#drowned fleur;

[secretxxpaladaiseu]

Sera

Growing up, everything was just a snap of her fingers away. Sales, discounts, deals, none of it ever mattered because she was going to get it. Mom and dad made sure she got everything she wanted, and Sera never had to break a sweat. Stores closed to let her shop, restaurants kept a table open for her whims, and drivers were always waiting. Sera had no idea what it was like to live like 99% of the world, and never anticipated that would happen.

Unfortunately, she was finding out. First hand.

A criminal scandal that rocked the world sent her from a golden throne to living with the peasants. Her parents were both in prison for their white collar wrongdoings, and it left Sera with nothing to spend. Almost everything was taken, with very few exceptions. Exceptions that left her possession anyways as she found herself needing to sell them for immediate cash.

Two years onward, she was still struggling. She was living in a basic apartment, with a job that required her to clock in and out. A job she had to show up to and take orders from other people. As if the vagueness wasn't enough, she found herself working as a personal assistant. A friend of her family found her the job, and she struggled to find herself being grateful for it…

Backstory Here. Trigger Warning for mentions of dramatic weight loss.

-- Faceclaim: Jisoo of BlackPink -- Age: 26 -- Gender: Female -- Height: 5'3" -- Birthdate: February 5th -- Sexuality: Straight -- Languages: Korean, English, Japanese (fluent), French, Spanish (semi-fluent)

Tags to Track:

Sera abt;

Drowned Fleur;

[jeonginsleftcheek]

The sun to me

Chapter IV. The sprout.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x afab!reader

word count: 3.5k

chapter summary: between the gentle stillness of the flowers, a seed is planted to make love grow.

warnings: hyunjin's parents are shitty people here

~ Masterlist for the series

~ next part

💜 Petunia - wanting the comfort of another person (a token of kindness to new neighbors or friends).

Hyunjin awakens even earlier than the sun that morning, quickly getting ready to leave the house before anything can disturb the comforting silence dancing around him.

He takes his camera and stands in front of his suitcase, the only things he didn't unpack are the tools he needs for painting.

He sighs, grabbing a sketchbook, his pencil case and his paintbrushes with only a few colors he'd need to paint the sunrise on a beach.

He stuffs everything in his backpack and makes his way downstairs as quietly as he could, the creaky stairs making it difficult to be invisible.

After breakfast and a good dose of caffeine, Hyunjin makes his way out of Isaac's house.

The sun isn't even properly out yet and it's eerily quiet around him, even more so than it was when he'd first arrived to the island. Usually, he would drown out the silence with music in his ears, but for some reason he feels that any kind of sound right now would disturb the whole world order.

He's even trying to walk as quietly as he can, like a cat stalking the street, not making a sound.

As he arrives closer to the pier, a figure appears scrunched over and sitting down, turned towards the sea. He can't see much of the person, just that they are buff and wearing a black windbreaker jacket, the hood pulled up over their head.

As he walks slowly towards them, in the slight darkness, he makes out that the person is fishing.

They roll their shoulders slowly for a moment before the fishing rod gets tugged on and the man grips the reel handle, fighting with the creature on the other side.

He manages to reel it in just as Hyunjin approaches him, watching in awe as the man takes out a fish and it lands on the ground with a splat, scaring Hyunjin as it wiggles around, hitting the floor with its tail in a desperate attempt to breathe.

The man mutters something before grabbing it and looking up at Hyunjin, letting out a hearty laugh.

"Careful, it bites!"- he jokes, waving the fish towards Hyunjin making him jolt again before he throws it into a bucket.

"Sorry, didn't mean to disturb you."- Hyunjin clears his throat as he speaks for the first time that morning. Feeling awkward, he decides it's best to leave the strange man alone.

Before he's able to walk away, the man's voice stops him.

"You're that boy staying at Isaac's house?"- he asks.

Hyunjin turns and looks at the man, who has now pulled down his hood, revealing luscious black hair, making him look ten years younger than when only his worn out face was visible.

"Yes."- Hyunjin nods.

"Name's Delmar. Tell Isaac I have some catch for him. And if he or you for that matter wanna join me in my fishing adventures, you're more than welcome to."- the man smiles kindly, putting Hyunjin at ease after the whole fish in the face ordeal.

"Sure, I'll let you know."

"What's your name, kid?"

"Hyunjin."

"Nice to meet you, Hyunjin. Make sure you take some pretty pictures of our little island."- Delmar winks, pointing at the camera resting on Hyunjin's chest.

He promises to do so before bidding his goodbye to Delmar.

Hyunjin walks away towards the little forest you took him through, the sun starting to peak between the leaves of low bushes.

He shakes his head, thinking about the somewhat strange man he just met on the pier.

Lost in his thoughts, he arrives to the hidden cove before he knows it, almost like he got transported there.

He strolls on the beach before finding a nice spot as the sun keeps rising in the sky, slowly waking everything up, bathing it in it's glow.

He takes a few pictures for good measure before willing himself to take his sketchbook out.

He sits down, pencil in hand as he listens to the waves and his own breathing, quiet and slow, a contrast to the waves crashing on the rocks near him.

Hyunjin starts to sketch and remembers.

"Let's see."- his mother hovers above him, as he lowers his hand from the easel, still clutching onto the paintbrush dipped in red.

"Is it okay now?"- he asks in a small voice, tear stains on his puffy cheeks.

"No, it is not! You think this crap will get you into the academy? That's laughable. Can you do one thing right? Are you even my son? I swear it's like I found you on the fucking street or something. Start again."- his mother's voice is low but dripping with venom as she takes another sip of her martini, and Hyunjin hiccups as she throws the canvas to the floor.

"You're not getting up until you do it right even if it takes you all night."

Hyunjin remembers painting all night with eyes blurry from his tears, a constant onslaught of salty water dripping down his cheeks and into his lap, mixing with the paints he held in his hand, transferred onto the canvas his heart bled on.

He remembers wanting nothing but her comfort and warmth, but her hands were always cold, her veins must've had ice in them, freezing her all the way to her heart.

He remembers his mother picking apart every little detail of every painting he ever made, driving him away from her so far that when he grew up, he screamed at her and told her never to come to his gallery.

She cried, but he felt nothing. Just like she didn't feel anything when she stood above him and tortured him for hours, days, years, almost making him hate the one thing he found love in.

The paintings he made furtively were the only thing helping him cope with her wrath and his father's disinterest, the flowers he painted, the ones that were so delicate and gentle, so quiet and peaceful, so pretty and intoxicating, so easy to love.

The flowers you nurtured with your hands and your chest so devotedly that the roots have intertwined with your very heart so much so that it became a beating, live flower.

Hyunjin finds it hard to breathe suddenly, like that fish on the ground, grasping for air and feeling foreign, suffocated and panicked. He grips the pencil, a tear sliding down his cheek and smearing the wave he was sketching a moment ago.

He closes the sketchbook with a thud and gets up quickly, shaking the sand off his jeans and packing his painting stuff away before he makes his way back from the cove, and away from the bad memories threatening to spill from his eyes.

It might be weird to someone who watches from the side, but every time you water your potted plants around the house, you caress their little leaves.

You think they can feel the care and love coming from your heart and traveling through your fingers as you gently brush them against the plant.

You think they grow better if they feel a gentle touch. Maybe you can't embrace them like you would a person, but just a little brush of the fingertips translates to the same thing when it comes to something as delicate as flowers.

A knock sounds on your door and you snap out of your thoughts, a smile forming on your face because you know who it is.

You straighten your dress and check yourself in the mirror for a second before you make your way to the door and open it with an excited swing.

Hyunjin stands there, his head lifting up from staring at his feet as he clutches his backpack and smiles warmly at you.

"Good morning."- he says.

"Morning."- you answer, entranced by the way his eyes roam around your face shamelessly, curiously, genuinely like he's trying to rememeber every little detail that makes up the beautiful you.

"Are you gonna let me in?"- Hyunjin smiles playfully with a rise of his brows and your face warms up in embarassment.

"Right. Sorry."- you chuckle awkwardly and step aside so he can come in.

Hyunjin looks around, your house is just what he thought it would be, bright with pastel yellow details and walls, potted plants everywhere, little ceramic trinkets and of course paintings of flowers on the wall.

It's warm and cozy, smells like flowers and home, sweet and loving just like you are in his eyes.

Hyunjin finds himself inhaling deeply, and finally being able to take a proper breath in, his lungs expanding and freeing him from the suffocating feeling that thinking about his family brought him.

"Do you want some coffee or tea?"- you ask as he follows you to the kitchen and sets his backpack on a chair.

"Coffee would be fine, thank you."

"Sit, please. Relax."- you chuckle at him as he stands next to your table awkwardly.

"Sure."- Hyunjin nods, sitting down and leaning his head on his hand.

"Did you paint these?"- he asks and you turn around to follow his eyes, which were glued to the paintings hung on your wall.

"Yeah, I did, a few years ago."- you nod.

"I didn't know you were a painter too."- Hyunjin chuckles, his knuckles rasping against your wooden table.

"I'm not."- you wave your hand as if to dismiss him. "Not like you. I mostly sketch as you saw."- you add.

"Can I see more?"- Hyunjin feels excited suddenly.

Looking into an artist's sketchbook is like taking a peak into their mind and soul, it's like reading their thoughts but not through words, only through the movement of their pencil against the paper.

"Ugh, sure."- you bite on your lip, hoping you have some sketchbook without the diary parts in it. You don't want Hyunjin to read your embarassing and dark thoughts.

You rummage through one of your shelves and find an older one, maybe from three to four years ago and give it to him, before going back to preparing the coffee for the both of you.

Hyunjin feels like a kid unwraping a present on Christmas as he opens up your sketchbook.

The paper is older and looks recycled, feels good under his fingers and probably even better under a pencil.

He brushes his fingertips against it as he looks at your sketches.

It's mostly different types of flowers, some still life and hands. You seemed to practice drawing hands a lot. Hyunjin wonders about it.

"You like drawing hands? That's like the hardest."- Hyunjin says as you bring the coffee cups to the table and sit down.

"Oh."- you blush, forgetting about that part of the sketchbook. "It's my mother's hands."- you add and flip a few pages to show him the slow deterioration you captured in your sketches, how her hands went from young and soft to bony and thin, skin shriveled up and veins visible.

"Her hands were her most important tools. I just... I wanted to capture them in drawings."

"I understand."- Hyunjin nods. "These are really good sketches, y/n."

"Thanks."- you chuckle, picking up your cup.

After taking a sip of coffee, you look back at the sketchbook.

"She really loved flowers."

"More than you do?"- Hyunjin smiles as he looks up at you.

"Probably. She loved them more than she loved me."

Something pierces through Hyunjin's heart.

He knows how you feel as you smile sadly, his mother was probably even worse than yours, she never once said she loved him in his entire life.

Not once.

Hyunjin swallows the lump in his throat and you notice he's struggling with something.

"You okay?"- you ask, tilting your head at him. "Is my coffee that bad?"- you try to lighten the mood.

"No, no."- he chuckles. "Coffee is delicious, I was just lost in thought for a moment."

You nod, deciding to not pry anymore.

"Did you go somewhere this morning?"- you ask, pointing to his backpack.

"Oh, I did actually. I went to that hidden cove you showed me. I wanted to try and sketch. I- ugh- didn't manage to do much but I did meet Delmar."

"Ah, you met Delmar."- you snicker.

"He scared me with a fish."- Hyunjin says, shaking his head left and right dramatically.

You laugh a little, your hand coming up to cover your lips.

"Delmar jokes around a lot like that. But he's a harmless dude."- you say.

"Glad to know that because I was actually scared for a moment."

You chuckle again and Hyunjin feigns offence.

"Sorry, it's just that Delmar would never even step on a bug. He laughs all the time, there's no one chirpier than him. Well, except maybe Barbara."

"Barbara?"

"Oh yeah, she's the resident cat lady. She somehow knew about you coming here."- you purse your lips, tapping your chin with your finger.

"She did?"- Hyunjin's brows furrow. "Hm."

He may need to talk to Charlie about that.

The thought of his manager and the life waiting for him outside the island feels bitter on his tongue, even more bitter than the coffee he loves.

The bitterness wraps around his heart and squeezes.

"So, it would be fine to go fishing with Delmar sometime?"- Hyunjin asks after shaking his thoughts away.

"Definitely."- you nod. "You wanna come see my garden now?"- you ask after a moment of silence.

"Yes!"- Hyunjin nods excitedly and you stand up, leading him through the back door.

He doesn't know what exactly to expect when it comes to your garden, but the beauty of it still takes his breath away.

Hyunjin can see that every plant is so carefully planted in their designated spot, probably even sorted by species or something, he's not as good as you are with understanding all the different types of flowers but he can see that you put in all your effort and love.

He's speechless for a moment, the luscious garden gives a soothing feeling to his soul and a longing blooms inside his chest, a longing to be touched by hands as kind as yours.

"Can I take pictures?"- Hyunjin asks, almost breathless and you let out a delighted giggle, throwing your head back for a moment.

"Take as many as you want."- you nod and he quickly runs back into your house to grab his camera.

You watch as Hyunjin takes pictures, his face mesmerized, eyes sparkling and lips pulled into a small sweet smile.

His rosy cheeks make him look even more endearing, surrounded by all the flowers you helped grow makes your heart swell so much so that you want to reach out and wrap your arms around Hyunjin, hold him dear to your heart.

You've never felt something like that hit you so hard and sudden, usually it was gradual and slow, usually you thought with your mind not with your heart, especially when you liked someone. You would calculate the positives and negatives, you would pick the person apart, pick yourself apart in little details until every little thing looked like a negative, ultimately making you give up.

But as Hyunjin turns towards you and smiles wide, something pulls you in, and you can't even get yourself to form a single thought except the word happy.

"Y/n?"- Hyunjin is suddenly closer to you, waving his hand in front of your eyes.

"Ugh- yes?"- you chuckle a little, snapping out of your trance.

"You said you wanted us to plant something together?"- he asks curiously.

"Oh right, I thought you could help me out with my petunias and maybe learn a thing or two. You know, physically working when your mind is stuck can help get the creative juices flowing again. At least it's like that for me."- you say, leading Hyunjin towards an empty spot in your garden.

"I do agree with that."- he nods. "Though, I go to the gym when I feel stuck. I may even be beyond stuck now cause working out didn't help."- he chuckles awkwardly.

"Don't think about it too much. Let's just get to work."- you smile and Hyunjin smiles back as you give him a pair of gardening gloves.

"Alright, what's first?"- he asks.

"Have you ever done any gardening?"

"Never in my life."- he shakes his head.

"Okay so, first thing's first, you have to know a little bit about the flowers you're going to plant. I chose petunias because now is the perfect weather for them, there's enough daily sunlight and also because they're easy to care for, perfect for beginners. They will bloom soon when the summer comes too."- you explain and Hyunjin listens, all the while nodding his head, his brows furrowed in concentration.

"There are different types of petunias too. The ones I chose are floribunda petunias. They're a hybrid of two other types and I chose them because they make excellent cut flowers due to their large blooms and long stems. So, I can use them in my flower shop too!"- you finish with a wide smile and an excited clap.

"That is a lot of information but I'm happy you shared all that with me."- Hyunjin chuckles and you smirk.

"There will be a test later."- you wave your finger at him and he laughs.

"Okay now. The next important thing is to choose the location, which I already did. Petunias need at least six hours of direct sunlight during the day, so I chose this spot where we're standing right now."

"Okay."- Hyunjin nods, looking around. "What do we do first?"- he asks and you chuckle at his eagerness.

"We need to prepare the soil with compost so we can improve the soil's fertility and drainage."- you say and Hyunjin nods again, looking a little lost which in turn makes him look even more adorable.

The two of you get to work, your hands on autopilot as you've done this a hundred times now, watched your mother do it even more times. Hyunjin is a quick learner, starting off too excitedly so you had to calm him down and remind him to be gentle and slow.

It was like a meditative state to be in, the two of you working in silence, close to the earth as both of you kneel, hands deep in the soil.

The sound of the birds singing in the trees makes the experience even richer, as Hyunjin slowly starts forgetting the scary world around him and the sad world inside him, concentrating only on this little pocket in space and time where the only things that exist are the earth and you.

"Now we plant the petunias."- you say.

"How do we plant them?"- Hyunjin asks, sitting back on his legs.

"We need to dig a hole that's slightly larger than the plant's root ball, place the petunia in the hole and then backfill it with soil. We also can't have any air pockets so we'll have to gently press the soil down to avoid them forming."- you show the movement to him. "Also we need to give them at least 30 cm apart so they can have proper airflow and grow."

"Okay, I think I get it."- Hyunjin nods. "I wouldn't want to accidentally hurt the flower."

"You won't, trust me."- you chuckle a little.

You get to work again, Hyunjin being a little clumsy at first, before he manages to follow your lead, his eyes carefully observing your working hands.

He repeats the motions, and you notice his intense stare, his plump lips parted, his eyes narrowed. Suddenly, the air shifts and it feels almost erotic to work in your garden with Hyunjin.

A spark of lightning shoots through your body at the thought of his hands on your skin like that, to feel the touch you've longed for, for what feels like forever.

You scold yourself for such thoughts, brushing them off, burying them into the earth beneath you as you continue to work.

It takes some time but you both manage to finish the planting process together, your souls feel full of wonder and something intangible that's now woven between the two of you, almost invisible but intricate like a spider's web.

"Wow, we did that."- Hyunjin says after the two of you stand up and you watch him water the petunias.

"We did."- you nod chuckling.

"It feels really good."- he chuckles too, both of you looking at each other with big smiles on your faces.

"Mhm, it does."- you find yourself almost falling into him. If anyone looked at the two of you from outside, they would call you lovers.

"Does it feel like this every time?"

"Every time is different. I've never done this with another person except my mother."- you say as you brush your dress off.

"Oh, I should feel honored then."- Hyunjin giggles sweetly, the sound falling perfectly between the colorful flowers adorning your lovely garden.

You don't think your heart has felt this full in a long time and if you said that to Hyunjin now, he would agree.

"I can't wait to see them blossom fully."- Hyunjin smiles.

"Me too. Maybe you could paint them then."- you smile back at him.

He agrees, thinking that maybe by the time the petunias fully grow into their shape, Hyunjin's hands will be untied of the burden he feels every time he holds a paintbrush between his fingertips.

✨Taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @laylasbunbunny @porangporangmeong @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @simpforleeknaur @laughatdanger @lixies-favorite-cookie @linavc @quokkacidal @thisaintredwine @m00gyu @yaorzu-blog @skzfelixlove @tajannah-price1 @puccaaak @aft2rsexs @xxkissesforchanniexx @aprilmaejune77 @lilmeowneow @stayjinnie @astrobebba @danihwang882 @kaysungshine @nchhuhi @1810cl @chartrucewhore @babigriin @jisuperboard @alisonyus @minluvly @instantsoulnight @kkamismom12 @its-stayville-forever

[majestativa]

Astrologers drowned in a woman’s eyes, the tyrannical Circe with her dangerous perfumes.

— Charles Baudelaire, The Language of Silent Things: Selections from Baudelaire’s Les Fleurs Du Mal, to Maxime du Camp, transl by Patrick Barnard, (1983)

[mvsicinthedvrk]

Junyi is still sputtering and gasping when the toes of her shoes touch solid ground again, her hair plastered to the sides of her face and her clothes drenched. She doesn't understand how she'd been saved, other than-- this girl had helped her. "You saved me," she says, trembling in shock. "I-- I don't know, on the bridge, there was a bicycle, and I stepped out of the way but lost my balance-- I don't know how to swim." It's one of the few things she's never tried, and never had a desire to learn, until she'd been panicked and floundering in the freezing water.

@mvsicinthedvrk asked: fleur & junyi: [ water lily ]: one of our muses finds the other submerged underwater, and is left to desperately try to save them. 

Fleur didn't hesitate even if magic shouldn't be used in front of muggles, she was not going to let this person suffer because of it. She ran to the edge of the water, taking her wand out. Using the levitating spell she was able to lift the person out of the water and move them with magic to the shore. Once they were safe on ground she ran to them. "Are you alright? What happened?"

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Vampire Captures Vampire Hunter to Use as Bloodbag part 24

Warnings: aftermath of escape attempt, vampire carewhumper, recovery whump, drowning

At least the vampire agreed not to take off his underwear, letting him keep that small sliver of dignity despite him being stripped of shirt and pants.

Mallory hobbled into the bathroom on his own, unsteady but determined as he made his way to the bathtub. It was a fancy one, fitting for such a large and extravagant mansion.

The human sat on the floor to rest as Alex turned on the water, filling the tub up before gesturing to his pet to get in.

Mallory reluctantly complied, slipping into the water with a weary sigh. He hated to admit how good it felt on his chilled skin. He averted his eyes shamefully as Alex brought out a sponge and soap, before roughly rubbing at his filthy skin.

Mallory flinched and hissed in pain every time the vampire touched a bruise or other injury, unable to hide it. The worst was when he grazed over his cracked ribs, making him cry out.

"What did I do to deserve such special treatment? A master serving their 'pet'?" Mallory taunted dryly when Alex was almost finished bathing him. He couldn't help poking the bear a little, testing his boundaries and seeing where the line was.

Alex cut him a sharp look. "Anisa's idea," he replied flatly. "Says it's good for humans."

Mallory forced out a strained laugh. "You seriously know nothing about humans whatsoever, do you? Weren't you human before becoming a vampire? How do you not know this stuff?"

Alex's gaze darkened, and Mallory felt him stiffen from where he was scrubbing his shoulder. "I don't like talking about my past," the vampire said in a clipped voice. A statement meant to end the conversation topic, his tone a subtle warning not to pry.

But of course, Mallory couldn't help retorting with some snark. "Why not?" He drawled challengingly. "You got some hidden trauma there? Friend issues? Or maybe--" he never got to finish, as his whole head was suddenly shoved underwater.

He couldn't breathe, flailing weakly as he was held under, soapy water flooding his nose. He struggled uselessly, lungs burning. Panic seized his heart, and he clawed desperately at the hand on his throat keeping him down.

This must be the belated punishment for his actions, he reasoned, that he would die of drowning. The consequence for daring to attempt to kill his captor.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @togzy @floral-comet-whump

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222 @nevermore-ramblings

[whumpninja]

I feel like even the prompt I used for this one could count as whump, given the ahem subject material. This piece uses OCs from my story The Angel of Death, and takes place about two years or so before the main story.

Taglist (let me know if you only want to be tagged in full chapters!): @i-eat-worlds @softvampirewhump @scoundrelwithboba @rainbowsandwhumperflies @octopus-reactivated @whumperfultime @pigeonwhumps @handsinmotion @starfields08000 @fleur-a-whump @worstcasescenariolullaby

Prompt used: AI-less Whumptober, alternate prompt- animal bite

Featuring: BLOOD, blood drinking, vampire whump, vampire whumpee, biting, chains, defiant whumpee

Whumptober Day Nine: The Hand That Feeds You

Mr. Moody was making progress. Angel wasn't fighting him so much anymore. He guessed that he’d plain worn the vampire out. Angel slept most of the time now, a combination of exhaustion, drugs, and the weakness that came with near-starvation. Mr. Moody wasn't stupid enough to leave him unchained, but he could enter the room now without worrying about if he would leave alive.

He whistled as he came in today, his good mood drawing the cheerful tune out of him. "Hey, Angel," he said. "How you feeling today, champ?"

Angel cracked one eye open to glare at him, but made no move towards him. He had his fangs extended, not to their full length, but not hidden away in his jaw. Mr. Moody still didn't know how that worked. There was a lot about vampires that was still a mystery- why they were burned by the sun, why some of them had red eyes, why most had only small fangs and a few had big fangs and claws to match.

"You showing off those pearly whites?" Mr. Moody asked, chuckling. "You'll get a chance to use 'em on Friday night. I found a fella who's got twin vampires. We'll see how you do against two at once, eh?"

Angel stared at him sullenly. "Do you even speak English?" Mr. Moody muttered. He honestly wasn't sure. The vampire never said a word to him. From what the officers who had brought him to Mr. Moody said, he hadn't been much before he'd been arrested. Mr. Moody was of the opinion that Angel- who clearly lived to kill- was doing better as his prize fighter than he would have in the outside world.

He'd seen it- the ferocity, the savagery, the brutality Angel used in the ring. The vampire was a wild animal. He had no technique, no skill, no training- just instinct and natural weaponry. Mr. Moody loved that first gasp from the crowd when they saw Angel's fangs on full display. "Nobody else got anything like you," he told the vampire.

Angel, as usual, ignored him.

Mr. Moody rolled his eyes as he left the alcove. "You know what, Angel?" he called back, his voice drowned out somewhat as he rummaged through a cupboard on the wall. "You ain't real personable. You got nothing in you but fightin'." He chuckled, pulling out a metal bowl and a bag of blood- surprising, how easy it was to get that stuff. "Lucky for you that's all I need anyway."

Like usual, Angel became agitated, more alive, at the smell of food. He had his hands cuffed behind his back, so he could only push himself up as far as his shoulder. His ruby-red eyes had expanded, taking over the whites until only a small ring of it remained. It was a vampire in feeding mode. Mr. Moody could almost see what little humanity remained fading away, consumed by the animalistic prey drive.

"That's the kind of thing I want on Saturday, y'hear?" he told the vampire, setting down the bowl. Angel threw himself at it, burying his face in it without a moment's hesitation. Mr. Moody knew he wouldn't let a drop go to waste. He stepped back to watch Angel eat, chuckling to himself. That was the trick with vampires- food. Control their supply of blood, and you controlled the vampire too.

He leaned against the wall, watching Angel eat. A smile twisted the edge of his lip. "Made for this, weren't ya," he said under his breath. "Born for blood. Born killer."

Angel no longer knew he was in the room, attention entirely taken up by the presence of blood. Mr. Moody took the opportunity to move in close and check the chains, make sure the bolts on the wall still held, all the things he needed his vampire distracted for.

Angel was finishing the last of the blood now. Mr. Moody dropped a hand onto his head, ruffling the shorn dark hair in a rare gesture of affection. "Keep killing for me, champ, and you'll get all the blood you could ever want," he chuckled. "Who knows? Maybe it'll even- aaauuughhh!"

The words broke off in a loud roar of pain as Angel surged up to sink a fang deep into Mr. Moody's arm. Mr. Moody shouted, stumbling back- Angel held grimly on, the sharp fang ripping a deep gash. Blood sprayed everywhere. Mr. Moody managed to rip his arm free and stumbled backward, gasping, clutching the wound.

Across the room, Angel locked eyes with him.

Mr. Moody swore at him, the pain stirring up anger along with it. "Think you did something, eh, vamp?" he snarled. "Think you can bite the hand that feeds you, huh? We'll see how long that attitude lasts without a drop of it!"

Slowly, deliberately, Angel licked what he could of Mr. Moody's blood from his face, never breaking his chilling red stare.

Mr. Moody lurched off the wall and kicked Angel in the jaw as hard as he could. The vampire went down, knocked unconscious.

"All right," Mr. Moody growled to the senseless creature at his feet. "That is the last damn time you bite a human ever again. Especially me. Hope you enjoyed it, champ. 'Cause you are gonna pay for every drop of blood."

[mrs-snape5984]

“You’re so beautiful…”

“Just one look into your eyes, one look and I′m crying, ‘cause you’re so beautiful! Just one kiss and I'm alive, one kiss and I'm ready to die, ‘cause you’re so beautiful!” (“Beautiful” by HIM)

After some days of licking my wounds for getting the “ice cone of shame” onto my blog (I’m still not over this, tumblr, and it doesn’t help, that you’re ignoring my messages!!!), I decided to come back.

This blog is my baby, my comfort zone, my safety blanket. I’m using my blog as my personal journal, a platform to spread awareness about ME/CFS…and yes…also to vent about my life with my disability…grieving my old life.

I can’t say this often enough: Since I’m struggling with this goddamn disease (for 1,5 years now), there is not much left in my life, which gives me joy. I’m clinging to Severus as if I’d be drowning without him…like I’ve done it for 21 years, when times were getting rough.

But now, I’ve found something, that soothes my heart…something, that helps me coping with my pain…at least mentally. Do you want to know, what I’ve found? I found YOU… all you incredibly talented and kind artists of our wonderful Snape fandom!! My blog shall be my way of rolling out the red carpet for all of you, whose art is helping me to ease my troubled mind and heart.

Being tagged as explicit and inappropriate (yeah…sure, tumblr! 🙄) , made me feel so guilty towards all those lovely artists, which I wanted to honour by commissioning their art! But my beloved friend @vulnus-sanare encouraged me to keep on writing…keep on sharing my thoughts and these beautiful artwork, I’m commissioning. You know, I love you, my friend and I’m endlessly grateful for your support! 🖤🫂 (fly fly)

And of course, I want to thank all of you, who supported me as well by reblogging @vulnus-sanare ‘s post or by sending messages to tumblr! Let’s hope, that they will realise their mistake!

The art, I got tagged and transfigured into an ice cone for, was something very special, I requested from the brilliant @turpinsimp-blog, who helped me to find my inner curvy goddess again. That’s the reason, why I was so devastated, that my blog got flagged for these cropped and censored drawings. Their meaning is so personal to me! Fleur, you did a marvellous job with these pieces of art…and believe me, I’ll find a way to express my feelings with the help of your drawings! So, stay tuned, my dear!

Until then I’ll post this delightful artwork of yours, @turpinsimp-blog! This gift was a very heartwarming surprise, my precious friend. 🖤🥹 Thank you for each kind message, for each laughter with you and - of course - for your outstanding art!

🖤 Severus & Julia 🖤

[forthegothicheroine]

I saw a youtuber assign perfumes to her favorite books, so I thought I'd try it.

Perfumes for (some of) my favorite books. Part 1: Fiction.

Dracula: Portrait of a Lady by Frederic Malle

The Bloody Chamber: Fille de Berlin by Serge Lutens

Discworld's Night Watch: A Lilac a Day by Vilhelm

Wylding Hall: Lucid Dream by Ex Idolo

The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein: Young Romantics by Poesie

Mexican Gothic: 1940 by Besame

Tooth and Claw: Eau de Protection by Etat Libre d'Orange

Experimental Film: Replica By the Fireplace by Maison Margiela

Blackwater: Saint Julep by Imaginary Authors

The Silver Devil: Tainted Love by Tokyo Milk

Convenience Store Woman: Not a Perfume by Juliette Has a Gun

Spinning Silver: Doe in the Snow by 4160 Tuesdays

My Best Friend's Exorcism: Poison Girl by Dior

The Drowning Girl: Haunted by Deconstructing Eden

Pretty Monsters: Fraaagola Saalaaata by Hilde Soliani

The Coldest Girl in Coldtown: In Love With Everything by Imaginary Authors

The Secret Books of Paradys: Fleurs du Mal by Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab

Northanger Abbey: Penny Dreadful by Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab

Moll Flanders: Prends-Moi by Isabey

Camp Ghoul Mountain: Burning Leaves by CB I Hate Perfume

Piranesi: Aqua Universalis by Maison Francis Kurkdjian

[robo-milky]

It’s Not Vanity

[Feat. Cloche & Rollo NOT SHIP | 516 Words | Spoilers ]

A ficlet of how I imagine Cloche acquired Rollo’s picture, now published in celebration that he’s here in EN.

Cloche was unarmed, only holding the ghost camera strung around her neck. She watched as Rollo stood at the edge of the belltower, bathing in the amber glow of firelotuses. The scene would have reminded Cloche of a camper by a cozy campfire, if it weren’t for the barrage of screams drilling into her ears. She wasn’t sure who to feel more disgusted by, the boy who started the fire, or the girl who drowned out the noise as a nuisance.

“Master… Rollo,” Cloche voice dipped, trying to correct her indifferent tone, now that they were allies. Rollo’s head turned towards her, giving an expectant stare for her to speak. “Would you like a picture to commemorate this achievement?” raising the camera with an almost childish glee, she looked at him longingly.

“We can save the celebrations for later—actually, they won’t be necessary at all.”

“Why not?” Cloche stepped closer. “If it’s the other students you’re worried about, the flowers are well on their way picking them off.”

“You can’t get comfortable yet,” Rollo said. “Like cockroaches, they may even crawl up here headless.”

“They might as well…” Cloche hummed. “But it’s just a picture, nothing fancy. It’ll only take a second.”

“Cloche, I’m doing this to carve out a path of salvation for the people, not thanks or recognition. My aspirations are greater than any pursuits of vanity.” said Rollo. “To save Twisted Wonderland, Pyroxene, Fleur City, to save you.” His eyes scrolled over to the bells embedded in Cloche’ ears.

“I’m sure the Righteous Judge didn’t save Fleur City from its calamities for recognition either,” Cloche replied. “Yet his exact image is captured on statues. It was to document a time in history.” The corner of Rollo’s lip rose in a snicker, “I’m not sure if this is a deed I’d like to attach my face to—”

“Only if you fail.” Cloche insisted. “You’re standing here with pride, right? No regrets? We all know it is winners who rewrite history.” His eyes hardened, ”With absolute certainty.” He walked past Cloche, his cape fluttering behind him. He stopped at a point of the belltower where his figure bled into the fiery cityscape. It was a contrast of where he stood, darkness signalling absence of the danger. His sceptre stomped with a commanding thud as he tilted his head accordingly. “Well? You’re the one who suggested it. Make it quick,” Rollo said.

Cloche was quick to follow when she realized Rollo had not only considered but agreed to her idea. She scoped out the tallest platform on the belltower she could find to match his height and the scenery below. She raised the camera over her eye and clicked the shutter button when a breeze brushed past them. The anima card shot out from the camera. It was captured, Rollo posed in front of the mayhem with a menacing grin, his hand comfortably extended to brandish the parasitic flowers behind him. Cloche’ ears twitched, brushing her thumb over the print as it developed, “It’s perfect.”

[thedarknesssings]

Prompt 3:  On a Dark and Stormy Night

Prompt 3: Tempest - FFxiv Write 2024 Characters:  Vedastus, Kasimir @zoetic-tome, Fleur @roses-and-grimoires. 

Please read This Story for Fleur's side and This Story for Kasimir's side.

Vedastus Secariot wasn’t getting any younger.  His legs ached with a bone deep throbbing that promised him agony by morning. A sigh parted his lips. Wind howled outside the stately windows of his Sharlayan home. The occasional boom of thunder rattled the glass in their casements. The weather’s grumbling was not what woke him. His head rolled to the side, pointed ear twitching. No strange sounds warned him of anything unusual.

His eyes cracked open, watching through dim vision as the lightning brightened his bedchamber, laying bare the stark lines of the window. A body lay curled against his, silvering hair spread over the pillowcase and handsome face soft in repose. A frown laced across Vaast’s lips. He gingerly pushed up on one elbow trying not to disrupt the sleeping Kasimir while scanning the far side of the bed and then the room. They were missing a body.

“Fleur?” Vaast murmured the name, sleep clinging to his voice enough to render it scratchy sounding. Kasimir stirred against him, an arm snaking around Vaast’s waist.  The soothing stroke of his hand down Kasimir’s side stilled further fussing but didn’t lessen the weight of his arm bidding him stay put. 

Normally, Vaast would’ve left well enough alone. Fleur’s restlessness wasn’t uncommon, and he always turned up sooner or later to slide into bed with them well before dawn. Such was life with a researcher. The problem tonight hinged on Vaast’s latest delve into feeling his mortality. The recent business with his estranged family reminded him of that all too well.  None of them were getting any younger.

A soft sigh eased from Vaast, and he gently disentangled himself from Kasimir. “Need a drink. Back in a moment.”  The reassurance stilled the protest on Kasimir’s lips into a simple hum of understanding and his arm loosened to allow Vaast to slip from the bed. 

His bones creaked, a mournful violin playing along to the percussion of the storm battering the house. Several steps later and finally the stiffness in his gait eased some. Vaast stood in the hallway, one hand pressed to the wall for support and his head tipped to the side with his ears straining. What he listened for, he had no idea.  Something was not right. A fleeting prayer crossed his mind, uttered briefly on his lips.  This very real fear of finding one of his partners hurt or worse pressed on him more and more over the last few weeks.

“Fleur!?” The name rumbled from his lips a bit louder than before, still trying not to alarm Kasimir while trying to figure out what part of the bloody mansion Fleur may have wandered off to.  

He winced at that thought. Wandered.  Twelve above, the day Fleur’s mind wandered they were all in some serious trouble. He was the most intelligent of them, not that Vaast or Kasimir were dullards by any stretch. Vaast bore the mark of an Archon on his back against a shoulder blade after all. He possessed the mind of an entrepreneur, a business man, whereas Fleur’s mind remained youthfully curious, fitting for an alchemist of his skill. 

His hand dragged across the wall, the sound drowned by the rage of the storm outside.  His home sat on the edge of the residential district, overlooking the sea.  The first great purchase Vaast made after cementing what became his gleaner empire, a home for himself and his then bride. The life he started in this home as a young man was not the life he was to end it with.  Love endured, even in death, and he missed his wife often in the lonely parts of his day.  She’d be proud of him, he knew, that he learned to love again.

Down through the house he wove his way, past the sitting room, through the kitchen.  Stray fingers plucked a scone from a basket along the way.  Impossible to pass up on the cheese ones, they were his favourite. “Fleur!”  His path finally led him down to the workshop, hand rising to press the door open. The harsh drift of Fleur’s voice made him pause, hand holding the door barely ajar by a half fulm. The scone hovered against his lips, teeth prepared to bite down and yet he didn’t.  

“I need more–” Fleur’s voice continued, moving in and out of Vaast’s hearing, breaking up what he could make out. “--More potent.”  Vaast frowned and lowered the scone.  The tone in Fleur’s voice shot a chill down his spine.  If he needed supplies, why didn’t he ask him for them? “--Don’t care what you have to do–”

Vaast backed away, letting the door close once more.  That didn’t sound right.  His brow furrowed to match the frown on his lips, eyes narrowing some.  His hand moved toward the door once more just to halt shy of touching it.  Fingers curled in against his palm a moment before he retracted the hand altogether.  He needed to talk to Kasimir.  The idea of Fleur tangled up in something bad sat like a boulder in his gut.  Vaast turned on a heel and strode away, intent on making his way back to Kasimir in his bed.  The scone was left forgotten on a side table at the base of the stairs next to a vase.

[elwenyere]

More Like Misery (The Old Guard: Booker/Andy, past Andy/Quynh, pre Booker/Andy/Quynh)

Word Count: 1.4k

Rating: M

Tags: Canon-Typical Temporary Deaths, Post-Canon, Torture, Exile, Sex, Drowning, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known Biblically

Author’s Note: I recently rewatched The Old Guard and was left yearning for the sequel and for this flavor in particular. Thank you to @paulmezcal for the French assist, thank you to everyone who's made gorgeous art and fic and gif sets for this fandom, and thanks to everyone who takes the time to read.

.....

Around the seventy-third time Booker drowns, he has a vision of Ajaccio - a hallucination, probably, or a memory oversaturated by hypoxia. 

He sees the sand-graded hues of the water: turquoise, cerulean, lapis, all pebbled with sunlit crescents in the breeze. For the moments between gasping and dying, he’s there. Not the first time, in 1811 - that last warm stretch before Russia - and not the uprising in 1943, but the June week in 1996, when he’d lured Andy to Corsica with a story about the French prefect and then worn down her annoyance with fresh strawberries and a third edition Les Fleurs du Mal and sex on the thick woven rug of an ocean-view apartment. 

“Asshole,” Andy had said, when Booker rolled over to press his lips to her palm and nibble at the tendons of her wrist. “You told me there was trouble.”

“Il y a toujours quelqu'un qui va foutre la merde,” Booker had replied. “Just give it time.”

Two years later, the French prefect had been assassinated on his way to a concert.

Twelve years after that, Booker comes back to himself as his kneecaps hit the deck of Quynh’s yacht.

Read the rest on AO3

[latenightyellow]

dark sea fires

Pairing: Max Verstappen x driver!reader, Charles Leclerc x driver!reader

Words: 673

Summary: in the orbit of firsts and lasts

He slumps onto the couch, tilts his head back to cast his eyes at your back.

“I wanted to kiss you up there.”

You freeze, and in the silence that follows you’re keenly aware of the erratic thudding of your heart.

“I wanted to kiss you and tell everyone that I would happily watch you spray champagne on that step above me every time if it meant that we-”

“Max, I- please. Don’t… please,” you whisper, as you turn shakily to face him.

He’s in front of you now, his gaze blue and bright and brave with the tequila shots from earlier and god knows what else. You can’t afford to lose yourself in the what else.

“I wanted to tell everyone that you were my first. That I loved you first. That you were mine first.” He’s in your space, a lion’s prowl towards your body, crowding you up against the vanity. “That no matter how far it went, it would always come back to me.”

His voice has dropped, rumbling through a chest that is so resolutely pressed to yours. You arch instinctively, shuddering at the feel of him, hard and insistent against your thigh.

The dress you’ve worn is flimsy, creamy mulberry silk edged with lace, a confection of contrasts that only your subconscious understood. It was all for him. Now his hands are there, burning through the fabric at your hips, tracing up the slit at your thigh as he rests his forehead against yours.

It’s almost sweet, the way he’s controlling himself, not giving in to the simmering tension until you let him in. It reminds you of years gone by, of the first of many firsts, of fumbling in the dark and honey-slow strokes in the light.

A loud knock on the door startles you both, and you nearly headbutt him in a scramble to answer it, his eyes never leaving yours as you practically flee across the room.

“Ma cherie? Are you in there?”

You yank the door open, equal parts relief and terror as you stare at Charles, holding out a bouquet of roses the same shade of cream as your dress.

“Here,” he thrusts the flowers towards you. “I got these for you.” His eyes flicker over your dress, the delicate brush of lace against your skin, the risqué slit at the thigh, and he blushes, boyish and embarrassed, and you can’t help but tease him a little.

“Charles Leclerc, you big romantic sap. All these years and you’re still not used to seeing me in a dress, huh?” He answers your grin with one of his own, eyes crinkling at the corners as you step into him and press a soft kiss to his lips. “Merci pour les fleurs. Elles sont très jolies.”

“Pas aussi jolie que toi,” he murmurs, the soft green of his eyes tinged with desire. “Are you ready to go? We should leave now if we don’t want to be late.” He checks his watch, the flash of the Richard Mille in the harsh lights shocking you back into reality and back into that ever-present, magnetic awareness of the man you almost gave in to not even five minutes ago.

But you can’t look back. Stepping out into the hallway, you flash Charles a gentle smile, tipping your head forward and letting your hair hide the nerves you’re sure are written all over your face. He slides his hand over your hip, bringing you in close, and you swear that you can still feel the burn of Max’s touch, feel the urge to yank up your dress and see how irrevocably he has branded you.  

The click of the door swinging shut behind you doesn’t feel as final as it should. And even as you exit the elevator and walk through the bustling foyer of the hotel, tucked firmly into Charles’ side, you’ve never felt more conscious of the pull of blue depths, of the drowning pleasure and molten fervour of the man who wanted to be your last.  

[watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees]

The public eye

Happy Pride to everyone except for Eddie and Will because they are horrible people 

this took so long to write, I have been basically bedridden sick for 3 weeks now, but it’s done, I hope it’s legible

Taglist: @ziptiesnfries @lumpofsand @fleur-a-whump

previous masterlist

TW: pet whump, dehumanisation, drowning (brief), referenced past abuse, blink-and-you-miss-it homophobic remark (Diana is such a bitch, and in june???), 75% of the band needs its own trigger warning atp i think, Oli is suffering im really sorry <<<3

They spent the ride home in uncomfortable silence. Getting through the crowd this time was a lot more manageable, considering Oliver’s shaken up state and bruised up face the guards had no choice but to shield him from the crowd. He was vaguely aware of his hair sticking to his cheek, where Eddie’s ring split the skin, and braced himself for the worst, when James would inevitably try to brush it away, to take a better look, and the strands would pull on the skin, glued there by half dried blood and it would hurt just as bad as the slap did.

“Do you think anyone saw?” Will asked, looking out the window, still waving at the crowd. 

“We all better hope not” Khai shot an angry glance at Eddie, who didn’t bother to engage with any of them, simply climbed in his bunk and pulled the curtain closed.

Oliver couldn’t find it in himself to be angry with him. He knew that it would have been reasonable, justified even, but good pets are not angry with their owners, and he was Eddie’s just as much as the other boys’ whether he liked it or not. Instead he concentrated on the childishness of it, the way the singer got upset with him not paying enough attention and the way he hid away in the cramped bed space for a half an hour long ride. He was allowed to think he was childish. Juvenile. Immature. 

The engine whirred up and the bus drove away from the venue.

James hooked a finger in his collar, to pull him close, turning his face to the side to inspect it. There it was, the pull, the strands of hair could have turned into gillette blades and Oli would not have known the difference.

“Shh, Oli, it’s okay, just let me check on it” the drummer tried to soothe him as he flinched away “It’s not too deep, don’t worry” he shared the observation, he prodded at the skin around the wound earning some winces out of Oliver “I doubt it will scar, you’ll just need a few days and some ointment”

He leaned the good, left side of his face on the drummer’s shoulder, and watched the streetlights pass by the window and tried to guess where they might be, based on the glimpses he caught of some well-lit buildings.

It was cold outside, unreasonably so; Oliver chalked it up to the breeze and the smell of rain that promised a storm to come. 

He was right about the storm, though it didn’t arrive in the form of thunder and a downpour, but as a red headed woman, standing on their porch with her arms crossed, impatiently clicking the heel of her shoe on the floor tiles. This was the first time ever, Oliver has seen her look at them, with her phone out of sight, and the way the boys stopped in their tracks as they got out of the bus suggested it was a rare occasion for them as well, and it would bring nothing good.

“Everyone, inside, now” Diana turned around and led the way into their own living room.

James stayed behind them with Oliver, closest to the door, but none of them went much further either.

“Are any of you familiar with the concept of public image?” she asked coldly “Because if not, let me refresh your memory, I got the mutt for you to look good, does that ring any bells?” James nodded timidly, just to soothe himself, Diana was not expecting an actual answer.

“You get a pet, because we keep up with the trends, he’s a rescue, so you look charitable” she raised her voice, lecturing them “So please enlighten me, why are you walking him around with his face all fucked up?” she looked at them expectantly, then sighed “Alright then, Khai, anything to say?” The bassist shook his head.

“Edward?” the singer crossed his arms defensively, but glared back at her.

“I didn’t do anything wrong”

“Sure, if you don’t count hitting him for no reason” James spat, and his grip on Oliver’s arm tightened, when Eddie just shrugged.

“Hey, what’s your problem?” 

“It does not matter! It’s all of your problem now that there are pictures of him, like that” she gestured towards Oliver’s face “You morons are lucky, you make a lot of fucking money for me and I’m willing to fix this. And one of you clean him up” 

“James, he’s your favourite toy nowadays…” Eddie sneered.

“Fuck off, you’re the one who got us here in the first place” the drummer retorted. Oliver tried to make himself as small as possible, to avoid drawing any more attention than it was necessary.

“I’ll do it, let’s just not-” Will interrupted, breaking his silence and stepping between his bandmates facing the singer.

“The boyfriend has a brain, I never would have thought!” the guitarist blushed deeply and Diana laughed, loud and shrill, the sound of it made shivers run down all their spines “I’ll leave you to it, and let’s agree this won’t ever happen again” They stepped out of the way as she stormed out of the house and slammed the front door, leaving eerie quiet behind.

“He can’t keep pulling your ass out of trouble” James pushed Oli away from himself so the guitarist could grab his arm and lead him away.

“I can wash it, you don’t have to-” he started, but was immediately cut off “Just shut up, Oli” 

Will opened the tap above the bathtub and turned to the cabinet to look for first aid supplies.

“Sorry” he muttered. He hissed as the guitarist wiped the blood away and sprayed some disinfectant on the wound. 

“Let’s wash your hair too, some blood dried on it” He made the mistake of grabbing Oliver by the collar. His hands shot up to protect his throat and instinctively pulled away.

“Nonono, please no!” He struggled, panicked he would be choked again.

“Stop it!” Will warned, but the boy was too preoccupied with the hand on his collar to listen to him “Oli, stop, I’m not gonna say it again” 

The air was knocked out of him in an instant and he curled in on himself one moment too late to protect his stomach from the hit. Will grabbed him by the hair, and yanked him towards the tub that had filled halfway by then. 

“Down!... Sit!... whichever the word is, just get down” Oliver whined painfully, still grasping at his stomach, where the guitarist punched him, but lowered himself on the floor next to the bath.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’ll do better, just give me a second, it hurts” he blurted out, eyes scrunching shut to keep his tears in. He felt so helpless. 

Will’s hand was still entangled in his hair, pulling him up and over the edge of the tub, so he could wash it.

“Can you stop being so difficult for a moment?” He turned Oliver’s head up to face him.

“Fine” He sighed begrudgingly, and let go of the boy. He slumped to the ground, grateful for the momentary peace.

“Better?” Oli nodded and got up to lean his head above the water. He watched their reflections muddle together as the guitarist stood above him and brought the showerhead above him. 

The water was comfortably warm, he felt himself relax into it, still it felt wrong. He really could have done this alone, there wasn’t much blood there anyway. He would just get water on his band tee. He didn’t think, as he pulled back from under the stream to voice his concern.

Will didn’t hesitate, as he put a hand on the back of his neck, just above the collar and pushed him down with enough force that Oli met the water. He wanted to raise his head back up, but the hand kept him under firmly.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t even take a proper breath beforehand. Oliver couldn’t breathe. 

He tried kicking and scratching in the direction he thought Will was, but the other just dodged his tries and all he achieved was his head getting fully underwater.

He was let up suddenly, he coughed up water he hadn’t even noticed got into his mouth and throat.

“Fuck, I’m sorry” Will apologised, tense, not quite sincerely “I didn’t mean to-” Oli wasn’t sure what he could have replied if he could speak.

“Go back to James’ room, I can’t deal with this” he left the bathroom door open after himself and just left. 

Oliver scrambled to his feet, still soaking wet and now shaking like a leaf. 

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Georges Rochegrosse, Le Chevalier aux Fleurs (The Knight of the Flowers) (detail) (1894), oil on canvas

* * * *

Body, be who you need to be. Brown girl in an orange dress. Red macaw in a canopy. Be flock. Be the oldest living thing rooted beneath the language of things. The cypress your mother called Sarv-e Abarkuh. Be a life less heavy with history. Be the little boy who skips school to sell tea on the street. Be a box of pears clothed in gold paper. Be something more tart. Lime. Be mouth,  be kingdom. Wear something made of infinity. Be sunset over a silk Zardosi sea. Be the young girl who survived a drowning by her loved ones. Be acid. Be sailed. Be colony. Be endangered and dangerous. Wear your own damp skin. Body, be something useful. Be dam and river the desert like blue streamers. River the village like the saddest epic. When you lay in the street with blood pooling around you, be memory. Be at the center of living. If nothing else, be a shadow of the thing.

— Shireen Madon, “Dear Body”

[alive on all channels]

[cherry-pop-elf]

Happy Birthday To We

George Weasley x Reader

It’s April 1st. The busiest day of the year, and most traumatic. You figured to steal your husband away, and have a nice little picnic. You, your son, George, and of course…. Fred

Warnings: Grief, Mourning, Talks of self harm, suicidal ideology, hurt comfort, wizarding war angst, lots of angst, dead Fred, Umbridge, hopeful ending ((because reading a story that starts sad and ends sad can be frustration. Spoliery? Kinda, but hey. Heavy topic story with an actual pay off? You deserve it))

“You gotta eat, young man-!” You tsked, but smiled. You knew he went heavy with work. Especially today of all days. April 1st. Not only the busiest day of the year, but also the day of his birthday. A birthday he was no longer able to share. So, he would try and drown himself in work. Make his mind so numb, he can’t feel anything.

“I will I will, after I-“ He tried to excuse, but you waved your wand. Having the box he was carrying quickly be sent into the shelf. He held his hands in mock defeat, as you smiled in victory. You won this round.

“Good boy! I made us a picnic basket and everything! Junior would love some fresh air with you too.” You smiled, as he couldn’t say no to that. A picnic, with his family? How could he resist? Fresh air, fresh food, and his little baby boy? You staked his heart, and he was at your mercy.

“Alright alright. Let me transfer my notes, and schedule, to Lee-“ That had you giddy. Hell yeah, you won this round. That had you proud, as you watched him go and find that good friend of his.

Meanwhile, you were quick to run to the back of the shop. Up the stairs, and into the flats above. Specifically the one where Fleur was, given Bill worked at Gringotts again. Ever since Fred passed, Bill figured being closer to family was wise. Fleur was already packing their bags, the moment he suggested the idea. A Weasley indeed.

“Thanks for baby sitting, the place gets so swamped-“ You wheezes, before you picked up your little boy from the Veela. Those beautiful ginger curls danced in his face, as he reached out for you. Little chubby fingers eager to touch your face. You happily allowed, as Fleur made sure to remind you he should eat soon.

With him safe in his sling, the picnic basket grabbed, you would wait outside of the shop. That way Junior wouldn’t get overstimulated. Was just you, and him. You playing with him, as he babbled away. Your eyes, and his hair. He was just perfect. You loved him so much, and so did George.

George was just enjoying the view. Watching you play with his son. How little Freddy was eager for your attention, and you happily gave it to him. With kisses, and tickles to his tummy. Made him gurgle and squeal so happily. Seeing all that just helped heal him. Like all that pain from the war was worth it. It wasn’t for nothing. Nothing at all.

“My family.” He sighed, as he would be by your side. The way Freddy’s eyes lit up made you want to cry. He was so happy to see his daddy. Out of his work suit, his dress shirt, and tie. Actually enjoying the fresh air on his skin. So many scars, so much ink. So much to his skin, it’s hard to tell the self inflected apart from the war torn. You knew, but you were happy to see them healed over. Finally.

Without another worrying thought, he aparated you three off. There again, to a oh so familiar place. Familiar, and painful, place. One memorized to its core, for George. Even the very ground was indented from his endless visits. The wind seemed to be aware of his presence, and blew. Cooling down the anxiety in his soul.

Across the worn down paths, with the scent of freshly laid flowers next to them. Little Freddy, ever curious, would cooe at all the pretty flowers. Laid for those who have long passed on. You wondered if this was healthy for Freddy. To be exposed to such things so young, but maybe understanding such could be helpful. You would worry about it later, now was the time to see him. See Fred.

His grave was well taken care of. George visits at least once a week, and it was quick to be realized that by the masses. That meant that not only were offerings left for Fred, but George as well. Such as something George had come to love the most.

The grave was that of the familiar W, with its star, and said star would have a little purple and orange beaded bracelet on it. A friendship bracelet, that Luna made. That way the twins could still be twinning, even beyond the grave. Never was there a day you ever saw George without his, and no storm seemed to be able to blow it off the stone. You were surprised no cruel soul tried to steal it, but then again who would want to steal from a prankster who was friends with Peeves?

“Oh, someone seems to need some tummy time.” You giggled, as Freddy was fighting to get free. George was quick to lay the blanket over the grave of Fred, and you were careful in setting Junior down. He was much happier, as he rolled around. Giggling, as he looked up at the cloudy blue sky. Fascinated by the clouds.

While George set up the picnic, and you made sure Freddy didn’t roll into someone’s grave, you have a sight. Reading over the engraving, after moving the endless presents and flowers aside.

Here lies Fredrick Fabian Weasley. Brother, Twin, Son, Friend, Inventor, Prankster, Hero. Your sacrifice promised happiness to endless. Rest In Peace. Mischief.

When the day comes, Mischief will be managed. One day. Maybe times, you thought that day was soon. As soon as Voldemort died even. Not even a chance to get off Hogwarts grounds, did George’s attempts at his life started. You hated how creative he was with it. You couldn’t understand how each one failed. Deep down, you could only imagine it was Fred. Fred, even beyond the grave, found a way to protect George. No ghost needed.

“And I thought I would be the once to space out-“ He snorted, alerting your attention. How embarrassing, but at least you had George there. Funny how he was the one to keep you grounded, right now. Suppose little Junior helps him as well. How his chubby little fingers poked at the stone.

“Ed-!” Junior spoke. “That’s right. Fred. You are named after him.” George encouraged. They say having a kid doesn’t fix all your problems. They are right, but George Weasley was never one for conventional norms. Sure solved alot of his. How he wasn’t bursting into tears was a mystery. Today was such a hard day, yet….Here he was.

“Come here, ya little bugga. You gotta eat, yeah? Ya like grapes don’t ya? Just like yer uncle Fred.” As George said that, you could see the pain in his eyes. He was happy, but it was bitter sweet. One Fred for another. The wound will never truly heal, but to say you weren’t proud of how far he came? A total lie.

You would soon rest your head on George’s, and watched him feed your son. Eyes glancing to the many scars on his inner arms. Burns, self harm, battles, and of course the many faded words of Umbridge. You could hardly see the words, but knew them well. How they were forced to write different words, so that they could never be identical again.

No, you had to fight those memories. If you were thinking them, Merlin knows what George was thinking. You fought your tears, so that he knew he wasn’t alone. Seemed to be what he needed, as he leaned his head on yours. Bandaged fingers gentle in cleaning your little boys face.

“I miss him, so much. It hurts, but I guess it doesn’t hurt so much anymore. Does that make me a bad person?” That caught you off guard, as George would play with Junior. Tickling his nose, and making him squeal. As if on auto pilot. Make everyone else happy, not yourself.

You had to sit on that, for a moment, as you looked at the grave. How well taken care of it was. George made sure it stayed such, and you would safely assume others did as well. Seeing that made it clear. So, you kissed his cheek.

“No, you aren’t. If anything, it makes you a better person. We all heal differently, sweetie. What better way to honor Fred, then allowing yourself some joy. Maybe…..Maybe you’ll cast a patrnous again.” Hearing that made George wonder.

With a wand drawn, he looked it over. To his wand, you, Junior, and Fred’s grave. A thought crossed his mind, and breathed. As gentle as the wind in the air, he whispered the incantation.

It was weak, but something was there. A whisper of hope, as the light swirled around Freddy’s fingers. Utter enchainment was in those big eyes, as George’s eyes watered. Spilling down his cheeks, as he smiled. It hurt to remember those happy memories with Fred, but at the same time it felt so good.

You held George tightly, beyond words of proud, as he kissed his cheek again. He was healing, and he was living. Living, not just surviving. Oh you had to rub your eyes to fight the tears. You were so happy.

When your eyes cleared, you blinked. With George busy with Junior, you noticed something. A beautiful bird, standing on the star of the stone. Such beautiful purple hue to its black feathers. Looked so curious, as its beak poked the bracelet. When that moment passed, it looked at you both. Watching, before it flew off. Leaving behind a single feather in its wake.

“A magpie feather. Say, we could turn this into something for Freddy. Like a training quill, since it’s so small.” With your tears falling down your cheeks, you nodded at what George said. What a lovely gift for Freddy. What a wonderful Birthday present…..for Fred.

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Vampire Captures Vampire Hunter to Use as Bloodbag Masterlist

Warnings: blood drinking, kidnapped human, intimate vampire whump, violence, dominance power move, captive human bloodbag, blood and broken bones, blood drinking

A vampire hunter ambushes a vampire club with his crew -- but little does he know, the tables are about to turn, and not in the human's favor. How will he survive when one vampire decides to turn him into a pet?

This storyline finally has its own Masterlist!

Part 1 - Why Hello, Little Hunter...

Part 2 - Rough Car Ride

Part 3 - How To Shut Up Your Human

Part 4 - Blessed Silence

Part 5 - Fight Me

Part 6 - Playing Cat and Mouse

Part 7 - Would You Look at That... I Win

Part 8 - Dying? Already?!

Part 9 - Help! My Human is Sick

Part 10 - A Brief Reprieve

Part 11 - How to Care for Your Human: A Complete Vampire's Guide

Part 12 - Feeding the Prey

Part 13 - An Attempt at Cooking

Part 14 - Escape Plan

Part 15 - Anticipation

Part 16 - Run for Your Life

Part 17 - Vampire's Rage

Part 18 - Excruciating Pain

Part 19 - You Asked For It

Part 20 - Suffer

Part 21 - Feeding Tube

Part 22 - Carewhumper

Part 23 - Slow Recovery

Part 24 - Drowning

Part 25 - The Company You Keep

Part 26 - Coexistence

Part 27 - Choices

Part 28 - Blood Bargain

Part 29 - Chores

Part 30 - Handicapped

Part 31 - Unwanted Help

Part 32 - Hopeless

Part 33 - Bargain

Part 34 - Blueberries?

Part 35 -

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @togzy @nevermore-ramblings

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222 @floral-comet-whump