#and in london during the witches run

[beforeviolets]

hey dave malloy tumblr: how tf do yall stay up to date with malloy productions and projects because i’ve now missed like 3 and I cannot keep missing them

[bellawoso]

Delicate

Aitana Bonmati x fem!reader

kinda short, and a one time take on angst as i conclude i should stick to writing fluff 🤍🥲

With everything that had recently happened in Aitana’s life; the ballon d’or, champions league and the World Cup, you couldn’t blame her teammates and captain for wanting to try reduce the stress in her life.

Stress being relationships. Most players knew that if you were as popular as Aitana, balancing a relationship on top of all of the media and press you have to do, is not the best idea.

Even though Aitana is now 26, many of her teammates still view her as one of the children on the team, possibly due to her sweet and loving nature, but also her lack of relationships had left the midfielder a bit naive, many of her older teammates wanted to protect her in a way.

So when they heard about you, after Aitana let it slip she had a girlfriend, her teammates were quick to interrogate her about you.

They learnt that you were a paramedic, who had moved from London, but that at team bonding nights you had never crossed paths with her teammates as you had coincidentally had a sudden call, her teammates learnt these sudden calls happened quite a lot.

And although Aitana spoke about you with love and devotion, her teammates failed to notice this as they were blinded with the information suggesting you were added stress for Aitana, constantly leaving, and then coming back late during the night, sometimes you didn’t return at all and went back to your own apartment.

They didn’t realise that Aitana didn’t mind this, as the Spaniard herself was also usually not home once or twice a week for away matches.

———————————————————————

At the next team bonding night, Aitana asked everyone if she could bring you, the Spaniard mainly asked to be polite, but in her mind she couldn’t imagine any of her teammates saying no, she thought they would be excited to meet you as she often spoke now about how serious the two of yours relationship was.

However, the brunette was immediately met with awkward glances and half hearted, silly excuses of why it would be better for you to not come.

The ballon d’or winner was hurt, she noticed her teammate’s unjust dislike for you, which left her conflicted, this combined with her previous fatigued and stressed state, made her patience run thin.

Therefore when she returned home, and you excitedly asked her how her day was, she was quick to snap “fine” at you.

You immediately knew something was wrong with your usually very affectionate girlfriend, who had a habit of smothering you in kisses the moment she stepped through the door.

“Tana? Is everything okay, what happened?” You questioned her, whilst resting a hand on her arm, rubbing small comforting circles on her forearm with your thumb.

When Aitana suddenly shrugged your hand off and pushed past you whilst muttering “Just leave me alone, do not bother me anymore.” you knew that it was really upsetting her if she didn’t even want to talk to you about it.

You and the midfielder hadn’t had an argument yet, so this hurt you as you knew you hadn’t done anything to deserve Aitana’s cold demeanour, which should be used on whoever upset her.

———————————————————————

You didn’t see Aitana after that, she left the house without a goodbye when you got in the shower.

Until at around 5pm, you suddenly get a call to head to the bridge over the river where a car accident had taken place. Most of the paramedics in your area had been sent to a warehouse fire where many workers were injured, leaving not many to attend other scenes, hence why you and your partner, Carlos had been called in.

You were ready and at the station by 5:30, and quickly got in the drivers seat, with Carlos in the passenger seat, as you made your way there you ranted to him about Aitana’s rudeness, and he was quick to back you up, but also try ease your worries witch an explanation of the Spaniard just being stressed.

When you got to the car crash on the bridge, and saw the upside down car about to fall off the bridge, you quickly ran over and cut the man’s seatbelt, allowing Carlos to tug him out.

However as the car began to slip, you were unluckily unable to climb out of the car in time, leaving you in the car as it plummeted into the river.

You must have hit your head, knocking you unconscious, as soon your awake gasping for air at the side of the river, Carlos had been quick to jump in after you and pull you out of the water.

Blood tricked down the side of your head, as you reached up to touch it, a sharp pain came from the cut making you wince and look down at your hand to see blood coating your fingers.

Your breathing still hasn’t returned to normal, and it turned out Carlos had called another paramedic to take care of the man, as he supported you back to the ambulance on the road.

“You terrified me there Y/N, you were under there for 4 minutes, I thought I lost you” Carlos said, as he strapped you onto the bed in the back of the ambulance.

“I’m sorry” you could only whisper, your voice hoarse from your frantic breathing earlier.

“Don’t be sorry, it was no one’s fault, can I call her?”

Her being Aitana, and truthfully you didn’t want to go to hospital, you just wanted to go home and crawl into your girlfriends arms, but you couldn’t as yet again she had gone to another team bonding night that she promised you could go to, but instead never brought up again.

You were annoyed with her, you wanted to get to know her teammates, they were like a second family to her, and you wanted to be apart off your girlfriends personal life, not kept separate all of the time.

When you arrived at the hospital, they were quick to stitch up the cut above your eyebrow, and hooked you up to many machines measuring your heart rate and oxygen levels.

You told Carlos not to ring Aitana, her previous words of “Do not bother me” were still fresh in the back of your mind.

At first Carlos listened, but seeing how anxious and distressed you looked on the hospital bed, made him question your words, and secretly called the Spaniard.

———————————————————————

When Aitana arrived at team bonding, she had gone to sit down and enjoy the movie in peace, except the quiet didn’t relax her, instead it gave her time to think and reflect on the harsh things she said to you.

She knew she needed to apologise straight away, so she quickly excused herself to call you, as you should be still awake.

On her 4th attempt at ringing you, with no luck as it went straight to voicemail again, she was worried, even when in the job, you always answered your phone.

When she returned back to the living room to sit down, the team noticed her nervous state, with her leg bouncing up and down, while she twisted the rings covering her fingers.

“Aita? What’s wrong?” Alexia asked softly.

“Y/N, she’s not answering any of my calls, I was awful to her before I left, I just want to apologise, but now I’m worried about her.”

“Aita, is she really the right one for you? She is probably ignoring you out of spite! So that you leave us and go to her instead.” Alexia added.

“What are you talking about? She would never do that, I know my girlfriend, you’ve never even met her” Aitana glared at her captain.

“I don’t think we want to, with everything we’ve heard, she seems too stressful, always leaving for her work” Patri argued.

With a scowl, Aitana’s protective side shone through, an urge to defend you from the rude words of her teammates, who were completely misjudging you.

“No, that is only once every few weeks, I leave her more often for away games than she leaves me, and she helps me with my stress! Honestly, I don’t see why you all hate her, I thought you would like her after seeing everything she does for me-”

Aitana’s rant was cut off my her phone ringing, her eyes lit up with relief thinking it would be you ringing her back.

The worry was soon to return after seeing the caller id: Carlos.

She knew something was wrong if your partner who she had only met a few times was calling her.

As soon as he told her what had happened, Aitana’s breathing was quick to become irregular, worrying her surrounding teammates.

When she hung up the phone, she immediately asked Ingrid, the only person who hadn’t judged you, to take her to the hospital. Ingrid and Mapi had picked up Aitana, who would have normally asked you to drop her off, except she didn’t want to see your happy face at the time, whilst harbouring the knowledge that none of her teammates were as eager to meet you as you were to meet them.

“Hey, Aitana can you tell me what’s happened first?” Ingrid softly asked her.

“It’s Y/N, she was called to a car crash, but the car fell in the river with her still inside, and she was under for 4 minutes, she’s at the hospital now” Aitana said whilst rushing to the door.

Knowing this, and seeing Aitana’s reaction, the team suddenly realised just how much Aitana cared for you, and were quick to internally scold themselves for hating someone who made Aitana so happy.

Ingrid led Aitana to her car, with Alexia and Mapi rushing in too, insisting they wanted to meet you as soon as possible, much to Aitana’s disapproval, knowing you would likely be tired and want to go home.

When they arrived at the hospital, Aitana ran to the front desk, letting the nurse lead them to your room, but as soon as the brunette laid eyes on you, bile rose to her mouth.

You had fallen asleep, not knowing Aitana was coming, you were so pale and vulnerable, at seeing all of the wires and needles hooking you to the many machines monitoring you, Aitana panicked.

Alexia noticed this and led the midfielder to the seat next to your bed, however this was a bad choice as it gave Aitana a clear view of the large cut across the side of your head, she reached over to softly trace the cut, but was awoken from her daze as your eyes fluttered open, and winced upon feeling her fingers softly running over the cut.

“Amor? How are you feeling? I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier” Aitana whispered softly, whilst running her fingers through your hair.

“Please don’t apologise love, it was no one’s fault.” You echoed Carlos’ words from earlier.

“If your feeling better, would you please come to our next movie night, bebe?” Aitana asked, which brought a smile to your face, which made Aitana’s heart swell but also ache at the same time, by seeing you so excited for her doing the minimum by letting you meet her friends.

“I would like that Tana, thankyou”

“Please don’t thank me, it’s the least I can do for you amor, I’m just so happy your okay, I was so worried”

“Hey Tana it’s okay honestly, your stressed and I understand that, the media expects a lot from you amor”

At this Aitana kisses your forehead and asks “can I tell the world of us?”

You smiled and nodded your head, happy that your relationship was now no longer a secret from the world.

———————————————————————

aitanabonmati

liked by yourinstagram, janafernandez3, and 78,609 others

the last few months with you have been amazing mi amor, i have treasured every second ❤️

tagged @yourusername

- - -

@yourusername: not carlos photobombing us in the last photo 😭, love you baby ❤️

@alexiaputellas: guapaaa 🤍

@ingridengen: cutest couple!!

@user1: HARD LAUNCH?!

@user2: THEY ARE SO CUTE WTF

@user3: do they do double dates with Mapi and Ingrid? 🫠

[greenwitchcrafts]

January 2024 Witch guide

Full Moon: January 25th

New moon: January 11th

Sabbats: None

January Wolf Moon

Known as: Bear Moon, Chaste Moon, Cold Moon, Disting Moon, Goose Moon, Moon of Little Winter,  Moon of Strong Cold, Quiet Moon, Snow Moon, Stay at Home Moon, Sun Has Not Strength to Thaw Moon & When Snow Blows Like Spirits In The Wind Moon

Element: Air

Zodiac: Capricorn & Aquarius

Nature spirits: Brownies & Gnomes

Deities: Freya, Hera, Innana & Saraswati

Animals: Coyote & fox

Birds: Blue Jay & pheasant

Trees: Birch & Hazel

Herbs: Cones, holy thistle &marjoram

Flowers: Crocus & Snowdrop

Scents: Mimosa & musk

Stones: Chrysoprase, garnet, hematite, moonstone, onyx & jet

Colors: Black, blue-violet, grey, silver & white

Energy: Adventurous, ambitious, awareness, beauty, beginning & conceiving; business, career, conserving energy, energy below the surface, organization, political matters, potential, protection, recognition, reputation, reversing spells & spirituality

The name for the January full Moon is believed to have originated from Celtic and Old English roots, which European settlers then brought to the New World.

At one point, gray wolves were among the most widespread land mammals on our planet. According to the Wolf Conversation Center, gray wolves “inhabited most of the available land in the Northern Hemisphere.” Habitat destruction and persecution by humans have reduced their range by about a third worldwide and 90 percent in the lower 48 states.

The wolf’s adaptable nature to survive in a wide range of habitats and ability to prey on the largest mammals living in those regions made it widespread. Basically, if there are enough deer, moose, elk, caribou, bison, and musk ox, wolves can survive. Predation of domestic animals caused friction with European settlers and early Americans who aggressively hunted the wolves.

Werewolf myths can be found in ancient Greek and Roman societies, throughout European history and among some Native American tribes. In modern storytelling the transformation from man to wolf has been closely tied to the full Moon in films like “The Wolf Man” and “American Werewolf In London.”

Howl at the Moon means to waste energy pursuing something unattainable. It’s shorthand for doing something crazy. However, howling is hardly a waste of energy among wolf packs. And they aren’t howling at the Moon. The Moon just happens to be shining during times when wolves most often howl.

A wolf’s howl can be heard miles away. The vocalization helps wolves locate separated members and even communicate between packs marking their territories. One study recorded spontaneous howls and responses happen most often between 11 p.m. and 6 a.m.

The cry of wolves doesn’t play into the Sioux name for the January full Moon, which is known as “The Time When Wolves Run Together.” Wolves do plenty of running to defend territory that can stretch hundreds of square miles to find enough prey to support the pack.

Other Celebrations

• Hogmanay | January 1st: is the Scots word for the last day of the old year and is synonymous with the celebration of the New Year in the Scottish manner. It is normally followed by further celebration on the morning of New Year's Day (1 January) and, in some cases, 2 January—a Scottish bank holiday. In a few contexts, the word Hogmanay is used more loosely to describe the entire period consisting of the last few days of the old year and the first few days of the new year. For instance, not all events held under the banner of Edinburgh's Hogmanay take place on 31 December.

The origins of Hogmanay are unclear, but it may be derived from Norse and Gaelic observances of the winter solstice. Customs vary throughout Scotland and usually include gift-giving and visiting the homes of friends and neighbours, with particular attention given to the first-foot, the first guest of the new year.

• Compitalia/ Feast of Lades | January 3-5: was an annual festival in honor of the Lares Compitales, household deities of the crossroads, to whom sacrifices were offered at the places where two or more ways met.

Dionysius said that Servius Tullius founded the festival, which he describes as it was celebrated in his time. Dionysius relates that the sacrifices consisted of honey-cakes (Ancient Greek: πέλανοι) presented by the inhabitants of each house; and that the people who assisted as ministering servants at the festival were not free men, but slaves, because the Lares took pleasure in the service of slaves. He further adds that the Compitalia were celebrated a few days after the Saturnalia with great splendor, and that the slaves on this occasion had full liberty to do as they pleased.

During the celebration of the festival, each family placed the statue of the underworld goddess Mania at the door of their house. They also hung up at their doors figures of wool representing men and women, accompanying them with humble requests that the Lares and Mania would be contented with those figures, and spare the people of the house

Sources:

Farmersalmanac.com

Llewellyn's Complete Book of Correspondences by Sandra Kines

A Witch's Book of Correspondences by Viktorija Briggs

Llewellyn's 2023 magical almanac: practical magic for everyday living

Wikipedia

Encyclopedia Britannica

[artemisia-black]

Wizarding clothing and fashion

This meta/list of HCs has been sitting in my drafts for a while. But here is my meta about wizarding fashions. 

1.0 An insular culture with its own unique dress

No shade to people who enjoy seeing and drawing characters in muggle clothing, but I think that the majority of wizards and witches dress in wizarding clothing. 

Indeed, the fact that most wizards can’t dress as muggles and are quite conspicuous is mentioned in the first chapter of the series: 

“People in cloaks. Mr. Dursley couldn’t bear people who dressed in funny clothes — the getups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion.” PS 

And then becomes a sort of running joke: 

“Both were dressed as Muggles, though very inexpertly: The man with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes; his colleague, a kilt and a poncho” GoF

And in DH it is (partly) how Harry recognises that people are watching Grimmauld Place: 

“The lurkers were never the same two days running, although they all seemed to share a dislike for normal clothing. Most of the Londoners who passed them were used to eccentric dressers and took little notice, though occasionally one of them might glance back, wondering why anyone would wear such long cloaks in this heat.” DH

Side note: it is peak Londoner to barely take notice of something odd. And this also implies that robes and cloaks are all year wear and that wizards potentially don’t have seasonal clothing.

Given that wizarding culture is very insular (with its own economy, government, and education system), it would make sense that while it may occasionally borrow trends from the muggle world, wizarding fashion and clothing are unique. 

In fact, only the younger generation are seen in muggle dress, with Harry commenting: 

“Their children might don Muggle clothing during the holidays, but Mr. and Mrs. Weasley usually wore long robes in varying states of shabbiness.” GoF

2.0 Class and generational differences in dress

The previous quote demonstrates two things: much like in real life, there is generational and class stratification of dress. The condition and quality of wizarding clothing serves as a non-verbal cue about a character's economic status. This disparity is not just a background detail but is frequently brought into focus, such as through Draco Malfoy's derisive comments about Professor Lupin's tattered robes.

“ Malfoy gave Professor Lupin an insolent stare, which took in the patches on his robes and the delapidated suitcase.” PoA

“Look at the state of his robes,” Malfoy would say in a loud whisper as Professor Lupin passed. “He dresses like our old house-elf.” PoA

Even Harry comments on his robes and observes that: 

“Professor Lupin looked particularly shabby next to all the other teachers in their best robes”

The patched and frayed nature of both Lupins and Weasley’s robes seem to indicate that robe repairs can’t be done by an individual (or when it is done, it is really visible). Another example of this is when Ron removes the lace from his dress robes and leaves: 

“...the edges still looked depressingly frayed as the boys set off downstairs.” GoF

Additionally,  in Padfoot returns Sirius’s prison robes still appear tatty despite him having had a haircut and left the country. This indicates that he either can’t obtain new robes or can’t/hasn’t bothered repairing his Azkaban robes. 

This is interesting, given that Molly Weasley is able to make jumpers and scarves yet can’t seem to alter robes. While knitting and sewing are separate skills, it seems odd that there aren’t means of repairing robes. 

This suggests that robes can only be repaired and bought at official vendors such as Madam Malkins/Gladrags/Twifitt and Tattings. 

 It is also interesting that both Fred and George buy clothing when they become successful (also a parallel to the real world). They gift their mum:

“….a brand-new midnight blue witch’s hat glittering with what looked like tiny starlike diamonds, and a spectacular golden necklace.”  HBP

However, things being ‘frayed’ aren’t always an indication of poverty. Tonks is first introduced wearing an outfit that is a mix of muggle clothing but with something that is distinctly wizarding: 

“Tonks stood just behind him…. wearing heavily patched jeans and a bright purple T-shirt bearing the legend THE WEIRD SISTERS.” OoTP

This outfit is heavily reminiscent of Sirius and James in the Elvendork prequel: 

 “Both were dressed in T-shirts emblazoned with a large golden bird; the emblem, no doubt, of some deafening, tuneless rock band.”

3.0 The underwear question

Something that gets bought up a lot is whether wizards wear underwear. 

Harry (who was raised by muggles certainly seems to): 

“He was just piling underwear into his cauldron when Ron made a loud noise of disgust behind him.” GoF 

And:

“He was shivering now, his teeth chattering horribly, and yet he continued to strip off until at last he stood there in his underwear…”  DH

So does Neville (in the UK, Pants means underwear)

“He broke off as Neville entered the dormitory, bringing with him a strong smell of singed material, and began rummaging in his trunk for a fresh pair of pants.”

And infamously, so does Snape: 

“Snape was hanging upside down in the air, his robes falling over his head to reveal skinny, pallid legs and a pair of graying underpants.”

Also we get some information about witch’s underwear from Sirius’s very Freudian joke: 

“Sirius looked slightly disconcerted for a moment, then said, “I’ll look for him later, I expect I’ll find him upstairs crying his eyes out over my mother’s old bloomers.”

Bloomers are a type of historical, baggy underpants (think boy shorts, but make it victorian). 

In conclusion, Archie, who wanted a breeze around his privates, was probably an outlier.  

4.0 Materials and accesories

So what is wizarding clothing made of? 

For robes and cloaks the materials most mentioned are silk/satin and velvet: 

“ She was dressed from head to foot in black satin, and many magnificent opals gleamed at her throat and on her thick fingers.” GoF

Additionally in GoF, we learn that even witches and wizards from other countries wear robes and cloaks: 

“Now that they had removed their furs, the Durmstrang students were revealed to be wearing robes of a deep bloodred.” 

And 

“...Bulgarian minister loudly, who was wearing splendid robes of black velvet trimmed with gold.”

Other materials include Dragon hide which appears to be used to make practical gloves and boots but also fashionable jackets. 

“... followed by Fred and George, who were wearing jackets of black dragon skin.” HBP

Additionally, robes can be embroidered: 

“ The man’s scowling, slightly brutish face was somehow at odds with his magnificent, sweeping robes, which were embroidered with much gold thread” DH

“Harry glimpsed Slughorn at the head of the Slytherin column, wearing magnificent, long, emerald green robes embroidered with silver” HBP

“Madam Rosmerta scurrying down the dark street toward them on high-heeled, fluffy slippers, wearing a silk dressing gown embroidered with dragons.” HBP

Interestingly, both men and women appear to wear heels: 

Dumbledore: 

“He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots” PS

Madame Maxine: 

“Then Harry saw a shining, high-heeled black shoe emerging from the inside of the carriage..” GoF

Monsiour Delacour: 

“However, he looked good-natured. Bouncing toward Mrs. Weasley on high-heeled boots, he kissed her twice on each cheek, leaving her flustered.” DH

Madame Rosmerta: 

“ Next he saw another pair of feet, wearing sparkly turquoise high heels,” POA

Furthermore, witches carry handbags: 

“Mrs. Weasley now came galloping into view, her handbag swinging wildly” COS

“ She was wearing a thick magenta cloak with a furry purple collar today, and her crocodile-skin handbag was over her arm.”  GoF

“Professor Umbridge pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag”  OoTP

“Ron was rummaging through the little witch’s handbag.” DH

5.0 My HCs

When I imagine what male robes look like, I imagine something akin to a Morrcan thobe or an Indian Sherwani.

I imagine robes to be enchanted to move and in my fic Pietas, I describe my OC Aeliana’s robes as follows: 

“She smiled slightly, smoothing the front of her dress, which was decorated with embroidered flowers and birds that had been enchanted to flutter their wings.”

I also HC some cultural variance in robes- with certain countries using different cloth or the skin of magical animals that are native to their countries. With hotter countries, having lighter robes and cooling/anti-perspiration charms.

[sallowtheories]

I just realized something, and I find it strangely interesting.

Hogwarts Legacy takes place in 1890 (we know that due to the date George shows Fig in the intro).

This is during the later part of the Victorian area. King's Cross has been build, and the first photo published in a Muggle newspaper back in 1848, but in 1890, it still fully hadn't caught on in the in neither the Muggle or Wizarding world, with both still finding their footing with them, using them mainly for front covers, with illustrations still being the main way to depict something for the readers.

Newspapers has always been important, for Muggles and Wizards alike, being the main news outlets for many. But for many people in 1890, they would like at the newspaper in their hands, fearing that they would have to read the same headline, that had scared them just a few years before.

Imagine the scene. It's the early morning of the 1st of September 1888, and 13 year old MC - still unaware of their magical abilities - is home, getting for school. MC, sitting with what family they have, reads the newspaper of the Daily News, their eyes landing on a headline that makes their blood run cold;

"BRUTAL MURDER IN WHITECHAPEL

A murder of the most brutal kind was committed in the neighbourhood of Whitechapel in the early hours of yesterday morning, but by whom and with what motive is at present a complete mystery."

At Hogwarts the same day, Scottish Sebastian - who was just about to start his third year at Hogwarts with his sister Anne and best friend Ominis - would hear the news during dinner, the Muggleborn and Halfblood students from the London area talking loudly about it. A murder of a Muggle woman. Sadly, that was nothing new, but the brutality of the murder even took full blood students by surprise, one even asking if; "Muggles truly were so cold blooded?"

On the morning of September the 9th, Sebastian walked into the Great Hall, just as a sixth year of a full blood status was asking a second year Muggleborn, how he get a hold of a Muggle newspaper through owls.

Before Sebastian could wonder what that was about, he found the answer at the Slytherin long table, where a Muggle newspaper was being passed around, allowing Sebastian to read it just as it got to Anne.

In London, MC, would overheard their mother and the woman that came around for tea talk about it. They were scared to go out - not that they ever went out at night, they quickly made clear - but they were scared. Even though they, well to do middle class women, did not live in Whitechapel, nor were prostituts. But notheless, they were scared. Man, woman and children. Everybody was on the lookout, fearfull of Leather Apron out in the dark of London's street at night.

In the evening of September the 30th, once again found themself in the drawing room with their family, when they were shocked with another headline.

At Hogwarts the next day, owls came flying with the evening edition of London Daily Post, having been flying all the way from London to Scotland in the night. Apparently, a witch from Diagon Alley had found a way to earn a lot of many, buying in several Muggle papers, before selling them at a higher price to Wizards and Witches that wished to read them.

That morning, the Daily Prophet started running the story as well, leaving many students moaning and groaning about having spend more money on Muggle papers.

The Ministry of Magic has officially gotten involved in the investigation, fearing that this Jack the Ripper could be a dark wizard, killing Muggle women on the streets of London. But just like Scotland Yard, they had nothing to go on. No magic had been used, and no one had seen him up close.

Fear had started spreading to Hogwarts. It happened from time to time, that Sebastian and Ominis was too scared to let Anne go to Hogsmeade alone, even though it was highly unlikely to find Jack the Ripper anywhere in the area. But the fear was there, and Sebastian didn't want anything to happen to his sister...

October passed by with nothing happening. Some students started cancelling their subscribtions to the Muggle newspapers, leaving the witch in Diagon Alley with much less money in her pockets.

When November finally came, it was as if Hogwarts has forgotten all about the killer in London. Even the students who's families still resided there.

But then it came by owl in the morning of November the 10th, to those students who still paid the Diagon Alley witch, and Sebastian, like so many others, leaned in to get a reading of the headline.

When MC read the headline, they decided not to read further along the lines. They had regretted it last time, and decided that this time, they wouldn't put themself through the suffering of reading the details of such a brutal act of violence.

But after that murder in November, the Ripper seemed to have disappeared. The following murder in December was to different, leading Scotland Yard to believe it was committed by a different person.

Though Jack the Ripper had seemed to have disappeared, the fear of him never did. MC would for long time find themself walking down the streets of London, wondering if any of the men around her, could be the brutal killer.

As 88 turned to 89, the fear still lingered in many, quick to connect any murder in London to Jack the Ripper. People coming out of nowhere, saying that they knew who he was, one after another, all with different names and stories.

So in the summer of 1890, when MC got their letter from Hogwarts, they felt relived in some way. Though they saw London as their home, and felt strangely safe their during the day time, the nights were horrifying. But surelly, a magical school in Scotland would be much safer, right?

[emeritusemeritus]

Hi!! If it’s okay, can I please request a (Fred lives au) Fred Weasley x Muggle!fem!reader where it takes place after the Wizarding War, and Fred is wandering around Muggle London, needing a break from the repairs him and George are making on their shop (that had been badly damaged during the war), wanting fresh air to clear his head. He hears a woman scream, very clearly in danger, and he goes to help her, ending up saving Y/n in a dark alley, him using his powers to do so. Leaving Y/n shook (and still scared about the situation). He makes the bad guys (who are also muggles) forget about him using magic, and while he wishes he didn’t have to make Y/n forget as well, as she’s currently clinging to him in shock after he saved her, he still makes her forget. They run into each other again the next day, Y/n not remembering anything from the night before, and they have a lot of chemistry and start dating, and all is going well until Y/n finds out about the night he made her forget, about magic and wizards, and Y/n is upset that he lied to her about it all? Especially upset that they had met before and upset that he made her forget at all, and Fred tries to explain why he had to make her forget. George ends up playing “Parent Trap” to get the both of them in the same room to reconcile? With a happy ending?

Hi my love, full disclosure: I didn’t go full parent trap as I have something in the works a little similar so I hope this is okay for you! 🖤

Warnings: Brief mentions of assault and attempted SA but only one scene. I’ve added asterisks before and after so you can skip past it if you want to avoid. Lying, violence, deception, George meddles, Fred is a bit of a simp. Fred calls us sweetheart. POV change after the time skip. muggle!Reader. Bit of heartbreak, a bit of breakup and makeup. One sexual reference at the end.

Word count: 3.7k

Little bit of liberty taken with this one as I’ve written that spouses of wizards and witches can visit Diagon alley (similar to parents of muggle born kids) as lost as they are accompanied by magic users.

Stupefied

London was always rather bleak this time of year, no matter where you went. It seemed there were roadworks and building works happening in nearly every neighbourhood, workers mingling with the tourists that found to get their photographs in between the newly erected cones, temporary walkways and fences.

It seemed that it wasn't only the wizarding world that had suffered, though Fred doubted this actually had anything to do with Voldemort. Arthur had a theory that the juggle prime minister had funded an effort to 'clear up' London whilst Diagon Alley underwent extensive repairs as to not alert the muggles to the work, noise and sudden influx of workmen disappearing through the entrances to the Alley. Looking at the work sites all around him, Fred was inclined to believe his initially mad conspiracy.

Diagon Alley had been near decimated in the war with deatheaters looting, emptying and burning down stores for no apparent reason. Half of the shopping district had been abandoned, left to rot, the owners fleeing or captured and the other half was essentially destroyed. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had thankfully not fared too badly; it still needed extensive and expensive repairs to the exterior but the inside had been virtually untouched. Fred was eternally thankful of the jinxed he'd put on the premises along with the anti-alohamora charm he'd crafted which had seemed to keep away the deatheaters.

Even though it hadn't fared too badly, he was still exhausted from the repairs. He and George disagreed about what repairs should happen, the priorities and so on, neither if them agreeing if they should improve things or repair them back to the original. Use the full money on repairs or scrimp on the exterior issues and boost for a full restock once they were open. It was a constant battle of wits and opinions, a never ending cycle of unresolved issues and Fred had found that he just had to step out for some fresh air, to clear his head. Discussions around replacing the large figurehead of him and his twin's likeness had been the last straw, pushing him over the edge to the point where he just needed to escape for a bit.

It had fallen dark as he wandered around muggle London, the night time beginning. Due to the building sites and road works littered around, there was virtually no light. Whole clusters of street lamps out of commission with hardly any replacements, leaving this area of London in near darkness. Just as he grumbled to himself about the figurehead, unable to forge it from his mind, a loud, panic filled noise rang out and grabbed his attention. It was a woman screaming, the kind of scream that only happened when you were truly terrified and calling for help.

He knew the sound exactly, having heard it multiple times in the battle. He forced those thoughts out of his head and tried to follow the route that would lead him to where he'd heard the noise, realising he was the only one around to help.

When he ran past a little jitty between two shops, a butchers and a mechanic shop, he froze and retreated upon himself, looking down the dark alley to see a sight that turned his stomach. Three men, all approaching a woman that clearly did not want their company.

*

One was holding her by the throat, pinning her up against the brick wall whilst one's hand began wandering up her leg, pressing something to her throat with the other hand, something that looked silver and sharp, though Fred couldn't exactly see from his place in the shadows of the alley. The third man was just stood there, evidently the lookout, though he was doing a terrible job, choosing instead to watch the woman who was rightfully beside herself in fear.

He couldn't take three men on at once, not if they had muggle weapons. Fred was far from small but he'd never had to truly work with combative skills or fighting as his wand did most the duelling.

It took leas than twenty seconds before he reacted, fuelled by the woman's desperate whimpers as their hands began to wander, all whist threatening her with the blade.

"Stupify!" Fred said clearly but quietly, aiming directly for the third man, the lookout as he hung back in the shadows. The man flew back and hit his head on one of the big bins outback, rendering him unconscious. The man not holding you hostage with the blade turned in shock at what had just happened to his friend, his twisted and demented face turning towards Fred's direction trying to see if anyone was there. When they didn't see anything, both the men looked at each other and gave a disgusting chuckle at their friends expense before turning back to the woman who was still struggling against them.

Fred honestly didn't know if this would work, but he aimed so carefully at the weapon holding arm and cast a quiet 'expelliarmus,' to hopefully disarm the pathetic excuse of a man. It worked, the knife clattering to the floor some distance away as the blokes argued between one another, that they were messing it all up.

"Stupify," he cast once again on the second man who was trying to search for his knife on the ground as he verbally threatened the woman to stay where she was. The man immediately flies back much like his friend, hitting his head on the same dumpster and falling into a slump beside the first one.

The last remaining man looked on in fear, realising he was next. His hand slipped from the woman's neck as he looked upon the slumped bodies of his friends and realised quickly that he was without a weapon.

*

Fred took great pleasure in the full body bind he cast upon the man, rendering his completely still and useless on the floor, as if an invisible net had been cast around him, rendering him useless.

Fred stepped out of the shadows then, not yet replacing his wand as he stepped over to the bound man. He didn't know what had come over him but as he looked at the poor woman who was crying and shaking, he felt rage like never before.

His eyes were filled with pure rage, hateful anger filling his body as the man on the floor noticed him, fear filling his eyes at whatever he had done to him.

Fred pushed aside his anger as he turned to you, throwing his jacket over you and offered some calming words which he hoped would help you even slightly. Suddenly, you threw yourself at him and he accepted you into his arms without any thought, trying to calm your frayed nerves as you clung onto his body.

He aimed his wand at the two men who were mostly unconscious, though the first was beginning to come around with a groggy groan. He knew he didn't have time to get you away before he needed to do this and began obliviating the two slumped men.

He then turned to the third who looked utterly terrified at what Fred had done, unable to talk, move or get away from the mad man with a stick of wood.

"I hope this hurts," Fred says dangerously low as he points his wand directly at the man's head, ensuring the tip of the wood was ever so slightly sticking into the flesh of the man's forehead before he obliviates him.

As soon as it's done, he pockets hits wand and turns to face the woman, wrapping her in his arms as her silent cries lessen. She's so cold, so scared, it makes his heart ache. He was only wearing a work uniform from a local pub, evidently walking back home from her shift and it makes him feel even worse when he realises you were just going about your day, completely oblivious and undeserving.

"It'll be okay, you're safe now I promise," he says soothingly, not wanting to touch her outright after what had so nearly happened but still wanting to give her comfort.

"What, what did you do?" She asks with a sniffle, clearly a little afraid of what had happened.

"Better I don't explain," he says, cursing himself for having no other way of protecting you. "Where do you live? I need to know you get home safely."

When she doesn't reply, he realises his mistake.

"Sorry, it's okay not to tell me, I just want you to be safe. Do you have somewhere to go?"

He feels her nod against his shoulder and exhales the breath he hardly realised he'd been holding. He knows what he has to do but as he looks down at her frightened and rather pretty form clinging so desperately to him, he realises how much he doesn't want to. He wants her to forget what happened with the men, knows she needs to forget what she'd seen him do but the idea that she'd forget all about him made him feel disproportionally sad.

He holds his breath as he slowly pulls out his wand and holds it up towards her back, feeling guilty and wrong about what he's doing as he battles his raging inner monologue.

"Obliviate," he says gently, watching as the blue tendrils of the spell erupt and consume her. He has to be quick, pulling his jacket away from her shoulders and stepping away, walking quickly out of the alley. He doesn't want to leave her, his brain fighting every step that he takes but he can't stay, without an excuse as to why he was there.

He considers watching her as she walks home, checking that she made it back okay but he knows that would look worse. He couldn't have her be scared of him.

When he gets back to the shop, almost completely consumed by worry, he ignores George's rant completely, agreeing to whatever his twin wanted. He hardly sleeps that night, worried for her. He knows it's wrong but she was so pretty, so scared, it's like she'd imprinted onto his brain. Maybe he needed to be obliviated to forget her.

The next morning, he's up bright and early having abandoned any chance of sleeping. He remembers the logo on her work uniform and wants to check that she was alright, hoping that she might be there by now. He knows he can't mention that night, or ever meeting before but he can at least try to calm his mind if he saw her alive and well.

He never even made it into the pub, bumping into you on the way there. He smiled widely when he saw no lasting damage, no trauma and that you hadn't gotten frostbite or pneumonia from your extended time in the alley. In the daylight he realised you were absolutely beautiful and he took full advantage of your 'accidental run in', asking you out on the spot.

You thought it was strange that he didn't have a phone, or any real concept of technology but it all became clear six months into your relationship when he revealed his big secret, that he could use magic.

The conversation was approached with caution, having gathered tips from his siblings and his dad on how to proceed. You'd actually taken it surprisingly well, though if course you were shocked and disbelieving at first. It helped that you'd gotten really close with George and that he'd also assured you that they weren't pulling a prank on you. It all took a while to sink in with Fred slowly opening up more and more about his world. There were things you loved about it, and things that you found odd but that was the nature of growing up so differently. You'd met his family and been in complete amazement at their weird and wonderful home and they had been unbelievably warm and welcoming, making you feel like family already. You'd seen the incredible shop he and his brother had opened and had been amazed by everything in there. You'd moved in together, certain that you were endgame for each other. You saw how everybody in the wizarding world loved them, their inventions and it warmed your heart to know that you'd chosen a good guy.

It all came crashing down when you began talking about how you met, one night in your flat over a bottle of wine on your one year anniversary. Naturally, you assumed that it had been a coincidental run in that morning near your work, a fated moment where you met your soulmate. From that moment you just couldn't stop talking, couldn't be apart. Your relationship moved quickly but it felt right in every way, never giving you reason to puse or think twice. You were certain you'd never seen him before; you'd definitely have remembered his fire red hair, wide shoulders, gorgeous towering height and that beautifully mischievous smile. Fred however, had accidentally let it slip that it hadn't been your first encounter really, his eyes widening in panic when your eyes snapped up to his in utter confusion, realising he had said too much.

You managed to extract the truth from him eventually, the whole truth. He'd saved you, but then wiped your memory. You felt dirty, betrayed.

Knowing that those men had had their hands all over you, of what they wanted to do, it made your stomach roil dangerously until you were throwing up your celebratory anniversary meal. You couldn't look Fred in the eye, the strong sense of betrayal making you want to run away from him, feeling like you couldn't trust him at all. Everything was built on a lie, your entire relationship, the home and the life you'd built together, talks of the future.

You left that night to go back to your parents, scrubbing yourself raw in the shower at just how dirty you felt, how wrong you felt in your own skin. It had been nearly a month and you hadn't seen him once. You'd ignored his letters, thankful that he didn't have a phone because you'd be ignoring that too. You'd taken time off work so he couldn't find you there and had openly avoided any place in London that he might think to look for you- especially avoiding anywhere close to Diagon Alley. He'd come in and changed your life completely, given you hope for a wild and adventure filled future and then spoilt it all.

And the worst part is that you couldn't explain to anyone why. You didn't know a single other magical soul who wasn't directly or indirectly related to Fred and you couldn't exactly explain to your muggle friends and family the exact reason that you'd left him. The questioning from your parents was exhausting, wanting to know what happened between you and that 'sweet boy', your parents already considering him their son in law. But you couldn't say anything and so you remained vague, taking their questioning and opinions on the chin, taking the hit for him.

He saved you that night, you reminded yourself. It wasn't as if he was the one that had done you any harm, he'd actually saved you from getting hurt. Logically you knew that he had to wipe your memory, it was in their statue of secrecy, an unspoken code of conduct for the wizarding world. But still, the lingering feeling of betrayal never went away. Your relationship had been a lie, he had been a lie.

It was a Tuesday afternoon when you received a letter by owl that you'd nearly immediately thrown in the bin until you watched the owl fly away, noticing that it was a different colour to the one Fred usually used. You looked at the letter and noticed that it wasn't his writing but rather a smaller, more cursive font that wasn't as heavily scribbled as his was.

George.

You immediately felt guilty, realising that not only had you left Fred that night but you'd also left George in the dust, abandoning him as well. He wrote to say how much he missed you, that he was sorry and that he didn't know. He asked you to meet him at the leaky cauldron on Friday, if you still wanted to be friends, regardless of his brother.

You began to write back only to realise that you'd sent the owl away, that you'd have no chance of getting the message to him. Your only option was to meet him there Friday.

To say you were nervous was an understatement, trying to blend into the background as you walked through the opening of the cauldron, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the witches and wizards bustling about inside.

"Y/n!" You heard from the side, a little booth that wrapped around a brick pillar off to the side and you smiled when you saw George waving at you. You walked towards him, feeling a little calmer as he pulled you into a brief hug, asking how you were.

"Oh merlin, I left my wallet in my room," he says with a frown, looking at the staircase.

"Room?"

"Yeah, had to do some repairs to the flat so I've been staying here, bastard twin took the room at mums." You try not to react at the mention of his twin but your eye inadvertently flinches, forcing you to look away.

"It's okay I can get them," you began to say only to be cut off by George as he gives you a knowing smirk.

"Oh yeah, got a load of galleons in that bag?"

"Right, wizard money," you say with a frown, not having even considered that. "I might have some left over in here."

"It's okay, why don't we nip up to my room, it's only up there, be back in two minutes. If I leave you alone they might ask you to leave."

The smile on your face that had been there since reuniting with George disappeared the second you stepped into the room and saw a slightly broader version of George sat on the bed. At first you hoped it was just a mirror but when he turned to glare at his brother, you knew it was Fred instantly.

"Really George?" You said in frustration, turning to see him looking at you with a guilty and almost sad expression.

"I'm sorry, I just wanted you two to talk. I can't take his moping anymore," he says, gesturing towards Fred who still gives a thunderous look towards his brother.

"I told you not to get involved!" Fred says loudly towards his twin, the anger evident in his eyes.

"I missed her too," George argues but it's weak under the venomous glare of his twin. "Fine," he relents, feeling the double glare coming from both your and Fred.

"Just let me," he says slowly before quickly opening the door and closing it behind you. You hear the key turning in the lock and bolt to the door, trying to open it. You look to Fred who appears by your side, banging on the door and trying to pry the handle open but it was unless.

"He's jinxed it," he says in annoyance, turning to look for his wand that was on the table but is longe there. "Git's stolen my wand!"

"There aren't any repairs on the flat are there?" You ask, realising he'd fooled you completely.

"I haven't been back since we," he says, all anger dropping from his tense figure as he looks at you briefly before diverting his eyes.

"I meant at the shop, George's flat," you say, feeling a little awkwardly.

You look up at him in confusion when you hear him snort out a laugh. "That was what he told you?"

"How was I meant to know?" You asked sharply, not liking the laugh he'd given you because you fell for his trick.

"No I didn't mean, never mind." he says quickly, defensively before he breaks off his speech mid sentence, sighing and taking a seat on the bed.

It's painfully awkward as you take a seat at the little desk in the corner, Fred sitting on the bed. The room is small, completely taken up by the wooden four poster bed and it leaves little room for you to avoid each other.

"I," Fred says after a while, breaking the tense silence. "I'm so sorry."

Your eyes slowly trail up to him to see him looking at you with wide and emotion filled eyes. "I should have told you, I should have done more so that you knew but I really thought I was doing the right thing."

"You did."

You watch as his eyes bulge at your words, as soon as they sink it. His wide eyes suddenly merge to a look of confusion as he ponders your reply.

"You did do the right thing, at least for the wizarding community. A muggle saw what happened, you had to fix that," you say quietly with a little shrug, looking away from him. "I understand why; I just hate that you hid it from me for so long."

"I know," he replies, "there was just never a right time. I couldn't tell you until you knew about me but by then I was already so in love with you that I couldn't risk losing you so I kept quiet."

You can feel his gaze on you but you don't look at him, worried that if you looked at him now your heart would break all over again. You never expected love to be so complicated, never knew that with great love came great heartbreak.

“I miss you sweetheart.”

Those four simple words broke your resolve completely, shattering whatever resentment you were holding on to completely.

You finally look at him, really look and you can see that he looks tormented, like he’s not been sleeping right. You miss him too; you want your old life back, where you were happy together.

“No more lies,” you say, fixing him with a soft but meaningful glance, laying out your terms.

“No more lies,” he agrees, a hopeful smile tugging at his lips as he watches you slowly stand and make your way over to him, the past forgiven and forgotten.

When George enters the room an hour later, checking on the progress and to see that you were both still alive, he sees a lot more than he bargained for… and certainly more of Fred’s arse than he ever wanted to see.

[evita-shelby]

Look both ways

or i skipped ahead while reading @emotionalcadaver 's stories with Lucy, and got inspired this angst filled fic Eva realizing their polyam relationship with Lucy won't ever work and divorcing Tommy.

cw: failed polyamory relationship, mentions of murder, divorce, misery, angst, mentions of infertility and codependency issues

takes place in 1920, since that is when Tommy and Eva eloped in the og fic.

When Tommy began to court her, the witch assumed Lucy Winters would not pose much of a problem.

Not because Eva was completely fine with sharing a man and fucking a woman in the same relationship, but because the witch hadn’t really taken the time to see this would never work out in the long run.

Don’t get her wrong, she was sexually compatible with Lucy, the witch just didn’t seem to form a romantic relationship with the woman and as time went on found her near constant presence in her life…irritating.

It's her fault, Eva has never been able to share, be it toys or her tiny luxuries during the revolution, and especially her romantic partners. Be it hating every second Antonia spent with Franscisco, or the attention Diosdado gave the women he eventually fucked behind her back and now the constant presence of the Red Demon in their lives.

Eva had believed herself above the women who allow themselves to be trampled on by their significant others, prided herself in having the self-respect and strength to burn every fucking bridge and move the fuck on without ever looking back.

And yet, she is here letting her jealousy take hold because she just had to foolishly agree to marry him when her petition for asylum here fell through. She could’ve gone to America or even the loser’s table in Paris, but instead she agreed to be the official wife of Thomas Shelby and the third point of the triangle.

There was also that she was pregnant, and kids always make it all the more complicated.

“My family wouldn’t approve.” Eva hides her joy at having Tommy all to herself as they go down to London for a visit well enough to fool him and even Lucy who for once may explore a life where she is not giving Tommy’s shadow a run for its money. “You know how people can be.”

And because they will know he has a mistress that she does fuck (on occasion) and even lives with them(unfortunately), they will not look down her as much. They will offer to deal with the issue ---mistresses were not allowed for the men who marry into their family as a Riley daughter’s happiness goes above monetary gain, especially the last living witch in their family--- and she will halfheartedly refuse.

This would keep Lucy alive, for now.

But it would not last forever, so Eva has decided this ménage à trois has to end.

It has too because Eva knows it won’t be long before she takes up the offer. They’ve been married a handful of months and already Eva knows if this goes on any longer, she will be backed into a corner and accept the offer to have the third person in her bed murdered.

It will break their hearts, his most of all, but it has to be done. It would be painful, but the pain would pass.

Tommy will be allowed to be a father to their son, they will eventually heal from it and neither will be driven miserable because Eva’s choices at the time were Tommy and automatically becoming a British Subject or being extradited to Mexico and executed for treason.

But Eva no longer needs his ring on her finger to stay alive, her family had now successfully made themselves part of American High Society and would always have the money and influence to keep themselves not just alive, but thriving to spite their enemies.

It will be difficult, especially when she does actually love Tommy and would love nothing more than to be happy with him and have the life she saw when they were alone in that bathtub in Brighton. Because of course, Tommy only gave a weekend without Lucy and even three days after they eloped in June, the universe was telling her that perfect life with those four children did not include the Red Demon.

“You've been distant, you’re even sleeping in a different room these days.” Tommy is never one to bring up their issues, but he knows from the moment she let him inside her grandmother’s house, that they would be equals, that they were partners in life and business.

And because otherwise she’d avoid it, partly due to Lucy’s near constant presence, he waits until there’s nowhere to run.

Like he did when he picked her up in his car knowing he would hate every word she said because Tommy Shelby is the biggest idiot when it comes to love, but knew even then that Eva would never lie to him nor lead him wrong.

“Didn’t feel comfortable anymore.” And just like then, he will hate everything she will say now. He had hoped Eva’s friendship with Lucy would turn to love, but he knows the witch is slow to surrender her heart and that she looks both ways before she takes that leap of faith.

It took her nearly six months to make up her mind about him, it was cruel of him to make her accept a third person in a relationship Eva had assumed would be of two. They should’ve talked about this, about what would happen if she and Lucy weren’t anything but friends and that maybe Eva’s jealousy would become a problem.

“When I agreed to marry you, I had assumed I could learn to accept her existence in our marriage or that she could be tempted to live a life of her own and not as your shadow.” She looks out the window refusing to look at him because she has no idea how to keep herself together and not jump out of the fucking car.

“So you didn’t look twice then.” He concludes knowing how careful she is with these sorts of things. She’d been hurt before, hurt badly enough that Eva needed every assurance that those she gave her heart would put a gun to their mouth before hurting her.

“No and now I am fucking miserable.” The tears come out along with the truth and he has no choice but to park the car on the side of the empty road. “I don’t love her, Tom. I tried but I can’t.”

Eva’s not looking at him and she knows the pain clear on his face as if she was, hears it in the heavy sigh he lets out as the dam bursts.

Because that’s the thing, he would have to choose between them because there isn’t a world where the three would be happy together. “You should’ve told me sooner.”

“And then what? She’d get her own place and live apart while we share you? I already I feel as though I have to fight for every moment I can get alone with you, because as much as I tried to overcome it, I am a selfish woman when it comes to love.”

It was a pipe dream to think that the arrangement would ever function as they naively thought it would.

What would happen when he’d have to prioritize the wife and children at home? Would she be able to live knowing the kids would never see her as a third parent and that society would only see her as Tommy’s whore and nothing more? That Eva would only allow her in her bed when she felt like it and that when Tommy becomes a politician, it won’t be Eva, but her uncle who orders her death?

As much as Eva hates to admit it, her family is not wrong to see permanent mistresses as a weakness begging to be exploited in those seeking to move up the ladder with a Riley bride on their arm. A temporary fling barely mattered, a lapse of judgement that usually spared the other, but Lucy would eventually be killed by her uncle’s orders or even hers to protect their family and Tommy’s career.

The witch refuses to have her life in her hands like that. She meant it when she said Leopoldo Carranza’s life was the last she would take in 1918.

“We’ll get a divorce; I will stay in London, and you will be as present as you wish to be in our son’s life. It will hurt us deeply, but we will get over it. The business won’t be affected since I own my own shares in your company and yours will be inherited by Charlie.” The witch dries her tears with her sleeve and refuses the handkerchief she had embroidered with the same monogram in his signet ring for him.

“And if I refuse to sign those papers?” He holds back his anger and pain at having it all end like this, but there is no other way.

“Eventually I would have forced you to choose between us knowing that you would have to choose me for Charlie’s sake as well as your career. You have me or you have her.” this time she does look at him. To see the words sink in as he realizes the game is over and it would be better to leave the game at a draw instead of playing to the death. “I can live without you, you can live without her, but is Lucy able to live without you?”

Eva had the luxury of a family and life that taught her to know her own worth, to be independent and to know when to accept defeat like those before her had done. Lucy, bless her soul, like a sunflower chasing the sun, she grew in the direction of Tommy.

She was too dependent on him; it would be like ending an addiction. The only way you could overcome was to have the strength to fight for yourself, sadly, Lucy did not appear to be willing to break away from Tommy nor would Tommy allow it out of fear that she would leave. Just as Lizzie couldn’t move on from him and Grace went as far as to sentence Eva to death and him as well when she saw that he chose to believe Eva, a stranger, over her.

“I suppose this is the end then.” He tries not to, but the words catch on his throat.

The love was there, but it didn’t do a damn thing besides make them all miserable.

“Promise me one thing, Tom.” One last thing to make this heartbreak worthwhile.

“Anything, love.” He reaches out for her hand, and she doesn’t pull away.

Because if there is anything Eva hates more than sharing a person, it is having the universe make her a better person than she ever wanted to be. It would have been easier to just let her uncle kill her, but Eva has never cared for the easy way out.

“That she looks both ways before she leaps.”

part 2: The Wreckage

[fabuladorah]

My top 5 fave DBDA charachters

1. Crystal Palace

2. Charles Rowland

3. Night Nurse

4. Niko Sasaki

5. Jenny The Butcher

Honorable mention: Tragick Mick and Edwin Payne.

WARNING LONG RAMBLING!!

1 - Lemme be superficial first, her looks are simply iconic, i worship her hair and witch-core clothes and the way her powers are potrayed (those white globes, the three eyes, quick flashed) just make me go brwwww. And then there is hee character arc... which is *chef kiss* so, so good: she doesnt know who she is, she thinks people didnt really like her, she is sure her parents are looking for her, her first instict is to be mean, but then for what is she being mean for anyway, so she stops. She drags the boys from Big ol' London all the way to an small town in America just to save a little girl, because she is alone and scared. Her abusive demon ex, even after exorcised, is still haunting her. She offers her life to save an stranger she had just met (an stranger who had been kind, an stranger who had understood her, an stranger who had a place while she didn't). Her abusive demon ex shows that maybe she wasnt a good person after all. She misses her mom. She give away her powers (her strenght, her core) to be free from her abuser. She gets her power back, she buries her abusive demon ex alive in her mind (the place where he had her prisoner) with the help of her FAMILY (she didn't know who she was, she didn't know were she was from now she knows) she wrestles a thousand-year olds witch seconds after gaining her mind power back because she CAN AND SHE WINS. She has her memory back, she was an horrible person, her parents weren't looking for her (she missed her mother) and now she needs to go back home and she needs to make things right. Seriously what's there not love about her? Crystal Palace, please understand, you'll always be famous.

2 - Wait one second *close the door* *inhumans sounds* *open the door* okay now lets start. He is not the brain, he is the brawn, he is the protector. He couldn't protect himself. He died defending a boy he didn't even know, he died because he hated senseless violence, he died by the senseless violence. He fears being a bad person — he think he is a bad person, his father's son. He is terrified, so he'll lie, he'll smile. He was just a boy, he died young, he wanted to grow old, he hates to be dead, but he loves Edwin. He chose Edwin over Heaven — this boy, alone, died young and had been his light during the darkest, final, moment of Charles' life. It was an easy choice. I just really, really love Charles, because of all that, but also because he is charismatic af (all Jayden's hard work) and funny and he foes around with a fucking cricket bar, I should've started with that... he has a cricket bar, your Honour, I rest my case. And and I just love charachters with this """savior complex""", this responsibility of being alright to take care of others, of smile and lighting the mood because no one else will do that.

3 - she's an overworked work and that's my kinda shit. The whole point of her job is to protect and care for the lost children, and being honest to god I know she would shoot a kid right in the head if it meant finish her job and thats so fucked up and hyprocte of her and i just absolutely worship her. Also, her whole life views being changed because of a funny man she met inside of a whale is just--- I think she is underrated, and people are missing her angst potential, but I will not be the one to tell you how to write her because dude my english is going to shit as we speak.

4 - I know this is kinda dissapointing, but my whole reason is that she is Niko. That's it.

5 - She is a dyke running a butch shop, thats actually so cool I could die. On her first appearence I thought she would kill Crystal and the boys (again) and thats how I like my women. Also its really refreshing to seen that there is an adult who cares about these kids... the talks she had with Crystal and Niko, yk, she is so mature and smart and wants to help and she is like so cleary trying not to get attached and failinh tremendously, cmon she saw Crystal going to meet her abusive ex and was like "Nuh uh u aint going alone and I AM TAKING THIS MF CLEVER WITH ME" based af. Local lesbian accidentaly addopts four kids (two of which are dead)

Bonus: okay I feel like I gotta justify myself: I DO NOT HATE EDWIN, okay? I love him, he just didnt make the cut. And about Tragick Mick, cmon he is a goddammned (LITERALLY) seal and runs a funny little shop and saved Niko's life. We love him. We adore him. Tragick Mick may not have the sea, but he has the people!!

[enbysiriusblack]

my marauder oc's:

lydia pettigrew- peter's mother. lesbian, witch, had peter when she was about 16 so didn't go back to school for her newts

cora- lydia's girlfriend, muggle and a wiccan, peter sees her as his stepmum and vice versa

catherine mckinnon- marlene's mum, witch, very traditional values, doesn't understand/get on with marlene

bob meadowes- dorcas' dad, muggle, works as a builder, very close to dorcas

raymond- known by 'ray', a music store owner in london that sirius and regulus used to visit sometimes

sy macdonald- mary's sister, muggle, quite a bit older than mary, punk lesbian, mary moves in with her after she leaves the wizarding world

owen- neighbour of the lupin's, runs a small farm that remus sometimes helps out on during the summer, taught remus welsh

lydia, cora, sy, and bob were oc's made by both me and @loserboyfriendrjl !!

[avelera]

Sir Robert Gadlen of Shere, Surrey?

So at one point for Giving Sanctuary and writing Hob in fics in general, I was looking for historical towns where he could have lived at various points in his life. Mostly (and to my increasing regret in Come live with me) I just eschew names entirely BUT there was one research rabbit hole I went down that was rather fun and made a good case for where Hob could have lived in 1589-roughly 1629.

In particular, I was looking for towns that were a workable distance from London, that is, close enough that one could reach the city for special occasions in a day or two using pre-modern travel but was far enough outside where one could have a sprawling estate. I wanted a town that was known for having Tudor mansions and, critically, I wanted it to be a town that had a river running through it for Hob's infamous drowning as a witch. Since I'm US not UK, all of this was educated guesses and I'm sure a native would find something laughable about my choice, but I eventually happened upon the town of Shere, in Surrey.

I had several reasons for why Shere in particular seemed a good fit for Hob's late 1500-early 1600s estate location:

The town is 25 mi/40 km outside London. Given the average cart speed was 4 mph/6 kmh especially when taking into account pre-modern roads. With a good horse you could do it in about a day's ride, with slower a more comfortable pace and breaks for water, half a day if you were in a hurry. It seemed the proper distance for a man on the rise in society like Hob would want to be, able to make frequent trips while still being landed with a country estate.

In the Medieval era the area was noted as being "one of the wildest in Surrey: sheep-stealers, smugglers, and poachers found a refuge in these remote hills. Some of the cottages have, still existing, very large cellars (excavated easily in the sandy hill), stated by H.E. Malden to have been "far too large for any honest purpose, and were no doubt made for storing smuggled goods till they could be conveniently taken on to London" (Source) - I was charmed by the idea that Hob would have known the area from his banditry days and that he in turn would be tickled by the idea of coming back to the site of his former ne'er-do-well stomping grounds, now with a purchased knighthood. Also couldn't hurt to know the area like the back of your hand (especially when on the run from witch hunters).

Shere is noted in the Domesday Book of 1086 which makes it old enough for Hob to have lived there then AND to this day it is known for its Tudor manors to this day which make it a popular filming location, with several Tudor estates and manor houses, one of which I like to imagine was Hob's during the days of his knighthood.

Here's a fun detail! "Shere has often been called one of the most beautiful villages in England; certainly few can surpass it in Surrey for a combination of those qualities that go to make up the ideal village… Shere is, therefore, the haunt of painters, many of them residents in and around, and samples of their handiwork may be inspected in the ancient Black Horse Inn." (Source) You can't tell me Hob wouldn't consider the town just because it has a Black Horse Inn, he would be giggle himself sick over that.

The River Tillingbourne runs through the center of the village. Particularly in Giving Sanctuary this was important to me because I imagined Hob being dragged from his estate into the center of town for his trial and drowning, for maximum dramatic effect, so I needed one close by that was deep enough to drown a man and sweep him away.

Now, there's one problem with Shere, which is that no witch trials happened there during James I's reign, which is when Hob would have been drowned...

... EXCEPT ONE:

"Despite James I's interest in witchcraft, just one case was brought before the Surrey Assizes in his reign, the outcome of which is unknown. There were probably others brought before the lesser court of Quarter Sessions, but the records for this period have not survived." (Source)

Perhaps since Surrey had no other witch trials, it was all the more reason for Hob to be "overconfident" that he had nothing to worry about? After all, what were the odds? And an unknown outcome, hmm, sure sounds like an excellent opportunity to fictionalize this as because Hob went back later and destroyed the records.

Anyway, this is the one town that fit all my requirements but in the end, I never ended up using the name (at least, not yet) in any of my fics. But I thought others might enjoy the outcome of my search!

[scotianostra]

On 22nd November 1869 the clipper "Cutty Sark" was launched at Dumbarton on the River Clyde.

Cutty Sark was built for a firm of ship owners called Willis & Sons, headed by John ‘Jock’ Willis, whose ambition was that she be the fastest ship in the annual race to bring home the first of the new season’s tea from China.

She was designed by Hercules Linton, a partner in the Dumbarton firm of Scott & Linton. It is believed that he moulded the bowlines of Willis’s earlier vessel Tweed into the midship attributes of Firth of Forth fishing boats, creating a beautiful new hull shape that was stronger, could take more sail, and be driven harder than any other.

The company had never built a ship of this size before and ran into financial difficulties, eventually going bankrupt before she was completed. The final details of the fitting out had to be completed by William Denny & Brothers, Scott & Linton’s landlords and the guarantors for the completion of the work on the original contract.

Cutty Sark was towed to Greenock for final work on her masts and rigging. She was then taken to London to load her first cargo for China in 1870.

The ship was named after Cutty-sark, the nickname of the witch Nannie Dee in Robert Burns's 1791 poem Tam o' Shanter. The ship's figurehead, the original of which has been attributed to carver Fredrick Hellyer of Blackwall, is a stark white carving of a bare-breasted Nannie Dee with long black hair holding a grey horse's tail in her hand. In the poem she wore a linen sark that she had been given as a child, which explains why it was cutty, or in other words far too short. The erotic sight of her dancing in such a short undergarment caused Tam to cry out "Weel done, Cutty-sark", which subsequently became a well known catchphrase. Originally, carvings by Hellyer of the other scantily clad witches followed behind the figurehead along the bow, but these were removed by Willis in deference to 'good taste'. Tam o' Shanter riding Meg was to be seen along the ship's quarter. The motto, Where there's a Willis away, was inscribed along the taffrail. The Tweed, which acted as a model for much of the ship which followed her, had a figurehead depicting Tam o' Shanter.

Unfortunately for Willis, the launch of the Cutty Sark coincided with the opening of the Suez Canal and the growing popularity of steamships. Steam-driven ships could pass through the canal, whereas clipper ships like the Cutty Sark could not. That meant that steam, ships could cut thousands of miles off the trip to China to collect tea. The Cutty Sark, though one of the fastest clipper ships ever built, was outmoded almost before it sailed.

While the Cutty Sark's career in the tea trade was less than a success, her next career in the Australian wool trade was where she truly shone. From 1883-95 the ship made the Australian run, bringing wool exports back to London.

The Cutty Sark consistently outsailed her competitors, and she dominated the wool trade for over a decade, earning a reputation for exceptional speed on the 2-month voyage. She famously once overtook and passed the steamship Britannia, travelling at a rate of 17 knots.

But once more the steamship spoiled the Cutty Sark's career, and once the steam vessels made the Australian wool trade their own, the Cutty Sark was sold to a Portuguese company. From 1895-1922 the ship (renamed Ferreira) was a tramp vessel, carrying cargo between Portugal and the far-flung corners of the Portuguese Empire.

In 1922 the Ferreira put into Falmouth to repair damage suffered in a gale. A retired sea captain named Wilfred Dowman saw the ship and determined to buy her. Dowman restored the Cutty Sark to approximately how she had appeared during her days as a tea clipper.

The ship was used for naval training until 1951 when it was sent to London for the Festival of Britain. She might well have been scrapped following the festival, but the ship was saved by the National Maritime Museum and put into dry dock at Greenwich in 1954, beside the Old Royal Naval College.

In 2007 a devastating fire broke out aboard the Cutty Sark, and it appeared that the ship might be completely destroyed. Thankfully total disaster was avoided, but the subsequent restoration lasted until 2012.

The Cutty Sark is in permanent dry dock at Greenwich, London as a museum ship, check their web page here https://www.rmg.co.uk/cutty-sark/history

[noahvember]

Hello everyone! We're about three weeks out from the start of Noahvember! Today, we're kicking off our breakdown of prompts. We'll be further explaining some of the prompts and context behind them to hopefully give you some inspiration. We'll be skipping around and breaking them down as we see fit, so if there's a prompt you'd like to discuss, comment down below or send in an ask!

Today, we're breaking down the prompts for day six, London Calling!

The theme for day six is London Calling. The title comes from the song and studio album of the same name by The Clash! We chose this to fit with our more horror-esque prompts (and for the clear connection to "I See London...)!

Check out some of these lyrics for inspiration! Really sets the tone, doesn't it?

(London calling) to the imitation zone Forget it, brother, you can go it alone London calling to the zombies of death Quit holdin' out and draw another breath London calling, and I don't wanna shout But while we were talking, I saw you noddin' out London calling, see we ain't got no Hyde 'Cept for that one with the yellowy eyes

Vampires

Our first prompt is pretty self-explanatory - vampires! There's a lot to play with here. Are we going old-timey, stereotypical vampires? Do we set our scene in an abandoned gothic castle full of candelabras? Or are playing around with a more fun What We Do In the Shadows sort of vibe? What do your vampires look like? Are they susceptible to the usual garlic and crucifix? Do they have a reflection in the mirror? Can you take them out with a quick jab to the chest with a wooden stake? The possibilities are truly endless!

Horror

Another nice broad category! There is so much to explore in the horror genre. Are we putting a twist on a beloved horror classic? Are we playing with slasher films or fun horror-comedies? While Noah doesn't make it far in his Total Drama Island run, there's a lovely horror challenge entitled "Hook, Line, and Screamer" complete with a real killer on the loose! What would happen if we put Noah in this episode? How would he react to the challenge? And we can't forget about Total Drama Action's "The Sand Witch Project"!

I See London...

One of Noah's most significant episodes during his Total Drama run is "I See London...", a fun murder-mystery challenge with a Jack-the-Ripper twist! While we say farewell to Noah at the end of this episode, there is so much to explore with the aesthetic of this challenge. Teams are challenged to hunt down Jack-the-Ripper before he can hunt them! There's a lot to play around in a place as big as London, and with the story surrounding Jack-the-Ripper. Or maybe you play around with the Alejandro and Noah plotline! An iconic episode indeed!

And that's it for our breakdown of day six! Are there any prompts you want us to go over? Let us know! Noahvember starts November 17th! We can't wait to see what you have in store!

[vulpes-fennec]

Prythian's Fantasia 🎪 (Ch. 3)

Summary: It’s 1889. Desperate to save her ailing mother’s life, Feyre strikes a bargain with ringmaster-witch doctor Amarantha. As the Archeron sisters join Prythian’s Fantasia and head for the World’s Fair in Paris, they begin to realize the circus’s magic runs far deeper than its enchanting nightly performances.

Previously: The Archeron sisters had a magical experience at Prythian's Fantasia. Will Feyre be able to bargain with Amarantha to save her mother's life? WARNINGS: References to past SA in Gwyn's POV

Read: Masterlist | AO3

Tuesday, March 12th, 1889

***Nesta***

Nesta was scritch-scratching her way through the pile of correspondence in the parlor when the front door snicked shut. Blazing irritation ruined Nesta’s train of thought. Where the hell was her damn sister going? 

Sure enough, Feyre’s cloaked form had just turned the corner down the street. Nesta ground her teeth, frustration fueling her quick steps into a light jog. She’d turned a blind eye to Feyre’s excursions long enough. As the eldest child, it was her responsibility to keep her sisters out of trouble. But Nesta hated running. Especially in such a layered skirt and dainty little shoes. 

“You, there. I’ll pay you five shillings if you follow that girl in the black dress down the street.” Nesta announced to a boy who happened to be driving an empty wagon past her. He could not be any older than fourteen, based on his short stature and pimple-covered face. But he nodded, even cowing slightly as Nesta hopped into the grimy wagon. “Be discreet. If she catches us, you’ll only get two.” 

The janky wagon rumbled and squelched over cobblestone and mud. The boy maintained a careful distance as they moved past soot-darkened gray buildings, ramshackle apartments, squalid beggars, and over the Thames River. They followed Feyre for a good half hour before she disappeared into thin air. 

“Where did she go?” The boy stopped, his confusion mirroring Nesta’s. Nesta, who had been keeping a close eye on Feyre the entire time, was at a loss for words. Feyre’s honey-brown hair was easy to spot, even amongst the throng of Londoners. She was even wearing a knitted cream shawl that made her stand out in the gray. But they had traveled far enough that Nesta was certain where Feyre was headed. 

The Prythian’s Fantasia tent rose tall and proud about a half mile away. The lines and colors were sharper in daylight, but the structure still evoked memories of that magical night. Nesta had not been able to stop thinking about how circus dancers pranced and spun across the ring, seductively contorting their bodies mid-air with silken ribbons. She would make the rest of the way by foot; Nesta plunked down the five shillings into the wagon before hopping out.

The circus gate was shut and the grounds were silent, which had Nesta wondering for a moment if she had guessed incorrectly. It seemed dead as a graveyard. But there it was…that faint jingle of music. Lilting notes and clear tones sweetened the air, beckoning her in. Nesta walked along the massive perimeter, following the music. She eventually reached the performers’ camp just behind the main circus. 

Sure enough, her sister was idling at the camp’s edge, wringing her hands and pacing anxiously as if she was working up the nerve to enter. A gold-painted sign propped next to the small entrance read: Prospective performers, seek Amarantha. 

“Feyre,” Nesta called out firmly. 

Feyre jumped, her blue-gray eyes widening in surprise. “Nesta!” Her expression pinched with sudden nervousness. “What are you doing here? Have you been following me?” 

“I should ask the same thing about yourself. Not thinking of running away to the circus, are you?” Nesta replied dryly. 

“I’m not running away…I simply must speak with the ringmaster.” Nesta groaned in frustration when Feyre strode away. Whatever business Feyre had with Amarantha, Nesta was not going to wait around for her sister to come back out. 

During the day, the circus performers were unrecognizable in regular garb, with women in plain linen dresses and men in standard brown pants and shirts. Nesta clearly stuck out, with her pale blue dress and embroidered silk slippers. Even Feyre looked more proper than usual, with her freshly cleaned lilac dress and carefully braided hair. 

Colored caravans were interspersed between medium-sized tents and practice rings. The performers barely paid Nesta and Feyre any attention as they navigated down the crunchy dry grass and towards the large plum tent with the words “ringmaster’s office” scripted on a hanging placard.

A tall, muscular man stood under the tent’s awning, and Nesta gawked at him openly. He was not like the sniveling, pale, weak-boned aristocrats of London society. Nor was he like one of those bumbling country boys who were all brawn but no brain. His golden eyes were like a hawk’s: sharp, intelligent, and…beautiful. Was he a circus performer, or personal protection? Nesta could not recall having seen him in the show, for she would certainly remember a man like him. 

“What’s your business here?” he asked with a half grin, in a deep voice that sounded like a song. Nesta clenched her jaw, trying to keep herself from getting carried away.

“We request an audience with Amarantha,” Feyre responded. The man’s crossed arms stretched and creased his gray shirt along defined muscles. Nesta’s eyes were fixated on the triangle of ruddy brown skin, like that of sailors who spent their days out in the open seas, peeking through the unbuttoned top of his shirt.

“What is the nature of your audience?” 

“I seek her aid for our ailing mother.” Nesta blinked in surprise. Running to a circus ringmaster for healing? Feyre must have lost her mind. 

The man’s hazel eyes snapped towards Nesta’s face, picking her steely facade apart and assessing every hidden, dark thought. She could have sworn his pupils widened with subtle desire. His chiseled face was rugged, as if a sculptor had failed to smooth down a marble statue before presenting their work to an art exhibit. 

“You shouldn’t be here.” His attitude had changed, and it stung, for some reason. 

“I don’t see why not?” Nesta blurted out. “You are not the ringmaster.” The man scoffed at her now, his lip twitching in condescension. 

“What you seek would not benefit you in the slightest.” Normally, Nesta would have wholeheartedly used the barring of entry as an excuse to drag Feyre away. But his self-righteous and dismissive attitude riled her. 

“Cassian,” a strong, female voice called from the interior of the tent. “Do we have guests outside? Do let them in.”  

So that was his name. Cassian. 

“Seems you do not have the final word around here.” Nesta allowed her lips to twitch in a simpering smirk as she walked past Cassian, who had gone rigid with fury, most likely. She could not banish the memory of his intense hazel eyes, which were surely pinned on her back like a target as she slipped into the ringmaster’s tent.  

***Feyre***

It was surprisingly dim inside the tent, and the air clung to Feyre’s cheeks like a damp fog. Ringmaster Amarantha sat in a large velvet chair, reading a book and sipping from a goblet of wine. She’d exchanged her bodice and breeches for a deep purple gown that made her alabaster skin appear bloodless.  

“Good afternoon,” Amarantha purred with a saccharine smile. “What brings such lovely ladies to my domain today?” It seemed the ringmaster’s charisma was not limited to the stage. Feyre took a step forward, dipping her head in a slight bow. 

“Good afternoon, ringmaster. I heard you possess…magic. And I’ve come to humbly request your assistance. My mother has been gravely ill for months.” The Archeron family’s fate hung upon Amarantha’s answer.

“My assistance does not come without a price. Tell me, dear, what is your name?” Amarantha tossed her thick, crimson hair behind a shoulder. 

“Feyre Archeron.” Confidence—keeping her voice steady—was crucial.

“And yours?” Amarantha’s dark gaze swiveled to Nesta, who did not balk at the sheer weight of the ringmaster’s stare. 

“Nesta. Nesta Archeron,” she replied. “I’m Feyre’s older sister.” Amarantha hummed in approval. She closed her eyes, tapping her fingers together in contemplation. 

“Feyre Archeron, I do not desire money or riches as a form of payment. I will provide a healing potion for your mother, as long as you agree to half a year of service with my circus: Prythian’s Fantasia.” 

Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. But Nesta pinched Feyre’s arm hard before she could speak. 

“Please excuse us for a moment,” Nesta said roughly. Amarantha waved her hand flippantly, returning to her book. Nesta dragged Feyre to the side. “Have you lost your mind, Feyre?” she hissed lowly. “Join a circus? For some crackpot potion, when Mother is already on her way out this world?” 

Feyre’s blue eyes flashed angrily. 

“I need to try, Nesta,” she argued back. “I know that you are not fond of Mother. But imagine what Father will endure if she dies. And think about Elain! You may not want to get married, but are you willing to be her chaperone next year? Be my chaperone for another season?” 

“The ringmaster didn’t even inquire about Mother’s condition. How would her ‘potion’ be any useful cure?” Nesta asked, a little more loudly. 

“Magic,” Amarantha called out lazily. “Six months of service seems sufficient in exchange for a potion that acts as a general restorative for any ailment, don’t you think?”

“Magic does not exist. Healing potions do not exist,” Nesta rationalized. “You’re being foolish, Feyre. Save yourself from the embarrassment.”

“Magic does exist. I know it,” Feyre shot back, her voice a harsh whisper. She turned back to Amarantha. “My mother’s condition is too dire to wait six months. What if she passes before my term of service is completed?” 

Amarantha’s mouth curled in a wry grin. “You do drive a hard bargain, my dear. I will award you the potion after two months of service, but you must finish the six months with me before you are free to leave.”  

“This is a traveling circus, is it not? Where do you plan to go?” Feyre asked. 

“We will be making a touring loop around England before heading to Paris in May for the World’s Fair,” Amarantha responded. “Our stops will be in the main cities of Bristol, Birmingham, Manchester, Leeds, Sheffield, Cambridge, and Southend-on-Sea.”

Feyre chewed her lip. Her answer was still ‘yes’ but would two months be soon enough? 

“One month of service,” Nesta declared suddenly. Feyre stared at her older sister in confusion. “I will take part in the bargain, as long as you give us the ‘potion’ after one month of service.” 

Amarantha’s dark eyes gleamed with feral delight. “Very well, then. Come closer, ladies. All I need is a few droplets of your blood.” 

“For what?” Nesta blanched.

“The potion, of course.” Nesta and Feyre stepped closer to Amarantha, who produced a sharp needle. Amarantha grasped Feyre’s hand, her slender fingers icy cold and unusually strong. 

“A bargain: one healing potion, to be given after a month of work, in exchange for six months of Feyre Archeron’s work in Prythian’s Fantasia,” Amarantha intoned. 

Feyre watched with fascination as crimson welled from her index finger and dripped into a small glass vial. A prickling sensation raced from her fingertip to her elbow. Amarantha did the same for Nesta, handing them both linen bandages once she was done. The ringmaster pocketed the glass vial and smiled demurely at them.

“Thank you, ladies. Prythian’s Fantasia departs for Bristol on Friday morning. I shall see both of you here no later than eleven o’clock.”

“What will our roles be?” Feyre blurted out. Amarantha assessed them critically. 

“Feyre, our magician is in need of an assistant, especially for the World’s Fair. You shall work closely with him on his acts. Nesta, I see you have a dancer’s grace. You shall participate in our aerial silks act.” 

“Thank you.” Feyre smiled, feeling incandescent. Everything was lining into place: she would save her mother, go on an adventure, and become closer with the handsome magician. The magician! Perhaps by working with him, she could also find answers about her magic. 

She was so caught up in her joy that she barely noticed a glowering Cassian as they exited Amarantha’s tent. She was going to join the circus! Feyre’s finger throbbed with residual pain, proof that this was truly happening. “You didn’t have to strike a bargain with Amarantha,” she pointed out. “So why did you?” 

Nesta seemed lost in a similar wishful daze. “It’s a ticket to Manchester. The beating heart of the suffragist movement. I also couldn’t let you do such a foolish thing alone.” She gave Feyre a dubious glance.

Feyre froze. “Oh, damn us,” she gasped, glancing at Nesta with wide eyes. “What are we going to say to Elain?” 

***Gwyn***

Tears rolled down Gwyneth Berdara’s cheeks at the memory of her twin sister Catrin’s joyful face and pealing laugh. How many more times could she draw upon her recollections before they faded away? Catrin’s silver wedding ring hung on a chain around Gwyn’s neck, was the only physical part of her sister she had left—and served as a reminder of all that was lost. 

Her heart hurt, but at least she wasn’t in physical pain anymore. Gwyn squeezed her eyes shut and sobbed, pushing away the memories of the cursed brothel. The rank smells, the raucous laughter of drunkards. The clinking of coins before they began. The leering men who did not bother with “making love” to women. 

From what Catrin told her, intercourse was supposed to be a blissful and exciting experience. But Gwyn only knew pain. Pain from the bruises, the pulling of her coppery-brown hair, the chafing of skin between her legs. 

There was also a specific memory of warm, wet blood and the sounds of screams in the dark. And a fast-cooling body. 

Gwyn wiped her teary face and allowed herself one last sniffle before getting up from her cot. At least the bruises on her arms and waist had faded after a week with Prythian’s Fantasia. She’d sought the help of Thesan, the circus physician, who gave her contraceptive tonics without any judgment.

The caravan she shared with Emerie, Nuala, and Cerridwen was packed to the brim. Small windows ventilated the space, a small copper tub was shoved in the corner, and clothes and books were strewn across all available surfaces.

Gwyn was on kitchen duty today. The center of the camp served as the main area for meals and congregating, with food prepared in the open air. Tarquin and Daphne Vanserra were already there, baking bread in the clay oven and handling the wheels of cheese. 

“The vegetables are already washed,” Tarquin said, pointing to the crates of leafy greens, carrots, and potatoes. Tarquin cut a striking figure, with his turquoise eyes and long white hair contrasting with his dark brown skin. She’d only known him for a week, but his gentle smiles and thoughtful nature had put Gwyn at ease with her new surroundings. 

Gwyn picked up a sharp knife and began dicing the vegetables, placing the smaller pieces into large wooden bowls for stew. She was so engrossed with her cutting that when a man silently stepped up next to her, Gwyn jumped with fright. But it was only the dagger-thrower, here to assist with meal preparation. 

He was the same height as her, with a slightly muscled build. Inky black hair curled around the nape of his neck and fell in front of his angular hazel eyes, which softened slightly at her reaction.

“Apologies,” he muttered, his voice low. 

“It’s alright,” Gwyn responded quickly. “My name is Gwyn. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” She smiled broadly at him.

“You’ve been crying, haven’t you?” Gwyn stiffened, her smile slipping away. 

“Azriel, don’t you know it’s rude to say such things to a lady?” Daphne tutted at the dagger-thrower. 

“Apologies,” Azriel said again. He picked up a knife and began expertly fileting the skin and bone off a slab of meat. Gwyn stared: pale scars streaked across his olive-toned hands. They moved with deadly precision. Smears of blood had begun to coat the tips of his fingers…Azriel met her gaze with a sharp look that had Gwyn glancing away with embarrassment. “You’re new, aren’t you?”

“Yes!” Gwyn replied. “I joined the circus right when it arrived in London.” 

“Why?” His words were short, and to the point. 

Catrin’s lifeless face, with sunken-in cheeks and chapped lips flashed before her. That horrible smell…those awful hands grabbing her, hurting her…Gwyn shrugged nonchalantly. 

“I needed to make some money. When did you join the circus?” Azriel’s brows lifted slightly at her returning question. 

“Almost five years,” he replied. The dagger-thrower did not offer any more words of conversation after that. Daphne and Tarquin chatted in the background, but between Azriel and Gwyn, there was only silence. Gwyn’s eyes began watering again when she started on the onions. Before she could reach for a second onion, Azriel wordlessly took the whole crate away. 

“Thank you. I suppose I’ve cried enough for today,” Gwyn murmured. She snuck a glance at the dagger-thrower, and was disappointed to see his face stone-cold at her attempt to jest.

✨

Tags: @velidewrites @reverie-tales @highladysith @shadowsxgwynriel @foxwithagoldeye @sunshinebingo @jealousveronya @corcracrow @fieldofdaisiies @the-lonelybarricade

[sebastianswallows]

Dangerous and Delightful — Chapter 19 — Thick red night

— PAIRING: Sebastian Sallow x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: Sebastian is a purveyor of forbidden artefacts, a dark arts researcher, and a curse-breaker for hire. Ominis, desperate to save him from himself, hires Reader in secret to persuade him, by any means necessary, to leave his illegal activities behind.

— WARNINGS: Angst, smut, noncon, dirty talk, virginity kink, creampie

— WORDCOUNT: 2.7k

— TAGLIST: @bloofinntoona @sarcasticpluviophile @estrotica

The following morning was just as awkward as she expected it to be. Sebastian behaved his usual, cheerful self, or perhaps a bit more cheerful than usual, but underneath it she sensed the silent threat of what he’d do should she prove disobedient.

He prepared breakfast for the two of them, and they had it in the kitchen as before. He gingerly wiped the butter stains from the corner of her mouth and poured the milk into her tea, and even opened up in conversation about things he’d never mentioned before — like the fact that he was neighbours with Mrs Cloke in London, and knew Sweetie very well. That certainly explained some things… But it also gave her the sense that he feared nothing anymore, which was why he felt so free with what he said to her.

When she went out into the garden to tend to the chickens, Sebastian followed — ostensibly to lend a hand, but she knew he wanted to make sure she wouldn’t run away. She was tempted, even with him breathing down her neck, when she saw her neighbour Bertie waving from her window, but she just smiled and waved back and didn’t say a thing. Bertie was a tough old witch, but even she might not be able to face a dark wizard like Sebastian.

It crossed her mind, of course, to write to Ominis, but the prospect of Sebastian finding out about it — and thereby deducing what her mission was, or had been — was too frightening. So she went about her chores during the day, mind racing with ideas of how to save herself, and sometimes she even forgot there was an issue. Her body certainly had forgotten, and Sebastian behaved as sweet as ever, so when she wasn’t boiling over with outrage at him, and how he’d basically taken over her home, the day seemed like any other.

That all changed, of course, at night.

They had prepared lunch together, but dinner was kept light on Sebastian’s insistence. Smoked meat and boiled eggs with toast. And wine, a lot of wine. Sebastian himself didn’t seem affected, but she’d never taken it well, especially when it was so red and thick as blood.

“There now, don’t leave any to waste,” he’d smirk above his own glass. “It’s from your own pantry, after all. Besides, you’ll need it.”

She gave him a dirty look, but drank it anyway.

And afterwards, predictably, he no longer went to his own room. He followed her to hers.

A chill ran down her spine, and sickness rose within her, and she couldn’t stand to look at him even when he grabbed her by the shoulders and twisted her on her heels to face him. He tipped her face up by the chin, and she thought he wanted her gaze, but he just wished to kiss her. She went dizzy with it, or perhaps it was the drink…

Her head might’ve shot back with the strength of it had he not held her by the nape, fingers threaded in her hair and pulling the pins out one by one as he devoured her mouth. His body, tall and broad, loomed over her, and Sebastian was all that she could smell and taste. He made her world small, and took it over.

He didn’t trust her this night either, and tied her up again. She fell on the bed a little heavily and was almost relieved when he bound her legs from her ankles to her knees, closing her womanhood off, even though he’d taken all her clothes off — and his as well — and even though she hadn’t seen her wand from yesterday and had no idea where he kept it. But at least he didn’t use his own either, and tonight caressed her body with his hands alone. No more mean spells, no more whips of fire…

His rough, hot palms scraped up and down her thighs, thumbs teasing at the line where her legs met and with each inch drawing closer to her apex. He didn’t pause when he reached it, but trailed higher, clasping her waist and caressing all the way to the bottom of her ribs. With her eyes closed in a daze of sensation and red fumes, everything was only more intense. She could feel every line on his hands, the tough skin where the quill left callouses, the shape of his fingers, the bluntness of his nails, and the dry warmth of his palms that heated her from the skin all the way inward.

She bit back a mewl when he reached her breasts and cupped them together at the same time. He weighed them in his hands, kneaded them, then started plucking her nipples in at first harder then playfully soft pinches. He ran his thumb across them in tandem, and when he deemed them hard enough, he cupped them one time as if saying goodbye, and ran his hands down her body again.

Her stomach dipped away from his touch, but he didn’t stop there anyway. He went straight for her upper thighs, and grabbed them, and used his thumbs to split her open as much as he could. That was when she couldn’t stand it anymore and opened her eyes.

Sebastian had the most hungry, longing, greedy look in his eyes, and an all too happy smile. He caressed her thighs in a grasp that tightened each time and looked shamelessly down at her slit, and the little clit that peeked out. He bit his lower lip, which was a gorgeously boyish look on him, and dipped his thumb between her folds.

“Se—!”

“Shhh…”

His thumb teased her with a few hard rubs followed by the lightest touch, while with the other hand he pushed against her hood and eased it back, exposing her nub to him even more. A deep sound fought its way out of his throat at the sight of her growing wetter, slicker for his playing. He circled her clit, and he was the one moaning.

With a new urgency, he climbed a little higher on her, his knees sinking into the bed on either side of her hips. She could feel his sac hang low in the sweaty divot of her bound legs, so distinctly warmer than the rest of him. Above it, his manhood hardened, tip peeking from the skin in a striking contrast of blushing pink and pale. He grabbed it almost roughly, and pointed it at her, and before she had time to panic, he started rubbing it against her folds.

The feeling of skin on skin slipping against each other made her tremble from head to toe. Her folds plumped and her nub throbbed at the unusual pleasuring, straining to reach its far thicker, heftier counterpart. She could feel him drip against her, dirtying her with tear-like clear streaks.

“W-what are you doing?” she asked in a voice so small and shy she was ashamed of herself.

“Just getting to know you,” he said with a cocky smile, finally looking into her eyes. “Introducing this part of me, you could say, to that part of you…”

“I don’t want to know you like that,” she bit back, shaking her head against the drifting effect of the wine.

“No?” he sighed, sounding thoroughly unbothered. His warm brown eyes, crinkled in a smile, went back down to where they were almost connected. “Too bad…”

He began to rub himself, quickly hardening, growing impossibly bigger she though, and then his tip aimed slightly downward, leaving her clit to bump at her hole. She winced and inhaled sharply, in fear more than anything else, because it wasn’t supposed to be possible that he should enter her like that, was it? Her legs were so tightly bound, and she was laying in the most unwelcoming position on her back, he could hardly fit that way…

But Sebastian didn’t seem to care. He made a way for himself, as he did in every aspect of his life.

One heavy paw came up to press against her lower stomach, stretching her mound just slightly, enough to open her, and with a steady press he forced his length into her core.

“Aaaah!”

“There you go…”

“Sebas—!”

“Not so bad, is it?”

“Stop!”

She gripped the sheets and tried to pull herself upward, but he held her — with his hands, with his legs, with his very weight on her — and bullied his manhood into her most intimate place.

“So tight,” he moaned, head lazing slightly to the side. His hips twitched and he pressed a little deeper, each time causing her to burn. She yelped in pain, but he took no notice of it, or so she thought. “So perfect…”

The tip stretched her wide enough, piercing through her little hole, but then the rest followed — inch after inch of heavy, warm, silky skin wrapped around something frightfully hard. It was so different from anything she’d felt before, from her gently prying fingers late at night. It stretched her and wouldn’t give, forcing her to take it.

Her folds spread around his hefty length like lips, kissing it, caressing it the whole way forward, and her nub rubbed it in one long straight line on top. Her hips tilted without her intention, but it hardly made a difference. She was stuck to tightly beneath him, that the whole sensation was quite consistent. Sebastian pressed and pressed himself into her, only just tilting backwards sometimes to then push even further, and he forced his way into her channel.

He growled through his teeth when he could go no further, her lips kissing his root. She could feel the tip of him somewhere deep, bumping into the end of her. Sebastian’s gaze took in the slight swelling of her stomach, and with a grin he brought his thumb up gently to rub her there, pleasuring his head through her body while his hips began to slowly cant back and forth.

“There’s a good witch,” he purred, laying his weight down on her to stop her squirming. “Feel me here, do you?” he asked, circling his thumb over that hard spot beneath her belly button.

“Sebastian,” she whimpered, “please, it’s…”

“It’s what?”

“Hurts…”

“I can name a lot of other things that hurt.”

With one heaving sigh, he thrust up into her a little harder, putting his thighs and hips to work to pleasure his length with her channel. Her nub was rubbed raw by the motion, and her hole had given up its tightness to throb more and more open each time, leaking all around him, sparing itself pain.

“You’ve hurt me a lot, do you know that?”

She grit her teeth and clung harder to the bed, tilting her head away from him, and the temptation to see him.

Keeping his hand pressed against her lower stomach, he braced the other by her side and leaned down, laying his whole body over hers.

“I don’t mean to take revenge,” he whispered, resting his lips against her ear. “But you’ve given me no reason to feel guilty for doing it…”

He sighed hotly and began to work his hips more slowly, dragging his shaft from beginning to end inside of her, teasing her in almost gentle motions that caressed her sensitive parts. When he thrust back in and his rough hair rubbed her exposed nub, his sac throbbed right against her plump and soaking slit.

“O-oh, you’re bleeding,” he murmured, pausing to kiss the side of her neck. “I can smell it, beneath all your sweetness… I was your first, wasn’t I?”

“No,” she lied, eyes clenched so tightly they were tearing.

“Best make sure I’ll be your last, then,” he chuckled, seeming not to take her answer seriously.

His hand left her tummy to wrap around her waist, tilting her hips slightly from beneath and holding her closer to him. She could feel almost every part of Sebastian, from the rough scraping of his chest against hers, his hard stomach, warm thighs, his arms around her and his lips laying relentless kisses on her throat, to his manhood piercing her and forcing her body open. He started thrusting faster and groaned at the pleasure.

“So tight for me,” he rambled, kisses so sloppy he was drooling down her neck, “so warm… and hungry, so hungry for something to plug you up, weren’t you? I feel you dripping, naughty witch, all over me…”

“Shut up,” she hissed.

He bit her neck teasingly and brought his hand lower, gripping her behind and squeezing it as if he could bring her even closer, consume her.

“Hear that,” he said, “how much your womanhood weeps for me…”

“You’re revolting and I hate you.”

“So slick, so smooth… So welcoming.”

“I hate you!”

Incensed, he put his muscles to work thrusting harder into her, moving her up the bed the slightest bit while his kisses trailed a passionate path up her neck, her chin, and to her lips. He pressed his mouth against hers and swallowed her trembling whines.

“I’m going to spill inside you,” he confessed between kisses, eyes open but dark, staring into hers.

“Please,” she whispered, all anger gone to be replaced by fear. “You don’t have to, just —”

“I’ll fill you up so much you will never be rid of me.”

“Sebastian!”

He shut her up with a kiss and his grip around her tightened. Inside, she felt his length hardening to a point that was almost painful, scraping its way in and out and dragging all her wetness down to froth around her folds.

Breathless, he tore his lips from hers and buried his face against her neck, growling half-words and curses, and then his hips suddenly stopped. He moaned, sounding almost wounded, and panted out her name in a string of muffled shouts just before she felt something inside her twitching. His manhood kicked in the tight confines of her body, and a warmth spread in her so deeply she felt it almost in her heart. Her eyes widened in horror when she realised it was his seed, and he was burying it deeply. With each thrust, he pushed that thick and cloying release further, tip kissing the opening of her battered cervix.

Her back arched and her head tilted back with a hoarse cry, as she felt something inside of her break, and surrender. She felt Sebastian in every way possible — his kisses lingered in her bruised lips, his breath against her neck and shoulder, his chest sliding against hers and legs pressed around her tightly — and like a traitor she felt her body drink him up, swallowing with every throb the seed he’d given her.

Before his manhood stopped throbbing, her core tightened — as much as his penetration allowed — and she bit her lip to stop the moaning that came with her shameful pleasure. Something spilt from her core, a mix of his release and hers most likely, and bathed his sac in cloying juices that made sticky sounds in the air. Sebastian lay the slightest bit more heavily on her, covering her almost protectively, his weight holding her down until her body calmed and stopped writhing. When her heart was no longer thundering and her cries died down, she realised he was kissing her chest.

“So beautiful,” he rambled, “so good… Sweet little witch, that’s it, let yourself enjoy it.”

She wanted to slap herself, she wanted to cry, she wanted to strangle him, but mostly she wanted to —

“Sleep, my darling,” he sighed, cupping her breast to bring it to his lips for a suckle. “You’ll sleep, and you’ll hate me less in the morning, alright?”

He distracted her by warming her nipple in his mouth, nursing on it with a moan as inch by inch his manhood pulled out of her, dragging against her slick and swollen flesh, then popping out.

“You were so good,” he breathed, moving to the other breast to circle its tip with his lips. “So sweet for me…”

She wanted to say something biting, but was too upset and tired for it. She could only wince at the excess of pleasure his lips brought her, at the throbbing of her bruised insides, at the disgraceful feeling of his seed licking a path out, between her folds, between the cheeks of her behind and pooling there… But Sebastian brought his soft mouth higher, and kissed her quiet again.

She fell asleep to the feeling of him unbinding her legs again and rubbing blood back into them as she lay, tired and worn, curled up on her side.

[not-so-mundane-after-all]

ohh tell me about the Titans AU where Grayson has to fight Rachel's demonic presence???? INTRIGUE

OOOOOOKAY I hope you knew you were about to unleash a dragon when you typed this out because I have A LOT TO SAY AND GIFS TO BACK IT UP

Some of it you probably already know because I can't seem to shut up about this particular episode and I know I've made a post about this a while back but TO RECAP: (Beware of spoilers)

Episode 4x10. Two episodes earlier it has been revealed that Rachel and the season's big bad Sebastian (who also happens to be her half brother) share a physical connection - when one gets hurt, the other gets hurt the same way. To quote Dick: "he cut you with a knife and he bled the same way". Dick and Kory make a decision to bench Rachel to protect her, which she isn't too happy about. So Dick makes a call to a friend from London who knows a little something about magic stuff (the person is never named but DC fans might connect the description to John Constantine) and brings Rachel a possible solution to the connection thing - black magic ritual that is supposed to give the "inner evil" a physical form so it can be killed. They meet with a witch who guides them through the ritual, explains that once the evil takes form, Rachel will be left defenseless because the monster will be draining her energy until Dick kills it. If he fails, she dies. The witch also gives Dick a blade - or rather just a hilt of it and explains that the blade will be formed by magic from his love for Rachel.

The evil takes the form of a monster, which is basically a zombie version of Sebastian and it looks like this:

And Dick spends the rest of the episode chasing it around trying to kill it because he's struggling with getting the blade to work (my man was overthinking it too much instead of letting his feelings guide him but he's a rookie when it comes to magic so I forgive him) and only managed to do it when the monster took Rachel as his direct target

Dick kills the monster, Rachel gets back her life force, the connection is broken. Ritual complete.

What I want to do is make it more angsty. Because sure, running around fighting a zombie was a fun idea for the episode but it wasn't the best. I can agree it works with the logistics of Rachel and Sebastian's connection - the part of Sebastian in her that's creating it will take his physical form - but I love the idea of it becoming more personal to both Dick and Rachel, therefore harder.

You've seen season 1 so you know that in the beginning Rachel had this demonic reflection who always taunted her and tried to make her do bad things, a darkness that took over sometimes.

As Rachel's powers evolved through the show, that part of her disappeared and I want to bring it back. I want the inner evil to take her form during the ritual. I want to put that magic blade in Dick's hand and have him realize that the monster he has to slay to save his little girl is his little girl herself, her own darkness she had to fight her entire life until he taught her how to accept it.

There will obviously be no fight. Because Dick won't be able to fight her. Not when she's standing in front of him with this baby face, striped shirt and blue highlights in her dark hair, the little kid he met in Detroit. He'll be standing there, frozen, while Demon!Rachel does what she does best - taunting, teasing, spitting venom and digging into his head, throwing all his greatest hits right into his face, all the while real Rachel is laying there on the floor, her life force fading away.

And I am ripping my hair out just thinking about it

[flagbridge]

Given your general praise of Michael Crawford, Sarah Brightman and Steve Barton (I'm personnally really stoked to hear they're as good as I always thought they were), were the other cast members good as well? Judy Kaye, Elisa Heinsohn, Leila Martin, Cris Groenendaal, etc.

We did mention most of these performers in our original post although it was by character and not actor name.

Part 1: I Saw the Phantom Proshot at NYPL

Part 2: Q&A: The Phantom Proshot

Every single one of these performers is a phenomenal standout with memorable moments--which are not the memorable moments we often ascribe to the characters.

Judy Kaye sings over the overture and sings some of the highest notes I have ever heard from a Carlotta--she possibly has a higher "live" note than Christine (since Christine's highest live note is in Think of Me, as Title Track is pre-recorded. Note: I do think Sarah Brightman was singing along)

Elisa Heinsohn has a GORGEOUS voice! I don't know why later in the run, especially in London, it somehow became okay for Megs to be middling singers?

Leila Martin is playing Madame Giry as a borderline witch.

Cris Groenendaal's most memorable moment as Andre, for me, is when he stops Firmin from smoking during Hannibal. He wasn't particularly "funny"--but the managers didn't become comic relief until later.

Every single one of these performers created the blueprint, most of which has stood the test of time and geography--so to my eyes, things may not stand out, because I've seen or heard them that way so many times.

But it was them who started it. What is remarkable about the proshot is not what stands out--but what doesn't--because the show is still performed that way to this day.