#husband killer robe

[mothiepixie]

They leave each other speechless

Merlot belongs to @smokbeast

[hey-i-am-trying]

Ready to kill a husband(or a boyfriend) <3

[honeynclove]

I offer u todays low quality doodle

[daydreamerwonderkid]

I'm confused about why those robes are specifically “I definitely did not kill my husband” robes.

Please explain.

Vogue made an amazing article about how this meme came about that goes into way more detail than I will here.

But to put it simply, this very specific type of Old Hollywood fashion has always looked iconic and glamorous. It wasn't uncommon to see a femme fatale or ill-fated/tragic female character dressed in a "rich widow robe" or "husband killing robe."

Said characters weren't always actual murderers or husband killers, but the trope became very popular.

One of the examples I used in an earlier ask were stills of Jean Harlow as Kitty in the comedy film, Dinner at Eight. Kitty is very much not an actual murderess/husband killer XD

But she does looking absolutely stunning in this outfit <3

I'm pretty sure the first example I saw of this trope as a kid was Joan Cusack's character Debbie Jelinsky in Addams Family Values who spends the vast majority of her time on screen trying to kill her husband XD

There's also Meryl Streep's character Madeline Ashton in Death Becomes Her. A lot of murder attempts happen in that film pffftt

Main gist is that the robes are gorgeous and they give off a very "Why, officer, I have no idea what could have possibly happened to result in the death of my late husband" vibe that people dig.

[backpackingspace]

Hey s1 au where will gets a second opinion and does not connect the dots to serial murder and just thinks hannibal is another unethical doctor wanting only to study him. This ends up alienating him from hannibal, Alana (dr. Lecter after is her friend her recommendation), and jack (did he know? Will can't be sure)

[squidbulborb]

Im pretty sure Aura and Mare have sleepwear, but I’m not sure about anything else.

Oh yeah, cuz the Elf maids mentioned that they dress up Mare and stuff.

Kinda cute imagining Bukubukuchugma designing pijamas for Aura and Mare

[sentate]

SENTATE - The Spite Collection

If there's one thing I love in this world it's a wicked, wretched SPITE filled villainess... with a killer wardrobe to match! For this years October set I let the inspiration flow with some of my favourite horror tropes. Perhaps your sim is a sorrowful Onryō in her burial robes seeking her retribution. A cunning Witch wearing a dress made from the patched together clothing of her victims. A Black Widow who's already looking for her next husband. Or maybe a powerful Sorceress seeking to destroy... something.... for some reason... You get the Idea!

The collection features 9 items that come in my 30 swatch pallette plus loads of fun prints and colour combinations, (all grungy horror swatches have a clean version too). So whether your sims are burying their next victim or rising from the grave themselves; they will always be ready to slay with the The SPITE collection!

DOWNLOAD - Free on Patreon!

MORE DOWNLOADS  |  TERMS OF USE  |  LINK TREE

[okay-babe]

this is for your prompt game- word count: 800

human!alastor whos starts to feel a bit guilty when he sees his darling worry about him after hearing about the various murders near his studio. maybe some cuddling after alastor comes home especially late, and reader freaks out?

tyy!!

Nothing on This Earth

tags: human! alastor x human! fem! reader, established relationship, alastor and reader are married, anxious reader, fluff, very mild angst note: This was such a cute request to fulfill, I had a really fun time with it :) I hope you enjoy, anon :)

"And in some rather frightening news, the police have revealed the recent discovery of yet another body, this one found partially buried just outside city limits, mere miles in fact, from this very radio station that I'm broadcasting live to you from now. Presently, the authorities have yet to reveal the identity of the poor soul, but he is believed to be yet another victim of our infamous NOLA killer."

Alastor hummed a popular tune as he made his way across the walkway that led from the drive to the house that he and his wife shared.

From outside, he could hear the oh-so familiar static of the radio as his late night replacement droned on and on endlessly between the evenings pre-selected songs.

With a marked lack of haste or impatience, Alastor listened on vaguely to the words his coworker spoke, scarcely paying them any mind as his long legs carried him casually along the stone path and toward the steps of the house.

Instinctively, his hand reached into his pocket as he grew closer to his destination, long fingers seeking the familiar chill of cool metal until they finally found what they were feeling for, allowing for him to properly grasp his keys between them.

Humming the same pleasant tune as before, the radio host smiled to himself as he slowly ascended the three wooden steps that led creakily up to the deck, upon which the front door could be clearly seen.

Quietly, his shoes tapped against the old wood as he made his way closer, the keys in his pocket jingling familiarly as he moved to pull them out.

Still clearly in no rush, Alastor moved casually as he raised the now slightly warmed metal of his house key to its empty socket.

Much to his surprise though, the brass device had only just grazed the mechanism containing the deadbolt lock when the door swung inward quickly, revealing quite the alarming sight on the other side.

There you stood, his darling wife, all wrapped up in that slightly sheer white robe of yours that his mother had gifted you for your wedding, arms crossed and expression fixed firmly into a frown.

If he hadn't known any better, perhaps Alastor may have even believed you angry at him, your jaw clenched and your eyebrows furrowed just so.

But, of course, as your ever so observant husband, he did know better.

He could see the anxiety hidden behind that veil of vexation as clear as day, made obvious by the constant shifting of your gaze and the way you nibbled at your lip.

Wordlessly, your love reached forward, pulling your trapped flesh from between your worrying teeth, his ring finger tilting your chin upward as he did so.

"Why hello there, my doe."

He all but purred as he stepped swiftly inside, his ankle moving to kick the door closed behind him.

"How very kind of you to wait at the entrance for me. Although, I do have to wonder," He began, leaning down toward you so that his breath fanned across your lips, "What a lovely, delicate creature such as yourself is doing up so late."

He teased, pressing a quick kiss to your mouth before pulling away and turning around to shrug off and hang his jacket.

"I was worried about you."

At those words, Alastor halted all movement immediately before his brow quirked and he spun on his heel, grin wide.

"Worried about me?" He asked incredulously, both of his hands finding yours before offering them a squeeze of reassurance. "Whatever for, my dear?"

You swallowed thickly, your words becoming caught in your throat as if the sheer weight of them were too much to manage.

"There's a killer on the loose, Al." You said fearfully, your returned grip on his hands tightening as you spoke.

"So when you're out so late like this, I can't help but think-" You paused there, as if unable to finish that thought for fear of it coming true.

Regardless, it seemed that Alastor understood your worries plenty.

He squeezed your hands once more.

"Oh chère," He all but crooned, "You're very sweet to worry, but I promise you that I am in no danger." As he said this, you felt him start to pull you in closer, until finally, you were chest to chest.

You sighed wearily, leaning into your love's touch almost instinctively in spite of your concerns. "But how can you be so sure, Al? There's no telling when or where-"

"My dear," Your husband interrupted gently as he began to sway the two of you rhythmically in time with the jazz that was now flowing through the speakers of your radio, "I can assure you that as long as I have my wife to come home to..." He paused to tuck a few stray hairs behind your ear, his gaze upon you filled with an almost overwhelming adoration as he did so,

"There is nothing on this earth that could keep me away from her."

[lacebvnny]

- Bound to you, among the flames -

Aemond Targaryen x Female!reader

Summary: Set after Storm's End. You are to marry prince Aemond Targaryen -the killer of your beloved friend Lucerys-, in the old Valyrian way.

Rating: +13, arranged marriage

A/n: Okay, I was pretty unsure to post this one. Keep in mind English is not my first language. Enjoy! Feedback will be appreciated 🥺

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her feet sank in the softness of the damp sand, and the sound of the waves crashing on the shore tore her attention away from the speech of the monk standing next to her and her husband.

/Hen lantoti ānogar/

No, he wasn't her husband yet. This wasn't a customary wedding, at least not in westerosi tradition. Perhaps that's why the dowager queen let her dissaproval be known and refused her attendance that morning, forcing the solitude and the intimacy in the ceremony to stand out in the vast coast where Aemond decided it would be held.

She cursed him in her mind when the heaviness of her eyelids made the restlessness she had the night before become more evident, as the prince instructed her days prior that she should be present before the break of dawn.

There was a chill in the cold, morning brisk that made her skin shiver, and the flames coming from the fire holders surrounding them weren't enough to warm her.

/Va syndroti vāedroma/

Y/n felt ridiculous, out of place even, when she saw herself wearing the ornamented headpiece and the silky, oversized robe meant for her to use that morning. It wasn't at all what she expected, not in the least close to the frugality of the dress she would be wearing in the evening at the sept.

Isn't this meant to be used only by pure blooded valyrians?, she wondered, but she was well aware that wouldn't be a fact Aemond would let in into his obtuse, stubborn mind.

She even imagined how Aegon the conqueror and his sisters would turn in their graves if they saw them tanting the millennial ritual by binding a Targaryen with a puny westerosi. Hell, even Aegon -the drunkard- laughed his ass off when he received the news of his younger brother being wed to her in the old fashion.

/Mēro perzot gīhoti/

He wore the same muted robe as she did, but this time a heavily decorated eyepatch adorned his angular face, besides the relaxed smirk he had from the second he spotted her moments before she stood next to him.

It was unfair, she thought, how the dressing fitted so well on him, as much as she hated to admit.

The ancient outfit was meant to combine with his valyrian, regal features, and the statuesque demeanor he showed made her feel like a fragile and simple peasant, as if he was a prince who came from the Old Valyria to be bound with her for eternity.

/Elēdroma iārza sīr/

Y/n spotted the pink wine tint on their shoulders and immediately reasoned how it blended together with the warm sky above them, the same as the creamy soft color on the ends of the robe, just like the sand where they stood.

Oh, so this is why he chose the sunrise...

/Izulī ampā perzī/

The lady felt her legs quivering when the monk handed the prince a small knife, but then she recalled how the main point of the ceremony centered around joining their blood together.

Aemond turned to face her, with a reassuring look on his only eye, as if he knew he frightened her by holding the small, glassy weapon. He closed the distance between them and raised her chin with his cold digits as he lifted the dagger near her face.

Hearing him mutter a soft look at me, y/n felt a sharp sting on her bottom lip, which made her eyes water as the cold material left a fresh wound where it slid down.

The Targaryen traced her pillowy lips with his thumb, collecting blood to draw a small figure on her forehead with it.

She didn't understand what it meant, and y/n wished, if he was so adamant on being wed to her, that he could at least had the consideration of taking his time to explain to her the vows the priest spoke in that rich language of theirs, and the blood sigils they were supposed to mark on each other.

/Prūmī lanti sēteksi/

Before she could ponder on the strange words, Aemond grabbed her hand giving her the knife with a determined look on his face, expecting her to do the same to him.

She stepped closer to him and, much to her dismay, her trembling hands dropped the knife to the ground. Y/n felt her face burning with shame and heard a small chuckle coming from the prince standing in front of her.

Asshole, prick, jerk, accursed kinslayer. A whole cascade of insults towards him crescented in her mind.

Clenching her teeth with anger she crouched, swiftly picking up the instrument while holding her headpiece in place to prevent it from falling. She didn't need to embarrass herself any longer that morning.

/Hen jeny māzīlarion/

Y/n held the dagger tightly and she stood on her tiptoes so she could allow herself to reach the towering valyrian, finding balance gripping his upper arm and finally giving him the small cut on his lip.

Aemond had to lower his face for her to draw the bloody symbol on him, and she prayed in her mind she drew the correct figure as she remembered it was.

Once his hand reached hers to take the knife, the knot on her throat tightened almost constrictingly as she observed Aemond giving himself a long slash, feeling immediate nausea when she saw the sanguine fluid pooling on the palm of his hand.

She was certain Aemond probably knew she wouldn't have the courage to cut herself, and proved right when he extended her arm by the wrist firmly to prevent her from pulling it back.

Without warning, the icy steel bit her and y/n flinched in pain, choking a small whimper as Aemond put their hands together intertwining their fingers, almost as if he tried to comfort her.

Her blood mixed with his when her palm rested between his long calloused digits, dripping through the small spaces allowing them to be joined together in this old rite the prince insisted so much to carry out.

The seeping crimson liquid gave his usually cold skin an odd warmth, almost nostalgically so.

/Qēlossa ozūndesi/

The priest approached them continuing his chanting, offering her a wooden cup to drink from. Y/n inspected the small runes carved on it before putting it to her lips and taking some slows sips of what appeared to be spiced wine, with her tongue starting to burn fiercely.

It seemed Aemond wasn't bothered by the fiery sensation after his turn to drink from the cup, his usual calm facade remained intact.

/Syndroro ōñō jēdo/

His feet took a step closer to her, as she tried avoiding the intense stare from his one eye while he slowly leaned down to caress her cheek.

The soft stroke became a strong grip on her jaw, and the prince began closing the distance between them, placing his lips on hers, need and want emanating from the rythm of his breathing.

Much to y/n's surprise, the kiss was soft, slow, maybe too passionate for a religious ceremony as his mouth found hers with boiling desperation, forcing the hotness under her skin rush to her cheeks in seconds.

One of his hands kept her in place while the other found rest in her shoulder, gently tugging at her robe as if he couldn't wait to free her from it.

Nevertheless, y/n had no other choice but to return the kiss, closing her eyes and imagining the one kissing her was the sweet prince who spent his afternoons on the library with her reading about history, and not the murderer who plotted her dear friend's death.

/Ry kīvia mazvestraksi/

She heard Aemond groan softly in frustration when he pulled away, as if he had to refrain himself from claiming her mouth how he truly wanted.

When the priest finished his vows, they both stared at each other while the fires cracked vigorously before being put out.

Y/n was too well aware Aemond could see the fear and rejection in her eyes, unlike him, whose gaze was so ardent it made her shrink into a tight knot of nervousness.

- Our blood is bound together now, Rūs.- he expressed, a hint of excitement blossoming on his voice,- ... I will finally make you mine tonight.

The soft burr from his tone and the lascivous threat almost made her spun on her heels to run away.

- I won't allow you in my bed!- she replied with irritation.

Aemond only chuckled, wearing his usual stance with his arms behind his back.

-Hm... I will be your lord husband once the high septon anoint us with the Seven's blessings, so...- the prince dangerously leans over her, revelling on her anxious state.

I think I'll have the right to do as I want with you.

[passionateseadruid]

I am loved! I am loved!

Few things: Tad bit of Misogyny (Adam, kinda Lucifer), swearing (almost everyone), Sera, Slander (Lucifer and Lilith), extermination talk, bad people mentioned

sequel to this

Me and my husband, we are doing better.

Or at least that’s how I feel.

It had been a few centuries since you’ve been married and it seems like he’s been more tense lately. You thought to take him out to for lunch.

“Adam! Sweetheart?” You opened the door of the conference room that a small light blue elephant cherub had directed you toward. He had come with you. “Thank you silver.”

“Babe! C’mere!” Adam motioned you over. “Listen Sera my baby agrees with this.”

“Darling? Do you?”

“I completely agree with my husband. What am I agreeing with?”

“Adam thinks that it’s a good idea to kill off some of the worst sinners in hell.”

“…Adam?”

“Yeah because you’ve been spewing nonsense about the whore with some mildly entertaining curves trying to overthrow us with those sinners.”

“Her husband had a smaller waist and wider hips than she does.” You and him wheezed at that.

“True! Oh ho ho,” he panted from laughing too hard. “And this is why I love you, honey.”

“Um… so what was his idea Sera?” You asked bashfully. Adam had never publicly stated his love for you. Sure he was touchy-feely but he always blamed that on his high sex-drive when asked.

“Adam wants to train an army to kill certain sinners.”

“Only the really bad ones, like the ones we talked about.” Adam assured.

“Like the people harming children? Or those that sexually abused others?” You asked.

“Yeah! Or the really really bad killers who just slaughter tons of innocent people for no reason other than that they can!”

“Yeah Sera I agree. Not all of the souls down there would have to get involved.” You reasoned.

“No, course not.” Adam agreed.

“I don’t know, darling.” Sera looked at you both apprehensively.

“Sera, you know that people like that do not deserve to live. It was only because of Lucifer that they exist! And it is because of him that they get to roam freely!” You asserted, anger grew in you as the seconds passed thinking about Lucifer.

“…okay.”

“But! Just the very bad ones.” You warned.

“Course! I may be a “misogynist” or whatever but I’m not a monster.”

“Do you want to go get burritos now?” You grabbed his hand.

“Fuck yeah! See you later Sera!” He tossed you over his shoulder and slapped your ass.

////////////////////////////////////////

It had been a few months and Sera arranged a meeting with Lucifer.

“Sera! Please make him bring Lilith!”

“Why on earth would you want that?”

“Because then Adam and I can show them that we don’t care about them!”

“Ugh, please don’t be so immature.”

“Please Sera! Please please please!”

“Okay okay! Just don’t be upset if he doesn’t care. And don’t interrupt the meeting okay?”

“Thank you Sera!!”

////////////////////////////////////////

The day of the meeting you had picked out matching outfits for you and Adam. White robes with gold accents. You had gold jewelry in the shape of crosses. And you slipped on your wedding ring with the biggest diamond you’d (or anyone’d ever seen).

“Adam sweetheart! Cmon!”

“Babe why do we have to go?” Adam whined.

“The Morningstars will be there. Don’t you want to show them up?”

“…yes.”

“Come on then! You big baby.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Adam.”

////////////////////////////////////////

“What the fuck are they doing here?!” Lucifer shouted.

“Calm down Lucifer. Darling here overseas humanity.” Sera calmly explained.

“Why did you have to mess up all of humanity?” You glared at the two.

“And Adam was the one who came up with the idea.”

“Yeah bitch!”

“Okay… then why are they on Adam’s lap?” Lilith asked.

“Because we’re married?” You said.

“WHAT?!” The two exclaimed.

“Yeah! I can steal your bitch too Luci.”

“Hey…” You pouted at Adam.

“Don’t take it to heart! You know I think you’re a badass bitch!” He nuzzled your neck and gave you a little peck.

“Can we please just get this over with?” Lucifer asked Annoyed.

////////////////////////////////////////

After the meeting Lucifer cornered you. “You may think you’re special because you got into the pants of the first man; but you’re not. You’re just some freak with pretty privilege and that’s all you’ll ever be!”

“…” You smile. “You think I’m pretty?”

“I-” He just stood there stuttering like an idiot.

You purposely brushed his shoulder and said, “Keep dreaming that you could ever have this.” Not looking back as you strutted down the hall to find your husband.

“Get your hands off me!” You heard him scream. “I love my baby and you aren’t going to change that Lilith.”

“I’m sorry are we going to have a problem here?” You walked in.

“Of course not babe. The Morningstars are just trying to stir up drama.” He came over to you and you wrapped your arms around his.

“How well I know.” You turn back. “Lil, step off my man and try to get a hold on your for a change.”

‘Yes me and my husband, we are doing better.’

Taglist: @pandaquick (I am so sorry I forgot😭 would you like to be added to my new series tag list?)

[goldenfantasyarts]

@shoujophobic I had to put luci in that husband killer night gown. Al is in a short night robe with long sleeves and some shorts, slippers. And I had to put his hair in a ponytail because guilty pleasure

[theartfuldodger26]

Voldemort meets a Boggart - Part 1

"Well, that won't do," said Bellatrix to herself and shut the door behind her, unceremoniously.

She passed through the small room that had furniture covered in cloth and moved on to the next room, by opening a side door.

Bellatrix had spent the better part of the day looking for a room to turn into a love nest for the Dark Lord and herself. Not that sex wasn't amazing anywhere, as log as it was with her master. Or that he didn't do his best work in the library, surrounded by his beloved books. But they needed a place more discreet than the library and less gross than the master bedroom, which happened to have been her sister's marital bed until the Dark Lord had moved in.

Bellatrix had considered the dungeons - perfect atmosphere for their sexual entcounters - yet it was a little dank for her lungs and it might actually come in handy for prisoners of certain value. So now she was perusing the upper floors of the mansion in search of a cosy corner.

From previous visits to her sister's home, Bella rememebred that there was, somewhere, a room with sky blue walls and frescos depicting images of a Roman feast - orgy would be a better word, considering everyone was naked- but she had not found it yet. Perhaps it was behind this door -

Harry Potter was standing in the middle of room, his wand raised. And there, by his feet, lay the Dark Lord.

His feet were bare, covered in blood, and his face had a frozen expression of pain. He was clearly dead.

Bellatrix felt as though the air had been drained from her lungs; her stomach was in free fall and her limbs felt paralyzed.

The Dark Lord. Dead. And Harry Potter, his snotty, teenaged killer.

No, it couldn't be.

With hot tears running down her face, Bellatrix sprinted towards them.

"Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra!" she screamed, her wand tip pointed squarely at Potter's forehead.

There were multiple flashes of green light and a massive Crack! But instead of Potter dropping dead, his smirk grew wider.

"He's dead!" he announced. "He's dead, I'm alive and now you'll never see him again! Never!"

"NO!"

Unable to control the trembling, Bella fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around her master's lifeless body. He was already as rigid and cold as ice, as white as death.

"You'll never see him again!" repeated the malicious voice. "You'll never hear his voice again!"

"No, no, no, no!" she howled, her throat making noises she'd never known possible. And she desolved into sobs.

"He'll never tell you you look beautiful. He'll never tell you you did well! He'll never make love to you again!"

"No- wait, what?" Bellatrix muttered between sobs. "What did you just say?"

"He'll never make love to you again, never! You'll have to spend the rest of your life with your husband!" said the boy dramatically.

As the realisation hit her, grief left her as suddenly as it had come, and a maniacal laugh of joy left her lips. Bella let go of the Dark Lord's robes and got to her feet. She felt as light as a feather, as happy as can be.

"You're a filthy-minded little Boggart, aren't you?" she laughed, and padded her face down with her handkerchief.

Trying not to look at the mockery of a Dark Lord that was sprawled down on the floor, Bellatrix inhaled and exhaled slowly in order to calm her breathing and clear her mind from the shock.

As she was standing there, before the leering Potter, who, like a broken record, was repeating his last words over and over again, she was finally able to take in the room. It had naked men and women painted on the walls, eating grapes and having sex. And there, closer to the opposite door, stood a man.

"My Lord?"

Just like his fake, dead doppeganger, Lord Voldemort was paler than chalk, and was wearing an expression of pain, one Bellatrix had never seen painted on her master's face before. So much so, that it took her a second to accept that he was the real Dark Lord and not the other way round. She had never seen him like this. His vertical slits of pupils were full-blown circles of dread and his hand was covering his mouth, which had certainly fallen agape. Even his posture was different. Bella often teased him that he stood up straight, as though he'd swallowed a broomstick, but now he was cowering in the shadows.

Was it the Boggart that had brought him into this state? But why would her Boggart scare him so much? Unless... Unless what she had first seen was not her Boggart, but his...

Before her mind could fully comprehend what this meant, the Dark Lord hissed: "Get rid of it!"

With a firm step, Bella walked between the Dark Lord and his own corpse, so that he couldn't see it, and said, very clearly: "Riddikulus!"

There was another crack and both Harry Potter and Voldemort's corpse disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Bellatrix turned on her heel to see Voldemort taking a deep breath and, out of respect for his privacy, turned around again, allowing him to rearrange his features into their usual, composed mask.

It was very awkward, staring at her boots, which were standing at the very spot Boggart-Harry Potter had just been standing, but it was nothing compared to when she realised the Dark Lord was shaking. Yes, he was shaking, she could see him with the corner of her eyes. He had managed to gain his full height and his expressionless face, but his body was still beyond his control, trembling like a schoolboy's.

"My Lord," she whispered, tenderly, before the little voice insider her head could stop her (a phenomenon that happened often).

"I'm all right," Voldemort managed, his voice with only a hint of his usual curtness.

"I know."

"We don't have to talk about it."

"No, we most certainly will not be talking about it."

There was another long pause and then Voldemort spoke again: "You can turn around now."

Bellatrix did, and found her Dark Lord staring back at her. It was a relief to see his feline pupils digging into her eyes as they always did, trying to read her expression. Was she mocking him? Was she going to keep her word and not mention it ever again? Did she... pity him? Had he falled in her eyes?

Bellatrix wanted to yell he hadn't, that she understood, but Voldemort changed the subject.

"How did you find me?" he demanded.

Find him? How long had he been stuck here then, living and reliving his murder at the hands of that half-blooded brat? Minutes? Hours?

"Find you, my Lord?" she asked, keeping her gaze low. "I was only looking for - "

The little voice inside her head won and she realised it wouldn't exactly fit the mood to say she had been looking for a sex pad.

"I was only looking around," she said. "I haven't been at Malfoy Manor in a while and you know how easily I get lost. So I'm walking around, having a look at the frescoes while I'm at it."

Her hands opened wide, embracing the copulating images on the walls.

That's not much better now, is it? hissed the little voice in her head. Voldemort seemed to be thinking the same, because he cocked a hairless eyebrow.

"I see," he said. "Then I apologise for interrupting your naughty sightseeing."

"My Lord, you don't have to apologise for anything," Bellatrix whispered. "It's only natural-"

"What's only natural?" he snapped, suddenly very annoyed. "What's only natural about fearing a boy who hasn't even finished his magical education? A boy whose only talent is pure, unadulterated luck?!"

"I'm not going to mention the Prophecy, because, as I have said at other times, not all prophecies come true. However, I do remember than one night you said you were popping out for a stroll at the Potters' and not coming. And, as you can see, it scared the daylights out of me. I don't know how it felt, but you nearly died that night. You spent 14 years in a damned forest without a body, and you survived to tell the tale."

Bellatrix paused for a moment, and put her hand on his shoulder. He allowed it.

"You did something incredible," she whispered. "You were killed but did not die. No one has ever done this before. And if that means that a stupid Boggart can jack off to it for ten seconds, whatever, no one cares. To me, it's a miracle you're here, right now, with me."

And she kissed him, deeply. And he returned the kiss.

"I'm not the only miracle around, my dear," he whispered back. "I now have proof you are the only person in the world who genuinely cares about me."

[chaotic-purple]

Angel’s Mystery Thriller

Charlie: Oh, Angel. You look…different than usual.

Nifty: You look like you’re going to a funeral!

Angel: Close, doll. I’m going a couple blocks over to a hotel to shoot a funeral scene for my new film. In this one, I play a bereaved widower whose husband was just murdered. I’m trying to find the killer…

Husk: That’s actually a pretty decent plot for a porn—

Angel: …by sleeping with all the suspects!

Husk: Ah. There it is.

Extra:

Angel’s outfit for the scene where he finds out his husband has been killed. Yes, he is wearing the viral dramatic pink robe and yes he is literally clutching a strand of pearls.

[stephensmithuk]

The Hound of the Baskervilles: The Man on the Tor

E. Remington and Sons, founded in 1816, was an American company known for firearms and typewriters, manufacturing the first commercial model of the latter. The typewriter part of the business was sold off in 1886 and via a series of corporate changes, the company is now part of Unisys. Not that it makes typewriters anymore.

The earliest known use of the word "sexy" comes from a letter by Arnold Bennett in 1896.

This is a period where people, especially of class, very much cared about avoiding scandal. A married woman visiting a single man late at night would be a scandal.

At this time Laura Lyons would have to prove that her estranged husband had committed both adultery and abandoned her. Proving the former would usually require a private detective of some form, beyond the means of most people.

A red letter day is one of special significance. In the UK, there are certain days where English High Court judges wear scarlet robes instead of the normal black. This would include religious festivals and the Sovereign's birthdays (official and actual), but I am unable to find an updated official list to reflect the situation with the current King.

Red Letter Days is also the name of a company that sells "experiences" like tank driving days or a cream tea at a posh hotel.

While Franklin possibly isn't aware of it as it was a common turn of phrases, the term "double event" was used in a postcard purporting to be from Jack the Ripper sent the day after that serial killer murdered two women in the space of an hour.

The Court of Queen’s Bench, now the Court of King's Bench, is the division of the High Court dealing with things like personal injury, libel and breach of contract:

Frankland clearly does not remember that you cannot sue the Sovereign. He could sue the Devon County Constabulary though, which has since become the Devon and Cornwall Police.

Tins for food were widespread at this time. They were made of iron, soldered with a tin-lead alloy, which could lead to poisoning by the latter until Max Ams developed a seam in 1888 that only required the solder on the outside.

A pannikin is a metal cup coated in enamel.

"Spartan" means austere. The city state of Sparta in ancient Greece was known, in a rather mythologicalised fashion, for its heavily militarised society, eschewing personal comfort for this. It attracted a lot of admirers as a result, including playing a big part in fascist beliefs. Their reputation for physical prowess has also seen several sports teams adopt their name, like AC Sparta Prague, who dominate the Czech association football game.

There is also of course 300...

[part-timewonders]

#TWIYOR: roots in my dreamland

For @dailytwiyorprompts: nightmare!

(read on twitter or ao3)

When Yor wakes, the stretch of bed next to her is empty and cold. That in itself isn’t unusual, except that she does distinctly remember her husband coming to bed with her earlier in the evening. The moonlight peeks into the bedroom (their bedroom now!) through the curtains, which means it can’t be close to dawn yet.

Yor considers, briefly, going back to sleep, but she sits up to find a warm robe to wrap around herself. Loid would’ve told her if he had a mission tonight, so hopefully he’s just in the living room.

She creeps into the hallway, noticing Anya’s door slightly ajar, but she stops when she hears Loid speaking quietly inside. When she peeks in, she notices him sitting on the bed next to a dozing Anya, a stack of picture books on the nightstand and another one open on his lap. The nightlight is on.

He looks up at her, but doesn’t stop reading quietly to Anya, even as Yor retreats and makes her way to the kitchen instead. Bond lifts his head when she walks past, but lays back down after she pats his head and scratches behind his ear. “Nothing to worry about, Bond, I promise.” 

She gets the kettle set up, and then goes to look for tea options. There’s a box of chamomile tea in the cabinet, newly purchased from their last grocery trip, so she carefully peels away the plastic wrapper from the box while the water boils.

Two deep red mugs wait for her on the counter, an artifact from another, lonelier life. Thorn Princess may be a cold-hearted killer, but Yor Briar had desperately wanted a relationship, and a family, however unobtainable it all seemed. Until she met Loid Forger, who carried plenty of secrets of his own, but accepted hers when he inevitably found her coming home exhausted one late night, bleeding sluggishly through her black dress. She’d waited for him to tell her to pack her things and leave, that he’ll send divorce papers by courier, that he couldn’t have his precious daughter in the same house as an assassin. But over the course of that painful, sleepless night, he whispered his secrets to her instead while he sponged the blood off her skin. If you trust me with yours, then I can trust you with mine too.

It was the first time she’d ever been in his bedroom, to see the weapons, the disguises, everything that marked him as the most elusive spy of Westalis. Even Thorn Princess has heard of Agent Twilight, though she’s pretty certain they’ve never crossed paths until that fateful day at the tailor’s. They don’t talk about their respective missions and the work that brings them home late, but it’s enough for now to know that he understands her, and she understands him.

Loid emerges from the hallway soon after Yor settles on the couch, one steaming cup in her hands while the other waits for him on the coffee table. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“I just wasn’t sure where you went off to,” Yor says softly. She shifts over to make room for him. “Is Anya okay?”

“Yeah. A nightmare, again,” Loid sighs. He rubs his eyes before he takes up his mug too. Yor scoots in closer again, so he can rest his arm over her shoulders and she can lean against him. “I worry about her so much, Yor. She’s so young… too young to be having these kinds of nightmares. And she won’t tell me what she’s dreaming about… she fell asleep again after three books. Thank God it’s the weekend.”

Yor smiles to herself, thinking about how difficult it could be to get Anya up for school after a night like this. Loid is right; the weekend will allow them all to sleep in, and hopefully spend some time together as a family. It won’t chase the nightmares away, not completely, but they can give Anya happier things to dream about.

“You’ll never be able to fix it,” she begins after a few moments of silence and tea-drinking. She looks up at him, brings her hand to his cheek so he’ll know how serious she is. “The nightmares might never go away. But we love her, she’s our daughter, and we’ll never let her come to harm again. That’s all we can do.”

That’s a promise. From Thorn Princess to Agent Twilight. From wife to husband, from parent to parent.

She hopes it’s enough.

[da3drat]

Ayem in the husband killer robe for @nerevar-quote-and-star ‘s pinup challenge for the divinity prompt!

Uhhh better late than never right?👉👈 been thinking about drawing this nonstop while my wrist recovers. This was waaay outside my comfort zone lol but I had such a fun time with it!