#dining britain

[thesilicontribesman]

Grand Dining Room and Associated Room Mosaics, Chedworth Roman Villa, Gloucestershire

[thepaintedroom]

Francis Davis Millet (American, 1846-1912) • Between Two Fires • c. 1892 • Tate Britain

[gracieblood]

oh my god remember whisk guy from come dine with me

[holylulusworld]

A perfect gentleman (2)

Square filled for @julybreakbingo: Square 15: Free + Square 24: “I’m going to take care of you‚ okay?”

Summary: Your trip to Great Britain changed your life forever.

Pairing: Raymond Smith x fem!Reader

Warning: public sex, smut, unprotected sex, possessive Raymond, angry Raymond, implied violence, fluff

A/N: Please be aware I do not follow the exact storyline of the movie.

Catch up here: A perfect gentleman

“Louder,” Raymond growled in your ear. “I want the whole town to hear your screams.”

You whimpered at his words. Raymond wanted to take you for a walk in the park, only to bend you over the next best bench. Luckily, it was already dark, and no one was around. At least you hoped so.

“Fuck, I want to hear it, love,” he gripped your rear tighter, hands pawing at your body. More than once you ended up bruised and marked up over the last months. Raymond is a man possessed when it comes to you. “Say it! Whose pussy is this?” He gave you a particular deep thrust.

“Yours…” you slurred his name, too far gone to think straight. He got you high on him, and there is no way you are going to get clean ever again. “Only yours.”

“Damn,” thrust, “fucking,” thrust, “right,” a deep thrust, followed by his warmth filling you. You rested your head on the bench, sighing deeply. Two orgasms have turned your legs into jelly, and you were too exhausted to lift your head.

He carefully slipped out of you; eyes dropping to your puffy cunt.

“Hmm…my good girl looks good stuffed with my spunk.” Raymond slammed his hand between your legs to toy with your swollen clit.

“Ray, no,” you wiggled away from his touch. “It’s too much. This morning, during lunch, on our way to the park, in the park. You’re going to kill me with orgasms.”

He laughed, deep and rich. “You’re so cute too,” he said but dropped his hand from your cunt. “I’ll help you put your cute panties back on and we go back to my car.” He crouched down next to you to pat your head. “How does that sound, baby love?”

“Very good,” you lifted your head to grin at Raymond. “No sex on our way back!”

“Sure, baby love,” he kissed the top of your head. Raymond got back up to slide your panties up your legs. He groped your ass for a moment before straightening your dress. Raymond carefully helped you stand on your wobbling legs. “You look so pretty when all fucked out.”

He laughed when you gave him the stinky eye. Raymond promised you a romantic walk in the park only to ruin your poor pussy all over again. “You’re a dirty man, Sir.”

“If you call me Sir again,” he dipped his head to purr in your ear, “I’ll bury my face between those thighs and ruin you forever.”

You pressed your legs together and whimpered. Raymond and his libido would be the death of you one day.

“Buenas tardes, Raymondo.” You shrieked when a stranger stood in Raymond’s dining room. You were about to clean the table you christened with Raymond not half an hour ago again to make sure you erased any trace of your coupling.

The man looked older than your boyfriend, and not as dangerous as Ray. Still, he sneaked inside Raymond’s house only to look you up and down.

“You’re not Raymond.” He huffed, sounding a little too disappointed. “What a pity.”

“What are you doing in Raymond’s house?” You kept a close eye on the intruder while searching for a weapon. “You’re not one of his friends.”

“He already introduced you to his friends?” The man hiccupped. “He’s moving fast, huh?” He cocked his head to look you up and down again. “What does he see in you? Are you more than a romp in the sheets?”

“What the fuck!” You yelled at the man. Even if he got a gun, you wouldn’t let that dude talk like that about you and your relationship with Raymond.

“Ah, the man himself enters the room,” the man looked at something behind your back. “Raymondo, finally. Your lovely maid forgot to offer me a drink.”

“Fletcher,” you could hear the anger in Raymond’s voice. He slowly stepped next to you to place his hand on the small of your back. “I’d asked you what you’re doing here, but first things first.” He kissed your cheek and murmured something Fletcher couldn’t hear in your ear. “I’ll be right there, baby love.”

You pecked Raymond’s lips, much to Fletcher’s chagrin. “Ray don’t waste your time on him. He’s a dick.”

Fletcher hissed in your direction. He didn’t like the way Raymond watched you walk out of the room. “So, a new fling.”

“Why are you in my house?” Raymond’s voice filled with anger. He heard what Fletcher said to you and would love to kill the intruder. If Raymond hates one thing, it’s chaos and unexpected events. He likes having things in order. Neat. Clean. Perfect.

The only acceptation allowed to cause chaos in his life, or house is you. No one else will get away with leaving dirty dishes in his sink, or socks on the floor.

“Oh, don’t be like that, Raymond. I came here to help,” Fletcher stepped closer to the table to glance at the spot you wiped. He watched you for a while, wondering if you are more to Raymond than a plaything. “I bet you’ll go on your knees for me if you hear what I have for you.”

Raymond squared his jaw. He should have Fletcher killed, but he wants to hear what the man has to say first. “I’ll ask you one last time, and then you’ll either walk out of my house on our own two legs, or you won’t walk at all.”

“Now, we don’t want to be rude,” Fletcher has a smile plastered on his face. He’s excited to tell Raymond about all the things he found out about his boss’s business, and the people wanting to get rid of Mickey Pearson. “So…a fling or more?”

“Why does a cunt like you want to know about my love life?” Raymond grumbled. He was done talking about you with Fletcher. It was worse enough that his boss told him that a sweet girl like you wouldn’t stay for long if you found out about the true nature of Raymond’s job. “Tell me what you want or get fucked.”

“Oh, I’d love to get fucked,” Fletcher grinned. “Maybe we can bring your fling in too. She can watch.” Raymond grabbed the vase filled with roses you placed on the table to throw it at Fletcher.  

“Baby?” You rushed inside the room to watch Raymond punch Fletcher’s face. He held the man down, growling like an angry bear. “Ray? What’s wrong?” You’ve never seen Raymond so angry before. “Ray…baby.”

“Go back to bed baby love. I got business to do with his cunt…”

“What did he want?” You carefully cleaned Raymond’s knuckles. He’s usually not the man to throw punches at his boss’s enemies. “Are you in trouble?”

“No,” Raymond murmured. He watched you clean his wounds, a soft smile on his lips for a moment. “That man is no one to worry about. He’s a slimy worm.”

“A cunt,” you concluded. “I had a hunch. That asshole asked if I’m only a romp in the sheets to you.”

“He’ll be taken care of,” Raymond grabbed your hand to kiss your knuckles. “I’m sorry that he scared you. I’m going to take care of you‚ okay? No one will hurt you.”

“Ray, I signed up for this,” you placed your hand on his thigh. “I know that your job is dangerous and that your boss’s business is far from legal. When you asked me to stay, I accepted this part of your life too.”

“I can pick them,” he murmured.

“You've got such great taste,” you replied with a smile.

"Yeah," he cupped your face with both hands. "Especially when it comes to my girl."

Tags in reblog.

[probablyasocialecologist]

In 1940s Britain, at a time before fast food and ready meals were staples of the British high street and in a country struggling to deal with the ramifications of war, a popular new restaurant chain was established. It served high-quality meals at reasonable prices, attracted customers from the full spectrum of British society, and grew at a rate of 10 new sites a week at its most popular. The brains behind the operation? The British government, led by the prime minister, Winston Churchill. Churchill’s British Restaurants, a chain of government-funded canteens offering nutritious price-capped meals, were intended to counter inflation in food and fuel prices related to the war, as well as to boost community spirit. At their peak, there were more British Restaurants across the UK than there are branches of McDonald’s or Wetherspoons today. Now a new report is calling for the return of a “national restaurant service” in some form, as a way to tackle contemporary issues such as health inequality, food insecurity and even climate change in the UK. A forthcoming report entitled Public diners: the idea whose time has come, by food policy NGO Nourish Scotland, marks the beginning of a campaign to introduce restaurants as a new piece of national infrastructure, a call backed by politicians and experts. A public diner, according to the report, is a state-subsidised eatery serving quality and ethically produced food at affordable prices. Crucially, says Nourish Scotland, they are neither charity nor a treat, but rather everyday eating places for entire communities to access.

[...]

Last year hospital data showed the number of patients in England and Wales being treated for nutritional deficiencies had tripled in a decade while a January 2024 survey by the Food Foundation found 20% of UK households with children reported experiencing food insecurity. And, Nourish Scotland says, ingredients could be sourced from organic farms, reducing unsustainable food production practices and food waste, and stimulating local economies. Public diners have already been realised elsewhere in the world. In Poland, government-funded “milk bars” (bar mleczny) gained popularity in the communist era as a way to serve traditional home-cooked food at low prices, and remain numerous today. Singapore’s “hawker centres”, market-style community dining rooms, emerged as part of the nation’s urban redevelopment following independence, and bring an array of street sellers under one roof to ensure vendors’ access to ingredients and space, as well as food hygiene standards and choice for consumers. The call for state-subsidised dining in the UK comes amid a growing international movement for public restaurants as key infrastructure.

31 August 2024

See also I Dream of Canteens, by Rebecca May Johnson

[comtessezouboff]

Paintings from Buckingham Palace: part I

A retexture by La Comtesse Zouboff — Original Mesh by @thejim07

100 followers gift!

First of all, I would like to thank you all for this amazing year! It's been a pleasure meeting you all and I'm beyond thankful for your support.

Spread among 13 occupied and historic royal residences in the United Kingdom, the collection is owned by King Charles III and overseen by the Royal Collection Trust. The British monarch owns some of the collection in right of the Crown and some as a private individual. It is made up of over one million objects, including 7,000 paintings, over 150,000 works on paper, this including 30,000 watercolours and drawings, and about 450,000 photographs, as well as around 700,000 works of art, including tapestries, furniture, ceramics, textiles, carriages, weapons, armour, jewellery, clocks, musical instruments, tableware, plants, manuscripts, books, and sculptures.

Some of the buildings which house the collection, such as Hampton Court Palace, are open to the public and not lived in by the Royal Family, whilst others, such as Windsor Castle, Kensington Palace and the most remarkable of them, Buckingham Palace are both residences and open to the public.

About 3,000 objects are on loan to museums throughout the world, and many others are lent on a temporary basis to exhibitions.

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This first part includes the paintings displayed in the White Drawing Room, the Green Drawing Room, the Silk Tapestry Room, the Guard Chamber, the Grand Staircase, the State Dining Room, the Queen's Audience Room and the Blue Drawing Room,

This set contains 37 paintings and tapestries with the original frame swatches, fully recolourable. They are:

White Drawing Room (WDR):

Portrait of François Salignan de la Mothe-Fénelon, Archbishop of Cambrai (Joseph Vivien)

Portrait of a Lady (Sir Peter Lely)

Portrait of a Man in Armour with a red scarf (Anthony van Dyck)

Portrait of Alexandra of Denmark, Queen Consort of the United Kingdom and Empress of India (François Flameng)

Green Drawing Room (GDR):

Portrait of Prince James Stuart, Duke of Cambridge (John Michael Wright)

Portrait of Frederick Henry, Charles Louis and Elizabeth: Children of Frederick V and Elizabeth of Bohemia (unknown)

Portrait of Infanta Isabel Clara Eugenia of Autria and her Sister, Infanta Catalina Micaela of Austria (Alonso Sanchez Coello)

Portrait of Princess Louisa and Princess Caroline of the United Kingdom (Francis Cotes)

Portrait of Queen Charlotte with her Two Eldest Sons, Frederick, Later Duke of York and Prince George of Wales (Allan Ramsay)

Portrait of Richard Colley Wellesley, Marquess of Wellesley (Martin Archer Shee)

Portrait of the Three Youngest Daughters of George III, Princesses Mary, Amelia and Sophia (John Singleton Copley)

Silk Tapestry Room (STR):

Portrait of Caroline of Brunswick, Princess of Wales, Playing the Harp with Princess Charlotte (Sir Thomas Lawrence)

Portrait of Augusta, Duchess of Brunswick With her Son, Charles George Augustus (Angelica Kauffmann)

Guard Chamber (GC):

Les Portières des Dieux: Bacchus (Manufacture Royale des Gobelins)

Les Portières des Dieux: Venus (Manufacture Royale des Gobelins)

Les Portières des Dieux (Manufacture Royale des Gobelins)

Grand Staircarse (GS):

Portrait of Adelaide of Saxe-Meiningen, Queen Consort of Great Britain (Martin Archer Shee)

Portrait of Augustus, Duke of Sussex (Sir David Wilkie)

Portrait of Edward, Duke of Kent (George Dawe)

Portrait of King George III of Great Britain (Sir William Beechey)

Portrait of King William IV of Great Britain when Duke of Clarence (Sir Thomas Lawrence)

Portrait of Leopold I, King of the Belgians (William Corden the Younger)

Portrait of Prince George of Cumberland, Later King George V of Hanover When a Boy (Sir Thomas Lawrence)

Portrait of Princess Charlotte Augusta of Wales (George Dawe)

Portrait of Queen Charlotte at Frogmore House (Sir William Beechey)

Portrait of Victoria of Saxe-Coburg-Saafeld, Duchess of Kent (Sir George Hayter)

State Dining Room (SDR):

Portrait of Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, Queen Consort of the United Kingdom in Coronation Robes (Allan Ramsay)

Portrait of King George III of the United Kingdom in Coronation Robes (Allan Ramsay)

Portrait of Augusta of Saxe-Gotha, Princess of Wales (Jean-Baptiste Van Loo)

Portrait of Caroline of Ansbach when Princess of Wales (Sir Godfrey Kneller)

Portrait of Frederick, Princes of Wales (Jean-Baptiste Van Loo)

Portrait of King George II of Great Britain (John Shackleton)

Portrait of King George IV of the United Kingdom in Garther Robes (Sir Thomas Lawrence)

Queen's Audience Room (QAR):

Portrait of Anne, Duchess of Cumberland and Strathearn (née Anne Luttrel) in Peeress Robes (Sir Thomas Gainsborough)

Portrait of Prince Henry, Duke of Cumberland and Strathearn in Peer Robes (Sir Thomas Gainsborough)

London: The Thames from Somerset House Terrace towards the City (Giovanni Antonio Canal "Canaletto")

View of Piazza San Marco Looking East Towards the Basilica and the Campanile (Giovanni Antonio Canal "Canaletto")

Blue Drawing Room (BDR)

Portrait of King George V in Coronation Robes (Sir Samuel Luke Fildes)

Portrait of Queen Mary of Teck in Coronation Robes (Sir William Samuel Henry Llewellyn)

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Found under decor > paintings for:

500§ (WDR: 1,2 & 3)

1850§ (GDR: 1)

1960§ (GDR: 2 & 3 |QAR 3 & 4)

3040§ (STR, 1 |GC: 1 & 2|SDR: 1 & 2)

3050§ (GC:1 |GS: all 10|WDR: 4 |SDR: 3,4,5 & 6)

3560§ (QAR: 1 & 2|STR: 2)

3900§ (SDR: 7| BDR: 1 & 2|GDR: 4,5,6 & 7)

Retextured from:

"Saint Mary Magdalene" (WDR: 1,2 & 3) found here .

"The virgin of the Rosary" (GDR: 1) found here .

"The Four Cardinal Virtues" (GDR: 2&3|QAR 3 & 4) found here.

"Mariana of Austria in Prayer" (STR, 1, GC: 1 & 2|SDR: 1 & 2) found here.

"Portrait of Philip IV with a lion at his feet" (GC:1 |GS: all 10|WDR: 4 |SDR: 3,4,5 & 6) found here

"Length Portrait of Mrs.D" (QAR: 1 & 2|STR: 2) found here

"Portrait of Maria Theresa of Austria and her Son, le Grand Dauphin" (SDR: 7| BDR: 1 & 2|GDR: 4,5,6 & 7) found here

(you can just search for "Buckingham Palace" using the catalog search mod to find the entire set much easier!)

Drive

(Sims3pack | Package)

(Useful tags below)

@joojconverts @ts3history @ts3historicalccfinds @deniisu-sims @katsujiiccfinds @gifappels-stuff

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[starlitsilvereyes]

Love To Hate You | E | 1.9k

Written for @harryjamespotterweek's prompts: Size Kink, Scars, Sex Toys, & Hate Sex | Warnings/Tags: PWP, Hate Sex, Rough Sex, Size Kink, Sectumsempra Scars, Sex Toy (Anal plug), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blowjob, Rimming, Light Bondage, Edging, Choking

Thank you so much to my wonderful beta @intimatelyrearranged for looking over this &lt;3 <3

Summary/Excerpt: Sex with Potter was always rough. All claws and teeth – a hand wrapped around Draco’s neck, fingernails on Draco’s hips, and Potter’s filthy mouth panting against Draco’s ear.

Read Love To Hate You on Ao3

or Expand to keep reading :)

---

Sex with Potter was always rough. All claws and teeth – a hand wrapped around Draco’s neck, fingernails on Draco’s hips, and Potter’s filthy mouth panting against Draco’s ear.

“I fucking hate you, Draco.” 

Satisfaction bloomed within Draco at the frustrated expression plastered upon Potter’s face, knowing he’d been the very cause of it. 

~

They had been in the Ministry Gala not even an hour before, with Potter’s green eyes piercing through Draco from across the table. Draco made sure they’d been seated right across from each other, so he could slide his socked foot up Potter’s leg. 

Potter ignored him at first, but there was no mistaking the tightening of his fingers around his glass. He tried to close his legs a short moment after Draco settled his ankle against Potter’s knee, but Draco thought quicker than him, sliding his foot right on Potter’s wool-clad crotch, trapping it between Potter’s thighs. 

“The wine is exquisite, Minister,” Draco praised, licking his lips as Potter let out a soft gasp when Draco pressed his foot more firmly against Potter’s clothed cock. 

“I’m pleased to hear it suits your fine taste, Mister Malfoy.” Shacklebolt smiled proudly. “I hope you’ll be as delighted with our dinner. I especially picked out the most luxurious Jamaican dishes, and I plan on developing a trade of goods between my home country and Wizarding Britain this year.” 

“I’m sure the dinner will be just as ravishing,” Draco drawled, eyeing Potter before he made a show of closing his eyes in delight when the first dish was served in front of them. 

Draco settled his foot on Potter’s inner thigh for the entirety of their meal, brushing his heel against Potter whenever he spoke to someone else at the table. Potter tolerated it, until Draco dragged his foot along the length of Potter’s entire cock, now fully hard. 

Potter visibly jumped, earning him looks from almost everyone around the expansive dining table. 

“Alright, Harry?” asked Weasley, glancing suspiciously at Draco before turning his gaze back at Potter. 

“Yeah,” Potter said, breathless. “I just need some air. If you’ll excuse me.”

Potter left the table without another word, and Draco followed halfway through his meal, as to not be too suspicious. 

He found Potter outside, hidden behind the grand oak tree Draco was certain was older than the both of them combined, a cigarette between his lips as he leaned against the brick wall. 

“Took you long enough,” Potter spat, flicking off his fag and crushing it beneath his boot. 

Before Draco could come up with a snarky remark, Potter crossed the space between them, latching is hot, wet mouth against Draco. Out of habit, Draco slot his knee between Potter’s legs. 

But Potter seemed to have a different idea, backing Draco to the wall and snogging him senseless until Draco had to pull away to catch his breath.

“Potter–” 

Without another word, Potter flicked his hand, and a silk magically appeared around Draco’s wrists, tying them together and pinning them in place above his head.

Oh. 

“If you’re going to act like a cock-hungry whore, you’re going to get treated like one.” 

Draco barely had any time to grasp what was happening when Potter knelt before him, hurriedly unbuckled his belt, and pulled his trousers down along with his pants. He inhaled a sharp breath when the cool autumn air hit his cock. 

Potter made a show of mouthing at Draco’s tip, lapping around it like some – well, some cock-hungry whore, but Draco was too occupied with the velvety warmth of Potter’s mouth to make his point. 

“So big,” Potter moaned. “So fucking perfect for me. You like this, hm?” He took Draco even deeper, only pulling off to spit on his palm and wrap a first around the base of Draco’s cock. “You like my throat around your dick? Tell me you like it, Draco.” 

“I love your mouth,” Draco gasped when Potter started fucking Draco’s cock into his mouth hungrily, desperately. “I love it when you suck me off like you’re made for it, Harry.” 

They only called each other by their names whenever they fucked. It was not something they particularly agreed on, but neither of them had complained in the past six months, and Draco hadn’t exactly thought of calling Potter by his first name outside of their rendezvous. 

Potter’s eyes, lightning green and striking, stared through Draco as he opened his throat a bit more, taking Draco deeper than he’d ever taken him. Draco shut his eyes closed, eyebrows furrowing as Harry’s name fell from his lips. “Harry, god, don’t stop. Fuck – fuck --” Pleasure rose from the depths of him, his knees growing weak, mouth going slack, and fingernails digging through his own palms.

On the brink of Draco’s orgasm, Harry pulled off, and the pleasure stopped. 

Draco opened his eyes to find Potter wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, tucking Draco back into his pants and smirking devilishly as he rose from the ground. 

“Don’t like the taste of your own medicine?” Potter smirked. 

“Fuck you, Potter.” 

“With pleasure.” 

~

The Apparition to Potter’s flat made Draco dizzy, as though he just downed an entire bottle of whiskey. Upon trying to balance himself, he realised Potter didn’t even bother to untie his wrists. Draco shut his eyes and braced himself to fall face flat on Potter’s hardwood floor, but Potter wrapped a steady arm around his waist, unabashedly pressing his fucking crotch against Draco’s arse. 

“Bend over.” Potter’s breath was hot against Draco’s ear. 

“What?” Draco asked, bewildered. “Right here?” 

Without another word, Potter vanished both of their clothes with a flick of his wand. Draco shivered, gooseflesh rising on his skin as Potter’s magic wrapped around him like an intoxicating curse.

Potter placed a firm palm on the back of Draco’s neck, guiding him to the red velvet couch and bending him over. 

“Draco –” 

Draco smirked, cheek against the cushion as he looked back at Potter smugly. He arched his back even more, relishing the surprise on Potter’s face as he eyed the plug nestled into Draco’s hole. 

“Draco,” Potter sighed. He reached for the base of the plug, pressing a firm finger against it and pushing it back. Draco closed his eyes, breath hitching as pleasure jolted within him. He knew there was no other way to end this night than to fuck Harry – or rather, be fucked by Harry, so Draco got himself ready earlier that evening by fucking himself with his fingers at the thought of Harry. Both for the intent of preparation and because he knew Harry would like it. 

“Fuck me, Harry,” Draco panted. 

Harry was already hard, pre-come glazing the tip of his pink cock. He pumped himself a few times, gaze never leaving the sight of the plug in Draco’s arse. Draco’s mouth watered at the sight. He wanted Harry to fuck him now, the desperation nearly all-consuming.

But Harry had different plans. He pinched the base of the plug between two fingers, pulling at it before letting go with only the tip in, and letting Draco’s body pull it back. 

“Oh.” The protest was at the tip of Draco’s mouth, but pleasure and want only kept building up within him. So, he resorted submitting rather than complaining. “Oh, Harry.” 

“Yeah?” Harry hummed, fucking the plug slowly into Draco. “You like that?”

Draco closed his eyes, mouth going slack as he tilted his hips higher. He could come like this – untouched, only by the mercy of his plug and Harry’s fingers. “Hmmpphhh – Harry, fuck, fuck, fuck —” He was close again, cock sensitive from rubbing against the velvet couch. He thrashed under Harry, whimpers falling from his lips like a whispered prayer, a promise, a curse – begging for Harry to let him come. 

Without warning, Harry pulled the plug from Draco’s arse. Draco gasped. He could feel himself gaping and dripping from the lube, his hole desperate to be fucked. 

Harry shifted above him, dipping the cushion with his weight. Draco braced himself to be filled by Harry’s cock, but something wet, hotter, and softer pressed against his hole.

The moan that spilled from Draco’s mouth would’ve embarrassed him if it weren’t for the scorching pleasure soaring through him like lightning blazing through a sky. Harry’s mouth kissed Draco’s hole, tongue prodding at it like Draco was something to devour. 

Draco had never come from rimming before. No doubt, it was pleasurable to him, and it aroused him to the point of neediness, but he never found it to push him over the edge. It was a pleasure that crossed the line but not quite enough to finish him off. 

Until the moment Harry inserted a single finger alongside his tongue, pumping slowly until he was knuckle deep. Draco wanted to cry from it. He was certain he’d do anything just to come – he’d live and die and go to the ends of the earth if it meant Harry made him come by his tongue and finger. There wasn’t anything Draco wanted more. 

But like all the pleasure brought by Harry tonight, he pulled away, leaving Draco panting, desperate, wanting, on the verge of madness from it all. 

Draco was limp and boneless, sedated by being brought to the edge, as he let Harry turn him over to his back. 

“Fuck you, Potter,” he said weakly. 

“I fucking hate you, Draco,” Harry said. Both of them knew it didn’t matter if they hated each other or not – not when Harry was finally pushing inside Draco with a punched out gasp. 

The tension coiled within Draco like a whirlwind brewing through a thunderstorm. A tear rolled down his cheekbone when Harry’s cock slid inside of him, overwhelming relief rushing through him. Harry started moving, slowly and earnestly at first, like Draco was delicate and untouched. Like he was someone in need of softness. 

Sex with Potter was always rough. All claws and teeth – a hand wrapped around Draco’s neck, fingernails on Draco’s hips, and Potter’s filthy mouth panting against Draco’s ear. 

But sex with Harry – his Harry, was always gentle. Soft lips mouthing at the intricacy of Draco’s silver scars; calloused palms caressing the expanse of Draco’s body; lightning green eyes rolling back from pleasure. 

Draco didn’t know who he wanted more. But he’d always been a selfish man, unashamedly so. He decided he wanted to have them both. 

With what was left of his strength, he hiked both of his legs up and settled them atop Harry’s broad shoulders. Harry opened his eyes, mouth slightly agape in surprise as Draco gazed up at him in challenge. 

“Fuck me like you hate me, Potter,” he said through clenched teeth. 

Harry let out a breath, eyes darkening as he held Draco’s calves on his shoulders, hips pistolling into Draco like he was being paid for it. He fucked and fucked until Draco was reduced into aching hunger, his mouth only ever knowing how to moan Harry’s name. 

Above Draco, Harry was a powerful storm blazing through his violent desire. He was anger and rage and fire bursting into flames – a feverish desperation clinging to Draco’s bones. Draco wanted only to have him – all of him – both Potter and Harry. He thought he could die from it and live for it. He would kill for it. 

He opened his eyes just in time to marvel at Harry in all his orgasmic glory – mouth hung open and eyebrows furrowed as he pumped his hips harder and faster. Like he was desperate for this as much as Draco was. Like there was nothing he craved more than being inside Draco. 

It hit Draco when Harry opened his eyes in post-orgasmic haze, starlit emerald eyes telling more than words ever could. 

I hate you; I hate you; I love you. 

Draco came as he looked into Harry’s eyes, with Harry’s name falling from his lips like sinful and heavenly poetry all at once. 

[illusionsdelusions101]

Back to the Old House~Jude Bellingham

Type~Angst

A/N: Jude won the poll! I felt angsty so here you go! Also thank you for my awesome friend Mistyswifey for this prompt!

Jude was back. In Stourbridge. When you heard the news your heart almost leaped out of your chest! While you were in a local shop, the cashier said “So, heard the news that Jude is coming back?” and that initially send you into a panic. You lived next to Jude, your whole life, until he moved away to live in Madrid. You talked to him a lot when you were younger. Childhood friends even. But after he moved, you didn’t get a call, text, nothing. It broke your heart, still hung up on him. You stayed in your childhood home, your parents, wanting to travel the world so they left you at home. Which was fine, your college was nearby and everything so all was good. But how the fuck are you gonna avoid Jude if he’s gonna be staying right next door?

Jude exited from the car, approaching his old house. He breathes the fresh, wet air of Britain, and walks up the path. He looks to the neighbours house. He doesn’t see a car in their driveway, assuming they’re away, and he can make as much noise as he likes while playing FIFA. He enters the house, his parents and brother hugging him. “How are you mate?” Jobe hits his shoulder. “I’m good.” Jude laughs. “We can make as much noise as we want, because of the neighbours, yeah?” He smiles. Jobe scratches the back of his head. “They’re gone on holidays, but their daughter still lives there. She’s minding the house and plants.” He says while they walk upstairs to Jude’s old bedroom. “Their daughter? They have a daughter?” Jude says, puzzled. Jobe looks at him weird as he opens the door to his brothers room. “Yeah, do you not remember her? You used to talk all the time!” Jude looks even more confused. A girl? Never heard of her. Never seen her. Maybe he did? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t remember. At all. 

You get a knock on your door while you’re laying on the couch. You try and make yourself presentable and go open the door. Jude’s mom appears and smiles at you. “Hello dear! Would you like to come for dinner? I bet it’s lonely being by yourself, come join us!” She beams. You can’t say no, this woman is so sweet that it looks like it would break her heart if you said no. So you accepted. Have you forgotten Jude was over? Yup. 

You enter the house behind Jude’s mother, and hear the hood of the oven on. “JOBE! JUDE! COME AND GREET OUR GUEST!” She shouts. She smiles politely at you and goes to the kitchen as the boys come downstairs. Oh no. Jude. You see his gorgeous brown eyes and all those years of moving on had disappeared. Your cheeks turn a crimson colour. Jobe greets you first. “Hey! Long time no see!” He hugs you. You hung out with Jobe quite often after Jude left. You both needed company so you guys occasionally watched movies and went to the park and stuff like that. You never found an interest in Jobe. And you knew he didn’t find one in you. Jude approaches you, your hands get clammy and you can feel them starting to sweat. “Hey, I’m Jude. Nice to meet you. What’s your name?” He says, hands shoved in his pockets.

Oh.

Oh.

He didn’t remember you. That’s fine. Totally fine. It’s for the better even. “Hi, I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you, Jude.” You say quietly. “Likewise.” Jude nods and goes to the dining room. You could almost cry in that moment. Staring at the wooden floor planks, the tears scorching hot in your eyes. But now wasn’t the time. You wipe your eyes quickly and made your way to the dining room as well. 

Dinner went smoothly, conversation here and there. At the end, it was time to go. You waved the Bellingham family goodbye, your eyes lingering on Jude. You were about to exit the house when a hand stopped you from doing so. “Hey, wanna hang out sometime?” Jude’s voice being heard from behind you. You look up at him. “Sure.” You smile and exit the house.

Over the past couple of days, you guys hung out. Trips to the park, cinema, having lunch at each other’s, etc. Jude was falling for you. Hard. The ways your eyes glimmered in the sun, your hair always to perfection and your personality so true and honest. One day, while going over to yours, as you guys had dinner reservations, he entered your house. (you texted him that the door was unlocked and he could come in at anytime.) He found you crying on the couch. “Y/N, what’s wrong?” He stood at the doorway connecting your  living room and hallway. 

“Do you not remember me Jude?” You said, more tears falling. You had tried to blow it over the past few days, but him not knowing you when you were friends for such a long time, just made you break down. “What do you mean?” Jude asks. You choke a sob and stand up. “JUDE YOU KNEW ME! WAS I NOTHING TO YOU? YOU DONT REMEMBER WHEN WE USED TO GO TO THE PARK AND EVERYTHING? GOD! WHY DO I EVEN BOTHER! YOU’RE PROBABLY GOING TO FORGET ME AGAIN AFTER YOU LEAVE!” You cry out. Jude was confused, upset, puzzled, but mostly upset. “What do you mean, Y/N? I’ve known you for the past couple of days!” He argues. You let out a frustrated sigh. “I CANT BELIEVE YOU!” You scream. “I CANT BELIEVE YOU! YOU COME AND SCREAM AT ME AND FOR WHAT? YOU’RE SAYING NONSENSE!” He shoots back. 

“Leave my house, Jude Bellingham.” You whisper. But he heard it.

“What?” He says, exasperated. 

“Leave. And come back when you remember.” 

You heard his breathing get uneven from the other side of the room. But a few seconds later, you hear footsteps receding and the front door slam shut.

He should remember, you thought to yourself. And then he’ll come back to the old house.

Pt.2?

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

I just think if you were to ask Harry and Meghan 8 months ago how they thought this summer would go for them, they would say something very different.

Everyone agrees and it’s rather obvious that ARO has not gone to plan. Idk what’s happening behind the scenes but that shipped sailed 2 months ago. She successfully keeps loosing the wow factor every time she tries to drum up launch PR about it.

It’s clear to me that Washington was only ever thrown in the mix because of Meghan. Harry wanted a way back to the UK, and this was the best way to do that. For as much as they tried looping in Washington as a contender, it never was. I suspect they were holding out hope for elections, thinking that Johnny would somehow win and help take on a little bit of the cost. That didn’t happen. And with that ceo/executive leaving reads like he doesn’t believe Harry will smooze/wine & dine enough donors to cover the costs of the games. Therefore he doesn’t think they’ll be held.

I tend to agree with him. I think harry is coming back to the UK because it’s really the only thing he knows. It wouldn’t be shocked if he’s had a hard time finding funding in the US for that. There’s only so much face saving they can do, and I think harry just maxed out right now.

Ask from July 25th

Oh, 100%. This summer did not go at all how they expected. Meghan thought she’d have dethroned Goop and Duchy Organic as the premier luxury purveyor of jam and dog biscuits. She thought she’d have broken the internet ten times over with her return to social media. They thought the offers would be rolling in for travel and tours after Nigeria. Harry thought he’d have won the RAVEC lawsuits and gotten his security back. Meghan thought Kate would be back and she’d be able to use her as her own personal whipping post.

And we know this summer didn’t go the way they expected because of the haphazard hastily-planned-at-the-last-second Colombia tour, Harry falling back to “it’s all Willy’s fault” PR, and cracks in the divorce watch - Harry wanting to spend a month in Britain for his birthday and “friends” inviting Harry back to Britain for a visit while Meghan’s putting stories out about what a happy loving couple they are.

[weasley-clan]

Aurors and Dragons

Chapter 2/?? - The Confrontation

(Charlie Weasley x f!reader)

Description: The hunt for the alleged dragon smuggler, Charlie Weasley, begins. After a heated conversation with your family, you’re really not in the mood for anything that doesn’t involve you cuddled up in your bed. Of course, Tonks doesn’t see it that way. After all, you have someone to find, and she has a lead. You’re hesitant to arrest your old friend, but when you and Tonks find a familiar mop of red hair (in a shady bar, no less), it seems you have no choice.

Taglist: @k-k-merlin @wisteria-blooms @sh-12h57 @idkwimdahyd @windrider0657-90283 @atomictyphoonkitten (Let me know if I missed you, or if you want to be added!)

Word Count: 3.1k

Sorry for the wait on this one. It was originally supposed to be a short chapter, but I decided to just go ahead and merge chapters 2 and 3 into one big chapter, so this became longer than anticipated. I hope you think it was worth the wait!

Warnings: None, probably

It had been two days since the notice was posted in the Auror’s office. Two days since Charlie Weasley had been branded a crook. Tonks convinced you to take the job, so those two days had been spent going through travel records, floo history, and anything else to find the now infamous dragon smuggler. Despite your obvious reluctance to believe Charlie could be a criminal, the case progressed steadily. But even now, while you sit at your desk with Tonks, studiously going over your notes, something still feels wrong.

“Do you think something about this is… weird?” You ask, not for the first time. Tonks sighs. “You asked that fifteen minutes ago.” “I’m telling you, something’s strange about this!” Tonks brushes her hair off her face and looks at you, temporarily forgetting the smuggling activities chart she’d been studying. You look down sullenly, thinking she is going to scold you again for not staying on track. Instead, Tonks sighs. “Y/N, listen. I know you don’t want to believe that Charlie could be a dragon smuggler.” You start to deny it, but Tonks continues, “And maybe he isn’t, but we can’t confirm anything unless we find him, right?” You give her a mumbled ‘yes’. It seems to satisfy her, because she shifts her attention back to her chart. The rest of the day passes much the same; and with every Auror in the area now on the hunt for Britain’s newest criminal, you can’t find a single moment of respite. Eventually, it’s late enough that you can excuse yourself to go home. Not that home had been any better. Despite the past two days being filled with investigations and inquiries, there were apparently still enough hours in the day left for your parents to express their disdain for your case. Not eager to face their condescending remarks, you take the long way home, completely ignoring the fact that you could be home in an instant if you wanted to. As you exit the ministry and merge into the flow of muggles moving down the street, you let yourself think, as you’ve done the past two days. What do you know about Charlie Weasley? Immediately, the athletic redhead from Hogwarts pops into your mind. Could you possibly have to arrest the same boy who’d once sat with you in the Great Hall? You sigh. That possibility was seeming ever more likely. You spend the entire walk home lost in you thoughts, until you almost walk smack into your front door. “Crud,” you breathe. Slowly you push open the door, careful not to make a sound. You know something is off as soon as you walk through the door. The lights in the dining room are turned down low, like at one of the society parties your mother hosted when you were a kid. Sounds drifted over to you, and could you hear… laughter? Despite your plan to sneak into you room and avoid your parents, you find yourself peering around the doorframe. You expect to see one of your father’s poker games, or even your mother’s friends, but instead you see your parents engaged in giddy conversation. Your mother’s head is thrown back in a heartfelt giggle. The rare sight makes your breath catch. Your mother’s head pivots, and she locks eyes with you. The change is instantaneous. As soon as your mother’s eyes find yours, the laughter leaves. In its place, disapproval burns. Your father follows your mother’s gaze, noticing you. “Ah, Y/N! Come sit with us! We haven’t seen you in a few days.” Your mother scoffs. You smile, hoping it doesn’t look as fake as it feels. “No thanks, I already ate,” you lie. “At least talk to us for a bit. You’ve been so absorbed in your, er, work.” The mention of your job brings a sort of strangled sound to his voice. Any refusal you were about to make was cut off by your mother, who abruptly said, “Really, dare, sit and talk to me for a bit.” You would still rather refuse, but the cold, distant look in your mother’s eyes tells you that it wouldn’t be a good idea. You pull out the chair farthest from your parents and sit down. “See, Bellatrix!” Your father chortles. “She still has time to eat dinner with her family!” You shift uncomfortably in your seat. The food on the table is seemingly forgotten by all three people at the table. Your mother stares at you, her green eyes boring into your head as you refuse to meet her gaze. Your father is the first to start the conversation. “Been busy, have you?” he asked.

       “Hmm? Oh, yes, I guess I have.” You fidget absentmindedly with a fork on the table. ‘Just sit here for a few minutes, then you can leave,’ you tell yourself. It works, for a little bit. But then your father brings up work and your mother’s head shoots up.

        “So, Y/N,” She says. “Are you and your, ah, friend still tracking down that Weasley boy?”

        “Yes.”

        “I don’t see the appeal in your profession, dear, but I must say that I always knew the Weasleys were a bad lot.”

You clench your fists under the table. ‘I’m not going to let my big, fat mouth get ahead of me,’ you think. “If you say so, Mother.” 

        She clicks her tongue. “Such a disgrace to pureblood families. But of course, you don’t care about that, do you Y/N? Not with the company you keep.”

        You forced yourself to breathe in and out before you replied. Your mother was not going to make you lose your temper. “I find the company I keep to be quite a welcome respite from other sorts.” 

        Your mother’s nostrils flare, and you smile inwardly. 

Your father looks uncomfortable. “Er, Bella, how about we--”

He doesn’t get to finish. Your mother is already leaning forward, snapping out her words. “I suppose you need any company you can find in your profession, dear,” She pushes her frizzy black hair off of her face and continues, “I don’t see any other reason why you’d associate with the bloodlines that you do.”

“Perhaps their bloodline isn’t the problem.”

        Bellatrix laughs. “Not the problem? Take the Weasley boy for example. Always knew one of those boys would meet a sticky end.”

        You stand abruptly. “Sticky end? And what makes you think that, Mother?” 

        “He’s been accused of the crime, has he not?” She smiled, knowing she’d finally gotten under your skin. 

        You slam your hands down onto the table. “If it’s alright with you,” you manage to bark out, “I think I’ll be in my room with Sneep, someone civilized.” Sneep is your house elf. You know your mother will hate being called less civilized than the ‘help’. With that, you march out of the room, up the spiral staircase in the main room, and throw open your door. You immediately plop into your chair in the corner of the room and close your eyes, willing everything around you to disappear.

❀❀❀

You don’t know how long you sat in that little, comforting corner, but it was long enough for your house elf to bring you your now half-empty cup of chamomile tea. As you sit cross-legged at your desk, breathing in the thick steam wafting up from your cup, you hesitantly remember the conversation that happened only moments ago. Why had you reacted so irrationally? It had only made the situation worse. Stupid Lestrange flair for dramatics. It seemed to be the only thing you ever inherited from your parents. “What am I doing in this family?” You groan. The wind outside your window rushes past, masking your lament in it’s sound.

Suddenly, the wind isn't the only noise in the room. “You tell me,” a voice chirps from behind you.

“MERLIN’S BLOODY NAME!” You shriek. You jump out of your seat and  whip around and find yourself face to face with an oh-so-familiar grin. 

“Hey, Y/N,” Tonks laughs. 

“What are you doing here?” You shriek.

Tonks rolls her eyes. “Nice to see you, too.”

“No, really,” You take a deep breath, trying to calm your heartbeat, “what are you doing here?”

“You’re just mad that I scared you,” Tonks pouts, playfully plopping down into your chair. 

You cross your arms. “Yes, but that’s beside the point.”

“Fair enough,” Tonks chuckles. “I figured you’d want to see something.”

“Wait, wait,” You sigh. It was hard enough to collect your thoughts without Tonks here to distract you. “Is this going to be, like, a normal thing now?”

Tonks stands up, smiling. “What ever could you mean?” 

“You know what I mean. This is the second time you’ve showed up out of the blue at my house in a week. Please don’t make this a common occurrence.” Tonks’s shifty smile is all you need to know that this will not, in fact, be her last surprise visit. “I have awful taste in people,” you sigh jokingly.

“Hey! I’m a great person!” Tonks says. “You’re just lucky I’m awesome enough to come all this way to tell you about something I found.”

You look at the ceiling, exasperated. “Fine. What is it this time?” You look back down, but Tonks is gone. 

“This way, c’mon!” Tonks calls from the other side of the room. She points to the open window, and a broom waiting just outside. Noting your shocked expression, she scoffs. “You didn’t think I walked here, did you?”

You shake off your surprise. “No, I’m just surprised you were able to sneak in at all. You’re the clumsiest person alive.” You cross the room and stare at the broom. It’s Tonks’s Comet Two-Sixty, there’s no way it can hold you both…

“Well you are utterly unobservant,” Tonks retorts. “C’mon, now! Lets,” she grabs your wrist, “go!” Tonks jumps out the window, landing with a thump on the broom. Your landing is even less graceful, shaking the broom and sending you sliding forward into Tonks’s back. “Ow,” she mumbles.

“Tonks,” you breathe, still winded from your shaky landing, “this broom can’t hold both of us for long.” “It’s not supposed to!” She says, pushing her pink hair out of her eyes. Slowly, she pushes down on the broom, sending you both floating towards the ground. When your toes brush against the grass, Tonks jumps off the broom, landing unsteadily on the ground. Without a word, she stalks straight over to a flower bush right up against the wall of the manor, sticks her arm in, and rummages around. Petals fall off the flowers in white and pink flurries, but Tonks still  looks for something.

“Er, Tonks?” You call. “I’m not sure what you’re doing, exactly, but could you possibly try not to kill my mother’s orchids?” 

“Hmm? Oh, here it is!” Your friend jumps up triumphantly, holding another broom in her hand. It’s covered in leaves and flower petals, but the sleek black handle and twisting seat make it unmistakeable.

“Tonks,” you start, “did you steal my broom?!” The broom in her hands is definitely yours; it was custom made. It is one of the only things you ever used your parents’ money to get yourself. With it’s black body and golden frame, there is no mistaking your Firebolt. 

“I didn’t steal it if it never left your property, did I?” Tonks points out, thrusting the broom into your hands. “Besides, I know better. That broom is practically the love of your life,” she smirks. 

“Ha ha, very funny,” you mumble. You know she’s not wrong, though.

“Anyway,” Tonks says, “you’ll need that to get where we’re going.”

Confused, you grip the handle of your broom more stiffly in your hand. “Why can’t we just apparate there?” you ask, knitting your eyebrows together.

“First of all,” Tonks explains, “that’d be boring. Second,” she cuts off your protest, “that wouldn’t work anyway. It’s got protective charms on it.”

Tonks mounts her Comet. You follow suit, planting your feet firmly on either side of your broom. “Where exactly is this thing you want to show me?” Protective charms weren’t unusual by any means. They just weren’t usually far away enough to warrant a broom ride. “And, follow up, what is the thing you want to show me?”

Tonks grins, kicks off the ground, and shoots into the already darkening sky. “Follow me if you really want to know!” She calls down.

You kick off the ground an instant later, muttering under your breath. Didn’t Tonks ever have any mode other than annoyingly vague? ‘Of course not,’ you think. ‘That’s why she’s your best friend.’ Your hair blows across your face and down your back in the wind. Tonks may have gotten a head start, but her broom is no match for yours and she’s already only a few feet away.

“So!” She yells over the wind. “I expect you’re wondering where we’re going!” “Obviously!” you shout, probably louder than required.

Tonks glances over her shoulder, watching you pull your broom up beside hers. “I’ll tell you, I promise, but I just want to hear your guesses first,” she says.

“What? No! Just tell me!” Hasn’t she already been infuriating enough for one night? She must enjoy annoying you. But Tonks doesn’t budge. Her (currently golden) eyes flick from the ground below to your frown. “Ugh,” you moan. “Fine. Is it another loose jarvey?”

Tonks rolls her eyes. “Not even close.”

“Doxy swarm?”

“Nope.”

“Dragons? Again?”

“Are you even trying?”

You huff. Your breath puffs out in a cloud. Tonks smirks at  you from her broom. “Is it something boring?” you ask.

Tonks looks affronted. “Of course not! Since when is anything to do with me boring?”

You nod. “Right, right. Is it…” Tonks looks at you, her eyes glinting with anticipation. “Smugglers?” you offer half-heartedly. You were running out of plausible ideas.

“Closer,” Tonks prompts. “Try thinking of a specific smuggler, though…”

Your eyes scrunch in confusion. A specific smuggler? But who--

You gasp as realisation dawns. “No way,” you manage.

“Yes way,” Tonks croons. 

“There is no way you already found him!” You exclaim. If she meant who you thought she meant, well…

Tonks smiles, avoiding your wide-eyed gaze. You squint through your hair, which the wind is violently throwing everywhere. Tonks glances over at you. “Just to be clear,” she yells against the wind, “we are talking about the same person, right?”

“We’d better be,” you bark out. You need her to say it, to say the name you want to hear.

“Because if you’re wrong,” Tonks continues, “you’re in for a shock.”

“Just tell me who it is!” You cry. 

“I know the location of our oh-so-elusive dragon smuggler right now.” She pauses, letting her words soak in. “I know where Charlie Weasley is.”

“No way,” you mutter. “Tonks, you’re incredible.”

She tosses her pink hair over her shoulder. “I know, right?”

“But how did you find him? It’s only been three days!” You think back to the hours you spent hunched over reports and statements, hoping for a clue. How did Tonks already manage to find Charlie?

Tonks smiles sheepishly. “You’d be surprised what pub owners tell you if you look like the right person.” To prove her point, Tonks melts into Kingsley Shacklebolt, the minister of magic.

“And this random pub owner didn’t think it was odd that the Minister of Magic suddenly showed up at their door?” you ask sarcastically.

Kingsley-Tonks frowns. “Well, honestly, I think they were drunk.”

You chuckle. “Of course they were.”

Tonks melts back into herself. “I don’t know if you’re implying that I got them drunk, or that I couldn’t tell they were drunk. Either way, consider me insulted.” With that, she speeds away and beckons for you to follow.

Tonks flies for several minutes, occasionally pausing to check her direction, and you follow close behind. You know you could out fly her if you wanted, but she still hasn’t actually told you where you’re going. The big manors from your little street have long since vanished, now replaced by rolling hills. The sky darkens until the moon and stars give off the only light, but Tonks still heads quickly towards… Well, you’re not sure exactly. Towards Charlie, apparently. You don’t even have a single clue where you’re going until you spy the crooked tops of several tall, grey buildings. The moonlight gives the slanting roofs a dusty look and makes the windows seem fogged. ‘Gee,’ you think. ‘Looks like a criminal hotspot.’ That thought makes you realise; If Charlie is here, aren’t you going to have to arrest him? You’d forgotten about that. This whole time, you’d just been thinking of Charlie as your friend from school instead of a dragon smuggler. ‘That still doesn’t make sense,’ you muse. Surely if Charlie was a dragon smuggler, he’d have been able to do a better job than this, right? He knows enough about dragons to fill a whole library, and yet he still did such a half-hearted job?

“We’re here,” Tonks says, pulling you slowly out of your thoughts.

“Where is here?” you ask. The spindly buildings get closer and your heart beats faster. Assuming Tonks is right, every inch you fly towards these buildings is another inch closer to Charlie. 

“Uh,” Tonks mutters, “I think it’s called Warbleshire.”

“But you’re not sure?” You ask, sceptical.

“It’s a muggle town!” She cries. “I do not know the name of every muggle town in Britain! There’s just so many.”

You chuckle lightly to yourself, but the soft laughter doesn’t reach all the way into your eyes the way it normally does when you’re with Tonks. Instead, your stomach drops as you plummet to the ground after her, touching down on the brittle grass without a sound. You feel like your knees are made of lead, or maybe jello. Tonks clumsily dismounts her broom and looks off towards the muggle town. It’s only a mile or so away now. A mile from Charlie, you think.

Tonks dusts herself off. “That was not my best landing,” she smiles. When she looks up, she holds out her hand for your broom. 

“What are you doing with them?” You ask suspiciously. Last time you willingly gave Tonks your Firebolt, it ended up stuck in the spires of the Ministry’s Games and Sports section. 

Tonks just rolls her eyes. “I’m hiding them. Don’t worry,” she adds, seeing your expression, “you’ll get it back soon enough.” She shakes her hand impatiently.

You’re still skeptical, but any feeling of reluctance you’d normally feel is cancelled out by sheer anticipation. With a sigh, you thrust your broom into Tonks’s outstretched palm. She closes her fingers around the handle and gently tosses both her broom and yours into a nearby bush. “There,” she says, clapping her hands together, “all hidden." You roll your eyes. The ends of the brooms still stick out of the bush and the gold on your trim shines brightly in the moonlight. But for all intents and purposes, this will do. Or maybe you're just eager to find Charlie, you think. You’re practically buzzing from all the excitement inside the pit of your stomach, but either Tonks is unaware, or she enjoys watching you squirm impatiently. Finally, your friend smirks cheekily. “Alright,” she sighs. “I suppose I’ve kept you on the hook long enough.”

With a snide glance in your direction, Tonks starts walking towards the muggle village.

You hardly even notice the trek to the muggle town. Even in the dark, all you can see is Charlie as you remember him from your school days. Charlie in his Quidditch uniform, racing around the pitch, Charlie in the library, sleeping over a stack of books on dragons, Charlie, Charlie, Charlie.

“Y/N? Are you still here? Earth to Y/N!” Tonks abruptly slaps you across the face. 

“Hey!” You protest, jerked out of your thoughts. “Why did you do that?”

She grins wildly. “Because we’re here!”

Your friend motions behind her. You didn’t even notice you’d walked into the very back of the muggle town already. The building Tonks was pointing to was… seedy, at best. It was a pub with a long, swinging sign that read ‘The Jumping Jarvey’. The doorway was shadowed and there was definitely something about it that screamed ‘illegal’. Why would Charlie be here?

You decide to voice your thoughts. “Is Charlie really here?” You can’t quite keep the tension out of your voice. 

Tonks doesn’t seem to notice. She nods vigorously. “Oh, yeah. Definitely the right place.”

You sigh. “Okay then. Let’s go.”

With Tonks by your side, you enter the pub. The clientele inside the dilapidated structure are even more suspicious looking than the pub itself. You can tell just from looking that at leats half of them are witches and wizards. Their poorly concealed wands and long cloaks give them away almost instantly.

But everything else fades when you spot the mop of red hair at the bar.

Tonks looks at you, her eyes wide. ‘We’ve got him,’ she mouths. You send her a shaky thumbs up. As quickly as you can, you both head into the shadows of the back wall, watching your mark and never letting your eyes leave the tell-tale hair.

You stay like that for what seems like forever. You’re just beginning to wonder if you shouldn’t just arrest him now--because that’s what you came to do, after all--when Charlie stands slowly and heads towards the door.

You send Tonks a glance and nod towards your target. Tonks gets what you're trying to say immediately. In unison, you both follow Charlie inconspicuously. And by inconspicuously, you mean acting like two drunken witches stumbling out of the pub.

Exactly according to plan, Charlie suspects nothing and continues out the door. When he makes a sharp left upon exiting the pub, you and Tonks quickly follow him, staying silent and hidden in the shadows.

Well, not exactly silent.

Tonks trips over a stick about thirty seconds into your chase. Charlie whips around, wand in hand, red hair flying like fire, and you are quick to react. Before you even have time to think, your own wand is out and pointed at your old schoolmate. You hear yourself yell, "Expelliarmus!"

Charlie's wand goes flying from his hand and he stands rooted to the spot. You don't give him time to even turn his head to look for his wand before you pounce.

In one swift movement, your body is pressed against his back, holding his hands in place while you hold your wand point to his neck. "By order of the Minister of Magic, you are under arrest for illegal dragon smuggling."

You hear Charlie's ragged breathing slowly calm down, and for the first time, you get a good look at his face. His features are hard and jagged, and his face is covered in freckles. His chocolate brown eyes are wide and very convincingly shocked looking.

“What in-- wait- Tonks?!” he asks incredulously, finally recognizing your clumsy partner. 

Tonks smiles grimly. “Hey, Charlie. Long time no see. Though I do with it had been under better circumstances that we met again."

Charlie laughs. Wait, what? He's being placed under arrest, and he thinks now is an appropriate time to laugh? "Whew," he breathes, "and here I was thinking I was in trouble. Surely you know I couldn't have done what they're all saying I did! So can you just tell your friend to get their wand out of my windpipe and we can sit down and talk like people!"

You laugh. "Likely story."

Charlie struggles against your grip. You feel his body wriggling beneath yours and are instantly grateful for the darkness that hides your face. "Hang on," you hear him muse, "I know your voice... Oh! Y/N!"

You blink, shocked and impressed. "Uh, yeah. It's me."

Charlie breaks into another fit of laughter. "Whew! Man, I got lucky tonight! Arrested by two people who can't possibly believe I'm guilty!"

Tonks and you exchange glances. Charlie's laughter trails off. "Merlin's beard... you guys don't really think I smuggled that dragon into Britain, do you?"

You bite your lip, suddenly unsure of what to. You shake your head. No, no, no. Charlie is guilty... right?

Even Tonks seems unsure. She looks at you. "Y'know," she muses, "I hadn't really given it much thought, but that dragon Charlie supposedly brought in... well, it wouldn't survive out here in Britain. I don't think-"

"No!" You interrupt. "Tonks, he's lying! We've heard it a dozen times before!"

Charlie squirms in your arms, and suddenly his body twists around and his front is pressed against yours. Your faces are a breath apart, and you can feel his heartbeat pounding its rhythm into your own chest. "Y/N... Come on. You've known me since... well, forever! I would never do anything that would potentially hurt a dragon! You must know that's true."

The way he stares at you with his puppy eyes makes your knees weak, but you ignore the feeling. "I..." You trail off as you realize he's right. The Charlie you know would never bring a dragon somewhere it couldn't survive. But someone did bring the dragon in, and Charlie was your best--no, your only suspect. "Charlie, I want to believe you. I do." You look at the hopeful expression in his face and almost lose your resolve. How can one person possibly have so much power in one glance?

"But?" he prompts.

You struggle to find the words. "But... I just... we can't..."

"Oh, for crying out loud!" Tonks exclaims. "Y/N, I think he's telling the truth!"

Charlie grins at you, and in the darkness, you see the stars in the sky reflected in his eyes. He blinks once, and his long lashes brush against his skin. In barely a whisper, he asks you, "You'll help, right?"

How can one person make you so irrational?

Read Chapter 1 here!

Chapter 3: A White Lie (Coming Soon!)

[headingalaxys-spicy]

America Birthday Sex Headcannons

It’s so obvious this is a spice post if not for you scroll on by.

From dusk till dawn, surprise sex is a must. Even late through the night, there will be no rest for you in sight. His sexual hunger is high, and so is his ego. So, you have to provide whatever he wants. 

You’re going to wake up with him being rock-hard. His Florida will be prodding at your butt as his arms keep you in place. He’ll kiss the back of your neck & say 

“Isn’t there something you want to say to me, doll?” He will nuzzle his nose in your hair and inhale it’s scent in. You’ll giggle & grab him by his schlong. 

“Okay, we can start the day with a hand job.” 

As the two of you get dressed for the extravagant day the two of you will assist each other in getting dressed. Of course, you are groping each other through the whole process. 

America will suddenly rip your pants off pin you to a wall and take you right there. Alfred is going to expect that you sing him praises and the happy birthday song at least thrice. Alfred will want you to sing to him as he rails you. Even if you're gasping, in pain, or can’t really think straight. He will have an iron grip in your hair until you are singing his name just how he likes. 

“That’s it Y/N keep going.” 

He really won’t be able to keep his hands off you the entire day. Alfred’s hands will be going up your shirt when he thinks no one is looking. Let’s be real: The two of you get caught canoodling a few times on camera. Thank your lucky stars that the Secret Service and the FBI erase any less than-savory photos & videos of the two of you having intimate relations. After all, he’s one of the figureheads of the state. There can’t be things that will squash his birthday fun. 

Be prepared to give him head while he has spilt second meetings with diplomats, dignitaries, and heads of state that classified their meetings as urgent and emergencies. (Yes, I’m talking about the ones just from Britain that give him the maximum amount of stress.) Make sure you’re quiet and swallow you can’t blow his cover. 

Prepare to have Paparazzi all in your face. You’re the power couple of Washington, D.C. & all want to see what makes you live a wonderful fantasy. Alfred will hold you close & never really let you wander away through the day. The grip he has on your hand will be incredibly intense. Arthur of course, decided to give him a fucking weird gift that Alfred doesn’t like. Bear hug time. Alfred is terrified. 

Food, lots of it fresh off the BBQ, that Alfred will want to eat off your body. Yes, it will burn some, but you do it for him in the hot summer sun because it’s his birthday. (Definitely not the day to say nay.) He’s going to “accidentally” bite down on your nipples a couple of times while he pigs out on his favorite meats and sides. ;) ‘meats’ 

The two of you will have sex in random places that day: on the rooftop, in the grass, bedroom, on the table in the grand dining room, you name it you probably had sex in it. 

Alfred will have two maids tie you up in bed with red, white, and blue ribbons, with an American flag ribbon adorning the top of your head. This, however, will only be round one for the night. 

Alfred is hard as a rock for most of the day. He will have you be front and center of him as he walks around as he holds you close while his rod is prodding you forward. 

Alfred will want you to do a lap dance for him. Cue SZA “Snooze” playing & of course, you’re in an American flag bikini while you’re holding a sparkler. Impress him. It’s his day. 

He will want you to ride him like a horse while you sing him the happy birthday song and his praises. Alfred’s large hands will have a tight grip on your hips as he bucks deeper into you. 

“Firework” by Katy Perry will be playing in the background as he rails into you. There will be fireworks to cover up your loud moans and screams of pleasure while you’re doing it on the roof. You’re getting your back blown out and no one can hear you. 

[aishangotome]

Alfons Sylvatica: Chapter 14

Chapter 13

♡———♡

Kate: I think... I've fallen in love with you.

I mutter softly -

Alfons: ...That's troublesome.

!....A gasp escapes my throat at the unexpected reply.

Kate: A-Alfons... you're... awake...!?

The eyelids of Alfons, who should have been snoring, lift, and his gray eyes reveal only a look of exasperation.

Alfons: You say you like me... This is the most troublesome development.

Kate: ...

Alfons sits up languidly and runs his fingers through his hair.

Alfons: It's just an illusion, an illusion.

Alfons: You're probably mistaking love for a man who happens to save you in a pinch and makes you feel good.

Kate: An illusion...?

(He doesn't even know how I felt before coming to his room...)

I can't help but feel my blood rush to my head.

Kate: ...I don't need you to reciprocate my feelings, but...

Kate: Please don't dismiss my feelings...!

Alfons: ...Feelings are intangible, how can you know they're real?

His fingers touch my chin.

Kate: Well...

Alfons: ...Well?

He pulls me closer, his breath tickling my lips... and my body aches with anticipation.

As if sensing this, he smiles faintly.

Alfons: Until you realize it's a misunderstanding, you're not getting any more pleasure.

Alfons: If I touch you like this... it'll only accelerate your misunderstanding.

Kate: ...

Alfons: Now, I'm injured. Would you please let me rest?

He easily releases me, not even trying to touch me anymore.

Even though he wouldn't listen to my refusals and kept reaching out to me so persistently.

(I should have known, but...)

My chest aches terribly.

It's so painful.

Kate: ...I understand. Good night...

I leave the room as if running away, and the door slams shut.

Alfons: ...Haha.

Alfons: I quite like you too, you know.

Alfons: That's why... it would be troublesome if it wasn't a misunderstanding.

--His murmur dissolves into the air, unknown to anyone.

-

From the information Alfons and I obtained by sneaking into the "Purification" club's members-only hotel, the name of Gore, a member of the House of Lords, surfaced as a person deeply involved in the East End incident. William and Victor were to thoroughly investigate him and his faction.

Victor: ---The contents of the "confidential" letter were a check. The destination is a company with an extremely clean business model.

Victor shares the details with the Crown members gathered in the dining room.

Victor: There is nothing wrong with the contents of the check itself.

William: But in reality, it's probably a reward for the perpetrator of the arson plan in Docklands.

William: The company where the money flowed had been marked as a possible front company for a criminal organization for some time.

Alfons: It's a blatant distraction.

(But even knowing that...)

Kate: We can't get the police to move with just this one check, can we...?

Harrison: Well, that's right.

Harrison: There's no physical evidence that the "arson plan" even exists, and there's no evidence that Gore is involved.

Harrison: It's unreasonable to expect them to believe that the company the check is addressed to is involved in the plan based on just this one check.

Victor: That's right. But that's why we're here, Kate.

Victor: To fight evil with evil for the prosperity of Britain - that's the mission of the Crown.

I look up at Victor's words.

Victor: It's an order from Her Majesty the Queen.

Victor: To stop the arson in Docklands and punish the "Purification" club faction, including Gore.

His jewel-like eyes, darker than darkness, gleamed bewitchingly... and a shiver ran down my spine.

Victor: -By the way, Alfons.

Suddenly, Victor turns his gaze to Alfons.

Victor: Is the injury from last night's mission okay?

Alfons: I got a little carried away with my pranks and messed up.

Kate: No, that injury...

-CHOICES--

It was supposed to be me

He protected me

..... (stay silent)

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

Kate: I was supposed to be the one who got hurt...

Alfons: The gun could have been pointed at either of us. The odds were fifty-fifty.

He utters another smoke-and-mirrors theory as if breathing.

(Alfons was at the back of the room just before he was shot. It wasn't a coincidence.)

(He's protecting me so that I don't get into trouble.)

(Even though he pushed me away like that...)

I don't want him to be kind to me, but part of me is happy.

(...He's really a liar and a horrible person.)

Victor decides to send Alfons, Elbert, Roger, and for some reason, Jude and Ellis on a mission to stop the arson in Docklands.

Victor: Jude, you know the geography of the Port of London and the immigrants in that area, right?

Jude: ...Yeah, I'm the most "knowledgeable" one here.

Victor: Kate, can you come with us?

Victor: If you're tired from the missions every day, you don't have to push yourself.

Kate: ...No. It's my duty as a Fairytale Keeper to accompany you.

(...I'm such a fool.)

I said it was my duty, but my true feelings were elsewhere.

(Even though he just pushed me away like that... I don't want to take my eyes off Alfons.)

I want to keep watching him, as if he might disappear at any moment.

(...These feelings are, as Alfons says,)

(It was a misunderstanding - I have to make it so.)

-I don't know how to bury the love I've become aware of.

-

"Eternal fire" punishment for the illegal immigrants of Docklands.

On the night of that plan...

Disheveled Man: Who's there!?

A figure lurking in the warehouse district under the cover of darkness is startled by a sudden visitor.

Jude: Good evenin', we're here to interrupt ya fun.

Ellis: There are... about seven of them here?

Disheveled Man: Damn it! We were told we wouldn't get paid if there were witnesses. Get them!

The men, who seemed to have been pouring oil inside the warehouse, rush towards the two with weapons in hand.

Jude: Iron pipes, huh... Ya poor guys can't even get a gun, can ya?

Ellis: I'll be careful not to hurt you.

Disheveled Man: Whoa!? What the-!?

Ellis leaps gracefully, jumping over the men's heads - and by the time I realize it, the men are immobilized as if their wrists were bound by invisible ropes.

Disheveled Man: What the hell did you do!?

Ellis: Shh, quiet... You're disturbing the neighbors.

Jude: Ya should have been sleepin' instead of playin' with fire for money, huh?

Jude taps the foreheads of the restrained men with his index finger.

Instantly, the man who was just shouting falls to the ground as if he's fainted.

Kate: ...Are those your abilities?

Elbert: Yes... Ellis can restrain anyone he touches on the head. Jude can put anyone he touches on the forehead to sleep.

Alfons: They're perfect for interrogation and assassination.

The places Jude marked as "If you want to wipe out illegal immigrants, I'd target this place" were all hits, and Crown successfully captured the arsonists in a corner of a residential area, an alley lined with bars, and this warehouse district in the harbor.

(This is the last place Jude marked.)

(I hope we were able to stop them all...)

Elbert: Roger, what's the situation around us?

Roger: ...Two blocks away, one person at 4 o'clock.

Elbert: One of their friends?

Roger: No, probably not an arsonist. They're approaching... suspiciously after hearing the noise.

Alfons: What a fool to go check out the source of a noise in the middle of the night.

Alfons: Leave the careless and pitiful witness to me.

With that, Alfons slipped out of the warehouse.

(----!)

-

Hiding in the shadows, I peek outside.

Alfons: Good evening. Lovely night, isn't it?

Alfons smoothly touches the back of the neck of the figure who seems to be the witness.

Alfons: "You didn't see anything here. You must go home and sleep soundly."

A whisper like a lullaby is carried on the night wind.

(He could scare them away by showing them something frightening...)

But when he uses his power, he only whispers words that calm the heart.

(If I asked him why, he'd probably say, "Because it would be troublesome if they caused a commotion.")

-

Alfons: Good grief... I wish they would plan their schemes in a less conspicuous place.

By the time Alfons returns, the arsonists have been tied up with ropes by Jude and the others.

Kate: ...With this, we should have been able to stop the plan, right?

I spread out the marked map, confirm that there are no omissions, and let out a sigh of relief.

Roger: If Jude didn't miss any spots, that is.

Jude: Huh?

Roger: Next, we need to confirm if the number of guys lying there matches the number of heartbeats in the warehouse, and then-

That's when Roger interrupted Jude.

Kate: !

With a loud explosion, a pillar of fire rises from the back of the warehouse.

The flames crawl across the warehouse floor, and the heat wave scorches my skin.

(Why suddenly...!? We caught all the arsonists-)

Alfons: It seems the oil spilled on the ground vaporized and ignited from some kind of spark.

Kate: S-Some kind of spark!?

Roger: That's concerning, but first we need to put out the fire. El, let's get the fire extinguisher from the carriage.

Elbert: Right.

Jude: Damn, it's troublesome when the trash burns to a crisp before we can squeeze out information.

Ellis: Jude and I will drag the arsonists out.

Crown immediately assesses the situation and starts to move.

(I'll help put out the fire too.)

A beat later, I try to run out as if propelled, but then-

(Huh?)

Something unbelievable appears in my vision, and my feet are rooted to the spot.

Alfons: Kate, inhaling smoke will burn your lungs. You should move a little further away-

Kate: Wait! Over there...!

I strain my eyes to see past the raging flames - and there, cowering in fear, is a young boy.

Alfons: ...Ah, I see.

Alfons: All his friends were captured, so he was probably hiding, holding his breath.

Kate: F-Friends...

Kate: Are you saying that child is an accomplice of the perpetrators...!?

Alfons: Look at the boy's feet.

Illuminated by the flames, matchboxes are scattered around the boy's feet.

Alfons: That boy is the spark.

Alfons: He was probably hiding in the shadows, waiting for the right timing.

(Why, a child like that... Ugh, no time to think about that.)

(Right now, I have to find a way to help him...!)

Kate: Stay there! Get low and try not to breathe in the smoke...!

Alfons: .............

(He won't be able to get out if the flames keep blocking him... If he jumps into the flames, he'll get badly burned.)

(I have to find a way to create an escape route for him...)

I look around and notice sandbags piled up next to the warehouse.

(That's it...!)

Kate: ...!

I jump and manage to lift a heavy sandbag, then throw it into the flames.

Then I run back and lift another sandbag.

(It's heavy...)

Alfons: What are you doing?

Alfons crouches down next to me and meets my gaze.

Kate: The boy might not be able to hold out until the fire extinguisher puts out the flames.

Kate: I'm piling these sandbags to create an escape route...

Alfons: That boy started the fire.

Kate: That's... irrelevant right now!

Alfons: .............

Alfons: ...Sigh.

Alfons: You really are straightforward, aren't you?

(Ah...)

He chuckles in exasperation and takes the sandbag from my hands, then tosses it into the flames.

(Alfons...)

Alfons: Hey, that boy will die if you keep spacing out.

As I desperately carry the sandbags back and forth, Roger and Elbert arrive with fire extinguishers from the carriage and start spraying around the sandbags.

--Eventually, a small path opens up in the flames.

Kate: Come on! Come this way!

Boy: ...

The boy cowers in fear, trembling.

Alfons: He won't come. Maybe his legs have given out.

Kate: Then we have to go get him...!

The moment I try to run, someone grabs my arm from behind.

Kate: Alfons...!?

Alfons: Honestly...

He pushes me back and jumps into the faint path created in the flames. With a light step as if taking a stroll, he approaches the boy and touches the back of his neck.

Alfons: There... "You're not scared, you're not hot."

Boy: ...! ...?

The fear disappears from the boy's face, replaced by confusion.

Alfons lifts the child up and returns with the same light steps as before.

Alfons: Here you go. A gift for the kindhearted robin.

Kate: ...It's alright now.

Boy: Uuu... Waaaaah!

Perhaps the terror had been too great, or the illusion of "not being scared" planted in the boy's mind quickly dissolved, as he burst into tears in my arms.

-

It seemed the boy had been tricked into aiding in wrongdoing by bad adults in his impoverished life.

According to Roger's examination, the boy had minor injuries. He was to be transferred to the special ward of the Royal Hospital for treatment.

(Thank goodness...)

An overwhelming sense of fatigue washes over me after the relief, and I sink my leaden body onto the sofa.

Kate: It's been a long... night, hasn't it?

Alfons also sits down a short distance away.

Alfons: Honestly, it's been a while since I've done that kind of manual labor.

Alfons: Thanks to you, I'm sore.

Kate: Huh...? You don't have to go, Alfons?

Alfons: They were saying they were going to interrogate the people they caught earlier.

Alfons: I'll leave that kind of thing to the interrogation professionals.

Alfons waves his hand dismissively and laughs.

The image of his back, illuminated by the flames as he headed towards the boy, suddenly resurfaces in my mind.

Kate: Thank you for helping me rescue that boy.

Kate: I was happy.

Kate: But... I also felt like I knew you would help.

He laughs in surprise at the words I add after "but."

Alfons: I was moved by your suffocating sense of justice and acted, but... I'm starting to think I made a mistake.

Alfons: I should have seen your face of despair when we couldn't save the boy.

(I know that's not what he really meant.)

Kate: ...You're the one who goes around showing illusions because you hate seeing faces like that.

Alfons: You really like that theory, don't you?

Kate: It's the "truth" to me.

I quite like our conversations with him, which are like arguments and playful banter.

-I realize that now, and my heart aches again.

(I really do like Alfons.)

(...I can't pretend it was a misunderstanding.)

Alfons: ..........

He glances at my face and stands up from his chair.

(He's trying to run away again.)

I intuitively sense it, and my body moves.

Alfons: Well then... I'm going to go get a drink.

Kate: In that case, me too.

I stand up and take a step closer to him.

Kate: Take me with you.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Chapter 14 Premium Story

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

[jimblejamblewritings]

Flowers as Pure as Blood | part one.

Summary: The Riddles. An oddly charming family despite their husband/father being the most feared evil wizard in the world. But what happens when the youngest daughter is taken captive by Aurors to try and get information on Voldemort's plans.

Warnings for the Series: talks of torture, violence.

Pairing: some marauders x reader (pairing not decided yet)

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: yeah I know I've been gone for a year and that this is yet again another fic... I have no words, my bad. I do intend to finish every fic though so don't worry!

No one could say that the emergency Order meeting was exactly a surprise. Nowadays, it felt like most of their meetings were unscheduled. Their wands heated up more than ever in their hands or back pockets. Who knew what it was this time. When fighting a war where a good chunk of the population secretly felt the way their enemy did, it wasn’t exactly easy.

While they didn’t agree with Voldemort killing muggles and muggleborns, there was a reason he got so far. People turned their cheeks and ignored the bad side because overall they agreed with him. And changing the minds of the complacent wasn’t easy. 

But the tables were about to turn. Or so they hoped. For a few years now, Voldemort has gotten bolder. It wasn’t just Britain worrying anymore. It was the entire wizarding world. Rumors spread that he was looking for something. Some people said that his wife went insane from a battle with Aurors and that’s why Tatienne Riddle stays in the house despite being a free woman having not yet committed a crime — although others think she was sent back to her home country of France in order to be safe. 

Some people say that he has another child and after the death of his second daughter all the others were sent away and now he’s checking up on them constantly. Some think he’s searching for a way to break Grindelwald out of prison. Others have heard rumors of horcruxes, dark artifacts, the elder wand, a deal with dementors.   

The Order didn’t really care what the reasons were. They just cared that they were being dragged into a larger mess. The ministries of magic in different countries were having meetings with each other, trying to coordinate. It was harder than they thought. Way before even the Salem Witch Trials, all of the wizarding community used to be together under a single government. But then they started retreating within muggle borders and lots of red tape and rules appeared. But soon, once they work together, the Order and aurors would be meeting a lot of new people. They’d still be in small units for stealth but they’d have more numbers overall. 

Sirius smiled at the photo of the Order hanging in his foyer, right by the front door. He didn’t really need to greet anyone since he knew them all but he chose to anyway. He was greeted by almost everyone. Moody hung up his coat on the rack as he spoke. 

“Dumbledore will be here in an hour or so.” 

“Oh, good. Kreacher’s almost finished with cooking. Moony, did you stop by the store?” 

“Yep.” Remus held up the bottles of wine. 

Sirius moved back to Grimmauld at the start of seventh year when his parents died, not that he cared. But Regulus was still underage. Their relationship was rocky for the first few months but now they were fine. And it wasn’t just them. It was the Marauders and their friends. Potter Manor and flats around London just weren’t smart anymore. 

They all sat down at the table in the dining room. It would’ve been nice if they didn’t have business to talk about. But at least they could do it over a nice and hearty lunch. 

Upstairs you could hear the sudden thud of various footsteps landing on the floor upstairs, followed by an entire conversation that you didn’t care about. You weren’t sure why the Aurors had allowed you to hear what was happening wherever you were. Maybe it was another form of torture. You could hear them and they could pretend that you never existed. But it was horrible to hear them all the time. Especially when they were having whatever special alone time they had when everyone else left the house. It was horrible when you just wanted to sleep. 

Like now, it was time for your afternoon nap. You should have showered off the blood from your morning torture but you couldn’t be bothered. They’d come again at night so it was better to just wash everything off at once. Nowadays, you slept three times a day and were given your meals only once. But you couldn’t sleep with the noise above you. So you moved to your little writing desk. If you ever got to see them again, you would have to thank the Dumbledores for getting you better conditions than last time. Your cell was the same size as last time but with weirder walls — these ones were rough stone like the walls of a cave. But you had a toilet and a shower and a sink, albeit only behind a thin white curtain. 

And you had a lamp instead of total darkness. It wasn’t very bright but it allowed you to write and read. Dumbledore required that they let you keep your things you acquired from your time at his brother and nephew’s house. That didn’t stop them from raiding your things all the time under the guise of just checking. You had a small writing desk and a chair, no bookshelves. And your bed was just a bunch of blankets and duvets piled up on the floor. 

You looked over at your food tray as your stomach grumbled. The Aurors technically gave you all three meals — no snacks — but they were given all at once in the morning and you had to ration it out. The choice was always when to let yourself starve as there was only enough food for two proper meals on lucky days. Sometimes it was only one good meal a day. Deciding to starve for lunch, you only grabbed your small cup of mashed potatoes meant for dinner and scarfed it down. It was humiliating that the Aurors forgot a spoon and forced you to eat with your mouth and hands. 

As you set your cup down, you paused. The wooden spoon you and the guard who brought your food thought was forgotten was there all along. Stuck in the doorway. The door was open slightly which meant the barrier surrounding your cell was broken or at least weakened. You could escape. For years, you had contemplated your escape but every idea seemed implausible. 

You opened the door all the way, knowing everyone else was distracted upstairs. In case someone would be alerted, you didn’t want to test the barrier’s ability to hold you back. Even if it was already broken, you wanted to be sure. There was a secret that even Albus Dumbledore didn’t know about. Credence thought that even if he told his father someone might look into Aberforth and Albus’ minds and then they would know. And if the Ministry found out that Tom Riddle’s daughter was an Obscurial then the Aurors would’ve gotten their way completely and you would probably be dead or tortured even worse than you already were. 

Most importantly, Credence told you not to use the power in front of everyone. He had spent his lifetime figuring out how to channel an Obscurus’ power. It never really went away once you became an Obscurial. It was only something you could live with if you learned how to be a proper witch or wizard. And Credence suspected you two weren’t the only two Obscurials to have control but that no one who actually learned to live with their sickness would ever reveal to anyone. Not with the current lack of protection for you guys. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. 

“I’m an Obscurial,” you said as you set down your tea. 

Credence looked up from his book like you had just burned him. How could you ruin a perfectly good Saturday with that news. He took his wand from off the side table and casted a silencing spell over the entire house. 

“What did you say?” 

“I’m an Obscurial.” 

“How? I’ve seen the report. They had to let you practice so you wouldn’t become one and escape.” 

“I did it on purpose.” 

Credence swallowed. He understood you. A life as a dangerous Obscurial with a limited lifespan was better than what you had endured. Maybe you would have learned to control it like he did. From that morning on, Credence vowed to help you control and hopefully get rid of the Obscurial. He was so close to being fully cured himself. It was only right to help you achieve the same. 

Light glowed and shot all up and down your arms, looking like the same light beams that come from wands. It shot out from you and hit where the barrier should be. Nothing. You were actually free. A chill went up your spine. You didn’t want to rush and risk everything. Instead, you went back to your cell and laid down. 

You stuffed your face with the cake that was supposed to be dessert after dinner and laid down on the pile of blankets. If no one came in thirty minutes then you’d leave. While you laid down, you thought about what you would do once you escaped. Go back home. Even if you didn’t agree with your father, you would still go home. Did they still live in Riddle Cottage? 

The flowers in the garden of Riddle Cottage were still alive despite it being August and a heat wave in Britain. The  tulips, snapdragons, and bloodroots were still vibrant and colorful next to the actual summer flowers of dahlias, poppies, daisies, and lavender. You were picking a bunch of plants, wanting to make a bouquet for your parents. 

“Excuse me, Mr. Bird,” you said to a hummingbird. “Can you find a different lavender plant? I need this one… thank you!”

“Y/N, the Malfoys are here!” 

You turned around to see your mother, another woman, and a boy four years older than you standing in the doorway of the house. You grabbed a few more flowers before going back to the house. Smiling at your guests, you handed them a few of the flowers before giving some more to your mom. 

“Did you pick the rest of these flowers for your father?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then let’s make a pretty bouquet and then we can go.”

Tatienne Riddle led everyone inside. The Malfoys didn’t mind the wait, stating that Diagon Alley wasn’t closing anytime soon. It was eight in the morning. Your mom arranged the flowers into a bouquet and set them in a vase, handing the ceramic to you to hold. You followed her through the cottage until you reached your father’s study. 

Lord Voldemort heard a small and high-pitched voice call out ‘Daddy’ before the door opened. He smiled as his wife and youngest child came into the room. You made a gagging noise as they kissed, much to their laughter. Ignoring them, you took his wand and tried to float over the vase. It wasn’t terribly high or terribly stable but it made it over. 

“What’s this?” he asked. 

“Someone picked flowers in the garden for us, Tom. Oh, honey, watch out. It’s on the edge of the desk.” 

“Do you need help?” 

You nodded and your dad pulled the vase away from the very edge of the desk, pretending you floated it all the way over. Tatienne let him know that you were about to leave with the Malfoys to meet your siblings at Diagon Alley. He made sure that you guys had everything you needed before you left. 

“Ah! Where’s my goodbye?” 

You ran back into the room, giving him a hug and a kiss. 

Diagon Alley was more exciting today than every other day. It was finally your turn to go to Hogwarts. You didn’t receive a letter — people didn’t really know if you existed or not — but you would just show up with your siblings and be given a spot. Everyone knew of your siblings, two brothers and two sisters. They were popular in Hogwarts. Of course they were. Lord Voldemort’s children would be well known. They were also known because they weren’t scary. Students didn’t know whether to like them or not. They couldn’t tell if it was a trick or not. 

It was very much real. You guys were meant to have normal lives as children. But also, your father didn’t care one way or another for the killing. He only needed people at the top of government to die. Not everyone else. He wanted you guys to be nice and make friends with every blood of wizard in hopes they would willingly listen to him. 

Diagon Alley was still busy even early in the morning. You all walked into Florean Fortescue’s Ice-Cream Parlour where your siblings were sitting in a booth with their friends eating ice cream. They pointed to the ice cream cone holders for all of you. You took the cone of early gray and lavender. Your second brother — the next youngest — snorted as he got out of the booth. 

“Who are you dressed up for, Luci?” Arnaud asked. 

The other kids all laughed as Lucius and NAarcissa turned red in the face. Everyone knew they liked each other but were too afraid to say anything. Your oldest brother and the eldest sibling — by two minutes of his twin sister — bent down so you could get on his back. Your rather large group walked around Diagon Alley collecting supplies. Ollivander’s was the very last stop on the list since it was your big day as the only first year amongst the kids. 

“Belrose, you or Odile take Y/N/N to the bathroom. We’ll be at the Menagerie,” Salazar said as he set you down from his back after you wiggled around enough to annoy him. 

“I don’t have to pee,” you whined. “I’m hungry.” 

“Okay, Stinky,” your sister said as she grabbed you. “Let’s go to the bathroom right here and we’ll all go to the Leaky Cauldron.” 

“I’m not stinky.” 

“I know, Stink. Let’s go.” 

You did actually have to go to the bathroom, only realizing it after getting off of your brother. When you made it to the Leaky Cauldron, no one had gotten their food yet. As an eleven year old, your food order was very predictable and they went ahead and ordered for you. The streets outside were getting quieter as everyone was piling into restaurants to try and beat the lunch rush. You wiggled your fingers as the plate of fries and chicken skewers put in front of you. 

You wished your dad was with you guys but you understood. Having committed no crimes, not even harboring a fugitive since you live with Voldemort not the other way around, you and your family could go outside. All minus your father. It was the reason he never allowed Tatienne to become a true Death Eater so she could take you guys out. Of course, she wore her Dark Mark proudly. You and your siblings weren’t required to get the tattoo but Salazar was considering it. 

Belrose looked up from her wild rice soup. “No one is in here.” 

“Huh?” Tatienne and Mrs. Malfoy looked around the entire pub. “Children, leave Diagon Alley. Now.” 

Lucius scooped you up and you all started to run. Narcissa, being the first one to reach the door, screamed as a beam of light hit the threshold. You were dropped as everyone else started shouting spells. The windows were shattering as spells hit them. Tears streamed down your face as you saw the Aurors in person. 

“There she is.” 

You heard one of them say. Hands grabbed you and you tried to beat down on them but they wouldn’t let you go. You felt like your lungs would cave in from how hard you were screaming without taking a breath. Belrose and Arnaud squeezed on the necklaces each child was given right before they got on the train to Hogwarts, alerting your father that you all were in danger. 

“Let go of my daughter! Stupefy!” Tatienne yelled. 

“Alarte Ascendare.” 

“Carpe Retractum!” 

“Locomotor Mortis!” 

“Avada Kedavra!” 

“Crucio!” 

“MAMAN!” 

You and your siblings all yelled as your mother dropped to the floor of the destroyed pub. All the spells your siblings threw were worthless. You and the rest of the Aurors were already gone, along with everyone else that fled Diagon Alley when the spells started flying. 

It had been thirty minutes and no one had come by but you had earned a nosebleed. You stood up, grabbing your most important books and stuffing them in a blanket-turned-backpack. Without shoes on, your feet were silent. The ground beneath them was a mixture of hard dirt and stone. The lights in the hallway were just as dim as the lamp in your room. You figured that there couldn’t be much space under a house in the city to hide you so going straight was probably the right idea. It felt like forever before you reached the stone staircase. 

There was so much light when you slightly opened the door that led into the upper floor. You had to squint, eyes practically burning at how bright it was. Delicately, your fingers touched the green floral wallpaper. A bit of blood dripped onto the floor as you continued down the hallway. You could hear them talking in the dining room still. It wouldn’t be a problem if you swiped some food first. The kitchen was right there in the front. 

You were practically drooling at the sight of food. Sneaking in, you plucked a few meatballs from their baking tray and shoved them into your mouth. It’s not like you cared about taking their stuff. They deserved more than that. Your sticky fingers took the chocolate tart with you and made your way to the front door. 

Setting down your things, you looked at the lock to see if you could get out. It had a key. There was no way you could search the house for a key. You would just have to search downstairs. Quietly, you crept past the closed dining room door. The living room was scattered with trinkets and furniture amongst other things. Nothing immediately stood out as a key. You’d have to look around. 

“What’s that noise?” Remus asked, no longer focusing on the meeting in front of him. 

“Hmm?” Only Sirius and Peter asked. 

“Do you hear that?” 

They listened in, trying to ignore everyone’s conversations. Remus could hear it better than the other two but faintly they heard knocking about. Sirius stood up, letting them know he’d check alone. Standing up from the table, he tried to be nonchalant as he grabbed his wand and adjusted his clothes. 

“Are the tarts done, Padfoot? Do you need help?” 

“No, I’m just going to the toilet.” 

“Okay.” 

The rest of the marauders knew James got the message. If one of them ever said toilet instead of bathroom then they’d know to keep anyone from following the person. Taking the route through the kitchen, he began his search. He paused at the blood in the middle of the room. His head tilted as he saw more blood on his hardwood floor and staining the wool hallway runner in the foyer. He followed the stains going into the living room. All he could do was look on in shock as you searched through shelves. 

Sirius was confused. Where did you come from? Why did you have no shoes on? Why did you and your thin dress look pristine but you had cuts everywhere? Maybe against his better judgment, he pocketed his wand. You clearly seem like you’re in distress rather than a threat. 

You heard the sound of footsteps muffled on the carpet. Turning ever so slowly, you went wide-eyed at seeing an Auror that you’ve never seen before. He put a finger up to his lips while taking out his wand and setting it on the floor. Was he trying to help? He must not have been an Auror then. 

“Sirius!” You both looked at the closed door where a male’s voice spoke. “Can he hear me? Sirius wher—” 

You ran towards the front door, key be damned, and wiggled the doorknob as hard as you could. 

“Help! Help!” you began to yell while banging on the door, hoping someone on the other side might hear you. 

That drew the attention of everyone else. Remus, James, and Peter didn’t even try to stop anyone from going. A very hoarse sounding voice yelling through the house didn’t seem like a safe situation. You kept trying to throw your body against the door as you heard more footsteps, your voice getting more hoarse by the second. Sirius stopped them from going any further. 

“Heeeeeellllllllp!” You were crying as you kept slamming your hands against the door. “Help… Please…H…” 

Your voice gave out. You kept trying to slam on the door despite that, not wanting to be taken back downstairs. The doorknob wouldn’t even budge as you tried to kick at it. Sirius flinched when you fell down after the fourth kick. You just laid there, crying and staining the carpet with blood. 

“Shit.” 

Everyone turned to look at Moody. Sirius cocked an eyebrow. 

“Do you know her?” 

Moody sighed. His answer was cut short by Dumbledore apparating into the foyer. He tilted his head looking at everyone piled into the narrow walk space before turning. A gasp escaped his lips. 

“Y/N?” 

“Who?” 

“Y/N Riddle,” Alastor finally got out. 

You closed your eyes and accepted your fate again, sticking your arms straight up in the air. You didn’t even flinch when hands grabbed you by the fabric of your dress and lifted you up. The others watched as Moody arrested you, unsure about their feelings as they watched you shake your head with your eyes still closed. 

“Should have known you’d try to escape.” 

“Let her go, Alastor!” 

Dumbledore, Aberforth, and Credence apparated into Grimmauld. All of their wands were pointed at the Auror. Albus just shook his head as he extended a hand. Reluctantly, Moody gave you over. 

“You’ve broken the rules of the warrant, Alastor. We will be taking her back now.” 

“No.” 

Credence pushed you behind him. “Y/N? Why don’t you with the others?" 

You barely whispered out the word okay when you and the others went into the dining room. From the kitchen you could hear a very loud argument.

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@venomsvl @peaches-n-sunscreen @summerellaz @supernaturallover2002 @sambucky8 @9daykrisr @thebitchinleo @23victoria @scarlets-widow @pagetpagetpagetpaget @lovexnatasha @awesomebooklover17 @1234-angelika @imatrisk @blackreaderatrisk @princess-jules47 @alexloveskili @a-marie-a @siriuslysirius1107​ @i-have-no-life-charlie

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Dean Obeidallah at The Dean's Report:

Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz has done more for our veterans than Donald Trump, JD Vance, Tom Cotton, and all of Trump’s despicable enablers put together.  Yet we’ve seen these people—led by  Vance—smear Walz’s dedication to our country with lies like he “abandoned” his fellow National Guard members when they were about to serve in Iraq. In reality, Walz may have stopped serving in the National Guard in 2005, but he never stopped serving our nation and the women and men of our armed services. In an effort to correct the record, let’s start with the headline that should appear in corporate media. Tim Walz did go to a war zone in Iraq. He also went to a war zone in Afghanistan. If you are asking: “What am I talking about?!,” it’s because the sheep of the corporate media all tell the same story without challenging the lie fueling it. In his first term in Congress, Walz travelled to a war zone in Iraq as well as Afghanistan to speak to our troops and find out what more they needed in terms of support. As the headline of the Minnesota Tribune article from January 16, 2008 reads, “Walz visits war zones to study veterans' care system.”  

Another local Minnesota paper wrote at the time, “Walz said the trip gave him a renewed sense of urgency to improve access to soldiers' medical records.”  Walz—who is pictured in the article in both Iraq and Afghanistan speaking and dining with our troops—talked of the need to streamline databases so that active duty soldiers in these combat zones can get the care they need as well as making it easier for them to continue the care when back stateside.

Walz did not have to go, he chose to go to a war zone. In future years he would visit Syria and other places in the Middle East in times of tensions. From there, Walz would continue for his entire time in Congress--from 2007 until he was elected Governor in 2018--being a champion for the members of the military and our veterans.  Walz co-chaired the National Guard and Reserves Caucus, ran leadership outreach roundtables for veterans service organizations, was applauded by veterans affairs groups for his work on the VA panel, especially for focusing on mental health care issues. One of Walz’s biggest legislative achievement in Congress was championing a bipartisan veterans’ suicide prevention legislation that became law in 2015. Through his work, Walz rose to become the ranking Democrat on the House Veterans’ Affairs Committee and served multiple stints on the Armed Services Committee. Walz’s record of service to our nation, however, began well before running for Congress in 2006. Walz enlisted in the Nebraska National Guard on April 8, 1981, two days after his 17th birthday.  Not long after, Walz was off to basic training in Georgia, on the first stop in a military career that would take him to Arkansas, Texas, the Arctic Circle and other places in the world. As Walz told a Minnesota radio station in 2018, "You go where you're told to go."

[...] Walz could’ve retired at the 20-year mark. In fact, he probably would’ve. But then came 9/11. That attack on our nation inspired him to re-enlist. In August  2003, Walz was deployed to Italy, Turkey, Belgium and Britain to support U.S. operations in Afghanistan under Operation Enduring Freedom--where he would remain for nearly 10 months. But his time in an artillery unit came at a cost to his health. The deafening booms and shock waves from howitzer barrels left Walz with hearing loss in both ears. In 2005, he underwent stapedectomy surgery to alleviate the problem-- a procedure in which damaged bones inside the ear are replaced with a prosthesis. That was the year he decided to retire at 41 years of age and after serving for 24 years in the National Guard. That is the American patriot JD Vance, Trump and their allies are smearing with lies. Obviously, Trump is man devoid of honor. His entire life has been in service of himself.  When Trump had an opportunity to serve our nation in the military, he refused—instead choosing to fabricate the medical condition of bone spurs. As a reminder, in 2018 the daughters of a Queens foot doctor say their late father diagnosed Trump with bone spurs to help him avoid the Vietnam War draft as a “favor” to his father Fred Trump.

[...] When it comes to Vance, he did serve in the US Marines as a combat reporter from Sept. 2003 to Sept 2007.  He didn’t re-enlist. Instead, he went to Yale law school. And while Walz was fighting for veterans in Congress, Vance was hobnobbing with tech billionaires in Silicon Valley—who would later bankroll his run for US Senate.

Dean Obeidallah has an excellent column spotlighting Tim Walz’s military service and how he actually supports the troops, compared to weirdo JD Vance.

[weirdestbooks]

British Michigan Oneshot

Removing the Taint (Wattpad | Ao3)

TW for Blood

“Now, I hope you remember why this procedure is necessary,” Britain said as he and the American waited in the dining room of Britain’s human home as the surgeons prepared their tools for the surgery.

“Of course I do, Grandfather. Would you like me to repeat it?” the American said in a perfect response. Not too fast, the sign of someone lying or pretending to please him, but not too slow, a sign he forgot. How easily this one adapted, you could be forgiven for forgetting his unseemly origins.

“Yes, do so,” Britain responded, eager to see if the American remembered everything correctly.

“My wings are being removed because they are a symbol of savagery and not fit for a loyal colony of the empire. They were forced onto me by America in an attempt to claim my land for his sinful nation and force you to recognize me as his child,” the American repeated. Britain frowned before slapping the American on the back of the head.

“What was your mistake?” he lectured. The American’s eyes widened, either surprised Britain caught his mistake or not realizing he had made one before he quickly bowed his head.

“The wings, not mine. They are not something I should claim because they are symbols of savagely and a countryhuman’s attempt to kidnap me,” he quickly responded. Britain smiled, grabbing the American’s head and forcing him to return to his previous standing position.

“Good job,” he said, “Any final questions?”

“Will…will this hurt?” the American asked nervously. Britain scoffed. What a foolish boy. 

“Of course not, not if you do everything you’re supposed to,” Britain said, tightly gripping the American’s shoulder and shutting him up. 

After a few moments of blissful silence, the surgeon said, “We’re ready for the operation now. " 

Britain sighed and walked away from the American to the corner of the room. The American shifted, nervous, and Britain frowned.

Well, that wouldn’t do.

The American then froze, paralyzed under Britain’s control. Interestingly, while colonies could never fight off his control, the American seemed to lean into it, accepting the control the same way a starving man would accept food. How interesting. Britain really had gone a long way in fixing up the American. 

First, it was getting rid of that unproductive, independent personality, then any love for America, then assigning him a proper parent, and now, removing the last tangible piece of America from him. The American would never be rid of the taint of America that would permanently deform him, but at least he could be better. 

Besides, it would be so nice to see America’s face when he realized how much Britain had purified and cleansed the child’s former territory. The sinful country would be horrified to learn how Britain had saved the child’s soul from his sinful taint.

The American was in much better hands and could actually prosper in life now.

Britain ordered his newest colony to lay facedown on the table. His shirt had already been removed to reveal the hideous wings that America had cursed the poor boy with. Luckily, it would be a simple procedure to remove them.

“Begin now, and make it quick. I don’t want to waste any more time on this than necessary,” Britain ordered the surgeons, his voice echoing out of the American’s mouth. Controlling the boy was going to get exhausting quickly, but he needed to keep his control to minimize damage to his newest colony, his perfect tool to pull America back under his thumb.

Britain stood, fighting off exhaustion as the surgery commenced. By the time they got through one wing, the American was bleeding heavily, coating his body with his own precious lifeblood. Then, instead of moving onto the other wing, the surgeons began reaching for bandages.

“You can treat him when both wings are off,” Britain ordered, causing the surgeon to jump.

“But—but he might bleed out!”

“That’s fine. I can’t say he doesn’t deserve it, for how ungrateful he was when I got him. A death will be good for his health anyway, clearing up that pesky healing process. Now continue,” Britain said, voice hard. The surgeon, understanding his place, nodded and proceeded with the surgery, the other wing coming off quicker than the first.

But, just as the surgeon predicted, the loss of both wings caused the rest of his colony’s lifeblood to drain out of him, as Britain felt his control snap with his colony’s death. Tutting his tongue, Britain walked towards his colony, shaking off the exhaustion that came with that form of control. 

When he reached the colony, he began running a hand through his hair, somewhat matted with blood.

That was fine. Britain would get it cleaned up.

But, as requested, the wings were gone.

“Congratulations, Michigan. You’re cured,” Britain said, smiling softly at his grandson, “Get rid of those wings now, and then you are free to go. I have things handled from here.”

“Of course, sir,” the surgeon said before leaving, and, like clockwork, Lower Canada entered the room.

“It’s done?” he asked.

“Yes, it is. Is the bath prepared? Death has healed his wounds, but I want to wash the blood before he wakes; that way, when he wakes up, it will be as if he was born anew, free of America’s chains, and completely and totally one of us,” Britain said. Lower Canada smiled and nodded.

“It is a great achievement, and my son has prepared the bath. Everything is ready,” Lower Canada said, eyes consistently flickering back down to his son.

“You’re both mine, remember? You can have your child back when I’m finished,” Britain said. Lower Canada took a step back, bowing his head.

“Of course, Father. My apologies,” he said. Britain nodded in approval before picking up Michigan, the boy’s limp body growing colder under his touch. Britain walked over to the room where the bath was, barking a quick order at Virgin Islands to clean up any blood that dripped on the floor before setting his colony in the tub, watching the water turn red from the blood.

Britain then shoved Michigan's head under, deciding to take care of the blood in his hair first, just in case he came back during his wash. The blood, not yet dry, came out of his hair quickly, and Britain worked next on the area around the wings, pulling out all the remaining feathers, some of which caused more blood to leak out of Michigan’s still body.

After about five minutes, Britain deemed Michigan clean enough, standing up and walking out of the room where Lower Canada, ever the loyal follower, waited.

“He’s cleaned. Don’t worry about saving the clothes, just change him into new ones. Put him in your room. Understood?” Britain asked. Lower Canada nodded.

“Yes, Father,” he said before rushing into the room as Britain shook off his hands.

What a productive day. He couldn’t wait until he got to show off his colony to America.

It would make all the struggle to tame him worth it.

[ellisgirl]

Jude Jazza & Ellis Twilight — Villains Want to Embarrass Little Robin Story Event

Chapter 1

I do not own any contents of Ikemen Villains. This story being uploaded in this blog belongs solely to CYBIRD. Please support them by downloading their games and buying their stories. Both English and Japanese are not my mother tongue languages, please keep in mind that there will be mistakes and added words for my own preferences. I translate for my personal entertainment and for my own practice only.

Victor: "Kate...... Will you be Her Majesty the Queen?"

Kate: "......It's a mission. Please tell me your story."

Victor: "Oh, how fast you're talking about! To your remarkable growth as a Fairy Tale Master I... I... I...Nngh——!”

Victor: "Aside from the feeling, that's right, it's a mission.”

Victor: "The American ambassador is coming. According to prior information, he was plotting an assassination."

Kate: "It's really important, isn't it... so I'm her double?"

Victor: "Yes. Jude and Ellis are going to be your bodyguards."

Kate: "Why those two...?!”

(Putting aside Ellis, Mr. Jude seems to be reluctant, I can hear him saying, "It's my time to read.")

Victor: "They used to being on the wrong side of a knife, and even if the ambassador carries out the assassination, the two of them will make it looks good!"

(.....It sure looks like they're going to do a good job of fighting it off....)

Kate: "What in the world do I have to do as Her Majesty?"

Victor: "We will be presented with gifts, and we will dine with them at a dinner party.

Victor: “Basically, you just have to accept the gifts gratefully.”

Victor: “Since the ministers on our side are also with us, it’s okay to basically leave difficult matters to them.”

Kate: "The point is, I just have to dress up as Her Majesty the Queen and sit down... Is that what you mean?”

Victor: "That's right! Her Majesty is someone who prefers tranquility, so I don't mind if you don’t say a word."

Victor: “I'll have them both follow up nicely, since you probably don't feel comfortable with your voice in the first place."

Victor: “It pains me to ask you to be the argument, but......I can only ask you because you know what's going on."

Victor: “I'd like to see you do it.”

(This is also proof that he is trusted me as a Fairy Tale Master. Besides, Her Majesty's life is at stake)

Kate: "Yes, I'll do my best."

(Mr. Jude is a sadist who enjoys torturing people.)

(I’m in debt to him, but I don't know what will be required at the end, so I can't do it coarsely.)

(Ellis is very kind and will do anything to make people happy, but......)

("anything" is too much, so you have to be careful not to be too spoiled.)

(Anyway, in order to finish this mission peacefully and safely, I will fulfill my duty as Her Majesty's substitute, that’s all)

Kate: "Victor, could you tell me about some of His Majesty's gestures? Habits and other characteristics?"

Victor: “…..”

Victor: "Of course, it's fine. I'll tell you everything I know."

…

After taking acting lessons from Victor, I was stuck in the library.

The royal family, the faces and names of ministers, the history of Britain and the United States. I gained some knowledge I wish I could, but...

…

(In the end, the more I studied, the more despair I felt just by facing the reality that I was full of things I didn't know...)

She wears a crown, a veil that covers to the bottom, shoes that disguise her height, and a luxurious dress,

I already overwhelmed by a sense of defeat,

Jude: "You fell asleep in the library, you mediocre."

Ellis: "I'm glad you didn't catch a cold."

Kate: “……!”

Mr. Jude and Ellis, who were on either side of me, smiled as if they had seen through my thoughts.

Kate: “I was wondering who might have been covered me with a blanket without my knowing it....... Was it the two of you?”

Ellis: "Yeah, Miss Kate, you looked cold.”

Kate: "Thank you, Ellis."

Ellis: “Jude was pushing Miss Kate, who was about to slip off your desk, back onto the desk.... by his knees."

Jude: "Because you got in the way."

Kate: "To kick a sleeping lady in the foot…..”

Jude: "Girls who are calling themselves Sleeping Beauty in the library make me laugh."

Jude: “You must have worked this little brain of yours in a mediocre's way, right? Great, great"

Ellis: “Yeah. It's so great that you're studying to impersonate Her Majesty."

The former is completely ironic, the latter is pure praise.

What kind of expression should I make, my facial muscles are confused.

(and... anyway)

Kate: "I look forward to working with you for the next two days."

Jude: “A decoy is someone who is willing to die in place of someone else.”

Jude: "...Even if you die, as long as I can get rid of the assassin, that's fine, so it's an easy win."

Ellis: “Don't worry, I'll take good care of you."

Ellis: "I don't know much about politics or diplomacy, but I'm good at reading the signs that knives and bullets are coming."

Ellis: "I'll do my best to support you so that you don't suffer.”

Kate: "Wow... I'll do my best, too."

If Mr. Jude is a spice that makes your tongue ache with pain, Ellis is a sweet sugar that has been boiled down to a sludge.

When I'm sandwiched between two extreme people, I don't have time to calm down.

(I wonder why Ellis works for Mr. Jude.)

(Mr. Jude isn't the type to attract people, but he keeps Ellis nearby.)

I remember hearing somewhere that the two of them are together because they have a contract.

(What kind of contract......?)

Jude: “A mediocre as queen is going to be ousted soon.”

Kate: “Even Mr. Jude, with that attitude and way of speaking, would you be able to act as Her Majesty’s bodyguard?”

Ellis: “Jude is more proper in these public appearances than you'd think."

Jude: "I don't know about you, but this guy is dangerous."

Kate: "What's wrong with Ellis.....?”

Ellis: "Well, what is it?"

Jude: "You'll know in the meantime."

(Are you saying that Ellis can't be a better escort than you? .....I have a feeling it's the other way around.)

Ellis: ".....Hey, Jude, Miss Kate."

Jude: “Aah?”

Kate: "What is it?"

Ellis: "I have one suggestion—“

Ellis: "If you can complete the mission without revealing your true identity, we'll ask each other for one favour. What do you think?"

(When the mission is complete, will you listen to my request?)

Jude: "What a shitty proposal."

Ellis: "I've been thinking about how Kate can enjoy the mission."

Ellis: "How about......?”

(Ellis, .....I'm so glad you thought of that.)

From this morning, I realised that my feelings were actually sinking due to the weight of the crown.

(.....Ellis really looks after people well.)

Kate: "Thank you very much, Ellis. Let's do that!"

Ellis: "Fufu, Deal."

(......Huh? But we ask for each other’s “requests”..... I mean...)

(By listening to Mr. Jude and Ellis’s requests...)

Jude: "......Well, good luck. I'll be thinking about what I'm going to "ask" you to do while I watch your abomination."

Ellis: "I will also think of a “request” that will make you happy..."

…

With a conflicting smile, my facial muscles were confused again.

———

Chamberlain: “U.S. Ambassador Abel Edmond has arrived.”

The chamberlain declares loudly, and the door of the audience room opens slowly.

(......It's finally time.)

Mr. Jude and Ellis are waiting behind.

"Why does Her Majesty send men from nowhere to wait on us instead of her guards?" I could hear the ministers whispering as we entered the hall.

(Once Mr. Jude glared at me, the nagging stopped suddenly.)

(When Ellis smiled, the awkward gazes also decreased.)

(As long as the two of them are with you, there's no danger to your life...It's okay.)

Straighten your back, straighten your posture, and adjust your habitation as Victor taught you.

(I will focus on acting like Her Majesty in the eyes of the ambassador who is about to come.)

Abel: “I am extremely humbled by the honor of having an audience with you, Her Majesty the Queen!”

The ambassador who appeared was a man with sparkling white teeth. A smile as bright as the sun.

(Wow... You're more frank than I thought.)

In response to his salute, I nodded quietly so as not to lose my dignity.

Ellis: “You look good."

Jude: "It's a noisy face even if you keep silent."

(Please don't make me laugh!)

With the background music of the whispered impressions expressed simply by the two men standing behind me, Mr. Abel enthusiastically introduced the offerings.

(Even through the veil, they look dazzling.......)

Once again, I am overwhelmed by the treasure that makes me feel the majesty of Her Majesty the Queen.

Abel: "And this is one of the rarest and most colorful birds in the world. It's even more beautiful with its wings spread."

When Mr. Abel pulled out a large parrot-like bird from the cage,

Abel: “Come on, let’s take a look!?”

The parrot suddenly lifted its head and flew away from Abel's hand.

(They're coming this way!?)

Jude & Ellis: “——!”

Masterlist

Chapter 1 >> Chapter 2 >> Premium End >> Epilogue