#except he goes unpunished

[p3ta]

I think Adachi vs. Akechi parallels are useful in a sense of understanding the themes Atlus wanted to build on for a sequel to Persona 4, but not inherently for understanding either character

[sunbedo]

Hey guys, just finished Fantasy High Junior Year. Crying and screaming forever first of all. I take everything back abt Squeem, Squeem is great. I take back nothing abt Porter he still sucks severely. Gorgug Thistlespring you will always be famous and i love you with all my heart. Very glad the Rat Grinders got revived they have so much potential as characters and i honestly kinda love them, and it wasn't explicitly stated if Kipperlilly was or not but i hope she's getting some therapy from someone other than Jawbone. I love you so so much forever the Bad Kids

Hey guys. Started to watch Fantasy High Junior Year. First thought was: who the fuck is Squeem. Next thought, cause I'm on episode 3, Porter sucks and I want to punch him

[emeritusemeritus]

No Good Deeds [George Weasley x Reader]

Part 1 2 3

Part 3

Title: No Good Deeds. Part 3.

Pairing: {George Weasley x Reader} mentions of previous Fred Weasley x Reader.

Timeline: Set a few years after DH, loosely following Canon.

Summary: A few years after Fred’s death, the investors of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes demand changes to the name. All it would take is two years of a fake marriage to fix the issues, but no good deed goes unpunished.

Warnings: Fake marriage trope because we love the cliché. Mentions of death (Fred). Friends to lovers. Slow burn but mentions of kissing and eventual smut. Swearing. George calls us Angel. Drinking. Angst, sadness, grief. Tags will be updated with each chapter.

This one got a little sad I’m sorry, I’m in my Freddie feels right now 🥀

Arriving at the shop, you noticed that Ron was still not here yet as the shop was in complete blackout except for the window lights which remained on at all times. You pulled out your wand and recited the unlocking spell that Fred had created and personalised, as well as the counter spell for the anti-alohamora charm he'd placed upon the building. You locked the door behind you with a flick of your wand and illuminated the store, making your way straight up to the office. The store looked good and tidy, though you did notice during your ascent up the stairs that there were a few stock items that needed replenishing, something you could do once you'd set up everything in the back.

Around half an hour later, Ron burst through the office door, calling for George and immediately froze upon seeing you sat there at his brother's desk.

"Oh, thought it was George this morning," he says, running his hand over the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed at barging in.

"He had some stuff to sort this morning, said I'd cover for him," you explained with a little shrug, grabbing the floats from the safe and the morning banking book.

"Oh right, yeah okay," Ron says, following behind you as you walk down the stairs. "Think he's got a secret girlfriend?"

Ron's words make you momentarily freeze, having not expected him to say that.

"Don't know Ronald," you said with another shrug and a smile, "but if Percy can get a girlfriend then George definitely can." Ron laughs with a nod and helped you set up the shop as you work together, laughing and joking like usual. He tries to pry into George's love life a little more, assuming that you know more than he does but you successfully manage to deflect his questions, hopefully without any suspicion.

You winced as the stones of your engagement ring caught the palm of your hand for the third time since you'd been restocking the shelves and looked down to see a little imprint of the outline cut into your hand. You sighed, checking around you to see where Ron was before walking up towards the office and turning left instead, towards the flat. Approaching the wooden door, you took a deep breath in and tried to gather your courage, suddenly feeling emotional and overwhelmed at returning to the flat you'd once known so well, dreading stepping through the door.

You huffed out a breathe and opened the handle, immediately greeted by the dark corridor that wrapped around the flat. You walked past the closet and then past what used to be Fred's bedroom, pausing only briefly to touch the doorframe as you felt your lip wobble, tears threatening your eyes. You shook them away and carried on walking towards George's room, looking for something specific that you knew he had, hoping he wouldn't mind you borrowing it.

You felt uncomfortable intruding like this, but it was the only solution you could think of. You stepped through the door and found the room to be much neater than you imagined, with only a few pieces of clothing and ties strewn on the floor in the otherwise rather tidy bedroom. You walked over to his dresser, seeing his leather watch box on top and raised the lid. Immediately you were met with a photo of you, George and Fred in your fifth year, building a snowman in the courtyard at Hogwarts. You all looked so young and happy, dressed in layer upon layer of warm clothes topped with coats and hats as you beamed at the camera, Fred's arm wrapped around you and George holding onto your shoulder, each one of you proud of the enchanted snowman you'd created. A tear leaked out of your eye and you bit your lip to try and prevent anymore from falling as you quickly wiped it away, unable to take your eyes of Fred's infectious smile. You placed the photo down onto the lid and reached to grab a silver chain that was beside the watch that his parents had given him for his 17th birthday, the same watch that sat beside an identical one in the box. You'd bought both of them a chain for their 17th birthday with a little engraved pendant attached that you had customised. The engraving was a 'w' sign with a little star at the top, the very same sign that would become the logo for the shop. Fred was buried in his chain, having never taken it off, but you noticed that George hadn't worn his much in the past few years, which you understood. You took out the chain and slipped the engagement ring through it before securing it around your neck and tucking it underneath your shirt. The last thing you wanted was to lose the ring and this was the only way you could keep it safe whilst you were at work, knowing you'd be panicking if it was in your pocket all day and you vowed to keep it at home tomorrow. You closed the lid of the watch box, casting one last glance at the photo before walking out of the flat and back down to the shop. Ron was none the wiser and you carried on restocking the love potions, no longer hurting from the ring, as Ron grabbed the skiving snackboxes in preparation for you opening the store.

You briefly thought of George as you wiped down the counter, wondering if the furniture had been delivered yet and what he was doing at home before a knock at the front door dragged you out of your musings. Verity had arrived for her shift and you let her in with a wave of your wand, greeting her before disappearing into the office for one last check over the inventory books before the shop opened.

"Morning stranger," you heard a voice say a little later as you deposited some cash into the safe. You turned around and saw George leaning on the door frame, arms crossed with a smirk on his lips, looking well rested and quite frankly, very handsome in his suit and burgundy shirt.

"Morning Georgie," you smiled, locking the safe and turning to face him completely.

"You ran off this morning," he teases, stepping forward to sit next to you on the desk, his long legs leaning beside you.

"I left a note," you countered in a mock-argument, giving him a wicked smile. He chuckles and nods, his eyes flicking over you.

"Did everything come okay? Didn't expect you in yet."

"All set up," he says with a nod before frowning gently, his mouth opening and closing twice before he says the next part, "look about last night, I'm sorry if-"

"Georgie," you said, moving to stand and place your hand on his chest to stop him. "I offered."

"Yeah not for me to sleep with-

"It's fine, actually it was nice to sleep beside someone again," you said honestly, the image of Fred's smiling face from the photograph filling your mind as you thought of the only person you'd ever shared a bed with. "Except for the snoring, that I could do without," you joked. He immediately grabbed you and pulled you into him as you let out a little squeal at the sensation of his beginning to tickle you.

"Snoring!?" He repeats with a shout, trying to look outraged but the grin on his face told you that he was far from angry. "How rude Mrs Weasley," he jokes, stopping the tickling but still keeping his hands on your waist. His eyes flick down to your left hand and his brows knit together momentarily as you follow his train of thought.

"Couldn't let Ron see it yet," you said as you both looked at your left ring finger, "I have to confess something though."

"Don't say you've lost it already," George says with a small, goading smirk which transforms into a laugh as you hit him on the chest for the little dig.

"No I haven't lost it," you say with a huff before reaching down into your shirt and pulling out the chain that sits around your neck, the ring hanging off of it like a pendant, knowing he'd recognise it instantly, "had to borrow this from you, is that okay? Please don't be mad, I tried to put the ring on my other hand but it kept digging in and it cut me and."

George immediately stops your babbling by pressing his lips to yours, a move that shocks you to your core as you stand there frozen, feeling his soft lips on yours. The kiss lasts no more than a few seconds but you can't help but stay perfectly still, more than surprised by his actions, your eyes slowly fluttering open after instinctively closing as he leaned in. George pulls away and looks at you with equal amounts of surprise, as if he couldn't believe what he'd just done too. His shocked expression drops from his face after a few moments as he draws in a breath before explaining, never taking his eyes off his chain around your neck.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't think of any other way to stop you rambling," he says with a small tilt of teasing in his voice before his gaze flicks up to look directly into your eyes, a soft look on his features. "I don't mind, looks good on you."

He strokes your arm as he pulls away and without any other words, he walks through the office door and down the stairs, leaving you utterly bamboozled as you stare at the spot where George had just been. George just kissed you. George Weasley had just kissed you.

The rest of the day was a bit of a blur, with paperwork and inventory checks needing your attention and taking up most of your time. You'd run into George a few times over the course of the day and each and every time you had felt his eyes on you before you even knew he was there. The look in his eyes was unfamiliar to you, like he was deep in thought or concentration but it only seemed to be when he caught sight of you which was strange. At one point he had winked at you as you walked through the store after grabbing some lunch for the both of you and it made you feel giddy and restless as there had seemed to be a shift in your dynamic since the kiss.

After your last inventory check was done and recorded in the files, you stepped out onto the shopfloor at 10 minutes before close to ask George about what he wanted for dinner tonight but you stopped short when you saw him laughing with an unfamiliar woman next to the till. They were stood pretty close together and she was laughing at something George was saying as he chuckled along, looking fairly animated in his reply. Your eyes rolled when you saw her laugh and reach out to touch his arm, a move you'd seen over and over again in all those tragic muggle romantic comedies that Hermione had made you endure over the years. You couldn't deny that your stomach sank at seeing the scene before you, George and the pretty woman flirting openly in the near empty shop, especially after he kissed you earlier in the day. You considered just backing away and pretending that you'd not seen what you had but that plan was immediately rendered impossible when you heard your name called out by a very familiar voice. George.

He waved his hand at you, gesturing for you to join them and you willed your feet to move across the floor, trying to force a smile onto your face though inside you were a maelstrom of hurt and rage.

"This is her, y/n," George says, introducing you as you approach them, placing his hand onto your waist as you stand next to him. "She came up with these, bloody brilliant actually," George says, holding out the familiar packaging of the weather in a bottle product you'd created together in your sixth year. "Excellent diversion tactic or just a harmless prank if preferred, a rain cloud will actually follow the receiver around and it creates no mess, except for the unsuspecting victim, they'll be wet through."

Usually, George's praise would have made you blush, especially as his hand held your waist so openly, but in the current circumstance you just felt enraged. The woman he was chatting with had pulled away from him and clearly had a face like thunder at your interruption, though she tried to mask it around George.

"It seems your employees are very talented," she says with a tight lipped smile that certainly didn't reach her eyes. You didn't miss the inflection on the word 'employees' and it pained you not to roll your eyes at her purposeful goading. You shot her a sarcastic smile in return before looking around for Ron but you couldn't see him.

"Employee?" George says questioningly before looking down at you, pulling you in slightly, "my fiancée." You froze, feeling suddenly on the spot at you tried to search for any sign of Ron or Verity in hearing distance but there was no one else around.

The woman seemed to baulk at the new information and all pretence of a smile dropped from her face. She suddenly made up some excuse about having to collect something from Flourish and Botts and quickly hustled out of the store, leaving you and George alone.

You snorted as you watched her exit, "should rename the shop 'Weasleys' Wizard Whizzes, with how fast she just ran out."

George barked out a laugh before checking his watch and flourishing his wand, effectively closing and locking the door. He nudges you with his hip as he squeezes past to get to the tills, opening up the first one that Verity had manned for most of her shift.

"So fiancé Eh?" You said quietly, moving around to the second till to begin cashing it up just as George had with the first one. George gives you a little look as he counts the sickles before jotting down the total on the little piece of parchment beside the till.

"Only one more day before we tell mum, might as well start the rumours," George says with a knowing smirk. The mention of telling Molly made your stomach lurch and it was all you could think of as you counted each galleon, knut and sickle in the till.

"You ready my beloved?" George asks jokingly, reaching for your hand as he puts the last of the cash in the safe.

"What about the accounts?" You ask, looking through the inventory receipts laid out on your desk.

"They can wait till morning, I'm starving, let's go home," George says, taking your hand and begins leading you down the stairs. His use of 'home' gave you a warm, fluttery feeling that made a goofy smile want to cross across your lips, knowing that he meant both of you.

You walked out of the shop and George turned out the lights and locked up with his wand before placing it into his suit jacket pocket, never once letting go of your hand as you walked around to the back of the store and apparated back to your flat.

As soon as you made it back, you walked into your bedroom and threw off your bra just as you did everyday, followed by your socks and jeans, changing into your loungewear straight away. You threw on a big cardigan and walked back out to see George in the kitchen, looking through the fridge.

"Made you a cup of tea Angel," he says with an absent nod of his head as he peruses the ingredients.

"Thank you!" You gush, elated at the prospect of having a warm cup of tea, "I knew there was a reason I'm marrying you," you joked.

George huffed mockingly, closing the fridge as he turns to face you. He'd taken off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves and you couldn't deny how good he looked right at that moment.

"Not my movie star good looks? Towering height? Flaming red hair?" He jokes, stepping closer to you.

"Hmmm," you pretend to think, dramatically tapping your chin, "no it's definitely the tea."

"Remind me why I'm marrying you again?" He teases, reaching behind you to grab his drink.

"I'd say my impeccable sense of humour and sharp whit but we both know it's for a savvy business move," you replied with a sarcastic grin that falls from your face as you watch George's face sink. He recovers quickly but you definitely saw the stricken expression on his face and you immediately regret your words, though you were of course only stating facts.

You start tea as George nips in the shower and as the rice begins to boil and the chicken comes out of the oven, the kitchen heats up exponentially and you have to take off your cardigan due to the heat, casting it to the wind to land somewhere on the sofa behind you. Just as you reached for the jar of sauce from the cupboard, you saw the bottles of daisyroot draught you'd bought for George a few days ago and pulled it out for him before adding the sauce to the chicken.

"Georgie, I got you some daisyroot, if you want it," you said, turning to face him as you stir the bubbling pan. He's wearing his pyjama bottoms and a black T-shirt as he rubs his hair with the towel, walking barefoot into the kitchen. He opens his mouth to reply but he seems to briefly pause, focusing intently on something around you before snapping out of it a few moments later, looking bashful.

"Great, yeah great, thank you," he stammered, stuttering through his words as he avoided eye contact with you and walked past you to grab a glass from the top shelf. You frowned at his peculiar behaviour but decided not to question in, realising that it might be an adjustment thing from him moving in with you, after all the only person he'd ever lived with as an adult was Fred. Perhaps you shouldn't have bought him the daisyroot, thinking that somehow you might have overstepped.

"Tea's nearly ready," you say, perhaps a little delicately in hopes that you wouldn't upset him but his reaction is normal so you try to put it out of your mind, putting it down to a bad turn.

"This is amazing Angel," George says, taking huge forkfuls of the chicken curry and rice you'd haphazardly thrown together. You smile appreciatively at him and scoop up some of your own food, admittedly taking much smaller bites than George. "So, you ready to tell Mum tomorrow?"

Your eyes shoot up to his with a glare, seeing him smirking at you and you roll your eyes, feeling a lump in your throat and nerves at the pit of your stomach.

"Yeah can't wait," you mutter sarcastically, already anticipating what could happen in your mind, picturing her utter elation, or her outrage.

"You know she'll be happy right?" George says, scooping up another forkful of rice.

"You think we can actually convince them?" You ask, changing the direction of the conversation slightly, not realising how much that question had been playing on your mind. George is quiet for a minute as he considers his answer, taking a sip of the daisyroot before picking up his fork again.

"Don't see why not," he says with a little shrug before turning to look at you with a little smile, "not exactly unheard of is it? Falling for your best friend."

George's words make your stomach flip and roil in numerous ways, the smile on his face only furthering those complicated feelings within you.

"Guess not," you reply, trying to act neutral as you absently eat your food, though you couldn't deny that your appetite had waned dramatically from the topic of conversation. "So, do I wear the ring tomorrow or do I put it on after work?"

"Whatever you want Angel," George says, reaching for his glass again, "Ron's off tomorrow and I doubt Verity would notice anything even directly under her nose, it's just you and me." When you don't reply, silently considering your options, George leans over and grabs your hand on the table, stroking where your engagement ring should be. "Keep in on my chain tomorrow, around your neck and then put it on before we get back to mum's," he suggests, a softness to his voice that made it seem like a hopeful request. You nod and smile at him, still feeling a little conflicted as you tuck into the rest of your meal.

When you climb into bed later that night, your thoughts are consumed by your situation, of your impending engagement and your future after that. Truthfully, you hadn't taken much time to process everything since that first initial day, getting caught up in George moving in and all the things that came along with that. You were already anxious at returning to the Burrow tomorrow, having only been back a handful of times since the war, once for Harry and Ginny's engagement party and a few other dinners that never quite felt the same as before, like something obvious was missing, as it always was these days. Your thoughts were plagued with what ifs and nervous thoughts of what lies after but mostly all you could think of was Fred.

You had to remind yourself that you were doing this for George and for Fred's memory, to keep the business exactly as it had been created, to honour Fred. They were your oldest friends, your best friends and you'd give anything for them to succeed and to be happy and if that meant sacrificing your own life and happiness temporarily, then you'd do it in a heartbeat, regardless of the emotional strain.

You felt shame at lying to the people that had become your second family, that had housed you and welcomed you into their home like one of their own. You felt sad that you were holding back George from finding someone and even more conflicted that the idea of George finding someone else caused you to hurt in ways you couldn't explain. And most of all, you felt immeasurable guilt at your arrangement with George, namely because it felt like you were disrespecting Fred. Moving on, even though you were never officially together, seemed to imply that you had chosen George over him, that you could be so selfish and heartless that you'd marry his twin brother after his death, casting all of your memories away and rendering them insignificant. In your heart, you knew Fred wouldn't see it that way and he'd be proud of you for doing what you were doing for his and George's sake, though your mind wouldn't listen to a word of that, instead choosing to attack you.

As soon as the idea crossed your mind, you pulled back your covers and hauled yourself out of bed to crouch on the floor, reaching for a large shoebox that was stored under your bed, filled with your most treasured items. The top of the box had scribbles all over it in both in pencil and quill ink, with writings and drawings of Weasley products all over in a mixture of yours and the twins' handwriting. You sat and chuckled at the difference between everyone's writing; yours was the neatest and most consistent with cursive tails and joined letters. George's writing was small and a little 'curly', though it was quite neat for a boy's writing. Fred's writing however, fluctuated between indecipherable scribblings and various levels of darkness as if he's taken too much ink on the quill. You ran your fingers over the markings, smiling to yourself, before opening the lid to the shoebox. You didn't do this often, only when you needed to feel him, to be surrounded by memories, like right now.

You pulled out a stack of photos front the top, some magical and some not, seeing you, George and Fred at various ages and places during your Hogwarts years. You looked through them with fondness before coming across a photo of you and Fred at the Yule Ball in your sixth year, both of you dressed in your fanciest clothes. Fred's rust coloured waistcoat matches his vibrant, long hair perfectly and you looked at the photo carefully, thinking of how handsome he looked. Memories of dancing and laughing through the night entered your mind, both with Fred and George after George had stolen you away for a dance when Fred had stepped out to get drinks. Fred had walked straight up to the pair of you pretending to be angry and had tried to steal you back, both of them never missing a step of the waltz choreography as you were passed back and forth between the brothers, their matching red hair just a blur as you spun around.

You couldn't stop the tears that filled your eyes and steamed down your cheeks as you looked at the photo of Fred, trying to remember every little detail about him, the scar on his eyebrow and the light freckles on his cheeks, his smell and his laughter. You put down the photos and picked up the button that was underneath the stack, one of the buttons from your dress that night that Fred had unceremoniously ripped off of you, this singular button popping off and rolling underneath his bed, only for you to find it two months later. You placed the button down onto the photos and pulled out a stack of letters that you'd saved, some from Fred and some from George, not feeling strong enough to be able to read them at the moment.

Just as you pulled out a little stuffed toy of a Niffler that Fred had bought you in your third year and cuddled it into your chest, there was a gentle knock at the door. You called out for George to come in, trying to stash the things away before he could see them and get upset as well as quickly wiping away your tears before looking up to him.

Whatever he wanted from you disappeared the second he saw your tear strained face, crouched over a box he recognised immediately.

"Angel," he says quietly, which only makes more tears fall. He moves like lightning over to you and immediately wraps his arms around you, sitting beside you and pulling you into his embrace so that you were near enough sat in his lap. He holds you, rocking gently as you cry, no longer seeing any reason to hold back your emotions.

"Your T-shirt's all wet," you say in a weak, apologetic voice with a sniffle a few minutes later, pulling away from him slightly. "I'm so sorry, it's not fair of me to do this with you," you say, noticing that his own tears are working their way down his face.

"Not fair? What do you mean?" He says gently, allowing you to pull away but not completely, keeping a comforting hand on you.

"He was your brother, your twin, I-"

"Enough of that," he says with a shake of his head, reaching down to wipe away a tear under your eye, "he meant everything to both of us."

His words make you want to cry all over again but you don't, trying to stay calm as you rest your forehead on his shoulder. His hand strokes your back as you try and calm your breathing, feeling a little embarrassed by your outburst after you'd got it all out of your system.

"I'm sorry, I hadn't considered how hard this must be for you, you and Fred were together for-."

"It doesn't matter," you say, cutting off George, not wanting to explain that you were never really together, "it's not that, not really, I just really needed him."

George gives you a single nod that holds all the weight of understanding, clearly knowing exactly how you felt.

"I remember this," George chuckles, pulling something out of the box delicately. It was a piece of parchment with the ingredients for the ageing potion you'd found in an old potions book that the twins had used to try and enter their names into the triwizard tournament. You'd warned them that it wouldn't work against Dumbledore's age line but they hadn't listened. Attached to the sheet of parchment with an old paper clip was a photo you'd taken of the twins in the infirmary, both of them sporting wild white hair and beards, including bushy eyebrows, their arms around each other with cheesy smiles.

You watched as George reached down to touch an old, faded T-shirt of Fred's that was tucked down into the bottom of the box, an old quidditch T-shirt that had outgrown him by his third year, golden thread stitching up a hole in the collar and another smaller one on the seam of the sleeve. You wore it to bed nearly every night for years, the softness and the smell always so comforting to you.

George's fingers ran across the Gryffindor logo for a moment before catching sight of a keyring he'd bought you from the Quidditch World Cup, the green shamrock dangling from the binder ring, the Ireland logo on the back a little scratched up now but the green, white and orange colours were still as vibrant as ever.

"I bought you this," he said with a smile, placing it into his hand as he inspected it. You nodded eagerly, remembering it clearly. You'd painted the boys faces before leaving the tent with the face paint you'd taken with you and when they'd been to look at the merchandise with the limited money they had, they'd both returned with matching green and white scarves, Fred decked out in an obscenely large hat and George had nervously held out his hand to you, passing you the keyring as he moved you to stand between the twins.

"Knew you would want a momento from the trip but I didn't think you'd appreciate one of those hats like Fred and Ginny had," he says, a fondness in his eyes as he looks at the metal keyring.

"I used it everyday for five years," you said, giving him a little smile. "I caught it on the door one day and I thought I broke it, had to reattach the shamrock and then I switched it out, it means too much to me to get broken or lost."

George looks up at you with emotion filled eyes, a look shared between you both that held so much depth that it stole your breath for a few moments.

"Feels like another lifetime," George says after a few minutes of silence. You made a noise of agreement, flicking your eyes down to look at the box filled with distant memories that were now bittersweet and a little twisted.

"You're wrong, you know."

George looks up at you with a puzzled frown, confused by your words. You breathe out a puff of laughter and smile at him, reaching for the hand that wasn't holding the keyring.

"Fred isn't the only one who means everything to me."

Your words seem to affect George in a way that you hadn't anticipated as a tear comes to his eye, his hand tightening around yours before he pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you. You hug him back without question, feeling his soft (and now dry) T-shirt against your skin, his arms around you and the comforting smell of his hair and skin taking over your senses.

He pulls away ever so slightly and for a moment you think he's going to kiss you again, his face so close to yours but he doesn't, slowly releasing you from his hold until you climbed off of him, a little disappointed.

"Right, enough mushy shit, we need a plan, for telling your family," you say, standing up and pulling your pyjamas back into place.

"That was what I came to tell you," George says, moving to stand as well as you bent down to slide the box back under your bed. You turned around and looked at him expectantly, wanting him to elaborate. "Mum sent an owl, said something about a gnome infestation, apparently they're vicious this time of year, dad's been bitten twice just walking to the car."

"Oh."

"I was thinking we could meet them at the leaky cauldron or get a meal out? We'll need to tell them soon," he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Invite them over! I can cook, might need to leave work early to prep everything though," you reply, trying to save the plans you'd made.

"Really? You don't have to but,"

"They need to believe we're really together, what better way then to show them that we're living together," you say before reaching a bump in the road, "your stuff will probably need to move in here though, can't have it look like we're sleeping separately, we're not exactly priests."

George nods, following along with your train of thought. "I could bring more of my stuff over? Litter it about, just for a couple of days?"

You shrug in reply, "I don't mind."

"I'll write to mum now and offer them to come here, take the day off tomorrow, then you won't be rushing around, like I know you will," he says with a knowing smirk that you roll your eyes at.

"But you'll be on your own."

"I'll send Ron an owl."

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[nightmare-foundation]

I'm going to fucking Scream

There's so many parallels between No Way Home and A Death In The Family (specifically the movie version, I haven't read the comics yet).

Like. Please tell me I'm not insane for this?? Cause the parallels are jumping out at me and it's making me want to eat drywall. Like at this point the parallels between Peter/Batman and Peter/Jason as well as Joker/Goblin AND May/Bruce in the whole. Condo fight CANNOT be unintentional. There's no fuckin way. You could also argue there's some UTRH vibes thrown in but I'm less sure about that

Like. Idk it really feels like there's a lot of similarities between Jason and Peter. Similar traumas and events even if it's not 1:1. Specifically Peter kinda reminds me of Jason pre-hood.

A lot of people argue Peter is exactly like Dick, and he is!! There's definitely similarities there you can't deny. But MCU Peter, at least right now, reminds me WAY more of Jason than Dick. Peter, in other media such as the Spider-Man games, is definitely more like Nightwing than anything. But MCU Peter always felt fundamentally different and I think this us why??

He feels way more like Jason and I can't really explain it bc I'm frankly worried about getting it wrong. It feels more like Peter's journey in the mcu is there to match Jason, not Dick. Not listening to his mentor, being a brash and rebellious teenager (not angry, but he IS rebellious), wanting to do good no matter what, but life beating him down time and time again- fucking up and almost/actually getting people killed (the ferry, or Felipe), having issues with their superhero billionaire father figure, getting benched because of their brash actions, almost dying, ACTUALLY dying bc of said rebellious nature, green and/or purple themed nutcases killing them/someone close to them just to prove a point (one bad day vs no good deed goes unpunished), wanting said green nutcase dead, etc.

Like. Please tell me I'm not insane for this?? Ever since I got into batfam stuff all of these parallels have been jumping out at me. They feel REALLY similar except Peter hasn't, and very likely won't, go down the path Jason did.

Honestly this makes me really want to see a movie exploring Peter struggling to hold back, dealing with his trauma and darkness, though lbr, that likely won't happen. It'd be cool tho

[singingcicadas]

As a shallow, low-brow person who enjoys the satisfaction of eating from the good old cliche cake of karmic retribution, Death of Optimus Prime makes me distinctly uncomfortable in a way that excessive depictions of gore/body horror/violence/abuse does not. I think it’s the underlying moral of the entire thing that gets to me: the implication that no good deed goes unpunished, that those who chose to flee in times of need are entitled to mock the sacrifices of those who chose to stand and fight while enjoying the world they made possible. The irrationality of the motley crowd. The heartless apathy of the people. The desperation for peace trumping the need for justice. 

The main thing I got out of this issue is that… it isn’t worth it. The altruism. The ideals. You can give and give until every last vestige of your life is bled dry and there will still always be people who stand gorging on the sustenance of your flesh while pointing their fingers and saying “well we didn’t ask you to. Maybe it would have been better if you didn’t. Why didn’t you do better? Why didn’t you do more?” 

Like it’s not enough to sacrifice the Matrix, it’s not enough to sacrifice your life, it’s not enough to sacrifice everything and have those sacrifices be unrecognized and scorned by the very people you made the sacrifice for, they’d make you give up your identity as well, your name, your position, and then finally your right to exist within the world you won back; they’d take and take until you have nothing left to give and it still won’t be enough, it’ll always be you are just as bad, because how dare you inconvenience our lives by having the audacity to stand up against evil. While conveniently disregarding the fact that everyone’d all be living (or dying) under the Decepticons’ lovely governance if the Autobots didn’t fight back. Or as part of Zeta’s vamparc ribbon. Or under the functionalists hoping their alt-modes never get booted into the obsolete category. It’s like the fucking Giving Tree except at least the boy has a better attitude towards the tree.

I don’t disagree with the NAILs’ standpoint as a concept, it’s interesting and does add depth to the story, but the way it’s treated is. um. rubs me in every wrong way possible. 

Like. this is no. Just no. It's one thing for the NAILs and Decepticons to want Optimus gone; they have their own interests. Their motivations, while ignoble, are still understandable. But for Bumblebee to agree? To the point where he’d even exile Optimus himself if he didn’t want to leave? Bumblebee. Bumblebee, conscience of the Autobots. Bumblebee, whose kindness is so all-encompassing that he can find compassion for even Megatron and Starscream. Bumble-I-owe-Prime-everything-bee.

“Tonight for the first time all Cybertronians are united” wtf. This is wrong on so many levels. Optimus led you through the war. He led you to the victory of the war. Without his military leadership you wouldn’t be standing there worrying about keeping peace in the first place, because there would not be any peace to keep. Unless you’re interested in living under peace through tyranny. And you’re just going to throw him out now that he’s filled his purpose, because your enemies and dissenters are united in wanting him get thrown out. He’s guilty of what. exactly. existing?

Talk about appeasement. Talk about using someone as a means to an end. Even the Scavengers are better than that they didn't give up Grimlock. This isn’t how you treat someone that you owe a debt of gratitude to. This isn’t how you treat a friend, nor a comrade. This isn’t how a loyal soldier treats his leader. This isn’t how a decent person treats another person, period. 

Then there’s the whole subsequent plot line where Starscream gets to be the leader of Cybertron. Is that some sort of political vent or. What’s it supposed to imply? That the masses are mindless and easily manipulated. Elections are bad. People can’t be trusted with democracy cuz they’re stupid and selfish. Deceit and manipulation are not only more effective than brute might but also triumphs over genuine intent. And the good guys just. rolls along with it. Then gets backstabbed a bajillion times. Then still keep rolling along after getting backstabbed a bajillion times. Like why. What did you expect. What’s the point of fighting for so many years if you’re so desperate for peace that you don’t even care what kind of person is ruling you? Ruling your home, your planet, your compatriots? Your comrades? Did all those Autobots who died during the war just. die for nothing. Why didn’t you just surrender to Megatron when he first offered then. Why not simply kept your heads down and accept Sentinel. Zeta. The functionalists. At least less people would have died that way. 

It’s not even a matter of oh everyone is a war criminal there’s no victors in war everything’s morally grey and complicated or any of that twisted contrived grimdark shit. It’s a lack of common sense. Trusting the SIC of your enemy faction who’s a known mass murderer/notoriously famous backstabber once is giving someone the benefit of the doubt. Continuing to allow him to rule your planet after getting backstabbed betrayed sabotaged almost-killed multiple times is stupidity. It’s enablement. Complacency. Since when did everyone decide that the best method of dealing with a self-serving entitled prick who lied and killed and manipulated his way up to dictatorship under a farce of democracy and faked 'god-chosen’ bullshit is to leave him in charge and wait for him to develop a conscience.

And then the perspective of the colonists. “Look what your wars, hatreds, and ambitions have brought us,” they said. “You’re all gross. Why can’t you just stop fighting?” Easy words, from people who lived the majority of their lives in relative peace and ease. From those who had the privilege of growing up knowing no deaths, no functionalism, no crushing stratification. As if Cybertron hadn’t been led astray from the beginning by Shockwave and locked into an endless cycle of violence and oppression ever since the dawn of its civilization. As if Cybertronians ever got a chance at a peaceful fulfilling life. Four million years of war is horrific. But where would the Cybertronians be, if the war never happened? Oh right cowering under the functionalists. What if there were no functionalists? Then it’s Nova Sentinel Zeta. What if the Autobots didn’t fight?  Peace through tyranny and a universe wiped free of organic lifeforms. From the moment they opened their eyes, each and every Cybertronian from the time of Onyx Prime to the last constructed MTO has been cast into a dystopia so deeply entrenched as to be inescapable. It’s suffering all around. What other choices did they have? 

So speaketh the colonist, built on the back of Cybertronian expansion. Which is funny because Unicron is literally a product of colonialism.

The story seems to imply in so many ways that war is an inherent crime in and of itself. It doesn’t matter who initiated it. It doesn’t matter if you were the aggressor or the defensive or forced into it as a last resort. It doesn’t matter who or what you were fighting for. It doesn’t matter that you tried your best to remain true to your ideals through so many long years of violence under impossible conditions. To the eyes of the lofty outsider, the apathetic bystander, simply participating makes you just as bad as the other side. It doesn’t matter how horrible the alternative would have been if you’d rolled over and didn’t resist. In the end everything fades into inconsequence; the only legacy left behind is destruction. Everyone is a killer.

But no actually. war doesn’t work like that. History doesn’t work like that. For those who's never experienced the circumstances firsthand, never suffered through the choices or the lack thereof, what right do they have to judge?

[lisbetadair]

New Fic: Ghillies In The mIST

If anyone remembers the extremely soft and fluffy, married and in retirement story I wrote about Soap, Ghost and The Incident Involving The Badger, there's now a sequel called Ghillies In The Mist

Continuing in the efforts to leave special forces life behind, and to relax into retired, married life in the countryside, a dry-cleaning mix up ruins Ghost’s party plans and Johnny learns that no good deed ever goes unpunished.

Rated T+

No specific tags, except that I know some people like it when Ghost looks after Soap when he's sick that features in the first half.

[susandsnell]

for the character asks - 2 for sue snell and 4 for armand!

thanks so much nixe dear!!! hope your day was good!!

Character Ask Game!

2. Favorite canon thing about this character? - Sue Snell

It's so hard to pick one thing I love the most about her, so I'll pick the fact that she published her own book about the events of the prom, My Name is Susan Snell. There's so much to be said in horror fiction (and, more broadly, gothic fiction) about the role of the archivist, the narrator, the messenger; the survivor who acted as witness, who brings us the tale, and how their agenda and emotional realities colour the way they tell it.

Sue is, for all intents and purposes, the Final Girl of Carrie while also being the unwitting instigator of the latter reaching Killer status. As a bully, she was her monster's monster, partaking in the incident that would precipitate Carrie's descent into villainy. But crueler still, it's her attempts to atone and go from stepsister to fairy godmother that set the final tragedy in motion. In any version, the compassion and regret Sue feels turns to love and an ironclad will to do right by Carrie -- but no good deed goes unpunished. Sue is put through nine circles of hell. Everyone she knows except her immediate family -- her teachers, her boyfriend, her soulmate, her friends both current and former -- are dead, and she was powerless to stop it. In the 76 movie, she's left as we leave many final girls - screaming, howling spectres of the trauma they've absorbed. In the musical and the book, she's the scapegoat interrogated by police and committee, forced to identify Carrie's body before given proper medical help.

And the existence of the book turns so much of that on its head. She's taking back the narrative into her own hands to communicate the truth of what happened, to reinterrogate her own experience and to honour the memory of her dead, not as heroes or villains, but as humans. She willingly plunges back into hell itself and then brings that hell to the public eye, to communicate the truth, and hopefully, gain peace and closure through disclosure. (And maybe help some other tragic telepaths along the way, we don't know and that sequel is not canon to me.) Less than 10 years after the fact, Sue is the messenger on her own behalf and on the behalf of all those who aren't there, admitting her sins and contextualizing those of others. I know the excerpts from the book say she will be "thinking until she dies", because there's no leaving what happens to her behind, but as messenger, she doesn't simply evoke the memory of the prom, she shapes the status it will hold in the public's consciousness. Sue's nightmare is compounded by the fact that her greatest suffering is in the hands of the public to judge and understand as they will, but through her telling, she is grabbing it back and giving it the shape and status that only one who lived it can; she is the witness to the horrors demanding in turn that the world be her witness. It's in the title: My Name Is Susan Snell. (A parallel to all that's made of knowing Carrie's name?) A whole, complete person with her own voice, and not the villain or victim you'd have her be.

4. If you could put this character in any other media, be it a book, a movie, anything, what would you put them in? - The Vampire Armand

Oh, here's a fun one! I'm actually working on a top-secret AMC!verse crossover with a friend (can't give away much, but it's with Tanz Der Vampire), but I will talk about other possible media I'd like to see him in. Honestly, the gremlin would do just about great in most psychosexual horrors you put him in; the biggest no-brainer for me would be that he'd absolutely rock it as a Cenobite in the Hellraiser universe, since we know that even if he never wanted the leadership role in the coven/cult, he does manage solidly well for centuries, adaptive-yet-stagnant as he is. He would probably take great enjoyment in the entire mindfuckery-aspect of corrupting someone, reshaping their will, and exploring the intersections of agony and desire in the process; it might even be something that would benefit him in a twisted way, given that it normalizes what the crux of his suffering is with respect to the ways his relationship to pleasure and trauma are so tightly intertwined. (I also think Armand could totally, easily Saltburn someone, but I don't think he'd keep the same ending; there's no way he'd want to be alone in a big house like that!)

On a completely different note, I think he'd do well in a Moulin Rouge or Sucker Punch style backstage drama films or stage musicals (hell, even Phantom of the Opera?), especially since Sucker Punch involves a lot of reality-bending and the director's cut directly has seduction to accepting one's death as a comfort. He's a theatre kid and a snippy, exacting director at that. I'd love to just watch him occasionally throw around his breathtaking elder-vampire powers when push comes to shove with the drama and tension and potential patrons/investors, but not half as much as I want to watch him get overly invested in micromanaging stage productions of increasingly questionable quality. Put Armand in The Producers or Something Rotten. I want to hear his Andrew Lloyd Webber takes.

Or -- just throw him into Derry Girls. I think if anyone could outwit him to his defeat and then befriend the guy, thus kickstarting the world's most bizarre redemption (?) arc, it'd be them.

Thanks so much for this! <3

[rydiathesummoner]

Ranking the shittiest moms in FFXIV

#6: Matoya

"Mentor" my ass. If Thancred is Ryne's dad, Matoya is Y'shtola's mom. Matoya made this list for the sole reason that she made Y'shtola grow up in a damn cave. Why? Why a dark cave? It's ok if Matoya didn't want to go back to anything related to Sharlayan. There are plenty of other places to take your protegé. That said, even though she speaks harshly she loves Y'shtola. She gripes, but she always helps Y'shtola and her friends. She's never like "you're an adult now, piss off." She worries about Y'shtola's health. It could have been worse.

#5: Julyan Manderville

She's a loving and doting mother, until someone indicates she's old. Then it's lights out. With a frying pan. Have you ever held a cast iron pan? No wonder Gilgamesh went through the wall. Girl is slinging brain damage left and right for the sin of assuming she's over 21. Even though she has an adult son. She booted her son over a continent. No really, a literal continent. I'd call that terrible abuse except... you know, Hildebrand and all that... not like he can die.

#4: Cahciua

There's no doubt that Cahciua loves Erenville. However, she was the mom who dumps her kid on friends and relatives so she can maintain her pre-baby lifestyle. Lady you chose to have a kid. You have to adapt. A kid-free lifestyle is unattainable when you have a kid. She strikes me as the type to have a kid for the "adventure" of raising a kid, then they don't do any of the work but still go on about how hard parenthood is.

#3: Teeshal Ja

This lady. She genuinely thought she could baby-trap Zoraal Ja. Bitch, how dumb can you be. I still want to know if for her "boon" she actually asked to have sex with him, or just requested his splooge and made a clone. Either way, Gulool Ja was a means to an end for her, not a beloved son. That said, she didn't toss him in the trash when Zoraal Ja left, and she made an effort to hide him from danger so she's not as awful as she could have been.

#2: Athena:

Holy hell where to begin. She had a kid with a guy she used for power. While most parents want the best for their kids, Athena very deliberately made her son wimpy and compliant. She never loved Erichthonios. To her, he was a specimen. Had she achieved godhood, she would have tossed him in the trash without a second thought. Her last moments were spent telling Erichthonios "ew, you're so useless." Bitch. You deserve to spend eternity in a room full of voice #4 lalas.

#1: Asahi's mom/Yotsuyu's aunt

I started this list thinking Athena would be the obvious winner. But then I remembered this sack of shit. She sold her adopted daughter into prostitution. She didn't feed her. At the end, she had absolutely no remorse about how she treated Yotsuyu. Hell, her last words to Yotsuyu were like "ugh, why don't you just die already? That would be so much more convenient for me!" And it's not just Yotsuyu. She also raised Asahi. You know, the little shit. She raised him to be a little shit. She taught him that abuse and neglect are fine. She utterly failed at both kids she raised. Here's why she's worse than Athena: the Athenas of the world commit "big" crimes that get talked about. This bitch doesn't even get a name. No historian will look at Yotsuyu's crimes and mark down the actions of the woman who raised her. Her cruelty is insidious and silent in comparison to big world events, and because of that this kind of cruelty is widespread and goes unpunished. The Yotsuyu's Moms of the world have caused more collective harm to humanity than one-off psychos like Athena. This cunt deserves to spend eternity in a room full of voice #5 miqo'tes. All bards. All going WAO! WAO! WOOOO! WOO! like a damn police siren. All day. And when they are not waoing, they are playing shitty off-key midi songs, and all of them are slightly out of sync in the song. You deserve it.

[nebulablakemurphy]

Through Love And By Love (Pt. 18)

Summary: Twenty-Two years ago, Draco Malfoy used the imperius curse to slow Voldemort’s rise to power. No good deed goes unpunished. Warning: this series contains mature subject matter surrounding use of the imperius curse (dub-con), discussions of trauma and mental illness; reader discretion advised.

Part 17

Rosanna is no longer in her bed, or even in her house. The surface beneath her is hard and unbearably cold, but she doesn’t dare move.

“I’m going to finish preparing the room. Bring her once she’s up.” A voice echos off the walls.

“She’s bleeding everywhere.” Another voice, this one she knows.

“Come on, Goyle, don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little dirty blood.” The door clicks shut and Rosanna is dragged upright.

Forcing her eyes open, Rosanna finds herself face to face with Gregory Goyle, Draco’s childhood friend. They’d grown up together, he spent countless hours in her house, he held her children.

He-

Rosanna rears back, slamming her forehead against his hard enough to make him stumble away.

“Damn you,” he whispers. “More trouble than you’re worth, McVay. I’ll never understand what Draco sees in you…besides himself.”

She claws at him this time, like she means to gouge his eyes out.

“Come on, it’s just a joke. I’m here to help you.”

“Help me how?” She whispers.

“Got a plan, don’t bugger it.” He hauls her to her feet, fingertips digging into the flesh of her upper arm.

Goyle leads her through the door, to the adjoining room. Mostly empty, save for an array of lit candles, a circle, a rope, and a knife.

“Welcome! So kind of you to join us.” Theodore? Theodore Nott? “I suppose introductions are in order, it has been a while.”

“I know who you are.” Rosanna jerks her arm free of Goyle.

“Wonderful, that saves time.” Theodore grins, “you may be wondering why you’re here…unless you already know that as well?” He cocks his head to the side. “Must be why you and Granger get on so well, two peas in a pod. Although they couldn’t make you the minister, with a death eater’s cock shoved up inside you, could they? No, there has to be consequences for that. Though clearly they’re not opposed to using you when it benefits them.”

Rosanna glares. Don’t let him get in your head.

“It was almost too easy to distract you, with the files, and Delphi, then Rabastan. You just couldn’t keep your head on straight.” Nott muses, quite pleased with himself.

“How’d you get the files?” Rosanna wonders.

“I surely don’t have access to such sensitive information within the ministry. We don’t all get golden girl privileges. Some of us had to atone for our sins, some of our fathers went to Azkaban for life. Some of us got tossed away like we were nothing. I don’t think that’s fair, so I decided to do something about it, the imperius curse came in handy. I know you’re familiar.” Theodore begins pacing in the circle, drawn on the floor in what Rosanna assumes to be blood.

“Just kill me then and be done with it.”

“Did it ever occur to you that there is a reason great wizards throw themselves at you?” Everyone from Harry Potter to Lord Voldemort. “That you are, in some way, exceptional. A conduit for magic. Had you not chosen to spend your life with someone who does not value it, you would know that. Draco keeps it locked inside you, wasting away, but I can fix it. I can teach you how to use that power, I can make you the greatest witch whoever lived. In return, you will serve me. Reduce the world to ash and rebuild, as it should be.”

“No thanks,” Rosanna shrugs. If she can just stall long enough for Goyle’s plan to take action, or even to figure out what the circle is for…

“I wasn’t asking.” Theodore purses his lips. “There is one matter that must be attended before we proceed in making you mine.”

Rosanna narrows her eyes, daring him to go on.

“I bare no relation to the Malfoy family. Therefore what is bound, must be unbound. Let’s bring him out. The man of the hour, here to save you.” Theo drags Draco into the room, feet bloodied, his pajamas torn.

“Leave her alone.” Draco seethes, hands behind his back, magic knitting them together.

“No, I don’t think I will.” Nott taunts, pushing Draco to the ground, just outside the circle. “Got a bit of a mouth on her, but that can be fixed.”

The floor quakes beneath them, rumbling as though it might break away.

“Was that you?” Theodore laughs, his eyes flickering to Rosanna, a vision in her silk golden nightgown, dripping in her own blood. “You are a pistol, aren’t you?”

“Let her go.” Draco fires this time, but the magic is unhinged, no way to direct it.

“You know this is even better than I imagined! Your magic is bound to Draco, who doesn’t have a clue how to use it. Bravo, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, you’ve outdone yourselves. Now if you’ll just keep doing exactly what you are doing, this circle has all the enchantments we need to untangle your magic.”

Rosanna swipes a hand over her face, smearing the blood beneath her nose. Without a word, she looks to Goyle. What’s the plan?

“What’s the matter, dove?” Nott calls her attention. “Not in the mood? That’s alright, I’ll inspire you. Crucio!”

Draco writhes, howling in pain.

“Stop.” Rosanna takes a step forward, only to realize that she can’t move outside the circle.

“I’m just getting started.” Nott grins.

“Stop!”

“No.” Theodore growls, hitting Draco with the cruciatus curse a second time.

She feels the wall, between the magic she has access to and what lies beyond. She doesn’t run at it head first, that doesn’t work, because the wall is Draco’s. Not her own.

But she knows his mind…

“I was never truly happy until I met you.”

She knows his heart…

“You have always been and will always be the deepest, most desperate desire of my heart.”

And she knows his soul…

"There is no me without you, keeping you alive is as self preserving as it gets."

Using her magic to save him isn’t dangerous, it’s self preservation, and there is nothing Draco wants more than to keep her safe.

The windows shatter, the door comes away from its hinges. She’s vaguely aware of the fact that Goyle is yelling. Tossing his wand to the floor near Draco.

Rosanna can’t make out what he’s saying over the ringing in her ears. The magic courses through her now, consuming her and she sees red. There’s not a spell in the world that will be punishment enough for what Nott has done.

He used the imperius curse to leak Draco’s file from the ministry.

Crucio. No, that isn’t enough.

He tried to recruit Delphi to do his dirty work.

Reducto. No.

He used Rabastan and his sick obsession to distract them.

Avada Kedavra.

He came into their home.

Avada Kedavra.

He hurt Draco.

Avada Kedavra.

They need him alive, at least for a while, to make sure this ends with him.

And so Rosanna thinks of the spell, one that will kill him agonizingly slow, if no one intervenes.

“Sectum Sempra.”

Theodore’s skin flays open, much faster than Draco’s had all those years before, when Harry struck him the lavatory. Down to the muscle, in no time.

Someone is screaming.

Telling her to stop.

But she can’t stop.

She doesn’t want to stop.

Goyle isn’t beside her anymore, he’s moved away. Blown back against the wall. Did she do that?

“Rosanna, stop!” Hermione? Hermione is there and telling her to stop, pleading with tears in her eyes.

“Why do you care about him? He tried to-”

“I don’t! I don’t care about him!” Hermione shouts back, “I care about you!”

Rosanna draws back. Taking in the scene before her. Draco is there, on the floor, twitching with the after effects of the cruciatus curse. How long was Nott torturing him? How long has she been flaying Theodore open?

Harry is over Nott now, assessing the damage. It’s bad. Even with the counter spell, he isn’t sure he’ll live. Not that it matters, but they can’t try a dead man.

Help Draco, save Draco. Rosanna’s head is pounding furiously, as she collapses at his side.“Draco?”

Draco curls himself around her, lips quirked with the hint of a smile. “Do you know the worst part about all of this?”

“Hmm?”

“Your magic listens to me as well as you do. Rarely, if ever.” He clarifies, “perhaps never at all.”

Rosanna chokes out laugh, “I listen to you. This is self preservation, just like you said.”

“This is not what I meant.” There’s blood, too much blood, staining her golden nightgown crimson. Her eyes have no whites to them, all broken blood vessels and blown pupils, threatening to swallow her brown irises. “This was foolish, highly irresponsible-”

Rosanna’s lips are on his then, silencing any further ranting. “I will always take care of you, Draco. No matter how foolish or irresponsible that makes me or how mad you get, I will never let anyone hurt you. My only regret is that I couldn’t do it sooner. I wish I could go back and stop anyone from ever hurting you.”

Draco’s eyes search her face, “we need to get you to a healer.”

Rosanna doesn’t fight him on that. “My brain is on fire.” She feels it now.

————————————————————————

Six days later, under the florescent lights of St. Mungos hospital, Rosanna wakes. She turns and vomits onto the floor, rousing the man in the chair beside her.

Draco.

Draco.

Draco.

“I’ll get you some water.” He says, casting a quick cleansing spell over Rosanna and the floor.

There’s nothing to do but wait. Eventually he returns, cup in hand.

“Thank you.”

Draco gives a curt nod.

“You’re pissed at me.” Rosanna accepts the offering, chugging it down.

“I…” Draco chokes out. “I am beyond angry. I am beside myself with worry for you.”

“Draco, I’m so-”

“Don’t,” he warns, “don’t you dare apologize to me. You’re not sorry, you told me you’d do it again!”

“Come here,” Rosanna insists, grabbing his arms and tugging him onto the cot with her. His shoulders are shaking, the entire length of him rigid. As though he’ll break if he softens. “I’m sorry. I am. I’m sorry to worry you, I’m sorry that I upset you. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done.”

The dam breaks and Draco sobs, unabashedly against the crook of her neck. “Please, Rosanna, I am begging you, please don’t do this to me again.”

“I love you.” She continues feebly, “I love you so much and when I saw you…when I saw him hurting you, I lost control. But I’ll learn to reign it in. I’ll learn, I promise. Give me time and I’ll-”

Draco says nothing.

“It’s like you said, to my bones I am yours. I mean that. Do what you want with me. Take my magic, hide me away, keep me to yourself, if that is what you need. I’ll never complain. I have caused you so much heartache, let me give you peace.”

“The only thing I want is a long life with you, quit trying to rob me of it.” Draco breathes, allowing her fingers to card his hair.

“I owe you more than that.” The words to hang between them for a moment before Rosanna amends her statement. “I want to give you more than that. I want to give you everything.” I want to be your solace. I want to give back a fraction of what you’ve given me. “I want to fix this.”

Draco draws back slightly, his forearms on either side of her head, caging her in. Keeping her safe. “Sweetheart, this isn’t broken. It’s ours. You are mine and I am yours. It can never be broken.”

Rosanna nods, tears slipping from her eyes.

“Don’t cry, Ro. I’m tired of making you cry.” His thumbs skate over her cheeks, drawing the moisture away.

————————————————————————

Their friends and family trickle in and out of the hospital, until they are released a few days later.

Even Goyle comes to visit, after they’ve returned home, to some sense of normalcy. “You buggered it,” is all he has to say to his friend’s wife. “I’d been working on Nott for weeks, earning his trust, I even tipped off Draco and Potter. I had it under control. Then you fucked the whole plan right up the arse, put me through a wall, for no bloody reason.”

“Any plan that includes my husband being tortured is a shit plan.” Rosanna cocks her head to the side.

“Would’ve spared you the brain damage.” Goyle says, bitterly. He’s never been particularly fond of Rosanna, but he doesn’t wish her dead.

“She doesn’t have brain damage.” Draco snarls, “I had them check a dozen times, her scans are normal.” He’s struck a nerve.

Rosanna puts a hand over his, squeezing lightly. “I had a brain bleed and some swelling, the only thing affected is my short term memory. But the healer is hopeful that even that is temporary.”

Draco’s fingers twitch beneath hers. “Talk about something else.”

So they do.

Part 19

[demonlys]

✧˖ ° closed starter / house located on the outskirts of town , with aeri jeong ! ( @avdaciter )

when the demon took over her chosen vessel, she inherited neslihan's memories, including the vivid images of her final moments. the recollection lingered on her mind, a persistent, burning presence that refused to fade. it felt as if the memory wasn't just a fragment of the past, but a living thing, alive with intent that fueled an insatiable hunger for revenge, as if neslihan herself was screaming for retribution. make them pay. make them suffer. zehra sought out the individuals responsible for neslihan's death, unleashing her vengeance on them. all but one had been easy to track. the last one managed to slip through her grasp, always hiding just out of reach. he would not escape this time. moving swiftly through the shadowy streets outside portum's safe confines, zehra can almost feel neslihan's presence breathing down her neck, urging her on. brunette demon ducks into an alleyway, instincts are sharp as she closes in on her long-time target. just as victory appears within her reach, things take an unexpected turn when the fool decides to pickpocket an unfortunate bystander. an annoyed huff escapes her. of course, the idiot would try to mug the one other supernatural in the alley. the real problem ? zehra can barely recall the familiar figure's name or what species she is. unsure of the other's powers and not wanting her counterpart to accidentally vaporize the man ( she needs him breathing, for a while ), older femme intervenes. a quick move knocks the thief off balance, but things go awry, and the other woman ends up knocked out cold. fantastic. now zehra's stuck with a fainted, probably unconscious supernatural on her hands and nowhere to put her except back in portum. the old saying "no good deed goes unpunished" has never felt more accurate. even the universe knows that kindness always comes with a cost, one of inconvenient consequences. it's not until she's already dragged the limp girl back through the protective wards that zehra realizes she has no idea where sleeping beauty lives. so, she does what any self-respecting demon would do; break into a random house and hope for the best.

leaning over the younger woman, she dips her fingers into a glass and lets the water droplets fall onto aeri's forehead like a countdown. femme watches for any sign of movement, her patience thinning as she considers tossing the entire glass in the accidental napper's face. if that doesn't do the trick, there's always shaking her like a ragdoll. zehra ends up flicking the girl's ear instead. “ oh goodie, you're awake, ” she says after the other begins to stir and takes a step backwards to put some distance between herself and the couch. “ i've brought you to your house, ” she waves a hand in the air, gesturing towards their current surroundings, “ someone’s house. you’re welcome. ”

[heretherebedork]

Something I've been thinking about with Playboyy is how both virginity and casual sex are demonized.

In fact, the only sex that does not come with direct punishment is either sex workers having sex and sex in a relationship. Otherwise, sex or lack thereof is treated as a moral failing and thus must be punished.

Nant was a virgin who then started having casual sex and then kinky sex and then became a drug addict and died.

Porsche and Jump's relationship started as blackmail and punishment and the instant Jump acknowledged that he was 'tired of violent sex' was the moment he started actively seeking a relationship and, boom, now they're happy and sappy as can be.

Soong and First are constantly punished for having kinky sex and for having casual sex and, hell, First actively uses kinky sex to punish people for his friends when he's not in a relationship.

Which goes back to the virginity punishment because Zouey is forced to apologize on his knees for stating that he's tired of being called immature by people who seem to consider maturity means being monsters to people and hurting them... and Zouey is the one who's treated as being wrong despite the character literally acknowledging they were being awful... but Zouey is wrong because holding onto his virginity for as long as he did and not embracing the same maturity is considered to be a moral failing as well.

Basically, virginity is a moral failing but so is casual sex (particularly kinky sex) unless you're a sex worker and then it's all good. The only sex that is not actively punished by the show is sex within a relationship. Kinky sex within a relationship is not as punished as casual kinky sex but it is still actively punished by the narrative.

Every time a character gets into a relationship, they are supported by the narrative... except when the relationship is kinky and then they're forced apart until it's 'too much' and they stop (First only getting the happy romance part when he admits he's going too far and a monster to Soong and Soong comforts him and then they've never been shown being kinky together since then).

Even Captain is unpunished for his choices and is, in fact, rewarded by getting to force Zouey to apologize and helping Nont because once he stopped, boom, all is well! Hell, he gets to convince First to use kink against Puen and the show definitely condoned his choices in that by throwing Zouey under the bus and having him lose all his friends for condemning it.

... Honestly, I find it frustrating but I also am now seeing why Only Friends condemned Boston so thoroughly while no one else got punished and, in fact, why Top was so instantly and thoroughly cured of his trauma about fires... look at Porsche, he admitted what he did and bam now he's capable of a fully healthy and loving relationship. That's all it took! Admit love, get into a relationship with a person you literally don't know at all beyond blackmailed kinky sex and now it's all lovey dovey and sweet and all good and sappy.

(I will make a personal note here and admit that I hate Porsche and Jump's relationship and how the show did it/handled it/basically barely wrote it at all but then decided that they should be sweet regardless so I might be biased on some of that.)

But anyway... yeah. The show both condemns virginity and casual sex and holds sex in a relationship or sex as a sex worker as the only ways that it goes unpunished.

[emeritusemeritus]

No Good Deeds [George Weasley x Reader]

Part 5

Part 1 2 3 4 5

Pairing: {George Weasley x Reader} mentions of previous Fred Weasley x Reader.

Timeline: Set a few years after DH, loosely following Canon.

Summary: A few years after Fred’s death, the investors of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes demand changes to the name. All it would take is two years of a fake marriage to fix the issues, but no good deed goes unpunished.

Warnings: Fake marriage trope because we love the cliché. Mentions of death (Fred). Friends to lovers. Slow burn but mentions of kissing and eventual smut. Swearing. George calls us Angel. Drinking. SMUT. The smut has arrived! P in V, oral (both). Angst, sadness, grief. Tags will be updated with each chapter. Not Beta-read or spell checked.

Honeymoon time 💕

Your wedding to George was a jubilant celebration with your family and friends, a chance to bask in the love you were so thankful to receive from everyone around you. You'd honoured Fred in many ways that day, including photos of him, an empty chair with his name on and many other little ways to make it seem like he was there. You'd noticed George had worn his chain under his suit shirt and the sight of it made butterflies flutter inside you.

It was a small and quaint wedding that had admittedly been rushed in planning, only two weeks after you'd announced your engagement, but it was perfect. No one had doubted your intentions and the day had gone completely to plan, except for the regular hiccups that seem to occur when a group of people are brought together. Muriel had been characteristically foul as usual and had clashed with your great aunt Ariadne though she'd avoided the more triggering topics which was one consolation.

You danced with your friends and your now blended family late into the night, with George eventually stealing you back from dancing with Bill for one final dance.

"Have you had a good day Mrs Weasley?" He asks, holding you close as you sway with surprising grace even with the healthy amount of alcohol you'd both consumed.

"The best, Mr Weasley," you beam up at him, his handsomeness once again hitting you as you look upon his smiling face.

"Couldn't have asked for better. I don't think you've ever looked more beautiful."

The night you'd spent together had not been repeated since, nor had you really spoken about it. There was a lingering tension between you, growing increasingly stronger throughout the day as you thought of your wedding night and honeymoon, the anticipation almost consuming you.

Ginny and Fleur had whisked you away from George not long after your final dance to get you ready to leave for your honeymoon, which you'd be departing for very soon. It was tradition in the Weasley family to immediately begin your honeymoon the night of the wedding and you had readily accepted the chance to exit out of the wedding a little earlier into the night, giving you and George some time alone.

You'd chosen to honeymoon in the U.K. to keep costs down, after all this whole situation was based upon George reclaiming the shop as sole owner and any unnecessary spending would only increase the amount of time you'd be married. Bill and Fleur had graciously offered for you to stay in Shell Cottage with them but George had instead chosen to surprise you with your destination. He'd tactfully evaded every single one of your questions, relishing in his power of knowledge but had thankfully given you a few clues as to what you should pack. Clothes for all weather, from hot to bitter cold, a couple of 'nice' outfits and a bathing suit. So, nothing to really go off.

Percy had arranged a ministry car for you to borrow for the week, his gift for you both and you'd decided to travel like muggles for the week, taking your time and only using magic when necessary. George was driving to your destination, the luggage and travel necessities having been packed up earlier that day by the Weasley boys and Harry.

The crowd cheered as you both walked towards the car that was waiting for you, your family and friends gathered around with jubilant faces as you walked hand in hand towards the car. You both paused to thank and embrace Mr and Mrs Weasley before climbing into the car, George opening the door for you before getting in on his side. You waved at the gathering of people in front of you as George pulled away and as you pulled away from the Burrow, you peered through the back window, squirming around the freshly painted 'just married' sign to see your loved ones fading further away as they carried on the party.

"Are you okay?" George asks gently as he drives out of Ottery St Catchpole, the rolling Devonshire fields passing you by as the sun begins to set.

"I'm... incredible, I don't think there are words for how I'm feeling," you say with a wide smile, giggling a little at your inability to get your words out. He chuckles and reaches for your hand, pulling it onto the gear stick to join his.

"I know what you mean, I feel like I'm floating," he says, flashing you a smile before turning his attention back to the road. You take the opportunity of his attention being elsewhere to really look at him,  the plains of his face looking unbelievably handsome to you. He looked stunning in his suit, the colour and cut of the material only serving as a compliment to his gorgeous red hair and sharp features.

"Checking me out Mrs Weasley?" He says with a smirk, eyes still fixed on the road. You fight to hide the creeping blush that appears on your cheeks, realising that he'd caught you staring. You bite your lip and turn away, choosing to look out of the window at the rolling hills instead. "You can you know, I'm yours now."

You turn to look at him and the smile he has plastered on his face fills you with warmth and nervous excitement.

"You look so handsome, I feel like I can't take my eyes off you," you admit, a little bashfully.

He gives a deep chuckle and squeezes your hand that is still held by his own.

"You have no idea how hard it is to drive right now, all I want to do is stare at you," he admits, though he sounds completely unashamed of his words. You blush and look away again, this time out of pure bliss, wanting to remember everything about this moment.

"Get some sleep Angel, it's quite a drive," he says softly a few minutes later, turning down the radio that was playing music in the background.

"I'm okay," you lightly protest, despite feeling relaxed by the drive. "I wish I'd taken this dress off though, not the best travelling outfit."

"And take that joy away from me? How dare you," he jokes, sounding a little outraged. Your stomach instantly fills with nerves and butterflies at his words; he intended to take your dress off.

You fell asleep a short while later, just as the last slither of sunlight had disappeared into the horizon, the long stretch of road ahead now only lit by car lights and the faint cats eyes on the ground. The mixture of the low humming from the radio, the gentle rocking of the car and the presence of George was enough to lull you into a much needed sleep as you cuddled into a pillow you'd thought to pack, wishing that you were wearing something much less restrictive but that couldn't be helped.

When you woke again, it was still pitch black and George was still driving, the car lights ahead of you the only clue to where you were.

"Hi Angel," George says, noticing you staring as he briefly looks over at you with a smile.

"Mmm, hi Georgie," you mumble back, still fighting off the last embers of sleep. "Where are we?"

"Nice try," he says, not falling at the last hurdle and you give a little huff, hoping that one would have worked. "About an hour away."

"Is there time to stop for a coffee somewhere?" You ask, sitting straighten in your seat as you abandon the pillow into your lap.

"I don't know anywhere that would be open," he says, flicking his eyes to the dashboard clock, prompting you to do so and realising that it was now past midnight, much to your surprise.

"McDonald's will be," you say with a little shrug, trying to see any hints from signposts as to where you were of where the next services would be.

"McDonald's?" He asks, completely oblivious and you can't help but laugh, never having thought about how the notion of 24 hour fast food had not yet entered the wizarding world, making George completely oblivious.

"It's a 24 hour restaurant, usually around road services, it's fast food," you explain. He immediately gets it and let's out a little 'ahhh' of understanding, telling you that there was a services coming up and you could check if there was one there. There was.

Introducing George Weasley to drive-through ordering was nothing short of hilarious and you'd briefly lamented the fact that his first McDonald's experience wouldn't be inside an actual McDonald's building but you were not about to enter a fast food joint at a service station in a wedding dress. You'd both ordered a coffee, yourself a medium coke and then you had excitedly introduced him to not only a Big Mac but also chicken nuggets, both of which were a complete revelation to him and you had to hold back serious giggles at his reactions. Half an hour later and you were on your way, coffees in hand and belly's a little fuller as you prepared for the last part of your journey.

"Are you sure you don't want me to take over? I don't mind driving to give you a break," you offered as you watch him put on his seatbelt.

"You don't know where we're going," he says with a devilish smirk but you feign innocence.

"Then just tell me and I'll get us there," you say innocently, batting your eyelashes at him.

"Nice try baby," he says with an even more sinister smirk, his eyes roaming your face briefly before he turns on the car and begins to pull away after one last sip of coffee.

You were transfixed as George turned right up a long winding path entirely shielded by trees, the long road leading you deeper under the canopy of trees until you were completely surrounded by woodland. You could make out a small, warm light at the end of the long road and became transfixed on the approaching light, trying to focus your eyes hard on that point, trying to make sense of it. The car swerved a little to avoid a large twig in the road which brought your destination into clear view.

You gasped at the beauty of the scene in front of you, looking excitedly at George who looked more than pleased at your reaction.

"George," you say breathlessly as he parks up in the little clearing beside the place you'd be staying.

It was a rustic log cabin, completely shielded away from everything by a large canopy of trees, a beautiful escape completely hidden away from the outside world. The cabin was almost entirely made of wood with wooden shutters and a wrap around deck.

"George it's beautiful," you say, completely gobsmacked as you look at the gorgeous lodge in front of you, seeing it illuminated by the multiple lanterns that offered a stark contrast against the pitch black night.

"Only the best for my bride," he teases, opening up his car door, prompting you to do the same.

"Want to explore whilst I unload the car?" He asks with a grin, holding the keys to the cabin out in front of you, the little wooden keyring clinking against the two old fashioned keys. You nod enthusiastically and reach out to grab them, pulling George in and without much thought, you leaned up to press a kiss to his lips. Instantly, you realised what you'd done and took a step back, blushing a little as you avoided his gaze. His hand had instinctively wrapped around your back and he gave your back a little rub as you parted, showing no ill will as you turned and walked excitedly towards the cabin.

Opening the door, you were immediately met with an illuminated room thanks to the warm lighting from multiple lamps and light fixtures. The cabin was warm, as if there was a log fire already burning and the smell was heavenly, clean and fresh but with an indisputable scent of wood and pine, a natural consequence of it's idyllic surroundings. You walked through a little entrance hall that houses a utility room before stepping into an open living room, dining room and kitchen, all of which were warm and inviting with natural wood features throughout and neutral colours, highlighting the windows which you knew would almost certainly have beautiful views in the morning. There were two brown leather sofas that looked absolutely lush and a single armchair underneath a window that looked perfect for reading, a tall lamp beside it and a little table for drinks. There was a television and a cabinet in the corner and beside that was a beautiful log burner that was indeed lit, radiating heat throughout the home. You couldn't see much through the side door that was half glass but the outside light did illuminate the decking a little, highlighting a rather impressive sunken hot tub that was covered, eliciting a little excited squeal from you.

You walked down a small corridor that led off from the main atrium through a beautifully carved wooden door with an old metal latch which led you to the bathroom on the left and two bedrooms. You crept into the bathroom to take a peak and saw a big bathtub to the left and a built in shower to the right, as if every need was catered for. One bedroom has two single beds partitioned with a beautiful shelving unit and the other bedroom was almost certainly the master.

There was a huge four poster bed against the back wall bookended by two beside tables with lamps that looked entirely too inviting. The bedding was sheer white and completely crease free, only adding to its appeal. There was a smaller television in here too, along with a dressing table and a large, ornate wardrobe that looked older than the cabin itself.

"What do you think Mrs Weasley?" George asks from behind you as you pause to run your hand over the ornately carved bed frame. You turn to see him leaning against the doorframe with a smirk, still wearing his wedding suit but now with his tie removed and a few buttons open near his collar.

"I think it's absolutely beautiful Mr Weasley," you reply, turning to him with a look of pure elation.

"Just like my wife then," he says with a look in his eyes that makes your pulse race. He steps towards you with clear conviction and it's all you can do not to melt into a puddle, the look in his eye so dangerously arousing that you're almost frozen to the spot. It was the first time he'd called you his wife and the reaction that it pulled from your body was almost unbelievable, the sound of it almost heavenly in your mind.

As soon as he reaches you, there's a brief pause as if he's searching your face for any hint of resistance, not that he'd find any. When he sees the look in your eye, knowing that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you, he steps even closer and wraps his hand around the back of your neck before leaning down and kissing you with a burning passion.

Your hands slip up to his chest, feeling the material of his lapels under your fingers and pull slightly, needing to feel him as close to you as possible as you pull his jacket off. His fingers tangle in your hair as the kiss deepens, tongues working together to fuel the burning desire between you both.

With his right hand cradling your head and his left clutching as your waist, he begins leading you to the side of the bed, silently asking if it was okay to go further.

"Make love to me George," you say against his lips, hardly wanting to pull away for even a second. You hear him groan against your lips before his hand slips from your hair and down to your butt, cradling you and taking your weight. In a move that would otherwise impress you if you'd seen it in person, he sweeps you off your feet whilst climbing onto the bed and lays you down softly before climbing over you, kicking off his shoes in the process.

"I've waited all day to rip this dress off of you," he mumbles against your skin as he begins kissing down your neck, onto your bare shoulders where your dress straps began, the soft layers of the gown suddenly feeling much too restrictive as your skin burnt up with desire. He kisses down your chest as your hands tangle in his slightly grown out hair. There's a single moment where your eyes meet, just as he hovers over your panting cleavage and it takes your breath away how absolutely sexy he looks, the desire and admiration in his eyes mirroring your own. His long fingers drag against your rib cage as they dance over to your covered breasts before he reaches in to pull down the cup of dress, exposing your right breast to him, your dusky pink nipple already hard and waiting for him. He groans, watching your breast spring free and immediately bends down to run his tongue over the pebbled nipple, eliciting a deep, breathy moan from you before his lips wrap about the little bud and begin sucking. You moan out again, throwing your head back into the pillows at the overwhelming sensation and suddenly you feel the whole atmosphere change. There's no trepidation anymore, no resistance or questioning but rather just a primal urge between both of you.

You can tell that George is feeling for the opening your dress so you divert his fingers to the small, concealed zipper on the side and help him drag it down, much too slowly for your liking. He pulls away the dress after you slip your arms out and you watch carefully as his mouth slips open to a little 'o' shape as he pulls the dress from your body, exposing you completely to his gaze. You couldn't wear a bra with your dress thanks to the unique straps but you had thought you buy a tiny white lace thong that you'd had embroidered with a little 'W' on the left side of the crotch, knowing it would either make him laugh or make him growl. Luckily for you, it was most certainly the latter as he groaned as he spotted it, momentarily fixated on your naked breasts that were exposed completely for his view, his eyes travelling down your body with acute precision before he eventually noticed your little customisation. He groans and leans down to press a kiss directly to where the 'W' was situated, just above your mound and you can't help but squirm as the sensation of having him so close to where you needed him. He notices, of course he does, and his eyes flick up to yours with a look of pure mischief as he begins kissing the inside of your thigh and across your bikini line, teasing you. You groan and can't help but roll your hips as he flutters kisses everywhere apart from where you need them.

"My beautiful wife needs something?" He teases, acting completely oblivious when you knew he was very aware.

"Please George," you beg, "need you."

Like a switch had been flicked in George's mind, his long fingers begin tracing your pussy through the very thin and nearly transparent lace, groaning once again when he feels the wetness seeping through the lace. You feel his fingers hook into the side of your thong, catching your labia with a little stroke before he pulls them away from your burning pussy, exposing you completely to his view. He wastes no time and leans down, licking a long stripe across your pussy, catching your swollen clit with the til of his tongue in the most perfect way that has you gasping and moaning.

"Fuck you taste good, so sweet," he whines into your pussy, resting his forehead against your mound for a moment before he slips down again, this time licking you with vigour. "So wet baby."

His tongue is everywhere, delicately stroking and teasing whilst also hitting every spot you need him in perfectly. It's a perfect juxtaposition between his igniting a fire inside of you, making you burn with desire and pure torment whilst also extinguishing the flames with his tongue. As soon as his finger traces your inner lips as it moves down, gently pressing into your waiting hole before he slips one of his long, deft fingers inside of you, you're gone. His name falls from your lips like a prayer, hips rising of their own accord as you grope your breasts, completely consumed by your pleasure. He slips a second finger into you as you cry out, fucking yourself on his fingers as he circles your clit with his tongue, putting pressure on the left side just as he's discovered drives you crazy.

"George, George!" You chant as you feel the beginning of your orgasm rising in you very quickly, consuming you and burning you from the inside out. Your pussy is drenched and you can feel more arousal gushing from you as your climax crests, George's own moans ringing out in your mind as he pushes you over the edge. It's like you're falling, the crescendo of light and burning arousal overtaking your whole body and mind, the only capable thought in your mind is of George. He licks you slowly as you come down, careful to avoid your sensitive clit as he laps up your cum, fingers still slowly fucking you bath and forth with gentle strokes, extending your pleasure.

You gasp to catch your breath, chest rising and falling rapidly as your heart pounds, the effects of your orgasm still lingering as you feel a tingle across your whole body. It takes all of ten seconds for you to focus your attention back to George who has pulled his fingers out of you and began kissing your inner thigh again, soothing you as you return to him.

You sit up and reach for him, pulling him on top of you as you kiss him feverishly, moaning as you taste yourself on his lips. He notices and groans deeply against your lips, almost growling as you lick at his lips, desperate for a taste. You claw at his shirt, desperate to even out your nudity and feel his skin against yours and as if he can sense the sheer desperation, reaches down and completely rips the front of his shirt, the flying and falling buttons only an afterthought as you fight to get the shredded shirt away from his body. Your hands slip to his smooth shoulders and down his back as you kiss him desperately, pulling his tongue into your mouth so you can suck on it, relishing in his deep groans and little whines. Your hands rest on his collarbones as you slowly pull away from him, pushing him slightly until he realises was you want. You overpower him with just enough force that he rolls onto his back as you immediately latch to his chest, kissing and biting as you make your way down to your destination.

His suit trousers are completely tented, the sheer size an excitement of him almost intimidating to you as you fight to open the fastenings of his trousers. You don't wait even a moment after they are open to slide them down his hips, along with his black boxer briefs until he was completely bare, except from his sentimental chain and your wedding rings. You crawl back up the bed after throwing aside his bottoms and flick your eyes up to see his own desperate look as you come face to face with his rather impressive member. His lips are parted and he looks completely desperate as he watches you carefully, silently pleading for you to take his aching length in your mouth. You grant him reprieve almost instantly, licking straight from the crest of his balls to the engorged tip of his cock, tracing the throbbing vein on the underside of his cock, following the gentle curve. He cries out at the contact and it makes you want to do everything in your power to hear it over and over again.

You gave into him completely, taking his tip in your mouth and licking all around, earning another heavenly noise from him before you sucked in your cheeks and bobbed up and down his length, taking him deeper and deeper with each fall; never stopping your tongue from running along the length of him. You were addicted to him, the taste, the weight of his length against your tongue, the feel of his smooth skin against your lips. You fought to go further with each bob, sucking him down like the most delicious treat from Honeydukes, giving everything you could.

George was moaning mess before you, desperately searching for any part of your body he could reach as he fought to stop his hips from rising each time you'd pull off, like he never wanted to leave your hot, wet mouth. Sweet names, curses and a load more expletives fell from his mouth as you pleasured him until he reached out, leaning forward to pull you closer to him.

You were dripping, more aroused than ever and so desperate for him to fill you that it was all you could think about. He pauses, looking at the little strip of lace that was still misplaced, concealing nothing of yourself and ripped the thin strings on the sides, tearing it away from your body, both of you complete bare to the other's gaze.

It was so intimate and intense that it stole the breath from your lungs, just how adoringly he was gazing at you. His hand grabbed around your neck, holding your face and threading into your hair as he kissed you completely without abandon, your chests pressed together as your leg slipped between his, desperately seeking friction.

"Ride me baby," he mumbles against your lips and as if acting directly on command, you comply. You lift your hips and straddle him, his narrow hips allowing your thighs to rest against his comfortably as your centres align, the heat and sensitivity joining together to make you both gasp.

He reaches down and holds his perfect cock at the bottom, ready for you to climb onto and you can hardly contain your cries as you slowly sink down, feeling him stretching you out. He pulls his hand away, moaning at the sensation as his hand rests on your bum, the large hand and long fingers wrapping around your bum and thigh.

It's sinful how well he stretches you out, filling you completely without any pain or discomfort, like you'd been moulded perfectly for his cock alone.

When your hips rise again and you sink back down, this time much more confidently, your head flips back at the sensation. George grunts and tightens his grip on you as you slowly begin to ride him, hips undulating and breasts bouncing as you fall into a perfect rhythm. Your hair fans out across your back and you've never felt sexier in that moment, feeling adored under his gaze and praised by not only his words but also his moans and growls.

You're both so worked up, so perfectly in sync that you can hardly contain yourself, not even caring to try and hold off the impending climax that threatens you, creeping up slowly until it's impossible to resist. You can feel your walls clenching around him, your arousal peaking as it leaks out around his cock and you're rewarded with the most incredible moans that spill from his lips at the sensation.

"George, Georgie I'm gonna," you stagger, completely breathless as you keep riding him, finding the perfect spot and movement so that he hits every single pleasure point inside you.

"Cum Angel, fuck, cum around my cock," he pants, groaning and tightening his grip on your hips as he fucks up into you. "Godric you're tight, perfect little pussy squeezing my cock so good. Cum for me Angel."

You chant his name as the heat of your second orgasm consumes you, never once stopping as you bounce on his cock. He takes over fucking up into you as you ride out your climax, filling you completely as he shoves his entire length into you before pulling almost completely out and repeating the motion. You're in complete bliss, overwhelmingly so, and can hardly stop tears of overstimulation brimming at your eyes, blurring your vision only slightly. George lets out a roar as he cums, fucking up into you with a brutal pace that is sinful at best. His hands pull you close to him, bruises forming under his grip but it's perfect.

His thrust stop slowly as he comes down from his high, riding out the last of his pleasure as he pulls you down to rest on him, softening cock slipping out at the angle. You breathe deeply as you feel the evidence of his pleasure slipping out of you slowly, trickling down until it dripped onto your inner thighs.

He cranes his neck to reach out to kiss you again, though this time it's like a warm down, gentle and sensitive.

"Welcome to the family," he wheezes after a few moments of comfortable silence and you let out a loud belly laugh at the absurdity of his words, tapping his chest as you slink down to rest beside him, his arm still keeping you pressed to him. He's covered you both with the duvet and you can't resist slipping into a very comfortable sleep, too comfortable and worn out from the day to fight it.

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[jaysficarchive]

The Picture of Monochrome

Chapter 1: No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

Description: Mona Lisa Beauvais's path was once filled with color and stardom, but after the death of her husband, it's left in only black and white. But from the depths of despair, a villain is born: Monochrome.

Rating: M+

Warning(s): Swearing, death, murder, violence

Taglist: @floof-ghostie @calciumcryptid @jasontoddssuper @honeysgalaxy @elflynns-horde-of-stuff

The room was immersed in laughter and chatter while servants went around serving guests complimentary food and sparkling drinks. Jazz and classical musicians and entertainers wowed the audience gathered around them with dancers winking and blowing kisses at some of the well dressed men in suits.

It was a golden celebration for a massive legal victory of one Francis Beauvais, planned by his beloved wife Mona Lisa. Anybody who was someone was invited to the event--all except Francis's own family, of course.

Though she doubted they'd come even if she invited them. The Beauvais family made their hatred of her very clear from the moment they saw them together.

Don't think about them, Mona, she reminded herself. She looked out at those in attendance from the foyer. Some were her friends from college, others were those she made in Hollywood. There were also friends and fraternity brothers of attorney Beauvais. All were honored and welcomed, of course. Mona had the honor of calling them friends of hers as well.

She immediately recognized her old classmate Professor Bahira Haziz and her husband Jamil. But they didn't look happy to be around or even with one another, just as they'd been years ago. Taking it as a sign of their impending divorce, she said a silent prayer that their children would be okay.

When a pair of familiar golden brown hands went on her waist, Mona didn't flinch or falter. Instead, she embraced the warmth of the man they belonged to: Francis.

His beard was trimmed down just enough to not create stubble and his mustache was as thick and full as ever. His dark brown eyes gleamed with love and excitement.

"Congratulations, mon amour!" Mona beamed. Her hands were intertwined with his. "This was your biggest case yet and you won!"

Francis charmed her with his own smile. "This is a party that'd make my mom jealous. You've truly outdone yourself, Mo."

"Now, Francis," Mona bashfully flustered as she looked away. Hearing her husband's chuckle made her heart soar. "You know this party is for you, mon amour. It's time for you to celebrate the labors of your hard work."

Taking her hand, Francis led Mona to the dancefloor and took her in his arms. With a gentle but firm hand on her waist, they swayed to the music. Seeing Mona's beautiful smile and grayish green eyes illuminate lit up his world.

"Thank you for this gift, Mona Lisa Beauvais." Francis kissed her lips with a tender passion. Mona happily returned and accepted the favor--setting fireworks off between them. "I promise to repay you in full."

"You don't have to, mon amour."

"But I must. It wouldn't be fair to you or me."

She was then dipped down, allowing her to see the approving, though upside-down, faces of her friends--including Bahira. When she came back up, she sighed in defeat.

"Oke, ou genyen." Mona said in her Creole accent.

Hearing her speak the tongue brought a victorious smile to Francis's face. He, much like Mona herself, was Haitian. His several great-grandparents came from the island to Gotham in search of a better life. Mona's mother came for the same. Their shared heritage made their love stronger.

"Mèsi, cheri."

Hours after the party, Mona sighed in content as she relaxed in a warm bath together. Rose petals rested on top of soapy bubbles and beeswax candles surrounded the tub. Tonight felt like she died and gone to heaven.

"Mother, you know why you weren't invited to the party," Francis said from their bedroom.

Mona reared her head around the corner to see him holding the phone to his ear. Apparently, Helene Beauvais, Francis's mother, had some feelings about not being invited to the celebration. Not that Mona cared. She'd invite the Devil before she ever invited Helene.

"If you and Father had been invited, you two would've berated Mona all night. I'm not standing for that," Francis paced around the room. "And I don't care about running for District Attorney! You know this!"

Poor Francis, she thought as she laid back in the tub. Ever since Francis became a lawyer, his family had been pushing him to run for District Attorney, especially when Harvey Dent was campaigning. But that wasn't what he wanted.

Francis became a lawyer to make a difference and help those in need. He wasn't a glory hunter like his father Felix, another person Mona had the pleasure of not inviting.

After the bath, Mona joined her husband. She gave him a hug to help him relieve his frustrations. At times, she really wanted to let Helene and Felix have it for how they treated them.

"Why do they have to be so frustrating?" Francis asked. "It's like nothing I do or say will satisfy them."

"Sometimes you can't reason with people like them, amour," Mona mused. "But you don't need them. You just do you."

Francis nodded. He felt comfort in her words. "Thanks, Mona. Let's just focus on us and these plans for the future. I think we're at a comfortable point to start a family."

Discussions of children happened long before they got married. Both Francis and Mona agreed to wait until they were at a good point in their lives to have children, especially with how often Mona would travel for concerts and performances.

The time was now.

"Oui. I'd love to be able to paint pictures of us as a family."

Francis rubbed her stomach. He always wanted to be a father, and felt no shame in becoming a parent in his thirties. His grandparents did the same thing. "What do you think our child's name would be?"

With a coy smile on her face, Mona answered, "Mabelle Josephine Beauvais."

In seconds, Francis riddled her face with kisses, making Mona laugh. "Mona Lisa Beauvais, you are truly my soulmate!"

Mabelle was the name of Francis's grandmother and Felix's mother while Josephine was the name of his great-grandmother. Them and their husbands were the only Beauvais who were nice to Mona.

Josephine was a lover of art, and was elated when she learned Mona was an artist. She gave her hope in a city where others in her fields weren't the key players. When Mona got her first art exhibit, Josephine was there front and center.

Though it's been years since she passed, Mona could feel Josephine's presence in the beautiful art sets she bought her.

As for Mabelle, she was another ally in her corner. Similar to herself, Mabelle came from a normal family (or a lowborn as Helene would call both of them) and made her fortune as a costume designer. Josephine welcomed Mabelle with open arms and Mabelle did the same with Mona.

How she mothered someone like Felix was a mystery.

"What if our child were a boy?" Mona looked up at Francis for his answer. "What would his name be?"

"Rohan Chirstophe Beauvais." Francis answered. He chuckled loudly as Mona showered him in her own kisses. Rohan from her late father Rohan Upton and Christophe from his grandfather.

Wrapping their arms around each other, Mona and Francis kissed again--only with more passion. His lips traveled from hers to her neck and collarbone, making Mona heat up with lust. It didn't take long for their relaxing night to turn into a passion filled afterparty.

A Week Later...

"Francis, I'm going to run some errands!"

Mona stood at the door to Beavauis and Associates, her husband's law firm. After receiving a reply from Francis, she left the building and got in the awaiting car.

A happy smile was on her face as today was a special day. Even though it was still early in the morning and people were about to make their way to work, she found joy in today.

"Where to, madame?" The driver asked.

"Home. I have to pick up something." Mona sat back and looked out the window at the city. Gotham wasn't as glamorous as other cities she'd been to, but it was her home and where she had some of the best times of her life.

She was thankful for the 30 minute commute from the firm to their house. It was in a nicer part of the city where a lot of the wealthy Black residents lived. Her house sat atop a small hill, but that didn't bother her. If anything, it gave her an amazing view of their neighborhood and allowed her to watch the sunrise.

Once at home, she walked inside and called for her maid.

"Salome! Salome!"

Then, a young woman came rushing out from the living room. Her hair was pressed into finger waves and her skin was a copper brown.

"Yes, Mrs. Beauvais?"

"Can you go get it for me, please?" No matter who she was talking to, Mona always used her manners. Her generosity towards the servants made the haughty side eye her.

Knowing what she meant, Salome wordlessly nodded and rushed down the hall to Mona's studio. Within minutes, she returned with a wrapped portrait.

"Thank you, Salome."

Francis hummed to himself as he wiped down his desk. Even accomplished lawyers like himself had to keep their office clean. Unbeknownst to him, he had an unexpected visitor on their way to his office.

Holding up the picture of him and Mona on their wedding day, a smile came to his face as he wiped it with the towel in his hand. Knowing the paperwork would be heavy, he placed the photo on the shelf behind his desk.

His visitor drew a gun from his coat and pointed it at the distracted Beauvais.

Mona's heart pounded with delight, anticipation, and anxiety on the way back to the law firm. She'd been waiting since yesterday to deliver the news to Francis and now she was finally going to do it.

Her joy turned to concern when she saw red and blue police lights around the area where the firm was. What kind of activity was going on this early in the morning, especially in a city like Gotham.

Did something happen?

Mona's answer came in the form of police cars and ambulances in front of Beauvais and Associates. Fearing the worse, Mona jumped out the car, not hearing her driver yelling her name.

"Francis! Francis!"

A GPD grabbed her, stopping her from going inside. "You can't go in there, ma'am."

"Let me go! My husband's in there! Francis!" Mona managed to wrestle free from the officer's grasp and run into the building. She made a beeline for her husband's office. "Francis!"

When she got there, her heart sank. Officers were taking pictures or examining the crime scene. Blood stained the walls and shelves, followed by bullet holes. But that wasn't what Mona was focused on.

Francis--her prince, her champion, her soulmate-- laid on the ground in a pool of his own blood. His suit filled with the remains of bullets and stained with his blood. What...what happened? He'd been fine when Mona left... Surely this was a nightmare and when she woke up, Francis would be by her side to comfort her.

"Are you Mrs. Beauvais?"

Mona said nothing. She walked over to her husband's corpse, hand outreached. She wanted to touch him, to let him know this wasn't funny and that her feelings were hurt.

But she never got that. Instead, two paramedics placed Francis in a blue bodybag then put him on a stretcher. No! Give him back! Mona screamed in her head. Out her mouth, nothing.

"Ma'am, are you Mrs. Beauvais?" The voice asked again. It belonged to Commissioner Gordon.

"Yes..." She didn't even realize tears came down her face until she felt one fall on her sleeve. "Yes, I am."

"You dropped this."

It was the surprise. The surprise meant for Francis.

Reality crashed down on Mona and let out a horrified scream that this wasn't a bad dream or a nightmare. Mona couldn't feel her knees hit the ground or see the vomit she'd let out, only the despair of living death hanging over her.

Francis Beauvais was dead.

The bells of the church rang as floods of people in black stood outside its doors. Inside, friends and family shed tears and mourned over the loss.

Mona had gone numb from days and nights of crying. Face swollen and eyes red, she walked up to the casket. Inside laid her beloved dressed in her personal favorite suit of his. There was no joy to be found in this, only sorrow. She placed her hand over his and gripped it softly.

"Orevwa, mon amour," she whispered. Through tears, she planted a soft kiss on Francis's cold lips. "Nou pral rankontre ankò yon jou."

Mona walked towards the warm embraces of Mabelle and Christophe, who were in the same condition as her. When news of their grandsons death reached them, their world shattered.

"It's a tragedy, cheri. Why must this city take all the good men who want to make change?" Christophe lamented. "I fear Gotham has become a lawless city."

Mabelle held Mona close. It brought the widow some comfort to have someone to salve her hurt. "If you need anything, Mona Lisa, please let me or Christophe know."

Mona nodded and followed the funeral procession towards the church doors. Several of the fraternity brothers carried Francis's corpse with the distraught Helene and Felix as their leaders.

Ushered forward by one of the hands, she joined them at the front. She didn't even care for the covertly nasty looks they gave her for daring to stand by them. All she thought about was Francis.

According to the police, the crime scene was likely a mob hit, symbolized by the dollar bill left on his desk. But that didn't feel right with her. Francis was never involved with the mob, and this she knew to be true. His anti organized crime efforts hadn't gone unnoticed by the press.

In her heart, it was an assassination. And someone was at the center of it.

At home, Mona laid in bed. Not even sleeping or simply relaxing felt the same without her husband by her side. She dreamt of nothing, her mind an endless void of black.

"Madame," Salome opened the door. "Your lawyer wishes to see you."

Forcing herself to get up, Mona followed Salome downstairs and to the late Francis's office. Since his death, she'd been spending her days in rooms within the house he frequented.

"Mrs. Beauvais!" Her lawyer rushed to her. "It's gone! The money is gone!"

Mona's eyes widened. In the event of his death, Francis left her three hundred million dollars. It would be enough to support her for years since celebrities and artists like herself weren't the upper echelon in Gotham like they were in Hollywood. So it being gone dealt another blow to her.

"How?! Who took it?!"

"We did."

Both Mona and her lawyer turned to see Helene and Felix--both still dressed in black--walk in with their lawyer. Hearing the slight smugness in Felix's voice made Mona's blood boil. How dare he be so haughty when he just buried his son?

"Why?! That money doesn't belong to you!"

"It does now. As your husband's parents, we have a right to his money and all affairs when he dies," Felix sneered.

"Besides, who would trust a lowborn like you with that amount of money?" Helene added, shooting Mona with an evil look.

Mona's body trembled with anger. Had they no shame for this? Or did shame not exist in the world of Felix and Helene Beauvais? She was a grieving widow yet they thought they had the authority to waltz into her house and confess to stealing her money.

"And you might want to get ready to move out, too."

"WHAT?!"

Mona swore she saw a smirk form on Felix's face. "What do you mean?! Francis left our home to me as well!"

"You don't understand, do you, girl? We're taking over all of Francis's affairs, including ones that concern you. You will have nothing of our son's, even if you are, or were, his wife."

Mona lunged for Felix only to be stopped by her lawyer. "How dare you?! You can't do this to me! Do you not have sympathy for your son's own widow?!"

Helene side eyed Mona as she held Felix's hand. "Let's go. The lowborn will need time to pack her things."

"Right. You have ten days or we'll kick you out ourselves."

Mona gasped. Ten days?! With how much stuff she had? How much more cruel could they be? "But-"

"And if even so much as a plate gone, we'll leave you as the peniless lowborn you are. Your time by our son's side is over, Mona Lisa." Those were Helene's final words before leaving.

Mona died from death by a thousand cuts. When had God decided to be so cruel to her? What wrong had she done to deserve such continously harsh punishments? Was her only crime loving a man who had everything when she had nothing?

Having no other options, Mona quickly dialed Mabelle's number. Through tears, she retold what happened.

"Don't cry, Mona Lisa. My husband and I gave you our word when we said we'd help you," Mabelle reassured her.

"Thank you..." Mona choked on her sobs. At least she didn't feel entirely alone. Once Mabelle hung up, she dropped down to her knees and sobbed uncontrollably. When had everything gone wrong? Who decided that the joy was over?

A dark feeling emerged when she remembered Helene's words.

"And if so much as a plate is gone, we'll leave you as the peniless lowborn you are."

It was Mona's paintings that hung from the walls, vases she crafted with her own hands, doilies sewn by her own hands. The fact that Helene and Felix were going to own her art incited a visceral reaction inside her.

No, she refused to let them hold any more power over her.

"Salome." She turned to her maid. "Tell the servants to get as many paintings, vases, sculptures. Anything I made by my own hands."

"But Madame, Helene said-"

"I know what she said, but she will not own my craft. Get my art and bring it all to my studio." A dark look was in Mona's eyes as she said that.

Gulping down a newfound fear, Salome nodded and ordered the other staff to gather as many art pieces as possible.

Donning her working clothes and tied back hair, Mona studied every piece that adorned their house, memorizing what it looked like and how she made it. This feat was going to be impossible, but something dark was driving her to do this.

You're bigger than those bloodclaats, a voice inside her said. They don't own you. They never will.

For four days, Mona Lisa Beauvais copied every inch of her work down to the flaws--only they weren't the real things. But she'd tell no one that. The times she came out were only for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, as well as the occasional snack.

In addition to forging her art, she added two new things to her collection: a monocrhome mask that covered her entire face and a matching outfit. She didn't know why, but it just felt right to make those.

"Monochrome..." she repeated out loud.

The word had been in her head for the past days since her forging project began. Such a simple art term, but it held such significance to her for some reason. It was how people described her hair, which was mostly black except for tufts of white at the front.

Monochrome...

By the ninth day, Mona had moved all her stuff into the townhouse Mabelle bought for her. Just when Helene and her nefarious husband may have thought she'd be in tears, she was instead grinning with malice. Those vain fools. Too busy trying to show off to their neighbors to realize her game.

"Please let us know if you need anything, cheri." Christophe said. "It's not fair what my son and his wife have done to you."

"I understand. Mèsi for your support." Mona watched as the couple got into their car before driving off.

Now alone, she opened up a box. The gift she meant to give Francis was inside. Still delicately wrapped in white paper, just as it had been on that dreaded day. Mona took it out the box before walking upstairs to her room.

Carefully, she unwrapped the item and placed adhesives on the back. She then stuck it on a nice spot on the wall--next to a picture of Francis.

The gift was a painting of a Black mother holding an infant. Mona Lisa was pregnant with her and Francis's child. And no matter what, she'd love her baby for eternity.

"Look, mon amour. We did it."

[caointeag]

𝔖𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔟𝔢 𝔥𝔲𝔯𝔱 ❄︎ this is a private & selective rp blog for the original character 𝑳𝒀𝑨𝑹𝑹𝑨 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑲 , eldest daughter of Eddard and Catelyn Stark and twin to Robb Stark. Mixed though primarily BOOK canon along with elements taken from the Old Kindgom / Abhor.sen series by Gar.th Ni.x the blog itself is a sideblog to @gedwimora​ , as this is a hub-style multimuse. If you follow here the follow back will come from there. est 2019 & rebooted 2024.

Medium to sporadic activity. Created by Train | EST | 30s | They/Them

❄︎ 𝑨 𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑫𝒀 𝑰𝑵. war is hell. badass bookworm. jeanne d'archétype. prophetic visions. eerie pale-skinned brunette. good is not nice. chaos & order. action survivor. silk hiding steel. broken bird. combat pragmatist. the banshee. the gods demand blood. ends justify the means. the red right hand. the spymaster. last sane man. he who fights monsters. anything for family. eldest daughter woes. cursed with awesome/blessed with suck. no good deed goes unpunished. dark is not evil. freezing & defrosting ice queen. the extremist was right.

𝑹𝑼𝑳𝑬𝑺  ❄︎ 𝑩𝑰𝑶  ❄︎ 𝑸𝑼𝑰𝑪𝑲 𝑹𝑬𝑭 ❄︎ 𝑴𝑬𝑴𝑬 𝑻𝑨𝑮 ❄︎ 𝑷𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑻 ❄︎ 𝑳𝑶𝑹𝑬 𝑳𝑰𝑩𝑹𝑨𝑹𝒀

blog canon/heavily built into her lore: @azmenka / @tymptir , @sandw0lf , @playshrp pretty princess club: @wornkindness

𝑼𝑺𝑬𝑭𝑼𝑳 𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑰𝑵𝑭𝑶 :

❄︎ Lyarra is not betrothed even as the eldest daughter and at the age for it, she's wiggled out of that successfully for a while.

❄︎ Lyarra is an apprentice bard, which in the North is much different than in the south. I base a lot of Northern culture on gaelic cultures (Ireland, Scotland, etc) and historically a bard there like poetic scholars. They would create great works of lyrical art yes, but they also maintained chronicles, genealogies, journals of the goings on, and recorded and preserved traditions. I'm also throwing in the role of a brehon into the mix, which is basically a ye olde legal professional. So basically she's a junior magistrate and historian who can write a sick tune about how much you suck ass. more detail on this can be found in the General Northern Lore and North: Women Lore pages I have.

❄︎ Lyarra is a staunch follower of the Old Gods. In my lore that includes human sacrifice, so buckle up. More details in the General Northern Lore .

❄︎ Lyarra is a skinchanger. She has her direwolf Night and adds onto that a bird, usually something like a raven or hawk, which she uses to do reconnaissance.

❄︎ Lyarra will always get her facial scar one way or another. It's a universal constant.

❄︎ Lyarra is a good archer, learning to get better with melee weapons and very fit from all the illegal exploration she's done her whole life. But she is more likely to manipulate, poison or stab you in your bed.

❄︎ Lyarra is a stubborn and increasingly paranoid person. She's cool but polite to strangers, sometimes even stand offish if the paranoid is really kicking in, but she's not cruel or unkind. She's only actively hostile when she dislikes someone or very scared or agitated. The closer you are to her the more obvious it is how loving and considerate she is. She's kind of the Stannis of her family but like, with a better sense of humor and more amicable.

❄︎ Also like Stannis, she has rap.ists gelded. No Exceptions.

[staticintone]

[ ♡ ] ( for vyrrus !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! )

@vyrrus

“Humans are inherently flawed. Sinners even more so. You have to know this.”

Alastor had been lectured at for a solid 58 seconds. It did nothing to shake his faith. Vyrus was frustrated, angry, ignorant. None of those things could be held against him.

“I work with what I have. This process may be imperfect but it works.”

It was going to be an education, rather than a defense. Alastor had nothing to defend; he knew that.

The right choices can come at a cost. No good deed goes unpunished.

And Vyrus was right about one thing. This absolutely was not the ideal. Even Alastor could see past his own face—though his blame went outwards rather than in. Vyrus is not the direct recipient of his ire; he was an assistant, not the director. He could only do so much from the sidelines.

“He may struggle now, Vyrus.”

The ultimate sign of respect, referring to him by name. Addressing that he does know who he is. And has for some time.

“But it comes and goes in fits. He is not permanently suffering. Walking around as a corpse on two legs while he grapples and fails at a lifestyle he didn’t even want.”

“Isn’t he so much happier when he’s lucid? Isn’t his energy better? I took his pain away. No physician in the world would have been able to do that alone. No technician either.”

“I know that you are both. And yet you were unable to prevent him from getting this bad? This miserable? This distorted?”

“That is not an attack on you or your skill. It’s hard to know a technique when it is so rare. One that may look inhumane or even horrifying to the untrained eye. But you are better than the rest of them, smarter, refined. You can see what I see.”

“Let me show you firsthand.”

“Come into the chrysalis. Not as the caterpillar, but as an observer. As someone with knowledge and experience. I usually reserve the metamorphosis for those closest to me—but I can make an exception for the willing and deserving.”

“Give me an opportunity to show you, that like you, I mean no harm.”

[feyhunter78]

Hold My Heart (Between Your Teeth) 8/?

Description: Aegon goes to his father with a request and Seraphine keeps a promise

Aegon knew his father held little to no love for him or his siblings, it was clear in the way he hid away from them, fiddling with his model city instead of paying attention to his children.

Clear in the way he let Lucerys go unpunished for taking Aemond’s eye, and the distain he held for any actions of Aegon’s that paled in comparison to what Rhaenyra had done.

He held Seraphine’s hand for comfort, he had duties, this was true, but he would give them all up if only she would stay by his side.

They were announced, and they stepped into his father’s quarters. Bowing before him, they waited for Viserys to either invite them further in or throw them out.

“My son, and Lady Seraphine, what a surprise.” Viserys said, beckoning them further into the room.

“Father, I have something I wish to ask of you.” Aegon said, standing tall and trying not to let his nerves get the best of him.

His father looked surprised but nodded. “Do go on.”

Aegon tightened his grip on Seraphine’s hand, a movement that did not go unnoticed by his father. “We wish to wed. Rhaenyra is your heir, so there is no need for me to make a political alliance.”

Viserys sat back in his chair. “Even with that being true, Lady Seraphine has no standing at all.”

“Seraphine may not have any standing now, but Princess Alyra has told me she has been making excellent progress and will soon put any lady of the court to shame.”

Aegon saw her lips quirk up and duck her head. His heart skipped a beat at the beauty of her shy smile.

Viserys fiddled with the model of Old Valyria. “That is all well and good, but Aegon, you are my eldest son, if something were to happen to Rhaenyra’s line, the crown would fall to you.”

“My half-sister has plenty of sons to take the throne.” He left Seraphine’s side and moved closer to his father, remembering Alyra’s words. He knelt down before him and took his father’s hands in his own. “Father, I have heard the stories of the great love you shared with the late queen, please, allow me to find happiness with my own Aemma.”

His father’s eyes softened, and he caressed his cheek, something Aegon couldn’t ever recall him doing before. “She is your Aemma?”

“Yes, she is.” Aegon said. Alyra had advised him to lean on the king’s memory of his late wife. Aegon didn’t even know anything about her, except that the king would never love his mother as much as he loved Aemma.

“Lady Seraphine.” His father called.

Seraphine hurried over. “Yes, my king?”

“Do you love my son?”

“Yes, more than anything.” She said without hesitation.

Aegon’s heart soared, and he wished to steal her away from here and kiss her senseless.

“And who do you believe to be the rightful heir to the throne?”

Aegon tensed, was this a trick question?

Seraphine’s voice was steady when she answered. “As much as I love Prince Aegon, I am foremost a loyal subject of the crown. The Princess Rhaenyra is the rightful heir as you dictated years ago.”

“You may wed.” His father said, the pride clear in his voice.

Aegon stood and embraced Seraphine, a joyful laugh escaping him, as she beamed at him. “Thank you, father, you will not regret this. I will never bring shame to our family again.”

“Will there be an official announcement?” Seraphine asked carefully, her eyes lowered in respect.

Viserys chuckled. “I will make it as soon as you two can fetch me a messenger.”

They hurried out of the room, searching for a messenger leaving Viserys to his model city.

The announcement had been made, and as he expected, his mother had been furious. She’d raged for hours, then calmed herself and went to the sept to pray.

Hours later, hand in Seraphine’s hand, he found himself in the one place he thought he’d never visit again.

“We will retrieve Jayne, and then we will return to the Keep.” Seraphine repeated, and he started to believe it was more for herself than him.

“We shall rescue your friend, do not fret, my ruby.” He snaked an arm around her waist, pulling her closer as they walked into the brothel.

It was just as he remembered it, but now with Seraphine at his side it didn’t stir the same sense of excitement within him.

Seraphine looked like a Valyrian war goddess the way she stormed up to the madam and demanded Jayne.

He was content to stand back and let her work, but the way all eyes were on him, and a few of the women he frequented made their way towards him. So instead, he stood at Seraphine’s side, holding her hand in a show of solidarity.

“Are you willing to pay for Jayne?” The madam asked, scanning Seraphine, now clean and dressed in well-made clothes, up and down.

Aegon scoffed. “I have spent more than enough gold here to cover one girl.”

She looked at him then sighed. “You might as well take her, she can’t to make me any money now, not with her condition.”

Seraphine didn’t ask questions, just darted up the stairs and soon remerged with an obviously ill woman.

She said nothing, just grabbed Aegon as she passed by and hauled them both out of the brothel.

Aegon watched as Seraphine bundled Jayne up in her own blankets and wiped the sweat from her brow. A maester had been called, and they told them she was dying. A sickness prostitutes often caught; it was almost always fatal.

“It’ll be alright, Jayne, you’re strong.” Seraphine told her friend, gently dabbing at her forehead.

“You kept your promise.” Jayne said weakly, a cough wracking through her weakened body.

“Of course, I did, I would never leave you there.” Seraphine reassured her, giving her some cool water to drink.

Aegon stood in the doorway, unsure of what to do. Part of him was in awe of Seraphine of how tender she was, thanking The Seven she loved him, and another part of him whispered that he should leave. That he should abandon her before she realized he was not deserving of that tenderness.

Seraphine left Jayne’s side and came to his. “Aegon, I think you should leave; I am not in danger of catching this illness, but you may be.” She looked up at him with unshed tears in her eyes. “I wouldn’t be able to go on if you fell ill.”

He wished to kiss her, to grab her and sink into her until they were one. He wished to keep her to himself, so that no one but him would receive such devotion.

“I will inform Alyra of your current duties, then retire to our chambers.” He said and kissed her forehead before leaving.

The door shut behind him, and he made his way down the hall, knocking on his brother’s door.

“So, you brought an ill prostitute into the Keep?” Aemond said, his brows furrowed as he sat in front of the fire, Alyra sitting sideways in his lap.

“I think that’s very kind of you, Aegon. I’m sure Jayne doesn’t have long to live now, and you have given her comfort. It will mean much to Seraphine as well, she will be happy to have been able to care for her friend in her dying days.” Alyra said, giving him a small but proud smile.

“What a wonderful wedding gift, here my love, have your friend die in your arms.” Aemond snarked.

“Aemond.” Alyra chastised. “You do not understand what a blessing it is to be able to know your loved one did not die alone and uncared for.”

His eye dropped to her, and he relented. “You’re right, Ñuha dōna, I should not have spoken so harshly.”

“Alyra Hawthorne, tamer of Targaryen men. That is what history will know you as, good-sister.” Aegon said, raising his cup to her.

“Hopefully Seraphine will be able to take my place as tamer for a specific Targaryen man.”

“Ah, yes, congratulations on your betrothal, brother.”

“Perhaps Helaena will return for the wedding?” Alyra said hopefully.

She and Aemond dissolved into chatter about Helaena’s potential return, and Aegon felt that same isolation once more. As much as his family loved him, they had others they loved more.

He stood and bid them a goodnight then returned to his quarters, where he changed into his nightclothes, and attempted to fall asleep, his mind filled with worries and regrets.

How long had Jayne been sick, how many others caught this illness? How could he have frequented these places and not noticed the dying around him?

A weight appeared beside him, and he felt Seraphine reach for him. She began crying into his chest.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, rubbing her back comfortingly.

“Jayne is dead, the illness was too great, she is gone.” She sobbed, her tears running down his bare chest and dropping onto the sheets.

“I’m sorry, my ruby, I’m so sorry.” He whispered, drawing her closer.

They stayed like that until she fell asleep, and he soon joined her, plans forming in his mind.

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