#and at this point I'm afraid to ask

[elliemarchetti]

The Queen of the Quills - Blackinnon Edition (part 3)

Since I started a new series set in this universe I thought I'd continue in tandem with this story too. Reading The Queen of the Quills - Jily Edition will not be mandatory to understand the developments of Sirius and Marlene's story, but some details could be shared, therefore, for anyone wishing to fully enjoy the experience, I will leave a small index in the notes which acts as a reading order.

Blackinnon Edition - Chapter 1 Blackinnon Edition - Chapter 2 Jily Edition - Chapter 1 Blackinnon Edition - Chapter 3

Read this and my other Marauders Era stories on AO3

Plot: Sirius joins James and Euphemia at the McKinnons' for dinner, unaware that his mystery girl is the homeowners' daughter.

Words: 1614

On a late Saturday afternoon, right at the start of May, Sirius found himself on the front steps of the McKinnons’, one hand rapping the brass knocker on the door, the other wrapped around a large bouquet of fiendishly expensive tulips. A house elf with a ridiculously hawkish nose opened almost immediately and Sirius gave him his card, which he looked at for barely a quarter second before nodding and murmuring to follow him. After all, he was expected.

What was unexpected, however, was the sight that awaited him when he was shown into the antechamber of the McKinnons’ drawing room. Behind a half-open door, his mystery lady was perched on the edge a green damask sofa, a vision in ice-blue silk, her face decorated by a wide smile as she listened to a rather bad poem spewing from an old man’s mouth.

The entire scene, Sirius decided, was most disagreeable, and he found his free hand curled into a tight fist as he waited to be announced. He scanned the room slowly, trying to decide if his blow would fit best in the right eye socket or the left one of the wizard who was at best a widower who wanted a second wife, young enough to be his daughter, and at worst a bachelor who had waited too long to marry. Whatever the truth was, the fact the mystery lady was in that living room couldn’t make her anyone else than the famous Marlene James always spoke of. Could this be the suitor he had told him about? It couldn't be, not after he'd seen her punch someone much younger. Another thing he struggled to reconcile was the image he had of her, little more than a child after her second year at Hogwarts, and that of the beauty in a ball gown, her hair styled and a little makeup on, levitating an unconscious man who dared to approach her in the wrong manner. She was even prettier now, relaxed in the waning sunlight…

“Sirius!” a familiar voice exclaimed, snapping him out of his thoughts. Mrs. Potter, who must’ve already been there with her son, immediately held him in a maternal embrace, something he incredibly yearned for during his travels. They had seen each other just a few hours earlier, at lunch, but Euphemia must also have missed the man she kept describing as somehow a second son, and every opportunity seemed good to spoil him with affection as if he were still a lanky student asking to spend the night to avoid arguing with his parents.

James’ mother was, without exaggeration, the most loving person he knew, and that hadn’t changed after she lost her husband and unborn child. The pain certainly made her look older than she already was, but she still held herself well, her clothes excellently tailored and her grey hair neatly pinned. When Sirius returned to her door six years after his departure, she welcomed him with open arms and made sure to update him on all the gossips he might have missed, including the weddings of his cousins he no longer spoke with. He wasn’t surprised that Narcissa had married Mr. Malfoy, they were Hogwarts sweethearts and after all, just like James, he too was the only heir of an important family, moreover one that appeared on the Sacred Twenty-Eight list, as did the Blacks, but that Bellatrix, the most rowdy and grouchy of the three sisters, had decided to settle down was unbelievable.

“Mr. Black,” said another woman, probably Mrs. McKinnon, when Euphemia finally let go of him. “You honour us with your presence.”

“The honour is all mine,” Sirius replied, although the only thing he wanted was to finish the introductions quickly and move on to the part where he was presented to Marlene. Who knows what her reaction in seeing him would be like, and above all, who knows if she would recognize him from their most recent meeting or from his friendship with James. Whatever the answer was, it had to wait, for they still had to talk about the flowers, where they came from, and how difficult it was to import them directly from Holland, especially in winter, even though they were right in the middle of spring.

“They must’ve been terribly dear,” Mrs. Potter commented, only to be jokingly reprimanded by her son.

“What could he possibly respond to that?” he asked.

“With the price?” suggested Sirius, with a devilish half-smile.

“You would never be so crass,” James retorted, with a dismissing wave of his hand.

“Tell me later,” his mother whispered out of the side of her mouth, “when he’s not listening.”

“I hear you!” James exclaimed, exasperated, but their back and forth was interrupted by a male voice coming from the other room, the same that was reciting poetry a minute ago. The man looked amused, as if he was used to that kind of exchange, and moved with such confidence to approach them that made Sirius understand he must be at home too. And if he had been left unattended with Miss McKinnon…

“James!” Mr. McKinnon exclaimed by a way of greeting. “We were waiting for you for tea! You know how much Marlene loves to have it together before dinner.”

“Me, huh?” the girl screamed, getting up from the green damask sofa, undoubtedly unaware there was an unknown guest, for whom she should’ve behaved with greater grace.

“I can’t quite decide if you all are being terribly polite in not wanting to join us unprompted or exquisitely rude,” the man joked once his daughter reached his side, putting an arm around her slender shoulders and therefore blocking his own view on her slowly dying smile, the only hint in her demeanour that showed she recognized Sirius and wasn’t happy to meet him again, especially in front of her parents.

“Exquisitely polite, perhaps?” his new acquaintance suggested, amused. What Sirius wanted to silently show to Miss McKinnon was that he wasn’t a threat, and he bore her no ill will for her brusqueness at his cousin’s dance, but at the same time he wished to prove he could be also funny, a pleasant person to be around. The opinion of other people had never mattered so much to him, and especially that of a young woman, but he wanted to fix things, or start again on the right foot, because something special had happened when he witnesses her display of fierceness and pragmatism, and although he didn’t want to put a name on it, he sure wanted the explore the foreign feeling.

“Oh, definitely not that,” replied Mr. McKinnon, patting his shoulder as if they were old friends.

“The alternative, of course, is…” started James, but Marlene concluded the sentence in his stead.

“Terribly rude?” she asked with a grin, then looped her arm through her best friend’s to lead him in the drawing room. As if by magic, the other members of the little groups followed suit and took their seats in a remarkably efficient way, as if they were afraid the graceful young girl might scold them as if they were undisciplined soldiers and she was a feared general.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I don’t know how anyone could consider you a rake,” Marlene said to Sirius as soon as they had a semblance of privacy. “Your sense of humour is far too superb, while rakes are essentially cruel.”

Her comment seemed to surprise him, and he stared at her intently, searching her brown eyes as if he was looking for something. Maybe a comment on the little encounter they had at Mrs. Tonks ball, but she wasn’t in the mood, too happy and lost in the narrow ring of green just outside his pupils, the color as deep and rich as moss, to spoil the mood.

“And you wouldn’t classify James as rake?” he asked, one of his brows lifted in a rather superior manner.

“He only thinks he’s a rake,” she corrected. “There is a considerable difference.”

Sirius snorted. “If James isn’t a rake, I pity the woman who meets the man who is.”

“There is more to being a rake than seducing legions of witches,” Marlene said blithely. “If a man can’t do more than poke his tongue into a woman’s mouth and kiss…”

“You shouldn’t be speaking of such things, you shouldn’t even know about them,” he sputtered, his tone feeling like his throat was closed for the embarrassment.

“We seem to have veered away from the original subject,” she replied, shrugging the other topic aside. “All I meant to say is that a rake’s humour has its basis in cruelty. He needs a victim, for he cannot imagine ever laughing at himself. You, Mr. Black, are rather clever with the self-deprecating remarks.”

He seemed unsure whether to thank her or throttle her, but what she said was simply the truth, or at least it appeared to be after teatime. They hadn't talked much, but Marlene had listened to him exchange jokes with James and her father, and had really appreciated the way he had addressed the two older women, showing innate respect for the female gender.

“My dear Marlene…” he started, and her lips parted slightly in surprise.

“Surely you’re not going to force me to call you Miss McKinnon after all we’ve been through,” he said with a dramatic sigh.

“We’ve been through nothing, you ridiculous man,” she laughed, although she was infinitely grateful that he had pretended not to have met her before, except when they were both significantly younger. “But I suppose you can address me informally nonetheless.”

“Excellent,” he nodded in a condescending manner. “You may call me Sirius, then.”

[she-waves-at-cats]

i think my research into neurotypicality is drawing to a close, and the conclusion will be that there is no such thing

maybe neurotypicality is a spectrum

[livingthewritelife-things]

Everyday I see posts about homestruck and get a little more horrified

[ratboyy-withtheexistentialdread]

[autie-j]

Stumbling through life as an autistic person like: I don't know what an (gestures with a hand wave) everything is and at this point I'm afraid to ask

[hypewinter]

Due to a wish Danny had made long ago, he's now cursed to compulsively build whatever he's asked to. Fearing that a villain might get their hands on him, he employed himself with the Justice League and quickly became their best kept secret. Now, he's moving to a better warehouse but with the Justice League off world, that leaves the Young Justice on bodyguard duty.

[princepeony]

i love you anya mouthwashing

[sunflowerandstrawberryspice]

Survival shipping in THIS economy? Always when it's me!

What up folks I'm back having actually drawn a damn background for once in my life! Yall I've been on more of a survival kick than usual, maybe it's cause I'm writing a fic about them maybe it's cause I got a physical copy of the Garmadon Comics (my gf's little brother literally had to buy it from his ELEMENTARY SCHOOL BOOK FAIR like yall I was actually making a deal with a goddamn 10 year old it was so funny) but either way I made this, it's a scene from a chapter that's in the works and yes there's a reason Garmadon only has two arms I'm NOT just a fake fan I promise!

Anyways translations for Garmadon's tattoo: Exesus which means not only devoured and destroyed but also preyed upon and erosion (according to my friends who know Latin I myself was just using google translate)

And let me know if you catch any of the references in this image, first person to guess right gets a doodle of their choice (within reason) cause I like doing stuff like that!

Anyway that's all from me rn, don't forget to take care of yourself and have a great day/night PEACE OUT!

[shimmershy]

Hey there!

I was going to ask if you could show us a kind of "Tutorial" or Speed drawing of Chara?

I've been trying to draw a desing for them but I can't find the correct one.

If you could, I'd appreciate it :)

And if you can't or just don't want to, it's alright, I'd get 'ya.

Hi! I don't think I'd be very good at creating a tutorial of any sort because I'm really bad at explaining things, especially art things, but I did a quick drawing of them and had Clip Studio record a timelapse, so. Here you go I guess!

[mumblesplash]

the hotguy comics contributor sona inserts still kill me because almost all of them are like ‘we added the team's writer as background extra #482’ and then i’m out here ‘hello kaze my beloved page illustrator slash era cover artist you are now my oc you have a criminal record and a head injury and you’re lowkey kind of an asshole but you come around at the start of act 3 in a heartwarming moment that hints at the slowly rekindling trust between our heroes and the city they’ve sworn to protect’

[winged-self-indulgence]

Dearly beloved we are gathered here today to honour @queeniesblog, who enables the demon living rent free in my brain. Consider this an early-early-early gift. 1.9K words, AFAB!MC, Favor VN wedding night DLC lmao

Z insists on carrying you across the threshold. You’re not even sure where he heard about the tradition, antiquated as it was. Perhaps the demon had overheard one of your more imaginative bridesmaids daydreaming about it, or maybe Z had crashed some medieval wedding in Europe and liked the idea of tossing his chosen human over his shoulder and making off with them like a beast out of the darkest folktales. You hadn’t been able to get a straight answer out of the demon, which was such a common occurrence you wondered why you'd even tried in the first place.

“You only had to carry me into the house,” you roll your eyes, wrapping your arms tighter around Z’s broad shoulders. “Not all the way from the wedding venue. I didn’t have to be in your lap for the whole trip.”

He’s partly shifted, the transformation dial swinging somewhere between the mostly human veneer you met them as and the massive abyssal creature you’ve only seen when the demon slips into your dreams. Even then, the shape was unclear, leaving only the vague sense of being utterly dwarfed by a thing so far beyond human comprehension that your brain struggled to put the separate pieces together.

This form is easier to perceive. At the very least, the 7ft 5” frame didn’t make your brain struggle with the wretchedness of the chthonic depths.

Z’s arms tighten around your frame, tar-drenched hands sliding over the pearl-studded filigree of your snow-white gown – their idea of a joke – to squeeze the plush underside of your thighs.

“And let those weaklings doubt my claim over you?” Z’s lips pull down into an exaggerated moue of distaste. “Perish the thought, Dove. Besides, you were the one who vetoed the other ritual–”

“I’m not letting you fuck me in front of your entire court!” You cut him off, face hot with what you are choosing to label as pure mortification. The lascivious flash of Z’s teeth tells you otherwise and you do your best to glare right back. “It’s not happening, you horndog!”

“Mm, I don’t know sweetheart,” Z murmurs and holds you closer, pulling you flush against his frame. Curved fangs nudge at your throat, exerting a sharp pressure through the delicate collar wrapped around vulnerable flesh. It’s a heady reminder. It is also a delicious threat. You shudder, a breath hitching somewhere in your chest, and the demon laughs at the sound, breath hot against your skin and sending another shiver down your spine. “I bet I could figure out some way to convince you.”

As soon as the door to the bedroom opens, Z’s lips are on yours. The kiss is fervent, devouring, an arrogant forked tongue pressing into your mouth with intent that has you squirming in place. Your own hormones and the weight of his huge frame pin you to the bed while rough hands roam over your body, greedy and insatiable, the demon unable to control the sheer voracity of their appetite for you. They caress the shape of your body through your clothes, groping with palms that feel burning hot even through layers of beading and silk.

Their tongue traces a slick trail up to the sensitive skin behind your ear. The jagged pinch of canines against the helix of your ear has you choking back a desperate whimper, and the demon retracts long enough to click his teeth. “Nuh-uh. Whine for me, baby. I wanna hear every sound out of that pretty little mouth.”

The next bite is far less gentle, and the wordless cry that falls from your lips burns your cheeks. You want to retaliate somehow, but Z’s tail is infuriatingly out of reach, lashing back and forth behind the demon’s back in a manner that betrays their obvious excitement.

“There’s my Dove,” Z coos against your lips, smirking at your overheated expression. “Poor thing, you must be so uncomfortable in all those layers, darling. Here, let me help you get those pesky clothes off.”

A hand grabs the front of your strapless dress and yanks, filling the room with the sound of tearing fabric. Before you can open your mouth complain, Z’s mouth is on your exposed breasts, and your mind instantly goes blank. Your back arched, head falling back against the pillow as the demon laves his tongue over your nipples, drawing them deep into mouth and sucking as though by sheer dedication he can force your tits to grow swollen with milk.

Muscular arms reach down to hitch your hips around Z’s waist. It’s a stretch in this form, huge as he is, and your thighs split embarrassingly wide. You gasp, feeling the solid weight of his bulge prodding against your barely clothed cunt and you can’t stop yourself from pushing harder against the thick length. The lingerie you’d worn for your wedding night was designed more for form than actual function, hardly more than a few thin pieces of pearl-white lace held together by thinner ribbons. A single tug from your fingers would send it fluttering to pieces.

Already sheer enough to narrowly fit the definition of underwear, your juices have turned the fabric nearly transparent, moulding it against the lips of your pussy. In the face of that, Z’s cock seems like overkill – prominent veins grinding back into the motion of your hips with enough force to knock the breath from you.

“Look at you, getting my cock all nice and slick,” Z groans into your ear, an arm hiking your left leg higher while the other pinches your chin and drags your face to meet his fiery gaze. “Fuck, you’re drenched baby. Such a needy hole, huh?”

“Z!” You spit out the demon’s name, fed up with their teasing. “I need–! Just put it in already!”

“Put what in?” He taunts, blinking those amber eyes innocently while a fat glob of precum pools at the tip of his cock. You feel the obscene warmth when it reaches the sodden cloth barely protecting what’s left of your chastity. You open your mouth to repeat your demands, but another jerk of Z’s hips has you whining again. When he speaks again, his voice drips with false regret. “Whoops, I’m so sorry Dove, I didn’t mean to. Come on, use your words baby. I’m listening. Where exactly do you want me to put my cock?”

“I-Inside,” you gasp, struggling to hook your ankles at Z’s back so you can draw the demon closer to you. “Please, I need you inside!”

“Then get those pretty panties off, Dove,” Z pushes themselves up, taking the weight off their arms and off you. The sudden change fills you with a strange sense of loss, until you lift your head and find the demon still looming over your, eyes still fixed on your debauched state with terrifying intensity. It’s inhuman; a flat, hungry stare that promises to swallow you whole – bones and all.

A hand is wrapped around their cock, rhythmically squeezing dark flesh up and down and occasionally pausing to thumb the bulbous tip that oozes sticky precum. The sight makes your mouth water, until Z lets out a dark chuckle.

“Dove,” he croons, hand never stopping or slowing down, “you know how impatient I can be. Unless you want me to shove my cock down your throat instead of that pretty little cunt, I’d advise you to stop looking at me like that.”

Huffing, you manage to tear your eyes away and focus on reaching for your underwear. It’s practically tissue at this point, scarcely more than scraps clinging to your cunt, and yet the act of peeling them away feels somehow obscene. Instinctively, you try to inch your legs shut, but a large hand catches you by the ankle and drags you into the embrace of an inferno.

You catch yourself against Z’s broad chest, yelping when you find yourself back in a variant of your earlier pose – this time balanced upright in the demon’s lap instead of pinned prone on the bed. Z’s cock finds itself back against your pussy lips, this time without even the minuscule protection of your underwear. A glance down reveals the sheer difference in size between the two of you, his cockhead reaching beyond your navel.

“You can take it, honey,” Z hums, reaching down to press two fingers through your slick folds. The stretch has you gasping his name, wrapping your arms tighter around his shoulders as your pussy squeezes around Z’s pointer and middle digits. He stretches you out, whispering filth into your ear while he fondles you with a teasingly condescending sort of affection. “Aw, is it too much for you, pet? You can handle a little more for me, can’t you? Oh no, no, no, don’t you dare hide your face from me, darling. You’re so cute when you cry. That’s it, give it to me.”

Z jams his thumb against your clit, curling his fingers at the same time. Your vision goes white, blurry with tears, as you careen into an orgasm so intense that you swear you see entire galaxies spinning before you. When you manage to come back to yourself, the head of his cock his lined up with your hole. A pleading moan is all the acquiescence Z requires before it pops in, and you scramble to cling to your sanity.

The stretch burns, a pleasurable heat that arches your back and forces another inch of Z’s cock into your cunt. “Shit,” the demon curses, an arm holding up your weight and the talons of the other gripping the mattress below in a concerted effort to hold back as best he can. “Fuck don’t do that, Dove. So goddamn tight, you’ll make me come if you don’t stop squeezing me like that.”

“Feels too good,” you moan back, fighting the urge to obey gravity and sink down onto the girth splitting you open. Only Z’s grip on your waist prevents that from happening, and it’s your turn to grow impatient. “You said I could have anything as long as I asked. Are you going to deny me on our wedding night?”

“Hm, I see someone’s grown spoiled,” Z smirks down at you, unmoving despite the flush high on his cheeks. Behind him, his tail thrashes back and forth, belying his smug words. “Ask me nicely pet.”

You barely refrain from rolling your eyes, before biting back a sardonic look of your own. Leaning closer, you force yourself to balance on your knees – dislodging Z’s cock completely, causing him to curse under his breath – and press your lips to his ear.

“Pretty please, oh Great Marquis, won’t you please come inside my cunt?” You whine in the most breathy, put-upon, amateur porno actress voice you can muster. “I’m so wet for you, and I need you to shove your fat cock into my tiny little pussy and fill me up so much that I can’t even stand. Please Z, please fuck my wet little – ah!”

“Be careful what you ask for,” Z hissed, spearing you on his cock. Once again, your world vanishes, reduced to nothing else beyond broken moans and the burning pleasure of Z’s swollen cock abusing your aching cunt. “Don’t worry, Dove, I’ll make it up to you. Since you want my come so badly, I’ll make sure to fuck you niiiice and full. After all, we have all the time in the world…”

[varpusvaras]

Continuing on this post because I said in the tags that it goes together with the Codywan desert husbands au. I just think it would be really funny if neither Cody or Rex (or anyone of the surviving batch) knew that the others are alive, other than Fox.

Fox helps with the Rebellion, being a contact and such, because he is not that much in the limelight (Bail and Breha are taking care of that part), and he, of course, goes by a codename. He did recognise Rex, like, immediately when he heard about things going on with other clones leaving the Empire and such. He couldn’t give himself away, because there is still a risk that him getting recognised could lead to Bail and Breha being implied to be part of the Rebellion. Fox keeps an eye out on Rex though, to make sure he’s okay.

Then Leia gets kidnapped, they reach out to Obi-Wan, and Fox learns that Cody is alive and well as well. But because of the whole thing surrounding the twins, he decides that it’s the best to stay away still.

This leads to, eventually, Luke meeting up with Leia’s family after the Death Star and coming back to Cody and Rex like “...do you guys have a brother?” “Multiple, how’s so?” “Well I mean Leia’s dad looks a lot like you, so I just thought...” “....I didn’t think we looked much like Bail Organa?” “No, not him, the other dad!” “What other dad?” “The one who looks like you, this tall, grey hair, kinda looks like wants to murder you?” “....I swear to GOD -”

Fox hears the scream to the other side of the base.

“Leia, sweetie, do a solid for your old man?” “Okay?” “Kill me.”

[ciarre]

BROdia

[grand-theft-carbohydrates]

the absurdity of the plot of the Chinese Classic is in inverse proportion to how boring the title is.

-magical monkey takes a monk to india to pick up his library books, fighting demons along the way : Journey to the West - 108 demons reincarnated as bandits find brotherhood and redemption through the power of Extraordinary Violence: The Water Margin

-fanfic author writes a historical RPF that becomes so popular it ruins a politician's reputation for the next 700 years: Romance of the Three Kingdoms

-at this point the fandom is cooler than the actual canon, i need at least two more degrees to explain what the plot is: Dream of the Red Chamber

[dimpletheheck]

Cranky villagers my beloved <3

This is totally not supposed to be relatable-

Don't look at me like that-

[vexic929]

Bruce and Jason now having both worn the Nightwing suit makes me think that all the Bats must just have a Nightwing suit that fits them at the ready, they probably all have each others' suits in their sizes honestly stored away with their contingency plans, just in case