#Liz writes

[katsus-world]

Katsuki who forces you to look at him when he’s balls deep inside you.

Your legs are thrown over his shoulder and his pace is rough. The bed frame creeks under his movements. Your voice singing out and the sound of heavy balls slapping against your weeping cunt echo off the walls of your charred bedroom.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight.” His voice comes out strained and the feeling of you clenching around his words throws him into a crazed daze.

You mumble out a response but his cock hitting your sweet spot makes you squeal. Eyes rolling to the back of your head as his strong hand wraps around your throat. His length drags against your walls with such force, you feel like you’re going to split in two.

“Open your eyes and look at me when I fuck you.” His hand moves up to grab at your chin, instinctively your eyes shoot up and you gasp when you feel him stop.

He pulls out slowly, antagonizing you with every once of him that leaves your needy hole. You bite your lip to stifle a groan.

“You’re so pretty when yer’ like this. A fucking whore for my cock.” Your head hits the pillow when feel him shove himself deep inside you. It was quick and fast but it doesn’t stop you from fluttering around him. And the electricity pulsing through your body makes it hard to think straight.

“‘Wanna stay inside you forever. You feel too good.” Katsuki growls out as he palms your chest, pulling at your sensitive nub in his calloused hands. His mouth moves towards your thigh, biting your inner flesh and peppering it with kisses.

“T-too much katsuki!” You thrash against his touch, back arching off the mattress as you feel your stomach tighten.

But to your disappointment his movement slow down, and you feel the frustration peaking out of your eyelids. Tears hot and ready to spill down your face.

“You don’t get to cum unless you look at me.”

((유∀유|||)) ((유∀유|||)) ((유∀유|||)) ((유∀유|||)) ((유∀유|||

Might have misspellings sorry!

[sunkissedscribbles]

Mattheo Riddle's Guide To Win Y/N's Heart

pairing: mattheo x fem!reader (house not clarified)

genre: fluff

tw: my bad writing

word count: 1532

summary: mattheo's desperately trying to lure you in by using psychological tricks on you.

a/n: okay, this one might not be the best, but it's sweet. also, i wrote this in the middle of the night lol

masterlist

dividers by @chachachannah

It all started a week ago when Mattheo strutted into the Great Hall in the morning with that stupid, confident grin plastered across his lips.

“It’s 7:30. In the morning,” Theo raised an eyebrow at him as to why he was in a good mood so early for his liking.

“I have the master plan to get Y/N to date me,” Mattheo stated proudly, to which Enzo and Theo shared a look, and the latter snorted a laugh.

“And how are you gonna do that, Casanova?” Pansy chimed in too.

“Psychology,” Mattheo shrugged simply, deeply believing that his master plan would work perfectly.

He read in Enzo’s book that if you want to be appealing to a woman, you should sit across her at a table and if about to win a man’s heart, you should sit right beside him. So, the first trick he tried was sitting across you at the table in all cases, even if it meant two people — including you — sitting on the one side and five people squeezed together on the one across because Mattheo wanted to sit across you with millimeter accuracy. First, you didn’t understand it one bit. You only sensed Mattheo growing weirder by the day and your friends having more fun directly proportionally and putting two and two together, you realized these two are actually related.

The next thing was wearing red. Now this one was a hilarious one; on Tuesday afternoon when you, Enzo, and Mattheo were due to study together for Arithmancy (which, may I mention, Mattheo only took up because you did so too), Mattheo slumped down on the chair across you at the table in the library, wearing a Gryffindor hoodie.

“What on earth-“ Enzo shook his head in disbelief but you had to fight back a loud outburst of laughter.

“Hi, Y/N,” Mattheo grinned confidently but you shook your head with a grin still lingering on your lips.

“Whose is this?” you nodded in the direction of the hoodie hugging his upper body.

See, the problem with wearing red was that he didn’t own a single clothing piece of the colour, so he had to think outside the box and be creative for this one.

He looked down nonchalantly and shrugged with that familiar smirk. “Longbottom’s. I’m sure he doesn’t mind.”

Enzo buried his face into his hands next to you, trying to hold a groan back from escaping as your mouth hung open and your eyes widened. “He doesn’t know?”

“His door was open…”

You, knowing Mattheo, lifted your eyebrows in disbelief as he clearly didn’t tell the exact truth.

“Well- it wasn’t open, but soon it opened magically and I took it as an invitation…”

“You Alohomora’d his door to get a burgundy hoodie for Merlin-knows-what?”

“Well, y- wait. Burgundy? This is red,” Mattheo shook his head as he stiffened. He was convinced it was pure red — boys and their eyes for colours, huh?

Enzo snorted a laugh finally, knowing exactly Mattheo was trying to use the ‘red makes you appear more attractive’ law of psychology on you and he technically failed.

“No, darling, this is burgundy,” you chuckle which by the way, Mattheo found adorable, even in the middle of his embarrassment, plus, you called him darling — so he took it that you actually fell for his trick and, well, for him too.

But of course, there were things in Enzo’s psychology book Mattheo didn’t even think of doing. This was, for one, playing hard to get. Because he knew his eyes would have failed him every time he’d tried to close you out, and he knew exactly how well you were able to see right through him. You being concerned about him was also a problem with this because as Pansy once absent-mindedly drew his attention to how you noticed people’s energies shift pretty quickly, he had to close this option out completely.

Another one was putting on a cocky, intimidating, or prideful look because of the same reason; you noticing the energy shifts, and because no matter how hard he’d tried, that stupid grin had grown on him and your sight only fueled it.

He tried mirroring your body language, too. You were leaning forward at breakfast, tiredly resting against the wooden dining table? He was sitting opposite you, sitting as if he was actually in your mirror. You ran a hand through your hair? Guess what, he had to scratch his head. Even when your leg was bouncing nervously under the desk in History of Magic, he sure mirrored it.

You weren’t oblivious to this either, and you knew something was up — but you simply thought he was playing a prank on you. And your friends being awfully quiet whenever you brought up how weird Mattheo was being around you only added to your suspicion.

“I see” was a common way for him to start whatever he had on his mind. Because, research by MIT showed that women were more attracted to men who used the phrases “I see,” “Okay,” and “Yep.” And for him, he used them until he’s grown sick of them.

But of all the things he’d tried, his favourite — and yours too — was touching. Touching you had always lightened his day, even if it was just a tap on your shoulder to enquire about the time. And his touch provided reassurance for you, whenever he touched you for even a split second you knew you had someone to count on, someone to be comforted by. When you were tired in class he had a shoulder to offer for you to rest your head on (not Theo though because he could go fuck himself rather than sleep on his best friend’s shoulder, respectfully, in the best friend in question’s opinion.) When you were anxious, he chose to put his quill down and not take notes, rather have his hand comforting you by rubbing little circles on your thigh just above your knee (and sometimes a little too high), having his arm around you or playing with your hair, saying he’d borrow your notes later to catch up, which he never did.

However, things haven’t changed for two more weeks. And, as time went on, Mattheo grew more and more desperate, seeking the moment he could finally hold you in his arms and kiss the life out of you. He was waiting for the moment when he could confess his love to you — or, which would have been more convenient, and a whole ego boost for him, to have you come crawling by yourself, singing odes about him. But he realized it was a rather unlikely scenario that lived rent-free in his head.

“That book sucks,” Mattheo complained to Enzo one evening in the common room frustratedly as he sank into the green velvet material of the couch.

“Why so?” Enzo didn’t even look up from his Transfiguration essay he was desperately trying to put a dot on the end of for an hour.

“‘Cause I tried everything! And Y/N still doesn’t have a clue how I love her,” he let out a grunt as he let his head fall back against the backrest of the sofa and rubbed his closed eyes tiredly. “She’s still not into me.”

“I am into you,” your voice came down on him like a rain of cold ice. After nagging for two whole weeks, Pansy agreed to fill you in about what Mattheo called his master plan, and you finally understood what it was all about.

Mattheo’s eyes shot open to see he hasn’t hallucinated your reassuring words in that sweet tone you always talk to him with, and to make sure you are very physically standing there. He quickly got up from where he was and sat on the couch next to Enzo, who seemed to be in a completely other world with how concentrated he was on his Transfiguration homework.

Mattheo quickly made his way over to you, standing just a few feet apart with that stupid grin already growing on his lips as he took you, your gorgeous figure, bright smile, and shiny eyes in. “Are you now, princess?” He asked in a tone sweet like honey while tugging a strand of hair behind your ear.

You rolled your eyes at him before taking a step closer to the point that your chests were grinding against each other, to Mattheo’s biggest pleasure. And before he knew it, your lips came crashing against his in a long-awaited kiss and his arms slithered around your waist so naturally like they were made to be resting there. However, you pulled away after a few seconds before it could’ve got a little too carried away. “Did you really steal Longbottom’s hoodie so that I’d find you more attractive?” You chuckled with a touched but still a little mocking smile.

“Borrowed it. I returned it after you told me it wasn’t the right colour,” he rolled his eyes at you too, but he was the happiest guy on earth right then and there because he had all right to wrap his arms around you like a shield, protecting you from the world and its horrible people.

[nerdylizj]

Lanterns line the exterior of the restaurant, swinging in the light autumn night breeze and casting on orange haze into the empty street. Curfew is nearing and Katara shouldn’t miss the last monorail back to the Upper Ring. She can’t miss the last monorail. Where would she stay tonight?  With Zuko and Iroh? The thought of returning to the Upper Ring in the morning and waving at Sokka – hey, no worries, I stayed with Zuko and Iroh last night! – is funny. Her brother would squawk and Toph would laugh and Aang would gawk. They wouldn’t understand. She barely understands.  Maybe it’s not funny.

read chapter 13 or start chapter 1

[arcane-vagabond]

Since Victorian Era!Jake was already brought up before. Victorian Era!Jake breaking all the rules because he will NOT leave you alone to suffer the pains of childbirth, no ma'am. He is going to sit right behind you, holding you, helping as much as he can while you bear down and kissing your neck after every push, because "you are doing wonderfully, my love"

YES, NONNY, YES!!!!!!

Fuck, I love the idea of Victorian Era!Jake. I think he and DHTN!Jake are very similar in a lot of ways, but this VE!Jake is, in my mind, part of the elite class. His family comes from money but I almost picture him as the rakish eldest son that his dad loved because he was the only boy, but also wished he would show more decorum.

Then he meets you, this seemingly quiet, well behaved lady that he has no interest in getting to know because surely you're just like all the other vapid ladies, more concerned with the color of your dress than anything interesting. But then Bradley makes a very distasteful joke about his...utensils when drunk at a party one night and he hears your quiet laugh that you quickly disguise as a cough, and he looks over to see you hiding your grin behind your glass of wine and now? Now he's intrigued.

But anyway, fast forward to you giving birth, and YES, NONNY!!! Jake has never given a damn about social etiquette and he's not about to start now. Not when you need him. I imagine that you're in active labor by this point, and he's pacing outside, going mad from the sounds of your screams and crying, but then he hears you call his name, and he's off before anyone can stop him. He bursts into the room, ignoring the midwife and her assistant telling him to leave, and he positions himself right behind you, wiping your sweat-soaked hair out of your face as tears are streaming down your face, and he wishes with every fiber of his being that he could take the pain away from you.

Instead, he gives you his hand to squeeze, ignoring the crushing pain of your grip as you begin bearing down, and he's whispering sweet nothings into your ear about how amazing you are and how good you're doing and how it's almost over, just a little more, my love. And then with a final push, the two of you hear the wailing of the baby and Jake swears he's never been prouder.

GIVE IT TO ME.

[winxwannabe]

So I’m doing beta work for @bloomvalyria and PaP again

[reneedenoailles]

The Lonely Fall of a Royal Mistress: a Most Lamentable Tragedie.

pairing: louis x renée (victoire, calculation + official mistress path) fandom: vying for versailles length: 5148 words. (or so) genre: angst, tragedy, a bit of horror. tw: misogyny, physical violence, murder, VERY negative talk of pregnancy, overall very depressing ending. also louis's an unfaithful cunt (unshockingly) & françois enables his behavior

warning: this is kind of a sequel to they behead valets, don't they ? so while not necessary i would suggest reading that first. also massive vfv spoilers all throughout the fic

🎵: return to versailles - joshua kyan aalampour

Versailles, 1677. 10 years after Season 3.

Looking outside the window, Victoire sighed.

Versailles was beautiful, as it always was, and so was the King, but… the sun shining was not enough for her. Summer at Versailles was always beautiful, but it was also, strangely enough, the time where she felt the saddest - even as a child, she was not much of a sunflower, and more of a winter rose.

Summer at Versailles had been her main source of entertainment, but of course, that was all before 1667. The year Queen Maria Theresa died, and Victoire entered a morganatic marriage with the King. Publicly, of course, she was still the Official Mistress, but almost no one believed that.

Victoire herself believed she would be happy with this position, but to her dismay, it only isolated her from the court more. Sure, she had an almost stainless reputation… But at what cost ?

She could tell the way the other courtiers looked at her. The lecherous looks men gave her as they fantasized about what kind of services she could perform for the King, or the hypocritical looks the women threw her way, as if they wouldn't abandon their children's cribs to hop into the King's bed if they had the chance to do so.

Her friends barely told her anything. She could not attend their parties, and when they showed up at hers, they made a show of exchanging with the hostess as little as possible. This position that she has been longing for so long felt… ostracizing. Like she had moved from the heart of the court to its edge. As if she had become a bystander in her own reign.

"Mademoiselle?"

She turned - seeing her maid walk in, as she understood. It was time to dress for the day. After being assisted with putting on a silver gown, she wordlessly handed the maid a small purse of money and dismissed her. She moved to the basin, putting water on her face - immediately jumping back at what she saw.

A woman in the mirror was staring at her. Silver dress, hair left loose on one shoulder… But it was not Victoire. No. It was none other than Louise, staring at her in the mirror with a smile. Her first reflex was to grab her hairbrush and scream, throwing it at the mirror. She was haunted by these sorts of "visions" since her "wedding" with Louis.

As she stepped back, she looked briefly at the shattered remains of her mirror, hastily taking off her dress, almost tearing it to shreds, as if she were desperate to get it off her skin, and undoing her hair, sitting on her bed, arms wrapped around her body.

After a while of staying like this, she waited until she calmed down, taking a more… respectable pose before ringing a bell to call her maid back in.

"I would like for you to bring a new dress." She ordered, not even looking at her maid as her head turned in her direction, her voice getting sharper. "You should think twice about what kind of garments would flatter your mistress. Another mistake of this kind and I will make sure you're removed." The young maid meekly nodded, quickly walking out, and back in, to help her mistress put on a illustrious golden gown. And yet, in Victoire's eyes - that gold was nothing if not rotten. Bloody. Empty.

The maid's movements were fast, as if the slightest wrong move could risk angering the Official Mistress, and thus make her leave Versailles forever. Victoire had developped a reputation for cruelty -mildly induced by her own paranoia, and her lack of… companionship, one could say.

Walking out, Victoire painted her usual smile over her face, trying to shadow her thoughts - adjusting her hat. What a sunny day it was today. Down the Grand Canal, as the party of the day was going on - as usual, of course. Her black eyes tried to pierce through the crowd, but to no avail. No sign of her Louis. As appropriate, she joined her retinue, up until…

"Is something wrong, my dear?"

She asked one of her ladies in waiting, who seemed only halfway focused on the ongoing conversation and instead, seemed more preoccupied with what was happening behind the Duchess, biting her lip in fear. She then looked into her mistress's eyes, looked back into the direction where her eyes had been oriented, and silently nodded to Victoire towards where she had been looking.

And that's when she turned around, and saw them. Louis - on a float, with… This new ingenue, named Angélique. She had arrived to court some months ago, and he already had spent some time with her at her formal introduction, or on other occasions. She always felt suspicious, and blamed it on merely his courtesy, but now… They were together. On a float. That could not be his mere mirthfulness causing him to naturally be courteous to young women. It was more than that.

Victoire felt herself silently burn with anger, noticing everyone else's eyes on her, trying to see what she would make of this. She was usually calm, calculated, and always had some courtly sentence to win over a situation. Yet now, all she did was step forward. And as they walked down from the float, she could see the way he looked at her.

He had a very familiar kind of smile. That winning smile, the smile he has whenever he's 'hunting'. As soon as she saw that smile, Victoire felt herself burn, marching towards the float and slapping that ingenue right in the face, causing an almost unanimous gasp across the court, her black eyes giving Louis a glare, as if she were telling him he was next.

The King, however, was not happy about this, wrapping his arm around this newcomer.

"Mademoiselle de Noailles, your behavior is unacceptable."

Was all he said, but it was more than enough.

But she could not cry. No. She was not Louise - she was better than that ! She was! And yet when she looked around, all she could see were…

Smiles. Cruel ones. As if the whole court was silently wishing for her to be put in her place so publicly by the King.

She curtsied.

She humiliated herself like this, by accepting the King's will. What she vowed to never do - stoop so low to her own values - and yet, here she is. Curtsying before a man unfaithful to her, curtsying before a court of vipers, hoping for her downfall. Curtsying before her old friends whose goals collided with her ambitions.

"Yes, my Liege." She spoke, voice almost muted due to her anger, backing away with three curtsies before she turned around, shoving aside one of her ladies-in-waiting so she could go back inside.

Locking the door to her chambers, she angrily sat down on her bed, letting some tears come out - this wasn't the first time this happened, either.

Versailles, 1672. Five years earlier.

After a masquerade, Victoire felt like taking a stroll down the Grotto of Thetys, smiling to herself as she wondered if she would find her beloved waiting for her there - at their little spot, one could call it. But what she saw was beyond anything she had imagined.

Louis was there, yes, but… He was not alone. He had someone with him.

A woman with whom he seemed to already be very close, kissing her neck as his hands travelled up her skirts, lifting her legs to wrap them around his waist.

"HOW DARE YOU ?!"

Victoire was suddenly overcome by this atrociously green feeling known as jealousy, so… unsophisticated, unmirthful, and yet, so painfully human that it hurt her. Louis moved away his mistress to protect her as Victoire ripped away his mask, almost threatening to do the same to his face.

"Mademoiselle de Noailles, your behavior is unbecoming."

He spoke sternly, as if she were a child who was misbehaving at the dinner table. But she could not take this, screaming at him before she pushed her face in his chest, beating with her fists helplessly, crying. She felt humiliated. He had managed to make her break her promise - that no man would ever reduce her to this weak state.

He did not bother holding her, though. He stood still, looking down at her with disappointment, hiding his shock. She had always been so calculated with everything she did, pushing raw emotion away as much as she could.

She continued to cry against his chest, looking up at him as her hands stopped their fighting.

"Go." Was all he said to her. Not even bothering to look at her with the slightest affection or understanding - looking at her sternly.

Just like he looked at Louise.

Versailles, 1677. Present day.

A bright laugh suddenly broke out.

"Can't there be more than two people in a marriage?" A voice rang out suddenly, accompanied by a cold hand placed upon her shoulder. She suddenly moved away, turning around as her eyes squinted in shock.

A ghastly, pale Maria Theresa smiled at her eerily. But it was not a sympathetic smile - not at all, it was a mocking smile. The kind of smile the courtiers threw Victoire behind her back.

"And what exactly did you expect would happen ?" She asked, whispering - and yet, that whisper sounded almost like screaming to Victoire's ears. She laughed, before continuing.

"He was not faithful to me, nor to Louise. Did you… Did you truly think he would be faithful to you of all people?" She grinned even more, before laughing again. She was mocking her. "Victoire - you are so naive ! And I thought you were smart."

The Mistress turned away from her. She did not want to answer, but... That was the start of her issues with Louis. Her innocent eyes going to prying ones, seeing any woman approaching him as a possible threat, whether they would be ladies of the court, maids, or even actresses who occasionally came by Versailles.

In a way, she had been naive. Too naive. Childish, even. Thinking that she of all people could keep a man such as the King within her reach.

Once she turned around again, Maria had disappeared already, which led to Victoire letting out a long breath, moving to look at herself in the shattered remains of the mirror installed in her room, to make sure the Official Mistress could admire herself for as long as she wanted. How ironic this was, looking at herself in a broken mirror.

Her gentle, yet firm hands ran down her down to her stomach. In her 12 year long reign as Official Mistress, she had not given the King an heir. Unlike… others. But the mere thought of having to birth a child -- it repulsed her, it was an atrocious idea. Why was she cursed with this… duty?

But her position had not just cursed her to such bodily functions. It gave her a place in history. What would people think of her? The Royal… Whore ? One of Louis XIV's women? The extravagant woman who was sent away after asking for too much? No.

No. NO. She refused to be remembered as this - as the woman who got what she deserved after expecting an unfaithful King to stay by her side. She was not some crying Louise, or some gossiping Montespan. She was better than that !

She let out a huff, moving away from her reflection as doubts began to cloud her mind. As she looked out the window - she could see old scenes from years ago play out right there. And that's when she saw him. François - which was quite odd, he was never a truly present figure at court, so for him to show up, that means… The King must have needed advice. But what kind of advice would he need that he could not ask his beloved wife for ?

Her thoughts began to rush faster than they usually did, as she watched François walk through Versailles - considering his relationship with Louis, he was most likely to not tell her anything. So, she took matters into her own hands, and slipped into a secret passage, waiting for the best friends to meet in the King's bedroom.

The conversation was fluid, chatting about usual court affairs - Victoire was about to leave, until the conversation began to spin towards Louis's love life. Her ears felt hot as she heard what the men were saying about her…

"I married her, François. In a secret ceremony."

"It can be annuled." He suggested, the mere thought filling Victoire with a burning rage. Annuled ? "It can't be proven you married her, after all." Proven ? Was that all that mattered when it came down to marriage ? Some silly documents ? Not the love between two people ?

"François, I must… I must find a way to send her away. Perhaps she can go to a nunnery, like Louise…"

That is when Victoire, in shock, stepped back until she felt the wooden wall of the secret passage against her backside. Getting her breath under control, she went back to spying on the two.

"Any pretext is good. Adultery, witchcraft, infertility - what good is she, if she cannot give Christian France a political heir ?" François asked, which made Victoire recoil in disgust. Was this all she was good for ? What her womb could birth? Comparing her to some… farm animal, whose goal is to breed lambs to the slaughter? Versailles - how animal-like it all was.

"You are right, my friend. Besides…" This sudden suspense caused her to hold her breath - as if she hadn't heard the worst yet, as if there was worse coming. And it came out.

"Angélique… She is pregnant." He revealed. Victoire could not stand it anymore, rushing back to her room and angrily knocking everything she could over, falling to her knees and sobbing. Is this all she deserved ? Being thrown away for her lack of a natural sense of motherhood ? For her occasionally egregious temper ? For influencing the King's decisions ?

These men - what right did they have over her bodily autonomy? Who did they think they were ? She was not a pin-box - or a doll for them to control, to tell her what to wear, how to move… And she was sick of them acting as if she were.

It was drastic, but she had to do it. She refused to let herself be sent away, be paraded for this court of snakes like Cleopatra would have been, had the asp not bitten her breast. A green - no, black bitterness ran through her, stopping in her throat, as if she were ready to throw up black blood, picturing how she was going to put an end to her lover's life.

She felt sorry for him. But she, the Duchess of Marly, would not take this disrespect - this humiliation.

Grabbing a pair of scissors, she slipped them inside of her dress's pocket - sewing pockets into her dresses is a habit she never lost, after all, even though the one who taught her that was gone - and made her way through the secret passages, her mind furiously spinning. Part of her was still unable to grasp the current events, after all - he had been everything to her. Her beloved, her Lord, her one and only. The Sun in court, and the Sun in her heart, too. Louis held the whole of France in his palm, and along with it, he held Victoire's heart.

But his once gentle palm turned into an iron grip, and crushed said heart as it bled for him. And Victoire couldn't forgive this. She couldn't live with herself. Can you imagine ? What would history books say of her ? She cried like a second Louise as she went to the nunnery ? She knew better, she knew her worth...

Her feet made their way to Louis's room, silently entering the room from a secret door - hearing certain... sounds, very, very familiar ones. Painfully familiar ones - his voice, his groans, his quick chuckles as he felt the skin of his beloved. It hurt her to hear him, each step she took made a piece of her heart break. But she could not afford being weak now - it was about her survival. She was, after all, a de Noailles. Survival ran in their blood, even though her uncle paid the price for his attempts at surviving. And she knew that they would not both make it out alive. It was going to be either her, or Louis.

One step. Two. Three. Hand slowly moving to take the scissors out of her pocket, mouth moving into a scowl as she felt her head burning with so many emotions at once - rage, jealousy, disappointment, shame, guilt, sadness. All those instances, all those circumstances that pushed her to do this.

And that's when she lost all control.

As her lover and his other mistress kissed, Victoire felt sick. How could he do this ? To her ? What had she done to deserve this ? She raised her arm and rushed, but before she realized, her target had changed. Somehow, Angélique had taken notice of her, and as an attempt to shield the king, she had shoved him.

And she paid the price. As she was striking, Victoire lowered her arm, which ended right in Angélique's stomach. Her brows furrowed, staring right at where she struck before she wordlessly moved her blade across the other's stomach, striking one specific part.

Her womb. The one thing she had that Victoire could not give the King, the thing that led his eyes away from her. In a rage-filled movement, she struck the blonde woman's womb again, and again, and again. As if she wished to destroy not only her, but also any parasite living in her stomach. She sadistically destroyed it, mad with jealousy, before pulling the scissors out.

The other woman fell dead onto the ground, and as Victoire was about to strike the King next - she suddenly saw something that stopped her dead in her tracks.

On the ground, instead of the woman she stabbed... She saw something horrifying.

It was a dead, stabbed version of... herself. Her face was pale, her black eyes rolled back as blood poured out of her mouth, and of her womb, making Victoire back away as she put her hand over her mouth and dropped her bloody weapon, the red fluid on her hands staining her once cold, impassive face.

Looking back up at reality, she saw a hand with red nails on Louis's shoulder. It was a woman with black curls running down her shoulders, in a red and white costume, blood on her neck as her red lips curled into a mocking smile. Madame de Montespan, or at least, what remained of her ghost, opened her mouth, laughing... Laughing at Victoire.

The laughter intensified, as she saw Maria Theresa again, kneeling above the corpse... which was Victoire's. She instinctively checked her stomach, but she didn't seem to have been stabbed... The Duchess raised her head again, only to feel surrounded. Louise had joined in the laughter, which was unbearable. She was losing her mind. She was going insane - putting her hands over her ears after throwing her knife away, blood getting in her hair and on her head.

The man looked horrified, taking one step at his beloved's dead body. In his brown eyes were so many emotions - pain, hurt, anguish, hopelessness and yet, fury. Anger. Rage. He couldn't even recognize the woman who stood in front of him, his own wife.

"How..." He spoke, stepping closer, maintaining his composure as King, as much as he wanted to mourn his lover.

"How could you ?"

How could she ? How could SHE ? How could HE ?! He was going to send her away without a care, ready to annul their marriage, kissing all those memories between them goodbye ! She had no choice. His... His willingness to behave as if she were the sole villain made her sick, taking one step closer to him. As she raised her voice, those ghosts disappeared, as if regaining her sanity for one moment.

"How could I ?" She repeated, as if to confirm what she was hearing, unable to believe he was saying this to her. "You.. How could YOU ?!" She screamed, feeling her control slip away from between her fingers again, but knowing it was too late to care.

"You MADE me do this ! You and your wandering eyes !" She spoke, feeling herself become closer and closer to sobbing. "You were going to send me to a nunnery ! You have NO right to do this !"

Louis stood still, face dropping once he realized she had heard his conversation with François. "My pearl.." He spoke, hoping she would hear reason - his reason, at least - but she did not.

"Your pearl ? Your pearl whose marriage you were going to ANNUL ? Your pearl who you abandoned for.. this ?! Your pearl.. Ha !" She couldn't even stop herself from laughing, the irony not lost on her.

"Your pearl..." She laughed, aware of how demented she looked in his eyes right now, laughing at this entire scene. The corpse laid there, this entire scene reminding Victoire of a theatre stage. She had stabbed a young woman, in cold blood, for a man who she now realizes never truly loved her. How ridiculous this all was - how insane she looked.

"So did you ever love me ?" She asked, a part of her knowing the answer already. "I did. I.. I do." He responded, although that last part was much more quiet than the start of the answer.

He loved what she was. What she could be. The roles she could play, the masks she could wear. She was a passing fancy that he once enjoyed, and that he now tired of.

"..I'm sorry, Victoire." He spoke, calling for his guards to take her away. She briefly looked at the window, before she was finally taken away. She had not resisted - it would have been futile. What could she do, anyway ?

Women are caught all the time. She was no expection.

---

Versailles, 1668. Nine years earlier.

"Victoire... My sanctuary of answers, my Helen of Troy, my sweet pearl of heaven. You have been with me for four years now, and you have supported me in my every endeavor. My love..."

He spoke, as she looked at him, breathless, wearing a golden wedding gown that the King selected just for her, holding his hands as he wore his silver suit.

"Will you be Madame de France, next to the King of France ? Will you rule the heart of the world with me ?"

"I will." She spoke, tears running down her face of happiness once he kissed her, celebrating their marriage by themselves. No one else had been invited, besides a priest, and her maids.

"I cannot imagine of a time where I would tire of you." He spoke, smiling at her.

"Long may I reign with you by my side." He whispered to her, before adding ;

"I appreciate you, and I always will."

----

La Bastille, 1677. Present day.

Getting thrown into this oh so familiar prison was not as scary as it should be for her. She couldn't feel anything, anything at all. Perhaps it was due to the unlawful nature her everyday actions so casually took, maybe she thought she could escape any kind of consequence as she was held up so high in society.

She remembered how scared she used to be, back when she was a young, capable thief, how terrified she was of ending like Marielle, behind bars, for the petty act of stealing bread or pawning jewelry. Yet, now that she in prison for something much, much worse, she...

She couldn't bring herself to feel anything. As if it was all a bad dream that would go away soon. She didn't even hear the guard, or de Montlezun's son talking to her, she wasn't even looking at them. She was lost, memories flashing before her eyes.

The day went by all by itself. Her last day alive - she could barely even believe it. But it was set, and nothing could change it. Soon, the sun set, reminding her of how close the end of her life was. And sooner than later, she fell asleep.

Victoire opened her eyes to a… strange scene. It was dark, she was in the woods. And that is when she realized she could not move. Raising her head, her eyes squinted a few times, making out the shape of 3 women wearing black, dancing around her, their faces covered by veils.

She struggled a bit more - coming to the conclusion that her hands were tied to what ressembled a stake. Her head raised to look at the night sky, which she expected to be lit by stars. Instead, to her astonishment, it was pitch black. She felt the cold air blow onto her exposed shoulders, noticing she was wearing her prisoner garb, long black hair loose.

The mysterious women's laughter got quieter, her attention now taken by footsteps approaching. An equally mysterious woman made her way to her, clearly dressed better than the others, holding a crown. Two of the women took away her veil, and Victoire almost choked upon seeing who it was.

That very same ghastly version of Maria Theresa, black blood dripping from between her lips as she seemed to hand Victoire the crown. The woman inclined her head, despite not wanting to do that, as if her body was actively working against her.

As soon as the crown was on her head, it began to feel heavy - as if it were crushing her from above, feeling… blood drip down her head. She frantically looked around, trying to say something - anything - and yet, nothing came out of her mouth. She was reduced to silence, as the women revealed themselves.

Louise. Françoise-Athénaïs. Bonne. All of them were however distorted versions of their real life counterparts - Françoise-Athénaïs's head was swaying from one side to another, and Bonne's skin was scarred from the hellish fate she suffered, on Victoire's order.

Oh so suddenly, a strange smell rose up to her nose - blood running down her clothes as she looked down, seeing flames rise at her feet. Looking up, she realized that all of the women held torches - which they weren't holding one second ago. Before she could assess that thought, screams came out of her throat, screaming as the fire rose, the flames of Hell taking her back within their own, while a pair of male hands wrapped around her neck from behind, a deep, velvety laugh ringing in her ears.

And that is when she woke up.

Alone.

She wasn't dead, of course, but the events leading up to that nightmare were all real - as if they could be otherwise. No, that would have been too easy. A very long nightmare she had after dancing with the King, during her first night at Versailles, back in 1665.

No. That would be an easy way out - a salvation, for her. Salvation comes for no one. Not even for Victoire de Noailles.

Outside of her jail cell in the Bastille, Victoire could hear faint sounds of people flirtatiously laughing, sharing wisdom and witty remarks, bathing in conversation. Were they faint sounds coming from the court of Versailles ? Were they all in her head ? Was this the crowd coming to watch that very same head fall off, after they had spent so much time wishing, praying, impatiently waiting for her downfall ?

She got up and turned around her cell, pacing in a circular motion, looking around. Time passed. Once she got tired, she let herself sink to the ground, back against the wall. And she waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And kept waiting.

No one had come. No one had tried to visit her - to speak to her, to at least wish her good luck, or even tell her to go to Hell one last time. No one had come.

Why would they? She was a poisoner, an attempted regicide, a witch, a lowly, deranged, wicked woman. After a while, Victoire began to feel her vision getting blurry. Blurry with tears - marks of sadness running down her face as she finally screamed, hoping that someone would hear her.

But no one did.

She was raw - stripped of everything besides her emotions, letting them out as she threw herself at the bars in a desperate attempt to… She didn't even know anymore. All she could do was cry, and scream at everything.

Scream at Alexandre, who brought her into this snake den and left her to her own means as he tried to steal her influence and take credit for all she's done. Alexandre, who she framed as a poisoner, and barely felt regret about, as he would have done the same if it meant rising in popularity in the eyes of his beloved King.

Scream at Louis, who caused her to do this, with his wicked, wandering eyes. He never loved her. He loved her masks, who she could pretend to be at his demand. Who she always pretented to be - the actress with a neverending part. The queen with a paper crown and a painted smile. Damn him. Damn all of tthem !

And she screamed. At the world, who condemned her father, her mother, herself. At this so-called "merciful" God, who doomed her, and her entire lineage, to horrid lives made of deception, pain and ruin. To this God, who gave her everything, only to strip her of it at the last minute. To this God, who punished her, and yet, did not touch Louis at all, as if He Himself had been afraid of the Sun King. Perhaps He simply enjoyed feeding this mortal's delusions that he was God on Earth, and was simply tormenting Victoire as He tormented the women of His entourage.

She mused on that thought. God and Louis being quite similar, but for different reasons that one might think. But those sudden, fleeting musings only brought a smile to her face for a few seconds. They did not stop the tears from running down.

Her red-rimmed eyes could not stop themselves, finally feeling free, in this sinister, drastic, and desperate self-expression of her emotions. She screamed, as she imagined all she could have done, had she never gotten close to him. Finally, all masks were removed, all skin was shed, now she lay in her prison garb, bare for anyone to see - if they were to see her.

Perhaps her loneliness brought her comfort. She doesn't know if she could bear the sight of anyone to see her like this. When did she lose herself ? As she was in her final moments, she seemed to find herself again, and it felt like the rest of her was laughing at her, or pitying her.

All she could do was wait.

No one had visited. And no one ever would.

Until she heard the door unlock, and her name be called to face the crowd outside.

[thegeminisage]

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock, James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy, James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy & Spock, James T. Kirk & Thomas Leighton, James T. Kirk & Original Character(s) Characters: James T. Kirk, Spock (Star Trek), Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Anton Karidian | Kodos, Thomas Leighton, Original Child Character(s) Additional Tags: Tarsus IV (Star Trek), Episode: s01e12 The Conscience of the King, Tense Changes, Blackmail, Trauma, Angst, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Dark, Untagged Trope

AOS-style take on Conscience of the King. Twelve years after Tarsus IV and three months after dying to realign the warp core and save his ship, Jim Kirk seems to have a new lease on life: he's been resurrected, started pursuing a tentative new relationship with Spock, and has an entire five-year mission ahead of him. That is, until the attempted murder of an old friend forces him to divert the Enterprise away from her intended course and towards Planet Q. After a chance encounter on the planet's surface, new secrets about Jim's time on Tarsus IV come to light—secrets that threaten to destroy everyone he fought to protect, and the new life he's finally achieved. Some things you carry with you wherever you go.

[wontune]

� liz. ( ive ) lockscreen !

[hollys-fairy-hell]

Prompt:

Dev finds out why Peri doesn’t use a human disguise

Got an outline idea for it under the cut. Didn’t mean for it to get quite as lengthy but im tired so I kept typing. Feel free to use my prompts but please tag me or send me a link cause I would love to see what you do. This should be in my bio not this post

Imagine with me now. Dev still has Peri pre final. And sees Wanda and Cosmo in human form a lot but never once Peri? Hazel has something je doesn’t and that can’t stand. Not wanting to embarrass himself in front of Hazel (i imagine this kid cares a lot about his image) he waits to confront Peri about it later.

“Peri why don’t you ever go into a human form? Or body? Or mode? Or whatever! Hazel gets to flaunt her fairies to everyone while you always hide!”

Peri in his usual fashion gets rather nervous and refuses to make eye contact with Dev. “Well Dev you see I uhh” his hands fidgeting with his wand. It’s not that he doesn’t know how or no human form picked out. “It’s just um that it’s.” Dev cuts off before he can even figure out what hes gonna say next “whats the hold up? Come on do it!” Imagine Dev doing a little stop with his foot. Peri winces and then turns to Dev with a forced smile “I don’t really think it’s-“ Only to be cut off by Dev with a loud annoyed groan “why am I even bothering with this “I wish you would turn into your human form! or whatever it is, human disguise!” At this Peri winces, gives a soft sign as he raises his wand there was a spider trying to crawl onto my face while writing this and with a poof of smoke presents him self as human.

Insert you idea of human Peri

With a little thunk of his shoes hitting the floor Peri stands there. Eyes blink a few times as he turns to look down on Dev “taadaa” he unenthusiasticly waves his arms over himself as if sarcastic. “There you go kid. My human form. Satisfied?” Dev gave him a look up and down. Peri shuffling a bit on the spot. Switching his weight. Dev began to walk around Peri as if inspecting like a new product searching him for a flaw “I don’t know what I expected. You just as lame as always but taller. He finished circling Peri, and with a final look he starts walking to the door.

Only to stop when he noticed Peri wasn’t following “well?” He turns back and looks at Peri. He sees Peri turn back into a fairy and start to float towards Dev. “No not like that! As a human!” A slight shocked look comes iver Peris face and is quickly replaced with defeat as he lifts his want to turn back into his disguise. Dev then waves his hand for Peri to follow. Peri Who is standing on the spot fidgeting with his hands a bit “listen Kid, my human disguise isnt really something I like walking around in. Or being in at all for a matter of a fact cause it’s rather pai-“ Dev once again cutting him off “it’s not even hard! Arent you supposed to be helping me? Can’t even do this one simple thing on your own?? It’s like I have to do everything by myself!” He huffs. Peri starts to respond but Dev speaks up first “I w~ish you would walk over here already!”

With a deep breath Peri uses his wand as a cane and leans on it heavily as he slowly trudges to where Dev is waiting. A slight wince in each step but he makes it there. Dev of course is unimpressed with this display “What was that? It’s just walking! It’s like the easiest thing in the world to do!” Another deep breath ‘following in your parent’s footsteps you got this.’ Peri tries to look Dev in the eye, though the sunglasses don’t help. “You know how easy it is for you use your tablet? A lot of kids or even adults struggle with technology on the level that you do everyday. But for me when it comes to walking, even though it’s easy and natural for a lot of people, it’s different. Imagine if every time you took a step your shoes are two sizes smaller. Or you have a very heave backpack on. Thats kinda what it’s like for me.” Trying his best to hopefully get Dev to understand. But the kid scoffed and crossed his arms “my shoes are always the right size and I don’t have to carry anything ever.” Thinking about it Peri had to agree “yeah I guess you are right. I don’t think I have seen you really carry much…. But thats not the point. The point that I am trying to make is walking in my human disguise, or even just as a fairy, is rather different for me. Theres no need for the details but what I described earlier is sorta how it is for me all the time. Without my cane I probably could walk at all, even with it is painful enough I don’t even wanna think about it without.” He shuddered at the thought of it. “Great now im thinking about it”

Tbh idk how to end this. I was gonna have Dev either not notice Peri wincing with each step. Have him meet up with Hazel and get scolded by wanda or cosmo (probably Hazel) about the state Peri is in. But that would require Peri to shut up and go with whatever his godkid wants. I think Peri is a bit hmmm he has some self worth to him I guess. Idk the word im tired lol.

Anyway sorry if this sucks I wrote it like three days apart and after work so im brain dead at this point.

[liz-lives]

sleep

Sleep! Ha! I have not heard of the thing! Pain? Oh once you control you don’t know what else u can gain

I may look happy, But it is not true. Its one mask of many, I wear infrount of you.

You may see it as deception  To me its my strive for perfection Every day, every night As every hour, passes by

I try, and fail I try to put up a fight. My life out of rail, It dosent feel right

I don’t wanna share, But I cant see the light I try, cover every slate, Cover em with illustrations

But they end up the same! All of my creations, failure in my eyes, Piling up in the corner,

Waiting for my demise. Every year I am given, Given a new slate. A knew chance too,

Too paint a new fate As hard as I try I cant help but cry Each one of my chances

Failure in my eyes. Painting up a new life, A new way to live But I lose every chance

Every chance they give If you see this as failure I beg and plee, leave right now This isnt even The worst of me

Leave me alone, I just want peace A quiet place, A life of ease

Alone, I may be lonley But no-one can hurt me I wont see any So I wont feel envy!

'you found a friend  You have a life Both of which May never be in my sight '

Humans are right Everytime I try I have to come up with An elaborate lie

One so they would satisfy One that would leave me out of there eyes But here's the truth  I'm not ok

You can make fun of me I wont dismay I've been under pressure, Just don’t add more

Ill crack, ill shatter I cant take it anymore.

I may act happy But that’s not the reality everyday of my life I try a bit more, try a lil harder

thought I dont know if I can do it anymore...

[katsus-world]

The pad of his thumb is tracing your bottom lip slowly, then moving to your cheek, then your temple, then back to your lower lip. Scarlet eyes watched your face with content. A soft sigh slipped out of your throat.

“I missed ya’.” His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper but you hear him. Lips twitching into a smile, you reply.

“Suki, you’ve been with me all day.” You say with a light giggle. You hear his lips smack together as one of your eyes flutter open.

“Thas’ different, too many people. I wanted you alone.” You shuffle closer to him, your face burying itself into the nook of his neck. His lips right above your ear now.

“Well we’re alone now.” You hummed as his smoky smell filled your nostrils. Toasted apple and fire wood. Smells like a cozy night in a cabin in the middle of winter.

“Finally.” He snorts softly, eyes rolling at your obvious statement. His large hands find home at the back of your head. Fingers tangling themselves in your hair.

“Missed my pretty girl.” His words make your chest tingle and your face heat up.

“Missed you too, kats.”

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

I love me some flufff 🤩, katsuki might be a bit OOC. Sorry for any misspelling too!

[sunkissedscribbles]

Do You Still Care?

pairing: bf!mattheo x fem!gryffindor!chaser!reader

genre: angst

tw: mental health issues on y/n’s side (briefly) mentioned, mention of sex, swearing

word count: 5112

summary: mattheo’s plan to see if you still care backfires completely and ends with a breakup, but are you two able to resolve what's gone wrong?

Songs: the way i loved you - taylor swift (lyrics used), scared of my guitar - olivia rodrigo

a/n: thanks for the help @inksoakedparchment <3

masterlist

dividers by @chachachannah

The promise ring landed on the cold stone flooring of the Slytherin common room with a metallic clink as you dropped the silver jewellery to catch Mattheo’s attention. You were both disappointed and frustrated with him because the last thing you thought you’d see when stepping into the Slytherin commons was a girl, clearly not you, sitting in your boyfriend’s lap.

Mattheo, clearly enjoying himself as he had his hands on the girl’s waist, turned his head to look at you. The shine left his eyes as they met yours, but his gaze soon dropped to the ring he bought you for your second anniversary, which was now on the floor. It stirred something in him, even the thought of it not being on your finger, where it belonged didn’t sit right in him. But he had to hide his pain. He knew he couldn’t break now.

Your facial muscles hardened as you crossed your arms in front of your chest, eyeing your boyfriend angrily, the girl in his lap oblivious to everything around her as all she cared about was that she got the privilege of touching Mattheo Riddle.

“I’m breaking up with you,” you exclaimed coldly, closing off the emotions and locking them up before they could overtake you. If he plays the indifferent, so are you.

This snapped Mattheo out of his trance as he realized he took it too far, and that his plan backfired. “What? No, Y/N, you can’t just say that-“

“Well, yeah, I can,” you spat and shook your head as you eyed the girl from a year below you in his lap and with a scoff, you added, “We’re over, Mattheo.”

“No, you’re overreacting,” he practically pushed the girl off his lap as he got up to be at eye level with you. Walking up to you, he took the promise ring from the floor and held it up for you between his thumb and index fingers. “We’re good together, princess. I love you, you love me. You can’t break up with me,” he shook his head as he tried to hold a desperate sound back, trying hard to maintain this cold facade he mastered throughout the years — the one he only let fall completely when he was around you.

You pushed his hand with the ring away as you spoke up angrily, “But I’m not going to be a second choice every time you see a pretty girl!” and without warning, you turned around and walked out of the common room.

He was still shocked as he stared at your ring between his fingers. This was a stupid game, he shouldn’t have done this. You were his first real girlfriend. The first serious relationship and the last he wanted to ever end. Why did he flirt with a girl in the first place even? It was because you two had been arguing a lot lately, which only resulted in your relationship becoming more of a competition of who can shut down more and keep the indifferent, cold act up. You needed time because it had always been hard for you to express your feelings the moment they appeared — you needed to digest them and let them digest you before you could finally get them off your chest in one way or another. But the more you kept it for yourself the more he thought you were falling out of love with him and didn’t care about him anymore. That’s why he came up with this idea; to make you jealous to see if you did still care. He was only now thinking about how he should’ve given you the time you needed to open up.

You hadn't even talked to him for weeks, trying to push the pain of the breakup down by focusing on other things: your studies, friends, yourself and you were working on erasing Mattheo from your life. And how could you make yourself forget about that twat? By replacing him.

Not the most logical thing to do, for sure and it only complicated things even more, but you got together with Michael Corner from Ravenclaw. It wasn't quite a mature thing to do, especially when Michael did actually have feelings for you and you knew how you'd regret this later because it could only end in pain on one of your side. Because if he found out you — let's be real — used him, he'd get heartbroken and angry. But if he didn't find out, you'd be unhappy with him which he probably wouldn't even notice. So, this is how you got yourself trapped in this vicious circle.

Mattheo, on the other hand, had been acting like a complete douchebag since you'd broken up with him. Not that he had been that nice before. But now the number of the fights he got himself into had severely increased, he started acting colder than anytime else before, and he started looking through you like you weren't even there. He also lost interest in his studies almost completely, his marks dropping lower and lower each day. Or, well, his enquiry had decreased to practising the jinxes and hexes he'd learnt on other students, and getting rid of his excess energy and frustration on the Quidditch pitch. Each and every time he saw you, it just annoyed him so much. He didn't like you with this new other guy, he hated how you seemed to enjoy your life without him so easily. He despised Michael, hated the way he talked with that stupid Welsh accent, and how he always seemed to have his goddamn hand on your waist, right where he had his when you two were together. No one other than him had the right to touch you, in his opinion, and he couldn't stand the mental image of you with someone else. He missed seeing the way your face lit up every time you got excited about something, he missed how your pretty eyes were sparkling and shining when you looked at him. He missed you, and how it had been before things started going spiralling down with all those many and frequent arguments lately. He was miserable and as much as it is selfish, he wanted you to feel just as bad.

But leading the word back to you, erasing him from your life had been harder than you make it seem to be. But knowing his grades were dropping and seeing him acting like a total arse to everyone all you could think of is how this all is your fault, how you were the source of causes behind him changing this seriously.

By the time the day of the Gryffindor-Slytherin match came, students were betting on either team or even making it complicated as "Potter will catch the Snitch but Slytherin will win." Of course, they were; every year this is the biggest match between all houses since the rivalry is the worst between these two houses. It's even worse than a World Cup — it's like boys comparing their sizes. It's no different this year either. The Beaters aren't playing as 'nicely' as they do against Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff — they don't only hit the Bludgers with their bats but the Beaters, and occasionally, the Chasers of the opposing team, too, and the Chasers go on the speed they normally would.

You were manoeuvring with the Quaffle in your hand across the field while Mattheo tried to take you down by crossing your way. Yes, he wanted to win and wanted you to lose for once but despite being as angry and frustrated with you, he couldn't bring himself to tackle you down with a Bludger. How could he? Yes, you broke up with him but that doesn't mean anyone can hurt you. You are his princess, Merlin forbid anyone touching you.

"Twat," you muttered to yourself as Mattheo passes you by, but then set off with greater speed to score another against Slytherin, making it 140-100 for Gryffindor. Soon, Slytherin scored too, as Theo got the Quaffle in his hands, but as you set off to get the ball back, a Bludger coming from Goyle hit your broom. This caused you to lose your balance and your grip on the broom handle.

Mattheo watched in horror as you were hanging from your broom, in the air, among the flying balls and students. His mind immediately went blank as he witnessed the scene before his eyes and he forgot all about the game. Without thinking about it any further, he set off in your direction instantly and wrapped an arm around your waist to save you from falling, and before you’d known, you were sitting behind him on the broom.

“What are you doing?” you asked as you wrapped your arms around his torso.

“Making sure you don’t fall, you idiot,” he exclaimed, trying to ignore the rapid pounding of his heart in his chest as you held onto him tight. Merlin, he missed your body close to his so much.

“Thanks,” you muttered reluctantly, trying to push down ann the feelings that lingered in you for him still.

“Don’t mention it,” he shook his head with a cold tone as he took you to the ground to get your broom back from where it’d fallen. He didn’t want to let go of you, he wanted you to stay pressed up against him, just to feel your arms around him, your warm breath tickling the soft skin of his neck. But he knew he had to let go. You have moved on, you don’t even talk.

Muttering another ‘Thanks’ when you got off from behind him, you went to grab the broomstick. He hopped off his broom too, watching as your delicate figure walked away from him frustratedly, trying to keep up the image that this hadn’t affected him at all, which took him back to how much he hated your new boyfriend. He was supposed to be your boyfriend, you two should’ve lived happily ever after like you two had dreamed.

And now, after the brief moment together, he hated the Ravenclaw boy even more.

“Don’t forget the game is still going on. Or are you worried about your little boyfriend seeing us together?” the mocking words rolled off his tongue without him even thinking about what he was saying.

Your blood boiled at his comment, but when your eyes flickered to the Ravenclaw stands, seeing Michael in all Gryffindor colours, you somehow didn’t feel guilty for the Ravenclaw boy witnessing this scene with you and your ex-boyfriend. “Jealous?” You spat at Mattheo and rolled your eyes, gripping your broomstick.

He let out a sarcastic scoff and following suit, he rolled his eyes. “Jealous? Of the nerd?”

Of course he was jealous, but he couldn’t possibly admit it. This was a game of who is the most stubborn to admit their true feelings. And he wasn’t going to lose. But it took everything in him not to just push you back to the ground, climb on top of you and fuck kiss you until you forget your goddamn boyfriend’s name.

“Yeah. Jealous ‘cause I’m with him?” You stepped back. Michael is a nice guy, you had to give him that. But he’s not Mattheo. Michael wasn’t by far the one you wanted, not who you loved. He didn’t have those mesmerizing chocolate eyes that stared into your soul and shined when he was looking at you, he didn’t have the dark curls you instinctively raked your fingers through after a long day when he was lying on top of you, using your breasts as a pillow and listening to your heartbeat like it was a music you composed only for him.

His eyes remained on you, and that little statement made him snap on an instant. He threw his broom onto the ground to be able to step closer and pull you in by the waist and flush your body against his. By this time, he had completely forgotten about the match going on — not that you had thought about that at this moment either. It was just the two of you again, even if just for a moment, even if it was only arguing with your ex-boyfriend. “Damn right, I’m jealous. He gets to touch you. He gets to kiss you. I hate it.”

“He can see this. Us. Everyone can,” you instinctively gripped onto his upper arms as your bodies stayed pressed against each other while glaring into his eyes. You couldn’t deny that you missed this closeness with him. Because your heart still only desired him and had no space for anyone else in it.

Mattheo glanced around, seeing the people and players looking at the two of you. But he didn’t actually give a damn about that right then. He was completely focused on you, his eyes burning with jealousy and a hint of desire. His hands remained on your waist as he wanted nothing more than to just kiss you without a care in the world about the public. “Do I look like I care?”

“No. We both know that’s not something you normally do,” you freed yourself from his grip as you made the snarky comment about the girl in his lap before grabbing your broom again and setting off to continue the match. How dare he come at you with how jealous he is after what he’d done? Bloody git.

The team was cheering after Harry had caught the Snitch, right when Katie scored through a hoop one last time, making the final score 340-250 for Gryffindor. When Crabbe’s Bludger hit you and you fell off your broom, leading to the ominous conversation with Mattheo, the Gryffindor team lost you, a damn good Chaser for enough time for Slytherin to win over the points, so when Crabbe scolded Mattheo for technically saving you, no one was surprised.

The stout boy yelled after Mattheo, who was currently leaving the pitch, enraged. “What the fuck was that?” Crabbe echoed, following the curly-haired boy. “It’s our job to get those bloody Gryffindors off their brooms and I had Y/L/N! She’s the best Chaser on that fucking team! Without her, we would’ve won! But you had to go and save her like the damn Prince Charming you are?!”

Mattheo clenched his jaw as Crabbe shouted at him, his arms crossed against his chest. He knew that Crabbe was right. It wasn’t his smartest move to save your ass, but deep down he also knew that no one should harm you. He was not losing you.

“So what? You want me to let you take her down or something? And yes, I’m the one to save her because she’s the only goddamn person worth saving in this whole world.”

You overheard his words and your whole body froze. Suddenly, all other noises, your team’s and the other students’ happy cheers were tuned out, you could only hear Mattheo’s words repeating in your head. Your heart was already pumping ten times faster, and stronger as well, you could hear the drum, the fast da-dum in your ears. The only person worth saving? You?

“Fuck, mate! What happened to the dickhead you’ve been since you two broke up?” Crabbe continued spitting in Matt’s face. “I started to think you got some sense when she dumped you! She’s just a dumb Gryffindor who likes being the centre of attention, dude, grow up! She’s not like us, not worth your time! Just some basic ass bitch — but she’s fuckable, I give you that”

Mattheo could feel his anger and rage building within him, but he tried to keep his cool, knowing that if he snapped, there would be no stopping him. He glanced in your direction, seeing you standing in the distance, watching him and Crabbe. He clenched his jaw as Crabbe called you a 'dumb Gryffindor', as he said you’re not worth his time. But the last comment, about you only being some nice piece of meat, made him snap. He suddenly sprang closer to Crabbe and pushing him against the wall of the changing rooms, Mattheo pinned him the boy twice his size there, relentlessly gripping his Quidditch robes.

“Shut your goddamn mouth, you piece of shit,” he spat at Crabbe. “You don't even know her. You don't have the right to talk about her, you don't have the right to say her name! And if you dare talk about her like that again, I will tear you limb from limb!” he growled at the other boy in a low voice, his eyes darkened by anger and rage.

“Aw, Riddle, you gone soft for her. Is shagging her this nice?” Crabbe, being taller and bigger in a sense that’s not muscle mass laughed at Mattheo with a grin, not realizing the next thing Mattheo would do for sure was breaking his nose.

But before he could have done any damage to the boy, you pulled Mattheo away, knowing there would be nothing that could stop him from potentially sending Crabbe into a coma and himself in detention. For you. Because of you. Again.

When your hands grabbed onto his biceps to pull him back, his fingers instinctively softened on the fabric of Crabbe’s robes, knowing your touch like the back of his palm. He felt a sense of satisfaction wash over him as you held onto him and pulled him back, the urge to spin around and kiss you growing stronger than any, but he was still too pissed over Crabbe’s words.

“He’s not worth it. Just some douchebag,” you muttered to Mattheo when he started to try to escape your arms, Theo helping you by using a muting charm on Crabbe in order to keep him from saying anything else that would anger Mattheo even further. Partly angrily, you shoved him under a rain of cold water in the changing rooms to have him come to his senses, still in your Quidditch robes.

The cold shower snapped him out of the haze of anger Crabbe’s words put him into, his breathing returning back from feral to normal as he faced you in the shower, his hair soaking wet and his robes already dripping too — your clothes were somewhat damp as well by that time. “I’m not sure if I would’ve been able to stop myself back there,” he shook his head slightly.

“I know,” you just nodded, while in an internal fight between love and hate where you had no idea which one to let win.

Mattheo, knowing you more than anyone else, instantly knew what you were thinking, now that he was finally focusing on you and not on keeping the cold facade up in front of you. He could feel his dark curls stick to his forehead as they were soaking wet, still standing under the cold water. He looks at you for a moment before speaking up. “Just scream at me. Shout whatever you want.”

You wanted to scream, and shout, just like he had told you to. But you knew you had to stay away from him emotionally because it would only lead to you breaking down in front of him, which would probably end in a position with him that would be considered cheating on Michael. Your boyfriend. Mattheo wasn’t your boyfriend anymore, for fuck’s sake!

You shook your head. “No,” you scoffed and turned the water off before taking a step back. “Thanks for defending me. And saving my ass. But we’re over,” you said, your demeanour cold and distant as you turned around and walked away.

Mattheo's eyes widened in shock as he heard you say you were over, again. The panic and pain that washed over him got the best of him and quickly grabbed your arm again and turned you around, forcing you to face him again. He didn't want to lose you completely, not like this, not because of his own stupidity. "You don't mean that," he shook his head as he spoke up in desperation.

"Yes, I do," you scoffed angrily. No, in fact, you did not mean it at all. "You were openly flirting with that Slytherin, she was looking at you like she had given you head earlier! Oh, or had she? Why did you go and have to do that?"

Mattheo's expression turned from desperate to frustrated in no time as he clenched his jaw. He took a step closer to you, his voice growing more agitated. "Damn, Y/N, I was just messing around, I-"

"Messing around?" you cut in with an irritated scoff, covering the pain of betrayal. "When you had a girlfriend? Are you insane?" you pushed him back to make him stumble a bit and let go of your arm, on the verge of crying out of frustration and hurt.

At your refusal to trust him, his frustration and annoyance only grew, showing in a sigh and a scowl as you pushed him away. "I've never done anything with her! I would never do anything with her, Y/N. I don't want anyone else but you, don't you get that?"

"I don't care! I don't want someone who's doing things behind my back! Next time you get someone pregnant and tell me you were only messing around?!" you shook your head as the first set of tears started running down your cheek.

Mattheo felt his anger being replaced by a sense of shock and pain as he got accused of ever being able to cheat on you. "Damn it, Y/N, I'd never do anything with anyone else! I just... I just wanted to get a reaction out of you."

"Why?" you ran a frustrated hand through your hair while shaking your head. You started to lose it, not understanding the situation by now.

"Because I'm a moron, okay?" he scoffed bitterly. "Because I knew you'd get jealous if you saw me like that. We were falling out and I wanted to see if you still cared!" he spilt, to which a gobsmacked and frustrated expression got painted on your face. He thought you stopped caring about him?

I mean, sure, you two had started falling out and you two did argue a lot in the past month or two, but it wasn't at all because you didn't care about him anymore. You just couldn't quite word what was happening inside you. And right when you were finally ready and stepped into the common room to fill him in and come clean, he was sitting there, on the couch with another girl in his lap.

Suddenly the few little tears turned into rivers as fat drops rushed down both your cheeks, out of all the anger, frustration, sadness and disappointment that have built up in the past few weeks. You backed off, towards the door but as he saw you do that with the heavy rain of tears that were streaming down your face, his eyes welled up as well and he warily took a step closer to you to pull you into a tight embrace while muttering "No, no, no, don't cry." You gave in to the similarity of his touch and leaned into it for a second before coming to your senses and pulling away, knowing Michael was waiting for you outside.

Mattheo watched you suddenly abort the physical contact between the two of you, his expression quickly changing to confusion and disappointment as you stepped back. He didn't have to see the boy to know the reason behind your motions. "No, wait," he reached out and grabbed your wrist to turn you around with a desperate voice and a pleading tone. "Don't go. Please, don't go with him."

"I have to," you replied as you were forced to look into his eyes but you couldn't mask the pain anymore. "He's my boyfriend."

Those words felt like a punch to the gut for Mattheo, shattering the remains of his heart into a million little pieces. Hearing you call Michael Corner your boyfriend caused a wave of pain and anger to course through his veins. He clenched his jaw, his grip on your wrist only growing firmer the more desperate he became. "You don't have to, that's the point. You're with me, not him. You're mine, not his."

Your blood boiling, you freed your wrist from his tight grip exasperatedly. "You don't fucking own me, Mattheo Thomas Riddle"

"Damn it, I know I don't! I never said that. But we belong together, Y/N/N. You know you don't love him. Not like you love me."

He dares to call you by your nickname?

"Unfortunately," you spit, "that's not your fucking business anymore."

This is how we get to the present day. You broke things off with Michael yesterday after guilt got too much for you to handle, after realizing you can't possibly keep stringing him along like some dog, you can't use him to drown the feelings you have for Mattheo. And this is why you are currently in the music room on the fifth floor. It has always been like some sort of shelter for you. It's never judged, had a piano you played with preference and you could just sit down and live up to your artistic skills. You wrote your poems and songs here.

Mattheo knows. Not about the break-up but how much time you spend in this classroom. He sometimes accompanied you as well, while you two were together. So, when he doesn't find you in your room after hearing you ended things with Michael, this is where he looks for you.

You're sitting by the piano, playing the instrument in question, singing something you wrote a few days prior. And Mattheo's only watching, standing by the door, listening to your beautiful, usually soothing but now oh-so-troubled voice, paying attention to how your delicate fingers dance over the keys.

"...He can't see the smile I'm faking And my heart's not breaking 'Cause I'm not feeling anything at all And you were wild and crazy Just so frustrating, intoxicating, complicated Got away by some mistake and now

I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain It's 2 a.m. and I'm cursing your name I'm so in love that I acted insane And that's the way I loved you Breaking down and coming undone It's a roller coaster kind of rush And I never knew I could feel that much And that's the way I loved you..."

It's a gasp that snaps you out of the song and your focus is instantly shifted the moment you turn to look at the person the sound came from, and you find yourself facing Mattheo. He's feeling guilty, but then again, the knowledge that you miss him makes him feel proud and a strange sense of happiness flows through him. It fills him with the hope that maybe, just maybe there is a chance to make this thing work between the two of you.

"Are you following me?" you ask, scoffing as you shut your feelings out again when looking at him.

"Maybe I am," he admits with a shrug, trying to feign nonchalance. He glances at the piano before shifting his attention back to you, and saying, "heard you playing."

"No shit, Sherlock," you bark bark back at him.

"This was about me, wasn't it?" he steps to the piano and looks down at you after closing the door.

"About comparing you and Michael," you correct him.

"And what's the point in that?"

"To remind myself how I love an obnoxious prick instead of someone who's kind and caring," you roll your eyes.

Mattheo scowls at your insult and crosses his arms defensively. "I'm not obnoxious. I'm not going to pretend to be someone else to fit your definition of 'kind' and 'caring.'"

"I miss my Mattheo," you exclaim coldly. "" Who was like that, with me. Who didn't try to make me jealous because he was fucked in the head and thought I didn't care!"

He sighs in frustration, running his hand through his hair. "I still am that Mattheo. I never stopped being him. I was just trying to get a reaction out of you, to see if you cared at all. Nothing with that girl was serious."

You scoff. "And now you expect me to just forgive and forget for choosing not to talk about the very obvious problem but to go the easier way?"

Exasperated by the conversation, he shakes his head. "No. No, I don't expect you to do that so easily. I know what I did was wrong, okay? I know I messed up. But I was angry and frustrated because we were fighting almost every day for weeks and you weren't making it any easier by not telling me about how you were feeling. I-I was worried about you and then I was worried for us, for the future we've planned. I acted unreasonably and the next thing I know is you taking your ring off and me losing you because of my own stupidity."

Taken aback, you shake your head with thoughts of all kinds going through your head. He still loves you, how could you deny him? "I told you I had something going on that I wasn't able to talk about yet," you shake your head.

"I know. I know and I'm sorry. I should've given you the time and I should've been patient. But I feared I was losing you," he lets out a guilty, ragged breath. "I'm not begging you, but I'm not giving up on you, on us either. I'm sorry, I miss you," he says, tapping his fingertips on top of the piano as he looks down at you.

Letting out a relieved sigh at hearing the genuineness of his tone and words, you get up from the instrument and step toward him, taking his hand in yours, thus making both of your hearts skip a beat before they start to beat more rapidly. The truth is, you don't think he could ever do anything that'd make you stop loving him.

"I'm sorry and I miss you too," you reply softly, making him smile while the shine returns to his chocolate eyes as he looks at you. He reaches into his pocket, then holds the promise ring you've taken off out for you. He's been having it in his pocket since that day, and on his nightstand at night. "May I?"

With a small yet genuine smile, you nod and hold your hand out for him, and after returning it to where it belongs, he kisses your hand gently. "I'll never let you go again."

"You better."

taglist: @inksoakedparchment @mqstermindswift @reys-letters

[nerdylizj]

He wants more and more and more. Wanting is not new to him. Zuko has wanted his whole life. His birthright, his honor, his home. But wanting Katara is a different kind of wanting.

read chapter 12 or start chapter 1

[arcane-vagabond]

Hey, so...

Let's try this again lol I have decided to create a private community for my readerbase called "Sailor-Aviator's Private Book Club."

I'm just kind of....over? having to beg for engagement, so I'm trying this as a solution. Members of the community will be given early access to all of my fic updates, access to special polls, priority when it comes to requests, access to community specific fics (they'll eventually be posted to my main account, but until then...),etc.

There are a list of rules/guidelines I've already created, but mostly the same rules on my blog apply to this community, just a little more lax maybe.

So, if you're interested in joining, please fill out this Google Form (I'm not collecting any private info, don't worry) and I can start sending out invites! Also, please be aware that I cannot invite sideblogs at the moment. That's not a me thing, it's a Tumblr thing.

Until next time!

[winxwannabe]

And Your Enemies Closer Chapter 6 (the ✨finale✨) Sneak Peek #2

Because y'all are (rightfully) gremlins and I'm living for the serotonin boosts these sneak peeks are giving me

Something warm wraps around her middle and pulls her back down into the mattress. “It’s just the wind,” a deep voice murmurs in her ear. “No need to damage the room.”

Bloom reaches for it, and finds herself with a fist full of a satiny material. Too nice to be the bedsheets. “No…has to stop…”

The pillow in her back shifts like it's chuckling. “Don’t ruin the moment, sweetheart. Go back to sleep.”

Some of the tears start to drip from her eyes. It makes her head hurt, and Bloom has a sudden flash of sitting in this very room, drinking. “Nightmares. I can’t.”

“They’re just dreams,” the voice insists, “They won’t hurt you. Do you want my help to get rid of them?”

“Yes.”

There’s a light chiming sound of a spell activating. Bloom’s muscles suddenly feel heavy, fog settling over her mind once again. “I…I did something horrible,” she murmurs, turning her head towards the voice. She doesn’t know why she’s saying it; with the spell washing over her and her own exhaustion she can barely remember what it is.

She’s rewarded with a featherlight kiss. “I know. Go back to sleep, Bloom.”

[reneedenoailles]

They behead valets, don't they ? (a vfv oneshot)

HUGE SPOILERS FOR THE END OF VFV !

fandom: vying for versailles pairing: implied / mentioned renée x louis characters: renée de noailles (called victoire here), alexandre bontemps rating: M word count: 1176 words. trigger warnings: implied animal abuse, implied daddy issues i guess. also victoire enacting psychological warfare on a 39 year old man. also talk of mildly gory public executions. summary: after framing alexandre for the murder of queen maria theresa, victoire de noailles, duchess of marly & official mistress decides to see alexandre in the bastille, before his execution. tagging: @rc-catalog

La Bastille, 1667.

Footsteps echoed throughout the halls, causing Alexandre Bontemps to snap out of his reverie, soon realizing how cold the ground of this prison cell was. Prison... Never in his life had he thought the King - whom he had worked to serve since boyhood - would lock him in the prison reserved for traitors to the Crown. All because of her... Victoire.

The one he brought to court - who he thought he could use. He hated to admit it, but she had outsmarted him. Never, in his thirty-nine years of living, had he felt so silly. He had been outplayed. "This way." He heard de Montlezun speak, right before he turned around.

And there she was. The Queen. The strongest piece on the board. He turned, scowling as he saw the source of his troubles. She had her usual smirk painted on those dark red lips, a smirk that Alexandre despised more than anything - the very same smirk that caused him to end up here.

"Didn't think you one for prayer." Victoire finally spoke, causing him to get up. Standing so tall, and yet, so... inferior. She smiled up at him, gold jewelry shining in his eyes. "I am not." He quietly replied. "But sometimes one tries to rely on the ones from Above, if those on Earth fail him." Even through his quiet tone, Victoire could hear his inner anger - the anger he's worked for so long to keep hidden underneath his wicked smiles. "I know you poisoned the Queen." "I have no idea what you mean." She viciously replied, of course - knowing exactly what he meant by that. They both knew, but clearly, one of them had the upper hand.

"All I know is that you killed her, and tried to frame me for both, the attempted murder of the King, and the murder of the Queen."

Alexandre got closer, tenaciously gripping onto the jail cell's bars - getting his face as close as he could. His features, clearly affected by both his age, and this recent turn of events, hardened, displaying his anger. "You will never get away with this." "Looks like I will." Victoire, on the other side, could not possibly look any brighter. This felt cathartic to her, breaking free of Alexandre's control, and becoming the Queen of France, although she wasn't so sure of that last part - it all depended on Louis. Queen or not, what mattered to her most was established: control, and by association, revenge.

She was elated at the mere thought of Alexandre's head on the chopping block, waiting for the sword to fall down on him. The Duchess of Marly's inner arrogance killed Alexandre - he hated her. He HATED her. And he hated himself. For bringing her to court, for not being smart enough on that note, for miscalculating... He shook the bars a little, his voice raising. "You're a witch ! You're nothing but a lowly, disgusting witch ! You'll burn in Hell for this !" He yelled at her, which simply made her laugh. To her, that was hilarious, watching Alexandre's mask slip off. He had made her cry before, and now she could crack him open, like an egg. A freshly picked egg from a chicken's nest - the chicken, in this case, being the King and his little creatures.

"I'd suggest you speak to me in another tone, Alexandre." While she was smiling - her voice seemed more commanding, as if she were chastising her maid. It instantly shut down Alexandre, as she continued. "I am the Duchess of Marly. You WILL speak to me with the due respect you owe me, Bontemps." She emphasized his last name, and his lack of titles along with it, before continuing. "While you may fancy yourself the little title of Valet, at the end of the day, you are a servant. A peasant, I'd even go as far as saying. Do not forget that the King was generous enough to have you die by the sword, like a noble. I could always change that..." She wrapped one of her hands around a bar of the cell, that empty look in her eye making him shiver and back away.

It was as if she had no emotion, her eyes showcasing a form of pure, yet disastrously calm madness. "I could always talk to the King about you." Victoire's lips curled into a smirk - one that displayed how much she actually held Alexandre in her palm. "You could be burned, like a witch. Like Bonne. Poor her." She didn't even mean those words, but the chill running down Alexandre's spine somehow... excited her, in a way. The memories of two years ago, the Valet blackmailing her, were still very fresh in her mind, so now that she had gotten the upper hand, she was going to at least have fun with it. "Maybe you'll be on the breaking wheel. Or maybe..."

She saw his fear, in those eyes, and how much he was trying to conceal said fear. "I'll have you quartered, like Ravaillac. He did kill a King... And you poisoned a Queen." "I did not ! You liar !" "Do not bark at me." She quickly responded, leaning in. "Your father must have trained the dogs better than that." At that thought - seeing how he immediately recoiled - she decided to keep going. She wanted him not only weak, but broken after this encounter. She wanted his mask to completely shatter. "I wonder how he would feel, if he saw you right now. What a disappointment his beloved son must be. More worthless than the dogs he trained."

"SHUT UP !" Alexandre suddenly yelled, tears streaming down his aged face. Victoire stepped back just a bit, letting go of the bars. She had never seen Alexandre cry, she didn't even know he could do that. But that ? It pleased her. She couldn't help but allow a little smirk to appear on her beautiful face, seeing him be the shadow of the man who blackmailed her. His father must have brought back painful memories, it seems.

He was entirely humiliated.

Reduced to this; a crying mess, on the floor, his knees giving away as he looked up to the woman who had kneeled down, to be on his level. Her smirk was still overwhelmingly present, looking down at him.

The way she looked at him... it wasn't like a woman looking at a man. It was like a chess player, looking at a pawn. Victoire leaned in, voice low, yet clear enough for him to hear.

"I own you, Alexandre."

And with that, he watched her get up, and dust herself off. Not even addressing him a last word - nothing. Simply turning on her heels, and walking away. He gripped onto the bars, watching her leave, waiting for the moment she would turn around and look at him.

"VICTOIRE ! VICTOIRE !" He screamed her name, louder, and louder - as loud as he could, loud enough to lose his voice. But she was already gone.

And there he lied, all alone, in his cell. In the dark.