. if I gave it to you personally, you'd probably grumble at me like you always do - Simon, you'd say, Simon, get out of my bloody mansion and stop bringing me everything you find lying on the ground - but I know you'd keep it somewhere. Like the painting, and the ship in the bottle.. oh, ‘scuse me! You know how sentimental I tend to get.”

Simon leaned back, propped up against nothing in particular - the man had a truly perplexing habit of treating thin air like furniture. “Still. To the point - what was the point? Oh, of course!” Turning his gaze towards the sky, he continued. “Nice weather we're having. Very quiet. Shame you can't see it - although your quiet’s probably stronger than that. No clue.”

“Don't think I'm gonna mourn you, my good captain. I'm not one for clinging onto memories - besides, I know you'd like to be forgotten. I'm not quite going senile just yet.” Simon let out a quiet cackle, then looked into the pale clouds with a bit of a wistful expression. “Still, I've got to admit that I may miss you for a while. Gets a bit lonely for an old man like me, not having anyone to complain to about Jonah’s endless machinations or Reyner’s latest conquest- ah, wait. Lonely.”

He chuckled again. “Just how you like it.”

Simon was distracted from his reminiscence by an onset of pale mist, pooling around the old stones. He let out a sigh and, with grace uncharacteristic for a man his age, jumped onto his feet.

“Well! Won't bother you any further, my good captain. I know you want to be left alone - besides, it sounds like someone might be coming by.”

He put on his hat with a quick, swooping motion. “Cheers, then! And wherever you are, Peter - I hope there's a blue sky somewhere, and nobody to watch it except you.”

Light on his feet as always, Simon walked off. The graveyard was quiet again, and the skies were grey and foggy.

Nothing beside remains.

#tma #tma fic #foggyskies #simon fairchild #peter lukas is implied

[frompearl]

Vampire Slayer: TWO

Warnings: Same as last chapter

A/N: Enjoy!

The first thing he noticed of Hellsing’s daughter was the terrifying accuracy in the way she shot a gun.

He truly had to wonder what training his old nemesis put the little thing through. Eight years old and already able to kill various vampires? Sheesh.

The second thing was that she completely hated his kind. Seriously, he would have been intimidated getting such a glare of hatred from her if she were as big as her father. Alucard really had doubted that this small child was the last Hellsing. Compared to her father’s 6’6 muscular build, this little girl looked frail and weak.

But he knew she was anything but weak. The corpses of the Level E vampires proved that.

It seemed the little thing got too full of herself when she decided that she could take him on.

She had tried to launch herself on him, cursing and yelling at him. Her fear is gone and overrun by her rage. Her hunger for vengeance had blinded her to the point she kept attacking blindly at him even though she was mostly punching the air.

“I’LL KILL YOU!” She screeched from the top of her lungs, her cute little face scrunched up in anger similar to that of her father.

Instead of making him feel excited for a fight, it only made him coo out of adoration. It was like seeing Hellsing squished into a little human.

His carefree behavior pissed her off more.

Resorting to her last line of defense, she rips out a small knife from one of her many pockets.

Alucard raises an eyebrow, “you’ve already used that tactic, little chick. Don’t you have anything else up your sleeve-”

His mocking drawl is cut short when she doesn’t use it on him, instead she cuts her own hand.

With the grace of a feline, she reaches back to the arm holding her. Pulling back his sleeve, she rubs her bloody hand on his exposed skin. Unlike the color red, her blood was a pitch black.

Immediately he knew what she had done.

Dropping her, he makes a fast motion to take off his coat. He ignores the blinding pain he starts to feel from his arm, taking out one of his pistols.

He witnesses before his eyes his arm rotting, from his wrist where she had touched, to the rest of his arm. Before it can spread to the rest of his body, he makes the split decision to shoot off part of his arm.

The limp falls off from his body with a quick barrage of bullets. When his arm flops onto the floor, he notices as the rotting melts the skin off exposing the tissue. The little girl huffs at her failed assasination attempt. His red eyes glinted with approval at the little girl.

“A smart tactic that was,” he gives out praise as his arm grows back in place. If he were anything but a pureblooded vampire, he may as well be dead. Either through the venom in her blood or from destroying one of his limbs. Thank goodness for his fast healing and ability to regenerate lost limbs.

“But unfortunately for you, your father also used the same one. Though it was mostly my fault when I was ripping his heart from his chest. It was quite the shame! I couldn’t even eat it because it was poisonous!” He pouts, putting his hands on his hips. At the mention of her father and the way he had brutally murdered him, her lip trembled. For a moment, Allucard could see the grief pass her big eyes. It’s only there for a second, before she forces it down, her eyes hardening.

Realizing that she had no chance of defeating him, she makes an attempt to flee. She bolts towards the edge of the roof, jumping off.

Except that she landed in his arms, when he teleported underneath her. She squirms as he twirls her around, laughing at her misery.

“Come now, even though you look tasty, I won’t eat you! Just wanted to give you an offer!” He exclaims, putting her down on the snow floor. He doesn’t let her go, his big arms surrounding her before she could even try to escape again.

He begins to sway her softly as he maneuvers them around the dead corpses of vampires. He continues to guide her away from the corpses when he finally gets far enough that he could kneel down.

“Now you must be aware that if I wanted you dead, you would already be so, yes?” He asks. She nods her head, which makes him grin.

“But then I thought to myself, how funny would it be if I took you as my own? Think about the irony! A vampire taking in a human child? Now that’s something you don’t hear everyday!” Alucard laughs to himself, “you are also the last Hellsing on this earth, it would be a shame to not let you grow to your full potential!”

He starts to reminisce, a look of longing passing his dead red eyes. “I already miss your father and the rivalry we shared for twenty years. I fight with you Hellsings at least every century, it’s something I look forward to in my long lonely life.” He sighs wistfully, “maybe if I finish your training, maybe you’ll grow up to be a better opponent..hmm I wonder.”

Snapping his fingers, he puts on his most convincing smile. Which wasn’t even convincing to begin with, he could tell through her grimace.

“You have two options, little one.” He starts off, “you can either come with me as my apprentice or you can come with me as a corpse, which will it be?”

She responds unhesitatingly, “a corpse.”

He lets out a shocked laugh at her quick answer. “Wait now hold on a second, you’re supposed to be begging for your life!” He wags a finger to her face in which she snaps her teeth at him, “yeesh! You're a really weird kid!”

“Unfortunately for you, I was just bluffing, you don’t get to choose!” Dramatically he puts a hand to his chest, where his heart would be if he had one. “You would rather die than be with me?! You wound me my little chick!”

With that he picks up her squirming body as she screams at him to let her go. He acts none the wiser as he teleports them to the place he was currently staying in.

With that the days of your learning under the strongest vampire in the world, begin.

#yandere x reader #tw.yandere #fem reader #reader insert #vampire knight x reader #hellsing #alucard x reader #zero kiryuu #kaname kuran #yuki kuran

[catierambles]

Feral Instincts Ch.13

Pairing: The Rogue’s Gallery (Geralt, Syverson, Mike, August Walker, Walter Marshall) x Stephanie Daniels (OFC)

WC 1662

Warnings: Mentions of violence, douchbaggery, and intimacy aids.

@mclsquared , @brattymum96 , @ouroboros113 , @peaches1958 , @summersong69 , @eldarwen333 , @omgkatinka , @identity2212 , @lucypaulette , @teamfan7asy , @ms-betsy-fangirl ,@pagina16ps , @enchantedbytomandhenry , @foxyjwls007 , @nofoolywang , @margauxmargaux07 , @mrsevans90 , @ilikemilkchocolateh , @lizzystuffsthings , @km-ffluv , @cavilllover , @deandoesthingstome , @write-r-die , @livisss , @miss-rebel-without-applause , @kebabgirl67 , @squeezyvalkyrie , @luminescentlily , @ellethespaceunicorn , @niknoca

They eventually got Hunter to open up while Stephanie and Geralt were gone, the wolf being a bit nervous around male Alphas. Unsurprising, given his experience with male Alphas. He was a Null, a wolf who didn't fall within the pack hierarchy but still in possession of his wits. Not a Beta, or an Omega, and definitely not an Alpha. It was uncomplicated as he didn't have to worry about pack politics, but it seemed his current Alpha, Frank, treated the Nulls about as well as he treated everyone else. All of the money from his meager paychecks from his job at the archery range downtown went to him, Frank only giving him enough to survive, but just barely. Rice and instant ramen were staples, so a meal of pancakes, bacon, eggs, and toast was a feast for him and he ate quite a bit before relaxing into a full stupor.

Hunter had been shocked to learn that Stephanie's current pack was made up of all Alphas save for a single Beta. Sy told him what Geralt had told Stephanie; it got a little tense around the full moon, but they made it work. More time passed and the two still hadn't returned, a scowl gracing August's face the more time went by.

"Easy, Walker." Sy said, picking up on his agitation. "You know how much of a hassle transfering territory can be. Council needs to be called, records updated."

"They may have also needed to call a clean-up crew." Mike said, "Ya know, if the asshole didn't submit."

"She's never fought for territory before." August pointed out.

"You honestly think Geralt would let anything happen to her?" Sy asked, "He said he would step in if shit went pear-shaped. The guy hunts down and takes out ferals for a living, some asshole Alpha with a mean streak ain't shit for him."

"So, um, is he her Mate?" Hunter asked and they looked at him. "Just wondering."

"Not really?" Sy said, "She said it was complicated and that's kinda true."

"She's with all of us!" Mike called from the kitchen as he was loading the dishwasher.

"Oh." Hunter said, "I've heard of female Alphas. Never met one before. Can they have more than one Mate?"

"Not uncommon for them." August said, "I've met a couple, they all had multiple partners of mostly Alphas. Ensured strong children."

"But Steph got her tubes tied years ago, according to her." Mike said, walking into the living room.

"Wouldn’t getting infected have reversed that? It fixes everything else." Hunter said.

"Unless it can reattach fallopian tubes with surgical precision, I doubt it." They hadn't even heard her and Geralt return, August jumping up from his seat and going to her, taking her hands in his and seeing her bruised and bloodied knuckles. "Remind me to wrap my hands next time."

"How'd it go?" Sy asked, the question aimed at Geralt.

"She was beautiful." Geralt said with a small smile. "Like a ghost, never where he thought she was going to be. Looked like she was dancing."

"Is he…" Hunter let the question trail off.

"He's still alive." Stephanie said, "Like any other bully, he backed down when he realized I was just going to push back harder. Legal stuff has been started and the Council has been notified. I also had him confess to everything he did to you guys, just for good measure."

"He'll be blacklisted from having territory or leading a pack ever again." Geralt said.

"That's why you guys were gone so long?" Hunter asked.

"Well, that, and we oversaw him packing his shit." Stephanie said.

"He's gone?" Hunter asked and she nodded.

"Don't worry, I had him transfer over all the money he took. I'll get everyone's info and transfer it back to you guys." She said and he went quiet, staring down at his hands. "Hunter?" She went to him, kneeling in front of him. "You're okay now, no one is going to hurt you anymore."

"Thank you." He said, barely above a whisper. "I came to you wanting to save myself, but you saved all of us."

"I don't like bullies." Stephanie said, "And I especially don't like bullies in positions of power."

"Thank you." He said again and she reached up, brushing the hair out of his face. "What happens now?"

"Technically I own all of his territory now, which is this building and the one next door." She said.

"You're our landlord now?" Hunter asked.

"Kind of but not really. Geralt's contact on the Council explained it to me. Individual Alpha wolves can't own rental properties, unless they owned it before the decision was made to go public. The…human government, weird to say, doesn't want Alpha wolves discriminating against non-wolves when it comes to housing, and the Council isn't fighting it, because that also means the Alpha can't expand their pack beyond their means and cause issues and territorial disputes. Keeps everything nice and contained." Stephanie explained.

"So the Council owns the buildings." Hunter said and she nodded.

"They own the physical properties, and therefore, legally, are the landlords. Kind of like a rental agency owning a property, but hiring someone to oversee the day to day on the property itself." Stephanie said, "Rent payments went to the Council, but they had no idea Frank was taking all of the pack's money and only giving back enough to just barely get by."

"What he do with the extra cash?" Hunter asked.

"Spent it." Geralt said, "Had some pretty pricey electronics in his apartment, computer equipment, those kinds of things."

"You said you made him give the money back, but if he spent it…"

"I cleaned him out." Stephanie said, "I took almost everything in his checking and savings. Left him enough for a bus ticket out of town and a burger."

"What'll happen to him?" Hunter asked.

"Don't know, don't care." Stephanie said, "Consider it karma. He made it so you guys had barely enough to survive and now he's in that same position."

"Blacklisted or not, the Council has resources for Alphas without packs or territories." Geralt said with a shrug, "They'll get him set up with employment and a place to live in his hometown, but then he's on his own. Talking with my contact, he'll have his wages garnished until he pays back everything he took for the length of time he ran this pack."

"I think that's the most I've ever heard you say at one time." Stephanie said after a pause, looking at him, and he snorted.

"You're our Alpha now." Hunter said and she turned her attention back to him, giving him a small nod. "I should tell the others."

"How many are in the pack?" Geralt asked.

"About a dozen." Hunter said, "And that includes the kids."

"He was takin’ from families?" Sy asked and Hunter nodded, making him scowl.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of introductions. She knew most of them just from living in the same building, and they were as surprised as Hunter when they learned she was a wolf, and an Alpha at that. Banking information was taken down, money was transferred, divided up as evenly as possible as there was no easy way of determining who surrendered how much. Families got extra just because they had kids that they needed to provide for. A future trip to Costco was planned using her membership card so they could get bulk essentials. Walter showed up mid-afternoon and was brought up to speed on what had happened.

“I have an idea.” Stephanie said a bit sheepishly as she sat curled up in Walter’s lap once everyone had left, and they looked at her.

“What’s up, babe?” Sy asked.

“August said that female Alphas have a tendency to unite packs, right?”

“I did say that, yes.” August said.

“I’m not green enough not to realize when I’m in over my head, so I thought…”

“You want to merge your new pack with ours.” Geralt said and she nodded. “It’s a good idea. Didn’t want to lose you anyway.”

“Our territories ain’t exactly touchin’, but it’s not unheard of.” Sy said, “You’d control this territory, we’d control ours, but we’d step in if you needed somethin’. Kinda like cops crossin’ jurisdictions to help each out.”

“One of us should be here.” August said, “There’s now an open unit in the building, unless you were planning on moving into it.”

“You know, I kinda was.” Stephanie admitted, “His soundsystem is nice and his computer is more powerful than mine. Also, the unit is bigger than this one.”

“Rock-paper-scissors for it?” Sy suggested and she snorted, tucking her face into Walter’s neck. “You move into the former Alphas place along with Mikey, and one of us moves into this one. If somethin’ goes sideways, we’d actually be in a position to do fuck all about it.”

“And by “something” you mean Jordan.” Stephanie said and he nodded. “Sounds like a plan. I hate packing.”

“Well it ain’t like you don’t got helpers.” Sy said.

“As if I’d let you guys go through my stuff!”

“Doll, we’ve seen you with your legs in the air, goin’ through your skivvies shouldn’t embarrass you.” Sy said.

“Maybe I don’t want you guys to find my sex toys.” Stephanie said.

“Toys?” Walter asked, “Plural?”

“Sizes, shapes,” She paused, “Thicknesses.”

“I’ve been here for almost three weeks and I haven’t found anything!” Mike said and she shot him a look.

“I know how to hide my shit.” She said, “Jordan was weird about dildos and vibrators, so I hid them from him.”

“You have a monster dildo, don’t you.” Sy said and she snorted.

“Monster as in big, or monster as in not modeled after human anatomy?” She asked, “Because I plead the fifth.”

“Doll, you a dirty girl.” Sy said and she snorted again, picking her head up to blow him a kiss.

#henry cavill #captain syverson #walter marshall #august walker #hellraiser mike #geralt of rivia #feral instincts

[krikeymate]

Fictober 2023: Day 11: “You lost it. Well, we lost it.” - Tara wakes up. For Bailey. Fandom: Scream Rating: T Warnings: Violence.

➖

Sam was supposed to be better than this. A good person, a positive role model for her sister.

Turning out like Billy had been her biggest fear all these years, the paralysis demon stalking her night and day, the devil pushing her to fall.

She tried so hard every damn moment, every second, to keep herself in check, to walk away.

She’d tried to walk away.

But Tara… Tara’s not like her.

Or maybe the problem is that she’s too much like her.

Either way, the end result is the same.

There’s a body between them and a bloody knife.

And Sam had just stood there and let it happen.

There was nothing she could have done. That’s what she tells herself.

It all just… happened so fast. How could she have stopped it?

One moment she has an arm wrapped around Tara’s shoulder, steering her unsteady sister home after one too many drinks at a Blackmore Christmas party, ignoring the jeering asshole behind them, the next…

He should have just shut up. Why didn’t he shut up?

What sort of person sees “a serial killer” on the street and decides to follow them, to shout crude remarks, to scream I know what you are? Only an idiot.

He’d been hoping for a fight, and he got one. Just not the one he was expecting.

Tara had managed to slip from her hands with more grace than Sam had thought her capable of in this state. She’d only managed to catch a glimpse of the fury on her sister’s face before she had turned away to storm up to their stalker of the night.

He had laughed right up to the moment he caught a fist in the crotch and another to the face. Tara was quick and ruthless; he never stood a chance to defend himself. Just like she was taught.

All the while, Sam had stood frozen, unable to move.

“That’s my sister you’re talking about,” Tara spits, grabbing at his jacket and pushing him to the floor.

The venom in Tara’s voice had shocked Sam, keeping her feet pinned to the ground. Tara tells him to have some respect and to mind his tongue with an authority their own mother could only wish to command. It triggers a warmth that spreads through her, fingers tingling and twitching at her side.

Her sister growls at the weeping man on the ground, something menacing in her voice as she tells him to choke on this. The crack of his jaw beneath Tara’s boot sends a shiver down Sam’s spine.

To be defended so vehemently, it cuts through the chill of the Winter air. She feels her heart swell in her chest, feet stepping forward, drawn, Tara’s name falling from her lips.

Her sister turns her head to meet her gaze.

There’s a tantalising look in her eyes, desperate and eager. Hungry. It fills Sam with adrenaline, excitement flooding her veins.

She wants to take hold of the knife Tara slips into her hand from her sleeve. She wants to know what happens next more, to watch.

The man below them is too busy curling into himself crying to notice the silent exchange above him. If he had, it might have saved his life.

Sam’s quick to close the distance under Tara’s stare, the blade offered up to her as she comes to stand beside her. She takes her wrist in one hand, the other curling over Tara’s, closing it tight over the handle of the knife. An answer.

An offer.

The smile Tara looks up at her with is unnatural on her face, it sits like something from a dream, so close to something real and yet not quite right.

Sam finds it captivating.

She’s seen it before in 3am wakeups and in cracked bathroom mirrors. Glassy eyes and bared teeth, half-lost in a world no one else can see.

She never wanted that for Tara, but now it’s here, she finds she’s not strong enough to stop it.

Sam watches, fascinated, at the methodical way Tara plays. It’s designed to hurt, to elongate. To make a mess. There’s something… researched, about it. Deliberate, designed.

She thought she would care more about the corpse choking out at her feet, at watching the life drain from his eyes, but she finds that it isn’t nearly as interesting as the blood splatter on her sister’s face or the flexing of her hands around the blade.

She wonders what that says about her.

She wonders what it means that she lets it happen.

With each minute that passes, Sam watches the way Tara’s enthusiasm fades, anger slipping away to exhaustion, the long night creeping back up on her. She stands, slipping her arms under her sister’s and walking them back until she hits a wall.

She slides down, cradling Tara in her lap like the precious goods she is. They sit there for a while, her hand running through her sister’s hair, eyes roving over the corpse. No matter how hard she tries, Sam finds she can’t wipe the smile from her face. There’s a supernova in her chest and pride in her heart.

It shouldn’t be there. She knows that. She knows.

But it is. And it feels so good.

Sam’s attention is snapped back to reality as Tara mumbles something incoherent, cold nose seeking warmth in her neck.

“Sam?” she whispers.

“I’m here,” she replies. “I’ve got you.”

Tara twists in her grip, eyes roving over the scenery. “You’ve always got me,” she says, blinking at the dead body only several feet away. “What happened?”

Sam muses on the confusion in her sister’s voice. She has mere seconds to figure out how to respond, whether the truth will only hurt her, or if it will set her free.

She wishes the choice she made was because she thought it was the right one.

“You lost it. Well, we lost it.”

The words sit in the air, she can practically hear the gears in Tara’s head spinning round, calculating, analysing, understanding.

“Oh.”

Sam’s mouth goes dry as she waits. It feels like she’s on trial, waiting for a verdict, to be judged.

She should have known better.

“We made a mess.”

Tara would never judge her.

#/mp #fictober23 #Scream #Sam Carpenter #Tara Carpenter #my writing tag #Bailey's tag

[babydipper]

“Word of warning, mate,” Mulciber spits with a cruel smirk, “she doesn’t swallow.” Pandora looks stricken and Dorcas can feel her blood boil at Mulciber’s confession. She wants him dead. Wants him to be ruined, left in pieces, and forgotten. She wants to ruin him completely with her own hands.

But before Dorcas can move, Mulciber is already taking a step back and touching his face. There’s blood on his fingers. It drips down his arm. Ruins his robes. Ruins his pride. For a second, there’s nothing but the smell of iron and she has to close her eyes to fully experience it, process it. The ruby drops blinded her, reflecting in Pandora’s dress.

Before Dorcas could move, Remus Lupin punched Mulciber in the face.

Remus Lupin has punched Mulciber for Pandora. Nothing makes sense anymore.

-

Dorcas ends up with Lupin on a fake balcony Pandora found a year ago. It’s evidently forgotten by the staff and it’s based on the ground floor, which makes it perfect for hiding and smoking when they want to spend time alone. She sits on the railing, watching Lupin with a cold bottle of firewhiskey to his face.

Mulciber punched back before leaving the party and now she has to babysit Pandora’s new boytoy. She would heal him if he asked. He hasn’t. “We’re lucky Rosier didn’t get to him first,” Dorcas says because the silence is eating her alive along with alcohol in her system. She has found a stray cigarette in the pocket of the jumper she has stolen from Evan, so she lits it up with a spell. She likes the little gifts he leaves her. “It would bloody ruin everything.”

“Why?”

“Because he and Barty would kill him,” Dorcas confesses. “And it would have consequences.”

Remus laughs harshly, but he seems genuine. “Yeah. Yeah, it would. It will for me.”

“So your little friends weren’t supposed to know,” she plays with the cig in her hands. “I wonder what Black will say about hanging out with his baby brother in the same room.”

Something passes through Lupin’s face and it’s not caused by the building-up bruise. Dorcas puts her cheek on her knees. Everything smells like cigarettes and alcohol and Autumn. It’s the smell of disaster. She likes it best. “His opinion on my life is irrelevant.”

This is it. This is why he hangs out with Pandora and why he hasn’t gone to his dormitory the second Mulciber’s fist met his face. Dorcas takes pity and passes the cig. Lupin takes it with grace she hasn’t suspected him to have. He has to smoke, she decides. It makes him less of a loser.

Pandora slips through the window, the only way to get to the balcony, still wearing heels. Her makeup is smeared a little and her hair is a mess, but other than that and some blood on the dress, she looks fine. Not as if her birthday party got ruined. And certainly not as if her ex-boyfriend humiliated her in front of people. She watches them briefly, Lupin on the ground and Dorcas on the railing. “Fuck,” Pandora goes then, “Fuckity fuck.” She’s drunker than Dorcas remembers, but she doesn't blame her. “I bloody hate him. I didn’t even get to kiss anyone,” Pandora pouts.

So Dorcas leans in and kisses her, hard, all tongue and teeth. Pandora melts. They part hearing a noise, quite startled. Lupin has let go of the bottle, but fortunately, it hasn’t broken. He looks even more startled, so Pandora smiles her most dangerous smile. The one that is so sweet that it just can’t mean anything good. She squeezes Dorcas’s hand in thanks and falls down beside the bloke. “You want to join?” she asks innocently.

Lupin opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again. It gives Dorcas enough time to get the bottle and start to drink with her hips leaning against the railing. Firewhiskey burns her throat. She enjoys the feeling. “Fuck, sorry,” he tries, “sorry for stalling. I’m making this awkward.” He brushes his hair with his hands and then he does the same to his face; the cigarette has long since been finished. Dorcas passes him the bottle. He drinks greedily. “Fuck, I don’t think I like girls like this anymore. Does it make sense?”

“No,” Dorcas says.

“Yes,” counters Pandora and shoots her a glare. Dorcas just shrugs in response.

#dorcas meadowes #pandora #pandora lovegood #pandora rosier #slytherin skittles #hp marauders #the marauders #wolfstar #dog days ff #snippet #marauders fanfiction #pandora lovegood x dorcas meadowes #dorcas x pandora #post prank wolfstar #pandora lovegod #the slytherin skittles

[kyngsnake]

Snippet *Sunday

Or, well. Technically snippet Monday now. Tagged by @bleumanouche, thank you Bleu!

No pressure tags: @druidgroves @hotwifeluigi @bigfan-fanfic

Grabbed this snippet from a scene in which Wes and Avery are 19 & 18 and in the aftermath of a falling out with each other. Both of them cope with their emotions poorly at this age. Avery does it more violently. Wes is the patron saint of repression. I have a lot of fun writing scenes while these two are younger because it really shows how much they've grown by the time they're 30.

And as always Wes belongs to @hotwifeluigi

And so Avery gets himself a shot. And another, and another, and another. 

The more Avery drinks the louder he gets, the louder he gets the more other bar patrons want to drink with him. It’s all jovial celebration but it’s a thinly veiled vicious cycle, smiles and laughter encourage poisoning the well. A cheap excuse to justify the means of self-medication, still, to everyone but Avery he’s having a lovely night. And who could blame them? It’s New Years, ain’t no threat in having a good time.

The momentum carries up to a finite point; Avery exists in a state of perpetually teetering over a ledge. All it takes is one nudge and he’ll tumble, push finds its shove when a man built like a bull decides faggot is a good way to describe the way Avery talks. 

One black eye, a busted lip and two sets of bloodied knuckles later, Avery finds himself on the curb outside. His saving grace was the firm belief that fighting dirty is fair game if an opponent really deserves it, dropping slurs in a bar meets that qualifier. They both got kicked out of the bar when it really came down to it, but Avery’s content with knowing that motherfucker took a boot heel to the balls. 

Avery spits to his side, saliva marbled with blood colors a small spot in the dirt. He grunts, sighs from behind his teeth and lifts a cigarette to his lips. The orange glow briefly fills the dark night air, Avery perks up when he hears the door open behind him. 

“What the hell were you thinkin’ pullin’ a stunt like that?” Even while drunker than a cow on a diet of fermented corn he’d recognize Wes’s voice. Oh, so now he can tolerate being near Avery. 

“Dude had it comin’,” Avery says with all the nonchalance in the world.

Wes stands over him with his hands on his hips. Avery tilts his head up and back to stare at him, he can’t help but smirk a little when he gets a good look at that pursed-lip, low-browed expression. He carries a similar cadence to a horse with his ears all pinned back. Careful, he might kick.

“How d’you figure he had it comin’? I watched the whole damn thing from the other side’a the bar, far as I know he mighta just looked atcha wrong and you took a swing,” Wes uses one hand to make frustrated, vague gestures as he talks, “Which, if I’m bein’ quite honest, Mr. Moreno, I wouldn’t put such a thing past you.”

Avery takes another slow inhale off his cigarette. Flicks the ashes into the dirt, mixing with his spit like gold flakes in resin. “Call me a faggot, get your teeth busted out. It’s as simple as that.”

“Oh,” Wes breathes as his expression cools to something a grade calmer. He stands there statuesque for a short spell, evidently unsure just what to say. He clears his throat and adds, “I guess it’s for the best then that you uh, you stood up for yourself.”

Standing over Avery while he’s sat there on the curb, Avery decides he should invite Wes to do anything other than loom. “Want a smoke?” He says as he pulls one from the pack he has in his coat pocket.

“No, that’s a’right,” Wes declines and Avery isn’t sure if the feeling cropping up in his chest immolates or if it’s so cold that it burns, somewhere in the back of his head he’d hoped Wes would sit with him out here. “I had somebody waitin’ for me back inside. Just wanted to see what’d happened with you.”

 Avery finds that he has nothing to say, silence lingers between them until Wes opens his mouth again.

“You plan on comin’ back in anytime?” Wes asks.

“Nope,” Avery responds simply, cigarette held up to his mouth.

“A’right. You make it back to the room safe then, okay?” Wes’s voice sounds so strained that Avery could almost mistake his tone for guilt. He makes it a few feet closer to the door before he pauses— again— hesitating seems to be a skill he’s gotten good at. “Want me to walk back with you?”

“Nope,” he lies through his teeth. 

#ive been going through editing and came across this scene again yesterday #ah... 19 year olds and their poor emotional regulation skills... #avery #wesley

[sitp-recs]

Hi! Good evening!

Im a sucker for fics who makes me cry. Not particularly full of angst or anything, just something that can strike a corde with good characterisation and good plots!! Do you have anything like that in your lil drarry bag?

Hi anon! That’s a great ask, and I must preface it by saying that I’m not a big crier in general! I’m usually moved by fics that hit too close to home which makes this list 100% personal and subjective. Some are quite angsty, others are wholesome fics with happy endings but they felt equally devastating to me. Idk if these will work for you, but I hope you enjoy!

The Long Fall by tackytiger (M, 3.6k)

It's supposed to be a simple house renovation, and maybe it's just the paint fumes, but Harry is feeling dizzy around Draco Malfoy. And what's the real meaning of family, anyway?

An Emerald In The Sky by corvuscrowned (M, 6.6k)

The hardest part about shagging an Unspeakable is that they’re not allowed to speak of anything. All Draco knows is that Harry works in Time. Harry works in Time, and while he’s out there in all of that time, it is as unforgiving to him as it is to anyone.

Life goes not backward by shealwaysreads (T, 9k)

Harry still isn’t used to gifts, but this one is different. A story of coming home, finding safe ground, and the wild courage of putting down roots.

And Save Me From Bloody Men by blamebrampton (T, 10k)

Draco Malfoy once watched others fighting to stop the world falling apart. This time, he's not just watching.

The Eighth Tale by lettered (E, 12k)

Draco Malfoy tries to fix the past, but instead mucks it up some more. For Harry, it all becomes quite clear.

Meet Me at Midnight by thestarryknight (T, 57k)

Harry was beginning to wonder if he’d ever make anything again when Malfoy stormed through the door of Harry’s furniture shop. Now Harry’s got an impossible Ministry commission to finish, and even less energy than ever to deal with his elusive muse.

Running on Air by eleventy7 (T, 75k)

Draco Malfoy has been missing for three years. Harry is assigned the cold case and finds himself slowly falling in love with the memories he collects.

Super Rich Kids by trishjames (E, 81k)

Draco Malfoy has become disillusioned by the glitz and glamour of the scandalous lives of the Post-Second Wizarding War Pureblood Elite. Enter: one existential crisis, one group of thieving cynical friends, and several terrible, terrible decisions.

Dwelling by aideomai (T, 83k)

Curses, James and Lily Potter ride again, several Ministry balls, a teenage Summer of Love, a grim young adult dystopian winter, a few different Draco Malfoys, secrets and the problems re: not having any, alternate lives, impossible lives, real lives, allusions to Dirty Dancing, and just because it's not called the Mirror of Erised doesn't mean you shouldn't know better.

Who we are in the shadows by Quicksilvermaid (E, 100k)

What happens when you’re forced to become the very thing you despise? Ex-Auror Harry Potter, tossed out of the Ministry for something he had no control over, has been looking for a way back to his former life.

Far From The Tree by aideomai (E, 112k)

The arrival of Harry Potter’s children—snapped back in time, the children themselves guessed, twenty or so years—was the most interesting thing to happen at Hogwarts for years.

By the Grace by lettered (T, 140k)

Harry is an Auror instructor. Malfoy wants to be an Auror.

Away Childish Things by lettered (T, 153k)

Harry gets de-aged. Malfoy has to help him.

#asks #Drarry reclist #when in need of a good cry #fics that strike a chord #love me some emotional devastation

[draculasfavoritewife]

I Still Want You

Summary: It's been awhile since the two of you last worked together, but some things will never change.

Pairing: Madmartigan x fem!Reader

Warnings: Brief references to injury and alcohol use, some sexist jokes and sensuality (look, I physically cannot stop writing about reader running their fingers through pretty men's hair, alright? It's an actual problem guys).

So my family finally made me sit down and watch the original Willow film this past summer, and I ended up pretty smitten with this man lol. What can I say, the fallen-from-grace type with a flexible moral code and piercing eyes just really does it for me I guess. 🤷🏽‍♀️ (Also young Val Kilmer in drag? Kinda hot.)

"I don't know why the hell I let you talk me into this load of bull," you groan, a hand covering your exasperated face. "Why, in the name of all that's holy, did I leave behind my honest living to follow you into this harebrained scheme?"

The man next to you throws you a wide and winning smile, blue eyes flashing in the dim light. "Cause you didn't want me to come back to you dead," he says with a knowing smugness. "You love me."

"Did I say that?"

"You didn't have to," he teases, leaning down to saucily kiss your forehead before readjusting the woman's dress that doesn't quite fully hide his very masculine form. "Now, how do I look?"

You roll your eyes and crawl to your feet in the cramped cellar where he had chosen to make his quick change. "He's going to see through you in a second."

Your companion frowns, dark brows sulky and full lips pouting like a petulant child. "Please. The old oaf's such a lusty pig he's going to see exactly what he wants to see and fall head over heels for me. Believe me, it's happened before." He hurriedly stuffs the bodice of the dress until he has quite the impressive bust, and it's suddenly all you can do not to laugh out loud at the sight of him.

"I'm not sure you can slander other men until you finally start thinking with what's above your own belt," you chide, helping him wrangle his long, sooty-black locks beneath a headscarf. As always, you're momentarily distracted by how soft his hair stays, even though you know he does the bare minimum to care for it.

"I do think pink is definitely your color though, Mads."

"Shut up," he growls half-seriously. "We all do what we have to. A man's gotta eat, you know."

You snort. "Right. Because that's the old Madmartigan I remember. Always strictly practical, and definitely not getting in over his head robbing a rich man when he could find some honest work."

"Where at? A brothel?"

You move to slap his chest, but never make contact. It feels wrong somehow, now that his enormous false bosom is in the way.

Madmartigan sees the discomfort on your face and snickers. "Not to worry, Sweets. Your beautiful wife will return to you in one piece, trust me."

He presses a fond kiss to your cheek and turns around to the cellar door, ready to make a move on his unsuspecting target.

And promptly lets out a muffled yelp as you slap his ass.

"What the hell, Sweets?! What was that for?"

You smirk and make yourself more comfortable atop a large bag of flour, to wait out the results of his loosely formed "plan". Chances are he might have to call for backup if things get sticky.

"We women have to put up with that all the time from you 'lusty pigs'. Thought you should get used to it sooner rather than later."

"Insolent fox," he mutters, and hastily leaves, as if afraid you'll smack him again.

You might have, too.

Man's got a fine ass.

"Hold still, idiot," you scold as he flinches away from the wet cloth in your hand for the seventh time. "Do you want my help with that bloody lip or not?"

"I don't know why you're so angry," he grouses. "You're not the one that got their clothes torn off and beaten up for not actually being a woman."

"Oh, stop whining. You got out of there with the gold you came for and the other guy is worse off than you. And it's my dress that got sacrificed, so I think I've every right to complain." You gesture to the shredded pink material hanging around his waist, now the only thing preserving your disheveled warrior's dignity.

He at least has the grace to look momentarily contrite. "Right. I'll get you a new one."

You're slightly concerned by the fact that he doesn't explicitly use the word "buy", but decide to let it go for now. Many of the gifts he's given you throughout the course of your years-long friendship have shady origins, but it is the thought that counts.

And honestly, you're just glad he's not hanging up in a crow cage left for dead somewhere again.

His sharp eyes soften as he finally lets you finish tending to him. "Why did you really come along with me?" he asks bluntly. "I have nothing with which to bribe you, and you have built yourself a life here. When you made the decision to quit while we were ahead and go straight, I didn't understand, but I think I understand you even less now."

Not wanting to meet that deeply piercing ice-blue gaze, you study his lips instead, transfixed as ever by their perfect, sweeping curves. He can dress in animal skins like a barbarian and be constantly covered in ash and dirt, but the refined features of the noble knight he once was are never hidden completely, try as he might.

"I asked you a question, Sweets."

"Maybe I missed you, you boor." Unsettled, you smack him with the damp cloth and abruptly turn away to stoke the fire.

"Why?" You can't tell if he's genuinely lost or fishing for a particular answer from you. "You have a little bit of land, you're a respected herbalist, and I'm sure you've had more than a few offers of courtship since I saw you last."

Is that jealousy simmering behind his careless words?

You smirk over your shoulder. "Please. Herbalist is just two degrees south of witch around here. Men fear me."

He rises to his feet and comes up behind you, his large hands settling on your upper arms and rubbing gentle lines from your shoulders down to your elbows and back again. "I've missed being ripped to shreds by that razor-sharp tongue."

"Have you." You sigh softly as you lean back against his broad chest; without the barrier of one of his leather-and-fur shirts, all you can smell is him, a warm, welcome scent you hadn't forgotten in all the time since you last parted ways. Your bodies melt into each other with old familiarity, prompting a rush of memories of huddling together for warmth during long winters on the run, posing as husband and wife for hustling heists, his arm wrapped tightly around you on horseback.

All the little things that made you fall in love with him in the first place. The intimately shared moments that had made it so hard to leave him. But you had felt like you needed to protect your heart somehow.

After all, at the time he had seemed far more content to remain unbound to anyone, even you.

"I have another question," he murmurs, his lips now only a hair's breadth from the stretch of exposed skin at your collarbone.

"And that would be...?" You stifle a shiver, his hot breath skimming your neck and sending prickles of anticipation dancing across your body in all directions.

His cheek rests against yours. "That time I tried to kiss you, do you remember that night?"

Your hands tense, unconsciously grasping fistfuls of the torn dress fabric still hanging from his belt; there's a minuscule hitch to his breath at the sudden feeling of your hands at his hips.

"Yes."

"Why did you run away from me?"

The raw uncertainty running beneath that simple question makes you turn to face him again, acutely aware of the feeling of him against you, the hard muscles of his chest pressing into the softness of yours, his hands sliding down to linger in the curve of your back. There is no judgment in his handsome face, only a twinge of long-hidden hurt and real curiosity.

You reach up, tangling your fingers in his thick dark hair, loving the way the glossy strands slide across your skin. It's gotten so long, and your hands itch to weave it into slender braids like you used to.

"I'm pretty sure you were drunk, Mads. And I...I just wasn't fully ready," you admit.

"I still want you," he tells you softly. "I never stopped wanting you, even when you left."

You smile as he bends to rest his forehead against yours. "And I would still kill for you."

"Gods, you know it drives me crazy when you talk like that." He leans in even further, eyes dancing in the glow from the firelight. "How do you feel tonight?"

Your hands trail down again to cradle his face. "I think I'm ready now. I've missed you."

So you kiss him.

You're not surprised he's such a good kisser, but maybe more than a little startled that there's a real gentleness in him, a smooth temperance to his wildly passionate expression of love. And as the sweet reality of having him alive and solid and in your arms once again after so long finally sets in, you realize what you truly want with crystal clarity.

"Take this ridiculous thing off," you breathe as your lips finally part and you tug at his tattered skirt.

"You sure?" It takes him a second to figure out what you're really asking. "Cause I don't have anything else --"

You laugh and silence him with another kiss, guiding his hands to the laces of your corset and watching his expression change from one of surprise to warmth and hunger as he swiftly helps you undress.

#x reader #female reader #willow 1988 #madmartigan x reader #madmartigan #romance #sweet #humor #my fanfiction #willow fanfic #this was in my drafts #scoundrel #idk I think he's hot #sortafluffy #friends to lovers #there needs to be more fic about him <3

[cheekypeakyblinder]

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚋𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚢

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11

That evening John had picked Franny up in the family car and taken her to the Garrison. The whole pub was singing. And it was strangely amusing. They sat down at the small front of the Garrison. Which was always reserved for the Shelby family. And they all drank beer.

The boys played cards while Franny talked to the new barmaid Grace. Grace had excused herself when she got a look from Thomas. And Franny her smile turned into a sly smirk. But look Thomas shut her off and she just lit a cigarette and sipped her beer. When Grace opened the door the singing was even louder. 'Jesus Christ Tommy, what the hell made you let them sing?' John asked chuckling and chewing on a small piece of wood. 'They sound like they're strangling cats out there.' Franny added laughing and leaning against John.

Thomas was laughing at them. 'All right 20 is the play. Come on.' Arthur said bringing the attention back to the game. 'And what made you change your mind, Tommy?' Arthur asked quite curious. Thomas was looking at Grace while she closed the door and the singing died down.' It's about time, Tommy.' John said with an even bigger grin.

'Time for what?' He asked. 'The time you took yourself a woman.' John said to him. 'Just play the bloody hands.' Tommy said while picking up his cards. And Franny and John exchanged a smirk. 'You stay the way you are, Tommy. Remember what Dad used to say.' Arthur said. 'Fast woman and slow horses will ruin your life.' Both Arthur and John almost sang. To which Franny looked confused and almost hurt.

When suddenly lights were approaching in front of the Garrison. 'Coppers.' John said. 'no.' Thomas said he exchanged a look with Franny. Who nodded and she jumped up and through the door. Which left John and Arthur confused. The doors went open and the singing went down. Franny was switching dresses with Grace. Leaving her in the more waitressy look then her own corset dress.

'Go home Grace. It's going to end nasty.' Franny said pulling her hair pin down making her hair fall on her shoulders. Grace didn't want to go. 'If you want to live and work here a bit longer you go home now.' Franny demanded. She pushed Grace almost out of the door and she walked back up to the bar of the Garrison. Where a few men with guns had walked in. All the sounds had died down.

'Holy shit it's Billy Kimber.' Harry the owner of the Garrison said. Franny stood next to him. 'We need to get everyone home.' Franny said softly. He looked down to the smaller Franny and was confused for a second but he knew Thomas played games sometimes. Billy Kimber entered the Garrison. He looked just as awful as Franny could remember. He was small and his mustache was not making him look any younger.

'Is there any man here named Shelby?' Kimber asked. No one answered. So Billy Kimber pulled his gun and shot up (thankfully) 'I said is there any man named Shelby?' he asked again. Everyone had ducked down from the sounds of gun. When the door of the side room opened. And Thomas walked out. Fastly followed by Arthur and John. 'Harry, get these men a drink. Everyone else go home!' Thomas demanded.

Everyone quickly went outside leaving just the men of Kimber, the Shelby men and Harry and Franny. They put a table in the middle making Kimber sit down on one side and the Shelby's on the other side. Franny came put with a bottle of whiskey and glasses and poured everyone some. 'Kimber sat down on one side and his advisor on the other side. When Franny reached them Thomas, John and Arthur saw Kimber look and before he could stretch out a hand John was already ready to throw a fit. But Thomas spoke up. 'Fran, that's enough thank you.'

'All right Mr. Shelby.' She politely said and she quickly left to the bar. 'I've never approved of women in pubs, but when they look like that...' Kimber spoke up. Thomas quickly changed the subject before everyone would be fighting. 'You said you wanted men called Shelby.' Thomas said while lighting a cigarette. 'You got three of them.'

'Well I'd never heard of ya, Then I did hear of ya. Some little Diddicoy razor gang. I thought to myself, 'So, What?'' Kimber started. 'But then you fuck me over. So now you have my undivided attention.' He said changing faces through John to Arthur to Thomas. 'By the way which one am I talking to? Who's the boss?' He said pointing to all three of them.

They were silent for a second and Arthur looked up towards him. 'Well I'm the oldest.' He just said. 'Clearly.' Kimber said with a laugh. 'Are you laughing at my brother?' John then fastly cut in. Fran looked up from the bar seeing John looking down from his hat. If looks could kill Kimber would have been dead a hundred times. Kimber was shifting in his seat before saying something. 'Right.' Kimber then said.

'He's the oldest.' He said pointing to Arthur. 'You're the thickest.' He said pointing to John. 'I'm told the boss is called Tommy and I'm guessing that's you, because you've been looking me up and down like I'm a fucking tart.' Kimber said looking now directly at Thomas. Who was sitting there looking at Kimber. Just holding his cigarette not losing eye contact. 'I want to know what you want.' Thomas then said.

Suddenly the man next to Kimber spoke up. 'There were suspicious betting patterns at Kempton Park. A horse called Monaghan Boy.' he said. 'He won by a length twice and then finished last, with three thousand pounds bet on him.' He concluded himself. 'Which one am I talking to.' Thomas then said looking at Kimber and then at the other man. 'Which one of you is the boss?' 'I am Mr. Kimber's adviser and accountant.' He explained. But Kimber is a hothead so he cut right back in. 'And I'm the fucking boss.' He said while standing up trying to intimidate Thomas. 'Okay, right, end of parley.

'You fixed a race without my permission.' He stopped raging for a second before calling them 'Fucking Gypsy scum.'

'What, live of the war pensions of these poor Garrison Lane widows!' 'That's your level. I am Billy Kimber, I run the races!' he said, Kimber was almost as red as a strawberry. 'And you fixed one of them so I'm going to have you shot against a post.' He said before turning around and wanting to walk out of the Garrison. But Thomas stood up.

'Mr. Kimber wait.' he wanted to walk after him. But Kimber's pit bulls directly raised their guns at him. Thomas then threw Kimber something. And Kimber catched it and looked at it. 'That is my name in it. It's from the Lee family. You are also at war with the Lees, Mr. Kimber, am I right?' He said looking at Kimber. Kimber was walking a few paces back to the table holding on to the thing in his hands. Which Franny later learned was a bullet engraved with Thomas his name.

'The Lees are attacking your bookies and taking your money. Your men can't control them. You need help. ' Thomas was repping up. 'Perhaps we should listen to what Mr. Shelby has to say.' The advisor spoke up. 'Before we make our decisions.' 'Right. The Lees are doing a lot of talking at the fairs. They have a lot of kin. They're saying the race tracks are easy meat, because the police are busy with strikes. Now, we have connections. We know how they operate.' Thomas explained.

'You have muscle. Together we can beat them. Divided, maybe not.' Thomas concluded his speech. Leaving Kimber with nothing to say waiting on his adviser to speak.' Mr. Kimber, perhaps we should take some time for reflection, possibly make arrangements for a second meeting.' The advisor said.

'I admire you, Mr. Kimber.' Thomas said they had not broken off eye contact. Which was impressive to Franny.  'You started with nothing, and built a legitimate business. It would be an honor to work with you, Mr. Kimber.' Thomas said. Kimber was looking down on Thomas. Then to his brothers before speaking.

'Nobody works with me. People work for me.' Kimber then took a coin out of his pocket and threw it onto the floor in front of Thomas. 'Pick it up Pikey' He just said. The three boys did not move. But then Thomas went through his knees to get the piece of money John stood up directly to protect Thomas. But Thomas threw his hand towards John.

'Sit down.' And John did. Thomas picked up the coin Kimber looked at him. 'That's for your ceiling.' he said before turning towards the door. 'Thank you, Mr. Kimber.' Thomas said. His advisor stood up and walked over to Thomas. 'We will be at Cheltenham.'

'As will I.' Thomas said the advisor nodded to Thomas before leaving the pub. The two pit bulls of bodyguards walked after them leaving the pub. Thomas walked after them closing the door. He walked back to the table. Where both John and Arthur still sat drinking down a glass of Whiskey. Franny walked over and took a glass herself.

'So you picked a fight with the Lees on purpose. Tommy, we can't mess with Billy Fucking Kimber.' Arthur said to Thomas putting his glass back on the table. He threw Franny the coin Kimber threw at him. 'Get yourself a decent haircut, man. We're going to the races.' Thomas said with a grin. Arthur was still not completely over it. But both John and Franny were over the moon they loved the betting's but they loved the races even more.

#Peaky blinders #Peaky blinders x you #Peaky blinders x reader #Peaky blinders x yn #Peaky blinders x y/n #Peaky blinders x fem oc #Peaky blinders OC #Peaky #Blinders #Blinder #Peaky Blinder #Thomas Shelby #Tommy Shelby #Peaky blinders fanfiction #Peaky blinders fanfic #Peaky fookin blinder #Peaky fooking blinders #fooking peaky blinders #Arthur Shelby #Ada Shelby #Ada Shelby thorne #Karl Thorne #Freddie Thorne #Ada Thorne #John Shelby #Jonathan shelby #John Shelby x you #John Shelby x reader #John Shelby x fem oc #John Shelby x oc

[eveenstar]

𝔒𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲, 𝔪𝔢, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔲𝔰 || 𝔖𝔦𝔫𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔖𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢 𝔵 𝔣𝔢𝔪!𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯||

𝐶𝐻𝐴𝑃𝑇𝐸𝑅 𝑖𝑣: 𝑀𝑌 𝑃𝐴𝑆𝑇 𝐼𝑆 𝑌𝑂𝑈𝑅 𝐹𝑈𝑇𝑈𝑅𝐸

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: Doctor Strange's fears have come true, and Stephen's true motives reveal themselves. Desperate for a love he thought he had lost, the sinister doctor tries to kill Stephen in an attempt to keep (Y/N) to himself.

𝔗𝔞𝔤𝔰/𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Mentions of blood and someone being wounded.

𝔗𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱: (Comment/Reblog/Use my inbox if you wish to be tagged!) @paola-carter @levitationcloak @heartwoundd @ghost-lantern @dopeqff @dragonqueen89 @cereneciderr @weirdhorrorenthusiast @fadedeuphoria @yuugenmomo @slut-for-eddie-munson @catherinewind05 @kiahthehuffinpuff12 @severuined @singhfae @justsomecreaturewandering @lovecleastrange @queenofspades6 @sherlux @marcelin3 @fire-treasure-iii @freshmoneyalmondathlete @sweet0pia-uwu @sanctumsanctorumshenanigans @nancy-thompsons @kuboshu1 @mylovelyreblogs @uncle-eggy @dishwasher666 @andrewswifes-blog @darealbellabelleoftheball @jekyllhydetrash @sonnensplitter @isasv @d0ct0rstrangewife @strangelockd @evelynrosestuff

ɑ/ɳ: This took way too long and it's short, my apologies! My mental and physical health got in my way and I lost track of time. This is the end of the story, however, there is still the epilogue, so we're not quite down yet! Keep following to know how Sinister Strange and (Y/N)'s story ends. :) (I also hate tumblr's tagging system)

Tick tock

tick tock

Falling, it can be a quiet thing. Falling from who you are. It can go unnoticed like a needle falling to the ground - have you wondered why people only open their eyes when someone's sorrow transforms into anger?

"I would caution you, Stephen. The Darkhold is no trick."

The Sinister Doctor tightened his fists as he stared at an old, dusty picture of his young and deceased protégé. So beautiful and taken before her time. There was a war happening, not one of magic or technology, but one of love and grief. True wars are those that occur within one's soul - and Strange felt like he was losing. He was someone's hero once, just like his protégé was, and look where that had taken them.

Everyone wages war with the past, it's just a matter of who will win. Was (Y/N) a face of the future or the past? Was she the one who would redeem this fallen sorcerer, this hero, from all of his sins?

Or was she here to push him more into the delirium that is love?

"I won't do it Stephen," (Y/N) whispered, "He's a broken man, I won't pretend to be someone I'm not because you want the darkhold. We will find another way."

"It's our only option." The good doctor replied with a heavy sight.

"Killing him would be preferable to torture him even further." It was more of an accusation, she knew Stephen was capable of killing one life for the greater good.

A loud, thunderous laughter echoed through the front hall. Sinister Strange descended in all mystical grace, wearing a very much destroyed cloak. (Y/N)'s Stephen prepared a defense as he summoned his powers with his hands, and of course, so did the young woman. The Sinister Doctor mimicked a false pout as he tilted his head slightly - red strings of veins surrounding his eyes' iris.

"She will die if she goes with you," (Y/N) furrowed her eyebrows in discontent, Strange looked at her as if she was the most bright star in the sky. "My past is your future."

The first blow was by Stephen, not wanting to take any chances, and it sent a unprepared Strange flying across the room. (Y/N) took a second glance - books were sent flying against the two sorcerers, managing to separate them to two corners of the hall.

This, on opposition to the first battle, was not a dance of equals. This was a bloody, venomous hunt of beasts fighting for control.

A wind whirl of books and furniture - almost as if it had life of its own - uncontrollably began to cause havoc on the Sanctum. Stephen shouted for his protégé, attacked by monstrous books, and was quickly thrown to the ground and against a wall after he tried to reach out for her.

It was all too quick - after (Y/N) reacted and used a spell to make the invisible musical notes fly out of the piano and attack the Sinister Sorcerer, Stephen could only see a few flashes of their brief duel of music - the sinister twin was pulling back his magic and redirecting it to Stephen while (Y/N) tried to redirect them back to the original - until one of the notes slashed her back in a straight line and she fell back.

The music stopped and everything fell, like Strange's heart did when he saw what he had done. A painful shout from the top of his lungs caused the sacred building to shake and tremble and he grabbed fists of his hair in panic - allowing Stephen to get close to (Y/N), who was lucky the wound wasn't deep enough to be life or death, but it still had to be treated soon before it became one.

The sorcerers looked back at Strange and watched in horror as shadows, seemingly growing from inside him, spreaded out in limbs and began to lash out at everything - almost by coincidence, it was around this moment that a star portal opened at the top of the stairs.

"Stephen?! (Y/N)!" A familiar and concerned girl emerged from the other side.

"We must go," Stephen called out, "(Y/N)!"

The sorceress watched as Sinister Strange fell to his knees, a mix of anguished wails and pleas drowned out by the collapsing building.

"I'm not leaving him." Skidding down the stairs, the sorceress ignored Chavez's pleas from the other side of the open portal. "I can save him!"

Doctor Strange grabbed her hand, not to push her back, not this time. Their eyes met, a storm of emotions behind each, one that would never see the light of day again - and it was like a thousand choirs weep from the skies.

"Are you sure?" No explanation, or further dialogue, was needed for both parties to know what that question meant. Are you sure you want to stay? To live like this? (Y/N) was certain - not one hundred percent certain, she had taken better choices before, but her heart told her this was the right choice for this story.

She had no place with the good doctor - as silly as it sounds, all (Y/N) wanted was to be loved by someone - without the fear of impending doom upon them, or having her partner doubt their relationship. This universe was by no means a cozy apartment in New York, or a warmth cottage in the countryside - but it would have to work, for now.

(Y/N) nodded and quickly let go of his hand - but to Stephen it all moved in slow motion. Chavez pulling him back to his - their - universe, (Y/N) using her powers to create a barrier between her and Sinister Strange and the collapsing Sanctum, but most of all, the sensation of her hand before he let her go.

Doctor Strange watched as the love of his life disappeared in a cloud of smoke and rocks.

Meanwhile, Sinister Strange groaned and coughed as he felt a body on top of his - he could have swore he had died and this was heaven, but once he saw the glowing barrier around him, and the familiar sweet face on top, he knew this was just the beginning of his heaven.

"Hey, I got you, I got you," (Y/N) hushed quietly, face contorting in discomfort - Strange reached out with his hand to cup her face as unconscious tears descended from his eyes and down to the sides of his face.

His harsh voice let out a breathy sigh and a forced smirk painted his lips, "My angel of music."

If only he could thank the Scarlet Witch for giving him this opportunity...

#marvel #sinister strange x reader #dark!doctor strange #dark!doctor strange x reader #dark!marvel #marvel fanfic series

[tempestdaydream]

[Ficlet] literary allusion

💫 Also on AO3 [here]

Hob enjoys teaching, truly. It's a chance to impart knowledge in more ways than one, and to steer others away from dark paths Hob himself has unwittingly stumbled onto in the past. 

Sure, the students can be a handful, and sure, Nancy from administration wants his head on a silver platter for the time he requested a change in his class schedule thrice in a week, but the experience is overall quite pleasant. 

If only it wasn't for these bloody substitutions.

You see, when one specializes in English history between the 14th and 17th century, it puts you at the forefront of candidates to replace the Elizabethian literature teacher when the occasion arises.

He doesn't blame Thomas for falling ill, of course, although he'll give him hell about it later over the drinks he was promised. 

He does blame one overrated hack of a poet for reminding him of his woes any time he gets brought up in conversation.

Of course they're going over Shakespeare's sonnets this week. Just his luck.

Against popular belief, Hob doesn't abhor Shakespeare in of itself or on principle. He's perfectly fine with some of his works; Eleanor convinced him to see a few plays way back when, and most were perfectly fine evenings. 

Other works, though…

Hob does wonder exactly who old Will was thinking about in his sonnets; from context, it couldn't be his Stranger. The subject of poetry was undoubtedly human, considering just how often the passing of time got brought up as an issue.

That doesn't mean certain passages don't hit much too close to home for comfort. 

"What is your substance," he reads, "Whereof are you made / That millions of strange shadows on you tend? / Since every one hath, every one, one shade / And you but one, can every shadow lend."

It's a good thing he perfected his poke face in the past century or two.

A formless, all-encompassing beauty, huh? One person with many shadows and reflections…

Hob pushes down a frustrated groan. 

His friend's influence is inescapable alright.

He liked it better when he could stay in denial; when even friendship seemed unattainable. But then the bastard had to show up late and apologize, and show actual courtesy and start proper conversations even. And worst of all for Hob's sanity—He stuck around.

It's much easier to ignore an infatuation if you don't see the other person every other week, it turns out. Maybe the once-a-century deal was for Hob's benefit after all.

Bloody hell, this is why he dislikes Shakespeare. Makes his moods so somber he entertains the thought of the past being better. It rarely ever was, and most definitely not in this case. He likes spending time with his Stranger, regardless of the health risk it poses to his heart.

Perhaps he'll even get a name out of him, one of these days. His one of a kind, perplexing friend.

In all external grace you have some part, But you like none, none you, for constant heart.

#dreamling #dream x hob #sandman fic #dream of the endless #hob gadling #unfortunately for Hob i enjoy sonnets #yvewrites

[dawnslight-aegis]

strangeness and charm (explicit)

Estinien was half-asleep in the bath, letting the hot water steam the knots from his muscles, when a husky feminine voice called something that might have been his name down the hall.

He didn’t have time to respond before Marz’s head poked around the doorframe, and she flashed him a smile big enough that he could see her fangs pressing dimples into her full lower lip. “There you are. Nhaama, a bath sounds nice right now…” She trailed off, raising her eyebrows, and Estinien pushed himself up into a more upright position.

“It’s not as if you’ll give me much choice anyway,” he groused, but there was no bite to it.

“You’re right, I won’t.” Marz shed her clothes with a speed that would have been alarming if he hadn’t seen her do it dozens of times by now, then pulled her thick mass of black curls free from its messy ponytail to cascade down her back and over her chest, hip-length and nearly enough to be modest.

Not quite, though, and Estinien tipped his head as she turned away for a moment, eyes lingering appreciatively over her thighs and arse.

“What are you looking at, exactly?” she teased, green eyes sparkling with amusement.

Estinien sat back against the edge of the tub, letting a slow, wolfish grin spread across his mouth. “Exactly what it looks like I’m looking at?”

With an exaggerated sway of her hips, Marz stepped down into the bath and in one smooth, graceful motion, pushed herself across the water to settle her arms and chin against his chest, smiling up at him in a rare moment of genuine warmth, untouched by her usual mischief. Estinien could feel the corner of his mouth curve up in answer, and brushed a bit of hair back from her face. “What were you up to today?”

“Wandered down to Great Work to see Nidhana, did some herb gathering for them, checked on this xaela girl in Yedlihmad who is having a hard time adjusting to all the matanga here, pet some hamsa… nothing too major. I didn’t overdo it, if that’s what you’re worried about, just walked a lot. How was the Radiant Host today?” Wet arms twined around his shoulders, and he sighed at the simple pleasure of the slide of her warm skin against his.

“Fine. Never though I’d be teaching the dragoon arts to a bunch of non-Ishgardians, but… it feels like reclaiming the tradition. Ratatoskr would be proud of what Vrtra has built here.” He wasn’t quite sure how he knew that, but he knew better than to question the certainty, by now.

He flashed her a small smirk and decided to poke the bear. “And at least this bunch of au ra aren’t mad fools who refuse to wear decent armor.”

Marz’s (adorable) nose scrunched in irritation at the familiar argument, and she pushed herself off of his lap to slip beneath the surface of the water. Black waves floated in front of him like a spill of ink, concealing her from him until he felt the touch of small hands along the inside of his thighs. Estinien jumped, then suppressed a shiver. Between the view he’d been given and the feel of her in his arms, his cock had slowly stirred to life, and Marz resurfaced again with her hand wrapped lightly around it, brilliant green eyes gleaming in the candlelight as she grinned up at him.

“Well, would you look what I found.” Full, soft lips ghosted over the side of his length, and Estinien let his head fall back a bit with a groan. He stroked a hand over her hair as she lingered, not pressing, but enjoying the silken slide of her wet curls on his hand as he watched her with half-lidded eyes.

He saw the way her top fangs pressed into her bottom lip when her smile turned from loving to impish, and Fury save him, it only made him harder.

It wasn’t much of a surprise when she rose out of the water and turned around, settling herself on his thighs. She tipped her head back to meet his eyes, a mischievious look on her face. “Wash my hair?”

Damned woman.

“Bloody tease,” he grumbled under his breath as he reached for the soap, but smiled, just a little, when he got a giggle in response. Who was he to begrudge her her games when they both enjoyed them so much?

He’d begun washing her hair out of necessity, when she’d been too damned injured to take care of herself, in the days following their return from Ultima Thule – but now, when she was all but recovered, he found himself still tasked with it. Not that he minded. ‘Twas nice, the feeling of warm, soft woman on his lap, moving his hands in soothing motions while they talked or just simply existed together. Simple and domestic in a way he never thought would be his lot in life, but the fact that it was made it all the sweeter.

Once he was done scrubbing the tips of his fingers against her scalp, she slipped off of his lap and back into the water, suds sluicing away as she rose back out, siren-like. And this time, rather than her perch on his thighs, she gently pushed his legs apart and rested the ample curve of her arse against his lower stomach, and he groaned as the silken heat of her cunt slid against the top of his cock. Thick, muscular thighs wrapped tightly around the other sides of him, and he leaned back and dropped his face into his hand at the obscenely arousing sight of the head of his cock jutting from between her legs.

Slender fingers reached back to wrap around the back of his neck and tug him back forward, and Estinien could hear the smugness in her voice as she murmured his name. “Don’t hide, love. I want you to watch.”

Held in place by one of her hands, the other interlaced itself with his on the top of his thigh, and then she began to move. The press of her thighs were tight, wet, warm – but nothing compared to the boiling heat of her cunt, so damned close and yet impossible to slip inside, the way he wanted.

His free hand drifted up the side of her waist, over the curve of one small breast, his hand easily enveloping it as he leaned over her shoulder, peppering it with kisses. He watched, enraptured, as she ground down against his length, her breath coming shorter as she did so, working them both towards release.

It would be so easy to wrap his hands around her hips and hold her steady as he thrust between her legs, but he was patient and let her set the pace – he knew her well enough by now that trying to take control would only make her want to tease him more.

Marz curled and dug her nails into the back of his neck, and the spark of pain combined with the breathy moan of pleasure she made tipped him over the edge, and he bit down on her shoulder as he spilled hot, sticky fluid all over the insides of her thighs.

Her breathless laugh turned to a sharp inhale as the hand she had pinned down on his thigh broke free and delved between her legs, two fingers sinking in deep as he rocked the heel of his hand against her. She squirmed and ground down, and then, with a long moan, came throbbing and pulsing around his hand.

She barely had time to relax, limp and boneless against his chest, before his cock began to stir back to life, spurred on by the sight of her fair covered in the results of her hard work, the white standing starkly against her warm, freckled skin. Marz wriggled a bit in his grasp and grinned back at him. “So… I take it you enjoyed that? I barely had to work at it, and you already want more?”

Ever since the damnable woman had discovered that his experience was somewhat more… limited than her own, she had made it a mission to fuck him every way she could possibly think of. Some had been more pleasant experiences than others, and he still hadn’t gotten up the courage to let her try a few of the things she’d suggested, but this? This was a new favorite. Already he was thinking about how easy it would be to slide between her thighs in the morning, to wake her with teasing for once.

Not that she needed the ego boost from hearing him admit to his enjoyment so plainly. Instead, he growled a quiet, “Sometimes, Marzanna, you talk too damned much,” into the back of her neck, before curling his hand under one thigh and lifting it, and her, up enough that the head of his cock could press against her entrance. Slowly, he sank into overheated, sensitive flesh, letting out a quiet moan as the wet heat of her enveloped him.

“O-oh, is this what you wanted, then? I never would have guessed.” Her voice kept up the taunting, but he heard the quaver in it as she took ilm after ilm, the sight of his cock disappearing into her small body a sight he didn’t think he would ever get tired of. He didn’t have the leverage to thrust with any real force, but he was in no rush, rolling his hips to move in her, slow and deep, as his other hand stroked the place just above where they were joined, rubbing hard little circles on her clit and reveling in the way she stretched and twitched around him.

Marz’s voice caught on a gasp as she grabbed the back of his neck and pulled his head down to meet hers in a messy, sharp-edged kiss that left them both out of breath. As she pulled back, beautiful green eyes met his with a shaky grin. “You love me.”

In this, he couldn’t even begin to tease her – not now. “I do. You know I do.”

And this time when she came apart, writhing and burying her face in the side of his neck, he followed her over the edge.

#have a VERY belated wolstinien week fic #was supposed to be for estinien day but tbh making him wait is very in character for marz lmao #we were slaves to any semblance of touch #wolstinien #tales from the dusk