#would you want these men in your peaceful hydrangea garden?????

[kraniumet]

girl worst friends

#would you want these men in your peaceful hydrangea garden????? #gintama #honestly benizakura movie prom #o art. served. #was gonna post this one right after prev post but got sidetracked by Dinner At The Relatives

[punkandsnacks]

Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter Two; Outsider.

Author: @punk-in-docs​ & @adamsnackdriver​

Also on AO3-

Trigger Warnings: Implied violence, sexual thoughts and some emotional abuse.

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it. 

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia. 

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left. 

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.

He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

~ ~  🥀 ~ ~ 

 Night falls dark and still over the landscape brushed with snow. Westwell’s gardens seemed crushed under the icy weight.

 It seemed the heavy blanketing of it muffled and blotted out all sound. But it’s a peaceful intrusion.

 The huge square windows of Westwell Manor are flaked with frost and each square of glass glimmers gold with the tall candle holder placed in each one. A stick of fire and gold warding off that indigo night that shrouded heavy and deep in the sky above. Trying to spill into the window.

 Iris is sat in her small bedroom. A tomb or a cell, really, was how it felt to her some days. Wall to wall draped in pretty Morris flowered wallpaper of white sprawling flowers with navy and blue birds and country vines.

 Her double bed with twisting pillars of dark mahogany twine up to the wheat thick canopy that is draped over it. The mattress is layered in a fluffy champagne coloured eiderdown and white embroidered scalloped-lace pillows. The floors are dark walnut wood, and they creak wildly. Groaning. Cold and heat seeps easily through the cracks between them in winter. Chilling her toes. And in summer the warmth of the creaking cracking house bleeds upwards.

 The walls of her bedroom are sparse but some have photo frames of embroidery or pressed flowers she’s collected over the years held neatly in small wooden frames. She has a small stool by her bed with the tapered candle lit on a brass holder. Apricot flame coming off the long drip of the Chantilly candle. Casting pools of orange up the warm-ivory-bone of the walls. A jug of dried wildflowers sat on that little stool spices up the air. Dried lavender and clary sage, wild shasta daisies and a green-pink hydrangea bulb. Her little stack of modestly worn books lay piled neatly on the floor next to her bed.

 Iris is sat at her dresser, pulled near the window. With the roaring fireplace just to her left. Above the mantel hung a gilded mirror on the chain. Candlesticks alight, set on the dresser and on the alcove of the sash window. Two candles flank the oval of the mirror she’s sat looking into.

 Mother is behind her, dressed and ready in her purple muslin gown and her white fichu. Stabbing pins into her daughters hair. Every time she sticks in another pin, Iris winces. Blinks through the stinging pain of it. She was attempting a more fashionable colonial coiffure. Easier to produce.

 “Your hair is much too thick to curl properly.” Her mother addresses her idly. Snappily. Tugging back a section back behind her ear.

 “Posy and Flora have much finer hair.” She offers.

 As ever. Iris doesn’t know what to say to that. Should she offer an apology? Should she agree? Disagree? She fails to know how to be.

 So she remains silent and watches her mother’s reflection in the looking glass as she almost crossly dresses her hair.

 Caroline Ashton was maturely beautiful woman. With skin as clear as fine porcelain - like smooth cream. Even if sporting wrinkles by her mouth and eyes belying her later age. She had hair exactly the same as Iris’s. Except her mother’s was such an opulent shade of cinnamon-black. Stroked with streaks of silver like lightning bolts had struck through. Her eyes were clear silver. Two discs of shining moonstone. Very mysterious eyes, Iris had always thought.

 Lately those eyes seemed permanently hardened over like rainstorms. Clouded over with disappointment at her eldest.

 Always wishing she could do more to see more of the love that used to linger there. Nowadays it seemed like Caroline could only look at her and see the blemishes. Only see the wrongs.

 The frown lines seemed deeper. The cutting remarks appeared more frequent. She was always telling her to sit up straighter, correcting her posture. Smoothing out the wrinkles in her dresses. Always picking. Forever finding something lacking.

 Iris likes to think she was doing it out of an abundance of love. But it’s becoming clearer and clearer to her that it’s really about the opposite. It’s not about her wanting to provide for Posy or Flora or Father.

 It’s purely selfish. It’s all about her ensuring they don’t lose any respect in the ever omnipotent eyes of society.

 If her mother thought less about their image; perhaps Iris could love her more.

 As it is. Coldness and distance lay weighty between them. Thicker and frostier than the snow outside. The ground between their geniality and affection lay strewn and twined with thick vines of barbed thorns. No way to tread such hallowed ground without drawing blood.

 “Posy and Flora have had their hair in bows all day.” She points out. She shuts her eyes and grits her teeth as another pin slams into her skull. Yanking her hair right at the roots.

 “And they’ve taken all week to fret over choosing their dresses.” Iris adds.

 She looks up to see those steel swords of mama’s eyes cutting into her in the reflection. Mouth was a grim line.

 “You should know by know what’s expected of you, Iris. And not take the matter so lightheartedly.” She warns.

 “They can take balls seriously, as real chances of finding matrimony. Why can’t you?” She asks with a cruel tone.

 “Mama. Flora and Posy haven’t taken anything seriously since they day they were born.” Iris insults plainly. Speaking truth.

 “You know they only delight in attending ball’s and assemblies because they wish to make greater spectacles of themselves in front of soldiers from the militia, and get flirted with, by any creature sporting breeches.” She adds.

 “Atleast they try.” Caroline cuts in.

 “And I do not?” Iris asks. Flatly exasperated. She huffs.

 “You only danced with three men at last months assembly. It’s simply not good enough. You must try harder. Your sisters may have prettiness and confidence in unholy abundance. And they apply it. You wither away and that will never gain you a husband. For heavens sake- What upstanding man wants to marry the silent wallflower?” She declares gruffly.

 She fiddles with her new satin gloves sloped in her lap. Her dress was ivory silk printed with frail gold flowers and embroidered scalloping on the hem.

 There’s Van Dyke pointed lacing around her neckline and the same embroidered trim on the three-quarter sleeves. White helped ‘lift’ her ash eyes apparantly. It was fresh out it’s box from the dressmakers, Madame Larousse, on Pembleton high street. Indian printed silk and Italian lace. The most expensive fabric in stock.

 Their maid, Julia, had earlier laced her stays so tightly over her cotton chemise, Iris worried she broke several ribs. Her nails stung into the wood of her bed post.

 Mother was stood getting her gown ready on the other side of the room. Watching her eldest have the breath thumped right out of her lungs. “Tighter.” She ordered. Iris clutched a hand at her stomach.

 “A man could go a long way without seeing a bust like yours Iris. We must take advantage of it.” She comments wryly. Julia tugs tighter on the strings. Iris’s jaw clenched all the more.

 By the time she’s finished her waist is tucked right in and her breasts clasped high on her chest, almost so high they hit her chin and there’s scant space between her cleavage and her areole tumbling free, this gown is so low cut.

 She tugs it up higher when mother isn’t looking. Spectacles of her fertility not quite on such prominent display now.

 She fancied this silk of it was so fine and thin - and clung so tight to her body, one breath of wind would closely reveal her wide hips. And doubtless her chemise and garters could be glimpsed through the thin sheer sheen of it.

 And here she was now, submitting to her mothers inspection and brutal torture. Laced up in her silken gown. With her best stockings, and slippers. Earlobes dropping pearls, and a head full of silver decorative pins and an ivory comb.

 Speaking of which, the latter is just being wrestled into the weave of her coiffured braided bun, at the back.

 “There...” Her mother says. Fussing with a few strays. Tucking them in where they should belong. As she picks at Iris’s mud hued hair. She idly asks her questions.

 “Will you be dancing with Armitage tonight?” She asks. Insinuated, more likely.

 Iris averts her eyes and pats the back of her hair. Checking it in the glass.

 “Will he be in attendance?” She asks offhand. As if she had no clue.

 “Of course he will. Brendol knows the Hearst’s very intimately.” Her mother shrilled.

 “You will dance the first minuet with him and I’ll hear no more fuss about the matter.” She orders. Cold eyes finding her daughters in the mirror.

 Armitage Hux was the son of a strict local army colonel. Tall, dashing, hair as brilliant as copper and eyes as cool as teal sea-foam in contrast. He was lean and willowy in stature. Always bedecked finely in his uniform. Buttons gleaming, blushing blood of a red coat brushed and pressed to within an inch of it’s life.

 He’s not a bad man - he doesn’t drink or laugh at her. Or try and fondle her in a darkened corner.

 He just strikes Iris as being incredibly vain and undeniably haughty. He thinks all the world should be owed to him. 

 He only wanted to talk medals and glory and rank. How he was a model soldier. And so admired the bravery of gunfire and glory in battle. He’d never even seen battle - his father bought him a conscription and shook hands and pulled favours to get him a high rank in the military. Sergeant Hux, he now was.

 He didn’t seem to be able to equate soldiers and uniforms and weapons with actual war or combat. But liked to boast about how deadly he was. His sharp reflexes. His skill as a swordsman and marksman. Iris felt like stuffing cotton in her ears - or sticking her eyes with pins all night - anything but listen to Armitage spew out his toy soldier reveries.

 “He is a very agreeable man. You would do well to land him, Iris. He would make a most affable husband and a good match.”

 “I barely know him, Mama.” Iris pointed out.

 “You don’t need to know him. That is no hindrance to a proposal of marriage.” She says crossly. “You need not know your husband. You merely have to do your wifely duties by him.” She reminds.

 My duty of keeping my mouth shut and my legs and womb wide open, Iris thinks.

 “I thought I heard he was courting Mary Simpson?” Iris pipes up. Uncurling two tendrils of delicate hair from in front of her ears.

 “She has barely a thousand pounds a year. Brendol would never stand for him marrying such a girl.” Caroline declares mightily. Speaking in derision of the girl who was beneath them in every sense.

 “Besides. Lord Hearst says there will apparently be a very rich gentleman from the continent in attendance tonight too. A Lord Ren, from Bavaria. It would do well to seek him out.”

 “Every matronly mama worth her salt will be throwing their daughters in his path. I do hope he doesn’t trip on the sheer number of them crushed underfoot.” Iris says lightly. Pulling on her gloves.

 “And if he is a Lord, why has he deigned in all his lofty power to grace us with his presence, and to come to a small county rather than go to vastly over stocked marriage mart in London?” Iris questions.

 “Don’t be so blockish, Iris. Maybe he has business here to attend. Mrs Wilson told me this morning that he’s bought Hellford Park out in its entirety. Now that takes an extraordinary fortune.” She corrects.

 Iris looks directly at her mother. She spies the gleam of want in her eyes. The hunger that such a sum she could snatch up in her hands.

 “Lord’s marry Heiresses to sugar mills who are poised for ten thousand pounds, or widowed old Duchesses with vast crumbling estates. Why would he in his lofty state and means, lower himself to wed a girl of simple country gentry, with a barely three thousand pound dowry?” Iris sarks.

 Mama gives her a pointed look. Like a ream of needles pressing in her skin.

 “Then you will make a even better spectacle in front of him. And show him how elegant and courteous country girls can be and see if you can’t win him over that way.” She insists direly. As if she were plotting a serious military offensive.

 “If he is a Lord, he will be titled. Titled means landed money and dignity.” Her hair is yanked yet again. “He could well be the answer to all our prayers.”

 Your prayers, Iris points out rudely inside her head.

 “He could be a hideous old letch.” Iris says, rightly.

 Mother stabs one final pin into her head. As if in revenge. “Looks aren’t everything- Money. Station, and respect? That is forever enduring.”

 So are things like love, intimacy, friendship and happiness. Those things endure too. But Iris can’t imagine her acerbic mother has ever felt happy or loved a day in her life; she likes to think her marriage, when it comes, shall be different.

 She ends the conversation on that dazzling note. Iris’s scalp is on sore-fire by now.

 The door opposite them creaks as it’s burst open. Impending footsteps barrelling down the creaking floorboards of the corridor shortly before signalled their arrival. Flora and Posy.

 Fully gowned and gloved and perfumed to high heaven, with their hair pulled in elaborate coiffures on their heads. They had perfect curls. Perfect flounces and ruffles on their dresses. Cheeks a healthy pink. Eyes wild bright with excitement.

 They look like blooming silk roses in a summer garden. Iris feels more and more like a singed daisy in her own gown.

 Flora was dressed in a cobalt muslin, with a roller print of dandelions laid in pinstripes down the fabric. Posy was in a demure blush pink cotton. With lace trim tumbling over the neckline. And Iris sees she wins the honour of wearing the rose silk slippers. Flora is in some ivory ones that have seen more mends and fixes than is earthly possible. For silk slippers didn’t come cheap.

 Both her sisters have much lighter colouring; they both still have the chowder grey Ashton eyes.

 Flora’s hair however, is darkly mousy brown. Golden like toffee leaves that come off the trees in autumn. Posy is far more chestnut red. Blazing bonfires and russet red embers. Overall more enchanting than that of Iris twigs and sticky-mud hued locks.

 They are a barrage of noise and silliness as they barge into Iris’s room. Flora flops onto the end of the well made bed and Posy nosily inspects herself in the looking glass over the fireplace. Preening. Voices overlapping.

 “Mama! Did I tell you what Fleur told me earlier today?” Posy insists. Flora speaks louder over her, in order to be heard.

 “Mama....Have you seen my pink silk shawl for I’m sure I left it in the drawing room.”

 “I haven’t seen your shawl, Flora. You should take better care. And what did Fleur say, my dear?” Caroline asks in a soft voice.

 Whilst fixing strayed hairs at Iris’s nape. Pulling and pinching. She had no softness reserved in store for Iris. She rather wants to roll her eyes at that.

 “There will be a gentleman of certain lordly magnificence at the ball tonight.” Posy sing-songs. Aiming her teasing words at Iris. Who gives her a cutting look at her bubbly behaviour. Steel daggers made of her grey eyes.

 “He’s said to be most handsome, sable haired, and devilishly tall. And he’s single. And Lord Hearst says he’s a recluse who barely leaves his castle, so we’re very honoured he’s coming and he has eighty-thousand a year.” She awards with great enthusiasm. Flora giggles.

 “Maybe you should set your cap at him, Iris.” Flora jabs teasingly. “We could all be vastly improved by such a match you know. I could finally stop wearing these hideous thin old slippers.”

 Iris wished to point out that she wasn’t being induced into matrimony merely to vastly improve the quality and state of her siblings footwear.

 And quite wondered if he sister knew all that she’d have to undertake in making such a match - all she’d have to give up to be some man’s wife. All she’d have to do-

 “She won’t. For she’s already got a suitor whose madly in love with her.” Posy insists.

 “Hux is not in love with me, Posy. Don’t be ridiculous.” Iris says. For starters she wasn’t his red uniform or his army commission. Those were the things he was resolutely enamoured with.

 Standing from the dresser as she speaks, and going to where her new slippers were laid out by the maid on the bed. Flora eyes the silk things with jealous disdain. Iris fixes her satin gloves up over her elbows. Disappearing under her sleeves. Mother is too busy fussing with Posy’s neckline - tugging it up to cover more of her second youngest’s chest. She protested so at the action.

 Iris took the opportunity to slide a small pearl hair comb into Flora’s hand. Her favourite one. The one with coral flowers and paste amber gems on it.

 Iris flickers a look over the mother and a silent understanding passes between the sisters. ‘Put it in, in the coach in the dark. So she doesn’t see.’

 Flora smiles awfully wide up at her sister. Grateful that she shared out her pretty things. Flora was the youngest - the youngest daughter deserved nice trinkets too.

 “If you’re all ready we’d best be off soon. The roads are icy. It will take an age. I won’t have us be late.” Mama orders out to all her girls.

 She turns her head to Iris “Fetch your things and the velvet cloak. And for heavens sake don’t be long. We don’t have all night.” She frets.

 Marching out the room after rearranging some of Posy’s curls. Barking at Flora as she passed to fix the wrinkle in her gloves. The door grated and whines as she shuts it, lock rattling in the frame.

 Iris savours the silence - the crackling of the fire. The owl hooting off in the tree tops outside her window. She lets it soothe her. Let’s out the deepest sigh as they’re now left alone.

 She crosses to her wooden wardrobe cabinet by the door, and opens the door to search for her blue velvet cloak. She throws it around her shoulders and ties it up. Posy hands her sister her cream silk reticule.

 “She just wants you to marry well.” Posy says with some attempt at comforting.

 Iris nods, glumly stroking her sisters hand in thanks. Looking into her earnest young face. Still so full of innocence and hope.

 Her heart shaped little face so full of impish naivety.

 “She might do not to make me feel exclusively like a breeding mare to be sold to the highest bidder for marriage at every conceivable turn.” Iris says wryly.

 Angrily shoving a meagre few possessions into her reticule from her dresser. She looks down at her empty dance card that mother would see absolutely filled with names by the end of the night.

 She wipes away an angry tear from the corner of her eye with a handkerchief that Flora gives her. Her anger crowded and crackled the room. These two didn’t deserve her ire, after all.

 She sighs yet again. Letting the churning anger eating at her bleed out. Frustration filtering away. She plasters on a smile. Posy steps forwards to her exasperated sister.

 “Can I borrow your diamond droplet earrings? They’d go very well with my dress...” She asks coyly. With her hands behind her back.

 Iris rolls her eyes. Maybe they did deserve just a little bit of ire after all-

 “You are both enormous pests.” She says. Guiding them out her room.

 “Come on. Lest we hold mother up and I don’t much fancy our chances then.”

 She corrals her pests of sisters downstairs. Makes sure they too are cloaked and ready. They have their gloves and she does uncurl Posy’s palm as they’re heading out the door, dropping the diamond and earrings into them. They sparkle in the moonlight.

 “Lose them and mother will have your head.” She whispers to her in caution as they alight the warmth of the house into the cold sting of the night air.

 Snow crushed under their slippers as they make for the coach. Slipping to step up inside the cold wooden enclave of it. Rubbing their cold hands together to create some heat.

 It was just the Ashton ladies in attendance tonight. Father cared little for balls. Something mother sniped at him for regularly. Ernest Ashton would far rather stay home of a night with his ledgers and his books and his brandy than subject himself to the silly gossip and frivolity of idiotic society people present at balls.

 Her father was a tall, quiet man. Sturdy and aged as an old oak. Strong and strapping figure even in his later years. He quietly took interest in the world where her mothers inclination was to devour it.

 He had an open broad face. With tame blue eyes and thick greying hair. He was a studious man. Often kept to his study or the gardens. He enjoyed his ornithology and his Entomology books. He collected butterflies. All pinned out in cases in his study. Lining the walls.

 It was a place she found infinite comfort in. Wandering into her fathers study. His entomology collection like dots of silken colour in their cases. Old leather books and volumes and manuscripts. Edifying proud in their papery silence. The old wood of his desk worn by years and years. The smell of the study. Of old leather and pipe tobacco. And peppermints from the little jar he kept on his desk.

 He didn’t press Iris in the same way her mother always prevails to do. But then she sees the frayed gems and worn and mended holes in his clothes. The faded material in his waistcoat. How he hasn’t bought himself new shoes in two years.

 That’s how she can put up with every snipe and every cross word that spits out her mothers mouth.

 Iris sometimes quite wondered how her parents ever stood each other for any length of time to bear any children. They were entirely separate people whose interests did not align. They agreed on very little. And settled for that.

 It’s so cold in the coach they can see their breath as they bump and shift along the icy roads. Trees make terrible dark shapes in the near distance, beyond the frosted glass of the coach door window. Iris sits, peering out. Watching the full bowl of the moon slither white off the silver and black landscape. Off the snowy fields and perched on the roofs of the hamlet of houses they pass by.

 The carriage crawls slow up the winding drive of the Hearst’s three acre estate. Horses hooves hitting the hard paved path. Clopping in the night air. Skipping over the frost. They’re but mere minutes from exiting the coach, when mother decides to speak up and issue a few last desperate words of strict orders upon her eldest;

 “Take every opportunity Iris. I won’t have it said in the gossip sheets tomorrow that you didn’t even try.” Caroline insists. Fussing with her own thick muslin cloak draped over her lap.

 Iris looked at her mother then. Across the dark carriage as she tuts at the specks of lint sullying Flora’s cloak where she’s sat next to her. Picking it away.

 She strongly suspected Caroline Ashton could have the whole world in her palm or on a string; and even then she’d find fault in it. Pluck displeasing bits of it out like loose threads.

 She has that irate frown darkening her features. Cloudy set in her eyes. Posy’s little gloved hand reached across and held her sisters tight. Squeezing it in comfort sat there in the dark. Iris turns and looks to see Posy’s heart shaped face beaming up at her.

 “You should let us introduce you to Captain Clifford’s friends Iris. They really are the most splendid fun. I’ve heard many of them say they quite fancy you, you know.” Posy grins. Whispering hushed to her sister to keep her spirits buoyant.

 Iris strokes her hand and she can’t help smiling. More at her always sunny hopes. How bright her outlook on life was. She saw ball’s for the fun they were meant to be.

 A dance, a party, a celebration.

 Posy wasn’t yet tarnished by the knowledge that her hopes for future happiness depended on her behaving well and taking things seriously. It stopped being fun and became a chore. Iris lost her starry eyed wonder about ball’s years ago.

 She hoped she could help Posy keep her gleaming eyed wonder and fun for just that bit longer. She would suffer every second of misery to keep it that way if she must.

 She squeezes her hand back. “Thankyou. That’s very sweet. But I fear I shall be otherwise engaged in dances.” She excuses.

 Besides, most of the young Militia men she met were very wet behind the ears. And all madly enamoured with exhausting dances and infatuated with every beautiful young lady in attendance. Declaring they fell head over heels with every girl they so much as walk past. She finds their overeagerness and exuberance a little trying.

 Before long, they draw up the grand old stone columns abutting the front of the huge house.

 An immense hulking beast of a thing. Lit with autumn-blaze torches in the night. The coach lurches to a creaking uneven stop. Jolting. And a helpful gold liveried footman in a powdered wig steps to and opens the door to help the ladies out.

 Caroline doesn’t even glance at the man. Looks right through him. Flora flutters a flirty smile. Posy and Iris offer a polite snippet of thanks.

 The Ashton ladies make their way up the torch lit steps and into the greatly heaving bustling foyer of the Hearst’s grand house.

 Renford Manor was one of the finest houses in the county. The gardens were splendid. There was a maze and a famed marble garden gazebo.

 A great split imperial staircase opens into the large cool foyer. All ivory marble. Hues of Eggshell and ice. Imposing, echoing and cold. Footsteps rattle like claps up to the ceiling. Distant notes of the small orchestra float through the air like zipping flapping insects.

 Everything glimmers. The chandeliers that drip with gold and crystal. The old pearl and sharp onyx pointed tiles on the floor look like they’ve been scrubbed raw. They gleam almost too brightly.

 They hand over their cloaks to more footmen to be put away. Letting their ball gown splendour come forth. Iris is almost crushed by the amount of people there are in attendance here tonight. Lady Hearst was known to stuff her parties to the seams. The whole county, and all of the two neighbouring ones, had most likely been invited.

 Mama encourages them all up the staircase. Idly smiling greetings in passing to her matrons of her acquaintance. Iris skims one hand along the smooth cold of the marble banister. Holding her skirts up as her slippered feet hit each step. Steps firm and steady.

 They come to one of the big main ballrooms. Looking through the scope of many double doors, leading onto another room and the next and the next furniture pushed aside. There was such a crush of so many ladies and numerous gentlemen packed in. Coats of all colours on the men. The spectrum of silks and cotton dresses so vast, it quite made her head spin.

 Flora excitedly giggles and slips away. A flurry of laughter erupts and she joins hands with a little gaggle of her more intimate friends.

 Iris raises a brow at her behaviour, not surprised to see that she caught a glimpse of a fair few red coated members of the militia in that particular direction. Mother huffs and gruffly tells Flora, through gritted teeth, not to linger too long.

 Iris and Posy linger by mother as they chat to an elderly companion. Mrs Bishop. An ever worrying woman, Who ventured the world was going to end if there was slightly too much rain. She was practically apoplectic about the snow. Iris shares a look of pain with Posy. Who excuses herself with a bob of a curtesy to go find Flora.

 “Pest.” Iris smiles at her as she slips away from conversing will dull matrons about the impending end of civilisation and the earth as they knew it. Anymore and Iris will be forced to rush for  a vinaigrette of smelling salts to revive the poor dear when she swoons.

 Iris stands with her hands folded demurely in front of her. Her eyes wandering over the party in full swing behind her.

 The crush of noise, music and heat and bodies. Candies flicker doomed shapes copper and black up the light walls. The tall windows are guarded with heavy emerald draperies. Cascading waterfalls of apple green. Spilling and tumbling like grassy hills.

 The windows glimmer like yellow square gemstones from the candles in their stands dotted everywhere. The dark floorboards glow with it too. Patches of orange inbetween the shadows.

 The ballrooms, of which there were three, all adjoined by French pocket doors, are kept fairly dark. Lit only by the honey slither of candles reaching apricot slithers of light at every corner. People chatter and laugh to the din of a faint violin chorus of Mozart.

 Laughter, Baritone gruff and the sparkling light of ladies chuckling delight flutters up to the ceiling. The room seems to burst at the seams with it all. Like a room full of butterflies. The heat, the noise, the voices and music. It was almost too much. Everything is palpable and it stings and rips at her eyes and ears.

 They eventually depart from the hysterical Mrs Bishop. Leaving her fanning herself on a settee. Trying not to succumb to a fit of the vapours.

 They make their way through the ballroom. Chatting and conversing and being mangled in the almost too heaving crowds. She loses count of the amount of times her toes get stepped on. Or elbows sharply prodded into the soft of her back as people pass.

 Eventually; much to her mother’s delight, Iris is propositioned by a young gentleman from the militia, into a dance. There seemed to be no sight of Hux yet. Much to Mama’s chagrin.

 He’s very polite and puppyish, delivers her safely back to her mothers side when the polka dance is through. Kisses her hand, declares her daughter a fine dancer, then is off onto the next partner.

 They are lingering on the far side of the dance floor, just idly watching. In full view of the doors and the adjacent ballroom. Through the two sets of double doors either side of a great roaring stone fireplace. It’s light casting copper over every dancer.

 “We won’t waste our time on him.” Mother harrumphed when he leaves. Looking with disdain as they watched him ask Primrose Charleston to dance the next.

 “Mama. It was merely a dance.” Iris points out with a futile smile. “Don’t tell me you were picking out wedding attire and embroidered initial pillowcases.” Iris mocks.

 That earns her a sharp look. She smiles in forbearance right back at her mother.

 Her cheeks now pinkened and her eyes bright from the exercise. She likes dancing. When her partner isn’t a clumsy one, or reeks of port or body odour, or wine, or has wandering letching hands. It’s actually rather enjoyable.

 “We should be setting our sights rather more higher than some penniless officer.” She insists. Watching the couples twirl and sway in front of them.

 “Heaven forfend I dance with a man sheerly for the joy of it.” Iris concludes.

 Caroline tuts in exasperation. Mumbles under her breath. “You do so vex me greatly sometimes, Iris. Even worse than your sisters.” She grumps.

 Deep down inside, Iris is a little proud of that accomplishment.

 A flurry of footsteps and squeaking squeals and suddenly Flora and Posy burst into view where Iris and her mother are stood.

 Their voices are high pitched and they’re panting with excitement. Flora slings her hands into Iris’s and twirls her around with elation. Iris stumbles in the circle Flora leads her in. Posy is stood by Caroline grinning up a storm.

 “Mama, Iris. He’s here! He’s here and he’s coming this way!” Posy giggles. Iris and her mother remain perplexed.

 “Who is, my dear?” Caroline seeks. Frowning a little.

 “He is surely the most handsome man I ever seen. And so tall. Did you see him Flora? That chest...” Posy flatters.

 “Taller than any man I’ve ever met. And so well built. Such stature.” Flora says back.

 “And he has dark eyes, Did you notice?” Posy asks.

 “Of course I noticed! Very dark eyes. They are positively enchanting.”

 “Bewitching.” Posy giggles.

 “And his shoulders in his coat. So large.”

 “For goodness sake, lower your voice-“ Iris chides at the both of them, glancing around the ballroom. Trying to decipher who they were so flustered and flapping about.

 Her eyes don’t make it past the door-

 The room seems to have slowed. The dancers are distracted. People around the fringes of the ballroom chatter louder. Deafening din rising. Gossip flourishing.

 For Lord Hearst is at the entrance of one of the double doors, conversing with someone, and that someone walking by his side, is one of the broadest and most strapping men Iris has ever seen in her whole life.

 He wasn’t just a man.

 He was entirely too much, man.

 “That’s Lord Ren. The handsomely rich one all the way from Bavaria.” Flora hisses to them all. “I’ve never seen a gentleman more strongly built, or beautiful.” She giggles loudly.

 “I beg of you, lower your voice.” Iris chides. Pearl earrings jitter as she moves her head. Ash eyes governed by lintels of her brows creased up in a light frown.

 Everyone’s eyes in this small stale society, is fixed solid upon the sight of this newcomer. Hungrily devouring this unfamiliar brooding man.

 Obsidian jacket. Snowy shirt. Scarlet cravat like a bloodied noose around his neck, with a seers eye of a winking diamond pin studded in the knot. He radiates charm and magnificence. And masculine appeal.

 “He’s in mourning to be wearing such dark colours.” Mother presumes. “How unusual for a man.”

 “Don’t fret, Mama. Lady Hearst assures me he’s most certainly single. Now, Iris might have her chance at him after all...” Posy cackles.

 Iris rams an elbow into the bony cradle of her sisters petite hip.

 “Do try and endeavour to behave.” She chides to Posy. Whispering harshly.

 This mysterious Lord is unfashionably attired in all black. Perhaps he is in a state of mourning? Ink black breeches cling tight to his strong thighs and wide wide hips and shining boots come to his knees - the wrong sort of footwear for a ball but he doesn’t appear to notice. Or even care.

 He had an air about him that couldn’t be ignored. The dark clothes. Sable hair. It was long too. Far too long by societal standards. It curled at his neck. Swept in tumbling waves back from his face.

 He’s scanning the room like he hates everything and everyone in it. A soured scowl on his face. The softness of his full lips are pursed and there’s a predatory quality to the way his eyes flicker around the crowds. He seems above it all. Distant. Untouchable. He was a Lord - he held himself superior as one as if a different species.

 “Fleur told me he’s quite the scandalous man....” Flora begins.

 “I heard he was married. Once before, but she turned mad and killed several servants. So he locked her in the dungeons and she’s still here raking her fingers to the bone at the stone walls to get out.”

 Iris wants to roll her eyes. Now it’s Posy’s turn for interjection;

  “And I heard that his castle is haunted and full of ghosts. And he seduces young noble women and then sacrifices and feeds them to the devil. Maybe he’s prowling for next victim?” She gasps frenziedly.

 “You two need to stay clear away from anymore novels.” Iris scoffs.

 She lets her eyes slip back over this Lord’s frightening exterior. She focuses on the dark pits that were his eyes. They seemed oddly familiar. As if she’s glimpsed them before. In a fanciful daydream, maybe- or maybe it was a dreadful nightmare.

 They’re too far away to make out their true colour. But it must be a truly dark for the way they eat up all the light and glitter like rough cut gemstones lost to shadow.

 His arms folded behind his back pulls his coat right across his chest. Exposes the musculature of him: he is big and beastly. There was no denying; his figure is redoubtably masculine. Intimidating and strong- meaty arms, no tapering away at his waist. He was entirely built of great slabs of muscles.

 A warriors figure through and through.

 Iris thought that such a body frame belonged in a previous age. A more ravening one. A cutthroat one. That stature was suited to a gigantic rampaging viking or a crusading knight in steel armour.

 Quite why she thought so she can’t fathom. That big shape of his seemed unsuited to the setting of a dainty English ballroom. It seemed more natural for him to be on a battlefield slicked up and splattered in the blood of his enemy’s.

 She watches as he boredly sizes up the room before him. An arcing sweep of his eyes and he’s done with it. Thrown aside all interest. Devouring all pitiful excuses for life. As if he’s looking or searching for something...

 Then he looks right at her-

 His eyes spear directly into her. See’s her. Meets her grey gaze and keeps it. Steals it away beyond her reckoning.

 One side of his lip curls up. His eyes churn to look nearly honey gold in the light. Trick of the mind. All in her head. It was surely just the candles malforming the shade-

 But it seemed more than him just seeing her. It was as if he could gaze right through her. Pierce her skin. Puncturing her very soul - she’s sure.

 Her whole body feels his looking at her. She thrashes and aches.

 If she has one. Some flimsy scrap of quivering human spirit in her, it is quaking and trembling now, and very much intoxicated by this man.

 Her cheeks flush and she feels that betraying annoying heat slither down her neck and flourish at her breast. She swallows and blinks and tears her eyes away. She looks at her shoes cause she’s suddenly got a spinning head and her mouth is woolly.

 That look and those savage eyes had set a flame blazing right down to her bones. There’s something she feels deep down that almost seems strange. Uncertain yet resolute. A tug on her stomach. An unknown yearning.

 She realises quickly that this was the same pair of eyes that stole her breath this very afternoon. The gentleman from the imposing black carriage. Twice now she’s locked eyes with him and stared.

 He must think her either a raving simpleton or a gawping lunatic.

 “Iris. I do believe he’s staring at you.” Posy hisses with a wide impressed smile.

 “Oh he is! He’s definitely staring.” Flora squeals. Tugging and shaking her sisters hand.

 “Iris. Stand straight. Stop stooping. Chin up for heavens sake- look decent.“ Mother shrills through a gritted smile. Smiling demurely in the intended direction of Lord Ren. Preening herself like a flustered hen.

 Iris dares another look up. Clasping her hands together delicately in front of her. At the front of her skirts. Him and Lord Hearst are mere feet away now.

 “He’s coming this way! Mama! He’s coming over...” Posy grins. Flora laughs with her.

 By now, Iris’s heart resembles a mad creature clawing at its cage, desperate to be free. Thumping and thudding her neck. Quivering nervous breaths leave her lips. Heartbeat hammering and pulsing in her ears.

 He’s looking at Posy or Flora, she thinks. He must be. They always draw men like magnets. He’s not looking at me- he’s not. Really. He’s not-

 They are closer now. Lord Hearst and Lord Ren are mere metres away. The entire room seems to be holding its breath. Another dance starts up and she’s glad for that distraction.

 Her cheeks remained flushed and she raises her eyes when the air shifts around them. She can scent the brandy and violet water coming off Lord Hearst. There is his stout waistcoat and his perfumed wig. Lord Ren appears unscented. But a fusion of aromas simply pour off his vast body.

 Sandalwood oil. Probably used on that thick rakish mane of his. There’s something else too, something earthy darkly rich, that mingles with the musky new wool of his coat. Peppermint or spices. She can’t tell. It’s damnably distracting.

 “Praise the lord in heaven. We are saved.” Her mother mumbles gladly under her breath. Smile wide and gentle. Artificial and superficial to hide her truer nature.

 Lord Hearst and Lord Ren are right before them now. Right in front of them. “Mrs Ashton.” Lord Hearst begins in greeting. Iris watches her Mama curtesy politely to the old lord.

 “Might I have the pleasure of introducing you to Lord Ren. An old acquaintance of mine...”

 Iris looks from the doddery old form of the red faced Lord Hearst, up and up up, into the face of the dark stranger. The top of her head would barely come to brush at his collarbones. His eyes are still fixed on her face. A shock jolts through her like she’s been burned.

 “Lord Ren, this is Mrs Caroline Ashton. And her daughters. Miss Posy Ashton. And Miss Flora Ashton...” Lord Hearst introduces. Flora and Posy bob demure little curtseys at him. Bowing their heads and smiling prettily like fools.

 He barely glances toward them. His eyes were fixed on Iris.

 “And this is her eldest daughter, Miss Iris Ashton.” Lord Hearst beckons to her. Stood back behind her two sisters, and almost guarded by her mother.

 She curtseys. Chin to her chest and she bows her neck in a manner she hopes comes across as graceful.

 Lord Ren smiles. It’s terrifying in its power and beauty.

 It moves the corners of his lips. And he comes in a step closer. Advancing.

 Posy and Flora flatten back a little. When one hand comes around from his back, Iris could see he had thick leather gloves on. As if entranced she reached out where his hand beckoned to hold hers.

 She slipped her satin gloved hand into his big offered dark palm. It sits right in the middle of the wide thing. So dainty in comparison.

 He brings her silken hand up. Bows down and lays a kind kiss to the back of it. His eyes hadn’t left her since he entered the room - they didn’t start shying away now.

 This is a man who is not shy. Not any bit of him.

 He draws her hand down, very slightly. Freeing his lips.

 “Enchanting to meet you, Miss Ashton.” He says.

 Iris never knew a voice could be so deep. His voice sunk right to the core of her. Right through flesh and bone. Sinking deep. She’d expected a Bavarian accent. Or a continental lilt. But his accent is precise, crystal-cut English.

 She blinks. Remembering she had a verbose vocabulary to make use of.

 “It’s an honour to make your acquaintance, Lord Ren.” She gasps out with some hint of strength in her voice. When she lets her hand slips from his, her body feels strange. Her whole arm is left tingling.

 She finds herself sighing as she pulls her hand back. He straightens his back with ease. She knows her mothers eyes are looking sharply at her so she remembers her politesse.

 She feels like the whole world is watching them converse.

 “Are you, enjoying... your time in England?” She seeks. “I understand you are recently arrived.”

 “Very much.” He looks amused. “I haven’t been on these shores in- quite an age.” He says. She can’t help but feel there is something cryptic to his meaning.

 “Do you mean to stay long, in Hampshire, your lordship?” Flora asks. Batting her long lashes up at him so much she could fan out a chandelier of candles if she’s not careful.

 His eyes calmly flick across to the smallest Ashton sister. But linger back on Iris.

 “Not long. But after tonight I think I’ve found sufficient reason to extend my stay.” His smile twitches smoothly once again.

 “Are you enjoying Hellford Park, your lordship? Surely it is the finest house in the county, is it not?” Posy enquires.

 Another flicker of those charcoal eyes to the other little Ashton. Really, there were too deuced many of them, Kylo thinks.

 “It is an immaculate house. The snowy woods are very pleasant this time of year.” He agrees.

 “Of course. The climates in Bavaria are surely similar. I imagine there is much snow on your own estate, your lordship?” Iris asks.

 He seems pleased with her interjection. As if she were the only soul whose voice he wished to hear.

 When he looked at her, it was like they were the only two people in this room. The only two that mattered. It’s just them, in the candlelight, cast by flame. As if no pairs of eyes are watching - when in reality there are hundreds looking in. 

 “Indeed. The summers are short, and the winters are long and frigid. I am somewhat familiar with the clime of snow. It falls more gently here than in Bavaria.” His eyes glare warmly across at her. Increasing her blush.

 Caroline steps in with a saccharine smile that showed far too much teeth. A leer it could rightly be called.

 “You must come and dine with us at Westwell, Lord Ren. We would be honoured to receive you. We can promise you an elegant dinner service, and cards. Why we dine with six and twenty great and fine families around the county. We would be very much favoured with your visit. I wager you won’t get finer, prettier companions or better conversation elsewhere...” Mother boasts.

 He smiles right at Iris and it spears into her hot chest like an iron poker stoked too long in the fire. Red hot.

 “Indeed. I Thankyou greatly for the invitation. Madam.” Then his eyes grow blacker. “You have very fine daughters. God has blessed you three times over.”

 Flora giggles a beaming smile. Posy bats her lashes and grins. Iris fiddles with her hands and examines the floorboards, reddening at his charm.

 “I often think so, myself.” Mother preens.

 “Of course all my girls are immensely beautiful. But, it is my Iris who is revered around these parts as a local beauty.” She lies.

 “Mama.” Iris blushes crimson. Averting her eyes.

 “A rumour well circulated indeed.” Kylo’s looking at her. And to her amazement. She bravely looks back.

 “And she deserves every such compliment I can bestow.” Kylo adds.

 “You are too kind, Lord Ren.” Iris smiles slightly at him. It makes his chest pound harder. Watching her bosom heave at the neckline of her dress.

 His mouth waters. That same scent from this afternoon hits him square in the jaw like a rounded fist. He all but moans at the erotic pleasure of it. Of her sweet scent drifting up his nose. Stoking at his eager hunger.

 He will tear something apart tonight, rip it limb from limb, and glut himself on that sweet penny-metal flush of blood spilling down his parched throat. And as he does- as he feasts and drinks and crimson drips from his maw, he will think of this moment; of her aroused scent tangled in his nose. Stirring his own lust to boiling point.

 He bids the Misses and Mrs Ashton’s a goodnight.

 Lord Hearst had more introductions for him to make. More simpering sickening people to meet. All the same. Savagely polite and viciously boring. Their superficial kindness and flattery turns his stomach.

 A bevy of swans the lot of them. Preening and pathetic. He could barely hide his disgust at the stench of rotten perfume that beat off each one of their hot pulsing throats. All the vapid girls that desperate Mother’s shoved in his chest to make introductions.

 It was like the sheep throwing their own sweet little lambs out into the slobbering wolves.

If this were a less guarded age he might have already slipped away under guise of a romantic tryst in the garden, to drink a few of them dry.

 Posy and Flora squeak and shake Iris’s arm after he passes. He is led around the ballroom, that great vast man. Introduced to all the good and the great. They gabble and squawk at their sister about how she’ll be the next Lady of Hellford Park.

 She shushes them and sees it makes Lord Ren lock eyes with her from over where he towered loftily across the ballroom crowds.

 Her heart starts beating wild again. A demure smile and she takes her eyes away elsewhere. And that heartbeat calls out to him like the pound of a war drum. A bell summoning him to worship.

 Oh yes. He thinks. She is the one.

  And she’ll do splendidly.

 ~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

#kylo ren #kylo ren x oc #vampire!kylo #vampire au #very wolves and doves #Iris vibes 🕊 #Lord Ren vibes 🐺 #Draegan vibes 🥀 #vampirelovestory #vampire #demon #ao3 fanfic #lovestory #angst #smut #slow burn #regency era

[qhostqizmo]

Little Slice of Heaven

“I would like to be left alone, Theophilus.”

“Come now Lord Amon, no one likes to be left alone.”

A quiet growl rumbled in the nobleman’s throat. His head whipped around, turning a piercing gaze towards the statesman. The corner of his lip peeled back in a snarl nearly feral in nature, prompting the gentleman to hastily take a step back.

“Well I do,” he opposed in a thick tone.

The mousy broad-bellied man shifted sheepishly before him, trying to shrink their figure inward. “P-Please m’lord- you will be rejoining after recess, won’t you?”

“I will need a moment to consider if I shall; or if your wingbagged alias has the ability to be silent and allow someone else to speak at these proceedings, before I pass judgment on that matter.”

“You’re being fatuous, m’lord-”

Amon exhaled sharply. His nostrils flared, the shape of his shoulders growing broader as his spine stiffened. The nobleman peered down at the politician as he spoke in an ominous whisper: “I am being sensible, Master Theophilus. If I waste my time any longer in a room full of arrogant rambling administrators, then I am wasting the time of my territory and those who seek my authority and guidance to protect and serve it. I do not have the hour to sit and be spoken over by the likes of Roulf Boude or Claudia Fulvianus, or any of the like with their hubris and tactless greed. I have other obligations that demand my attention, and when everyone has finally settled into peaceful discussion and respectably appropriate delegations, I would be happy to seek audience again.”

“But for now,” he rumbled, taking a step forward, “I suggest that you go, Theo. I need space to think, and I have responsibilities to attend to and contracts to review and sign. So if you do not mind getting off of my property, and allowing me to go undisturbed into my home-”

Nodding vigorously, the short and stout Theo began to retreat in a backwards scuttle off the Briarton Estate’s pathway. “Yes sir, of course sir, I hope we’ll see you s-soon sir-”

Amon grunted to himself, turning away with a dramatic flick of his cloak. Unlikely.

Bricks laid out the foundation of the walkway to the manor. Within the cracks along some of the blocks; squeezing with determination between slots, a few common wild violets had taken root. He took care not to step on any of them as the tenacious little flowers guided him to the threshold. A strong scent from the house-hugging flora greeted him as he breathed in deeply, opening the heavy oak door. The geranium’s and hydrangea were in bloom, competing each other for dominance in the landscape. They also had a delightful calming effect before stepping in; taking in the range of colors and relaxing scents they provided in the mellow summer breeze.

“Lord Amon?”

“Yes, it’s me,” he called out, shutting the door softly behind.

A young maid stepped around the corner, offering a bow. “Would you like an afternoon snack, my lord?”

“Not at the moment, thank you.”

She curtsied. “Very well milord. Call if you need anything.”

He nodded shortly, sliding the dense mantle from his shoulders to drape over his arm. The nobleman watched the young woman retreat as he stepped further into the foyer, the sound of claws scrambling hastily coming from the east side of the house.

Sighing, he anchored his boots to the floor just as Caesar came barreling from the gallery room. The great mastiff skidded into his knees, letting out one of his tremendous bellowing barks that filled the entire space with his eagerness. He gave a butt wiggle that shook in tandem with his tail, leaving Amon to chuckle as he reached down to scratch the hunting dog’s ears.

“A very dignified entry Caesar,” he reported as the pooch groaned with pleasure. “How’s my good boy?”

“Arf.”

“Excellent. Have you been out recently?”

The hairy beast of a creature gave a mighty shake, sitting upon his hunches. He tilted his head, panting heavily up at his master.

“Outside?” Amon asked, patting his head.

A simple whine answered him as Caesar stood up, circling his legs eagerly.

He pat his thigh, signaling for the mastiff to follow. The duo made their way into the gallery room; no longer a dull space of gray stone with only the taxidermy stuffed game to bare their teeth in greeting. Paintings lined the wall; and the new throw rug added a splash of color and pattern to the otherwise uninspiring space. A few seating arrangements had been added, along with a card table and sculptures. There were still a few bare spaces, particularly near the south-side of the room, but that was Part D of a rather extensive project to liven various areas of the house.

Crossing through the identified ‘man cave’ of the lower level, Amon entered the kitchen with Caesar fast at his heels. He propped open the door to the backyard with his foot, allowing the dog to bolt through with a delighted series of yelps as he chased off the closest songbirds rooting the grass for insects.

“Afternoon, milord.”

“Afternoon-” he barely managed to utter, catching just a glimpse of the houseaid before she disappeared into the extended pantry. He cleared his throat: “Would you mind listening to let Caesar in? I’m going to head upstairs.”

“Certainly milord; not a problem.”

“Thank you Carla.”

He took the way back in which he came, passing through the dark-lit interior of the ‘men’s sanctuary’ and into the gallery. His gaze passed the portrait of Fontane to his right; no longer lonely with canvas work added of loved one’s now passed. It was a small memorial space; with pressed lily flowers in frames and a few plaques quoting heartfelt quotes. A large branch had been recently anchored to the wall, with hollow holes allowing small metal dishes to sit sustaining candles. There were even some recent additions he hadn’t seen until this moment: peace lilies added to the vase at the corner nook table, and a new ivy plant along the bottom of the branch.

A twinge of pain radiated through his chest. Pressing his fingers to his lips, Amon blew a kiss to the beaming expression of Marie looking back at him before he moved on.

The Illiad heir hopped up the stairs with a spring in his step, meeting the second landing. Sunlight cascaded past the curtains, the smell of the central courtyard garden entering the open windows. He picked up on the rustling coming from the sitting room just ahead before he saw a figure moving quickly into the doorway.

“M’lord- Oh… Do you want to talk about what happened? You look stressed my love.”

Amon absorbed her appearance; soaking her in like flora to sunshine. The smile that graced her face upon first glance faded quickly with a knit of her worried brow. Shadows fell over her golden eyes like clouds blocking rays of the sun. She fiddled her fingers in front of the pale blush off-the-shoulder shirt she wore; cinched at the waist, with ruffled short-length sleeves. It was a pleasant rosy hue, making the shade of her skintone appear deeper, more a rich brown.

She was a breath of fresh air, deep in the depths of his lungs. He slid his feet forward slowly, finding her arms instantly open to welcome him into her embrace.

He inhaled the faded aroma of soap in her loose black curls, pulling her in close to rock from side to side. The shape of her was a familiarity to him; warm and soft, curving into his frame with the same shade of longing he felt beneath his ribcage.

His wife pressed her lips to the ticklish skin below his ear, and he chuckled.

“Rough day, beloved?”

“Vexing,” he agreed heavily, “but it’s already feeling a bit better.”

“Well I’m happy to hear that,” she hummed. “Can I get you anything? Was the summit dreadful?”

“A mockery Essie; truly. I’ve rarely dealt with such immature individuals. Would you care to join me when we reconvene? I could use your sharp tongue.”

Essätha pulled her head back to arch her brow, a playful smile on her face. “That depends; am I kissing you with it or spearing someone else?”

Amon’s eyes widened with surprise. “Quite the spirited tease today, darling.”

“I do enjoy a good game,” she admitted, reaching back around to pat his chest. “While you were out I went ahead and assessed the contracts Edger sent us; triple-checked them a few times. Our ledges and estimates all seemed in order and correct, but I didn’t sign anything until you oversaw it just in case.”

“You could have, you know I trust you.”

“I know, but I love hearing you read contracts aloud in that sexy deep droning voice of yours.” She winked at him as he chuckled, venturing onward, “besides, it’s a team effort. I would rather you catch my mistakes now than later down the road.”

The nobleman grinned, staring down into her smiling face. He leaned forward, basking in the glory of the way her breath hitched expectedly, and how her lashes fluttered low. She slid her arms around his neck to dig her fingers through his air as his lips brushed hers. A shaky exhale escaped her, waiting patiently, until he pressed closer for a more earnest kiss.

They separated slowly, with her eyes peering up at him beneath dark lashes. The sorcereress dropped her hands from around him, and grabbed gently at his bicep.

“Come, sit with me.”

Amon let go of his noblewoman, allowing her to take his hands instead. She guided him back into the sitting area where she had come from, walking at an angle so her eyes could remain holding his. It was a holy experience, following someone cut from the heart of divinity. He would follow her blindly anywhere, anywhere at all. She was in his blood, in his heart, the sun in his eyes glistening so brilliantly; she was everywhere he wanted to be, the only longing he could not live without.

“You’ve had a long enough day already,” Essie urged sweetly, taking a seat upon the sofa. She pat the spot beside her with her free hand. “Rest.”

He obeyed her willingly, obliging by sinking gently into the cushion beside hers.

She carefully detangled her hand from his. Her fingers brushed against the side of his face and up, pushing stray hairs away from his forehead. His eyes darted over her, watching as she indicated a sweeping gesture over her lap. An invitation.

Once more, loyal and willing, he began to drift towards her. Bunching his knees in, Amon kept his boots mostly off the clean couch by dangling his ankles off to the side as he rolled inward. Scooting and wriggling, he steadied himself to flat on his back, head in her lap, looking up into the vibrant joyful expression peaking down at him. Her smile was stunning; making an already beautiful woman ethereal in ways that slackened his jaw. It was a small gesture, but it softened around her eyes as the edges of her cheeks rounded.

“Wow,” he cooed, “you look incredible from every view.”

Essätha scoofed at him, the bridge of her nose wrinkling in disagreement. “Hussssshh…”

Leaning forward, she grazed her fingertips through his locks. She combed hair back from his forehead, stroked along his eyes, and rubbed the pads of her fingers near his temples.

A groan rose up in his throat, his eyelids falling to half-mast in bliss.

Softly, Essie began to hum. It almost felt as though it was filling his chest; radiating into his ribcage and bouncing around like an orchestra in a cathedral. Amon sighed heavily, allowing the heaviness in his body to drift away as he succumbed to her touch more and more.

She began to whisper slowly a hymn. He understood none of it, but he didn’t have to. Whatever the lyrics were, they were words of an angel, and of love. The words fell into a melody as her voice higher; louder, sweeter. It was not just the celestial tongue that had him so smitten, or the nature of the words. It was her body language that captivated him; the tenderness that poured out of her, the enormity of her compassion and unbridled will of strength.

Gods themselves would weep, hearing something so precious.

He melted; enamored and adoringly staring up into the halo of the sun that was wreathing her head. It was all so dreamy; so beyond what mortals could be capable of. Her touch was a saint’s blessing, carding through mane of fading-black. Her nails scrapped against his hairline; her palms rubbed metric gestures that seemed to coordinate with the rise and fall of her chorus against the side of his head. He imagined he could close his eyes and drift away to sleep; the most comfortable slumber he’d ever have, if he wasn’t so stubbornly enticed to being aware and there in the waking world with her. No fantasy’s ever did justice on the fascination and depth that resided in her soul. Nothing compared to the reality that was being beside her.

Clearing his throat, he reached up to cup the side of her face, sweeping his thumb against her jawline. “I’m in awe of you a little more every day,” he mouthed, breathing deeply.

Essie laughed shyly. “People are going to think I’m charming you with talk like that,” she teased.

“You are quite charming.”

“M’lord Amon.”

“Even when you say my name with disapproval, it’s still the most enchanting thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You’re love-drunk,” the sorceress murmured, ghosting her lips intimately along his palm, and down to his wrist.

“I have been,” he agreed in a lulled hush. “I have been for a long time, and I couldn’t be happier.”

“Do you not want a cure?” she mused, massaging her fingertips from behind his ears down to his neck.

A shiver rushed over him. “You are my cure. I love being intoxicated by you. You relax me, and you challenge me. You make me stronger, and you bring me to my knees. Your wit and charm make me feel invincible and intelligent, while also humbling me that I still can always learn more from you. I am in a constant state of balance and bliss, when you are by my side.”

Her eyelids dropped a little lower as he spoke, while her smile grew broader. Essie skimmed her touch from his forehead through his hair and back, making his groan again.

“I love you.”

“I love you too Essie, so much.”

“I love you just as much,” she whispered, huddling over to give him a peck on the cheek.

Amon tilted his head a few degrees, allowing her hands to comb through a different section of his hair. His eyelids drifted a bit lower as she began to pick up the tune to the song she had been singing, the angelic lines floating through the air, giving harmony to his heartbeat.

Sighing, the nobleman nuzzled his face into her thighs, reaching around to wrap an arm around her waist. She half-giggled, continuing to sing as he peaked up at her from her abdomen, admiring the most gorgeous woman in all of the world. His home, his heart, the entire pillar of his contentment hindered on that soft, private smile made just for him. This moment alone with her reminded him of the true meaning of life: at the end of the day, love was all that mattered, and it would conquer all else… Even if all it had to overcome was the brief stormcloud of his sour mood. It never stood a chance against Essätha Illiad; vanquisher of darkness, and keeper of his heart.

#OTP: Essamon #Essatha Meduza #Amon Illiad #softly written #qhost story

[noodlecupcakeswritings]

Undercover - Chapter 8 (A LokixRaven AU)

Loki won the battle of New York and now rules over Earth after eliminating Thor and Hawkeye. The remaining Avengers have gone into hiding, waiting for a chance to take back their planet. Raven (OC) is their key to doing so.

This fic is pretty much porn and with this AU Raven and Loki have no previous history

Please leave comments, kudos and reblogs if you like it. It really helps me out as a writer, lemme know if you wanna be on the taglist as well :)

Warnings: Fluff, A bit of romance brewing

Chapter 8

Loki’s P.O.V

It was Saturday afternoon and I had a little free time to myself. My reign over this planet was going well yet I still felt it needed more. I needed someone by my side, someone to rule with, someone to share this with. Whilst I did have the slaves they were only here for pleasure, not love or companionship. They wouldn’t see me as someone to love and care for. I headed outside to the palace gardens; it was based off the gardens from Asgard. Some of the girls were lounging around and enjoying the sun, the rest were inside to keep cool. Raven wasn’t among either of the groups. Perhaps she enjoyed her own company more. I know I had back on Asgard it was better than Thor and his band of meat heads bothering me about stupid missions that would result in us getting in trouble. I knew I should probably leave her and not disturb her but I was curious.

I made my way through the gardens, heading towards the small pond area. It was shaded, quiet and had plenty of drawing references it made sense for her to be there. And I was right, she was sat on the grass by the pond, sketching a water Lily. Her hair was tied back loosely so it was out of her face and one of the straps of her dress had fallen around her bare shoulder. Not a touch of her skin had been marked by the sun, she seemed determined to keep her pale complexion. Whilst she wasn't a traditional beauty or at least in the eyes of most men she was still breathtaking. Most women were compared to the sun by poets and writers, but Raven had the same ethereal beauty and mystery of the moon. Even in the heat of the summer she still wore gloves and that was a mystery I wanted to unfold. Raven looked up, finally noticing me across the pool of water.

She smiled softly, not seeming bothered that I had disturbed her. I took that as a sign to head round to her. She put her sketchbook down, her pencil wedged between the pages to mark her place. “You weren’t with the others, I thought I might find you out here,” I explained. “It’s beautiful here. It’s peaceful. It’s great for sketching.” I motioned to her notebook, “may I?” Raven handed it over to me, watching as I opened it to the first page. Covering the paper was various flowers she'd found throughout the gardens. Her eye for detail was incredible. I could only imagine how many hours she'd spent on these. Roses, lilies, orchids, marigolds, hydrangeas, every kind of flower you could think off filled the book. It was a shame she hadn’t been able to colour them, whilst her shading was brilliant, I feel the book could have been livened up with colour.

Raven was indeed talented. I'd love to see what she could do with other subjects and materials. “These are beautiful,” I spoke. Raven bashfully smiled, her cheeks turning a soft shade of pink. She really wasn’t used to compliments; it was a shame really. Someone as wonderful as her should know how cherished she was. “I mean it,” I continued, “you should be proud.” “I am, it's just nobody has ever really taken an interest before.” I hardly knew a thing about her and her previous life, yet I felt it wasn’t a good one for her. Either she was embarrassed by compliments or lapping up praise like she needed them to live. Something had happened to her, something to make her this way. I felt for her. I was glad to have given her a better quality of life, I just hoped I could perhaps heal some of her emotional scars. Perhaps she could heal some of mine. “Tell me, what was life like for you before you came to me?” I asked, curiously. Raven pondered on it for a while before shrugging, “there isn't much to tell you honestly.” “I don’t believe that.”

“I didn’t have much going for me, I guess in a way I was lost, in need of stability. I worked a job I didn’t enjoy to make ends meet, I didn’t have much of a social life or many friends. I had a boyfriend a long time ago, but he turned out to be an asshole,” she explained. “Perhaps it was a good thing you found your way to me. Perhaps here you can be happy,” I suggested. “Who’s to say I’m not happy? I live more than comfortably, I have everything I need and if I need something I just ask, I get given great orgasms weekly, what's not to be happy about?”

I raised my eyebrows at her vulgar tone before finding humour in it. Most of the girls would never dream of talking to me like that for fear of embarrassment or my disapproval. Raven laughed with me. It was probably the first time I’d heard her laugh; it was nice. Being out here with her was nice. It was nice for us to be able for us to talk normally, both of us leaving the dom and sub attitude for the bedroom. I was still her king however and she should still show her respect. They all should. I handed Raven back her sketchbook, making a mental note to find her some paint that I could use as a gift. She deserved to be spoilt, she deserved to be happy.

Taglist: @sweetfictionalworld​​, @belathora​​, @therealityhelix​​, @darkprincessloki92​​, @skulliebythesea​​, @fizzyxcustard​​, @myownviperroom​​​, @jana-banana-fana​

#loki #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki fic #Loki Angst #loki fluff #loki feels #lokixoc #loki smut #loki au #Avengers #avengers fic #avengers au #avengers fanfic #avengers fanfiction #avengers feels #avengers fluff #avengers smut #avengers angst #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fic #Marvel AU #marvel fanfiction #marvel feels #marvel fluff #marvel smut #marvel angst #tom hiddleston

[dysphoric-dumbass13]

guess what bitch. all of the flower asks. if i have to do it, you have to do it

Hahaha, love you too. Asshole.

Alisons: Sexuality? - Hahahaha bold of you to assume I have any clue. I like girls. I like guys. I like nonbinary people. And other people on the spectrum. I’m not pan, idk what though. Plus the label doesn’t really matter.

Amaranth: Pronouns/Gender? - I’m a demiboy, so he/him/his or they/them/theirs. Whichever, it doesn’t really matter. Though I personally feel more masculine.

Amaryllis: Birthday? - Today lol (January 13th)

Anemone: Favorite flower? - Would it be cliche and stupid to say roses? Because those. Weirdly.

Angelonia: Favorite t.v. show? - Damn that’s hard. Between BBC Sherlock, BBC Merlin, Supernatural, Once Upon A Time, and John Mulaney (shut up it counts)

Arum-Lily: What’s the farthest you’d go for a stranger? - It really depends on the situation. I would give away clothing, risk my life, give them shelter in my home, allow them to borrow my phone, but them lunch... I’d do a lot for anyone. Even though I have trust issues.

Aster: What’s one of your favorite quotes? - “Yeah, the asshole who sent me this (love you alex)” - @eyeforaneye-toothforatooth lmao. Truly though? “Your destiny is calling, you better find out what he wants.” and “A half cannot truly hate that which makes it whole.”, both from Merlin, about Merlin and Arthur. They're just so gay.

Aubrieta: Favorite drink? - Tea.

Baby’s Breath: Would you kiss the last person you kissed again? - Meh. Sure. I don’t really care. The one right before that by like 10 seconds, 100%.

Balsam Fir: Have you ever been in love? - Yes. Oh god yes.

Baneberries: Favorite song? - Literally impossible. You are insane.

Basket of Gold: Describe your family. - A disaster. Both biological and chosen. I have 3 little brothers in my chosen family and all of them are younger than me.

Beebalm: Do you have a best friend? Who is it? - I have 5. The bitch who sent me this (love you), Evan, TJ, Shiro, and Sid.

Begonia: Favorite color? - Bloodred and black.

Bellflower: Favorite animal? - Wolves. They’re amazing.

Bergenia: Are you a morning or night person? - I’m not a person. But mornings fuck me up dude.

Black-Eyed Susan: If you could be any animal for a day, what would it be? - A dodo bird. Because they’re all dead.

Bloodroots: When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up? - So many things. A lead singer of a band (which I might get to do soon, yay), a policeman, an fbi agent, a photographer, etc. 

Bluemink: What are your thoughts on children? - I love them, I’d probably adopt older children because they need it the most, but I love children so much.

Blazing Stars: What are you afraid of? Is there a reason why? - I answered this earlier, “I am afraid of spiders. Because they have so many legs and so many eyes and THEY DON’T FUCKING NEED ALL OF THEM LIKE WTF?!?!?!?!?!”

Borage: Give a random fact about your childhood. - About 75% of the food my brother and I ate was Ramen, Pop Tarts, and instant rice.

Bugleherb: How would you spend your last day on Earth? - With the people I love the most.

Buttercup: Relationship status? - Sadly single :(

Camelia: If you could visit anywhere, where would you want to go? - Ireland. Without a doubt. It’s so beautiful.

Candytufts: When do you feel most loved? - I answered this one too. “When I’m cuddling with someone I care about while watching one of my favorite shows or movies. Or just when I’m cuddling someone I care about. And yes, that includes my puppy. (Funny joke, I’m watching Merlin while watching Merlin) (Merlin is my puppy).”

Canna: Do you have any tattoos? - Sadly no. I will though.

Canterbury Bells: Do you have any piercings? - Two in each ear.

California Poppy: Height? - 5′3½″

Cardinal Flower: Do you believe in ghosts? - Yeah.

Carnation: What are you currently wearing? - Jeans and a flannel, as always.

Catnip: Have you ever slept with a nightlight? - Yes.

Chives: Who was the last person you hugged? - Sid. He’s the best, honestly.

Chrysanthemum: Who was the last person you kissed? - TJ. He’s basically my brother. The person before that was Shiro, and both of those were New Years Day at like midnight.

Cock’s Comb: Favorite font? - Calligraphy. It’s so fun to write in. But in computers, Times New Roman for some reason.

Columbine: Are you tired? - *in Snape’s voice* Alllllllways

Common Boneset: What are you looking forward to? - A good night’s sleep for once.

Coneflower: Dream job? - Lead singer of a rock band, which I’ll probably get to do soon!

Crane’s-Bill: Introvert or extrovert? - Extrovert, definitely.

Crocus: Have you ever been in love? - This question was already asked. But yes.

Crown Imperial: What’s the furthest you’d go for someone you care about? - To the ends of the Earth.

Cyclamen: Did you have a favorite stuffed animal as a child? What was it? - Yes. It was a huge stuffed cheetah. Now it’s a giant stuffed bear from Evan.

Daffodil: What’s your zodiac sign? - Capricorn. I was supposed to be an Aquarius. And I personally think I’m an Aquarius more than a Capricorn.

Dahlia: Have you done anything worth remembering? - Not really. Other than date people.

Daisy: What do you feel is your greatest accomplishment? - I don’t fucking know. Winning the school spelling bee in 5th grade?

Daylily: What would you do if your parents didn’t like your partner(s)? - I wouldn’t care. If I love them and they love me, that’s all that matters to me.

Dandrobium: Who is the last person you said “I love you” to? - Sid I think.

False Goat’s Beard: What is something you are good at? - Idk. Singing?

Foxgloves: What is something you’re bad at? - Everything.

Freesia: What are three good things that have happened to you in the last month? - I got a puppy, I got my binder, I gave my (now ex) girlfriend the best gift I’ve ever given in my life.

Garden Cosmos: How was your day today? - Considering all I’ve done is watched Merlin, type this, and cuddle with Merlin? Pretty good.

Gardenia: Are you happy with where you're at in your life? - Nope.

Gladiolus: What is something you hope to do in the next year or two? - Die :)

Glory-of-the-Snow: What are ten things that make you happy/you’re grateful to have in your life? - In no particular order: @eyeforaneye-toothforatooth, Evan, TJ, Shiro, Sid, Merlin, BBC Merlin, Sherlock, Supernatural, Harry Potter

Heliotropium: What helps you calm down when you feel stressed? - Healthily? Dying my hair, listening to music, reading, writing, and getting hugs.

Hellebore: How do you show your affection? - Many ways. Mostly hand hearts, gifts, trust, and hugs.

Hoary Stock: What are you proudest of? - My flannel collection. I don’t know the exact number but it’s immense.

Hollyhock: Describe your ideal day. - cuddling with my friends while watching shows and movies and reading.

Hyacinth: What do you like to do in your free time? - Read. Write. Listen to music. Watch TV. Cuddle.

Hydrangea: How long have you known your best friend? How did you meet them? - ok gimme a sec.

@eyeforaneye-toothforatooth: They hated me when we met. We’ve known each other for... 3 or 4 years? We met in science in 6th grade I think.

Evan: We met in 6th grade. They noticed we had the same flannel on and commented on it. I hated them for like 2 years. Then we became friends, dated, now we’re best friends. I love them so much.

TJ: He was a friend of my best friend’s friend. Started hanging out in 7th grade, been like brothers ever since.

Shiro: Barely knew each other, then kinda “met” in 8th grade. Quickly became friends, dated, became best friends ever since.

Sid: Met him in SAGA this year. He bought me a binder, he’s the kindest person to me at my new school. I love him so much.

Irises: Who can you talk to about (almost) everything? - I can talk to @eyeforaneye-toothforatooth about practically everything. I love them so much.

Laceleaf: How many friends do you have? - Surprisingly a lot.

Lantanas: What’s the best compliment you’ve ever received? - Idk. “You look very handsome today.”?

Larkspur: What do you think of yourself? - What an utter piece of garbage.

Lavender: What’s your favorite thing about yourself? - My eyebrows? Idk they look cool, especially when I do them. One’s got a slit.

Leather Flower: What’s your least favorite thing about yourself? - All of it.

Lilac: What is something you liked to do as a child? - Sleep. When I could.

Lily: Who was your best friend when you were a kid? - It changed at least once every year. Paige, Sheyenne, Peyton, Chloe, the list goes on.

Lily of the Incas: What is something you still feel guilty of? - I followed everyone in kinda making fun of this kid who was a trans girl. I felt so guilty about it then, and I feel so guilty about it now. I hope she is living her best life now, and if she’s reading this I want her to know I am so so sorry. And I have felt it too, I have been made fun of for my gender identification. I am so sorry.

Lily of the Nile: What is something you feel guilty for that you shouldn’t feel guilty about? - Idk. There’s one thing I’m sworn not to tell about but the person who asked me this knows, so it doesn’t matter.

Lupine: What does your name mean? Why is that your name? - My deadname? Means “grace of god”, because my family is very Christian. My chosen name? Means “Defender of men; protector of mankind.” Which is honestly just so badass. I chose it because I liked it and it was genderneutral.

Marigold: Where did you grow up? Tell us about it. - Fort Collins, Colorado babyyyyyyyyy. It was nice and peaceful and small and I loved it.

Morning Glory: What was your bedroom like growing up? - Small. Always a disaster. Sadly shared with my brother.

Mugworts: What was it like for you as a teenager? Did you enjoy your teenage years? - So far? Sucky as fuck. I hate it. I love my friends, but other than that I hate it. I’m only like halfway through them anyway. It’s been spent trying to prove to my parents that I am just as good as my brother, who I happened to raise.

Norwegian Angelica: Tell us about your mom. - Awesome. Sweet and kind, short, with red hair, hazel eyes, and freckles. She’s caring, and she was raised in a Christian house but she’s trying so hard to be accepting, to fight against her religion for her child and I love that so much. I love her so much.

Onions: Tell about your dad. - Kinda annoying. Plays video games all day and makes my brother and I do everything around the house. He tries to be nice and stuff but it really doesn’t work that well. He basically says he “doesn’t care” about the whole sexuality thing and gender thing and then he says stuff like “you can’t really know til your hormones have settled” and “Your name is your name until you can legally change it.” It’s stupid.

Orchid: Tell about your grandparents. - Which ones? I have multiple. I have 4 grandmas and 4 grandpas. Tho I suppose they’re all pretty similar. Very Christian, yet pretty accepting. They love me to death. I have one super transphobic grandpa, but basically all of them helped me raise my brother when I was little and my dad was asleep from working nights and my mom was at work all day. I owe them a lot. And I love them so much.

Pansy: What was your most memorable birthday? What made it so memorable? - My 12th. My best friend Val was there and so was my friend Tei and that was it, and they basically got along too well and I was really left out of things at my own birthday party. It was annoying. It was the first time I ever felt true jealousy, and that’s why I remember it so well. I haven’t liked a birthday since because it reminds me of that. I used to like it because it was a day when my parents actually payed attention to me and were off, but now everyone makes too big of a deal of it and I just wish it didn’t exist.

Petunia: If you’re in a relationship, how did you meet your partner(s)? If you’re not in a relationship, how did you meet your crush/how do you hope to meet your future partner(s), if you want any? - SAGA club, he founded it a couple years ago. He’s super kind to me and he does so much for me, god I don’t deserve him. He bought me a binder. And he’s my best friend. I love him so much.

Pincushion: How do you deal with pain? - Healthily? Getting hugs and cuddles from my better friends. I can’t really do much of that lately though. *cries in a corner*

Pink: Where is home? - With the family and friends I’ve found.

Plantain Lilies: If you could go back in time, what is one thing you would stop/change? - Wow. Hard choice. I’d either kill Hitler as a baby, or prevent my own conception.

Prarie Gentian: Who is someone you look up to? Describe them. - Sid if you’re reading this I am so sorry, and I’m so sorry for mentioning you so much. But I look up to him, because he is one of the best people I know. I love him so much. He’s sweet and just sadncaspdnnhciodsifcnsjxsojcm.

Primrose: Describe your ideal life. - Idc what’s going on in it, as long as it’s with my found family and friends. I’d like my depression, anxiety, and ADHD to disappear though, ideally.

Rhondendron: What is something you used to believe in as a child? - Jesus. Or life. Either one works.

Ricinus: Who’s the most important in your life? - That’s hard. @eyeforaneye-toothforatooth, Sid, Evan, TJ, Shiro, Freddie Mercury, Elton John, or David Bowie (may Mercury and Bowie rest in peace)

Rose: What’s your favorite sound? - Music. Definitely music.

Rosemallows: What’s your favorite memory? - When I was at our first organized rehearsal for OneActs. I just love hanging out with so many fellow gays (and yes, I am including the straight twink that is Simon)

Sage: What’s your least favorite memory? - Um, I don’t want to go into detail on that. I was 5. It was bad.

Snapdragon: At this moment, what do you want? - A boyfriend lol

St. John’s Wort: Is it easy or difficult for you to express how you feel about things? - Depends. In a relationship? Pretty easy. Any other time? Near impossible until I break.

Sunflower: What is something you don’t want to imagine your life without? - There’s 3. Pie, music, and my brother TJ.

Sweet Pea: How much sleep did you get last night? - I doped myself up on melatonin so about 7½. Usually its between 1 and 4, if I’m lucky enough to fall asleep.

Tickseed: What’s your main reason to get up every morning? - The people I care most about. My best friends. Also the reason I don’t stab myself through the heart. They keep me going. I love them all so much. They mean too much to me to hurt them, if I could in any way.

Touch-Me-Not: How do you feel about your current job? - Living or school? Either one I hate it. I don’t have an actual job.

Transvaal Daisy: What’s your favorite item of clothing? - My flannels. Or my band tees. Or my leather jacket from TJ.

Tropical White Morning Glory: Describe your aesthetic. - I don’t fully know what this is asking. I guess the smell of worn flannel, old worn leather, grease from a car, hair dye, smudged eyeliner, and conjoined lips? Idk.

Tulip: What would be the best present to get you? - Idk. Best present I’ve ever recieved was a binder. But I’d say worn flannel from a thrift store.

Vervain: What’s stressing you out most right now? - Grandparents spamming my phone with “Happy Birthday [deadname]!!!” texts

Wisteria: How many books have you read in the last few months? What were they called? - Idk dude.

Wolf’s Bane: Where do you want to be in life this time next year? - Dead or with a partner.

Yarrow: Do you know what vore is? - Oddly enough, no. But I don’t think I want to.

Zinnia: Give a random fact about yourself. - I have green eyes.

Kass I hate you.

[burndownthehousetonight]

Fake Lyrics

So, this is kind of a weird post. You know how I write lyrics for a lot of the scenes that show up in my RPs? Whenever I do that, I use a placeholder melody to make sure they would flow with the tune, even if there’s a small stretch to the melody. As per request by @tinyredartist, This is sort of a catalog of the fake lyrics I’ve written and the melodies I used. There are timestamps to know what part I references, or referenced most heavily, in some cases.

IMPORTANT: My music taste is varied and absolutely terrible. Despite the character I write for, I am embarrassingly unknowledgable when it comes to music, so don’t go expecting the lourve down here.

If you just wanna hear the music, you can find a playlist of every song on this list here

Andra Day - Gold

"Tell me all about your violent history 'Bout your scars and all your little fights Take me to the marble gardens Gonna have to beg your pardon But I can't wait another night" (1:09) "But starlight won't look on, or do you want that? Midnight, dusk and dawn will forget all our crimes Give me a taste, just one taste too much Night is over, the day's arrived How are we alive?"  (1:49)

Bobby Caldwell - What You Won’t Do For Love

"Go get our epitaphs engraved And we'll destroy the brand new age Brick and mortar turned to gold Under butchered steel and atomic roads" (0:11)

Natalia Kills - Saturday Night

"Let's die in God-forsaken rays His golden light, our purple haze One night with blasphemy Through the rosy lens of an Oxy craze" (0:35)

Gloria Gaynor - I Will Survive

"Don't go flagging down that Benz Don't kiss that diamond Cartier Those red flags are dyed with blood from guys who couldn't get away" (0:30)

Macy Gray - I’ve Committed Murder

"I've already died for you, no, no one's got a clue Pick me up at Shana's Tavern and we'll shift to overdrive You can find our stolen kisses hidden underneath my "grave" They can pry it from our corpses when we burn alive" (0:44)

Eddie From Ohio - Twenty Thousand Hearts

"It's all frigid shade for the autumn raids But we're breathing, moving Shattered, but the ceasefire's ordered We're safe, close, and quartered No battle lines are drawn" (0:53)

Marina and the Diamonds - Radioactive

"Kiddo's got a new scar Better sound the alarms He's deliriously happy from that saber-tooth charm" (0:15) "I'll never be your green-eyed concubine I'd kill you, but those muscles looks divine Those hips are mine" (2:25)

Lee Brotherton - Dream of an Absolution

"I can't have the past stay prologue when I'm dying to feel your touch But I can't bear to take replacement With a faker's pathetic clutch" (0:43)

Blue Stahli - Corner

"You ain't the first to rip through this flawless masochistic chest Come give that C4 cradle Lullay and lullay my pain to rest" (1:41)

Heather Dale - Medusa

"You ain't sorry, don't you hide that shit behavior Say your prayers, cause you're gonna meet your savior Was your life worth one night of wasted trust? Your skin'll leather up real nice for a jacket of your lust" (0:47)

Cruel Youth - Mister Watson

“Ms. Manners, save it, we don't need moral crap We ain't gutter trash with hearts of gold, just criminal hacks No point in talking, save that uppity trash We don't need your help, just let us live in white And diamond black “ (0:47)

Sia - Big Girls Cry

“Come on into our summer ocean Bring some friends and we'll cause commotion Take a ride on the wave vibrato I’ve got music and bad moscato Perfect friends and a gold tomorrow” (0:42)

MØ - Lean On

“Nothing left for us here But some ratshit town running backwards Let Godiva’s men curdle up and melt To our last performance Played on jerrycans and revolvers“ (0:15)

Alexa Vega - Infected

“I'm bleeding out, don't come no closer I'm bleeding out, don't come no closer Don't blame me if I bled on your ax When it came from your psycho attacks You ain't Norman Bates, you're just some B-list edgy trash” (0:53)

Ruth B - First Time

“I won't remember this song tomorrow, guess that's how it goes But I'll remember hydrangea blue and bubblegum primrose I won't remember a single note I'm struggling to let out But I'll love this homemade sweet bouquet of emerald clover sprouts” (0:42)

X - Around My Heart

“Falling up the sky Splashed into constellations Floated on 'til they forced me to fall That's how I came here” (0:18)

Stacey Q - Two Of Hearts

"Today, is it gonna be a reminiscence about you? Or is that coin gonna fall on self disgust? I wasn't close to self destruction, I was close to you Dorado ain't so grand without your diamond dust” (0:15)

Sylvan Esso - Die Young

“I thought you were the one hooked on narcotics But I miss your vomit, it's so tragicomic Everything looks ugly under incandescence Hide it under neon, just don't hide your presence” (0:07)

Scissor Sisters - Mary

“Pistol whip me, hack me like a lamb Be my drugged-out viscous high I sponged off your love, destroyed your band Please sleep with me, please skin me one last time

Oh, love you 'til I die.... Oh, love me 'til I die” (0:46)

Huey Lewis & the News - Power of Love

“Take a number, take a seat, Tons of better man want a taste of me I don’t have the time for some guttertrash punk A white trash black-out drunk" (0:57)

Bad Brains - Big Take Over

“Let’s make a show outta my assault We won’t warn them, no chance to knock Slam me down, get me off on the asphalt They’re gonna watch me ride that cock” (0:48)

Bruno Mars - Finesse

“Let’s find out if we’re a match Got a gambling heart Place your bets on if we’ll last It’s all or nothing” (1:06)

A Flock of Seagulls - Space Age Love Song

“The poppies dyed Your hair virgin white You were Ceres’s child But you shriveled in fall” (1:01)

“Your crown of leaves Glistened vibrantly Sweet Persephone, All your flowers were pulled” (1:30)

Amberian Dawn - River of Tuoni

“It’s all gilded golden bile The sweetest chocolate smooth dripping arsenic Take one bite and watch the world Glitch and tear and iridesce into amethyst No one shall ever survive Drowning in your violet blood" (0:35)

Demi Lovato - Sorry Not Sorry

“Drinking fine fine wine and shitty booze Got nothing left to lose Looking pretty like a bruise Miss Violet B ain't feeling half as broken as me So make it hurt” (0:06)

Descendants - Suburban Home

“Gonna need 'bout twenty coffins Come and make your funeral offerings Rest in peace, you splattered chav Pollock made by molotov” (0:33)

The Proclaimers - Sunshine on Leith

“My death approaches, decades of notice No now, no then, just see what happens One more is gone, like daylight and song Changing tides stay calm Riding the path of times arrow's wrath Swells terror and intrigue and grandeur and mystery One straight shot“ (1:08)

((More will be added as more fake lyrics are written))

#I Like Your Style #((For anyone who didn't catch it that's my new musings tag)) #((I also added a sidebar link to this for qhen I update it :D))