#law of diminishing returns and all that

[sennenpharaoh]

Nice try anon, but his magician has that card now.

It's in better hands, and it will stay that way.

[wyvernest]

cold nights by the fire

cregan stark x betrothed f! reader

cw: smut, piv, creampie, fluff, slightly typical-medieval sexist views, loss of virginity

summary: your soon-to-be husband keeps you warm on your first cold night in Winterfell

Ever since the war ended, nights have grown colder in the regretted absence of most dragonfire in Westeros. High and sharp winds have started growing in the North, sweeping far south of The Wall and clawing at the gates of Winterfell.

Tonight was no different. You had asked your handmaiden to build a fire in the hearth for both your comfort, but with little gain. As soon as you stepped away from the red, licking flames, the cold took over like shadow vanquishing light.

“It’s all in vain.” you mutter, defeated.

“I shall bring more furs, m’lady.” your handmaiden insists, getting up from her spot by the fire.

“Don’t.”, you chuckle, “Any more and I’ll suffocate. They’ll have to send all the guards to come looking for me amongst them come morn’.”

Your companion lets a shy laugh escape her trembling lips, although short-lived as a tall, broad shadow appears by the door. 

“My lady.” Your heart flutters wildly at the unmistakable sound of your betrothed’s voice, so gentle and concerned. “Are you well?”

Nodding for your handmaiden to retreat to her own chamber, you now become aware of your condition; kneeled on the rough tapestry, crumbled into a ball of pelts, hands above the flames. Sour shame washes over you, for having dared to believe you were one of the toughest of your family during harsh times, yet now conquered by the cold on your first night in Winterfell. 

“Cregan.” you shuffle to raise to your feet but your freezing legs aren’t eager to heed your intent. “I must admit, my northern blood has betrayed me tonight, for the first time.” 

You are startled amidst your struggles to flee from the furs as he braces you with a firm hand on your back, before his other comes around your waist, easily lifting you off the rugs. He walks back, placing you on the soft bed and sitting beside you, the covers rigid with night’s chill underneath.

“I will not have my lady wife quiver in my own keep.” He rids himself of his cloak swiftly, draping it over your smaller frame. The hastiness of the gesture makes a newfound warmth pool in your veins, reminding you of the same way he is to soon cloak you as his lady, in sight of the Old Gods. 

“Thank you,” You whisper, surprised and stunned, as you cuddle closer into his embrace. His body heat soon seeps into you, your trembling diminishing as his strong arms faintly squeeze more and more. 

‘Exhilarated’ didn’t begin to properly describe how you felt when Lord Cregan started courting you not long after he had returned from the southern war of the Targaryens. Your house is pledged to the Starks, but with the safety of the North now secured, he did not deem it necessary to strengthen alliances with marriage anymore, not when he could follow his heart so freely.

A giddy shiver rouses you from oncoming slumber, as the last slither of cold leaves your body in a sneeze you wished you could suppress. 

“Come closer.” You can feel his hot breath on your face as he moves you over his lap, his right arm running up and down your back in hopes of keeping you warm.

“Is this proper? So soon, before the wedding?” You do not wish to so easily disrespect customs and laws, but it wasn't rare that you found yourself fantasising about finally being his.

“I am merely looking after my beloved. I already vowed to shield you from harm.” You cannot tell if there was a trace of amusement in his tone or if it was just your mind jesting.

“Not before the gods.”

“The gods knew of the pledge before I could speak it. The ceremony will be held, but my loyalties will have been with you for long before.” The hold around your waist tightens, affectionate.

You look up at him, pondering your next words carefully; but before you could muster up a word, your eyes drift to his lips, only for a moment. He doesn't need a clearer impulse to proceed.

His mouth meets yours with a warm exhale that seems to bewitch you, all senses and shock diffusing into the need of being with him. Your face is hot, the skin of your waist is buzzing under his touch even through thick clothing. Your kiss is shy, despite his growing hunger. He nips at your soft lips, his right hand cradling your face, warm and calloused, yet so tender.

His left palm grazes your thigh, a reassuring safety seasoned with soft need. 

You cannot dream of stopping him. Your only concern is him ceasing at an awful time, only to return to his usual, honourable self and leave you desperate until the wedding. But he does not back away, more and more enraptured with you, the scent of you, your skin and your soft sighs. 

He kisses down your jaw, down your throat, wet, hot and open-mouthed. Your body has forgotten all about the sting of cold, leaning back onto the furs. He follows without breaking away, climbing on top of you slowly yet steadily. You moan in surprise as he begins to toy with the back strings of your dress.

“If you wish me gone, I will be gone at once, wife.” He vows.

Returning into view, he looks at you from atop, his brows soothing at the realisation that you are about to welcome him.

“Warm my bed tonight, husband.” You utter, a feather’s puff aways from his lips.

With that, he descends upon you, tasting your words on your lips, his hands cradling your liquified body like softened candle wax. You're burning up and twisting with excitement under the blazing flame of his heat. 

His hands slowly rid you of your garments, leaving you in your white shift, before slipping underneath and grabbing your waist. His touch leaves your skin aching and burning behind, his kisses mark you in a scorch palpable only to you. His touch climbs past your waist, coming to fondle the soft flesh of your breasts. Your heart beat is so strong you swear he might feel it as he softly squeezes your tit.

You shuffle in his hold, seeking to press yourself closer and closer into him, as if to become one. He indulges, himself wanting to wrap you up entirely in his embrace. Your soft breasts come flush against his hard chest, legs curling up around his waist as you receive him between your parted thighs. 

His breathing gradually becomes laboured as he moves against you, pulling the covers over you both. As he continues to caress the curves and dips of your shape, his groin brushes up against your flower and your hips betray you, dragging back up against him. With a low grunt, he frees himself from his breeches with one hand, and you pull at his chemise to fully undress him.

“Are you certain?” You inquire, out of breath.

“Always have been.” He soothes your worries with another heart-stopping kiss, sealing the premature bedding with an undoubting vow.

You feel him guide himself into you, the tip of his manhood prodding at the pink petals of your unplucked rose, claiming you. He pushes in and you gladly accept him, wet and wanting. 

“Gods, you feel amazing.” He groans above you, finally settled completely into you, before pulling back out and starting to roll his hips, steady yet hard enough to have you tensing at the sudden feeling of kindles in your womb. 

He sinks deep into you with every thrust, breathing heavy on your neck, groaning in your ear, whipping at the cold and dark of the bedchamber. You can smell the pinewood and musk on him, closer than you’ve ever been before, and it drowns out your senses, reducing you to the rapid waters of a river, bending and breaking against harsh stones of mountains, willing and united. 

You gasp out his name as the air is filled with your moans and pleas, the wood-carved bed frame ramming into the bleak stone walls of Winterfell with an echoless rhythm. 

He worships your body like you were a godly grace bestowed upon him, listening to your every sound and heeding every sign that he could do more for your pleasure. Eventually his thrusts grow urgent and scattered in between breaths, and before he can muffle your ecstatic whines with another kiss, you come, your delicate flower quivering around him, pushing him into the peak of his own satisfaction. 

You feel him throb inside, filling you with a strange, new sensation. He collapses by your side, tenderly dragging you with him. He strokes up and down your back, his breaths calming with a deep sigh.

“Is my lady still in discomfort?” He jests lightly, proud with himself and immensely content.

You snuggle at his side, head on his chest. “No. But I'm afraid I will be in need of your aid every night, my lord.”

[spaceorphan18]

The Contessa (Polin Fic)

Rating: E for very explicitness

Summary: Colin returns home one evening to find Penelope reading his journal. She has some inquires about some undocumented time, and he tells the story of the infamous Contessa...

Notes: I've had this idea forever and just needed to get it out of my system. It's one part slice of domestic life, one part porn without plot, all of it full of love and emotions because how can you not with these two? There's a little pregnancy talk as it takes place in the months between the Butterfly ball and the epilogue.

For anyone wanting to read on Ao3 Here is the Link.

Thanks for reading!!

****

The Contessa

It’s evening when Colin arrives back at the house.  He shuffles through the door, flushed a little from the warm, late summer air, a little from the half bottle of brandy he and Benedict had finished off not an hour earlier.  It is still somewhat a foreign sensation -- leaving the family he had spent a happy afternoon with and the house he had grown up in to return to a place where the halls he now walks feels new and unfamiliar.  But it’s not a bad sensation.  In fact, he relishes the fact that he now has a place of his own.  A home.  A home for his own family. 

He grins, and it’s not just the alcohol that makes him a little dizzy. 

“Pen!” He calls out.  They spend a considerable amount of their time together but on days they’re apart, he’ll usually find her at the desk in the study.  Curiously, she’s not there.  “Penelope?” 

“She’s retired for the evening, sir.” Penelope’s hand maid, Rae, passes him in the hallway.  She points back to the bedroom. 

Colin furrows his brow.  His wife has been fatigued more often than not as of late, and it has had him concerned. “Is she well? Perhaps I should have stayed…” 

Rae holds one hand up, and shakes her head with a smile.  “She is fine, sir,” she assures him.  “And doing well for one in her condition. Besides, her mother was with her most of the day.  Nothing to worry about.  She only wanted the comfort of her bed for reading.” 

“Thank you, Rae,” he says, giving a nod to dismiss her.  

He isn’t entirely comforted.  Lady Featherington has been a source of contention recently; wanting to be at Penelope’s side more often than not.  Never in her life, Penelope has complained to him, has her mother shown her so much attention.  Perhaps it has to do with Prudence and Phillipa giving birth to two, sweet little girls that now Lady Featherington’s sights are set on her third daughter to produce the heir she so desperately desires.  And it would give Colin a slight sense of satisfaction if he and Penelope were the ones to bring that heir into being.  But Penelope’s comfort has always come first, and Lady Featherington’s unusual form of mothering is often too much.  He can only hope that she hasn’t pushed Penelope past exasperation.  

Colin is indignant as he enters their bedroom.  He doesn’t care that it’s evening, or that it might be seen as improper, he’ll head straight to the Featherington estate to give his mother-in-law a piece of his mind if he finds she’s been the source of his wife’s discomfort.  His emotions are easily bubbling to the surface but the minute he catches his wife’s reflection in the mirror, they shift from discontent and worry to… something else.  

He pauses, watching Penelope in the mirror.  After a day of being apart, his chest tightens at the sight of her.  She’s sitting, soundly, on her side of the bed, legs curled under her as she reads.  She is already in her pale, pink nightgown; her red curls down and resting gently against her bosom.  Her skin glows softly in the candlelight.  He has wondered that maybe after months of marriage if the deep desire he felt upon looking at her would eventually diminish or change but it has not and instead he has accepted that it will always be a part of him, always simmering in the back of his mind, waiting for an appropriate time to be unleashed. 

Penelope is too engrossed in her reading to look up.  He notes that it’s his journal that she’s reading so intently, a thought that brings a smirk to his lips, and he can’t help but wonder what part of his journeys has her so captivated.  She scratches a note in the margin, then continues reading, the feather of the quill lightly dancing teasingly against her lips.  He watches, mesmerized.  

“I can feel you staring at me,” she says, suddenly.  She doesn’t look up from her reading, taking the moment to jot down another note, but a smile climbs on her lips.  

Colin crosses the room, over to her side, bending down to give her a kiss on top of her head.  “I don’t think it’s a bad thing to stare at one’s wife.  Especially, when that wife is as beautiful as you.” 

He goes to move away, but she pulls him back, looking up at him with that same mix of wonder and slight disbelief she gets whenever he compliments her.  “You are really too much sometimes,” she says, tugging him down for a quick kiss.  “I am ghastly.  Bloated with child.  Sweaty, swollen, and uncomfortable…” 

Concern crosses his face.  “Is there anything I can do?” 

“I think that you have done enough,” she says.  It’s a gentle tease.  Despite any worries he has, she seems in good spirits, tenderly cupping his face as she draws him in for another, quick kiss.  “Mmmm, you’ve spent a considerable amount of time with Benedict tonight.”

It’s the alcohol on his breath.  No denying that.  “He’s a nuisance, really.  Insisting that we celebrate Gregory going off to Eaton with cards and a drink.”  He moves away, sliding into the chair near the bed and begins unlacing his boots.  

“So he coerced you into it?” Penelope asks, her eyes bright with humor.  

“Of course,” he jokes.  He’s only half in jest about Benedict.  Lately, his usually free spirited, energetic older brother has become listless.  Colin is glad, at least, that Anthony is away in India, handing over the household duties, giving Benedict something to do. Otherwise, he worries Benedict would attempt to find his purpose at the bottom of every bottle.  He tells Penelope as much, but leaves out the part that before them, before her , he had felt the same way. 

“I’m sure Benedict will find his own happiness,” Penelope says, as if she can read his thoughts.  “But what of the rest of your family? Is your mother well?  How is Eloise? I feel terrible that we haven’t seen each other much in the past few weeks.  I do miss her.”  

“Mother is good,” he replies. He takes off his jacket, hanging it on the stand next to the dresser.  “Hyacinth sends her regards.  Eloise is… as Eloise always is.  She talked my ear off about some book that she said I must tell you about.  Some horrific novel about a scientist who creates the perfect man only for it to be a disaster.  She called it a literary masterpiece, and claims that you must pick it up when you have the chance.”  

“That sounds thrilling,” Penelope says, delighted.  “Will you be able to pick me up a copy?  Reading might be the only thing I can do soon, and one can never have too many books.” 

“If it is your wish,” Colin replies.  “It does sound like an absurd tale.  But that might be the way Eloise described it.  She’s always had a flair for the dramatic in her commentary.”  

“And that is why we adore her,” Penelope says.  “I think I’ll try to have tea with her at Bridgerton House.  The fresh air would be nice and I would very much like to get out of this house.” 

“But your condition…” 

“Is fine,” she lets out a laugh.  “I am not bedridden yet.  There is plenty I can do…” 

Her eyes remain fixed on him as he undresses.  He enjoys the way her gaze lingers as he casts off his layers, preening a bit as he unbuttons his shirt and discards it onto the chair.  Her eyes are wicked with want, and after a four day disruption due to her not feeling well, maybe they could return to their usual nighttime routine.  

Pen licks her lips as he approaches the bed, but continues with their conversation.  “It’ll have to be Thursday,” she says. “Friday, my mother wants all of us girls and their husbands for a dinner.”

His trousers remain on (for now) and he comes to the bed, flopping down on his back to stare at the ceiling, letting out a protesting groan as he does so.  “Are you sure we need to be there?” 

“You won’t be forced into conversation with my sisters,” Penelope says, reassuringly.  “You can spend time with Mr. Dankworth and Mr. Finch in the drawing room as you always do.  I promise to keep my mother busy so to keep the two of you apart.” 

He grumbles, turning on his side.  In truth, Albion and Harry have grown on him some.  They’re two of the biggest dolts he’s ever known, but they’re kind and amusing and seem to have embraced him as their leader in the secret club reserved for men who adore the Featherington sisters.  It’s charming, really.  And while he much prefers his own brothers, he’s well aware he could do much worse when it comes to brother-in-laws.  

“So, you mother…” he broaches the subject carefully.  Penelope’s relationship with her mother is fragile but mending, and he treads carefully.  “Was she too much for you today?” 

“She’s too much any day,” Penelope says, though her demeanor remains light.  “She just wants what’s best for me.  She did try to force me some horrid, green drink that’s supposed to manifest a boy instead of a girl.  I really doubt it, but even Varley was swearing by it.” 

“I dare say,” Colin says, “as much as I would revel in you having the heir to the Featherington estate, I would be pleased in having a girl, because it would annoy her so.” 

“Colin!” Penelope says, chiding him playfully.  

“Well, it would.” 

She rolls her eyes at him.  “Let’s move on from my mother.  You’re right, I have had too much of her today.  Besides, there’s something else I wish to discuss with you.”  She looks down to his journal, nervously playing with the pages.  

His curiosity is piqued, and he scoots closer, trying to see the page she’s on.  He can’t quite tell what passage she had been reading, and only sees a few words marked on the page here and there.  “What is it?” 

“I have been reading all evening,” she says.  He takes a beat of pride in how fondly she speaks of it.  “Your words are beautiful.  The way you talk about the moonlight shimmering on the Mediterranean sea; the bustle of Paris and Madrid and Rome; the shady, mysteriousness of the forests of Eastern Europe… It’s like I’m really there.  I can feel it.  Only, I’ve never even stepped foot outside of London.”  

He takes her hand, laces it with his own.  “I promise I will take you, someday.  I’ll take you to see the world.  Wherever you want to go.”  He kisses the top of her hand, as if to seal his promise.  

“I would love that,” she says.  She smiles but looks down at the journal.  There’s more she’s not saying.  “There’s something else that I noticed, though.  There are some dates that don’t quite add up.”  

“Oh?” 

She narrows her eyes, as if she’s hesitant about asking.  “Here you write about Rome, but then here,” she flips a few pages forward. “You are in Milan over a week later.  And yet you don’t speak at all of the journey.  Clearly it didn’t take a full week, did it?  What happened in that time that you do not wish to speak about?” 

He takes the journal, scanning it, wanting to refresh his memory, but there had been so much that had happened in such a short time, he could scarcely remember every detail.  

“Is that when you met her ?” Penelope asks.  He gives her an odd look, unsure as to who she is talking about.  “The Contessa.  I have read all of your journals now.  Twice.  And I haven’t read about her at all.” 

Oh .  He bites his lip to refrain from laughing.  Oh, his dear Penelope.  “How do you even know about her?” 

“Lady Whistledown hears everything eventually,” Penelope explains, she tickles his nose with the end of her quill.  “I have heard stories…” 

“Lady Whistledown…” he lets out an exasperated sigh as he takes the quill from her, and places it in the journal.  He snaps it shut.  “There’s not really anything to tell.”  

“You write extensively about your exploits in Paris, in Berlin, in… every city.  And you never mention her.”  She looks at him, unsure.  “Is the reason you don’t write of her… was she your first?” 

“No,” he says easily, reaching over her to place the journal on the nightstand.  “That experience was bought and paid for.  I have told you about that already - Rosalita...” He shudders to think of his first bumbling time.  Awkward and inexperienced and very short.  But at least she had been kind.  

Penelope’s eyes go wide with amusement.  “The Spanish woman! The one you said had the delectable bosom.”  

He grins, admiring her ability to recall such details, then leans in, giving her a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth, while he brings his hand up to cup her breast.  “Mmm, you know I can’t resist a delectable bosom.” 

“I will not be distracted so easily,” she says, it’s a playful warning.  “But how is it that you can boast about this Contessa to the entire male population of the ton and, yet, not tell me a single word about her?”  

He grins as he considers.  There is a reason he’s never shared this with her… And despite whatever she may have heard as Lady Whistledown, no one knows the actual story.  “Okay…” 

“Okay?” she stares at him, wonderingly.  There’s something special about the way she looks at him, so eager to hear any of his stories abroad, becoming especially attentive the more intimate in nature they are.  He once thought he’d never share such private thoughts with anyone, but she makes him want to open up, to share everything.  He could never really withhold anything from her.  Not even if he tried.  

He takes a moment to trace her forehead, her cheek, her chin, wanting to feel close to her.  He combs his fingers through her hair as he begins.  “She had red hair…” 

“Red hair?” she tilts her head in disbelief.  

“Orange-ish, really,” he says, with a small laugh, curling the end of her hair around his finger.  “Wild and fiery.  She was one of our hosts on the long trip from Rome to Milan, which did take nearly a week, now that you’ve got me thinking about it.  One of our horses had trouble and she kindly took us in.  It was a rainy night, but at least not a chilling one, and her cook made us the best stew I’ve ever had.  That evening, we stayed up to talk.  She was an impressive conversationalist.”  

“Oh, was she?” 

“She was,” he continues.  “She was a widow.  A young one.  But she knew things.  Had seen a bit of the world herself.  And I found her captivating.”  He cups her chin and uses his thumb to trace along her bottom lip.  He wants to kiss her. Wants to scoop her up and make up for all the days they’ve missed.  The desire he’s kept carefully at bay is coming front and center again, but he refrains.  

“So you talked?” 

“We did - late into the night.  The others, they one-by-one went to bed, but the two of us.  She said we had a connection and so I stayed.  And talked.”  

“Just talked?” It sounds like disappointment.  

He comes in close, cupping the back of her head carefully, as he whispers into her ear.  “There are plenty of things two people can talk about.”  

“Tell me.” 

He begins to give her feather-light kisses.  “The weather.”  He kisses against her cheek with a grin.  “Embroidery.” Another kiss against her jaw.  “The likelihood of winning at a game of cards.”   He travels down to her neck, but keeps his touch light.  

“Did you kiss her?” She asks.  

He pauses, breathing against her skin.  “I did.” 

“Show me.”  

He kisses her lips.  It’s gentle and tender and as easy as every fleeting kiss they’ve given each other over the past few months.  It’s not enough and he knows it.  

“Show me,” she says again, a harder demand.  

He kisses her harder this time, firm and strong and lingering.  It’s connecting and the heat of his desire begins to grow.  But it’s still not enough.  

“You’re holding back,” she challenges.  

“I am not,” he grins.  

“Don’t tease me,” she says, it’s almost a plea.  

“I assure you, I am not…” 

“Kiss me like you kissed her.” 

“I--” 

He can’t. As much as this had been almost a game between them, he realizes he can’t follow through with that request. Because kissing her is unlike kissing anyone else.  The gentlest brush of skin against skin lights his body aflame in the way that passionate kisses with anyone else does not.  

He pulls back to look at her -- really look at her.  The remarkable thing that he’s discovered since they’ve been married is that there are two of her.  Not her and Lady Whistledown, those are one and the same.  But there is the Penelope whom he fell in love with.  The one he’s always been in love with on some level.  The one who makes him laugh, who grounds him, who always has his best interests at heart.  His dearest friend.  

And then there is the other Penelope.  The woman who looks at him with those darkened eyes; whose lust for him is beyond anything he’s experienced with another partner.  She makes him feel raw and exposed and wanted in the most intimate of ways, even without the shedding of all their clothes.  And he wonders if he’s ever able to fully satisfy her hunger.  

“I cannot kiss you like her,” he says finally.  She looks at him confused.  “Because kissing you is an experience unlike any other.  Nothing feels as good as kissing you.” 

She gives him a proud look as she lunges at him, kissing him fervently.  And this… this is a kiss.  The world melts away, and there’s nothing but her, and her lips against his, her tongue sliding against his own, her arms wrapping around him, pulling him closer.  He deepens the kiss, feeling her everywhere.  

His own desire is becoming achingly apparent and if he had wanted to, he could end it all in a matter of moments, but he stops himself.  And pulls away, giving them a moment to both catch their breath.  

“This had to have happened after Spain,” she says, breathing heavily, still able to follow the narrative he had been laying down.  “And after France, as you visited Italy after both of them.  You’ve gained some experience by then, so I assume you did not stop with just a kiss.  Tell me, did she have a delectable bosom as well?” It’s her turn to tease, but she does so with the most sultry look upon her face.  

He admires her cleverness.  “Of course,” he gives, and tugs down on her nightgown, exposing her breast.  “As if I would settle for a woman with anything less.”  

He wastes no time latching onto her nipple.  She rakes a hand through his hair, encouraging him to kiss and suck and lick.  He reaches into her nightgown, to grasp at her other breast, squeezing it, causing her to moan and shiver under his touch.  

“I need more,” she manages to cry. 

He keeps his mouth firmly on her, sucking hard, as his hand travels underneath her nightgown.  Her legs fall apart, and he finds her wet and ready for him.  He’s soft at first, teasing where she would like him to be most, then pushes in with two fingers, while his thumb circles her most sensitive of spots.  She lets out a guttural groan that completely undoes him.  He never thought he’d be able to deliver such pleasure to someone else, but she closes her eyes and bucks her hips and lets him take control.  

He begins to kiss up her body as he works her, loving the fact that she has become so familiar to him that he knows exactly the right place to touch, the right pace to move, the right crook of a finger to push her over into release.  She is close, so close and all she needs is a little extra push.  “Let go, Pen,” he whispers into her ear.  “Let go, for me.”  

She screams his name as her release rips through her. He kisses her through it, wanting to feel her everywhere.  

He then pulls away, giving her a minute to come down, and he takes a moment to drink her beauty in.  Her hair is dark red across the white pillow, her breasts out and pink and raw where he’s kissed them.  Her nightgown is a knotted mess that he’ll have to untangle her from.  She has never looked more desirable.  

It doesn’t take long for her to sit up, intense and determined.  She pushes him back, giving herself a moment to free herself from her nightgown.  

“Did she touch you like you touched her?” she asks.  

He scoots back against the headboard, allowing her to undo his trousers.  “...Yes.” He lifts up, allowing her to pull them down and with a few kicks, he manages to cast them off.  

“Like this?” She wastes no time grabbing him.  It’s rough and the angle is awkward but he needs her touch.  

“Yes…” he gasps.  

“What about this?”  

“Penelope, you don’t have to…oh…” 

Her mouth is over him, sucking him down with a sense of determination he’s never seen from her before.  It’s almost too much.  

“Pen…” he says, almost losing himself over to the pleasure of it all.  “Pen, I need you to stop if…”

She pulls off, then straddles his lap.  “Did you lie with her like this?” 

“You really are still comparing any experience with…” 

“Did you lie with her like this?” she repeats. 

“No, but to be fair, we are sitting, not lying down.” It gets her to crack a smile.  “Are you sure you want to continue? Your condition...” he rubs a hand over her stomach.  “I don’t want you to push yourself more than you need to.”  

“Please do not speak to me as the mother of your child,” she says, staring at him deeply.  “Talk to me as your wife.  Your wife who needs you.”  

He nods.  “Okay…” 

They reposition some so he’s sitting on his legs.  She still straddles his lap, reaches between them to grab him, then lowers herself on him inch by delicious inch.  It is ecstasy feeling her around him, warm and tight. She begins to roll her hips, torturously slow.   He wraps his arms around her, pulling her as close as possible, wanting to feel connected in every sense of the word.  She brings her arms around his neck, drawing in for a deep kiss as they rock together.  

They pull apart, and he watches her, lets her lose herself in her own pleasure, lets her use his body for her own needs.  His body aches for its own release, but there’s something beautiful, something satisfying about watching her come undone over him.  

He senses when she begins to tire, when her legs begin to give out and lifts her up to lie her down on the bed.  

“Are you still okay?” he checks in.  

She nods.  “Don’t hold back.  I want to feel it.  I want to feel you .”  

He doesn’t. 

He begins to piston his hips, pushing into her frantically.  She moans into his mouth as they kiss and touch and get lost in each other.  There’s nothing in this world that feels as good as her, as feeling deep in her, as if she’s fully encapsulated him and they are one and the same.  There is nothing outside this room, this moment.  Nothing but her.  His thrusts speed up, become more erratic, and it’s not long before he’s pushed over the edge, spilling deeply inside of her.  

“Colin!” she screams.  His name on her lips, needy and desperate makes him dizzy and he crashes their lips together for another long kiss.  

Coming down, he pumps his hips shallowly a few more times before pulling out. He reaches between them to feel her, to touch her, to let her have her second release that evening.  Her body spasms around his hand, wildly and unyielding.  She calls out his name again, as she clings to him, letting wave after wave of pleasure wash over her.  

He remains over her as they both settle, catching their breath.  She reaches up, cups his face, runs her hands over his arms, his chest, his back. Neither quite ready to be done.  He kisses her forehead, her nose, her lips, sweet and gentle, just wanting one more taste before he rolls to his side, collapsing beside her.  

“Your time with the Contessa,” she says, “was like that?” She giggles as she says it.  

“Penelope…” he laughs, taking her hand, lacing their fingers together.  He doesn’t have to say it.  She knows. 

She shifts, curling up into his arms, cuddling against his chest. 

“Thank you,” she says.  Her voice is soft and sweet and the first Pen has taken over again.  “I needed that.” 

“I could tell,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.  He remains quiet for a moment, holding her tight, enjoying the press of her body into his, the sweet smell of her scent she has after they’ve been intimate, the feeling of deep emotional connection that remains even after the physical connection has ended.  

“I think I’ve figured it out,” she says, a bit unexpectedly.  She looks up at him, her eyes bright and engaging.  

“Figured what out, love?” 

“The Contessa,” she gives him a grin.  “I know your secret.” 

“Oh?” 

“She does not exist,” she says plainly.  “You’ve made her up.”  

He gives her a smirk.  “Have I?” 

“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Penelope says, as if it’s the most obvious answer.  “There’s no real woman with fiery red hair who happens to be a great conversationalist and has a delectable bosom and can satisfy you so thoroughly.  Not one in Italy, anyway.”  

He chuckles into her hair.  “Oh, I assure you, she is very real.”  

“Real in your imagination.” 

“Real in my bed.”  He leans down to kiss her.  

“What did happen in that missing week then?” she asks.  

“I did tell you,” he says, with a grin.  “We had to get a new horse.  And then stayed for days in the most boring lodge waiting for a storm to pass.  There was nothing to do but stare at the wall…” 

“And create a fake Contessa?” she teases. 

They share a laugh together.  

“Oh, how I love you, Pen.” 

“And I love you .”  

After all of his travels, after all the adventures, he’s glad he’s there now with Penelope; his love, his best friend, his home.  He snuggles her close as his eyes flutter shut, and lets sleep take over.  

[reasonsforhope]

"It was widely described as the week that India’s beleaguered democracy was pulled back from the brink. As the election results rolled in on Tuesday [June 4, 2024], all predictions and polls were defied as Narendra Modi lost his outright majority for the first time in a decade while the opposition re-emerged as a legitimate political force. On Sunday evening, Modi will be sworn in as prime minister yet many believe his power and mandate stands diminished.

For one opposition politician in particular, the humbling of the strongman prime minister was a moment to savour. Late last year, Mahua Moitra, one of the most outspoken critics of Modi and his Bharatiya Janata party (BJP), found herself unceremoniously expelled from parliament and kicked out of her bungalow, after what she described as a “political witch-hunt” for daring to stand up to Modi.

The murky and allegedly undemocratic circumstances of Moitra’s expulsion from parliament was seen by many to symbolise Modi’s approach to dissenting voices and the steady erosion of India’s democracy. She was among several vocal opposition politicians who were subjected to investigations by government crime agencies.

But having won a landslide re-election in her home state of West Bengal, Moitra will return once again to parliament, part of the newly empowered opposition coalition. “I can’t wait,” said Moitra. “They went to egregious lengths to discredit and destroy me and abused every process to do it. If I had gone down, it would have meant that brute force had triumphed over democracy.”

While he may be returning for a historic third term, many have portrayed the results as something of a defeat for Modi, who has had to rely on coalition partners to form a government. The BJP’s campaign had been solely centred around him – even the manifesto was titled “Modi’s guarantee” – and in many constituencies, local BJP candidates often played second fiddle to the prime minister, who loomed large over almost every seat. He told one interviewer he believed his mandate to rule was given directly by God.

“Modi’s aura was invincibility, that the BJP could not win elections without him,” said Moitra. “But the people of India didn’t give him a simple majority. They were voting against authoritarianism and they were voting against fascism. This was an overwhelming, resounding anti-Modi vote.”

During his past decade in power, Modi and the BJP enjoyed a powerful outright majority and oversaw an unprecedented concentration of power under the prime minister’s office, where key decisions were widely known to be made by a select few.

The Modi government was accused of imposing various authoritarian measures, including the harassment and arrest of critics under terrorism laws, while the country tumbled in global democracy and press freedom rankings. Modi never faced a press conference or any committee of accountability for the often divisive actions of his government. Politicians regularly complained that parliament was simply reduced to a rubber-stamping role for the BJP’s Hindu-first agenda.

Yet on Tuesday [June 40, it became clear that the more than 25 opposition parties, united as a coalition under the acronym INDIA, had inflicted substantial losses on the BJP to take away its simple majority. Analysts said the opposition’s performance was all the more remarkable given that the BJP stands accused of subverting and manipulating the election commission, as well as putting key opposition leaders behind bars and far outspending all other parties on its campaign. The BJP has denied any attempts to skew the election in its favour.

“This election proved that the voter is still the ultimate king,” said Moitra. “Modi was so shameless, yet despite them using every tool they had to engineer this election to their advantage, our democracy fought back.”

Moitra said she was confident it was “the end of Mr Modi’s autocratic way of ruling”. Several of the parties in the BJP’s alliance who he is relying on for a parliamentary majority and who will sit in Modi’s cabinet do not share his Hindu nationalist ideology...

Moitra was not alone in describing this week’s election as a reprieve for the troubling trajectory of India’s democracy. Columns heralding that the “mirror has cracked” and the “idea of India is reborn” were plastered across the country’s biggest newspapers, and editorials spoke of the end of “supremo syndrome”. “The bulldozer now has brakes,” wrote the Deccan Chronicle newspaper. “And once a bulldozer has brakes, it becomes just a lawnmower.” ...

“This was not a normal election, it was clearly an unfair and unlevel playing field,” said Yadav. “But still, there is now a hope and a possibility that the authoritarian element could be reversed.”

Harsh Mander, one of India’s most prominent human rights and peace activists who is facing numerous criminal investigations for his work, called the election the “most important in India’s post independence history”, adding: “The resilience of Indian democracy has proved to be spectacular.”

He said it was encouraging that an “intoxication of majoritarian hate politics” had not ultimately shaped the outcome, referring to Modi’s apparent attempts to stir up religious animosity on the campaign trail as he referred to Muslims as “infiltrators” and “those who have more children”.

“The past decade has seen the freedom of religion and the freedom of conscience and dissent taken away,” said Mander. “If this election had gone fully the BJP way, then India would not remain a constitutional secular democracy.”"

-via The Guardian, June 9, 2024

[weenwrites]

Can I have a cybertronian S/O with TFP Shockwave who’s really REALLY into weaponry and is really invested in his canon arm? Like, analysing and taking notes and asking questions about it, even manoeuvring it to look it up and down but carefully enough to not distract from his work (when he’s working at least)

[ Please do not repost, plagiarize, or use my writing for AI! Translating my work with proper credit is acceptable, but please ask first! ]

"Ooh, a vented barrel shroud—or perhaps that's a compensator?"

Y/N leaned over his shoulder here and there, observing the new device as they strode here and there to fetch all the necessary tools to assist him with the new upgrade.

Shockwave reached for the ammunition belt and and detached it from his arm, setting the end of the cord down on the table before he answered, "A fusion of the two devices, in order to ensure that my armament works to its fullest capacity with minimal interference due to recoil or muzzle movement."

"Both in one?" They repeated, passing him a tool as he held his hand out, before laying the rest out all over the table, "Given all your preexisting modifications, I feel like you're going to get less of a return with each new change to your hand gun."

"The law of diminishing returns indeed renders the percentage of the return into an infinitesimal value." He confirmed, attaching the device with ease before tilting it here and there to observe the weapon as a whole, "As such, any further efforts to improve the firearm would prove futile."

"Would? Let me guess, you've already made some ground-breaking discovery that will drastically improve its performance, haven't you?"

"Your hypothesis is a gross exaggeration, yet you are correct." He picked a device from the sea of tools in front of him, "I have engineered a device that will increase fuel efficiency and decrease the time spent reloading the gun, thus increasing the number of shots fired per round of ammo supplied by the ammunition belt."

"And you don't have to make any sacrifices for it? No switching out parts or anything?" They asked as he simply began to install the device without a hitch.

"No, it functions in conjunction with the rest of my modifications seamlessly." He held his hand out, and naturally they passed him the correct tool he needed.

"You have to make me a gun just like that one day. I won't accept anything less if you're planning on making me your official conjunx endurae somewhere in the future." They joked.

"You say that as though I would not give you the magnum opus of my work, that notion is illogical." He momentarily set his tool down and met their gaze, "As my equal, you will be given gifts naturally appropriate for someone of your caliber. Anything less would constitute as unacceptable."

"And here people say that you don't have a way with words!" Y/N smiled bashfully, "ah, they just can't understand your mind the way I do."

[sccpmccabe]

"Women will not be allowed to practice sports that go against their nature, and for this purpose, the National Sports Council must issue the necessary instructions to the country's sporting entities”, said decree-law 3,199 of April 14, 1941. The article was created during the Vargas Era and was in force until 1983. During all this time, he banned, among the sports considered masculine, the practice of women's football in Brazil".

These were years of oppression. Years of struggle, losses, achievements, tears, sweat and lots and lots of blood. It has only been 41 years since the practice of football by women was allowed in Brazil and all the investment and visibility of this sport came in even more recent times, but still and as always, we overcame all adversities.

With just 41 years of freedom we managed to create a name and reputation for our women's team, we brought in important names that entered the history of the sport such as Sissi, Formiga and the most known of all, Marta. With all this history, we have two silver medals in Olympic games, third places in World Cups, several Copa América titles and football that enchants almost everyone.

Tonight, once again, we make history and exceed the world's expectations. After 16 years, the women's football team returns to compete in an Olympic final, beating France, the home team (and this being the first time in history that Brazil has won) and even more recently the current world champion, Spain, a team with countless strong and highly skilled players.

I can't express in words all the pride I feel for these women just for the fact that they exist, but even more so now that we're back to a time of glory even after a terrible group stage, but football is like that, at some point you're at the top of the world and in the next second you could be on your knees on the pitch, shedding tears over a lost game.

Minutes after the match, Jenni Hermoso gave the following statement to Spanish radio: "We conceded four goals from a team that, for me, doesn't play football. But in the end what matters are the goals. I believe these were our faults. We don't play our football. They study us, they know how to hurt us, for me it's not football. I don't like this type of football. Obviously, they gained minutes, they lost you time, and for them, that was worth it. They're in the final and we're going for bronze."

Even with everything we have achieved in such a short time and with immeasurable difficulty, they still try to diminish us, our achievements, our struggles. But the message at the end of all this is this: You may not like us, how we play, how we vibe, how we cheer on and off the field, our celebrations and seeing us at the top, but that doesn't matter because back in 1941, the majority didn't like it either, but still Here we are. In search of glory, once again.

[night-raven-tattler]

Hello Mx Tattly! I really enjoyed your ideal types post involving Heartslabyul characters. I like the idea of Riddle liking his significant other being someone earning his respect. So in this request, if they are open, of Riddle having a Yuu!Female reader s/o that is naturally gifted prodigy in fencing & swordsmanship, making her a bold, fiercely talented swordswoman who usually wields double swords (but is just as well with one). Both mostly got closer after his overblot since she was involved in defending him (somehow).

Just headcanons of Riddle having a s/o that is physically stronger than him (and affectionate when just the two of them since she also isn’t much of a pda person)

Extra: After getting to know a bit more of Diasomnia, she also manages to go under Lilia’s training after finding out he trains Sebek and Silver because she wants to continue sharpening her skills and seeing any form of improvement.

(She’s originally an OC of mine but idk if you take OC requests and didn’t wanna assume, so 😭)

Anyway thank you! I’m sorry if I wrote a lot.. 😭

Hello anon! Mx Tattly appreciates your kind words! Currently they don't do OC requests, however she might consider answering such requests in the future. He is sorry if the writing is not what you envisioned, especially since she didn't include Riddle being "protected" per se by the reader character, as they considered their narrative choice is one Riddle would appreciate more. He is also grateful for the brainrot you caused, as they are an enjoyer of sword weilding characters themselves. Hopefully you can still enjoy!

A knight fit for a queen

Characters: Riddle × F/GN!Reader* (romantic, pre-established relationship)

*the reader character has no gender defining charactersitics mentioned

Warnings: swords, book 1 spoilers, violence, mentions of hospital-like settings

By opening the document, you agree to Mx Tattly's terms of source confidentiality.

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Ace laughed in your face when you told him, Deuce and Grim to wait in front of Ramshackle for you to get something, and you came out of the dorm with a pair of swords dangling from your waist, supporting your dominant hand

“Why are you bringing a sword with you? Where did you even find that thing?!”

It was an older pair of swords you found abandoned in one of the Ramshackle rooms, mere days before Ace and Deuce decided to challenge Riddle for his housewarden spot

Something about them told you they would be useful in the situation at hand

But even after hearing your reasoning, Ace still laughed in your face

Boy, was he proven wrong not too long after...

Riddle was just punched by Ace and, before your brain was able to catch up to what was happening, Riddle spiraled out of control

Everyone was trying to reason with him, yet it seemed as if he completely shut out everyone around him

Everyone turned from disobedient students into living targets of his fury

The gravity of the situation finally sunk in when Riddle summoned the rose trees all around the maze and ordered them to attack Ace

Yet, before thinking in through, you jumped in front of Ace and sliced away the threatening branches

They detached from the trunk, turning into cut pieces of cards as they flew past you and your friend

If you wouldn't have stepped in, Trey’s signature spell would’ve kicked in too late

The sky darkened as Riddle’s inner world started to collapse, bringing chaos and destruction to the outside world as well as he overblotted

“In my world, I am the law. I am order made manifest! The only response I will accept from you is ‘Yes, Housewarden Riddle’! All who defy me will lose their heads!”

And, while your Heartslabyul friends and Grim decided to face Riddle head-on, you decided to stay back and protect any incoming danger towards the students the Headmage was evacuating

The crowd of students around the magic mirror diminished, so you returned to the main place of action

Which turned out to be a good call, as a lot of flying debris caused by rogue spells kept flying towards the students

And you managed to redirect any incoming danger with your mysterious swords

Just in time to see Riddle collapse to the ground

You stayed close to Riddle when he woke up and was taken to the nurse's office, and visited him as often as you could

While you felt a personal duty to help out Ace and Deuce repair their destroyed labyrinth, you also wanted to keep Riddle company, mostly to assure him there were no hard feelings between the two of you after what happened

…But your intention were not as clear as you intended initially

Riddle was mostly silent and cautious, and so were you, which made things kind of awkward

Compared to his wary nature, you were trying to be at least a little bit comforting

And he finally realised your intentions when you brought him some tea in a thermos

He was truly astonished by your gesture, even touched by your small kindness

It was some milk tea with herbs he didn’t quite recognise, sweetened with a bit of honey

Bits and pieces of a memory of his crying about milk tea with honey flooded his mind, piecing together the puzzle of your intentions

Not only did you remember such a small thing, but you also went out of your way to cater to him while he was still atoning to his mistakes

Shortly after, Heartslabyul started getting back to its orderly peace as the unbirthday party put together was fast approaching

And you were very satisfied with the peace and quiet

What you didn’t expect, however, was Riddle’s sudden summon to his room directed to you and you alone

You entered Riddle’s room, and he turned around in his chair towards you, leaving the paperwork he was looking over unattended

He was back to working as diligently as ever, something you weren’t sure was appropriate so early in his recovery

But Riddle’s face looked serene and at peace despite his serious eyes, and you decided not to comment

“I believe it is time for the two of us to have a proper conversation about what happened. I know your visits while I was bedridden were… not the most conversation-filled, but I would rather not leave any rocks unturned.”

As gentlemanly as ever, Riddle guided you to an empty seat in his room, and he sat down only after you sat down yourself

“I want to apologise to you for what you witnessed.”

You wanted to interject, but Riddle stopped you with a gesture of his hand

“As a housewarden, my duty is not only to maintain order within the group of students under my guidance, but also to ensure their safety during a moment of crisis. As I was the, um… ‘crisis’ in this case, I was unable to do so. I apologise for falling short on my duty, and for having you make up for my mistakes.”

You were taken aback by the apology, but Riddle was not done yet

“I would also like… to thank you.”

You listened as Riddle poured his heart out to you

“I have heard you were a main participant in ensuring the safety of the student body. It might be hard to believe, but…”

Something in Riddle’s eyes softened, before his gray eyes regained their composed coldness

“I am not cold hearted. I may be harsh, but I care about my card soldiers.”

And you were aware of that

While you helped the Heartslabyul students put themselves together, you’ve heard the grateful stories of a relieved group of students who praised Riddle for his dedication and meticulous nature

They told many stories about Riddle taking time off his schedule to tutor struggling students, who always did his best to offer guidance and who never raised his voice while explaining to students how to tend to the Heartslabyul animals

“I may have fallen short, but you have proven yourself to have a good head on your shoulder in times of need. I thank you for ensuring the safety of my card soldiers.”

You took a few seconds to process his words before formulating your response

“I was just… fulfilling my duty.”

“Pardon?”

“I mean, I am the ‘prefect’, right? I also have a duty to the students. I just did my best to act according to my role.”

Riddle’s eyes widened slightly, and something sparkled in his eyes as a proud smile blossomed on his face

And your heart couldn’t help but skip a beat, being witness of the first time you gave Riddle a reason to smile

“That’s a very elegant answer. You sure are an interesting person, Prefect.”

As time went on, you and Riddle became good friends

Your friendship mainly consisted of you finding your way to Riddle and striking conversations as you followed him around

You didn’t have a particularly threatening aura, but the swords you used during the Heartslabyul event became a permanent part of your uniform

Initially the teachers were not too on board with a permanently armed student, especially since the student body was filled with rambunctious individuals

Yet, Riddle vouched that you knew when it was appropriate to use the swords, putting the professor’s minds somewhat at ease

Lines started blurring little by little as your attachment to Riddle became more obvious, and Rook’s teasing towards Trey about him “losing his spot as Riddle’s knight” started reaching your ears

But you didn’t quite mind

And neither did Riddle

He was, if anything, in awe at your abilities

Riddle was amazed at how natural swords looked in your hands, how your sways and slashes were always forceful yet elegant, wide yet precise

And the sweaty sight of you after a training session did, admittedly, leave Riddle with a racing heart and mind

But, above all, he admired your dedication to improve despite having no guidance

And, with a little push from Ace and Deuce, he put together a plan to help you in that regard

You just entered your dorm when the most unusual gathering of people was seated in your living room

While Ace and Deuce were around often enough to become honorary Ramshackle members slash dorm decoration, Riddle, Sebek and Silver were not part of your usual guest list

You were surprised to hear the invitation extended by a sleepy Silver and a very reluctant Sebek for you to join their training sessions

And it was revealed how Riddle used his connection to the two guards as fellow equestrian club members to ask them for a favor

After you all settled some details with the guards, they took their leave, and exited the dorm as Sebek kept yelling about not allowing you to fall short

And being the teasing pieces of work that Ace, Deuce and Grim were, they left you and Riddle alone as they winked at you

“Is this your way of making sure I keep ‘fulfilling my duty’ as the resident day saver and Hearstlabyul knight?”

Your teasing made Riddle throw you an unimpressed glance that was quickly replaced by a smile

“I am quite sure this will do nothing to diminish the use of your newly acquired moniker, but my priority is to ensure you keep honing the craft you are so obviously proud of.”

Riddle’s words were truly touching, and it was so like him to go out of his way to help the people he cared about…

“Besides, I don’t really mind the moniker. It must mean the students are starting to recognise your skill and dedication.”

That statement really made your heart skip a beat

You hesitated before you took Riddle’s hand into your own

“Well… If you don’t mind the nickname, then I don’t mind it either.”

And you brought Riddle’s hand to your lips, leaving a kiss so soft Riddle almost though he only imagined the soft press of your lips to his knuckles

He took his leave soon after your biggest show of affection yet, but you didn’t mind

Despite Riddle’s reddening face usually being considered a bad omen, you quite enjoyed the brilliant glow of red on his cheeks as he left your dorm

[celticcrossanon]

Ffs. OF COURSE the underlying energy of why she won’t extract her avaricious, lazy, good for nothing claws out of him is because of the ten of pentacles. It’s the ONLY reason why she married him in the first place. God I’m sick of never seeing justice when it comes to this repugnant bottom feeding parasite. Even though her entire fraudulent life is a miserable facade she’s probably still quite chuffed with herself for pulling off this atrocious smash and grab. It could not have happened to a person more undeserving in the entire universe.

So if the BRF despises her so much then why don’t they do anything to bloody get rid of her?!!! She is a brazen and shameless, inherently dodgy, thieving crook and a grifter and a con artist - and an actual criminal who has broken the law. As a taxpayer it makes me so angry. Why is someone this vile seemingly always ‘winning’ - and I say winning because she never has to face consequences for anything. I want to see this useless piece shite blindsided and penniless and back in the gutter she belongs in. Anyone else would be in prison by now. AND if anyone bothered to investigate anything properly believe me they would find all sorts of nefariousness - especially with finances where Meghan is concerned. If Harry wasn’t completely compromised intellectually and severely emotionally damaged she would be so utterly f***ed. If Camilla loathes Meghan as much as she does I can only imagine how William feels about that worthless piece of trash that weaseled her way into their family with the intention of stealing from them and laundering said stolen money. I am so GD sick of what she gets away with. Nothing serious like what is happening with diddy for example ever happens to HER. We’re all sitting here like chumps waiting for a divorce that will never blooming happen. I’m just so sick of it all - so thank you for letting me rant.

Hi Nonny,

You sound very fed up and frustrated. You are welcome to rant here any time.

It is very frustrating to see Meghan do all this dodgy stuff and seemingly get away with it. I think that she is facing some consequences, but they are not as severe as her actions and as many of us would like. Part of this is people's refusal to prosecute her for her actions, and I have no idea why that happens, and part if it is that she is always careful to keep her hands clean while others do her dirty work for her.

I think that part of the reason she never seems to face consequences is that she literally has no shame - things that would have another person curled up in embarrassment have no effect on her and she is out the nest day, grinning and hustling as per usual. Another part is that most people don't care about her, so reporting on her brings in diminishing returns, although that seems to be changing at the moment.

I don't know if Meghan will ever face all the public consequences of her actions. I think that she will have consequences, and she will have her actions turn around and bite her, but I don't know how public that will be. I believe that justice will be done, but whether in this world or the next, I do not know,

[talonabraxas]

The Dream Sabbat

‘The true Sabbat is simultaneously a state of Dreaming-consciousness and an extradimensional locus where the convocation of the living and the dead occurs and the Great Return which leads to a new becoming is achieved. The celebrants of the Sabbat gather in the twilit forests and the mist-shrouded meadows of Elphame and through the averse formulae of the infinite return, deliberately ’go backwards’ to that which lies behind all phenomena and consciousness, the ineffable source of all creation glyphed in the Witch-Mysteries by the Cauldron and the Cavern.

This mystical self-reversion or initiatic regression to the root of All is synonymous with the Horned God’s law of Misrule. It provides the inner metaphysic of ritual reversal, symbolised by the Backwards Prayer, the Widdershins Dance, and the black tapers ceremonial inversions characteristic of the Sabbat-Rite. All these infer the way of initiatic return and self-reversal to the ground and matrix of primeval unity which is the true state of Sabbatic ecstasy.

…The Dream-Sabbat is the supreme rite of the Witches, a total actualisation of the Great Mystery - all restrictions and bonds are overcome there. The separations between god, human and beast dissolve in a polymorphous inferno of extasis, the secret rapture of inner Witchdom. Thus the Sabbat is a dream, a dream of such potency that the profane world seems pallid and unreal by comparison. To enter into this sacred world of paradaisal night-revels requires consummate agility of the Dream-Body and the employment of techniques to sidestep and diminish the hold of profane perceptual conditioning, enabling the leap or flight to the ’Other Side’ to be effected.’ --from Masks of Misrule by Nigel A. Jackson

[certifiedskywalker]

She Keeps Me Warm - Rhaenyra Targaryen

nyrathecruel asked: Could I request Rhaenyra x handmaiden!reader where they’re drawn to each other from the moment they meet and bond over their mutual trust issues regarding losing loved ones while slowly falling in love on Dragonstone? Like Nyra is cold and distant with everyone else, hesitant to let anyone in, but she just clicks with reader and whenever they’re alone, Nyra just melts and goes all soft, all affectionate touches and sweet nicknames and tender looks? (Two of my fav nicknames she’d call reader are: my little one, and Perzītsos (little flame) Maybe even a bit of soft smut, though it doesn’t have to be smut if you’re not comfortable

Anonymous asked: Could you do a Rhaenyra x fem stark reader pls :)

A/N: I had TWO IDEAS for these requests! So stay tuned for another fic publishing soon!

They were not well-kept secrets, Daemon’s unsavory proclivities. So, in turn, Rhaenyra went to neither effort to hide her misery nor how you, a simple handmaiden from the North, seemed to be its only remedy. 

“Enter, perzītsos. He has gone.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the low sound of Rhaenyra’s voice and you pulled your ever-listening ear from the ironwood door. Your hand, fumbling with the wiry giddiness of a lightning bolt, found the cool handle and pushed with a turn. Tongues of yellow and orange greeted you with licks of diminished warmth along with the sight of Rhaenyra, bathed in the same glow. She sat, body spread and extended over the plush armchair before the fireplace.

“Apologies, my Princess, I did not wish to intrude on-”

“What have I told you?” 

Her voice was low still, her eyes still fixed on the dwindling flames, as she addressed you. Heat rushed up to your face and washed down like the tides of the Narrow Sea. Your mouth opened slightly before you closed it, your muscles suddenly all-too-alive. Luckily, the Princess of Dragonstone, Heir to the Iron Throne, clarified. 

“You must call me Rhaenyra,” she turned to you then, light eyes darkened by the colors of fire and smiling softly. “I will not have you hiding behind formality or dutiful, Northern niceties.”

“Apologies,” you echoed, swallowing hard. “I did not wish to intrude on your lawful husband…having you.” 

Rhaenyra’s smile faded, ebbed into a flatline of stone sternness you recognized from meetings with the maester. “He left before dusk on Caraxes, an hour or so before by which I told you to arrive. There was no having of any sort.”

She moved to her feet then, her shoes knocking against the heated stone floor of her chambers as she approached you like the Blood Wyrm in her crimson gown. Her eyes were squinted slightly, focused on you, your face, reading how your eyes slowly widened with her every careful step. It was the same manner in which she approached you the first time: calculated, a predator eyeing prey. The lightning returned again, sending you into a brewing storm that culminated in Rhaenyra’s lips.

When she stood full before you, she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the column of your neck. Your breath hitched immediately, and trepidation caught in your throat.

“Princess,” you whispered, though it sounded more like a gasp. Rhaenyra immediately pulled away from your neck, revealing her furrowed brow and playful scowl. “I still do not understand.”

“My perzītsos, what more is there to understand?” Her hands raced up the bodice of your gown to your neck. Her hands were warm dancing along your most sensitive skin. 

“Prince Daemon-” “Is off sowing dragonseed,” Rhaenyra said, though the ease with which she used the term alarmed you. “Just as my court remains adrift gathering council. All men, all cold, making me colder and I will not have that. I will have you.”

Rhaenyra pressed her lips back against your neck, closer to your jaw. You shivered again, your body knocking against hers instinctively, careening into her warmth. The tip of her nose tickled your skin as her lips went lower, nipping at your collarbone. Your hands rose to her waist, the whaleboning of her corset bodice. Beneath the fabric, you could feel her breathing grow more erratic. Your own breathing grew shallow with excitement, so much so that you pushed the Princess gently away. 

She gave you a worried look, her hands caressing your flushed cheek. “Do you not wish to have me?”

White hot, dragon fire panic shot through your veins. “No, no, I-”

But Rhaenyra was recoiling despite your manic clarification, already reigning in herself, her want. She was cooling into her hardened self, the soul sent off to Dragonstone by the eyes of the critical court in King’s Landing. You had seen it too many times before. How practiced Rhaenyra was as holding parts of herself back.

You reached out, just as she had, with your lips finding her neck first and your hands on her gowned hips. She was stiff under your touch but for a moment until she quickly melted into you as your mouth moved up. You pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek before pulling away, eager to see her pleased, unworried; eager to see the Rhaenyra she only seemed to show you.

“I don’t understand what it means,” you breathed out, not entirely knowing what you yourself meant, only that whatever it was made your heart sing.

Rhaenyra seemed to reach and read the most clouded part of your mind, obscured to even you. Her smile returned in glorious full and you felt your heart tickle in your chest. In turn, you felt your own lips quirk upwards, ready to swallow the newness of it all.

“You mean perzītsos?”

You nodded, unsure at first, but, sure in how it made Rhaenyra smile.

“Perzītsos. Little flame. You burn in me. You keep me warm,” Rhaenyra softened, then, her smile ebbing ever-so-slightly. “In the darkest moments, you keep me alive.”

Without wasting another second lost in the storm, you barreled through and crashed your lips into Rhaenyra’s. It felt like you were falling until you actually were as Rhaenyra pulled you down onto the silken sheets of her bed, and the rest was warm.

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Above: the sheet music for Shakin' the Blues Away. Photo: ebay

The Ziegfeld Follies of 1927 was the first Follies to feature a star performer--Eddie Cantor--and the first to have all its songs written by a single composer--Irving Berlin. Although it received tepid reviews ("His formula has never failed," wrote Time magazine. "But as nothing subscribes more unreservedly to the law of diminishing returns than [a] succession of splendors, this last superbly heralded Follies achieves only another anticlimax."), it was a hit, running for 167 performances from 1927-28.

In addition to Cantor (who appeared in nearly half the numbers), the show featured Claire Luce, Cliff Edwards (aka Ukelele Ike; 13 years later he was the voice of Jiminy Cricket in Disney's Pinocchio), Ruth Etting, and the Brox Sisters.

"Shakin' the Blues Away" was the show's big number, and Etting made her breakout appearance leading it.

Above: Shakin' the Blues Away, led by Ruth Etting. Photo: Songbook

There was also a jungle scene with live animals, in which Luce entered riding an ostrich. One night the bird left the stage in a flurry and, instead of depositing Luce in the wings, kept on walking, out the stage door and onto West 43rd St.

Below is the first page of the program for the October 17, 1927 performance. Note the sententious legend, "He who glorifies beauty glorifies truth." Would Keats have approved?

Above: the first page of the program for Oct. 17, 1927. Photo: Playbill

The 1927 Follies was the last of 21 annual shows. It was revived briefly in 1931, but didn't continue. The Follies were essentially vaudeville, only much more sumptuous. Later in 1927, Ziegfeld produced Show Boat at his own theater, and it heralded a change in Broadway musicals.

[catrinauthor]

The Faces of Desire Part 1

Being the Curse of Desire sounded a lot more alluring than its reality. It was born from the bubbling tar pit that was human desire. Desire. The word itself held a primal need for more. More flesh, more money, more food, more sex, more power, more satisfaction. More, more, more.

As millenia passed and human desire evolved as quickly as the world around them, it evolved with them. A powerful, fiercely primal need for things both novel and old. It fed off the desire of humans like a cat lapping up milk straight from the teet of a cow. It grew in power and size until the abstract form it once had changed and molded into their likeness.

Hands, fingers, feet, toes, legs, face, mouth.

It learned to change your form to extract the most desire from its surroundings. Its appearance was always fluid. Male on day, female the next. Short, tall, long hair, short hair, skinny, voluptuous. It was always changing, yet it was always beautiful.

It collected desire from the energy that leaked off of humans as they wanted more and more. That was a steady stream of cursed energy it caught in a wide net. Yet the meat of its power came from fulfilling more specific desires. The desire for money, for position, for status. It fed for years like a parasite on humanity giving humans what they wanted and consuming their desire for it.

It was a constant stream of cursed energy for years. All the power in the world, yet none to itself. The chains of Heavenly Restriction bound it firm to the ground. Always to fulfill the desires of others, but never its own. It tried to use fulfilling humans desires to its advantage but it was never a straight path forward. It was a maze of calculated steps and dead ends. However, It wasn’t without its advantages. The curse could choose whose desire they fulfilled and in return it was indestructible as long as that one condition was fulfilled. It would never use its own cursed energy for its own desires. Centuries of adhering to its restriction had created a reverse cursed technique that had become unmatched. No amount of cursed energy or hand could hurt it, as hard as they all tried. Its skin was never pierced, it never felt pain. After so long it never felt any emotion or feeling. The materialization of humans' desire for more couldn’t feel a thing. An interesting dilemma.

Constantly granting others wishes, it garnered many names among humans. Fairy, genie, goblin, siren, demon, devil at the crossroads. Some wishes it granted changed the course of human history, others did nothing. What happened after the desire was fulfilled didn't matter as much as the quality of desire it provided. There was always a double edge to the desires it fulfilled, but the consequences of having desire fulfilled was not for the curse to decide. The universe had always found a way to balance what it created and per the laws of the universe the pendulum swings both ways with equal strength.

It wasn’t just humans who began to seek it out, but curses began to beg at their feet. They wanted more power, more strength. It was to be expected, curses were born of humans so desire was a part of them as well.

There were many small curses clinging to its legs, begging for this and that on the curses travels but over time the Curse of Desire had become selective. A gourmet of desires. With humans becoming increasingly plentiful the need to fulfill others desires to sustain itself diminished. It could solely feed on the passing glances of humans who found it alluring and maintain its current being without effort or straining itself. Even the specific desires which used to feel like a feast soon turned to sand in its mouth with the constant monotony of variety. Power, sex, beauty, money, power, sex, beauty, money.

In its long life there weren't many interactions which left a lasting impact, only a few. One of most impactful was when it was traveling through a small island. It met an interesting human in a small village in the mountains. There was only one man in the village. It didn’t matter if the human could control their cursed energy or not. When humans learned the curse could grant their deepest of wishes they normally asked for the same things; Power, sex, beauty, money.

Not this one.

The man was a sorcerer, and a powerful one at that. The curse asked what the man wanted, if he could have anything in the world. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the mountains, reaching down the peaks and valleys like long fingers. Even the curse recognized the beauty of the landscape. Deer spotted the valleys and birds sung in the trees which darkened with each second.

Tha man sat on the porch of a small house. His head leaned on his hand lazily, propped up by his knee. He looked at the curse of Desire with a gaze that made the night sky look bright as day. The setting sun seemed to get lost in his eyes, unable to escape.

“I want to consume everything.” He said in a bored tone.

The curses eyes widened as the taste of the man's desire flooded its senses. Until that point it had never tasted such desire. It coated the tongue with an tantalizing viscosity. Like thick wine mixed with blood and dirt. It held a spiciness that brought heat to the curses’ cheeks and caused it to smack its mouth in dryness. It was so deep and held such a body, to find such a delicacy in the middle of nothing was worth the trek up the mountain. Where such desire came from it did not know, nor did it particularly care.

Yet, it had to be cautious. The man's desire was too great to fulfill without draining its own cursed energy to a level that would place itself in dancer. It wanted to fulfill this man's desire for no other reason than to see the sweet wine produce a feast of other flavors. The thought of the other delicacies that would emerge from him laid the soil for a new emotion to flower, excitement.

“You wish to consume everything? You wouldn’t be able to do that with your lifespan. To consume everything you need to be able to survive long enough to taste the things which haven't yet come into being. Unless you only want to consume only that which is right now, but that seems a little dull and limiting doesn't it?”

The man's eyes squinted into crescents as he chuckled deeply. “So what do you suggest that I don't already have?” He leaned his head back and asked. His hair that matched the color of the setting sun fell across his forehead. He remembered the curse of a flower they had seen years ago. It was a bell shape and had the most beautiful colors. Its sweet aroma attracted many insects which flocked to it in droves. As they went into the flower curves they lost their footing on slick petals only to fall to their death in stick nectar below. Devoured by the very thing they wished to consume.

“If you offer me more power you might as well fuck off now.” he said dryly.

“Power given is meaningless because it cannot grow.” The curse walked around the man, studying him. He didn’t even acknowledge the curse's presence as it circled him.

“Then what can you give me? Or are you just wasting my time?”

“What a human expression, ‘wasting my time.’ Time is so precious to humans because it is finite. It limits everything.” The curse leaned closer in causing the man to grimace. The curse thought it had made itself beautiful for the man but his reaction suggested it was the ugliest creature he had ever laid eyes on. No matter.

“That's what I can offer you.” It purred.

The man's eyebrow raised and his pupils sharpened. “Time?”

The curse nodded.

“How?”

“It won't be without its difficulties.” It teased. “Even with your abilities I’m not sure if you could handle it…”

A wave of cursed energy flew by its head at lightning speed. A hand reached to grab the curse by the throat but the curse was quicker, and like a snake it slithered to the shadow which now surrounded them in the absence of the setting sun.

“How?!” He roared, staring directly at the curse. The normal sorcerer wouldn't have been able to sense it at all but even hidden in the shadow of the trees the man had a phenomenal ability to sense its location.

“I will offer you the key but to unlock it will depend on you.” It spoke from the shadows.

“If it depends on me then it will be a certainty.” He growled.

The curse gave a chuckle. With immense effort it took a sizable portion of its own cursed energy and molded it like clay until it produced what looked to be a small marble. It was the missing piece of a greater whole, something the man would not have been able to produce even with all his ability. The curse felt like Prometheus, giving fire to man.

The marble was gold in color and covered in small intricate carvings of an unknown language. It rolled out from the treeline.

The man picked it up and felt the weight in his palm, surprised at its heaviness. He held it up to his eye and studied the markings. He could feel the immense cursed energy coming from it in waves.

“What is this?”

“That is your key.” The curses silhouette became just visible in the treeline.

He threw it up in the air a couple times, against the dark sky it glistened like a star.

“My key, hm?” He studied it once again. “Is there any way I can get you to stop talking in riddles?”

“Unfortunately this is where my help ends. If you can use it correctly you will never be constrained by time again. You will be able to consume to your heart's content. Do use it well.”

Under the moon the man smiled wickedly and held the marble tightly in his palm. He let out a maniacal laughter which echoed across the valley filling the silent night.

“Don't you want to know the name of the calamity you will unleash on the world?” His voice sounded like a child gifted with their first toy.

“If it pleases you.”

“Ryomen Sukuna. Make sure to remember it, we will meet again.”

The curse slipped away into the trees, the taste of the man's desire still stuck to its tongue. It almost made it feel drunk with its potency. Only the crickets made noise in the dark, a soft applause to the curses greatest transaction.

If the man wasn’t successful in using the gift it had given then at least it had a decent meal, the first in many years. If the man was successful, the curse was unsure if the world would not be ready for him.

Sukuna, Sukuna, Sukuna. The curse hoped he could taste more.

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

What if James had waited a year or so before hunting Bella to make it more interesting?

Then he would be a silly silly man because he has no guarantees the Cullens will give a fuck in a year and apparently doesn't believe in the law of diminishing returns.

Indeed, because Bella gets a paper cut in September the following year, the Cullens all pack up and completely cut contact. James shows up to eat Bella and finds that the Cullens weirdly aren't there.

James decides to play cat and mouse games with the wolves instead and because James isn't hyperfixated on Bella as Victoria was a lot more people probably die and the wolves have a very very very bad time.

Bella also can't help them figure it out because she met James and Victoria briefly and has no idea what they would be doing here/that they are here (she wouldn't run into Laurent).

[thegreatzombieartisan]

Rings of Power + Tolkien Fusion Meta

Elvish Love, Sex, and the Single Maia

“Elves only love and marry once.”

Yeah, the Laws and Customs of the Eldar (Elves) aren’t this clear-cut. Foremost, Elves reflect Tolkien’s devout Catholic ideal including his strongly held belief in the dangers of unbridled sexuality. Also, Tolkienverse runs on morality and mysticism, not science.

Update: After performing direct research and analysis on Tolkien’s LACE text, I’ve come to new conclusions. I’ve highlighted updates in this post in blue. Otherwise the rest remains aligns and unchanged.

For Elves love =/= marriage. Most unions are love matches but at . However, Tolkien did write about Elves who love yet never wed à la courtly love. Elves that love with our reciprocity, even when married. Moreover, of lusty Elf men who wed Elf maidens with dubious consent gained from questionable means.

But sex complicates things. Elves are monogamous. And it's not just culturally.

Elf sex = marriage = binding. Elf marriage = intent + sex or binding of hröa/body and fëa/spirit. Since Elves are inherently bound to Arda’s fate through their fëa/spirit, marriages are thus eternal.

Most couples have children early in marriage and with each child, their sex drive would diminish. It infers that sex (at least cultural) is viewed as being primarily purposed for begetting of children. Based on that, though not explicitly stated in text, it’s also inferred that “real” sex, that kind that led to bringing, would be was PIV (pen-in-vagina). Perhaps a consolation price strong incentive for eternal monogamy, Elf sex is intensely pleasurable.

For Elves, choosing the right partner critical. Divorce doesn’t exist. More accurately, divorce can’t exist because Elves can’t unfuck-bind themselves. But the Valar, spirit stewards of Arda who favor the Elves, are capable. Otherwise an unhappy Elf couple could lead separate lives, and maybe love others, but not remarry.

Can widowed Elves remarry? In the uncommon event an Elf dies, its spirit is summoned to the Halls of Mandos (aka purgatory). After an unspecified amount of time, the Valar will typically reincarnate them. During this Time of Waiting, both dead and living Elf spouse remain bonded. Upon reincarnation, the formerly dead spouse returns home like returning from a very long trip to the store for bread.

As it stands, the Valar will unbind a widowed Elf’s marriage in these rare events: the dead spouse refuses the summons to Mandos (usually evil Elves), eschews reincarnation like Míriel (Celebrimbor’s great-grandma), or denied the opportunity like Feanor aka “Mr. Fuck the Morgoth, Valar, and Teleri Elves.”

Therefore, in RoP, even if Celeborn were indeed dead, he and Galadriel are still bonded. But look, the way she said, “And you? My king?” sounded thisclose to RISKING IT ALL for power and sitting on Halbrand’s handsome face for eternity.

Asking for a friend: Can Maiar and Elves “marry”? Yes, with ample space for speculation and theory

The only canon union between a Maia and Child of Iluvatar (Elves and Men) was Melian and High-King Thingol. They begot Luthien, a powerful Elf and fairest Maiden ever. She even once beat Sauron in a duel.

Maiar are disembodied Eälar or spirits that contrasted with fëar/spirits of Elves and Men. Halbrand is Sauron’s fana/physical form he can change like clothes. But far as an Maia-Elf marriage aka sexy times goes, it’s unclear if it’s inferred binding is like Elven marriage because begetting children requires mutual intention to impart each parent’s spirit to the child. But either way, it doesn’t provoke any mystical moral cockblocking.

Well, one thing is clear: Melian literally fucked around, begot Luthien, and found out such activity had a side effect. She became permanently bonded to her fana. Donning a new fana requires the death of the bonded fana. To note, even though Melian bonded to an Elven fana, she retained her Maia spirit class.

What if Thingol had an Elven wife in the Halls of Mandos? Understand that Elves live on Middle-Earth to guide Men toward a righteous path. Elves and Maiar cucking dead Elf spouses certainly defies Tolkien’s “ideal devout Catholic” behavior. Assuredly he’d invent some mystical punishment to reenforce monogamy. Perhaps even Valar intervention but if they let Morgoth and Sauron run wild, I doubt it. But without precedence, it can only be speculated.

But renegade Maiar like Melian and Sauron do not give a FUCK nor need the Valar’s approval. If they want to fuck elves, THEY WILL FUCK ELVES.

Thus, irrespective of likelihood, conscience, or wisdom, no laws bar love and/or sex between Galadriel and Sauron. Platonic besties, chaste courtly love, or cucking Celeborn to the end of Arda - do you, you crazy kids. Since she is still married to, the closet thing to binding with Sauron would be with a 3rd party conduit and magic. Like a blood oath. Or rings of power (teehee).

Many challenges exist to a productive Galadriel and Sauron union beyond the metaphysical. And the most awkward would follow her spirit husband’s reincarnation. Imagine Celeborn discovering Morgoth’s first lieutenant has been railing his wife for centuries (now that’s a good fanfic prompt).

Thank you for reading! Your likes and reblogs are appreciated. Got feedback?

What did you like? Got theories or insights to share?

Disagree? I love good faith debate and sparring!

Something not quite making sense? Got feedback on readability?

Spot an inaccuracy? Hey, Tolkien's work is complex. Drop it in comments or DM.

[maxwell-grant]

If you were making up a gang of super-villains from classic Horror Movie characters (Count Dracula is an obvious 'In' being pretty much a super villain even in his original novel!), may I please ask which characters you would include and what role they would play in the gang?

First thing to establish is that Dracula is not leading the team. And obviously Dracula’s not gonna be a team player in a supporting role, so what we’re gonna do is this: Dracula is the threat that the team was assembled to fight.

Pretty much anytime you see the classic monsters gathered in any fashion, Dracula’s always the leader, and if we wanted to do that, we already have Monster Mash and Castlevania and so forth. I think assembling a Legion of Doom out of the Classic Monsters makes you particularly subject to law of diminishing returns that affect both supervillains and monsters, in that having a bunch of characters who demand to operate solo in narrative wind up greatly diminished when they're all doing the same thing together. So instead of Legion of Doom, I'm making these something more low-key like Secret Six, Thunderbolts and Suicide Squad and etc.

Here, it's all a bunch of classic monsters, but they all have a grudge with him, because everyone’s got beef with Dracula, and Dracula wants them destroyed so he may rule monsters and humans alike unopposed. Dracula is The Flash, and they are the Rogues. They bond together because it's the only way to win. Dracula is several orders of magnitude more evil than them, has countless weird magical abilities to counteract them, and he’s skilled enough in manipulation that he could conceivably trick them into doing his bidding, but he’s got no need for them past whatever unique abilities they have for momentary use, when he’s already got so much else at his disposal, including the ability to call in the universal ending to most monster stories: Call in the cops to shoot them dead.

In itself, this already gives the team a motivation to stay together regardless of what else is in the setting to give them trouble: They need to survive and beat Dracula, and they can’t call on anyone else for help. In fact, if the urge to have Dracula lead the Monster Squad again gets too strong, we could even establish that Dracula is able to create his own monsters, imperfect copies of their archetypes to serve as his enforcers, and thus, our group could have to fight off Frankensteins and mummies and werewolves and clones of themselves on their way to take him down.

Formation for this hypothetical group goes as follows:

The Leader - The Bride of Frankenstein:

Couple of reasons for why she’s leader besides favoritism being, she’s a Frankenstein and thus has to play a major role, but she doesn’t need to be a shambling brute, and if we’re gonna do a ragtag group of people fighting Count Dracula, in any form, it would be quite wrong to not have them led by a headstrong, brilliant woman. Also Elsa Lanchester plays Mary Shelley in the same movie, and Mary Shelley rules so she's qualified to rule this team-up by default.

We could establish her as having had significantly more time to mature and develop into something resembling the book Creature’s intelligence and sense of self, having picked up alchemical expertise from Pretorius’ notes to combine with her survival skills, and as a Frankenstein she could have the kind of superhuman strength and endurance that follows, allowing her to be sort of a jack-of-trades suitable for the leader position.  Imposing, stoic, capable, and being a Frankenstein, crushingly lonely in more ways than one and in dire need of guidance.

The Mentor & Magician - Imhotep (The Mummy):

Because there’s no way we can pass on having Boris Karloff on this team. If The Bride is the Mina of our anti-Dracula crew, then Imhotep is our Van Helsing. Functionally similar to Dracula in many ways, but playing on a different side (definitely not on humanity’s side though). He's a prideful, manipulative grumpus from a bygone era with his glory days long behind him, with access to a wide array of magical powers, but not quite as rotten or powerful as his ancient enemy Dracula.

Imhotep has lived a long, long, long life and an exceedingly longer afterlife, constantly raised from death to be bothered by mortals again and again, which has granted him a considerable know-how of navigating strange worlds of magic and terror and history, but remaining out of touch with modern times. The team's magic user, with his main weakness being that he’s fragile and old and rotting and dying. Imhotep’s not quite able to transverse the mortal realm as easily as his rival, and he’s held back by the countless forms of decay that have set within him, which is part of why he’s agreeable enough to work with The Bride and for the two to put this team together.

The Resources & Social Interface - Janet Smith Jekyll (Daughter of Dr Jekyll):

We can't have a classic Universal Gathering without at minimum a Talbot werewolf in the mix and Jekyll & Hyde is as Classic as classic monsters get, so we're going here with Gloria Talbott's character in Daughter of Dr Jekyll, a mysterious orphan who inherits a huge mansion and fortune that used to belong to the infamous Dr Jekyll, and who discovers that she may indeed share his two-faced affliction and proclivity for going out at night on uncontrollable murderous rampages (and yes I am very much ignoring the movie's climax to make this character, shut up)

The movie sort of treats Mr Hyde as a werewolf transformation with quite a lot of vampire in the mix, which suits our purposes just fine because now we get to have a vampire on top of a werewolf in the team. She's got a cool homebase for our team to operate from in Dr Jekyll's mansion, she's super rich which never hurts to have in a team setting, she's the only one that can fully pass for human and also the one who accumulates the biggest body count the longer she stays active, so there's always some tension with her.

She is the monster most suited for operating within modern society, high and low class alike, which makes her an invaluable operative in the battle against Dracula and his game of predatory psychological class warfare, and the one most suited for keeping the team out of trouble. However, it's up to question how much can the team trust her. Even she doesn't quite know how much she can trust herself. Her teammates may not have blood, but a girl's gotta eat and all.

The Reality-Warping Assassin - Cesare:

Cesare is, strange. He’s a sweet young man, but around him hangs the faint echo of dead, ancient eons. He’s unmatched at subterfuge, able to slip through the shadows not just unseen, but unheard in a way that shouldn’t be possible, as he makes absolutely no sound whatsoever, not even when he does things that should make noise, like trip or cry or stab people. On the rare occasions he vocalizes, it's like the words emerge in your head fully formed. Everything he interacts with turns colorless and frayed the way he is.

He’s able to tell the fortunes of most he meets, but only for their deaths, and if he's bothered by his own prophecy of Dracula ending the worlds of monster and man alike, he doesn't show it. The world around him seems to occasionally warp into strange angles and crooked architecture and thick, tangible shadows, and it’s difficult to tell if any of it is even his doing in the first place. He also has an unusually intense grudge of clowns and hamburguers

He seems to sleep most of the time off-duty, and he’s docile as a lamb even while commanded to kill, though he may resist more immoral commands. Though his eyes hang open, he only wakes up very rarely, and when he does, the monsters see the world around him blink out of existence to be replaced with a greyed out mental hospital, where they all look like doctors or regular people in straightjackets, and it only lasts for a few brief, maddening seconds before he falls asleep again.

This can be an advantage to the team as a potential safeguard from threats and space to regroup, provided they don’t lose their selves and can get Cesare to stop playing with the flowers and go back to sleep, and you can imagine it only gets harder every time, convincing him to abandon a peaceful existence to once again be a murderous slave for eternity, and maybe convincing themselves to not join him there.

Better he’s on our side than Dracula’s, The Bride and Imhotep figure. 

The Warrior-Healer & Aquatic Specialist: The Gill Man

I already said much of my piece on The Gill Man in terms of their role and personality here and obviously, they gotta be in the team. In terms of their powers & skillset, Gill Man is actually much better suited for this kind of stuff than most of the other Universal monsters. They are strong enough to move boats on their own, stealthy enough to consistently evade his human pursuers (and human civilization for countless years) and tough enough to survive and come back for two sequels. 

Another idea to me comes from using The Shape of Water and it’s take on Gill Man, who was believed to be an Amazonian river god, and throughout the movie displays magical healing powers and traits that call into question just what it is exactly. Dracula would certainly find no use for The Gill Man as anything other than muscle for his army of the undead, but for a team that does have at least a handful of living members and may even depend on human assistance, a medic is a invaluable thing to have, as is someone still living and in touch with nature.

The Scientist & Swarm Controller: Doctor Delambre (The Fly)

Picked here to represent the original version of The Fly but can also adapt traits from Seth Brundle and other takes on this idea. We need a resident mad scientist (who's really not a mad scientist, but when you look the part, y'know), a sci-fi guy to represent that other vein of classic horror, somebody who can contrast the resident magicians and alchemists, and also no self-respecting team is complete without a bug guy, so here we have Dr Delambre, who joins the team as an assistant to The Bride and has found a way to hold off the mental decay process and made substantial progress on his matter-transporter devices as well as find ways to live with his newfound biological quirks. He's even found a way to utilize insects with humanoid limbs and intelligence in daily chores and missions, although he resents the idea that he's "controlling" them, mind you.

But with his wife under trial for his botched suicide ruled a murder, and his inability to show up in society and testify in her favor, and all of his former military contacts having cut off all ties with him, he's desperately trying to find a way to reverse the process of his transformation for good to save her and is willing to do whatever it takes. Doctor Delambre even winds up being sort of the team's wild card, because his technology is very potent and just as capable of breaking reality under the wrong hands as Cesare's weirdness, but he is not a "monster" by birth or choice and is merely a guy in a rush to try and revert his condition, and if Dracula comes along with a better promise to save his wife and life, perhaps...

And last but certainly not least,

The Transportation & Muscle - The Rhedosaurus (The Beast from 20.000 Fathoms)

We might have to shrink them down a bit but we absolutely can’t NOT have a giant monster dinosaur on the team, but neither Godzilla nor Kong would have much business palling around with these monsters. The Rhedosaurus, on the other hand, is a perfect fit, seeing as he’s Godzilla’s inspiration and the movie he’s in is credited as being the revival of the giant monster genre as well as the first to introduce the atomic bomb to the mix. The Rhedosaurus here would be sort of composited from the movie version as well as the original story by Ray Bradbury and obviously composited from Godzilla variants and the Toho kaijus who owe their existence to it, a vicious and violent creature defending itself and one that's deeply lonely and desperate and strangely noble as the last of it’s kind, one that has nothing else to help protect it but these strange not-humans it’s formed an unlikely bond with. It has a particularly strong bond with The Gill Man, the only one who’s able to communicate with and steer it properly.

The Rhedosaurus is a global danger on a bigger and more direct scale than the other monsters, not just as a giant powerful dinosaur, but also a creature whose death could unleash a plague powerful enough to wipe out mankind, something the characters wouldn’t discover until late into the story (something Dracula, and maybe even Imhotep, would certainly want to exploit for personal gain). Maybe this radiation seeps over and forces the team to move their location around to stay undetected, maybe it's instrumental to powering whatever plans Dr Delambre and The Bride are cooking up in their lab, maybe it's affecting the environment or reality itself in strange unforeseen ways the way certain Godzilla works like KOTM and Singular Point have done.

It can be the key to saving the world or destroying it in equal measure, and so the fate of the Rhedosaurus is the fate of the future, and it falls up to the team to protect it as much as it will protect them.

So yeah, maybe I took this from a super-villain team and made it something a lot more League of Extraordinary Gentlemen in setup, but this team I imagine is grouped together less by a desire to save the world or serve a higher cause, than a simple matter of survival against a mutual enemy and the world that''s turned against them. They want drastically different things and employ drastically different methods and they each constitute powerful threats, and together, they are as likely to destroy themselves first if not the world with them. But survival is a matter they all have a stake on. Alone, they don’t stand a chance. Together, they may just have a chance and live, if only to finally rest in peace.

[ratatouillewastakendammit]

Made To Be Yours (Part 2)

Pairing: Dabi x reader

Summary: a sequel to this fic requested by @hunny-hotline and @sanaatay Sorry this took a million years to get done, but I hope you like it!

Warnings: smut, language, degradation, slight praise, the title is still a warning

Word Count: 2k

Even through your best attempts, the door creaked open with a long drawl, alerting the individuals on the other side of your presence. An exasperated sigh fell as you slid through it, any hopes of sneaking in unnoticed squandered.

Throughout your walk back to the League's hideout, you had debated many things, one of which had been whether or not to run away completely.

However, you had ultimately come to the unfortunate decision of returning, along with the even more unfortunate one of following the request of the person bringing you such debate in the first place.

'Make sure to bring the outfit.'

You had spent the remainder of your shift serving panda shaped rice and trying your damnedest to push away the memories of Dabi from moments prior. Afterwards, you made a quick, impulsive choice before trudging back to the hideout.

As usual, the bar was meagerly lit, a dim reflection of its inhibitors. The remnant of a fire was crackling in the corner, glowing embers a whisper of what might have once been a roaring flame.

"Finally!"

Golden eyes flashed as you turned away from the now-locked door, a pairing of arms slamming around your waist with strength that rivaled a boa constrictor. "You've been gone for, like, three days."

"Ten hours, but close enough."

Toga was, without a doubt, an interesting individual.

According to her, you were the only other female to have joined the League, in exception to a woman named Magne who had unfortunately passed a few months prior to your arrival. Apparently, this minor fact granted you an immediate friendship with the teen, even through your initial attempts to keep your distance.

"And I had to spend all afternoon with these boring people." She gestured to the room, unbothered by the fact that the insult had been directed to a group of dangerous killers, before allowing her gaze to fall on the bag in your hand. "What's that?"

She reached for it, giving a huff when you swung the satchel out of her reach. "Paperwork. Lots of paperwork."

"Can I see-"

"Sorry, but I'm ninety-percent sure sharing company information with you guys is against the law." You gave Toga an apologetic smile.

Shigaraki was slumped over the counter, nursing some cocktail Kurogiri must have crafted. "Since when have you cared about what's legal or not?"

"Since I get paid over minimum wage," you replied, moving around the girl and towards the stairs.

"So, how was work?"

Your movements came to an abrupt halt at the voice behind you. With a slow turn, you quickly averted your eyes from the man standing behind the bar. "Uneventful."

Dabi cocked an eyebrow. "Is that right?"

"Yeah," You nodded, trying to push away the image of him close to fucking you against an alleyway wall hours ago. "Pretty boring, actually."

You did not just say that.

With a soft hum, he leaned forward on the counter, forearms exposed against the marble. It took a palpable amount of self-discipline not to focus on the veins stemming from the darkened skin past his wrists.

"Night, then."

And with that, you dashed away, sprinting up the stairs and down the hall into your room. The door was quickly closed and you threw your bag to the floor.

Part of the zipper had come undone, revealing the dark fabric of your waitress uniform. It sat, almost mocking you with its inanimate presence, a representation of your diminished pride and bad decisions.

You were a villain. You were dangerous, you were powerful, and you most definitely were not supposed to be so compliant just because you thought someone was attractive.

In hindsight, you probably shouldn't have been such a brat to Dabi, but a big part of you was a bit piqued at the power he held over you. Actually, he had for a few weeks, but you had been persistent in making sure he didn't know about it.

But one unfortunate coincidence made sure he did now, and you were fucked.

And the worst thing was probably that you were voluntarily walking into said fucking on your own free will.

With narrowed eyes you glared down at the bag, trying to ignore the desire gnawing at your common sense like an attention starved animal. It pounded against the glass of rational thought, effectively capturing your attention away from each sensible reason to forget anything happened today.

But even as the pieces of logic began to tower higher, they couldn't seem to overpower those ever-influential physical desires.

You nudged the zipper further open with your toe, swiping the garment inside like it was some illegal item you were bound to become caught with. Then you slipped it over your head, smoothing the ruffled skirt over your thighs.

The mirror captured your appearance around the large crack running down the lower end. It created a fractured image as your reflection gazed back, but a pretty one nonetheless.

Despite your self-assured persona, one that was necessary for surviving the world of villainy you had been sucked into, confidence definitely hadn't come easily to you. Still, it was somewhat enjoyable to entertain the compliments you received in the regular during work hours.

A low whistle sounded through the room and you jumped, pivoting to face your intruder. Dabi leaned in the doorway, arms crossed as cerulean irises unabashedly scanned over your figure.

A frown crossed your features. "Do you know how to knock?"

"If it benefits me, sure," he shrugged, pushing off the wall and ramming the door shut with his ankle. "But I kinda like it when you're so jumpy."

An unconscious attempt to avoid the fervor of his gaze, you turned to look at the mirror again, stiffening slightly as his arms snaked over your shoulder blades. "Are you scared of me or something?"

You scoffed, eyes rolling back in annoyance. "You wish."

"Then let me look at you." He caught your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, tilting your line of sight to the left so it was forced to meet his. The corners of his lips twisted upward into a smirk. "You're adorable."

"And you're an asshole," you retorted, nodding out of his hold.

"Well, you're the one asking to be fucked by an asshole, so I guess that makes you a whore too." His grasp moved toward the top of your dress, pinky snagging the fabric to pull it open. Brazenly, he peered over at your chest.

Heat bloomed into your cheeks as you smacked his wrist away. "Perv."

"How rude," he sighed in faux-disappointment, amusement at your embarrassment underlining his tone. "And here I was, coming up with all these ways to make you feel nice."

"It's only been a few hours since I saw you. Is sex really all you think about?"

"You're assuming I started wanting to fuck you today." His mouth trailed over your neck, quickly finding a spot that had you straightening against him.

His hands slipped under your corset to massage your breasts, warmth sparking below your abdomen. Your teeth sunk into your lower lip when he pinched at your nipples.

"Come on, doll. I just want to hear those pretty noises again." He bit into your shoulder, pulling a gasp from between your lips. "There it is."

One final kiss and he withdrew, arm wrapping around yours as he drew you towards the bed.

With surprising tenderness, he pushed your body into the sheets, hands trailing beneath your skirt. His lips followed, sucking the skin of your inner thighs until you were unconsciously rolling your hips into him.

"Aww, does somebody want to be touched?" Dabi veered back, moving to cup your face. Cerulean irises burned into yours, forcing you to shift underneath their intensity. "Beg for it then."

The memory of earlier flashed in the forefront of your mind, soft embarrassment washing over with it.

"Didn't I do that already?" You rolled your eyes, missing the way his own darkened significantly at the act of defiance.

"And you'll do it again as many times as I tell you to. I'm pretty sure I established that I was the one giving orders here, sweetheart." He titled his head, features glossing over in feigned-sympathy. "But you were such a fucking mess earlier. Have I fucked you stupid already?"

His expression turned wicked, hand slipping beneath your underwear. Cruelly soft, his thumb brushed over your clit.

"I bet I could tie you up here for hours, edge you until the only thing your mind can comprehend is whether or not I'll let you come. And, the thing is, you wouldn't say shit because you're so desperate for my cock." Dabi leaned forward, breath warm and nose nudging the tip of your ear. "Now, beg."

You turned away, nails biting into your palms, perturbed at the truthfulness of his words. Even more so at the way your body was continually betraying that honesty.

With an exhale, you lowered your gaze, almost as if looking away would lessen the difficulty of the statement. "Please."

Grinning, he slipped a finger into you. "Keep going, doll. Try and make me forget what a brat you were earlier."

"I'm sorry," you groaned, cringing at how pathetic the statement sounded. "I'll say it a million times, just please touch me."

Still, it seemed to be enough for him, satisfaction flashing over his features as he pressed his mouth against yours.

"Good girl."

He watched in delight at the way you responded to his touch, the way your shoulders arched into the mattress with each thrust of his hand.

"Does it really turn you on that much when I order you around? What a slut," he laughed, wrapping his free arm around your waist to steady it. "Or do you just like dressing like one?"

"That's not-"

You were quickly cut off when he inserted another finger, curling them against your core until the only sound your words fizzled into a low groan. "Sorry, doll, but I didn't catch that. Mind repeating it for me?"

Any protest against his arrogance had dissolved, replaced by the pleasure coursing through your limbs. Although you barely discerned it, your heart jumped in excitement as he began to undo his belt with his free hand.

Still, you couldn't help the whine that came as Dabi withdrew his fingers from you, prompting a short chuckle from his direction. He aligned himself with you, tip brushing over your clit for a moment before it was replaced by his thumb once more.

It was almost torturous how slowly he pushed into you. Taking a moment, he gave you time to adjust, an act that was just as wordlessly sweet as it was agonizing to you.

He began to steadily roll his hips against yours, pace quickening slightly with the lewd sounds falling from your lips.

"Still think you can follow orders, sweetheart?"

You nodded fervently, an unspoken reply that you could barely understand in the first place.

"Then come for me."

And you did, ecstasy washing over you until mindless bliss was left alone in its wake. You unconsciously clenched around him, bringing his own release.

Even in the midst of it, his stroke over your clit continued as he eased you off your high, muttering soft praises into your ear. They carried on even as he pulled away, arms lacing under your legs and torso.

"Alright, sweetheart, come on." Dabi placed a kiss on your forehead, gently lifting you from the covers.

Brain still foggy, you buried your face into your chest, eyelids dropping in tranquil fatigue. "Where are we going?"

"Bathroom." He kicked the door open, making sure to carefully usher your form through it and into the shower. "We're getting you cleaned up and then into bed, how does that sound?"

Instead of a response, you just nodded, chest fluttering at the admiring hum he provided.

"Good." He gave your thighs a soft squeeze. "It's whatever you want, doll."