#most bewitching tale

[serene-faerie]

Thinking about the gradual corruption of the Lay of Leithian in late-age Númenor.

The King's Men tell the story of a Beren who is "bewitched" by Lúthien's dancing. He is enamoured not by Lúthien's singing, but by her Elven beauty. They speak of a Beren who rescues Lúthien from her treehouse, stealing her away from Doriath. To the King's Men, Lúthien is a damsel in distress, oppressed by the ways of the evil Elves, and Beren is just a mortal man who "liberates" her. The King's Men erase Beren's genuine love and respect for Lúthien. They get rid of Beren's oath to Thingol. And most of all, they erase Lúthien's agency in the tale; they erase her own brave deeds like fighting Sauron and singing Morgoth to sleep. Instead, they give the credit to Beren alone. At this period, Elves aren't yet completely hated, but they are exoticized and fetishized by the King's Men. And they exoticize Lúthien so much until she is just a submissive Elven princess who is nothing more than a prize for Beren to "win".

The King's Men erase the sacrifice of Finrod Felagund and the ten brave Elves of Nargothrond. They ignore the hunting of Carcharoth, Beren protecting Thingol at the cost of his own life, and Lúthien's pleading song to Námo. To the King's Men, the Quest for the Silmaril ends when Beren takes the Silmaril from Morgoth, then brings it to Thingol and Melian. To the King's Men, Lúthien's immortality was stripped from her by her cruel parents, and she was banished from Doriath for daring to love a mortal man. They erase Lúthien's own choice, they ignore how Thingol and Melian accepted Beren in the end. And fundamentally, the King's Men misunderstand the lesson of the Leithian, that Lúthien chose mortality of her own free will for love.

Under the King's Men, the Lay of Leithian is stripped of everything that made it so beautiful and poignant. It's no longer a story of love and hope, but a story about a submissive Elven princess who runs away with a strong mortal man to escape the tyranny of the Eldar.

But thankfully, the true Lay of Leithian was well-preserved by the Faithful Númenóreans.

[anika-ann]

Ocaruj me (Bewitch Me) - S.R.

Type: medieval/fantasy/fairy tale AU; drabbl-ish; a part of this pseudo-medieval-fantasy AU

Pairing: knight Steve Rogers x reader   Word Count: 2k

Summary: Knight Steven Rogers is a man with love. That love is you. His beautiful lady who bewitched his soul even without the supernatural powers you possess. He'll follow you anywhere.

It that means bathing in a lake in a moonlight, so be it.

Warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, unprotected sex (shocking in medieval times huh), bit of angst, fluff, knight Steve ‘cause he’s a warning, Slovak language ‘cause I can

A/N: Actual title is Očaruj mě (Bewitch Me) ...tumblr cannot handle a "č" and an “ě“ in their title 🙃 DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; inspired by THIS ask (you can find headcanons and a playlist there)

A/N 2: Chronologically fits before the events of Pomiluj mě, but if you read this first, you will spoil some of the reveals.

Magic is a dark evil thing; that is what all knights of the kingdom are reminded during their studies and training.

Magic is the wicked twine that curls around your wrist when you reach out a hand, grips you tight and drags you towards perdition.

Magic takes face of a twisted beauty, a temptress, and leads you down the path of sin with a smile worth of the Devil himself.

Magic only knows curses and wrongs.

Sir Steven Rogers knows these axioms by heart.

Steve knows they are horseshit; or at least fail to fulfil the basic rule of an axiom, which is supposed to be universality.

In Steve’s eyes, people are corrupted by many things, amongst which there is the power that comes with magic. That much is true. But the nature of magic itself is pure; t reveals the person wielding it and amplifies who they already are.

Steve would only agree with part of the axiom second to last, assured whenever he sees you. He would now too, standing near the bank of a lake, still fully clothed, his gaze inevitably drawn to the enticing image in front of him.

You, standing to the waist in the water, dressed in but the luxurious robe of moonlight caressing your skin and wearing the lake like the richest skirt; your hair cascading down freely like an elaborate veil, the commonly dark ink of your tattoo reaching from the side of your neck down your shoulder shinning bright.

When you glance over your shoulder, eyes glimmering more entrancingly than the moon and the stars combined, lips curling in a smile, the last thing Steve would compare you to would be the Devil, a dark evil thing.

The truth, however, is that if you did decide to drag him towards his end, he would follow voluntarily, heart pounding just as hard as it is now, with warmth in his chest and searing heat in is gut.  

When you speak his name, a sweet ‘rytier moj’, you indeed are every bit of a temptress, the seductress steering him toward the most beautiful of sins; but not in the name of evil.

In the name of love.

“How is it that you are not cold, bosorka moja? And by gods, remind me, love, why is it that I should follow?” he asks with a grin on his lips, as if he does not feel every ounce of his body being pulled to you by the alluring image of you alone, by the promise of the feel of your skin under his fingertips, of the taste of your lips, of your wickedly delicate hands touching him in ways no unwed lovers should.

You have told him there was a deeper meaning in bathing in that particular lake on this very night, but as fascinated as he always is by your faiths and magic, you have been convincing him with your lips whispering to his own, causing his memory to be considerably less reliable, his mind much more pliant.

You turn around to face him fully, your watery skirt swirling; Steve’s mouth turns dry at the sight of your stiff nipples and plump breasts, his last reservations dispersing as his pants become uncomfortably tight.

“For this lake is believed to possess supernatural properties, rytier moj. For I know it does,” you remind him gently, your gaze trailing down his body in appreciation as he sheds his cloak, his tunic and pants.

You once told him what you saw when he did and have aided him in recalling it quite frequently.

Beauty.

Strength.

Goodness.

Safety.

Home.

And desires personified.

Steve is only a man; all these are virtues in his mind, privileges, and the one that is not makes him preen all the more.

Dark eyes glimmering in the moonlight, your smile earns a teasing edge even as your words begin with gravity.

“Bathing in the light of the full moon nearest to the summer solstice makes one stronger. Something my knight might appreciate. I know I for sure would, since he insists on recklessly risking his life.”

His own lips curl up, heart humming with tenderness; he is cared for. He is worried about. He is loved. He is not the only one who has the comfort of a lover on their mind. Perhaps it is for ‘lovers’ is not quite the word fit for where his heart quivers in the matter of you and him. Not the only word.

Desire personified.

Gorgeous temptress.

But also beloved.

Láska moja.

Bosorka moja.

Home.

“All knights do, bosorka moja,” he says as he steps into the water, the liquid welcoming him with an unexpected sensation of cold and warmth combined.

Where his skin meets the water, immersed deeper with each tentative step on the invisible rocky floor, he is enveloped with an unfamiliar sensation, the warmth seeping into his skin almost violently, leaving gentle tingling in its wake.

His lungs expand. His heart thunders. His muscles ache until they feel as light as a feather. His large bones seem to harden, his joints feel stronger but pliant. His blood pumps vigorously, forcing a shuddering breath out of his chest.

Well, he’ll be damned; he would be if he wasn’t so blessed. He would never doubt you again. Not that he ever truly did.

You watch him, a hypnotic and hypnotizing gaze, soaked in the satisfaction and desire having thickened your tenderness. Your skin almost glows and Steve understands that his eyes were not deceiving him earlier. He is not the only one absorbing power; yours might be different in nature from his, so different and ethereal, a true force of nature, but a power nevertheless. And as you soaked in the water, your immense power grew further.

“And yet, I have not seen any knight, soldier or mercenary, nor the clumsiest commoner with as many scars, nor I saved them from so many,” you oppose him, still playful; yet, your voice has earned a husky quality Steve is drawn to like a mot to a flame, his steps growing confident.

For almost every step he takes, you take one back, away from him, sinking deeper, hiding your tempting body from his hungry sight. A delightful feigned chase begins, one of which you both know will only end in bodies intertwined. A dance Steve knows, for he has felt its thrill before, for he has danced with you before; he has danced lips to lips, hands to hips, hips to hips, lips attached to your mound with hooded eyes too, senses enveloped with heady primal need, laced with love both corporal and intangible.

It all hums within him, pounds with force bolstered by the magic surrounding him. You feel it too; he reads as much in your features.

“You haven’t seen them naked either,” he notes, a slight smile remaining.

The conversation continues even as it fades.

You hum with a smile of your own, stopping at last as takes three long strides and catches up with you, gazing up at him with a sweet challenge he cannot refuse. “That is true, rytier moj.”

But that is not what your body whispers, already miles ahead when only inches from him.

Touch me, it coaxes him instead.

Hold me.

Love me.

Have me.

Fill me.

Make me sing for you. Only for you.

Do as you crave; I crave the same, just as much.

Who is he to deny a lady? Who is he to deny you, especially when the wordless pleas entice him, please him, echo his own?

The slight prickle of strength reborn, one unknown to ordinary men, still heats his very core, his lips speaking on their own even as his fingers wander with purpose, over the skin of your waist, down your hip, over your belly button, to your sternum, over the swell of your breast, stepping closer to feel your hardened peaks brush against his chest, eliciting a breathy sound of his name amongst his questions.

“What of other blessed nights bathing in this lake? Equinoxes as well?”

Your hands move with purpose too; mapping the constellations of freckles and moles on his body, caressing the planes of strengthened muscle with teasing lightness. Your touch is surprisingly warm, Steve realizes distantly, his head and hands full of you; if he did not know better, if he did not know you were a witch, he would think you an entirely different magical species.   

As you nod and explain, your hand rises above water, stroking over his shoulder – the water follows seemingly effortlessly, swirling and curling around your palm; even as you speak, he shudders under the touch where your hands could not have possibly reached him, not at so many places at once; and yet, every single of these caresses are just as warm, loving and teasing as those of your own fingers.

With how you bended the water to your will, Steve would have thought you were born to do so. He would have thought he found himself a water nymph instead. His breathtaking, enchantingly playful water nymph.

“Bathing in the lake on a new moon nearing the spring equinox breeds rebirth, ridding of all old aches, body and heart,” you explain quietly, intimately, as your fingers tease along the dip along his hips, his own hands grasping your soft flesh with urgency growing. “First new moon after the autumn equinox calls upon the forest spirits, their protection, bringing the wiseness of our ancestors with their blessings.”

Steve’s head is full of you; your words, almost fairy-tale like, but spoken with reverence of a person who knows them true, whose rituals has called upon the forces of nature and has been rewarded for it, blessed by them.

His hands are full of you too and as his heart sings.

The rest of his body vibrates with need, impatient fingers slipping lower, towards your core, teasing alongside your slit. Even as he asks the only natural question, his focus is elsewhere, fingertip dipping into your welcoming heat, his lips whispering against yours, your hips eagerly meeting his touch.

“And what of winter solstice, bosorka moja? Tell me,” he coaxes, revelling in your playful touch turning into a grip on his hip instead, other hand wrapping around his own to urge him to sink his finger deeper, for another to join.

Who is he to deny you again? His bewitching water nymph, whose heat would envelop him just as welcomingly as the water of the lake and fill him with just as much exceptional powerful sensation...

Love her.

Take her.

Protect her.

Make her mine.

“It keeps your heart warm,” you sigh, mouth chasing after his, fingertips finally brushing over his hardness, curling around the length and squeezing and twisting enough for his strained muscles to melt, rushing to lift your leg to wrap around his waist, opening you up for him, your taste, your scent, your husky voice like the most tempting trap he rushes into with vigour and pride. “Keeps your love safe. On the full moon close--- oh Steve— closest to the solstice- preserving it even through the— the harshest of winters----Steven!

The steady movements of his fingers stutter at the needy pulsing grip around them, eliciting another and another, his thumb brushing over your clit, mouth slanting over yours to swallow your cries of ecstasy, cradling your head to his as your hips keep rocking into his hand. You’ll feel like heaven, like you always do, but the burst inside him at feeling your pleasure coaxed by him is almost, almost enough.

“I’ll be here,” he promises against your lips, kissing you again, tipping your head back, your body so gorgeously pliant to his greedy touch. “I will be here, with you, every quarter a year. Every month, every day, love.”

“Ľubim ťa,” you gasp and Steve makes another promise, to not meet you here, but bring you. Bring you from your shared home at last, because even by the damn equinox, he will have done you right, a ring on your finger, his everything made yours, as you deserve.

“Ľubim ťa, bosorka moja,” he whispers back, a chuckle escaping him when his eyes flutter open, offered a sight of soft sprinkles and curls of water rising above the surface and glimmering in the moonlight.

Your magic exploding outside of you as pleasure fills your veins.

Steve is certain it will never cease to amaze him; or spur him to coax something even more fascinating when chasing his own peak and yours together, even as that alone is a gift he cherishes.

Your hands slide to his shoulders for leverage as his fingers leave you empty, moving to your bottom to lift you up, sliding in almost effortlessly.    

No words are needed then. As you connect your bodies and souls alike, the water keeps dancing.

You glow behind Steve’s hooded eyes, tattoo shining as bright as your affection, beauty and goodness, a reminder that no, magic could not be further from the darkness in corporal form. In every waking moment, he would swear he has never seen, nor heard, nor felt anything more beautiful and lighter than you, even with a face and voice of a temptress you embody.

The only sin you have led him to, the only speckle of shame on his honour, is the one he will remedy soon and has nothing do with your magical nature.

No, not the Devil; a goddess in your own right.

And you have not cursed him, no. Sir Steven Rogers, tvoj rytier, entirely bewitched, feels blessed.

Other headcanon and playlist

S.R. masterlist - contains other knight!Steve fics, independent of this universe

Complete masterlist

Terms of endearment from Slovak language: Rytier moj (My knight) Bosorka moja (Witch mine) Láska moja (Love mine) Ľubim ťa (I love you)

I hope you enjoyed, loves 💕 Please consider leaving feedback/reblog/anything if you did 🥰

May April be kind to you 🌼✨

[marwen-prince-of-dusk]

To Soothe A Burning Heart

A Messmer the Impaler x Reader Fanfiction, written at the request of a dear friend.

Debut work by Marwen, Prince of Dusk. ---------------------------------

A once radiant sun, dulled by the velvety shroud of the Erdtree, looms overhead.

Warm and dreary the land may seem, a dry coldness bites through the air.

Certainly a cool that would be alien to those held warmly within the bosom of Shadow Keep, nestled firmly atop the rolling hills just past Castle Ensis. 

The black fortress was helmed by a great, red maned serpent; Known by most as The Impaler, he was formerly embraced by the matriarch of the golden lineage, Queen Marika.

Yes, indeed, Queen Marika was once mother to the infamous red prince.

The tale known to few that it may be, The Impaler has indeed lived a long, ghastly life.

However; Therein lies your purpose.

Your duty within Shadow Keep, an attendant to The Impaler himself, is to ease his suffering. To tend his wounds, to mend his heart, to lend your gentle touch and whisper into his ear nothing but the sweetest songs of comfort and ease.

Yet, you would not dare call him “The Impaler”, no; Such an action would see his spear through your heart.

The only name of your lord, of course, is Messmer.

Messmer..

Oh, Messmer..

His beauty had ensnared you once more. His marred body had started to clear slightly whilst under your supervision, and after so many centuries, you had begun to develop an appreciation for his gaunt features. Of course, a son of Queen Marika was sure to be no less than tantalising; However, a chill runs up your spine while you are lost within your thoughts. 

The fiery gaze with which he pierces the solemn darkness of his chambers..

The very same fiery gaze that seems to be meeting yours at this very moment.

Of course, you’d been staring at him. Watching him. Observing him during a rare period of rest… You must have drifted off into thought, as you often do while admiring his figure from afar.

Messmer seems unbothered by this, if a bit curious.

His voice cuts through the silence like a blade through mortal flesh. With his attention gained, his crimson snakes flourish, as their flames light his face dimly.

He speaks out to you;

“Your eyes. They’ve been loath to leave me, for quite some time. Whyever wouldst thou glare at me in such a manner? With such.. want?”

You are startled by his voice, as you’ve rarely heard him speak. After all, there is little that needs to be communicated to those who understand their role.

You attempt to respond to his admittedly forward line of questioning, but you are unable to utter a single word. Perhaps it is the duality of his beauty that has caught your tongue? You can not say for certain, although what can and can not be said matters little when faced with further inquisition from such an intense man.

“You would draw attention to my wounds.. To my scars. With intent to ‘fix’.”

Still stricken soundly by a heavy silence, you can barely turn your head.

“Such is your duty as my attendant, I suppose. You are bewitched by silence, and yet the expression upon your face is singing me a song carrying with it not an inkling of subtlety.”

Messmer extends his hand to you with slight caution, owing to his little experience in being the first to engage.

You place your hand in his palm, gently feeling over his calluses. They were surely formed as a result of the constant battles from ages past; It had been clear before that Messmer was no stranger to violence, but to feel even a fraction of the toll it had taken on his body left a feeling of pity somewhere deep within your heart.

A sea of warmth comes over you, as you feel the urge to embrace him. Unsure of the consequences of doing so, there was indeed hesitation.

Understanding fully that such a deed could possibly end in your likeness haunting him as nothing more than another mounted corpse among the countless others, you place your hands upon his face.

It’s softer than you had thought it would have been. As you caress his cheeks softly, Messmer’s eyes widen ever so slightly.

It’s true; He had never experienced a love such as this, even from his own mother. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about her~ He had spent a vast majority of his life taking orders from the woman, and the series of events that led up to the two of you sharing each other’s company in this very moment were indeed events that weighed heavily upon his mind.

This feeling was something new. A warmth that he had never experienced previously, not in all of his thousands of years of life.

A flame unlike any that he had used in his crusade against the towerfolk of Belurat.

“You’d..”

He looks down towards the stone floor, then back up slightly.

“You would have…”

He pauses, taking a moment to think to himself.

“Me?”

He looks you in the eye, and places his hand on yours.

You nod to him slowly, bringing him in as you wrap your arms around him and rest your head over his shoulder.

He seems bewildered, caught off guard.

With hesitation, he brings his hand to your back and presses you gently against his chest, mindful of the serpent protruding from his body.

You break away from his chest after a few minutes, looking into his golden eyes.

You slowly lift the helmet from his head, running your fingers through his coarse hair. It’s lost its vibrancy and lustre over the centuries, having been resigned to solitude in Shadow Keep away from the kiss of sunlight.

With your fingernails, you brush it carefully so as to not break any of his fragile locks. Messmer seems to relax slightly while you care for his hair, letting out a quiet, if shaky, sigh of relief.

He closes his eyes slowly, allowing himself to be vulnerable. You let him down slowly, setting his head down on your lap as you continue to brush through his hair with your fingers.

After a while, you stop and lean down to kiss softly the head of the sleeping prince.

This was your purpose.

Having exchanged no words, Messmer understood it just as well as you did.

For the first time in his life, he had felt fulfilled, though he knew not the word for such a strange feeling.

As the dark sun sets over the Land of Shadow, a moon rises in it’s place and shines through the entrance, lighting Messmer’s face. He looks.. Content. At ease.

There is no telling what will happen when dawn breaks.

What he will say, what he will do. If he will even acknowledge today’s events.

But even he, in his slumber, knew this much…

“Contempt..”

“Hatred..”

“Guilt..”

“Shame..”

“All burns away when your kindly hand meets mine.”

“For this, I couldn’t, with any worldly power, let you go;”

“I’d sooner let our lands of shadow burn than live an eternity parted with you.”

“Perhaps I’d even forsake her, yes, it is true…”

“If it meant that you and I could start a life anew.”

.

..

…

Thank you for reading.

This is my first complete work of fiction, as may be made clear by its short length.

However, I hope that you found it pleasurable to scroll through.

Since I am not content with the length of this fanfiction, I will likely continue to add onto it until I’m satisfied.

I had an excellent time writing this, and hope you enjoyed reading it just as much.

-Marwen

[draco-dormiens]

FOR ALL THAT IS RIGHT AND JUST - Chp. 1

auror!draco x auror!fem!slytherin reader / post-war au

a/n: sorry about my inconsistent ass. i'm hoping you enjoy this first chapter after i changed it a little, makes better sense for the story to come. sit back and relax cos this is nearly 4000 words bby ♡

warnings: talk of the war, people missing/kidnapping, strong language, mutual pining

wc: 3984

tags: @yeolsbubbles @send-me-styles @shinytalent

tag list open!!

masterlist

Ministry Mayhem

London, 1st May 2007

In the early hours of Tuesday morning, as the sun rose and began to cast it's orangey glow through the gaps in the bedroom curtains, the first ring of an alarm blared a rather unwelcome sound throughout the quietness of the small London flat that you called home. Sleepily, you peel your eyes open to read the time; 6:15am. With a soft grunt, you reach out to slam the snooze button with all the strength you could muster. A typical day, no less, was awaiting you at the Auror office of the British Ministry of Magic, and it was about to wait a little longer, too.

Besides, it wasn't as if anything was in dire need of solving. For the last ten years, the wizarding world had come to know a peace that had long escaped it. The fear and uncertainty that comes with nasty rumours, shadowy figures and the whispers of war was long over now. Harry Potter had fought and won against the most fearsome Dark Wizard in all of history, and now he was keeping the peace as Head of the Auror Office. Although, it wasn't all that exciting nowadays. The more gripping cases ranged from bewitched broomsticks to Oblivating Muggles in the wrong place at the wrong time. It certainly wasn't taking a whole team of Aurors to clear the workload, with most officers getting fidgety and frustrated. It was as if they wanted something to happen; in your eyes, you'd rather be Oblivating an elderly woman who saw a young boy riding a broomstick over London than some raging lunatic.

The clock blares again. Another tap of the snooze button. For a moment, you thought you'd heard knocking at your window. No, you think, I'm just tired. Five more minutes and I'll get up.

It wasn't your first choice, becoming an Auror. During your school years as a young Slytherin, you were certain it was Ancient Runes that you would pursue. That was long before the brewing storm started to reach its boiling point, clouding up any chance you had of finishing school. The prospect of war had reached civilians, and along with it a great fear of the unknown. It was perilous to venture outside of your home; your parents had been cautious to send you back for sixth year. The rumours were terrible. Frightening, even, especially when it was becoming clearer that most of them were true. Even the ones in your own family. A vivid memory of your father arguing in hushed whispers with your uncle one night over Christmas break, had solidified a fear that had been nagging your parents for a long while.

"You can't," your father said, almost spitting the words as you pressed your ear to the door, "don't go to him. Don't give your life away for something so ludicrous."

Your friends began whispering amongst themselves. Troublesome tales of someone you had known your whole life had started circulating around the school. A hard pill to swallow, but one you had to force down eventually.

"My parents said he's right," Pansy had muttered one night in the common room, the glow of the fire just lighting up her face, "I'm starting to think that following him is the better way to go."

"Have you seen Draco lately? He looks dreadful. His attitude is somehow worse." Daphne whispered, and then gulped, "you don't think... surely not, right? He's only our age."

"Dunno, heard his father was a follower during the first war," Blaise then added, looking around to make sure no one was eavesdropping, "I wouldn't hold your breath. I think he's one of them."

You stir in your sleep as if an unpleasant dream had began to plague your slumber. The clock blares its final warning, and with it, a series of sharp, jarring taps at your window that only grow in volume the longer you lay there. Groggily, you get up, slamming the alarm clock as you make your way to the impatient visitor. As you pull back the curtain, you see a familiar owl perched on the window sill with a letter secured in its beak. You open the window and gently take it from it's grip, and with a mighty swoosh of its wings, it soars off over the city. Ripping open the letter, you hadn't bothered to notice the wax seal of the Auror office, and begin to read:

Get down to the office as soon as you can. Sending this to everyone. It's serious.

From the handwriting you can tell who the sender is. Though still half asleep, you understand the urgency and begin rushing to get dressed. As you button the last hole on your blouse, readying yourself to enter the Ministry through the Floo network, you hear a knock at your door. Grumbling about who it could be and marching across the living room, you swing it open to be met with your, quite literal, partner in crime.

"Draco." You say simply, a smile ghosting your lips. He beams back, his attire as pristine as if he just walked out of the store. His white hair not an inch out of place, his black suit and white button down completely creaseless, and a glimmering Auror badge on his jacket to top it all off. He flashes a pearly white smile, leaning against the door frame with that same old cocky demeanour. Draco appears in some of your earliest memories as a child, and even now in work, he was a significant part of your everyday life. Growing up as children of wealthy pureblood families, it was a regular practice to mingle with those of your kind. Even though his personality was an acquired taste, despite your differing views and childish bickering, he was still both a thorn in your side and a priceless friend.

Friend. For as long as you can remember.

"Morning, take it you got Potters note?" He said, sauntering in to your apartment like it was his own, "reckon he's being a bit dramatic, don't you? Probably just dropped a biscuit in his brew."

"I doubt he'd send an owl all over London for a biscuit, Draco," you call back, hurrying to get the rest of your things together before leaving, "I think something is genuinely wrong, and I'm a little worried if I'm honest. We haven't had anything major in... well, forever."

"You know, if you'd told me in like, fifth year, that one day I'd be clambering out of bed before seven in the morning for Potter, I'd probably have pitched myself off the highest turret." Draco said dramatically, just after accusing Harry of being equally as ridiculous.

"Stop moaning and get in the fireplace," you said as if it were something normal people say on a regular basis, "we need to get down there and find out what's happening."

Draco, still mumbling, clambers into your fireplace and waits for you to squeeze in next to him. Much smaller than his own, he's bent doubly to get in, and ushers you to get the Floo powder before his back gives in. His moaning is only met with a rather stern look from yourself. You take a handful of Floo powder from the little bag sitting on the hearth, and take Draco's hand in yours. With a chant, you fling the powder down at your feet, and with a puff of green smoke, you both disappear, leaving the small flat empty and silent.

In the blink of an eye, you're no longer standing in your living room, but instead in the shiny, emerald tiled entrance to the Ministry. Draco dusts himself down, tutting at the slight specs of soot on his jacket, not noticing how you've become stiff with shock.

"Bloody Floo network," he mumbles to himself, coming to stand beside you, "how are you spotless? It's always me that gets-"

He stops his rambling when his eyes follow your line of vision to see the hoard of people just up ahead, swarming the foyer like ants, an incoherent jumble of noises filling the air from cries to shouts. All extremely well dressed and rather wealthy looking, you both got the impression that these people were not average witches and wizards: they were, in fact, much like yourselves - from old, pureblood money.

"What in Merlin's name is all of this?" You mutter, mostly to yourself, as your feet start to carry you towards the mess, Draco following behind. In the midst of all the chaos, is Delphina Sallow, the lady that usually operates the front desk of the Auror office. Delphina was a tall, slender woman with very dark hair and pale blue eyes, which were a striking contrast to her rather ghostly complexion. A nervous sort of woman, she was struggling immensely in a heated conversation with a man you recognised as Mr Selwyn, whose son was in your year at Hogwarts. Much larger than back then, with his pointer finger jabbing the air furiously, he seems to be, at best, enraged.

"This is a travesty, young lady!" He bellows at Delphina, who has resorted to using her clipboard for protection against the wave of saliva, "my son has been taken, taken I tell you, right from under our noses! Sleeping soundly he was; I can see him sitting there during third supper, not a care in the world, enjoying his fourth lamb chop like the innocent boy he is. I demand justice, young lady, or so help me I'll sue the entire Auror office for all it's bloody well worth."

"P-please, sir, I'm only the receptionist, I-I don't have any authority to help you-"

"No authority?" Mr Selwyn shouts with such force, his large moustache almost flies off of his round, purple face, "I do not care for your position, young lady, get me someone who can find my son or I'll be in the right mind to get you fired. I know people in high places, you know!"

"Excuse me," you interrupt as you reach them, Delphina's face washing over with absolute relief, "can I ask what's going on here? Miss Sallow is not an officer, sir. If you have concerns, please take them up with someone clearly wearing a badge."

You point abruptly to the shining Auror badge on your jacket. Mr Selwyn scoffs irritably.

"Well, miss badge, I demand you find my son. At once." He rounds on you, his large, bulbous belly almost touching you before he can get any closer. Draco appears almost instantly, standing just in front of you, the most condescending smile curling at his lips, trying and failing to hide the clear desire to swing a fist into Mr Selwyns beetroot coloured face.

"If you get any closer, sir, I may have to resort to unsavoury means. All in the name of law, you understand." Draco stood completely straight, towering over the stumpy Mr Selwyn, to which the angered man grunted something under his breath before waddling off to his next victim.

"Thank you," Delphina sighs, dabbing the sweat on her forehead with a handkerchief, "he's not the only one I've dealt with this morning. So many reports of missing persons, all within the last few hours or so. I-it's my day off, I'm only here on Mr Potter's orders."

"As are we, Miss Sallow," Draco smiles at Delphina, to which she blushes furiously, "I think you should head back up. Tell Potter we're here, would you?"

As if the Minister himself had instructed her, she scurries off to the lifts.

"Honestly, you could tell Del to jump off a cliff." You scoff lightheartedly, turning back to see a rather smug looking Draco, as he simply fixes his tie and winks down at you.

"It's the charm, darling. Don't say it doesn't affect you, too."

Before he can bask in your flustered reaction, off in the distance, amongst more distraught civilians, you spot Cerberus Langarm, fellow Auror, rushing through the crowds of people with a look of pure determination on his face. You tug on Draco's arm, inciting him to follow you, as you battle through to chase Cerberus. Amid the madness, you hear a mixture of complaints and angry voices from the hoard of people. As you close in on Cerberus, you call out to him, causing him to halt and turn at the sound of your voice.

"I take it you both got letters, then?" Cerberus says as you reach him, "didn't know what we'd be walking into, but this is something else. Somehow, I don't think it's about a bewitched broomstick this time."

Cerberus Langarm was a tall, well built man with sun-kissed, olive skin and dark, shaved hair. He kept a very neatly trimmed moustache, and under his left eye was a deep scar that covered most of his cheek. He was a man dedicated to his duty, and other aspects of his life came second to it, which Draco often made a joke about. Cerberus was a well accomplished man of the law, and highly respected amongst his fellow officers and higher ups.

Sometimes, you wondered if Draco was a little jealous of Cerberus and his undeniable ability to walk into a room and make it sing for him.

"Delphina said something about missing person reports," you being to explain as the three of you make for the lifts, "and I have noticed something; most of these people, they look like a certain group of wizards. Don't you think?"

"You mean rich, pompous purebloods who have nothing better to do than flash their money and complain about Muggles?" Cerberus said, "yeah, they seem the sort. All I know is that Potter better have an explanation for all of this."

The lifts were especially busy; people were squashed like sardines in a can, garnering irritable tuts and mumblings amongst the staff trying to reach their destinations. The three of you manage to squeeze into a lift heading for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; whispers of the going's on in the foyer filled the usually awkward silence, as the relatively short journey felt like an eternity.

Once the lift had landed at the correct floor, the three of you took no time in squeezing out of the overflowing space and into the open air. For what felt like a moment of relief, was soon overtaken by the mayhem that you were presented with. The department was practically torn apart; papers everywhere, frantic officers pacing back and forth between rooms, folded notes in the shape of paper airplanes zoomed up and down the hallway, narrowly missing your head when one bolted for the lift doors, making it just in time before they slammed shut.

"Salazar's mother," Cerberus muttered, looking back at yourself and Draco whose eyes were transfixed by the sight, "we better find Potter."

Meanwhile, inside Harry's office, stood Harry and Auror Penelope Fawley, assessing the multitude of reports from that morning. They could hear the muffled sound of panic outside, the office workers were working relentlessly to try and get some sort of order in the place. Piles of letters sat upon Harry's desk, as the two of them read aloud the contents of the reports.

"During the night we heard strange ongoings in the neighbours backyard, sounds of magic and a man's voice," says Penelope outloud, "my husband got out of bed and lit up the room with his wand, before trekking down the stairs to peer out of the kitchen window. He thinks he saw two people appartating from the neighbours garden, but his eyesight is not what it used to be. Then, at around 5:30am, we received a knock on the door. It was Mrs Selwyn. Her son was missing."

Penelope, a fair-haired, pretty woman with dark blue eyes and black rimmed glasses, ran her perfectly manicured finger across the parchment as she read. Harry, now pacing up and down the office with his chin in his hand, listened carefully to what Penelope was reading aloud. She places down the parchment and picks up another letter, tearing it open and unfolding the note inside. Penelope clears her throat and begins reading once more:

"I received an owl from my sister a few days ago. She was worried that someone had been outside her house during the night, but couldn't seem to undo the Colloportus charm her husband casts on all the doors when he works nights. She has young children, and they live in a relatively secluded place." Penelope read, and then perched against the desk, "I owled back immediately, but didn't seem to receive a reply. Then around 6:00am this morning, her husband, Blaise Zabini, showed up at our door. My sister, Daphne Zabini, was missing from her bed when he returned home from work. The children were still sound asleep and seemingly untouched."

Harry comes to a halt at the window overlooking Muggle London below. With a great sigh, he rubs his tired eyes that had been awake since the early hours of the morning. As he turns to speak to Penelope, they both hear heavy, hurried footsteps beyond the door, and within a few seconds, you burst in, all guns blazing, Cerberus and Draco in hot pursuit.

"I do hope you have an explantation, Harry," you pant slightly, "what on earth is happening? Missing witches and wizards - and what was Delphina doing in foyer; she was getting practically spat at by Mr Selwyn, and not to mention the hoard of people downstairs, and the office-"

"Thank you, officer Y/L/N, I'm well aware of the situation both outside my door and in the foyer. In fact, I've been well aware of it since three this morning, so, if you’d be so kind as to ask one question at a time, I'd really appreciate it." said Harry, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Draco stifles a laugh behind you.

"Potter," Cerberus advances forward with urgency, "any kind of light you can shed."

Harry composes himself, and then walks over to his desk, pushing forward what looked like a collection of personal files from the Ministry of Magic Archives; somewhere that a person would need all kinds of permissions to enter. It contained many records - such as historical records, every single published issue of The Daily Prophet, various magical projects and, most importantly, personal files of every witch or wizard that comes into magic across the country.  Draco, his interest now peaked, gently brushes past you with a hand at the small of your back, his eyebrows knitted together in a very curious expression. He begins shuffling through them, his features relaxing into more concern than curiosity when he realises each and every one of them have a big, red stamp across the front that read: Missing.

"These," he breathes, looking up at Harry, who's expression was more exhaustion than anything else, "these are all purebloods... I know half of 'em. Nott, for one. Scrawny devil."

"They all look the sort in the foyer, too," adds Cerberus, "lots of old money and questionable bloodlines down there. Odd coincidence?"

"Not likely," pipes up Penelope, who lifts herself elegantly off the edge of the desk, "every single one of these witches and wizards have gone missing during the last few hours. All of them, and without a single trace. No signs of break ins, no signs of struggle or injury at the locations they went missing from. It's a fair assumption to say they have been kidnapped - and not by some amature."

"So you're saying that a whole bunch of wizards from pure bloodlines have just miraculously been taken from their beds in the night. For what reason, exactly?" Draco raises an eyebrow at Penelope. She doesn't look too impressed by his questioning of her theory.

"Malfoy," Harry said, not with his usual air of authority, however, it was far more pleading, "Penelope has a point. Let me give the bigger picture," Harry slumps down onto his office chair with a heaving sigh, before tucking himself under the desk and resting his elbows on the surface, hands intertwined, "I was called in by the Minister at three o'clock this morning. That's when the first report came in about a missing person. Not long after that, they started coming in troves. One after the other, we couldn't keep up. Hence why I owled," he took a pause, "Penelope was first here, and with her help, we retrieved the personal reports to further investigate the missing persons. We made the connection of their blood status quite quick, and have since then been trying to theorise as to why it only seems to be witches and wizards of a certain blood status."

"I'd say that was quite obvious," said Cerberus, who was a rather serious and right-to-the-point kind of officer, "someone out there has a grudge against them, surprisingly," he said with an air of sarcasm, "but it can't just be one person that has done all of this; there must be some sort of group or organisation. No one, even with magic, can be in all of those places at once."

Penelope suddenly gasped, and everyone looked around at her.

"What about Hogwarts? They need informing immediately. The amount of students, and faculty, that could be in danger tomorrow," she said with the utmost seriousness, "I can go, Harry. I can fly to Hogsmeade, they won't know a thing unless-"

"Thank you, Penelope, but I have already considered Hogwarts," Harry cut her off gently, and her shoulders slumped in relief, "in fact, I need to speak to Y/L/N and Malfoy. Langarm and Fawely - you go down into the foyer and tell the public to go home and rest. There's nothing more we can do right now without some more information."

The other two left, leaving Harry, Draco and yourself alone in his messy office. Once the door had been shut softly, he ushers you both to take a seat in front of him. You both do so, as Harry relaxes a little in his plush office chair, relishing of the quietness for a moment. 

"As you may already be aware, it's the tenth year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts tomorrow and a memorial service is being held at the school," Harry begins to explain, "myself and Ron were invited by McGonagall as guests to represent the Ministry, and well, for other obvious reasons," he waves a dismissive hand, "however, with all this, I think it best we stay here. I'd much rather be there to support McGonagall, but I feel it's necessary that I'm accessible. So, instead, I'm sending you too to keep watch."

"Me?" Draco exclaims. Harry raises his eyebrows at the sudden outburst, "I hardly doubt they'd want me there, Potter. Can you imagine their faces?"

"I'm not sending you as guests, Malfoy," Harry reiterates, "I'm sending you as Ministry officials. You won't need to do anything drastic. I just want you to keep an eye on things. I'll send other officers too, as we might need to change protocol slightly to ease McGonagall's mind. Merlin knows she'll panic when she receives the owl I'm going to send."

"You can count on us, Harry." You say with utter confidence, "If anything happens, I'll inform you immediately. My owl is rather good at finding me in a tight situation."

"Thank you," he smiles kindly, Draco now completely silent, "now, you'll need to take the train to Hogwarts with the guests of the ceremony. I'd feel much better if you were on that train. I can't have eyes everywhere, so be my eyes. Got it?"

With a very sure nod, you rise from your seat, pulling an extremely quiet Draco up with you by the arm. You could tell he was bothered about returning to the school, even after all this time, but you had every bit of confidence in him. Even if he had none in himself.

disclaimer: i do not own harry potter or any of the characters or storyline associated with it.

[themotherofhorses]

about.

vic | she/her | 20s

southwestern native american and hispanic

gemini | bi-demi

ao3 | spotify

All Content 18+ | minors DNI

all my fanfics can be read below in my masterlist or found under my "vic writers 🧸" tag.

happy readings <333

Simon “Ghost” Riley (Call of Duty)

“There he is …. Simon Riley.”

multi-chapter series:

paloma (masterlist)

a multi-chapter series exploring the love story between a british sas lieutenant and his indigenous woman.

one-shots:

(to be added)

drabbles:

love at first sight w simon

holding simon while he cries

Aemond Targaryen (House of the Dragon)

"...Prince Aemond, despite the loss of his eye, had become a proficient and dangerous swordsman under the tutelage of Ser Criston Cole, but remained a willful child, hot-tempered and unforgiving..."

multi-chapter series:

last of her house no more (masterlist)

aemond targaryen with the daughter of daenerys stormborn and khal drogo.

just like animals (masterlist)

a dark & obsessive!aemond targaryen hunting down his sweet modern!wife (and also she’s preggos).

his handmaid's tales (masterlist)

the love story between prince aemond and his handmaid.

one-shots:

blood is thicker than water (but betrayal stains the most)

requests:

even the whales fall prey to men

what was mine is still mine, regardless of time

follow me now, and you will not regret (leaving the life you led before we met)

bodyguard!aemond x president’s daughter!reader

drabbles:

foolish men dream foolish lives

you are the moon, i am the sun (i will not allow you to forget)

obsessive!aemond targaryen with niece!reader

an eye for an eye (1) — a son for a son (2)

Alys Rivers (House of the Dragon)

"...Was she, in truth, a witch who lay with demons, bringing forth dead children as payment for the knowledge they gave her?"

one-shots:

mother's day special (part of "his handmaid's tales")

bewitched

drabbles:

you are the moon, i am the sun (i will not allow you to forget)

[myusuchaa]

with you in a distorted fairy tale ༻¨*:·.

'dark if ' chapter 1 - elbert greetia

Chapter 2 ->

This is a fan translation and may not be 100% accurate. I do not own anything. Cybird reserves the right of ownership for all in-game content.

author's note: Throughout this story, Kate refers to Elbert with feminine pronouns 彼女, and Elbert's title is the Queen 女王. Therefore, in sentences where Elbert is the main subject, sometimes you will see Elbert's pronouns listed as she/her. (i.e, "Elbert removed her hands"). This may be a bit confusing to read through, but I wanted to keep the translation as accurate and close to the original material as possible.

Victor: Miss Kate, your hands have the power to create the ultimate happy ending.

Victor: Now, come, and enjoy your time in this distorted fairy tale world.

Somebody's fingertips lightly grazed the back of my neck.

Kate: ..mnnn

I squirm from ticklish stimulation as someone whispers into my ear.

???: --Ah...It's definitely- ....-not

(What... what is this..)

Before I could make sense of those whispered words, I groggily began to wake up.

When I awakened fully, I found myself in a soft bed.

(Where am I..?)

Blonde, blue eyed beauty: Ah, you're awake.

A "woman" [1] with moonlight hair and sea-blue eyes peered into my face.

[1] When Kate awakens, she perceives Elbert as a woman. The pronoun is placed in quotations to indicate that he is not really a woman, just seems like one thanks to Al's ability.

(Wah... I've never seen such a beautiful person before..)

Kate: Could.. could this be heaven?

Man with raven colored hair: Unfortunately no, this is your reality.

The man standing next to the beautiful woman replied with a chuckle.

The dark-haired man is just as bewitching.. charming, even, to look at, making the two before me a truly eye-catching duo.

Man with raven colored hair: You've just woken up, is there anything you feel is wrong with your body?

Man with raven colored hair: You were found collapsed in the forest by a hunter who brought you here.

Kate: Oh, I see.... my body feels fine! Thank you very much for saving me.

I got up from the bed and bowed to both of them.

Kate: In any case.... exactly where am I?

Blonde, blue eyed beauty: ....this is my castle.

Queen Elbert: I run this this country..... as the "Queen of Greed" - Elbert.

Mirror Alfons: I am Alfons the Mirror, the Queen's servant. I hope we will continue to get to know each other [2].

[2] In Japanese, Alfons uses ｢以後お見知りおきを｣ which is similar to saying "I hope you will remember me in the future." Here, it is meant to be a surface level greeting for someone you know you'll see again, though more commonly you'd say 「よろしくお願いします」 or "It's nice to meet you". But I think the meaning behind the first phrase really plays into Al's curse and fated end.

(The Hunter, the Greedy Queen, and the Mirror...)

(Then this must be... the fairy tale world of "Snow White"?)

If this is the case, then the other remaining important characters are the Prince and Snow White.

(I wonder of one of these people are what's missing in this story.)

Queen Elbert: As you've just woken up...... are you hungry, Snow White?

Queen Elbert: I was thinking of preparing a meal for you.

Kate: Sn-... Snow White? That's.... me?

Mirror Alfons: The Hunter gave you that name.

Mirror Alfons: A beautiful girl laying in pure, white snow-- Snow White.

Mirror Alfons: And so, you were taken in by the Queen, who is looking for the most beautiful thing in the world.

Mirror Alfons: Thus, I had you brought to the castle-- such is your story.

(I'm Snow White in this world...)

(...then, wouldn't it be dangerous for me to be near Queen Elbert?)

In the traditional story, the Queen is jealous of Snow White's beauty, and attempts to poison her.

There hasn't been any hostility toward me here yet, but..... it's definitely better safe than sorry.

Kate: Aaaaah, well! Thank you for your help, then.

Kate: However, I don't think I need a meal right now. Well, if you'll excuse me.......

Realizing the situation I was in, I quickly tried to get out of the bed.

--However, at that moment, Elbert grabbed my hand.

Queen Elbert: Where are you going?

Kate: ...Ah uhmm.. I'm going back home to my family.

Mirror Alfons: Oh? Dear, do not lie to us.

Mirror Alfons: While you were asleep, we confirmed that you are not a resident of this country.

Mirror Alfons: Coming here alone, a foreigner from abroad.... what home do you have to go back to?

(What should I do... I can't escape this...)

(No one would believe that I actually came from another world...)

Queen Elbert: ......Snow White.

Kate: Y- yes!

Queen Elbert: .....I personally do not care who you are, or where you came from.

Kate: Eh...?

Queen Elbert: As Queen, I should punish you for coming here on unlawful terms, but...

Queen Elbert: More importantly, I want to obtain the most beautiful thing in the world.

Queen Elbert: And you might be what I've been looking for..... so please, stay in this castle for a while.

Kate: Ah, that....

Queen Elbert: Of course, we will provide food, clothing, and shelter for you.

Queen Elbert: And if you require money, I'll give it to you, whatever sum you ask for.

Queen Elbert: For my own sake...... please, stay in this castle.

As Elbert wished this, her eyes looked extremely lonely, almost desperate.

There was no way I could brush her off and refuse her offer.

Kate: If you say it that way.... then okay, I understand. I'm not sure what I'll be able to do but...

Kate: Oh, and I don't intend to ask for money. I'd be grateful just to have food, clothing, and shelter.

(If you think about it.... it's easier to find the missing part of the story if I'm near the main character.)

Queen Elbert: Thank you, Snow White.

As Elbert expressed her gratitude with a gracious expression, she did not look like the type of cruel person who would poison Snow White.

--time skip--

We were shown to a dining room where a wide variety of dishes were lined up on the table.

Queen Elbert: I didn't know what you liked, so I let the chef make whatever he could think of.

Queen Elbert: ........Please, eat as much as you want of whatever you'd like.

Kate: Oh... thank you very much.

The freshly cooked food was steaming, and the delicious aroma wafting through the air stimulated my appetite.

(....But, if I were Snow White, I'd have to be careful about what I eat.)

(Apples, in particular, should be avoided.)

Although I still don't sense any hostility from Elbert, due to the background story of this world, I couldn't help but be wary.

Kate: Um... are there any dishes that contain apples..?

Queen Elbert: ...........Why do you ask?

The moment I asked, the air around Elbert became tense, and her blue eyes became cold.

Kate: Well... I can't eat apples because of my allergy to them. They make my mouth itchy....

Without even understanding the reason for her icy stare, I lied about the reason.

Queen Elbert: ...I see.

Queen Elbert: If that's the case, there's no need to worry. In this castle, we do not eat apples.

Kate: Is that so...

I was curious and wanted to ask why apples weren't used here, but I was too hesitant, and refrained from asking in the end.

Meanwhile, Queen Elbert picked up a piece of bread and tore it in two.

Queen Elbert: ...Which would you prefer, left or right?

Kate: Uhhhh.. right.

Elbert then took a bite out of the left bread, and handed the right to me.

Queen Elbert: ...Mm, it's delicious. Please go ahead and eat, too.

(Maybe he knew I was on guard this entire time and he's trying to tell me the food is safe this way.,?)

Kate: Thank you very much...

The bread slice I got from Elbert had a gentle sweetness and was delicious all around.

Queen Elbert: I also recommend trying this salad, which uses vegetables from a nearby village.

After seeing that I finished the bread, Elbert took her portion of the salad and started eating it.

Seeing that, I went ahead and ate my salad.

Elbert eats some, and then I eat some more.... this strange back and forth of meal tasting continued for some time...

Kate: Thank you for the meal! Everything was delicious!!

Queen Elbert: .............

Kate: Elbert?..

Queen Elbert: My stomach........hurts......

Kate: Wha!?

Mirror Alfons: I came to check on y- Elbert?

After coming to the dining hall, Alfons quickly donned a shocked expression and went to support Elbert by the shoulders.

Kate: Umm.... is Elbert okay?

Mirror Alfons: She simply ate too much... She is usually a small eater, so she pushed himself too hard.

(Could it be... she was forcing herself to eat a lot to put me at ease and help me eat as well...)

Seeing Elbert's kindness, I began to feel ashamed of myself for being scared of eating poisoned food under his watch.

Kate: Ah well.... I'll help out too!

I stood on the opposite side of Alfons to help support Elbert.

(..Oh?.. The Queen has a surprisingly sturdy build...)

(Wait! No, no!! Now's not the time to be thinking these things.... let me just help out with a pure mind..)

With the help of Alfons, we put Elbert to bed in her room.

Mirror Alfons: It's not an illness, so if she rests, she'll feel better soon.

Kate: Elbert... I'm sorry for making you eat too much..

Queen Elbert: I chose this myself.. so no need to apologize with such a sad look on your face.

Elbert's hand gently brushed across my face.

Queen Elbert: You're more adorable when you smile than when you're sad.

Queen Elbert: So please... do not worry about my health.

Kate: Mm! Then, thank you for the delicious meal!

Elbert took her hand off my cheek and gave me a soft smile.

She was supposed to be the Queen who poisoned Snow White, and yet her smile made my heart race.

Queen Elbert: By the way, I still have not gotten your name. Snow White.... what is your real name?

Kate: It's Kate.

Queen Elbert: I see... Then, Kate, it is lovely to meet you.

--time skip--

That night in my bed chamber, I decided to plan my course of action.

(The Queen has been friendly to me so far, so I'll have to get serious about finding the missing piece of the story starting tomorrow.)

(The only things that are from the story that I have not tracked down yet are the poisoned apple and the Prince.)

(However, searching for the poisoned apple is quite risky.... it may be better to search for the Prince first.)

On the second day in this world, I decided to cooperate with Queen Elbert.

Queen Elbert: A Prince.....?

Kate: Yes! I want to find the one and only Prince who will love me.

Kate: Please, Your Highness...will you help me?

Queen Elbert: ...........

Queen Elbert seemed to think very carefully about my request.

Queen Elbert: Why exactly do you want to find the Prince?

Queen Elbert: You said yesterday that you did not need money, and you simply brushed Al off when he tried to flirt with you.

Queen Elbert: If you are not swayed by money or the opposite sex, why would you want to seek out the Prince?..... I don't quite understand.

Kate: That's... erm.... finding him is necessary to make my wish come true.

(I am searching for what is missing in this world to correct the distortions, and then return to my reality.... That is what I should do...)

(The Queen seemed to be troubled by my statement........ I can try one last time to do something...)

Ah, that's it!

Kate: People become more beautiful when they are in love....

Kate: If a Prince whom I love and loves me appeared before me.... perhaps we can find the most beautiful thing you are searching for.

Queen Elbert: ...Really?

As soon as Elbert heard it was a beautiful thing, her eyes widened and she came over to me.

Her large hands gripped my shoulders so hard it hurt.

Kate: Y-yes.... that is... most likely so...

(They say falling in love makes people more beautiful-- that isn't wrong per se...y'know?)

Queen Elbert: If there's potential, then so be it. Thank you for trying to make my wish come true, Kate.

Queen Elbert: Let us gather all the people in this nation to search for a Prince... the one and only Prince who will make you beautiful.

Thus began the search for the Prince, led by Queen Elbert.

Chapter 2 ->

page dividers from @/adornedwithlight

[otrtbs]

Hi I hope you're doing well 🌷

I had a question. I'm totally asking out of pure curiosity, it's not a criticism or anything of the sort.

In ahb (this masterpiece of yours) Sirius's favorite painting is Degas' Dancers.

I wanted to know if you knew the background of this painting and if making it Sirius' favorite was a deliberate choice or if you had no idea at all.

Because the Ballerinas in Opera Garnier in Paris were all really young and mostly, they were poor. The dancers were often their family's hope to crawl out of misery.

The audience was full of men.

In fact, the sad flip side was that there was a whole prostitution network behind the scene. With these young girls. Men could pay for backstage access to watch ballerinas change and sometimes rape them.

So Degas was a big customer.

That's how he painted the dancers and most of his works.

That's again how he sculpted the ballerina, her tutu was added meaning the 14 year old girl was posing nude.

Degas is also suspected of being Jack the Ripper, there are a certain number of credible leads and potential evidences.

That's why I was wondering if you knew.

Since there is this whole chapter where they insult Picasso (as they should) I found it strange that Degas being a known major p*do did not receive the same treatment.

Ps: I'm french, I don't know if I made any mistakes writing this, if I have please excuse me I tried my best 🙏

Okay hi, hello! I am doing well and I hope you are as well! You have unlocked Art Historian Thesis Nat, so I am going to put an extremely lengthy post under the cut, I'm so sorry (this is literally my area of study,,, i fear i am incapable of being brief about this)

I do want to clarify that right off the bat, I don't necessarily think many of these art historical figures are "good people". Like none of them are the best, most moral, upstanding citizens you should model your life after (but they're also dead sooooo). But I also understand that I did take some time in my fanfiction to make my hatred for Picasso very clear, and so I can also understand the confusion in not extending that same hatred towards Degas. But there are a few reasons for that, that I'll try to explain below!

The direct historical documentation of Pablo Picasso's violence towards the women in his life is vast and damning. If you want particularly good insight into his violence and abuse, then I recommend reading Marina Picasso's (Picasso's granddaughter) memoir titled: Picasso: My Grandfather. I also recommend Françoise Gilot's (romantic partner of Picasso) books, Life with Picasso and Picasso and Matisse. It is through the memories of the people who loved Picasso and who loved him in turn, that we hear of his sadistic nature that drove his lovers to suicide and we get personal letters that he wrote to Gilot in which he says things like "Dora, for me, was always a weeping woman… And it’s important, because women are suffering machines" and "For me there are only two kinds of women: goddesses and doormats." His granddaughter has this to say about him: “He submitted [women] to his animal sexuality, tamed them, bewitched them, ingested them, and crushed them onto his canvas. After he had spent many nights extracting their essence, once they were bled dry, he would dispose of them.” And Gilot says: "I am the only one to not have been sacrificed to the sacred monster(…) and is alive to tell the tale. He was a wonderful person to be with, it was like fireworks, amazingly creative, so intelligent and seductive(…) but he was also very cruel, sadistic and ruthless with others and with himself (…) It was the greatest love of my life, but you have to protect yourself (…) The others did not, they clung to the powerful minotaur and paid a very high price."

Why this matters: The evidence for Degas being so virulently misogynistic and cruel towards women is extremely less substantial and more speculative in nature.

Degas being Jack the Ripper. Degas being Jack the Ripper started off as a tiktok theory posed in early 2024, (though you can find an article as early as 2004 written by The Guardian's art critic here) and while fun to think about and speculate, it isn't true. August and September and November of 1888 is when the Jack the Ripper crimes were committed in London and Degas was in the South of France at that time receiving medical treatment because he was in extremely poor health. (Which you can find in The Letters of Edgar Degas edited by Theodore Reff (I'm sure there's. free PDF version out there somewhere)). Also, self-admittedly speculative, but Degas didn't visit the East-End of London when he did make his excursions to London because he was classist 😭. So, it would be odd for him to know the ins and outs of the streets where the murders took place. And also he had failing eyesight starting at 36, so the odds of him being Jack the Ripper are extremely slim.

The Ballerinas Yes, while it is true that the ballerina's were often subject to horrific conditions and were prostitutes for the "wealthy" patrons of the opera house, this does not mean that Degas partook in that. in fact, most historical documentation surmises he didn't. Degas considered himself a "realist" painter rather than an impressionist painter, wishing to document "real life" in all of its ugliness, beauty and unstylized truth. Therefore his primary concern was documenting the opera house and ballet in all of the moments, not just when the girls were dancing on stage. And in many of his paintings, Degas captures the opera patronsn in his ballerina paintings as lurkers behind the stage curtains as sinister black shadows, or as men predatorily watching in nice suits (e.g. Ballet, 1876 and The Rehearsal of the Ballet Onstage (1874)). But Degas himself, was NEVER a ballerina patron, he is even quoted as saying "People call me the painter of dancing girls. It has never occurred to them that my chief interest in dancers lies in rendering movement...". (now this is not because Degas was morally outraged at what was happening to the ballerina's, but because he viewed the men abusing the girls as committing a sin against God by sleeping with prostitutes). But while Degas had access to backstage, he was never a customer. And in fact, Degas is a notorious, well-documented celibate. This is because Degas believed sleeping with women would make him lose his special painting ability. No lie. Here's a direct quote from Vincent Van Gogh in his a letter to his brother Theo about the artist: "Degas lives like a little lawyer and does not like women, for he knows that if liked them and went to bed with them, he would become intellectually diseased and would no longer be able to paint." Degas was also known to reject ballerina's advances as well (again, fearing women would take away his magic painting power).

Feelings towards women By all accounts, Degas friends describe him as being reclusive towards women to being jovial with them, but always kind to them outside of a working environment. He even developed friendships with his fellow contemporary women painters. In a working environment, Degas was obsessed with perfection, demanding ballerinas contort their bodies in painful positions, and making them hold those positions for hours at a time. By all accounts, this was not because he hated them, but was obsessed with capturing their movements, the limitations of the human body, and he demanded perfection from himself. (x x x) (i.e. his obsession for his work and drive for perfection as a painter made him demanding and harsh towards his subjects, not his pure hatred of women).

Conclusions: So by many accounts, Degas was not particularly fond of women, and had little regard for his dancers. But the claims that he must have slept with the ballerina's and been a patron/customer "because that's what all men did back then" are not backed by any evidence. only evidence to the contrary. I went in on Picasso because those that were close to him have written first-hand accounts of his monstrocity. This is not the case with Degas. So, while I didn't tear him down like I did Picasso, I wasn't lauding him as a saint either. I highly recommend reading the article called Degas's Misogyny by Norma Broude which details the ways in which modern times have run away with this idea of Degas being a sadistic woman-hater and how we've gotten to this point. Anyway, TLDR; I was aware of the dark "underside" of the Paris Ballet at the time in which Degas was painting his works. Do I think he is Jack the Ripper and a man who participated in ballerina prostitution? No, not at all. At the end of the day, I am just an art history girl, telling anyone who will listen that there is not enough documentation on Degas to take these claims as 100% truth, or put that man up there with Picasso. Peace and Love! <3

[armandisdaddy]

I Will Break You

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen (Pirate) x Fem OC (Mermaid/Siren)

Word Count: 1,700

Content/Warning(s): !!18 PLUS!!, Non-Con/ Dub-Con, Violence, Descriptions of Blood, Attempted Drowning, Abduction, Obsession, Toxic.

Author’s Notes: This is set within The Golden Age of Piracy (1650 to 1726). I don’t know why I thought of this, but I think the best stories are the ones that just pop into your head. I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 1.

King’s Landing knew him as “Aemond One-Eye” or “The Kinslayer”. He had become a well-known enemy of the monarchy. After killing his nephew; Lucerys in cold blood he escaped his execution by a hair and in the midst of his exile he created a band of the most ruthless criminals he could find to sail across The Narrow Seas and reek havoc on any unsuspecting ships and pillaging any lands nearby. Many men aboard “Vhagar” spoke of the mysterious sirens that plagued the seas and took many men to an unpleasant death.

Aemond listened to the tall tales and wondered if they’d ever encounter a swarm of them and if they did would they live to tell the tale? It was a rather misty night with the moon high and the entire crew was asleep. Aemond did not sleep often he was usually up planning his next attack. The sea was strangely calm putting Vhagar on a steady course. The sounds of faint splashes against the small waves and soft singing alerted him and he left his cabin to go on deck.

He held a lantern in his hand as he walked across looking out into the thick haze and he saw a glimpse of feminine face. He called out into the darkness. “Hello is anyone out there?! Do you need to come aboard?” All he could hear was the sweet sounds of a woman singing. It was alluring; seductive. He started to lose his train of thought with the melody wrapping itself around him. The sounds of the sea became muffled once those sea green eyes found his and his body moved uncontrollably toward the port side of the ship desperately climbing over it to get to that sickeningly sweet voice.

Without warning one of his men pulled him back aboard just as he was going to plummet into the darkness which was not an easy task. Aemond fought him tooth and nail trying to get to that sound. “No! No! She’s calling me!!!” He finally held his hands over as his ears. “Captain! Fight it!! Ye’ cannot follow the sound. It will lead you to your death!” He pulled him below and smacked the living daylights out of him. He finally stopped wailing like a mad man. He realized he was drenched in sweat and his chest heaved heavily.

“Daeros..? What…what happened?” He ran his fingers through his hair feeling as though his heart was longing for something that he could not reach. It was a dull ache that he wished to be rid of. “Captain..ye’ were bewitched by a sea devil. Ye’ must resist the lot of them or it will be eternity in Davey Jones Locker for ye’.” This particular creature had been following them for quite some time. She had the sapphire within Aemond’s skull by chance one night and she wished to pluck it from his eye socket and save it for the rest of her collection of shiny or precious things.

She had been observing him for quite sometime noting how the darkened circles under his eyes never left and he often seemed without rest. He was the only one on board who didn’t use precautions and stuff his ears like the rest of his crew. Obviously he did not believe in her kind’s existence and his ignorance would be the death of him. But tonight she was deterred and obviously angered by the interference of another. She almost had him she thought. She found refuge within a nearby cove and thought of what to do next.

Daeros left Aemond to get some rest but instead he stared at the ceiling of his room thinking of that voice and those eyes he would never forget them. The next day the sky was clear and the mist dissipated. Aemond wandered into the deck tired as usual still not finding rest. He sighed with that creature still on his mind. It haunted him so such a dreaded creature with eyes that pulled him closer and closer to his demise and yet he would risk it just to see them again.

Nights had passed and there was no sign of her, but she was there watching and waiting. He was expecting her again and she knew it she could tell by the way he roamed the deck when the moon was high. He paced back and forth and stayed there until dawning hoping to hear her song again. Finally, after days of them pillaging another unsuspecting village they stayed docked for a while making plans to set sail the next day and she knew this was her last and only chance. He had decided to take refuge as large water pool where it stood stagnant away from the harsh waves. He knew he was being watched small splashes alerted him, but he stayed calm and never showed that he knew she was there.

He smirked to himself whistling while the reflection of the moon rested on the body of water. Then in the distance he heard her and his heart fluttered with anticipation. He would finally have his chance, he could see her head peaking from the water far enough for her to swim away and deep enough to pull him to a watery grave, he stood to his feet instantly become captivated by the sound of her voice. Her voice pulled him in and the feeling the ice cold waters didn’t even make him flinch she had him where she wanted him so she swam forward wrapping her arms around him.

He finally saw her face. She was alluring and ethereal. He’d travelled the world and he hadn’t seen such beauty until her. Her wet tresses were as black as the sea and her eyes as deep as the ocean itself. She reached to pull away his eye patch, but was met with the dull sting of a knife being pushed into her tail. Her cries of pain were inhuman it almost sounded like a banshee screeching. He smiled at his victory and the pain her eyes held. She thrashed about trying to escape him and he didn’t fight to let her go, but just as she thought she could flee a net was thrown her, tangling around her.

She fought with all her might, but the pain and loss of blood began to slowly deteriorate her energy. His crew pulled her ashore and carried her away onto his boat. She was to be held below deck within a tub like a pet. Aemond came down to see her and help the wound he caused and she wasn’t happy to see him in the slightest. She hissed at him as her body laid with something that gave off the look of a tub. Her right arms was chained to the floor. Her instinct to push back and make herself smaller as he came closer made her feel helpless. She looked for an exit anywhere being inside of this thing.

“I will not hurt you again. So long as you don’t try to drown me again. Deal?” If looks could kill hers would rip him apart. He chuckled to himself and took the rag with ointment on in and began dabbing it against the wound. “I guess…you don’t speak my language…hmm..I heard your kind looked grotesque and hideous, but you….you are far from hideous.” She flinched and hissed from the stinging pain. “I’m sorry about that, but you would’ve gotten away from me…I couldn’t let that happen.” She stayed silent listening to him talk all the while planning how she could somehow find her way back to the sea.

“Don’t get any ideas…you should get used to seeing me. We are headed back to my home and you are to stay with me. I heard that after some exposure to the dry elements you sprout legs. A painful transition I suppose, but it can’t be helped. You will never see the sea again, well from your window you will.” She could feel tears flowing down her face something rather unfamiliar. She detached from the moment thinking of her sisters that she was leaving behind and the ocean that she loved so dearly. He was to hold her captive like some prized possession and she was going to be helpless.

“P..please…” She muttered lowly. He looked up in surprise. “So you do speak…Wonderful. You will learn to get use to what will now be your life. I can be very pleasant if you can learn to behave.” Her face twisted and she bared her fangs and extended jaw at him. “There she is…you didn’t like that word. I know you don’t know what it is to be tamed…but I will bend you to my will one way another.” He dug his fingers into the wound causing her to screech trying to pull away from him but she was too weak. “Please!!!!” Was all she could say unfortunately it was the only word she knew.

He pulled away and savoring the sounds of her screams. “I will be back to check on you…we will be home soon.” She fell into the tub wrapping her arms around herself and shaking. The rocking of the boat reminded her of the push and pull of the ocean and eventually she fell asleep. She thought it was all a nightmare. But she was awakened by excruciating pain. It felt as though her tail was being ripped apart. She screamed out, tears pooling in her eyes. Hearing her screams he ran to her aid and saw the most gruesome scene.

Her tail was becoming two and her scales were falling off blood pooled within the tub and she reached for him hoping he could make it stop. He for a second felt empathy wanting to throw her back into the dark sea, but he wanted her with him and he could not let her get away. Instead he pulled her from the tub and into his lap wrapping his arms around her as they sat on the floor. It was to be a long night and an even longer day once they got to his home.

To be continued….

@izzy-the-ginger

[lamemaster]

Loving the Maelstrom

Pairing: Maedhros x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Perks of marrying a writer. Nelyafinwe pov.

AN: Istg I get the most random ideas while working out.

Curvo bounced the fussing Tyelpe in his arms, his brow furrowed in concern. "What's wrong with her?" he asked, his voice laced with worry.

Maitimo sighed for the what felt like the hundredth time that evening. He glanced across the room at you, your face lit by the flickering firelight. A vicious smirk was etched upon your lips, your eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity as you stared into some unseen distance. "She's writing a villainess," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.

The murmur seemed to quench everyone's curiosity, at least momentarily. Except for Tyelkormo, who perked up at the revelation. "A villainess?" he echoed, his eyes wide with fascination. "Is that why Kano's been playing such… ominous tunes lately?" he asked, directing his question towards a very tired-looking Nelyafinwe.

Before Nelyafinwe could muster a reply, Moryo, ever the impatient one, interjected. "Makalaure, for the love of Illuvatar, can we please have a normal tune?" he pleaded, his voice laced with exasperation

Both you and Kano paused for a fleeting second. Your minds snapped into the present world before grinning widely and Kano launched into another melancholy somber tune. This time, accompanied by your booming evil laughter. 

Such perhaps was the fate of loving a writer. He had known it well as Kano’s brother. A songwriter and musician's angst was familiar to Maitimo. And yours was similar yet, so achingly different.

Where Kano’s music seldom bled into his life, your words lingered in a pervasive presence. The angst of separated lovers, fervor of a brewing war, or the grit of a dwindling hero, you were lost in your worlds even before Maitimo met you. 

And when he did meet you, he also met your worlds. Gay, morose, bleak, grand, your worlds were his now. Your character settled into his thoughts. And sometimes, they carried a part of him or his family. Small fragments of your life that bled into your worlds. 

He liked your never-ending ramblings about a crooked character or exceptionally hard-to-write down plot. And he witnessed your fall into the world who possessed your mind and heart. 

Despite the differences in art, you and Kano were inseparable in the creation of art. His tunes often rang out from your and Maitimo’s home as you scribbled away another tale. While Kano’s music was given a direction of melodies from the stories you wove into the tunes he tinkered around with. 

And this was the rare occasion where both you and his brother were taken by a story so bewitching that from the strums of Kano’s harp to the rouge of your lips- all was tainted with a lingering shade of sinister. 

It had been a week since your robes had been swapped for uncanny dark silken gowns, very much not your usual choice of color, your nails were painted a hue darker almost bloodlike. Even the decor of your study had shifted ambiance similar to that of the Maiar of Namo.

On several occasions, Maitimo had seen you stir your dinner with a smile so venomous that he sniffed his food twice before eating it. 

You donned a gait so seductive that he, almost was tempted to discard the weekly family dinner with his parents. Yet, despite the unease that gnawed at him, Maitimo couldn't deny the jolt of excitement that shot through him when your newly painted nails, tipped with a crimson that seemed to mock innocence, brushed against his arm.

“I just hope sister-in-law and Kano are not going down the Mairon route of life.” Curufin’s words brought Maitimo back to the present. 

The dinner had ended surprisingly well. Kano’s company had perhaps allowed you to shed the world that captivated you these days for a few moments. You were back to your normal self smiling by his side. Helping his mother and brothers set up the dinner table as twins climbed all over Maitimo.

It was only later in the night when his breath shuddered. He gasped as your lips ghosted over his ears. Filthy words spoken without a care of the oddly lonely alley on the way back to your home. Words so daringly sacrilegious that they would have sent a Vanya to the halls of Irmo. 

Maitimo however, was nothing if not immune to the intricacies of your play and definitely not a faint-hearted Vanya. Pulling you closer in his arms, he indulged your little world. Tracing the shape of your lips with his fingers, he kissed you with a wicked smile. 

Nelyafinwe loved every part of you. Even the fucking crazy ones. 

(This one definitely more than the angsty lovers)

[technicolorfamiliar]

Der Student von Prag (The Student of Prague) Dir. Henrik Galeen 1926

So I'm going back and rewatching a handful of the titles from the initial 50+ film journey into Conrad Veidt's filmography. Some I'm revisiting because they made such an indelible impression on me the first time, others because I want to give them a second chance. The Student of Prague was among the first films on what wound up being a year-long deep dive into Connie's work and history. I loved it then, but even more so now.

I want to live inside this movie. Galeen and his crew made a hell of a picture, made all the more special by Conrad Veidt doing the literal most.

There is a bewitching quality to The Student of Prague, from Conrad Veidt's dual performances as both Balduin and his Double to the atmospheric cinematography and special effects. It's a dreamy film that really sets itself apart as a dark and lovely supernatural period piece.

Despite some very minor issues, over all it's genuinely pretty perfect. It's one of those films that, even with its faults, sweeps me effortlessly into the gothically Romantic world of the story.

Maybe the film could have benefited from tighter editing, cutting some of the longer sequences and unnecessary shots. But an argument could also be made that these longer scenes aid the spell the film is casting over its audience, the way Sciapinelli weaves his spell on the hilltop to draw Balduin and Margrit together.

The cinematography by Günther Krampf and Erich Nitzschmann is really something special. Shadow was a big motif and standard tool filmmakers used back then, especially those working in the Expressionist style, but for 'Student, maybe because of the early 19th century setting and the proximity of the natural world (both real and fabricated), the use of shadow here makes the film feel more like a fairy tale illustrated by Arthur Rackham than the Uncanny Art Deco of classic German Expressionism. The digital restoration really highlights how successfully they worked with value and contrast to create such a visually rich film.

And it fucken WIMDY. The use of wind throughout the film is really effective -- Sciapinelli's coat billowing out behind him on the hilltop, the rustling foliage behind Balduin after the duel, dead leaves blown into the Countess's bedroom, and the gales that follow Balduin through the city in the film's final act. Whether used on a studio set or in location shots, wind here feels not only atmospheric but also supernatural; it's Sciapinelli's invisible presence when he's not even in the shot.

Even the relatively minimalist score works. It's mostly piano supplemented occasionally by one or two other instruments, a flute or an accordion, and there are only a handful of repeated themes. Apparently the music that's in the most recent restoration was composed only a few years ago by Stephen Horne, so it's really anyone's guess what the original soundtrack by Willy Schmidt-Gentner was like. Regardless, the new music definitely feels appropriate not only to the period the film was made but also the overall Vibes.

On my first watch about a year ago, I was struck by the special effects used in this film. For the time it was made, the effects had to be incredibly impressive. The transitions where the Double appears and disappears in a ghostly fashion are fun, but there's an especially cool shot where he appears to walk through an iron gate, and a really great close up dolly shot towards the end of the film where the Double appears to float toward the back of the room. And I don't know if this was something they touched up in post-production or if the lighting on set was chef's kiss perfect, but Connie's eyes literally glow. There are shots where his eyes, especially as the Double, are like two beacons set in the shadows.

The other performances… they're fine. I mean, everyone who wasn't playing Balduin has to have known it wasn't their movie. Except for Werner Krauss as Sciapinelli who looks like if Alfred Molina was sent back to the 1920s and did as much cocaine as he could find. He's so creature coded that I genuinely don't know what to make of his performance. Everyone else, including Connie, is kind of doing a riff on realism to varying degrees of exaggeration but still relatively tame for the era (compare the acting in 'Student to The Hands of Orlac just two years earlier). But I guess Werner Krauss didn't get the memo, or because Sciapinelli is a supernatural character it's ok for him to be a little out there. He does some really delightfully creepy and borderline upsetting stuff especially in the scene when he makes the deal with Balduin. It's all very weirdly sexual and I hate it. Otherwise, there's unfortunately very little of note in the other performances. Elizza La Porta as the flower girl does the pathetic-cute thing well, but Agnes Esterhazy's Margrit is sadly pretty forgettable.

But the Balduin of it all. This is truly a groundbreaking role for Conrad Veidt at this time in his career. I feel like this film alone slingshot him into his meatier and more interesting roles in the late 1920s. Sure, Connie was doing some interesting and versatile stuff around this time (Ingmarsarvet and Carlos & Elisabeth come to mind), but this just hits different. Everything kind of lines up perfectly for him as this character, and the story is that unique Poe-inspired blend of the uncanny and capital R Romance that really suits him. Because of the nature of the story itself, Connie's free to play big when it works for the character, but also works in these incredibly vulnerable and subtle moments as well. I don't know if this is thanks to the director being hands-on with Connie or just letting him do his thing. Whatever the case, it works.

It's maybe worth mentioning Connie was 33 when they shot this. I don’t know how old Balduin's supposed to be, but he's probably at least ten years younger than Connie was at the time. And I buy it, I buy that Balduin is a young man, foolish and naïve in the way only someone that young could be. His youthfulness isn't just suggested in the character's decisions but also in his physicality. When we first meet Balduin, Connie's doing this sulky, pouty, petulant thing that I love for him. In the first act, he's clearly beloved by his fellow-students and by the flower girl, and he easily slips out of his misery about his money problems into a more lighthearted mood. He's moody one moment and playful the next, joining in a low-stakes fencing match for fun when just moments before he was brooding alone full Morrissey style in the garden. This initial lightness about the character sets him up for his eventual inevitable hard fall into shame and helplessness.

I'm afraid to admit it took me a whole 24 hours after watching this a second time to realize that Balduin is kind of a dick. But Connie's performance is so good and so empathetic that I didn't notice right away. He himself is stunningly, Byronically beautiful in this film. He's like a painting of a tragic, Romantic hero come to life, I can’t even handle it. And, my god, the yearning! It's palpable. In the wrong hands, I would probably hate this character. I haven't seen Wegener's or Walbrook's versions, but I can't imagine they're as charismatic as Connie is in the role.

But what I love even more than Connie as Balduin is him as the Double. I am FASCINATED by this performance and this character. I have SO MANY QUESTIONS. The way he consolidates his movements so that he practically glides through the frame, the way he keeps this performance distinct by slowing everything down and keeping a lot of the Double's anguish internal… it's so good.

I think we only see the Double four times before the last act of the film: first when he steps out of the mirror; much later outside the Countess's party; in the graveyard; and after he kills the Baron in the woods. Initially, when the reflection steps out of the mirror after Balduin signs Sciapinelli's contract, the Double seems pretty soulless. His dead-eyed, mask-like expression as he stalks out of the room makes it seem like he's just going to be a mindless puppet Sciapinelli can use to torment Balduin. And certainly in their first two encounters, Balduin's mirror image slinks out of the shadows as a reminder of his Faustian bargain but also as something of a stand in for his conscience. The first two times we see the Double out in the world are when Balduin is at his happiest, in his most romantic moments with Margrit, who is not only completely out of Balduin's league but also promised to someone else (even if that some one else is her cousin...). Nothing about the Double's presence in these scenes suggests that he's anything more than a phantom, a specter to haunt the protagonist from a distance.

But then, something changes. The Double isn't just a ghost that only Balduin can see; he's just as real as his counterpart, and his actions have consequences. Balduin promises Margrit's father, the Count, to spare her cousin-fiancée in a duel the Baron knows he cannot win -- Balduin is, after all, the best swordsman in Prague. They even say the fight is supposed to be with heavy sabers, which sound like they could really mess you up. But when dueling day arrives, Balduin is delayed by the wheels inexplicably coming off his carriage. He races through the countryside on foot in order to make his appointment, but it's too late. He stops dead in his tracks, frozen in fear, as the Double appears, approaching him slowly from the tree line. When the Double reaches him, Balduin sees the bloody sword and immediately recoils, fearing the worst. But what's most interesting about this scene is that, when the Double finally looks up, his expression is not that of a mindless zombie. When he looks up, the Double looks horrified. Realization slowly rises in his face, and he turns to Balduin with this look of abject horror and helplessness while Balduin cowers in fright. And as the Double turns to walk out of the clearing, he hangs is head in pained resignation and I AM OBSESSED. There are no intertitles in this sequence, but the anguished look he gives Balduin says, "Do you see now? This, and worse than this, is going to keep happening." Connie's performance in this scene suggests the Double may not be able to control his actions but he certainly has feelings about them. So does this mean the Double is in fact Balduin's soul? His goodness? His innocence? I NEED TO KNOW MORE.

The Double is also consistently dressed in the student costume Balduin wears at the beginning of the film. After Sciapinelli gives Balduin the money, Balduin buys a whole new wardrobe (honestly, who wouldn't?). But the mirror version of Balduin doesn't change to reflect Balduin as he is in the present; the Double wears the clothes of a student -- the cap, the velveteen jacket -- because he represents who Balduin was. He's the boy, the youth uncorrupted by excessive wealth and privilege, now made to do horrible things because Balduin so easily handed him over to Sciapinelli when they made their deal. UGH.

The final time Balduin sees his Double, his mirror self hounds him with measured steps, pushing him away from the fragile security of wealth and opulence back to his abandoned student flat. And the expression on the Double's face now is grimly accusatory, it's deeply solemn disappointment, it's a final judgment before an inevitable end. There's sorrow and resentment in the Double's eyes, but kept restrained and subtle, gradually building in wordless intensity until Balduin must finally face himself, literally, in order to end his torment, finding a pistol and shooting his mirror image and therefore killing himself.

Maybe a lot of the descriptors I use for Connie are hyperbole, but his work in this film is remarkable. Anyone interested in getting to know him as an actor, hell, anyone interested in film history period, absolutely should watch The Student of Prague at least once.

Final thoughts: For real, though, it would suck to not have a reflection. I recently had a whole conversation with my (straight, cis male) family members about this; not a one of them owns or even sees the need for a full length mirror. And maybe the big mirror in Balduin's student room came with the place when he moved in, but you get used to having something like that. I know it would drive me crazy not being able to check my whole outfit to make sure I don't look like a doofus before leaving the house.

[creature-wizard]

This is your reminder that alter programming/trauma-based mind control is a Satanic Panic conspiracy theory. The stuff you might have heard about gem programming, ribbon programming, Greek letter programming, etc., specifically comes from Fritz Springmeier and Cisco Wheeler, two far right conspiracy theorists who claimed, among many other things, that:

A global satanic conspiracy intends to enthrone the Antichrist in the year 2000. The push toward gay rights is part of this plan.

Said global satanic conspiracy has been practicing trauma-based mind control/alter programming for thousands of years.

The Nazis' eugenics program wasn't actually about eugenics. It was actually a front for researching mind control, and that Project Monarch was based on research conducted by Dr. Josef Mengele (whom they claim was an "adept in Caballistic magic.")

Fairy tales, fantasy media, movies, and television shows are full of deliberate programming. Some (but not all) of the media they implicate includes The Wizard of Oz, The Chronicles of Narnia, Alice in Wonderland, Disney films in general, A Little Princess, Star Trek, Star Wars, E.T., Tiny Toons, The Simpsons, Frankenstein, Bewitched, and Labyrinth.

Basically, anything that doesn't fit the most narrow-minded picture of Good Wholesome Christian Entertainment is is part of the Illuminati's plan to corrupt the youth and lead them down the patch of witchcraft and into satanism.

They claim, and I quote, "drugs, torture, hypnosis and MPD all work to enhance memory" and "most slaves have some photographic memory capability." They also claim that systemwide photographic memory can be created through brain stem scarring.

Babies can learn to read by six months old with the use of subliminal tapes.

Direct quote, "Vice-President Al Gore is a vampire and carries a briefcase of blood with him."

Hillary Clinton is an Illuminati Grand Dame and programmer.

Adrenochrome is a secret black market drug. (Adrenochrome isn't a drug at all.)

Fritz Springmeier and Cisco Wheeler's work is basically a modern mishmash of antisemitic conspiracy tropes and witch panic tropes. Fritz cites fucking Edith Starr Miller as one of his sources.

So why do people "remember" TBMC/RAMCOA? Because they've been coached into it. You can coach people into remembering all kinds of things, as we can very easily see by observing the starseed movement, where people remember past lives in nonexistent places like Lemuria.

If alter programming was a real thing, literature on it would have to exist. I'm talking like, actual manuals that describe in full detail how to conduct all of these rituals and whatnot without killing the victim. The first people who claimed to have experienced this claimed they were programmed back in the 50's, which means it's been seventy years. Not a single manual on this has turned up anywhere; not even in the most depraved child molesters' homes or laptop computers.

RAMCOA is repackaged SRA is repackaged antisemitism and witch panic, end of story.

[starrypawz]

AO3 What can I say I had an idea

On the shore of The Dreaming he senses something that ebbs and flows with the tide.

Whatever that something is very…

Small

Tired

With a broken heart… 

But the heart still beats strong. 

Curious. 

Gently he reaches out and

A crow? Most curious.

The crow, more than a little bedraggled, tilts their head as they stand.

“Caw?” (weakly) 

“Easy now,” 

Caw…. Caw?... Caw!  (Slightly panicked)

“No you are not, much longer though and you likely would have met my sister,”

Caw!! (Profanity) 

Caw (Apologetic) 

“That’s an… understandable reaction… although I will say she is actually… very nice.” 

Caw? 

“I am known by many names but… Often I am known as Dream,” 

“Caw!” (Introductory) Dream gives a faint smile, “I am aware,it is a  pleasure to meet you Monty the Crow” 

He regards the Crow who has just informed him that he is known as Monty (although he knew that already)  some more and then asks.

“What was your aim?” 

“Caw,” “London?” 

“Caw,” and then “Caw?”

“Unfortunately you didn’t get very far,” 

“Caw,” (Dejected) 

“Agreed, that was a rather foolish idea,” Dream tilts his head, “I must ask why did you undertake this fool’s errand?” 

“Caw?”

“I… can only sense fragments, you are rather weak right now,” 

“Caw,” (Panicked)

“Do not worry, you are safe here,” “Caw,” (Grateful) 

Dream pauses.

“So Monty the Crow what was the goal of your fool’s errand?”

“Caw?” 

“I only sensed fragments, you are… rather weak right now,”

“Caw,”

“You are safe here,”

“Caw,” (Grateful) 

Monty pauses and the way his feathers ruffle translates as a sigh before he takes a couple of hops that translate somehow as ‘pacing around whilst trying to get your thoughts together’

“Caw…” Another hop, “Caw… Caw…. Caw,”  Another hop, “Caw” (Dejected) 

“That… that is a rather noble cause,” Dream reaches out and then pauses, “May I?”

Monty nods. 

Dream lightly scratches him on the head, feather soft under his fingers and Dream feels a soft rush of affection run through him as Monty leans into his touch and ruffles his feathers and gives the faintest hint of a smile. 

“I… I sense you have not been treated kindly,” He offers his hand and Monty struggles to hop up. 

“Let me,” He soothes as he carefully guides him into his hand and lifts Monty closer to his face.

“I am sorry that has happened to you,” Dream stiffens, “Who… Who did this?” 

“Caw,” “A witch?” He pauses and… feels, “One named Esther Finch, I know of her and… I can sense she has met her long overdue fate,”

“Caw,”

“Maybe that offers you some comfort?” Monty moves his wings in a way that somehow reads as a shrug.

“I… I know what it is like, to be trapped,” Dream sighs, “Taken by someone who seeks power they do not deserve.. Let alone understand.” 

Monty tilts his head again.

“Tell me Monty, Tell me your story,”

“Caw-” 

“I am fond of long tales…” Dream smiles, “And we have all the time in the world whilst you are here,”

Monty ruffles his feathers and then 

“Caw-” 

And then after some time. 

“That is… quite the tale.” 

“Caw?” 

“Yes… now what,” Dream sighs, “I think I can aid you?”

“Caw?”

“Do not worry, I would not pull you into such a bargain, I would also not expect you to serve a new master so soon after gaining your freedom,” 

“Caw?”

“So…The Witch Esther Finch turned you into a human, tell me Monty do you wish to be back in that form?”

“Caw… Caw…” He pauses, “Caw?”

“I see… Understandable you do not want to be bound to one form… even if you found thumbs incredibly useful,” He gives an amused snort and gently scratches Monty on the head, “I believe… I believe I know someone who can aid you,” 

“Caw?”

“No he is not a witch… although I guess he is bewitching in his own way,” “Caw!” (Teasing) Dream swallows, “I am… incredibly fond of him.” Dream pauses, “You… you remind me of him, he is… an incredibly kind soul, eternally joyful,” He smiles, “Even if he is a little foolish at times, His name is Robert Gadling although he prefers to go by Hob, ” Dream pauses, “So Monty The Crow if you agree, once you awake you will find yourself in London,” 

“Very well them,” Dream pulls him against his chest, “Now rest,” 

Monty rests.

Hob awakes to early morning light through the window and realises he forgot to shut the curtains again as he winces  whilst in the background he can hear the ever present drone of the traffic of 21st century London. He finds his laptop in the bed and connects dots he was planning to grade just a couple of more papers last night, but judging from the Turnitin page that greets him when he wakes up the laptop that he’d fallen asleep about a quarter into grading the first one.

Later… later. Deal with that later.  At least two cups of coffee later. 

He’s just about to pass through to the kitchen when he notices something at the living room window.

Matthew? 

No that’s not Matthew.

Wait… that’s not a raven anyway, the beak’s the wrong shape and they’re too small that’s a… 

Crow. 

Oh. 

There hadn’t been A Visit last night (It’s actually been a while but not quite long enough that Hob is worried) but Hob had in that point where reality is a little… loose between waking and sleeping had heard a whisper. It’d been somewhat cryptic (He didn’t expect anything less) but the pieces start to slot together. 

Hob shakes his head with an affectionate snort as he lifts the sash window. It’s thankfully a warm morning. 

The crow tilts their head at him. 

“Well… come on in?” 

Hob takes a step back and watches as the crow hops through the opened window, carefully he shuts it behind them. 

There’s a pause for a moment before they hop from the windowsill and then

Falll  to the ground. 

Hob is caught off guard for a second before there’s a ruffle of feathers and then. 

Ah

So that’s why there’d been something about ‘spare clothes’ that’d sounded rather out of place coming from Dream. 

Hob now looks at the dark haired teenager who had been a crow moments ago who sits on the sofa. The borrowed t-shirt and shorts hang loose on him in a way that looks more ‘Handmedowns from an older sibling’ than ‘fashionably baggy’ 

The teenager looks up at him through curtain bangs with dark eyes that are bright and… oddly captivating.

Just like someone else I know. 

“So… Monty, right?”

Monty nods. 

“Dream?” They say, voice still croaky, “Sent me to you… somehow? Said you could help me?” 

“Hopefully?” Hob clears his throat, “So… are you hungry?”

“I’m starving,” 

Breakfast. Right. That’s at least a problem he can fix. 

“Ok,” Hob smiles, and hopes it looks less nervous than he feels. “I’ll go make us something and you can tell me all about… whatever’s going on,”

“Sounds great!,” Monty’s voice is bright, almost a little too bright for this time in the morning and gives him probably the softest smile he’s ever seen before Hob turns into the kitchen. 

What the hell have you gotten me into this time?

[ravens-two]

PICK A CARD reading

Messages from your Higher Self

Pile 1 -> Pile 2

Pile 3 -> Pile 4

Deck used: Seasons of the Witch Beltane Oracle

TIPS | BOOK A READING WITH ME | PATREON | LINKTREE | SUGGEST A PAC TOPIC

Pile 1

Oracle

"Spirits of other worlds: tell me tales of the unknown, tell me tales of the forbidden."

Hi pile 1! Your Higher Self really wants you to tune in to your intuition. Listen to what your guides are trying to tell you and don't doubt yourself so much. Yes, it's important to exercise discernment when it comes to the magical, but you shouldn't doubt yourself all the time. Sometimes the messages that you receive are simpler than what you make them out to be.

Most of all, pile 1, your Higher Self wants you to focus on honing in your intuition (be it through learning tarot, using a pendulum or paying attention to your dreams). This is because your Higher Self really wants to talk to you directly, your guides have a lot to teach you, but that information needs to flow directly between you and your guides.

What you also need to know, pile 1, is that your guides and ancestors are on your side and they want to help you. Simply ask for their help with the problems that are troubling you and you shall receive.

Pile 2

The Lovers

"Love lulls all sorrow and bewitches flesh, mind and breath, reminding me that I am unafraid of the unfurling winds of my eternity."

Hi there, pile 2! Your Higher Self really wants to put you at ease here. They want to tell you that you are safe and you can relax now. Trust that everything is okay for now - and if for some of you it isn't, trust that it will be okay for a while. There's a feeling here of deep relaxation, it's like your image, swimming calmly in a pond.

This is also the card of vulnerability, so you are being told that in order to forge deep connections you need to be vulnerable. You don't need to be invincible all of the time. In fact, you just can't. Learn to lean on others for support and don't be ashamed to ask for help when you need it. I know that it hasn't always been easy, but the people who love you really do want to help you and support you. They want to feel that you need them too.

When you manage to be vulnerable is when you can really show who you are to other people without fear. This vulnerability doesn't need to be just about your personal relationships, but it could also be about your work. Let's say that you are an artist, but you don't want to share your art because you are afraid of being judged. Your Higher Self wants to encourage you to do either way, in spite of that, because you will learn something from it.

Pile 3

Wildcat

"Be still and tune in, for there is something afoot lurking alongside you."

Hi, pile 3! The Wildcat is the card of danger, but don't sound the alarms right away. Your Higher Self isn't saying that you are in danger, but that you should be aware of what is happening around you. Not just your surroundings, but also your relationships, work or school life.

With this card it's possible that someone's hiding something from you. This could be something as simple as a surprise birthday party or the fact that someone has been talking behind your back.

Most of all though, your Higher Self wants you to be more present. If it's something that you enjoy or are interested in, why don't you try to do a bit of meditation? If that isn't really for you, I'd recommend you research and try some grounding techniques.

Another message from your Higher Self is that you need to spend more time in nature. Go for a walk or sit on a bench in the park and just listen and observe. Listen to the birds or other nature sounds around you. Observe what's happening around you, do you recognize the plants you see? If it's safe touch them, what do they feel like? It's really important that you tune in with nature right now.

Pile 4

Sacred Waters

"Drunken by the swell of the sea, I can feel the blanket of her embrace. Unafraid of the presence releasing the cords, I call her in, I call her deeply within."

Hi, pile 4! This is the card of healing. Your Higher Self wants you to let go of the things that have hurt you in the past and allow yourself to heal. Your guides want to tell you that they care so much about you, they see you and they want to help you as much as they can. Just like with pile 2, don't be afraid of asking them for help.

This is a period of healing and change for you pile 4. As you accept your past you begin to feel more at ease with your present. The song "Never let me go" by Florence and the Machine just came to my mind. This might represent a bit of how you have been feeling. And now, I just heard "What the water gave me" also by Florence. This pile has a very strong Star energy. There's this sense of deep hurt here, but finally feeling hopeful that it might turn out fine. I also think that you guys also really love music - it might be a way for you to process things - because I keep getting songs in my head. I think I'm going to leave you guys a little playlist at the end of your reading.

A very important message that I'm getting is that your Higher Self is asking you to please be gentle with yourself. Be gentle with the things you say and think about yourself and please, please don't be hard on yourself when you don't manage to live up to your own standards. This is a time for healing.

Never Let Me Go - Florence and the Machine

What The Water Gave Me - Florence and the Machine

Quarter Past Four - Avriel and the Sequoias

Youth - Daughter

Standing By - Pentatonix

Ophelia - The Lumineers

[sergeantsporks]

Hi!

Until this day, I'm still confused: At what age did the Wittebane brothers go to the boiling isles? Teenagers/Child as seen in the portraits or Adults since Gravesfield has statues of them as adults? What do you think?

Great question! [leaves]

I think every single interpretation of what happened with the Wittebane Brothers/the WB timeline has SOME kind of hole poked in it by SOME aspect of canon.

I believe the most solid answer we have is when Phillip got to the Isles. He's a liar with a penchant for revisionist history, so his journal can't be trusted for... most things... but I think one thing he had no reason to lie about is the fact that when he started the journal, he'd only recently arrived in the Isles. So, we can somewhat safely assume that Phillip got to the Isles (or, at least, got stuck there) in his early adulthood. From there, we know he ate a palisman at some point, found Caleb and Evelyn, killed Caleb, ran off. Done and done.

When Caleb jetted for the Isles is a bit more up for debate. The pictures in Hollow Mind seem to imply that he hadn't seen Phillip for some time, so if they DID go to the Isles at the same time, they were quickly separated. The more popular interpretation is that Caleb left Phillip when he was younger, Phillip spent some time in the human realm alone, he finally worked up the courage to follow/a portal finally opened up, he entered as a young adult, timeline proceeds from there. However, like you said, the statues are of them as ADULTS, and the two of them TOGETHER, which makes this theory a little shakey. But hey, maybe the statues were made way later by people who didn't really know them. At the very least, by the time the story gets to modern day, it's been distorted into a cautionary ghost tale, so who knows what the tale was when the statue was carved?

The question of "when did Caleb leave" is also deeply tied to the question of "WHY did he leave." Was it simply that he finally got fed up with witch-hunter society? Did Phillip hit some arbitrary age that he considered as no longer needing him, so he felt safe leaving? Was there a catalyst that FORCED him out? Did Evelyn get pregnant at that point, and Caleb left to be a father to his kid? We know he and Evelyn passed notes and titan's blood back and forth to each other, so SOMETHING must have happened to escalate the situation and get Caleb to leave instead of continuing that way.

A personal favorite theory of mine is that Caleb was going back and forth, a dumb teen, as one does with one's illicit girlfriend, Phillip caught him going into the portal (the image from hollow mind of Caleb going in while Phillip trails behind), and Phillip, thinking his brother was bewitched, rounded up the witch-hunters. However, instead of them catching Evelyn, they caught Caleb, and put him on trial. They planned to hang him, but Evelyn came to his rescue, burning down the town hall in the process (since Jacob mentioned the fire, I imagine it’s a LITTLE significant). With it no longer being safe to stay in Gravesfield, Caleb went with her to the demon realm, happily unaware that Phillip was the one who (accidentally) got him arrested. However, the statue pokes holes in this theory AGAIN. Again, it's them as adults, and why would the town have such a positive view of CALEB if they viewed him as a probable witch or witch accomplice?

I do like the thought that the fire was a catalyst for Caleb to leave though, so another theory is that Caleb was going back and forth, as previously stated. He is incredibly successful in pretending that he is still a gung-ho witch hunter. Phillip is kinda sorta aware of what Caleb's up to, but he's also a kid, and as he gets older, he dismisses memories as fantasy as Caleb gets better at hiding it, OR he actually, contrary to popular fanon belief, really really really doesn't want his brother to get hung for witchcraft, so he's willing to keep the secret until he can figure out how to "break Evelyn's hold on Caleb" (because he absolutely believes Caleb is bewitched; especially if he successfully acts like a normal witch hunter most of the time. Obviously, when Evelyn's there, he's bewitched, and the witch hunting facade is what he'd be without that. Surely the witch-hunting isn't an act).

The town hall burns down. Maybe it was an accident, maybe not, but either way, Gravesfield goes on the hunt for the Witch, and they are 100% gunning for Evelyn. Caleb finally comes to the conclusion that it is no longer safe for their relationship to continue the way it is, so he has to make a snap decision to either break off his relationship with Evelyn and stay in the human realm with Phillip, or he has to leave Phillip and go with Evelyn to the demon realm. He picks the latter, and Phillip sees. Still intending to "save" his brother from Evelyn and get everything to go back to the way it was, Phillip spins a story about how Caleb heroically chased after the witch that burned down their town hall, but the door to her home closed behind them.

Timeline then goes to what we know: Phillip enters the Isles, finds Caleb, finally admits to himself that Caleb is a "lost cause," and the witch-hunting was an act, not Caleb's true self, the stabbening, etc, etc. This would account for the fire, for the overall positive feelings the townsfolk must have for Caleb and Phillip in order to build a statue, Phillip's memories of Evelyn and the portal in his early childhood coinciding with the statue of them as adults (that one definitely still is a little wonky, but we'll put it up to artistic license. After Phillip disappeared as a young adult, someone carved a representation of Phillip finding his lost brother [who would also be an adult at that time.] Yeah, we'll say that).

Masha implies that the rebuses are a more recent find, so I think it's safe to say that from those rebuses, they extrapolated a more true version of the legend, like the secret codes, and the undertone of Caleb being "dazzled" rather than a heroic guy chasing down a witch, although the idea that Phillip went to "save" Caleb remained. Since Masha seems to be a practicing witch themself, it makes sense that they'd spin the tale with the information they have from the original legend and the new information from the rebuses to make it a little more witch-friendly while still sort of "respecting" the original tale of witchcraft spiriting away two boys. They have a more modern take, even going so far as the "sounds like big bro got a hot witch girlfriend" statement at the end. The statue is reminiscent of an older take possibly based on lies Phillip told to protect Caleb. Neither are a complete story, but if you take the common ground between them, account for the agendas of both parties, and fill in the gaps from Phillip's memories, we can sort of see a full picture.

[jonsaslove]

Please rant about whichever WIP you're most excited about! And also, which one you anticipate to be the most challenging or out of your comfort zone. And why. Just rant in general, lol. All about them. I'm gonna sit here like

Ask and you shall receive! (dying at that gif too lol)

and the stars forgot us

This is the only one on the list that has a title that is likely to change and it is also the fic that has technically been a WIP the longest. I have had this idea for years, basically since I first started writing for jonsa, and it is all inspired by this post.

I have been interested in writing a Jonsa Lord of the Rings AU, or at least LOTR adjacent, just for the elf!Sansa and dwarf!Jon of it all. This isn't going to be some long sprawling tale or anything, it would just be a one off but it definitely is out of my comfort zone and I've put it off so long because I want to get it right!

brimstone and ash

This is one I have only just started working on but it's definitely going to be a challenging one. Also for the @jonsa-halloween event but for the prompt 'Dragon'.

Without giving too much away I am essentially looking to write an AU where the Targaryens have been an established dynasty for much longer than they ever were in canon, still fantasy still ASOIAF similar but with some changes. The Targaryens are falling out of favour and the realm is in a state of unrest. Jon is raised as a Targaryen and Sansa is alone in the world after a failed Northern Rebellion.

The challenge here is that I am really going to play with Sansa's character in a way I haven't before, she will still not be say 'Arya-esque' in that she is not going to be picking up a sword, but she is going to be forced into situations outside of her normal realm of strengths and will have to navigate that.

solace sought//bewitchment bought

This is the last one I'm going to talk about and it is another one I'm super hype for, and again for the @jonsa-halloween event, prompt being 'Magic'.

Our jumping off point is Sansa, unaware of what she's doing, wargs into Lady before Ned can kill her and her direwolf journeys North while she goes to King's Landing like she does in canon. Mostly I'm super intrigued by diving into the warging aspect since it's not something I've really explored in depth before.

Thanks so much for all the asks Orange :D <3

[blue--ingenue]

"Repentance"

Summary: for the prompts, "I've seen the way you look at me when you think I don't notice" and "I fucking hate you!"

Author's Notes: to the anon who requested this, the combo you picked gave me so many ideas for angst 😭 i got a bit carried away with this one. i hope you like it!

Sebastian fiddled with the sleeves of his dress robes for perhaps the hundredth time since they began their walk from the common room to the Great Hall. Ominis, the picture of polite nobility, had insisted on escorting Anne all the way to the dance. Sebastian had hung back a few paces in order to give the happy couple a wide berth. Without turning his head, Ominis called back to him.

“You know, you could have avoided all this sulking if you had just asked her to the ball,” he commented idly. Sebastian smoothed his curls and adjusted his coat. “Asked who?”

He had never been good at lying to Ominis, and even less so with Anne. His friend only sighed wearily while his twin gave him an exasperated look over her date’s shoulder. It was equal parts pity and ‘I told you so.’ He set his jaw and gazed stubbornly back at her. “She made her decision,” he stated matter-of-factly. By now their group had reached the entrance. The ceiling had been bewitched to bear a gentle fall of snow. Wisps of white descended from silver clouds and disappeared just before they met the floor. Gone were the house tables. A lively waltz poured from the orchestra of enchanted instruments floating in place of the faculty table. Tables laden with food and drink, pastries and pies, hugged the far walls, while smaller tables and chairs set up a perimeter around the dance floor. Already couples were dancing, some with more grace than others, as more students arrived. 

Anne held his gaze and looked like she was about to say something when her eyes widened and locked on something behind him. “Oh Sebastian, she’s beautiful,” she whispered.

He almost didn’t dare to turn around. The witch in question - the only one that she could possibly be referring to - was already the most divine beauty he had ever beheld. He didn’t know how she could surpass perfection. He didn’t think it was possible, but suddenly he needed to know. When he turned around it he felt as though he’d taken a Depulso straight to the stomach.

She was radiant. Her dress fit her perfectly. Everything, from the colors that complemented her complexion to the dainty ruffled sleeves that draped from her elbows just so, stole the breath from his lungs. When they were young, their mother would read Sebastian and his sister muggle fairy tales. He’d loved imagining himself as the dashing prince saving the princess with windswept hair and a charming smile for any occasion. Those days were long gone, but seeing her descend the stairs like his very own storybook dream was enough to break him from his trance. Suddenly he couldn’t remember why he hadn’t asked her in the first place. All he knew was that he needed to be near her.

It felt like he’d been holding his breath and each step closer was a desperate kick to the surface, a burning need for air. Her head dipped in his direction and she smiled. A soft, sweet thing that crinkled at her eyes and tipped up the corners of her lips. They were but a few strides from each other. Giddy, he offered her a hand and lightly bowed. Like a dream, she reached out to place her hand in his. His chest was filled with a warm, honeyed happiness. Gracefully, she reached the last step, offered her own hand - and placed it in the waiting palm of Garreth Weasley. 

Sebastian froze, arm still held aloft. Weasley kissed her hand and bowed. She smiled down at him - her date - Sebastian’s jealous mind spat, and reached into his coat pocket for his wand. He flicked his wrist and produced a bouquet of crisp white roses. She laughed, a light and airy sound reserved only for him. He spoke without thinking.

“Actually, she likes foxglove,” he asserted. The startled Gryffindors snapped their attention to him and he could practically hear Ominis’ disappointed groan behind him. She seemed to notice him for the first time that night and several emotions flitted across her pretty features in quick succession. Shock, confusion, the flash of a blush, and finally irritation. 

“They’re your favorite flower,” he explained uselessly. Gods, the last time he’d been at such a mortifying loss for words he had fallen asleep in Potions and half-assed his way through a verbal presentation. His Gryffindor parted her lips to speak, but it was Garreth who spoke first.

“My apologies, I’ll make sure to pick foxglove next time,” he replied easily. Sebastian couldn’t decide what he hated more: the sickening sincerity of his apology, or the fact that he thought there would be a next time with her. In classic Sebastian Sallow fashion, his mouth moved faster than his mind. 

“There won’t be a next time,” he growled. For once in his life Garreth didn’t appear to have a witty remark at the ready. “I -”

His friend placed a soft hand on his bicep and smiled with forced composure. “Why don’t you find us a table, Garreth? I’ll join you in just a moment,” she supplied. With a polite nod to Sebastian he shot his date a grateful look and disappeared into the ballroom. As soon as he was out of earshot his Gryffindor let slip her mask of composure and whirled to face him. Shit.

“What the hell are you playing at, Sallow?” she seethed. The rational side of him was screaming for him to apologize for being such a cad. But the irrational side, the one that felt the urge to whip out his wand at the very thought of Weasley touching her again, had no interest in reason.

“Of all the eligible dates in our year, how could you choose him?” he demanded. She took a step closer to him in a manner that said no amount of fitted silk and lace could keep her from blasting him across the hall. 

“Because he asked me!” she shouted. Several heads turned in their direction, but neither of them cared. They were always like this, pushing each other to the brink of destruction until one of them - or both of them - fell over the edge.

He opened his mouth to retort, but she wasn’t finished. “Garreth is kind and funny and caring. He is a gentleman, and that is more than I can say for you right now.”

He laughed, a cold and punched-out sound. “So he’s the best you pull?” Stop! His inner voice urged him. He could feel himself crossing the threshold of saying something truly cruel. Something seemed to click for her. She tilted her chin and looked him dead in the eyes.

“You’re jealous,” she said simply. She can’t know, he thought to himself. If she knew how much he cared and didn’t reciprocate his feelings, he didn’t think he could bear it. He couldn’t lose her.Never her. No. It was much better to keep her at arms’ length than not keep her at all. He scoffed and the lack of confidence in his voice was clear even to his own ears.

“What could I possibly be jealous of?” he snapped. She took another step forward so that she was mere inches from his face. He looked down and saw the same look she wore when she had cornered her opponent in Crossed Wands. “You’re jealous,” she began, lowly, “because Garreth asked me and you didn’t.”  She was close, so close that he could smell the peppermint on her breath. His thoughts ran in a thousand different directions. She was tantalizingly close, she was completely correct, couldn’t let her find out. He panicked, grasping for a response to distance himself from the truth. He was hers, utterly and completely. What’s the farthest thing from love? he asked himself. He said the first thing he could think of, shouting it in a blind panic. 

“I fucking hate you!”

His words shocked himself. He didn’t dare to breathe. She physically recoiled as though he’d struck her. Her pretty eyes were wide with shock and for a moment Sebastian thought she would hex him. Instead a sob punched from her chest, wrending his heart in two, and she ran past him and through the doors leading away from the Great Hall. 

“Wait!” he called, desperately. As though his pitiful plea could overcome the knife he’d wrenched into her heart. He had to find her. He needed to fix this.

-

She hadn’t made it far in her uncomfortable heels. She was sitting on one of the stone benches near the aqueduct gardens, shivering amid the snowfall. The silence was broken occasionally by her sniffles and sobs. Sebastian’s heart ached for her and he cursed himself for being the one to cause her such pain. He called her name and she went rigid. He spoke softly as though he were approaching a wounded animal. Cautiously he sat on the far end of the bench and let himself look at her. Her eyes were red from crying and her lip trembled, stilling only when she sniffled. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, and he couldn’t blame her. He had to be the last person on earth that she wanted to talk to, and for good reason. Sebastian was mustering up the courage to speak, digging through his heart and soul to find the right words, when she spoke. Her voice was so soft, barely more than a hoarse whisper - ”I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

She looked up at him then, eyes full of betrayal yet so resolute. “Or at least, I thought I did,” she said with a shake of her head. “I see now that I was just being foolish. Some part of me hoped beyond reason that you shared my feelings. That you loved me even a fraction of how much I love you. I see now that I was wrong,” her voice caught on a sob at the last word, but she pressed on. “You needn’t worry about me going to the ball with Garreth. And I promise you won’t have to spend another second in my presence,” she finished. 

She loved him. Every fear he held onto, of her abandoning him, rejecting him, seemed so stupidly utterly foolish. She loved him. And he was about to lose her. Sebastian surged forward, kneeling in the snow before her and taking her hands in his. Desperate and with nothing to lose, he spoke quickly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I could never mean it. Not to you,” he implored her to listen. “You can hate me, hex me, do anything you want with me, but allow me a moment to speak.” She met his eyes and nodded weakly. He sighed at the smallest of victories.

“I could never hate you. And you were right about all of it. I was jealous. I was a jealous, cowardly git because I was too afraid to ask you myself. And when you accused me of it, I panicked. I thought of anything to say to keep you from seeing the truth of your words and I hurt you. I wish those words had never passed my lips, but they did. And for that I am so, truly sorry. You’re my best friend and the most extraordinary girl I’ll ever meet. I know I don’t deserve you, but regardless, I love you.”

Her brow furrowed. “You don’t have to say that just because you feel sorry for me,” she huffed. Sebastian was gobsmacked. He’d bared his heart to her and had no idea what to say now. But Sebastian Sallow had always been a man of action more than words. He gently brushed the tears from her cheek and brushed a stray lock behind her hair, moving his face closer as he did so. His lips hovered before hers, giving her the chance to recoil. 

“May I?” he breathed. She stared deep into his eyes and whispered, “Please.”

He pressed his lips against hers. They were impossibly soft and so warm despite the snowfall surrounding them. He gently pushed against her and she pushed back. His nerves were on fire. He pressed a hand to her waist, pulling her closer, and slid his other hand behind her neck to deepen this kiss. He held her like something precious, like she was breathing life into his starved lungs. When at last they pulled away blinked a few times before a tear slid down her cheek.

For the hundredth time that night, Sebastian panicked. Had he misread the situation? Had she not wanted to kiss him? “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’ll just - ” she cut him off by pressing her lips to his. The kiss was soft, fleeting, but effectively cut off his stream of panicked thoughts.

Inexplicably, she laughed. “I accept your apology,” she whispered. And Sebastian was sure that the smile she gave him was warm enough to disperse the gentle storm above them. He grinned, but the dregs of guilt lingered in his chest. 

“Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?” he asked. She pulled him up so that they were both sitting on the bench. “Would you just…hold me?” she asked, tentatively. 

He couldn’t have obliged faster. She spread out on the rest of the bench with her head in Sebastian’s lap. He angled his head forward to shield her from the falling snow. She gazed up at him as he stroked her hair, and the silence was comfortable. It was as though even the night knew that something fundamental had shifted. “Sebastian?”

“Yes?” he answered. She smiled up at him, and he felt his world right itself on its axis. “You were a git. But I love you.” 

He chuckled softly, being careful not to disturb her head where it rested. “I am. But I’m your git, and I love you. So very, very much.” She laughed and suddenly he couldn’t remember why he’d ever been afraid in the first place.