#but what if your daughter can’t produce children with this man???

[thebluestbluewords]

I’ve had the stupidest omegaverse idea and it’s bringing me so much joy to write fictional inheritance law as it applies to the extended Cinderella family in my incredibly silly omegaverse universe. It’s also providing the precedent that I needed to establish in order to make some of my convoluted political marriage ideas work, so I am feeling very accomplished in my daydream universe today

[the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf]

Chocolate Princess ♡

Willy Wonka x reader

Description - Y/n Ficklegruber can't help but become enamoured with the spectacularly peculiar man stood in the middle of the galleria.

Word count - 1.6k

warnings - fluff ♡

a/n: Watched Wonka today with my sister and my little cousins and honestly have never smiled so much during a film. Every bit of it was just pure wondourous imagination. And Timothee as Wonka was just too scrumptious! Who couldn't love him!

Masterlist

PART TWO

--♡--

I began everyday as I always did. Being ungraciously tumbled out of my pink satin sheets, poked and prodded by our various servants, squeezed into the most painstakingly prissy pink gingham dress (with a matching bow for extra faff), and hauled into my fathers car to join him on his way to work.

You see, I am the sole child of famed chocolatier Felix Ficklegruber. Since I had completed my mandatory years of studies, my days consisted of lounging about my fathers office in complete boredom. My mind practically weakened with the mundane repetitiveness of it all, and I knew it would surely combust if it was not stimulated soon. For 2 years now, I had been begging my father to allow me to study at the prestigious university at the edge of town. But each plea had been met with a scoff, an eyebrow raise and sharp “no”. Even the library was off limits.

I paced around his office, deliberately scuffing my mary janes against the carpet. I smirked at how each scrape made his face tick as if it was being flicked.

“Would you cease that infernal racket. I am trying to work, precious girl.”

“What work? All you do is sit up here eating your own chocolate.” I slumped down onto the disgustingly green couch.

“Please darling, you are giving me a headache, I must ring for my 8am mocha.” He picked up the telephone, clasping his fingers to his eyes.

I drummed my fingers against my dress and clicked my heels together. “You know,” I trailed off. “I wouldn’t be here to bother you at all if…I was at the library.”

The phone was slammed back onto the receiver which made me flinch. He rose from the desk and stalked his way towards me.

“No daughter of mine will be caught in some stuffy book prison-”

“That’s not entirely correct..”

“--That are refuge for the ugly, the untalented and the p–” He dry heaved. I winced at the possibility of another spew. “The p-” I lunged for a bowl as he spluttered.

“I know what you are going to say so maybe we should avoid any bodily functions.” I picked up his monogrammed hanky and wet it from my glass of water. I dabbed the cool liquid against his mouth. His eyes softened at my action and his hand softly clasped around my wrist.

“Sweetheart, you live in complete luxury. Have treasures other children couldn’t even dream of. Why can’t you just stay.” My gaze fell. His hands held my shoulders to turn me around and led me towards the towering window which overlooked the galleria. “Besides, one day you will inherit my pride and joy, my fortune, the very thing that ignites my soul, my–”

“Who’s that?” I interrupted, and pointed my finger to a beautifully disheveled man who had risen atop his suitcase in order to address the crowd. I quirked a smile and took in the strange man, who was truly more a boy, and his frightfully exciting appearance.

The thickness of the window meant I couldn’t hear what the boy was saying but his movements and expressions delighted me to no end. I giggled as he began to flap, mimicking a butterfly. I gasped as he produced from his shallow hat, a large jar of what appeared to be chocolate eggs. But once he took the top off, I shrieked in delight, as each little egg floated up as if carried by wings.

I felt my father stiffen before he shoved me away from the window.

“Now, now sweetheart. Do not bother looking at this man any longer. Clearly another hopeful vagrant but do not worry.” He lifted my chin with his pinky. “We shall deal with him right now.”

I rolled my eyes, knowing exactly who was ‘we’.

--♡--

Once the three had left their respective stores, I snuck out of our own and managed to squeeze my way through the crowd so I was left behind my father and my, and I regret to say it, godfathers.

They each took a bite of the treats offered by the mysterious man who beamed at them with awe filled eyes.

Even from my limited view I could see the flickers of enjoyment cross each of their eyes as they questioned the different ingredients. But my gazing was caught by the top hatted man. His smile grew even brighter as our eyes met. I felt unsure in the presence of a man such as him and all my normal instincts failed. So I settled on a little wave. He offered a small wave back.

“--100%, the absolute WORST!”

The man jumped out of his skin in glee, mishearing Slugworth because of his focus on me.

“Did you hear that ladies and gentlemen, an endorsement by–wait did you say the worst?”

Anger bubbling in my blood, I finally made my presence known.

“You lie, Arthur. I saw your face! You haven’t enjoyed a treat that much since daddy figured out how to make marshmallow flavored chocolate milk.”

There were murmurs amongst the three in agreement and fond memory of that chocolate milk. But they snapped back and I was held firmly by my father who apologized to Slugworth for my rude behavior. A cane was held down on the hand that gripped me. I looked up and met the sweet face of its owner.

“I am terribly sorry.” With a practiced flick I was released. I looped my hand around my saviours available arm. He led me backwards in comical cautiousness. “But I don’t think she’d like to be held for what comes next.”

Suddenly, the three men began to lift into the air.

“The hoverbugs from mumbai! They love chocolate! You must have put their eggs in the treat!” I exclaimed excitedly, whilst watching the hilarious display.

“Exactly.” In my glee, I hadn’t noticed the adoring look which the chocolatier had fixed on the side of my head.

The fun was interrupted by the chief of police. I rolled my eyes. Slugworth must have phoned.

“Now Ms Ficklegruber if you’d kindly step away from the criminal.” The chief of police gestured and I was led away as they interrogated the man whose name I still didn’t know. I looked on sadly as he was forced to give up his earnings. I shoved off the policemen’s arms, I made my way back over to the man whose face was as solemn as how happy it had been just minutes before. The excitement around the galleria had dimmed as various floating consumers were returned to gravity.

“I am really sorry.” I gestured to the measly sovereign he was left with.

“Don’t be. It was a law and I broke it. These fine men were merely doing their job. But a new day shall bring new promise.” He soldiered on with a smile and once again patted his hat back upon his head. “At least I can make rent.” He flicked the sovereign up and caught it once again.

“Where are you staying?”

“Scrubbits.”

My face fell in sympathy. “You didn’t read the fine print?” I pitied the poor man and what was about to befall him. Scrubbits contract was a common warning amongst residents but as I truly took in the whimsical nature which surrounded this man, I knew he wasn't from here. And that made me smile. This place could use something new.

He sheepishly scratched the back of his head and lowered his eyeline.

“You can’t read?” I questioned but my tone couldn't help but soften.

“I always thought my mama would teach me, but eventually my pursuits became solely chocolate.” I reached out and grasped his arm. Stroking the velvet beneath my fingertips.

Before I even knew what they were, the words left my mouth. “I could teach you.”

He was surprised. “You would? But why?”

“You’re interesting.” I peered back to the shop which loomed behind me. “I need that.”

“Forgive me, I have not even introduced myself.” He took off his hat and leaned into a deep bow. “My name is Willy Wonka.”

I giggled but responded with a curtsy of my own. “Y/n Ficklegruber.”

At the mention of my last name he looked towards the ceiling where my father still hung, gesturing feebly. “Wow. You really have chocolate in your blood. No wonder you’re so sweet.” Both our eyes widened when we realized what he said. A blush spread across my heated cheeks and meeting Willy’s eyes suddenly became impossible.

“Y/N GET AWAY FROM THAT CANDY GRABBING SCOUNDREL!” My fathers voice beat down from the ceiling where he had been watching my entire interaction with Wonka.

“Meet me at the fountain, tonight, 10pm sharp. Daddy will be in a sugar crash by then. It’ll be easy to sneak out.”

Before I could rush off to avoid my father once his feet returned to earth, Willy halted my movements and placed his empty palm out in front of me.

“Before you go, I want to give you something. You shouldn’t have anything I make in bulk. You deserve something a little more…” He placed a cloth over his palm and ripped it off revealing a deep red chocolate heart decorated with tiny flakes of gold. “Bespoke.”

I placed the treat in my mouth and audibly moaned at the taste. This man was a true genius. My father is going to be so mad. I could jump for joy.

“Till tonight, Mr Wonka.”

“Please, call me Willy.” I leaned up and delicately kissed his cheek in a way of goodbye.

--♡--

That night after discovering the true horror of what being a “guest” of Scrubbits included, Willy begged and pleaded with his newest friend, Noodle, to help him sneak out for the night because, in his words, he’d seen…

“The most beautiful girl to ever exist and if I don’t get to see her again tonight, my heart might just burst out of my chest!”

--♡--

[houserautha]

These Destined Ends

Part Nineteen

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x f!Reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: MDNI, 18+. Fighting, Feyd eats ass and pussy, a little humiliation, violent sex, drowning(?)

A/N: I was really in the mood to write some unhinged sex, so, here we are. Surprisingly there is a lot of plot too

“For someone so…prolifically opposed to the Bene Gesserits, you aren’t working very hard to dismantle our ideas.”

Your mother’s voice slips over you, slick as oil. It takes an enormous effort not to keep walking and pretend like you didn’t hear her. She would just stop you, anyway, which is the only reason that you turn around.

“Go ahead and spit out whatever you’re trying to say. All of your riddles bore me.”

Jessica licks her tongue. “Hm, so cunning.” When you don’t say anything else, she draws up her shoulders and sighs. “You claim you don’t want to trick the Fremen and yet you are still dragging them into your fight.”

“This is their fight as much as ours,” you snap.

“It’s all apart of our plan.” Jessica spreads her hands wide. “They will follow you as the Holy Mother, and then they will follow your son as the Lisan al-Gaib. And if you’re successful in your endeavor against the Emperor…well.”

She smiles, the rest of her words going unspoken. We will rule the Known Universe.

A fist of regret forms in your stomach. “I want to liberate them. It is not my intent to keep them…under control.”

“Oh, but you’ll manipulate them to get your way first? Such a noble act. You’re just like your father.”

You tuck away this last insult to examine later, why it cuts you so deeply. Instead, you focus on how Jessica has said aloud your guilt, brought it to life in a way that you had been trying to ignore. No matter how hard you fight against the Bene Gesserits, you somehow end up still adhering to their false prophecy. An inescapable fate.

“What do you want from me?” You ask her. It’s repulsive how efficiently she can crumble your composure.

“To impart a reminder.” Jessica steps closer, sand crunching underfoot. “I did all of this for you, daughter. To protect you. And I will not tolerate your insubordination.”

“To protect me?” You echo, sneering.

Jessica’s laugh is dry and bitter. “You are not as cunning as you think. I married you to a man who would shield you with his life, fill your belly with his children — ensure you a status as a figure to be reveled. I made you a god.”

“You did nothing,” you say back, lacking any real conviction.

“You’ll understand soon. You might already, the depths that a mother’s love will go, and what we’ll do for our children.”

Jessica lifts a hand to touch your face, then thinks better of it. She must sense that this is the most devastating thing she could ever utter to you because she brushes past you without another word, leaving you open and bleeding.

You hate that she’s right.

That you’re playing into the Bene Gesserit’s design. But you see no other way to even glimpse freedom for the Fremen if not recruiting them in this self-made battle. Except it wasn’t self-made, your thoughts scream at you, it was the Baron and the Emperor.

Anger boils under your skin. You’re sick of others telling you what to do, dictating your life while you were pushed along like a leaf in a strong current.

“You need to eat,” Feyd chides you, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Hm?”

“Eat.” He indicates your ration, which you haven’t even touched. “You need to be strong.”

You blink. You can’t even fathom eating right now, especially not with this much guilt churning in your stomach. Blurting out, you tell him, “I think I’m going to do something completely absurd.”

Feyd, who had been ravenously devouring his own ration until this point, pauses. He swallows.

“Alright.”

“Alright?” A smile tugs at your lips. “Don’t you want to know what it is?”

“I don’t care.” He leans back. “You’ve been uncharacteristically quiet. I suspected you were planning something.”

“You are either a wonderful husband or wonderfully stupid, Feyd-Rautha.”

“I’m told that I’m just all around wonderful.” Feyd’s eyes narrow. “Now eat.”

The plan unwinds from you between forced bites of food. It starts as a single thread that unravels itself until it’s all unspooled, leaving you to hold the pieces. A strange calm settles over you. You’re in control. Capable. Powerful.

Feyd gives you his support. Not that you believed he would do any different.

And when you reveal parts of your plan to Jessica, you frame it in a way to make amends with her. To be compliant. You have no way of knowing how convincing you are, but she lets you gather the Fremen to speak to them, all the while her blue-on-blue gaze watching you carefully as you ascend the slab of rock used to preside over sietch-wide meetings.

Feyd lingers a few feet behind you, Gurney not far from him, an uneasy truce between the two.

Beneath you, the Fremen gaze up with looks of awe; even Chani observes the proceedings with a look of interest.

You’ve earned their trust.

And now you’re going to take it away.

"The final days of our siege on the Emperor and his Harkonnen pets are upon us," you call out, voice booming, "I have never been so honored to walk alongside any other people, and I have the utmost faith in our victory."

You’re met with a cheer of approval.

It takes a moment for the crowd to quiet before you can continue. There's an electric current in the air, nearly infectious, the anticipatory thrill before battle. You hope that you're not making a mistake as you say, "To go into battle, you must trust your brothers and sisters, trust your leaders. I must confess that I haven't been honest with you."

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Jessica move to stop you. Feyd, with cotton in his ears and anger in his eyes, doesn't let her get far.

The crowd rumbles, wary.

"I am not the Holy Mother." Sounds of confusion arise, which forces you to raise your voice. "I am a flaw in the plan of the Bene Gesserits. I failed to learn their power, and therefore, my child cannot be the Lisan al-Gaib."

"What? Is this true?" At Stilgar's emergence, the sietch stills.

You regard them as evenly as you can, throat constricting. "Yes."

"But you knew everything. All of the signs of the prophecy —"

"It was a lie. A ruse."

Stilgar's tremulous control of the sietch snaps. The Fremen riot this information, hurling insults, pushing and shoving and jostling like one enraged creature. You stand your ground. You knew this would be devastating to deliver, not nothing could prepare you for the raw portrayal on their tanned faces.

As planned, Feyd and Gurney ward off anyone who tries to get to you — Feyd slides twin daggers from the sheaths at his waist, metal glinting dangerously. The Fremen lurk, circling, but they do not engage, not when the na-Baron has now learned their ways atop his own lethal training.

You bear the weight of their fury as best as you can. Somewhere deep inside, you know that they have to expel this from their minds and their hearts before you can say anything else, but that doesn't mean it hurts any less. You commit each expression of betrayal to your memory. If they were going to suffer, then so would you.

The sound of shifting sand is your only warning before someone hurtles past you — Chani, somehow slipping past your defenses, only barely misses you as you step aside at the last possible moment. There's not enough time for you to recover from the surprise before her next attack, sweeping your legs out from under you. You fall, hard, on your ass but have enough forethought to scramble backwards.

"Chani, listen to me —"

"I knew we should've killed you when we found you in the desert," she hisses.

She advances on you and each step she takes you shuttle back, pain ringing out in your spine. Your son is safe, you can sense it, but you don't know how long that will last with Chani gaining on you.

"Chani —"

"We trusted you," she wails, "we trusted you!"

You manage to your feet, one hand going to your stomach. A fierce wave of protection washes over you, and you insist, "You still can."

Chani springs for you.

You gasp with shock as she seizes you, eyes wide with anger. "When will you stop fucking lying?"

"I'm not lying," you breathe out. "I am not the Holy Mother. I am Lisan al-Gaib."

Whatever she expects you to say, it's not that. She pauses, and you take the chance to slam your elbow into her throat. A choked sound escapes from her, but she releases you, and you stagger past her to reclaim your spot at the top of the rock. You don't have much time. If you don't say what you need to, then you'll lose them forever.

"Brothers and sisters!" Gripped with desperation, you shout, "I tell you this because I am not the Holy Mother. I am the Kwisatz Haderach. I am Lisan al-Gain. And I will lead you to freedom."

"She's lying!" Chani roars.

"The prophecy states that the Lisan al-Gaib's mother will be a Bene Gesserit, that the Messiah will take the name Muad'dib, take you into battle for your freedom and for a new Arrakis. Have I not fulfilled that? Have I not promised you those very things?"

The protests subside slightly. It might be to decide how best to kill you, but you seize the opportunity. "I should not have lied. I was afraid. I thought if I told you the truth, you would be mistrustful because I was with child, that I was wed to your enemy. I know my mistake, and I know that I can't retract it, but I beg for you to forgive me."

"How do we know if we can trust you now?" Stilgar asks, expression hardened.

"You don't, and I can't fault you for it. But if you let me, I will prove my sincerity in the following days, by defeating the Emperor and securing our rightful place in the Known Universe."

"Never," Chani snaps from behind you.

You let some of your emotions leak into your voice, "Then what will you do? If you dispose of me, there will be no Atreides bombs. You will have no weapon against the Emperor and the Sardaukar, the Baron and his own army. Do not be so blinded by your anger that you make a mortal error. Only together can we be triumphant."

While Gurney and Feyd work together to fend off the crowd of protesters, Jessica finds you, nearly toppling you from the rock and wrenching your arm from your shoulder. "What are you doing?"

You wrest your arm from her grip. Quickly, you flick your gaze over the revolting Fremen, over all of those you had grown close to, then return your gaze to her. "Making myself a god."

The water lays impossibly still. You stand at its edge, taking in the enormity of the subterranean pool. All of the lives of the deceased Fremen reside within, a watery tomb, untouched. How deep did it go? You imagine your life's water funneled into it, how small and insignificant it would be, barely a ripple on the surface.

Tomorrow, you would fight.

The Fremen returned their water to the sietch to be used one day in their new world, an endless cycle of resourcefulness and unity. How many lives would end here? How many lives to reach the new world that Kynes described?

You sigh, and the sound echoes throughout the cavernous space. There's a strange, tranquil calm here, silent and still when everything else has been a mess of noise. Even now, focused on the depth of the sacred pool, your mind races with worry and indecision. You just want it to stop.

Perhaps tomorrow would offer you peace.

The peace of the battlefield, your body acting on instinct and years of practice. You could handle that — bloodshed, death, being a weapon. You could not handle this new position of power you put yourself in, though. An act against the Bene Gesserits, but at what cost? You alone were to blame now for the inevitable jihad. But you protected your son from this fate, you put a cease to the lying and the deceiving, and now you could wrest the control that you always wanted.

The sound of heavy bootsteps rings out in the death chamber, scattering the handful of Fremen who had been working. You hadn't missed their pointed stares or the wide berth they gave you, but you were grateful nonetheless for their departure, especially since it was prompted by your husband. His presence, even at your back, anchors you instantly.

"You've been here awhile."

"Have you been watching me?" You ask, turning to place him in your peripheral, a sketch of black and white.

There's no mistaking the twitch of amusement on his features. "You're a fool if you think I ever stop."

Since the day that you proclaimed yourself as Lisan al-Gaib, Feyd had taken it upon himself to be your security detail. It's not unlike before, but now with more menacing stares. A second shadow, one that you love more dearly than your own. You smile. "Should I be flattered?"

"If you'd like." The metallic sound of his blades sliding into their sheaths precedes him, then his hand gently sweeping the hair off your neck. Feyd's mouth is warm at the top of your spine, the tiny amount of skin showing.

Your eyes flutter shut. "I can't believe it's finally here."

"Finally being the operative word," Feyd rasps, "I've waited a lifetime for it."

You turn to face him, heart panging. He's so beautiful like this, in this dark light, the blade before its whet on stone. You know from experience that this could change frighteningly quick, but you still appreciate these fleeting moments with him, that they're yours alone.

"Only one more day," you tell him.

His gaze searches you. "We have better ways to spend it than staring into this pool and analyzing our decisions."

Your cheeks burn. Of course he knew what you were doing. Your attention drifts from him to the sacred pool again, the expanse of water beneath the teeth of the stalagmites. "It's difficult when our decisions impact so many."

"I know, jewel."

It's this level of understanding that compels you to him, how he knows better than anyone else the dilemma you have. And he doesn't offer empty words or sympathy. Just...himself. His strength and his solidarity. And you want him, all of him.

Unable to go another second without touching him, you pull him into you and tilt your head, his mouth claiming yours without hesitation. One hand slides behind your head, cradling you, and he deepens the kiss. There's nothing soft about Feyd, nothing done without fervor, and you moan as he bites down on your lip. Taking your open mouth as invitation, he slips his tongue inside, brushing it over your own.

Molten heat erupts in your core. You wend your arms around his neck, matching his intensity and scraping your nails over the back of his head. He shudders, the familiar nudge of his cock stirring against you in response. Wanton, you grind your hips into him, eliciting a growl from deep within his chest. Feyd guides your hand to palm his hardened length. "Let me distract you."

"This isn't an effort to fuck me one last time before we die, is it? Because you only had to ask."

You squeeze his head through his pants.

Feyd inhales sharply, but the intensity on his face never wavers. "You won't die unless it's by my hand. And I'm feeling charitable."

"Is that because I have your cock in my hand?"

"It certainly helps."

You smirk. Although you're both aiming to keep the tone light, his message is clear — he won't let you die tomorrow. It's a promise he's made before, and one that comforts you in your lowest moments. There's other ways to declare your love, but this one was uniquely Feyd's.

You never would've thought that the promise of your death could sound so sweet.

In vain, you make an effort to free him from his stillsuit, but they're infuriating efficient at keeping everything out. You can't help it, you whine. With a chuckle that brushes over your spine, Feyd steps back to relieve you of your frustration, working the mechanisms of his suit.

The first hint of his bare shoulders has you clenching your thighs together like a virgin, wet already. You should've been ashamed at the immediate reaction, but you really don't care. Feyd slowly rolls the stillsuit down his chest. Your stomach swoops. He's corded with muscle, powerful arms flexing as he moves the stillsuit low on his hips. Cunt clenching and pulsing with anticipation, you watch him remove it, noting every inch of your husband's divine physique.

"Have I told you that you're beautiful?" You ask him. There's an array of thin, delicate scars across his skin that you trace with the tips of your fingers — older ones, ones that you've put there, the still-pink wound from the thopter crash.

Feyd's lips hitch. "You've called me many things, but that's never been one of them."

"Well you are," you tell him, "you're beautiful."

"Quit saying things as if you'll never have the chance to again." His tone is brusque. The expression on his face can only be described as tormented, anguished, undoubtedly confronted by the same reality of tomorrow.

It's not your intention to provoke him, but it spills out of you. "We don't know what's going to happen to tomorrow. Anything —"

"I'll tell you what's going to happen." Feyd grabs a handful of hair at the back of your head, pain lancing through your scalp. "We're going to slaughter those that wronged us, and I'm going to fuck you amongst their still warm bodies. But tonight, I'm going to remind you that no harm will come to you unless I inflict it."

Something breaks open in you at this. Feyd yanks your head back and the momentum sends you staggering, falling to your knees. He advances toward you and you eye his cock, curved and throbbing, veins black with his blood.

Feyd fists his shaft, giving it a lazy stroke as he watches you. "You get on your knees and instantly think you get this cock?"

"I —" your face burns. Isn't that what he wanted?

"Filthy slut," he murmurs, still stroking himself.

Heavy lidded, dark eyes swimming with glee, he orders you to turn around. You obey, and the air is snatched from your lungs when he pushes you forward onto your hands and knees, sand biting into your palms.

The water of the sacred pool trembles.

You're utterly vulnerable as Feyd starts to work the clasps of your stillsuit, fingers grazing over your skin in the most delicious way. The suit falls from your shoulders and you lift up each arm as he tugs it off, mouth following its path with open mouth kisses. He snakes around you to cup your breast, flicking one stiff nipple with his thumb.

The action sends a bolt of pleasure straight to your core. You bow into him, and Feyd massages you, alternating between flicking your nipple and rolling it between his fingers.

It's truly torturous when he revokes his hand to continue pulling your stillsuit off, and you whimper at the cool air in his absence. Soon he's tugging it around your knees and finally discarding it, leaving you vulnerable to his gaze. Quivering, whether with cold or anticipation, you bite out a yelp as he traces the seam of your ass, then the tight ring of muscles.

Feyd palms your ass, kneading it, forcing you to spread your legs further. He blows a stream of breath over your sensitive center.

"Shit, Feyd," you mutter, teeth gritting. You hate when he teases you, offering you only a taste of what he plans to do.

In reply, he circles the ring of muscles, then dips his other hand to greet your clit.

"You are the most beautiful," he rasps to you, ministrations making you squirm. "Especially like this, so desperate."

The warmth of his mouth ghosts down your spine, the cleft of your ass, before settling there. He kisses your entrance while applying pressure to your clit, one, then two fingers slipping inside your slicked folds. If you could howl without somehow disturbing the dead, you would, but the sanctity of this place keeps your mouth shut.

A laugh rumbles from him because he knows, he knows that you'll let him fuck you here but you'll still uphold your respect in this way. All of the worry and concern for tomorrow is chased away by the punishing effort of his mouth and fingers, replacing it with a lightheadedness, the predecessor to your orgasm.

He curls his fingers, twisting and turning them with practiced precision. Meanwhile he slurps from behind you, vigorous, eager, his spit combining with your arousal wetting you from front to back. Feyd continues to finger you while he flattens his tongue and licks up, circling the ring of muscles before flickering over it. You can feel yourself spinning closer and closer to your climax, stomach tightening and cunt throbbing.

"Do you want to come, jewel?" He asks, biting at your ass.

You cry out in surprise and then, panting, answer, "Y-Yes."

Feyd withdraws from you. He sucks his fingers clean, the sound driving another bolt of pleasure through you, before shoving your face into the sand and tilting more of you to him, hips shifting. This time he brings his attention to your cunt, implementing the same ferocity, lapping and feasting with dizzying effect.

He seals his mouth around your folds and sucks.

It doesn't take long for you to completely come undone, whimpering, shuddering with each wave of your orgasm. Feyd focuses on you until you're thoroughly spent, then releases you with a satisfying squelch. Gasping for breath, you would've collapsed if he hadn't been holding you upright. There's no time to recover, though, as he slips his hand back into your hair and inches you to the edge of the sacred pool.

Stars are still bursting behind your eyes. You stammer, "Feyd, what —"

"I hurt you because I love you," he rasps into your skin, pressing a kiss between the blades of your shoulders.

And then he forces your head underwater.

The pool is shockingly warm. But it's not enough to ward the chill of shock that washes over you: first, that Feyd would desecrate such a sacred site, then the twist of horror when he doesn't immediately release you. Bubbles escape from your mouth. Your eyes are open, you think, but you can't tell, it's pitch black beneath the surface.

As you expend the last of your air in a silent scream, your lungs pinch with panic — he's going to kill you now, he's going to drown you.

He yanks you back up right when you think that you might never take in another gulp of air. You sputter and gasp, wet hair clinging to you, using whatever measures necessary to keep yourself above the water. But Feyd overpowers you, and he ducks your head under.

This time you have some notion of preservation and keep your eyes and your mouth shut, even when your lungs scream in protest. It's all for nothing, though, when you feel him notch his cock at your entrance.

Feyd wrenches you up again. Through your gasping he growls out, "You are mine. In life and in death, jewel."

He slams into you up to the hilt. You have just enough time to cry out before he's dunking you back under, withdrawing and then slamming into you once more. The pain and pleasure entangle themselves within you, make it difficult to decipher one from the other, entirely infused.

Your survival instinct is yelling at you to fight and you thrash, desperate to rake air back into your lungs. But there's no mistaking the utter thrill of him pounding into your cunt over and over again, quite literally holding your life in his hand while he does it. Only Feyd could straddle this delicate line of control — only Feyd would you let hold such power, one infinitesimal decision away from ending your life for good.

And so it goes, Feyd rutting into you while intermittently releasing you from the pool's watery embrace. Sometimes he keeps you above the water for longer periods of time. At least, it feels that way, there's really no way to tell. Tears leak from your eyes and you cry and beg. No matter how much it makes your cunt clench, you can't turn off the part of you pleading for reprieve. And sometimes he keeps you under the water for eons, the edges of your vision darkening, but he always pulls you back up.

You're suspended in this constant ebb and flow. You have no sense of being, of time, no sense of whether you're coming or not even though there's waves of pleasure beneath the panic.

Feyd's cock swells inside you. You're sore already from his fervent thrusts, thighs quaking, but you know he's close to chasing his own release.

You flop down onto the wet sand as he finishes. Chest heaving, you squeeze your walls around him as he spills his cum in you. He lingers until he's done, then crawls by your side by the edge of the pool, where you're still trying to catch your breath and find some inkling of clarity. Feyd curls up beside you, pulling you into his arms and whispering praises in your ear.

Shivering, you allow him to envelope you, warmed by his rasping voice and the gentle touch of his hands over your bare skin. He brushes a thumb over the slight swell of your belly. You don't know how long you stay intertwined like that, both of you coming down from the high of your passion as the pool returns to its former stillness.

Frankly, you didn't want to know the repercussions you would face for treating the sacred place so vile. No one would know but the two of you, of course, and the countless people who had returned their water there. You say a quick prayer of forgiveness to whoever is listening as Feyd kisses you. At least you would both go to whatever Fremen hell together, which was the least you could ask. Just like he said.

In life and in death.

Part Twenty

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[kckt88]

Take My Breath Away I

Summary:

The Dance of the Dragons is over and the Greens have emerged victorious.

A broken King sits the Iron Throne and in order to secure the succession, the last living daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen is summoned to the Red Keep to do her duty to the realm and provide the King with an heir by marrying her Uncle Aemond Targaryen.

Vaeryna answers the summons and willingly marries the man responsible for the deaths of her brother and father, but what are her motives for doing so and what other secrets is Vaeryna hiding?

Warning(s): Swearing, Angst, Mentions of Death.

Word Count: 3117

GREENS WIN - SLOW BURN - ENEMIES TO LOVERS.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

"With the King no longer able to sire children, an heir must be provided by other means."

"-And what means are those, Lord Westerling?" asked Aemond narrowing his eye.

"Vaeryna Targaryen"

"The girl is a bastard" sneered Manfryd Mooton.

“A bastard she may be, but she is the only living child of Rhaenyra and Daemon, her Valyrian blood is valuable” said Alicent firmly.

“If she were to marry Aemond and grant him a son, the boy could be named heir to the Iron Throne, we could also betroth him to Jaehaera, and secure the succession of the one true King” said Larys.

“There have also been rumours that Rhaenyra’s last act was to betroth her daughter, to Cregan Stark. We cannot allow that marriage to take place. There are still remnants that are loyal to Rhaenyra, we cannot have them and the entire North conspiring to put Vaeryna on the Iron Throne. The seven kingdoms cannot survive another war” exclaimed Alicent as she picked at her fingers.

“Where is the Princess now?” asked Aegon, grimacing in pain as he shifted in his chair.

“In the Vale with her Cannibal” replied Larys.

“Bit odd isn’t it. That Rhaenyra’s biggest asset in the war was sent away to the Vale”.

“Mayhaps, she thought to keep the girl safe” said Alicent.

Aegon sat silent at the head of the table, it was true that he could no longer sire babes and his only surviving child was his daughter Jaehaera.

He was the King, and he was without an heir.

Whilst indeed there were people who called him King, there were still those that called him usurper.

His claim to the Iron Throne was on shaky ground, and with no male heir, he was at risk.

If Vaeryna was their only salvation, then so be it. Bastard or not.

“Send a raven to the Vale, inform the Princess of her betrothal to my brother Prince Aemond and that her King commands her to come to Kings Landing by weeks end” ordered Aegon.

“Is he actually serious?” raged Jeyne.

“Is who serious?” asked Cregan furrowing his brow.

“That usurper cunt that sit’s on the Iron Throne, he has summoned Vaeryna to Kings Landing” retorted Jeyne angrily.

“For what purpose?”

“He has betrothed Vaeryna to the kinslayer” snarled Jeyne.

“Has he lost his wits?” said Cregan aghast.

“The rumours of the Kings inability to sire more children has proven true, his only remaining child is a girl. Obviously, he cannot name her heir lest he be labelled a hypocrite. So, his only option is to have his brother marry and produce a son that will be named heir” replied Vaeryna.

“He summons you to Kings Landing to be a broodmare for the kinslayer?”

“It’s an outrage. It’s a scandal” snarled Jeyne as she quickly downed a cup of wine.

“They know their grip on the throne hangs by a thread, I am the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen, they can’t risk me marrying elsewhere, lest my lord husband develop the idea of putting me on the throne” replied Vaeryna.

“Which is exactly where you should be. Your mother was the rightful Queen, you are her heir. It should be you sitting on the Iron Throne” stated Cregan, his hand grasping the hilt of his sword so hard his knuckles turned white.

“Maybe in another life, but this is the one we currently live. I cannot ignore a summons from the King” muttered Vaeryna.

“Your not actually considering this?” gasped Jeyne.

“What other choice do I have? I can’t exactly ignore it. Sooner or later, they will come for me, I do not wish for either of you to suffer for my ignorance and I cannot risk them discovering that-“

“-I understand your reason Princess but to marry the kinslayer, to lay with him and birth his children, it is too great a sacrifice,” said Jeyne.

“You above all know what I promised my mother, and If marrying a kinslayer is the only way, then I will do what I must” replied Vaeryna firmly.

“Surely there has to be another way” exclaimed Jeyne.

“Princess-“ muttered Cregan sadly.

“I know that I have no right to ask this, but please Cregan would you-” exclaimed Vaeryna.

“-I swore an oath to your mother, and now that oath extends to you” replied Cregan.

“Both of you have my eternal gratitude. I cannot thank you enough for what you have done for me and-” said Vaeryna sadly.

“-We but do our duty to you sweet Princess. If ever you have need of us. All you need to do is ask” said Jeyne softly.

Vaeryna stared at her Cannibal and took a deep breath, the time had come for her to bid farewell to the peace and serenity of the Vale and travel to Kings Landing.

Cregan had already left the Vale earlier in that morning, wanting to get back Winterfell as quick as possible. Their farewell had been bittersweet. Whilst her mother had expressed a desire to see her married to the Lord of Winterfell, nothing official had been declared, not that it mattered anyway as no doubt the King wouldn’t have given his blessing.

Vaeryna was sure she would have been happy married to Cregan, but she wasn’t so sure that her Cannibal would enjoy the snow.

So with a heavy heart, Vaeryna bid farewell to the Lord of Winterfell and pressed a gentle kiss to the forehead of the small hooded figure hidden in Cregan's fur lined cloak.

Saying goodbye to Jeyne was hard. Vaeryna had been sent to the Vale at the start of the war and Jeyne had provided much comfort when all the only news they received was that of death and destruction.

After giving Jeyne one last hug, Vaeryna climbed on the back of her Cannibal and took to the skies, heading away from the Vale towards Kings Landing.

One she was air borne, Vaeryna couldn’t help but think about Aemond. From the sweet shy boy, he was, to the kinslayer he became.

News would often reach the Vale of Aemond’s exploits at Harrenhal and his burning of the Riverlands and Vaeryna would despair as countless innocents had lost their lives to Vhagar’s flames. But for his crimes Aemond suffered, as his witch whore was captured and executed by Sabitha Fey after she had seized control of Harrenhal.

Aemond didn’t have much time to grieve for his fallen witch as he faced her father in a dragon battle above the gods eye not long after and when he emerged triumphant, he had returned to Kings Landing to revel in his victory.

A few hours later, Kings Landing appeared on the horizon and Vaeryna couldn’t help but feel a little apprehensive. Of course, she was expected to marry Aemond and birth his babes, but how would she be treated outside of their need for her.

She would be hidden and patient, she was the daughter of the Rogue Prince, she was blood of the dragon and she had made a promise to her mother, and by the gods of old Valyria she would see it kept.

If she was blessed with a son, he would be named heir, her blood would one day sit the Iron Throne, her mothers blood, her father’s blood. All was not lost.

Once Vaeryna arrived in Kings Landing, she had Cannibal circle the Red Keep a couple of times before he landed with a colossal thud on the stone walls that surrounded the castle. Announcing his arrival with a thunderous roar, Cannibal manoeuvred himself off the wall and lowered himself to the ground.

After taking a moment to gather her bags that were attached to Cannibal, Vaeryna elegantly moved off Cannibals back and descended down the wing that he’d pressed against the ground.

Cannibal lingered by her side for a moment, observing the two guards that had appeared at the entrance to the castle. His low rumbling growls echoing around the courtyard.

“It’s ok my sweet” urged Vaeryna as she ran her hand along Cannibals scaly neck.

Cannibal who was still hesitant to leave her side, bared his teeth as the guards moved closer.

“I’m fine, they are merely escorts. Go hunt and find a place to rest. I will see you soon” said Vaeryna as she pressed a quick kiss to Cannibal’s snout.

Cannibal trilled as he nudged her gently, lingering at her side for a few moments longer before he opened his large wings and took off from the ground with a huge gust of wind.

Vaeryna held her satchel close as the guards slowly approached her.

“Princess Vaeryna. Welcome to Kings Landing. Allow us to escort you to the King”.

“Thank you” replied Vaeryna.

Vaeryna silently followed the guards as they walked through the Red Keep. Ignoring the curious looks of the maids and servants as she went passed.

Eventually the guards came to a stop in front of a large ornate wooden door. The Throne Room.

The great doors opened and Vaeryna steeled herself for what she was about to face.

“Princess Vaeryna, of house Targaryen”

After she was announced Vaeryna walked into the Throne Room, her fingers clutching her satchel tightly.

Ignoring the whispers of those loyal to the King as she passed.

What a sight she must have made, dressed in her riding leathers, her long silver hair twisted into many elaborate braids that Visenya herself once favoured. Her red and black sash that represented her house and her dragon draped over her shoulder, the silver dragon chain that crossed from her shoulder to her waist twinkling in the light with every step she took.

“Welcome to Kings Landing Princess, I trust that you agree to the terms that were presented too you?” asked Aegon.

“Yes, Your Grace”.

“Very well, you shall wed my brother Prince Aemond within a month, I suggest you both use that time to get to know one another” said Aegon.

“As you wish” replied Vaeryna as she stared at the King, he looked so small sitting upon the Iron Throne, the blades of Aegon the conquerors fallen enemies looked like a twisted and gnarled hand that had sunk it’s claws into the usurper’s back and wouldn’t let go.

“Temporary chambers have been assigned to you for now, but I think it’s for the best that once you and my brother are wed, that you share chambers. To increase the chances of producing children of course” said Aegon firmly, ignoring his mother who tutted.

“Yes, Your Grace” muttered Vaeryna.

“I will also assign Ser Arryk to be your personal guard” spoke Aegon.

Vaeryna look at Ser Arryk who gave her a courteous nod before he resumed his post at the foot of the Iron Throne.

“I will expect your attendance at dinner every night” ordered Aegon.

“Yes, Your Grace” replied Vaeryna. She figured it was for the best that she keeps her answers short and polite.

No matter what she thought of his crowning or who was the rightful heir, which was her mother, it wouldn’t do well to anger the King.

“Is there anything you wish to request in return for your acceptance of my terms?” asked Aegon curiously.

“Only that I be allowed to see my Cannibal as often as I desire” replied Vaeryna.

“You could ask your King for anything, yet that is your only request?” inquired Aegon.

“Yes, Your Grace. I don’t require anything else” muttered Vaeryna, making the mistake of looking at Aemond who seemed to be eyeing her intently.

His arms folded behind his back, his posture rigid and firm. But it was the glint of silver at his hip that suddenly caught her attention.

Dark Sister, her father’s Valyrian steel sword.

Aemond followed her gaze and he smiled, wrapping his hand around the pommel of the sword.

Vaeryna’s lip curled in disgust, her hands clenched the material of her satchel so tight it began to rip.

It was only Aegon’s voice that broke her out of her anger induced haze.

“Very well. I grant your request. You may see your dragon whenever you wish”.

“Gratitude Your Grace” replied Vaeryna bowing slightly.

“I will have Ser Arryk escort you to your chambers so that you may bathe and get settled, I will see you at dinner” said Aegon firmly.

After she had changed out of her riding leathers and bathed. Vaeryna decided to pass the time by making sure her things were unpacked and placed exactly where she wanted them. Not like she brought many of her things with her anyway.

A few dresses, and books and her most prized possessions that she kept in a small, locked box; a seahorse pendant that Luke had given her just before he died, her mother’s Valyrian steel necklace, one of her father’s rings, a few scraps of parchment that Aegon and Viserys had drawn on, some dried flower petals and letters from Jace.

Vaeryna unfurled one of the letters and smiled as she read Jace’s messy looping swirls.

‘Issa gevie zaldrīzes’ (My beautiful dragon).

Jace wasn’t as proficient in high Valyrian as she was. He kept putting it off, until he gave in and ended up learning with Maester Gerardys.  

When her mother had married her father, after the incident on Driftmark. Daemon had insisted on teaching her himself.

It was his way of making up for not being there for her when she was born. By that time, he was living in Pentos and married to the Lady Laena.

Her father wasn’t a bad man, not really. He didn’t want power. He didn’t want the throne as so many others believed. He just wanted to be with family. To be important.

Vaeryna shook her head and continued to read.

‘ēva istan hēnkirī arlī’ (Until were together again).

A solitary tear slipped down Vaeryna’s cheek as she read the rest of Jace’s letter.

She would never admit it out loud. But deep in the depths of her mind, she missed him the most.

His deep brown eyes, his cheeky smile, and the way he would always make her laugh.

She even missed that god awful haircut that he’d given himself. He’d sheared off his beautiful dark curly locks just before they’d travelled to Kings Landing to defend Luke’s claim as heir to Driftmark.

Suddenly a knock at the door broke her out of her reverie. It was a maid informing her that dinner was ready.

Vaeryna silently followed the maid down the corridor. The only sound was the slap of her shoes against the stone floor and of course the clanging of Ser Arryk’s armour as he followed.

“Princess Vaeryna. Your Grace” said the maid after she had opened the large wooden door.

Vaeryna took a deep breath and entered the dining room. Sitting at the long table was Aegon, Aemond and Alicent.

The dowager Queen’s loyal dog and former hand of the King Ser Criston lingered in the corner.

“Welcome Princess. Pease come in” said Alicent smiling.

Vaeryna nodded slightly and slowly approached the table, suddenly becoming very aware of everyone staring at her.

“Perhaps an introduction-” suggested Alicent nudging Aemond who rose from his seat, he was much taller up close, his body lean and covered with leather, his features were sharp yet perfect that his face looked like it had been carved by the gods themselves.

His long silver hair tied back, the scar that bisected the left side of his face only added to his allure, his missing eye covered by an eyepatch.

Never had Vaeryna seen a man so handsome, just a shame he was a kinslayer and a loathsome cunt.

“-I have no need to be introduced. I’m well aware of who my uncle Aemond is and what he is” retorted Vaeryna as she took a seat.

Aemond scowled at her before he resumed his seat, glaring at Aegon who scoffed loudly.

“As the King said. Your courtship period with Aemond will last approximately one moon, after that the two of you will marry in the sept under the faith of the seven” said Alicent sternly.

“Of course,” whispered Vaeryna, fidgeting with the hem of her dress.

“You will be expected to be virtuous, chaste and do your duty as a wife and only bear my son’s children”.

Vaeryna of course picked up on Alicent’s thinly veiled dig at her mother, and obviously Alicent was waiting for her response as she stared her pointedly.

“I’m well aware of my duty Your Grace. Despite what you all may think, I have no such desire to sully myself or my husband by birthing bastards” muttered Vaeryna, looking at Aemond who was smirking.

“Pretty words Princess. Surely you can understand my reluctance to believe such things”.

“I honestly don’t care what you believe” shrugged Vaeryna.

“You will show respect to the dowager Queen” snapped Ser Criston.

“I only show respect to those who respect me” replied Vaeryna.

“You have given me no reason to respect you-”.

“-Neither have you” retorted Vaeryna.

“Mayhaps we should start this conversation again?” suggested Alicent.

“You talk about the importance of my virtue and purity, yet it was your own son who was involved with that Riverlands bastard” said Vaeryna.

“He didn’t-“ muttered Alicent glancing at Aemond who lowered his head slightly.

“-Apologise, but there is no point in denying it. Everyone from Storms End to the wall knew of your favourite sons frequent visits to Alys Rivers bed” replied Vaeryna.

“Don’t you-” warned Aemond.

“-Seems as though she had quite the fondness for Targaryen’s, as my father also enjoyed her company during his time at Harrenhal” said Vaeryna smirking.

“That’s not-“ exclaimed Aemond his eye wide.

“-What true? Of course, it is. Surely you didn’t think you were that special. I must admit it’s quite poetic, isn’t it? Given your dislike of ‘strong bastards’. Yet you take one as your bed mate” retorted Vaeryna.

“That’s enough” warned Alicent.

"Boy it must really sting that when you were imprisoned, your precious son was far to busy getting his cock wet to even bother coming home to save you" said Vaeryna smirking.

"I said that's enough" exclaimed Alicent.

“Quite unfortunate that she died. As I dare say she would have given you your own little strong bastard eventually” retorted Vaeryna, looking over at Aegon who was sniggering into his cup of wine.

“You are excused. Return to your chambers. NOW” ordered Alicent as she slammed her hands down on the table.

“Your Grace” muttered Vaeryna bowing slightly to Aegon and then leaving the room with Ser Arryk.

“She should be punished-” snarled Criston.

“-For what? Telling the truth?” asked Aegon.

“Your Grace-“ muttered Alicent.

“-Oh, come on mother. We all know about Aemond’s little slip at Harrenhal, let’s not pretend otherwise” replied Aegon taking a sip of wine.

[nattinatalia]

Liked by jackharlow, urbanwyatt, yourbestiename, claybornharlow, and 7,556,345 others

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•

Liked by mamamaggie, yourusername, urbanwyatt, claybornharlow, and 8,567,345 others

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•

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•

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djdrama It was only a matter of time and that time is now!!!!!!!!! Jack is always a beast when it comes to his craft, working with Y/N made me realize how much they both balance each other out. This joint album is out of this world, never before seen and I can’t wait till you all listen to the finished product, for now, here’s a snippet of two songs…

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•

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•

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•

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[sixlane]

tricks up sleeves and all that

rosekiller microfic | 1,180 words | magician Barty, single dad Evan

The first thing Evan thought when his daughter told him she wanted a magician at her birthday party was how did I raise a child who enjoys close-up magic? It wouldn’t have been his first choice, probably wouldn’t have even been his last. He would’ve gone with something classier, more elegant, like a tea party or a day at the museum. Something to live up to the extravagance of previous years. Sure, Eleanor is only seven but that doesn’t mean she can’t enjoy the finer things. 

So, in between meetings and phone calls, Evan researched children’s birthday party magicians, and as you’d expect, not much was living up to his standards. After days of sifting through resumes and background checks, he was eventually able to find a well-designed website with good reviews and speak to a representative who promised to send their best.

This is why Evan is so confused when he opens his front door to find a tall, lanky man in ripped jeans and a worn out t-shirt, his look complete with ruffled hair, an eyebrow piercing, and excessive amounts of tattoos. 

“You must have the wrong house,” Evan says. He thinks he should probably close the door but something about this man is intriguing. He wants to look for just a second longer.

The man leans back to check the address beside the door. “You’re Mr. Rosier, right? I’m here for the birthday party. I’m Barty, the magician.” 

Evan raises a brow. “You don’t look like a magician.”

“Were you expecting a full tuxedo? It’s like 95 degrees out.” A tilted grin spreads over his face, showing off a pointy canine. “Here let me show you.” Before Evan can back away, Barty is reaching behind his ear and producing a shiny quarter, flipping it between his fingers confidently. “Ta da.”

“That’s hardly magic,” Evan says, crossing his arms. He better get a full refund if this is the best they had.

“No, you’re right. That’s just the decoy.” He raises his left hand, and between his thumb and pointer finger he holds Evan’s watch, which had previously been secured to his wrist.

Evan’s mouth drops open slightly. He hadn’t even felt it. “That’s not magic either, that is literally stealing.” He snatches the watch back, putting it on.

“It’s the art of misdirection,” Barty explains. “I do a dumb coin trick, and while you’re paying attention to that, I do something more impressive. It’s like, the basis of all magic.”

Evan doesn’t even know what to say. This man has just pickpocketed him on his own front porch and now he wants Evan to let him into his house? 

At the same time Evan is getting ready to slam the door in Barty’s face, Eleanor appears at his hip, smile wider than a mile across her face.

“Is this the magician, Dad?” she asks, tugging at his shirt while she bounces up and down.

“You must be Eleanor,” Barty says, squatting down so they’re at eye level. He’s performing now, Evan can tell. He lights up and his smugness from before is washed away. “Would you like to pick a card?” 

Eleanor nods enthusiastically.

Barty pulls a deck out of his back pocket and starts shuffling. Evan watches the way his fingers move deftly around the cards. Bending and flipping them expertly before fanning them out in front of her.

“Okay, go ahead. But don’t tell me what your card is, just show it to your dad and put it back anywhere in the deck.”

Eleanor does as instructed and shows Evan the card, ace of hearts, before sliding it back in.

“Thanks Eleanor, that’s great.” He starts shuffling the cards again, adding in flourishes here and there. Evan watches intently, trying to track his every move, see where he might be switching cards out or taking a peek, but he moves too quickly for Evan to stay on top of everything. “Now Ellie, can I call you Ellie?” Eleanor giggles and nods her head. “Your dad here,” he tilts his head up at Evan, “has already seen me do a trick similar to this, but I think I can put a new spin on it, what do you say?” 

Eleanor looks up at Evan, affronted. “Dad! You’ve been playing with the magician without me?”

Evan hears Barty try to stifle a laugh and feels the beginning of a tension headache spreading behind his eyes. “I was just making sure he was up to our standards,” he grits out.

“Don’t worry Ellie, your dad was just doing his due diligence.” Eleanor looks appeased and waves her hand in a motion that tells Barty to continue. He does one last shuffle and then reaches behind Eleanor’s ear. When he pulls back, he has the ace of spades in between his pointer and middle fingers. “So Ellie, was this your card?” 

She looks confused and a little disappointed. Evan holds himself back from kicking Barty directly in the face. “Um… close,” she says. “Mine had hearts on it.”

Barty looks at the card. “Huh. You know, sometimes the cards don’t always do what we want them to so we have to shake some sense into them. He starts waving the card quickly back and forth. When it comes to a stop, Barty holds the ace of hearts where the ace of spades had previously been. He smiles in triumph. Evan still kind of wants to kick him in the face.

Eleanor lets out an excited squeal and rushes forward to tackle Barty into a hug. “Can we keep him, Dad?” she screams directly in Barty’s ear. He doesn’t even flinch.

Evan lets out a resigned sigh. He’s really never been able to deny Eleanor anything, so he steps to the side, opening the door wider, a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. “Of course Eleanor. Go gather your friends in the living room. Barty will be right in.” He places a hand on her head as she runs by.

Barty stands up and straightens his pants out, sliding the deck back into his pocket. “Good enough?” he asks, shrugging a shoulder.

Evan scrutinizes him for a second, running his eyes over every inch of the man. The line of his cheekbone, the curve of his neck, the way his thumb rubs a circle into the side of his pointer finger. There’s something about him. Evan hasn’t heard Eleanor scream that loud since Pandora got her a bug collection kit for Christmas last year. 

“I want you to know that I keep a detailed inventory of everything in my home, so if you steal something I will find out, and you won't be happy about the consequences.”

Barty smiles, something mischievous glinting in his eye. “We’ll see about that,” he says brushing past Evan to make his way into the living room. Evan closes the door behind him. Right before Barty turns the corner, he throws something over his shoulder. Without thinking, Evan catches it. His wallet. With the ace of hearts sticking mockingly out of the top.

[syndrossi]

ok so the scene is the latter half of Avatar 2 where the bad guy has Jake’s older daughter with a knife against her neck and Jake has his younger daughter behind him, protecting her (bc if you havent seen avatar 2 they were both momentarily captured by the enemy) and now he has to find a way to save his girl but the enemy has her, the only thing she’s saying despite a knife at her throat is “Just kill him, Dad!” as the enemy tells Jake to throw done his weapons and his forced to handcuff himself— you know until mom arrives and saves the day

so yeah what i’m tryna say is what would be the Daemon and twins equivalent of that^

(actually it’d be fun if his hatchling were the one to dracarys the enemy in this case, since jon can’t burn)

because we havent seen him react to someone directly threatening his kids with a knife in front of him, so far it’s been just kidnappings, so it’d be hella interesting knowing his response

Oooooh, I haven't seen Avatar 2 but that's definitely a nightmare scenario for Daemon. People kidnapping his children: awful, but at least they're alive to be rescued. People threatening to kill his children?

I'm gonna dance a little bit in this answer to avoid spoiling some upcoming stuff, and posit a scenario where generic bad guys are uninterested in the boys and instead looking to permanently remove Daemon as a threat--either by killing him then and there (preferred) or grabbing one of his brats as a hostage in the short or long term.

So you would have one of them managing to grab Jon (it's his turn!), knife/sword to the throat, and demand that Daemon stop fighting and drop Dark Sister or they kill the child. And of course Jon's response to that is over my dead body i mean that literally so he's urging Daemon to either kill the man or just take Rhaegar and go, because enemy reinforcements are on the way.

Daemon's usual response to someone threatening his children is KILL KILL of course, but it's a different matter entirely when they're held at knifepoint and there is a real danger that they could be killed. I could see him gritting out threats at first, then desperately attempting to bargain, then swinging back to threats a la "release him and go and I won't hunt you until the end of your days."

And when Jon's captor refuses to budge, Daemon knows they're going to kill him at the very least, so his main priority at that point is to ensure his children live. He'll emphasize the ransom Viserys would pay for their safe return, and if that's too risky for them, I think he'd even offer up Volantis as an alternative because at least they'll still be alive, if captive, there.

The way out of the situation would probably be one of a) Jon wriggling his hidden knife free for ultimate vindication and a lifetime blessing from Daemon going forward to carry it everywhere at all times, b) Rhaegar pulling a surrender maneuver for himself under the guise of "overwhelmed child desperate to be reunited with his brother" and subsequently killing the man with either his knife from Rhea or by grabbing Jon's, or c) furious baby hatchlings taking this opportunity to produce their first dragonflame.

[bella-goths-wife]

okay but what if the lost boys had a child that they didnt even know about, and when they find out about them its already too late, like the child already has a life of their own, graduated school or is about to, etc?

i feel like david and dwayne would still try to be in their lives but marko and paul would feel like "oh but they are already nearly grown/are grown so whats the point?"

Well as I’ve stated in my previous posts, vampires can’t produce children after being turned because their age is biological frozen and they lose fertility

But if something like that was possible and one of the boys got a random girl pregnant, it would have to be either Dwayne’s or David’s for them to even consider looking for their daughter/accepting their daughter.

If it were markos child then most of the boys wouldn’t really care that much above curiosity, so marko would choose not to pursue it because the child is already grown up. Paul just wouldn’t care in general and would see the fact that the child is grown up as dodging a bullet.

But we know that David is big on continuing his legacy and we know Dwayne is a massive family man, so they would both push to pursue getting to know their child.

I think that they would stalk their child with the other boys before just kidnapping them. No matter where their child is with their life, just straight up taken and held captive in the cave.

Whether or not their child gets to live is purely based on circumstances with David’s child. If his child had a personality like his/ mostly looked like him, they have a much higher chance of surviving and joining them. If his child has the complete opposite personality to David/ has more of their mother’s looks and mannerisms than they have a low chance of surviving but it’s not impossible.

But if David’s child had his personality/looks and refused to be turned or see David as their dad then they are getting forcefully turned and put In a hundred year time out until they get brainwashed change their mind. However if the child has opposite looks/personality to David and refused to be turned, they are getting killed and will feed the boys with their blood. Unlike in lost boys reader au where reader gets many chances to escape death from David, the child in this situation will be wayyyy more severely punished for wrong doings and has three strikes before David just decides to kill them.

However if it was Dwayne’s child, he will kidnap them and try his best to convince his child to become one of them and view him as a father but the child is much less likely to die than David’s child.

If his child is similar to him and the boys and refuses to be turned then, like David, he will forcefully turn you and keep you trapped in the cave. However I could see Dwayne letting his child leave they weren’t anything like him or the boys and the others didn’t like them, in that case I think Dwayne would let them leave but he would definitely still stalk them until they die.

If David’s child accepted being turned then David wouldn’t spring into dad mode straight away like Dwayne would with his child. David would act more like a friend than anything and would be sort of awkward around his child for a while until he found a way to bond with them, he wouldn’t even mind them not calling him dad because he’d understand at that point. He’d act like his child’s friend rather than father until the child goes against him and then he goes straight into angry dad and punishes them. After that things got quite tense between him and his child because they fully saw how terrifying David could be.

Dwayne would be more natural in the dad role even if his child is close to the age he was turned at. I could just imagine Dwayne trying to discipline his child who is in their early twenties and not see why they aren’t taking him seriously. Because of the fact your age gap isn’t visible and Dwayne looks a similar age to you a lot of people on the boardwalk will assume your dating because of how affectionate Dwayne is and you can’t turn around and be like “ew that’s my dad” so at one point if you look similar to Dwayne then he’ll tell people that your siblings to stop the gross dating speculation.

As for marko and Paul, they would be viewed as David’s or Dwayne’s child’s friends/uncles because like I said, they wouldn’t care about their grown child enough to get to know them so I doubt they would try and form a fatherly bond like with lost boys daughters au.

Overall it’s a terrible life but definitely not as bad as lost boys daughter au because that girl is going through it at the moment.

[aconflagrationofmyown]

Sarge and lil Mama Headcanons

I’ve never done a headcanon post and am rather dissatisfied with this one, mostly because I’m itching to write full fledged, descriptive blurbs and fics elaborating on these highlights. But this way y’all will get a little taste and hopefully something will spark your interest as I’d welcome any prompts, requests and suggestions for which ones you’d like to see written out in full 🌹

Warnings: NSFW…breeding kinks, lactation kinks, gender roles, housewife kink, innocence kink, free use, lots of kids, withdrawal mentions, Army Elvis being a hot tamale

The attraction starts a little differently from the usual romance, this man thought of you as the sweet and kitchen-skilled daughter of a Memphian music producer until one day Gladys opened her mouth to tell her impressionable son something along the lines of: “now there’s a pretty gal who would make you a marvelous wife and mother to your children”

Ever after that, this poor young man can’t help but think of you in that context, laying beneath him as he breeds you, swelling with his children, giving him little heirs to Graceland and then the whole cycle begins again…the other girls and the starlets are hot stuff and they’re all great for romance and sex, but when he’s alone in his room he wrings his poor cock out to the thought of filling you with his children and binding you to him forever. His intentions towards you are so wholesome they’ve turned primal, and it takes him ages to work up the courage to ask your daddy for your hand

This asking gets precipitated by two events: his induction into the army and the death of his mother. Without her in his life he can’t fathom making a home across the ocean without a woman, his woman, the woman his mama pointed out and he’s been married to in his head for a humiliating length of time

I mean, sure you’ve been trying to be a comfort to him whenever you two interact since his mama’s passing, and maybe you took more baked goodies over to the big house than strictly necessary, but it was all to make him get off the floor and stop looking so hollow, to be there for Gladys’ son and your father’s friend.

Here he’s been wanking to the thought of you swollen with his kids while you’ve been baking pies, finishing school and keeping your expectations for romance low.

But had such a fixed determination regarding your role in his life he forgets how little you’ve been let in on the secret. He’s been keeping his behavior circumspect around you as he distrusts what his instincts might compel him to do if he caught you alone wearing a dress and that perfume that sends him nuts

So it’s a shock to not really be asked, but rather told that you’re gonna marry him, like it’s something you owe the nation -like jury duty or the draft

And see, it’s gotta happen soon since he’s leaving and he wants to bring ya overseas with him and -well, that’s how you end up three months later laying beneath the King of Rock and Roll as he takes your virginity and makes you his wife,

He definitely tells you why he wanted you that night, praises you for being wife material and you preen under the weight of his adoration.And he absolutely asks you, as you both sit on the edge of the bed with his hand in your hair: “do you know what mamas and daddies do when they got to bed, lil one?”

You don’t, not really, all the “conjugal advice” dear sweet freshly married you got from your mama was to “be good” for your husband. So by golly you do it, you’re beyond good for him that first night and he coaches you through his voice tender, grounding and soft as he shows you

Wide eyed and fuzzy headed from the heat of his hand on your thigh you hear him explain, “the daddy goes inside the mommy’s kitty, baby”

It’s all alright, he tells your doe-eyed self, he’ll show you how it’s done between man and wife before God’s watching eyes, “thas’ it… spread ya legs lil.. no not that way… no.. goddamn it hang on honey lemme help ya”

And sure, partway through you’re asking “really Elvis? You’re not pulling my leg are ya? You’re really supposed to go inside me?” And he’s all, “How else am I gonna plant babies in your womb, honey? Gotta go far up in or else they’ll just get lost in your belly, with the cake you ate.”

He’s a bit insecure about the fact he has been long besotted with you and you’re merely fond of him. And so, both to assuage any guilt he might have over possibly pressuring you and to make you prove you want this -he has you on top, has you do the first impaling of your own free will

And he makes it so good for you that first night -after all, he wants you to look forward to him merging with you, he wants you to want to take him as often as he wants to take you, wants you to crave being filled, to be dissatisfied every minute he’s not inside you

He’s the one to teach you everything about such matters and as you’ve no set parameter or established sense of what’s “proper” or “dirty” you soak up every wicked trick he shows you. He gets to mould you into the perfect wife, perfect for his cock and his tastes, taking him just how he wants, whenever he wants, and your sweet self is in shambles from how good his foreign activity feels.

Now the papers, they’re having a field day. The colonel makes certain this sudden change of status is used for full image rehabilitation effect, there’s heaps of praise for Elvis the Pelvis repenting of his wildness and settling down, embracing the role of a wholesome family man.

When you visit him at Fort Hood and show up in your little sundress to the accompanying sound of wolf whistles, he's knocked flat on his ass by the sight of your pretty body filled out and matronly, a glow about you that suggests that finally you have the little piece of the puzzle of you that was missing before -him, a little bit of him inside you at all times

He pulls you aside for a frantic chat, eyebrows drawn together as he huffs out, u could so a specific like “Lordy, baby you been walkin around like that? glowin with your tits all big and swollen… shit... ain’t nobody look at ya too long did they?” “no elvis” “good answer lil girl i was bouta bust some heads in”

You have those twins right before he has to go overseas, and he forgets himself he’s so anxious he nearly crushes your little hand during labor

Elvis is a mess because you aren’t fit to travel and he has to leave you behind, no amount of money getting thrown around can allow him to stay longer, so he leaves you tearful, promising to get you over with the rest of his family and entourage

A nasty bout of mastitis makes your sicker than ever and delays any impromptu flights you might have tried to take, and Elvis is so worried for you since not even his mama is back home to make sure you’ll be alright, you’re all alone when he promised that you’d always be together as a family

One of y’all’s long distance phone calls gets bugged and recorded, sold to the papers and let’s just say that while the rest of the nation is choking on their eggs while reading a printed transcript of y’all’s dirty talk in the morning papers, you and Elvis are besides yourselves with anger and frustration that even this little comfort and closeness has been taken from you

It also disillusions the public regarding Elvis’ supposed reformation of character, he always has looked like he knows how to fuck, and now there’s swelling proof of that fact in you

Christmas is just around the corner -his first without his mama- and you’re healed up and mad enough that you pull some strings of your own and haul Grandma Dodger and the twins to an international airport and fly to Germany in Pan Am commercial class seats

That reunion at the airport?! Oh yeah, I’ve got a fic coming…let’s just say he missed ya, and he needs to inspect ya, make sure his boobs and his pussy are fully recovered

Reunion sex is trying to be hushed cause he’s living with other folks, but let’s face it, you two holler till the whole block knows what you’re up to, and you two can’t wait to get a house of your own

Succeed at that but then, it’s full of people often too

Which, seeing as how he wants free reign to take you every chance he can get, fill ya up again, that just won’t do. This is the true honeymoon of your married lives, and he’s got his little babies he wants to get to know

So yes, he rents other houses around the base for his family and entourage just so he can slip inside you whenever he wants, while you’re at the sink, or spread out on the kitchen table -undisturbed, save for occasional noise complaint - and talk, oh you two talk and this is where you truly fall in love with the man, not the legend

These days are the happiest of your life looking back, a taste of normality where you can look back and see your man coming home to you by six o’clock, dinner thirty minutes later, babies bathtime and reading time after that, and then the rest of the night to yourselves - alright, often you two fall asleep holding the snuggly little nuggets, let’s be honest…this man can hardly stand being parted from them more than he already is

Speaking of not being parted… cockwarming while nursing happens very often on the living room sofa, he helps support your tired arms and everything, and it’s almost boyish the way he peeks over your shoulder, his lips part and his eyes get wonderous as he watches his little ones taking their nourishment from your body

It doesn’t take you long to set up house and get into a rhythm, which means you notice when things are off -even if you two hadn’t much married time before all this. So it isn’t many nights reunited before you notice the addition of pills to his bedtime regimen and he tells you he hasn’t been sleeping well all alone out here, and you suggest an experiment… wearing him out before bed, and whenever he gets a craving in the night, you’re there for him to use�� yes, we are gonna go full “breaking addiction through Free Use” here

Which is really just swapping one addiction for another -pills for pussy, but hey, it works and you haven’t been back a whole month before those tell tale signs reemerge and Elvis is the one to spot them first -half because he is so eager for it to happen again and for him to finally be apart of it, and another because this boy has studied the subject extensively in the interim and knows what to look for

This next pregnancy he is all over you, everything he missed before due to enforced separation he gets to watch unfold in real time, and to his consternation, he finds that you being pregnant is just as appealing if not more so than you fertile, his lust is magnified by gratitude now, as well as the sneaking suspicion that you’ve really finally fallen irrevocably in love with your crazy soldier boy

Elvis is so invested in your well-being when you are pregnant that he is reading all the recommended books, in between his army duties. This man lays in bed at night, glasses on, reading aloud to you by lamplight about all processes and symptoms, what stage your babies are at now (he swears it’s another set) and he goes to every doctors appt with you. He’s the one to ask tons of questions and actually tries to school the doctor on certain things, cause he’s a precious know-it-all with conviction

You visit him on base often and become quite popular with your goody basket, pretty smile and ripe tits -which drives him nuts when all the guys comment and notice that little Mrs Presley sure is a doozy… he just might haul you to the break room and take you on the pool table…and if they’re watchin him give it to ya real good through the glass doors?! Oh well, that ain’t his problem

After the third or fourth set of Irish twins the neighbors -and the general public- start to wonder if maybe this wholesome family might have a salacious underbelly…the other army wives pity you and your constant state of barefoot and pregnant, but your smug little face says: my man makes it worth it it

You two throw the best house parties over there, and in case all this talk of breeding has made you think this boy has forgotten his oral fixation…ha no, he mumbles his praises into your pussy for being such a remarkable hostess and an impeccable wife and mother after the guests clear out….sometimes before

This man, I am sorry to say, blames you and your tight little coochie for his trash pull out game, he’s all “honey, if you didn’t clench like a goddamn fury i-I might h-have a chance, but as it is, y-you gotta stay in p-p-possession of yourself if you want me to pull out, it’s the lady’s responsibility, i-it’s different for men, w-we can’t help getting carried away”

He tells you the condoms grit his foreskin so you burn them without a second thought, you’re addicted to the friction anyway

Riding him while wearing his army hat might be the first time you get a taste of submissive E, he goes from critiquing your salute and posture “straighten those shoulders out honey, drop that hand snappy, now!” (all while railing you from underneath ya) to being a glassy eyed mess when you cockily ask “you like that Sarge?” while swiveling on him like he’s an toy boy barstool

Returning stateside in the snow, in full view of a crowd of swarming fans and photographers with at least five more children than you two left with

For the next couple decades you rent out the entire top floor of every hotel you stay in just so the kids can freely run down the hall

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Witchcraft Masterlist

A feather in the Wind (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Phil is an overprotective parent and Dan's just trying to do what's best for their kids. When their daughter has a bad day on their first day of school Phil decided to step in with a little good luck charm. It doesn't go as well as he'd hoped.

Blessed with a Curse (ao3) - Mi_Munson

Summary: A prince accidentally wrongs a wizard and is cursed so that no woman shall ever love him. Fortunately, the prince is gay and now that the wizard is a little calmer he notices that the prince is super cute.

Sparks fly, and not because of a magic spell.

Déjà Vu (ao3) - xawesometrio

Summary: Daniel Howell was born with the curse of immortality and the only way to break that curse is to meet his soulmate twice and fall in love twice. He has already met Philip once and now he must wait for the chance to find him again.

A/N: Yes, I did put character death as a warning in the description, but that is just for Philip dying the first time (he comes back, hence reincarnation). This story will have a happy ending, I promise! I wanted to include that as a warning just in case though!

do what thou wilt (ao3) - sunflowerwitches (orphan_account)

Summary: dan has always known that he isn't a normal human, he grew up wiccan in the middle of seventeenth-century england. he definitely knew he wasn't normal when he has to flee his family home due to the witch trials taking place. he flees to pendle hill in lancashire which isn't completely different to his life back home

Exile (ao3) - kae_karo

Summary: Exile’s a fucking bitch. Dan finds himself kicked out of town and searching for literally anywhere out of the rain - somehow, he must have just enough luck, as he stumbles upon a seemingly abandoned house in the middle of the forest. Except it isn’t abandoned, and the resident isn’t exactly…normal…

Magic Shop (ao3) - your_starless_eyes

Summary: It made sense that Dan would need time to recover from the tour, just the same as Phil. It was logical reasoning.

How was he supposed to know? How was Phil supposed to know that it was, in fact, a bigger issue than he could imagine?

move your body when the sunlight dies (ao3) - phegetarian

Summary: dan is cursed, phil is a witch.

and i can't do summaries.

No Nicer Witch Than You (ao3) - inevera13

Summary: A black cat with hazel eyes has decided to plague Phil, a witch living peacefully in the middle of the forest. Phil decidedly hates the cat! ...until it goes missing.

Rose Quartz (ao3) - Perrikara

Summary: Dan and Phil practice witchcraft in their spare time - but Phil seems to be having a hard time with one particular spell. No matter how hard he tries, it just won't find him a way to improve his charms. Dan, accustomed to his complaining, helps him see that he might be misreading the signs.

The Knight of Wands (ao3) - husbants

Summary: Phil Lester is a witch that has a black corgi instead of a cat. He’s also socially awkward and hasn’t lived away from his parents in, well... ever. That is, until now. When he moves into a cottage on the outskirts of London and his next door neighbor is a pretty man that hums to himself as he waters his plants and has a halo of chocolate curls on his head, Phil turns to the one thing he knows can’t fail him: magic. It won’t fail him now, right?

The Most Beautiful Forbidden Fruit - botanistlester

Summary: In a world where witches and humans live side-by-side, a war breaks out after the two species procreate, producing bloodthirsty children. As a result, the government puts laws into place: Witches and humans must never fall in love or bear children. It’s a rule that Dan Howell and his family have lived hand-in-hand with, even going so far as to make sure that Dan never has prolonged contact with the other species. When Dan goes to his favourite magic shop one day, he meets the new employee, Phil Lester. A human who he can’t seem to get rid of.

The Storyteller's Puppeteer (ao3) - Nekia

Summary: Phil is a storyteller known for his whimsical stories, charming characters and plenty of action. Unbeknownst to him, a kind of magic has brought his stories to life. Enter Dan, a puppeteer mastered in the art of black magic. Dan had always worked in the shadows, a feared member of the village. However, now Dan and Phil must work together to bring a finish to Phil's beloved stories.

[orpheusdrinkinga40inadeathbasket]

The most annoying thing Walnut does, even worse than barking at the mailman, is the ritual of his “evening drink.” Every night, when I am settled in bed, when I am on the brink of sleep, Walnut will suddenly get very thirsty. If I go to bed at 10:30, Walnut will get thirsty at 11. If I go to bed at midnight, he’ll wake me up at 1. I’ve found that the only way I cannot be mad about this is to treat this ritual as its own special kind of voyage — to try to experience it as if for the first time. If I am open to it, my upstairs hallway contains an astonishing amount of life.

The evening drink goes something like this: First, Walnut will stand on the edge of the bed, in a muscular, stout little stance, and he will wave his big ridiculous fan tail in my face, creating enough of a breeze that I can’t ignore it. I will roll over and try to go back to sleep, but he won’t let me: He’ll stamp his hairy front paws and wag harder, then add expressive noises from his snout — half-whine, half-breath, hardly audible except to me. And so I give up. I sit up and pivot and plant my feet on the floor — I am hardly even awake yet — and I make a little basket of my arms, like a running back preparing to take a handoff, and Walnut pops his body right into that pocket, entrusting the long length of his vulnerable spine (a hazard of the dachshund breed) to the stretch of my right arm, and then he hangs his furry front legs over my left. From this point on we function as a unit, a fusion of man and dog. As I lift my weight from the bed Walnut does a little hop, just to help me with gravity, and we set off down the narrow hall. We are Odysseus on the wine-dark sea. (Walnut is Odysseus; I am the ship.)

All of evolution, all of the births and deaths since caveman times, since wolf times, that produced my ancestors and his — all the firelight and sneak attacks and tenderly offered scraps of meat, the cages and houses, the secret stretchy coils of German DNA — it has all come, finally, to this: a fully grown exhausted human man, a tiny panting goofy harmless dog, walking down the hall together. Even in the dark, Walnut will tilt his snout up at me, throw me a deep happy look from his big black eyes — I can feel this happening even when I can’t see it — and he will snuffle the air until I say nice words to him (OK you fuzzy stinker, let’s go get your evening drink), and then, always, I will lower my face and he will lick my nose, and his breath is so bad, his fetid snout-wind, it smells like a scoop of the primordial soup. It is not good in any way. And yet I love it.

Walnut and I move down the hall together, step by bipedal step, one two three four, tired man and thirsty friend, and together we pass the wildlife of the hallway — a moth, a spider on the ceiling, both of which my children will yell at me later to move outside, and of course each of these creatures could be its own voyage, its own portal to millions of years of history, but we can’t stop to study them now; we are passing my son’s room. We can hear him murmuring words to his friends in a voice that sounds disturbingly like my own voice, deep sound waves rumbling over deep mammalian cords — and now we are passing my daughter’s room, my sweet nearly grown-up girl, who was so tiny when we brought Walnut home, as a golden puppy, but now she is moving off to college. In her room she has a hamster she calls Acorn, another consciousness, another portal to millions of years, to ancient ancestors in China, nighttime scampering over deserts.

But we move on. Behind us, in the hallway, comes a sudden galumphing. It is yet another animal: our other dog, Pistachio, he is getting up to see what’s happening; he was sleeping, too, but now he is following us. Pistachio is the opposite of Walnut, a huge mutt we adopted from a shelter, a gangly scraggly garbage muppet, his body welded together out of old mops and sandpaper, with legs like stilts and an enormous block head and a tail so long that when he whips it in joy, constantly, he beats himself in the face. Pistachio unfolds himself from his sleepy curl, stands, trots, huffs and stares after us with big human eyes. Walnut ignores him, because with every step he is sniffing the dark air ahead of us, like a car probing a night road with headlights, and he knows we are approaching his water dish now, he knows I am about to bend my body in half to set his four paws simultaneously down on the floor, he knows that he will slap the cool water with his tongue for 15 seconds before I pick him up again and we journey back down the hall. And I find myself wondering, although of course it doesn’t matter, if Walnut was even thirsty, or if we are just playing out a mutual script. Or maybe, and who could blame him, he just felt like taking a trip.

Sam Anderson, "Lessons from a Lifetime of Animal Voyages"

[kolbietheaggrievedwriter]

white moonlight au!

scene below:

[ “Hey! Peony! Do you have any more of those squash?” A male voice calls out, his free hand waving while his occupied hand covers the bundled up baby even more. Peony, previously called Gladiolus by the street kids, waves back as he opens his designated squash box. 

“Yeah, for the baby, right? Make sure to barter some herbs just in case you or yours get sick. The children and I have a bad feeling that this winter will be a long one,” He suggests, taking the offered fabric and putting in the squash, along with several other foodstuffs. 

“Oh sh— shoot, really? I’ll go tell the missus after I drop off the produce.” The man seems to be wary, though he calms down soon after when the baby starts fussing at the anxiety she seems to feel from her father, and coos at his youngest daughter. “Shh, Papa isn’t upset, don’t start crying on me now.”

Peony chuckles and hands over the bundle of items to the older man, wiggling a finger at the baby before they leave his stall. 

—! A hand abruptly intercepts a striking one, holding the offending wrist in his palm. He lets out a delighted laugh at the man he sees, pulling the other into a hug.

“Hi! Did you deliver the goods? How were your lesso—?” “— Not now! The Chel girl you were talking about is visiting the town…!” A sharp whisper cuts him off, the words causing him to slightly tense up. 

“Shit, seriously?” Peony swears as he starts packing up his belongings, gesturing for the hidden nearby street urchins to come to the booth. 

“What’s it, witchman?” The older of the pair asks, apprehensive as he watches the forest witch acting anxious for the first time ever. His bright red hair is already dirty by the dirt he had rubbed into it that morning, not wanting to attract attention, and his green eyes are warily looking around for any dangers.

“Y’know how to sell and watch over the booth, right? Make sure that everythin’ that ain’t sold are handed out to the orphanages and others like usual, yeah?” Peony confirms, his manner of speaking making the urchins further tense up and the younger of the two clutching the elder’s dirty tunic. 

The older one scoffs, making his body relax as he watches the seamster finish packing everything of his into his bag. “‘Course we will, we’re not stupid, y’know.”

“Good,” He nods with relief in his voice as he swiftly removes any traces of him from the booth. “Be on the lookout for the people I told you all about, yes? I want a report tonight when you come home, hm?”

The red haired teen nods, jerky with nerves and sharp eyes looking around with caution. Peony feels his breath catch for a moment as the bright red reminds him of his love, Elliot, before the tug on his wrist by his noble ally shakes him out of the moment and he meets the panicked blue eyes of his friend.

“Let’s go before your prince, knight, and the witch notices you!” The noble’s son hisses at him, and leads them out of the market area. Peony laughs nervously and changes their hand’s position so that they’re now entangled.

“Calling her a witch is an insult to my name, Caerwyn,” He responds quietly, quickly overtaking the noble so that he’s the one leading them to his quaint home. 

“Ugh! Just— just shut up! I can’t have you missing before you finish Amber’s debutante’s dress,” Caerwyn argues back, schooling his expression so that no one takes note of their strange running away. 

“Oh! Yes, I’ve finished making the prototype for her dress and accompanying accessories.” Peony sighs happily at the reminder of his favourite project at that moment, and squeezes the hand that he is holding. “Also, your parents truly do not mind us being friends?”

“Yourself being the only person to have found a cure for my father’s illness has granted you the honour of being our family’s ally.” Caerwyn rolls his eyes as his ears slightly turn red and lets out a breath of relief once they are deep into the forest. “Truly, I do not know how you are able to navigate through this maze of a forest.”

“That is because you are a city boy, Caerwyn. I grow up and sustain myself in this forest,” He remarks cheekily, catching the noble when he trips on a tree root, “If I did not know my way around the forest, I would have found myself eaten by the beasts that call this forest their home.”

Peony looks back and grins at his friend, the sunlight causing his eyes to shine a beautiful amber. “Anyway, did the Prince and his knight receive my gift? Did they like it?”

Caerwyn nods, his ears now a recognisable red. “Yes, Amaryllis, they received it. I saw the knight wearing the coat you had made him three days ago.”

The commoner beams, a giggle slipping out of him as his expression becomes lovesick. The noble shoves down the rising jealousy, reminding himself that he knew what he was getting into when Amaryllis started requesting him several years ago. ]

scene: introduces peony and amaryllis, peony to the common citizens when he is selling his harvests and amaryllis to his nobler clients.

settings: this is when chel first started going to the academy, hc that she visits the town to "spread her blessings as per her duty as a saint". mid-autumn, caerwyn and amber (ambrosia) are part of a lower noble family -> how wm can get his courting gifts sent to niren and elliot. this is the start of wm lessening the public information of himself, led by the street urchins making up more and more names for him.

thoughts? i'm having too much fun, really. this is so self-indulgent. niren and elliot haunting the narrative will always make me laugh, wm is always thinking of his beloveds, forever and always.

No thoughts, I'm just sitting back eating popcorn and enjoying the story!! The careful thought and detail you put into everything is *chef's kiss* Also love the easy comaraderie of WM and everyone else. Him being lovesick over Elliot and Niren is so sweet, too!! Ahh I'm just enjoying the ride honestly 💕

[townsenddecades]

1322 – Day 4 – Amrhein Hall

It is with some surprise that Elizabeth, Dowager Countess of Petersmarch, and her daughter Gwendolen, Countess of Windermere, receive a late-evening visitor at Amrhein Hall. Gwendolen is herself only visiting her mother, so Elizabeth can spend some time with her youngest grandchildren, Vincent and Viviane.

They are sitting comfortably in the library, playing with Vincent, when their steward announces that the Lady Katheryn has just arrived with a small train of riders and have only marginally recovered from their shock when she walks inside in plain riding clothes, her hood down.

“I’m sorry to intrude like this without warning”, she says, after the greetings are done and they have asked her to sit. “I planned to stay at an inn, but they sadly didn’t have any more rooms.”

“You are leaving Praaven, then?”, Gwendolen asks, still more astonished. “Has this been planned long? This is the first I hear of it.” She keeps a regular correspondence with her sister-in-law, and Mary is usually very fastidious to tell her all that is happening in Praaven.

Katheryn colours a bit. “No, it was more of a…spontaneous decision. I felt I needed a change of air and have written to my parents that I will be visiting them.”

“And my son isn’t accompanying you?”, Elizabeth asks, suspicions already forming.

“He didn’t know about it when I left. Although I’m fairly certain that he does now.”

That certainly explains why she is travelling with only a few attendants and riding on a horse instead of in a litter. The fact that she has baggage at all speaks to how well she must have planned this, if neither her sons nor Mary know about it. What it doesn’t explain is why.

Gwendolen is just as astonished as she is. “He didn’t know?” she repeats. “You are running away from him?”

“Not running away.” She shakes her head. “I merely need some time away from Praaven to think, and I didn’t want him to stop me.”

“Why would he want to keep you from visiting your parents?”

The young woman pauses at that and lowers her gaze. When she speaks, her voice is quiet. “Because he is bound to find out soon that I am with child, and I wanted to avoid that.”

Both women stare at her, struck speechless. They have been hoping for years that either Ralph or Clement would produce an heir, and now Clement’s wife is sitting here, telling them that she is fleeing to her parents precisely because that is a possibility. It is bizarre. If she can produce a son, Katheryn’s position in Praaven will be better than ever.

To Elizabeth, that only leaves one conclusion. “Have you been sharing another man’s bed?”, she asks imperiously.

“No!”, Katheryn replies forcefully. “It is his, and I am offended you implied anything else. That is precisely the problem.”

“I’m not sure I follow”, Elizabeth replies. The woman’s indignation, at least, seems genuine. “If it is my son’s child, you have nothing to fear, at least not from him. Why leave?”

“Because, and I don’t want to offend you, he is cold and callous, and I don’t want to know what influence he would have on my child it were a son. My marriage is unhappy enough. I don’t think I can bear bringing a child into it.”

Elizabeths sighs, cursing young women and their fancies. It’s not that she can’t understand her; her marriage to her husband, now dead nigh on twenty years, had not exactly been unhappy, but Ralph had had his callous moments. She still resents that both he and their eldest parade the bastard he had fathered on that peasant in the castle with no regard to her sensibilities. But she also knows that that is simply the lot of women in their position.

“It is your duty as a wife to bear him children”, she says simply. “I don’t know your father well, but I assume that sooner or later, he will send you back to him. Especially if you have a son.”

“Perhaps”, Katheryn replies. “But it will give me some distance and time to think. At least if you don’t stop me from leaving.”

“I won’t”, Elizabeth says. “But I doubt fleeing will do you any good, my dear.”

Gwendolen, who takes her son in her arms while her mother and Lady Katheryn move aside to discuss particulars, is merely glad that her own marriage, while not perfect, is far happier than that. She can’t imagine feeling forced to flee her husband at the mere thought of him influencing their children.

She feels pity for her sister-in-law, if nothing else, and hugs Vincent tight.

Prev: 1322, Day 4, Part 2/3 <--> Next: 1322 Statistic

WATCHER’S COMMENTARY:

If anyone is curious what the Story Progression event that prompted this was: I got a notification that Katheryn had moved out of her and Clement’s household into a peasant home. I decided to nix that and undo their divorce but integrate her running away into the story.  

[monsterhunting]

I like your fanfic and we share some of the same ships. Do you have any book recs? My tbr list is long but I don't mind adding more books

firstly: thank you so much!!! secondly i have TONS of book recs. honestly i could’ve kept going but i was getting a little crazy so lemme stop here. thank you for asking!!!

fiction:

the lincoln highway by amor towles: bildungsroman, beautiful story, satisfying ending, long but worth it

ask again yes by mary beth keane: family drama, turning point halfway thru that made me gasp and screech

such a fun age by kiley reid: a Black babysitter gets stopped by a grocery store security guard and a video of it goes viral and a bunch of other stuff also happens. lots of really good discussions on racism. her other book that just came out this year was really good too!!!

fantasy/sci-fi:

the last binding trilogy by freya marske: finally read these a few months ago and i loved them so much 😭 great romance great characters exciting plot with high stakes FOUND FAMILY!!

silver under nightfall by rin chupeco (and the sequel court of wanderers)… vampire couple x vampire hunter throuple of my dreams what more can you want

ocean’s echo / winter’s orbit by everina maxwell: queer scifi romance!!!! stand-alones set in the same universe but both are great

station eleven by emily st. john mandel: this is a pretty well known book but it was GOOD! takes place in a post-apocalyptic world and centers on the importance of living as opposed to just surviving and also the beauty of creating and sharing art ❤️

romance:

cat sebastian writes really good queer historical romance, I’ve read like 6 of her books this year. we could be so good and the ruin of a rake are my favorites so far

lex croucher!!! she has three historical novels, one is a sapphic romance (I’ve only read two) and then she has a YA called Gwen & art are not in love that’s a queer Arthurian legend retelling

love hate & clickbait by liz bowery: m/m fake dating where the two MCs are politicians who kinda suck and are trapped in a PR stunt. a better red white & royal blue. i’ve read it like 3 times

sarah hogle is my oomf but also writes great romance. you deserve each other and just like magic specifically

the charm offensive by alison cochrun: the new bachelor falls for the producer of the reality show instead of his contestants. probably my favorite romance ever. also great asexual rep!!

horror:

the lost village by camilla sten: a group of people filming a documentary go to an abandoned village where everyone in the town just up and disappeared one day and were never seen again and weird stuff starts happening. i read this in like 2 days. also i based the town in the stoncy ghost files au off of this lmao

the whisper man and the shadows by alex north: crazy as fuck plot twists that made me close the book and run around my house. he has a third book too but unfortunately I didn’t like it very much

night film by marisha pessl: reporter obsessed with elusive director who’s daughter just mysteriously died investigates director and his family. very good mixed media element and very immersive

mister magic by kiersten white: child actors from children’s tv show mister magic — a tv show that ended suddenly and tragically, with no surviving video footage or evidence of the creative team behind the show whatsoever — gather together for a reunion as adults. kinda like if IT by stephen king was combined with a weird creeypasta and throw in some religious trauma also. sooooo good

graphic novels:

check please! by ngozi ukazu: duh

bubble by jordan morris: guardians of the galaxy esque but also a criticism of capitalism. very fun

hooky by miriam bonastre tur: i DEVOURED these last october. perfect cozy fall vibes. just a cute fun story. they’re technically for children but idc 😭 so many characters and i loved them all, i can’t wait to reread again in the fall

[adamwatchesmovies]

King Richard (2021)

Years of Will Smith in dramatic roles, combined with his name as a producer and his speech at the 94th Academy Awards might lead you to believe King Richard was only made so he could add a certain trophy to his shelf. I mean, of all the members of the Williams family, why choose to focus a movie on their father, rather than Venus or Serena? That question is precisely why this film was made the way it was. Even if you know nothing about tennis, you’ve heard of Venus and Serena Williams. Any movie about their rise would be wasting your time because you know where their careers are headed. Putting the spotlight on their father, the man who paved the way for their success and made some… questionable choices along the way? That’s a compelling story.

Even before they were born, Richard Williams (Smith), had a detailed plan for his youngest daughters Venus (Saniyya Sidney) and Serena (Demi Singleton). With his wife Oracene “Brandy” Price (Aunjanue Ellis), he’s been training them rigorously to be tennis champions while maintaining high marks in school and tirelessly promoting them to potential coaches. After years of videotapes and brochures, Richard manages to get the girls noticed by coach Paul Cohen (Tony Goldwyn) and later, Rick Macci (Jon Bernthal).

You already sort of know the way King Richard will end - and not because they don’t make movies about people whose careers go nowhere. The movie will probably conclude with a breakout win, followed by an epilogue that tells us exactly how successful both sisters became. What you don’t know is who Richard Williams is. If we trust this film, the man is full of contradictions. Obviously, he knows what he’s doing when it comes to teaching Venus and Serena the ins and outs of the tennis game but after getting them a real coach, he goes against the professional’s advice. He makes decisions everyone else tells him make no sense. You begin wondering how much of their success he’s secretly attributing to himself rather than them.    Richard’s seemingly nonsensical or overly stubborn choices are the reason to see the film. You’re not sure if our protagonist is a genius or a madman. When EVERYONE tells him “This is not how you do this, Richard”, you start siding with them. What does he know that they don’t? It goes even deeper because you’ve seen a different side of him than the rest. You’ve seen him at his very lowest, when he was about to make a life-altering decision for the worst. You know him as well as Brandy does, which is to say, better than he knows himself. There’s a particular scene where he gets the entire family to watch Disney’s Cinderella and then quizzes the children about it once the tape ends. His reaction to the answers makes you think he’s completely off his rocker. Later, authorities inspect his home and check into allegations made against him and his wife. His reaction makes you realize he’s got a steadier head on his shoulders than any of the other parents we see pushing their children into the world of tennis. You can’t decide how you feel about him until the movie's last 20-ish minutes. This is the film’s "low point" because now, King Richard is “just a sports movie”. That said, there’s a reason we like sports movies. Now, the story is about Richard and Venus. You want the young woman to succeed because you’ve seen where she started and you know how far she could go. That scene of the family discussing Cinderella comes flooding back: the Williams sisters also come from humble origins and have a shot at the top.

While certain controversies surrounding the performances may threaten to eclipse the film that permitted them, the acting in King Richard is top-notch. Smith gets the lion’s share of the spotlight but Aunjanue Ellis has a couple of scenes that will blow you away. We spend so much time with the Williams family that you get to know them inside and out. You notice subtle hints in their faces or body language that tell you so much more than just the words being said. Smith really is great in the picture, fully utilizing his natural charisma while pouring a little bit of vinegar in the mix.

King Richard has a terrific story that offers what you want in a sports movie without feeling formulaic. The titular character is an enigma that's fun to examine until the film helps you come to a conclusion about him. Then, the focus is more on the family and you realize that while they're extraordinary in some ways, they're normal in just as many. It’s both inspirational and relatable. (August 5, 2023)

[helenadurazzo]

Upholding Traditions

In this story, Leonardo finds himself having a conversation with his father. The topic? Leonardo’s lack of a magical son and heir.

Leonardo Durazzo’s POV, January 1943

“I hope you know how dire your situation is.” Leonardo heard his father inform him the second he gently closed the door of his father’s study. Closing his eyes in irritation, anticipating the conversation that was about to occur.

He looked at his father, he was in his sixties but he always seemed to look slightly older than he actually was, even with the color changing charms he has used on his hair in order to keep it from turning grey for as long as he could to maintain an image of relative youthfulness. His stern brown eyes were as frightening as he remembered them being as a young boy whenever his father claimed they had a serious matter to discuss. Always being strict and wanting him to follow his instructions in how to properly represent the family

“And which situation did you wish to discuss father?” Leonardo asked him, glancing every so often at the time on the clock as the hands seemed to go slower and slower by the minute

“Your son.” He replied simply, “Or rather, your lack of a proper one. Even though you are wasting your time keeping him here, you must know he can’t inherit the family fortune. I am not sure why you and your wife are so attached to him, he is going to amount to nothing here.”

Most of that was a truth Leonardo knew well. Alessandro was a bright boy, or at least that’s what his Muggle instructors had been saying. However he was a squib and a squib just couldn’t be an heir, mainly because of pure blood tradition. There was already enough prejudice for muggle borns and muggles, and even half bloods. Even his older sister and wife, who helped him in defending Alessandro’s case in staying all those years ago, they knew that he had to have another son soon, and his wife knew this especially well after having a daughter, not the son they were all awaiting. Additionally, he did acknowledge that his son likely would leave the Durazzo mansion, but Leonardo wanted it to be on his son’s own terms rather than being forced out

“I know.” He responded to his father. “Me and Camilla hope she will be with child again soon and perhaps it’ll be a-“

“And if it isn’t a son?” His father quickly finished for him what he didn’t want to admit. “And that’s assuming you two are able to produce a healthy, suitable magical male heir as it is.”

“If Alessandro was a wizard you would think of him differently, you know you would.” Leonardo tried to place into his father’s mind as he stated his own mind, “He is going to grow into quite a bright man yet you don’t even give him any recognition for his accomplishments. I know they seem like nothing compared to those we have in the wizarding world, but you don’t even attempt to connect with him, even though he tries so hard to get you to like him. He is just a child!”

“That boy is going to leave sooner or later whether you want him to or not.” His father argued back using reality as his reliable source. “I suggested you and your wife to get rid of him before you got too attached but you refused to listen to the reason of myself and the traditions our ancestors have done with squibs born into this family. A squib can only last for so long in the wizarding world you know.”

“That still doesn’t mean we should abandon them, leaving them wondering about their origins.” Leonardo disagreed. “Plus it’s not like you just view squibs as worthless, you’ve viewed Muggle Borns like that to.” He added thinking about his friend from his school years. “Guido is quite a powerful Wizard despite all you and other pure bloods have said about Muggle Borns.”

“This isn’t about your mud blood friend so don’t change the subject.” His father sternly said, gladly adding in an insult. “You have a squib son and a daughter, with no children on the way at the moment. Your younger brother already has two sons of his own. Why shouldn’t I just go ahead and make it so he inherits the fortune instead of you since he’s got the more stable succession.”

Leonardo’s father never seemed to forget to mention Giuseppe in every single conversation they had about the failures his father claimed he had. Giuseppe always seemed to outshine him, despite Leonardo being older. He always seemed to know more about magic than he did and seemed to be a strong dueler than him, which their father was constantly impressed by. Giuseppe had always been his father’s perfect son and he knew full well that even before his squib son was in the picture, their father had wanted Giuseppe to be his heir rather than him

“You would never do that because of tradition.” Leonardo finally responded. “If there’s one thing everyone knows about you whether it be good or bad is that you don’t lighten up on tradition.”

“And it’s about time you act the same if you want to keep this family thriving.” His father informed him, his brown eyes narrowing even more. “Every Durazzo should know full well our reason for each of our traditions, yet you are letting those pesky muggle borns cloud your vision, your sister has as well you know, she is ruining herself.”

Sometimes Leonardo wished he was out of this succession nonsense like his older sister. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be the heir of the family. But at least he’d have less pressure on his shoulders for something that just couldn’t be controlled. He knew full well that if he hadn’t been in an arranged marriage with Camilla in the first place, his father would have claimed it was marrying her which was causing what he claimed to be bad luck.

“I’ll do better,” Leonardo told him, not wanting to continue the stressful conversation. “And I promise you I won’t disappoint you father.”

“You better not.” His father told his son as he headed for the door. “The future of the Durazzo family rests on your shoulders.”

As he walked away from his father’s study, his father’s words flooded his mind. Was he right? It didn’t seem like he was, after all, he always let Giuseppe get away with trouble when they were kids when he’d probably be grounded for a week at best for getting into the type of pranks and dubious studies Giuseppe did as a student at Galaxgnosi. Favoritism had to have been clouding his vision somewhere, or at least that’s what he hoped.

He remembered something that his aunt once mentioned about his father. Apparently his father, had just been like Giuseppe growing up, the golden child. He was one of the best duelers and spell casters in his year and even found a way to throw in a well placed prank or to. Giuseppe had always looked like their father while Leonardo himself looked more like his mother. It was clear his father had always seemed a piece of himself in Giuseppe and wished he had been his first born son.

He found himself drawn into the room where his son was practicing piano. They had only started him with piano lessons a few weeks ago, yet he was already sounded good, especially considering how young he still was. He stood by the doorway with a smile and glanced over his wife who had their daughter, Donella, with her. It would seem like a perfect family to most, but to his father and even his brother, it was far from that.

When his son was finished with playing the song he had been working on, Leonardo and his wife both clapped in applause, even little Donella mimicked the hand clapping. He watched as his son ran over to him and gave him a hug and smiled.

“Did you like it Papa?” He asked, looking up at me.

“Of course!” Leonardo quickly replied with a smile, as he gently ran his fingers through his son’s hair and then went down to the ground to be on his son’s level. “Keep up the good work!”

“Do you think Grandfather would like it?” Alessandro asked suddenly to Leonardo’s surprise.

“Well- Uh-“ Leonardo said as he tried to find the right words. “Well your grandfather is a bit- well-“

“Busy?” His son replied which Leonardo ended up just agreeing to, to simplify it all. “He always is.” His son added with a sigh.”