#Sayre Dearing

[liliannadelaphinehartifelt]

Alastor - [DEVOTION…. Pt. 2]

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[ NSFW ] + [ MDNI ] + [ SLIGHT AGE GAP ] + [ ARRANGED MARRIAGE ] + [ BREEDING KINK ] + [ MENTIONS OF BLOOD & GORE ]

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Beautiful days weren't uncommon in New Orleans.

They frequently occurred -even more so during the late summer months in the swamped countryside- where you now found yourself traveling through alongside your husband.

Alastor had decided it was high time both of you visited your recently conjoined families. His mother constantly asked to see you again, calling twice a week like clockwork to check on her darling son and his ever-so-sweet wife, and you appreciated her sincere affection.

You missed visiting her in person, learning things from her, and observing how much adoration she had for Alastor..

In a sense, she'd raised you like her own daughter, taking the place of your mother, who'd passed before you'd even taken your first steps. Your father was adamant a 'fever' took her, but Alastor's mother always hinted at a force greater than unfortunate health having to do with it.

You'd never thought to ask what she meant, trusting her wise and kind words wholeheartedly since Alastor was your only friend, but curiosity did plague your thoughts from time to time.

Her passing was a tragedy you could barely remember….

However, it was in the past, your mother was gone with your childhood, and you were now in the present -married to a man you never wished to part from…

Even more so now that he'd revealed how truly devoted he was to you and you alone…

“….I feel much more than love for you, my dear. Devotion is a better term…obsession at times…”

Those words of his rang loud and clear in your head for days on end, making your heart flutter ten times harder than it usually did when he was near and coaxing a particular passion for making him happy out of you at every opportunity given.

Your infatuation had grown into undeterred loyalty and in your opinion he deserved every bit of it.

Alastor worked tirelessly to further his career. Reaping the benefits of such hard work through copious amounts of money and awards from various admirers.

He'd perfected so many things to reach that point, hiding his natural down home drawl with a perfect transatlantic accent -you found both charming but preferred the first. Although, you understood why he’d mastered the ladder accent, and never insisted upon him disregarding it.

It was what made his character, brought the masses running back for more each time he was on air, and what kind of wife would you be if you asked him to refute all the admiration for simple and selfish reasons?..

He wasn’t home often enough to have such conversations in the first place…

Alastor was no stranger to working late into the evening, writing script after script past midnight at the station, and only returning home when he was sure his manuscripts were crystal clear.

That’s what you were made to believe he was doing anyway.

Alastor made sure of that.

In your eyes he was perfect, hardworking, and utterly perfect…

Not the merciless, flesh hungry, murder that’d been stalking the streets of New Orleans for almost six consecutive months…

To your knowledge Alastor had no flaws, no deep, dark secrets you felt the need to uncover, and certainly not a man with a tainted sense of morality you couldn't fully trust.

He ensured your view of him remained spotless, devoid of bloodthirst or cruelty.

You were too innocent for it, too pure to know what he'd done and continued to do for the sake of self-satisfaction, but there is always a time for truths to come to light…

Nevertheless, Alastor strived to make sure that time never came…

So, when the city became on edge, being put under a curfew by law enforcement in hopes of slowing the occurrence of his murders, and the number of police patrols significantly increased, Alastor decided a nice…long…relaxing vacation to the countryside would be an excellent idea.

Nothing suspicious about the idea at all…

You were ecstatic about the trip, rushing to pack things for the both of you the very evening he mentioned it, and Alastor was genuinely pleased to see you so excited.

You were painfully unaware of his true motives…so willing to spend time with him and leave the fear-induced city behind…

Oh, how he loved it…you and your gentle, naive nature…

Truly, a warm-hearted belle safe and sound in his bloodstained grasp.

He almost felt guilty, looking at you now, taking your first bare footsteps into the dewy summer grass surrounding his mother's home. Your eyes lit up like the high noon sun shining down on you both, soft lips pulled into a satisfied smile as you reacquainted yourself with fresh summer air, "God, I missed this.." you whispered to yourself as the comforting wind blew through your hair.

Alastor laughed softly, smile ever present as you did a twirl in the grass before looking at him over your shoulder, "Well, aren't you gonna join me, Al? Or am I gonna have to get a hug from your mother first?"

He narrowed his eyes, smile softening at the mention of her, "First? My dear, are you askin' for a race?"

You grinned, giggling as you shrugged playfully while walking backward towards the pathway leading to his mother's home, "Only if you're agreeing to one, honey.." you respond cheekily.

Your husband could never resist a challenge.

Ever.

You’d realized that very early on in your time with him, using it to your advantage more often than he realized.

Getting your way with Alastor was a special skill unique to you and not a soul else…

A smirk tugged at your lips as Alastor pushed off from leaning against the car, rolling his sleeves up as he strode towards you, "Daring, little thing, aren't you?" He teased, having to yell as you spun on your heel and took off without warning.

You let out a laugh, hearing him give chase, only a meter behind you in less than three seconds, and his subtle chiding at your attempt at cheating urging you to beat him.

"Looks like I'll beat you, dearest!" He boasts, drawing nearer to you within seconds, but hesitating to pass you by as he took in the sight of your white cotton dress riding higher up your thighs as you ran.

A delectable view for him in more ways than one…

Alastor couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen such a carefree and angelic sight. Nor, did he want to when you were right in front of him.

You scoffed at his teasing, oblivious to Alastor’s longing stare as you hiked up the front hem of your dress to hop over a fallen tree branch, but when you landed, he was at your side -a smirk already sneaking its way onto his face as you shot him a surprised glance.

When had he gotten so fast?…

You weren't sure, but Alastor had always been more physically fit than most, so you merely tried to keep up with him as the end of the path approached.

He beat you by five feet at least, but you were in too much of a giggle fit to notice. "You cheated!" You chirped, faking a pout as he leaned against one of the dark timber poles that upheld the wrap-around porch. "I was only beating you at your own game, ma chère… fair is fair." Alastor flashed you a grin, pushing his glasses to rest on top of his head before raising a hand to swipe the specks of dust that'd landed on his cheek during your short race.

You smiled at the rare, docile, boyish action. Alastor was never one to altogether drop his guard, so when moments like this occurred, you'd relish in it for as long as possible.

"Here, let me…" you spoke softly, still a little breathless after running but eager to help your husband. Alastor dropped his hand from his face, leaning down to make your reach for him less strenuous, and you smiled at the tiny habit.

He'd always considered your height difference, and your tummy fluttered at each implication of it.

Using the back of your dress sleeve, you carefully wiped at his cheek as he stared at you, allowing you to gingerly guide his face from side to side with your small hand cupping his jaw. "There, much better, monsieur.." you compliment him with a flirtatious drawl, admiring his dust free skin in the sunlight as a few strands of his wavy brown hair shifts over his eyes from the wind.

Alastor returns your admiration, gaze lowering to your lips when you speak and slowly rising again as you place the round glasses back on his face. "Thank you,'ma chère," he sighs gratefully, natural southern drawl shining through as he speaks, finding himself out of breathless as you stare up at him lovingly.

In all his life Alastor could count on one hand how many times an inkling of ‘love’ had trickled its way into his heart. You seemed to be a factor in at least half of those memories.

He deemed that fact more than enough reason to kill for you if fate ever dictated harm your way…

What man wouldn't spill a bit of blood for a woman that looks at him the way you are looking at him now..?

A lesser one, surely.

Alastor considered himself far from the definition of a lesser man..

“It’s my pleasure,” you mutter in response, shifting to step around him and knock on the door, but Alastor stops you by wrapping an arm around your waist, bringing you in close to gently kiss your nose, then your lips, and you return the intimate gesture on instinct.

He hums deep within his chest as your soft lips melt into his, grip tightening on your waist as he unconsciously glides his tongue along yours, and you successfully stifle a moan at the unexpected intrusion.

Was that….blood you tasted on him?…

You weren't given much time to register the iron residue mixed with the hints of black coffee you'd made for him that morning since the sound of a door swinging open startled you half to death before any connection could be made.

"Oh, well, would you get a look at you two!" Angelique Hartifelt beamed as she registered who was on her doorstep. Alastor immediately let you go, smiling wide as his mother tugged him into an airtight hug, and you blushed at the heartwarming sight.

"Hello, mother," Alastor mumbled into her dark curls, swaying her in his arms as she took him in, "My, you've grown baby…real successful too, I hear.." She laughed as he nodded, both clearly happy to see each other after so long, but she eventually pulled away from Alastor to turn her attention to you.

"Sweet girl… c'mere! God, you're just as pretty as a magnolia in May!" You had no time to reply as she hugged you tight, kissing your cheek while you giggled and greeted her politely, "You're too kind, Mrs. Hartifelt … It's nice to see you again! I've missed you dearly!"

She stepped back, grinning as wide as her son as she spun you around, "Don't be silly, honey! Married life becomes you! I missed seeing your lovely self, too. Maybe if Al stopped working so much, you'd have more time to stop by.." She gave him a playful glare, to which he flashed an apologetic smile.

"I'll try to remember that, Mother.." he tipped his head in understanding, and she swatted his arm lightly. "Oh, you know I'm only poking fun, baby. Come on inside, I wanna hear about the two of you…"

She paused, ushering you in the door first with a knowing smile, "…and if I have any grandchildren on the way." Her jest made you turn bright red, but her lighthearted laughter that followed eased your nerves.

However, Alastor's face fell for a moment as she said it, the two of you sharing a strange stare as Angelique closed the behind her and whisked past you both to lead the way into the kitchen.

It was only for a split second, but you could've sworn Alastor looked…

Hopeful…?

Or rather, genuinely affected by the mention of having a child with you…

The complex expression vanished from his face just as quickly as it appeared, his gaze shifting from you to his mother as she set a pitcher of sweet tea and a plate full of cookies out, and you instantly focused on the dish of sweets as the sugary smell invaded your nose.

You were here to enjoy her company, get away from the world and its burdensome worries, and overthinking Alastor’s every reaction wouldn’t be a good start to that….

Besides, her sweets were always your favorite; she'd shown you how to bake, and you attributed most of your cooking skills to her teaching. Alastor had also picked up a great deal of culinary tricks from her, and it became another hobby you two bonded over during childhood.

"Those look amazing, Mrs. Hartifelt," you flashed her a smile, humming as you pretended to swoon over them, and she laughed at your slight dramatics. "I suspected you'd stop by, so I made your favorite, honey. Come on, sit!"

"Don't mind if I do," you chirped and sat next to her at the modestly round dining table; she poured you both a glass of sweet tea before looking over at Alastor expectantly. "That means you too," she gently scolded his standoff-ish behavior, watching as he took a seat on her unoccupied side and patting his cheek in gratitude as he did.

Alastor leaned into her touch, mumbling an apology for not accompanying her sooner, "I got lost in thought, is all…" he clarified in a soft chuckle, and she nodded in understanding.

"Mmm, really, what about?"

His gaze shifted to you again, and your body momentarily froze as he stared while answering his mother, "How much I love you…that’s all.”

Whether he meant to direct the phrase towards you or his mother was unclear, but your chest tightened, and your head filled with fog nonetheless.

How could he still manage to make you so unsteady within the simplest efforts and gestures?…

Alastor held your gaze for a minute longer, forgetting where he was presently, but his self induced trance vanished as his mother spoke again.

"I see you still haven’t lost your charm to the big city. That radio show must keep you on your toes, then.."

He nodded, laughing gently at his mother's teasing, "I wouldn’t dream of it, and my audience expects the best, so I must deliver."

She nods, humming as her chocolate eyes drift towards you, "And how is my lovely son treating you, sweetheart? Well, I presume?"

You could hear the hint of curiosity in her tone, light but underlying seriousness in her question. It was no secret to her that Alastor had…certain tendencies, but those were reserved for people who deserved it, and you'd never been deemed deserving.

She hoped it remained that way…

To her inner relief, you answered her with the broadest smile and happiest tone, "Oh, of course! I couldn't have asked for a better husband! You raised him well..a true gentleman, Mrs. Hartifelt."

Alastor smirked, reveling in your praise, unbothered by his mother eyeing him carefully before she gave you a pleasant response, "I'm glad to hear that. You're still sweet on him too…just like when you were little."

You blushed, taking a ginger bite of one cookie while nodding, "Mhm.."

Why you became nervous when your childlike crush on Alastor was brought up was a mystery, but you couldn't help it since both of your families saw your subtle pining for him day in and day out.

"Speaking of 'little'…" his mother sat straight, arms crossed over her chest as she glanced at the both of you, "When are you two gonna give me a grandbaby to look after. I'm not getting any younger, Al.."

That look crossed his face again, but his smile remained.

You, however, nearly choked on your sweet treat, but luckily managed not to make an utter fool of yourself. A minor cough and a quick sip from your glass eased your mishap.

Angelique patted your back gently, laughing softly at your reaction, "Honey, I'm only kidding… there's no rush." Her reassurance was genuine, but unbeknownst to her, Alastor had breached the subject already.

Albeit in the heat of a very intense and lust-driven moment.

"Ma chère," Alastor rose from his chair, slight concern on his face as he came to kneel by your chair, "…are you alright?"

You nodded slowly, smiling softly at him before huffing out, "M' fine…no need to worry.." he nodded in return, standing to his feet to address her implications.

"We'll see what the future holds, Mother, but as of now, are we welcome to your hospitality for a few days?"

He knew she'd say 'yes' but made it a habit to ask.

Alastor maintained impeccable manners, just as she'd taught him to have, and it brought a proud glint to Angelique’s eyes.

"Now, Al, why would I ever say no to that. You two stay as long as you want!"

You tipped your head in gratitude, "Thank you, Mrs. Hartifelt.."

She scoffed, placing her hand over one of yours before leaning in close as if to tell you a secret Alastor shouldn’t hear.

"Even after all these years and being married to my boy, you're still so polite, Y/n. The world won't burn to a crisp if you call me 'mother' sweetheart."

She kissed your temple, and your heart melted at the tender gesture, "We are family, after all."

That was true…

"I suppose you're right, Mrs- I mean mother." You tripped over the words, so used to being formal but enjoying the new arrangement.

It felt natural enough.

"Look how easy that was!" Angelique patted your hand assuredly, stood from her seat, and began to clear the table.

There was no doubt in your mind that Alastor got his charm from her….

Your revelation was cut short as she absentmindedly spoke to you again, "Pay your father a visit before you settle in. I'm sure he'd like to see you…he comes by often asking about you two a lot these days.."

You stiffened at the mention of your father, recalling the last time you'd seen him.

Exactly a year ago.

The day you married Alastor…

After that, you'd barely spoken to him, not because you wished for distance but because he'd established it.

Your father may have agreed to your marriage with Alastor, but he only partially warmed up to your husband. He'd looked upon him with a hidden distaste from the very beginning of your friendship.

"Something's off about that boy…" he’d say.

Then proceed to warn you of a danger that never existed in your opinion. "You be careful around him…real careful.."

When he realized your attraction to Alastor his nagging only worsened, "He's a charmer…those are never good for anything. You remember that."

For years, his assumptions of Alastor irked you to no end; it perplexed you why he even married you off to him, but whenever you'd search for answers, he'd give the same vague answer.

"That boy isn't what he seems. Never has been and never will be.."

Frustrating as he was, you could never bring yourself to hate him for it, but the thought of having to endure his morbid company wasn’t comforting at all.

Alastor recognized the distress in your gentle features, your bright eyes narrowing at the tabletop, and your hands wringing around each other nervously.

All because of him.

Mr. L/n...

The one man who seemed to get a clue as to who and what Alastor was without anything other than a so-called ‘gut feeling’.

Alastor had tried for years to mask his true nature from him, but your father saw right through him at every encounter.

He had been and still was Alastor’s worst agitation…

Such a bothersome fool…

Your husband averted his oncoming glare to the nearest wall before wiping the disdain off his face, and reaching a hand out to caress your back. You relaxed under his firm touch, looking up to him as his thumb rubbed soothing circles into your spine, "It'll only be a short visit, my dear. We'll have the whole weekend after that…"

His smile eased your fretting, leading you to nod and smile back. "Alright… y-you'll come with me, yes?"

Absolutely not-

Alastor inwardly hushed his shadow demon, tipping his head in warning to the spectrum and forcing it to hold its tongue before it overrode his consciousness.

His smile widened, the hand on your back sliding up to cup your cheek, "Of course, mon chere. I wouldn't dream of letting you go alone.."

We should-

His shadow attempted to cut in again, but Alastor withheld its advance with a simple command.

Hush up. Now…

Fortunately, it ceased all communication, and his focus on you went unhindered.

You stood from your chair, rising on your tiptoes to peck his lips with your own, whispering against them before you pulled away.

"Thank you… Sometimes I dont know what I'd do without you…"

Alastor cursed the sharp pang that penetrated his heart as you said those words, an eerie sense of Deja vu hitting him in waves, but the uneasy feeling never showed on his face -not until you thanked his mother one last time before flurrying upstairs to freshen up.

Angelique felt her son’s mood shift, intuition leading her to ask him what was on his mind, "Something wrong?.."she mumbles calmly without ceasing in her task of cleaning.

Alastor remained silent for a long moment, watching as his mother moved on to pulling out ingredients to cook for dinner, and when she turned to face him entirely, he found the sense to speak.

"It's gettin' worse…" he confessed through a tight-lipped smile, leaning back against a wall to keep his composure, and she needed no other clues to figure out his cause for distress.

"The killing' or the magic?" She inquires, back to him, and but her voice laced with evident care.

"Both. It's getting to me..bad…more frequently.." he confesses.

Angelique hums in understanding, "Have you been hunting at all these past few weeks?.."

Alastor took his glasses off, breath coming out strained as his eyes shifted from their usual whiskey color to a redder hue.

"No. Not since…" he falters, gritting his teeth as his unruly spectral companion cut into his train of thought.

Not since you fucked her-

"I said shut the hell up…" Alastor seethed out loud, eyes screwing shut as his shadow danced onto the wall, yet his mother remained unphased by the sudden outburst.

She merely peered at the taunting shadow, causing it to cower back in her son's tall frame, "Go hunting while you're here. That'll take the edge off, but get that spirit in check before you do, or it won't end well. You hear me?"

Alastor nodded, rolling his neck to alleviate the tension in his body before recapturing his shadow and flashing his mother an understanding smile.

Her advice was final, a direct warning to him, and it garnered a welcomed sense of control over his frazzled behavior.

His smile lost its crazed edge, drawing into a polite smirk as he peered at her expectantly.

"Do you happen to have my old hunting gear lying around?.."

She turned towards the stove, not affected by his sudden personality switch by any means, and simply motioned a hand upstairs before answering him, "In your father's old study. Right where you left it, behind the bookshelf…."

Alastor perked up, grinning wide as the memory of his last hunting spree crossed his mind, "Merci, mother." He thanked her, walking over to kiss her cheek before exiting the homely kitchen while humming a new tune as he strode up the steps with newfound confidence.

Tonight, he'd look for prey…

How he'd satiate his shadow's pesky intrusions was a matter he'd have to solve later.

Although, if the way it constantly became hyperactive at the mere mention or sight of you had anything to do with it Alastor was certain you were the solution to the problem.

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The visit with your father went as you expected it to go.

He welcomed you with open arms and a tender smile, but when he saw Alastor climbing the marble steps of your family’s estate, his cordial behavior waned.

“I see you’ve brought him along…” he made no effort to hide the distaste in his tone as Alastor reached your side.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again as well Mr, L/n…” Your husband remained polite as always, masking his hatred for the man with a practiced facade of kindness.

Alastor became more affectionate towards you in his presence, going so far as to kiss the top of your head and wrapping an arm around your waist protectively, making every effort to keep you close throughout the tense reunion.

Your father clearly did not take a liking to his indirect aggravations it at all…

Yet, he said nothing on the matter, cutting your visit short with the tired excuse of having an 'important engagement' he needed to attend to.

So, in under an hour of resisting your childhood home, you found yourself walking back through the secret trail you and Alastor had paved years ago to commute across, and with each step, you felt more at ease.

You weren't quick to anger, but your father's jabs towards Alastor never ceased to ruin your mood. Thankfully, your husband seemed more eclectic than when you'd arrived in the countryside, and that, in turn, brightened your previously somber spirits.

Alastor held your arm under his as the two of you trekked along the path, going over small hills, thin creeks, and finally through a line of forestry bordering his mother's home.

The sun was beginning to set as you entered the forest end of your journey. The warm summer wind becoming a bit chilly as it whipped through the large willow and evergreen trees. Alastor kept you close, better acquainted with the woods than you were, but not because he'd memorized the path from childhood.

No, his memory of it stemmed from the many bloody escapades he'd enjoyed there and intended to continue sooner rather than later…

All for a rush, for the flesh, for the undisputed thrill.

Even now he couldn't stop grinning, thinking about it, failing to dampen his excitement as he led you both through the darkening woods.

You glanced up at him, happy to see Alastor so content despite your awful encounter with your father, "I apologize for him… he's…" you paused, trying to find the right words to describe your father's behavior, but he beat you to it with a gentle laugh.

"A cynical old man who believes that I'm no good for you?"

His voice held an edge, but you took the comment as playful heat and not as a harmful insult the way Alastor intended it to sound.

You couldn’t blame him for feeling spiteful about the whole ordeal…

He had every right to be unnerved…

A tender sigh slipped past your lips, and you nodded in agreement as he glanced down at you, "A spot-on depiction…not a pretty one either.." Alastor chuckled, shaking his head dismissively as he reassured you he took no offense to your father's dislike of him.

Though it was somewhat justified.

"Don't you worry yourself about him, my dear. I have you, and he can do nothing about it…"

Not a fucking thing…

You peered up at Alastor, noting the unwavering smile on his face as he spoke, but the glare in his eyes said he felt anything but indifference about the situation.

That worried you…scared you a little…

"Al…" you whispered, halting in your tracks and causing him to do the same. Your brows furrowed as he lowered his head, his breaths becoming heavy as his hold on your arm grew harder, but not enough to harm you.

His smile only grew as you muttered again, "Alastor, …look at me…" your words as tender as ever as you turned on your heel to face him head-on.

Alastor's eyes twitched as you came close, flashing red when you cupped his face with both hands and dipped your head to gain proper eye contact with him.

Concern was written all over you face…

You tried to decipher Alastor’s expression, ignoring the chill running down your spine as his gaze hardened while the air around you grew stiffer by the second.

Was he angry?

It felt as if he were but something in his unwavering stare told you this emotion surpassed that, and you couldn't deny how intensely it radiated off him as he slowly tilted his head at you.

Possessiveness.

Pure, unbridled need for dominance.

Whether it was over you or his state of mind remained unclear as he took a step forward. You made no effort to back away, letting Alastor tower over you, and not once breaking eye contact with him.

“Alastor…you can tell me-“

The comforting words died on your tongue when he jerked you into his chest, large hands finding your wrists as the heated kiss he initiated silenced the surprised yelp that left your lips as they melded with his.

You eyes drifted shut as he deepened the exchange, gradually relenting your body control over to him as he guided your arms to wrap around his neck. Alastor shifted his hold on your wrists to trace down your sides, the ghost like touch sending a shock through you immediately.

He smiled at your skittish reaction, oddly calmer than he was a moment before as he dared to pull similar responses from you. His skilled tongue delved into you mouth, inviting yours to play along while he leveraged his larger frame against your smaller one. You obediently stepped back as he pressed forward, subtly flinching as your backside hit the bark of the nearest tree, yet the scratch of wood on your covered skin failed to bother you as the kiss became feverish.

Desperate…

Alastor was desperate for something…

For what you weren’t certain, unable to think straight when he had you pinned against a decaying evergreen, stealing your breath away with ease, only pulling away from your lips to catch his own breath.

You quietly panted for air as well, blood rushing to your head from the sound of his have breathing mixing with the distant chirps of crickets harmonizing alongside buzzing cicadas.

The wind seemed to lose its chill as it passed between the nonexistent space separating you both.

Alastor held you still in that moment, one hand at the back of your neck to keep your head raised towards his, and the other resting under your chin. His thumb traced over your now spit slick lips, brown eyes following the slight tremble in them as you continued to pant for air.

Oh, how he adored your eagerness to please him. Always so desperate for more of him and never quite aware of your own greediness for his undivided affection.

“What is there for me to tell you, ma chère…?” The words thundered in his chest, almost a low hum in the midst of the surrounding wilderness, but you heard him clear enough.

“How you truly feel….whats behind that smile you fight so hard to maintain.” You gulp down the anxiety trying to creep its way into your tone, inhaling sharply as he pushed a knee between your thighs, and your train of thought came to a halt feeling him put pressure on your thinly covered cunt.

You knew the gesture was a from of distraction on his part, an attempt to avert your attention from the uneasy shift in his mood, and though you wanted to push him back and demand he take your concerns seriously…

The building heat in your core advised otherwise, overriding your urge to coax an explanation from Alastor with the need to be filled by him instead, and the growing amount of stars in your eyes as he continued to toy with your body made it all the more obvious to him.

“I assure you I’m quite alright, darling“ Alastor remained true to his previous claim, smiling softly as your eyes lidded over while your hips tentatively began to rock over his thigh at a sluggish pace, and your hands unraveling from his neck to trail down his chest. The linen fabric of his shirt cooled your burning fingertips, keeping your focus clear enough for another hushed whisper to leave your lips, “Tellin’ me not lie to you but then turning around and doing it yourself…”

You paused, holding his gaze as your tongue darted out to lick at his thumb teasingly, “How is that fair, Alastor, hm?…” your voice remains quiet, the taste of his skin lingering on the tip of your tongue as the questions hangs in the air around you, and it seems to hit a nerve in him.

A flash of red illuminates his irises, smile stretching wide across his face at your seductive actions and reprimanding remarks, “Fair? Is that what you want from me, mon chere? A fair bit of truth?”

His shadow itched to enlarge, wanting nothing more than to show itself to you, and intake the delirious reaction you’d surely have to seeing its monstrous form.

Although, Alastor kept it at bay, settling with trailing the hand on your neck to tangle through your hair, tugging it just rough enough to earn a soft gasp from you, and that action alone hard your inside twisting with anticipation.

You knew he’d never harm you, never lift a finger to imply harsh treatment, but the thrill of finally experiencing a hidden side of your husbands persona had your heart racing and your cunt throbbing.

“Yes…” you whimper compliantly, hands fisting the collar of his dress shirt to tug him closer, and Alastor growled at the aggressive action.

“Careful what you ask for, sweet girl…” he warns you through gritted teeth, tempted to kiss you again as an airy giggle leaps from your mouth, “And what if I refuse to be?”

Fuck, I need her…we need her…

His shadow twitched, writhing in the waning light of the sun at your taunting, and embodying every ounce of excitement the man before you struggled to contain as the heat of your cunt gliding over his thigh persisted with every gentle buck of your hips against him.

Alastor felt his blood run hot as you pried at his self control, the corner of your lips pulling up into a knowing smile as he stared at you hungrily, and not a single drop of apprehension present in your gaze as he lowered his head to whisper in your ear.

“Then I suppose I’m left with no other choice than to remind you what happens to curious little cats, my dear…”

xxxxx xxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxx xxxx xxx

Idk if I hate or love this chapter…like I’m so used to writing smut that writing angst or fluff feels so dreadful to me. Plus, you guys liked the first part so much I didn’t want to fuck this up…I promise the next part is pure smut and gore lol. This was essentially a filler part (I’m sorry)… ❤️ also did you guys catch the Princess and the Frog reference I threw in?!? If you did then I freakin adore you hehehe ❤️

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

I’d cry, scream, fucking beg for this man…it’s fucking ridiculous how much I love him tbhhhh ❤️ credit to creator

[petaltexturedskies]

The pajamas you sent me are the most adorably moon-shiny things on earth—I feel like a Vogue cover in 'em—but I feel sure I'll never be able to keep off the streets in 'em. It feels like a cloud and looks like a dream— thanks, darling.

Zelda Sayre in a letter to F. Scott Fitzgerald written c. 1919 featured in Dear Scott, Dearest Zelda: The Love Letters of F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald

[rhetoricandlogic]

A Time Capsule for Who We Used to Be: A Study in Drowning by Ava Reid

Martin Cahill Thu Dec 14, 2023 3:00pm

To say I consumed this book isn’t accurate—instead, this book consumed me. I read it from cover to cover onboard a flight that raced the sunset; outside the window, the light of the world kept pushing back against the inevitable, encroaching dark. Within the pages of their newest novel, Ava Reid has written several brilliant, haunted individuals, adrift and seeking answers, all of which can only be found in a home built for darkness. This is a story about stories—who tells them, and who they’re about; if the tellers are telling the truth, and if the subjects can ever have power over the tellers. And what power lies within the reader’s hands? When you are witness to a beautiful lie, do you have an obligation to find the truth? Reid grapples with these questions of art and artistry, legacy and literature, love and power, abuse and survival, and so much more in their dazzling novel, A Study in Drowning.

Effy Sayre is a young student in the college for architecture, as the university doesn’t allow women to enroll in their literary program. Belittled by many of the students around her, mostly male, haunted by visions of a character from her favorite book Angharad, and desperate to escape both, Effy believes she’s found it when she enters and wins a contest to redesign the ancestral home of Emrys Myrddin, the beloved and mysterious author of Angharad. Arriving at Hiraeth Manor, she can’t help but notice all the danger that abounds and riddles with no answers: There are no mirrors within this home; the sea threatens at the edge of the storm-wracked cliffs; Emrys’ son looks at her with a hunger that makes her stomach turn; and there is another student within the Manor. An academic rival who is determined to prove that Emrys Myrddin was a fraud, Preston Héloury becomes a splinter beneath Effy’s very heart. But as the two grow close, despite their best intentions, they begin to unravel the true mystery of Myrddin and Angharad, the truths of Effy’s childhood and her haunting visions, and the decrepit foundation upon which the Manor, and Myrddin’s life, was built.

Whether it’s before, during, or after reading this excellent novel, I urge you, dear reader, to read this essay from Reid. I think you would find a lot in there to admire on its own, but having read it prior to reading A Study in Drowning, it gave me the proper scaffolding to embrace the book Reid put their whole heart into, their experiences acting as a foundation that only added to my own experience of this novel. More than that, it is a tremendous and vulnerable essay of Reid’s mental health history and journey, and the ways in which they shaped A Study in Drowning. As I read this novel, I found myself reflecting back on the essay they had written, which only made me appreciate the book more: A Study in Drowning, like all great art, becomes a time capsule for who we used to be, a story that, in the now, may be the very mirror another might need to see and find themselves in.

And Reid holds nothing back, examining with brutal beauty how a young woman might contort herself, round and round, to keep herself safe from a world designed to make her feel lesser than, ashamed, hurt, and as small as possible. And, as a character towards the end of the novel aptly says, Reid stakes that that’s nothing to be ashamed of; in a story so centered around the idea of heroism, Reid asserts that in such a world, simply surviving, making one’s way through the horror and terror in a single piece, is absolutely enough. It casts the entire novel in a really incredible light, that even when Effy is at her lowest, when no one believes her and forces magical, mundane, and institutional threaten her in every conceivable way, even then, she picks herself up and keeps pushing. Forward, onward. Effy, at the end of everything, saves herself and it is beautiful.

Along the way, Reid delivers in every possible fashion. Atmospheric, gothic prose, sentences of shadow and mist abutting against the glamour and pine of fae malice, pages dripping with the brine and salt of seawater and history. Amidst these landscapes, they give us a tender and honest slow-burn relationship between Effy and Preston, these two hungry young academics so eager for truth, each hoping to bring the other into their own worlds of warmth and wonder. And throughout it all, the building menace and tension as it all comes crashing together in a crescendo that had me holding my breath at 30,000 feet.

Ava Reid has quickly become an author whose every work I will read, no matter what. I know when I open a book they wrote, I will find everything I want as a reader, and in A Study in Drowning, they have once again delivered. From the prose to the characters, from the world to the mood, from page to page, I found only delight, joy, and an eagerness to see how it would all come together. If you’re looking for a good starting point for Ava Reid’s work, I couldn’t recommend A Study in Drowning highly enough. Then, once you’ve been blown away, go and read the rest of their work, too!

[eyeofthehrrcne]

"I love you,

And thats the

Beginning

And end

Of everything."

Ok so here's my take on it, we've been talking about clara bow but we forget about our other dear flapper girl: Zelda Fitzgerald, her glorious flapper days and her absolutely gut wretching tragic ending.

Not only did Zelda have to see Scott using inserts from her personal diaries become huge and famous quotes on Scott's books (without crediting her) but we're also talking about how a southern girl, a ballerina from a really small town who fell in love with a soldier (aspiring author) was brought to the biggest city in the world without her friends, her family, anyone familiar enough to hold her - despite Scott, who wouldve become a alcoholic writer who can't succeed withou his wife words let alone admit this for a fact. His jealousy over her writing and her naturally catching his spotlight and overshadowing him - Ending with Ernest Hemingway saying how she's the reason Scotts writing had declined, when she was the core of everything he have ever wrote.

“It seems to me that on one page I recognized a portion of an old diary of mine which mysteriously disappeared shortly after my marriage, and, also, scraps of letters which, though considerably edited, sound to me vaguely familiar. In fact, Mr. Fitzgerald (I believe that is how he spells his name) seems to believe that plagiarism begins at home.” - Zelda for The New York Tribune.

Her soul and her life we're devoured. To this day she's portrayed as a crazy hysterical southern little girl that was always behind Scott - And not ahead of him, as she always were. Fitzgerald could never support Zelda, even though she was a carrier of many talents, a dancer, writer and painter exhaustingly discouraged by her troubled partner who couldn't see her thrive beyond him. She was trapped.

1930's - Zelda is admitted to her first psychiatric hospital

She would've allegedly be in and out of then after being diagnosed with schizophrenia, her mental health took a fallout after her dad passed away and Scott leaved her to go to Hollywood by himself. But even then, in the psychiatric hospitalbshe wrote.

To steady myself I wrote, I wrote, I wrote. — Z: SAYRE, Zelda

Zelda wrote her autobiographical novel, Save Me The Waltz. Scott would then proceed to disaprove as he was planning to use HER writing again in tender is the night, forcing Zelda to edit out the parts he wanted to be in his book - Which led to a hollow disconnected version of the book, being severely criticized, even from him, her own husband calling her a "third rate writer" and accusing her of his own crimes - plagiarism.

She tried writing again after Scott's passing, but her poor aching body was left to death as a fire bursted in her hospital, while she was waiting for shock therapy.

But let's remind her for how she lived fully, how she bled art as her veins were ink - her diaries and letters prove that. How beautifully she arranged words and how easily it flowed through her cursive letter. Let her be reminded for who she was and who she ceaselessly tried to be - despite all she was given to deal with. Despite all she was unapologetically Zelda Sayre.

@taylorswift @taylornation

[coupdetorchon]

Noirvember Day 11 (2/3) - Dead Reckoning (1947)

[finita--la--commedia]

Without you, dearest dearest I couldn’t see or hear or feel or think—or live—I love you so and I’m never in all our lives going to let us be apart another night. It’s like begging for mercy of a storm or killing Beauty or growing old, without you. I want to kiss you so—and in the back where your dear hair starts and your chest—I love you—and I cant tell you how much.

Zelda (Sayre) Fitzgerald (1900-1948), in a letter to Francis Scott Fitzgerald (1896-1940), Westport, Connecticut, dated September 1920, in “Dear Scott, Dearest Zelda. The Love Letters of F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald”

[galacticdrift]

every time I think I have something figured out in Perilous Tides it’s like, well thank god, because now I also have 17 new questions

okay, so I feel pretty good about the Ghost: Cole, the Darkness: Ada, the Blood: Sayre, the Flesh: Callahan, the Light: Theo. but what does it all MEEEAAAAN dot gif?! (will someone PLEASE ask Cole about his weird prophecy ship plans?!)

also like...for a hot second I doubted that Salaraq Nynes is actually Theo’s mom Evelyn, because maybe she’s Lucy, but now I’m back to thinking it’s Evelyn because the backstory and timing seem too weird otherwise -- plus then why send Theo off to find Lucy’s brother just to have him lead her right back to Salaraq? (also is that gonna be Evan, Theo’s childhood best friend?)

I’m not ruling out Lucy being some kind of plant or something, which, ouch, but I can’t see her being Salaraq herself right now. I think Theo’s comment about her mom loving Lucy as much as her own daughter was a nod toward Salaraq’s comment about how Fogworm “threatened someone dear to me,” suggesting that Fogworm found Lucy and that’s why Salaraq shot him, because she’s Evelyn and cares about her a lot.

[siren-of-redriver96]

The history of Illvermorny is key (theory)

Update:

The Illvermorny song

(written by JK Rowling)

we draw our inspiration from good witch morrigan

"Morrigan", Isolt's nickname - inspiration also means "breathing in" = first breath/life

wherev' we roam - our one true home - our one and own - is Illvermorny dear

(this.)

... “all my freaks think they can go home.”

Queenie does the stomping for Pudwudgie (her house) /"Ca-caw" for Thunderbird, the house founded by Chadwick Boot (their likely ancestor) the younger brother of the Boots

Tina does the purring for Wampus - the house founded by Webster Boot, (!) the older brother of the Boots - while she's actually house Thunderbird

To the next point!

Concerning that the Goldsteins left the country, this may be true as well for the family of Grimmson , the bountry hunter the ministry employs in CoG.... A dreaded band of bounty hunters known as The Scourers roamed the first societies of America, especially committing crimes on other wizards - even providing their services to Puritans who were hunting witches. Their eventual escape to muggle society also led to the founding of the Second Salemers - I don't have much more yet, but a bounty hunter appearing in the story and kind of working between the fronts of the ministry and Grindelwald does look like a hint

The Triskele theory

Queenie's birthday, the 6th of January, is also known in to Christians - as the day of Epiphany oddly, but usually as "Three king's day"

Btw at this point, I have to do a rundown of the reoccurence of the number 3 in this theory

Queenie and Isolt, as well as the founding of Illvermorny and the incidents of Paris, are 300 years apart Isolt's ancestors, the Peverell brothers, were three

the brooch she inherited from her mother, a Peverell, was a golden triskele (this symbol also appears in the horned serpent sigil/Isolt's house and in the Ivvermorny school uniform

between her and Cadmus, there are three family members by blood - Salazar and his daughters Gormlaith and Rionach Isolt had three magic children - her daughter Rionach II and her two adoptive sons, Webster and Chadwick

Credence had two adoptive sisters (who resemble Tina and Queenie somehow a lot in looks, costume and even a little in actions) - and it is confirmed that the three were the only ones Mary Lou did adopt out of the orphans she cared for - he could have had any siblings written for this story, right?

Tina, in the first movie, hugs both her sister and Credence (he also, for some reason, appears among her family memories in the death cell

in the Sayre family, three women/three generations (Gormlaith, Isolt, Rionach II) could speak/understand Parsel

there are three powerfull wands in the family - the Elderwand, Salazar's wand and Isolt's, made from the horn of the Horned Serpent 

Furthermore:

Probably small, but do you remember the story of Helena Ravenclaw and the bloody baron, aka the house spirit of Slytherin? It would be kind of fitting if, at some point, people who were, by blood Slytherins, but by house/choice Ravenclaws (or both) and formed a family - though we only have two accounts of Ravenclaws (Isolt and Terry) - and we need some more good Slytherins, who knows if Webster's and Martha's branches in the following generations didn't have countless!)

Plus, there are more parallels between the story of Gormlaith and Grindelwald in both movies

FB1

Grindelwald tries to get to Credence to recruit him - Gormlaith intended to abduct both Martha and Rionach II after killing their parents

Dumbledore says * "We were closer than brothers" * - but Grindelwald still sends an assassin after him, much like Gormlaith killed both her sister and intended to murder her niece as well) she battled Chadwick and Webster Boot, not wanting to kill the first since she was impressed by his power and thought about recruiting him, depending on his blood status - together, they could almost fend her off ... and again, these two may have been related to Tina and Queenie's mother her attempting to kill James can be compared in a way to Grindelwald attacking Newt

much like Gormlaith he followed Credence across two countries - going on three with Brazil in the next movie

FB2

Gormlaith went after Isolt and, ultimately, her family ... while this is a very different story with other motives, Yusuf's story kind of goes into a direction like this when he tries to fullfill his unbrekable vow "to live" - almost exact opposite motives, I know, but ...  it works at least, with someone threatening both the direct target of the conflict and their offspring

interestingly, Tina and Newt saving Yusuf and healing him could be kind of a recall to Isolt and the Pukwudgie William saving the Boot brothers ... who were also injured by a magical creature. Also, there was conflict between Isolt and William at this time.

Jacob, in the first movie, was also cared for by the two (primarily Newt here, but nevertheless) after getting injured - that's also, oddly, how he met Queenie/his spouse

The Wampus Cat

While writing this, I researched the Wampus cat - and almost fell off my chair. The legendary creature (which kind of resembles the Zhou-Ou and can accordingly run fast enough to avoid arrows) and is the sigil for Webster Boot's house is said to have the power of .... Legilimency

Part 1:

https://siren-of-redriver96.tumblr.com/post/639469071023439872/the-history-of-illvermorny-is-key-theory

[sayreambrosio]

Date Night - Part 4: The Culmination

This story originally appeared as a commissioned work on the Forbidden Apple blog as part of a promotional series. Links within the story will take you to the product page on their site.

Bree squirted a healthy amount of lube into the hole in the egg’s bottom as her husband watched her intently and then slowly inserted two fingers inside the egg to coat the inside.

“Sit back, relax and close your eyes.”

Trevor leaned his back against the wall of the shower and adjusted his position on the bench to get more comfortable. Letting out a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes. He felt Bree slip the Tenga Egg onto the head of his dick, the pliable material stretched to encompass his girth as she pulled it down toward his balls. He couldn’t believe that little egg took his entire cock. It felt so good. The inside had some sort of pattern to it that massaged every inch as she worked it up and down, slowly at first, allowing him to feel every stroke, every crevice being explored.

“I want you to pretend that you are making love to that beautiful alien queen from the movie we watched the other day. The one with the beautiful smooth obsidian skin and those complex green markings running across her chest. It’s her pussy that you are inside right now. I want you to feel the intricacy of it, how it wraps around your dick like it was made just for you. How your beautiful cock hits against her womb and how she greedily clamps down on you, urging you to share your seed.”

Bree tightened her grip and stroked her husband’s cock faster and was met with moans of pleasure as he thrust his hips upward, totally engrossed in the fantasy. She reached down to and massage her mound, meeting the pace of his thrusting. Her body reacted to the touch and caused her to tighten her grip on the Kegel eggs she still held inside her. As she edged closer to her own orgasm, Bree moved from her mound and gently cupped Trevors chin in her hand.

“Open your eyes, my darling.” Trevor did as she asked and met his wife’s intense gaze. “I want you to fuck me like you would fuck her. I want you to give me your seed, so I can give you what you’ve always wanted. Can you do that?” She could tell that he was wrapped up in the fantasy when he nodded his head in agreement, but didn’t speak. She reached out her hand to him and he helped her up. “I want you to do everything I tell you to. Can you do that? It’s important.”

“I can. Just tell me what I need to do, my queen.”

“Get up and stand in front of the bench.”

Trevor did as he was told and Bree took her place on the bench, adjusting so that her ass would be even with the front of the bench when she leaned back towards the wall. She wanted to feel him inside of her, feel the waves of pleasure when his cock bumped against the eggs inside her.

“Come here, my lover.” He moved towards her, submitting to her every command. His dick rock hard as they played out his fantasy. His heart racing as he looked at his beautiful wife. The woman who went to such lengths to make him happy. “Are you ready to fuck your alien queen?”

“More than you know.”

“Come here then. I want to see what you have to offer me.” Trevor moved closer to Bree so that his cock directly in front of her face. “Well, my darling, that looks like it can do the job. Now listen closely. I want you to fuck me until you come. No more, no less. If you come before your queen, that is okay, but you must come inside me. Do you understand?”

Trevor nodded his head, and a smile appeared on his face as he realized that not only was he getting to take part in his fucking an alien fantasy, but this amazingly kinky woman sitting in front of him was taking it to another level. He was smack dab in the middle of his alien birthing fantasy.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“I’m to fuck you until I orgasm and fill you with my seed.”

“Very good, my darling. Now get over here and fuck me.”

Trevor guided his stiff cock to the opening of her vagina, teasing her clit with the head before he penetrated her. A moan escaped her lips as she leaned back against the shower wall. The eggs inside shifted ever so slightly as he entered her, causing a wave of pleasure to roll through her body.

“Oh my god, your cunt feels so good.” It was taking all he had not to come before he was all the way in. Between the epic hand job he had just received, the tightness of her cunt, and the role play, he was barely hanging on. He wasn’t sure what she had done to make her pussy feel so tight, but he liked it.

“Less talking, more fucking.” Bree wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him in close, forcing his cock the rest of the way into her throbbing vagina. He grabbed her legs and placed them on his shoulders. Smiling, Bree nodded her approval as he pulled out slowly and then rammed his cock into her balls deep, over and over, each time bringing her to the edge of orgasm and then denying her that release. His speed increased as he came closer to coming himself. Until finally, he couldn’t take it any longer and shot load after load of his seed into her womb.

“I’m coming, my queen!”

“That’s a good boy. Do you know why I ordered you to come inside me?”

“I think so, my queen.”

“Well, tell me then.” “You wanted me to come inside you so a human could impregnate you.”

“That’s right, my darling. Now let’s hope it did the job. We’ll know soon enough.”

“What do you mean by soon enough?”

“Well, everything in my species is accelerated, so if you were successful we shall know in a few minutes.”

Trevor leaned in and kissed her passionately and whispered in her ear, “This has been an amazing night, my queen.”

“It’s about to get better, my darling. Now I need you to kneel in front of me and place my feet on your shoulders. It’s time for the birthing.” As her feet were lifted, Bree started pushing out the eggs. “Pay attention, my dear, you don’t want to miss it.”

Trevor had another hard on just thinking about what was happening. He had convinced himself that he would never get to do this. That the kink was just too weird. Boy, did she prove him wrong tonight. He stroked his cock as he watched the first egg break free and slip from her pussy. He hurried to catch it and placed it gently next to him just in time to watch the second egg pop out and into his hands.

“Well, there is our answer. Looks like your job here is complete.”

“That was the most awesome thing I have ever experienced.” He rose from his kneeling position and leaned in to kiss the beautiful cunt that has just fulfilled one of his deepest desires. “Thank you, my queen.”

“You know I would do anything to make you happy my love and if I’m being honest, I had always wanted to try something like that too. Who knows, maybe we can make this a yearly thing and explore some more of your fantasies. But for now, let’s grab a late-night snack. I’m starving and you’re going to need fuel to keep you going. After all, we have 18 hours before we have to be home. I’m sure we can find something to do.”

© 2021 Sayre Ambrosio All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this story may be reproduced or copied without the expressed written permission of the author.

[daisywords]

excerpt

here’s something from my second chance wip that probably doesn’t make sense but enjoy I guess:

There was something that Lya dreamed, not enough to truly be called often, but something that showed up every once in a while, often enough that she remembered, that she noticed. It was like this: someone walked in through the front doors. Usually it was a girl. Her face was different every time. Sometimes Lya didn’t even remember what she looked like, just that she was there. And who she was: the Chosen of Tarinthe. The real one. Everyone else knew it too; they parted ways before her, watched her step up to take her rightful place. So did Lya. She always watched, just watched, as the stranger strode confidently into her warm welcome. Sayr smiling widely enough to split his face in half, clinging to her hands. Masil nodding approvingly. Iadra squealing and throwing her arms around her. And Talinel, dear Talinel, clutching her to her chest, saying, “I’ve been waiting for you for so long, dearest.” All while Lya watched from the corner. Then, what always happened. The stranger would turn and look at her. Sometimes she would smile, but never cruelly. Always kind, too kind.

“Thank you,” she would say. “I’m here now, so you can go.”

Sometimes Lya actually had the audacity to ask her where she’d been all this time.

The girl tilted her head. “I’ve been working in my garden. It needed me. But now the world needs me.”

Then she would turn away.

“Please,” Lya blurted out. “Can you...What am I supposed to do now?”

The stranger looked back over her shoulder. “Whatever you like,” she would say, like it was obvious. “I do know of a garden that needs tending.”

A strange feeling would alway come over Lya, and she would wake in a way that felt more like falling asleep than the other way around.

It was the kind of dream that lingered, that was difficult to shake even hours into the morning. It left her strange and hollow and with a vague urge to cry, but also strangely comforted. Like she was standing there, watching from the corner, and in the garden at the same time.

She thought too much about that garden. It was never in the dream, but in her head, it was beautiful.

[sdhqsecrets]

opinions on current aurors and aurors in training?

oh wow, you really know how to narrow it down, don’t you ??

Chase Sayre has mostly stayed under the radar so far but we can’t wait until you’re in the spotlight. Maybe we’ll have some fun with you next, what do you say ??

What a secret you kept from everyone, Miss Arquette, and from your own husband too. We’d happily have drinks with you deary, just as long as you’re not pregnant again !!

Teddy’s all mopey and angry now. We’re sorry about the news we had to break to you but Vic was never gonna tell. We just wish we could put a smile on that handsome face.

Carrow seems almost too focused on bringing her parents down. What are you gonna do when daddy-dearest is back in prison ??

I wish I could say more about Felix Hopkirk but he’s yet another to stay under the radar but, dear, we know something you don’t know !!

How is it that half of our aurors are either under the radar or mopey ?? We know you kept a secret Frankie but we thought you had more backbone than just letting your sister walk away.

I do love me some Fred Weasley especially when he spent half of NYE trying to start a party of his own. Can we get an invite next time ??

James is finally staying out of the center of the drama but we don’t know if we like that very much. You wanna throw yourself back in the ring, sweetheart ??

How could ever say no to a face like Manon Flamel’s ?? We do know that she likes to say no. Certainly never said ‘I do’ anyway and we do love a woman with a scandalous past.

How’s the wife Marcus ?? We’ve just been dying to meet her, is she ever gonna join you in the UK ?? That might make life more interesting ...

We do no your secret, Nicholas, but we’d love for you to be a bit more interesting without our help.

Our newest trainee, Scorpius Malfoy. I must say the badge suits you and you have had the most ... dramatic change in recent months and we do love drama.

Oh dear, dear Tobias. Or do you prefer Xavier now ?? You are a little mopey too but I guess you always have been. Have we jogged your memory at all yet ?? We only want to help.

One sibling a healer and the other an auror, you Notts are really trying to make up for some bad bad deeds, aren’t you Verity ?? We must say though, we do love a woman in uniform. We do hope you don’t have any problems working with your boyfriend in future. We’d hate for there to be drama.

The most interesting thing about William Ashcroft is that he came back from the dead. After that ?? Nothing. Will you get your butt in gear please ??

[umi-goslin]

Zelda Sayre to F. Scott Fitzgerald

I look down the tracks and see you coming—and out of every haze & mist your darling rumpled trousers are hurrying to me—Without you, dearest dearest I couldn't see or hear or feel or think—or live—I love you so and I'm never in all our lives going to let us be apart another night. It's like begging for mercy of a storm or killing Beauty or growing old, without you. I want to kiss you so—and in the back where your dear hair starts and your chest—I love you—and I can't tell you how much—To think that I'll die without your knowing—Goofo, you've got to try [to] feel how much I do—how inanimate I am when you're gone—I can't even hate these damnable people—Nobody's got a right to live but us—and they're dirtying up our world and I can't hate them because I want you so—Come Quick—Come Quick to me—Lover, Lover, Darling—Your Wife

[deeisace]

So as ever I'm bored

And so I'm researching the actual Edmund Reid's history

I didn't know he was an aeronaut

Also, bizarrely, his daughter (Elizabeth, who is the basis for Mathilda in the Ripper Street series, tho her history is changed drastically for said series) - this isn't the bizarre bit, but she married the station sergeant of H division, a Thomas Smith, and her son Edmund was sent to war as a sapper in France (he has no distinctive marks, reportedly, only his height is listed, which is unusual, but I know before he left he was a clerk for P.L.U or P.L.A, whatever that might be) - the bizarre bit is that she was baptised at age 33, having already married and had 3 children, tho neither they or her husband were baptized alongside her, as I've seen before

Thomas was almost 10 years her senior and retired on a pension of £208, 14s, 4d p/a in 1920 - he had blue eyes, and fair hair "turning grey" at age 56, after 33 years at work, and his hand seems to have shook on signing his name, or else a new dip of his pen caused blotches

Anyway so

I've found Edmund Reid's Police Pension register!

He retired from the L division, Lambeth in Feb 1896, as an Inspector, with a pension of £117 exact - his middle names were John James, and he was born in Canterbury in March 1846, was 5ft 6 and a half, had dark brown hair and grey eyes (and a "fresh" complexion, tho I've never really understood the meaning of that). "If injured in the service, state nature" just has a tick next to it, which I spose means none, and the pen was running out of ink or else has faded very much

He was a mason!!

I'm not terrible surprised, really, a man of his standing in his age, but it doesn't much match with his characterisation in Ripper Street, tho I know I oughtn't take that as truth

The membership list says he lives at Leman Street, and funnily there's a Flight just above him on the list. It says he was "Excluded" in 1898, tho no reason given and I wouldn't expect one

Anyway, so

Along with the aforementioned Elizabeth, there was a son, Harold Reid - younger than her by 8 years - he was a soldier, enlisted in 1900 age 18, and before that a barman by his enlistment papers. He was taller than his dad by an inch and a half, but had his same features (Fresh complexion, grey eyes, brown hair) - but, also, a tattoo! "Four dots left" I presume arm. He was in South Africa twice, for five years total, and between those spent six years at once in India. Of course his dad is his next of kin, and his address changes twice (Stanley Road somewhere in Kent, then 9 Southampton Row London, then finally Hampton-on-Sea)

He's listed as a soldier on his marriage record in 1918, but his record as I have found it dates only to 1908. Maybe there's a separate thing, for WWI stuff?

Ah, in 1939, he's a retired police officer living in Kingston upon Thames. Idk that I'll find his pension record, I'll have a hunt. Aha, here he is. An inspector himself, no less! Oh, by the description, it's the wrong Harold Reid. Never mind then!

Anyway in 1911, he's (the correct one) living with his dad in Hampton-on-Sea, listed as an Army Corporal (and Edmund a Police Pensioner), and they have a German housekeeper and a domestic from Stepney with them. Edmund's pen is not running low on ink this time. Their neighbours on either side are Mounts - one, Albert Mount, a house decorator and his family, and two, George Mount, a "market gardener", who I think might be Albert's father (tho his wife is the same age as Albert, 30 years his junior, which is gross)

Oh, Harold has a daughter! Elizabeth Mabel, born summer 1919. In Andover, of all places.

No listing whatsoever for WWI, tho, so idk how or why he's still a soldier on his marriage.

But I have found Edmund's baptism (as an infant, unlike his daughter), and from there him at 15 - they live now in a pub in St Giles Camberwell - his father is a railway clerk from Aberdeen, his mother a housekeeper from Seynham? Idk somewhere in Kent. His elder sister and his cousin visiting are both barmaids, presumably in the pub they live over, and his four younger sisters are all school age. Edmund himself is a grocer's assistant - the nearest one is a Mr Jennings, next door, I'd presume Edmund works for him.

At age 25, he is a lodger with the Fields family, in Southwark St John, and is a warehouse worker.

It's not til he's 26, the next year, that he joins the police

For a lark, I had a look for Jackson and Drake - there is no such person as Homer Jackson (except in 1940s Birmingham), nor Matthew Judge (except up north, and later), but Bennett Drake did exist! As a name, at least. He's a brewer's labourer from Dorset, living in Hilton and then Sherborne, with a wife Sarah and at least 6 children, including a stepson. His middle name is Swire (or Swyre, or Sayre), apparently, and his father John was a labourer. He also was unable to sign his name, tho his second wife was. He had at least 2 older siblings, and 7 younger, so his mum Harriott must've been rushed off her feet, the poor woman.

I had a look for Fred Best, too, because he was certainly a factual person. At 15, in 1881, he was a printer's messenger living with his parents on Albany Road, and his dad was a carpenter. He's the middle brother of three, with the eldest becoming a banker, and the youngest a piano agent. And of course we know Fred is a journalist! Tho I can't find any much more word of him - except one Fred Best, in 1891, who is a book, builder? Bookbinder? Dodgy handwriting, that enumerator. Tho that one is 5 years too old, that doesn't always mean much - tho unless there's another Fred Best who's dad was a carpenter, there's a listing for him having joined the army in '84, and this one is the right age

Anyway, that's enough of that, it's almost 2am and I have to be vaguely presentable at noon tomorrow (today), dear me

[coupdetorchon]

Noirvember Day 13 - Where the Sidewalk Ends (1950)

[war-sword]

the ilvermorny exchange (1)

Part 1 | index | masterlist

summary: you’re an Ilvermorny student, and you’ve applied to the International Magic Student Exchange Program to attend your sixth year at Hogwarts instead. You and your friends are excited to go to school overseas, but a certain blonde prefect has decided to personally make your exchange year suck. Time to give him a taste of his own medicine. ( draco x reader, enemies to lovers, female reader ) words: 3,976 warnings: cursing a/n: i’ve been working on this story for nearly a month now and i have a lot written for it. but i’m not sure of an ending yet! we’ll see where it goes. i have enough for four parts as of right now, so keep checking back on my blog for updates, or reply and ask to be added to the taglist for this fic. please keep in mind this story is enemies to lovers so the first couple chapters you’re not going to be getting along!

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You’d been waiting for your opportunity to go on the Exchange since your fourth year. You’d never been out of the United States before, and while you wished you could visit Beauxbatons in France or Castelobruxo in Brazil, you hadn’t learned any foreign languages in your early school years. Besides, the British school was said to be just as different education-wise as any of the other schools, and Hogwarts had just opened up to being participants in the IMSEP (International Magic Student Exchange Program) recently. You and everyone else who was selected would be the first overseas visitors the school would have in over a four decades.

Since Hogwarts was a very sought-after Exchange destination, a lottery system had been set into place. You awaited your letter by owl everyday over the summer, wondering if it would contain the words you so desperately hoped it would. Exchange letters were supposed to be delivered by the end of July. Today was July 30th, and you were beginning to think you weren’t going to be picked. Your very best friend, Alex, was selected for the Hogwarts exchange last week, and in her letter she sent you she said she wouldn’t go if you weren’t also selected. As much as you appreciate the sentiment, you didn’t want Alex to miss out on her opportunity. You sat on the porch of your house, thinking of how you could convince Alex to go without you, when a dark brown owl silently settled onto the railing in front of you.

“MOM!” You screeched. The owl startled, dropping the precious letter from its beak. You dove to  catch it in your shaking hands, hitting your head on the railing. “Ow…” You rubbed your head, and the owl flew off, disgruntled.

“Sweetheart, what is it?” Your mom opened the front door and took in your slumped figure on the front porch, sounding worried.

You simply held up the letter, and she gasped. In the house, you torn it open with the letter opener, and read the words so fast you almost didn’t get it.

Dear Ms. Y/L/N,

Congratulations! From a pool of seventy-eight students, you and fourteen of your classmates were chosen to go on this year’s International Magic Student Exchange Program to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Scotland, United Kingdom. While we will miss you at Ilvermorny, we hope you will have a wonderful and edifying time out of the country. More information is enclosed about your expectations set forth by your chosen school, and the time and place of the Portkey leaving Ilvermorny in September.

Signed,

Joan Rittler, Principal of Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

On September 12th, you and your parents traveled to Ilvermorny by apparation. Looking out across the grounds, you felt a small twinge in your heart that you wouldn’t be back here until the start of your seventh year. All your other friends were either on another Exchange, or hadn’t applied at all, and you would miss them all so much.

On the front lawn of the school, students and teachers you all knew well milled about. Ilvermorny’s term was starting next week, but the Hogwarts, Beauxbaton, and Durmstrang terms all started today. Three chairs had been set up in the great front lawn-- your portkeys to each of your schools.

“You have a wonderful time, okay?” Your mom said, hugging you goodbye.

“I will, I promise. I’ll write you as often as I do while I’m here.” You promised, hugging her tightly.

You dad gave you a hug also and a pat on the back. “I’m sure you’ll have just as much fun as you do here. Don’t get all posh on us over there!”

You beamed up at him. “I won’t!”

You dragged your suitcase over to the portkey, and your parents apparated away. Alex arrived a few minutes later and you grabbed each other in a bone crushing hug. “DUDE I’M SO EXCITED!”

“DUDE ME TOO!”

Quickly, the other students started to arrive. It was a small group, all people you were either friendly with or knew decently well. Your friend Chris from Washington and Sarah from Kentucky had been chosen to go. Some boys you knew from wandwork, Jason, and Kenny. Alice from your Charms class who was Sarah’s best friend was also there. When the clock struck one, you all gathered around your portkey. One of your favorite teachers, Ms. Bell, approached your group.

“Hey guys! Is everyone excited?”

You all chorused your yes’s.

“Okay, please make sure everything you’re taking with you is either on your body, or grasped firmly. We don’t want you leaving anything behind!” She pulled a pocket watch out, checking the time.

You straddle your trunk and grip the handle at one end, your other hand grabbed ahold of the portkey.

“Have fun guys! Okay, everyone get ready on three, two…”

On one, you felt the familiar whoosh of being sucked in by the portkey. Beside you, Alex screamed in delight. Within moments, you’d all been transported, and you tried to slow down as the Earth came up to meet you. Minorly successful, you stumbled as you hit the ground, dragging your trunk behind you. The results of the portkey travel were mixed, some of your friends crashing to the ground in a heap while others gracefully floated down with not a hair out of place.

You’d seemed to have landed near a train station. Fir trees rose up around you, the stretching single platform going off into a tiny town. As you took in the crisp air, you turned to see a tall looming man watching you all arrived with amusement.

“Welcome to ‘Ogwarts!” He bellowed, laughing as the last of you brushed off your jeans. “My name is ‘Agrid, I’m the groundskeeper here. Let’s get you all to the castle so we can ‘ave some grub, eh?”

The fifteen of you all dragged your stuff to the four waiting carriages. Hagrid went on as you walked, telling you all about the school. He lifted all your trunks with ease into the tall cars.

“Thank you,” you said, climbing up after your things.

The drive was very peaceful, the self-pulling carriages rolling quietly through the forest. At your first glimpse of the castle, you all gasped, ooh-ing and ahh-ing.

“I love the lake!” Alice said.

“It’s beautiful. I wonder how big it is inside. Bigger than Ilvermorny, do you think?” You asked.

“Hogwarts has half our student body, so I’d guess not. Although they don’t look much different.” Sarah explained, her eyes on the castle.

Everyone was giggling in excitement as you took tiny boats across the lake to get to the castle. After the long hike up the steps, you were all greeted by a tall woman in a traditional witch’s hat. Hagrid waved you all goodbye, and she thanked him. “Welcome, Ilvermorny students! We are all very glad to have you with us this year. I am professor McGonagall, head of Gryffindor house. I will be showing you to your dorms and then we will all head to the great hall for dinner. Now, after some discussion among the staff, we will be straying from our original plan. I’m sorry if this disappoints some of you, but none of you will be sorted into houses for this year.”

A murmur went through your small group. You had been excited to be sorted, to see if you got into the supposed Hogwarts equivalent of your house at Ilvermorny.

“We all thought it was best since there are so few of you, to keep you together. We’ve created your own dorms for you here, and the only time you will be separated from the Hogwarts students is for lodging. The rest of the time, you will be permitted to eat at any table with any new friends you make, enter any common room you’re invited into, and if you enjoy Quidditch you may try out to be on any house’s team when it is time. If you have a question at anytime, look for a student with the Prefect badge on, and they will help you to the best of their ability.”

Okay, that wasn’t so bad. You all followed McGonagall through twisting halls of the castle. It had huge, vaulted ceilings, and a grand staircase that had you all in wonder. Your Ilvermrony dorm was up on what she described as the west towers, at the end of a secluded corridor. A beautiful tapestry was hung on the wall of what looked like a young witch. Upon closer inspection, you recognized the woman as Isolt Sayre, founder of Ilvermorny. “This is the guardian of your dorms while you are here. Give her a password, and only you will be allowed in.”

You all were silent for a moment before Kenny spoke up. “Wait, right now?”

“There is no time like the present,” Professor McGonagall replied.

The fifteen of your formed a huddle, tossing around options. Finally, you all settled on Greylock, the mountain on which Ilvermorny was built.

Tapestry-Isolt smiled, and then the tapestry itself curled upwards, revealing a door. Professor McGonagall opened it, revealing a square room with a fireplace, a few couches and chairs and several large windows overlooking the lake. Two hallways branched off from the main room. “Please take the next thirty minutes to get settled, and change into your new uniforms. Boys on the left girls on the right, please!”

You all scattered, splitting off into the different sides. Each room housed four people, and you, Alex, Sarah, and Alice all agreed to room with one another. Your room had an old fashioned stove in the middle to warm it, with more windows going over each small bed. A tiny bathroom was attached to one end. After unpacking a bit, you all changed into your new uniforms. At Ilvermorny you wore all black under your robes, but here you had white button-ups and dark grey sweaters for if it was cold. You all had ties in stripes of cranberry red and blue, Ilvermorny colors, and your black robes were lined with the same pink-red color.

“To distinguish us from the other houses,” Sarah explained.

Five till the hour, you all gathered in the common room of your dorm, and between all of your brains you managed to make it back to where you’d started, where the entrance to the great hall was. Dinner was much different than you were used to at home, with long tables instead of high stacks, and all the years intermingled at the tables for each house. While everyone else was inside sitting with their houses, you all clustered together outside. A small group of about thirty first-years were there too, dressed in all black.

“Aw, they’re going to get sorted,” you sighed, putting a hand on your heart.

Alex made a similar soft face. “So small, so young.”

Professor McGonagall came out of the hall and looked at the group of you. “Ilvermorny students, you may proceed into the hall. There has been a small table set up at the front for you just for tonight. I hope you will enjoy watching the sorting ceremony.”

As the group of you walked into the hall, you could feel the eyes of all the Hogwarts students watching you. Everyone was staring, and Alex grabbed your hand. You squeezed it back to tell her it was okay. You settled down at your table in the front, with Alex on your one side and Chris on your left.

The sorting ceremony was very interesting to say the least. The first years, some trembling with excitement, some with fear, all went up one by one to sit on a chair and had what might’ve been the world’s rattiest looking hat sat upon their head. It talked, and would voice everything it was seeing in the kid’s mind and where it thought they should be placed. It would finally call out a house, sometimes taking up to three minutes to decide, and the house that was selected for the child would erupt into cheers at their dinner table.

When the sorting was over, Headmaster Dumbledore stood at the podium to speak. “Welcome back to another year at Hogwarts, or for some of us, your first year. As you’ve noticed, we have some wonderful students from the American school, Ilvermorny, here with us. They will be visiting all year, so please be kind and helpful to both them and our first-years these beginning weeks. Now, please, enjoy your dinner!”

The next day, you were all over the castle trying to get to your classes. At Ilvermorny, classes were separated into different parts of the castle based on what year you took the class in, so you never had to talk very far to get from place to place, unless you were going to an outdoors class. Here, classes were held in towers, dungeons, inside, outside, and it seemed like you’d run through every fucking corridor imaginable just this morning.

Just as you were about to rip your hair out in frustration, you noticed a group of three boys in green robes and ties. But one had a shiny pin attached to the front of his robe- a Prefect’s pin. You took off after them, waving your parchment timetable.

“Hey! HEY!”

The boy in the Prefect’s pin, who had nearly-white blonde hair, turned to look at you, confused by the yelling. You caught up to them and gasped for breath while he stared at you expectantly.

“Um… Professor McGonagall said I, uh, I mean we could ask a Prefect for help? If we needed it? Can you tell me where this is?” You pointed to the spot on your timetable that said ‘Potions- Professor Snape’ and nothing else.

The blonde Prefect took your parchment from you and considered it, and then you for a moment. “It’s in the west towers, that way,” he said, pointing. “Third flight of steps up.” He handed the parchment back.

“Okay. Thank you,” you breathed. “I can’t find anything in this giant ass castle.”

One side of his mouth quirked up, amused. “Sure. Better hurry, best not to be late.” He looked at you once more before turning on his heels and walking off, his two silent friends following him. You dashed off in the other direction.

In the towers, you walked up what seemed to be three floors, but there wasn’t even anything there. You went up and up until you reached a classroom, but one look inside told you it was definitely not potions.

You wandered some more, hopelessly lost. How could the Prefect boy have been so wrong? Did he do it on purpose? That would've been mean. You were on the verge of giving up when you saw another person in the hall. You asked them and they pointed you back downstairs to the dungeons. “It’s the only room down there that’s used, and the door is usually open. You can’t miss it,” She said. “If there’s a really scary looking guy with long black hair teaching, you know you’re in the right place.”

You thanked them profusely, and then followed their instructions all the way back down. Indeed, the door was open, and one peek inside the classroom confirmed the description of the teacher. Students were seated in twos around square tables while he lectured. Tentatively, you knocked on the door frame. Everyone in the class turned to look at you.

“Uh, I think I’m supposed to be here. I got lost.” You squeaked out.

The teacher-- Professor Snape, you supposed-- strode over silently and held out his hand. You offered your timetable and he snatched it away. After looking at it, he handed it back. “Find an empty seat. And do not, be late, again.” A small laugh could be heard from the back.

As soon as he turned, you grimaced. The only empty chair was on the side of the room, a table currently filled with three boys and one girl. You sat down next to her as quietly as you could while Professor Snape began to talk again. Your eyes swept across the rest of the room, and your heart nearly skipped as you caught sight of a familiar face. Not one of your friends, but the exact boy from earlier who you’d asked for directions. He was in this class too, and purposely told you wrong! Rage heated the skin on your face, but you made yourself turn away and focus on what Professor Snape was saying.

The girl you sat next too had wild hair and brown skin. She looked at you sympathetically, but didn’t say anything. You guessed this was a no-talking class.

Indeed it was not. Even though this was the first day, he assigned a potion to create with the remaining time in the class. As soon as he he let you go to begin work, the girl next to you turned and offered her hand. “I’m Hermione. Don’t worry about Snape, he’s like that to everyone. You’re one of the exchange students, I see.”

“I’m Y/N. Eh, it’s fine. He seems mean but as long as I do good work, that’s what matters. Right?”

Hermione beamed. “I think we’ll get along well. Let me know if you need any help finding your other classes after this. I know it can be confusing at first.”

“It’s hard but that’s not why I was late. I tried to ask a Prefect for help, but he told me wrong on purpose.” You frowned.

Hermione looked confused. “How do you know?”

“Cuz he’s right over there.” You pointed across the room to where the blonde boy was standing, sleeves rolled up and already working on his potion. Hermione’s face turned to pure rage.

“Malfoy,” she spat. “He’s the most intolerant person on this planet, mean to everyone.”

“Malfoy?” The red haired boy across the table asked, returning to his seat with an armful of ingredients. “What’d that arse do this time.”

“He told me the wrong way here on purpose,” you said.

The redhead rolled his eyes. “Bloody hell, can that git leave anyone alone? You poor lot haven’t even been here a whole day.”

You looked back over at the boy across the room. “Whatever. I don’t put up with people’s bullshit.”

The redhead widened his eyes and turned make eye contact with the boy with brown hair next to him. “Now that’s the attitude to have. I’m Ron.” He stuck out his hand across the table to you. “And this is Harry, and Neville is who sits over there. Malfoy hates all of us to, so welcome to the club.”

You shook Ron’s hand and laughed lightly. “Is the club very big?”

“Enormous.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Hopefully it was just a one time incident. Come on, we can make the potion together.”

You followed Hermione back to the store room and gathered ingredients to being back to the table. “I can do the caterpillars and daisy root,” you offered as soon as you got back to the table. You began to expertly cut the caterpillars into thin slices while Hermione heated the cauldron.

“You’re supposed to peel those, you know.” You gestured across the table to Ron, who was sprinkling whole shrivelfig into his potion. Ron looked helplessly into his cauldron.

“Have you made shrinking solution before?” Hermione asked.

“Sure,” you answered. “My mom taught me potions at home, so I finished the course early. I took Advanced Potions last year.” You moved onto the daisy root, your knife moving quickly. “I was disappointed to see it on my schedule again when I got it this morning. I was hoping I could take a wandwork class, since you all make wands differently over here.”

All four of the others looked across the table at you silently. “What?”

“Wandwork? Like, creating wands?” Hermione asked, eyes wide.

“Uh, yeah? Do you guys not learn that here?”

Neville looked amazed. “Isn’t that dangerous? To teach everyone to make wands?”

“I mean, we never actually make any. It’s mostly about the different properties and how to identify them,” You explain. “If you don’t learn wandwork how are you supposed to duel?”

“To duel?” Ron and Harry asked at the same time.

“You know, advantages of Phoenix feather over unicorn hair? Properties that increase a wand’s tendency towards dark magic?” You offered. All you received in return were blank faces. “Wow you guys really don’t know.”

Hermione took the cutting board from you and added in the ingredients you’d chopped. “I’ll finish this. Tell me more about wand theory.”

The rest of the class you helped Hermione a little while you answered her questions about your wandwork class at Ilvermorny. You’d taken an intro class last year, so you knew a little. Hermione’s questions were very specific so you did your best to answer. Her enthusiasm for learning was very evident, and she seemed to like you a lot already based on your knowledge of potions and now wandwork theory. Professor Snape came over eventually and gave you and Hermione’s perfect potion a good mark, and the class was dismissed.

“Want to sit with us at lunch?” Hermione asked as you all walked out of the room.

“Sure, but only if my friend Alex can also. I don’t think she has anyone to sit with yet and I don’t want to leave her alone.” You replied. Today there was no Ilvermony-only table, so the pressure to find friends to sit with at meals was real.

“Of course.”

You were looking at Harry out of the corner of your eye, trying to decide why he looked so familiar, when you heard boyish laughter from behind you. Hermione sighed, and the four of you stopped and turned at the sound of “Granger!”

The source of the giggling was none other than Malfoy and his two friends. You scowled, and he looked right at you. “Decided to take the newbie under your wing, hm, Granger?”

“She seems perfectly capable on her own, Malfoy. I’m just being friendly.” Hermione spat, grabbing your arm to pull you away. But you broke free of her grip and stalked right up to him, pointing your finger in his face.

“Listen, dickhead. I don’t know what your deal is, but you stay in your lane and I’ll say in mine. Got it?”

He and his friends ooh-ed at your comment while you spun on your heel to walk of, this time you grabbed Hermione’s arm. “So it’s true Americans are as rude as they say!” He called after you. You bit back a reply and just walked away faster.

At lunch, you dragged Alex over to sit with your new friends.

“Ugh, I can’t find anything in this big ass building,” she groaned. “I don’t understand-- there’s half as many kids here as Ilvermorny! Why the fuck are there so many rooms.”

“Dude, me either. Wanna hear this bullshit that happened to me this morning?” While you put food on your plate, you told Alex the story of what happened with Malfoy. “He’s right over there.”

Alex turned from her place across from you to look for him. “Interesting,” she hummed. “That’s funny, cuz he’s your type.”

Hermione nearly spit out her drink. “Excuse me?”

You felt your face heat up. “What? Asshole boys?”

“Nah, blonde hair, pale with some freckles… are those blue eyes I see?” She teased.

“They’re grey, so no. Also, fuck off.”

“I was gonna say,” Ron said, voice muffled by food. “We were gonna have to revoke our offer of friendship if you did.”

“Understandable.” You glared across the great hall, and Malfoy looked back at you. A wicked smile broke across his face that just made you scowl harder. “Never in a million years.”

[finita--la--commedia]

I think our life together will be like these last four days—and I do want to marry you—even if you do think I “dread” it—I wish you hadn’t said that—I’m not afraid of anything. To be afraid a person has either to be a coward or very great and big. I am neither. Besides, I know you can take much better care of me than I can, and I’ll always be very, very happy with you—except sometimes when we engage in our weekly debates—and even then I rather enjoy myself. I like being very calm and masterful, while you become emotional and sulky. I don’t care whether you think so or not—I do.

Zelda (Sayre) Fitzgerald (1900-1948), in a letter to Francis Scott Fitzgerald (1896-1940) [Montgomery, Alabama], February 1920 in “Dear Scott, Dearest Zelda. The Love Letters of F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald”