#James Sable

[moonbeammagic9]

Sable, my other XOXO Droplets oc<333

(Disclaimer that this information is subject to change:])

Sorry in advance for the lighting in these images

Image one: Sable in the SSB uniform

Image two and three: Some drawings of him in his regular clothes

Image four: Very silly low-quality sketch that I will eventually make into a full-size piece, of Sable princess-carrying Bae because its funny to me.

Info under the cut:

Name: James Sable (you can use either for him interchangeably)

Pronouns: He/hym (both pronounced the same)

Gender: Trans man

Sexuality: A-spec and probably gay?

Route: Probably Bae.

Hair: Curly, short-medium length, light purple, shaved slightly at the sides. Bangs/fringe dyed black.

Eyes: Black. Downturned.

Skintone: idk bro all my markers are running out. But its like a light to medium tone.

Height: Too tall for his own good/j (roughly 5'8-5'9. Once again im not an American.)

Fashion Style: While hy does not restrict himself to a specific style, James prefers wearing black lace, the colour purple, patterned tights, legwarmers, fingerless gloves, and waistcoats.

More info:

Sable is extremely energetic and has an inexhaustible amount of things to say. Due to this, he is constantly interrupting others and not giving time for others to speak. This is almost entirely unintentional. Hy is constantly experiencing ten different emotions at once and two of them are always severe embarrassment and dread. But if he avoids them and blocks them out with everything else, then it's all fine, right? Right?

He is a member of the jerk squad, but is not aware of this hymself at first. He thought that everyone was just assigned a group, and now he has all these interesting people who he can make his friends!! He is slightly devastated when he learns what this group actually is, but pretends to get over it pretty quick:]

Contrary to popular belief, James is incredibly smart, just not with people. He can complete very complex maths equations concerningly fast, and has been known to write essays for fun. He is prone to making jokes and always attempts to see the positive or make light of situations, even when that attitude is not at all helpful. He also jokingly flirts with people who hate him because he thinks it's funny (it isn't /lh).

Sable also has somniphobia (fear of sleep). This (as well as being intolerant to caffeine) makes many people confused as to how hy lives life with such vigor, while being so incredibly sleep deprived:]]

He grew up with two parents who were relatively rich and VERY proper, but not bigots. When he came out to them, they accepted him as being trans, but didn't accept the fact that he wanted to name himself Sable because "it wasn't traditional enough" for them. He compromised by picking another, more "normal" name, but changed his last name to Sable out of spite. People can refer to him as either James or Sable, he doesn't mind too much. Hys parents sent him to SSB to become a more "well-mannered boy" in a "nice private school" uhmmm.

He's also roommates with my other xod oc Sawyer !! Don't ask how that works:] One of them (James) is in a far more privileged place in his transition, while the other likely can't even get their legal gender changed. Anyway, they don't like eachother, amd have very little in common, but try to be civil. That's all you need to know about their dynamic for now:]]

He loves making new "friends" (he thinks they're friends, at least), the colour purple, avoiding his negative emotions, lace, and patterned tights. Something hy does NOT like was having to take out all his piercings when he joined SSB:]]

[lycheelovescomics]

something something, they're all always horny your honor

in order: Uncanny Spider-Man #3 (2023), X-Men #30 (2024), Invincible Ironman #14 (2024), Storm #3 (2024)

[lord-aldhelm]

The Last Kingdom 4.04

[jmpphoto]

Little Sable Point Lighthouse by James Marvin Phelps Via Flickr: Little Sable Point Lighthouse Silver Lake State Park - Lake Michigan Michigan The Little Sable Point Lighthouse, standing tall along the shores of Lake Michigan, is a striking testament to maritime history and architectural beauty. Built in 1874, this 107-foot beacon rises above the sandy dunes of Silver Lake State Park, its brick exterior contrasting sharply with the surrounding natural landscape. The lighthouse once guided mariners through the perilous waters of the lake, its light casting a reassuring glow for miles. Today, it serves as both a historic landmark and a popular destination for visitors, offering breathtaking views from its tower and a glimpse into the region's rich nautical heritage.

[frunbuns]

Insomniac Spider-Man characters as James Acaster

#1 | #2 | #3

Peter after Yuri doesn't laugh at his joke:

Felicia:

Miles after that one side quest in sm2:

Ganke:

Peter w Felicia in the DLC:

Peter:

Miles trying to stop Peter from coming back early from Symkaria:

Miles teasing Peter about that board game:

Silver Sable:

[samantha-and-her-chaotic-desires]

BELOW THE SURFACE: CHAPTER TWO: Cyanide's Touch

Below the Surface: A 2023 Lackadaisy Fanfiction...now posted here, there, and NOW on Tumblr. Enjoy!

TW: poisoning, blood, vomit, violence and gore: If you are uncomfortable with these things, SKIP AHEAD. While the gore and blood is at the end, I will mark it accordingly.

---"Too many of us treat guns with genial familiarity. Guns should give us the heebie-jeebies. They are killing machines. That is all they are. We should dread them the way we dread cancer and cyanide and electric chairs." - Author: Kurt Vonnegut Jr.---

"His voice means to deceive you...my voice just wants to lead you...Below the Surface."

-🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹-

A night of witnessing poker playing and other gambling games increased his headache.Yet Mordecai Heller still remained by Asa Sweet’s side for that night. All these rich people, wasting their time and wealth on betting games. Occasionally, Asa nudged him into a game or two.

“I’m uninterested in such a rambunctious activity, Mr. Sweet,” Mordecai told him in a flat tone, and Mr. Sweet would only reply with a smirk and a shrug of his shoulders, before returning to his gambles.

“Aw, really? I thought you were the type of guy to be exceptionally good at gin rummy~”

Mordecai’s ears flicked up slightly, turning his head to face the Savannah cat in front of him: Silas Tueuse, French actor. 

“I can assure you, I would rather not.” He remarked in disdain, trying to keep himself up to be professional, yet somewhat polite. “Besides: I am not one to lose myself over such antics.”

“Aww, what a spoil sport.” Silas inched closer to the tuxedo cat, his own ears flicking upward, and his tail fluffed up. Mordecai looked into his yellowish green eyes, and his frown deepened. He watched the Savannah cat breed carefully and very closely. He watched his neck length, brown and highlighted hair, seeing how much it bounced as Silas moved and turned his head.

“That’s what I keep telling the boy,” Mr. Sweet chuckled, giving Mordecai a gentle nudge. Mordecai suppressed the urge to roll his eyes yet again, but despite that, he couldn’t help but to give an unnoticeable smirk at his boss’s remark.

“I can always help loosen you up~” Silas offered, leaning back in his chair, his legs opening slightly. Mordecai had a close–mouthed grimace curl onto his lips, his ears flattening against the back of his head. He and Mr. Sweet shared uncomfortable glances of the innuendo Silas proceeded to practically shove into their faces.

“I like to decline that, very much.” Mordecai cleared his throat, turning his head away. Silas shrugged with his right shoulder, leaning back more.

“Your loss, then.” He ran his tongue on the top row of his canines. He turned to face another hotel member, now chatting away. This hotel member was named Roberto, a quiet and shy type of man. Silas was trying to flirt with him and get him out of his shell, in order to do unholy things.

“Uch…” Mordecai pinched the bridge of his nose, and felt a gentle pat on his arm from Mr. Sweet, and it somehow eased him for the given moment. The rest of the night was still rather loud, but eventually it all ended. Silas brought some poor unfortunate fellow along to God knows where, and the office had been emptied, aside from Mr. Sweet and Mordecai.

“Well, they certainly got their money’s worth.” Mr. Sweet spoke up, leaning back in his chair and sorting out the dollars he had. He lit up a cigar, intaking some of the smoke, then exhaling out his nose.

“I have yet to commiserate with the fools and how they spill out their wealth over a simple game of gin rummy.” The tuxedo cat finally brought up.

“Ah, don’t act like you don’t enjoy a round of gin rummy.” Mr. Sweet chuckled, pulling out his cigar from his mouth. “You’re quite good at it, you know.”

Mordecai’s ears flattened further on his head, eyes narrowing more. His sharp and cold glare softened, just for a split second, before shifting back to the cold and stoic gaze he always harbored. “...I don’t play gin rummy much anymore.”

“Painful memories, eh?”

“Very much so.”

“Understood.”

There was more silence, aside from Mordecai taking out his pocket watch and flicking it open to notice the time. He rolled his eyes and flicked the lid of the pocket watch shut with a loud click.

“Son, there’s been many things going on in the shadows of St. Louis.” Mr. Sweet finally sat up fully, turning to face Mordecai.

“Isn’t there always, Mr. Sweet?” Mordecai cocked a brow, putting away his pocket watch.

“Not like this…amongst us rum–runners is something dangerous…more dangerous than usual.” Mr. Sweet leaned forward, gesturing with his free hand. “I’ve had too many employees rush into my office to tell me that my hotel residents are dying in their rooms.”

Mordecai faltered, blinking once, twice, registering the words his boss had spoken. “Dying?”

“Killed, it doesn’t matter how: what matters is that they’re dead. Unmoved. Complete cadavers.”

“I understood that part completely, Mr Sweet, you needn’t explain a thing.”

“...do you remember Mrs. Smitt?”

“Quite well, in fact. She was the kind and feeble elderly woman who came in to spend the night here after her daughter’s baby shower. That way she could hop on a train to return safely to Detroit.”

Mr. Sweet’s eyes dulled: “...she’s dead.”

“...excuse me?” Mordecai paused again. “...she’s dead?”

“Staff found her with a slit throat in a pool of her own bloodied water in the bathtub.”

“Christ…”

“It was one of the grizzlier murders…like something you would’ve done on command.”

“When was the murder, sir?”

“Two days ago, eleven–thirty pm, sharp. ”

“I was right beside you while you were busy playing roulette.”

Mr. Sweet gave a hearty chuckle, clapping the other’s shoulder. “I’m well aware. You never left my side during nights like those.”

“It’s my job, after all.” Mordecai gave a single, firm nod. Mr. Sweet gave him a genuine grin, and Mordecai’s expression finally broke out into a small smirk. It quickly faded into a nonchalant expression as he gazed forward. He pursed his lips tightly, keeping himself silent. The news of murder circulated in his thoughts, turning cogs in his head as he began to wonder who Marigold was dealing with…

***

The poor man had no idea what hit him.

Roberto stole each kiss from Silas, being lured away into a pool room, tucked away into a further corner of Hotel Maribel. Silas giggled at Roberto, stroking his chin as he pressed him against the pool table.

“Ah, damn…” Roberto let out a shudder, feeling Silas’s hands rove across his chest. Silas gave a crooked grin, baring his sharp fangs.

“You like that, don’t you?” He chided, bringing his lips closer to Roberto’s neck. Roberto let out a shriveling moan, leaning into the bite.

“Y–yes…” He admitted softly, gently. He hastily gripped onto Silas’s top, but Silas guided the hands away.

“Nah–ah–ah…not until you had a drink. Just one more: for me?~” Silas stroked Roberto’s chin, then strutted away to shut the double doors, then sauntered over to a drink cart. Roberto slumped against the pool table, letting out a small, unheard whimper. Silas kept his back turned, hiding the fact that while he was pouring Roberto his favorite gin, the Savannah Cat slipped in poison. No…

…he poured in cyanide. Yet Roberto was too blinded and a bit too drunk. Silas hummed a haunting tune, slipping the cyanide bottle into his pocket, then swung himself around, holding Roberto’s whiskey and giving it to him, gently caressing his shoulder. 

“Drink up,” Silas hummed, “we don’t want you to get parched~” He planted one last kiss on his mouth, then strutted to get a pool stick. He got a chalk cube, chalking the cue slowly, deliberately, gears shifting in his head as he heard the ice clink against the glass when Roberto took a drink of the gin, the gentle gulp or two. Silas’s ears flicked at the sounds, and he grinned deviously: the cyanide would later take place…

***

“Peekon?”

Mordecai’s eyes snapped open, and his head whipped up. When did he fall asleep…? How did he let this happen? He was scolding himself…until he realized and felt the gentle draping of a jacket over him. He met yellow eyes and slit pupils, his shoulders dropping at the sight of Serafine. He gave a deep frown, sitting up slowly in his chair. He massaged his temples with his fingers, muttering something incoherently.

“I thought I locked the door.” He then brought up.

“Ya didn’t…I guess dat you felt too tired.” Nico chimed in. Mordecai stared at the Savoy siblings with dulled eyes. He gently took off the jacket, realizing that Serafine was wearing only her red undershirt, with her necklace of bones dangling almost elegantly…in a haunting manner. Ah…said jacket was hers.

“Which is rather indecorous of me, considering the current work location and time.” He handed it over to her, though a glimpse of gratefulness flashed through those olive eyes of his, before quickly fading.

“Mmh, you an’ your fancy words…don’ you get a bit tired of keepin’ all dat up, chér.” Nico gave a quick eye roll. There was a gentle clink of a mug on Mordecai’s desk, with a nice scent wafting into the trio’s senses.

“...did…” Mordecai stared at the mug of tea, his favorite, no less: Earl Gray. He eyed it skeptically, pursing his lips tightly.

“We listen, chér. No matter how much talkin’ you do, we listen .” Serafine slid the mug over more, just slightly. Mordecai blinked.

“...that’s rather unusual, coming from you and Nico.” His fingers curled around the handle of the mug, and he brought it over cautiously. “...no pranks? No Winchester sauce poured in as one of your practical jokes?” He raised a brow, smelling the fragrance: it was the usual, subtly citrusy scent, and his shoulders noticeably dropped. He felt relaxed, at least a bit more. Though he is going to be fuming if he finds that damn sauce in his tea… again. So reluctantly, he took a sip…and it tasted good. He was in pure shock. “...my apologies. I assumed before I found out.”

“No apologies, we don’ need any.” Nico shrugged it off. Mordecai took another sip, and he sighed, setting the cup down and he took off his pince–nez, rubbing his eyes with two fingers.

“...what are you doing here, anyhow? Don’t you have to attend your cult with…your chicken.” Mordecai used hand gestures. Nico and Serafine shared a fit of laughter, ringing through the tuxedo cat’s head.

“We’ve been stuck wit’ Mr. Sweet, jus’ like you, chér.” Serafine then slid her arms through the sleeves of her jacket, now adjusting how it felt.

“That’s rather unfortunate.” Mordecai deadpanned.

“Someting we can both agree on.” Serafine raised her brows slightly.

“A shocker.”

“Oh don’ tink dat you’re better than me.”

Both of them gave each other withering glares, with Nico staring with a somewhat wide–eyed stare. Serafine cracked a genuine grin, her eyes squinting: showing that she was thoroughly and honestly enjoying the banter she and Mordecai had going on. Mordecai gave a smirk, raising his own brows out of surprise.

“Hm. I wasn’t the one who carved a loa into someone’s chest.” He held a hand up. Serafine flicked her knife out, pointing at Mordecai as she watched his eyes narrow, and his tail fluff up in alarm.

“...hm. You learned a ting or two.” Nico hummed. “Dat’s a start.”

“Mhh, I suppose.” Mordecai swished around the tea in his mug. The office was quiet, now…despite the literal embodiments of chaos known as the Savoys standing directly in front of him. He couldn’t help but feel enlightened…barely.

The three heard footsteps, rushed, panicked even. Mordecai quickly moved to answer the door, and noticed how Mr. Sweet was now in front of him. There was an uncanny look of urgency in his boss’s eyes, and that meant something awful happened. Mr. Sweet put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it a bit.

“...there’s another victim of homicide, Mordecai.” He kept his voice lowered. Immediately, Mordecai let out a small noise of disturbance, then he gave a firm nod, pulling out his M1911 and gripping it tightly. Serafine’s head whipped to face the other two, as they rushed out of the room. She followed with curiosity eating at her, quickening the pace with her brother by her side.

“How did this happen?” Mordecai kept himself collected, being led by Mr. Sweet.

“Nobody knows what exactly happened…but there’s…” A look of disgust crossed Mr. Sweet’s face. Mordecai bit back the urge to grimace, but he continued forward.

“Peekon, what’s goin’ on?” Nico walked by the tuxedo cat, and Serafine wasn’t too far behind.

“Murders have been going on in the hotel. It’s becoming apparent that we are a target to this predator.” Mordecai took a sharp left, and the faint smell of vomit wafted into his nostrils. He let out a growl, ears pinning on his head as he reared back, bringing his arm to his nose and mouth, turning his upper body to face the other direction as he halted in front of closed double doors. He was missing the scent of his tea now.

“Ugh, what crawled up an’ died in dere?!” Serafine let out a quiet retching noise, suppressing a gag. Mr. Sweet swallowed thickly, then shoved open the doors to the secret pool room. When he showed the Marigold Trio what was causing such odors, it was apparent now. Crystal clear, and it made Mordecai’s stomach twist into knots.

(TW: blood, vomit and gore below!)

“What the hell?!” Serafine backed up, jerking away violently as she hit the back of a lounge chair. Nico reached for her, his ears pinning against the back of his head. His eyes were widened. The horror scene in the pool room. Blood splattered on the floors, but that’s not all. A pool stick was stabbed into Roberto’s right eye as he slumped against the wall. Vomit was on the floor, nearby his feet, and bits and pieces of bile caked the corners of his mouth. His mouth was open, as if he was trying to gasp for air before he was killed. His face was slightly tainted with blue and purple, due to suffocation. Cartilage from his stabbed eye stuck out and curled around the pool stick in a disgusting fashion, occasionally dripping blood or sloppily falling onto the floor in pieces.

(TW: blood, vomit and gore warning over!)

“Son of a…” Nico trailed off. Then, his brows creased as he tilted his head to the side: confusion crossed his face. He had no clue who was going this far to take such measures to massacre people like this. Serafine looked concerned more than she had ever seemed: her brows were angled, she dug her heel into the ground and planted herself. Mr. Sweet was tapping his foot rapidly, sweat beading his forehead over the situation and how there was, yet again, another murder in his hotel…and for the first time for the elaborate triggerman, hatchetman, ferocious shadow of Mr. Sweet, Mr. Mordecai Heller…

…his gun slipped out of his hand and hit the floor, and the world went silent and deathly still.

-🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹🌼🏵️🌹-

[hiddentrails7]

This took me longer than it should've tbh

I simply just. Like associating characters with songs and this is very Nero coded (with a bit of Weiss and a smidgen of Tsviets in general)

Hope you enjoy my ramblings of why I associate Nero (and somewhat Weiss) w/ Tiny Gods by Shayfer James

My crooked back

was built for teeth and claws

The bloody wrath

of Tiny Gods

Tear at me, tear at me

Until I'm tame

This is what I was manufactured for

The dirt, the dark, the art of war

Punish me, punish me, until I'm saved

Nero's “wings”, literally edged with blades?? Those “wings”, that were implanted into him via scientists, who DEFINITELY play God in Deepground.

UH?? THIS IS THE MOST NERO-CODED SET OF LYRICS I'VE EVER FUCKING READ

And of course, this applies to Weiss and the other Tsviets: though the first few not as literally. They're made to be weapons.

Then you have the last four lines, which could clearly go with the fact that Nero was experimented on. There are various restraints on his body to keep him tame.

[Chorus]

The night is mine, mine, mine

And I will worship as I please

I will worship as I please

I will worship as I please

The night is mine, mine, mine

And I will worship as I please

I will worship as I please

I will worship as I please

“The night is mine” could ofc refer to his darkness, but I'M more interested in “I will worship as I please”. Nero does this: he doesn't worship those scientists, he willingly worships Weiss (say that five times fast).

Then there's Weiss; who doesn't worship shit. He is the one being worshiped by the others of Deepground.

Guide me from this hell of hope

and bind me with your holy rope

Look at me, look at me

I'm nearly there

Cut me with your vicious tongue

Make me taste what I've become

The violence, the violence

The perfect prayer

While kinds looser in comparison to others, I think of their hunts. Nero and Weiss, as well as the other Tsviets, being set loose to do something… be it an incredibly violent activity, it's something they're used to. It's enriching, and better than being contained.

[The Chorus repeats twice, slowly becoming louder]

The repetitive, strengthening chorus is just ugh <3. The world is falling apart. I think of Nero in DoC, just doing everything he can to help Weiss. Nero has nothing else! If Weiss is struggling or unresponsive, Nero is likely freaking the fuck out– the world might as well be ending.

[And then the outcome is much softer in comparison]

The night is mine, mine, mine

And I will worship as I please

I will worship as I please

I will worship as I please

Fuck the ending of Weiss and Nero in DoC pulled at my heart tbh. DoC is a fucking mess and I hope they handle it a little differently in a DoC remake or even in the future two main games but it's good to see Weiss and Nero in INTERmission. They've been shown really well so far and I am in love with them.

[justdealingwithsomeissues]

So this is 100% poking fun at the creators that Next Wave is based on (Todd, Jim, and Rob) but this is also our first look at Fin who will stick around for pretty much the rest of the book.

[chaaistained]

☕︎ my marauders dr; intro •°

.

.

.

🗝️ you’ve now unlocked the recipe to my marauders dr ≈

name : julia ephemeri potter

age (when i shift) : 15 — i’m experiencing the whole slow burn.. and i just know it’s gonna be torture . but we persevere

— (when i post about my script) : most of the time, i’ll be talking about me from the ages of 16-21 onwards

occupation : student of witchcraft at hogwarts

+ (eventually) some form of adult occupation . i’ll edit this later i genuinely don’t know and i don’t need to know for good few years at least so..

details :

— house : gryffindor

— wand : sandalwood with a mermaid hair core , 9.5”

+ wand breakdown tbd

— patronus : brown bear / sable (undecided, i love both.. help)

— amortentia : ocean air , candle wax , musty paper

+ amortentia breakdown tbd

— fav subject : alchemy

— top subjects : (+ alchemy) ancient runes , charms , muggle studies

— pets : sadie / sadie sue (ginger tabby cat) , barnaby (brown barn owl , shared with james..)

side hobbies/hustles : gryffindor quidditch team seeker

+ (eventually) editorial team of the hogwarts herald

+ (eventually) prefect

s/o : regulus arcturus black ৻ꪆ

౨ৎ meet miss juju berry

an incandescence, forged of tart blood and a permeating sense of melancholy — she finds herself in a constant search, an unsolvable quest for meaning, latching onto anything that can define her identity and yet feeling irrevocably lost to herself — she is only the light, not the sun . she is only the shell, not the pearl . she is only the stain , not the blackberry

i unfurl into this reality with the kind of effervescence found in firewhiskey, a bubbling surprise of sorts, one that my own parents weren’t expecting. my mum calls me a gift, she calls my brother a blessing . i don’t know if the difference in term denotes a difference in how we’re perceived, and truth be told it drove me crazy as a kid and sometimes it still does but for whatever purpose or prosperity, the fates resolved that i was meant to be born and here i am

a toppling fire cracker of a girl, or so i’m told, i’m one of the rambunctious gryffindors that barrel down the marble hallways of hogwarts castle. i bunk with seven other girls, one of whom is my best friend — mary macdonald. along with the charming ravenclaw — emmeline vance — and a snark of a hufflepuff — hestia jones — the four of us can be found in various locations around the school campus; passed out in a heap on the softest patch of grass near the black lake , shooting pine cones over the whomping willow and keeping score of who gets the most over without the tree smacking them away , secluded in the third booth on the second floor of the library . our quills drying out while we distractedly ignore our transfiguration homework in favour of finding the right spell to conceal our carved names on the bottom of the booth’s oakwood table (the result of emmeline sneaking alcoholic butterbeer into the school, and a series of bad decisions later, we’d all drunkenly vandalised the furniture.. thankfully mcgonagall doesn’t know or i might lose my prefect badge)

with small flowers in my braid and golden earrings that shimmer as i shake my head, i slip between the sea of students with an ease that can only be spotted in the agile gait of a seeker. though, nothing about my speed on the ground can compare to that which i showcase when i’m hundreds of feet in the air, my broomstick being an extension of me, something i trust to a concerning degree, coming up with the sorts of tricks and techniques that would land me in the hospital wing if i wasn’t as good as i am. that attention to detail, the pedantic precision of my sight is also what makes me a renowned editor of the student body’s newsletter — a semi-professional scrapbook of a weekly issue, a holistic voice of all students from all houses . honestly it can be hard to maintain that harmony but perhaps that’s why dumbledore sanctioned the club, a forceful hand at coexisting

regardless, it’s the least of my worries, a pastime really, my main focus being the exceedingly irritating presence of a certain slytherin seeker, who grows more and more unbearable by the day, not to mention he’s constantly around, in almost all my classes, assigned to same hours of prefect patrol, not a moment of peace . and yet paired with that bothersome nuisance brews the burning desire to find out more

and if you want to know why, then i suppose you should keep reading

(merlin’s name, i can write intrigue splendidly, they should assign me as the journalist not just the bloody editor)

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

౨ৎ my black bird

a rising tide in his own right, he is determined to maintain what is deemed to be perfection, unwilling to admit that no two waves ever look the same, no two stars ever shine alike, there is no apex . and yet he tries. haunted by ancestry, rippling currents that pull him into the ravine of his family’s legacy, it’s a future he wishes to inherit whilst believing it impossible. until his brother abandoned his birthright and that status, that title, that name he always wanted to earn yet never actually trained for, was now his

that unassuming final breath before striking a curse, the calm interwoven with calamity, that’s what regulus feels in every waking moment .

there is a blurry haze of memories when he tries to decipher where it all began — did envy bleed out of him every time sirius entered the room and commanded attention with his mere presence? or was it admiration? did he love his brother or loath him? maybe neither, maybe both, maybe everything in between and nothing at all, it never made sense and it probably never will.

so then leaves the question of his own significance — fostered from birth? or handed down simply because he is the spare to the heir? in this instance both made sense but neither option would ever be clarified.

and so regulus chooses to not feel anything, reserve all emotions to be shared with a few select friends — evan and barty had a way about them, his laughter was not something he could hold back in their presence . dorcas founded a semblance of solitude even though the space was shared, as if their silence was a mutual understanding, a shorthand of sorts . pandora had the gift of gracing their group with his smile, he considered it a curse that she had such a superpower, to bring out these genuine joys in other people, but he knew she wouldn’t see it that way — those were his people

not his brother . who he shifted his eyes to look away from whenever they passed each other .. only to turn back and glance over his shoulder, observing the elder son’s movements, wishing he’d turn back too, and then hurriedly clenching his fist, squashing the thought before it even had the chance to breathe

not his parents . who stood tall yet hollow, ghosts of who they were before their family was “torn apart” according to them, holding metaphorical goal posts only to keep moving them higher and higher every time regulus attempted to score, before tutting as he slipped and fell, unable to maintain the impossible altitude of their expectations

no. his people were his friends, the people who could mellow out his misgivings, erode his stone walls

and yet, those stone walls remain intact, erosion takes time.

unless of course someone me shattered the very structure of his world view, erupting his life into firework flurries of emotions, clandestine nights, musty sunrises drenched in dew drops and fog, leaving a wafting air about the world, scented jasmine and blackberry, amber gold flecks embedded inside twin irises . the kind of beauty that haunts his dreams and burns fire in his heart

he really should not be giving in to such a tragically stupid connection, not when majority of the time is spent bickering amongst dusty textbooks, whispering shouts bouncing off cold castle walls in the middle of the night, hexes spewing back and forth before finally forfeiting from fear of being caught .. that isn’t what he should want

he shouldn’t want anything

and yet he does

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

౨ৎ candlelit hearts

sinking into an unknown abyss, falling from the sky with a smile on your face while the halo around your head crackles, wax dripping down the curve of your back, you were destined to fall, that’s what you are meant to do, that’s who you are meant to be — a tidal wave tore through your heart, engulfing you entirely and yet you let yourself descend deeper and deeper — for reasons unknown, you found a companion in the darkness, a fire in the flesh, a home between interlaced fingers, foreheads pressed together and a single flickering candle flame that burns bright from the magic of your shared love

it’s funny, when i look back at it. because i suppose we always knew the other existed, but i only really met him when i was 13..

whatever classes we shared before, whatever moments were missed where we walked past each other through hallways or on moving staircases, those never really registered.

i just remember the cold, the prickly sensation of snow on my bare fingertips, crunching under my feet, glittering from the shy slithers of sunlight that flitted through the bleak grey sky. the constant dinging bells, the sound of students exploring all that hogsmeade had to offer, and yet there we stood, facing each other in an alley between shops, frowning in a way that would become all too familiar in the years to come

for what it’s worth, it’s easy to dislike the guy — almost always beating me by a few marks, his facial expression was more than enough of a gloat in itself . creating nicknames for whatever trick i use in a quidditch match and always coming up with a counter move (he can’t ever let me win. personally speaking, of course, i win plenty of matches) . it’s always something with him, and whatever quick bursts of emotion i bring out are hurriedly buried under a blank expression and a tired, almost uninterested visage that boils my blood in a way i cannot possibly describe . and yet i find myself thinking about it, about him, in the ungodly hours of the night.. only to get back at him of course

and it isn’t as if i can speak for him, for the longest time i had no clue what he’d be thinking no matter how long i stared, trying to decipher his thoughts.. but i’d be an idiot to have not noticed a change — the way he would walk through life with a strive to prove himself and yet constantly controlling how much of that ambition he could show.. living each day almost half present, half minded, elsewhere entirely, focused on a far reaching future as if it was right around the corner

he wasn’t like that anymore, he seemed to flourish, to spark, to appear alive . but only when teetering on the tightrope of an improbable partnership, an impossible romance, a strange little love story written between the aged cushions of an abandoned couch, in a hidden lounge, behind an old potions classroom — we found it together . or, more so, we argued and raced to unlock the door first, but regardless, it was our space . a space in which the kindling fire of an unlikely friendship would blossom into something greater than i could ever hope for

and when the mysteries within the castle walls start to crack through, when the secrets between the students stir the cauldron of rumours, and the history of influential families begins to pull itself up from the grave .. i guess it’s not so surprising to admit, but someone as curious as me, paired with someone as persistent as regulus? it’s no big shock that we find ourselves in the middle of such a storm

one transmutation away from uncovering the truth, waking up old bones, and burying the new ones

don’t swallow the tea leaves ! for they leave you a message 🍂

the people have spoken (i’m referring to the poll) and so i post ^this .. it did take a while bcs of numerous reasons that i don’t want to go into but anyway, i adore this dr so so much and i’ve worked so hard on the fic version of it T^T however it is a bit too traumatic for me to actually live out so .. this dr is slightly more tame — i just want to relive high school in hogwarts with the people that helped me through a lot of the shit i faced when i was in high school and they were merely characters on a screen — although, i can’t help myself, there are a few mysteries and bouts of intrigue to keep me entertained, i just .need to figure out what.. i could leave it up to my subconscious but . i don’t wanna do that ≈

chaai brews; tea assortments — dr archive

2025 © chaaistained

[veryinnovative]

@jegulus-microfic | january 1, prompt: decent | word count: 1.366 featuring bodyguard regulus black and multi-billionaire heir james potter

“I am not here to be your friend, Mr. Potter.”

There's a crease marring Regulus' forehead, hidden just behind the curl of his sable strands, sculpted brows knitted into a censorious frown. It indicates his internal turmoil well enough, showing just how hard he's struggling to gauge the extent of reprimand he can justifiably express, given his position as the head of James Potter's security team, which still remained a subordinate one at that.

There’s the cocky cant of James’ head as he tries and ward off the smile threatening to quirk at his mouth’s corners. It had taken a decent amount of brainstorming, planning, and persuading to get Regulus to comply—have him begrudgingly acquiesce to the idea of accompanying James inside the club as a more hands-on approach to extending security, even though the former’s constant presence was painstakingly redundant in a heavily monitored club as Godric. But James had pushed his luck even then, insisting Regulus keep wearing his body and thigh holsters, convincing him the ‘streetwear chic’ would be greatly appreciated by the club’s dressing code and grant them easy entrance (as if any club would deny James Potter out of all people, a multi-billionaire heir and continent-renowned philanthropist.). 

The straps of the harness glitter underneath the fluorescent strobes of vibrant purple, though nothing as piercingly brilliant as the dangerous glint catching the edges of Regulus’ withering glare. 

Ah, fuck.

James traces the sugar-coated rim of his glass, biting down on his tongue, only loosened further by the nth cocktail he’s consumed as he speaks with a beguiling drawl, “But I don’t want you to be my friend, Regulus.” 

Life is unfair. Let alone that he lives in a penthouse situated on London’s South Bank overlooking the River Thames or that he can afford designer wear not recognizable by most seeing how James Potter wears quiet luxury clothing brands like Gran Sasso and their perfectly manufactured cashmere sweaters or his current thousand-and-three-hundred quid shirt by Bottega Veneta that’s missing a button at the front with how much he’s been puffing his chest in attempts to draw the attention of his unfairly hot bodyguard.

 Because Regulus Black is just it. Black hair meticulously combed so smoothly, inky-black ringlets curling around his face—complexion milk-white and skin undoubtedly just as soft to touch if James was given the chance. Lithe but possessing swift reflexes and at least seven black belts in seven different martial arts that don’t mandate physical strength. Just three days ago, James had seen him throw a man almost three times his size over his shoulder with effortless ease, and how badly James had wished it had been him being tossed around.

The past months have been torturous, especially when Regulus wore his white button-up, that specific white button-up that stretched around his torso, accentuated his small waist, made only smaller when the straps of his harness clung to his chest. And his legs, those fucking long legs, clad in black dressing pants that made the swell of his ass all the more prominent, like a peach. James wanted to fucking squeeze it and devour the pulp left behind, slurp it like an animal that needed to be caged.

Whether it’s the words or the uncurbed lust he’s exuding, Regulus’ features rearrange into something far more complicated. He sucks on his teeth, squints his eyes, and then casts his gaze back into the crowd—the moving masses of bodies lost to the thrum of music.

“No,” he answers from behind the curve of his drink.

James smiles. He’s got him.

“No?” he asks, scooting closer, shit-eating grin only growing wider when Regulus makes no move to increase the distance between them.

“It’s highly unprofessional and breaks every code of conduct I strictly maintain. Not to mention, you’re my employer and—”

“And you want me.” Because he hasn't missed the glances exchanged between them and will be damned if he doesn't do anything about it.

Regulus coughs, sending drops of whisky flying across because Regulus Black is the type of man to drink something so old-school in a club. “What?” he sputters

James shrugs, an act that makes the fabric around his shoulders stretch thin, and does not miss how Regulus’ gaze briefly flits to the sliver of cleavage showing behind the missing button. “Right now you’re just listing reasons that, on contract, prevent any sort of intimacy between us, but if there weren’t any there, you would want this.”

“You’re being highly presumptuous,” Regulus scoffs.

“No, I’m good at reading people.”

“I am paid to guard you,” Regulus deflects.

This, he saw coming.

“Oh, it’s a money thing then?” James asks, reaching into his pocket to retrieve his wallet. He flips it open and thumbs through the wad of bills stashed in the compartment. “That’s fine, I can pay.”

This, however, also doesn’t have its desired effect. Regulus makes a face, downright spiteful this time, and does inch away from him, glass slamming onto the counter so hard James fears it might shatter. “What— So now you treat me like a prostitute?”

“What?” James asks, brows furrowed in confusion. He looks at Regulus, his wallet, back at Regulus and— 

James Potter, an Oxford graduate, top-of-his-class, can also be a massive idiot.

“Oh— Oh, no— Shit, I didn’t mean— No!” He’s fumbling for words and his wallet, almost dropping it in the act of trying to put it away, nearly releasing it when he misses tucking it back in his pocket. “I just thought— Fuck, no, I’m sorry,” Regulus doesn’t look any more convinced and now James is very much panicking, thank you. “I— You know what, fuck it. Hi, I’m James Potter.”

Regulus looks like he’s having a stroke.

But James is insistent, waving his hand like the gesture will dismiss the awkward, terribly embarrassing interaction from just seconds prior. “Can I get you a drink?”

Regulus blinks at him, then his extended hand, and drags a palm down his face, pinching his nose bridge and breathing in deep.

But James is nothing if nothing stubborn. “Must’ve had a long day, huh? Need an ear?”

“I got a boss that’s stupid as fucking rocks,” Regulus mutters, and oh, James swoons. No one ever dared call him stupid or insult him in this manner, and he might just discover something about himself tonight.

“Yeah, what else?”

Regulus down the remnants of his whisky before raising his glass. “I need a refill for that”

The refill comes quick and this time, James doesn’t feel too scared about bridging the gap between them bit by bit. “So this boss of yours…” he starts, because he’s already a little tipsy and on a streak of dauntless moves. “Is he hot?”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “He’s okay.”

“Oka—” James starts, bridling, before he catches a sight of the subtlest of smirks. Then, excitement, coiling down his spine like a lick of flame kindled further by the challenging gaze Regulus looks at him with. “I think you’re selling him short.”

“He’s arrogant, I don’t think I could bear him with an ego that’s any more inflated.”

“Oh, but you wound him. He’s been trying very hard to be noticed these past couple of months. Even started waking up early to catch glimpses of a certain someone that moved in with him for work purposes.”

Regulus makes a face that reads like ‘Is that the fucking reason why you have been putting your alarm on 4:30 a.m. in a pathetic effort to catch a glimpse of me preparing for the day and trying to be an unnoticeable presence in your life because that’s expected of me as head of security?’ and James smiles like he’s trying to say ‘Yeah, I did. Seeing you drink coffee, freshly showered, is worth it even if I struggle to stay awake during meetings in the afternoon.’

Regulus quirks an eyebrow. “Why is he trying to be noticed by me?”

James links a leg around Regulus’ bar stool and yanks it closer, relishing in the little gasp that leaves his lips as a result. Their legs bump, James’ knee sliding inside Regulus’ thigh, coming to a rest against it.

“Why spoil the fun by talking? I could just show you instead.”

[spike-minoda]

WWE OC Bio Thingie - Alexandra Hart

This may get long, so I apologize in advance. I got inspired by @multifandombabesworld's post of her WWE OC, Natasha Banks, and decided to make one of these for Alexandra. So let's go!

Real Name: Alexandra Renee Hart-Cornette

Ring Names:

Alexandra Hart (1987-1998; 1999-2005)

Lovely Lexie (1998)

"Sexy" Lexie Hart (1998-1999)

Alexandra Cornette (2005-present)

Nicknames:

Alex

Lexie

Allie

The Queen of Harts

Born: May 7, 1965

Hometown: Calgary, Alberta, Canada

Billed From: Calgary, Alberta, Canada

Height/Weight: 5'5", 127 lbs

Hair Color: Blonde

Eye Color: Blue

Family:

Helen Hart (mother)

Stu Hart (father)

Smith Hart (brother)

Bruce Hart (brother)

Keith Hart (brother)

Wayne Hart (brother)

Dean Hart (brother)

Ellie Hart (sister)

Georgia Hart (sister)

Bret Hart (brother)

Allison Hart (sister)

Ross Hart (brother)

Diana Hart (sister)

Owen Hart (brother)

Jim Neidhart (brother-in-law)

Davey Boy Smith (brother-in-law)

Natalya Neidhart (niece)

Teddy Hart (nephew)

Harry Smith (nephew)

Romantic Interests: Jim Cornette (1991-present; married 1996)

Children: 1, a son named Owen James Cornette, born in 2000.

Companies/Promotions:

Stampede Wrestling (1987-1991)

Smoky Mountain Wrestling (1991-1995)

WWF (1991-2000)

TNA (2006-2009)

ROH (2009-2012)

NWA (2018-2019)

MLW (2019)

Theme Songs:

First Theme (Stampede Wrestling; 1987-1991)

Second Theme (Smoky Mountain Wrestling/WWF; 1991-1998)

Third Theme (WWF; 1998, as co-manager of The New Midnight Express with Jim Cornette)

Fourth Theme (WWF; 1998-1999, as manager of Too Much)

Tag Teams/Stables:

Camp Cornette (1995-1996)

The Hart Foundation (1997)

Finisher Moves:

Sharpshooter

Top Rope Moonsault

Piledriver

Signature Moves:

Enziguri

Titles Won:

WWF Women's Championship (January 1994-November 1994)

Other Accomplishments:

Just like her brother Owen did in 1994, she won a Slammy award for 'Biggest Rat'. Well... in Alexandra's case, it was changed to 'Biggest Brat'. She won this Slammy in 1997. She also won a Slammy that same year for "Miss Slammy", which didn't sit well with Sable, who felt she deserved the award.

Medical Conditions/Injuries:

Broken nose

Broken ankle (twice, same ankle)

Two concussions

Severe neck injury (sustained sometime in 1999)

Managers:

Owen Hart 

Jim Cornette

Has Managed:

Owen Hart

Bob Holly (as part of The New Midnight Express)

Bart Gunn (as part of The New Midnight Express)

"Too Sexy" Brian Christopher (as part of Too Much)

"Too Hot" Scott Taylor (as part of Too Much)

Friends/Allies:

Brian Pillman (on and off-screen)

Yokozuna (on and off-screen)

Mr. Fuji (on and off-screen)

Vader (on and off-screen)

Chyna (off-screen)

Marlena (off-screen; they feuded on-screen for a while)

Goldust (off-screen)

Hunter Hearst Helmsley (off-screen)

Shawn Michaels (off-screen)

Brian Christopher (on and off-screen)

Scott Taylor (on and off-screen)

Jerry Lawler (off-screen)

Bobby Eaton (on and off-screen)

Trained By:

Stu Hart

Owen Hart

Bret Hart

Facts: 

She and Owen are twins.

They shared the theme song "High Energy" in the WWF. Alexandra continued to use it, even after Owen changed his theme.

She debuted in mid-1991 on an episode of WWF Superstars of Wrestling. She had been working in Smoky Mountain Wrestling since its inception that same year, and worked for both promotions until SMW's closure in 1995.

She wears the Hart family's signature pink and black combination.

She has wrestled both men and women in her career.

She's incredibly shy and reserved in real life, until you get to know her.

She was devastated by the death of Owen, and still mourns his loss.

Social Medias (These aren't real, so don't bother looking them up, lmao):

lexiehart (instagram)

MrsCornette (Twitter)

(Note: Alexandra now has her own RP/ask blog, it's @queen-0f-harts.)

[moonbeammagic9]

SILLY SHITPOST TO GET TO KNOW MY XOD OC JAMES SABLE BETTER !!!

He's such a loser (affectionate)

And no he doesn't like Nate (or basically anyone) like that, that's just how he talks unfortunately /lh

I rlly wanna make a similar post that is just my two XOD ocs interacting bc their dynamic is intriguing to me:] But idk if anyone would realistically be interested in that or not.

[elliemarchetti]

The Queen of the Quills - Jily Edition (Part 5)

Posting on Tumblr too because this fic's sister is already there.

Reading The Queen of the Quills - Blackinnon Edition will not be mandatory to understand the developments of James and Lily's story, but some details could be shared, therefore, for anyone wishing to fully enjoy the experience, I will leave this series' masterlist here.

This was @athenasparrow's gift for @jilymicrofics ' Exchange 2024, but if you like it and are willingly to reblog, it would be super appreciated since stories like this require quite some time and effort🥰

Taglist (if anyone wants to be added, please DM me or comment and I'll gladly add you!): @thaisthedreamer

Plot: James Potter, London's most evasive bachelor, an impertinent libertine, has decided to get married. He has also already chosen his wife, the debutante Lily Evans, a self-confident young woman who has not the slightest intention of being seduced by such a man. A Bridgerton inspired Regency AU.

Words: 4093

Mrs. Potter’s musicale proved to be a decidedly musical affair (not, this author assures you, always the norm for musicales). The guest performer was none other than Maria Rosso, an Italian soprano from the all-witch choir known as Spellbound who made their debut in London two years ago and has returned after a brief stint on the Vienna stage. With thick, sable hair and flashing dark eyes, Miss Rosso proved as lovely in form as she did in voice, and more than one, or it would be better to say more than a dozen, of society’s so-called gentleman found it difficult indeed to remove their eyes from her person, even after the performance had concluded.

The Queen of the Quills, May 17, 1813

Lily felt the exact moment he walked in the room. She tried to tell herself it had nothing to do with a heightened awareness of the excruciatingly handsome wizard, she couldn’t imagine that every woman didn’t notice him immediately, and furthermore, he arrived late – not very, but still enough he had to try to be quiet as he slipped into a chair at the front next to Mrs. Evans – still she noticed him before her own mother and sister did, and it rendered her unable to even breathe. He didn’t look her way, but several candles had been snuffed, leaving the room bathed in a dim, romantic glow, so the shadows must’ve obscured her face and the way she tried to keep her eyes on Miss Rosso throughout the performance, even if the woman couldn’t take hers off of Mr. Potter, and for some reasons, it didn’t improve her disposition. She should’ve rejoiced in the fact, it was just another piece of proof he was every bit the licentious rake she’d always known him to be, but she wasn’t feeling smug, or vindicated, she was just heavily, uncomfortably disappointed, so much so she felt herself slump slightly in her chair.

When the performance was done, she couldn’t help but notice how the soprano, after graciously accepting her applause, brazenly approached her suitor and offered him one of those seductive smiles, the sort Lily would never learn to do even if she had a thousand opera singers trying to teach her. There was no mistaking what she meant with that act, and he must’ve realized too, because he threw her a mysterious look and actually tucked an errant lock of her raven hair behind her ear.

Lily shivered in disgust. For Merlin’s beard, the man didn’t even need to chase women, they practically dropped at his feet and whispered sweet nothing in his ears! Maybe she praised him, or maybe she outwardly offered herself, because he leaned down enough to kiss her neck.

“Lily?” hissed her mother, decidedly irritated. “Stop watching Mr. Potter.”

“I wasn’t… well, all right, I was, but did you see him?” she whispered urgently. “He’s shameless.”

She looked back over at him, still flirting with Maria Rosso, no care in the world about who might see.

“I’m sure his behaviour isn’t any of our business,” replied Elizabeth, lips pursed into a tight line. “He has been kind in delivering the invitations to the musicale himself, but I’m certain he wants nothing to do with you after that fiasco in Hyde Park.”

If the situation had been different, Lily would have argued that it wasn't her fault that his dog had pushed her into the water and he jumped in to save her when she was already swimming toward the shore, but she didn't have the energy to argue right now, so she sagged her shoulders and followed her family as they greeted their lovely hostess. Mrs. Potter had fair hair and light eyes, and she was rather petite to have mothered such a large son, so Lily decided her late husband must’ve been a tall man.

“Mrs. Evans,” she said warmly, “what a delight to see you again. I so enjoyed our meeting at the last ball and I must say I’m very glad you decided to accept my invitation.”

“We wouldn’t dream of spending the evening elsewhere,” her mother rejoined. “And may I present you my daughters? The older one is Petunia, and the younger one is Lily.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both, and I would like to introduce you to Mr and Mrs. McKinnon’s daughter, Marlene,” she said, motioning to a young lady at her side. For some reason, Lily was convinced she had already met her, but maybe she was just a classmate she had passed a couple of times in the corridors at Hogwarts. After all, Londoners were used to minding their own business there too, and she had no doubt that someone so beautiful and seemingly delicate was constantly surrounded by flocks of other adoring young women. Anyway, Lily smiled warmly at the girl, who looked to be about the same age as her, even though the similarities between them ended here: her blonde hair were a perfectly styled field of lovely golden wheat and her face was angular, a rather sharp contrast with Lily’s roundness.

 “Is this your first season?” she asked, already friendly.

Both Lily and Petunia nodded.

“How lucky!” she exclaimed. “I attended a few parties last year and may I say they were a bit… boring? Everything was so new the first time, but by the end of spring I already remembered everyone’s name. This way, I thought I could get an excellent match, but as you may see by yourself, I’m still unmarried.”

As Marlene spoke, Mrs. Evans glanced at her son, who kept flirting madly with the Italian opera singer, and frowned.

Lily felt something very uneasy in her stomach: according to recent issues of The Queen of the Quills, Mrs. Evans was on a mission to get her son married off, and while he didn’t seem the sort of man to bend to his mother’s will, or anyone’s, for the matter, she had a feeling the woman would be able to exert quite a bit of pressure is she so chose. Maybe that was why he was so intent on courting her.

After a few more moments of polite chatter, the Evans left Mrs. Potter to greet the rest of her guests and were soon accosted by Mrs. Bones, who, as the mother of three daughters, two still unmarried, always had a lot to say to Elizabeth – she had long declared herself on a first-name basis with the Evans – although that day her gaze was firmly focused on Lily, who immediately began to assess possible escape routes.

“What a surprise to see you there!” boomed the stout woman, leaving her interlocutor puzzled. “Gossip said you were ill.”

“Don’t worry, it was nothing that serious,” Lily retorted, with a weak smile. How Amelia had managed to become a pleasant person to have around with a family like hers Lily just couldn't explain.

“From what I heard, you contracted it in a rather serious way,” Mrs. Bones added, brows rising a good half inch. It was evident she knew, maybe she was even at the scene, but there was really no need to talk about it at the Potter’s.

“A way of little consequence, as you can see,” Lily countered firmly, although she was finding it difficult not to growl at the meddlesome woman.

Mrs. Bones opened her mouth, a sharp intake of breath telling she was preparing to launch into a lengthy monologue on the topic of the importance of good deportment, or good manners, or good breeding, but her youngest promptly interrupted her, offering to fetch lemonade for everyone.

“Lily, would you be so kind as to help me?” she asked, turning to the one she set out to save. “Unfortunately, I still don’t have enough hands to carry all those glasses.”

Lily tried not to appear too eager to accept, but everyone must’ve noticed their urgency to flee from how quickly they walked away, dodging those present with skill.

“Thank you,” she murmured to her saviour once they reached the lemonade stand and grabbed four glasses, for everyone except Petunia, who said she wasn’t thirsty.

“I know how my mother can be, I’m usually her favourite victim, so since I could avoid you what would’ve sounded like a lecture from an almost stranger, I took advantage of it. I’m sure somehow she would’ve found the opportunity to insert me into the conversation just to define me an impertinent social failure,” replied the other, and although a part of Lily wanted to pity her for that cruel fate – no mother should behave like that with her daughter – another part told her not to do so, because the girl needed an ally, not yet another young lady looking at her like a hopeless cause.

“Can we go back for a glass for ourselves?” asked Amelia as soon as they reunited with their families, and her mother nodded in a matter that told Lily everyone must know her youngest wasn’t her favourite.

“Why don’t we go out for a bit of fresh air? Since we’re together, we don’t need a chaperone,” suggested the redhead, who wanted a little more space to investigate on what the wizarding society really thought of Mr. Potter. Was he a hypocrite? A scoundrel? Or even a liar? Had he by chance deluded women and then abandoned them without any prospect? Did he have bastards? She didn't know why she cared so much, after all he probably believed her a menace to society, or he wouldn’t have acted as he was doing with Miss Rosso, still she needed to know if it was the norm or just a game to get back at her. So she asked, rather forward, as she and her friend sank into a cushioned bench about ten yards from the music room. They remained there for several minutes, more than pleased with the comfortable intimacy of their gossip, until they heard one particular voice rise slightly above the low rumble of the crowd, followed by decidedly musical laughter. After a shared look of realization, they hitched up their skirts by a few inches to save themselves from tripping and ducked into the doorway next to the bench, hoping Mr. Potter and his paramour would walk on by, and they could scoot back into the music room and laugh about their little adventure. As their eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room, they realized they were in some sort of office, with walls lined with books, although not enough to be a library, the place dominated by a massive oak desk with papers laid on top of it in neat piles. Clearly the place was lived, not just for show, and as curiosity got the better of them, they wandered toward the desk, Lily running her fingers along the wooden rim. The air still smelled faintly of ink, and maybe the slightest hint of pipe smoke. All in all, she decided, it was a lovely room, comfortable and practical, a place a person could spend hours in lost in lazy contemplation, but just as she was about to lean back against the desk, savouring the quiet solitude exuding from the place, she heard and awful sound. The doorknob clicked, and with a frantic gasp, Amelia disappeared, leaving her with no other option than dive under the desk, squeezing herself into the empty cube of space and thanking the heavens that it was completely solid rather than the short that rested on four spindly legs. Barely breathing, she listened, cursing herself for not taking Apparition class seriously.

“I had heard this would be the year we would finally see the notorious Mr. Potter fall into the parson’s mousetrap,” came a lilting feminine voice. Lily bit her lip, recognizing the Italian accent.

“And where did you hear that?” came James’ unmistakable voice, followed by another awful click of the doorknob that made Lily shut her eyes in agony. She was trapped in the office with a pair of lovers. Life simply couldn’t get any worse than this, unless she was discovered, though it didn’t make her feel much better about her present predicament.

“It’s all over town,” Maria replied. “Everyone is saying you have decided to settle down and choose a bride.”

There was a silence, but Lily could swear she could hear him shrug: “It’s probably past time.”

“You are breaking my heart, did you know?” she asked, making Lily nearly gag.

“Now, my sweet signorina, we both know that your heart is impervious to any of my machinations,” Mr. Potter murmured, and Lily pictured him as close as they were before, his lips nearly on her skin, because next came a rustling sound, which she took to be Maria pulling coyly away to state she wasn’t inclined for a dalliance.

“I don’t look for marriage, of course, that would be most foolish, but when I next choose a protector, it shall be for, shall we say, the long term,” she added, low and husky.

“I fail to see the problem.”

“Your future wife may not.”

“The only reason to give up one’s mistress is if one happens to love one’s wife,” Mr. Potter chuckled. “And as I don’t intend to choose a wife with whom I might fall in love, I see no reason to deny myself the pleasure of a lovely woman like you.”

Lily tried to imagine the reaction of the couple if she jumped out of her hiding place, screaming like a madwoman, asking what made him think she was the right match if that was his plan from the start. It nearly made her laugh, and at the same time she wanted to cry, because there was no way she could make the entrance she wished to make when she was squatting like a frog with her hands wrapped around her ankles. A few unintelligible sounds distracted her from her fantasies, and she dearly prayed they weren’t a prelude to something considerably more intimate. After a moment, though, Mr. Potter’s voice emerged clearly, asking to the singer if she cared for something to drink. Maria murmured her assent, and James’ forceful stride echoed along the floor, growing closer and closer, until he came into view, his athletic frame displayed to surprising benefit from her vantage point on the floor. If he just kept his face to the window as he poured, she might escape detection, but if he turned so much as halfway she would be as good as dead, for she had no doubt he would kill her. Frankly, she was surprised he hadn’t tried last week at the Serpentine.

“Is everything all right?” Maria called out, when Mr. Potter clinked the tumblers slightly together as he set them down before pouring two fingers of amber liquid into each glass.

“Perfect,” he answered, although he sounded vaguely distracted, like a dog sniffing the air around in search of his prey. Maybe that was why Lily froze and stopped breathing completely, eyes wide and unblinking, as he started to hum slightly to himself and his body slowly began to turn.

Keep walking, she screamed in her head, keep walking to your lover and don’t look back.

But it didn't go that way, and she watched with complete and utter horror as his eyes scanned her starting from her shoes and pinned her where she was.

__________________

James knew quite well why he’d brought Maria Rosso back to his study. Surely no warm-blooded man could be immune to the charm of her lush body and her intoxicating voice, and he knew from experience that her touch was equally potent, but even as he took in that silky sable hair and those full, pouting lips, even as his muscles tightened at the memory of other full, pouting parts of her body, he knew he was using her. He felt no guilt in that regard – she was using him as well, and she would at least be compensated for it, whereas he would be out several jewels, a quarterly allowance, and the rent on a fashionable townhouse in a fashionable part of town – no, if he felt uneasy and frustrated, if he felt like he wanted to put his damned fist though a brick wall, it was because he was using Maria to banish the nightmare that Lily Evans was from his mind. He never wanted to wake up hard and tortured again, knowing she was the cause, he just wanted to drown himself in another woman until the very memory of his recurring dream dissolved and faded into nothingness, because Merlin knew he was never going to act on that particular erotic fantasy because he shouldn’t like her like that. The though of making love to her, and not just bedding her, made him break out in a cold sweat, even as it swirled a ripple of desire right through his gut. Bloody hell, the woman must’ve bewitched him, there could be no other explanation for the dream, and besides, even now he could swear he could smell her. It was that maddening combination of lilies and soap, that beguiling scent that had washed over him while they were in Hyde Park.

“Is everything all right?” Maria called out.

“Perfect,” James said, voice sounding tight to his own ears. He began to hum, something he’d always done to relax, and he turned, even started to take a step forward, because after all Miss Rosso was waiting for him, but the damned scent followed him and his foot hesitated in midair, his step forward proved to be a small one instead of his usual long stride, and he kept turning, his nose instinctively twisting his eyes toward where he knew there couldn’t be lilies until he saw her under his desk, crouching like a frog. It was a wonder he didn’t drop the whiskey as their eyes met, and he saw hers widen with panic and fright.

Good, he thought savagely. What the hell was she doing here? Wasn’t making a scene after he doused himself in the filthy water of the Serpentine to rescue her enough for her bloodthirsty spirit? Did she need to spy on him as well?

“Maria,” he said smoothly, moving forward toward the desk until he was nearly stepping on Lily’s hand. “I have suddenly remembered an urgent matter of business that must be dealt with immediately.”

“This very night?” she asked, quite dubious.

“I’m afraid so. Allow me to walk you to the door,” he said, and although the singer’s eyes were curious, she still took his arm and forgave him for his rudeness for not taking her back to the music room.

“I am a grown woman, I believe I can manage the short distance,” she laughed, a low, sultry sound that should’ve seduced him. “And furthermore, I suspect there isn’t a woman alive who could deny you forgiveness with that smile.”

“You are of a rare kind, Maria Rosso,” he replied, hoping she couldn’t feel how far his head was from this conversation. Not too much physically, since Lily was just a few steps away, but metaphorically…

“But not, apparently, rare enough,” she murmured before floating out, finally giving James the possibility to shut the door with a decisive click, turn the key and pocked it. At the sound, Lily crawled out of her hiding place, leaning on the edge of the desk for support, apparently unable to start the much-needed explanation she had to give about her presence.

“Well?” he asked, breaking the bubble of silence.

“It was an accident!” she exclaimed. “I was sitting in the hall and I heard you coming. I was just trying to avoid you and your lover, to spare the embarrassment to everyone...”

“So you decided to invade my private office?” he asked, suspicious.

“I didn’t know it was your office. I…” she started, but was unable to finish her sentence, probably intimidated by his deliberate proximity. He could swear he was hearing the frantic beating of her heart coming from beneath the bodice.

“I think perhaps you did know this was my office,” he murmured, letting his forefinger trail down the side of her cheek. “Perhaps you didn’t seek to avoid me at all, on the contrary, you desired something else, something more… insane?”

Lily swallowed convulsively, long past the point of trying to maintain her composure.

“What do you say to that?” he asked, his finger sliding along her jawline.

Her lips parted, but she couldn’t have uttered a word if her life had depended on it. He wore no gloves, he removed them during his interrupted tryst with Maria, and the touch of his skin against her was so powerful it seemed to control her body, for she breathed when he paused, stopped when he moved. He had no doubt their hearts were beating in time as his breath kissed her lips, and he smiled, victorious, when she deleted the little distance still separating them. It was evident she was an innocent who wouldn’t know what it was like to have a man so near the heat of his body seeped through her clothes, who wouldn’t recognize the first prickles of desire, nor would she understand that slow, swirling heat in the core of her being, but it was there, he could see it in her face with only one look of his experienced eyes.

James told himself that if she hadn’t kissed him, he would’ve stopped right there, left her bothered and breathless, but he knew he was lying, he knew the moment there had been barely an inch between their faces back in her house and he resisted the pull to give in to her beguiling scent only because the footman might’ve saw them. But right now, there was no chaperone, they were in the privacy of his study, her mother was probably immersed in conversation and the prickles of desire he’d meant to spark within her suddenly ignited him, sending a warm claw of need to the very tips of his toes. Although her kiss had been chaste, and rather desperate, the fingers he’d been trailing along her cheek to torture her suddenly became a hand that cupped the back of her head, and his lips took hers in an explosion of desire, making her gasp against his mouth, something he took advantage of to slide his tongue between them. She was pliant in his arms, so James pressed his suit further by allowing one of his hands to slide down her back and cup the gentle curve of her derriere.

It was madness, he knew he should stop and he damned well shouldn’t have started, but his body was racing with need and he felt so good he had no intention of letting her go. It was like when he was younger, with no care in the world, and his father was still alive, ready to rule the family and gift him with the chance to mess up without consequences a little more, and at the same time he found she possessed something that suited him like no woman ever had before. Something about her was just right, maybe her smell, or maybe the way she felt in his arms, and he knew that if he stripped off all of her clothes and took her there on the carpet on the floor of his study, she would fit underneath him, around him, just right. A low, triumphant growl emerged from James’ mouth as he moved it to her slender neck and further down, in the expanse of skin usually hidden by the bodice he moved slightly, enough to not expose her right away but still more than decency allowed. With ragged and fast breath, he pinned her to his desk, crazed, frantic, leaving small red marks wherever he sucked, regardless of the consequences.

“Do you still hate me?” he asked, and when she slightly shook her head, he cupped one of her breasts, covering it entirely with his hand. Just as he was plotting the best course back to her lips, he heard the perfectly awful sound of Sirius’ voice outside the door.

“James!” he shouted. “I know you’re here and your mother does too. She needs your assistance and asked me to tell you to stop fucking Miss Rosso.”

Miss Evans, blissfully unaware of how close she’d come to having been pleasured utterly senseless, threw a horrified look to the door.

“One of these days,” James muttered, “I’m going to have to kill him.”

[lord-aldhelm]

Aldhelm | The Last Kingdom 4.04 (Part 1)

[jmpphoto]

Lake Superior Sunset by James Marvin Phelps Via Flickr: Saturday Memories Lake Superior Sunset Grand Marais, Michigan October 2004

[ao3feed-blakeyang]

"To die a tyrant is to be born into a warrior's second dawn."

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/XQRs0mC by RainatheGiantSlayer After Unicron's possession of him weakens his body beyond its limits, Megatron ends the Decepticon cause and finds a quiet place to finally lay down his life, knowing the universe will only ever know the evil warlord and all the lives he destroyed. Except he doesn't die. Offered a true chance at redemption by a unusual force of nature, Megatron takes the plea deal rather than rot in the Pits of Kaon for his usage of Dark Energon. He is then reborn in the World of Remmant as Levi Sable, the son of hunters in the Pyro Tribe, on the outskirts of Vacuo. With the knowledge of this being his last chance, Megatron decides to finally take his old friend Orion Pax's advice. But the past has a funny way of coming back to you, and there are some things (and people) that you can never truly outrun. Words: 100, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: RWBY, Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: Multi Characters: Megatron (Transformers), Starscream (Transformers), Original RWBY Character(s), RWBY Ensemble, Team Prime (Transformers: Prime), Cliffjumper (Transformers) Relationships: Megatron (Transformers)/Original Character(s), Original Female Characters/Original Male Characters, Oscar Pine/Ruby Rose, Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long, Jaune Arc/Weiss Schnee, James Ironwood/Original Female Character(s), Starscream (Transformers)/Original Character(s) Additional Tags: Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Anti-Faunus Racism (RWBY), Spoilers: RWBY, Post-Predacons Rising (Prime Movie), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Starscream Redemption (Transformers), Megatron Redemption (Transformers), Siblings, Banishment, Boarding School read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/XQRs0mC